The Nabob, Volume 2 | Page 5

studio, all their nests to
look after, the satisfaction of the physical activity which is lacking in
our artistic lives, regular occupations, constant movement, innocent fun,
which would compel one to play instead of always thinking in the dark
and the great void, to laugh at a blow to one's self-esteem, to be simply
a happy mother on the day when the public casts one aside as a used-up,
played-out artist."
And in presence of that vision of domestic happiness the girl's lovely
features assumed an expression which Paul had never before seen upon
them, and which took entire possession of him, gave him a mad longing
to carry away in his arms that beautiful wild bird dreaming of the
dovecot, to protect her, to shelter her with the sure love of an honest
man.
She continued, without looking at him:
"I am not so flighty as I seem to be, you know. Ask my dear godmother
if I didn't keep straight up to the mark when she put me at
boarding-school. But what a hurly-burly my life was after that! If you

knew what a youth I had, if you knew how premature experience
withered my mind, and what confusion there was, in my small girl's
brain, between what was and was not forbidden, between reason and
folly. Only art, which was constantly discussed and eulogized, stood
erect in all that ruin, and I took refuge in that. That, perhaps, is why I
shall never be anything but an artist, a woman apart from other women,
a poor Amazon with her heart held captive under her iron breastplate,
rushing into battle like a man, and condemned to live and die like a
man."
Why did he not say to her then:
"Beautiful warrior, lay aside your weapons, don the floating robe and
the charms of the sex to which you belong. I love you, I entreat you to
marry me that you may be happy and may make me happy too."
Ah! this is why. He was afraid that the other, he who was to come to
dinner that night, you know, and who remained between them despite
his absence, would hear him speak in that strain and would have the
right to laugh at him or to pity him for such a fervent outburst.
"At all events, I promise you one thing," she continued, "and that is that
if I ever have a daughter, I will try to make a true woman of her and not
such a poor abandoned creature as I am. Oh! you know, my good Fairy,
I do not mean that for you. You have always been kind to your demon,
full of affection and care. Why just look at her, see how pretty she is,
how young she looks to-night."
Enlivened by the repast, the lights, and one of those white dresses
whose reflection causes wrinkles to disappear, La Crenmitz was
leaning back in her chair, holding on a level with her half-closed eyes a
glass of Château-Yquem from the cellar of their neighbor the
Moulin-Rouge; and her little pink face, her airy pastel-like costume
reflected in the golden wine, which loaned to it its sparkling warmth,
recalled the former heroine of the dainty suppers after the play, the
Crenmitz of the good old days, not an audacious hussy after the style of
our modern operatic stars, but entirely unaffected and nestling
contentedly in her splendor like a fine pearl in its mother-of-pearl shell.

Felicia, who was certainly determined to be agreeable to everybody that
evening, led her thoughts to the chapter of reminiscences, made her
describe once more her triumphs in Giselle and in the Péri, and the
ovations from the audience, the visit of the princes to her
dressing-room, and Queen Amélie's gift, accompanied by such
charming words. The evocation of those glorious scenes intoxicated the
poor Fairy, her eyes shone, they could hear her little feet moving
restlessly under the table as if seized by a dancing frenzy. And, indeed,
when the dinner was at an end and they had returned to the studio,
Constance began to pace back and forth, to describe a dance-step or a
pirouette, talking all the time, interrupting herself to hum an air from
some ballet to which she kept time with her head, then suddenly
gathered herself together and with one leap was at the other end of the
studio.
"Now she's off," whispered Felicia to de Géry. "Watch. It will be worth
your while, for you are about to see La Crenmitz dance."
It was a fascinating, fairy-like spectacle. Against the background of the
enormous room, drowned in shadow and hardly lighted save through
the round window from without, where the moon was climbing upward
in a deep blue sky, a typical operatic sky, the