CHAPTER III.
Judge Favart de Caumartin's residence was a large, rambling structure,more like a hotel than like a private house. Considering that his wifewas dead and that he had but one living child, a daughter of seventeen,it was strange that he kept up such an extensive establishment, inwhich, perhaps, twenty rooms stood richly furnished but unoccupied. Itwas his pleasure, however, and his pleasure was law.
Mlle. Olympe de Caumartin was greatly surprised when by merest chanceshe discovered Hepworth Coleman making himself quite at home in a remoteroom of the house. We have seen how she showed her confusion as shestepped into the doorway and found herself face to face with the youngman. The glance that passed between them wrought a wonder in the heartof each. I shall not say that they fell in love at first sight. Lovecannot be so accurately traced that its origin can be exactly found outin any particular case. It is enough to record that Mlle. Olympe deCaumartin caught something new, something sweet from that momentarygaze, and shut it up in her heart involuntarily, with a thrill thatnever again quite left her breast. She was back through halls and roomsto her own boudoir, her cheeks and lips rosy with excitement, and agentle tremor in her limbs.
That evening in the library the Judge told his daughter that he hadgiven a suit of rooms in the farthest wing of the mansion to a wealthyyoung gentleman from New York.
"I have had letters from Mr. Cartwright, my banker there, asking me totake care of him, and this seemed the best I could do under thecircumstances. I did not see my way to bringing him any nearer to us. Wedon't care to have another member added to our family, eh, Olympe,dear?"
Mlle. de Caumartin blushed. She may have felt a touch of guilt becauseshe could not muster courage to tell her father that she had alreadyvisited Mr. Coleman.
"I have not seen him yet," continued the Judge; "I thought it best tolet him have some rest before calling upon him. Cartwright advises methat he is of an excellent family--a man to be given the greatestattention, and for my banker's sake, if for nothing else, I must meetthe demand upon my hospitality. He came a fortnight earlier than Iexpected; but I had Jules watching for him, and you know Jules neverfails."
"But you should have told me before, father dear," said Mlle. Olympe."Only a while ago, while wandering through the distant wing of thehouse, I invaded this young gentleman's apartment. It surprised himevidently as much as it abashed me."
"The obvious moral of which is," replied the Judge quickly, "that youare hereafter to be more careful about what rooms you are stumblinginto." As he spoke his dark oval face, with its fine, grave smile, wasalmost like a boy's. The flush that lay under the skin shone throughwith a suggestion of some repressed stimulus, as if a great passion hadforced it up. In his eyes an underglow, so to call it, smoldered withfascinating vagueness.
Mlle. Olympe sat for a moment on his knee and stroked his long blackhair.
"You will stay with me to-night, father, dear," she presently murmured,coaxingly; "you will not go out to-night."
"I must be gone a little while," he said, rising at once, "but just alittle while."
She clung close to him.
"Not this night, please," she urged, with a touching tremor in hervoice. "Oh! you remember this night a year ago you had that dreadfuladventure in the dark room. You must not go out; please, for my sake, donot."
An expert observer could have seen while this was going on a strange,half-worried, almost fiercely concentrated expression in the Judge'seyes. It was as if he mightily wished to remain with his child, butcould not by any effort resist some powerful temptation tugging at himand drawing him away.
He kissed her tenderly, pushed her gently from him and went out.
The girl cast herself upon a sofa and buried her face in her hands, as avision of that night one year before came up before her eyes.
Some strange masked men had brought her father home far in the night,white as a ghost, helpless, speechless, apparently dead. They put himdown there in the room and vanished.
He had no wound, no bruise, no mark of any violence. But he recoveredvery slowly, and he never told what had befallen him.
Mlle. Olympe knew of her father's frequent duels, and if he had beenbrought in dead or badly off on account of pistol ball or rapier thrustshe would not have been surprised beyond measure, but this mysteriousperformance of the masked men and the unaccountable condition of theJudge were taken hold upon by her imagination and raised to the highestpower of romantic meaning.
A year had passed, and she might not have recalled the exact anniversarybut for the prattle of an old servant to the effect that she had seenher master, the Judge, marching at the head of a company of masked men,himself wearing an "invisible" mask and a queer black velvet cap.
Mlle. Olympe observed that her father was flushed as if with wine, andhis bearing was indicative of some subtile and indescribable excitementwithin him. When he went away she felt that something startling wasgoing to happen soon.
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