PURCHASE OF A GOLDFISH, AND OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS
(1)
Four days later Mr. Elphinstone and his grandson were breakfasting
alone in the room where Anne-Hilarion had remained, so unsuitably
attired, to hear matters not primarily intended for the ears of
little boys. And now the Comte de Flavigny was seated again at that
very table, his legs dangling, eating his porridge, not with any great
appetite, but because it was commanded him.
And Mr. Elphinstone did the same, glancing across now and again with
his kind blue eyes to observe his grandson's progress. The suns of
India, where so much of his life had been passed, had done little
more than fade his apple cheeks to a complexion somewhat less sanguine
than would have been theirs under Scottish skies. His very precise
British attire bore no traces of his long sojourn in the East, save
that the brooch in the lace at his throat was of Oriental workmanship,
and that the pigeon's-blood ruby on his finger had an exotic look--and
an equally exotic history. Anne-Hilarion knew that it had been given
by a rajah to his grandfather, instead of an elephant, and never
ceased to regret so disastrous a preference.
If James Elphinstone had known, when he left India, that in years to
come an elephant would be so fervently desired in Cavendish Square,
it is possible that he might have considered the bringing of one
with him, such was his attitude (justly condemned by Mrs. Saunders)
towards Janet's child. At this moment, in fact, he was meditating
some extra little pleasure for Anne-Hilarion, to make up for his
father's departure of two days ago. M. le Comte, though he had a
certain philosophical turn of mind of his own, fretted a good deal
after M. le Marquis, and his grandfather was wondering whether to
assign to that cause the very slow rate at which his porridge was
disappearing this morning.
"Come, child, I shall be finished long before you," he observed at last.
Anne-Hilarion sighed, and, addressing himself once more to the fray,
made great play with his spoon, finally announcing, in true Scots
phrase, that he had finished 'them.'
"That's right," said the old gentleman. "Some more milk, my bairn?
Bring your cup."
Anne slipped down and presented his mug. "I think we were going out
this morning, Grandpapa," he observed, with his little engaging air,
watching the filling of the receptacle.
"So we were, my lamb. And we were going to buy something. What was it?"
"A goldfish," whispered the little boy. "A goldfish!" He gave his
grandfather's arm a sudden ecstatic squeeze, and climbed back to
his place.
"To be sure, a goldfish," was beginning Mr. Elphinstone, when at
that moment in came a letter, brought by Lal Khan, the dusky, turbaned
bearer--source, once, of much infantile terror to M. le Comte, but now
one of his greatest friends. On him Anne-Hilarion bestowed, ere he
salaamed himself out again, one of his sudden smiles. Mr. Elphinstone,
after hunting vainly for his spectacles, opened the letter. It drew
from him an exclamation.
"Here's actually a letter from your father already, Anne. He has written
from Canterbury, on his way to Dover."
Above the milk he was drinking, Anne-Hilarion's dark, rather solemn eyes
were fixed on his grandfather.
"Dear me, this is very curious," said Mr. Elphinstone, looking up
from the perusal of the letter. "Your father finds, he says, that
some old friends of his family are living there--at Canterbury, that
is--two old French ladies. What's the name? . . . de Chaulnes--Madame
and Mademoiselle de Chaulnes. He came across them quite by chance, it
appears. And--I wonder what you will say to this, Anne--he wants you
to go and stay with them for a few days."
"Now?" asked the little boy.
"Yes, quite soon. They are very anxious to see you, having known your
grandparents in France. There is a letter from them enclosed in your
Papa's. I am to send you with Elspeth. See, I will read you Madame de
Chaulnes' letter."
And he read it out to his grandson, in its original French, a tongue
which he spoke well, though with a Scottish flavouring.
"'MONSIEUR,--It has been, as you may well imagine, a pleasure as
great as it was unexpected to encounter, in his passage through
Canterbury to-day--on his way to a destination as to which prudence
invites silence--the son of my old friend Mme. de Flavigny. From
his lips I have learnt of his marriage--of so short a duration,
alas!--with your beautiful daughter, in whose untimely grave one
sees that so much of his heart is buried; and also of the existence
of the dear little boy who remains to him as a pledge of their love.
"'I do not know, Monsieur, if René--I can scarcely bring myself to
call him anything else--has ever spoken to you of my sister-in-law
and myself, and our old friendship with his family.'"--"I do seem
to remember his mentioning the name," observed Mr. Elphinstone,
fingering his chin.--"'It is possible that he has done so, and
that this fact, joined to the letter which he was good enough to
write to accompany this, may move you to a favourable reception
of my request, which is, that some day, before the weather becomes
unpleasantly hot for travel, you should allow the little boy and
his nurse, Mrs. Saunders, to pay us a few days' visit here at
Canterbury. Perhaps, indeed, if I might suggest such a thing, this
would serve to distract him during his father's absence. Our
modest dwelling boasts a garden of fair size, and my sister and
myself are both devoted to children. You, Monsieur, from what we
hear of your charities to us unfortunate exiles, will well
understand what the sight of the grandchild of our departed
friends would mean to two old women, and it is this conviction
which emboldens me to make a request which I know to be no
light one.
"'I have the honour to remain, Monsieur, your obedient servant,
"'BARONNE DE CHAULNES.'"
Mr. Elphinstone reflected. "I shall not like parting with you, child,"
he murmured, half to himself. "Not at all, not at all. But I suppose
if René wishes it, as he obviously does . . . And it is not far to
Canterbury. Shall you like to go and visit these old French ladies,
Anne?"
"I do not know," replied the Comte de Flavigny, considering. "You are
not coming too, Grandpapa?"
"No, no. But Elspeth will be with you."
"Perhaps I shall like it. Have they a dog, ces dames, des chats?"
"Cats, very probably. But I do not know. I think you will find it
interesting, Anne, for a few days. You will be able to play in the
garden there. These old ladies"--he referred once more to the
letter--"Mme. de Chaulnes and her sister-in-law, can tell you, I
expect, all about your father when he was a little boy like you."
"Yes," assented the prospective visitor in tones of resignation rather
than of anticipation. "But----" He looked mournful.
"Yes, my bairn?"
"The goldfish!"
Mr. Elphinstone laughed. "Oh, the goldfish! That is easily arranged.
We will go out directly after breakfast and buy it, while Elspeth is
packing."
"I could take it with me?"
"Well, I don't know. . . . Yes, I suppose you could."
Anne fell into meditation on the goldfish. He evidently saw it swimming
before him, and the idea of parting so soon from this treasure, not yet
even acquired, was clearly distressing.
"Then, if I could take it, Grandpapa, perhaps I would not mind very
much, as Papa wishes it."
"That's a good child!" exclaimed Mr. Elphinstone, relieved. Not that
Anne-Hilarion was, as a rule, anything else but good, yet, as he was
very sensitive and his grandfather ridiculously tender-hearted, the
old man dreaded even the remotest shadow of a difference of opinion.
"It will only be for a few days," he went on, "and I think you had
better go at once, this afternoon, in fact, so that you will get back
all the earlier, in case Papa should return from Italy sooner than we
expect."
This he said with a view of heartening his grandson, well knowing that
the term of 'a few days,' elastic as it was, could hardly see René
back from Verona.
(2)
But if Anne-Hilarion was resigned, Mrs. Saunders received the news of
the proposed expedition in a manner indicative of the highest disapproval.
Such a plan was, she declared, against sense and nature; she could
not imagine what the Marquis was thinking of. He must be clean daft.
No one but a man would have conceived of such a scheme. She supposed
that was the way they did things in France. Fifty odd miles to
Canterbury--seven hours at the very least; the bairn would take his
death of fatigue; and here was Glenauchtie proposing that they should
start that very afternoon! She was a little mollified, but not greatly,
on hearing that they were only to go as far as Rochester that day,
and sleep there, continuing their journey next morning.
But 'Glenauchtie,' for all his gentleness, was always obeyed, and
Elspeth packed her charge's 'duds' and her own that morning with
considerable promptitude in spite of her protestations.
Meanwhile Mr. Elphinstone, after writing a letter to Anne's hostesses,
which he dispatched direct to Canterbury, and sending a servant to
take two places in the afternoon stage-coach to Rochester, set out
with his grandson to buy the promised goldfish. It proved to be a
transaction which took time, because Anne found it difficult to make
up his mind between two similarly priced fishes, one of which, though
larger than the other, was not of so good a colour. As he remarked,
in a tone of puzzled reproach, the gold was coming off, and this
disillusioning fact caused him to put to the shopman, in his clear,
precise, and oddly stressed English, many searching questions on what
further sorrowful transformations of the sort might be expected in any
fish he bought. Finally the smaller and more perfect fish was selected,
and they left the little shop, Anne carrying his purchase very carefully
by a piece of string tied round the top of its glass bowl.
"Will it be lonely, Grandpapa? Do you think we ought to have bought
two?" he suggested, as he trotted along by Mr. Elphinstone's side,
all his energies directed to keeping the water steady.
"There would hardly be room for two in there, child. Perhaps when you
come back from Canterbury we might get another, and have them both in
a larger bowl. But the present is best for travelling purposes."
"Yes, perhaps it is best to have only one goldfish. Last year, when
I had tadpoles, they ate one another--you remember, Grandpapa? This
goldfish could not eat _itself_, could it, Grandpapa?"
"I should hardly think it possible," replied Mr. Elphinstone gravely.
"I shall be able to show it to M. le Chevalier," observed the little
boy happily, holding up the bowl and surveying the swinging captive.
"--Oh, Grandpapa, but perhaps I shall not see him! He promised to come
and say good-bye to me, but when he comes I shall be gone to Canterbury,
and when I return from those ladies he will have gone away to Jersey.
Oh, Grandpapa, isn't that sad!"