Latour’s nephew, and three hundred thousand francs will be mine, in
addition to the Chateau of Montplaisir.”
Louis paused, and Julie, whose pretty eyes were downcast, raised them
and giving him a bewitching glance, said:
“I care nothing for your three hundred thousand francs.”
Louis’s face grew pale, and paler still when Julie added after a moment:
“Nor for your Chateau of Montplaisir.”
And then, looking around and seeing no one in sight, she extended
her hand a little toward Louis--a trifling gesture, but full of sweet
meaning. Her eyes said plainly, “It is you for whom I care.” The look
was illuminating.
“Mademoiselle, may I show you the orangery which has just been formed
at the south end of the terrace?”
Julie rose willingly enough, and the two, walking on air, as it
were, passed along the terrace to the extreme end where dozens of
orange-trees in tubs made a place of sylvan beauty. When they were
under the green arcade they were quite secure from observation. There
was no time to think. Neither knew how it happened, but suddenly
Louis’s arm was around Julie and their lips had met. And the next
moment Monsieur de Latour’s jovial voice resounded at the other end of
the arcade.
“Where is Mademoiselle de Courcey? I have something here very important
to be copied.”
Julie scuttled back to the writing-table in less time than it takes to
tell, and Louis, far less self-composed, dashed around the corner of
the terrace and disappeared. Monsieur de Latour came bustling out with
a telegram in his hand.
“My dear young lady,” he asked, “please answer this at once, and pray
be careful. I think, so far as I know, that you have not yet written
anything for me precisely as I dictated it. There is always a word or
two goes wrong. But nothing must go wrong now. Here you see at the
factory they are asking directions about a large quantity of soap
now boiling. They want to know about adding more soda. So, write the
despatch, thus.”
Monsieur de Latour gave the address and then dictated slowly and
portentously:
“Whatever you do, put no more soda in the sixteen vats.”
“Now write it out for me quickly, so that I can send it off.”
Julie, who was still palpitating and blushing, and to whom the absent
Louis was nearer than the present Monsieur de Latour, wrote out the
despatch and handed it to Monsieur de Latour to read. He put on his
spectacles and tried to make it out, but could not.
“It’s very inconvenient,” he said after a moment or two, “having a
private secretary who can’t write legibly. I shall have to write this
despatch myself.”
He sat down and wrote it out, and then calling a servant to Julie to
send the despatch, bustled away himself to give the last orders for
the entertainment of his guests. When the servant came, Julie, whose
head and heart were in a whirl, absently followed her usual practice,
handed him her own despatch and carefully tucked Monsieur de Latour’s
away in her belt, which served her for a despatch-box, escritoire and
burglar-proof safe combined, for the important papers confided to her
charge.
And then Madame de Beauregard’s screeches of laughter being heard in
the court-yard, Julie saw that gay old person descending from her
favourite red devil, which was snorting and puffing before the main
door of the chateau. She was accompanied by Eugène de Contiac, General
Granier, and by an unexpected guest in the person of her lawyer,
Monsieur Bertoux. He was a staid and somewhat wary-looking man, which
would naturally be the case, as he lived in hot pursuit of Madame de
Beauregard and was required to make almost monthly changes in the
disposition of her property. Monsieur de Latour, followed by Louis,
came out to greet them.
“You see, my dear man,” cried the old lady to Monsieur de Latour, who
had advanced to greet her, “I have brought Monsieur Bertoux along
with me. He is a very pleasant sort of person, and more interesting
than he looks, as you will find out. And besides, I foresee that
unless my nephew changes his course I shall be compelled not only to
leave him out of my will, but to cut off his allowance. It is always
the way,” continued the old lady quite angrily; “just as soon as he
falls under the influence of your niece, Mélanie, Eugène forgets all
the instructions I have given him to be a man, and a very larky one
at that, and gets so dreadfully pious and moral there is really no
standing him. And as of course he will have to see a great deal of
Mélanie during this visit, I thought it just as well to have my lawyer
on the spot, in case Eugène should go to extremes and insist on going
to church every morning, for example. Not that I have the slightest
personal objection to Mélanie--it is only her principles that I oppose,
and if she will turn about and commit a few indiscretions I shall be
more than willing for the match. But I don’t want any of these pious
and God-fearing men in my family, and Eugène must be a man of spirit if
he wants to get my money.”
And then, turning to Louis, she said laughing:
“Now, if you will engage to lead this goody-goody boy astray I will
give you something handsome, because I see that you are one of the
devil’s darlings, and that’s the sort I like.”
“Madame, you praise me beyond my deserts,” replied Louis, taking the
old lady’s hand and kissing it gallantly. “But if you, with your
fascinations and delightful example, cannot succeed in leading him
astray, nobody can.”
The old lady screamed with delight at this bold declaration, which was
received by Eugène in sheepish silence, and at that very moment Mélanie
and Mademoiselle Cheri appeared. Madame de Beauregard had a voice like
an auctioneer, and her words were plainly audible to the advancing
Mélanie. Madame de Beauregard, however, with the utmost good-will
greeted her and Mademoiselle Cherie.
“I dare say, my dear,” she cried to Mélanie, “you heard every word that
I said, and I mean to stand by it. Either you and Eugène have got to
change your principles, or you won’t get a centime of my money. While
I am here I shall give you every opportunity to commit any of the
delightful improprieties which you might, but won’t.”
Eugène and Mélanie presented a pitiable sight while this was going
on. Both blushed and were embarrassed beyond measure. But Monsieur de
Latour came to their relief by cordially welcoming Madame de Beauregard
and inviting the entire party to make a tour of the renovated wing
of the chateau. Marvels had certainly been accomplished, and Monsieur
de Latour, anxious to justify himself for the employment of his
private secretary, would say of everything, “This was the result of
Mademoiselle de Courcey’s taste,” or, “I contrived to get this done
through Mademoiselle de Courcey’s promptness in telegraphing my orders.”
The party at his heels listened to all of these explanations, and
Madame de Beauregard cackled every time that Monsieur de Latour brought
in Julie’s name, and was in a perfect ecstasy when he said, with
ponderous courtesy:
“My only regret is that your niece, Mademoiselle de Brésac, is not
of the party. Nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have
entertained at the Chateau of Montplaisir, the ancestral seat of the De
Latours, the daughter of the Vicomte de Brésac, who honoured me with
his friendship.”
“Oh,” cried Mademoiselle Cheri innocently, “how pleased your father,
the soap-boiler, would have been to see you in such grand company as
this!”
Monsieur de Latour professed not to hear this speech, but listened
rather to Madame de Beauregard, who was saying:
“It is a thousand pities, my dear man, that my niece is taking the mud
baths at Carlsbad. You should know that girl.”
Monsieur de Latour listened to this in silence, but looked toward Louis
with an expression which said plainly, “I told you so!”
Tea was served on the terrace, and, after the manner of such affairs,
Julie and Louis found themselves sitting next each other, while Mélanie
and Eugène, some distance apart, yet exchanged timid, longing glances.
Madame de Beauregard held her court at the tea-table. Monsieur Bertoux
was a very silent man, who rarely opened his mouth except to put
something in it, and seemed to accept quietly his position of a rod
held _in terrorem_ over Eugène de Contiac as a punishment for good
behaviour.
The purple twilight fell and a faint young moon shimmered upon the sea
in which the large, palpitating stars were reflected. The daylight of
late summer had gone before eight o’clock, when dinner was announced.
The dining-saloon, which a fortnight before had been a picture of
gaunt neglect, was now resplendent. Shaded lamps and candles shone
everywhere; pictures, mirrors, draperies covered the walls; the alleged
Salvator Rosa had been removed and cast into the ash-heap. The table
glittered with glass and silver, and was charmingly decorated with deep
red roses, and an exquisite dinner was served. Everybody’s spirits
rose, including even those of the silent Monsieur Bertoux, who foresaw
that he would make half a dozen wills for Madame de Beauregard before
she left the Chateau of Montplaisir.
Toward the end of the dinner the butler handed a telegram to Monsieur
de Latour. By permission of the ladies he opened it, and his
countenance changed at once.
“This is outrageous!” he cried. “I telegraphed to Brionville expressly
that no more soda was to be added to those sixteen vats of soap, and
here they send me this answer:
“‘Your despatch received. Have added soda, as directed, to sixteen
vats.’
“I sent no such despatch, and if the people in the telegraph office
sent such a one I shall claim heavy damages. That means sixteen vats of
soap ruined!”
Then, excusing himself, Monsieur de Latour bustled off to the
telephone, where he remained in angry colloquy with the telegraph
office for ten minutes. Julie, meanwhile, seated next Louis, was quite
smiling and at her ease. When Monsieur de Latour returned his brow was
clouded, and as the ladies were leaving for the drawing-room where
coffee was served, Monsieur de Latour politely but grimly requested
Julie to remain.
“Certainly,” replied Julie gaily, “but may your nephew, Monsieur Louis,
remain, too? Because you look as if you would eat me up, and I am
afraid to be left with you. And, besides, you are so fascinating that
people may say I am trying to marry you, so I think we must have a
chaperon.”
“Just as you like, mademoiselle,” replied Monsieur de Latour in the
crossest tone he had ever used to a young and pretty woman.
When he was left alone in the dining-room with Julie and Louis he began
in a tone of profound vexation:
“My dear young lady, when I engaged you as my private secretary I knew
that you had none of the qualifications which are usually required in
that capacity, but I thought you could write a simple despatch at my
dictation, especially when I warned you to be very careful. Now, in
everything that you have written for me you have managed to get at
least one word wrong.”
“But only one word, monsieur,” answered Julie, going and sitting down
in a chair and helping herself to a bunch of grapes.
“But that one word has always produced a cataclysm. Do you see the
result of leaving out one word in that despatch about the soda?”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Julie, snipping off the grapes and handing some
to Louis. “These are delicious grapes--I wonder if they are grown at
Dinard? Yes, Monsieur de Latour, I dare say those telegraph people
are right and I did leave out one word, but only one, and that such a
little one.”
“It was big enough to ruin sixteen vats of soap,” tartly responded
Monsieur de Latour.
He wished that Julie were not quite so pretty, and that he could keep
his eyes off her pink fingers and rosy mouth as she disposed of the
grapes.
“But I heard you say yourself, monsieur,” she said, snipping off some
more grapes and handing them to him, “that you never used soap--you
always used white sand--so what does it matter about the sixteen vats?”
Monsieur de Latour groaned. Would he ever be able to make Julie
understand the first principles of business? At the same time, the
thought of parting with her was not agreeable to him--he enjoyed her
society too much.
“Very well, mademoiselle,” he said, trying to be stern. “All I have to
say is that you must be more careful in the future. The notary will be
here to-morrow, bringing the papers arranging matters between my nephew
and myself, and, luckily, he will no doubt correct any blunders which
you may have made in the copy which I dictated to you.”
“I haven’t made any blunders,” cried Julie, laughing. “I wrote exactly
what you dictated, and if there are any blunders they will be the
notary’s. Come, now, if you are through scolding me, let us go and have
coffee with the rest.”
Monsieur de Latour had meant to give her a tremendous wigging, but
instead of that he found himself led, ostensibly by the arm and
secretly by the nose, into the drawing-room, with Julie on his arm and
Louis bringing up the rear.
As they entered the drawing-room, Julie joyfully proclaimed:
“Dear people, I have made the most amusing mistake this time. I have
ruined sixteen vats of soap for Monsieur de Latour, and he, poor
darling, takes it like an angel. But I won’t do so any more, I promise
you, monsieur.”
“No, you won’t, mademoiselle,” replied Monsieur de Latour. “I sha’n’t
give you the chance.”
And then, like the hospitable host he was, he proceeded to forget all
about the sixteen vats of ruined soap, and they had a merry evening
together, enlivened by Julie’s songs at the piano.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VI
JULIE’S LITTLE MISTAKE
The next day at twelve o’clock was the hour fixed for the signing of
the papers making legal the adoption, by Monsieur de Latour, of Louis,
and transferring to Louis’s credit three hundred thousand francs in
the Bank of France. All of the guests of the Chateau of Montplaisir
were invited to assemble in the grand saloon to witness this important
affair. The notary, with his clerk, arrived, the papers were brought
out and examined, and Monsieur de Latour, with a gold pen, a pompous
air, and a great flourish, signed his name. This was followed by Louis,
who took the occasion to make a graceful speech of thanks to Monsieur
de Latour, and to assure all present that he felt it an honour to be
related to so upright and enterprising a citizen. Monsieur de Latour
replied affectionately, and then, luncheon being served, hosts and
guests drank to the health of the new head of the house of De Latour.
Monsieur de Latour was indeed a happy man. He had been officially made
a gentleman, and he considered three hundred thousand francs a very
small price to pay for the honour.
All were in high spirits, and even Mademoiselle Cheri forebore to utter
some of those plain and rather unpleasing truths with which she had
occasionally prodded Monsieur de Latour.
The ladies, after luncheon, retired for their siesta, the party
arranging to meet on the terrace, as usual, at five o’clock for tea.
Then Monsieur de Latour said to Louis:
“Now, my dear nephew, come with me into the grand saloon, and let us
talk over our future arrangements, and I should be obliged to you,
Mademoiselle de Courcey, if you will come, too, as I may need your
services as amanuensis.”
“Certainly,” replied Julie, “but first let me go and curl my hair. This
damp climate takes all the curl out.”
Monsieur de Latour was a little annoyed at this, especially in the
presence of Mademoiselle Cheri, who said nothing but saw everything.
However, it would be a bold man who would refuse permission to a young
lady to curl her hair, and so Monsieur de Latour merely asked Julie’s
presence as soon as convenient.
In the grand saloon he unlocked the escritoire in which the papers had
been stowed, and taking them out began to go over them for the second
time with Louis. All at once Monsieur de Latour started and turned pale.
“Why, look here,” he said, “I didn’t notice this before, but instead
of me, Victor Louis de Latour, adopting you, Louis Victor de Latour,
here I see--” At this point Monsieur de Latour stopped, paled, and with
a shaking finger pointed to the impressive legal paper with its great
seals.
And there, sure enough, as plain as print, Louis Victor de Latour had
adopted Victor Louis de Latour. Louis examined the paper carefully and
laid it down. Monsieur de Latour, running his hands frantically through
his scanty hair, cried out:
“It is all the work of that good-for-nothing Julie, who is now upstairs
curling her hair. Well, it will have to be changed--that’s all. The
fact is, she has never yet written a letter or prepared a document for
me that she has not got one word wrong. But she is so devilish pretty
and so fascinating and such a delightful little scamp altogether that
there is no being angry with her. However, I shall give her a good
scolding for this, and the work will all have to be done over again.”
Louis during all this had sat calmly examining the papers spread out
before him. His silence aroused Monsieur de Latour’s suspicions.
“Of course,” cried the old soap-boiler, advancing and mopping his brow,
“you see the necessity for undoing this nonsensical performance. You
being my uncle, indeed!”
“I don’t know about that,” replied Louis coolly. “First let me ask you
one question. Are you really in love with Mademoiselle Julie?”
The query staggered Monsieur de Latour, and he sat down quickly, as if
some one had hit him a blow on the forehead.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “I don’t know whether I am or not, but
one thing is certain--I intend to have the benefit of her society.
It has occurred to me several times in the last few days that you
were paying Mademoiselle de Courcey rather more attention than was
necessary, and it was distinctly displeasing to me.”
“That settles it,” replied Louis gravely. “These papers stand. I cannot
forego the honour of being uncle to such a nephew as yourself. I am
proud of you, my dear Victor.”
Here Louis rose and patted Monsieur de Latour patronisingly on the back.
“It is not your money that I desire--that you are more than welcome
to--but to say to the world that I have such a nephew as yourself gives
me the highest pleasure.”
“Go to the devil!” bawled Monsieur de Latour, jumping up. “You are the
most impudent, presumptuous dog I ever saw in my life. I your nephew,
indeed!”
“But I thought you wanted to appear young so as to win favour, perhaps,
in Mademoiselle Julie’s eyes.”
“So I do, but not so infernally and ridiculously young as you would
make me appear.”
“Not at all. I might have a brother forty years older than myself, and
you might be that brother’s son.”
“And I might elope with my great-grandfather’s sister-in-law,” bellowed
Monsieur de Latour, “but we are not talking about such things as that.
What I mean to say is that this ridiculous mistake must be rectified.
I am willing to adopt you as my nephew--in fact, I am rather pleased
to be related to you, because I have learned to like you in spite of
your assaults upon my ribs. I am willing to be your uncle, but I am not
willing to be your nephew.”
“My dear boy, the thing is done. It is signed, sealed, and delivered.
You are my nephew, and you can’t help yourself. And remember that the
arrangement carries with it the authority of a parent--for example, you
cannot marry anybody without my consent. Our laws, you know, are very
specific on that point.”
“Oh, yes, I know, but you are talking nonsense!”
“Am I? Then try to contravene my authority and see what will happen!”
Monsieur de Latour glared at Louis. And just then the door opened and
Julie entered, looking, if possible, prettier than ever.
“Now,” she said to Monsieur de Latour, “I am ready to do anything you
ask me--that is, for half an hour, when I expect the dressmaker--then I
shall have to leave you.”
“Certainly,” answered Monsieur de Latour, laughing sardonically.
“Between the hairdresser and the dressmaker, you may occasionally
condescend to assist me. Thank you very much, mademoiselle. I am
indebted to you, I think, for the present piece of work.”
He got up and, in his wrath taking Julie sternly by the arm, pointed
with an accusing finger at the document.
“Do you see,” he thundered, “that through that little peculiarity of
yours by which you always get one word wrong----”
“But only one word, monsieur, and then always a very small one.”
“Yes, I know, but big enough to do the business. Here you see that
instead of Victor Louis de Latour adopting Louis Victor de Latour, it
is completely turned around, and this young scapegrace has adopted me.
Do you understand?”
In his rage Monsieur de Latour’s voice had risen to a roar, but Julie,
glancing at the paper and then at Louis, burst into a ripple of
laughter.
“Oh, how amusing!” she cried. “It is the most delightful thing I ever
heard. Did I make that mistake?”
“You did!” shouted Monsieur de Latour, quite forgetting himself and
actually shaking Julie’s arm.
“Well, what’s the harm?” she asked, breathless with the shaking and
laughing still more. “You are just as much a De Latour of the Chateau
of Montplaisir, monsieur, as you ever were. I thought that was the
great point.”
Monsieur de Latour flung her into a chair as if she had been a parcel,
and strode up and down the room.
“My dear Victor,” said Louis soothingly, “compose yourself. Have
confidence in me, your uncle, and believe that everything that I shall
do will be with an eye for your advantage. If you should require me to
give back the three hundred thousand francs----”
“Oh, yes, give them back, indeed!” bawled Monsieur de Latour, going and
standing before Louis. “You can afford to give them back because you
practically have the control of all my property.”
“I sha’n’t interfere with that, my boy,” replied Louis. “I think you
know how to manage your money matters very much better than I do. It is
only your personal conduct in which I shall concern myself, and, by the
way, I think it would be best for you to dispense with Mademoiselle de
Courcey’s services as private secretary.”
“What have you to do with my private secretary?”
“Everything. I am your legal guardian, and I cannot allow you to
continue what I thought from the first a very indiscreet arrangement.
So, mademoiselle, I shall be pleased myself to engage your services at
the same figure my nephew paid you, if you will accept the place.”
“Certainly!” responded Julie, jumping up.
Monsieur de Latour’s rage and chagrin at this was indescribable. He
ground his teeth, and his scanty hair appeared actually to bristle with
wrath. Meanwhile, Louis was smiling and imperturbable, and Julie was a
picture of innocence.
“Only I shall stipulate,” continued Louis gravely, “that you are not to
do any writing for me. I can’t take the risk.”
“Sixteen vats of soap spoiled!” interjected Monsieur de Latour,
throwing himself into a chair.
“My dear Victor,” said Louis, “would you oblige me by allowing me a few
minutes’ private conversation with Mademoiselle Julie?”
“What?” screamed Monsieur de Latour.
“A few minutes’ private conversation is what I ask.”
“Not under any circumstances.”
Monsieur de Latour was so beside himself with rage that he could not
keep still, but, jumping up from his chair, bounced about the room.
“Then, mademoiselle,” remarked Louis, “I must ask you to step out with
me upon the terrace for a moment.”
“Mademoiselle, I forbid you to go!” cried Monsieur de Latour.
But to this Julie paid no attention whatever, and followed Louis
through the glass door that opened on the terrace. Once out in the
clear and brilliant sunshine, Louis whispered in her ear:
“Did you do it on purpose?”
And Julie whispered back:
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“And was it because his consent was necessary to your marriage?”
Julie nodded her head and gave Louis her bewitching side glance.
“Very well, he shall remain my nephew until he has consented to our
marriage.”
Julie bestowed upon Louis another side glance, a look of overpowering
sweetness which ran like wine through Louis’s whole being. Monsieur
de Latour, within the room, saw this exchange of tender and vivid
glances, and a flood of light poured in upon him. He dashed out upon
the terrace, almost knocking them over.
“Oh, I see how it is!” he cried. “You two are in a conspiracy against
me. You”--pointing to Louis--“want to marry Mademoiselle de Courcey.”