In due time, when the law permits, you must become Madame Meyrin."

The painter picked up the letter which had fallen from the hand of the ex-Princess Olsdorf. He stood before her with head lowered, without daring to address a word of consolation to her.

This day, for the first time, they parted without a word, without the exchange of a kiss.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE LAST OF A PRINCESS.

The days that followed the carrying off of her daughter by Pierre Olsdorf were a terrible trial to Lise Barineff. Her heart had bled, as her mother reminded her, that the divorce would rear an impa.s.sable barrier between her and her son, but being prepared, so to speak, in advance for this separation, she had sought a refuge from the sorrow it caused her in her tenderness for her last-born infant. And this doubly adored child had been taken from her now. Who would give to this babe of a few months old the care that was the duty of its mother? Its mother would not now watch its growth, or tend on it if it were sick; a stranger would dry its tears, win its smiles, and have its love.

She fully understood the fatal logic by which the prince"s conduct had been dictated in taking away Tekla. In the eyes of the law he was her father; if he had left the child to its mother it would have been a disavowal of his paternity, and consequently the casting upon her, the adulterous wife, the sin that he had taken upon himself in order that the decree of divorce might be p.r.o.nounced against him. She was forced, therefore, to acknowledge that if he had cruelly used his power, Pierre Olsdorf had, in doing so, only been faithful to the line of conduct he had adopted; and she suffered the more in being able to accuse only herself.

For the first time the unhappy woman regretted the past, and felt remorse. For many days nothing could console her. She was insensible even to Paul"s caresses, and he himself was much affected by the loss of their daughter; but little by little their love gained through this trial an elevation that hitherto it had been lacking in. They loved less coa.r.s.ely, because they wept together.

There is nothing that transforms a deep pa.s.sion as a deep sorrow does.

Pa.s.sion tried in the fire quits in part the senses to penetrate to the heart, till then scarcely touched. Suffering undergone together often makes lasting the frail bond between two beings whom their desires alone have drawn one to the other.

Lise and Paul experienced this psychological truth. They spoke less of their love, but it was deeper. The isolation that circ.u.mstances imposed upon them drew them more together; and it made them feel, too, that they must hasten their marriage.

They were no longer two lovers desirous of freedom to live in each other"s arms; they were two wanderers from the path wishing to gain the right to hold up their heads, two outcasts longing for the joys of the domestic hearth.

Unhappily they had reason to fear an enforced delay of several months, as, the Code Napoleon having been adopted in Roumania, Paul was compelled to obtain his mother"s consent. If he had written to her for it, Mme. Meyrin, although she adored her son, would not have replied, goaded to resistance by her daughter-in-law.

The painter, however, had an ally in the house--his brother Frantz; but that good fellow was himself under the domination of his wife, and any timid remarks that he ventured on were fruitless.

Paul determined then to have recourse to extreme measures, that is, to the "respectful summon" prescribed by law. However, wishing, out of deference, to forewarn his mother, he wrote to her as follows:

"DEAR MOTHER,--I have a duty to fulfill, touching my honor, and you oppose me because you are ill-advised.

If you listened only to your love for me you would long since have consented to my marriage with a woman whom you already love and who, whatever happens, will never be aught but the most affectionate and devoted of daughters to you. In face of your opposition and what my honor imposes upon me, I have no other course but to seek from the law what you deny me. I am deeply pained to have to do this, but my determination is unchangeable.

"Once more then, my dear good mother, consult, I say, your own heart alone, and do not force me to take so painful a step.

"Your loving and respectful son, "PAUL."

Much touched at reading this letter, which had reached her in the absence of her daughter-in-law, Mme. Meyrin hurried to her son. Since the rupture with his family he had been living at his studio.

Paul opened the door to her.

"So, my son, you would leave me?" said the poor woman, sinking on to the sofa to which he had led her. "Between your old mother and a stranger you do not hesitate; your choice is at once made. Ah, I could curse the day you went to Russia. If I were to consent to your marriage, how could I live afterward with your sister-in-law? She would never forgive me my weakness."

"You shall come and live with us," said Paul, kneeling beside her. "Be sure that Lise and I will love you dearly."

"I could not, my son. Habits are not changed when one is my age. And, then, my love for Frantz is as great as my love for you. If I left him I should be ungrateful, for these ten years he has made my life a pleasant and happy one. You see, we are in a coil. Do you love this woman so much, then?"

"Yes, mother, I love her sincerely; I love her more now than I did before. Besides, it is my duty, having ruined her life, not to abandon her, alone as she is, without her children. You know that the prince has taken from her her little daughter--her daughter and mine."

"G.o.d is punishing you both."

Feeling that she had really lost her hold on her son, Mme. Meyrin began to cry.

Paul, unable to bear up against his mother"s tears, sprung to his feet, and after looking at her for some moments, said, with a calmness and determination foreign to his nature:

"Well, so be it, mother. We will speak no more of this marriage. I will not appeal to the law; I will wait for your consent to my marriage with Lise. But I will start for St. Petersburg to-morrow."

"For St. Petersburg? What to do?"

"To put myself at the disposal of Prince Olsdorf."

"At the disposal of Prince Olsdorf?"

"The last words of the prince to his wife were these: "If Monsieur Paul Meyrin does not marry you, I will kill him." I will not have it that a Russian shall be able to say a Roumanian is, in my person, a coward."

"My son, my son!" cried Mme. Meyrin, seizing him in her arms. "You will fight? It is my refusal that would send you to brave this man? Give me ink and a pen. I will sign my consent. Tell me--tell me quick what I am to write. A duel! And I, your mother--"

The good creature, interrupting her words with kisses, dragged her son to a table in one of the corners of the studio. She was eager to sign the consent at once.

The artist yielded to her wish and dictated the few lines necessary.

"There, are you satisfied, bad boy?" said Mme. Meyrin, after writing and signing with a trembling hand. "You will talk no more of going away, will you? A duel!"

"Dear mother," replied Paul, his eyes filled with tears of grat.i.tude as he kissed her. "I will stay in Paris, and owe you more than ever."

"And now I will go and get my scolding over--yonder."

She pressed her son again to her heart and returned to the Rue de Douai, where, to have it over and done with, she told all to her daughter-in-law, who had just come in.

"You are a free agent," said Mme. Frantz, in a tart voice, "but this woman shall not put foot in my house."

Thinking it prudent to enter into no dispute and so avoid a scene, Mme.

Meyrin returned to her room.

Immediately after his mother had left him, Paul ran to tell Lise Barineff that the last obstacle to their union was done away with.

"At last, thank G.o.d!" replied the young woman. "If you had been forced to appeal to the law, I think it would have brought us bad luck. Then, too, people would have begun talking about us again. They have done so already more than enough, not only in St. Petersburg, which I have just had some letters from, but also in Paris. The newspapers are taking it up now. Have you seen this morning"s "Figaro?""

"No. What does it say?"

"It announces our coming marriage. And see in what terms."

The painter took the journal that Lise offered him and read in the "Echos":

"All Paris must have noticed at the last Salon a very beautiful portrait of a woman, a picture which won a medal for its painter, Monsieur Paul Meyrin. The artist had excellent opportunities for studying his charming model, as he was often seen hiding himself at the back of her box at the opera or the Opera Comique.

It was a case, no doubt, of budding love, as the great Russian lady, none other than the ex-Princess Olsdorf, will very soon be known as simply Madame Meyrin.