Clarisse had just passed the age of twenty-five. Having dreamed of six or seven superb marriages, she had the grief of aspiring to a seventh dream, and this was why her indulgence, at all times mediocre enough, went decreasing in hope as hope deceived, or in inverse ratio to the square of her age, to help ourselves for once, by chance, by the algebraic style. Clarisse could have said, but she did not, that she had seen Eve de La Tour-d'Adam, crowned with roses, the first time she appeared at the house of the Comtesse de Peyrolles.
Four or five springs, at most, made a second crown of roses for the brow of that maiden, who conducted an old septuagenary whose ideas and decorations recounted the exploits of a generation almost extinct. Eve advanced on the arm of the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, who had not been seen for several years. Man of the world as he had been in his youth, and was no longer, the marquis reserved to himself to introduce her into society. [{369}] Eve was very young, but the weight of years was heavy on the old man. The hour was advanced because he wished it so.
Their entrance made a great sensation; Clarisse remembered that it made too much.
Fair, delicately pale, frail and slender as a wasp, the only and last heiress of the Lords de La Tour-d'Adam, Eve, the child yet unknown, attracted all eyes. Give life to one of those aerial vignettes to which the English sculptors deny nothing, unless it is a soul; render motion to those images of the saints which the simple and pious workmen sculpture and animate in some sort with their faith, for the front of our temples; spread an expression of angelic sweetness and infinite tenderness over the countenance of a virgin purer than the azure of the sky; around this creation of your least profane thought let there reign an atmosphere of generous sympathies, that hearts may be touched, that souls may he captive, that men and women shall be equally attracted by this undefined sentiment, commonly called of interest, that this interest shall extend to every harmonious gesture, to every movement, to every word of the fair young girl; take into account the veneration inspired by the presence of the old gentleman, her grandfather--and you will understand at once what was Eve, and the effect of her first appearance at Madame de Peyrolles'.
Four years had passed since then. Eve now had entered her nineteenth year. Had she grown old in one day, had she grown young again, or some slow suffering, unknown phenomenon, some mysterious illness, was it, that, without wasting the young girl, abruptly arrested her development, up to that time so precocious? But, such as she was seen at Madame de Peyrolles' four winters before, as such Eve reappeared in the same drawing-room; only Clarisse Dufresnois had said enough about it--the crown of roses was replaced by a branch of jasmine entwined in her golden hair.
And, indeed, a branch of jasmine was placed on the front of the girl's dress, when dressed for the ball, and, accompanied by Madame du Castellet, her governess, she presented herself to her grandfather, who awaited her in the west parlor of the mansion of La Tour-d'Adam and welcomed her with a tender smile.
Eve came forward raising to him her sweet blue eyes, and, in melodious accents:
"My father," she said, "I have obeyed you; you see I am ready; but why will you oblige me to leave you again alone for all one long evening?'
"Child, I shall not be alone; I shall think that my Eve is amusing herself, I shall see her as if I were there! Youth should have innocent distractions. Oh! thou hast nobly loved me with all thy heart, but the society of an old man like me does not suffice at thy age."
"God knows I would renounce this ball with happiness, in order to give you your evening reading."