Tobacco withdrew the haunting shadow of the Rev. Septimus Barmby from Nesta. She strolled beside Louise de Seilles, to breathe sweet-sweet in the dear friend"s ear and tell her she loved her. The presence of the German had, without rousing animosity, damped the young Frenchwoman, even to a revulsion when her feelings had been touched by hearing praise of her France, and wounded by the subjects of the praise. She bore the national scar, which is barely skin-clothing of a gash that will not heal since her country was overthrown and dismembered. Colney Durance could excuse the unreasonableness in her, for it had a dignity, and she controlled it, and quietly suffered, trusting to the steady, tireless, concentrated aim of her France. In the Gallic mind of our time, France appears as a prematurely buried Glory, that heaves the mound oppressing breath and cannot cease; and calls hourly, at times keenly, to be remembered, rescued from the pain and the mould-spots of that foul sepulture. Mademoiselle and Colney were friends, partly divided by her speaking once of revanche; whereupon he a.s.sumed the chair of the Moralist, with its right to lecture, and went over to the enemy; his talk savoured of a German. Our holding of the balance, taking two sides, is incomprehensible to a people quivering with the double wound to body and soul. She was of Breton blood. Cymric enough was in Nesta to catch any thrill from her and join to her mood, if it hung out a colour sad or gay, and was n.o.ble, as any mood of this dear Louise would surely be.
Nataly was not so sympathetic. Only the Welsh and pure Irish are quick at the feelings of the Celtic French. Nataly came of a Yorkshire stock; she had the bravery, humaneness and generous temper of our civilized North, and a taste for mademoiselle"s fine breeding, with a distaste for the singular air of superiority in composure which it was granted to mademoiselle to wear with an una.s.sailable reserve when the roughness of the commercial boor was obtrusive. She said of her to Colney, as they watched the couple strolling by the lake below: "Nesta brings her out of her frosts. I suppose it"s the presence of Dr. Schlesien. I have known it the same after an evening of Wagner"s music."
"Richard Wagner Germanized ridicule of the French when they were down,"
said Colney. "She comes of a blood that never forgives."
""Never forgives" is horrible to think of! I fancied you liked your "Kelts," as you call them."
Colney seized on a topic that shelved a less agreeable one that he saw coming. "You English won"t descend to understand what does not resemble you. The French are in a state of feverish patriotism. You refuse to treat them for a case of fever. They are lopped of a limb: you tell them to be at rest!"
"You know I am fond of them."
"And the Kelts, as they are called, can"t and won"t forgive injuries; look at Ireland, look at Wales, and the Keltic Scot. Have you heard them talk? It happened in the year 1400: it"s alive to them as if it were yesterday. Old History is as dead to the English as their first father.
They beg for the privilege of pulling the forelock to the bearers of the t.i.tles of the men who took their lands from them and turn them to the uses of cattle. The Saxon English had, no doubt, a heavier thrashing than any people allowed to subsist ever received: you see it to this day; the crick of the neck at the name of a lord is now concealed and denied, but they have it and betray the effects; and it"s patent in their Journals, all over their literature. Where it"s not seen, another blood"s at work. The Kelt won"t accept the form of slavery. Let him be servile, supple, cunning, treacherous, and to appearance time-serving, he will always remember his day of manly independence and who robbed him: he is the poetic animal of the races of modern men."
"You give him Pagan colours."
"Natural colours. He does not offer the other cheek or turn his back to be kicked after a knock to the ground. Instead of asking him to forgive, which he cannot do, you must teach him to admire. A mercantile community guided by Political Economy from the ledger to the banquet presided over by its Dagon Capital, finds that difficult. However, there "s the secret of him; that I respect in him. His admiration of an enemy or oppressor doing great deeds, wins him entirely. He is an active spirit, not your negative pa.s.sive letter-of-Scripture Insensible. And his faults, short of ferocity, are amusing."
"But the fits of ferocity!"
"They are inconscient, real fits. They come of a hot nerve. He is manageable, sober too, when his mind is charged. As to the French people, they are the most mixed of any European nation; so they are packed with contrasts: they are full of sentiment, they are sharply logical; free-thinkers, devotees; affectionate, ferocious; frivolous, tenacious; the pa.s.sion of the season operating like sun or moon on these qualities; and they can reach to ideality out of sensualism. Below your level, they"re above it: a paradox is at home with them!"
"My friend, you speak seriously--an unusual compliment," Nataly said, and ungratefully continued: "You know what is occupying me. I want your opinion. I guess it. I want to hear--a mean thirst perhaps, and you would pay me any number of compliments to avoid the subject; but let me hear:--this house!"
Colney shrugged in resignation. "Victor works himself out," he replied.
"We are to go through it all again?"
"If you have not the force to contain him."
"How contain him?"
Up went Colney"s shoulders.
"You may see it all before you," he said, "straight as the Seine chaussee from the hill of La Roche Guyon."
He looked for her recollection of the scene.
"Ah, the happy ramble that year!" she cried. "And my Nesta just seven.
We had been six months at Craye. Every day of our life together looks happy to me, looking back, though I know that every day had the same troubles. I don"t think I"m deficient in courage; I think I could meet.... But the false position so cruelly weakens me. I am no woman"s equal when I have to receive or visit. It seems easier to meet the worst in life-danger, death, anything. Pardon me for talking so. Perhaps we need not have left Craye or Creckholt...?" she hinted an interrogation.
"Though I am not sorry; it is not good to be where one tastes poison.
Here it may be as deadly, worse. Dear friend, I am so glad you remember La Roche Guyon. He was popular with the dear French people."
"In spite of his accent."
"It is not so bad?"
"And that you"ll defend!"
"Consider: these neighbours we come among; they may have heard..."
"Act on the a.s.sumption."
"You forget the princ.i.p.al character. Victor promises; he may have learnt a lesson at Creckholt. But look at this house he has built. How can I--any woman--contain him! He must have society."
"Paraitre!"
"He must be in the front. He has talked of Parliament."
Colney"s liver took the thrust of a skewer through it. He spoke as in meditative encomium: "His entry into Parliament would promote himself and family to a station of eminence naked over the Clock Tower of the House."
She moaned. "At the vilest, I cannot regret my conduct--bear what I may.
I can bear real pain: what kills me is, the suspicion. And I feel it like a guilty wretch! And I do not feel the guilt! I should do the same again, on reflection. I do believe it saved him. I do; oh! I do, I do.
I cannot expect my family to see with my eyes. You know them--my brother and sisters think I have disgraced them; they put no value on my saving him. It sounds childish; it is true. He had fallen into a terrible black mood."
"He had an hour of gloom."
"An hour!"
"But an hour, with him! It means a good deal."
"Ah, friend, I take your words. He sinks terribly when he sinks at all.--Spare us a little while.--We have to judge of what is good in the circ.u.mstances: I hear your reply! But the princ.i.p.al for me to study is Victor. You have accused me of being the voice of the enamoured woman.
I follow him, I know; I try to advise; I find it is wisdom to submit. My people regard my behaviour as a wickedness or a madness. I did save him.
I joined my fate with his. I am his mate, to help, and I cannot oppose him, to distract him. I do my utmost for privacy. He must entertain.
Believe me, I feel for them--sisters and brother. And now that my sisters are married... My brother has a man"s hardness."
"Colonel Dreighton did not speak harshly, at our last meeting."
"He spoke of me?"
"He spoke in the tone of a brother."
"Victor promises--I won"t repeat it. Yes, I see the house! There appears to be a prospect, a hope--I cannot allude to it. Craye and Creckholt may have been some lesson to him. Selwyn spoke of me kindly? Ah, yes, it is the way with my people to pretend that Victor has been the ruin of me, that they may come round to family sentiments. In the same way, his relatives, the Duvidney ladies, have their picture of the woman misleading him. Imagine me the naughty adventuress!"--Nataly falsified the thought insurgent at her heart, in adding: "I do not say I am blameless." It was a concession to the circ.u.mambient enemy, of whom even a good friend was apart, and not better than a respectful emissary. The dearest of her friends belonged to that hostile world. Only Victor, no other, stood with her against the world. Her child, yes; the love of her child she had; but the child"s destiny was an alien phantom, looking at her with harder eyes than she had vision of in her family. She did not say she was blameless, did not affect the thought. She would have wished to say, for small encouragement she would have said, that her case could be pleaded.
Colney"s features were not inviting, though the expression was not repellent. She sighed deeply; and to count on something helpful by mentioning it, reverted to the "prospect" which there appeared to be.
"Victor speaks of the certainty of his release."
His release! Her language p.r.i.c.ked a satirist"s gallbladder. Colney refrained from speaking to wound, and enjoyed a silence that did it.
"Do you see any possibility?--you knew her," she said coldly.
"Counting the number of times he has been expecting the release, he is bound to believe it near at hand."
"You don"t?" she asked: her bosom was up in a crisis of expectation for the answer: and on a pause of half-a-minute, she could have uttered the answer herself.
He perceived the insane eagerness through her mask, and despised it, pitying the woman. "And you don"t," he said. "You catch at delusions, to excuse the steps you consent to take. Or you want me to wear the blinkers, the better to hoodwink your own eyes. You see it as well as I: If you enter that house, you have to go through the same as at Creckholt:--and he"ll be the first to take fright."
"He finds you in tears: he is immensely devoted; he flings up all to protect "his Nataly.""