A Love Episode | Page 8

Juliette!" expostulated Mademoiselle
Aurelie, the elderly lady, an old friend in straitened circumstances, who
had seen her come into the world.
There was a short silence, and Helene gazed round at the luxury of the
apartment, with its curtains and chairs in black and gold, glittering like
constellations. Flowers decorated mantel-shelf, piano, and tables alike,
and the clear light streamed through the windows from the garden, in
which could be seen the leafless trees and bare soil. The room had
almost a hot-house temperature; in the fireplace one large log was
glowing with intense heat. After another glance Helene recognized that
the gaudy colors had a happy effect. Madame Deberle's hair was
inky-black, and her skin of a milky whiteness. She was short, plump,
slow in her movements, and withal graceful. Amidst all the golden
decorations, her white face assumed a vermeil tint under her heavy,
sombre tresses. Helene really admired her.
"Convulsions are so terrible," broke in Madame Deberle. "My Lucien
had them when a mere baby. How uneasy you must have been,
madame! However, the dear little thing appears to be quite well now."
As she drawled out these words she kept her eyes on Helene, whose
superb beauty amazed and delighted her. Never had she seen a woman
with so queenly an air in the black garments which draped the widow's
commanding figure. Her admiration found vent in an involuntary smile,
while she exchanged glances with Mademoiselle Aurelie. Their

admiration was so ingenuously and charmingly expressed, that a faint
smile also rippled over Helene's face.
Then Madame Deberle stretched herself on the sofa. "You were not at
the first night at the Vaudeville yesterday, madame?" she asked, as she
played with the fan that hung from her waist.
"I never go to the theatre," was Helene's reply.
"Oh! little Noemi was simply marvellous! Her death scene is so
realistic! She clutches her bosom like this, throws back her head, and
her face turns green. Oh! the effect is prodigious."
Thereupon she entered into a minute criticism of the actress's playing,
which she upheld against the world; and then she passed to the other
topics of the day--a fine art exhibition, at which she had seen some
most remarkable paintings; a stupid novel about which too much fuss
was being made; a society intrigue which she spoke of to Mademoiselle
Aurelie in veiled language. And so she went on from one subject to
another, without wearying, her tongue ever ready, as though this social
atmosphere were peculiarly her own. Helene, a stranger to such society,
was content to listen, merely interjecting a remark or brief reply every
now and then.
At last the door was again thrown open and the footman announced:
"Madame de Chermette! Madame Tissot!"
Two ladies entered, magnificently dressed. Madame Deberle rose
eagerly to meet them, and the train of her black silk gown, heavily
decked with trimmings, trailed so far behind her that she had to kick it
out of her way whenever she happened to turn round. A confused babel
of greetings in shrill voices arose.
"Oh! how kind of you! I declare I never see you!"
"You know we come about that lottery."
"Yes: I know, I know."

"Oh! we cannot sit down. We have to call at twenty houses yet."
"Come now, you are not going to run away at once!"
And then the visitors finished by sitting down on the edge of a couch;
the chatter beginning again, shriller than ever.
"Well! what do you think of yesterday at the Vaudeville?"
"Oh! it was splendid!"
"You know she unfastens her dress and lets down her hair. All the
effect springs from that."
"People say that she swallows something to make her green."
"No, no, every action is premeditated; but she had to invent and study
them all, in the first place."
"It's wonderful."
The two ladies rose and made their exit, and the room regained its
tranquil peacefulness. From some hyacinths on the mantel-shelf was
wafted an all-pervading perfume. For a time one could hear the noisy
twittering of some sparrows quarrelling on the lawn. Before resuming
her seat, Madame Deberle proceeded to draw down the embroidered
tulle blind of a window facing her, and then returned to her sofa in the
mellowed, golden light of the room.
"I beg pardon," she now said. "We have had quite an invasion."
Then, in an affectionate way, she entered into conversation with Helene.
She seemed to know some details of her history, doubtless from the
gossip of her servants. With a boldness that was yet full of tact, and
appeared instinct with much friendliness, she spoke to Helene of her
husband, and of his sad death at the Hotel du Var, in the Rue de
Richelieu.
"And you had just arrived, hadn't you? You