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He made her foresee that her stepmother would marry again would marry Marien. "But I shall not be there!" she cried, "I will not countenance such an infamy!" Oh, how she hoped Gerard de Cymier loved her! The hypocritical tears of Madame de Nailles disgusted her. She could not bear to have such false grief associated with her own.
She had not felt in the least fatigued when Marien at last said to her, apologetically: "You must be ready to drop I forgot you were not made of wood; we will go on to-morrow."
Do you wish to see where I eat my dinner?" asked Marien, as he took her down the staircase leading to his dining-room. Fraulein Schult would have liked to go with them it was, besides, her duty. But she had not been asked to fulfil it. She hesitated a moment, and in that moment Jacqueline had disappeared.
"Yes," he said, "your mamma is right. We have made a deplorable mistake in what we have done. Besides, you must know that this unlucky picture is not in the least like you. Marien has made some use of your features to paint a fancy portrait so we will let nobody see it. They might laugh at you."
Ah! four years ago mamma was much more slender than she is now. But we have taken it in oh! we took it in a great deal under the arms, but we had to let it down. Would you believe it? I am taller than mamma but you can hardly see the seam, it is concealed by the gold embroidery." "No matter for that. We shall only take a three-quarters' length," said Marien. "Oh, what a pity!
We at once gave him what he required, and he set about translating it bit by bit, and when he had done he said: "All that is here in Spanish is what the Moorish paper contains, and you must bear in mind that when it says 'Lela Marien' it means 'Our Lady the Virgin Mary."
"How good of you!" she said, with all confidence to her husband. "It is a picture by Marien! A portrait by Marien! A likeness of Jacqueline!" And he uncovered the masterpiece of the great artist, expecting to be joyous in the joy with which she would receive it. But something strange occurred.
Marien had shown her pictures of the beauties of 1840, painted by Dubufe, and she had decided on a white gauze embroidered with gold, in which, on that memorable evening, she had captured more than one heart, and which had had its influence on the life and destiny of Marien. This might have been seen in the vague glance of indignation with which he now regarded it.
"He is nothing but a tease; what he says is only chaff. But I might as well talk Greek to her," she added, shrugging her shoulders. "In the convent they don't know what to make of a joke. Only spare her at least, if you please, Monsieur Marien." "I know by report that Mademoiselle Giselle is worthy of the most profound respect," continued the pitiless painter.
"Come! now, on the contrary you are tightening your lips," said Marien, continuing to play with her as a cat plays with a mouse provided there ever was a cat who, while playing with its mouse, had no intention of crunching it. "You are not merry, you are sad. That is not at all becoming to you." "Why do you attribute to me your own thoughts?
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