He watched her refasten her mask. Then she turned to him with a little inclination of the head. "Au revoir."
He started forward. "Let me accompany you."
"Thank you, no. I shall find an escort." And she walked away.
De Bernis stared after her in amazement. How splendidly she had behaved! In what a wretched light she placed him! After all, she was not an ordinary woman. Never before had he witnessed such self-command; never had he hoped to pass through the scene so easily, without a single reproach, without a tear. He could scarcely yet understand.
Leaving the little recess, he stood for a moment or two undecidedly watching the throng before him. The noise of mirth was louder than ever, though the crowd was not so great. De Bernis' head ached with the heat. He would leave the Hôtel de Ville and seek his own rooms for sleep. Making his way slowly to the dressing-rooms, he removed his domino, donned a black cloak and hat, and, leaving the great building, turned his steps wearily towards his apartment in the Rue Bailleuls. Twenty minutes later a slight, black-robed, closely hooded figure also left the Hôtel de Ville, and, as she stepped into the waiting coach, gave an unusual order to the stolid footman:
"To the Rue Bailleuls, the house at the corner of the Rue Jean Tissin."
CHAPTER XIV
Victorine Makes End
The Abbé de Bernis did not keep a regular body-servant, for the excellent reason that his somewhat slender means did not admit of one. This fact was wont to pique his vanity not a little, and numberless had been his unheard sighs of envy when Monseigneur This and Monsieur That raised their voices in lofty protestation that a perfect valet was worth more than a perfect woman, but that no valet in the kingdom, save Bachelier himself, deserved butter for his bread. There are, however, certain times when solitude is a boon to every one. Such a time to de Bernis were the last hours of this last night of winter, after his return from the brilliant evening at the Hôtel de Ville. He was in a mood that did not admit of company. His swift walk homeward had, in some way, stirred his blood more than all the dancing had done; and when he reached his rooms he found himself in no mood for sleep. Leisurely, then, by the flickering light of the two candles on his table, he removed the black satin suit which he had worn beneath his domino, took the wig from his aching head, put on a somewhat worn dressing-gown, and seated himself before the mirror of his dressing-table.
A very different man was this François de Bernis from what he appeared to be in company. The affectation, the disguise, were dropped. Here, at last, was the actual man, whom only one other besides himself had ever seen: the peculiar head, with its clipped crop of bristling black hair encircling the tonsure; the dark, Southern face, with its straight brows, keen eyes, long nose, and firm, straight, stubborn mouth, with an anomalous curve of weakness somewhere lurking in it. And his hands, unpowdered and unsoftened now by the falling ruffles of lace, showed for what they were—bony, dark, long-fingered, and cruelly strong. Not so handsome, not so elegant a man, after all, was M. François en négligé.