M. LE COMTE.
Hannah had certainly managed to say a good deal in this short but
pungent lecture, and the immediate consequence was that Mrs. Mansfield
was comparatively reasonable when her husband and Fergus saw her next.
She confessed that children were a nuisance and if Fergus gave her
twenty pounds she wouldn't mind parting with the child.
"It can't he done," said Mansfield firmly.
"Whatever do you mean by that, John Mansfield?"
"Exactly what I say, dear love. The little one has been the joy and
blessing of my life. I can never express to this good brother of yours
what little Margot has been to me and if I give her up at all, I give
her up from a sense of duty, but I won't allow you to receive money for
her."
"And right you are, sir, right you are," said Hannah, who came into the
room at that moment. "The missus wouldn't touch a brass farthing for
the kiddy when she gets over the kind of shock of seeing that fine man
her brother. I'll manage her, master dear, you needn't trouble your
head."
It so happened that Hannah had her way. She did manage Mrs. Mansfield
and, what was more, she got everything in order for her master and
Fergus Desmond to start for their expedition to Arles, not that night
but on the following morning. How neither of these good gentlemen
knew a word of the French tongue, but they did discover by the aid
of atlases, etc., the direction in which Arles was situated and they
started off on their quest for little Margot's French relations at an
early hour the next day.
They arrived at Arles on the following evening and, after making
enquiries by means of one of Cook's interpreters, they discovered the
Château St. Juste. Arles is a lively and busy place and more than one
person watched the singular pair as they passed down an avenue of
plane-trees and by-and-bye came to some heavy iron gates, which the
said interpreter informed them opened on to the avenue, and eventually
led to the Château St. Juste. The interpreter then felt that he had
done his duty.
Fergus paid him twenty francs and a sprightly little woman, quite young
and very lively, came out of a small and daintily furnished lodge to
greet them.
"Ah, but you are Anglais," she said, "it goes without saying. I
will take you down to the château if messieurs so desire. Monsieur
_mon mari_ is ill, but it matters not--he can talk the English--ah,
_charmant_! He has fallen ill of the accursed _grippe_, but I nurse
him well and he will soon be restored. Come, then, my good messieurs,
come for yourselves and see le Comte St. Juste. I am his wife, it
goes without saying. He is old and I am young, that also goes without
saying. Follow me, messieurs, you will be rewarded when you see all
that I have done for the castle. It was in ruins--ah! but I had my
_dot, chers_ messieurs. I made my money by means of the _chapeaux_
and the _très chic_ garments for the different _fêtes_ which abound
at Arles. Ah, but I made my pile--my pile, and the Comte he worships
me, and I myself am _la Comtesse_. Think you not it was well done,
and think you I am ashamed of how I made my _dot_? Ah, _mais non,
mais non_! The beautiful hats are made for the beautiful youth, the
beautiful robes, _très distinguées très comme il faut_, are also made
for the young and lovely, but see! I get my price, the true price--one
hundred and fifty francs for one little _chapeau_, one thousand francs
for a robe which might be distinguished in any part of Paris. Ah, think
not of it any more. It is over. I am Madame la Comtesse and Monsieur is
le Comte and I put the place--ah, into its bridal dress. See! behold!
Not a weed, not an entanglement--all of the most spotless. Think what
the place was! One raises the eyebrow at the thought, and behold it
now! Monsieur the Comte, he is that eaten up with _joie_ that he can
scarcely contain himself. Ah, messieurs, have I not done well?"
"You have done very well," said John Mansfield.
The little French lady turned towards him and gave him a sparkling nod.
"You come from the cold _Angleterre_?" she enquired.
"I live in England and I love that country very dearly," said John
Mansfield.
"Ah, and you, monsieur?" the black eyes fixed themselves on the eyes
which were almost as black as Fergus Desmond's.
"I come from Ireland," he said. "I have come on a matter of great
importance; I wish to speak to your husband, madame."
"Ah, _certainement, certainement_. Oh, la! la! you shall have your way.
But Ireland--Ireland, have you not a name, monsieur?"
"My name is Desmond of Desmondstown," said Fergus in his slow, grave
voice.
The little madame gave a sort of bounce in the air.
"Then the day of greatest joy has arrived," she said. "My poor
husband, he frets day and night, oh, but he has no reason. He is not
ravished as he ought to be with all those good things that I have
provided him with. His son, his only son, married! Ah, but it was a
Paul and Virginia affair. He married a young Irish lady of beauty the
most superb. I know it, for she came here and _I_ sold her a _chapeau_
and a _robe_. Ah, but you are like her, monsieur--you of Ireland, I
mean."
"I am her brother," said Fergus.
"Did I not say it was a day of joy," exclaimed the little Comtesse.
"Well, she was beautiful and they loved her all of them, but the
Comte, my good husband, he was harassed much because there was not the
customary _dot_, and he made the young m'sieur Henri, the husband of
the beautiful madame, angry with bitter words and the young m'sieur he
took, yes, he took his wife away. She was like a star for loveliness
and then we heard that she had died, and shortly afterwards we got the
information that the romantic ideas of _mon pauvre mari_ were never to
be fulfilled, for the young Comte died also somewhere in that bitter
_Angleterre_ and we lost sight of the good babe that had been put into
his hands by his young lovely wife before she departed to _le bon
Dieu_. Ah, but those were sad times! This is the house, messieurs, now
we will enter, and I will tell M'sieur le Comte that you have arrived."
The two men were left staring at each other. The château was in truly
French style, and although it looked perfectly neat and tidy lacked the
air of comfort which John Mansfield's little home possessed, and which
was even to be seen in Desmondstown.
After a very short interval Madame appeared again on the scene.
"_Alors, je vais vous présenter à l'instant._ Follow me, I beg. Rest
you here, M'sieur." She pointed to a little lounge in a gaily decorated
drawing-room, "and I will take M'sieur, the Irish gentleman, to see my
husband. I will bring you _l'eau sucrée, tout-de-suite_. Now follow me,
M'sieur from Ireland."
Fergus Desmond gave his friend a glance of dismay.
"Be sure that all will be well," murmured the Rev. John Mansfield.
There was a sort of intense encouragement in the words, and, holding
his head very erect and pushing back his fine square shoulders, Fergus
followed Madame la Comtesse into a peculiarly arranged _salon_, which
was half a bedroom, half a sitting-room.
On a sofa, supported by many pillows, and covered by a thick crimson
plush rug, lay a thin, very old, very worn man. He had all the
inimitable grace of his nation, and would have sprung to his feet to
put his heels and knees together, and make the necessary bow if Madame
had not interrupted him.
"Alphonse, thou naughty one, thou must not rise," she exclaimed. "Rest
at thine ease on thy cushions of down, and I will talk to the stranger
with the good face in the other room. M'sieur Desmond will divert thee,
my little Comte." Here she pressed a light kiss on his forehead and
danced out of the room.
The first thing that Fergus felt when he found himself quite alone with
the Comte St. Juste was the extraordinary likeness the old man bore to
little Margot. It is true that it was a likeness between extreme youth
and extreme age. Nevertheless, it was there. The shape of the face,
the aristocratic poise of the head were repeated in the old man and
the young child. There was a flush of childish pleasure now on the old
Comte's cheeks. He spoke in a hurried voice,
"Behold! are you indeed a Desmond?"
"Undoubtedly. I am the eldest son of The Desmond of Desmondstown and in
our country 'The' is the proudest of all titles."
"All, ah," said the Comte, "I know it not, I know it not. But see--I
speak the English tongue. You doubtless bring me information. I have
been long, long pining for my grandchild. Do you know whether the
little one born to my Henri was son or daughter? All in vain have I
made enquiries, but I have dreamt of that little one, by day and by
night. Have you brought me news of her--of him?"
Fergus felt his heart sink within him.
"There is a child," he said, "a daughter. She is not so very young
now--she will be twelve in ten months. She is beautiful. She came to us
of her own accord and The Desmond wants to keep her."
"_Mais non, non_," exclaimed the old Comte. "Is she not the child
of my son, my only son? And if she is eleven, she will ere long be
marriageable. Ho, sir, no, M'sieur Desmond, I will _not_ give her up."
"I thought, sir, we might _pay_ you," began Desmond, who was not very
tactful, and longed beyond words to have the clergyman by his side.
The old Comte moved restlessly. He coughed also; he waved his hot
hands. At that instant Madame la Comtesse entered, accompanied by the
Rev. John Mansfield.
"I have been hearing the story, the romance," she said. "Ah, but it is
of the most romantic. See! I deliver myself. _Écoutez._ These are my
words:
"The little Comtesse, for by the French usages she is also a Comtesse,
belongs to _us_, M'sieur Desmond. But we do not wish to be unfair. This
is what I propose. Ah, mon Alphonse, I adore thee, yes, hopelessly,
incurably, I adore thee to the folly. Sip this iced lemonade, my
adoring love, and then listen to the words of a French Comtesse, who
knows how exactly to make the words come right, to make the thoughts
come quickly, to put the ideas straight. The little one, it seems,
belongs both to thee, my adorable Alphonse, and also to the father of
this good gentleman from Ireland. Let's divide her, therefore. We have
her half the time, and the good Desmond the other half the time, and I
begin immediately to make her _dot_. See, my beloved one, see! Is it
not sense? The two grandpapas shake hands over the head of the little
one."
"It seems to me the best idea of all," said the Rev. John Mansfield.
Now this man had a wonderfully sweet voice, but while he uttered
these words, his heart was like lead within him, for while the two
grandfathers claimed the possession of little Margot, she was to him
the life of life. She was to him the joy of all joy, but not for the
world would he interfere with what he knew was right. He thought of a
home no longer joyful, blessed, cheerful, merry, and then he pushed
that thought out of sight. He was here to mediate, to arrange.
The old Comte gave an impatient sigh.
"I tell thee what it is, my good Ninon," he said. "I have not the
secret of eternal youth. I must have my little one soon--at once--or
behold I die. These limbs grow cold, this heart ceases to beat. M'sieur
Desmond, I will have her now--at once--for three months, then your
father of the title so high and proud can have her for three months. Is
that not fair, will not that suffice?"
"It is fair and it must suffice," said Fergus.
"Then go, my good M'sieur. Go quickly, I entreat, and return with
the _bébé_ to her French home. Will you not go? It will be good for
_l'enfant_, the little Comtesse St. Juste. But hold for one moment, the
heart and the head get hopelessly mixed. What _dot_ can we settle on
her, Ninon, _ma petite_?"
"Fifteen hundred thousand francs," replied Ninon without a moment's
hesitation, "and when Monsieur the Irishman brings the little Comtesse
here, we will have a notary present to sign the agreement, so that on
her marriage day she shall be much looked up to, and I myself will
arrange the marriage according to the true French style."
"We do not want any _dot_ at all," began Fergus in an angry voice, but
John Mansfield rose and interrupted him.
"We will go home at once and fetch the little one so that you may have
three months' joy in her society, M'sieur le Comte," he said. "At the
end of that time, I will myself fetch her to spend three months with
her Irish grandfather."
"That is well," said the Comte; "that is as it ought to be."
"How soon then may we expect the little Comtesse Margot?" said the
present Comtesse St. Juste.
"Within a week from now," said Fergus firmly.
"Ah, then, I must be preparing her little wardrobe. Think of that, my
adorable Alphonse. The wardrobe of thy little Comtesse. Of what height
is she, M'sieur Desmond, and of what breadth and of what colour? My
taste is of the rarest. Come with me for one moment all alone, M'sieur
Mansfield; you have seen most of her and can describe her best."
She ushered Mr. Mansfield into the _salon_, which adjoined that of the
old Comte.
Mansfield found great difficulty in describing his little angel and
Madame did not fail to notice that in spite of every endeavour the
tears trembled to his eyes, although on no account would he allow them
to fall.
"Oh, la, la! she is beautiful," exclaimed the Comtesse, when his
description had come to an end. "Monsieur Englishman you are good.
On that point rest assured. You have the distinction of bearing. I
note it. I would that you could talk with our parish priest. You live
among the high and holy things, M'sieur. Now, then, I have a little
secret to impart, I would not tell it to another, but to you, yes,
you have the air--the eye so clear and frank. Now, Monsieur, when I
married the Comte, he was great with the notion that I, his little
Ninon, had given up all the chapeaux and the robes that brought in the
money--the francs so numerous that I could make the old place look
like it did so long ago, but I did _not_ give up my _établissement_,
m'sieur. Mon Dieu! I could not--I could not live without my gifts--I
could not live without my silks and my satins, my lace, all real, I
assure you; my opera cloaks, my tortoise-shell ostrich feather fans.
No, no, I keep my _magasin_ going, so that I can give a good _dot_ to
the little Comtesse, and the old man he knows nothing about it. He must
never--never know--must my adorable Alphonse."