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He had wished for a long time to have a portrait of his wife, and certainly he would have chosen M. Olivier Bertin, had he not feared a refusal, for he well knew that the painter was overwhelmed with orders. It was arranged, then, with much ceremony on both sides, that the Count should accompany the Countess to the studio the next day.
At least, the cabman that brought him home declared to me that he took him in at a pharmacy of that quarter, to which someone had carried him, at nine o'clock in the evening!" Then, leaning toward Olivier, he asked: "Did the accident really happen near the Gobelins?" Bertin closed his eyes, as if to recollect; then murmured: "I do not know." "But where were you going?" "I do not remember now.
His curiosity overcame his reluctance. He wrote and signed the letter and Mme. Chantelouve put it in her card-case. "And in what street is the ceremony to take place?" "In the rue Olivier de Serres." "Where is that?" "Near the rue de Vaugirard, away up." "Is that where Docre lives?" "No, we are going to a private house which belongs to a lady he knows.
Master Olivier, perceiving the king to be in a liberal mood, and judging the moment to be propitious, approached in his turn. "Sire " "What is it now?" said Louis XI. "Sire, your majesty knoweth that Simon Radin is dead?" "Well?" "He was councillor to the king in the matter of the courts of the treasury." "Well?" "Sire, his place is vacant."
And as Jacqueline could not explain it, and never dreamed that Christophe had a much clearer knowledge of their love than she had herself, she thought him unbearable: she could not understand how Olivier could be so infatuated with such a vulgar, cumbersome friend.
Kendal sat behind it by the corner of the fireplace. Though it was August the windows were shut and a fire burned in the grate. Two tabby cats sat up by the fender, blinking and nodding with sleep. "Here's Father," Miss Kendal said. "And here's Johnnie and Minnie." He had dropped off into a doze. She woke him. "You know Mrs. Olivier, Father. And this is Miss Olivier." "Ay. Eh."
Everything was clean and tidy, as though a woman's hands had dealt with it: and a few roses in a vase brought spring-time into the room, the walls of which were decorated with photographs of old Florentine pictures. "So.... You.... You have come to see me?" said Olivier warmly. "Good Lord, I had to!" said Christophe. "You would never have come to me?" "You think not?" replied Olivier.
Valerie fondly escorted him to the landing, and then followed him, like a woman magnetized, down the stairs to the very bottom. "My Valerie, go back, do not compromise yourself before the porters. Go back; my life, my treasure, all is yours. Go in, my duchess!" "Madame Olivier," Valerie called gently when the gate was closed. "Why, madame! You here?" said the woman in bewilderment.
I dare not go to the bereaved mother alone, and want you to accompany me." As he spoke, Olivier looked at him fixedly, and with so straight a glance that he terrified him. The murderer had flung himself head down among these people belonging to the police, with an audacity calculated to save him. But he could not repress a shudder as he felt their eyes examining him.
I, too, am thinking of her." "Poor old fellow," said Olivier, "and I was thinking of you! And even...." He stopped. Christophe laughed and finished the sentence for him. "... And even taking a lot of trouble over it!..." Christophe turned out very fine, almost smart, for the wedding. There was no religious ceremony: neither the indifferent Olivier nor the rebellious Jacqueline had wished it.
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