The conversation of Madeleine and Sophie was interrupted by the arrival of Antonine, who, impetuous as joy, youth, and happiness, entered the room, saying:
"Sophie, I knew yesterday that Madeleine would be here this morning, and I ran in to tell you that—"
"Not a word more, little girl!" gaily replied the marquise, kissing Antonine on the forehead; "we have not a moment to lose; we must be to-day as we used to be in school, waiting-maids for Sophie."
"What do you mean?" said the young woman.
"But, Madeleine," replied Antonine, "I have come to inform you that my contract has been signed by the prince and my uncle, and that—"
"Your contract is signed, my child! That is important and I expected it. You can tell me the rest when we have made our dear Sophie the prettiest and most captivating toilet in the world. It is very important and very urgent."
Then the marquise whispered in the ear of Madame Dutertre:
"Your husband may come at any moment; he must be charmed, fascinated, and he will be."
Then turning to Antonine, Madeleine added:
"Quick, quick, my child; help me to place this table before the window, and we will first arrange Sophie's hair."
"But really, Madeleine," said Madame Dutertre, smiling, for she was awakening in spite of herself to hope and happiness, "you are silly."
"Not so silly," replied the marquise, making Sophie sit down before the toilet-table.
Uncoiling her friend's magnificent hair, she said:
"With such hair, if I were as ugly as a monster, I would make myself attractive in the highest degree; judge for yourself, Sophie. Here, help me, Antonine, this hair is so long and so thick, I cannot hold it all in my hand."
It was a charming sight to see the three friends of such diverse beauty, thus grouped together. The pure face of Antonine expressed an innocent astonishment at this improvised toilet; Sophie, touched, and distressed by the tender recollections of other days, felt under her veil of brown hair her lovely face, sad and pale up to that moment, colour with an involuntary blush; while Madeleine, handling her friend's superb hair with marvellous skill, was making a ravishing coiffure.
"Now," said the marquise to Sophie, "what gown are you going to wear? But now I think of it, they all fit you horribly, and all of them are cut on the same pattern."
"They are, unfortunately," said Sophie, smiling.
"Very well," replied the marquise, "and all are high-necked, I warrant."
"Yes, all are high-necked," replied poor Sophie.
"Better and better," said Madeleine, "so that these dimpled shoulders, these beautiful arms are condemned to perpetual burial! it is deplorable! Let us see, you have at least some elegant morning gown,—some coquettish dressing-gown,—have you not?"
"My morning gowns are all very simple. It is true that formerly—"
"Formerly?"
"I did have some beautiful ones."
"Well, where are they?"
"I thought they were too young for the mother of a family like me," said Sophie, smiling. "So I relegated them, I believe, to a shelf in that wardrobe with the glass door."
The marquise waited to hear no more; she ran to the wardrobe, which she ransacked, and found two or three very pretty morning gowns of striped taffeta of great beauty. She selected one of deep blue, with straw-coloured stripes; the sleeves open and floating exposed the arms to the elbow, and although it lapped over in front, the gown opened enough to show the neck in the most graceful manner possible.
"Admirable!" exclaimed Madeleine, "this gown is as fresh and beautiful as when it was new. Now I must have some white silk stockings to match these Cendrillon slippers I found in this wardrobe where you have buried your arms, Sophie, as they say of warriors who do not go to battle any more."
"But, my dear Madeleine," said Sophie, "I—"
"There are no 'buts,'" said the marquise, impatiently. "I wish and expect, when your husband enters here, he will think he has gone back five years."
In spite of a feeble resistance, Sophie Dutertre was docile and obedient to the advice and pretty attentions of her friend. Soon, half recumbent on an easy chair, in a languishing attitude, she consented that the marquise should give the finishing touch to the living picture. Finally Madeleine arranged a few curls of the rich brown hair around the neck of dazzling whiteness, lifted the sleeves so as to show the dimpled elbows, opened somewhat the neck of the gown, notwithstanding the chaste scruples of Sophie, and draped the skirt with provoking premeditation, so as to reveal the neatest ankle and prettiest little foot in the world.
It must be said that Sophie was charming,—emotion, hope, expectation, and a vague disquietude, colouring her sweet and attractive face, animated her appearance, and gave a bewitching expression to her features.
Antonine, struck with the wonderful metamorphosis, exclaimed, innocently, clapping her little hands:
"Why, Sophie, I did not know you were as pretty as that!"
"Nor did Sophie know it," replied Madeleine, shrugging her shoulders, "I have exhumed so many attractions."
Just then Madame Dutertre's servant, having knocked at the door, entered, and said to her mistress:
"Monsieur desires to speak to madame. He is in the shop, and wishes to know if madame is at home."
"He knows you are here," whispered Sophie to Madeleine, with a sigh.
"Make him come up," replied the marquise, softly.
"Tell M. Dutertre that I am at home," said Sophie to the servant, who went out.
Madeleine, addressing her friend in a voice full of emotion, as she extended her arms to her, said:
"And now, good-bye, Sophie; tell your husband that he is delivered from M. Pascal."
"You are going already?" said Sophie, with sadness; "when shall I see you again?"
"I do not know,—some day, perhaps. But I hear your husband's step. I leave you."
Then she added, smiling:
"Only I would like to hide behind that curtain and enjoy your triumph."
And making a sign to Antonine to accompany her, she retired behind the curtain which separated the room from the next chamber, just as M. Dutertre entered. For some moments the eyes of Charles wandered as if he were looking for some one he expected to meet; he had not discovered the change in Sophie, who said to him:
"Charles, we are saved, here is the non-suit of M. Pascal."
"Great God! can it be true?" cried Dutertre, looking over the paper his wife had just delivered to him; then, raising his eyes, he beheld Sophie in her bewitching, coquettish toilet. After a short silence produced by surprise and admiration, he exclaimed:
"Sophie! what do I see? This toilet so charming, so new! Is it to celebrate our day of deliverance?"
"Charles," replied Sophie, smiling and blushing by turns, "this toilet is not new; some years ago, if you remember, you admired me in it."
"If I remember!" cried Dutertre, feeling a thousand tender memories awaken in his mind. "Ah, it was the beautiful time of our ardent love, and this happy time is born again, it exists. I see you again as in the past; your beauty shines in my eyes with a new brilliancy. I do not know what this enchantment is; but this elegance, this grace, this coquetry, your blushes and the sweet perfume of the iris we used to love so much,—all transport me and intoxicate me! Never, no, never, have I seen you more beautiful!" added Dutertre, in a passionate voice, as he kissed Sophie's little hands. "Oh, yes, it is you, it is you, I have found you again, adored mistress of my first love!"
"Now, little girl, I think it is altogether proper that we should retire," whispered Madeleine to Antonine, unable to keep from laughing.
And both, stealing away on tiptoe, left the parlour, the door of which the marquise discreetly closed, and went into the study of M. Dutertre, which opened into the garden.
"Just now, Madeleine," said Antonine to the marquise, "you did not let me finish what I came to tell you."
"Very well, speak, my child."
"Count Frantz is here."
"He here!" said the marquise, starting with a feeling of sudden disappointment. "And why and how is Count Frantz here?"
"Knowing from me that you would be here this morning," said Antonine, "he has come to thank you for all your kindness to us. He is waiting in the garden,—wait,—there he is!" With these words the young girl pointed to Frantz, who was seated on a bench in the garden.
Madeleine threw a long and last look on her blond archangel, nor could she restrain the tears which rose to her eyes; then, kissing Antonine on the brow, she said, in a slightly altered voice:
"Good-bye, my child."
"Why, Madeleine," exclaimed the young girl, astounded at so abrupt a departure, "will you go away without wishing to see Frantz? Why, that is impossible—but you will—"
The marquise put her finger on her lips as a sign to Antonine to keep silence; then walking away, turning her eyes only once to that side of the garden, she disappeared.
Two hours after, the Marquise de Miranda quit Paris, leaving this note for the archduke:
"Monseigneur:—I am going to wait for you in Vienna; come and complete your capture of me.
"Madeleine."
THE END.
THE SEVEN CARDINAL SINSGLUTTONY
——— DOCTOR GASTERINI