"One--two--three?" repeated Gustave, in unmistakable questioning. "Does Claire remain upstairs?"
Appeal--amus.e.m.e.nt--fright--shame--triumph--chased one another across the eyes of Mme. de Saint-Maclou: each made so swift an appearance, so swift an exit, that they seemed to blend in some peculiar personal emotion proper to the d.u.c.h.ess and to no other woman born. And she bit the handkerchief harder than ever. For the life of me I couldn"t help it; I began to laugh; the d.u.c.h.ess" face disappeared altogether behind the handkerchief.
"Do you mean to say Claire"s not here?" cried Gustave, turning on her swiftly and accusingly.
The head behind the handkerchief was shaken, first timidly, then more emphatically, and a stifled voice vouchsafed the news:
"She left three days ago."
Gustave and I looked at one another. There was a pause. At last I drew a chair back from the table, and said:
"If madame is ready--"
The d.u.c.h.ess whisked her handkerchief away and sprang up. She gave one look at Gustave"s grave face, and then, bursting into a merry laugh, caught me by the arm, crying:
"Isn"t it fun, Mr. Aycon? There"s n.o.body but me! Isn"t it fun?"
CHAPTER III.
The Unexpected that Always Happened.
Everything depends on the point of view and is rich in varying aspects. A picture is sublime from one corner of the room, a daub from another; a woman"s full face may be perfect, her profile a disappointment; above all, what you admire in yourself becomes highly distasteful in your neighbor.
The moral is, I suppose, Tolerance; or if not that, something else which has escaped me.
When the d.u.c.h.ess said that "it"--by which she meant the whole position of affairs--was "fun," I laughed; on the other hand, Gustave de Berensac, after one astonished stare, walked to the hall door.
"Where is my carriage?" we heard him ask.
"It has started on the way back three, minutes ago, sir."
"Fetch it back."
"Sir! The driver will gallop down the hill; he could not be overtaken."
"How fortunate!" said I.
"I do not see," observed Mme. de Saint-Maclou, "that it makes all that difference."
She seemed hurt at the serious way in which Gustave took her joke.
"If I had told the truth, you wouldn"t have come," she said in justification.
"Not another word is necessary," said I, with a bow.
"Then let us sup," said the d.u.c.h.ess, and she took the armchair at the head of the table.
We began to eat and drink, serving ourselves. Presently Gustave entered, stood regarding us for a moment, and then flung himself into the third chair and poured out a gla.s.s of wine. The d.u.c.h.ess took no notice of him.
"Mlle, de Berensac was called away?" I suggested.
"She was called away," answered the d.u.c.h.ess.
"Suddenly?"
"No," said the d.u.c.h.ess, her eyes again full of complicated expressions. I laughed. Then she broke out in a plaintive cry: "Oh! were you ever dying--dying--dying of weariness?"
Gustave made no reply; the frown on his face persisted.
"Isn"t it a pity," I asked, "to wreck a pleasant party for the sake of a fine distinction? The presence of Mlle. de Berensac would have infinitely increased our pleasure; but how would it have diminished our crime?"
"I wish I had known you sooner, Mr. Aycon," said the d.u.c.h.ess; "then I needn"t have asked him at all."
I bowed, but I was content with things as they were. The d.u.c.h.ess sat with the air of a child who has been told that she is naughty, but declines to accept the statement. I was puzzled at the stern morality exhibited by my friend Gustave. His next remark threw some light on his feelings.
"Heavens! if it became known, what would be thought?" he demanded suddenly.
"If one thinks of what is thought," said the d.u.c.h.ess with a shrug, "one is--"
"A fool," said I, "or--a lover!"
"Ah!" cried the d.u.c.h.ess, a smile coming on her lips. "If it is that, I"ll forgive you, my dear Gustave. Whose good opinion do you fear to lose?"
"I write," said Gustave, with a rhetorical gesture, "to say that I am going to the house of some friends to meet my sister!"
"Oh, you write?" we murmured.
"My sister writes to say she is not there!"
"Oh, she writes?" we murmured again.
"And it is thought--"
"By whom?" asked the d.u.c.h.ess.
"By Lady Cynthia Chillingdon," said I.
"That it is a trick--a device--a deceit!" continued poor Gustave.
"It was decidedly indiscreet of you to come," said the d.u.c.h.ess reprovingly. "How was I to know about Lady Cynthia? If I had known about Lady Cynthia, I would not have asked you; I would have asked Mr. Aycon only. Or perhaps you also, Mr. Aycon--"
"Madame," said I, "I am alone in the world."
"Where has Claire gone to?" asked Gustave.