She seemed a flower blooming by moon-light.
Maurice said in a low tone to Genevieve, "See if you can realize this
picture. It is beyond the power of any painter."
"One of the aboriginals might have succeeded. He would not have been
guided by any of the conventions that are introduced in all the arts
and bar the way to the realism of the ideal, which is dear to all true
artists."
"The realism of the ideal is very true, but how are you going to make
amateurs or critics feel that?"
"Oh!" replied Genevieve, with much conviction, "There is always an
amateur of the beautiful, there is always a critic who describes his
emotion sincerely, it is for them that I give my tears when I am on
the stage."
Esperance dropped on her knees, and taking her friend's head in her
hands, "You are always right, Genevieve," she said. "It is a great
gift to have you for a friend."
"My little cousin speaks truth," concluded Maurice.
Genevieve stretched out her hand with a smile to thank him. The young
man kept the contact of that charming strong hand and kissed it with
more warmth than convention required.
"Monsieur Maurice," murmured the girl with trembling lips. But she
could not voice a reproach. She got up to hide her blushes.
"Is not this the time for us to go back? The air is getting sharp, and
you have no wraps, Esperance."
Count Styvens stood up to his full height and stretched his hands to
his little idol to help her up, but she had withdrawn before the two
arms stretched towards her, and recoiled in a kind of fright.
Pages:
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145