Doctor Claudius, A True Story Part 27

"Thank you; I am very grateful."

"Do not speak of that. I am proud to be of service. By the by, the present--the present inc.u.mbent is childless, I believe. He must be your father's brother?"

"Yes," said Claudius. "Should he die, I would not hesitate any longer."

"No indeed, I hope not. It is a shame as it is."

"By the by," said Claudius, who had put away his box; "why did you not go to Newport to-day? I meant to go on to-morrow and meet you there.

This business had put it out of my head."

"Lady Victoria and the Countess both wanted to stay another day."

"Is the Countess ill?" asked Claudius. "Or do you think she would see me this evening?"

"I do not think there is anything especial the matter. She will very likely see you after dinner. As for me, I am hungry; I have walked all over New York this afternoon."

"Very well, let us dine. You know New York, and must select the place."

Arm-in-arm they went away together, and the Duke introduced Claudius to the glories of Delmonico's.

CHAPTER XIII.

Troubles never come singly; moreover, they come on horseback, and go away on foot. If Claudius had pa.s.sed an unpleasant afternoon, the Countess's day had been darkened with the shadow of a very serious difficulty. Early in the morning her maid had brought her coffee, and with it a note in a foreign hand. The maid, who was French, and possessed the usual characteristics of French maids, had exhausted her brain in trying to discover who the sender might be. But the missive was sealed with wax, and a plain "N" was all the impression. So she adopted the usual expedient of busying herself in the room, while her mistress opened the note, hoping that some chance exclamation, or even perhaps an answer, might give her curiosity the food it longed for. But Margaret read and reread the note, and tore it up into very small pieces, thoughtfully; and, as an afterthought, she burned them one by one over a wax taper till nothing was left. Then she sent her maid away and fell to thinking. But that did not help her much; and the warm sun stole through the windows, and the noise in the street prevented her from sleeping, for she was unused to the sound of wheels after the long weeks at sea.

And so she rang for her maid again. The maid came, bringing another note, which, she said, had been given her by "Monsieur Clodiuse;" and would there be an answer?

It was simply a few lines to say he was going to be away all day, and that he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing the Countess in Newport to-morrow. But for some reason or other Margaret was not pleased with the note, and merely said there would be no answer.

"Madame would she dress herself to go out, or to keep the lodging?"

Madame would not go out. Was it warm? Oh yes, it was very warm. In fact it was _hebetant_. Would Madame see Monsieur le Duc if he called at eleven? Monseigneur's Monsieur Veelees had charged her to inquire of Madame. No, Madame would not see Monsieur le Duc this morning. But if any one called, Madame desired to be informed. Madame would be served.

And so the toilet proceeded.

It was not very long before some one called. There was a knock at the door of the bedroom. Clementine left the Countess's hair, which she was busy combing and tressing, and went to the door. It was old Vladimir, Margaret's faithful Russian servant.

"At this hour!" exclaimed the Countess, who was not in the best of tempers. "What does he want?"

Vladimir ventured to make a remark in Russian, from the door, which produced an immediate effect. Margaret rose swiftly, overturning her chair and sweeping various small articles from the table in her rapid movement. She went very quickly to the door, her magnificent black hair all hanging down. She knew enough Russian to talk to the servant.

"What did you say, Vladimir?"

"Margareta Ivanowna"--Margaret's father's name had been John--"Nicola Alexandrewitch is here," said Vladimir, who seemed greatly surprised.

His geographical studies having been purely experimental, the sudden appearance of a Russian gentleman led him to suppose his mistress had landed in some outlying part of Russia, or at least of Europe. So she bade the old servant conduct the gentleman to her sitting-room and ask him to wait. She was not long in finishing her toilet. Before she left the room a servant of the hotel brought another box of flowers from Mr.

Barker. Clementine cut the string and opened the pasteboard sh.e.l.l.

Margaret glanced indifferently at the profusion of roses and pink pond-lilies--a rare variety only found in two places in America, on Long Island and near Boston--and having looked, she turned to go.

Clementine held up two or three flowers, as if to try the effect of them on Margaret's dress.

"Madame would she not put some flowers in her dress?"

No. Madame would not. Madame detested flowers. Whereat the intelligent Clementine carefully examined the name of the sender, inscribed on a card which lay in the top of the box. Mr. Barker knew better than to send flowers anonymously. He wanted all the credit he could get. The Countess swept out of the room.

At the door of the sitting-room she was met by a young man, who bent low to kiss her extended hand, and greeted her with a manner which was respectful indeed, but which showed that he felt himself perfectly at ease in her society.

Nicola Alexandrewitch, whom we will call simply Count Nicholas, was the only brother of Margaret's dead husband. Like Alexis, he had been a soldier in a guard regiment; Alexis had been killed at Plevna, and Nicholas had succeeded to the t.i.tle and the estates, from which, however, a considerable allowance was paid to the Countess as a jointure.

Nicholas was a handsome man of five or six and twenty, of middle height, swarthy complexion, and compact figure. His beard was very black, and he wore it in a pointed shape. His eyes were small and deep-set, but full of intelligence. He had all the manner and appearance of a man of gentle birth, but there was something more; an indescribable, undefinable air that hung about him. Many Russians have it, and the French have embodied the idea it conveys in their proverb that if you scratch a Russian you will find the Tartar. It is rather a trait of Orientalism in the blood, and it is to be noticed as much in Servians, Bulgarians, Roumanians, and even Hungarians, as in Russians. It is the peculiarity of most of these races that under certain circ.u.mstances, if thoroughly roused, they will go to any length, with a scorn of consequence which seems to the Western mind both barbarous and incomprehensible. Margaret had always liked him.

He was wild; but he was a courteous gentleman, and could always be depended upon.

"Mon cher," said Margaret, "I need not tell you I am enchanted to see you, but what is the meaning of the things you wrote me this morning?

Are you really in trouble?"

"Helas, yes. I am in the worst kind of trouble that exists for a Russian. I am in political trouble--and that entails everything else."

"Tell me all about it," said she. "Perhaps I may help you."

"Ah no! you cannot help. It is not for that I am come. I have a confession to make that concerns you."

"Well?" said she, with a smile. She did not suppose it could be anything very bad.

"You will be angry, of course," he said, "but that is nothing. I have done you an injury that I cannot repair."

"Enfin, my dear Nicholas, tell me. I do not believe anything bad of you."

"You are kindness itself, and I thank you in advance. Wait till you have heard. I am 'suspect,'--they think I am a Nihilist I am exiled to the mines, and everything is confiscated. Voila! Could it be worse?"

Margaret was taken off her guard. She had herself been in more than easy circ.u.mstances at the time of her marriage, but the financial crisis in America, which occurred soon after that event, had greatly crippled her resources. She had of late looked chiefly to her jointure for all the luxuries which were so necessary to her life. To find this suddenly gone, in a moment, without the slightest preparation, was extremely embarra.s.sing. She covered her eyes with one hand for a moment to collect her thoughts and to try and realise the extent of the disaster. Nicholas mistook the gesture.

"You will never forgive me, I know. I do not deserve that you should.

But I will do all in my power to repair the evil. I will go to Siberia if they will consider your rights to the estate."

Margaret withdrew her hand, and looked earnestly at the young man.

"Forgive you?" said she. "My dear Nicholas, you do not suppose I seriously think there is anything to forgive?"

"But it is true," he said piteously; "in ruining me they have ruined you. Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! If I only had a friend--"

"Taisez vous donc, mon ami. It is everything most bete what you say. You have many friends, and as for me, I do not care a straw for the money.

Only if I had known I would not have left Europe. Voila tout."

"Ah, that is it," said Nicholas. "I escaped the police and hurried to Baden. But you were gone. So I took the first steamer and came here. But I have waited ten days, and it was only last night I saw in the papers that you had arrived yesterday morning. And here I am."

Margaret rose, from a feeling that she must move about--the restless fiend that seizes energetic people in their trouble. Nicholas thought it was a sign for him to go. He took his hat.

"Believe me--" he began, about to take his leave.