THE BALLET DANCER'S HUSBAND.
13
"But reflect a moment, obstinate creature;
remember that he is rich, that he has no family,
and that one of these days he is going to die of
apoplexy and all his fortune will go to the
government. By treating him in a friendly
way we shall perhaps induce him to make us
his heirs. We are not rich by any means, and in
six years you will be obliged to leave off danc-
ing."
Barberine was confounded.
" I do not clearly understand your scheme,"
she said, " but I am sure it is not an honorable
one. Do you know me so little as to suppose
that I would consent to lend my aid in such a
disgraceful undertaking?"
"Good heavens! my dear," returned Saint-
Bertrand, calmly, " pray tell me what you con-
sider disgraceful in such a proposition. I might
return your compliment by asking why you
should think me capable of desiring you to com-
mit a disgraceful action? Do not lose your
temper, Barberine, but try to understand me.
What I expect from you is not a cringing ser-
vility, far from it; it is only to treat Monsieur
Lorvieux with common politeness; and I shall
be the first to kick this grotesque creature out-
of-doors, large as he is, if he forgets the respect
due you."
"But I will have nothing whatever to do
with him," cried Barberine. "I have no right
to his wealth ; besides what would people say
of me, and of you, if I accepted it?"
"You are talking to hear yourself talk. Have
you any property?"
" We have my salary, and while that con-
tiaues we need want for nothing. I will work
as 1 have strength to work; and I will deny my-
self every luxury, if necessary, to save for the
time when I can no longer dance. But you
need hope for nothing more from me, and I am
surprised that you do not see the indelicacy of
the proposition you have just made."
"Let us say no more about it," rejoined
Saint-Bertrand; " but you will regret your fool-
ish obstinacy by and by, I'm sure."
The discussion would have ended here had
not Barberine detected a singular, and, it
seemed to her, a threatening expression on her
husband's face. She fancied that he intended
to bring M. Lorvieux to the house in spite of
her opposition. She told him so, and threat-
ened to leave the house if he did so. This
threat exasperated Saint-Bertrand, and the rage
that had been smoldering within him suddenly
burst forth. He sprang up, with blazing eyes,
and scarcely knowing what he said, exclaimed:
"Take care! I have been a good husband to
you, but do not think that I will tolerate any
insolence. I am master here, and intend to
be obeyed ; and since you now say, ' I will
not,' I tell you, ' You shall,' and we will see
which of us two will be obliged to yield."
But Barberine, emboldened by her conscience,
her duty, and the many sacrifices she had made
for him, and indignant at the manner in which
he had spoken to her, reproached him bitterly
for his conduct toward her.
"You have no heart," she said; "I have
lifted you from the most abject poverty, and
you speak to me as if I were the vilest of the
vile."
This well-merited reproach brought the blood
to his face. He could no longer control him-
self; and, maddened by rage, he seized his wife
by the arm and dashed her to the floor. He
would have killed her, perhaps, had not Char-
lotte, hearing the shrieks of her mistress, rushed
-into the room. On seeing her, Saint-Bertrand
desisted. He was breathless; his lips were
covered with foam, and his hands shook con-
vulsively. On looking at his wife, whose face
was stained with blood, he was horrified at
himself, and hid his face in his hands.
Charlotte laid her mistress upon a sofa and en-
deavored to restore her to consciousness. The
scene that followed was more revolting than the
first. Saint-Bertrand was upon hisknees, weep-
ing, tearing his hair, imploring her forgive-
ness, heaping the most opprobrious epithets
upon himself, and entreating Charlotte to inter-
cede for him, and the two women, stunned by
the violence of his real or pretended grief, had
not the heart to censure him. Barberine,—oh !
the sublime idiocy of women!—did her best to
console him. An hour later, he was again on
his feet; he had succeeded in disarming her; it
was she who was weeping then. He said no
more to her about M. Lorvieux, but his intimacy
with the old man continued; he visited him
every day, and when Lorvieux, one evening,
after a sumptuous dinner of which he had par-
taken in company with two chorus girls and
Saiot-Bertrand, fell heavily to the floor from a
chair upon wliich he was sitting in the foyer,
it was the viscount who rushed anxiously to
him, as if, as Cocodéte remarked, the elephant
had been his father.
The doctor bled the sick man and he was
taken home. Oo his way thither he rendered
up his soul—and such a soul!—and the govern-
ment was his heir.
But the historical diamonds of which he
had boasted to Barberine could not be found—
and for the best of reasons. He had given
them to Saint-Bertrand a week before, and that
gentleman was to embrace the first opportunity
to present them to his wife!
Barberine knew nothing of this.
But winter had come. Barberine's engage-
ment at the opera was about to expire, and the
I manager entreated Saint-Bertrand to renew it.
' He was hesitating and haggling as to terms
; when the papers begau to talk of an approach-
; ing insurrection in Poland. On hearing this,
j Saint-Bertrand had but one desire: to conceal
himself.
He felt that there was but one country in the
whole world in which he would be beyond the
reach of the vengeance of the Poles whom he
had betrayed, and that country was Russia.
For a long time the public there had been de-
sirous of again seeing Barberine, whose start-
ling début had not been forgotten, so he signed,
in his wife's name, an engagement of eighteen
months with the opera of Moscow.
A fortnight after the signing of this engage-
ment he dismissed Charlotte under the pretext
that she would be troublesome in traveling, and
curtly refused Gaskell permission to accompany
them. He did not return his money, however,
but boldly asserted that it was engaged in a
speculation which would yield nothing for
several years. He induced his father to make
him quite a handsome present, on Barberine's
account, and then with well-filled pockets, and
in debt to all who had been so unfortunate as to
take an interest in him, he departed with his
wife in a post-chaise, swearing in his traitorous
conscience that he would never again be seen
in Paris.
CHAPTER X.
EVENTS IN VARSOVIE.
It was on Good Friday that Saint-Bertrand left
Paris with Barberine on his way to Moscow,
and that same day the long-prepared insurrec-
tion planned by" the Countess Wanda broke
out in Varsovie.
Crushed by Russian tyranny, having seen all
the stipulations of the Vienna Congress ruth-
lessly violated, the inhabitants of Poland once
more resolved to drive away their oppressors or
to die.
Still there was nothing to indicate even to
the most careful observer that the people were
ready for an outbreak. All day long the
churches had been thronged with devout wor-
shipers. Night had come on, a clear, still,
cold, starry night, and the ground was covered
with snow.
About nine o'clock, the shops being closed,
a clear, bluish light descended upon the entire
city—the light of the rising moon. The streets
wore silent and deserted ; but all the churches
were brilliantly illuminated, and grave and sol-
emn music pealed out through their open por-
tals. The crowd within was even greater than
during the day.
One church in particular was remarkable for
its music and the brilliant light that streamed
from it. It was that of the Bernardines, stand-
ing on the Faubourg de Cracovie. An immense
throng had assembled there, and the building
was so crowded that many had been unable to
effect an entrance. A division of the Russian
Guard had been stationed on one side of the
church, under the trees, and thirtv feet further
on stood a colossal statue of the Virgin. The
many who had been unable to enter tbe church
assembled here and formed an immense circle
around the statue. Men and women knelt on
the snow and prayed fervently. A long shiver-
ing sigh rose now and then from the throng.
Several Cossacks were looking on. A priest
who was kneeling upon the lower step of the
pedestal of the statue chanted the psalms of the
day.
Back of the statue stood a large and elegant
mansion, but its doors, like its windows, were
closed.    Not a ray of light was visible, and one
would have supposed it a deserted house. It
was the residence of the Countess Wanda.
It had a large court-yard ; and this last, sur-
rounded by a wall about fifteen feet high, ex-
tended to the cloister of the Bernardines.
In the meantime a strange thing was taking
place in the church. While the monks were
chanting the psalms, and the worshipers were
apparently absorbed in prayer, and the Russian
spies (they were numerous in the church) were
watching each movement and gesture of their
neighbors, were gradually pushed forward by
the crowd, until they were close to the altar.
There on the right was a door concealed
by a black hanging, which communicated with
the cloister and with the sacristy. From time
to time, especially at a moment when the crowd
was swayed to and fro by the movement of
those who were coming or going, a man sud-
denly disappeared as if the floor had opened and
swallowed him up. He stooped, lifted the
hanging a little, stepped behind it and vanished
from sight. A monk stationed behind the door
pointed to a long corridor, farther on; another
monk exchanged the password with him. He
then descended the steps leading to the crypt of
the church. This crypt served as tbe cemetery
of the monks. There were at least a hundred
who were sleeping their last sleep there.
In less than an hour nearly fifty men left the
church in this way, and the throng was so great
that no one missed them. Some little time had
elapsed since their descent into these funereal
regions, and the people were still engaged in
prayer upon the sidewalk and around the statue
as well as in the church, when a man about
fifty years of age, and of distinguished bearing,
might have been seen approaching the residence
of the Countess Wanda. He wore high boots
reaching almost to his knees, and a large fur
coat enveloped him from head to foot. This
man was the one who had called upon the Vis-
count de Saint-Bertrand some months before,
to ask to be allowed to see the papers intrusted
to him by the countess.
He seemed ill at ease, and walked slowly,
with his head drooping upon his breast, and his
hands buried in the pockets of his overcoat.
When he reached the house, he stopped, and
gazed some time upon the kneeling crowd, then
knelt himself close by the grating that led from
the cellar into the street, placed his hat on the
snow, aud began to pray. He prayed with
great apparent earnestness, kneeling with his
back to the house, and gazing upon the statue,
but it would appear that he had not come solely
for the purpose of imploring the mercy of the
mother of Christians, for when his feet ap-
peared before the grated window, two hands
emerged from it, and stealthily slipped a paper
into one of the pockets of his overcoat. Then
the hands retreated into the cellar, and the
man's prayer being ended, he rose.
After he passed the Russian guard, he was
obliged to make a slight detour, to avoid ihe
crowd which was still standing before the
church door. He paused a moment, then
walked on in the direction of the Faubourg de
Praga. He passed successively the statue of
Sigismond, then the Palace with its Byzantine
tower, and suddenly turned into a narrow
street, and ascended the steps of a house upon
the door of wliich was inscribed : " Office of the
District Police." He made his way unaided into
a room, where a man whose eyes were con-
cealed by large green glasses was seated at a
desk.
"How do you do, Lewinski?" ibis man said
in the Russian language, on perceiving his
visitor.    "What news?"
"Nothing important," Lewinski replied;
" the people all seem to be engaged in their de-
votions, nevertheless there is quite a crowd
near the market, where they are discussingfthe
last ukase which orders the transportation of
twenty priests and two hundred nobles from
La Podolie beyond the Caucasus."
" What else?"                                                     '
" Two men met and passed each other before
the Hôtel de Ville," continued Lewinski. " One
said; 'Will it be Easter?' and the other re-
plied, 'No, it will be Whit-Sunday.'"
" To what did they allude?"
" To some conspiracy, probably. "
" Did you follow them?"
" I could follow but one."
"And where did he go? To the Church of
the Bernardines, I suppose."
Lewinski started slightly on hearing these
words.
"No; to.Saint Charles Borromeo," he replied.