Dross Read online

  Chapter XXII

  Home

  "Les plus genereux sont toujours ceux qui n'ont rien."

  The events in France, stupendous in themselves, seemed to have shakenthe nerves of nations. That great sleeping Bear of the North rouseditself, and in its clumsy awakening put a heavy paw through the Treatyof Paris. The Americans--our brothers in thought, speech and energeticpurpose--raised a great cry against us in that we had allowed theill-fated Alabama to leave our shores equipped for destruction. Therewas a spirit of strife and contention in the atmosphere of the world.Friendly nations nursed an imaginary grievance against theirneighbours, and those that had one brought it out, as a skeleton froma cupboard, and inspected it in public.

  In a school playground the rumour of a fight stirs latent passions,and doubles many a peaceful fist. France and Prussia, grasping eachother by the throat, seemed to have caused such an electricdisturbance in the atmosphere of Europe, and many Englishmen were forfighting some one--they did not care whom.

  During this disturbed spring of 1871, Madame de Clericy and Lucillereturned to Hopton, where a warm and pleasant April made them admitthat the English climate was not wholly bad. For my own part, it is inthe autumn that I like Hopton best, when the old cock pheasants calldefiance to each other in the spinneys, and the hedgerows rustle withlife.

  The ladies were kind enough to make known to me their amended opinionof England when I went down to my home, soon after Easter; and indeedI thought the old place looking wonderfully homelike and beautiful,with the young green about its gray walls and the sense of spring inthe breeze that blew across the table-land.

  I arrived unexpectedly; for some instinct told me that it would bebetter to give Isabella no notice of my coming into her neighbourhood.As I rode up the avenue I saw Lucille, herself the incarnation ofspring, moving among the flowers. She turned at the sound of thehorse's tread, and changed colour when she recognised me. A flush--Isuppose of anger--spread over her face.

  "I have come, Mademoiselle," I said, "with good news for you. You maysoon return home now, and turn your back forever on Hopton."

  "I am not so ungrateful as you persist in considering me," she said,with vivacity, "and I like Hopton."

  The gardener came forward to take my horse, and we walked towards thehouse together.

  "I am grateful to you, Monsieur Howard," said Lucille, in a softervoice than I had yet heard her use towards me--and in truth I knewevery tone of it--"for all that you have done for mother--for us, Imean. You have been a friend in need."

  This sudden change of manner was rather bewildering, and I made nodoubt that the victim of it was dumb and stupid enough to arouse anywoman's anger. But Lucille was always too quick for me, and by thetime I began to understand her humour it changed and left me farbehind.

  "Where have you been all these months?" she asked, almost as if thematter interested her. "And why have you not written?"

  "I have been chasing a chimera, Mademoiselle."

  "Which you will never catch."

  "Which I shall never abandon," answered I, quite failing to emulateher lightness of tone.

  When we went indoors and found Madame with her lace-work in themorning-room upstairs, with the windows overlooking the sea--the room,by the way, where I now sit and write--Lucille's manner as abruptlychanged again.

  "Mother," she said, "here is Monsieur Howard, our benefactor."

  "I am glad, mon ami, that you have come," were Madame's words ofwelcome. And after the manner of good housewives she then inquiredwhen and where I had last eaten.

  I had brought a number of the illustrated journals of the day, andwith the aid of these convinced even Lucille that the flight fromParis had not been an unnecessary precaution. Upon the heels of thehorror of the long siege had followed the greater disorder of theCommune, when brave men were shot down by the insurgent NationalGuard, and all Paris was at the mercy of the rabble. Indeed, thisReign of Terror must ever remain a blot on the civilisation of thecentury and the history of the French people.

  It was apparent to me that while Madame de Clericy, who was of a morephilosophic nature, accepted exile and dependence on myself withoutgreat reluctance, Lucille chafed under the knowledge that they werefor the moment beholden to me. I had, as a matter of fact, come atMadame's request, who could make but little of the English newspapers,and thirsted for tidings from Paris. The respectable Paris newspapershad one after the other been seized and stopped by the Commune, whilethe postal service had itself collapsed.

  The Vicomtesse also wished for details of her own affairs, and hadwritten to me respecting a sale of some property in order to raiseready money and pay off her debt towards myself. It was with a view ofdiscussing these questions that I had journeyed down to Hopton. So atleast I persuaded myself to believe, and knew, at the sight of Lucilleamong the gnarled old trees, that the self-deception was a thin one.Alphonse had gone to France, being now released from his parole, so Iwas spared the sight of Lucille and him together.

  Madame, however, would not allow me to make my report until we haddined, and we spent the intervening hour in talk of Paris, and theextraordinary events passing there. The ladies, as indeed ladiesmostly are, were staunch Royalists, and while evincing but littlesympathy for the fallen Buonapartes, learnt with horror of the rise ofAnarchy and Republicanism in Paris.

  "My poor country," exclaimed Madame. "It will be impossible to live inFrance again."

  And Lucille's eyes lighted up with anger when I told her of the plotsto assassinate the Duc D'Aumale--that brave soldier and worthiestmember of his family--merely because he was of the Royal race.

  All Europe awaited at this time the fall of the desperate Communards,who held Paris and defied the government of Versailles, while expertsvowed that the end could not be far off. It seemed impossible that arabble under the command of first one and then another adventurercould hold the capital against disciplined troops, and I, like themajority of onlookers, underestimated the possible duration of thissecond siege. However, my listeners were consoled with the prospect ofreturning to their beloved France before the summer passed.

  Madame, as I remember, made a great feast in honour of my coming, andthe old butler, who had served my father and still called me MasterDick, with an admonishing shake of the head, brought from the cellarsome great vintage of claret which Madame said could not have beenbettered from the cave at La Pauline.

  Again at dinner I thought there was a change in Lucille, who deferredto me on more than one occasion, and listened to my opinion almost asif it deserved respect. After dinner she offered to sing, which shehad rarely done since the last sad days in Paris, and once more Iheard those old songs of Provence that melt the heart.

  It was when Lucille was tired that Madame asked me to make my report,and I produced the books. I had made a rough account showing Madame'sliability to myself, and can only repeat now the confession made longago that it was an infamous swindle. Madame had no head for figures,as she had, indeed, a hundred times informed me, and I knew well thatshe had no money to pay me. I had lived in this lady's house a paiddependant only in name and treated as an honoured guest. A time oftrouble and distress having come to them, what could I do but helpsuch friends to the best of my power, seeking to avoid any hurt totheir pride?

  I explained the figures to Madame de Clericy, whose bright quick eyesseemed to watch my face rather than the paper as my pen travelled downit. I began to feel conscious, as I often did in her presence, that Iwas but a clumsy oaf; and, furthermore, suspected that Lucille waswatching me over the book she pretended to read.

  "And this," said the Vicomtesse, when I had finished, "is how we standtowards each other?"--

  "Yes, Madame."

  And I dared not raise my eyes from the books before me. The Vicomtesserose and moved towards the fireplace, where the logs burned brightly,for the spring evenings are cold on the East Coast, and we are gladenough to burn fires. She held my dishonest account in her hand andquietly dropped it into the fire.<
br />
  "You are right, mon ami," she said, with a smile. "What we owe youcannot be set down on paper--but it was kind of you to try."

  Lucille had risen to her feet. Her glance flashed from one to theother.

  "Mother," she said coldly, "what have you done? How can we now pay Mr.Howard?"

  Madame made no reply, reserving her defence--as the lawyers haveit--until a fitter occasion. This presented itself later in theevening when mother and daughter were alone. Indeed, the Vicomtessewent to Lucille's room for the purpose.

  "Lucille," she said, "I wish you would trust Mr. Howard as entirely asI do."

  "But no one trusts him," answered Lucille, and her slipper tapped thefloor. "Alphonse does not believe that he is looking for the money atall. It was for his own ends that he dismissed Mr. Devar, who was sohurt that he has never appeared since. And you do not know how hetreated Isabella."

  "How did he treat Isabella?" asked Madame quietly, and seemed toattach some importance to the question.

  "He--well, he ought to have married her."

  "Why?" asked Madame.

  "Oh--it is a long story, and Isabella has only told me parts of it.She dislikes him, and with good cause."

  Madame stood with one arm resting on the mantelpiece, the firelightglowing on her black dress. Her clever speculative eyes were fixed onthe smouldering logs of driftwood. Lucille was moving about the room,exhibiting by her manner that impatience which the mention of my nameseemed ever to arouse.

  "Do not be hasty in judging," said the elder woman with a tolerancethat few possess. "Isabella may have cause for complaint against him,or she may be suffering from wounded vanity. A woman's vanity is therudder that shapes her course through life. If it be injured, thecourse will be a crooked one. Isabella is a disappointed woman--onesees it in her face. Of the two I prefer to trust Dick Howard, andwish that you could do the same. We know nothing of what may havepassed between them, and can therefore form no opinion. One personalone knows, and that is John Turner. He is coming to stay here withDick in a fortnight. Ask him to judge."

  Madame continued thus to plead my cause, while I, no doubt, sleptpeacefully enough under the same roof, for I have never known what itis to lie awake with my troubles. One damning fact the Vicomtessecould not disguise, namely, that she was for the moment dependent uponme.

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

  To which Madame made no reply. She was a wise woman in that she neverasked a confidence of her daughter, in whose happiness, I know, theinterest of her life was centred. It is a great love thatdiscriminates between curiosity and anxiety.

  Lucille, however, wanted no help in the management of her life or theguidance of her heart, and made this clear to Madame. Indeed, she hadof late begun to exercise somewhat of a sway over her mother, andappeared to be the ruling spirit; for youth is a force in itself. Formy own part, however, I have always inclined to the belief that it isthe quiet member of the family who manages and guides the householdfrom the dim background of social obscurity. And although Madame deClericy appeared to be mastered by her quick-witted, quick-spokendaughter, it was usually her will and not Lucille's that gained thevictory in the end.

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

  WHEN MADAME WAS AT HER PRAYERS, A SWIFT, WHITE FORMHURRIED INTO THE ROOM, AND HELD HER FOR A MOMENT IN A QUICK EMBRACE.]

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

  On the following afternoon, some hours after my departure, Isabellacame to Hopton; and the dear friends, between whom there had neverbeen a difference, had, as it appeared, a quarrel which sent Isabellahome with close-pressed lips, and hurried Lucille to her room, hereyes angry and tearful. But the subject of the disagreement was notmyself--nor, indeed, was any definite explanation ever given as to whythe two fell out.