she said, lifting him up. And she kissed his forehead and hair with the eagerness that a man condemned to death must feel as he lives through the last morning.
"Ah! you are of all creatures the noblest and best! You are a match for the woman I love," said the poor artist.
"I love you well enough to tremble for your future fate," said she gloomily. "Judas hanged himself – the ungrateful always come to a bad end! You are deserting me, and you will never again do any good work. Consider whether, without being married – for I know I am an old maid, and I do not want to smother the blossom of your youth, your poetry, as you call it, in my arms, that are like vine-stocks – but whether, without being married, we could not get on together? Listen; I have the commercial spirit; I could save you a fortune in the course of ten years' work, for Economy is my name! – while, with a young wife, who would be sheer Expenditure, you would squander everything; you would work only to indulge her. But happiness creates nothing but memories. Even I, when I am thinking of you, sit for hours with my hands in my lap —
"Come, Wenceslas, stay with me. – Look here, I understand all about it; you shall have your mistresses; pretty ones too, like that little Marneffe woman who wants to see you, and who will give you happiness you could never find with me. Then, when I have saved you thirty thousand francs a year in the funds – "
"Mademoiselle, you are an angel, and I shall never forget this hour," said Wenceslas, wiping away his tears.
"That is how I like to see you, my child," said she, gazing at him with rapture.
Vanity is so strong a power in us all that Lisbeth believed in her triumph. She had conceded so much when offering him Madame Marneffe. It was the crowning emotion of her life; for the first time she felt the full tide of joy rising in her heart. To go through such an experience again she would have sold her soul to the Devil.
"I am engaged to be married," Steinbock replied, "and I love a woman with whom no other can compete or compare. – But you are, and always will be, to me the mother I have lost."
The words fell like an avalanche of snow on a burning crater. Lisbeth sat down. She gazed with despondent eyes on the youth before her, on his aristocratic beauty – the artist's brow, the splendid hair, everything that appealed to her suppressed feminine instincts, and tiny tears moistened her eyes for an instant and immediately dried up. She looked like one of those meagre statues which the sculptors of the Middle Ages carved on monuments.
"I cannot curse you," said she, suddenly rising. "You – you are but a boy. God preserve you!"
She went downstairs and shut herself into her own room.
"She is in love with me, poor creature!" said Wenceslas to himself. "And how fervently eloquent! She is crazy."
This last effort on the part of an arid and narrow nature to keep hold on an embodiment of beauty and poetry was, in truth, so violent that it can only be compared to the frenzied vehemence of a shipwrecked creature making the last struggle to reach shore.
On the next day but one, at half-past four in the morning, when Count Steinbock was sunk in the deepest sleep, he heard a knock at the door of his attic; he rose to open it, and saw two men in shabby clothing, and a third, whose dress proclaimed him a bailiff down on his luck.
"You are Monsieur Wenceslas, Count Steinbock?" said this man.
"Yes, monsieur."
"My name is Grasset, sir, successor to Louchard, sheriff's officer – "
"What then?"
"You are under arrest, sir. You must come with us to prison – to Clichy. – Please to get dressed. – We have done the civil, as you see; I have brought no police, and there is a hackney cab below."
"You are safely nabbed, you see," said one of the bailiffs; "and we look to you to be liberal."
Steinbock dressed and went downstairs, a man holding each arm; when he was in the cab, the driver started without orders, as knowing where he was to go, and within half an hour the unhappy foreigner found himself safely under bolt and bar without even a remonstrance, so utterly amazed was he.
At ten o'clock he was sent for to the prison-office, where he found Lisbeth, who, in tears, gave him some money to feed himself adequately and to pay for a room large enough to work in.
"My dear boy," said she, "never say a word of your arrest to anybody, do not write to a living soul; it would ruin you for life; we must hide this blot on your character. I will soon have you out. I will collect the money – be quite easy. Write down what you want for your work. You shall soon be free, or I will die for it."
"Oh, I shall owe you my life a second time!" cried he, "for I should lose more than my life if I were thought a bad fellow."
Lisbeth went off in great glee; she hoped, by keeping her artist under lock and key, to put a stop to his marriage by announcing that he was a married man, pardoned by the efforts of his wife, and gone off to Russia.
To carry out this plan, at about three o'clock she went to the Baroness, though it was not the day when she was due to dine with her; but she wished to enjoy the anguish which Hortense must endure at the hour when Wenceslas was in the habit of making his appearance.
"Have you come to dinner?" asked the Baroness, concealing her disappointment.
"Well, yes."
"That's well," replied Hortense. "I will go and tell them to be punctual, for you do not like to be kept waiting."
Hortense nodded reassuringly to her mother, for she intended to tell the man-servant to send away Monsieur Steinbock if he should call; the man, however, happened to be out, so Hortense was obliged to give her orders to the maid, and the girl went upstairs to fetch her needlework and sit in the ante-room.
"And about my lover?" said Cousin Betty to Hortense, when the girl came back. "You never ask about him now?"
"To be sure, what is he doing?" said Hortense. "He has become famous. You ought to be very happy," she added in an undertone to Lisbeth. "Everybody is talking of Monsieur Wenceslas Steinbock."
"A great deal too much," replied she in her clear tones. "Monsieur is departing. – If it were only a matter of charming him so far as to defy the attractions of Paris, I know my power; but they say that in order to secure the services of such an artist, the Emperor Nichols has pardoned him – "
"Nonsense!" said the Baroness.
"When did you hear that?" asked Hortense, who felt as if her heart had the cramp.
"Well," said the villainous Lisbeth, "a person to whom he is bound by the most sacred ties – his wife – wrote yesterday to tell him so. He wants to be off. Oh, he will be a great fool to give up France to go to Russia! – "
Hortense looked at her mother, but her head sank on one side; the Baroness was only just in time to support her daughter, who dropped fainting, and as white as her lace kerchief.
"Lisbeth! you have killed my child!" cried the Baroness. "You were born to be our curse!"
"Bless me! what fault of mine is this, Adeline?" replied Lisbeth, as she rose with a menacing aspect, of which the Baroness, in her alarm, took no notice.
"I was wrong," said Adeline, supporting the girl. "Ring."
At this instant the door opened, the women both looked round,
