“I don't take him seriously,” answered Brigit; “he has the great science of l'excellent ton dans le mauvis ton. You would say—‘he is vulgar in the right way.’ I feel sure he never deceived women. They may have been foolish but they must have been frail before they met him! He can be ridiculous in five languages, but he cannot be sincere in one of them. As for his wickedness, one must have more than bad intentions; one must have the circumstances. I have nothing to fear from M. de Castrillon. He knows me perfectly well.”
“I am simply wretched about you,” said Pensée; “of your future I dare not think. I try to be sympathique, and your difficulties come very home to me because I have had such great sorrows myself. But I have little hopes of doing any good while you are so self-willed.”
“Dearest,” exclaimed Brigit: “trust me!”
“My child, you are ‘wiser in your own eyes than seven men that can render a reason.’ I implore you to abandon this mad scheme; I implore you to abandon these wrong—these dangerous ideas of the stage. I know how much I am asking, and how little right I have to ask anything, but I think you ought to listen to me.”
Brigit, with a sparkling glance at Sara, stroked Pensée's cheek, and pinched her small ear.
“Mon cher coeur,” said she, “I do not forget your goodness. And I needed it, for I have been so wretched and forsaken. My soul is weighed down with troubles, and grief, and anxiety: each day I expect some new misfortune: you are the one friend I may keep. But you would not know how to imagine the intrigues and falsehoods which surround me on every side. O mon amie, I must prove to them that I want nothing they can give me—that I possess nothing which they can take away.”
“I know what she means, Pensée,” said Sara; “she has to show d'Alchingen that her interests are fixed on art—not politics. And, from her point of view, she is right. I must say so, although I don't wish to interfere. And so long as she knows M. de Castrillon, it is better taste to make her first appearance with him than with some strange actor engaged for the occasion. After all, Mario was well known as the Marchese di Candia before he adopted the operatic stage as a profession. As for gossip, how is anybody's tongue to be stopped?”
“I do not expect that people's tongues should be stopped,” rejoined Pensée.
“What the world says of me I have learned to disregard very much,” said Brigit: “if I vex my friends, I must nevertheless follow my vocation. It was good enough for my mother. I do not apologise for her existence, nor do I offer excuses for my own. She was an actress: I am an actress. She succeeded: I may not succeed. But if you fear for my faith and my character, it would be quite as easy to lose both in the highest society as in the vilest theatres! I foresee mistakes and difficulties. They must come. I shan't have a happy life, dearest Pensée: I don't look for happiness. Why then do you scold me?”
“I am not scolding,” said Lady Fitz Rewes: “I have never blamed you, never—in my heart. We shall get on better now that we have brought ourselves to speak out. How different it is when one judges for oneself or for another! I do believe in having the courage of one's convictions. But it was my duty to warn you——“