A Hint of Something Serious.
Occurrences such as this induce in a man of imagination a sense of sudden
shy intimacy. The physical encounter seems to typify and foreshadow some
intermingling of destiny. This occurs with peculiar force when the lady is
as beautiful as was the girl I saw before me.
"I beg your pardon, madame," said I, with a whirl of my hat.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the lady, with an inclination of her head.
"One is so careless in entering rooms hurriedly," I observed.
"Oh, but it is stupid to stand just by the door!" insisted the lady.
Conscious that she was scanning my appearance, I could but return the
compliment. She was very tall, almost as tall as I was myself; you would
choose to call her stately, rather than slender. She was very fair, with
large lazy blue eyes and a lazy smile to match. In all respects she was
the greatest contrast to the Duchess of Saint-Maclou.
"You were about to pass out?" said I, holding the door.
She bowed; but at the moment another lady--elderly, rather stout, and, to
speak it plainly, of homely and unattractive aspect--whom I had not
hitherto perceived, called from a table at the other end of the room where
she was sitting:
"We ought to start early to-morrow."
The younger lady turned her head slowly toward the speaker.
"My dear mother," said she, "I never start early. Besides, this town is
interesting--the landlord says so."
"But he wishes us to arrive for _déjeuner_."
"We will take it here. Perhaps we will drive over in the
afternoon--perhaps the next day."
And the young lady gazed at her mother with an air of indifference--or
rather it seemed to me strangely like one of aversion and defiance.
"My dear!" cried the elder in consternation. "My dearest Marie!"
"It is just as I thought," said I to myself complacently.
Marie Delhasse--for beyond doubt it was she--walked slowly across the room
and sat down by her mother. I took a table nearer the door; the waiter
appeared, and I ordered a light supper. Marie poured out a glass of wine
from a bottle on the table; apparently they had been supping. They began
to converse together in low tones. My repast arriving, I fell to. A few
moments later, I heard Marie say, in her composed indolent tones:
"I'm not sure I shall go at all. _Entre nous_, he bores me."
I stole a glance at Mme. Delhasse. Consternation was writ large on her
face, and suspicion besides. She gave her daughter a quick sidelong
glance, and a frown gathered on her brow. So far as I heard, however, she
attempted no remonstrance. She rose, wrapping a shawl round her, and made
for the door. I sprang up and opened it; she walked out. Marie drew a
chair to the fire and sat down with her back to me, toasting her feet--for
the summer night had turned chilly. I finished my supper. The clock struck
half-past eleven. I stifled a yawn; one smoke and then to the bed was my
programme.
Marie Delhasse turned her head half-round.
"You must not," said she, "let me prevent you having your cigarette. I
should set you at ease by going to bed, but I can't sleep so early, and
upstairs the fire is not lighted."
I thanked her and approached the fire. She was gazing into it
meditatively. Presently she looked up.
"Smoke, sir," she said imperiously but languidly.
I obeyed her, and stood looking down at her, admiring her stately beauty.
"You have passed the day here?" she asked, gazing again into the fire.
"In this neighborhood," said I, with discreet vagueness.
"You have been able to pass the time?"
"Oh, certainly!" That had not been my difficulty.
"There is, of course," she said wearily, "Mont St. Michel. But can you
imagine anyone living in such a country?"
"Unless Fate set one here--" I began.
"I suppose that's it," she interrupted.
"You are going to make a stay here?"
"I am," she answered slowly, "on my way to--I don't know where."
I was scrutinizing her closely now, for her manner seemed to witness more
than indolence; irresolution, vacillation, discomfort, asserted their
presence. I could not make her out, but her languid indifference appeared
more assumed than real.
With another upward glance, she said:
"My name is Marie Delhasse."
"It is a well-known name," said I with a bow.
"You have heard of me?"
"Yes."
"What?" she asked quickly, wheeling half-round and facing me.
"That you are a great singer," I answered simply.
"Ah, I'm not all voice! What about me? A woman is more than an organ pipe.
What about me?"
Her excitement contrasted with the langour she had displayed before.
"Nothing," said I, wondering that she should ask a stranger such a
question. She glanced at me for an instant. I threw my eyes up to the
ceiling.
"It is false!" she said quietly; but the trembling of her hands belied her
composure.
The tawdry gilt clock on the mantelpiece by me ticked through a long
silence. The last act of the day's comedy seemed set for a more serious
scene.
"Why do you ask a stranger a question like that?" I said at last, giving
utterance to the thought that puzzled me.
"Whom should I ask? And I like your face--no, not because it is handsome.
You are English, sir?"
"Yes, I am English. My name is Gilbert Aycon."
"Aycon--Aycon! It is a little difficult to say it as you say it."
Her thoughts claimed her again. I threw my cigarette into the fire, and
stood waiting her pleasure. But she seemed to have no more to say, for she
rose from the seat and held out her hand to me.
"Will you 'shake hands?'" she said, the last two words in English; and she
smiled again.
I hastened to do as she asked me, and she moved toward the door.
"Perhaps," she said, "I shall see you to-morrow morning."
"I shall be here." Then I added: "I could not help hearing you talk of
moving elsewhere."
She stood still in the middle of the room; she opened her lips to speak,
shut them again, and ended by saying nothing more than:
"Yes, we talked of it. My mother wishes it. Good-night, Mr. Aycon."
I bade her good-night, and she passed slowly through the door, which I
closed behind her. I turned again to the fire, saying:
"What would the duchess think of that?"
I did not even know what I thought of it myself; of one thing only I felt
sure---that what I had heard of Marie Delhasse was not all that there was
to learn about her.
I was lodged in a large room on the third floor, and when I awoke the
bright sun beamed on the convent where, as I presume, Mme. de Saint-Maclou
lay, and on the great Mount beyond it in the distance. I have never risen
with a more lively sense of unknown possibilities in the day before me.
These two women who had suddenly crossed my path, and their relations to
the pale puffy-cheeked man at the little _château_, might well produce
results more startling than had seemed to be offered even by such a freak
as the original expedition undertaken by Gustave de Berensac and me. And
now Gustave had fallen away and I was left to face the thing alone. For
face it I must. My promise to the duchess bound me: had it not I doubt
whether I should have gone; for my interest was not only in the duchess.
I had my coffee upstairs, and then, putting on my hat, went down for a
stroll. So long as the duke did not come to Avranches, I could show my
face boldly--and was not he busy preparing for his guests? I crossed the
threshold of the hotel.
Just at the entrance stood Marie Delhasse; opposite her was a thickset
fellow, neatly dressed and wearing mutton-chop whiskers. As I came out I
raised my hat. The man appeared not to notice me, though his eyes fell on
me for a moment. I passed quickly by--in fact, as quickly as I could--for
it struck me at once that this man must be Lafleur, and I did not want him
to give the duke a description of the unknown gentleman who was staying at
Avranches. Yet, as I went, I had time to hear Marie's slow musical voice
say:
"I'm not coming at all to-day."
I was very glad of it, and pursued my round of the town with a lighter
heart. Presently, after half an hour's walk, I found myself opposite the
church, and thus nearly back at the hotel: and in front of the church
stood Marie Delhasse, looking at _the façade_.
Raising my hat I went up to her, her friendliness of the evening before
encouraging me.
"I hope you are going to stay to-day?" said I.
"I don't know." Then she smiled, but not mirthfully. "I expect to be very
much pressed to go this afternoon," she said.
I made a shot--apparently at a venture.
"Someone will come and carry you off?" I asked jestingly.
"It's very likely. My presence here will be known."
"But need you go?"
She looked on the ground and made no answer.
"Perhaps though," I continued, "he--or she--will not come. He may be too
much occupied."
"To come for me?" she said, with the first touch of coquetry which I had
seen in her lighting up her eyes.
"Even for that, it is possible," I rejoined.
We began to walk together toward the edge of the open _place_ in front of
the church. The convent came in sight as we reached the fall of the hill.
"How peaceful that looks!" she said; "I wonder if it would be pleasant
there!"
I was myself just wondering how the Duchess of Saint-Maclou found it, when
a loud cry of warning startled us. We had been standing on the edge of the
road, and a horse, going at a quick trot, was within five yards of us. As
it reached us, it was sharply reined in. To my amazement, old Jean, the
duchess' servant, sat upon it. When he saw me, a smile spread over his
weather-beaten face.
"I was nearly over you," said he. "You had no ears."
And I am sorry to say that Jean winked, insinuating that Marie Delhasse
and I had been preoccupied.
The diplomacy of non-recognition had failed to strike Jean. I made the
best of a bad job, and asked:
"What brings you here?"
Marie stood a few paces off, regarding us.
"I'm looking for Mme. la Duchesse," grinned Jean.
Marie Delhasse took a step forward when she heard his reference to the
duchess.
"Her absence was discovered by Suzanne at six o'clock this morning," the
old fellow went on. "And the duke--ah, take care how you come near him,
sir! Oh, it's a kettle of fish! For as I came I met that coxcomb Lafleur
riding back with a message from the duke's guests that they would not come
to-day! So the duchess is gone, and the ladies are not come; and the
duke--he has nothing to do but curse that whippersnapper of a Pierre who
came last night."
And Jean ended in a rapturous hoarse chuckle.
"You were riding so fast, then, because you were after the duchess?" I
suggested.
"I rode fast for fear," said Jean, with a shrewd smile, "that I should
stop somewhere on the road. Well, I have looked in Avranches. She is not
in Avranches. I'll go home again."
Marie Delhasse came close to my side.
"Ask him," she said to me, "if he speaks of the Duchess of Saint-Maclou."
I put the question as I was directed.
"You couldn't have guessed better if you'd known," said Jean; and a swift
glance from Marie Delhasse told me that her suspicion as to my knowledge
was aroused.
"And what will happen, Jean?" said I.
"The good God knows," shrugged Jean. Then, remembering perhaps my
five-franc pieces, he said politely, "I hope you are well, sir?"
"Up to now, thank you, Jean," said I.
His glance traveled to Marie. I saw his shriveled lips curl; his
expression was ominous of an unfortunate remark.
"Good-by!" said I significantly.
Jean had some wits. He spared me the remark, but not the sly leer that had
been made to accompany it. He clapped his heels to his horse's side and
trotted off in the direction from which he had come. So that he could
swear he had been to Avranches, he was satisfied!
Marie Delhasse turned to me, asking haughtily:
"What is the meaning of this? What do you know of the Duke or Duchess of
Saint-Maclou?"
"I might return your question," said I, looking her in the face.
"Will you answer it?" she said, flushing red.
"No, Mlle. Delhasse, I will not," said I.
"What is the meaning of this 'absence' of the Duchess of Saint-Maclou
which that man talks about so meaningly?"
Then I said, speaking low and slow:
"Who are the friends whom you are on your way to visit?"
"Who are you?" she cried. "What do you know about it? What concern is it
of yours?"
There was no indolence or lack of animation in her manner now. She
questioned me with imperious indignation.
"I will answer not a single word," said I. "But--you asked me last night
what I had heard of you."
"Well?" she said, and shut her lips tightly on the word.
I held my peace; and in a moment she went on passionately:
"Who would have guessed that you would insult me? Is it your habit to
insult women?"
"Not mine only, it seems," said I, meeting her glance boldly.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Had you, then, an invitation from Mme. de Saint-Maclou?"
She drew back as if I had struck her. And I felt as though I had struck
her. She looked at me for a moment with parted lips; then, without a word
or a sign, she turned and walked slowly away in the direction of the
hotel.
And I, glad to have something else to occupy my thoughts, started at a
brisk pace along the foot-path that runs down the hill and meets the road
which would lead me to the convent, for I had a thing or two to say to the
duchess. And yet it was not of the duchess only that I thought as I went.
There were also in my mind the indignant pride with which Marie Delhasse
had questioned me, and the shrinking shame in her eyes at that
counter-question of mine. The Duke of Saint-Maclou's invitation seemed to
bring as much disquiet to one of his guests as it had to his wife herself.
But one thing struck me, and I found a sort of comfort in it: she had
thought, it seemed, that the duchess was to be at home.
"Pah!" I cried suddenly to myself. "If she weren't pretty, you'd say that
made it worse!"
And I went on in a bad temper.