I PLAY "THREE'S COMPANY"
I met Rhoda Polly by arrangement made openly on a post card, which could
be discussed in conclave and passed from hand to hand. I should be
walking over to the restaurant of Mere Felix, and as the river Durance
was in flood it might be worth while seeing. The day I mentioned,
Saturday, was generally chosen by Hannah and Liz for their private
outings, and I judged that the project would be unlikely to interest
them in any case, not even if the Durance swept the plain, so long as
the railway to Aramon remained open to them, by which to bring home
their finery. Hugh was back with his father in the works, and Mrs.
Deventer might be counted a fixture at the Chateau Schneider.
Remained, therefore, only Rhoda Polly, but would Rhoda Polly come? That
would depend on how Hugh Deventer had kept his promise to me. Still, I
thought that in any case, there being no jealousy in the matter, I could
trust Rhoda Polly's curiosity in the matter of Jeanne Felix. It must be
admitted that in taking her over to the Restaurant of Sambre-et-Meuse I
was sailing very near indeed to the wind. For though my conscience (such
as it was) remained clear of any overact of love-making with regard to
Rhoda Polly, it was by no means the same when I came to review my
dealings with Jeanne. Not that I mean for a moment that Jeanne thought
anything of the matter, or cherished any deep feelings for me. She was
no daughter of the sainted bourgeoisie. She was frankly of the people,
and had not been educated out of her sphere. She was just a simple frank
girl, such as one might find by Dee or Nithwater, not ignorant of the
world, nor of the designs of man, and for a French girl wonderfully
capable of looking after herself.
Still, whether Jeanne was capable of recognising in Rhoda Polly a mere
comrade of mine after the manner of the English, was a problem which
could only be solved by experiment.
Rhoda Polly met me at the corner of the garden of the Chateau Schneider
about half-past ten of that Saturday morning. The works were crashing
away behind, and the new big gun factory especially was noisy with
roaring blast furnaces and spitting jets of white steam.
We did not shake hands nor make any demonstration beyond the lifting of
a hat on my part and a slight nod on Rhoda Polly's. We might have been
the merest acquaintances, yet no sooner were we alongside each other,
walking on the same path, than the old understanding, trustful and
confident, took hold of us. The spring on the slopes of the Rhone and
the Durance comes early, and is the fairest time of the year. On the
sandy tracts between the rivers we passed a world of fine things. The
whole peninsula, almost correctly V-shaped, had been so often overflowed
by the turbulent Durance that the permanent shrubs, the bushes of broom,
thyme, and cistus had ascended the little rocky knolls which could keep
their heads above water. But where our path wound was a delightful
wilderness of alternate sun and shadow, black umbrageous stone pines,
laurel, myrtle, and clove, planted out as in a nursery garden, yet all
wild, the seeds brought down by the river, and now (like Shem and his
brothers scattering from Ararat) true Children of the Flood.
On the way Rhoda Polly ran hither and thither gathering flowers. With us
at Aramon the spring is well under way before the autumn flowers are
tired of blooming. She gathered purple colt's-foot and orchis, yellow
iris and goats' honeysuckle. Troops of butterflies attended us,
especially the Red Admiral and the swift poising Humming Bird Moth, some
of them so large as to look like the bird itself. Even Bates on his
beloved Amazon was deceived by it, as I took care to tell Rhoda Polly.
We arrived at the edge of the crossing, and from the bank I shouted for
Jeanne to take us over. She came down tall and nonchalant, an oar over
her shoulder, unlocked the padlock and rowed unconcernedly across. She
stood to help Rhoda Polly in, and then handed me the bow oar as was our
habit like one long accustomed to such visits. I delayed introductions
till we had reached the farther side. Rhoda Polly gave Jeanne her hand
with the swift grip of liking. But I saw a glow in Jeanne's eyes as she
took the oar away from me and marched with them both over her shoulder
to the house.
"Mademoiselle Deventer, mother," she cried, "come to visit us. Monsieur
has brought her--so kind of Monsieur!"
And Jeanne vanished round the corner with a kind of swirl of her pretty
figure, the oar-blades swooping perilously after her.
"I say," whispered Rhoda Polly, "that girl has never worn stays. Did you
see her waist and hips when she turned--a full half circle? None of us,
pinched-up wretches that we are, could do that! It was beautiful, the
poetry of motion."
I did not say so aloud, but I knew that it was something quite different
on Jeanne's part--in fact, a little fling of temper. And with the
thought of opening out the matter of Alida on the way home, I began to
wish that Rhoda Polly and I had taken another road than that which led
to the riverside hostelry of the Sambre-et-Meuse.
Mere Felix was clamorous with welcomes, smiling heartsomely upon the
daughter of the powerful manager of her husband's works, and quite
willing to accept me as an elderly relative placed in charge of the
outing. In which she made mistake, for nothing is more certain that all
such expeditions were conducted according to the sole will of Rhoda
Polly.
We arranged for lunch to be served under the _tonnelle_ overlooking the
river, and I stayed in the kitchen along with Mere Felix and the
moon-faced maid-of-all-work. It was in my mind that perhaps Rhoda Polly
might strike up one of her friendships with Jeanne, or at least do
something to explain away the rather strained situation. Nor did I seem
to be altogether wrong, for presently I saw the two girls amicably
putting a boat to rights after a night's fishing in the flooded river.
They were too distant for me to gather anything from their behaviour to
one another. But presently it was evident that Rhoda Polly was talking
in her wild harum-scarum fashion, for Jeanne threw back her head
suddenly with a tinkle of laughter and a flash of brown throat showing
pleasantly under a scarlet kerchief. I said in my heart--so vain and
foolish was I--that the battle was to the cunning, and I thought no
small potatoes of myself at that moment.
I soon found, however, that Jeanne, though she might laugh at Rhoda
Polly's freely expressed yarns, had no intention of forgiving me. If
Rhoda Polly was heart-free, that was certainly not my fault.
So when they came back to the house I tried in vain to inveigle Jeanne
behind the barns where the fish-ponds lay safe and solitary, so that I
might explain at my leisure. But it was "Monsieur is too good, but a
poor girl has her work to do. _She_ has no time to go off sightseeing of
a forenoon even with so charming a cicerone as Monsieur!"
The little vixen! She tossed her head as she said it, and I declare that
her small white teeth snapped together like a rat-trap. When I spoke to
her after this, she answered me only with the distant civility of a
well-trained servitor: "What can I do for Monsieur? If Monsieur will
only take the trouble to rest himself in the _salle_ while I send
Babette to attend to his wants!" (Babette was the moon-faced, rather
besmutted scullion of the kitchen and the courtyard.)
"Why, Jeanne," I cried, seeing that Rhoda Polly was at a safe distance
learning the receipt for some sauce or dish from the Mere Felix,
"Jeanne, why do you treat me like this? Are we not old comrades? Do you
remember the day among the reeds after the boat went down and we had to
tramp all the way home barefoot? I wrapped your feet in our
handkerchiefs, Jeanne, because you had lost your shoes and stockings in
the boat."
"I do not know to what Monsieur is good enough to refer. I think that
the walk in the sun from Chateau Schneider must have made Monsieur a
little light-headed!"
Of course if I had been wiser or older I would have said nothing more,
and left Time to do his own perfect work. But I could not be content. I
forgot all about Alida, and it seemed to me at that moment that nothing
else mattered so long as Jeanne Felix remained friends with me. I have
always been like that, and I cannot say that the business has worked out
badly in the long run. No matter what a tangled web I wove, I always
managed in the end to retain the good will of my dear lost loves, even
when the losing was entirely my fault.
The thought that was most prominent in my own mind at that moment was
how pleasant it would be to obey the imperious rule of Alida the
Princess on the sunny slopes below St. Andre, without prejudice to the
charming boy-and-girl comradeship I enjoyed with Rhoda Polly on the
walks and river promenades of Aramon-les-Ateliers--neither of these to
interfere in the least with the sweetness of Jeanne's breath and the
touch of her surrendered lips in the bosky thickets along the Durance.
The young male of twenty-one has a heart which can beat for considerably
more than one. At least so it was in my time.
It surprised me, and I must admit rather shocked me, when Jeanne of all
girls refused to lend herself to any such combination. I might have
dotted the twin rivers with my loves and Rhoda Polly would not have
cared, but such conduct from Jeanne Felix I could only look upon as
highly unsatisfactory. I had never expected it of Jeanne. It would teach
me to walk very warily in the matter of Alida. Foolish Jeanne, thus to
have killed the pure flower of candour in my bosom!
I made a last appeal to her, which to myself seemed irresistible. There
was (I averred) a relationship in the world which might be called real
brother-and-sisterhood, a fraternity of the spirit. This existed between
Rhoda Polly and myself. We had always been conscious of it. When we
played in pinafores in the dust we chose to be together, and left the
others to their noisier sports. Afterwards we studied the same subjects
at college--she at Selborne, I at St. Andre. We compared notes
afterwards. We talked, but Jeanne must not think that there was more in
the business than that. I could, would, must, and did assure her that
the whole matter began and ended in a close spiritual brotherhood----
"Spiritual fiddlestick!" burst out Jeanne, turning fiercely upon me.
"Have you ever kissed her?"
Now I could lie upon occasion to oblige a lady, but the question was
shot out at me so unexpectedly that my lips moved but I spake not.
Jeanne eyed me one instant, with a length, breadth, and depth of
contempt which cut to the quick even my self-conceit, at that time a
young and exceedingly healthy growth. Then without a word she turned on
her heel and went into the house. We saw no more of her that day. And
when Rhoda Polly asked after her to say good-bye as we were leaving, the
Mere Felix, after taking counsel with a casual stable-boy, informed us
that Jeanne had rowed away up the river to visit a friend whose father
kept a _pepiniere_ or nursery of young trees at Cabannes farther up the
Durance. Yes, Jeanne was often there. She and Blanche Eymard had been at
school together. It was an old friendship. Besides, there was more
company and gaiety at Cabannes--what would you, maids are but young
once, and with a daughter so "sage" as Jeanne--why, Pere Felix and she
never disquieted themselves for a moment. She sometimes stayed a week or
a fortnight, for she loved the culture of the young trees and the flower
seeds. The work at the _pepiniere_ was like a play to her with so many
young people about her!