THE EXHIBITION
"SUPERB!"
"A tremendous success! Barye has never done anything so good before."
"And the bust of the Nabob! What a marvel. How happy Constance Crenmitzis! Look at her trotting about!"
"What! That little old lady in the ermine cape is the Crenmitz? Ithought she had been dead twenty years ago."
Oh, no! Very much alive, on the contrary. Delighted, made young againby the triumph of her goddaughter, who had made what is decidedly thesuccess of the exhibition, she passes about among the crowd of artistsand fashionable people, who, wedged together and stifling themselves inorder to get a look at the two points where the works sent by Feliciaare exhibited, form as it were two solid masses of black backs andjumbled dresses. Constance, ordinarily so timid, edges her way into thefront rank, listens to the discussions, catches, as they fly, disjointedphrases, formulas which she takes care to remember, approves with anod, smiles, raises her shoulders when she hears a stupid remark made,inclined to murder the first person who should not admire.
Whether it be the good Crenmitz or another, you will always see it atevery opening of the _Salon_, that furtive silhouette, prowling nearwherever a conversation is going on, with an anxious manner and alertear; sometimes a simple old fellow, some father, whose glance thanks youfor any kind word said in passing, or assumes a grieved expression byreason of some epigram, flung at the work of art, that may wound someheart behind you. A figure not to be forgotten, certainly, if everit should occur to any painter with a passion for modernity to fix oncanvas that very typical manifestation of Parisian life, the opening ofan exhibition in that vast conservatory of sculpture, with its pathsof yellow sand, and its immense glass roof beneath which, half-way up,stand out the galleries of the first floor, lined by heads bent over tolook down, and decorated with improvised flowing draperies.
In a rather cold light, made pallid by those green curtains thathang all around, in which one would fancy that the light-rays becomerarefied, in order to give to the vision of the people walking aboutthe room a certain contemplative justice, the slow crowd goes and comes,pauses, disperses itself over the seats in serried groups, and yetmixing up different sections of society more thoroughly than any otherassembly, just as the weather, uncertain and changeable at this time ofthe year, produces a confusion in the world of clothes, causes to brusheach other as they pass, the black laces, the imperious train of thegreat lady come to see how her portrait looks, and the Siberian furs ofthe actress just back from Russia and anxious that everybody should knowit.
Here, no boxes, no stalls, no reserved seats, and it is this that givesto this _premiere_ in full daylight so great a charm of curiosity.Genuine ladies of fashion are able to form an opinion of those paintedbeauties who receive so much commendation in an artificial light;the little hat, following a new mode of the Marquise de Bois l'Hery,confronts the more than modest toilette of some artist's wife ordaughter; while the model who posed for that beautiful Andromeda at theentrance, goes by victoriously, clad in too short a skirt, in wretchedgarments that hide her beauty beneath all the false lines of fashion.People observe, admire, criticise each other, exchange glancescontemptuous, disdainful, or curious, interrupted suddenly at thepassage of a celebrity, of that illustrious critic whom we seem still tosee, tranquil and majestic, his powerful head framed in its long hair,making the round of the exhibits in sculpture followed by a dozen youngdisciples eager to hear the verdict of his kindly authority. If thesound of voices is lost beneath that immense dome, sonorous only underthe two vaults of the entrance and the exit, faces take on there anastonishing intensity, a relief of movement and animation concentratedespecially in the huge, dark bay where refreshments are served, crowdedto overflowing and full of gesticulation, the brightly coloured hatsof the women and the white aprons of the waiters gleaming against thebackground of dark clothes, and in the great space in the middle wherethe oval swarming with visitors makes a singular contrast withthe immobility of the exhibited statues, producing the insensiblepalpitation with which their marble whiteness and their movements as ofapotheosis are surrounded.
There are wings poised in giant flight, a sphere supported by fourallegorical figures whose attitude of turning suggests some vaguewaltz-measure--a total effect of equilibrium well conveying the illusionof the sweeping onward of the earth; and there are arms raised to givethe signal, bodies heroically risen, containing an allegory, a symbolwhich stamps them with death and immortality, secures to them a place inhistory, in legend, in that ideal world of museums which is visited bythe curiosity or the admiration of the nations.
Although Felicia's group in bronze had not the proportions of theselarge pieces, its exceptional merit had caused it to be selected toadorn one of the open spaces in the middle, from which at this momentthe public was holding itself at a respectful distance, watching, overthe hedge of custodians and policemen, the Bey of Tunis and his suite,an array of long bernouses falling in sculptural folds, which had theeffect of placing living statues opposite the other ones.
The Bey, who had been in Paris since a few days before, and was thelion of all the _premieres_, had desired to see the opening of theexhibition. He was "an enlightened prince, a friend of art," whopossessed at the Bardo a gallery of remarkable Turkish paintings andchromo-lithographic reproductions of all the battles of the FirstEmpire. The moment he entered, the sight of the big Arab greyhoundhad struck him as he passed. It was the _sleughi_ all over, the true_sleughi_, delicate and nervous, of his own country, the companion ofall his hunting expeditions. He laughed in his black beard, felt theloins of the animal, stroked its muscles, seemed to want to urge it onstill faster, while with nostrils open, teeth showing, all itslimbs stretched out and unwearying in their vigorous elasticity, thearistocratic beast, the beast of prey, ardent in love and the chase,intoxicated with their double intoxication, its eyes fixed, was alreadyenjoying a foretaste of its capture with a little end of its tonguewhich hung and seemed to sharpen the teeth with a ferocious laugh. Whenyou only looked at the hound you said to yourself, "He has got him!" Butthe sight of the fox reassured you immediately. Beneath the velvet ofhis lustrous coat, cat-like almost lying along the ground, covering itrapidly without effort, you felt him to be a veritable fairy; and hisdelicate head with its pointed ears, which as he ran he turned towardsthe hound, had an expression of ironical security which clearly markedthe gift received from the gods.
While an Inspector of Fine Arts, who had rushed up in all haste, withhis official dress in disorder, and a head bald right down to his back,explained to Mohammed the apologue of "The Dog and the Fox," related inthe descriptive catalogue with these words inscribed beneath, "Now ithappened that they met," and the indication, "The property of the Ducde Mora," the fat Hemerlingue, perspiring and puffing by his Highness'sside, had great difficulty to convince him that this masterly pieceof sculpture was the work of the beautiful young lady whom they hadencountered the previous evening riding in the Bois. How could a woman,with her feeble hands, thus mould the hard bronze, and give to it thevery appearance of the living body? Of all the marvels of Paris, thiswas the one which caused the Bey the most astonishment. He inquiredconsequently from the functionary if there was nothing else to see bythe same artist.
"Yes, indeed, monseigneur, another masterpiece. If your Highness willdeign to step this way I will conduct you to it."
The Bey commenced to move on again with his suite. They were alladmirable types, with chiselled features and pure lines, warm pallors ofcomplexion of which even the reflections were absorbed by the whitenessof their _haiks_. Magnificently draped, they contrasted with the bustsranged on either side of the aisle they were following, which, perchedon their high columns, looking slender in the open air, exiled fromtheir own home, from the surroundings in which doubtless they wouldhave recalled severe labours, a tender affection, a busy and courageousexistence, had the sad aspect of people gone astray in their path, andvery regretful to find themselves in their present situation. Exceptingtwo
or three female heads, with opulent shoulders framed in petrifiedlace, and hair rendered in marble with that softness of touch whichgives it the lightness of a powdered wig, excepting, too, a few profilesof children with their simple lines, in which the polish of the stoneseems to resemble the moistness of the living flesh, all the restwere only wrinkles, crow's-feet, shrivelled features and grimaces, ourexcesses in work and in movement, our nervousness and our feverishness,opposing themselves to that art of repose and of beautiful serenity.
The ugliness of the Nabob had at least energy in its favour, the vulgarside of him as an adventurer, and that expression of benevolence, sowell rendered by the artist, who had taken care to underlay her plasterwith a layer of ochre, which gave it almost the weather-beaten andsunburned tone of the model. The Arabs, when they saw it, uttered astifled exclamation, "Bou-Said!" (the father of good fortune). This wasthe surname of the Nabob in Tunis, the label, as it were, of his luck.The Bey, for his part, thinking that some one had wished to play a trickon him in thus leading him to inspect the bust of the hated trader,regarded his guide with mistrust.
"Jansoulet?" said he in his guttural voice.
"Yes, Highness: Bernard Jansoulet, the new deputy for Corsica."
This time the Bey turned to Hemerlingue, with a frown on his brow.
"Deputy?"
"Yes, monseigneur, since this morning; but nothing is yet settled."
And the banker, raising his voice, added with a stutter:
"No French Chamber will ever admit that adventurer."
No matter. The stroke had fallen on the blind faith of the Bey in hisbaron financier. The latter had so confidently affirmed to him that theother would never be elected and that their action with regard to himneed not be fettered or in any way hampered by the least fear. Andnow, instead of a man ruined and overthrown, there rose before hima representative of the nation, a deputy whose portrait in stone theParisians were coming to admire; for in the eyes of the Oriental, anidea of distinction being mingled in spite of everything with thispublic exhibition, that bust had the prestige of a statue dominatinga square. Still more yellow than usual, Hemerlingue internally accusedhimself of clumsiness and imprudence. But how could he ever have dreamedof such a thing? He had been assured that the bust was not finished. Andin fact it had been there only since morning, and seemed quite athome, quivering with satisfied pride, defying its enemies with thegood-tempered smile of its curling lip. A veritable silent revenge forthe disaster of Saint-Romans.
For some minutes the Bey, cold and impassible as the sculptured image,gazed at it without saying anything, his forehead divided by a straightcrease wherein his courtiers alone could read his anger; then, aftertwo quick words in Arabic, to order the carriages and to reassemble hisscattered suite, he directed his steps gravely towards the door of exit,without consenting to give even a glance to anything else. Who shallsay what passes in these august brains surfeited with power? Even oursovereigns of the West have incomprehensible fantasies; but they arenothing compared with Oriental caprices. Monsieur the Inspector of FineArts, who had made sure of taking his Highness all round theexhibition and of thus winning the pretty red-and-green ribbon of theNicham-Iftikahr, never knew the secret of this sudden flight.
At the moment when the white _haiks_ were disappearing under the porch,just in time to see the last wave of their folds, the Nabob made hisentry by the middle door. In the morning he had received the news,"Elected by an overwhelming majority"; and after a sumptuous luncheon,at which the new deputy for Corsica had been extensively toasted, hecame, with some of his guests, to show himself, to see himself also, toenjoy all his new glory.
The first person whom he saw as he arrived was Felicia Ruys, standing,leaning on the pedestal of a statue, surrounded by compliments andtributes of admiration, to which he made haste to add his own. She wassimply dressed, clad in a black costume embroidered and trimmed withjet, tempering the severity of her attire with a glittering of reflectedlights, and with a delightful little hat all made of downy plumes, theplay of colour in which her hair, curled delicately on her forehead anddrawn back to the neck in great waves, seemed to continue and to soften.
A crowd of artists and fashionable people were assiduous in theirattentions to so great a genius allied to so much beauty; and Jenkins,bareheaded, and puffing with warm effusiveness, was going from one tothe other, stimulating their enthusiasm but widening the circle aroundthis young fame of which he constituted himself at once the guardian andthe trumpeter. His wife during this time was talking to the young girl.Poor Mme. Jenkins! She had heard that savage voice, which she aloneknew, say to her, "You must go and greet Felicia." And she had gone todo so, controlling her emotion; for she knew now what it was that hiditself at the bottom of that paternal affection, although she avoidedall discussion of it with the doctor, as if she had been fearful of theissue.
After Mme. Jenkins, it is the turn of the Nabob to rush up, and takingthe artist's two long, delicately-gloved hands between his fat paws, heexpresses his gratitude with a cordiality which brings the tears to hisown eyes.
"It is a great honour that you have done me, mademoiselle, to associatemy name with yours, my humble person with your triumph, and to proveto all this vermin gnawing at my heels that you do not believe thecalumnies which have been spread with regard to me. Yes, truly, I shallnever forget it. In vain I may cover this magnificent bust with gold anddiamonds, I shall still be your debtor."
Fortunately for the good Nabob, with more feeling than eloquence, he isobliged to make way for all the others attracted by a dazzling talent,the personality in view; extravagant enthusiasms which, for want ofwords to express themselves, disappear as they come; the conventionaladmirations of society, moved by good-will, by a lively desire toplease, but of which each word is a douche of cold water; and then thehearty hand-shakes of rivals, of comrades, some very frank, others thatcommunicate to you the weakness of their grasp; the pretentious greatbooby, at whose idiotic eulogy you must appear to be transported withgladness, and who, lest he should spoil you too much, accompanies itwith "a few little reserves," and the other, who, while overwhelmingyou with compliments, demonstrates to you that you have not learned thefirst word of your profession; and the excellent busy fellow, who stopsjust long enough to whisper in your ear "that so-and-so, the famouscritic, does not look very pleased." Felicia listened to it all with thegreatest calm, raised by her success above the littleness of envy, andquite proud when a glorious veteran, some old comrade of her father,threw to her a "You've done very well, little one!" which took her backto the past, to the little corner reserved for her in the old days inher father's studio, when she was beginning to carve out a little gloryfor herself under the protection of the renown of the great Ruys. But,taken altogether, the congratulations left her rather cold, becausethere lacked one which she desired more than any other, and which shewas surprised not to have yet received. Decidedly he was more often inher thoughts than any other man had ever been. Was it love at last, thegreat love which is so rare in an artist's soul, incapable as that isof giving itself entirely up to the sway of sentiment, or was it perhapssimply a dream of honest _bourgeoise_ life, well sheltered against_ennui_, that spiritless _ennui_, the precursor of storms, which she hadso much reason to dread? In any case, she was herself taken in by it,and had been living for some days past in a state of delicious trouble,for love is so strong, so beautiful a thing, that its semblances, itsmirages, allure and can move us as deeply as itself.
Has it ever happened to you in the street, when you have beenpreoccupied with thoughts of some one dear to you, to be warned of hisapproach by meeting persons with a vague resemblance to him, preparatoryimages, sketches of the type to appear directly afterward, which standout for you from the crowd like successive appeals to your overexcitedattention? Such presentiments are magnetic and nervous impressions atwhich one should not be too disposed to smile, since they constitutea faculty of suffering. Already, in the moving and constantly renewedstream of visitors, Felicia ha
d several times thought to recognise thecurly head of Paul de Gery, when suddenly she uttered a cry of joy. Itwas not he, however, this time again, but some one who resembled himclosely, whose regular and peaceful physiognomy was always now connectedin her mind with that of her friend Paul through the effect of alikeness more moral than physical, and the gentle authority which bothexercised over her thoughts.
"Aline!"
"Felicia!"
If nothing is more open to suspicion than the friendship of twofashionable ladies sharing the prerogatives of drawing-room royalty andlavishing on each other epithets, and the trivial graces of femininefondness, the friendships of childhood keep in the grown womana frankness of manner which distinguishes them, and makes themrecognisable among all others, bonds woven naively and firm as theneedlework of little girls in which an experienced hand had beenprodigal of thread and big knots; plants reared in fresh soil, inflower, but with strong roots, full of vitality and new shoots. And whata joy, hand in hand--you glad dances of boarding-school days, where areyou?--to retrace some steps of one's way with somebody who has an equalacquaintance with it and its least incidents, and the same laugh oftender retrospection. A little apart, the two girls, for whom it hasbeen sufficient to find themselves once more face to face to forget fiveyears of separation, carry on a rapid exchange of recollections, whilethe little _pere_ Joyeuse, his ruddy face brightened by a new cravat,straightens himself in pride to see his daughter thus warmly welcomed bysuch an illustrious person. Proud certainly he had reason to be, forthe little Parisian, even in the neighbourhood of her brilliant friend,holds her own in grace, youth, fair candour, beneath her twenty smoothand golden years, which the gladness of this meeting brings to freshbloom.
"How happy you must be! For my part, I have seen nothing yet; but I heareverybody saying it is so beautiful."
"Happy above all to see you again, little Aline. It is so long--"
"I should think so, you naughty girl! Whose the fault?"
And from the saddest corner of her memory, Felicia recalls the date ofthe breaking off of their relations, coinciding for her with anotherdate on which her youth came to its end in an unforgettable scene.
"And what have you been doing, darling, all this time?"
"Oh, I, always the same thing--or, nothing to speak of."
"Yes, yes, we know what you call doing nothing, you brave little thing!Giving your life to other people, isn't it?"
But Aline was no longer listening. She was smiling affectionately tosome one straight in front of her; and Felicia, turning round to see whoit was, perceived Paul de Gery replying to the shy and tender greetingof Mlle. Joyeuse.
"You know each other, then?"
"Do I know M. Paul! I should think so, indeed. We talk of you veryoften. He has never told you, then?"
"Never. He must be a terribly sly fellow."
She stopped short, her mind enlightened by a flash; and quickly withoutheed to de Gery, who was coming up to congratulate her on her triumph,she leaned over towards Aline and spoke to her in a low voice. Thatyoung lady blushed, protested with smiles and words under her breath:"How can you think of such a thing? At my age--a 'grandmamma'!" andfinally seized her father's arm in order to escape some friendlyteasing.
When Felicia saw the two young people going off together, when she hadrealized the fact, which they had not yet grasped themselves, that theywere in love with each other, she felt as it were a crumbling allaround her. Then upon her dream, now fallen to the ground in a thousandfragments, she set herself to stamp furiously. After all, he was quiteright to prefer this little Aline to herself. Would an honest manever dare to marry Mlle. Ruys? She, a home, a family--what nonsense! Aharlot's daughter you are, my dear; you must be a harlot too if you wantto become anything at all.
The day wore on. The crowd, more active now that there were empty spaceshere and there, commenced to stream towards the door of exit after greateddyings round the successes of the year, satisfied, rather tired, butexcited still by that air charged with the electricity of art. A greatflood of sunlight, such as sometimes occurs at four o'clock in theafternoon, fell on the stained-glass rose-window, threw on the sandtracks of rainbow-coloured lights, softly bathing the bronze or themarble of the statues, imparting an iridescent hue to the nudity of abeautiful figure, giving to the vast museum something of the luminouslife of a garden. Felicia, absorbed in her deep and sad reverie, did notnotice the man who advanced towards her, superb, elegant, fascinating,through the respectfully opened ranks of the public, while the name of"Mora" was everywhere whispered.
"Well, mademoiselle, you have made a splendid success. I only regret onething about it, and that is the cruel symbol which you have hidden inyour masterpiece."
As she saw the duke before her, she shuddered.
"Ah, yes, the symbol," she said, lifting her face towards his with asmile of discouragement; and leaning against the pedestal of the large,voluptuous statue near which they happened to be standing, with theclosed eyes of a woman who gives or abandons herself, she murmured low,very low:
"Rabelais lied, as all men lie. The truth is that the fox is utterlywearied, that he is at the end of his breath and his courage, ready tofall into the ditch, and that if the greyhound makes another effort----"
Mora started, became a shade paler, all the blood he had in his bodyrushing back to his heart. Two sombre flames met with their eyes, tworapid words were exchanged by lips that hardly moved; then the dukebowed profoundly, and walked away with a step gay and light, as thoughthe gods were bearing him.
At that moment there was in the palace only one man as happy as he, andthat was the Nabob. Escorted by his friends, he occupied, quite filledup, the principal bay with his own party alone, speaking loudly,gesticulating, proud to such a degree that he looked almost handsome, asthough by dint of naive and long contemplation of his bust he had beentouched by something of the splendid idealization with which theartist had haloed the vulgarity of his type. The head, raised to thethree-quarters position, standing freely out from the wide, loosecollar, drew contradictory remarks on the resemblance from thepassers-by; and the name of Jansoulet, so many times repeated by theelectoral ballot-boxes, was repeated over again now by the prettiestmouths, by the most authoritative voices, in Paris. Any other than theNabob would have been embarrassed to hear uttered, as he passed,these expressions of curiosity which were not always friendly. But theplatform, the springing-board, well suited that nature which becamebolder under the fire of glances, like those women who are beautiful orwitty only in society, and whom the least admiration transfigures andcompletes.
When he felt this delirious joy growing calmer, when he thought tohave drunk the whole of its proud intoxication, he had only to say tohimself, "Deputy! I am a Deputy!" And the triumphal cup foamed once moreto the brim. It meant the embargo raised from all his possessions, theawakening from a nightmare that had lasted two months, the puff of coolwind sweeping away all his anxieties, all his inquietudes, even to theaffront of Saint-Romans, very heavy though that was in his memory.
Deputy!
He laughed to himself as he thought of the baron's face when he learnedthe news, of the stupefaction of the Bey when he had been led up to hisbust; and suddenly, upon the reflection that he was no longer merelyan adventurer stuffed with gold, exciting the stupid admiration ofthe crowd, as might an enormous rough nugget in the window of amoney-changer, but that people saw in him, as he passed, one of themen elected by the will of the nation, his simple and mobile face grewthoughtful with a deliberate gravity, there suggested themselves to himprojects of a career, of reform, and the wish to profit by the lessonsthat had been latterly taught by destiny. Already, remembering thepromise which he had given to de Gery, for the household troop thatwriggled ignobly at his heels, he made exhibition of certain disdainfulcoldnesses, a deliberate pose of authoritative contradiction. He calledthe Marquis de Bois l'Hery "my good fellow," imposed silence verysharply on the governor, whose enthusiasm was becoming scandalous, andmade a solem
n vow to himself to get rid as soon as possible of all thatmendicant and promising Bohemian set, when he should have occasion tobegin the process.
Penetrating the crowd which surrounded him, Moessard--the handsomeMoessard, in a sky-blue cravat, pale and bloated like a white embodimentof disease, and pinched at the waist in a fine frock-coat--seeing thatthe Nabob, after having gone twenty times round the hall of sculpture,was making for the door, dashed forward, and passing his arm throughhis, said:
"You are taking me with you, you know."
Especially of late, since the time of the election, he had assumed, inthe establishment of the Place Vendome, an authority almost equal tothat of Monpavon, but more impudent; for, in point of impudence, theQueen's lover was without his equal on the pavement that stretches fromthe Rue Drouot to the Madeleine. This time he had gone too far. Themuscular arm which he pressed was shaken violently, and the Nabobanswered very dryly:
"I am sorry, _mon cher_, but I have not a place to offer you."
No place in a carriage that was as big as a house, and which five ofthem had come in!
Moessard gazed at him in stupefaction.
"I had, however, a few words to say to you which are very urgent. Withregard to the subject of my note--you received it, did you not?"
"Certainly; and M. de Gery should have sent you a reply this verymorning. What you ask is impossible. Twenty thousand francs! _Tonnerrede Dieu!_ You go at a fine rate!"
"Still, it seems to me that my services--" stammered the beauty-man.
"Have been amply paid for. That is how it seems to me also. Two hundredthousand francs in five months! We will draw the line there, if youplease. Your teeth are long, young man; you will have to file them downa little."
They exchanged these words as they walked, pushed forward by the surgingwave of the people going out. Moessard stopped:
"That is your last word?"
The Nabob hesitated for a moment, seized by a presentiment as he lookedat that pale, evil mouth; then he remembered the promise which he hadgiven to his friend:
"That is my last word."
"Very well! We shall see," said the handsome Moessard, whose switch-canecut the air with the hiss of a viper; and, turning on his heel, he madeoff with great strides, like a man who is expected somewhere on veryurgent business.
Jansoulet continued his triumphal progress. That day much more wouldhave been required to upset the equilibrium of his happiness; on thecontrary, he felt himself relieved by the so-quickly achieved fulfilmentof his purpose.
The immense vestibule was thronged by a dense crowd of people whom theapproach of the hour of closing was bringing out, but whom one of thosesudden showers, which seem inseparable from the opening of the _Salon_,kept waiting beneath the porch, with its floor beaten down and sandylike the entrance to the circus where the young dandies strut about. Thescene that met the eye was curious, and very Parisian.
Outside, great rays of sunshine traversing the rain, attaching toits limpid beads those sharp and brilliant blades which justify theproverbial saying, "It rains halberds"; the young greenery of theChamps-Elysees, the clumps of rhododendrons, rustling and wet, thecarriages ranged in the avenue, the mackintosh capes of the coachmen,all the splendid harness-trappings of the horses receiving from therain and the sunbeams an added richness and effect, and blue everywherelooming out, the blue of a sky which is about to smile in the intervalbetween two downpours.
Within, laughter, gossip, greetings, impatience, skirts held up, satinsbulging out above the delicate folds of frills, of lace, of flouncesgathered up in the hands of their wearers in heavy, terribly frayedbundles. Then, to unite the two sides of the picture, these prisonersframed in by the vaulted ceiling of the porch and in the gloom of itsshadow, with the immense background in brilliant light, footmen runningbeneath umbrellas, crying out names of coachmen or of masters, broughamscoming up at walking pace, and flustered couples getting into them.
"M. Jansoulet's carriage!"
Everybody turned round, but, as one knows, that did not embarrass him.And while the good Nabob, waiting for his suite, stood posing a littleamid these fashionable and famous people, this mixed _tout Paris_ whichwas there, with its every face bearing a well-known name, a nervous andwell-gloved hand was stretched out to him, and the Duc de Mora, on hisway to his brougham, threw to him, as he passed, these words, with thateffusion which happiness gives to the most reserved of men:
"My congratulations, my dear deputy."
It was said in a loud voice, and every one could hear it: "My deardeputy."
There is in the life of all men one golden hour, one luminous peak,whereon all that they can hope of prosperity, joy, triumph, waits forthem and is given into their hands. The summit is more or less lofty,more or less rugged and difficult to climb, but it exists equally forall, for powerful and humble alike. Only, like that longest day of theyear on which the sun has shone with its utmost brilliance, and of whichthe morrow seems a first step towards winter, this _summum_ of humanexistences is but a moment given to be enjoyed, after which one can butredescend. This late afternoon of the first of May, streaked with rainand sunshine, thou must forget it not, poor man--must fix forever itschanging brilliance in thy memory. It was the hour of thy full summer,with its flowers in bloom, its fruits bending their golden boughs, itsripe harvests of which so recklessly thou wast plucking the corn. Thestar will now pale, gradually growing more remote and falling, incapableere long of piercing the mournful night wherein thy destiny shall beaccomplished.