"Alas! poor Claude!" And de Gêvres stood still for an instant, musing, with a philosophic smile, on the history, past and present, of this house of de Mailly, whose women were all too fair—and too femininely weak.
Deborah was now accosted by a black domino with a silver mask, who had just left the side of Mme. d'Etioles. She granted his request for a dance, and then joined him in the promenade. He proved to be very complaisant and very gallant. Deborah quickly recognized his style of compliment, and the pretty couplets, with their epigrammatic turns, which flowed as easily from his lips as wine would have run into them. It was none other than the man of many strings—the Abbé de Bernis. He was in high spirits with his evening, with Mme. d'Etioles' odd experience, and the quick popularity which it had engendered among a certain set pleased him nearly as much as it did Diana herself.
The abbé had not approached Victorine that evening. He of course recognized her at once, by her thin arms and slight figure; and he was aware that she would know him by the silver mask, which he had worn on a previous occasion. She had even danced in the same sixteen with him while he was with Deborah, a fact which rendered de Bernis not a little uneasy for fear Mme. de Coigny should have seized some opportunity of addressing him with the conventional reproaches. His fears were not realized. Victorine made no attempt to waylay him. He only felt the steady gaze of her big eyes through the mask, and his nonchalance was proof against that. He began to congratulate himself on a possible happy issue from a disagreeable situation. But the good abbé was too quick to hope.
Victorine was in a dull maze of thought. She was living far away, to-night, in a land where it seemed as though she could look back upon herself and her past life. She suffered neither mentally nor physically; and she did not realize how she was pressing towards a great mental climax, presaged by this calm. Nevertheless, in the midst of the commonplace throng, she thought much. While she watched, now from one point, now another, the movements of the black domino, and while she talked with intelligence, even with wit, to a series of partners, she was reviewing, with calm, methodical precision, the history of the single human connection which had brought happiness into her child's life. From its inception to the present moment every scene in the drama which they two, de Bernis and herself, had acted, passed now before her mental eyes. She recalled, with a wondering thrill, the great, perfect happiness of the first months; and she perceived, with slow, sure precision, the later undeniable lessening of her hold upon his affections. The reason for this? That question she had never asked before. Now the answer came at once, quite plainly. It was not jealousy that made reply. No, no. She saw truly. It was only—ambition. She could not help him higher. She had given all that was hers to give, and more, perhaps. Had he quite ceased to profit by it? Was it quite finished? Victorine caught her breath and looked around her. De Bernis, drawn by accident, was just beside her, still talking to Deborah, towards whom the King was again advancing. At the same moment Victorine beheld a gentleman of Henry IV.'s time approaching her. His walk resembled that of the Marquis de Mailly-Nesle. Divining his purpose, she frowned with displeasure to think that he might keep her from her newly formed project.
"Madame," said Henri, bowing, "may I ask your hand for the next dance?"
"Monsieur," she returned, with a slight courtesy, "I remember that the King of Navarre was wont to enter into mad dances with Night. If you have not M. de Sully to accompany us, I am afraid to venture."
De Bernis, from whom the King had taken Deborah, caught this remark, and, without turning to the speaker, stood still, listening.
"Madame, in my old life Night was never cruel; though I admit that she was never half so fair."
"Ah, you are wrong! The stars are very pale, to-night."
"The moon is over them, and they faint with envy."