CHAPTER II.

THE STUDIO IN THE RUE D'ASSAS.

While Prince Olsdorf had gone from the sight of all who loved him, and Vera Soublaieff, in despair, but obedient, was devoting herself at Pampeln to the two poor little forsaken ones intrusted to her care, Mme. Paul Meyrin found forgetfulness of the past in the love of the man she had chosen. The memory of her children, parted from her forever, sometimes wrung her heart; and when her mother chose, from time to time, to send her any news of them, her eyes would fill with tears.

We may be sure, knowing her character, that Mme. Podoi never failed to fill her letters to her daughter with reproaches and insulting comparisons. As if to humiliate and awaken feelings of jealousy in her, she never mentioned Vera except in the most flattering terms.

"This young girl is irreproachable," she wrote to her five or six months after her marriage; "at Pampeln everybody loves and respects and obeys her. No one dares raise the least doubt of her virtue, of the purity of her relations with the prince during her stay in Paris. She is absolute mistress at the chateau, where your name in a very short time will not be remembered. Your son Alexander himself will forget it, and will know only that of the woman who has become his real mother. As for Tekla, she will probably never speak it.

"I know what is going on in Courland from that excellent Madame Bernard, your son's governess. The prince authorized her to keep me informed about the health of the children. You may imagine I shall not ever go again to Pampeln. I do not want to have to blush for you.

"It is reported in St. Petersburg that Pierre Olsdorf is in Japan; but he only writes to Vera Soublaieff. She is the only person who knows for certain where he is.

"This is what your folly has brought my dream of ambition to. May God grant that no worse misfortunes are in store for you."

When poor Lise had received one of these letters, in which her mother was thus pitiless, she kept it from her husband, for he might have forbidden the correspondence, but she would hurry to Mme. Daubrel, who wept and did her best to console her. Then she would return to the Rue d'Assas, and a kiss from Paul would bring her calmness. The love of the ex-Princess Olsdorf for the man whose name she now bore was unchanged; she was still passionately attached to this man, to whom she had yielded so completely from the first hour.

Nor had Paul Meyrin changed; he was still the lover he had been. Lise was his adored, intoxicating, and extravagant mistress yet. Proud of the beauty and the distinguished air of his wife, he took her everywhere, and received many friends--painters, literary men, artists of all kinds, all enthusiastic about this noble stranger who, to marry one of their class, had given up without regret the title of princess and so high a social position.

Lise, on her part, had neglected nothing that could win the affection of this impressionable world, of which now she formed a part.

At first visitors came with a feeling of distrust, perhaps, too, in a critical spirit, for they wondered how this great Russian lady would bear herself toward them, habituated as she was to homage of every kind, and ready, perhaps, to think that they must be only too happy to be received by her; but in the case of each of them a few moments' conversation with Mme. Meyrin was enough to make them think her perfectly charming. She was simple, sweet, and anxious for the comfort of all of them.

Excellent musician as she was, other musicians found in her a nature able to understand them, and an executant of the first class for the interpretation of their works. The painters soon cited her as an able judge, and a critic both fair-dealing and kindly. As such she was looked upon by the literary men, some of whom got into the habit of putting their ideas before her, and asking for advice. It was not long before the studio in the Rue d'Assas became a meeting-place of much renown. The ex-Princess Olsdorf was happy and proud in doing the honors there.

This was the life she had pictured to herself with the man she loved, who, thanks to her, was now becoming well known as an artist. In the day-time, while Paul worked at some picture, the idea of which she had inspired, Lise would sit not far from him at her embroidery, reading or music, until the hour when the usual visitors to the studio gathered round her to tell her the chit-chat of the Parisian day. In the evening, if they had nobody to dinner, they would go to the theater; or they would go out arm in arm for a short walk--only a little way, that they might the sooner be at home and alone together again.

Full of good taste and used to luxurious surroundings from her childhood upward, Mme. Meyrin, having engaged suitable servants, well trained in their work, had arranged the house in charming style. Everything in it bespoke the presence of an elegant, intelligent woman, with a care for the comfort of those about her. She charged herself with the personal care of the flowers that were always to be seen in the studio; and Paul was delighted with this room, which flattered his sense of the beautiful and the voluptuous in a way that he had not dreamed of before.

The young couple, in a word, were quite happy. All they lacked was intercourse with their family, for Mme. Frantz nursed her wrath against her brother-in-law and his wife. She never saw them, and it was in secret alone, to avoid bickerings, that Mme. Meyrin, the mother, could steal away sometimes to go and embrace her son.

The respectful and affectionate reception she met with from Lise quite charmed the good old lady, who puzzled her brain to find a means of bringing her children together. As yet she had failed.

The exiles of the Rue d'Assas were not without stout champions in the Rue de Douai. First and foremost there was Mme. Daubrel. She took every chance to sing the praises of Lise, with whom, as we have seen, she was more intimate than ever, though she was not a guest at any of the dinners or "At Homes." Mme. Paul Meyrin had tried in vain to persuade Marthe to occasionally meet her other friends. She refused once for all.

"My dear Lise," she said one day, when her friend returned to the subject, "you know how I am placed. Not wishing to give the shadow of a pretext for malicious chatter, I am forced to deny myself the pleasure of seeing you when you have visitors. You are merry here, you laugh and are happy. My heart sympathizes with your joys, but they are forbidden me. After my misfortune, I said: 'Having been guilty of a sin, I swear, now going back to my mother's roof, to expiate the past by an exemplary life. In America, far from me, I have a son, whom God will, perhaps, let me see again some day; and I wish to become worthy of him.' For five years I have had no friends but the Meyrins; I have never been inside a theater, nor made a new friend in that time, except you. Your affection is so sweet to me, and gives me such delight, that sometimes I reproach myself about it as a happiness which I ought not to indulge in. Don't press me, then, I beg of you. Besides, I think I love you more and better when we are alone."

The answer of Marthe had touched and at the same time painfully moved Mme. Paul Meyrin in reminding her that she too had children in another land, who bore a name not hers, whom she was forever parted from, and whom even the death of the father would not give back to her, whom she might not nurse if they were sick, and whose hands would not close her eyes as they stood weeping by her pillow at the hour of eternal parting.

The unhappy mother could then almost have cursed the divorce that had estranged her from those she loved; but she had been careful not to return with Mme. Daubrel to this subject, which was so full of pain for both of them.

Happily at about this time Lise found that she was about to again become a mother. It was a supreme consolation to her. Her husband seemed not less delighted, and the fact made her regret still more that the efforts were vain of Marthe and all who helped her steadily to bring about a reconciliation with Mme. Frantz.

The good-hearted Mme. Daubrel was not left to plead alone in the Rue de Douai Paul's cause and his wife's. There was also Mme. Meyrin, the mother, who would have liked to kiss her son every day, and who felt herself drawn by ties of affection to his wife. Then little Nadeje, who remembered well the caresses and presents of the Princess Olsdorf, asked in her simplicity how it was that she did not see this beautiful lady any more now that they were aunt and niece. Lastly, there was a third person, whom our readers have caught only a glimpse of at present, the actor Dumesnil.

The old player had known the Meyrins intimately for a long time. For several years he had given lessons in elocution to the young girls whom Mme. Frantz taught singing; and in the artistic matinees in the Rue de Douai he was occasionally engaged to recite a speech from the classical dramas, which the good-natured audience, as commonly happens at such gatherings, would warmly applaud. These were the most successful appearances now of the former lover of Mme. Podoi, as the tragic drama was all but banished from the Odeon.

This was the friendship with the Meyrins which had warranted Dumesnil's presence at Lise's marriage.

Informed, as we have seen, by Mme. Podoi herself, when she was still the Countess Barineff, of her daughter's marriage with Prince Olsdorf, the good-hearted actor had heard nothing more of Lise while she remained in Russia; he was barely told, and almost as a favor, of the birth of her son Alexander, though he was his grandson; but when she came to Paris he learned the fact from the newspapers, which had had so much to say about her; and we may be sure that when he knew the Meyrins were visited by her he took the earliest chance to meet her there, his daughter, whom he had not seen for twenty years.

In the Rue de Douai, Dumesnil was at first scarcely remarked by the young woman; but, while quite discreet in regard to the relationship between them, he was able in the end to interest her in himself, and it was not long before Lise began to really like, as if he were one of the family into which she was about to enter, this old man who, though a little ridiculous at times perhaps, was gentle, polite, well-bred, and of good manners, and had been one of her mother's earliest associates on the stage. For one day the Princess Olsdorf, who at the Meyrins' wished to have her title and rank forgotten, had asked Dumesnil if he was not at the Odeon at the time when Mme. Froment was playing there, and the good man had replied, trying not to betray his emotion:

"Yes, Madame la Princess, I knew Madame Madeleine Froment, an actress as clever as she was distinguished. For two years we played together in classical pieces, and at that time, if you will forgive me for preserving the memory of it, I often kissed you and gave you a ride on my knee. I can assure you you were the prettiest and most adorable little thing ever seen."

At this detail of her baby-life Lise smiled, and held out her hand to Dumesnil; she did not ask him, however, who was M. Froment. Instinctively, or through modesty, she thought it prudent to make no inquiry into the past, though, indeed, she was very far from suspecting the truth. Nevertheless, from this time forth a sincere friendship sprung up between the princess and the old actor.

We can easily understand the interest with which Madeleine Froment's former lover had followed the stages of Lise's divorce, the joy he had felt in seeing her become Paul Meyrin's wife--it seemed as if in marrying the artist his daughter were brought nearer to himself--and his efforts to put an end to the misunderstanding between Madame Frantz and her sister-in-law.

He did his utmost in company with Madame Daubrel to bring about a peace between the two households. He felt there was nothing for it but that the two young women must become friends. Then he would have no reason to make a mystery of his visits to the Rue d'Assas, and he would thus have the chance to see oftener still the woman to whom his paternal heart yearned. He, so long left to himself, would be almost a family man, meeting, as he would almost every day, after this separation of years, the daughter whom the ambition of her mother had snatched from him.

Laid siege to in this manner, Mme. Frantz had to yield in the end. Her husband let her know that the rupture was not only painful to him, but prejudicial to their pocket, the ex-Princess Olsdorf having still many acquaintances in the Russian colony, where concerts and charity fetes were constantly being given, in which she might hinder him having any hand.

Conquered by this argument, Mme. Meyrin's eldest daughter-in-law made up her mind to pay a visit to the Rue d'Assas. For that matter, she was not loath to judge for herself how far what she had heard was true of the elegant upholstering and arrangement of her brother-in-law's house.

Lise's condition supplied Barbe with a plausible excuse for calling upon her, though she had received with mortification the news of her being again about to become a mother, for she had hoped that her sister-in-law would bear no more children. One day, then, when she had been forewarned by Mme. Daubrel, Mme. Paul Meyrin was visited by Mme. Frantz and her husband.

The interview was as cordial and frank as possible, at any rate on the part of Frantz and Lise. The latter was sincerely pleased at this renewal of the friendship, and, there and then, it was agreed that the past should be forgotten, that they should see each other regularly twice a week, alternately at each house, and that Nadeje should come as often as possible to the Rue d'Assas. The aunt promised to find amusement for the dear child, and to walk with her in the Luxembourg Gardens.

All this being settled, Mme. Paul Meyrin was anxious to do the honors of the house to her sister-in-law, who was forced to admit the richness and good taste of the upholstering and decorations that had been done under Lise's directions.

When the musician's wife went into the studio it was better still; she was dazzled for a moment by the splendor of the hangings and the marvels of art that adorned it. Lise, understanding that for an artist the studio is his favorite room, had let nothing be wanting, so that her husband's might please him wholly. Before selling the mansion in St. Petersburg she had had the artistic furniture removed to Paris, the old furniture of the time of Henry II., exquisite in form, the arms from the Caucasus, the Persian carpets, everything, in short, that could serve for the Rue d'Assas; and as a consequence Paul's studio was known as one of the handsomest and most interesting in Paris.

However, after admiring everything, Barbe left the place with envy gnawing at her heart. Replying to Frantz, who, walking toward the Seine with her, frankly showed his pleasure at seeing his brother so well lodged, all she could find to say was:

"Yes, it is all very fine; but what a sum of money thrown away. Paul can't keep on at this pace with his wife's eight hundred a year and what he makes himself by selling a picture now and again."

To avoid a discussion which he saw would lead to no good, M. Meyrin did not answer. His wife said no more, but she was stricken, and readier than before to hate this stranger who surpassed her thus at every turn.

It was worse still when, three or four days afterward, she came with her husband and daughter to dine in the Rue d'Assas. Not for the sake of show, but simply because she loved beautiful things and had them, Lise's table was covered with the magnificent plate which had remained her property after the divorce and had been brought from Russia. The dinner was exquisite, but Mme. Frantz ate scarcely anything. In vain Lise was more charming than ever she had been toward Nadeje. The violinist's wife chose to leave early. She pleaded indisposition, and all the way home she kept on saying to her husband:

"If your sister-in-law imagines we can give her such dinners, she is mistaken. Unless she wished to make little of us, she is mad, and Paul is not much saner. But I hope, at any rate, that we shall never want for anything, whereas your brother, especially if his wife bears him a child every twelve months, having little now, will soon be head over ears in debt, living in such style."

"Oh, deuce take it, you look too much on the black side of things," said Frantz, with some show of firmness. "How can you suppose that Lise wanted to make little of us? It is absurd. I think she is a most charming woman. You don't like her, that is what is the matter. Give her what sort of a dinner you please. I am sure she will see nothing in it but kindly hospitality."

To put an end to the subject, for he did not mean to yield the point, the musician stopped at the Opera House, under pretense of having something to say to one of the artistes in reference to a concert, and let his wife go home alone, which did not help to soothe her.

A few days later, when it was her turn to receive Mme. Paul Meyrin, Barbe made an affectation of the severest simplicity, a fact which Lise did not so much as notice, happy as she was to again set foot in the house which had been the scene of her early love.

When in a tart voice her sister-in-law said:

"We can not make such a show here as you do. My silver is only nickel-plated."

Lise replied, with her frank, good-natured smile:

"What does it matter? Perhaps we shall have a much pleasanter dinner here than you had with me. All I want is your affection. I have it again, and that is sufficient."

And taking Nadeje on her knee she slipped about her neck, kissing her, a beautiful necklet of pearls which she herself had worn as a child; and the young girl thanked her for it with a thousand kisses and exclamations of joy.

At this moment M. Armand Dumesnil was announced.

Knowing that Mme. Paul Meyrin was to dine this evening with her sister-in-law, the old comedian had got an invitation. Lise, who had learned from Mme. Daubrel with what warmth he had always pleaded her cause in the Rue de Douai, offered him her hand affectionately, over which the actor bent, murmuring:

"_La place m'est heureuse a vous y rencontre._"

For this honest Dumesnil had the pleasant habit of sprinkling his conversation with poetical excerpts. He was well versed in the classical drama, and sometimes, perhaps, rather abused his power. He never appeared as a guest among other visitors at the Meyrins' without saying, like Louis XI.: "I have seated myself at the table of one of my subjects." If he played at cards he waited impatiently for his adversary to ask him for a heart, and would reply, "I wear not my heart on my sleeve for daws to peck at--hem!"

The habit was quite a serious thing with him. He indulged it, posing theatrically, even at his own home and before his own servant, old Potais, formerly prompter at the Odeon, who, his memory too being stuffed with passages from the classic tragedies, replied to his master with alexandrine for alexandrine, tirade for tirade. The effect was too ludicrous to be described.

Notwithstanding this bit of absurdity, Dumesnil, as we have seen, was an honest fellow. He was quite moved as he took his seat near Mme. Paul Meyrin, his daughter, his little Lise, as he kept on repeating to himself, in bending on her covert and tender glances.

No one present suspected his paternity, any more than Lise herself did. The old comedian was at once happy and proud of the secret he alone held, which made the young woman dearer to him than ever. It was as if he foreboded that the day would come when she would need his protection.