“Yes, I ever loved to act, and I felt no more tremor last night, although I was to play opposite the great Monsieur Voltaire himself, than in those days, so long ago, when I played opposite the baker’s boy in the garden of the Hôtel Kirkpatrick. It would have been better for me, perhaps, if I had been born to earn my living as Mademoiselle Lecouvreur did, on the stage, than to have been the heiress of the Capellos.”
I was thunderstruck when she said this. I had never known her to express a wish for any other station in life than the one to which she had been born; and, indeed, she had no reason to do so. And while I was wondering at this speech, she astounded me still more, by saying calmly:
“It is, however, God’s mercy that I can act; for I am acting a part every hour and moment of my life—the part of a happy woman—when I am of all of God’s creatures, the most miserable.”
She spoke quite softly and composedly, but I guessed readily that she had sent for me that she might have a friend to whom to pour out her overcharged heart.
“Gaston Cheverny,” was all I could say, meaning that he must be the source of her misery.
“There is no fault at all to be found with my husband. He is kindness and devotion itself. He likes the world—so do I. He is gallant, is complimentary to the ladies; I would not have him otherwise. I have only to express a wish, and, if possible, it is fulfilled. Yet, I am the wretchedest of women. For, Babache, I believe—now, do not laugh at me, Babache, and say it is my Scotch blood that makes me superstitious—but—but—” she paused a moment, and then said in a 387 whisper, “I believe Regnard Cheverny’s soul has got into Gaston Cheverny’s body.”
Francezka was always more superstitious than she was willing to allow, but this wildness of delusion staggered me, especially in a woman of her otherwise strong sense.
I hesitated a little before answering her. I saw in her bright and restless eyes, and in the varying color upon her cheek, that she was speaking under the influence of powerful emotion.
“Madame,” said I, “I must speak plainly. It amazes me that a woman of your excellent understanding should stoop to the folly of what you have just said.”
Francezka showed no anger. She only replied: