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〃What has that fellow done to be so rich？〃 asks a poor law…student；
who cannot listen to the magical music of Rossini for lack of a five…
franc piece。
Raphael walked slowly along the gangway； he expected no enjoyment from
these pleasures he had once coveted so eagerly。 In the interval before
the second act of Semiramide he walked up and down in the lobby； and
along the corridors； leaving his box； which he had not yet entered； to
look after itself。 The instinct of property was dead within him
already。 Like all invalids； he thought of nothing but his own
sufferings。 He was leaning against the chimney…piece in the greenroom。
A group had gathered about it of dandies； young and old； of ministers；
of peers without peerages； and peerages without peers； for so the
Revolution of July had ordered matters。 Among a host of adventurers
and journalists； in fact； Raphael beheld a strange； unearthly figure a
few paces away among the crowd。 He went towards this grotesque object
to see it better； half…closing his eyes with exceeding
superciliousness。
〃What a wonderful bit of painting！〃 he said to himself。 The stranger's
hair and eyebrows and a Mazarin tuft on the chin had been dyed black；
but the result was a spurious； glossy； purple tint that varied its
hues according to the light； the hair had been too white； no doubt； to
take the preparation。 Anxiety and cunning were depicted in the narrow；
insignificant face； with its wrinkles incrusted by thick layers of red
and white paint。 This red enamel； lacking on some portions of his
face； strongly brought out his natural feebleness and livid hues。 It
was impossible not to smile at this visage with the protuberant
forehead and pointed chin； a face not unlike those grotesque wooden
figures that German herdsmen carve in their spare moments。
An attentive observer looking from Raphael to this elderly Adonis
would have remarked a young man's eyes set in a mask of age； in the
case of the Marquis； and in the other case the dim eyes of age peering
forth from behind a mask of youth。 Valentin tried to recollect when
and where he had seen this little old man before。 He was thin；
fastidiously cravatted； booted and spurred like one…and…twenty； he
crossed his arms and clinked his spurs as if he possessed all the
wanton energy of youth。 He seemed to move about without constraint or
difficulty。 He had carefully buttoned up his fashionable coat； which
disguised his powerful； elderly frame； and gave him the appearance of
an antiquated coxcomb who still follows the fashions。
For Raphael this animated puppet possessed all the interest of an
apparition。 He gazed at it as if it had been some smoke…begrimed
Rembrandt； recently restored and newly framed。 This idea found him a
clue to the truth among his confused recollections； he recognized the
dealer in antiquities； the man to whom he owed his calamities！
A noiseless laugh broke just then from the fantastical personage；
straightening the line of his lips that stretched across a row of
artificial teeth。 That laugh brought out； for Raphael's heated fancy；
a strong resemblance between the man before him and the type of head
that painters have assigned to Goethe's Mephistopheles。 A crowd of
superstitious thoughts entered Raphael's sceptical mind； he was
convinced of the powers of the devil and of all the sorcerer's
enchantments embodied in mediaeval tradition； and since worked up by
poets。 Shrinking in horror from the destiny of Faust； he prayed for
the protection of Heaven with all the ardent faith of a dying man in
God and the Virgin。 A clear； bright radiance seemed to give him a
glimpse of the heaven of Michael Angelo or of Raphael of Urbino： a
venerable white…bearded man； a beautiful woman seated in an aureole
above the clouds and winged cherub heads。 Now he had grasped and
received the meaning of those imaginative； almost human creations；
they seemed to explain what had happened to him； to leave him yet one
hope。
But when the greenroom of the Italiens returned upon his sight he
beheld； not the Virgin； but a very handsome young person。 The
execrable Euphrasia； in all the splendor of her toilette； with its
orient pearls； had come thither； impatient for her ardent； elderly
admirer。 She was insolently exhibiting herself with her defiant face
and glittering eyes to an envious crowd of stockbrokers； a visible
testimony to the inexhaustible wealth that the old dealer permitted
her to squander。
Raphael recollected the mocking wish with which he had accepted the
old man's luckless gift； and tasted all the sweets of revenge when he
beheld the spectacle of sublime wisdom fallen to such a depth as this；
wisdom for which such humiliation had seemed a thing impossible。 The
centenarian greeted Euphrasia with a ghastly smile； receiving her
honeyed words in reply。 He offered her his emaciated arm； and went
twice or thrice round the greenroom with her； the envious glances and
compliments with which the crowd received his mistress delighted him；
he did not see the scornful smiles； nor hear the caustic comments to
which he gave rise。
〃In what cemetery did this young ghoul unearth that corpse of hers？〃
asked a dandy of the Romantic faction。
Euphrasia began to smile。 The speaker was a slender； fair…haired
youth； with bright blue eyes； and a moustache。 His short dress coat；
hat tilted over one ear； and sharp tongue； all denoted the species。
〃How many old men；〃 said Raphael to himself； 〃bring an upright；
virtuous； and hard…working life to a close in folly！ His feet are cold
already； and he is making love。〃
〃Well； sir；〃 exclaimed Valentin； stopping the merchant's progress；
while he stared hard at Euphrasia； 〃have you quite forgotten the
stringent maxims of your philosophy？〃
〃Ah； I am as happy now as a young man；〃 said the other； in a cracked
voice。 〃I used to look at existence from a wrong standpoint。 One hour
of love has a whole life in it。〃
The playgoers heard the bell ring； and left the greenroom to take
their places again。 Raphael and the old merchant separated。 As he
entered his box； the Marquis saw Foedora sitting exactly opposite to
him on the other side of the theatre。 The Countess had probably only
just come； for she was just flinging off her scarf to leave her throat
uncovered； and was occupied with going through all the indescribable
manoeuvres of a coquette arranging herself。 All eyes were turned upon
her。 A young peer of France had come with her； she asked him for the
lorgnette she had given him to carry。 Raphael knew the despotism to
which his successor had resigned himself； in her gestures； and in the
way she treated her companion。 He was also under the spell no doubt；
another dupe beating with all the might of a real affection against
the woman's cold calculations； enduring all the tortures from which
Valentin had luckily freed himself。
Foedora's face lighted up with indescribable joy。 After directing her
lorgnette upon every box in turn； to make a rapid survey of all the
dresses； she was conscious that by her toilette and her beauty she had
eclipsed the loveliest and best…dressed women in Paris。 She laughed to
show her white teeth； her head with its wreath of flowers was never
still； in her quest of admiration。 Her glances went from one box to
another； as she diverted herself with the awkward way in which a
Russian princess wore her bonnet； or over the utter failure of a
bonnet with which a banker's daughter had disfigured herself。
All at once she met Raphael's steady gaze and turned pale； aghast at
the intolerable contempt in her rejected lover's eyes。 Not one of her
exiled suitors had failed to own her power over them； Valentin alone
was proof against her attractions。 A power that can be defied with
impunity is drawing to its end。 This axiom is as deeply engraved on
the heart of woman as in the minds of kings。 In Raphael； therefore；
Foedora saw the deathblow of her influence and her ability to please。
An epigram of his； made at the Opera the day before； was already known
in the salons of Paris。 The biting edge of that terrible speech had
already given the Countess an incurable wound。 We know how to
cauterize a wound； but we know of no treatment as yet for the stab of
a phrase。 As every other woman in the house looked by turns at her and
at the Marquis； Foedora would have consigned them all to the
oubliettes of some Bastille； for in spite of her capacity for
dissimulation； her discomfiture was discerned by her rivals。 Her
unfailing consolation had slipped from her at last。 The delicious
thought； 〃I am the most beautiful；〃 the thought that at all times had
soothed every mortification； had turned into a lie。
At the opening of the second act a woman took up her position not very
far from Raphael； in a box that had been empty hitherto。 A murmur of
admiration went up from the whole house。 In that sea of human faces
there was a movement of every living wave； all eyes were turned upon
the stranger lady。 The applause of young and old was so prolonged；
that when the orchestra began； the musicians turned to the audience to
request silence； and then they themselves joined in the plaudits and
swelled the confusion。 Excited talk be