Esperance is one of
those creatures who are only born once in a hundred years or so; some
come as preservers, like Joan of Arc; others serve as instruments of
vengeance of some occult power" (Sardou was an ardent believer in the
occult). "Your child is a force of nature, and nothing can prevent her
destiny. The fact that you have seen her brilliant development in spite
of the grey environment of her first sixteen years, should convince you
of the uselessness of your protests or regrets. The career that she has
chosen is bristling with dangers, and full of disillusions, and gives
free rein to a pitiless horde of calumniators. That cannot be helped.
Your task, my friend," he added more calmly, "is to protect your
daughter, and above all to assure her of a refuge of tenderness, and
love and understanding."
Esperance came back, followed by her mother and the old Mademoiselle.
Her father held out his arms to her and whispered, "You were
wonderful, darling; I am happy to...."
He could not go on, and put his hot lips against her beautiful pure
forehead to avoid the embarrassment that distressed him so powerfully.
Thanks to Sardou's gifts as a _raconteur_, the supper passed off
pleasantly enough. This great man could unfold the varied pages of his
mind with disconcerting ease. He knew everything, and could talk and
act with inimitable vivacity. His anecdotes were always instructive,
drawn from his manifold sources of knowledge in art or science.
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