CHAPTER IX.
At the entrance to the gallery the Marquise saw Dumaresque on thestep, and with him Kenneth McVeigh. She entered the carriage, hopingthe Countess would not perceive them; but the hope was in vain, shedid, and she motioned them both to her to learn if Mrs. McVeigh hadalso unexpectedly returned.
She had not. Italy was yet attractive to her, and the Lieutenant hadcome alone. He was to await her arrival, whenever she chose, and thentheir holiday would be over. When they left Paris again it would befor America.
He smiled in the same lazy, yet deferential way, as the Countesschatted and questioned him. He confessed he did not remember why hehad returned; at least he could not tell in a crowd, or with cynicalDumaresque listening to him.
"Invite him home, and he will vow it was to see you," said theartist.
"I mean to," she retorted; "but do not judge all men by yourself,Monsieur Loris, for I suspect Lieutenant McVeigh has a conscience."
"I have," he acknowledged, "too much of one to take advantage of yourinvitation. Some day, when you are not tired from the crowds, I shallcome, if you will allow me."
"No, no; come now!" insisted the Countess, impulsively; "you will restme; I assure you it is true! We have been with women--women allmorning! So take pity on us. We want to hear all about the battlegrounds and fortresses you were to inspect. The Marquise, especially,is a lover of wars."
"And of warriors?" queried Dumaresque; but the Countess paid noattention to him.
"Yes, she is really a revolutionist, Monsieur; so come and enlightenus as to the latest methods of those amiable patriots."
The Marquise had given him a gracious little bow, and had politelyshown interest in their remarks to such an extent that the Countessdid not notice her silence. But during the brief glance she noticedthat the blue eyes had dark circles under them, but they were steadyfor all that. He looked tired, but he also looked more the master ofhimself than when they last met; she need fear no further pleading.
The Countess prevailed, and he entered the carriage. Dumaresque wasalso invited, but was on some committee of arrangements and could notleave.
As they were about to drive away the Marquise called him.
"Oh, Monsieur Loris, one moment! I want the black and white sketch ofyour Kora. Pray have it bid in for me."
It was the first time she had ever called him Loris, except in her ownhome, and as a partial echo of the dowager. His eyes thanked her, andKenneth McVeigh received the benefit both of her words and the look.
"But, my dear Marquise, it will give me pleasure to make you somethingfiner of the same subject."
"No, no; only the sketch. I will value it as a souvenir of--well--donot let any one else have it."
Then she bowed, flashed a rare smile at him, and they wheeled awaywith McVeigh facing her and noting with his careless smile everyexpression of her coquetry. He had gone away a boy--so she had calledhim; but he had come back man enough to hide the hurts she gave him,and willing to let her know it.
Someway he appeared more as he had when she met him first under thebeeches; then he had seemed so big, so strong, so masterful, that shehad never thought of his years. But she knew now he was younger thanhe looked.
She had plenty of time to think of this, and of many other things,during the drive.
The Countess monopolized the young officer with her questions. Heendeavored to make the replies she invited, and neither of themappeared to note that the share of the Marquise was limited to aninterested expression, and an occasional smile.
She studied his well-formed, strong hands, and thought of the nightthey had held her own--thought of all the impetuous, passionate words;try as she would to drive them away they came back with a rush as hiscool, widely different tones fell on her ear. What a dissembler thefellow was! All that evil nature which she knew about was hidden underan exterior so engaging! "_If one only loved where it was wise tolove, all the sorrows of the world would be ended,_" those words ofthe pretty figureante haunted her, with all their meaning beatingthrough her brain. What a farce seemed the careless, empty chatterbeside her! It grew unbearable, to feel his careless glance sweepacross her face, to hear him laugh carelessly, to be conscious of thefact that after all he was the stronger; he could face her easily,graciously, and she did not dare even meet his eyes lest he should,after all, see; the thought of her weakness frightened her; suppose heshould compel her to the truth. Suppose--
She felt half hysterical; the drive had never before been so long. Shefeared she must scream--do something to break through this horriblechain of circumstances, linking them for even so short a space withintouch of each other. And he was the man she had promised herself tohate, to make suffer, to--
Some one did scream; but it was the Countess. Out of a side streetcame a runaway team, a shouting man heralding their approach. At thatpoint street repairs had left only a narrow carriage-way, and a wallof loose stone; there was no time to get out of the way; no room toturn. There was a collision, a crash! The horses of the Countessleaped aside, the right front wheel struck the heap of stone, flingingthe driver from his seat. He fell, and did not move again.
At that sight the Countess uttered a gasp and sank to the bottom ofthe carriage. The Marquise stooped over her only for an instant, whilethe carriage righted itself and all four wheels were on a level oncemore; the horses alone had been struck, and were maddened with fear,and in that madness lay their only danger now.
She lifted her head, and the man opposite, in her instant ofshrinking, had leaped over the back of the seat to secure the lines ofthe now thoroughly wild animals.
One line was dragging between them on the ground. Someway hemaintained his footing on the carriage pole long enough to secure thedragging line, and when he gained the driver's seat the Marquise wasbeside him.
She knew what lay before them, and he did not--a dangerous curve, asteep embankment--and they had passed the last street where they couldhave turned into a less dangerous thoroughfare.
People ran out and threw up their hands and shouted. She heard himfling an oath at them for adding fury to the maddened animals.
"It is no use," she said, and laid her hand on his. He turned and mether eyes. No veil of indifference was between them now, no coquetry;all pretense was swept aside and the look they exchanged was as akiss.
"You love me--now?" he demanded, half fiercely.
"Now, and always, from the first hour you looked at me!" she said,with her hand on his wrist. His grip tightened on the lines, and theblood leaped into his face.
"My love, my love!" he whispered; and she slipped on her knees besidehim that she might not see the danger to be faced.
"It is no use, Kenneth, Kenneth! There is the bank ahead--they cannotstop--it will kill us! It is just ahead!"
She was muttering disjointed sentences, her face averted, her armsclasping him.
"Kill us? Don't you believe it!" And he laughed a trifle nervously."Look up, sweetheart; the danger is over. I knew it when you firstspoke. See! They are going steady now."
They were. He had gained control of them in time to make the dangerouscurve in safety. They were a quarter of the way along the embankment.Workmen there stared at the lady and gentleman on the coachman's seat,and at the rather rapid gait; but the real danger was over.
They halted at a little cafe, which was thrown into consternation atsight of a lady insensible in the bottom of the carriage; but a littlewine and the administrations of the Marquise aided her recovery, andin a short time enabled her to hear the account of the wild race.
The driver had a broken arm, and one of the horses was slightlyinjured. Lieutenant McVeigh had sent back about the man, and securedanother team for the drive home. He was now walking up and down thepavement in front of the cafe, in very good spirits, and awaiting thepleasure of the Countess.
They drove home at once; the Countess voluably grateful to Kenneth,and apparently elated over such a tremendous adventure. The youngofficer shared her high spirits, and the Mar
quise was the only silentmember of the party. After the danger was passed she scarcely spoke.When he helped her into the carriage the pressure of his hand and onewhispered word sent the color sweeping over her face, leaving it palerthan before. She scarcely lifted her eyes for the rest of the drive,and after retiring for a few moments' rest, apparently, broke downentirely; the nervous strain had proven rather trying, and she wasutterly unable--to her own regret--to join them at lunch.
Lieutenant McVeigh begged to withdraw, but the Countess Biron, whodeclared she had never been the heroine of a thrilling adventure,before, insisted that she at least was quite herself again, and wouldfeel cheated if their heroic deliverer did not remain for a lunch,even though it be a tete-a-tete affair; and she, of course, wanted tohear all the details of the horror; that child, Judithe, had notseemed to remember much; she supposed she must have been terriblyfrightened. "Yet, one never knew how the Marquise would be effected by_any_ thing! She was always surprising people; usually in delightfulways, of course."
"Of course," assented her guest, with a reminiscent gleam and a wealthof absolute happiness in the blue eyes. "Yes, she is rather surprisingat times; she surprised me!"
* * * * *
"Judithe, my child, it was an ideal adventure," insisted the Countess,an hour after the Lieutenant had left her, and she had repaired tothe room where the Marquise was supposed to be resting. Hernervousness had evidently not yet abated, for she was walking up anddown the floor.
"An absolutely ideal adventure, and a heroic foreigner to the rescue!What a god-send that I invited him! And I really believe he enjoyedit. I never before saw him so gay, so charming! There are men, youknow, to whom danger is a tonic, and my friend's son is like that,surely. Did he not seem at all afraid?"
"Not that I observed."
"Did he not say anything?"
"Y--yes; he swore at the people who shouted and tried to stop thehorses."
"You should not have let yourself hear that," said the Countess,reproachfully. "I thought he was so perfect, and was making my littleromance about him--or could, if you would only show a little moreinterest. Ah! at your age I should have been madly in love with thefine fellow, just for what he did today; but _you_! Still, it would beno use, I suppose. He is fiancee, you know. Yes; the mother told me; afine settlement; I saw her picture--very pretty."
"American--I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; their lands join, and she is a great heiress. The name--thename is Loring--Genevieve? No--Gertrude, Mademoiselle Gertrude Loring.Ah! so strong he was, so heroic. If she loves him she should have seenhim today."
"Yes," agreed the Marquise, with a curious little smile, "sheshould."
* * * * *
Two hours later she was on her knees beside the dowager's couch, herface hidden and all her energy given to one plea:
"Maman--Maman! Do not question me; only give me your trust--let us goaway!"
"But the man--tah! It is only a fancy; why should you leave for that?Whoever it is, the infatuation grew quickly and will die out the sameway--so--"
"No! If I remain I cannot answer for myself. I am ashamed to confessit, but--listen, Maman--but put your arms around me first; he is notworthy, I know it; yet I love him! He vows love to me, yet he isbetrothed; I know that, _also_; but I have no reason left, and myfolly will make me go to him if you do not help me. Listen, Maman!I--I will do all you say. I will marry in a year--two years--when thisis all over. I will obey you in everything, if you will only take meaway. I cannot leave you; yet I am afraid to stay where he is."
"Afraid! But, Judithe, my child, no one shall intrude upon you. Yourfriends will protect you from such a man. You have only to refuse tosee him, and in a little while--"
"Refuse! Maman, what can I say to make you understand that I couldnever refuse him again? Yet, oh, the humiliation! Maman, he is the manI despised--the man I said was not fit to be spoken to; it was alltrue, but when I hear his voice it makes me forget his unworthiness.Listen, Maman! I--I confessed to him today that I loved him; yet Iknow he is the man who by the laws of America is the owner of RhodaLarue, and he is now the betrothed of her half-sister; I heard thename of his fiancee today, and it told me the whole story. He is theman! _Now_, will you take me away?"
The next morning the dowager, Marquise de Caron, left her Paris homefor the summer season. Her destination was indefinitely mentioned asSwitzerland. Her daughter-in-law accompanied her.
And to Kenneth McVeigh, waiting impatiently the hour when he might goto her, a note was given:
"Monsieur:
"My words of yesterday had no meaning. I was frightened and irresponsible. When you read this I will have left Paris. By not meeting again we will avoid further mistakes of the same nature.
"This is my last word to you.
"JUDITHE CARON."
For two weeks he tried in vain to find her. Then he was recalled toParis to meet his mother, who was ready for home. She was shocked athis appearance, and refused to believe that he had not been ill duringher absence, and had some motherly fears regarding Parisiandissipations, from which she decided to remove him, if possible. Heacknowledged he would be glad to go--he was sick of Europe any way.
The last day he took a train for Fontainbleau, remained two hoursunder the beeches, alone, and got back to Paris in time to make thetrain for Havre.
After they had got comfortably established on a homeward-bound vessel,and he was watching the land line grow fainter over the waters, Mrs.McVeigh came to him with a bit of news read from the last journalbrought aboard.
The dowager, Marquise de Caron, had established herself at Geneva forthe season, accompanied by her daughter, the present Marquise, whoseengagement to Monsieur Loris Dumaresque had just been announced.
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