“You 'd not guess who our neighbors of last night were, Julia,” said
L'Estrange, as they sat at breakfast the next morning.
“I need not guess, for I know,” said she, laughing. “The fact is,
George, my curiosity was so excited to see them that I got up as they
were about to start, and though the gray morning was only breaking at
the time, there was light enough for me to recognize Mr. Longworth and
his French friend, Count Pracontal.”
“I know that; but I know more than that, Julia. What do you think of
my discovery, when I tell you that this same Count Pracontal is the
claimant of the Bramleigh estate?”
“Is it possible?”
“It is beyond a question or a doubt. I was awakened from my sleep last
night by their loud talking, and unwittingly made a listener to all
they said. I heard the Frenchman deplore how he had ever consented to a
compromise of his claim, and then Longworth quizzed him a good deal, and
attributed the regret to his not having made a harder bargain. My own
conviction is that the man really felt it as a point of honor, and was
ashamed at having stooped to accept less than his right.”
“So then they have made a compromise, and the Bramleighs are safe?”
cried she, eagerly.
“That much seems certain. The Count even spoke of the sum he had
received. I did not pay much attention to the amount, but I remember
it struck me as being considerable; and he also referred to his having
signed some document debarring him, as it seemed, from all renewal of
his demand. In a word, as you said just now, the Bramleighs are safe,
and the storm that threatened their fate has passed off harmlessly.”
“Oh, you have made me so happy, George. I cannot tell you what joy this
news is to me. Poor Nelly, in all her sorrow and privation, has never
been out of my thoughts since I read her letter.”
“I have not told you the strangest part of all--at least, so it
certainly seemed to me. This Count Pracontal actually regretted the
compromise, as depriving him of a noble opportunity of self-sacrifice.
He wished, he said, he could have gone to Augustus Bramleigh, and
declared, 'I want none of this wealth. These luxuries and this station
are all essential to you, who have been born to them, and regard them as
part of your very existence. To me they are no wants--I never knew them.
Keep them, therefore, as your own. All I ask is, that you regard me as
one of your kindred and your family. Call me cousin--let me be one of
you--to come here, under your roof, when fortune goes ill with me.' When
he was saying this, Longworth burst out into a coarse laugh, and
told him, that if he talked such rotten sentimentality to any sane
Englishman, the only impression it would have left would be that he was
a consummate knave or an idiot.”
“Well, George,” asked she, seriously, “that was not the conviction it
conveyed to your mind?”
“No, Julia; certainly not; but somehow--perhaps it is my colder
northern blood, perhaps it is the cautious reserve of one who has
not had enough experience of life--but I own to you I distrust very
high-flown declarations, and as a rule I like the men who do generous
things, and don't think themselves heroes for doing them.”
“Remember, George, it was a Frenchman who spoke thus; and from what
I have seen of his nation, I would say that he meant all that he said.
These people do the very finest things out of an exalted self-esteem.
They carry the point of honor so high that there is no sacrifice they
are not capable of making, if it only serve to elevate their opinion of
themselves. Their theory is, they belong to the 'great nation,' and the
motives that would do well enough for you or me would be very ignoble
springs of action to him whom Providence had blessed with the higher
destiny of being born a Frenchman.”
“You disparage while you praise them, Julia.”
“I do not mean it, then. I would simply say, I believe in all Count
Praoontal said, and I give you my reason for the belief.”
“How happy it would have made poor Augustus to have been met in this
spirit! Why don't these two men know each other?”
“My dear George, the story of life could no more go on than the story
of a novel if there was no imbroglio. Take away from the daily course of
events all misunderstandings, all sorrows, and all misconceptions, and
there would be no call on humanity for acts of energy, or trustfulness,
or devotion. We want all these things just that we may surmount them.”
Whether he did not fully concur with the theory, or that it puzzled him,
L'Estrange made no reply, and soon after left the room to prepare for
their departure. And now they went the road up the valley of the Upper
Rhine--that wild and beautiful tract, so grand in outline and so rich
in color, that other landscapes seem cold after it. They wound along
the Via Mala, and crossed over the Splugen, most picturesque of Alpine
passes, and at last reached Chiavenna.
“All this is very enjoyable, George,” said Julia, as they strolled
carelessly in a trellised vine-walk; “but as I am the courier, and
carry the money-sack, it is my painful duty to say, we can't do it much
longer. Do you know how much remains in that little bag?”
“A couple of hundred francs perhaps,” said he, listlessly.
“Not half that--how could there, you careless creature? You forget
all the extravagances we have been committing, and this entire week of
unheard-of indulgence.”
'I was always 'had up' for my arithmetic at school. Old Hoskins used to
say my figures would be the ruin of me.
The tone of honest sorrow in which he said this threw Julia into a fit
of laughing.
“Here is the total of our worldly wealth,” said she, emptying on a
rustic table the leather bag, and running her fingers through a mass of
silver in which a few gold coins glittered.
[Illustration: 298]
“It seems very little, Julia,” said he, despondingly.
“Worse than that. It is less than it looks, George; these tarnished
pieces, with a mock air of silver, are of most ignoble origin; they were
born copper, and are only silver by courtesy. Let me see what it all
makes.”
While she was arranging the money in little piles on the table
L'Estrange lighted a cigarette, and puffed it in leisurely fashion.
“Julia,” said he, at last, “I hope I haven't committed a dreadful folly
in that investment of your two thousand. You know I took the shares I
told you of?”
“I remember, George, you said so; but has anything occurred to make you
augur ill of the enterprise?”
“No; I know no more of it now than on the first day I heard of it. I
was dazzled by the splendid promise of twenty per cent instead of three
that you had received heretofore. It seemed to me to be such a paltry
fear to hesitate about doing what scores of others were venturing. I
felt as if I were turning away from a big fence while half the field
were ready to ride at it. In fact, I made it a question of courage,
Julia, which was all the more inexcusable as the money I was risking was
not my own.”
“Oh, George, you must not say that to me.”
“Well, well, I know what I think of myself, and I promise you it is not
the more favorable because of your generosity.”
“My dear George, that is a word that ought never to occur between us.
Our interests are inseparable. When you have done what you believed was
the best for me there is no question of anything more. There, now, don't
worry yourself further about it. Attend to what I have to say to you
here. We have just one hundred and twelve francs to carry us to Milan,
where our letter of credit will meet us; so that there must be no more
boat excursions; no little picnics, with a dainty basket sent up the
mountain at sunrise; none of that charming liberality which lights up
the road with pleasant faces, and sets one a-thinking how happy Dives
might have been if he had given something better than crumbs to Lazarus.
No, this must be what you used to call a week of cold-mutton days, mind
that, and resist all temptation to money-spending.”
L'Estrange bowed his head in quiet acquiescence; his was the sad thought
that so many of us have felt; how much of enjoyment life shows us, just
one hair's breadth beyond our power to grasp; vistas of lovely scenery
that we are never to visit; glimpses of bliss closed to us even as we
catch them; strains of delicious music of which all our efforts can but
retain the dying cadences. Not that he felt all these in any bitterness
of spirit; even in narrowed fortune life was very pleasant to him, and
he was thoroughly, heartily grateful for the path fate had assigned him
to walk in.
How would they have liked to have lingered in the Brianza, that one
lovely bit of thoroughly rural Italy, with the green of the west
blending through all the gorgeous glow of tropical vegetation; how
gladly they would have loitered on the lake at Como--the brightest spot
of landscape in Europe; with what enjoyment had they halted at Milan,
and still more in Florence! Stern necessity, however, whispered ever
onwards; and all the seductions of Raffaels and Titians yielded before
the hard demands of that fate that draws the purse-strings. Even at Rome
they did not venture to delay, consoling themselves with the thought
that they were to dwell so near, they could visit it at will. At last
they reached Albano, and as they drove into the village caught sight of
a most picturesque little cottage, enshrined in a copse of vines. It was
apparently untenanted, and they eagerly asked if it were to be let. The
answer was, No, it was waiting for the “Prête Inglese,” who was daily
expected to arrive.
“Oh, George, it is ours,” cried Julia, in ecstasy, and hid her head on
his shoulder, and actually cried with excess of delight.