CHAPTER XVIII
The Count opened his mouth. It was his way of expressing supremeastonishment. The Princess sat bolt upright on her couch and gazed atJeanne with wide-open and dilated eyes. Curiously enough it was theCount who first recovered himself.
"Is it a game, this?" he asked softly. "You press the button and thelittle girl appears. That means that I increase the stakes and theprize pops up."
The Princess rose to her feet. She crossed the room to meet Jeanne withoutstretched arms.
"Shut up, you fool!" she said to the Count in passing. "Jeanne mychild," she added, "is it really you?"
Jeanne accepted the proffered embrace, without enthusiasm. Sherecognized the Count, however, with a little wave of colour.
"Yes," she said quietly, "I have come back. I am sorry I went away. Itwas a mistake, a great mistake."
"You have driven us nearly wild with anxiety," the Princess declared."Where have you been to?"
"Yes!" the Count echoed, fixing his eyes upon her, "where have you beento?"
Jeanne behaved with a composure which astonished them both. She calmlyunbuttoned her gloves and seated herself in the easy-chair.
"I have been to Salthouse," she said.
"What! back to the Red Hall?" the Princess exclaimed.
Jeanne shook her head.
"No!" she said, "I have been in rooms at a farmhouse there, Caynsard'sfarm. I went away because I did not like the life here, and because mystepmother," she continued, turning toward the Count, "seemeddetermined that I should marry you. I thought that I would go away intothe country, somewhere where I could think quietly. I went to Salthousebecause it was the only place I knew."
"You are the maddest child!" the Princess exclaimed.
Jeanne smiled, a little wearily.
"If I have been mad," she said, "I have come to my senses again."
The Count leaned toward her eagerly.
"I trust," he said, "that that means that you are ready now to obeyyour stepmother, and to make me very, very happy."
Jeanne looked at him deliberately.
"It depends," she said, "upon circumstances."
"Tell me what they are quickly," the Count declared. "I am impatient. Icannot bear that you keep me waiting. Let me know of my happiness."
The Princess was suddenly uneasy. There was one weak point in herschemes, a weakness of her own creating. Ever since she had told Jeannethe truth about her lack of fortune, she had felt that it was amistake. Suppose she should be idiot enough to give the thing away! ThePrincess felt her heart beat fast at the mere supposition. There wassomething about Jeanne's delicate oval face, her straight mouth andlevel eyebrows, which somehow suggested that gift which to the Princesswas so incomprehensible in her sex, the gift of honesty. Suppose Jeannewere to tell the Count the truth!
"First of all, then," Jeanne said, "I must ask you whether mystepmother has told the truth about myself and my fortune."
The Princess knew then that the game was up. She sank back upon thesofa, and at that moment she would have declared that there was nothingin the world more terrible than an ungrateful and inconsiderate child.
"The truth?" the Count remarked, a little puzzled. "I know only whatthe world knows, that you are the daughter of Carl le Mesurier, andthat he left you the residue of one of the greatest fortunes in Europe."
Jeanne drew a letter from her pocket.
"The Princess," she remarked, "must have forgotten to tell you. Thisgreat fortune that all the world has spoken of, and that seems to havemade me so famous, has been all the time something of a myth. It hasexisted only in the imaginations of my kind friends. A few days ago mystepmother here told me of this. I wrote at once to Monsieur Laplanche,my trustee. She would not let me send the letter. When I was atSalthouse, however, I wrote again, and this time I had a reply. It ishere. There is a statement," she continued, "which covers many pages,and which shows exactly how my father's fortune was exaggerated, howsecurities have dwindled, and how my stepmother's insisting upon a verylarge allowance during my school-days, has eaten up so much of theresidue. There is left to me, it appears, a sum of fourteen thousandpounds. That is a very small fortune, is it not?" she asked calmly.
The Count was gazing at her as one might gaze upon a tragedy.
"It is not a fortune!" he exclaimed. "It is not even a dot! It isnothing at all, a year's income, a trifle."
"Nevertheless," Jeanne said calmly, "it is all that I possess. Yousee," she continued, "I have come back to my stepmother to tell herthat if I am bound by law to do as she wishes until I am of age, I willbe dutiful and marry the man whom she chooses for me, but I wish totell you two things quite frankly. The first you have just heard. Thesecond is that I do not care for you in the least, that in fact Irather dislike you."
The Princess buried her head in her hands. She was not anxious to lookat any one just then, or to be looked at. The Count rose to his feet.There were drops of perspiration upon his forehead. He was distracted.
"Is this true, madam?" he asked of the Princess.
"It is true," she admitted.
He leaned towards her.
"What about my three thousand pounds?" he whispered. "Who will pay meback that? It is cheating. That money has been gained by what you callfalse pretences. There is punishment for that, eh?"
The Princess dabbed at her eyes with a little morsel of lacehandkerchief.
"One must live," she murmured. "It was not I who talked about Jeanne'sfortune. It was all the world who said how rich she was. Why should Icontradict them? I wanted a place once more in the only Society inEurope which counts, English society. There was only one way and I tookit. So long as people believed Jeanne to be the heiress of a greatfortune, I was made welcome wherever I chose to go. That is the truth,my dear Count."
"It is all very well," the Count answered, "but the money I haveadvanced you?"
"You took your own risk," the Princess answered, coldly. "I was not toknow that you were expecting to repay yourself out of Jeanne's fortune.It is not too late. You are not married to her."
"No," the Count said slowly, "I am not married to her."
The Princess watched him from the corners of her eyes. He was evidentlyvery much distracted. He walked up and down the room. Every now andthen he glanced at Jeanne. Jeanne was very pale, but she wore a hatwith a small green quill which he had once admired. Certainly she hadan air, she was distinguished. There was something vaguely provocativeabout her, a charm which he could not help but feel. He stopped shortin the middle of his perambulations. It was the moment of his life. Hefelt himself a hero.
"Madam," he said, addressing the Princess, "I have been badly treated.There is no one who would not admit that. I have been deceived--a manless kind than I might say robbed. No matter. I forget it all. I forgetmy disappointment, I forget that this young lady whom you offer me fora wife has a dot so pitifully small that it counts for nothing. I takeher. I accept her. Jeanne," he added, moving towards her, "you hear? Itis because I love you so very, very much."
Jeanne shrank back in her chair.
"You mean," she cried, "that you are willing to take me now that youknow everything, now that you know I have so little money? You meanthat you want to marry me still?"
The Count assented graciously. Never in the course of his whole life,had he admired himself so much.
"I forget everything," he declared, with a little wave of the hand,"except that I love you, and that you are the one woman in the worldwhom I wish to make the Comtesse de Brensault. Mademoiselle permits me?"
He stooped and raised her cold hand to his lips. Jeanne looked at himwith the fascinated despair of some stricken animal. The Princess roseto her feet. It was wonderful, this--a triumph beyond all thought.
"Jeanne, my child," she said, "you are the most fortunate girl I know,to have inspired a devotion so great. Count," she added, "you arewonderful. You deserve all the happiness which I am sure will come toyou."
The Count looked as though he were perf
ectly convinced of it. All thesame he whispered in her ear a moment later--
"You must pay me back that three thousand pounds!"
Jeanne of the Marshes Page 39