Dross Part 32

Madame continued thus to plead my cause, while I, no doubt, slept peacefully enough under the same roof, for I have never known what it is to lie awake with my troubles. One d.a.m.ning fact the Vicomtesse could not disguise, namely, that she was for the moment dependent upon me.

"I would rather," said Lucille, "that it had been Alphonse."

To which Madame made no reply. She was a wise woman in that she never asked a confidence of her daughter, in whose happiness, I know, the interest of her life was centred. It is a great love that discriminates between curiosity and anxiety.

Lucille, however, wanted no help in the management of her life or the guidance of her heart, and made this clear to Madame. Indeed, she had of late begun to exercise somewhat of a sway over her mother, and appeared to be the ruling spirit; for youth is a force in itself. For my own part, however, I have always inclined to the belief that it is the quiet member of the family who manages and guides the household from the dim background of social obscurity. And although Madame de Clericy appeared to be mastered by her quick-witted, quick-spoken daughter, it was usually her will and not Lucille's that gained the victory in the end.

Lucille defended her absent friend with much spirit, and fought that lady's battles for her, protesting that Isabella had been ill used, and the victim of an unscrupulous adventurer. She doubtless said hard things of me, which have now been forgotten, for the lady who took my heart so quickly, and never lost her hold of it, was at this time spontaneous in thought and word, and quick to blame or praise.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WHEN MADAME WAS AT HER PRAYERS, A SWIFT, WHITE FORM HURRIED INTO THE ROOM, AND HELD HER FOR A MOMENT IN A QUICK EMBRACE.]

Mother and daughter parted for the night with a colder kiss than usual, and half an hour later, when Madame was at her prayers, a swift white form hurried into the room, held her for a moment in a quick embrace, and was gone before Madame could rise from her knees.

On the following afternoon, some hours after my departure, Isabella came to Hopton; and the dear friends, between whom there had never been a difference, had, as it appeared, a quarrel which sent Isabella home with close-pressed lips, and hurried Lucille to her room, her eyes angry and tearful. But the subject of the disagreement was not myself--nor, indeed, was any definite explanation ever given as to why the two fell out.

Chapter XXIII

Wrecked

"Il ne faut confier son secret qu' a celui qui n'a pas cherche a le deviner."

"I do not care whether Paris is in the hands of the Communards or the other bunglers so long as the Bank of France holds good," said John Turner; and, indeed, I afterwards learnt that his whole fortune depended on this turn of the wheel.

We were travelling down to Hopton, and it was the last week of May. We bore to Madame de Clericy the news that at last the government troops had made their entry into Paris and were busy fighting in the streets there, hunting from pillar to post the remnant of the Communard rabble. The reign of terror which had lasted two and a half months was ended, and Paris lay like a ship that having pa.s.sed through a great storm lies at last in calm water, battered and beaten. Priceless treasures had perished by the incendiarism of the wild mob--the Tuileries were burnt, the Louvre had barely escaped a like fate. The matchless Hotel de Ville had vanished, and a thousand monuments and relics were lost for ever. Paris would never be the same again.

Anarchy had swept across it, razing many buildings and crushing out not a few of those qualities of good taste and feeling which had raised Frenchmen to the summit of civilisation before the Empire fell.

John Turner was in good humour, for he had just learnt that, owing to the wit and nerve of one man, the Bank of France had stood untouched.

With it was saved the house of Turner & Co., of Paris and London. The moment my friend's affairs were on a safe footing he placed himself at my service to help with the Vicomtesse de Clericy's more complicated difficulties. I was glad to avail myself of the a.s.sistance of one whose name was a by-word for rect.i.tude and stability. Here, at all events, I had a colleague whose word could not be doubted by Isabella, of whose father John Turner had been a friend as well as of my own.

"Heard any more of Miste?" inquired Turner, while the train stood at Ipswich station; for he was much too easy-going to shout conversation during the progress of our journey.

"Sander writes that he has nearly caught him twice, and singularly enough has done better since you gave Mr. Devar his _conge_."

"Nothing singular about that. Devar was in the swindle and kept Miste advised of your movements. But there is some one else in it, too."

"A third person?"

"Yes," answered Turner. "A third person. I have been watching the thing, d.i.c.k, and am not such a fat old fool as you take me for. It was neither Miste nor Devar who cashed that draft. If you catch Miste you will probably catch some one else, too, some knight-errant of finance, or I am much mistaken."

At this moment the train moved on, and my friend composed his person for a sleep which lasted until we reached Saxmundham.

"I suppose," said my companion, waking up there, "that Mademoiselle of the _beaux yeux_ is to marry Alphonse when the fortune is recovered?"

"I suppose so," answered I, and John Turner closed his eyes again with a queer look.

In the station enclosure at Lowestoft we found Alphonse Giraud enjoying himself immensely on the high seat of a dog-cart, controlling, with many French exclamations, and a partial success, the movements of a cob which had taken a fancy to progress backwards round and round the yard.

"It is," he explained, with a jerky salutation of the whip, "the Sunday-school treat departing for Yarmouth. They marched in here with a bra.s.s band--too much--Whoa! _le pet.i.t_, whoa!--too much for our feelings. There--_bonjour_, Monsieur Turner--how goes it? There--now we stand still.

"Not for long," said Turner, doubtfully; "and I never get in or out of anything when it is in motion."

With the a.s.sistance of sundry idle persons we held the horse still enough for my friend to take his seat beside Alphonse, while I and the luggage found place behind them. We dashed out of the gate at a speed and risk which gave obvious satisfaction to our driver, and our progress up the narrow High Street was a series of hairbreadth escapes.

"It is a pleasure," said Alphonse, airily, as we pa.s.sed the lighthouse and the cob settled down into a steady trot, "to drive such a horse as this."

"No doubt," said Turner; "but next time I take a cab."

We arrived at the Manor House in time for luncheon, and were received by the ladies at the door. Lucille, I remember, looked grave, but it appeared that the Vicomtesse was in good spirits.

"Then the news is true," she cried, before we had descended from our high places.

"Yes, Madame, for a wonder good news is true," answered Turner, and he stood bareheaded, after the manner of his adopted country, while he shook hands.

On this occasion we all frankly spoke French, for to John Turner this language was second nature. We had plenty to talk of during luncheon, and learnt much from the Paris banker which had never appeared in the newspapers. He had, indeed, pa.s.sed through a trying ordeal, and that with an imperturbable nerve and coolness of head. He made, however, little of his own difficulties, and gave all his attention to Madame's affairs. Whenever he made mention of my name I saw Lucille frown.

After luncheon we went to the garden, which extends from the grim old house to the cliff-edge, and is protected on either side by a double rank of Scotch firs, all twisted and gnarled by the winter winds--all turning westward, with a queer effect as of raised shoulders and shivering limbs.

Within the boundary we have always, however, succeeded in growing such simple flowers as are indigenous to British soil--making a gay appearance and filling the air with clean-smelling scents.

"Your garden," said Madame, touching my arm as we pa.s.sed out of the dining-room window, "always suggests to me the English character--not much flower, but a quant.i.ty of tough wood."

Alphonse joined us, and embarked at once on the description of an easterly gale such as are too common on this coast, but new to him and grand enough in its onslaught. For the wind hurls itself unchecked against the cliff and house after its career across the North Sea.

Lucille and John Turner had walked slowly away together down the narrow path running from the house to the solid entrenchment of turf that stands on the cliff edge, covered with such spa.r.s.e gra.s.s and herb as the sand and spray may nourish.

"It is pleasant," Lucille said, as they went from us, "to have some one to talk French with."

She was without her hat or gloves, and I saw the sunlight gleaming on her hair.

"You have Alphonse Giraud," said Turner, in his blunt way.

Lucille shrugged her shoulders.

"And Howard, from time to time," added the banker, who, having received permission to smoke a cigar, was endeavouring to extract a penknife from his waistcoat pocket.

"Who talks French with the understanding of an Englishman," said Lucille, quickly.

"You do not like Englishmen?"

"I like honest ones, Monsieur," said Lucille, looking across the sea.

"Ah!"

"Oh, yes--I know," cried Lucille, impatiently. "You are one of Mr.

Howard's partisans. They are so numerous and so ready to speak for him--and he will never speak for himself."