The Idol of Paris by Sarah Bernhardt

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"I am already disposed to all concessions except those which touch my
honour, and I assure you that my mother and I are both ready to scorn
all idle talk."

The girls came up with Jean Perliez. The Count said, "Your portrait is
a perfect likeness and is, moreover, a beautiful picture. But," he
exclaimed, "you are all ready for riding!"

"Yes, we are going to Port-Herlin. Won't you come with us? Mama,
little Mademoiselle and Genevieve, are going in the carriage to carry
some provisions to poor old Mother Borderie."

"Your invitation is very tempting, and I am going to surprise you
perhaps by declining. The farmer arranged to have the Commandant's
horse here for this morning, but he comes accompanied by many warnings
and I want to try him out when you are not here; if M. Perliez will be
my guide to Port-Herlin to-day I shall be glad. To-morrow I hope you
will offer me the same chance again...?"

Esperance smiled delightfully.

"Suppose we have lunch there," said Maurice.

"Papa would be left alone too long, and I want to see if M. Styvens
can fish as well as ride. We will come back to pull up the nets about
five o'clock, and then we will have tea in the boat."

The carriage was ready, the horses saddled. The Count had the pleasure
of assisting the young actress to mount, and then Esperance and
Maurice set out together, followed by the brake. The Count and Jean
Perliez took a more roundabout and a steeper way. Albert wanted to
study the character of his horse. The first to arrive at Port-Herlin
were to await the others, and together they were to go to visit old
Mother Borderie.

The dwelling was one of the White Breton houses with thatched roof.
There were three rooms, the kitchen, where one entered, and two little
rooms. In the first, fitted in the wall one above the other were two
narrow beds edged with carved wood; in the second room, four similar
beds. Large bunches of box, which had been blessed, ornamented the
beds where the woman's four children had died. The father of the
little grandson was the last to go. The kitchen was unlighted except
when the door was open. The bedrooms had each one narrow opening like
a loophole.

The old woman was sitting beside the hearth, by the side of which was
an armful of furze. The evening meal was slowly cooking in a marmite
suspended from a hook. Between her knees she held the child, combing
his hair. She stopped when she saw the visitors enter, and the child
ran towards the Count who took him in his arms.

The presents they had brought were unwrapped by the girls. Blouses,
trousers, clothes for the baby, a woollen dress, a muslin dress, with
two beautiful fichus in true Breton style for the grandmother. One box
contained sugar, coffee, and six jars of preserves; another, smoked
bacon, salt pork, two bottles of candy and prunes, and six bottles of
red wine. The old woman looked, caressingly felt everything with her
old knotted fingers, while the tears ran down the furrows that sorrow
had hollowed in each cheek.

"Ah! if my son had had such good things, perhaps he would not have
died!"

And she stood before the food with her hands crossed, her eyes lost in
the distance among old far off memories. Esperance undressed the
little fellow, and Genevieve looked for water to wash him before
putting on his new clothes, but despairing of finding any, she tried
to draw the old woman back from her dream.

"Water?" she said. "I have been too weak these three days to go to the
well. There is none here but what is in that pitcher there, on the
board, but don't take it, Mam'selle, the baby is always thirsty."

Genevieve raised her beautiful arm in its loose sleeve and picked up
the pitcher. She looked at the water and asked with surprise, "This is
the water you drink?"

"Yes, the cistern is empty, on account of the drought we have had
these two months, and the spring is a mile away. It is too far for me,
and especially for the child who is not strong. I don't dare leave him
alone in the house here; and I don't dare leave him with the
neighbours. They are too rough and they knock the little fellow about
and he doesn't understand it is only done in joke, and he cries and
calls for me and gets such a fever that he almost died one day when I
left him to go do washing still further away."

"But couldn't you get the neighbours to bring you some water?" asked
Esperance.

"My young lady, there are thirteen in that family, and one of them is
ill to death!" she added sighing.

Albert joined in, "Where is the spring?"

"Over there, near the church in the next village."

"Very good, we three will go there," he said, calling Maurice and
Jean, "and we will bring you back lots of water?"

"Wait till I give you...." she opened the cupboard. "Here is the pail.
Take care, it is very heavy."

Albert began to laugh. "Come along, my friends. I have got an idea."

Esperance watched him as he went out and for an instant she loved him.

While waiting for the young men to return she settled her mother on a
chest. The only chair in the house was a straw arm-chair with a high
back, on which the old Borderie was sitting and which she had not
thought of offering.

"No doubt," said Mme. Darbois in a low tone, "little by little she has
had to sell everything she had."

The girls opened a bottle of wine, the jar of prunes and the jar of
candy, and arranged them on the board pointed out by the poor woman,
who thanked them simply and said, "Ah! my little lad, how good it will
be for him!"

"And for you too, you know. Now drink some wine and take some coffee,"
said Esperance, caressing the grandmother's hands.

"I haven't got enough wood to boil the water."

Madame Darbois looked at the girls contritely. "Wood," she said. "And
we never thought of it."

"If you aren't poor, you don't have to think," muttered the old woman.

A contraction of the heart, the sting of remorse, pierced Mme. Darbois
and the two girls.

"To-morrow you shall have plenty of wood, Mme. Borderie."

"That will be very good, kind lady, for then we can have a little
heat, and that is what the little one needs. The sun never comes into
my room, ah! it can't, the hole is not big enough. And then in the
evening when the fog begins, my little boy, he coughs so, and that
makes me shiver; then I take him in my bed, but my blood is not warm
enough so he can't get warm. Ah! but that will be good for him, to
have wood! Thank you."

For the first time her face broke into a smile, for she had almost
forgotten how to smile. Her life had been nearly all tears. Suddenly
she raised her head in fright--"What may that noise be?"

At the door a cart stopped. On the cart a big barrel.

"Here is some water, Mme. Borderie, that we are going to pour into
your cistern."

With the help of the carter and Maurice, Albert got to work and
behold! the cistern half full. Albert tried the pump.

"Don't waste any, in Heaven's name," cried the old woman.

"No, no, never mind. Anyway there is another barrel on its way."

In fact another cart was stopping before the door. This barrel being
smaller. Albert, impatient at the peasant's slowness, picked it up
himself and rolling it along, emptied it like the first in the
cistern.

"Look there, will you, Mother," cried out the second carter, "that
isn't any cheap water. The fine gentleman has given a hundred francs
to the town so you could have that water there."

The Count coloured to the roots of his hair. He thought that Esperance
had not heard, but he met her contrite glance, full of gratitude. With
Genevieve's help she washed the little fellow, who was very docile,
sniffing with pleasure the "good smell" of these ladies. Bathed,
combed, in his new clothes, he was a darling.

"I don't know you any longer, little boy. Who are you?" chuckled the
old woman. And she kissed the child, saying, "On Sunday, we will go to
Mass, you will be as fine as the other little boys."

She saw all her visitors to the door, and when Esperance jumped on her
horse, "You aren't afraid up there? You know horses aren't exactly
treacherous, but they are uncertain, and then these dreadful flies
make them wild. _Au revoir_, Madame; my good gentlemen, thank
you. Good luck, Mam'zelle."

The four riders returned together. Passing the little village of
Debers, they had to stop; a big hay wagon barred the way. The peasant
who was driving was abominably drunk. He swore and struck his horses
and jerked them violently towards the ditch. Maurice ordered him to
make way. He laughed foolishly and swore at them insultingly. Maurice
and the Count started forward, and the peasant menaced them with the
scythe resting on the seat beside him. In a flash Albert leapt from
his horse, threw the reins to Maurice, and went straight to the
drunkard. The fellow tried to brandish his scythe, but already Albert
had wrenched it from him and threw it aside. Then seizing the man, he
pulled him down on his knees and held him there until he begged for
pardon. The rustic, suddenly sobered, and raging with impatience, paid
in full the apologies exacted by the Count, before he was allowed to
get up.

Jean, during this contest, had led the horses out of their way. The
driver, pale with fury, swung his whip at large and it struck
Esperance's horse. The poor beast, mad with fright, took the bit
between his teeth and started out on a dizzy run. Albert saw at a
glance the only possible way to stop his course.

"Go to the left and cut across the road," he cried, "I'll take the
right."

And he put his horse across the fields.

Esperance's horse did not follow the bend of the road as Styvens had
expected. Blinded by fright, it made straight ahead towards the
cliffs.

Once on the rocks, there was the precipice and certain death.

The Count's horse leapt as if it understood what it had to do.

The Count came up just as Esperance lost her seat and fell with one
foot caught in the stirrup. Her lovely blonde hair swept the earth.
Twenty yards more and that exquisite little head would be crashed upon
the rocks.

With a desperate effort, Albert by spurring his horse furiously was
able to reach her horse's head, seize him by the bridle and swing
himself to the ground.

Braced against the rocks, he succeeded in halting the trembling beast,
and bent in anguish over the fainting girl. But just as he freed
Esperance's feet, the horse, still trampling and plunging, kicked him
full in the head. He went down like a stone.

Maurice and Jean had now come up. One calmed the horse, the other went
to the aid of the wounded man. Albert, his face streaming with blood,
was murmuring feebly, "No, she is not dead; no, she is not dead...."

He fell back unconscious.

Jean was kneeling beside Esperance. He raised his eyes to Maurice,
moist with tears, but bright with hope.

"She is alive," he said, "she has just moaned feebly. It is only a
little way to the farm. Hurry Maurice, go for help. God grant the
Count's wound may not be fatal...."

The peasants who were haymaking nearby had left their work and come
upon the scene. One man offered his cart and Albert was lifted,
unconscious and bloodstained, and laid on the hay.

Esperance had come to her senses. She could see, but could not
understand. A peasant woman, kneeling beside her, washed her face in
water from a pool in the rocks.

Suddenly she recollected her comrade.

"Jean," she cried with fright, "Jean, Count Styvens?"

Jean sorrowfully showed her the wagon where he lay. Esperance, leaning
on the young actor, stood up to be able to see, and a great sob shook
her from head to feet.

"My God! my God!" she moaned, "is he killed?"

"No, I don't think so, not yet at least...."

"And his mother, his poor mother.... But what happened? I don't
remember.... It is terrible...."

Jean described what had happened, and how the Count had snatched her
from certain death.

Esperance began to cry bitterly.

Meantime Maurice was returning with the victoria in which were M. and
Madame Darbois. The wagon was sent on its way very slowly. Francois
stepped down quickly and took his daughter in his arms, intending to
carry her to the carriage.

"My father, I am able to walk...." she stifled with sobs. "But he...."

The philosopher put her in the victoria beside her mother, and begged
Jean to stay with them. Then he rejoined the cart, and climbed up
beside Maurice who was supporting the limp head on the hay.

The professor had studied a little medicine. He could see that the wound
was grave, but the young man was robust and he allowed himself to hope.

Maurice recounted the accident with all its details.

"Brave fellow," said Francois, taking the cold hand. And tears, he
could scarcely restrain, began to fill his eyes.

Soon they all arrived at the farm. Marguerite, as she had been
instructed, had prepared the Darbois's room to receive the wounded
man. Esperance, exhausted, was put to bed, and was soon asleep,
watched over by Mlle. Frahender, who prayed silently, counting over
her rosary.

They had difficulty in moving Albert Styvens. His great body was heavy
and difficult to raise. Finally, after they had washed and bound up
his head, they succeeded in undressing him and making him as
comfortable as possible in the great bed.

A quarter of an hour later he opened his eyes, and, in response to the
anxious faces leaning over him, smiled sweetly.

"And she?" he asked in a feeble voice.

"Thanks to your courage, she is all right," said Mme. Darbois. "You have
the blessings of a grateful mother."

She put the young man's hand to her lips. Two warm tears fell down on
it. The young man trembled, then his face grew radiant. They followed
his glance. On the threshold stood Esperance, leaning upon Genevieve.
A half-hour of profound sleep had completely restored her. She had
waked suddenly, and seeing Genevieve and Mlle. Frahender beside her,
had asked, "How is Count Albert?"

And in spite of the protests of both women, she had got up. She wanted
to be sure, she wanted to see!

The wounded man looked at her fixedly.

"Tell me that I am not dreaming," he implored.

"Albert," she murmured, going up to him, "I owe you my life."

She knelt beside the bed and her delicate hand rested on his strong
hand.

"God is very good," he sighed, closing his eyes.

He went so pale that Francois came forward quickly to feel his pulse.
He was silent a moment, then covering the patient's arm with the sheet
again, looked at his watch.

"If only this doctor would come...." he said.

Almost immediately the head doctor from the barracks at Palais was
announced. He was a man of forty, handsome, a little over-important,
but he understood his business well enough. He diagnosed the wound as
a fracture of the head and dressed and bandaged it, promising to
return that evening with a soothing potion.

For Esperance he prescribed a healing lotion for the many little
scratches, which were of no gravity. The girl was so insistent that
she was allowed to watch beside her deliverer. Genevieve and Mlle.
Frahender also stayed in the room, ready in case she needed help. A
dispatch was sent to the Countess.

Quiet redescended on the farm. A heavy atmosphere of sadness seemed to
envelop it. Lunch was served disjointedly, nobody cared to eat.
Genevieve and Mlle. Frahender had been relieved by the maid, but they
were anxious to return to their posts, and when Francois began to fold
his napkin, they pushed back their chairs and quickly returned to the
sick-chamber. The patient was becoming delirious. The name of
Esperance was continually recurrent in his confused talk. Once the
young girl trembled; the Count's expression had become so ferocious
that she was terrified. Genevieve and the old Mademoiselle had just
come in. She clung to them, clenching her hands and hiding her face.
She pointed to the Count, who, with his brows contracted and his lips
sternly set, was talking volubly. All three trembled. He ground out
the name of the Duke of Morlay-La-Branche in a kind of roar. Mlle.
Frahender, more composed than the girls, took the potion left by the
doctor to calm the fever when it should become too raging. Esperance
hardened herself against the weakness which had made her leave the
bedside, and while Genevieve held the bandaged head she poured the
liquid between the sick man's lips. At the same time she spoke to him
very gently.

The well-known, much-loved voice had more effect than the potion. The
wounded man grew gradually calmer, and still unconscious, slept
quietly once more. Then Esperance sank back in an easy chair, begging
Mlle. Frahender to see that no one should make any noise. When the
doctor returned at nine, he found the patient had been sleeping for an
hour. He was well satisfied, and waited a half-hour more before
disturbing him to dress the wound. He could say nothing definitely as
yet, except that the patient had lost no ground.

He took his leave until next day, and when Francois asked him to
insist upon his daughter's rest, he refused, saying, "I shall do
nothing of the kind. She risks nothing except a slight fatigue, and
she is performing a good work. It may be that she is the real doctor."

A telegram from Madame Styvens announced that she would arrive next
day with the doctor who had attended Albert from childhood, and a
friend. She asked that rooms be reserved at the hotel at Palais. But
Francois would reserve only the "Five Divisions of the World" for the
three travellers. They prepared one of the rooms as a dressing-room
for the Countess, and Maurice and Jean went to lodge at the farmer's.

It was with infinite discretion that Esperance broke the news of his
mother's coming to Albert.

"Poor mother," he said, "she must be living through hours of anguish
in her anxiety. But the doctor said that I am out of danger."

"What! you were not asleep!"

He smiled with the almost childish smile of the very ill returning to
life.

"Then I shall be on my guard, henceforth," she threatened him gently
with a slender finger.

He stretched his hand out towards her. She pressed it tenderly.

"Be careful, Albert, don't move too much."

They had completely dropped the "Monsieur" and "Mademoiselle," and
this intimacy filled the young man's heart with joy.

CHAPTER XX

Francois had made a special arrangement with the captain of the
_Soulacroup_, so that the charming Countess need not risk
travelling with geese and pigs. At Quiberon he had reserved a special
room that she might have at least an hour of rest. She went pale as
death when she saw the philosopher and his wife waiting for her at the
train, although they had sent her reassuring telegrams every few
hours. But feared that something serious might have happened while she
was on the way.

Francois said with emotion as he kissed her trembling hand,
"Everything is going well, Madame, be assured."

She breathed deeply and the colour returned to her face, which was
still so youthful in appearance. She presented Doctor Chartier, who
had been present at Albert's birth, and had cared for him ever since,
and General van Berger. Several peasant women, who had heard the news
of her coming, pressed around offering flowers.

"Your son is saved, Madame," they said.

Her mother's soul was overcome with sorrow and joy, for she felt that
they spoke the truth.

Esperance, who had been watching for her coming, threw herself into
her arms sobbing, but quickly realizing her impatience--"Come, come,
he is expecting you."

In spite of her efforts to keep calm the poor woman cast herself upon
the bed and embraced her son, interrupting her sobs with words of
endearment, crying, laughing, delirious with happiness, for he was
indeed alive, and she had feared.... But she cast away the terrible
thought.

The doctor from the barracks entered for a consultation with Doctor
Chartier, who issued the smiling command, "Leave him to the doctors
now, good ladies."

The Countess pressed a last kiss on her son's hand and went away with
Genevieve and Esperance.

After Doctor Chartier had examined the wound, he congratulated his
_confrere_. "You have cared for our patient admirably, and you
will find that his mother is eternally grateful to you."

And indeed the Countess did press his hands and expressed with noble
simplicity her gratitude to everyone for all that had been done for
her son.

The doctors were to return in the evening. Albert begged his mother to
take a little rest.

"If I have your word, dear mama, I declare to you I will go to sleep,
I am so relieved to know your anxiety is over."

"I will take care of your mother, Albert," said Esperance. "You take
your medicine and go to sleep. Genevieve has promised to come and
fetch me if you do not."

The Countess smiled as she went out with the young girl. She looked at
the pretty face, which was still scarred by the marks of her fall. She
listened, trembling with terror, but admiring the coolness and courage
of her adored son, while the little artist gave her an account of the
accident. Then she sent for Maurice and Jean Perliez that she might
thank them repeatedly. She loved them all for their goodness and
simplicity.

"The maid is at your disposal, Madame, I will send her to you." said
Esperance. She bent to kiss the Countess's hand, but found her face
caressed by it.

"My daughter, my dear daughter," said the Countess, kissing her
tenderly.

Esperance went away mystified, and in a daze.

In eight days, Doctor Chartier left them. The invalid was now
convalescent, but still confined--to his room for several days. The
head wound was closing little by little. Happily the cut had been a
clean one and there had been no complications; but fatigue was to be
avoided, and the young Count was not allowed to exert himself in any
way. He usually settled himself in a big arm-chair near the window,
and while his mother did some embroidering, Esperance read aloud.
Every two hours they were relieved by Madame Darbois and Genevieve. As
to Maurice, he had made a plot in concert with Esperance and Albert,
of offering a portrait of her son to the charming Countess. Baron van
Berger played endless games of cards with Francois. The days passed
quickly and everyone seemed happy. Esperance's face was as lovely as
ever, for every scar had disappeared.

The accident to Count Styvens had made a great stir in the fashionable
world, where the young Belgian diplomat was much esteemed and even
loved, and the artistic world was interested on account of Esperance.
Telegrams and letters came in every day. The Duke de Morlay-La-Branche
had shown such an interest that the object of it (the Count) grew
exasperated. The Duke had even expressed a desire to come and see the
sufferer, but the philosopher, warned by Jean Perliez, replied coldly,
pleading the doctor's orders.

At last the day came when the Count was permitted to leave the sick
room. He was allowed to take a walk, and felt so strong that when
Maurice offered his assistance he refused it quite gaily. Esperance
and the Countess walked on either side of him; but suddenly he grew
dizzy, and stretched out his arms. Maurice started forward to catch
him as he tottered, and the Count saved himself by catching hold of
the shoulder of Esperance. Under this heavy burden Esperance shuddered
and nearly fell, and grew so pale that Genevieve came to her.

"Give me your arm, darling, and walk a little behind with me, you seem
so shaken.... Oh! I guess why...."

Maurice and General van Berger supported Albert, who had lost his
self-reliance and was a little crestfallen.

"Yes; I have been tortured again by some sort of repugnance," said
Esperance. "I know that I should devote myself to loving that man.
But...."

"That will make for the happiness of all who love you."

"Yes, but it will be like condemning myself to death."

Genevieve shivered and grew silent, while pressing Esperance close to
her side to give her courage. Her friend's confidences troubled her
sadly. She also saw the shade of sorrow hovering over this pure face.
She was on the point of encouraging Esperance to refuse the union
which would no doubt be proposed for her, but the recollection of the
Duke haunted her. Was not this man more to be feared than death
itself?

"These are silly notions that crowd your brain with presentiments and
nightmares. You must rouse your energy, my darling, and chase
everything that threatens to hurt your life."

"I swear to you, Genevieve, that I make superhuman efforts; but no one
is master of his thoughts. They are so impulsive and rapid that they
seem to escape the control of the will."

"Nevertheless we can deprive them of power!"

"Alas!... But I do not want to sadden you. Look! Maurice is getting
anxious. Ah! you are going to be really happy, you are. I feel it.
True happiness is always found where love is equal."

Maurice could not resist crying out, at sight of the two girls, "How
grave you both look! What were you talking about that you should spoil
your beauty with furrows?"

The Count looked straight at Esperance and she could not prevent
herself from blushing.

"My God, have pity on me," she thought. "Help me to love this man."

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