Thus he had weakly allowed himself to find an excuse for his early excesses. Though the dancer was his first passion, she was not his first love. It was in her society that he strove to forget a woman, a young friend of his mother's, unhappily married to a man who loved her but whom she did not love. She soon came to her senses. . . . But for Raoul and this woman it had been a bitter experience, the secret of which now filled him, when he thought of it, with a feeling of pain and sorrow.
But he quickly forgot the first incident in his life when he was in the dressing-room at the theater, where Nina Noha every night made up her voluptuous beauty anew after she had finished her dances which, frenzied and languorous by turns, drew all Paris. He wanted to be the sole master of this public favorite. . . . Stupid pride! . . . Madness! . . . At the price of his inheritance he had purchased a few hours of pleasure, every one of which he had to fight for.
The pity of it! He called to mind a first performance one evening in a fashionable theater on the boulevard, in which Nina had made a huge hit. She promised to go to supper with him. To enter a smart restaurant at one o'clock in the morning with this woman, covered with jewels, on his arm, was for Raoul a dazzling joy for which, like a child, he was ready to give up everything that he possessed.
She was very amiable that evening and permitted him to make a parade of her. Raoul de Saint Dalmas in the eyes of everyone present was the fortunate friend of Nina Noha. What an unforgettable moment! He saw in imagination the warm room, resplendent with light and gaily bedecked women. He heard the Hungarian band and its wild music. He could have repeated the remarks of his friends who did homage to Nina. But Nina that evening gave no ear to them. Her smiles were reserved for him who had promised to give her next day his last twenty thousand francs.
Twenty thousand francs for a smile from Nina was a trifle. But to pay for it in a penal settlement was somewhat dear. . . . Open your eyes, Raoul, and look round you, and see the party which is present at your feast to-night. Here are faces which are somewhat different from the faces that you saw at those festal occasions on the boulevard.
With what looks of deadly hatred the convicts bend over their unhappy victim. The Nut does not say a word. He remains silent, this dog of a Parisian who was as strong as a Turk and for over ten years had not once condescended to come to blows with them. What were his thoughts under his closed eyes? Oh, they were capable of tearing open those eyes to discover what his dreams were about.
Poor, unfortunate Raoul, who in the gloom of prison could bring to life again the glitter of those Parisian feasts and the glowing memory of Nina Noha. . . . She was more cruel than his present taskmasters, was that beautiful dancer who gave him short shrift when he was ruined. Then his thoughts harked back to his sole refuge, his mother, who had received the prodigal son with joy.
"Now you must work," she said. He promised sincerely to atone for his sins. Mme. de Saint Dalmas took her son to an old friend of the family, Charles Raynaud, a banker in Paris, who agreed to find an opening for him in his business.
Raynaud was a very decent fellow whose own youthful days had not been without blemish, but that did not prevent him from settling down later on to work, and acquiring a considerable fortune. He himself determined to train Raoul in memory of his father who had been a loyal friend. He made him his private secretary and placed him in his own office. After a few months, Raoul, who had shown a great will to work and an uncommon intelligence, became Charles Raynaud's confidential man.
The unfortunate part was that Raoul had not ceased to think of Nina. He endeavored to renew his relations with her. She declined even to see him in her dressing-room at the theater. He greatly felt her contemptuous treatment of him. That was the origin of the tragedy that followed.