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Updated: May 6, 2025
The garden party was to be the twentieth of September. It was then the end of August. "And of what nature is to be the modest contribution I can make to your fete?" asked Esperance, half humorously. "Modest! Of course you will be the principal attraction. My guests, knowing that they will see you for the last time before Count Styvens carries his little idol away from the public...."
"It concerns your cousin." "Then it concerns Count Styvens." "Indirectly, yes." Maurice got up. "I would rather not listen to you, for my duty as a man of honour would compel me to speak, should it be necessary." The Duke sat still and reflected for a minute. "Very well, you shall judge when you have heard me, what you think you had better do. I leave you free.
"I know a young artist," said Albert Styvens, "who plays with her whole soul, and I, who really love music, find her far ahead of all your prodigies." Almost a sensation was produced among the guests. The Countess said with her sweet smile, "I see that they tease you here as well as at Brussels." "That does not affect me, mother, you see; I remain faithful to my ideal."
With a quick gesture the girl clasped her mantle about her, and haughtily moved away without acknowledging the Duke's bow. Neither M. nor Madame Darbois had seen anything of what had just passed. The Duke de Morlay's bad humour vented itself against Count Styvens. "I have just passed the Darbois in the cloak-room.
"Yes, father." "Had you thought of writing to Countess Styvens before you read that letter?" He drew the Academician's letter from his portfolio and placed it before her. "No, father, dear." "Then it was on my account, and to facilitate my admittance to the Academy, that you wrote?"
Two baskets attracted special attention, one overflowing with white orchids; the other, with gardenias, so powerful in their sweetness that even the first rows of the orchestra felt their strength. It was rumoured in the boxes that the white orchids were sent by the Countess Styvens and her son Albert, who were sitting in a stall in the auditorium.
She took particular pains with her toilette, and looking at herself in the tall glass of her wardrobe, reflected, "I do not want to love Count Styvens. Then I ought not to want to be any more attractive to-night than usual. Am I a wicked girl? My cousin Maurice says, 'Coquetry is the cowardly woman's weapon, and I love you, little cousin, because you are not a coquette."
The manner, almost the authority, of this tall, young man of distinction, but of no beauty, of no magnetism, depressed her. She did not wish to have him take it upon himself to conduct her small affairs, and she stepped into the Countess Styvens's beautiful carriage with the feeling that she was leaving her liberty behind. Albert Styvens got into the hotel landau with the two other young men.
The young artist loved at sight this woman she was beholding for the first time, and at the same time she had a presentiment that this charming and elegant lady would not remain a stranger to her during her life. The Queen desired Count Styvens to accompany the young girl, who was forced to take his arm to her dressing-room.
The accident to Count Styvens had made a great stir in the fashionable world, where the young Belgian diplomat was much esteemed and even loved, and the artistic world was interested on account of Esperance. Telegrams and letters came in every day.
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