Bertha, at first attracted towards Arnold by gratitude, had gradually felt the influence of his goodness and attraction. He was frequently present with the old engraver at Bertha's music lessons, was himself an excellent musician, and Bertha often listened to him with as much interest as pleasure when he discoursed, with evident skill, of an art which she adored, referred to the lives of the great composers of Germany, and displayed, as it were, the poetry of their works, whilst he developed their innumerable beauties.
How enchanting were the hours thus passed by Bertha, Arnold, and Pierre Raimond! The latter knew nothing of music, but his young friend translated—explained to him, as we may say—the musical thoughts of the great masters, analysing them phrase by phrase, and doing for the works of Mozart, Beethoven, and Gluck, what Hoffman has done so wonderfully for Don Juan.
Bertha, sensibly touched by Arnold's attentions to Pierre Raimond, attributed to that alone the lively sympathy which every day drew her into closer communion with the prince, who was the more dangerous as he was so utterly unaffected and sincere. Nothing in his language or his manners could startle Madame de Brévannes of the peril she was incurring.
Arnold's conduct was one continual avowal, he had no need to say one word of love. If by chance he was alone for a moment with Bertha, his look, his tone were the same as those he maintained in the engraver's presence, and when the latter returned Arnold could always conclude the sentence he had begun.
How, then, could Madame de Brévannes mistrust an intimacy so pure, so tranquil? Arnold had never said to her, "I love you!" She had never for a moment believed he could love her, and yet both were already under the irresistible charm of love.
We repeat, that, by a singular chance, these three persons, sincere in their affections, without mistrust or concealed thought, loved each other. Arnold tenderly loved the old man and his daughter, and they returned his affection ardently. In truth, all three found themselves so happy, that, by a sort of instinct that was preservative of happiness, they had never thought of analysing their felicity, but enjoyed it without considering its source or its tendency.
The only thing that could enlighten Bertha as to the sentiment to which her heart was daily expanding, was the sort of indifference with which she bore the brutalities of her husband; she was now but vaguely astonished at them, feeling quite regardless of injuries that had formerly been so deeply wounding.
When her father, extremely irritated with M. dc Brévannes, had seriously and almost severely questioned her as to Do Brévannes' conduct, she had uttered no falsehood in replying that for some time past he had ceased to annoy her.
The old man had had the more faith in Bertha's answer, inasmuch as, by degrees, she became calm and smiling, and her countenance, formerly so sorrowful, now revealed the most perfect tranquillity. Perhaps Pierre Raimond's blind confidence may be blamed, but it was one of the illustrations of his character.
These facts stated, we will now lead the reader to Pierre Raimond's modest retreat, the day after that on which M. de Hansfeld had commanded his wife to quit Paris in three days.