After a few moments she looked at the poor orchid
which had dropped on the cold marble mantel-piece.
She lifted it up carefully and placed it in some fresh
water.
Then she sat down before the vases where the two rival
flowers displayed their charms. She was bitterly
conscious of being impelled by a new inner force,
an almost evil force. And she looked from the
mantel to the ivory Virgin, whose open hands seemed
to be showering blessings.
Esperance looked back to the white orchid.
“If I do not marry that man I am lost,”
she thought.
Almost terrified, she got up and walked about to calm
herself, to conquer the instinct which her reason
told her was wrong. Still under the strain of
the emotions of the triumphal day, and to escape the
disagreeable thought the sight of the radiant gardenias
provoked in her, she began to write a long letter
to the Countess Styvens. That soothed her nervousness
a little. She poured out all her heart in the
letter, for she knew that this woman loved her independently
of the love of her son—loved her entirely
for her own self.
Two days later Esperance received a letter from the
Director of the Comedie-Francaise, asking her to call
at four o’clock that same day at the theatre.
At the right hour she went with her mother and Mlle.
Frahender. Without delay she was at once engaged,
for Madame Darbois had the spoken and written authority
of her husband to make what arrangements her daughter
should desire. The Director was most complimentary
to the young actress and asked what role she would
care to choose for her debut. Esperance proclaimed
her preference for “Dona Sol” in
Hernani or “Camille” in “On
ne badine pas avec l’amour.”
Her heart was filled with emotion as she was leaving
the great house of which in future she would be a
part. The Place du Carrousel, the perspective
of the Tuileries, and the Champs Elysees seemed more
beautiful than ever before. The passers-by were
charming. Everything, everywhere, spoke only
of happiness and hope.
“Mama, dear mama, I am so happy.”
After the recent excitement at the Conservatoire,
following the competition, Esperance was delighted
to act upon the Doctor’s advice to leave Paris.
Doctor Potain had told the philosopher that it was
absolutely imperative that his daughter should have
two or three months of absolute quiet. He suggested
the mountains; but Esperance would have none of them.
She loved far horizons and vast plains, but her real
choice was the sea. So it was decided that the
family should go to their little farm at Belle-Isle-en-Mer.
“You must go immediately,” the Doctor
commanded, “and to begin with you must have
two weeks’ complete repose, in the sun, in a
comfortable reclining chair.”
