The garden party was to be the twentieth of September. It was then the
end of August.
"And of what nature is to be the modest contribution I can make to
your fete?" asked Esperance, half humorously.
"Modest! Of course you will be the principal attraction. My guests,
knowing that they will see you for the last time before Count Styvens
carries his little idol away from the public...."
Esperance was saying to herself, "so this cultivated, broad-minded
lady thinks just as the others do."
The Princess continued, "We want you to play with your fiance the
Liszt symphonic poem that you played one evening at the Legation; and
to take part in some tableaux vivants that we are all to appear in. The
Duke de Morlay-La-Branche is directing and staging this part of the
programme. The performance will be given only by people we know--no
professionals."
The Princess had spoken quite quickly, without reflection. She blushed
slightly when she remembered Esperance and Jean Perliez, but she had
made the mistake and there was no way of calling it back. She thought
that Esperance belonged to that circle where a compliment effaces what
might seem like an impertinence.
At first the name of the Duke de Morlay had fallen like a pebble in
the stream and began to ripple the waters; a spreading circle of
thoughts, fears, resentments began to move in every heart. The
philosopher himself was troubled, for he had been prompted by Maurice
to observe the assiduous attractions of the Duke, and the agitation he
caused Esperance whenever they had been together.
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