AN AMERICAN GIRL
The Marquise d'Esclignac saw that she had to reckon with an American
girl. Those who know these girls know what their temper and mettle
are, and that they are capable of the finest reverberations.
Julia Redmond was very young. Otherwise she would never have let
Sabron go without one sign that she was not indifferent to him, and
that she was rather bored with the idea of titles and fortunes. But
she adored her aunt and saw, moreover, something else than ribbons
and velvets in the make-up of the aunt. She saw deeper than the
polish that a long Parisian lifetime had overlaid, and she loved what
she saw. She respected her aunt, and knowing the older lady's point
of view, had been timid and hesitating until now.
Now the American girl woke up, or rather asserted herself.
"My dear Julia," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, "are you sure that
all the tinned things, the cocoa, and so forth, are on board? I did
not see that box."
"_Ma tante_," returned her niece from her steamer chair, "it's the
only piece of luggage I am sure about."
At this response her aunt suffered a slight qualm for the fate of the
rest of her luggage, and from her own chair in the shady part of the
deck glanced toward her niece, whose eyes were on her book.
"What a practical girl she is," thought the Marquise d'Esclignac.
"She seems ten years older than I. She is cut out to be the wife of
a poor man. It is a pity she should have a fortune. Julia would
have been charming as love in a cottage, whereas I..."
She remembered her hotel on the Parc Monceau, her château by the
Rhone, her villa at Biarritz--and sighed. She had not always been
the Marquise d'Esclignac; she had been an American girl first and
remembered that her maiden name had been De Puyster and that she had
come from Schenectady originally. But for many years she had
forgotten these things. Near to Julia Redmond these last few weeks
all but courage and simplicity had seemed to have tarnish on its
wings.
Sabron had not been found.
It was a curious fact, and one that transpires now and then in the
history of desert wars--the man is lost. The captain of the cavalry
was missing, and the only news of him was that he had fallen in an
engagement and that his body had never been recovered. Several
sorties had been made to find him; the war department had done all
that it could; he had disappeared from the face of the desert and
even his bones could not be found.
From the moment that Julia Redmond had confessed her love for the
Frenchman, a courage had been born in her which never faltered, and
her aunt seemed to have been infected by it. The marquise grew
sentimental, found out that she was more docile and impressionable
than she had believed herself to be, and the veneer and etiquette (no
doubt never a very real part of her) became less important than other
things. During the last few weeks she had been more a De Puyster
from Schenectady than the Marquise d'Esclignac.
"_Ma tante_," Julia Redmond had said to her when the last telegram
was brought in to the Château d'Esclignac, "I shall leave for Africa
to-morrow."
"My dear Julia!"
"He is alive! God will not let him die. Besides, I have prayed. I
believe in God, don't you?"
"Of course, my dear Julia."
"Well," said the girl, whose pale cheeks and trembling hands that
held the telegram made a sincere impression on her aunt, "well, then,
if you believe, why do you doubt that he is alive? Some one must
find him. Will you tell Eugene to have the motor here in an hour?
The boat sails to-morrow, _ma tante_."
The marquise rolled her embroidery and put it aside for twelve
months. Her fine hands looked capable as she did so.
"My dear Julia, a young and handsome woman can not follow like a
daughter of the regiment, after the fortunes of a soldier."
"But a Red Cross nurse can, _ma tante_, and I have my diploma."
"The boat leaving to-morrow, my dear Julia, doesn't take passengers."
"Oh, _ma tante_! There will be no other boat for Algiers," she
opened the newspaper, "until ... oh, heavens!"
"But Robert de Tremont's yacht is in the harbor."
Miss Redmond looked at her aunt speechlessly.
"I shall telegraph Madame de Haussonvelle and ask permission for you
to go in that as an auxiliary of the Red Cross to Algiers, or,
rather, Robert is at Nice. I shall telegraph him."
"Oh, _ma tante_!"
"He asked me to make up my own party for a cruise on the
Mediterranean," said the Marquise d'Esclignac thoughtfully.
Miss Redmond fetched the telegraph blank and the pad from the table.
The color began to return to her cheeks. She put from her mind the
idea that her aunt had plans for her. All ways were fair in the
present situation.
The Marquise d'Esclignac wrote her despatch, a very long one, slowly.
She said to her servant:
"Call up the Villa des Perroquets at Nice. I wish to speak with the
Duc de Tremont." She then drew her niece very gently to her side,
looking up at her as a mother might have looked. "Darling Julia,
Monsieur de Sabron has never told you that he loved you?"
Julia shook her head.
"Not in words, _ma tante_."
There was a silence, and then Julia Redmond said:
"I only want to assure myself that he is safe, that he lives. I only
wish to know his fate."
"But if you go to him like this, _ma chère_, he will think you love
him. He must marry you! You are making a serious declaration."
"Ah," breathed the girl from between trembling lips, "don't go on. I
shall be shown the way."
The Marquise d'Esclignac then said, musing:
"I shall telegraph to England for provisions. Food is vile in
Algiers. Also, Melanie must get out our summer clothes."
"_Ma tante!_" said Julia Redmond, "_our_ summer clothes?"
"Did you think you were going alone, my dear Julia!"
She had been so thoroughly the American girl that she had thought of
nothing but going. She threw her arms around her aunt's neck with an
abandon that made the latter young again. The Marquise d'Esclignac
kissed her niece tenderly.
"Madame la Marquise, Monsieur le Duc de Tremont is at the telephone,"
the servant announced to her from the doorway.