A Heart-Song of To-day Part 29

"How changed the dear old place must be," said Lady Esmondet, as Vaura ceased reading, "I would that the place could have been restored by some other means, but if your uncle is content, I, needn't moan."

"Whatever else may be said, one thing is sure: that Lincoln Tompkin's gold could not have been put to better use," said Lionel.

Here Somers knocked and informed her mistress the carriage waited.

"Bring me my wraps here, Somers. and then continue the packing, and when callers come, Miss Vernon and myself are not at home until dinner hour."

"Yes, your ladyship."

"Anything important on the _tapis_ for to-day?" asked Trevalyon.

"Yes," answered Vaura, consulting her tablets, "Worth's studio comes first on the list; he sends word he has something aesthetic, thence to purchase music, "Les Folies" Galop, by Ketterer; duet from "Il Trovatore," "_Vivra Contende il Guibilo_," "_Mira di Acarbe_," etc., you must sing with me when we fold our wings for a while in some temporary home at Rome, Capt. Trevalyon."

"I shall, it will give me very great pleasure."

"Thank you; oh! yes, I must not forget to look into Monsieur Perrault's cottage, and leave a parcel for Marie." So saying, Vaura entered the adjoining-room to robe for the carriage.

"And what will you do with yourself, Lionel, until we meet at dinner?"

"I shall devote the hours to trying to find out the present home of f.a.n.n.y Clarmont, for" said Lionel, coming beside his friend, "I _must_ clear myself; my enemies are on the war-path. Haughton's last letter shows by its tone, they have influenced him; Delrose never liked me, and--"

Vaura entering ended the confidences.

"This letter," said Vaura, "my maid tells me, was given to your servant, Capt. Trevalyon, by a man in livery, to be handed to me; it is in an unknown hand, I have not one minute to spare it now, will you kindly pocket it, and on our journey you and it will be near me and I can read it at will. Thanks, but you look very weary," as she put the letter into his hand, she laid her other hand for a moment on his, and looking kindly into his face, "for Lady Esmondet and my sake, go and rest until our return."

"I cannot, dear Miss Vernon; do you remember," he said in a low tone, with his hands on the flowers in her belt, "the silent language these flowers speak?"

"I do."

"Well, I now go out alone to try and unweave the web of difficulty."

Vaura returned the close pressure of his hands, and the look in his eyes, and he was gone, while she, turning to her G.o.d-mother, said quietly, "we had better go, dear."

They also left the boudoir.

Lionel, without loss of time, walked quickly to the lodgings he knew had been occupied by f.a.n.n.y Clarmont some years before; but on reaching them, the landlady informed him that five years previously, Madame Rose (as she was known), had left her comfortable quarters, remittances not being so frequent, and had taken cheaper rooms, _numero cinq, Rue St. Basile_; thither Captain Trevalyon journeyed, only to find that Madame Rose had again shifted her quarters; after some difficulty, the address she had left in case Major Delrose should either call or send a cheque, was found; it directed him to miserable lodgings in one of the poorest streets of Paris; on his enquiring for Madame Rose, a woman told him she was gone; she had been very ill and he could gain further information from Father Lefroy, and she directed a little urchin to go and show the gentleman the priest's house; Trevalyon putting a sovereign into her hand, thanked her and followed the boy. They soon reached their destination, a small, white, many-gabled old-fashioned windowed house, with bright flowers in boxes attached to the window-sill. Father Lefroy was full of hospitality and welcomed Captain Trevalyon, telling him he was ready to tell him of Madame Rose and her movements for the past three years. "Three years ago, the woman with whom you spoke, Monsieur, and who directed you to me, sent for me, saying, 'Madame Rose is very ill and she and her little boy have no money for food.' I went at once, and found her words true; the child was crying for bread, and I could see it was want that had brought illness to the poor mother. I had food brought and stimulants to give her temporary strength, then conveyed her and her little son to our convent of St. John, where she was nursed by the good sisters; while there she became a member of our holy faith. You are a friend of hers, Monsieur?"

"Yes."

"Well, she told me her history, and of how nine years ago, this Major Delrose, with whom she eloped--"

Lionel's heart leaped; "Here is proof," he thought.

"Deserted her, she then left her comfortable lodgings, went to others and gained a scanty support for herself and boy by giving singing lessons. She has given her boy to us to be educated for the holy priesthood; she herself has taken the veil and is now Sister Magdalen in a London convent, not cloistered, but is one of the sisters of mercy; and now, Monsieur, before I give you her address, tell me truthfully why you want it, your reason will be safe with me."

Trevalyon told him faithfully, and the priest's answer was to, write on a slip of paper as follows:

"To the Mother Superior of the Convent of St. Mary," London, England.

"Grant Captain Trevalyon an interview with sister Magdalen (Madame Rose), and a.s.sist him in every way in your power to gain his end, which is good."

"LEFROY, "Priest of St. John's Chapel, Paris."

Here a tap at the door called the priest; returning he said:

"Captain, Trevalyon, I must bid you adieu, my time belongs to the church, and I trust you will find that the church will aid you in making the truth tell."

"I thank you, Father Lefroy; accept this gold for G.o.d's poor."

"_Merci_, adieu."

"Adieu."

Lionel returned to his hotel with a lighter heart, though as yet he did not quite see how to cope with his enemies, how to make the truth, as the priest had said, tell. He must think it out. The three friends met at the _table d'hote_ in travelling costume, all in good spirits, each antic.i.p.ating pleasure from the month's sojourn in Italy. Lady Esmondet was in hopes her health would be materially benefitted, and was going, as we know, also for distraction's sake; Col. Haughton, as a benedict, was a new situation she had yet to grow accustomed to. A man who is in a woman's life for many years as he, chief friend, chief adviser, to go out from one suddenly into another life with another woman, gives one a terrible feeling of lonliness; hard, very hard to bear.

Vaura just now had a sweet sense of completeness in being near and leaning on, as it were, Lionel every day, though a latent feeling told her with warning voice that she should not give way. This very morn, an English gipsy in the pay of Mrs. Haughton, having gained admittance to the hotel and to herself; a fierce looking woman richly dressed in the garb of the Bohemian, her face very much m.u.f.fled, having caught cold she said, crossing the channel, had told her "man with a wife will sue for your hand. Beware of him leddy, for danger and death I read in your hand." Not that she paid much, if any, heed to the mere words of a gipsy, only this, that the hidden wife story would recur to her memory; but her dear old-time knight was drawing her nearer to himself every day, and because of the mental suffering he was undergoing on account of this very story; and it could not be otherwise with her intensely sympathetic nature, together with her pity for his past griefs; and so she gave herself up to the delicious completeness of her present, hourly deferring to him, leaning on him more and more. "It pleases him, poor fellow, but it will be a terrible awakening for me if this story be true; but I must ease his present pain even though I suffer; it is a necessity of my being" she told herself; so giving up to the hour, she, epicurean-like, let the present suffice.

Before leaving the hotel for the depot, putting a sovereign into the hand of a porter, she desired him to see that the beauteous flowers in their apartments were conveyed to M. Perrault's cottage. On arriving at the depot, which the electric light made bright as the whitest moonlight, they saw many friends come to say farewell.

"Such an important exodus from our city cannot take place without many a heartfelt _bon voyage_," said Eau Clair de Hauteville, gallantly.

"And while our heart weeps at our loss, we antic.i.p.ate with joy your speedy return" said another, holding Vaura's hand in a tight pressure.

"_Au plaisir, tout a vous_," said another brokenly in a whisper.

"My table will be lonely," cried Bertram, "until grace, beauty and wit dine again with my emaciated self."

"You fill one end of your table, Bertram," said Trevalyon, "and your cook the other; to be sure, you have the sides, but wings are not bad when tender, and I have no pity for you with a Wingfield near."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mrs. Wingfield and Bertram, the former saying:

"Though I am always ready, Captain, to be side-bone-wing or Wingfield to Mr. Bertram's soup, turbot, or mutton, Eustace is never very near, as now, but he is absent here because I told him he must show with me at a crush in an hour's time, and as he mortally hates slow crushing, he is truant and I shall have to appear alone."

"What a tyrant the mighty G.o.d _Society_ is," cried Bertram, "ignores a man's tastes; expects him to flatten himself at a crush immediately after a good dinner."

"Try and be ours again at Christmas," de Vesey was saying to Vaura.

"Without fail" said another "our city is glorious at the birth-day of the Christ."

"And _la belle_ Vernon should not fail to lend us her beauty at that time," said Eau Clair, thinking as did the others that her rare loveliness in the white light was as of an angel.

"She goes with the golden summer," said a southerner.

"The beauteous birds go south in your company, Mile. Vernon, may they sing sweet songs for you as they wing their flight," echoed a poet.

"I love the birds as I do your sunny climes, and as we journey, should I hear their sweet notes, shall remember your words," she said softly, her syren voice full of music, as with a last hand-clasp and wave of handkerchief the guard shut the door and the fire horse dashed on his way and from gay Paris.