DULY PRESENTED.
The words of recognition uttered by Mr. Wetter filled Pauline with the
utmost consternation. What! was this elegant gentleman, who stood
before her with an amused smile on his handsome face, the same Henrich
Wetter, the blonde and lymphatic clerk to Monsieur Krebs?
As she stared at him the features grew familiar to her, and she saw
that he was practising no deception. Henrich Wetter! He knew all about
her former life, then, and, if he chose, could, with a word, destroy
the neat fabric of invention which she had so carefully raised. He
could tell any one, whose interest it would be to know it, all about
her position at the Restaurant du Midi, all about her marriage with
Tom Durham, perhaps even some of the particulars of her life since her
marriage. It would be most advisable to keep on good terms with a man
of so much knowledge. So, all these thoughts having flashed
instantaneously through Pauline's mind, she turned to her companion
with a look in which astonishment and delight were admirably blended,
and stretched out her hand in the frankest and friendliest manner.
'You must not be astonished at my not recognising you, Monsieur
Wetter,' she said; 'it is long since we met, and in the interval you
are so much changed, and, if I may say it, so much improved.'
Mr. Wetter smiled blandly and easily.
'And you, Pauline--' he said.
Pauline started as he pronounced the name. Her husband was the only
man who had so addressed her since the old days at Marseilles, and, of
course, she had not heard it since his death.
'And you, Pauline,' he continued, 'how well and handsome you look! How
prosperous you seem!'
'Do I, Monsieur Wetter?' she said, with a characteristic
shoulder-shrug, 'do I? It must be, then, because I have a light heart
and a strong will of my own; for I have not been without my troubles,
and heavy ones too. However, these are matters in which you could feel
no possible interest, and with which I will not pretend to worry you.'
'I feel no interest in what concerns you?' said Mr. Wetter, with
elevated eyebrows. 'Why, what do you imagine brought me to this
house?'
'Information that the house was to let, and a desire to see if it
would suit your purpose.'
'Suit my purpose?' repeated Mr. Wetter, with a half-sneering laugh.
'And what do you imagine my purpose to be, Pauline? I am a man of
action and of business. It would not suit me to drone away my life in
this rural solitude; my home must be in London, where my time is
spent.'
'Perhaps you came to look at the house for a friend?' said Pauline.
'Wrong again,' he cried; 'my friends are like myself, men to whom this
house, from its situation, would be absolutely useless. Now, what do
you say if I were to tell you,' he said, leaning on the table, and
bending towards her as he spoke, 'that the memory of the old days has
never passed away from my mind, of the old days when Adolphe de
Noailles and I ran neck and neck for the hand of the prettiest girl in
Marseilles and when we were both beaten by the English escroc who took
her away from us?'
'Monsieur Wetter,' said Pauline, holding up her hand, 'he was my
husband.'
'You are right in saying _was_, Pauline; for he is dead, and you are
free. You see,' he added, in amusement at the amazed expression on her
face, 'I keep myself tolerably well informed as to the movements of
those in whom I have at any time taken an interest.'
'And by your--your inquiries you learned that I was here?' she asked.
'No,' he replied; 'truth to tell, that was entirely accidental. I have
only just returned from America, and as I was riding by here a few
days ago I thought I perceived you at the window. At first I doubted
the evidence of my senses, and even when I had satisfied myself; I was
so completely upset that I could not attempt to come in. I went home
meditating on what I had seen, and determining to come out again on
the first opportunity. As I rode out to-day I was debating within
myself what excuse I could possibly offer for intruding upon you
without announcing myself; as I wished to ascertain whether you would
recognise me, when the board at the gate, advertising the house to
let, fortunately afforded me the necessary excuse; and how the rest of
the little comedy was played out you are aware.'
Pauline looked at him earnestly for some moments, as though desirous
of ascertaining whether he had correctly stated the motive by which he
professed himself animated. The result of her survey seemed to be
satisfactory, for she said to him:
'I need scarcely tell you, Monsieur Wetter, that I am much flattered
by what you have said, or that I am very much pleased to see you
again.'
'And on my part,' said he, taking her hand and, gallantly raising it
to his lips, 'I need scarcely say that the pleasure is mutual. I hope
I shall often be allowed to visit you in this house?'
'Not in this house,' said Pauline. 'You forget the board at the gate.
There is no deception about that. This house is veritably to let, and
we are about to leave it as soon as possible.'
'Why?' said Mr. Wetter, interrogatively.
'Why?' interrupted Pauline. 'I forgot to mention that I am not here
alone, and that this is not my house. There is another lady with me.'
'O, indeed; another lady?' said Wetter, brightening. 'And who may she
be?'
The change in his manner was not lost upon Pauline.
'She is a lady who has just lost her husband,' said she coldly. 'Her
bereavement is so recent, and she feels it so acutely, that she will
see no one, nor will she remain in this house where she lived with
him.'
'Poor creature!' said Mr. Wetter, shaking his head. 'No one with any
feeling would desire to intrude upon her. And will you continue to
live with her when she moves to a new abode?'
'I shall,' said Pauline, still coldly. 'She depends upon me greatly
for advice and assistance.'
'And that new abode will be--?' he asked insinuatingly.
'I cannot say at present,' she replied; 'nothing is decided. We have,
indeed, scarcely had time to look out.'
'You will let me know when you have fixed upon a spot, will you not?'
he said. 'I am going out of town for some shooting, but I shall not be
more than a month away; and I should like to carry with me the thought
that the renewal of an acquaintance so dear to me is not a mere
temporary measure.'
His manner was as earnest and as gallant as before, and his eyes were
as expressive as his words; but Pauline still answered him coldly:
'You shall have a line from me stating where I have pitched my tent if
you will tell me where to send it.'
He gave her his address in South Audley-street; and as there was
nothing more to be done, rose and took his leave. As he bade her adieu
he once more raised her hand to his lips, and reiterated his hope of
speedily hearing from her.
Pauline walked to the window, and looked out after him. She heard his
retreating footsteps, but it was too dark to see his figure. Then, as
she turned away, her face was set and rigid, and she muttered to
herself; 'Connu, monsieur! connu! Though I was very nearly being taken
in by your bland manner and the softly sympathetic voice in which you
spoke of those old memories. If it had not been for that sly look at
the corner of your eyes, which you always had, and which I recognised
at once when you spoke of the subject in which you were really
interested, I might have imagined that it was on my account you had
taken the trouble to ride out here, that to renew your friendship with
me was the one great wish of your life. It is all plain to me now. He
has seen Alice, and is dying for an introduction to her. He tried, to
avail himself of the circumstance of the house being to let, was
baffled for the moment when he recognised me, but had sufficient
mother-wit to enable him to concoct a story by which I was so nearly
taken in. I, with whom all vanity ought to have died out years ago,
whose knowledge of the world ought to have led me at once to suspect
the hollowness of Monsieur Wetter's profession!
'He wants an introduction to Alice, that is it undoubtedly; and for
what end? He is amazingly changed, this garçon! He is no longer
lymphatic, romantic in the highest degree, mawkish, or Teutonic; he
rides on horseback, and affects the air of conquest. There is about
him a smack of the gallant, of the coureur des dames. He is a man whom
Alice would not like, but still it is as well that she did not see him
at this particular time. He is going out of town, he said; and when he
comes back we shall have moved into another house, our change of
address will not be recorded in the fashionable newspapers, and, as I
shall take care that it is not sent to Monsieur Wetter at South
Audley-street, it is probable that he will know nothing about it. And
so,' she added, drawing down the blinds as she heard Alice's footsteps
on the stairs, 'bon soir, Monsieur Wetter.'
And for his own part, Mr. Wetter, as he rode back to London, was full
of his reflections.
'What a wonderful thing,' he thought to himself; 'that I should have
come across Pauline Lunelle in that house; and how lucky that I
recognised her instantly, and was enabled, by playing upon her vanity,
to put her off the scent of the real motive of my visit, and induce
her to believe that I had come to see her! Let me see; all the points
of the story seem to fit and dovetail together admirably. Pauline
spoke of her companion as a widow--yes, that's right. I saw the notice
of John Calverley's death just before I left New York. She said too,
that her husband, the escroc, was dead--that also is right. I
recollect reading the story of his having been drowned some time ago.
Ay, and now I remember that it spoke of him, Mr. Durham, as having
been in the employ of Messrs. Calverley. This would account for
Pauline's presence in that house, and her intended connexion with that
pretty girl. So far so good; je prend mon bien où je le trouve; and I
think in the present instance I shall not have far to look for it.
Mademoiselle Pauline Lunelle, ex-dame du comptoir, will be too much
frightened at the idea of having the story of her own youth set before
her friends to refuse to aid me in any way that I may wish.'
It was curious to note how Alice had accepted Pauline's companionship
as a matter of course, and how she seemed to cling to the Frenchwoman
for society in that dark period of her life. When Martin Gurwood
visited her soon after her convalescence, he conducted himself, under
Humphrey Statham's directions, with all the formality and authority of
a duly appointed guardian, and as such Alice received him. Amongst the
business matters which were discussed between them, the appointment of
Pauline to her new charge naturally held a prominent place. Martin
imagined that he might have had some difficulty in bringing Alice to
his views; but Pauline had already made herself so useful and
agreeable to the broken-hearted girl, relieving her of all trouble,
and showing, without the least ostentation, that she thoroughly
sympathised with her grief; that Alice was only too glad to learn
that, for some time at least, her home was to be shared by a person so
capable of understanding her position and ministering to her wants.
And Martin Gurwood himself did not fail to notice the alteration in
Madame Du Tertre's demeanour, the gentleness of her manner towards
Alice, the delicacy with which she warded off any chance allusion that
might have pained her, and the eagerness and anxiety she exhibited to
do her service. Martin mentioned these facts to Humphrey Statham, who
received the communication in the most matter-of-fact manner, and said
something to the effect 'that he was glad to hear that the Frenchwoman
was earning her money;' which Martin, who was essentially
soft-hearted, and who surrounded everything connected with Alice with
a halo of romance, thought rather a brutal speech.
Uncaring in most matters, assenting not languidly--for, poor child,
she strove to feign an interest which she did not feel, and failed
most signally in the attempt--to all that was proposed to her, Alice
had yet one real anxiety, and that was to get away as quickly as
possible from Rose Cottage. The place had become hateful to her;
everywhere, in the house, in the garden, there was something to remind
her of the kind old man who had loved her so, and whom she had lost
for ever. She wanted to be rid of it all, not merely the house, but
the furniture, with its haunting memories; and most fortunately there
arrived one day an American gentleman, whose business compelled him to
dwell in England for a few years, during which period he must be two
or three times a week in London, and who was so charmed with the
cottage and its contents that he took the lease of the first, and
purchased the second 'right away,' as he expressed it, at the price
demanded for it.
Then what was to be done, and where were they to go to? Alice had
expressed a decided objection to the country; and it was accordingly
decided that the new residence must be either in London itself, or in
some immediate suburb. So advertisements in the newspapers were
eagerly consulted, and likely house-agents were daily besieged by
Martin Gurwood and Statham; until one day, just before the time when
it was necessary that Rose Cottage should be given up, the latter
gentleman brought word that he had seen what he thought would be a
suitable house. It was the corner house in a new street of the old
village of Chelsea, and from its side-window one had a pleasant
glimpse of the river and the green fields and waving trees on the
farther shore. A neat, unpretending, comfortable little house, neatly
and comfortably furnished with the money derived from the sale of the
contents of Rose Cottage, suited to Alice's means, where she could
live peaceably, exciting less curiosity, perhaps, than in a more
retired spot. From nine in the morning till five in the evening
scarcely a man, save the tradespeople of the neighbourhood, were seen
in the street, but there were plenty of lady-like women and children,
with their nursemaids, passing to and fro, and to many of these Alice
became speedily known as 'the pretty, delicate-looking lady at number
nine.' All attempts at visiting were declined on the score of Mrs.
Claxton's ill health, and the necessity for her maintaining perfect
quietude. But Pauline had a bowing acquaintance with several of the
neighbours, and was highly popular among the children.
In the early days of their tenancy Martin Gurwood was a daily visitor;
and the intense respectability of his appearance did much to influence
the neighbours in Alice's favour. On several occasions he was
accompanied by Humphrey Statham; and when, after a short time, Martin
had to return to his vicarage at Lullington, Mr. Statham, came up once
or twice a week and took tea with the ladies, both of whom were
impressed with his gentlemanly bearing, his modesty, and his practical
good sense. They had no other visitors; so it was not astonishing that
one evening, when their only servant was out, and Alice, feeling
somewhat fatigued, was lying down in her bedroom, Pauline, seated at
the window in the dusk, seeing a tall bearded gentleman making for the
house, imagined him to be Humphrey Statham, and went herself to let
him in. But her surprise was only equalled by her dismay when, on
looking up, she found herself confronted by Henrich Wetter.
For an instant she stood in the doorway irresolute, but as the
new-comer politely but firmly pressed into the passage, she felt
constrained to ask him to walk into the parlour, and followed him
there.
'Now really I am obliged to call this an exhibition of very bad
manners, my dear Madame Durham.'
'For Heaven's sake!' cried Pauline, interrupting him; 'I am Madame Du
Tertre!'
'By all means,' said Mr. Wetter pleasantly; 'my dear Madame Du Tertre,
then. In the first place you failed in fulfilling your agreeable
promise to send me your new address; and when, with infinite labour
and pains, I have discovered it, you seem as though you were inclined
to close your door against me.'
'It was a mistake,' murmured Pauline; 'I did not recognise you in the
darkness; I took you for some one else.'
'Took me for some one else!' he repeated with a laugh. 'Mistook me for
one of those gay gallants who besiege your door, and who is out of
favour for the time!'
The levity of his tone grated on Pauline's ear. 'You are labouring
under a mistake, Monsieur Wetter,' she said. 'We, that is to say I,
have but few friends, and certainly no acquaintances of the kind you
indicate.'
'Do you look upon me as one of those acquaintances of the kind I
indicate,' said Mr. Wetter, lying lazily back in his chair and smiling
placidly at her, 'and that it is for that reason you have failed in
sending me your address?'
'It is so long since we knew anything of each other, that I should
be uncertain in what category of my acquaintance to class you,
Monsieur Wetter,' said Pauline, becoming desperately annoyed at his
self-sufficiency and nonchalance. 'The reason that you did not receive
my address was, that I had lost yours, and I did not know where to
write to you.'
'Quite a sufficient excuse,' he said, 'and no more need be said about
the matter, unless I call your attention to the fact, that despite
your negligence, I have discovered you, and have brought to that
discovery an amount of perseverance and skill which would--'
'Which would have been better employed in a worthier cause,' said
Pauline, interrupting him.
'A worthier cause!' said Mr. Wetter. 'How could that be? There can be
nothing better than the restoration of an old friendship, unless,' he
added, half under his breath, 'unless it be the commencement of a new
one.'
His tone was so eminently provoking, that despite her better reason,
Pauline suffered herself to be betrayed into an expression of
annoyance.
'It is not the restoration of an old friendship that brings you here,
Monsieur Wetter,' she said, settling herself stiffly, and glaring at
him. 'Your memory, of which you prate, cannot serve you very well if
you take me for a fool.'
'My dear Mademoiselle Lunelle, Madame Durham, Madame--I beg your
pardon, I have forgotten the most recent appellation--you do me a
serious injustice in imagining that I take you for anything of the
kind. The way in which you managed your affairs at Marseilles would
have prevented my having any such ideas.'
'And yet you think to blind and hoodwink me by pretending that you are
very glad to see me.'
'I am very glad to see you,' said Mr. Wetter, smiling; 'I can give you
my word of honour of that.'
'But why--why, I ask?' said Pauline vehemently.
'Because I think you can be of use to me,' said Mr. Wetter, bending
forward, and bringing his hand down with force upon the table. 'It is
well to be explicit about that.'
'Of use to you,' said Pauline. 'In what way?'
'By introducing me to the lady who was living with you out in that
country place where I last had the pleasure of seeing you, who is now
living with you in this house. I have taken a fancy to her, and desire
the pleasure of making her acquaintance.'
'Monsieur, que d'honneur!' exclaimed Pauline, with curling lip, and
making him a mock obeisance. 'How flattered she ought to be at this
proof of your esteem!'
'Don't be satirical, Mademoiselle Lunelle--it is best to stick to the
name which I know once to have been really yours,' said Mr. Wetter,
with a certain amount of savageness; 'don't be satirical; it does not
become you, and it offends me.'
'Offends!' cried Pauline.
'Offends,' repeated Mr. Wetter. 'I have asked you to do nothing
extraordinary, nothing but what any gentleman might ask of any lady.'
'And suppose I were to refuse--suppose I were to decide from pique,
jealousy, or whatever other motive you may choose to accredit me with,
that it was inexpedient for me to present you to my friend--what
then?'
'Then,' said Mr. Wetter, with smiling lips, but with an unpleasant
look in his eyes, 'I should be forced to present myself. I have made
up my mind to make this lady's acquaintance, and it's a characteristic
of mine, that I invariably carry out what I once undertake, and in
making her acquaintance, I should have occasion to inquire how much
she knew of the character and antecedents of the person who was
domesticated with her.'
'You threaten?' cried Pauline.
'Everything,' said Mr. Wetter, again bringing his hand down upon the
table. 'And I not merely threaten, but I execute! Your position at
Marseilles, the name and social status of your husband, and the
circumstances under which you married him,--all these will be news I
should think to Mrs.--by the way you have not told me how the lady
calls herself.'
While he had been speaking Pauline's head had fallen upon her breast.
She raised it now but a very little as she said, 'Her name is Claxton;
I will present you to her whenever you choose.'
'Of course you will,' said Mr. Wetter, gaily touching her hand with
the back of his. 'And there is no time like the present for such a
pleasurable interview. She is in the house, I suppose.'
'She is,' said Pauline.
'Very well, then; introduce me at once. By the way, it will be
advisable perhaps to say that I am your cousin, or something of that
sort. We are both foreigners, you know, and English people are not
clever in distinguishing between Germans and French either in name or
accent.'
Pauline bowed her head and left the room. Five minutes afterwards she
returned, bringing Alice with her. Her lips trembled, and her face was
deadly pale, as she said, 'My dear, permit me to present to you my
cousin, Monsieur Henrich Wetter.'