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In another compartment, Jules and Marie Victor sagely exchanged their lightning glances of Parisian acuteness. "C'est un homme magnifique!" murmured Marie, and Jules gravely nodded, "Peut-etre, notre maitresse l'a connu longtemps. II est tres tendre!" The staff-officer "furthered the Viceroy's business" by clasping both of Alixe Delavigne's prettily-gloved hands.
Jeanne was buried in her wedding-dress and the flowers you recall the wonderful flowers? The woman's predictions as to Delavigne's constancy came strangely true; who now remembers Jeanne, save her poor mother and Delavigne?"
While picking them up, she found one which happened to interest her, and she began to read it, squatting down upon her heels. It was the "Prince Grenouille," she told us. Mademoiselle Prefere took occasion to complain that Jeanne had so little taste for poetry. It was impossible to get her to recite Casimir Delavigne's poem on the death of Joan of Arc without mistakes.
Bentley has sent me three several applications for a second series. At present Mr. May forbids all composition, but I suppose the thing will be done. I shall introduce some chapters on French poetry and literature. At this moment I am in full chase of Casimer Delavigne's ballads.
Rossini asked me to recite some poetry, and I consented willingly, glad and proud to be of some little importance. I chose Casimir Delavigne's poem, "L'Ame du Purgatoire." "That should be spoken with music as an accompaniment," exclaimed Rossini when I came to an end. Every one approved this idea, and Walewski said; "Mademoiselle will begin again, and you could improvise, cher maitre."
I knew all this constellation, some of them as friends and supporters, others as enemies. In December, 1823, Talma made perhaps the greatest success of his life in Delavigne's "L'Ecole des Vieillards," in which his power of modulating his voice to the various emotions of old age was superbly shown.
And he had learned all of Alixe Delavigne's lessons now, save to acquire the patience to wait. But a growing album of newspaper clippings was daily augmented by Frank Hatton's artfully disseminated items regarding "Prince Djiddin of Thibet," the first visitor of rank from that land of shadows.
With a sudden inspiration, born of a growing fear for the stability of his house of cards, so flimsy in construction, he ran down to Jitomir, and the half-crazed adventurer only lingered an hour with the Intendant of Madame Alixe Delavigne's grand old domain. He found the bird flown. Had he been duped?
The hospitable bidding of the wealthiest civilian of Delhi to tiffin on the morrow brought him in touch with Alixe Delavigne's proposed victim once more. The delighted rascal mused: "I will surely have letters from her to-morrow, possibly even a telegram of her arrival. When the silly Swiss woman is the partner of an innocent secret, she is mine to control!
Her bosom heaved in a soft alarm, but she repulsed him not. "Why did you deceive me at Geneva?" he eagerly demanded, with a trembling voice. And Alixe Delavigne's eyes were downcast and dreamy, as she whispered: "Because I was only a poor pilgrim of Love a lonely woman, heart hungry for the tidings of the girl whom you have brought back to me!"
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