In a moment the daughter returned bearing the photograph and the
enameled box. It was the picture which interested Julia Shane. Putting
aside the box she took it up and gazed at it for a long time in silence
while Lily watched her narrowly across the polished table.
“He is a handsome child,” she said presently. “He resembles you. There
is nothing of his father.” Her blue eyes were moist and the tired hard
face softened. “Come here,” she added almost under her breath, and when
the daughter came to her side she kissed her softly, holding her close
to her thin breast. When she released Lily from her embrace, she said,
“And you? When are you going to marry?”
Lily laughed. “Oh, there is plenty of time. I am only twenty-seven,
after all. I am very happy as I am.” She picked up the enameled box,
smiling. “Show me the secret,” she said.
Mrs. Shane opened the box and from a number of yellow clippings drew
forth one which was quite new. “There,” she said, giving it to the
daughter. “It is a picture of him and his new wife, taken at the
wedding.”
There was a portrait of the Governor, grown a little more stout, but
still tall, straight and broad shouldered. His flowing mustache had been
clipped; otherwise he was unchanged. In the picture he grinned amiably
toward the camera as if he saw political capital even in his own
honeymoon. By his side stood a woman of medium height and strong build.
Her features were heavy and she too smiled, although there was something
superior in her smile as though she felt a disdain for the public. It
was a plain face, intelligent, yet somehow lacking in charm. The
clipping identified her as the daughter of a wealthy middle-western
manufacturer and a graduate of a woman’s college. It continued with a
short biographical account of the Governor, predicting for him a
brilliant future and congratulating him upon a marriage the public had
long awaited with interest.
Lily replaced the clipping in the enameled box and closed the lid with a
snap. “He had done well,” she remarked. “She sounds like a perfect wife
for an American politician. I should have been a hopeless failure. As it
is we are both happy.”
The look of bewilderment returned to her mother’s eyes. “The boy,” she
said, “should have a father. You should marry for his sake, Lily.”
“He shall have ... in time. There is no hurry. Besides, his position is
all right. I am Madame Shane, a rich American widow. Madame Gigon has
taken care of that. My position is excellent. No woman could be more
respected.”
Gradually she drifted into an account of her life in Paris. It followed
closely the line of pleasant anticipations which Madame Gigon had
permitted herself during the stillness of that first evening on the
terrace above the Marne. The house in the Rue Raynouard was big and old.
It had been built before the Revolution at a time when Passy was a
suburb surrounded by open meadows. It had a garden at the back which ran
down to the Rue de Passy, once the open highroad to Auteuil. Apartments,
shops and houses now covered the open meadows but the old house and the
garden remained unchanged, unaltered since the day Lenôtre planned them
for the Marquise de Sevillac. The garden had a fine terrace and a
pavilion which some day Jean should have for his own quarters. The house
itself was well planned for entertaining. It had plenty of space and a
large drawing-room which extended along the garden side with tall
windows opening outward upon the terrace. At a little distance off was
the Seine. One could hear the excursion steamers bound for Sèvres and
St. Cloud whistling throughout the day and night.
As for friends, there were plenty of them ... more than she desired.
There were the respectable baronnes and comtesses of Madame Gigon’s set,
a group which worshiped the Prince Bonaparte and talked a deal of silly
nonsense about the Restoration of the Empire. To be sure, they were
fuddy-duddy, but their sons and daughters were not so bad. Some of them
Lily had known at the school of Mademoiselle de Vaux. Some of them were
charming, especially the men. She had been to Compiègne to hunt, though
she disliked exercise of so violent a nature. Indeed they had all been
very kind to her.
“After all,” she concluded, “I am not clever or brilliant. I am content
with them. I am really happy. As for Madame Gigon, she is radiant. She
has become a great figure in her set. She holds a salon twice a month
with such an array of gateaux as would turn you ill simply to look at. I
give her a fat allowance but she gets herself up like the devil. I think
she is sorry that crinolines are no longer the fashion. She looks like a
Christmas tree, but she is the height of respectability.” For an instant
a thin shade of mockery, almost of bitterness colored her voice.
Julia Shane reached over suddenly and touched her daughter’s arm.
Something in Lily’s voice or manner had alarmed her. “Be careful, Lily.
Don’t let yourself grow hard. That’s the one thing.”