The Parisians — Volume 08Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
The Parisians — Volume 08
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century; Paris (France) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
"Can there have been quarrel or misunderstanding?" thought Alain; and
after that question his heart asked itself, "Supposing Isaura were free,
her affections disengaged, could he wish to woo and to win her?" and his
heart answered--"Eighteen months ago thou wert nearer to her than now.
Thou wert removed from her for ever when thou didst accept the world as a
barrier between you; then, poor as thou wert, thou wouldst have preferred
her to riches. Thou went then sensible only of the ingenuous impulses of
youth, but the moment thou saidst, 'I am Rochebriaut, and having once
owned the claims of birth and station, I cannot renounce them for love,
Isaura became but a dream. Now that ruin stares thee in the face--now
that thou must grapple with the sternest difficulties of adverse fate--
thou hast lost the poetry of sentiment which could alone give to that
dream the colours and the form of human life." He could not again think
of that fair creature as a prize that he might even dare to covet. And
as he met her inquiring eyes, and saw her quivering lip, he felt
instinctively that Graham was dear to her, and that the tender interest
with which she inspired himself was untroubled by one pang of jealousy.
He resumed:
"Yes, the last time I saw the Englishman he spoke with such respectful
homage of one lady, whose hand he would deem it the highest reward of
ambition to secure, that I cannot but feel deep compassion for him if
that ambition has been foiled; and thus only do I account for his absence
from Paris."
"You are an intimate friend of Mr. Vane's?"
"No, indeed, I have not that honour; our acquaintance is but slight, but
it impressed me with the idea of a man of vigorous intellect, frank
temper, and perfect honour."
Isaura's face brightened with the joy we feel when we hear the praise of
those we love.
At this moment, Duplessis, who had been observing the Italian and the
young Marquis, for the first time during dinner, broke silence.
"Mademoiselle," he said, addressing Isaura across the table, "I hope I
have not been correctly informed that your literary triumph has induced
you to forego the career in which all the best judges concur that your
successes would be not less brilliant; surely one art does not exclude
another."
Elated by Alain's report of Graham's words, by the conviction that these
words applied to herself, and by the thought that her renunciation of the
stage removed a barrier between them, Isaura answered, with a sort of
enthusiasm:
"I know not, M. Duplessis, if one art excludes another; if there be
desire to excel in each. But I have long lost all desire to excel in the
art you refer to, and resigned all idea of the career in which it opens."
"So M. Vane told me," said Alain, in a whisper.
"When?"
"Last year--on the day that he spoke in terms of admiration so merited of
the lady whom M. Duplessis has just had the honour to address."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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