The Light That Lures Part 39

The Abbe was more than ever convinced of his own attractions as Jeanne left the Marquis de Castellux with a little grave courtesy and joined him. He had found her subst.i.tute a poor companion and walked much less in the garden than usual.

"You find the Marquis very interesting?" he asked.

"Yes, but very provincial. One soon becomes weary of such company, yet one must be kind, Monsieur l'Abbe," and Jeanne laughed lightly. She appeared much more interested in him than she had been in the Marquis.

Richard Barrington talked to others for a little while, and then went into the office. He found a servant and asked if he could see Legrand.

The doctor was out. Barrington was rather annoyed. He wanted to see the room he was to have after Sat.u.r.day. At present he was stalled like a pig, he declared.

"Monsieur will have nothing to complain of after Sat.u.r.day," the servant answered.

"Which guest is leaving?"

"Pardon, monsieur, it is not etiquette to speak of it; but if monsieur likes I can show him the room."

"Show it to me, then."

"I am a poor man, monsieur, and cannot afford to work for nothing."

"How much?" Barrington asked.

The servant named a price, and if he received many such fees he would not long be able to call himself a poor man. Barrington paid him, and was taken upstairs and shown Jeanne's room. He did not cross the threshold, hardly glanced in at the door, in fact, but grumbled at its size and its position. He would have liked this room or that. Why not one at the end of this pa.s.sage? He liked to be in a light pa.s.sage.

"It is not a pleasant outlook this side, monsieur, stable roofs, a bare wall and no garden."

"Truly, a prospect to drive a man to despair," growled Barrington, looking from the pa.s.sage window on to the roofs of outbuildings a few feet below, and across at the house which these buildings joined, and which was at the end of a row of houses facing the street. There was only one window in that opposite wall, twelve or fourteen feet above these outbuildings, a dirty window, fast shut.

"I think very little of Monsieur Legrand's asylum," said Barrington, turning away in disgust. "I shall tell him so."

"Certainly, monsieur, if it will ease your mind."

"He is out, you say?"

"Since early this morning."

"He ought to stop here and look after his guests," and then Barrington became apprehensive. "He would be angry if I told him so. Would he?"

"He might."

"Or if you told him I had said so?"

"Probably."

"You must not tell him. See, here is more money, and there will be more still so long as you do not tell him."

The servant promised to be silent, and told the other servants that the Marquis could be plundered at will. Barrington considered the money well spent. He had examined the house without any risk of being caught taking observations, and he had ascertained that Legrand could not have spied upon him had he walked in the garden.

That night the Abbe decided that, although the Marquis had not made any great impression on Mademoiselle St. Clair, he was a decided acquisition to the establishment, witty within his provincial limits, the breed in him unmistakable. At Versailles he would speedily have learned how to become a courtier.

In the salon that evening there was dancing, and Barrington danced, but not with Jeanne.

"I dare not, mademoiselle," he said in a whispered explanation. "I can trust myself only to a certain point, and to touch you would be to betray my happiness. I dare not run that risk. I am bent on showing that I have no special regard for you, and that there is no reason why you should give any special thought to me."

She did not answer, but the color was in her face, a glow was in her heart.

When the Abbe went out into the garden on the following morning Jeanne left the Marquis at once, and joined him for their usual walk. Certainly she had not given the Marquis more than five minutes of her company. The Abbe would have talked of him, but Jeanne pleaded that he should talk of something interesting.

"Upon my honor, mademoiselle, I believe you will end by disliking poor Monsieur de Castellux."

"Would that be worth while?" Jeanne asked.

She seemed to listen eagerly to all the Abbe said to her, but she was thinking of her short conversation with Barrington. She must show no excitement.

Legrand came into the salon that night. He took no notice of Barrington, who was playing cards, totally absorbed in his game, but he watched Jeanne for a little while, and presently approached her.

"You are very brave, mademoiselle," he said.

"Is it not best?"

"I am very grieved," said Legrand.

"Monsieur, you have heard nothing from--from Lucien Bruslart?"

"Nothing."

"To-morrow! Where will they take me to-morrow?"

"I do not know, mademoiselle. I am never told."

Late hours were not kept at the Maison Legrand, candles were an expensive item. Jeanne was among the first to move this evening.

"Good night, Monsieur l'Abbe."

"Good night, mademoiselle," he said, raising her hand to his lips.

"To-morrow is Sat.u.r.day. I wonder who goes to-morrow? We are happy in having no anxiety."

Barrington was by the door and opened it for her.

"Does mademoiselle permit?" and as he bent over her hand he whispered, "Be ready. Listen. Wait until I come."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE EMPTY HOUSE

The thought of the morrow was pleasant to Dr. Legrand. In his study he bent over a paper of calculations, figures that appealed to the greedy soul that was in him.