One summer afternoon Mr. Julian Burgetrode met the Channel boat at
Folkestone.
Standing behind a crane, a friend unseen, he watched the crowd on the
boat’s deck and their sheep’s progress towards the gangway. Mr.
Burgetrode had to look elsewhere for Tod and for Tod’s wife, for they
were not among the people who pushed and struggled to extricate handbags
and suit-cases.
“Silly fools,” he said, “and to think we had an army!”
Then he caught sight of Tod, Tod standing a little apart and absorbed in
an affectionate argument with a little woman in black, a charmingly
sturdy little woman who looked up into Tod’s face and maintained a grip
of her handbag.
“I _will_ carry it,” Claire was saying; “I am not so helpless.”
It was Tod who gave in, and like a big, amused, and a devoted boy, but
Mr. Burgetrode was not interested in Tod; his attention was absorbed by
Tod’s French wife. The Colossus had very keen sight, and he watched this
little woman in black while she was wholly unconscious of being
observed. He had an impression of a full round face, pale, but not with
the pallor of Paris, a wreath of soft brown hair, two big grey eyes, a
mouth that was both generous and shrewd, and a very firm little chin.
She was dressed quite simply in that costume that had been bought at
Lille before the war, and the black velour cloak, and the hat that had
come from Eu. She was one of those women who combine animation and
repose, who look both fragile and strong. Mr. Burgetrode had a full view
of her face as she talked to Tod, and it made him think of soft white
light, pure and yet sensitively passionate.
“French,” said Mr. Burgetrode to himself, “but yet not the France of
Paris. A little fair girl with a white throat and a passion for one man
in those grey eyes of hers. A very great passion perhaps. And she
understands.”
The crowd poured off the boat, and Tod was shepherding Claire towards
the gangway, making a sort of sacred space about her. Mr. Burgetrode saw
him glance over his shoulder, and then set his back squarely and
forcibly against the energetic person of a bullet-headed Englishman who
was thinking of nothing but a seat in the luncheon-car. Tod held the man
back till Claire was on the gangway. Mr. Burgetrode liked the squareness
and the determination of Tod’s back.
He went forward hat in hand to meet them.
“Hallo, sir! I hadn’t seen you. It’s very good of you to come and meet
us.”
Mr. Burgetrode was smiling.
“So here you are. And this is my adopted daughter? I am very charmed to
welcome you, madame.”
Mr. Burgetrode spoke excellent French, and for the moment he had
something of the manner of a Frenchman. Standing there bareheaded, he
held out a hand to Claire.
“It is Mr. Burgetrode,” said Tod.
She gave him a little smile, and then looked straight at Julian
Burgetrode. Their hands met. Claire’s eyes and face were as open as the
light to him; he was Tod’s big friend, and hers, a cleverer man than
Tod, she knew that at once; but great with the same greatness, so she
thought. She showed no fear of Julian Burgetrode, no knowledge of the
necessity in an attitude that should please him. It was possible that he
might be jealous of her. She smiled that aside.
“I have wished so much to see you, monsieur.”
Mr. Burgetrode still held her hand. He liked her simplicity, her
unaffectedness, her dignity that was like the dignity of a child. She
had come to a strange land, bravely, without tears, trusting a man. And
he, too, was trusted. The bigness of him offered its homage.
“Well, now you see me, Madame Claire. Is it a surprise for both of us? I
think I have the right to the greater pleasure.”
The woman in her answered the more subtle man in him.
“You will have no cause to be afraid of me, monsieur.”
“My dear child!” said Mr. Burgetrode with unusual emotion; “Tod, you
scoundrel, why didn’t you tell me?”
Tod looked puzzled.
“What, sir?”
A sudden smile passed between Claire and Mr. Burgetrode.
“Of course you told me! I beg your pardon. I didn’t visualise it, that’s
all.”
They followed the porter and the luggage along the pier, Claire walking
between the two men, and looking with eyes of amazement at all those
people who seemed in so savage and helpless a hurry.
“How droll,” she said with a glance at Mr. Burgetrode, “I expected
England to be so calm.”
“Calm!” echoed the great man; “no, we are not calm. We are much too
discontented.”
Tod walked on to speak to the porter.
“My husband is not discontented,” said Claire.
Mr. Burgetrode’s fierce blue eyes softened when he looked at this little
woman.
“He is a very unusual man.”
“He is the best and most generous man in the world,” she said, and then
with a passionately serious light in her grey eyes, “it is my affair
that he shall always be happy.”
Tod came back to them.
“There’s a big crowd in the Customs.”
“No hurry,” said Mr. Burgetrode. “I booked three seats on the
luncheon-car.”
“Will they want to open my box and disarrange all my pretty things?”
“Smile at them, madame,” said Mr. Burgetrode with an air of mischief.
“Tod, you had better leave it to your wife.”
Julian Burgetrode had yet another opportunity of watching these two
children of his while they were dealing with a bored and rather
irritable official. Tod chose to act as spokesman. Claire stood at his
side, looking up at him with eyes of adoration, motherliness, pride.
“I’m asking you if you have anything to declare, sir. It’s no use——”
“I haven’t anything; but my wife——”
“Open the lady’s trunk,” said the man brusquely.
Claire looked at Tod.
“What does he say?”
“He wishes to see your trunk?”
“Quelle horreur!” said Claire.
She took a little bunch of keys out of her vanity-bag and turned to the
official.
“Monsieur,” she began, using for the first time her quaint academic
English, “I am married, one week. I have one Paris costume, three silk
petticoats, my lingerie——”
The man stared at her. She was preparing to unlock her trunk.
“You will not disarrange all my pretty things, monsieur, please?”
Mr. Burgetrode saw that something had happened to the official. His
bored face broadened to a smile. He looked at Tod and chalked the
luggage.
“That’s all right, sir. I won’t bother the lady.”
“You can put your keys back, ma chérie,” said Tod.
Claire thanked the official.
“It is very agreeable of you, monsieur. I have told you the truth; it is
just my little trousseau.”
“Don’t mention it, madam,” said the man.
Mr. Burgetrode swept them away. He was laughing somewhere in the depths
of those fierce eyes of his.
“I was wrong,” he said to himself, “quite wrong. I shall never be
jealous of this child.”