Dear Mother: Is there but one depth for a creature like him I call husband? What mockery in a name! What have I suffered for him, and what concealed in my pride! And this is my reward!—To have been made the dupe of a dastardly plot to ensnare cowardly victims! to have sullied my skirts with the dust of a usurer’s and gambler’s den! to have my name blazoned side by side with the modern Cora Pearls in every court journal in Europe! to have been led into the lair blindly, by one who is sworn to be my protector! to have followed in faith the man who could load the dice of his self-imposed despair, with a wife’s dishonor!
But I must remember that all this is a riddle to you, and must read like the ravings of a maddened brain, so I will give you the story of my shame and rage, albeit it has probably already been telegraphed over two continents. Verily, it is too sweet a morsel to escape the newspapers.
As I believe I mentioned to you, invitations were issued for a ball, to be given at the Chateau d’Or. I noticed that the occurrence was making rather a stir, and especially that the baron was unwontedly nervous over the event, insomuch that when I proposed sending regrets, he fell into a violent rage, and declared that I would ruin him, past and future. Naturally, I did not comprehend his meaning, but, seeming to take it so much to heart, I readily consented to accompany him, asking no further questions.
Arrived at the place of what later proved to be a scene of the most disgraceful orgies, we entered the salon, and instantly my heart misgave me. There was present a mixed assemblage of people, among them a few whom I had met in the best circles—a few who seemed equally out of place with myself—and many of that nondescript quality found in every society, who defy comment. But not until we were presented to the receiving party, was my amazement at its climax. I am not yet sufficiently in possession of myself, to describe the magnificent apartments of the interior of this most superb mansion. All that wealth could bring from the uttermost ends of the earth, contributed to the sumptuousness of these most artistic apartments. No smallest detail had been forgotten in the programme for this entertainment, even to the grottoes with singing birds, and floes of ice in seas of wine.
But the recollection is hateful, and I hurry on. The host was a tall, sinewy, middle-aged man, with a strongly-marked Hebraic cast of face, and an oily, obsequious manner, quite at variance with his prominent features. He greeted us with an air of the most profuse cordiality, and passed us along to a bevy of much-painted and overdressed, or, rather, underdressed women, who vied with each other in chattering society phrases.
From the first moment, an undeniable air of dissoluteness pervaded the entire place, and I looked to the baron for an explanation. He pressed my arm nervously, and politely warned me to hold my tongue. There was no mistaking the animus of this party. It was revelry, riot, unrestraint. Answering a sign from the host, the baron soon left my side, and joined the convivialists, I being politely led to the main salon, where there was dancing.
Pleading indisposition, I declined to take part, and remained aside observing the dancers. I noticed that many of the women were singularly lovely and exquisitely attired, but generally lacking in grace of movement and aplomb. I observed, also, groups of women, some of them deathly pale, others flushed with indignation, evidently discussing the situation, and the truth slowly dawned upon me that these were women of the demi-monde, and that I had been tricked into an attendance upon this reception.
After two or three attempts I succeeded in bringing the baron to my side, much the worse for wine but quite docile. I demanded to be led to my dressing-room, and at first he temporized. Finding me insistent, he begged me to remain, promising to be among the first to depart at the proper hour. His conduct was unusually conciliatory, and when I referred to the character of the entertainment, his manner was full of conscious guilt, while he assured me that he would explain everything later, but that he dared not precipitate a scene by taking me home.
At this juncture Count Volenfeldt, whom we knew, accompanied by the Prince of Waldeck, came our way, and, saluting, faced us, and, remarking somewhat satirically upon the unexpected numbers in attendance, gave me an opportunity to ask if his wife were present.
“The countess is not here to-night,” replied the count, a little dryly. “She is not well.”