WHY THE COUNT WENT AWAY
THE days that followed were like a calm before a storm. Adrienne went
to see her village friends. They all told her how glad they were to see
her back. Strangely enough, with all their love of gossip they none of
them referred to what was well known in the village, the transfer of
the Château to Monsieur Bouverie. One or two of them asked Adrienne a
little anxiously:
"And when will the Comte be back?"
She only shook her head.
"We don't know. It is uncertain."
She paid little Agatha a visit very soon.
The sick girl took hold of her hands in her earnest, demonstrative way:
"Ah, dear Mademoiselle, how we have missed you! And you have been
through sorrow. But you are learning Who can comfort."
"How do you know I am, Agatha?"
"By your eyes. They are not only joyously happy, that they have always
been, but a deep contented rest has crept into your soul, and it shows
itself."
"Yes, Agatha," said Adrienne in a low voice, "I have I think, very
feebly linked myself on to the One you know and love."
"Or shall we say He has very strongly linked you on Himself," said
Agatha with her serene smile.
"Yes, that is better. That is what He has done. He has drawn me to His
Feet and forgiven me there, and made me one of His sheep."
"And you have only to hear His Voice and follow now—Mademoiselle, I
rejoice so much in your joy."
"It has come so gradually," said Adrienne; "I can't tell you when
or how, only after many prayers I have stopped doubting, and now am
trusting. Oh, Agatha, if only—only my Aunt could realize it, how happy
she might be!"
"Give to her, as you have been given to," said Agatha; "it is so easy
to enter the Kingdom, if you'll take the Bon Seigneur at His Word."
Adrienne came away from her feeling in tune with the whole world; she
was serenely conscious of a new joy and a new purpose in her life.
Her aunt sighed as she heard her singing about the Château.
"Ah, if only I were young and gay again!"
The packing up progressed steadily, but the Countess still persisted in
thinking that she would return to the Château again. Secretly Adrienne
began to empty drawers and wardrobes and stow the contents away into
travelling trunks, and meanwhile every post was watched for anxiously.
Madame Bouverie haunted the place; she would push herself in on the
merest pretext, and begin measuring furtively rooms and windows.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," she said to Adrienne one day, "it will be a relief
to your dear aunt to have the care of such a big place no longer.
When one has not the money it is heartrending. We shall have to spend
thousands on this place to make it habitable—thousands!"
Adrienne had difficulty in giving a polite response. She knew it was of
no use to argue with her, and pride forbade her to plead.
At last things were in train for the Countess to leave for Orleans.
And then one afternoon about three o'clock, Adrienne, who had been out
in the garden gathering a few late roses, came into the Château to hear
voices in the corridor upstairs.
Pierre came forward with a troubled look upon his face:
"It is Monsieur Bouverie with some gentleman from Paris. I think it is
a foreign gentleman who wants to buy our Van Dyck."
When Pierre was agitated, he would associate himself with the family he
loved and served.
The flush mounted into Adrienne's cheeks and fire into her eyes.
Without a word, she sprang upstairs, and confronted a little group
gathered round the famous picture.
"May I ask what you are doing, Monsieur Bouverie?"
She stood like a young queen before them, her voice haughty and cold,
her eyes sparkling dangerously.
"I have just brought a gentleman to see this picture," said Monsieur
Bouverie, a little defiantly.
[Illustration: She stood like a young queen before them, her voice
haughty and cold.
_Adrienne]_ _[Chapter XIII]_
"With the Countess's permission?" asked Adrienne.
"Well, really, Mademoiselle, I told Pierre not to trouble her. It is
not worth it. Mr. Bullivant from New York was only able to come to-day,
otherwise I should not have brought him till next Tuesday."
"This picture is not for sale, so I do not know why he should be
brought here."
Adrienne's tone was hard and cold.
"Excuse me, Mademoiselle," said Monsieur Bouverie, an ugly gleam coming
into his eyes, "this picture will be in my possession in two days'
time; and as I intend to sell it, I am letting a possible purchaser see
it now."
"This picture will never be in your possession. It belongs to the Count
de Beaudessert, and he is, as you know, at present away from home."
There was a dead silence.
Then the American said a little anxiously turning towards the notary:
"Is there some misapprehension somewhere?"
"Mademoiselle," said Monsieur Bouverie, beginning to get excited. "You
take too much upon yourself; you are creating false impressions. The
Countess has sold me this picture with the Château. I have taken all
the pictures and furniture with it. The Château itself is nearly a
ruin. It is its contents which I value. I have it all here in writing
with her signature. I am not likely to do anything illegal."
But Adrienne stood firm:
"The Countess had no power to sell this picture or mortgage it, for it
is not hers. You cannot give away another's property."
Then, as Monsieur Bouverie began to splutter and storm, Adrienne called
out suddenly and sharply to Pierre:
"Pierre, show these gentlemen out, and remember that we intend now to
admit no one into the Château whilst we are in it."
Then she gave a little bow to the American, and said to him in English:
"I am sorry that you have been misinformed, sir, about this picture. It
does not belong to Monsieur Bouverie, and the Count my cousin does not
intend to sell it. He has told me so. I will wish you good afternoon."
She walked away from them, then stood at the top of the staircase
watching them go down and out of the front door.
Monsieur Bouverie was shaking with rage, and volubly explaining, and
denouncing Adrienne's interference.
Then Adrienne issued her commands to Pierre:
"Lock and bolt all the outside doors. We intend to see no one except
perhaps Miss Preston or the Curé. We must keep a closed door till we
go."
She said nothing to her aunt of what she had done. She felt ashamed and
indignant that the Countess had weakly deceived her stepson and had
tried to part with the one possession he prized. And she did not want
to upset her in these last days. The Countess was sleeping badly, and
at last was beginning to realize that this move would be different to
the usual autumnal flitting. But Adrienne realized that she had made
an open enemy of the notary. It was war to the knife between them now,
and she was beginning to be frightened of the responsibility lying upon
her shoulders. She did not know how to remove the picture and where to
take it. It was a very large one, and would require a frame and a van
to transfer it to her aunt's flat. She thought of the farm, but feared
that Monsieur Bouverie would forcibly remove it from there.
Half an hour later, she was standing in the hall talking to Pierre
about it. It was nearly time for her aunt to appear for tea, which they
were having in the salon now, as it was getting too cold to sit out of
doors.
Pierre was delighted at the unceremonious way in which Monsieur
Bouverie had received his exit. And when they suddenly heard a violent
ring and a still more violent knocking at the door, both he and
Adrienne thought it might be Monsieur Bouverie returning to the attack,
with his legal papers all in form.
"Let him knock a bit, Mademoiselle; it will cool his blood," said
Pierre, almost dancing with excitement on the tips of his old toes.
But through one of the hall windows Adrienne caught sight of a tall
figure and she knew it was not the little notary.
"Open immediately, Pierre. I believe, oh I believe it is the Count."
It was, and, as Guy strode in, he looked puzzled and perplexed.
"Are you in a state of siege here?" he asked. "I have never known this
front door locked and barred before five o'clock at this time of year."
Adrienne sprang forward and seized hold of his hand:
"Oh, Cousin Guy, how glad I am to see you! I might have known you would
not be too late, but you have driven it very close."
"I started directly I got your letter, but our boat was delayed, and
I have had other difficulties to overcome. How are you all? I hoped
to see you here, but was not certain. I was sorry to hear about the
General."
"Yes," said Adrienne, drawing a long breath; "a lot has happened since
you went; but oh, I can think of nothing but of your return. Everything
will be all right now; why did I doubt it?"
They had no further talk together, for the Countess suddenly appeared.
She was as glad and relieved as Adrienne was, but in her own way she
did not let him know it.
"Why have you stayed away so long? Everything has gone from bad to
worse. And now Monsieur Bouverie is turning me out of this, and says he
is coming to live here himself. Imagine Madame Bouverie in this salon
dispensing hospitality. What am I to do? Not a penny to spend. What are
you going to do?"
"Nothing to-night, ma mère. To-morrow we'll have a good talk and see if
we can't right things."
His eyes were on Adrienne as he spoke. She looked in her black gown
very fair and sweet. With a pretty grace she was presiding over the
tea-tray. Happiness shone in her grey eyes, but she noted that there
were weary lines upon her cousin's face, and though he leant back
easily in his chair and began to talk of trifles, there was grim
determination in the set of his lips, as if he were anticipating an
unpleasant struggle with his stepmother's lawyer.
"Where have you been all this time?" demanded the Countess.
He smiled at her. "I've been scouring British Columbia and a good bit
of Canada for something I wanted. And I found it at last."
"Some new machines for farming, I suppose," said his stepmother.
She expressed no further interest in his doings, but asked him if he
were putting up at the farm.
"Yes; I have only just come up to report myself to you. I must not dine
here to-night. I want to see Grougan, and have an appointment with him
at six."
"That's your lawyer from Orleans? If he had been my lawyer instead of
Bouverie, we should not have come to such a pass."
"But," said Guy with raised eyebrows, "I begged you to have him three
years ago, and you would not."
"How could I when Monsieur Bouverie held everything of mine in his
hands and understood it all so well?"
Guy relapsed into silence. Then when he had finished his tea, he said
to Adrienne:
"Will you walk to the farm with me? Have you had a walk to-day? Will ma
mère spare you?"
"Oh yes, go," said the Countess a little impatiently to Adrienne. "And
make him see my side of things, Adrienne. If he values his father's
home at all, he will make some effort to keep it."
When a little later Adrienne set out down the drive with Guy, she felt
tongue-tied. She had so much to say that she hardly knew where to begin.
Guy was silent for the first few minutes himself, but he soon spoke:
"Well, little cousin, my time has come. To-morrow afternoon the tug of
war will begin; my lawyer versus Bouverie. But to-morrow morning, I
must have a very plain talk with ma mère. We must have no repetition of
these mortgages if we once get clear of them."
"Oh, Cousin Guy, take the Château over yourself. You must. It is the
only way. If you can only afford it, do keep it yourself."
"That is precisely what I have always meant to do, but ma mère would
not have relinquished it until she was driven to the last extremity.
You will hear my plans to-morrow."
"Now I must tell you about your picture," said Adrienne. "I have not
told Aunt Cecily, and I don't know if I took too much upon myself.
Listen!"
She recounted to him the events of the afternoon.
Guy listened with his imperturbable face, and when she had finished
said:
"Thank you, little cousin. I think you showed great pluck and presence
of mind. Best not talk to ma mère about it. She looks very frail."
"Yes, I have really been anxious about her. Any great shock would be
disastrous, I believe, to her. I needn't ask you to be patient with
her, because you always are. In some ways you're a marvel!"
"She mustn't have a shock, eh?"
Guy stopped in his long strides. They had come to the gate of the farm,
and he pointed to the house.
"In there I have something that may be a surprise to her. I hardly
think it could be a shock. My experience of your aunt is that she is
so detached from every one but herself, that other people's lives and
fortunes do not interest her or affect her."
"I think you are right there," said Adrienne slowly. Then her eyes
wandered to the farm.
Guy followed her gaze.
"It is what I went to find," he said. "Come along, and you will be
enlightened."
Adrienne followed him up the narrow path. It was an unpretentious,
small farmhouse, with whitewashed walls and blue slate roof, but it
looked very sweet in the autumn sunshine. There was a minute grass
plot, in front of which a small boy and a big dog were disporting
themselves.
As they came up the boy sprang to his feet, then planted himself a
little defiantly, his back against the door, upon the doorstep. He was
a pretty child with a shock of dark curls upon his head, and a small
pointed face. For a moment Adrienne thought he must be some belonging
of the farmer's, and then, as she looked again, his whole bearing and
dress did not betoken a peasant child.
"This is my small son," said Guy gravely. "Shake hands, Alain, with
this lady."
The child's large frank eyes met Adrienne's, and his face softened as
he saw her smile.
With a little foreign bow, he raised her hand gently to his lips and
kissed it.
Adrienne stood still and gazed at him. She could find no words to say.
"I should have been back sooner," said Guy in his imperturbable voice,
"if it had not been for this small person. I had a tremendous job in
finding him, and a difficult job in bringing him away. The people he
was with were quite willing to part with him, but he was not willing to
come, and I had to spend several days with him before I could inspire
him with the necessary confidence to come with me happily. Even now he
looks upon me with suspicion; he is not quite sure whether I have not a
rod in pickle for him up my sleeve."
Adrienne drew the child to her.
"Why, there is nothing of you, Alain," she said tenderly; "you will get
fat and jolly now that you are with your Daddy." She was looking at his
tiny arms and legs, which were like sticks, and the boy looked down at
himself and up at her.
"Aunt Susy always said I ran too much to get fat. Who are you? I like
you."
"I'm your cousin—Cousin Adrienne."
She sat down in the little porch, and he climbed upon her knee and
began fingering her white ivory beads.
"Is this your rosary? I have a rosary in a little box which once
belonged to a mother of mine. Did you know I had a mother? When I was a
baby I had. And she gave me to Aunt Susy before she went to heaven and
Aunt Susy said she'd always wanted a little boy like me. But I never
knew I had any father except the Bon Dieu in Heaven."
Here he stole a glance at the Count, who was leaning against an old
apple tree and watching them.
"You have an awfully nice father, Alain," said Adrienne under her
breath.
"I shall get to know him soon," said Alain wistfully; "but he's very
tall and strong and strange to me. Aunt Susy's husband was a little fat
man, always laughing. He and I played in the hay together."
"Well," said Guy, coming forward, "will he be a shock to your aunt, do
you think?"
"Does she know that you are married?"
"That I was, you mean," said Guy, and a little bitter smile crossed his
lips. "No, she does not; it was but a ten months' interlude, a sudden
venture, a swift regret. Frankly I had no idea that this small person
existed. I had been told that he had died as a baby. The woman who
took him from his mother coveted him and kept him, and wrote giving me
particulars of his death. Now she's at the point of death herself, and
glad to relinquish the care of him."
"And you heard about him, and went off to America to hunt for him?"
said Adrienne. "Why did not you tell us?"
"Because I was not sure of my facts. I suppose Miss Preston has been
discreet and told you nothing? She could give you particulars, for it
was through her brother that I learnt of the existence of my son. I
had reason to believe that my wife left me to run off with him; but I
discovered that it was to his great friend she went."
"And is she dead?" Adrienne asked in a dazed sort of way.
"She died eight years ago, three months after she left me. Caught a
chill in Florence, and the boy spent two years of his life there with
his foster-mother, who returned to America with him later. That is his
history. His foster-mother was a superior woman, had been nurse to his
mother before, and so has trained him in manners and morals. He misses
her, of course, and old Henriette here doesn't understand children."
"But you won't keep him here? He must come to the Château," said
Adrienne quickly.
"My plans are not made yet," replied Guy gravely.
Adrienne got up from her seat, and gently put the child off her lap.
"I must go now. I hear the little chapel bell ringing in the village
and Aunt Cecily will be wondering where I am. May I congratulate you,
Cousin Guy, upon having someone of your own to love and care for? We
shall see you to-morrow morning."
"Yes. If you like to prepare your aunt for my news, you can do so. If
not, I will break it to her when I come."
As she sped away homewards her thoughts were in confusion. Never had
she imagined her cousin to be a married man—a widower! And she resented
his reserve on this point. When he had spoken to her, before leaving
for America, was it this sudden bit of news, this knowledge that he had
a small child somewhere, which made him do it? Did he suddenly feel he
must have a home and a woman to take care of it and of the child?
"He seems so cold, so passionless, as if he has no love left in him,
and yet I suppose his unhappy experience has embittered him. Cousin Guy
with a child! Well, it is an astounding state of things. What on earth
will he do with the poor little soul? I'm afraid Aunt Cecily won't
welcome him."
With such thoughts as these, she wended her way homewards.