Woman and Artist. O'Rell Max
"very likely in a few hours. We are expecting every minute a telegram from Paris."
"If they should buy it!" said Philip dreamily.
"Well, then, you will be a wealthy man!"
"Shall I?" exclaimed Philip, his eyes shining with joy – "shall I be rich? My dear de Lussac, I am quite satisfied with my lot. I earn more than I want. But my wife, my Dora – I want to be rich for her sake. She was brought up surrounded with every luxury. Six years ago, she left the house of a wealthy and generous father to share the life of a struggling artist. She never once complained, but has been happy and has made me the happiest of men. She has sat constantly by my easel, inspiring my brush by her sweet presence, and encouraging me by her constant and discriminating praise. To better appreciate my work, she has set to work herself, and has had two pictures hung at the Royal Academy, which have been splendidly noticed. How she has helped me! Sometimes she would come and put her arms on my shoulders and say, 'Go on, Philip, you are on the road to fame.' What a wife! Yes," said he, with earnestness and warmth, "I want wealth, but God is my witness that it is for her that I aspire to riches."
"Still in love, I see, cher ami, hein? It is possible then to be in love with one's wife after six years, six long years, of marriage."
"Still in love! Why, I am only now beginning to love her as she deserves. Oh, that wealth may enable me to make her still happier!"
"Amen," said de Lussac, and he turned again to the picture.
"I think this portrait is delightful," said he; "you can never have done a better piece of work than this!"
"Yes! I am fairly satisfied with it," said Philip; "it is like her, is it not? My wife with a bunch of pansies in her hand."
"I don't see the pansies," remarked de Lussac.
"No! I shall put them in presently. I shall finish the picture this afternoon."
"I see," said de Lussac, "that Madame Grantham will have the bunch of pansies in her hand, and that she will look lovingly at them."
"Yes, it is her favourite flower," replied Philip, "and mine too. There was a bed of pansies growing just under her window in that beautiful country house where I met her for the first time and where I courted her. She tended them herself, and called them 'her family.' Before entering the house, I would always pluck one and place it in my buttonhole. When it was faded, I gave it to her. It is utter nonsense, I know; but, after all, happiness is made up of little foolish trifles of that sort."
"The Anglo-Saxons!" said de Lussac – "a practical and yet sentimental race."
Philip went to a bureau and, opening a drawer, took out a little packet carefully tied up.
"Here they are," said he, "her family."
And he replaced the packet with great care.
"This is charming, quite romantic," cried de Lussac, "perfectly idyllic! You know, you are a curious mixture, mon cher ami. Fancy your inventive genius turning to an instrument of war that will make widows of wives who perhaps once had such a 'family.'"
"Oh, if I thought that!" exclaimed Philip.
"You would beg the Commission to kindly return you your shell," suggested de Lussac, with a wink.
"Hardly," said Philip, smiling; "I am too near the goal to do that."
"I think I had better be off now," said de Lussac, looking at his watch. "I am preventing you from working."
"Not at all, my dear fellow. I have, it is true, to finish this portrait to-day; but I have plenty of time. I will go and put on my working-jacket. Dora will be down in a minute … only, dear boy, do not mention the shell, will you? Not a word about it!"
De Lussac, left alone, could not control his curiosity. The drawer in which the pansies had been placed was only half shut. He took the packet in his hand and gave way to hearty laughter at the expense of Philip and Dora.
"Well! I'll be hanged," said he, "if ever a woman makes me save some withered old flowers tied in pink ribbon, like a box of chocolates."
If he had only looked round at the garden door, while indulging in these reflections, he would have seen Dora come into the studio.
Dora was radiant, in a pretty simple morning gown, which accentuated her severe and classical beauty. Her large hazel eyes, encircled with long lashes, had an expression of exquisite sweetness; but they were also capable of making any man, who would dare look into them with any other sentiment than that of profound respect, sink into the ground. Her haughty mouth, with its short upper lip, almost Austrian, betrayed a proud, susceptible, and ardent nature. She had the consciousness of her beauty and intellectual worth. The smallest underhand act filled her with repugnance. On seeing de Lussac with the packet of flowers in his hand and the drawer still open, she hardly knew whether to laugh or treat him with contempt. The corner of her mouth turned slightly up and, with a little mocking smile which completely disconcerted the young diplomatist, she said —
"Well, Monsieur de Lussac, and how are you?"
"How are you, chère madame," answered he in an embarrassed manner.
"Very well, thank you. I thought I heard Philip."
"He is in there, changing his coat." And, remarking that Dora had brought in a handful of pansies, he added —
"More pansies?"
"Why more? Ah! that is true, you have some also, I see."
De Lussac reddened to the tips of his ears.
"Yes! A minute ago Philip was telling me the history of your 'little family,' and when he went out I could not resist the temptation of taking another peep at the little packet that he had left in my hand, and which contains the prologue of your love affairs."
Seeing himself caught in the act he did not hesitate to tell this little fib, so as to reinstate himself in Dora's good graces. She was taken in by it.
"Give the packet to me; you are a very wicked man – these are not for the profane; and Philip is still more wicked than you are to show them to you."
She put the packet back again. She was vexed, almost humiliated. Why had Philip mentioned the story of the pansies to Monsieur de Lussac? It could interest no one, except the two lovers, who had thus repeated their vows. Why had Philip shown him the packet? In her eyes, it was an almost ungentlemanly act. She passed a hand across her forehead, as if to brush away the ideas that came to her mind, and smiled good-humouredly once more.
"I believe you are jealous," said she gaily.
"Not a bit – I am disgusted. Two people supposed to be sensible, billing and cooing over a package of old flowers, after being married, let me see – how long?"
"Six years to-day."
"And after six years of marriage you are still in the region of romance? Will you allow a bachelor, an intimate friend of your husband's, to congratulate you with all his heart? I declare I almost envy your happiness."
"Well, get married yourself!" exclaimed Dora; "it is very easy."
"Not for the world," said he, in a bantering tone. "I am too fond of woman in the plural to ever love one in the singular. Besides, I could never marry a woman unless I could respect her."
"Naturally."
"Well!" exclaimed de Lussac, laughing heartily, "I don't believe I could respect a woman who would be willing to marry me."
"Oh! come, you are like most Frenchmen," said Dora, "not so bad as you would make people believe. You will succumb to the temptation all in good time. You will marry, you will love your wife, and, what is more, you will make the most docile of husbands. It is the most recalcitrant of you that generally become the model husbands in the end."
"Heaven forbid! I will succumb to every temptation you like to name except that one; if I ever find myself married I shall have been chloroformed before the ceremony. For fear of giving way to this temptation I will stick to all the others, in case they should forsake me – you see, I am a vagabond pure and simple."
"Women love vagabonds – many do at any rate.