“I have not come to see the play,” said Jean quite simply. “I have come to see you.” He looked a little frightened at his boldness, but Liane only laughed, and ran a powder-puff lightly over her cheek and lips. “And I shall go on coming to see you,” he added firmly.
“But of course; it would be dreadful if you stopped!” said Liane, “that would be the end of the compliment; but does the front of the house satisfy you?”
Jean trembled. He could hardly believe his ears, but his eyes were more faithful witnesses, and he saw that Liane was still smiling.
“Not now,” he interposed, “not now, Liane.”
An electric bell rang out with a terrible persistent sound, close to Jean’s ear. Liane caught up a soft gauze wrap that lay on a chair.
“I must be off,” she said placidly. “A demain, mon petit; run away now, this passage to your right. But yes, you may kiss my hand if you like. Au revoir!” And Liane sailed swiftly off, leaving Jean to find his way back to his seat in the house, dizzy and stunned with emotion.
He did not ask himself what she meant; he did not ask himself what he meant. There are times when we do not care to look too closely at our intentions. He only said to himself: “I shall see her again,” and it appeared to him as if the entire theatre and the whole of Paris could read this splendid promise in his eyes. A week ago and the thought of actually seeing—and more tremendous still—playing before des hommes arrivés in the musical world would have absorbed his every thought. But at present he did not greatly consider these gentlemen—he was to see Liane again, and not once only. And every word she had said in their short interview wrote itself across his brain and heart like fire.
Liane’s Sunday evenings were famous all over Paris. She was in the habit of gathering together a brilliant circle of writers, musicians, artists, and actors. Maurice was seldom made particularly welcome on these occasions. Liane preferred to keep her intimes separate, but she could not very well refuse to allow him to attend Jean’s début, so that when Jean arrived the first figure his eyes fell on was that of his old friend, trying to play the experienced host and man of the world to a group of men who were more successful in ignoring him. They did not want Maurice to put them at their ease, for they were at their ease already, and they still less cared to be entertained, for they were more than capable of entertaining and being entertained by each other. Liane was dressed in a close-fitting gown of sea-green satin, without a single ornament. She was not in the very best of tempers, but that hardly appeared for the moment, though Maurice, who saw that it would probably manifest itself to some purpose in the future, felt extremely nervous and kept pressing earnest offers of food and drink upon everyone he could get to listen to him.
“Ah, my dear fellow!” he cried, with real delight, when Jean was announced. “I am so glad to see you. Come here! come here! You needn’t be alarmed with all these big-wigs; they are very good friends of mine and Liane’s—and I’ll introduce them all to you presently. Come into the dining-room and have a drink—you can smoke here also, you know.”
Liane’s velvety voice cut across Maurice’s bluff hospitality with merciless softness.