"
Esperance looked at her with astonishment, but the woman's husband
came up with a newspaper in his hand, which he unfolded to display the
picture of Esperance just beneath the headlines.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "they will make me odious to the public.
Mounet-Sully was so wonderful. Worms so fine in his monologue...."
Sadness overcame her.
She was still sad when she entered her own room. She touched all the
familiar little objects, and kissed the feet of the ivory Virgin upon
her mantel-piece with great emotion. She thanked her mother with a
look when she saw the fresh marguerites in the two enamel vases. In
comparison with the luxury of her apartment at the Grand Hotel in
Brussels, the simple surroundings of her own room charmed her anew.
She swayed for a moment in her rocking-chair, sat down on her low
stool, knelt upon her bed to straighten the branch of box beneath the
silver crucifix her mother had given her when she was seventeen.
Marguerite came in with the trunk and luggage.
"What is that?" asked Esperance, spying a big box fastened with nails.
"I don't know anything about it, Mademoiselle. They gave it to me at
the hotel saying it was for you."
The box on being opened displayed a magnificent basket of orchids.
Attached by a white ribbon was a card--"Countess Styvens."
Esperance grew pale; she took the card from her mother's hands,
fearing that she might be mistaken. It was indeed the Countess and not
the Count.
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