April's days were lengthening out in showers and sunshine and cold east
wind. Easter and a huge party had come and gone at Verdayne Place, and the
Lady Henrietta had had her hopes once more blighted by noticing Paul's
indomitable indifference to all the pretty girls.
He was going to stand for Parliament in the autumn, when their very old
member should retire, and he made that an excuse for his isolation; he was
working too hard for social functions, he said. But in reality life was
growing more than he could bear.
Captain Grigsby had sold the old _Blue Heather_ and bought a new steam
yacht of seven hundred tons--large enough to take him round the world, he
said--and he had had her put in commission for the Mediterranean, and she
was waiting for him now at Marseilles. Would Paul join him for a trip? he
asked, and Paul hesitated for a moment.
If no news came by Friday--this was a Monday--then he should go to London
and deliberately find out his lady's name and kingdom. In that case to
cruise in those waters might suit his book passing well.
So he asked for a few days' grace, and Captain Grigsby gave a friendly
growl in reply, and thus it was settled. By Saturday he was to give his
answer.
Tuesday passed, and Wednesday, and on Thursday a telegram came for Paul
which drove him mad with joy. It was short and to the point: "Meet Dmitry
in Paris," Then followed an address. By rushing things he could just catch
the night boat.
He went to his father's room, where Sir Charles was discussing affairs with
his land steward. The man retired.
"Father," said Paul, "I am going immediately to Paris. I have not even time
to wait and see my mother--she is out driving, I hear. Will you understand,
father, and make it all right with her?"
And Sir Charles said, as he wrung his son's hand:
"Take care of yourself, Paul--I understand, my boy--and remember, Grig and
I are with you to the bone. Wire if you want us--and let me have your
news."
So they had parted without fuss, deep feeling in their hearts.
Paul had telegraphed to the address given, for Dmitry, that he would be in
Paris, and at what hotel, by the following morning. He chose a large
caravanserai as being more suitable to unremarked comings and goings,
should Dmitry's visit be anything of a secret one. And with intense
impatience he awaited the faithful servant's visit.
He was eating his early breakfast in his sitting-room when the old man
appeared. In all the journey Paul had not allowed himself any
speculation--he would see and know soon, that was enough. But he felt
inclined to grind this silver-haired retainer's hand with joy as he made
his respectful obeisance.
"The Excellency was well?"
"Yes." And now for his news.
Madame had bid him come and see the Excellency here in Paris, as not being
so inaccessible as England--and first, Yes, Madame was well--There was
something in his voice as he said this which made Paul exclaim and question
him closely, but he would only repeat that--Yes, his lady was well--a
little delicate still, but well--and the never-sufficiently-to-be-beloved
son was well, too, his lady had told him to assure the Excellency--and was
the portrait of his most illustrious father. And the old man lowered his
eyes, while Paul looked out of the window, and thrilled all
over. Circumstances made things very difficult for Madame to leave the
southern country where she was at present, but she had a very strong desire
to see the Excellency again--if such meeting could be managed.
He paused, and Paul exclaimed that of course it could be managed, and he
could start that night.
But Dmitry shook his head. That would be impossible, he said. Much planning
would be needed first. A yacht must be taken, and not until the end of May
would it be safe for the Excellency to journey south. At that time Madame
would be in a château on the seacoast, and if the Excellency in his cruise
could be within sight, he might possibly land at a suitable moment and see
her for a few hours.
Paul thought of Captain Grigsby.
"I will come in a yacht, whenever I may," he said to Dmitry.
So they began to settle details. Paul imagined from Dmitry continuing to
call his Queen plain "Madame" that she still wished to preserve her
incognito, so, madly as he desired to know, he would wait until he saw her
face to face, and then ask to be released from his promise. The time had
come when he could bear the mystery no longer, but he would not question
Dmitry. All his force was turned to extracting every detail of his
darling's health and well-being from the old servant, and in his guarded,
respectful manner he answered all he could.
His lady had indeed been very ill, Paul gathered--at death's door. Ah!
this was terrible to hear--but lately she was mending rapidly, only she had
been too ill to plan or make any arrangements to see him. How all this made
his heart ache! Something had told him his passionate anxiety had not been
without cause. Dmitry continued: Madame's life was not a happy one, the
Excellency must know, and the difficulties surrounding her had become
formidable once or twice. However, the brother of Madame was with her now,
and had been made guardian of her son--so things were peaceful and the
cause of all her trouble would not dare to menace further.
For once Dmitry had let himself go, as he spoke, and a passionate hate
appeared in his quiet eyes. The "Trouble" was of so impossible a
viciousness that only the nobility and goodness of Madame had prevented his
assassination numbers of times. He was hated, he said, hated and loathed;
his life--spent in continual drunkenness, and worse, unspeakable
wickedness--was not worth a day's purchase, but for her. The son of Madame
would be loved forever, for her sake, so the Excellency need not fear for
that, and Madame's brother was there, and would see all was well.
Then Paul asked Dmitry if his lady had been aware that he had been ill in
Venice. And he heard that, Yes, indeed, she had kept herself informed of
all his movements, and had even sent Vasili back on learning of his danger,
and was on the point of throwing all prudence to the winds and returning
herself. Oh! Madame had greatly suffered in the past year--the old man
said, but she was more beautiful than ever, and of the gentleness of an
angel, taking continuous pleasure in her little son--indeed, Anna had said
this was her only joy, to caress the illustrious infant and call him
Paul--such name he had been christened--after a great-uncle. And again
Dmitry lowered his eyes, and again Paul looked out of the window and
thrilled.
Paul! She had called him Paul, their son. It touched him to the heart. Oh!
the mad longing to see her! Must he wait a whole month? Yes--Dmitry said
there was no use his coming before the 28th of May, for reasons which he
could not explain connected with the to-be-hated Troublesome one.
Every detail was then arranged, and Dmitry was to send Paul maps, and a
chart, and the exact description and name of the place where the yacht was
to lie. The whole thing would take some time, even if they were to depart
to-morrow.
"The yacht is at Marseilles now," Paul said, "and we shall start on the
cruise next week. Let me have every last instruction _poste restante_, at
Constantinople--and for God's sake send me news to Naples on the way."
Dmitry promised everything, and then as he made his obeisance to go, he
slipped a letter into Paul's hand. Madame had bidden him give the
Excellency this when they had talked and all was settled. He would leave
again that night, and his present address would find him till six o'clock
if the Excellency had aught to send in return.
And then he backed out with deep bows, and Paul stood there, clasping his
letter, a sudden spring of wild joy in his heart.
And what a letter it was! The very soul of his loved one expressed in her
own quaint words.
First she told him that now she expected he knew who she was, and as they
were to meet again--which in the beginning she feared might never be--all
reason for her incognito was over. Then she told him--to make sure he
knew--her name and kingdom. "But, sweetheart," she added, "remember
this--my proudest titles ever are to be thy Loved one, and the Mother of
thy son." Here Paul kissed the words, madly thrilling with pride and
worship. She spoke of her still undying love, and of her anguishing sorrow
all the winter at their separation, and at length the joy of their little
one's arrival.
"Thy image, my Paul! English and beautiful, as I said he would be--not
black and white like me. And oh! beloved, thou must always increase thy
knowledge of statesmancraft to help me to train him well."
Then she made a glorious picture of their child's future, and Paul lay back
in his chair and closed his eyes--the brightness of it all dazzled
him--while his heart flew to her in passionate adoration. She went on to
speak of their possible meeting. Her villa was but two hundred yards from
the sea, only he must follow exactly all Dmitry's instructions, or there
might be danger for them both; but at all costs she _could not live_ much
longer without seeing her lover.
"Thou art more than a lover _now_, my Paul--and I am more than ever THINE."
Thus it ended. And Paul spent most of the rest of his day reading and
re-reading it, and writing his worshipping answer.
By night both he and Dmitry had started on their homeward journeys.