CHAPTER XIV

DRESS CIRCLE.--BOX NO. 7

Bertha de Brévannes occupied one of the places in this box; her husband was behind her. The two other seats were vacant.

Bertha had her hair plainly, but most becomingly arranged, and wore a gown of black crape. Her beautiful chestnut locks, her delicate and transparent skin, her ivory neck and shoulders, were all admirable, and even brilliant. Her features were impressed with melancholy, for, three days before, her husband had had that distressing interview with Pierre Raimond which we have narrated. She wished to have remained at home, but, fearing to irritate M. de Brévannes, had consented to accompany him.

He, by one of those contrasts very natural to men, was deeply galled at the coldness of his wife, and had resolved to overcome it, less by any repentance for the past, than in order to follow out the inherent obstinacy of his own disposition. In vain did he try, however, to make her forget the wrongs which ought to have made him blush. She had been too cruelly wounded to be so easily appeased.

M. de Brévannes had taken a box for this representation so much talked about, with the intention of being agreeable to his wife.

The curtain had not yet been drawn up, and the house was filling rapidly. Bertha went very seldom into society, but in spite of her sadness she looked awhile with childish curiosity at the persons as they entered their boxes, and then relapsed into her painful reverie.

M. de Brévannes, annoyed at the silence of his wife, said to her, whilst with difficulty he repressed his temper,--

"Bertha, what is the matter?"

"Nothing, Charles."

"Nothing,--nothing! and yet you are as dull and melancholy as death. Supposing I have been wrong, you are making me sensible of it in the most cruel manner."

"I am trying to forget it; and, perhaps, one day----"

"The perspective is agreeable."

"That is no fault of mine; but do not let us talk about it. You know that I have plenty of cause for sorrow."

"Are you referring now to your father? You must at least confess that he was excessively violent with me."

"He loves me so tenderly, that he even exaggerated what you had done. He has but me in the whole world; and so, Charles, I cannot believe that you really mean in future to refuse me permission to go and see him as usual."

"My dear little Bertha, you are so pretty, that I must lay some conditions on my promise."

"Ah, Charles, be generous without stipulations."

"What you say is very flattering," said M. de Brévannes abruptly; then, he continued, in a milder tone, "Well, well, we will see. You do with me just as you like, and I consent."

"Really, really, I may go to my father," said Bertha, turning towards him with her eyes sparkling, and her countenance almost restored to happiness.

M. de Brévannes glanced at the back of the box, placed his hands on his eyes, and said laughingly,--

"If I am to keep my promise, I must not look at you."

"Ah, thanks, a thousand thanks, Charles, and now I shall be so happy all the evening."

"That is to say, so handsome. So much the better, for my self-esteem as a husband will have nothing now to apprehend from the vicinity of Madame Girard."

"I do not pretend to rival with her; but how late she is. Are you sure she received the coupon you sent her two days ago?"

"Yes, for I gave it to Girard himself; but to keep up her character as the 'observed of all observers,' Madame Girard will not come until after every one else, in order to produce an effect."

"Charles, you are slanderous."

"Because Madame Girard is so ridiculous, and spoils a really pretty face by the most absurd pretensions. She has but one thought, that of imitating, or rather parodying with silly minuteness, the costume of Madame de Luceval, because she is the most fashionable woman in Paris."

"Yes, you have before spoken to me of this peculiarity of Madame Girard. I should very much like to see Madame de Luceval--the Marquise de Luceval, I think. They say she is a very charming woman."

"Very charming, very original; dressing as no other woman but herself could venture to dress; and yet that little fool Madame Girard copies her to her very shoe-tie, under the pretext of being very much like her."

"And is she?"

"Yes," replied De Brévannes, "as a goose resembles a swan."

At this moment the door of the box was opened, and Madame Girard came in, followed by M. Girard, a rich manufacturer, carrying her fan and smelling-bottle; he had, besides, as a cuirass between his coat and greatcoat, a small _chancelière_ of morocco, lined with ermine, for Madame Girard always had cold feet, she said, which was not true; but she had seen one of the Patagonian and powdered footmen of the Marquise de Luceval follow her with such a foot-warmer in his hands; and in the absence of a Patagonian and powdered lacquey, poor Girard carried the affair for his wife.

Madame Girard was a little woman, brunette, high-coloured, very well made, and would have been pretty but for her intolerable affectation. Poor Bertha could not conceal her surprise at Madame Girard's singular head-dress.

Our readers may, perhaps, be equally astonished when we describe the _thing_.

Imagine a sort of Polish cap, of black velvet, with a small peak, ornamented with a bunch of white feathers fastened to the side by a large boss of poppy-coloured satin, and the whole jauntily placed a little on one side of Madame Girard's head; her hair, which was brown, being _crepéd_ in great bunches.

With this _thing_ Madame Girard wore a high velvet gown of bright orange colour, with tight body, like a riding-habit, and decorated with silken brandebourgs to match.

This attire had nothing absolutely ridiculous in itself, but completed by the cap and feathers, it looked so extremely odd, that it actually created quite a sensation in the theatre, and all the _lorgnettes_ were directed towards Madame Girard, who did not feel herself entirely at ease, whilst Bertha blushed with confusion.

M. de Brévannes was so much annoyed, that he bit his lips, when he saw himself and his wife as it were stared at in consequence of Madame Girard's inconceivable head-gear, and he could not help saying to Girard, in a low voice, "What a devilish strange head-dress your wife has selected, Girard; she who is usually such a remarkably good dresser."

The poor spouse gave M. de Brévannes a nudge with his elbow, and said, in a whisper, and with a look of alarm, "Hush!"

During this time Madame Girard, leaning out of her box, looked all round the house with an expression of impatience.

"Alphonsine," cried M. Girard to her with an affectionate look, "are you looking for any one?"

"Of course, I am," replied the dear Alphonsine, with a simpering, self-sufficient air, in which a triumphant feeling joined. "I am looking for the Marquise de Luceval. Oh! how furious she will be!"

"Why, madame?" said Bertha, hardly knowing what to say or do.

"Oh! such a capital joke!" answered Madame Girard; "I have played the marquise such a trick. You know how anxious she always is to take the lead in the fashions, and how every body follows her. I went, two days since, to Barenne, who is dress-maker to the marquise and myself, and asked her, as I always do, if the marquise had given her any orders for this evening, when all the world was to be here at the Théâtre Français. After innumerable difficulties, I extracted the secret from her. The marquise had ordered a most original, delicious head-dress; such an one as suited her alone.--Her alone!" said Madame Girard, tossing her head proudly beneath her head-dress. "Well, at last, by dint of promises and coaxing, I obtained from dear Barenne a sight of this exquisite _coiffure_, and a promise to make me one like that of the marquise; and this is it. Look, it is called a _sobieska_. You may judge of Madame de Luceval's annoyance, when, expecting to have the first of this head-dress, she will see me wearing it."

"Allow me, madame, to differ from you," said Bertha, with a gentle smile; "I should rather think that she will be very glad not to be the only person whose head is thus attired."

"Oh! I assure you, my dear, that she will be furious," replied Madame Girard.

"I think with you, my love," said M. Girard.

"Monsieur Girard, I entreat you will not _tutoyer_ (_thee_-and-_thou_) me," said Alphonsine, with a dignified gesture; "you are just like a porter."

"I meant to say, Alphonsine, that you will, perhaps, have to reproach yourself with having caused the milliner to lose the custom of the Marquise de Luceval; for, I must observe, my dearest love, that this is a breach of trust. Is it not, Brévannes,--is it not a breach of trust?"

"Timoléon," said Madame Girard to her husband, without any other reply, "there are but three empty boxes in this circle; go and ask if one of them is not let to the Marquise de Luceval?"

Timoléon arose as if he had been moved by a spring, and went out of the box in great haste.

"Do you know M. de Gercourt, the author of the new piece? I hear he is a most delightful person."

"I have often met him, and always found him very agreeable."

"But why does he trouble himself with writing?"

"If it were only," replied De Brévannes, "to have the pleasure of seeing you at the first representation of his piece, with so delicious a _sobi_--_sobe_----"

"Sobieska," added Madame Girard, quickly.

At this moment the box-door opened, and M. Girard entered.

"Well?" said his wife.

"Alphonsine, you are not mistaken. One of these boxes is let to the Marquise de Luceval."

"Bravo!" said Alphonsine.

"That is not all. You, who are always curious for news, I have a famous bit for you."

"What?"

"Whilst I was interrogating the box-keeper, there came up a servant, all over gold-lace, who asked for the box let to the Princess de Hansfeld. It turned out to be that next to Madame de Luceval's--there--just in front of us."

"How lucky! I have never met the princess, and they say she's such a splendid woman," said Madame Girard.

"_Ma foi!_ I am as pleased as you are," said M. de Brévannes, "to see at last this mysterious beauty. The other day, at the Opera-ball, they were talking of nothing else but this princess, and the strange conduct of her invisible husband."

"At least he will not be invisible this evening," said M. Girard.

"What do you mean?" inquired his wife.

"Why, simply, my dearest love, that the servant asked if he could not have an arm-chair for his eminence, who is, they say, terribly out of health, and comes out to-night for the first time after a very tedious illness."

"What an idea to come to a theatre!" said Madame Girard.

"An invalid's whim, doubtless," replied Brévannes.

"The box-keeper replied to the servant that he must ask the controller," replied M. Girard; "whereupon the man went downstairs, and I came as quickly as I could, to tell you, my dear love, my little budget of news."

"Well, it is fortunate," said De Brévannes; "we shall now see this singular, strange, and fantastic couple."

"Who is this princess, then, Charles?" asked Bertha of De Brévannes.

"Why, they say, a very lovely and striking woman, quite the fashion this winter, and in whose presence all our dandies have displayed their gallantries in vain. As to the prince, one is lost in the most extraordinary and contradictory suppositions with respect to him; but----"

"Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Madame Girard, interrupting M. de Brévannes, "there, I declare, is the Marquise de Luceval in her box, and she has not got on her _sobieska_!"

We will conduct the reader to the Marquise de Luceval's box, where they will, perchance, learn why she did not wear her _sobieska_.