“Yet they talk of charity!” he thought; and the lady did not miss a slight curl of the lip which was not hidden by his profound obeisance.
The introduction over, she left Mr. Schöninger to the priest, and took refuge with his little friend, since she could not with propriety leave the room. The young lady was not agreeable to her. Mme. Chevreuse had that pure honesty and good sense which looks with clear regards through a murky and dissimulating nature; for, after all, it is the deceitful who are most frequently duped.
Miss Carthusen went flitting about the room, making herself quite at home. She selected a rosebud from a bouquet on the mantelpiece, and fastened it in madame’s gray hair with her fingers as light as snowflakes; she daintily abstracted the glasses the lady held, and put them on over her own large pale eyes. “Glasses always squeeze my eyelashes,” she said; “not that they are so very long, though, at least, they are not so long as Bettine von Arnim’s little goose-girl’s. Hers were two inches long; and the other girls laughed at them, so that she went away by herself and cried. Perhaps, beyond a certain point, eyelashes are like endurance, and cease to be a virtue. Who is it tells of a young lady whose long lashes gave her an overdressed appearance in the morning, so that one felt as though she ought to have a shorter set to come down to breakfast in?”
Mrs. Chevreuse observed with interest the striking difference between the two men who sat near her talking, both, as any one could see, strong and fiery natures, yet so unlike in temper and manner. The priest was electrical and demonstrative; he uttered the thought that rose in his mind; he was a man to move the crowd, and carry all before him. The ardor of the other was the steady glow of the burning coal that may be hidden in darkness, and he shrank with fastidious pride and distrust from any revelation of the deeper feelings of his heart, and held in check even his passing emotions. He would have said, with that Marquis de Noailles, quoted by Liszt: Qu’il n’y a guère moyen de causer de quoi que ce soit, avec qui que ce soit; and, doubtless, he had found it so.
F. Chevreuse had explained his wishes: their organist was disabled, and they had no one capable of taking his place. If Mr. Schöninger would consent to take charge of their singing, he would consider it a great favor.
Mr. Schöninger had no engagement which would prevent his doing so, and it need not be looked on at all as a favor, but a mere matter of business. His profession was music.
F. Chevreuse would insist on feeling obliged, although he would waive the pleasure of expressing that feeling.
Mr. Schöninger intimated that it was perhaps desirable he should meet the choir an hour before the evening service.
The priest had been about to make the same suggestion, and, since the time was so near, would be very happy to have his visitor take supper with him.
The visitor thanked him, but had just dined.