unapproachable. He seldom troubled himself to
please any one he did not care for. In society
he was not seen to advantage, because he was extremely
bored, for which reason he was seldom to be seen at
the Tuesday receptions of Madame de Nailles; while,
on other days, he frequented the house as an intimate
friend of the family. Jacqueline had known him
all her life, and for her he had always his beautiful
smile. He had petted her when she was little,
and had been much amused by the sort of adoration
she had no hesitation in showing that she felt for
him. He used to call her Mademoiselle ma femme,
and M. de Nailles would speak of him as “my daughter’s
future husband.” This joke had been kept
up till the little lady had reached her ninth year,
when it ceased, probably by order of Madame de Nailles,
who in matters of propriety was very punctilious.
Jacqueline, too, became less familiar than she had
been with the man she called “my great painter.”
Indeed, in her heart of hearts, she cherished a grudge
against him. She thought he presumed on the right
he had assumed of teasing her. The older she
grew the more he treated her as if she were a baby,
and, in the little passages of arms that continually
took place between them, Jacqueline was bitterly conscious
that she no longer had the best of it as formerly.
She was no longer as droll and lively as she had been.
She was easily disconcerted, and took everything ‘au
serieux’, and her wits became paralyzed by an
embarrassment that was new to her. And, pained
by the sort of sarcasm which Marien kept up in all
their intercourse, she was often ready to burst into
tears after talking to him. Yet she was never
quite satisfied unless he was present. She counted
the days from one Wednesday to another, for on Wednesdays
he always dined with them, and she greeted any opportunity
of seeing him on other days as a great pleasure.
This week, for example, would be marked with a white
stone. She would have seen him twice. For
half an hour Marien had been enduring the bore of
the reception, standing silent and self-absorbed in
the midst of the gay talk, which did not interest
him. He wished to escape, but was always kept
from doing so by some word or sign from Madame de Nailles.
Jacqueline had been thinking: “Oh! if he
would only come and talk to us!” He was now
drawing near them, and an instinct made her wish to
rush up to him and tell him—what should
she tell him? She did not know. A few moments
before so many things to tell him had been passing
through her brain.
What she said was: “Monsieur Marien, I recommend to you these little spiced cakes.” And, with some awkwardness, because her hand was trembling, she held out the plate to him.
“No, thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said, affecting a tone of great ceremony, “I prefer to take this glass of punch, if you will permit me.”
“The punch is cold, I fear; suppose we were to put a little tea in it. Stay—let me help you.”