presence of a pair of blue pigeons, which were cooing softly on the top
of an arbour near them. Louis leaned over and said one word, “Julie,”
and Julie, whose eyes were suddenly downcast, raised them with a look
in their blue depths which Louis had seen there when he had scarcely a
franc to his name. Just then voices were heard, and in a half minute
more Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie were seen approaching. There was no
time for any further explanation. Julie, like most women of her class,
was an admirable actress. As the women of good society have to appear
interested when they are bored, to maintain their gravity when they
are secretly amused, to regulate their antipathies and control their
emotions, they are already graduates of the best school of acting in
the world. Julie at once assumed an air which Louis had never dreamed
that she possessed--an air submissive and deprecatory and well adapted
to the character which she assumed of a young person looking for work.
Mademoiselle Cheri spoke first, in her usual kind manner; she had no
idea that this fascinating young girl was the person applying for a
place as companion, and was considerably astonished when Julie said
modestly:
“I am Mademoiselle de Courcey, and I have called by appointment at this
hour in answer to an advertisement for a companion.”
Mademoiselle Cheri looked a little puzzled, glancing toward Louis, whom
she had never seen and for whose presence she could not well account.
“Pardon, mademoiselle,” he said, advancing, “permit me to introduce
myself. I am Monsieur Louis Victor de Latour, a relative of Monsieur
Victor Louis de Latour, and I believe I have the honour of claiming
relationship also with this young lady.” And he bowed and smiled in a
pleasant manner peculiarly his own at Mélanie, who bowed and smiled in
return.
There was nothing patronizing or uppish about this young man. Nothing
could be simpler or more agreeable than his manner, thought Mélanie,
who had expected to find him haughty to the last degree.
“I called to pay my respects to you, mademoiselle, and to my relative,
Mademoiselle Dupont; but I perceive that you have an appointment with
this lady, and I will postpone my visit to a more opportune season. May
I return in half an hour?”
“Certainly, monsieur,” replied Mademoiselle Cheri. “I hope by that time
Monsieur de Latour will be here. We expected him at five o’clock, and
he is likely to arrive at any moment.”
Louis bowed himself off, and then Mademoiselle Cheri, inviting Julie to
be seated, said to her politely:
“I am afraid, mademoiselle, there is a mistake here. I think Monsieur
de Latour desired a lady old enough to be a chaperon, as well as a
companion, for his niece.”
“Nothing was said about age, mademoiselle,” answered Julie demurely,
“and I thought it possible that Monsieur de Latour might desire a
companion rather than a chaperon.”
“That is what I really desire,” said Mélanie timidly. “I have no
sisters, no cousins, and few girl friends. I have often longed for a
companion of my own age.”
The two girls looked at each other with mutual good-will. Nothing could
be more dissimilar--Mélanie, nun-like in her simplicity and piety,
and Julie, full of the spirit of mischief without a restraining hand
to guide her. But both of them were instinctively good, tender of
heart and incapable of meanness, and their very oppositeness drew them
together.
“Perhaps,” said Julie, “Monsieur de Latour might accept me temporarily
as a companion for you, mademoiselle.”
“Yes,” answered Mélanie, clapping her hands softly, “at least while we
are at Dinard. I should love to have a companion, and dear Mademoiselle
Séline will chaperon us both.”
The two girls continued to gaze at each other with friendly and smiling
eyes. Mademoiselle Cheri, the best of women and by nature a spoiler of
children, girls, men, women, servants, horses, dogs, cats, and birds,
at once replied:
“If it is agreeable to Monsieur de Latour, I am more than willing to
chaperon you while we are at Dinard. I love to have young life about
me.”
The two girls immediately plunged into a conversation with each other,
Mademoiselle Cheri taking an occasional part, and the longer they
conversed the more companionable they seemed. After waiting half an
hour for Monsieur de Latour tea was served, and Mademoiselle Cheri and
Mélanie succumbed still more to Julie’s sweetness and sprightliness. At
last, finding it impossible to wait longer, as the alleged companion
had an engagement for a very smart party given at one of the finest
chateaux in the neighbourhood, Julie rose to go. She left behind her
a strong desire in the minds of both Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie to
see more of her.
It was quite six o’clock before Monsieur de Latour, red and panting,
turned up, bringing with him Louis, who had promised to return within
half an hour, but who had carefully watched the garden waiting for
Julie’s departure. He had by no means the same confidence in his powers
of acting that Julie had in hers, and had no mind to meet her again
until he had better learned his part. Monsieur de Latour, seating
himself, demanded refreshment at once, not only in the shape of tea,
but in a glass of cognac.
“For I can tell you,” he puffed, turning to Louis, “I have had as
hard a day’s work as I ever did when I was in charge of the vats of
your respected father, Mademoiselle Séline. But,” he continued, after
disposing promptly of the cognac, “I have been quite successful. In ten
days more, thanks to my own energy and determination and the good-will
of my nephew here”--at which he slapped Louis on the back--“one wing
of my ancestral chateau will be habitable.”
Louis agreed to every plan, and even suggestion, that Monsieur de
Latour made, and expressed the highest gratification at all that
had been undertaken, of which he frankly acknowledged himself the
beneficiary.
“And then,” he said, smiling, “I shall hope to have the pleasure of
seeing you, dear uncle, and my Cousin Mélanie and Mademoiselle Cheri,
established at the Chateau of Montplaisir, to stay as long as you like.”
Monsieur de Latour was delighted at this, and went on to explain the
various orders he had given. Mélanie attempted once or twice to bring
up the subject of the companion, but Monsieur de Latour, with his
tongue tied to no ear but his own, would not listen.
“The great matter,” he said, “was the roof. I can get it temporarily
patched up, and then, when the season at Dinard is over, I can have the
work done properly. The windows gave me very little trouble, as I found
the frames were the regulation size. The furniture and tapestries were
easily managed, and I think those lazy Paris tradesmen will learn a
thing or two from the way we do things at Brionville; eh, Mademoiselle
Séline?”
Mademoiselle Cheri, who was as fond of her native town as provincials
usually are, promptly agreed to this. Monsieur de Latour could not
forbear chuckling at the accounts of his aristocratic splendour which
his servants would take back to Brionville.
At last Mélanie managed to get his attention and told him that
Mademoiselle de Courcey had called and was much disappointed at not
seeing him, but had arranged to come to the villa again the next
morning at twelve o’clock, when he must be there to meet her.
“But, my dear,” remonstrated Monsieur de Latour, “I am to be at the
Chateau of Montplaisir at twelve o’clock. However, couldn’t you and
Mademoiselle Cheri, as I wish to show you the chateau, bring the lady
there, and we could have the interview as well as here.”
“Certainly, dear uncle,” cried Mélanie, and putting her hand on his
arm, she continued: “I do hope that you will like Mademoiselle de
Courcey. Ask Mademoiselle Séline what she thinks of her.”
“I admired her very much. She has the unmistakable air of good breeding
which I think very necessary to a companion and most difficult to find
in that capacity,” answered Mademoiselle Cheri, secretly trying to
forward the wishes of the two girls. “Don’t you think so, monsieur?”
she added, turning to Louis.
Louis, who wished to keep out of the imbroglio, was forced to
speak, and he uttered only the truth when he cordially agreed with
Mademoiselle Cheri.
“And the languages?” asked Monsieur de Latour.
Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie looked a little blank at this. They had
been so captivated by Julie’s charm that they had not inquired into her
accomplishments. But Louis came to the front, saying:
“I have reason to know that Mademoiselle de Courcey speaks English and
German fluently, and is an admirable musician.”
Luckily, Monsieur de Latour did not demand the source from whence
Louis had acquired his information, but asked the question which
Mélanie had apprehended.
“And how about her age?” he inquired. “She must be over fifty, of
course.”
There was a pause before Mélanie said timidly:
“She is quite young--not more than two-and-twenty, I fancy. But, uncle,
I want her for a girl companion and friend, at least while we are at
Dinard, and Mademoiselle Cheri says she will chaperon us both.”
Monsieur de Latour put his cup down and looked around sternly. He felt
that he had been chicaned by the whole party.
“No, my love,” he said positively, “you have been talking nonsense,
if you will pardon me for saying so, and you have committed a very
great folly in encouraging this young lady, Mademoiselle de Courcey,
to suppose that she was by any means the person I desired. I admit
all her accomplishments, but she is too young. She would require more
chaperoning even than you, and kind as Mademoiselle Cheri is, I could
not think of imposing two girls upon her instead of one. So I am
afraid you will have to give up the notion of having her.”
“But, uncle----”
“Not another word on the subject, my dear. She is too young. I wonder
that you should not see the impossibility of any such arrangement.
Besides, think of the scandal it would give. People would say that I
intended to marry the young woman, and, being a bachelor, I must be on
my guard.”
“I never observed,” said Mademoiselle Cheri, “that a bachelor on his
guard was any safer than a bachelor off his guard, and besides, age is
as good a protection to a man as to a woman.”
Monsieur de Latour glared at Mademoiselle Cheri. This way she had
of giving him penknife thrusts when he least expected them was
most unpleasant. He felt then far more inclined to marry Madame de
Beauregard than Mademoiselle Cheri, being fully persuaded that he could
have either lady at any time he wished.
Louis listened to this conversation with alternate hope and fear.
The idea of having Julie established at the chateau where he could
see her daily was inexpressibly captivating to him, but her taste for
lively adventures, which was ardently fostered by that rollicking old
madcap, the Comtesse de Beauregard, made him shiver with apprehension.
However, he thought if he could once call Julie his own--and he had
reason enough to believe he could--she would, like all other women
who love, accommodate herself to his ideas, which, although not as
strict as Mademoiselle Cheri’s, were not exactly as lax as Madame de
Beauregard’s. The more Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie saw of Louis, the
better they liked him, and he gave every indication of an intention to
live up to his bargain with Monsieur de Latour and to treat the old
gentleman and his family and friends with the greatest consideration.
“It would be just as well,” said Monsieur de Latour after a while,
“that we should have a family meeting and a little festivity at the
chateau to commemorate the reunion of the two branches of the family.
My lawyers promised to have all of the papers ready in a few days, and
then I shall hand over the sum agreed upon to my nephew-to-be, and it
may not be all that he will get from me eventually.”
To which Louis replied by a sudden sortie on Monsieur de Latour, and an
embrace which Monsieur de Latour, rubbing his sides afterward, declared
almost cost him his life. But he liked the heartiness and good-will
which Louis showed, and the indisposition to haggle over the terms of
the bargain.
The next morning at ten o’clock Monsieur de Latour was in his glory
at the Chateau of Montplaisir. The hammering of workmen resounded
upon the roof, masons and carpenters were all over the place, and
Monsieur de Latour was inspiring and directing them with more zeal than
helpfulness. He distracted the workmen by his directions, called them
when they were busy to urge them to make greater haste, and, in short,
his wishes outran his discretion, as the case is with most people.
The August sun shone brightly, and the old rookery was flooded with the
warm blue air. The presence of the workmen and Monsieur de Latour,
strutting about declaiming in a loud, cheerful voice, followed at every
step by Louis in great spirits, made a complete transformation of the
scene. There was but one thing in Louis to which Monsieur de Latour
objected, and that was Louis’s propensity to embrace the old gentleman
on every possible occasion. When he had done this about twenty times
that morning, Monsieur de Latour stopped him in the middle of the
court-yard and remonstrated strongly.
“Look here,” he said, “I can’t stand this eternal embracing and kissing
on your part. It’s all well enough to be grateful, and I like to see
the spirit in you, young man, but I can’t run the risk of having my
ribs broken twenty times a day. There must be some limit put to it.”
“Very well, then, dear uncle,” replied Louis affectionately, “only
grant me the privilege of embracing you and kissing the top of your
head three times a day. With less I cannot exist.”
“Wouldn’t once a day answer?” asked Monsieur de Latour dubiously.
“No, a dozen times no! I cannot control the exuberance of my feelings
for twenty-four hours consecutively. I must embrace you at least three
times a day. Would you consider it a violation of this arrangement,
which, after all, seems so inadequate to express my feelings, if I were
to put my arm affectionately around your neck, thus?”
Here Louis insinuated his arm around Monsieur de Latour’s neck and
rested his head against his new-found uncle’s left ear.
“Decidedly so,” replied Monsieur de Latour, shaking him off. “It is the
first time in my life that I have ever had to repress gratitude; but
gratitude such as yours is positively dangerous. I think my life has
been in jeopardy a dozen times since I arranged to give you the three
hundred thousand francs. You are a very athletic young man and I am not
as young as I was once, and although my life is insured I don’t care to
take unnecessary risks.”
“I must then submit,” said Louis sorrowfully, withdrawing his arm. “But
recollect, three times a day I am to be allowed to express to you by
my endearments my affection and grateful thanks.”
“Yes, and whenever else you feel the impulse you will have to embrace
my umbrella and hat. I put no restrictions whatever upon your
endearments to those. Now let us go out upon the terrace and await our
friends.”
The terrace, like the court-yard and the chateau, was mouldering,
cracked, and broken in every part, but the view of the laughing blue
sea, the beautiful gardens and trees and grass and the charming villas
of Dinard was most lovely. Louis and Monsieur de Latour had just
reached the terrace when Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie and Julie
appeared. Mélanie ran forward and, taking her uncle’s hand, cried:
“Dear uncle, here we are with Mademoiselle de Courcey.”
And then Mademoiselle Cheri presented Julie. The instant Monsieur de
Latour’s eyes rested upon Julie a sudden change came over his feelings.
He became acutely conscious of her youth, her beauty, her charm. When
a man is in Monsieur de Latour’s state of mind, having decided to
marry and is merely considering the choice of a lady, he looks at every
member of the sex with a critical eye--the whole fair is his as long as
he has sixpence in his pocket. The idea recurred to him that he might
select, as the future Madame de Latour, a young and pretty girl. He
wished to see something more of the pretended Mademoiselle de Courcey,
but it occurred to him at once that he had created rather an awkward
complication by his firmly expressed determination not to engage
Julie on account of her youth as companion for Mélanie on any terms
whatever. Mélanie was delighted, however, and Louis secretly diverted,
when Monsieur de Latour promptly began to promenade up and down the
terrace by the side of Julie. Louis, by way of giving Julie a chance,
took Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie off into a corner where there were
some decayed seats--everything about the Chateau of Montplaisir was
decayed--and while ostensibly showing them the view, saw Julie sailing
into the old gentleman’s good graces in the most unequivocal manner.
Julie, with downcast eyes and the most demure air in the world, was
playing off her little practical joke on her trustee, while Monsieur de
Latour, blandly unconscious that he was being hoodwinked by the artful
young person at his side, was thinking that, after all, no woman is
too young for any man, and rapidly coming to the determination to have
Julie at any price as a member of his family circle.
Not one word on the subject of business was exchanged between them
as they promenaded up and down for half an hour. The beauties of the
sea and sky, the charms of Dinard, the latest plays in Paris, the
last poems and romances, were the subjects on which Julie--the artful
Julie--chose to entertain Monsieur de Latour, who was only too willing
to be entertained. Being a very clever young person she realised all
the headway she was making, and was not in the least surprised when
Monsieur de Latour said impressively, after a while:
“Now, my dear mademoiselle, when the subject of your being my
niece’s companion was first broached and I heard of your youth
and--ah--extreme beauty and charm, I said that, notwithstanding your
acquirements and accomplishments, you were not old enough to be my
niece’s companion, who would also be her chaperon.”
“O dear Monsieur de Latour,” answered Julie in her sweetest voice and
demurest manner, “you have no idea how sedate I am. I am serious beyond
my years.” Which was quite true when she had a mischievous project on
hand.
“I know--I know,” remarked Monsieur de Latour. “I see that you are
prudence and primness and propriety itself. But--but--the world won’t
think so.”
“If you, Monsieur de Latour, thought me old enough to be your niece’s
companion, all the world--I mean our world, that is--would think so,
too, because everybody respects your judgment.”
This was laying on the flattery where it would do the most good, and
Monsieur de Latour smiled delightedly.
“You are very good,” he said. “Some people do think me a person of
sense. But, although I cannot possibly engage you as my niece’s
companion, another scheme occurs to me by which she can have
the benefit of your charming society, and I, too, I hope, in a
measure”--this in a very low voice so that Mademoiselle Cheri, whom
Monsieur de Latour supposed to be consumed with jealousy at the other
end of the terrace, could not hear.
“Any scheme which you advocate, monsieur, will be highly agreeable to
me,” replied Julie, seeing that she had brought down her quarry at the
first shot.
“It is this--I foresee that I shall have immediate need of a private
secretary. Of course, in my business I have persons to do that sort of
work, but a private secretary must be a member of my family, and you
are the only person whom I have yet seen whom I should be willing to
have in that position. Do you happen to have stenography among your
accomplishments?”
“What is that?” asked Julie innocently.
“Oh, well, never mind! Did you ever do any typewriting?”
“No, indeed,” replied Julie, laughing, “but I have seen a typewriting
machine two or three times.”
“Well, that’s no matter--I can get along without that.”
“But I can write,” said Julie.
Monsieur de Latour remembered that the only writing of hers which he
had seen was far from legible, but he was not going to let a thing like
ignorance of stenography or typewriting, or even the inability to write
a good, plain hand stand in the way of his engaging a pretty girl as
secretary.
“Well, well,” he continued confidently, “I think we can manage. I
myself write a good, legible, commercial hand, and I could assist you.”
“Oh, if you would be so kind,” cried Julie, “I should think it would be
perfectly charming! I never thought I could be a private secretary, but
I am sure if I have neither stenography nor typewriting to do and you
will write your own letters, that I could fill the place acceptably.”
“Certainly, certainly you can,” replied Monsieur de Latour. “And as
for salary, only name your price.”
But Julie was too wary for this.
“Whatever you think, Monsieur de Latour,” she said.
“What do you say to five hundred francs the month?”
“I say five hundred thanks for it,” replied Julie, laughing, to whom
five hundred francs was by no means the enormous sum which Monsieur de
Latour supposed it would be.
Then came the breaking the news to Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie, but,
as Monsieur de Latour reflected, they had tormented him to take Julie,
and now they would have no right to complain if he took her for his own
benefit and not theirs. So he marched up to the group at the other end
of the terrace and said oracularly to Mélanie:
“My dear, you have the most indulgent uncle in the world. As soon as I
found your heart was set upon having Mademoiselle de Courcey as your
companion, I determined to gratify you. It is true that her youth
renders her unequal to the position of chaperon, but as Mademoiselle
Cheri has kindly consented to take that upon herself as long as we are
at Dinard, I think we can arrange to have Mademoiselle de Courcey in
another capacity. She is to be my private secretary.”
At that a look of intelligence flashed between Louis and Julie. By some
occult means Louis understood that the prospect of being near him had
something to do with the present arrangement, and a thrill of delight
went through him. Mélanie was immensely pleased, and only Mademoiselle
Cheri looked a little disconcerted. Monsieur de Latour thought it was
easy to account for this last. All women are jealous.
“So now,” continued Monsieur de Latour grandly, “I hope very much that
within ten days we can be established in this wing of the chateau
and have some pleasant days together before the end of the season.
We shall, of course, find acquaintances here. Among others”--here he
turned to Julie, meaning to impress her with the fact that he knew
some people at Dinard with handles to their names--“I may reckon the
Comtesse de Beauregard, of one of the greatest families in France,
but a very terrible old lady, mademoiselle, and much too young for her
years. Then she has a friend, General Granier, as old as Methuselah and
as gay as a bird. Madame de Beauregard, I think, should be a little
more discreet than she is. But some women never seem to realise the
passage of time.”
“Nor some men, either,” replied Mademoiselle Cheri. “A woman always
realises that she must some day be old, and the idea is too painful to
be ignored, but no man, particularly if he is unmarried, ever actually
believes that age can touch him, and when he is a complete old wreck
he thinks, just as General Granier does, that he is Apollo and Adonis
rolled in one.”
This speech annoyed Monsieur de Latour very much. Most people, since he
had acquired the power to write his cheque for three hundred thousand
francs without seriously inconveniencing himself, treated him with a
very great degree of respect, but Séline Cheri seemed unable to discern
the difference between him now and in the days when he was a clerk in
her father’s soap-factory.
Monsieur de Latour, feeling called upon to justify his somewhat
precipitate action in engaging this pretty young lady as his private
secretary, and quite determined to have his own way in the matter,
remarked to Julie:
“I think, mademoiselle, we must arrange to begin work at the earliest
possible moment. I have some very important matters to attend
to--business affairs concerning my nephew”--here Monsieur de Latour
waved his arm majestically toward Louis--“and myself, so if you could
report to me, we will say to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, at the
Villa Rose, we could begin work.”
“But why not here, monsieur?” asked Julie innocently. “If the weather
is fine, as it promises to be, we could work on the terrace.”
“Quite true. What a very prompt and businesslike young person you are!
Very well--if fair, to-morrow morning on the terrace at ten; if rainy,
at the Villa Rose.”