Mademoiselle Blanche: A Novel

by John D. Barry

When he had closed the door and left her alone, she felt as if her body were sinking into the bed from weakness. The circus again! That ghastly plunge! Since the birth of her child she had hardly thought of it. Now the thought horrified her! How could she leave her babe and risk her life night after night? Perhaps some night—oh! it was too horrible. She couldn't, she couldn't! She lifted her hands to her face as if to shut out the horror of the thought. Then she turned to the little Jeanne who was sleeping beside her, and drew her close to her bosom.

She had lost courage! It would never come back to her. When Jules returned she would tell him, and she would beg him, for Jeanne's sake, to give up that engagement in London till she felt well again. Oh, if they could only leave the circus forever! If she could only do as other women did, devote her life to her child. The circus was no place for a mother.

Then it suddenly flashed upon her that if she said these things to Jules he would urge her to place Jeanne in her mother's care while they were in England; but to that she would never consent, never. She would rather give up performing altogether. Yes, when Jules came back she would speak of this. He loved the circus, but for Jeanne's sake he would give it up, she knew he would.

But when Jules did return, he was so enthusiastic about the engagement in London that she did not dare oppose it. "Think of the sensation we'll make there!" he said. "How those stupid English will open their eyes! And then we'll surely have big offers from other places. After a London success we can make a fortune in America. They say the Americans are crazy over everything that makes a hit in London. Oh," he went on, stretching his arms and yawning, "it will be a relief to get out of this dull old town. Think of the months we've wasted here. I feel rusty already."

Something in his tone as well as his words frightened her, and a feeling of helplessness came over her when he put his hand on her forehead and said gently: "You must try to get strong as soon as possible, dear. Think of all the practising you'll have to do for your plunge."

She turned her head away, and he observed nothing strange in her manner. She wanted to speak of taking Jeanne with them, but a fear that he might object restrained her.

Two days later, when her mother and Jules were in the room together, Madame Berthier, with apparent carelessness, asked what they were going to do with the little one while they were travelling. "Of course you can't carry her about with you. So you'd better leave her with me. I'll take the best of care of her."

She was startled by the light that flashed into her daughter's eyes. "No, no!" Blanche cried. "We shall keep her with us always. I couldn't bear to leave her here. I couldn't—I couldn't go away without her."

Madame Berthier and Jules exchanged glances, and Blanche saw that her intuition was correct. They had been discussing the project of leaving the child in Boulogne. She felt as if they were conspiring against her.

"Don't you think it would be better if your mother—" Jules began, but Blanche cut him short.