Chapter II: The Duchess Entertains Ernestine

Mlle. de Beaumesnil, on seeing Herminie approach, was so struck by her remarkable beauty that she entirely failed to notice the slight lameness which the duchess had feigned in order to avoid dancing that evening.

So what was Ernestine's surprise, when the duchess, seating herself beside her, said, in the most friendly manner:

"I am deputised by Madame Herbaut to come and keep you company for a little while, in place of her daughters, who, of course, have many duties to perform."

"So some one at least pities me," thought Mlle. de Beaumesnil, deeply humiliated.

But Herminie's voice and manner were so sweet and engaging, and the expression of her face was so kind, that Ernestine, reproaching herself for the bitterness of her first thought, replied:

"I thank you very much, mademoiselle, but I fear that by thus detaining you, I shall deprive you of the pleasure of--"

"Of dancing?" asked Herminie, smilingly. "I assure you, mademoiselle, that my foot hurts me too much this evening to permit of my enjoying myself in that way, so I trust you will grant me your companionship as a compensation for my misfortune."

"Really, mademoiselle, you quite overpower me by your kindness."

"I am only doing what you would gladly do for me, I am sure, mademoiselle, if you should see me sitting alone, as frequently happens when one attends a little entertainment like this for the first time."

"I do not believe, mademoiselle," replied Ernestine, smiling, and now made entirely at ease by these gracious advances,--"in fact, I am sure that you would never be left alone even the first time you went anywhere."

"Oh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, it is you who are overwhelming me with compliments now," laughingly protested Herminie.

"I assure you that I am only saying what I really think," Ernestine replied so artlessly that the duchess, appreciating the artless flattery, replied:

"I thank you for your very flattering words. I am sure that they are sincere; as for their being really deserved,--that is an entirely different thing. But tell me, what do you think of our little party?"

"It is charming, mademoiselle."

"I think so, too. Everybody is so gay and animated! Each guest seems determined to make the most of every minute of time. Nor is it strange. Sunday comes only once a week for all of us here, and enjoyment is really enjoyment, while to many people it is a fatiguing occupation. Surfeited with pleasure, they do not even know what it is to be amused; and it seems to me that nothing could be more sad than to be always trying hard to amuse oneself."

"Oh, yes, it must be sad, as sad as trying to find true affection, when nobody cares for you," Ernestine answered, unconsciously revealing the thought uppermost in her mind.

There was such an intense melancholy in the girl's tone and in her face, that Herminie was deeply touched by it.

"Poor child!" she said to herself, "probably she is not a favourite at home, and that makes her all the more sensitive to slights when she is out in company."

Something Herminie noticed just then seemed to confirm this suspicion, for the progress of the dance having brought the green-gloved youth and his partner directly opposite Ernestine, the duchess saw the favoured one cast several compassionate and rather patronising glances at the less fortunate damsel.

Mlle. de Beaumesnil also noticed these glances, and fancied that she must be an object of pity to every one. The thought, of course, wounded her deeply, so one can judge of her gratitude, when Herminie said, with a smile:

"Are you willing to waive all ceremony between us, mademoiselle?"

"Certainly."

"Well, I find it dreadfully warm here. Would you mind going with me to Madame Herbaut's chamber to stay awhile?"

"Oh, thank you, mademoiselle, thank you," exclaimed Ernestine, gratefully, rising eagerly as she spoke.

"But why do you thank me?" asked Herminie, drawing the younger girl's hand through her arm. "On the contrary, it is I who should thank you for consenting to leave the ballroom on my account."

"I thank you because I understand your motive, mademoiselle," replied Ernestine, as they entered Madame Herbaut's chamber, which they found entirely deserted.

"Well, now that we are alone, explain again why you thanked me a minute ago," said Herminie, when they had seated themselves.

"Mademoiselle, you are very generous, so you must be equally frank," began Ernestine.

"Frankness is one of my greatest virtues--or failings, mademoiselle," replied Herminie, smiling. "But why this appeal to my frankness?"

"Just now, when you asked me to accompany you here because the other room was too warm, you were impelled to do it merely by your kindness of heart. You said to yourself: 'This poor girl is neglected. No one asks her to dance because she is so unattractive. If she remains here, she will become an object of ridicule, and the knowledge will wound her deeply. I will save her from this humiliation by getting away under some pretext or other.' That was exactly what you said to yourself. Is it not so?" insisted Mlle. de Beaumesnil, making no effort to conceal her tears this time. "Confess that what I say is only the truth?"

"It is," said Herminie, with her accustomed honesty. "Why should I not admit that your unpleasant position excited my sympathy?"

"And I thank you for it," said Ernestine, offering her hand to her companion. "You have no idea how grateful I am, too, for your sincerity."

"And, as you insist upon my being perfectly frank, I must tell you that you have no idea how deeply you pained me just now," said Herminie, pressing the proffered hand cordially.

"I?"

"Yes; for when I remarked what a sad thing it must be to strive as hard for enjoyment as some people do, you replied, in accents that touched me to the heart, 'Yes, it must be as sad as trying to find true affection when nobody cares for you.' Have I not set you an example of frankness? Can you not be equally frank with me?"

"It is true, mademoiselle, that I do not seem to follow your example in this respect," said Ernestine, hesitatingly.

"Ah, well, let me ask you just one question, and pray do not attribute it to mere idle curiosity. Can it be that you do not find among your own relatives the affection you long for?"

"I am an orphan," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, in such a touching voice that Herminie's sympathy increased.

"An orphan!" she repeated; "an orphan! Alas! I understand, for I, too--"

"You, too, are an orphan?"

"Yes."

"How glad I am!" exclaimed Ernestine, naively. Then thinking how cruel or, at least, how strange the remark must have sounded, she added:

"Forgive me, mademoiselle, forgive me, but--"

"Ah, I think I read your feelings in my turn," responded Herminie. "Your exclamation simply meant: 'She knows how sad the lot of an orphan is, and she will love me, perhaps. Perhaps in her I shall find the affection I have failed to find elsewhere.' Am I right?" added Herminie, offering her hand in her turn. "Have I not read your thoughts aright?"

"Yes, that is true," replied Ernestine, yielding more and more to the singular charm that pervaded her companion's every word and look. "You have been so kind to me; you seem so honest and sincere that I do indeed long for your affection, mademoiselle. It--it is an ambition only. I dare not call it a hope, for you scarcely know me," concluded Ernestine, timidly.

"But do you know me any better than I know you?"

"No, but with you it is very different."

"And why?"

"Because I am already under deep obligations to you, and yet I ask an even greater favour."

"But how do you know that I will not be very glad to give you the friendship you ask in exchange for yours? You seem to me well worthy of it," said Herminie, who, on her side, was beginning to feel an increasing fondness for Ernestine.

Then, suddenly becoming thoughtful, she added: "Do you know that this is very strange?"

"What, mademoiselle?" asked Ernestine, a little worried by the seriousness of her companion's face.

"We have known each other barely half an hour. I do not know your name, you do not know mine; yet here we are almost exchanging confidences."

"But why should you be surprised to see affection and confidence spring up suddenly between a benefactress and the person obliged, mademoiselle?" asked Ernestine, timidly, almost imploringly, as if fearing Herminie might regret the interest she had manifested in her up to this time. "I am sure nothing could bring two persons together so quickly and so closely as compassion on one side and gratitude on the other."

"I am too anxious to believe you not to yield to your arguments very readily," Herminie answered, half laughingly, half seriously.

"But my reasoning is true, mademoiselle," said Ernestine, encouraged by her success, and anxious to make her companion share her convictions; "besides, the similarity in our situations helps to bring us together. The fact that we are both orphans is surely a bond between us."

"It is indeed," said the duchess, pressing Ernestine's hand affectionately.

"Then you will really grant me your affection some day?"

"A few minutes ago, without even knowing you, I was touched by your painful position," replied Herminie. "Now I feel that I love you because it is so evident that you have a kind and noble heart."

"Oh, if you only knew what pleasure your words give me! I will never prove ungrateful, I swear it, mademoiselle!"

Then as if bethinking herself, she added, "Mademoiselle? It seems to me that it will be very difficult for me to call you that now."

"And equally difficult for me to reply in the same ceremonious way," responded the duchess. "So call me Herminie and I will call you--"

"Ernestine."

"Ernestine," exclaimed Herminie, remembering that this was her sister's name,--the name the Comtesse de Beaumesnil had mentioned several times in the young musician's presence when speaking of her beloved daughter; "you are called Ernestine? You spoke of one bond between us just a moment ago; this is another."

"What do you mean?"

"A lady to whom I was deeply attached had a daughter who was also named Ernestine."

"You see how many reasons there are that we should love each other, Herminie," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil; "and as we are friends now, I am going to ask you all sorts of impertinent questions."

"Proceed, then!" said Herminie, smiling.

"Well, in the first place, what do you do for a living? What is your profession, Herminie?"

"I give lessons on the piano and in singing."

"How lucky your pupils are! How kind you must be to them!"

"No, indeed, I am very severe," replied the duchess, gaily. "And you, Ernestine, what do you do?"

"I--I do embroidery and tapestry work," Mlle. de Beaumesnil answered, somewhat embarrassed.

"And do you have plenty of work, my dear child?" asked Herminie, with almost maternal solicitude; "work of that kind is usually so very scarce at this season of the year."

"I came from the country only a short time ago to join my relative here," replied poor Ernestine, more and more confused; then gathering a certain amount of courage from the very exigency of the situation, she added: "So you see, Herminie, that I have never lacked work yet."

"If you ever should, I think I might be able to procure it for you, my dear Ernestine."

"You! and how?"

"I, too, have done embroidery for some of the large shops, when--well, one may surely confess it to a friend--when pupils were scarce, and I had to eke out a living in that way; so as they were very well satisfied with my work at the establishment of which I speak,--one of the largest in town by the way,--I am still on good terms with them, and feel sure that a recommendation from me would ensure you work if you need it."

"But as you embroider, too, Herminie, I should be depriving you of one of your resources, and if pupils should become scarce again, what would you do?" asked Ernestine, deeply touched by Herminie's generous offer.

"Oh, I have other resources now," answered the other girl, proudly. "I copy music, too. But the important thing, you see, Ernestine, is to be certain of work, for you, too, alas! know, perhaps, that it is not enough for those who labour for their daily bread to have energy and determination; they must have employment as well."

"Certainly, and that is very hard to find sometimes," said Ernestine, sadly, thinking for the first time of the sad lot of many young girls, and reflecting that her new friend had doubtless been in the deplorable situation of which she spoke.

"Yes, and it is terrible for one to see oneself nearing the end of one's resources, no matter how willing to work and how courageous one may be," replied Herminie, sadly. "And it is for this very reason that I will do everything in my power to spare you such misery as that, my poor Ernestine. But tell me, where do you live? I will call and see you sometime when I am out giving lessons, that is, if it is not too far out of my way, for I have to be very saving of my time."

Mlle. de Beaumesnil's embarrassment was very great, and it was still farther augmented by the painful necessity of being compelled to utter a falsehood, so it was with no little hesitation that she replied:

"I should be very glad to see you, my dear Herminie, but--but my relative--"

"Poor child, I understand," said Herminie, quickly, unconsciously coming to Ernestine's assistance. "You are not in your own home, of course, and your relative makes you painfully conscious of the fact, sometimes, perhaps."

"That is it exactly," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, delighted with this excuse. "My relative is not bad at heart, but so peevish, and such a grumbler. I don't believe there was ever another such grumbler in the world," she added, smiling.

"That is enough for me," exclaimed Herminie, laughing in her turn. "If she's a grumbler, she'll never have a visit from me. The only way out of the difficulty, Ernestine, is for you to come and see me whenever you have time."

"I was just going to ask you to grant me that privilege."

"Yes, yes, you shall come and see how pretty my room is," said the duchess.

Then remembering that her new friend was not as comfortably housed, Herminie added:

"When I say that, I don't really mean it. My room is really very unpretentious."

But Ernestine understood Herminie's disposition and character pretty well already, so she said, smiling:

"Be honest, Herminie."

"About what?"

"Your room is charming, and you only retracted your words because you thought I would feel badly because I hadn't a room as pretty as yours."

"Do you know, Ernestine, that you would be a very dangerous person to have around if any one had a secret, for you seem to divine everything."

"I was sure of it! Your room is charming. How I shall enjoy seeing it."

"You must not say how I shall enjoy seeing it. You must say, 'Herminie, I am coming to take a glass of milk with you some morning, soon.'"

"Oh, I'll say that with all the pleasure in life."

"And I accept your offer with equal pleasure. Only when you come, Ernestine, don't let it be any later than nine o'clock, for I begin my round of lessons at ten. And now what day will you come?"

Mlle. de Beaumesnil was rescued from this embarrassing situation by Providence in the shape of a handsome non-commissioned officer of hussars, who was no other than Olivier.

Faithful to the promise made to Mlle. Herbaut, the kind-hearted fellow had come to ask Ernestine to dance the next quadrille with him, so, after having greeted Herminie in the most cordial and respectful manner, he bowed low before Ernestine, with the stereotyped phrase:

"Will mademoiselle do me the honour to dance the next quadrille with me."