The Idol of Paris | Page 7

to give me the cues of 'Junia' in Britannicus? The young lady who was to have played it is ill."
Madame Darbois hesitated to reply and looked towards Esperance.
"Oh! yes, mama, of course you will let me," said that young lady, in great spirits. And without more ado, "We must rehearse, must we not? Let us begin at once."
The young man offered her the lines. "I don't need them," she said laughing, "I know 'Junia' by heart." And, indeed, the rehearsal passed off without a slip, and the little cast separated after exchanging the most enthusiastic expressions of pleasure.
A comrade asked Perliez, "Is she any good, that pretty little blonde?"
"Very good," Perliez replied curtly.
Everything went well for Esperance. Her appearance on the miniature stage where the examinations were held caused a little sensation among the professor-judges.
"What a heavenly child!" exclaimed Victorien Sardou.
"Here is truly the beauty of a noble race," murmured Delaunay, the well-known member of the Comedie-Fran?aise.
The musical purity of Esperance's voice roused the assembly immediately out of its torpor. The judges, no longer bored and indifferent, followed her words with breathless attention, and when she stopped a low murmur of admiration was wafted to her.
"Scene from Iphygenia," rasped the voice of the man whose duty it was to make announcements. There was a sound of chairs being dragged forward, and the members of the jury settling themselves to the best advantage for listening. Here in itself was a miniature triumph, repressed by the dignity assumed by all the judges, but which Esperance appreciated none the less. She bowed with the sensitive grace characteristic of her. Genevieve Hardouin and Jean Perliez congratulated her with hearty pressures of the hand.
As she was leaving Sardou stopped her in the vestibule. "Tell me, please, Mademoiselle, are you related to the professor of philosophy?"
"He is my father," the girl answered very proudly.
Delaunay had arisen. "You are the daughter of Fran?ois Darbois! We are, indeed, proud to be able to present our compliments to you. You have an extraordinary father. Please tell him that his daughter has won every vote."
Esperance read so much respect and sincerity in his expression that she curtsied as she replied, "My father will be very happy that these words have been spoken by anyone whom he admires as sincerely as M. Delaunay."
Then she went quickly on her way.
As soon as they were back on the Boulevard Raspail and home, Esperance and her mother moved towards the library. Marguerite, the maid, stopped them. "Monsieur has gone out. He was so restless. Is Mademoiselle satisfied?"
"I was; but I am not any more, Marguerite, since papa is not here. Was he feeling badly?"
"Well, he was not very cheerful, Mademoiselle, but I should not say that there was anything really the matter with him."
Mother and daughter started. Someone was coming upstairs. Esperance ran to the door and fell into the arms of that dearly-loved parent. He kissed her tenderly. His eyes were damp.
"Come, come, dear, that I may tell you...."
"Your lunch is ready," announced Marguerite.
"Thank you," replied Esperance; "papa, mama, and I, we are all dying of hunger."
Madame Darbois gently removed her daughter's hat.
"Please, dear papa, I want to tell you everything."
"Too late, dear child, I know everything!"
The two ladies seemed surprised. "But--? How?"
"Through my friend, Victor Perliez, the chemist; who is, like me, a father who feels deeply about his child's choice of a career."
Esperance made a little move.
"No, little girl," went on Fran?ois Darbois, "I do not want to cause you the least regret. Every now and then my innermost thoughts may escape me; but that will pass.... I know that you showed unusual simplicity as 'Henriette,' and emotion as 'Iphygenia.' Perliez's son, whom I used to know when he was no higher than that," he said, stretching out his hand, "was enthusiastic? He is, furthermore, a clever boy, who might have made something uncommon out of himself as a lawyer, perhaps. But--"
"But, father dear, he will make a fine lawyer; he will have an influence in the theatre that will be more direct, more beneficial, more far-reaching, than at the Bar. Oh! but yes! You remember, don't you, mama, how disturbed you were by M. Dubare's plea on behalf of the assassin of Jeanne Verdier? Well, is it not noble to defend the poets, and introduce to the public all the new scientific and political ideas?"
"Often wrong ideas," remarked Darbois.
"That is perhaps true, but what of it? Have you not said a thousand times that discussion is the necessary soil for the development of new ideas?"
The professor of philosophy looked at his daughter, realizing that every word he had spoken in her hearing, all the seed that he had cast to the wind, had taken root in her young mind.
"But," inquired Madame Darbois, "where did you see M. Perliez?"
The professor began