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With a pure barbaric love, like that of the master, he loved the religious nudity of his youths, his shy, wild virgins, like wild creatures caught in a trap, the sorrowful Aurora, the wild-eyed Madonna, with her Child biting at her breast, and the lovely Lia, whom he would fain have had to wife. But in the soul of the tormented hero he found nothing more than the echo of his own.
"Oh, very clearly!" "So your property is seized. You make no opposition, and next week we shall have flaming posters on all the walls, telling Paris that the furniture, wardrobe, cashmeres, laces, and diamonds of Madame Lia d'Argeles will be sold without reserve, at public auction, in the Rue Drouot, with the view of satisfying the claims of her creditors.
Scarcely knowing what I pledged myself to, I accepted their offer, influenced I should rather say decided by the exalted positions which both these gentlemen occupied, by the public consideration they enjoyed, and the honored names they bore. And that same week this house was rented and furnished, and I was installed in it under the name of Lia d'Argeles. "But this was not all.
She had hoped that the baron would be able to alleviate her wretchedness, but it seemed as if he were fated to increase it. "Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, anxiously. "What have I done?" "You, my poor Lia nothing!" "Then what is it? Oh, my God! you frighten me." "What is it? Well, I am going to tell you," he said, as he stepped forward and took her hand in his own.
What most troubled and disquieted him was not the condition in which he had left Madame Lia d'Argeles, his mother, who was, perhaps, dying, through his fault! It was not the terrible sacrifice that this poor woman had made for him in a transport of maternal love! It was not the thought of the source from which the money he had squandered for so many years had been derived.
Louis Blanc and my sons came to talk to me about it. The report that Alexandre Dumas is dead is denied. November 4. I have been requested to be Mayor of the Third, also of the Eleventh, Arrondissement. I refused. I went to the rehearsal of Les Chatiments at the Porte Saint Martin. Frederick Lemaitre and Mmes. Laurent, Lia Felix and Dugueret were present. November 5.
For five days she was the talk of Paris, and Alfred d'Aunay even published her portrait in the Illustrated Chronicle. Still, no one was able to say exactly who Madame Lia d'Argeles was. Who was she, and whence did she come? How had she lived until she sprang up, full grown, in the sunshine of the fashionable world? Did the splendid mansion in the Rue de Berry really belong to her?
All I can remember of her is that she was very young, with a white, fair skin, and dressed like the papalagi women I have seen in Peretania and Ita|lia and in Chili and in Sydney.
Thanks to the "High Life" reporters, every newspaper reader is aware that twice a week Mondays and Thursdays Madame Lia d'Argeles holds a reception at her charming mansion in the Rue de Berry. Her guests find plenty of amusement there. They seldom dance; but card-playing begins at midnight, and a dainty supper is served before the departure of the guests.
Madame d'Argeles's coachman, who had received his orders, now drove down the Champs Elysees, again crossed the Place de la Concorde, turned into the boulevards, and stopped short at the corner of the Chaussee d'Antin, where, having tied a thick veil over her face, Madame Lia abruptly alighted and walked away.
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