"Is it not enough to find you what you are? You've done enough to me
tonight, sir, without adding an insult."
My father nodded, quite as though he were receiving a compliment.
Seemingly still well pleased, he helped himself again to his snuff, and
dusted his fingers carefully with his lace handkerchief.
"You misunderstand me," he said gently. "My present occupation requires a
shrewder head and a steadier hand than yours."
"And a different code of morals," I added, bowing.
"Positively, my son, you are turning Puritan," he remarked. "A most
refreshing change for the family."
I had an angry retort at the tip of my tongue, but it remained unspoken.
For the second time that evening, the dining room door opened. I swung
away from the table. My father leapt to his feet, bland and obsequious. A
girl with dark hair and eyes was standing on the threshold, staring at us
curiously, holding a candle that softened the austerity of her plain
black dress. There in the half light there was a slender grace about her
that made her seem vaguely unreal. In that disordered room she seemed as
incongruous as some portrait from a house across the water, as coldly
unresponsive to her surroundings. I imagined her on the last canvas of
the gallery, bearing all the traits of the family line--the same quiet
assurance, the same confident tilt of the head, the same high forehead
and clear cut features.
Evidently a similar thought was running through my father's mind.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," he said swiftly in the French tongue, "stay where
you are! Stay but a moment! For as you stand there in the shadows,
you epitomize the whole house of Blanzy, their grace, their pride,
their beauty."
She tried to suppress a smile, but only half succeeded.
"I fear the Captain has been drinking again," she said quietly. "Not that
I am sorry. The wine improves you, I think."
"Mademoiselle lures me to a drunkard's grave," exclaimed my father,
bowing low, "but pray be seated. A chair for the lady, my son. Early this
afternoon they told me not to expect you. I trust you have had everything
possible done for your comfort?"
For a moment she favored me with an incurious glance.
"I was unable to see you on the ship, captain, and I wanted to have a
word with you at the first opportunity. Otherwise I would not have
favored you with a tableau of the house of Blanzy. I wanted to speak with
you--alone."
She had declined the chair I offered her, and was standing facing him,
her eyes almost on a level with his.
"This," said my father, bowing again, "is delightfully unexpected! But I
forget myself. This is my son, Henry Shelton. May I present him to Mlle.
de Blanzy?"
"I suppose you may as well," she replied, holding a hand toward me
indifferently. "Let us trust he has your good qualities monsieur, and
none of your bad ones. But I wanted to speak to you alone."
"My son is discretion itself," said my father, with another bow. "Pray
let him stay. I feel sure our discussion will not only interest but
instruct him."
Mademoiselle frowned and tapped an angry foot on the floor.
"You heard what I said, sir. Send him out," she demanded.
"Stay where you are, Henry," said my father gently. "Stay where you are,"
he repeated more loudly, as I started for the door. "I have something
further to say to you before you leave this house."
"Your pardon," he explained, turning again to Mademoiselle, "but my son
and I have had a slight falling out over a question of ethics which I
think directly concerns the matter you wish to discuss. Pray forgive me,
Mademoiselle, but I had much rather he remained."
Mademoiselle glanced at me again, this time with an appeal in her eyes
which I read and understood. It seemed to me a trace more of color had
mounted to her cheeks. She seemed about to speak but paused
irresolutely.
I made a bow which I did my best to render the equal of my father's, and
for the first time I was glad I had entered his house.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "it is a pleasure to render you even so small
a service."
And I turned to my father, and met his glance squarely.
"I cannot see any profit to either of us for me to remain longer," I
observed, "either here or in this house," and I turned to the door.
"Brutus!" called my father sharply. "Stand by the door. Now sir, if you
leave this room before I am ready, my servant shall retain you by force.
Mademoiselle will pardon this domestic scene," he added, "the boy has an
uncertain temper."
I looked to see Brutus' great bulk grinning at me from the doorway. I saw
my father half smiling, and fingering the lace at his throat. I saw
Mademoiselle watching me, partly frightened, but partly curious, as
though she had witnessed similar occurrences. Then my pent up anger got
the better of me. Mr. Lawton's pistol still lay on the table. Before my
father could divine my intention, I had seized it, and held it pointed
at Brutus' head.
"Sir," I said, breathing a trifle faster than usual, "I am not used to
being threatened by servants. Order him to one side!"
My father looked at me almost admiringly, and his hand, that had been
fingering the lace, groped toward an empty bottle.
"Anything but a bottle, father," I said, watching him from the tail of my
eye, "anything but a bottle. It smacks of such low associations."
"Your pardon, Henry," he said quickly, "the movement was purely
unconscious. I had thought we were through with pistols for the evening,
and Mademoiselle must be fatigued. So put down the pistol, Henry, and let
us continue the interview."
"Certainly," I replied, "as soon as you have fulfilled your part of the
contract. As soon as you call off your servant, I shall wish you a very
good evening. Stand where you are, Brutus."
"Come, come," said my father patiently, "we have had enough of the
grotesque this evening. It is growing late, my son. Put down the pistol."
"Brutus," I called, "if you move again, backwards or forwards, I'll
fire," and I backed towards the wall.
"Good," said my father. "Henry, you have an amount of courage and
foresight which I scarcely expected, even in a son of mine, yet not
enough foresight to see that it is useless. Put down the pistol. Put it
down before I take it from you!"
His hand had returned again to his torn lapel, and he was leaning
slightly forward.
"One instant, father!" I said quickly. "If you come a step nearer, I
shall fire on your servant. Pray believe I am serious, father."
"My son!" he cried in mock alarm. "You distress me! Never be serious.
Life has too many disappointments for that. Have you not read Marcus
Aurelius?"
"Have you reloaded your snuff box?" I asked him.
"Not that," he said, shaking his head, "but I know a hundred ways to
disarm a man, otherwise I should not be here witnessing this original
situation. My son, I could have killed you half a dozen times since you
have been holding that weapon."
"Admitted," I answered, "but I hardly think you will go to such lengths.
We all must pause somewhere, father."
"No," he agreed, "unfortunately I am of a mild disposition, and yet--"
he made a sudden move toward me--"Do you realize your weapon is
unprimed?"
"Shall I try it?" I asked.
"Excellent!" said my father. "You impress me. Yes, I have underrated your
possibilities, Henry. However, the play is over--"
He leaned towards the table abruptly and extinguished both the candles.
The glow of embers in the fireplace could not relieve the darkness of the
shuttered room.
"Now," he continued, "Mademoiselle is standing beside me, and Brutus is
between you and me and approaching you. I think it would be safer if you
put the pistol down. One's aim is uncertain in the dark, and, after all,
it is not Mademoiselle's quarrel. Tell him to put down the pistol,
Mademoiselle."
Her voice answered from the darkness in front of me.
"On the contrary," she said lightly, "pray continue. I have not the heart
to stop it--nor the courage to interfere in a family quarrel."
"Quite as one would expect from Mademoiselle," his voice replied, "but
fortunately my son also has not forgotten his manners. Henry, have you
set down the pistol?"