diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 335-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 89501 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 335-h/335-h.htm | 7380 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 335.txt | 4943 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 335.zip | bin | 0 -> 87176 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/fwald10.txt | 5511 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/fwald10.zip | bin | 0 -> 92536 bytes |
9 files changed, 17850 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/335-h.zip b/335-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc2a90f --- /dev/null +++ b/335-h.zip diff --git a/335-h/335-h.htm b/335-h/335-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85c501b --- /dev/null +++ b/335-h/335-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7380 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +Frances Waldeaux +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 5%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: medium; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.salutation {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.closing {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.index {font-size: small ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.dedication {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 15%; + text-align: justify } + +P.published {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 15% } + +P.quote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.report {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.report2 {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Frances Waldeaux, by Rebecca Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Frances Waldeaux + +Author: Rebecca Harding Davis + +Release Date: March 28, 2008 [EBook #335] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES WALDEAUX *** + + + + + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +FRANCES WALDEAUX +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +A Novel +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +REBECCA HARDING DAVIS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF "DOCTOR WARRICK'S DAUGHTER" +</H4> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A REMEMBRANCER<BR> +OF<BR> +BRITTANY<BR> +FOR THE BEST FELLOW-TRAVELLER<BR> +IN THE WORLD<BR> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">CHAPTER I</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">CHAPTER II</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">CHAPTER III</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">CHAPTER V</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">CHAPTER X</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</A> +</TD> + +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +FRANCES WALDEAUX +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +In another minute the Kaiser Wilhelm would push off from her pier in +Hoboken. The last bell had rung, the last uniformed officer and +white-jacketed steward had scurried up the gangway. The pier was +massed with people who had come to bid their friends good-by. They +were all Germans, and there had been unlimited embracing and kissing +and sobs of "Ach! mein lieber Sckatz!" and "Gott bewahre Dick!" +</P> + +<P> +Now they stood looking up to the crowded decks, shouting out last fond +words. A band playing "The Merry Maiden and the Tar" marched on board. +</P> + +<P> +The passengers pressed against the rails, looking down. Almost every +one held flowers which had been brought to them: not costly bouquets, +but homely bunches of marigolds or pinks. They carried, too, little +German or American flags, which they waved frantically. +</P> + +<P> +The gangways fell, and the huge ship parted from the dock. It was but +an inch, but the whole ocean yawned in it between those who went and +those who stayed. There was a sudden silence; a thousand handkerchiefs +fluttered white on the pier and the flags and flowers were waved on the +ship, but there was not a cry nor a sound. +</P> + +<P> +James Perry, one of the dozen Americans on board, was leaning over the +rail watching it all with an amused smile. "Hello, Watts!" he called, +as another young man joined him. "Going over? Quite dramatic, isn't +it? It might be a German ship going out of a German port. The other +liners set off in as commonplace a way as a Jersey City ferryboat, but +these North German Lloyd ships always sail with a certain ceremony and +solemnity. I like it." +</P> + +<P> +"I always cross on them," said Dr. Watts. "I have but a month's +vacation—two weeks on board ship, two on land. Now you, I suppose, +don't have to count your days? You cross every year. I can't see, for +my part, what business the assistant editor of a magazine has abroad." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we make a specialty of articles from notorieties over there; +statesmen, scientific fellows, or people with titles. I expect to +capture a paper from Lorne and some sketches by the Princess Beatrice +this time." +</P> + +<P> +"Lorne? It throws you into contact with that sort of folk, eh?" said +the doctor, looking at him enviously. "How do they strike you, Jem?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Perry importantly, "well-bred people are the same the +world over. I only see them in a business way, of course, but one can +judge. Their voices are better than ours, but as to looks—no! It's +queer, but American women—the wives and daughters of saddlers or +farmers, perhaps—have more often the patrician look than English +duchesses. Now there, for example," warming to the subject, "that +woman to whom you bowed just now, the middle-aged one in blue cloth. +Some Mrs. Smith or Pratt, probably. A homely woman, but there is a +distinction in her face, a certain surety of good breeding, which is +lacking in the heavy-jawed English royalties." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; that is a friend of mine," said Watts. +</P> + +<P> +"She is a Mrs. Waldeaux from Wier, in Delaware. You could hardly call +her a typical American woman. Old French emigre family. Probably +better blood than the Coburgs a few generations back. That priggish +young fellow is her son. Going to be an Episcopalian minister." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry surveyed his friend's friends good-humoredly. "Brand new +rugs and cushions," he said. "First voyage. Heavens! I wish it were +my first voyage, and that I had their appetite for Europe." +</P> + +<P> +"You might as well ask for your relish of the bread and butter of your +youth," said Watts. +</P> + +<P> +The two men leaned lazily against the bulwark watching the other +passengers who were squabbling about trunks. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry suddenly stood upright as a group of women passed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know who that girl is?" he said eagerly. "The one who looked +back at us over her shoulder." +</P> + +<P> +"No. They are only a lot of school-girls, personally conducted. That +is the teacher in front." "Of course, I see that. But the short, dark +one—surely I know that woman." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor looked after her. "She looks like a dog turning into a +human being," he said leisurely. "One often sees such cases of +arrested evolution. D'ye see? Thick lips, coarse curls, flat +nostrils——" +</P> + +<P> +Perry laughed. "The eyes, anyhow, are quite human," he said. "They +challenge the whole world of men. I can't place her!" staring after +her, perplexed. "I really don't believe I ever saw her before. Yet +her face brings up some old story of a tragedy or crime to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense! The girl is not twenty. Very fetching with all her +vulgarity, though. Steward, send some coffee to my stateroom. Let's +go down, Jem. The fog is too chilly." +</P> + +<P> +Frances Waldeaux did not find the fog chilly. She had been thinking +for thirty years of the day when she should start to Europe—ever since +she could think at all. +</P> + +<P> +This was the day. It was like no other, now that it had come. The +fog, the crowd, the greasy smells of the pier, all familiar enough +yesterday, took on a certain remoteness and mystery. It seemed to her +that she was doing something which nobody had ever done before. She +was going to discover the Old World. +</P> + +<P> +The New was not more tremendous or unreal before the eyes of Columbus +when he, too, stood on the poop of his ship. +</P> + +<P> +Her son was arguing with the deck steward about chairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, mother," he said at last, "it's all right. They are under cover +so that the glare will not strain your eyes, and we can keep dry while +we watch the storms." +</P> + +<P> +"How did you know about it all? One would think you had crossed a +dozen times, George." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I've studied the whole thing up thoroughly," George said, with a +satisfied little nod. "I've had time enough! Why, when I was in +petticoats you used to tell me you would buy a ship and we would sail +away together. You used to spoil all my school maps with red lines, +drawing our routes." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And now we're going!" said Frances to herself. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down beside her and they watched the unending procession of +passengers marching around the deck. George called her attention by a +wink to any picturesque or queer figure that passed. He liked to watch +her quiet brown eyes gleam with fun. Nobody had such a keen sense of +the ridiculous as his mother. Sometimes, at the mere remembrance of +some absurd idea, she would go off into soft silent paroxysms of +laughter until the tears would stream down her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +George was fond and proud of his childish little mother. He had never +known any body, he thought, so young or so transparent. It was easily +understood. She had married at sixteen, and had been left a widow +little more than a year afterward. "And I," he used to think, "was +born with an old head on my shoulders; so we have grown up together. I +suppose the dear soul never had a thought in her life which she has not +told me." +</P> + +<P> +As they sat together a steward brought Mrs. Waldeaux a note, which she +read, blushing and smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"The captain invites us to sit at his table," she said, when the man +was gone. +</P> + +<P> +"Very proper in the captain," said George complacently. "You see, +Madam Waldeaux, even the men who go down in ships have heard of you and +your family!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe the captain ever heard of me," she said, after a grave +consideration, "nor of the Waldeaux. It is much more likely that he +has read your article in the Quarterly, George." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" But he stiffened himself up consciously. +</P> + +<P> +He had sent a paper on some abstruse point of sociology to the +Quarterly last spring, and it had aroused quite a little buzz of +criticism. His mother had regarded it very much as the Duchess of Kent +did the crown when it was set upon her little girl's head. She always +had known that her child was born to reign, but it was satisfactory to +see this visible sign of it. +</P> + +<P> +She whispered now, eagerly leaning over to him. "There was something +about that paper which I never told you. I think I'll tell you now +that the great day has come." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you know—I never think of you as my son, or a man, or anything +outside of me—not at all. You are just ME, doing the things I should +have done if I had not been a woman. Well,"—she drew her breath +quickly,—"when I was a girl it seemed as if there was something in me +that I must say, so I tried to write poems. No, I never told you +before. It had counted for so much to me I could not talk of it. I +always sent them to the paper anonymously, signed 'Sidney.' Oh, it was +long—long ago! I've been dumb, as you might say, for years. But when +I read your article, George—do you know if I had written it I should +have used just the phrases you did? And you signed it 'Sidney'!" She +watched him breathlessly. "That was more than a coincidence, don't you +think? I AM dumb, but you speak for me now. It is because we are just +one. Don't you think so, George?" She held his arm tightly. +</P> + +<P> +Young Waldeaux burst into a loud laugh. Then he took her hand in his, +stroking it. "You dear little woman! What do you know of sociology?" +he said, and then walked away to hide his amusement, muttering "Poems? +Great Heavens!" +</P> + +<P> +Frances looked after him steadily. "Oh, well!" she said to herself +presently. +</P> + +<P> +She forced her mind back to the Quarterly article. It was a beginning +of just the kind of triumph that she always had expected for him. He +would soon be recognized by scientific men all over the world as their +confrere, especially after his year's study at Oxford. +</P> + +<P> +When George was in his cradle she had planned that he should be a +clergyman, just as she had planned that he should be a well-bred man, +and she had fitted him for both roles in life, and urged him into them +by the same unceasing soft pats and pushes. She would be delighted +when she saw him in white robes serving at the altar. +</P> + +<P> +Not that Frances had ever taken her religion quite seriously. It was +like her gowns, or her education, a matter of course; a trustworthy, +agreeable part of her. She had never once in her life shuddered at a +glimpse of any vice in herself, or cried to God in agony, even to grant +her a wish. +</P> + +<P> +But she knew that Robert Waldeaux's son would be safer in the pulpit. +He could take rank with scholars there, too. +</P> + +<P> +She inspected him now anxiously, trying to see him with the eyes of +these Oxford magnates. Nobody would guess that he was only twenty-two. +The bald spot on his crown and the spectacles gave him a scholastic +air, and the finely cut features and a cold aloofness in his manner +spoke plainly, she thought, of his good descent and high pursuits. +</P> + +<P> +Frances herself had a drop of vagabond blood which found comrades for +her among every class and color. But there was not an atom of the +tramp in her son's well-built and fashionably clothed body. He never +had had a single intimate friend even when he was a boy. "He will +probably find his companions among the great English scholars," she +thought complacently. Of course she would always be his only comrade, +his chum. She continually met and parted with thousands of +people—they came and went. "But George and I will be together for all +time," she told herself. +</P> + +<P> +He came up presently and sat down beside her, with an anxious, +apologetic air. It hurt him to think that he had laughed at her. +"That dark haze is the Jersey shore," he said. "How dim it grows! +Well, we are really out now in the big world! It is so good to be +alone there with you," he added, touching her arm affectionately. +"Those cynical old-men-boys at Harvard bored me." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't bore you, then, George?" +</P> + +<P> +"You!" He was very anxious to make her forget his roughness. "Apart +from my affection for you, mother," he said judicially, "I LIKE you. I +approve of you as I never probably shall approve of another woman. +Your peculiarities—the way your brown hair ripples back into that knot +"—surveying her critically. "And the way you always look as if you +had just come out of a bath, even on a grimy train; and your gowns, so +simple—and rich. I confess," he said gravely, "I can't always follow +your unsteady little ideas when you talk. They frisk about so. It is +the difference probably between the man's mind and the woman's. +Besides, we have been separated for so many years! But I soon will +understand you. I know that while you keep yourself apart from all the +world you open your heart to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Wrap the rug about my feet, George," she said hastily, and then sent +him away upon an errand, looking after him uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +It was very pleasant to hear her boy thus formally sum up his opinion +of her. But when he found that it was based upon a lie? +</P> + +<P> +For Frances, candid enough to the world, had deceived her son ever +since he was born. +</P> + +<P> +George had always believed that she had inherited a fortune from his +father. It gave solidity and comfort to his life to think of her in +the stately old mansion on the shores of Delaware Bay, with nothing to +do except to be beautiful and gracious, as befitted a well-born woman. +It pleased him, in a lofty, generous way, that his father (whom she had +taught him to reverence as the most chivalric of gentlemen) had left +him wholly dependent upon her. It was a legal fiction, of course. He +was the heir—the crown prince. He had always been liberally supplied +with money at school and at Harvard. Her income was large. No doubt +the dear soul mismanaged the estates fearfully, but now he would have +leisure to take care of them. +</P> + +<P> +Now, the fact was that Colonel Waldeaux had been a drunken spendthrift +who had left nothing. The house and farm always had belonged to his +wife. She had supported George by her own work all of his life. She +could not save money, but she had the rarer faculty of making it. She +had raised fine fruit and flowers for the Philadelphia market; she had +traded in high breeds of poultry and cattle, and had invested her +earnings shrewdly. With these successes she had been able to provide +George with money to spend freely at college. She lived scantily at +home, never expecting any luxury or great pleasure to come into her own +life. +</P> + +<P> +But two years ago a queer thing had happened to her. In an idle hour +she wrote a comical squib and sent it to a New York paper. As +everybody knows, fun, even vulgar fun, sells high in the market. Her +fun was not vulgar, but coarse and biting enough to tickle the ears of +the common reader. The editor offered her a salary equal to her whole +income for a weekly column of such fooling. +</P> + +<P> +She had hoarded every penny of this money. With it she meant to pay +her expenses in Europe and to support George in his year at Oxford. +The work and the salary were to go on while she was gone. +</P> + +<P> +It was easy enough to hide all of these things from her son while he +was in Cambridge and she in Delaware. But now? What if he should find +out that his mother was the "Quigg" of the New York ——, a paper which +he declared to be unfit for a gentleman to read? +</P> + +<P> +She was looking out to sea and thinking of this when her cousin, Miss +Vance, came up to her. Miss Vance was a fashionable teacher in New +York, who was going to spend a year abroad with two wealthy pupils. +She was a thin woman, quietly dressed; white hair and black brows, with +gold eye-glasses bridging an aquiline nose, gave her a commanding, +inquisitorial air. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Frances!" she began briskly, "I have not had time before to +attend to you. Are your bags hung in your stateroom?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't been down yet," said Mrs. Waldeaux meekly. "We were +watching the fog in the sun." +</P> + +<P> +"Fog! Mercy on me! You know you may be ill any minute, and your room +not ready! Of course, you did not take the bromides that I sent you a +week ago? +</P> + +<P> +"No, Clara." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance glanced at her. "Well, just as you please. I've done what +I could. Let me look at your itinerary. You will be too ill for me to +advise you about it later." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we made none!" said George gayly, coming up to his mother's aid. +"We are going to be vagabonds, and have no plans. Mother's soul draws +us to York Cathedral, and mine to the National Gallery. That is all we +know." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you had given up that whim of being an artist?" said Miss +Vance, sharply facing on him. +</P> + +<P> +Young Waldeaux reddened. "Yes, I have given it up. I know as well as +you do that I have no talent. I am going to study my profession at +Oxford, and earn my bread by it." +</P> + +<P> +"Quite right. You never would earn it by art," she said decisively. +"How long do you stay in York, Frances?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, a day, or a month—or—years, as we please," said Frances, lazily +turning her head away. She wanted to set Clara Vance down in her +proper place. Mrs. Waldeaux abhorred cousinly intimates—people who +run into your back door to pry into the state of your larder or your +income. But Miss Vance, as Frances knew, unfortunately held a key to +her back door. She knew of George's wretched daubs, and his insane +desire, when he was a boy, to study art. He gave it up years ago. Why +should she nag him now about it? By virtue of her relationship she +knew, too, all of Mrs. Waldeaux's secrets. It was most unfortunate +that she should have chosen to sail on this vessel. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, mother," George said, uneasy to get away, "no doubt Miss Vance +is right. We should set things in order. I am going now to give my +letter of credit to the purser to lock up; shall I take yours?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux did not reply at once. "No," she said at last. "I like +to carry my own purse." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled indulgently as on a child. "Of course, dear. It IS your +own. My father was wise in that. But, on this journey, I can act as +your paymaster, can't I? I have studied foreign money——" +</P> + +<P> +"We shall see. I can keep it as safe as any purser now," she said, +obstinately shaking her head. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed and walked away. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not told him, then?" demanded Clara. +</P> + +<P> +"No. And I never will. I will not hurt the boy by letting him know +that his mother has supported him, and remember, Clara, that he can +only hear it through you. Nobody knows that I am 'Quigg' but you." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance lifted her eyebrows. "Nothing can need a lie," she quoted +calmly. Presently she said earnestly, "Frances, you are making a +mistake. Somebody ought to tell you the truth. There is no reason why +your whole being should be buried in that man. He should stand on his +own feet, now. You can be all that he needs as a mother, and yet live +out your own life. It is broader than his will ever be. At your age, +and with your capabilities, you should marry again. Think of the many +long years that are before you." +</P> + +<P> +"I have thought of them," said Mrs. Waldeaux slowly. "I have had +lovers who came close to me as friends, but I never for a moment was +tempted to marry one of them. No, Clara. When the devil drove my +father to hand me over—innocent child as I was—to a man like Robert +Waldeaux, he killed in me the capacity for that kind of love. It is +not in me." She turned her strenuous face to the sea and was silent. +"It is not in me," she repeated after a while. "I have but one +feeling, and that is for my boy. It is growing on me absurdly, too." +She laughed nervously. "I used to be conscious of other people in the +world, but now, if I see a boy or man, I see only what George was or +will be at his age; if I read a book, it only suggests what George will +say of it. I am like one of those plants that have lost their own sap +and color, and suck in their life from another. It scares me +sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance smiled with polite contempt. No doubt Frances had a shrewd +business faculty, but in other matters she was not ten years old. +</P> + +<P> +"And George will marry some time," she said curtly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I hope so! And soon. Then I shall have a daughter. I know just +the kind of a wife George will choose," she chattered on eagerly. "I +understand him so thoroughly that I can understand her. But where +could he find her? He is so absurdly fastidious!" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance was silent and thoughtful a moment. Then she came closer. +"I will tell you where to find her," she said, in a low voice. "I have +thought of it for a long time. It seems to me that Providence actually +made Lucy Dunbar for George." +</P> + +<P> +"Really?" Mrs. Waldeaux drew her self up stiffly. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait, Frances. Lucy has been with me for three years. I know her. +She is a sincere, modest, happy little thing. Not too clever. She is +an heiress, too. And her family is good; and all underground, which is +another advantage. You can mould her as you choose. She loves you +already." +</P> + +<P> +"Or is it that she——?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have no right to ask that!" said Miss Vance quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I am ashamed of myself." Mrs. Waldeaux reddened. +</P> + +<P> +A group of girls came up the deck. Both women scanned the foremost one +critically. "I like that wholesome, candid look of her," said Miss +Vance. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she is well enough," said Frances. "But I am sure George does not +like yellow hair. Nothing but an absolutely beautiful woman will +attract him." +</P> + +<P> +"An artist," said Miss Vance hastily, "would tell you her features were +perfect. And her flesh tints——" +</P> + +<P> +"For Heaven's sake, Clara, don't dissect the child. Who is that girl +with the red cravat? Your maid?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is not a cravat, it's an Indian scarf. If it only were clean——" +Miss Vance looked uneasy and perplexed. "She is not my maid. She is +Fraulein Arpent. The Ewalts brought her as governess from Paris, don't +you remember? They sent the girls to Bryn Mawr last week and turned +her adrift, almost penniless. She wished to go back to France. I +engaged her as assistant chaperone for the season." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux's eyebrows went up significantly. She never commented in +words on the affairs of others, but her face always was indiscreet. +George, who had come up in time to hear the last words, was not so +scrupulous. He surveyed the young woman through his spectacles as she +passed again, with cold disapproval. +</P> + +<P> +"French or German?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I really don't know. She has a singular facility in tongues," said +Miss Vance. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that is not the companion <I>I</I> should have chosen for those +innocent little girls," he said authoritatively, glad to be +disagreeable to his cousin. "She looks like a hawk among doves." +</P> + +<P> +"The woman is harmless enough," said Miss Vance tartly. "She speaks +exquisite French." +</P> + +<P> +"But what does she say in it?" persisted George. "She is vulgar from +her red pompon to her boots. She has the swagger of a soubrette and +she has left a trail of perfume behind her—pah! I confess I am +surprised at you, Miss Vance. You do not often slip in your judgment." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't make yourself unpleasant, George," said his mother gently. Miss +Vance smiled icily, and as the girls came near again, stopped them and +stood talking to Mlle. Arpent with an aggressive show of familiarity. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you worry Clara?" said Mrs. Waldeaux. "She knows she has made +a mistake. What do you think of that little blonde girl?" she asked +presently, watching him anxiously. "She has remarkable beauty, +certainly; but there is something finical—precise——" +</P> + +<P> +"Take care. She will hear you," said George. "Beauty, eh? Oh, I +don't know," indifferently. "She is passably pretty. I have never +seen a woman yet whose beauty satisfied ME." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux leaned back with a comfortable little laugh. "But you +must not be so hard to please, my son. You must bring me my daughter +soon," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Not very soon. I have some thing else to think of than marriage for +the next ten years." +</P> + +<P> +Just then Dr. Watts came up and asked leave to present his friend +Perry. The doctor, like all young men who knew Mrs. Waldeaux, had +succumbed to her peculiar charm, which was only that of a woman past +her youth who had strong personal magnetism and not a spark of +coquetry. George's friends all were sure that they would fall in love +with a woman just like her—but not a man of them ever thought of +falling in love with her. +</P> + +<P> +Young Perry, in twenty minutes, decided that she was the most brilliant +and agreeable of companions. He had talked, and she had spoken only +with her listening, sympathetic eyes. He was always apt to be voluble. +On this occasion he was too voluble. "You are from Weir, I think, in +Delaware, Mrs. Waldeaux?" he asked. "I must have seen the name of the +town with yours on the list of passengers, for the story of a woman who +once lived there has been haunting me all day. I have not seen nor +thought of her for years, and I could not account for my sudden +remembrance of her." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was she?" asked George, trying to save his mother from Perry, who +threatened to be a bore. +</P> + +<P> +"Her name was Pauline Felix. You have heard her story, Mrs. Waldeaux?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes" said Frances coldly. "I have heard her story. Can you find my +shawl, George?" +</P> + +<P> +But Perry was conscious of no rebuff, and turned cheerfully to George. +"It was one of those dramas of real life, too unlikely to put into a +novel. She was the daughter of a poor clergyman in Weir, a devout, +good man, I believe. She had marvellous beauty and a devilish +disposition. She ran away, lived a wild life in Paris, and became the +mistress of a Russian Grand Duke. Her death——" +</P> + +<P> +He could not have told why he stopped. Mrs. Waldeaux still watched +him, attentive, but the sympathetic smile had frozen into icy civility. +She had the old-fashioned modesty of her generation. What right had +this young man to speak of "mistresses" to her? Clara's girls within +hearing too! She rose when he paused, bowed, and hurried to them, like +a hen fluttering to protect her chicks. +</P> + +<P> +"He was talking to me of a woman," she said excitedly to Clara, "who is +never mentioned by decent people." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I heard him," said Miss Vance. "Poor Pauline! Her career was +always a mystery to me. I was at school with her, and she was the most +generous, lovable girl! Yet she came to a wretched end," turning to +her flock, her tone growing didactic. "One is never safe, you see. One +must always be on guard." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my dear!" cried Frances impatiently. "You surely don't mean to +class these girls and me with Pauline Felix! Come, come!" +</P> + +<P> +"None of us is safe," repeated Clara stiffly. "Somebody says there is +a possible vice in the purest soul, and it may lie perdu there until +old age. But it will break out some day." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux looked, laughing, at the eager, blushing faces around +her. "It is not likely to break out in us, girls, eh! Really, Clara," +she said, in a lower tone, "that seems to me like wasted morality. +Women of our class are in no more danger of temptation to commit great +crimes than they are of finding tigers in their drawing-rooms. Pauline +Felix was born vicious. No woman could fall as she did, who was not +rotten to the core." +</P> + +<P> +A sudden shrill laugh burst from the French woman, who had been looking +at Mrs. Waldeaux with insolent, bold eyes. But as she laughed, her +head fell forward and she swung from side to side. +</P> + +<P> +"It is nothing," she cried, "I am only a little faint. I must go +below." +</P> + +<P> +The ship was now crossing short, choppy waves. The passengers +scattered rapidly. George took his mother to her stateroom, and there +she stayed until land was sighted on the Irish coast. Clara and her +companions also were forced to keep to their berths. +</P> + +<P> +During the speechless misery of the first days Mrs. Waldeaux was +conscious that George was hanging over her, tender as a mother with a +baby. She commanded him to stay on deck, for each day she saw that he, +too, grew more haggard. "Let me fight it out alone," she would beg of +him. "My worst trouble is that I cannot take care of you." +</P> + +<P> +He obeyed her at last, and would come down but once during the day, and +then for only a few hurried minutes. His mother was alarmed at the +ghastliness of his face and the expression of anxious wretchedness new +to it. "His eye avoids mine craftily, like that of an insane man," she +told herself, and when the doctor came, she asked him whether +sea-sickness affected the brain. +</P> + +<P> +On the last day of the voyage the breeze was from land, and with the +first breath of it Frances found her vigor suddenly return. She rose +and dressed herself. George had not been near her that day. "He must +be very ill," she thought, and hurried out. "Is Mr. Waldeaux in his +stateroom?" she asked the steward. +</P> + +<P> +"No, madam. He is on deck. All the passengers are on deck," the man +added, smiling. "Land is in sight." +</P> + +<P> +Land! And George had not come to tell her! He must be desperately ill! +</P> + +<P> +She groped up the steps, holding by the brass rail. "I will give him a +fine surprise!" she said to herself. "I can take care of him, now. +To-night we shall be on shore and this misery all over. And then the +great joy will begin!" +</P> + +<P> +She came out on deck. The sunshine and cold pure wind met her. She +looked along the crowded deck for her invalid. Every-body was in +holiday clothes, every-body was smiling and talking at once. Ah! there +he was! +</P> + +<P> +He was leaning over Frances' steamer chair, on which a woman lay +indolently. He was in rude health, laughing, his face flushed, his +eyes sparkling. +</P> + +<P> +Looking up, he saw his mother and came hastily to meet her. The laugh +was gone. "So you came up?" he said impatiently. "I would have called +you in time. I—— Mother!" He caught her by the arm. "Wait, I must +see you alone for a minute." Urged by the amazed fright in her face, +he went on desperately, "I have something to tell you. I intended to +break it to you. I don't want to hurt you, God knows. But I have not +been idle in these days. I have found your daughter. She is here." +</P> + +<P> +He led her up to the chair. The girl's head was wrapped in a veil and +turned from her. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux held out her hands. "Lucy! Lucy Dunbar!" she heard +herself say. +</P> + +<P> +"Mais non! Cest moi!" said a shrill voice, and Mlle. Arpent, turning +her head lazily, looked at her, smiling. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +Clara Vance had her faults, but nobody could deny that, in this crisis, +she acted with feeling and tact. She ignored mademoiselle and her +lover, whose bliss was in evidence on deck all day, and took possession +of Mrs. Waldeaux, caring for her as tenderly as if she had been some +poor wretch sentenced to death. "She has no intellect left except her +ideas about George," she told herself, "and if he turns his back on her +for life in this way—— She never was too sane!" shaking her head +ominously. +</P> + +<P> +She thought it best to talk frankly of the matter to little Lucy +Dunbar, and was relieved to find her ready to joke and laugh at it. +"No bruise in that tender heart!" thought Clara, who was anxious as a +mother for her girls. +</P> + +<P> +"We all worshipped Mr. George," said Lucy saucily. "I, most of all. +He is so cold, so exalted and ah—h, so good-looking! Like a Greek +god. But he never gave a look to poor little me! The fraulein came on +deck as soon as we all went down with sea-sickness, and bewitched him +with her eyes. It must have been her eyes; they are yellow—witch's +eyes. Or maybe that cheap smell about her is a love-philter! Or was +it just soul calling to soul? I should have said the fraulein had the +soul of a milliner. She put great ideas into the hat that she altered +for me," Lucy added, with an unsteady laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"I care nothing for them or their souls," said Miss Vance crossly. "It +is his mother that I think of." +</P> + +<P> +"But really," said Lucy, "mademoiselle is quite raw material. No +ideas—no manners whatever. Mrs. Waldeaux may mould her into something +good and fine." +</P> + +<P> +"She will not try. She will never accept that creature as a daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"She seems to me to be indifferent," said Lucy. "She does not see how +terrible it is. She was leaning over the bulwark just now, laughing at +the queer gossoons selling their shillalahs." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she will laugh at Death himself when he comes to fetch her, and +see something 'queer'in him," said Clara. +</P> + +<P> +But her little confidence with Lucy had relieved her. The child cared +nothing for George, that was plain. +</P> + +<P> +Mademoiselle, watching Mrs. Waldeaux closely all day, was not deceived +by her laugh. "The old lady, your mother," she said to George, "is +what you men call 'game.' She has blood and breeding. More than you, +monsieur. That keeps her up. I did not count on that," said the young +woman thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +George took off his glasses and rubbed them nervously as he talked. "I +don't understand my mother at all! She has always been very +considerate and kind. I never thought that she would receive my wife, +when I brought her to her, with calm civility. Not a kiss nor a +blessing!" +</P> + +<P> +"A kiss? A blessing for me?" Lisa laughed and nodded meaningly to the +sea and world at large. "She could hardly have blessed a woman lolling +full length in her chair," she thought. "It IS her chair. And I have +unseated her for life curling herself up in the rugs." +</P> + +<P> +Yet she had a twinge of pity for the old lady. Even the wild boar has +its affections and moments of gentleness. A week ago Lisa could have +trampled the life out of this woman who had slandered her dead mother, +with the fury of any wild beast. For she was Pauline Felix's daughter. +It was her mother's name that Mrs. Waldeaux had said could not be +spoken by any decent woman. Lisa had been but a child, but she had +held her mother's head close to her stout little heart as she lay +dying—that awful mysterious death of which the young man had tried to +make a telling story. The girl crossed herself now and closed her +tired eyes as she thought of it. She had been a wicked child and a +wicked woman, but she knew certainly that the Virgin and her Son had +come near to her that day, and had helped her. +</P> + +<P> +George, who was poring fondly on her face, exclaimed: "Your eyes are +wet. You are in trouble!" +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking of my mother," she said gently, holding out her hand to +him. +</P> + +<P> +He took it and said presently, "Will you not talk to me about her, +Lisa? You have not told me any thing of your people, my darling. Nor +of yourself. Why, I don't even know whether you are French or German." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you shall hear the whole story when we are married," she replied +softly, a wicked glitter in her eyes. "Some of the noblest blood in +Europe is in my veins. I will give you my genealogical tree to hang up +in that old homestead of yours. It will interest the people of +Weir—and please your mother." +</P> + +<P> +"It is good in you to think of her," he said, tenderly looking down at +her. +</P> + +<P> +He was not blind. He saw the muddy skin, the thick lips, the soiled, +ragged lace. They would have disgusted him in another woman. +</P> + +<P> +But this was—Lisa. There was no more to be said. +</P> + +<P> +These outside trifles would fall off when she came into his life. Even +with them she was the breath and soul of it. +</P> + +<P> +She saw the difference between them more sharply than he did. She had +been cast for a low part in the play, and knew it. Sometimes she had +earned the food which kept her alive in ways of which this untempted +young priest had never even heard. There was something in this clean +past of his, in his cold patrician face and luxurious habits new to +her, and she had a greedy relish for it all. +</P> + +<P> +She had been loved before, caressed as men caress a dog, kicking it off +when it becomes troublesome. George's boyish shyness, his reverent awe +of her, startled her. +</P> + +<P> +"He thinks Lisa Arpent a jeune fille—like these others. A little +white rose!" she thought, and laughed. She would not tell him why she +laughed, and muttered an oath when he stupidly insisted on knowing. +</P> + +<P> +He was the first lover who had ever believed in her. +</P> + +<P> +She had begun this affair simply to punish the "old woman"; the man in +it had counted for nothing. But now, as they crossed the gangway, she +looked up at him with eyes that for the moment were honest and true as +a child's, and her firm hand suddenly trembled in his. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Three weeks later Mrs. Waldeaux came into Miss Vance's little parlor on +Half Moon Street. Her face was red from the wind, her eyes sparkled, +and she hummed some gay air which an organ ground outside. Clara laid +down her pen. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been, Frances? It is a week since I saw you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, everywhere! George has been showing me London!" She sat down +before the fire with a gurgle of comfort and dropped her bonnet and +gloves on the floor beside her. "Yesterday we spent at the Museum. +George explained the Elgin marbles to me. I don't suppose any body in +London has studied their history so thoroughly. I did wish you could +have heard him. And the day before I was at the House—in the ladies' +gallery. I can't imagine how he got admission for me. He IS so +clever!" +</P> + +<P> +"We are going down to Canterbury for a couple of days," said Clara. +"We start at noon. Will you go with us?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I think not. George does not seem to care for cathedrals. And he +has plans for me, no doubt." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance brushed the bonnet and carefully rolled up the strings. +"Are you satisfied? Is London the London you have been thinking of +these twenty years?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, a thousand times more! And George has been with me every +day—every day!" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance picked up the gloves, looking impatiently at the poor lady's +happy face. "Now she has gone off into one of her silly transports of +delight, and for no earthly reason!" +</P> + +<P> +"I noticed that George has seen very little of Lisa lately," she said +tentatively. "If he really means to marry her——" +</P> + +<P> +"Marry her! Clara! You surely never feared THAT?" +</P> + +<P> +"He certainly told us plainly enough that he would do it," said Miss +Vance testily. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you don't understand him! You have had so little to do with young +men. They are all liable to attacks like that—as to measles and +scarlet fever. But they pass off. Now, George is not as susceptible +as most of them. But," lowering her voice, "he was madly in love with +the butcher's Kate when he was ten, and five years afterward offered to +marry the widow Potts. I thought he had outgrown the disease. There +has been nothing of the kind since, until this fancy. It is passing +off. Of course it is mortifying enough to think that such a poor +creature as that could attract him for an hour." +</P> + +<P> +"I was to blame," Miss Vance said, with an effort. "I brought her in +his way. But how was I to know that she was such a cat, and he +such—— If he should marry her——" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux laughed angrily. "You are too absurd, Clara. A +flirtation with such a woman was degrading enough, but George is not +quite mad. He has not even spoken of her for days. Oh, here he comes! +That is his step on the stairs." She ran to the door. "He found that +I was out and has followed me. He is the most ridiculous mother's boy! +Well, George, here I am! Have you thought of some thing new for me to +see?" She glanced at Miss Vance, well pleased that she should see the +lad's foolish fondness for her. +</P> + +<P> +George forced a smile. He looked worn and jaded. Miss Vance noticed +that his usually neat cravat was awry and his hands were gloveless. +"Yes," he said. "It is a little church. The oldest in London. I want +to show it to you." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance tied on Mrs. Waldeaux's bonnet, smoothing her hair +affectionately. "There are too many gray hairs here for your age, +Frances," she said. "George, you should keep your mother from worry +and work. Don't let her hair grow gray so soon." +</P> + +<P> +George bowed. "I hope I shall do my duty," he said, with dignity. +"Come, mother." +</P> + +<P> +As they drove down Piccadilly Mrs. Waldeaux chattered eagerly to her +son. She could not pour out her teeming fancies about this new world +to any body else, but she could not talk fast enough to him. Had they +not both been waiting for a lifetime to see this London? +</P> + +<P> +"The thing," she said earnestly, as she settled herself beside him, +"the thing that has impressed me most, I think, were those great +Ninevite gods yesterday. I sat for hours before them while you were +gone. There they sit, their hands on their knees, and stare out of +their awful silence at the London fog, just as they stared at the +desert before Christ was born. I felt so miserably young and sham!" +</P> + +<P> +George adjusted his cravat impatiently. "I'm afraid I don't quite +follow you, mother. These little flights of yours—— They belong to +your generation, I suppose. It was a more sentimental one than mine. +You are not very young. And you certainly are not a sham. The statues +are interesting, but I fail to see why they should have had such an +effect upon you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" said Frances. "But you did not stay alone with them as long as I +did, or you would have felt it too. Now I am sure that the debates in +Parliament impressed you just as they did me?" +</P> + +<P> +George said nothing, but she went on eagerly. It never occurred to her +that he could be bored by her impressions in these greatest days of her +life. "To see a half-dozen well-groomed young men settle the affairs +of India and Australia in a short, indifferent colloquy! How shy and +awkward they were, too! They actually stuttered out their sentences in +their fear of posing or seeming pretentious. So English! Don't you +think it was very English, George?" +</P> + +<P> +"I really did not think about it at all. I have had very different +things to occupy me," said George, coldly superior to all mothers and +Parliaments. "This is the church." +</P> + +<P> +The cab stopped before an iron door between two shops in the most +thronged part of Bishopsgate Street. He pushed it open, and they +passed suddenly out of the hurrying crowd into the solemn silence of an +ancient dingy building. A dim light fell through a noble window of the +thirteenth century upon cheap wooden pews. The church was empty, and +had that curious significance and half-spoken message of its own which +belongs to a vacant house. +</P> + +<P> +"I remember," whispered Frances, awestruck. "This was built by the +first Christian convert, St. Ethelburga." +</P> + +<P> +"You believe every thing, mother!" said George irritably. She wandered +about, looking at the sombre walls and inscriptions, and then back +uneasily, to his moody face. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she came up to him as he stood leaning against a pillar. +"Something has happened!" she said. "You did not bring me here to look +at the church. You have something to tell me." +</P> + +<P> +The young man looked at her and turned away. "Yes, I have. It isn't a +death," he said, with a nervous laugh. "You need not look in that way. +It is—something very different. I—I was married in this church +yesterday to Lisa Arpent." +</P> + +<P> +Frances did not at first comprehend the great disaster that bulked +black across her whole life, but, woman-like, grasped at a fragment of +it. +</P> + +<P> +"You were married and I was not there! Yesterday! My boy was married +and he forgot me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother! Don't look like that! Here, sit down," grabbing her +helplessly by the arms. "I didn't want to hurt you. I brought you +here to tell you quietly. Cry! Why don't you cry if you're worried! +Oh! I believe she's dying!" he shouted, staring around the empty church. +</P> + +<P> +She spoke at last. +</P> + +<P> +"You were married and I couldn't say God bless you! You forgot me! I +never forgot you, George, for one minute since you were born." +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, what fool talk is that? I only didn't want a scene. I kept +away from Lisa for weeks so as not to vex you. Forget you! I think I +have been very considerate of you under the circumstances. You have a +dislike to Lisa, a most groundless dislike——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what is Lisa?" said Frances haughtily. "It is that you have +turned away from me. She has nothing to do with the relation between +you and me. How can any woman come between me and my son?" She held +up her hands. "Why, you are my boy, Georgy. You are all I have!" +</P> + +<P> +He looked at the face, curiously pinched and drawn as if by death, that +was turned up to his, and shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Now +this is exactly what I tried to escape yesterday. Am I never to be a +man, nor have the rights of a man? You must accept the situation, +mother. Lisa is my wife, and dearer to me than all the world beside." +</P> + +<P> +He saw her lips move. "Dearer? Dearer than me!" She sat quite still +after that, and did not seem to hear when he spoke. Something in her +silence frightened him. She certainly had been a fond, indulgent +mother, and he perhaps had been abrupt in cutting the tie between them. +It must be cut. He had promised Lisa the whole matter should be +settled to-day. But his mother certainly was a weak woman, and he must +be patient with her. Secretly he approved the manliness of his +patience. +</P> + +<P> +"The cab is waiting, dear," he said. She rose and walked to the +street, standing helpless there while the crowd jostled her. Was she +blind and deaf? He put her into the cab and sat down opposite to her. +"Half Moon Street," he called to the driver. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," touching her on the knee. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, George." +</P> + +<P> +"I told him to drive to Half Moon Street. I will take you to Clara +Vance. We may as well arrange things now, finally. You do not like my +wife. That is clear. For the present, therefore, it is better that we +should separate. I have consulted with Lisa, and she has suggested +that you shall join Clara Vance's party while we go our own way." +</P> + +<P> +She stared at him. "Do you mean that you and I are not to see London +together? Not to travel through Europe together?" +</P> + +<P> +He pitied her a little, and, leaning forward, kissed her clammy lips. +"The thing will seem clearer to you to-morrow, no doubt. I must leave +you now. Go to Clara and her girls. They all like to pet and make +much of you. I will bring Lisa in the morning, to talk business a +little. She has an uncommonly clear head for business. Good-by, +dear!" He stopped the cab, jumped out, and walked briskly to the +corner where his wife was waiting for him. +</P> + +<P> +"You have told her?" she asked breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It's over." +</P> + +<P> +"That we must separate?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes. I told her you thought it best." +</P> + +<P> +"And she was not willing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she did not approve very cordially," said George, evading her +eye. +</P> + +<P> +"But she shall approve!" hanging upon his arm, her burning eyes close +to his face. "You are mine, George! I love you. I will share you +with nobody!" She whistled shrilly, and a hansom stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you going to do, darling?" +</P> + +<P> +"Follow her. I will tell her something that will make her willing to +separate. Get in, get in!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<P> +Frances, when in trouble, went out of doors among the trees as +naturally as other women take to their beds. Lisa's sharp eyes saw her +sitting in the Green Park as they passed. The mist, which was heavy as +rain, hung in drops on the stretches of sward and filled the far aisles +of trees with a soft gray vapor. The park was deserted but for an old +man who asked Mrs. Waldeaux for the penny's hire for her chair. As he +hobbled away, he looked back at her curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"She gave him a shilling!" exclaimed Lisa, as he passed them. "I told +you she was not fit to take care of money." +</P> + +<P> +"But why not wait until to-morrow to talk of business? She is hurt and +unnerved just now, and she—she does not like you, Lisa." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not afraid. She will be civil. She is like Chesterfield. 'Even +death cannot kill the courtesy in her.' You don't seem to know the +woman, George. Come." +</P> + +<P> +But George hung back and loitered among the trees. He was an honest +fellow, though slow of wit; he loved his mother and was penetrated to +the quick just now by a passionate fondness for his wife. Two such +good, clever women! Why couldn't they hit it off together? +</P> + +<P> +"George?" said Frances, hearing his steps. +</P> + +<P> +Lisa came up to her. She rose, and smiled to her son's wife, and after +a moment held out her hand. +</P> + +<P> +But the courtesy which Lisa had expected suddenly enraged her. "No! +There need be no pretence between us," she said. "You are not glad to +see me. There is no pretence in me. I am honest. I did not come here +to make compliments, but to talk business." +</P> + +<P> +"George said to-morrow. Can it not wait until to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. What is to do—do it! That is my motto. George, come here! +Tell your mother what we have decided. Oh, very well, if you prefer +that I should speak. We go to Paris at once, Mrs. Waldeaux, and will +take apartments there. You will remain with Miss Vance." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know. I am to remain——" Frances passed her hand once or +twice over her mouth irresolutely. "But Oxford, George?" she said. +"You forget your examinations?" +</P> + +<P> +George took off his spectacles and wiped them. +</P> + +<P> +"Speak! Have you no mind of your own?" his wife whispered. "I will +tell you, then, madam. He has done with that silly whim! A priest, +indeed! I am Catholic, and priests do not marry. He goes to Paris to +study art. I see a great future for him, in art." +</P> + +<P> +Frances stared at him, and then sat down, dully. What did it matter? +Paris or Oxford? She would not be there. What did it matter? +</P> + +<P> +Lisa waited a moment for some comment, and then began sharply, "Now, we +come to affaires! Listen, if you please. I am a woman of business. +Plain speaking is always best, to my idea." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux drew herself together and turned her eyes on her with +sudden apprehension, as she would on a snapping dog. The woman's tones +threatened attack. +</P> + +<P> +"To live in Paris, to work effectively, your son must have money. I +brought him no dot, alas! Except"—with a burlesque courtesy—"my +beauty and my blood. I must know how much money we shall have before I +design the menage." +</P> + +<P> +"George has his income," said his mother hastily. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! You are alarmed, madam! You do not like plain words about the +affaires? George tells me that although he is long ago of age, he has +as yet received no portion of his father's estates." +</P> + +<P> +"Lisa! You do not understand! Mother, I did not complain. You have +always given me my share of the income from the property. I have no +doubt it was a fair share—as much as if my father had left me my +portion, according to custom." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it was a fair share," said Frances. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! you smile, madam!" interrupted Lisa. "I am told it is a vast +property, a grand chateau—many securities! M. Waldeaux pere made a +will, on dit, incredibly foolish, with no mention of his son. But now +that this son comes to marry, to become the head of the house, if you +were a French mother, if you were just, you would—— You appear to be +amused, madam?" +</P> + +<P> +For Mrs. Waldeaux was laughing. She could not speak for a moment. The +tears stood in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"The matter has somewhat of droll to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It has its humorous side," said Frances. "I quite understand, George, +that you will need more money to support a wife. I will double your +allowance. It shall be paid quarterly." +</P> + +<P> +"You would prefer to do that?" hesitated George. "Rather than to make +over a son's share of the property to me absolutely? Some of the +landed estate or securities? I have probably a shrewder business +talent than yours, and if I had control could make my property more +profitable." +</P> + +<P> +"I should prefer to pay your income as before—yes," said Frances +quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, as you choose. It is yours to give, of course." George coughed +and shuffled to conquer his disappointment. Then he said, "Have it +your own way." He put his hand affectionately on her shoulder. "And +when you have had your little outing and go home to Weir, you will be +glad to have us come to you, for a visit—won't you, mother? You +haven't said so." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I say so? It is your home, George, yours and your wife's." +She caught his hand and held it to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +But Lisa had not so easily conquered her disappointment. This woman +was coolly robbing George of his rights and was going instead to kill +for him a miserable little fatted calf! Bah! This woman, who had +maligned her dead mother! +</P> + +<P> +She should have her punishment now. In one blow, straight from the +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"But you should know, madam," she said gently, "who it is your son has +married before you take her home. I assure you that you can present me +to the society in Weir with pride. I have royal blood——" "Lisa!" +George caught her arm. "It is not necessary. You forget——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I forget nothing! I said royal blood. My father, madam, was the +brother of the Czar, and my mother was Pauline Felix. You don't seem +to understand——" after a moment's pause. "It was my mother whose +name you said should not cross any decent woman's lips—my mother——" +She broke down into wild sobs. +</P> + +<P> +"When I said it I did not know that you—— I am sorry." Frances +suddenly walked away, pulling open her collar. It seemed to her that +there was no breath in the world. George followed her. "Did you know +this?" she said at last, in a hoarse whisper. "And you are—married to +her? There is no way of being rid of her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, there is no way," said Waldeaux stoutly. "And if there were, I +should not look for it. I am sorry that there is any smirch on Lisa's +birth. But even her mother, I fancy, was not altogether a bad lot. +Bygones must be bygones. I love my wife, mother. She's worth loving, +as you'd find if you would take the trouble to know her. Her dead +mother shall not come between her and me." +</P> + +<P> +"She's like her, George!" said Mrs. Waldeaux, with white, trembling +lips. "I ought to have seen it at first. Those luring, terrible eyes. +It is Pauline Felix's heart that is in her. Rotten to the +core—rotten——" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care. I'll stand by her." But George's face, too, began to +lose its color. He shook himself uncomfortably. "The thing's done +now," he muttered. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, certainly," Frances repeated mechanically. "Tell her that +I am sorry I spoke of her mother before her. It was rude—brutal. I +ask her pardon." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she'll soon forget that! Lisa has a warm heart, if you take her +right. There's lots of hearty fun in her too. You'll like that. Are +you going now? Good-by, dear. We will come and see you in the +morning. The thing will not seem half so bad when you have slept on +it." +</P> + +<P> +He paused uncertainly, as she still stood motionless. She was facing +the grim walls of Stafford House, looming dimly through the mist, her +eyes fixed as if she were studying the sky line. +</P> + +<P> +"George," she said. "You don't understand. You will come to me always. +But that woman never shall cross my threshold." "Mother! Do you mean +what you say?" +</P> + +<P> +It was a man, not a shuffling boy that spoke now. "Do you mean that we +are not to go to you to-morrow? Not to go home in October? Never——" +</P> + +<P> +"Your home is open to you. But Pauline Felix's child is no more to me +than a wild beast—or a snake in the grass, and never can be." She +faced him steadily now. +</P> + +<P> +"There she is," said Frances, looking at the little black figure under +the trees, "and here am I. You can choose between us." +</P> + +<P> +"Those whom God hath joined together," muttered George. "You know +that." +</P> + +<P> +"You have known her for three weeks," cried Frances vehemently. "I +gave you life. I have been your slave every hour since you were born. +I have lived but for you. Which of us has God joined together?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, you're damnably unreasonable! It is the course of nature for +a man to leave his parents and cleave to his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know," she said slowly. "You can keep that foul thing in your +life, but it never shall come into mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Then neither will I. I will stand by my wife." +</P> + +<P> +"That is the end, then?" +</P> + +<P> +She waited, her eyes on his. +</P> + +<P> +He did not speak. +</P> + +<P> +She turned and left him, disappearing slowly in the rain and mist. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<P> +Two days later Mr. Perry met Miss Vance in Canterbury and told her of +the marriage. She hurried back to London. She could not hide her +distress and dismay from the two girls. +</P> + +<P> +"How did she force him into it? One is almost driven to believe in +hypnotism," she cried. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy Dunbar had no joke to make about it to-day. The merry little girl +was silent, having, she said, a headache. +</P> + +<P> +"You've had too much cathedral!" said Miss Hassard. "And the whole +church is wretchedly out of drawing!" +</P> + +<P> +Jean Hassard had studied art at Pond City in Dakota, and her soul's +hope had been to follow Marie Bashkirtseff's career in Paris. But her +father had morally handcuffed her and put her into Clara's custody for +a year. It was hard! To be led about to old churches, respectable as +her grandmother, when she might have been studying the nude in a mixed +class! She rattled her chains disagreeably at every step. +</P> + +<P> +"The mesalliance is on the other side," she told Lucy privately. "A +woman of the world who knew life, to marry that bloodless, finical +priest!" +</P> + +<P> +"He was not bloodless. He loved her." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry came up with them from Canterbury, being secretly alarmed +about Miss Dunbar's headache. Nobody took proper care of that lovely +child! He had attached himself to Miss Vance's party in England; he +dropped in every evening to tell of his interviews with Gladstone or +Mrs. Oliphant or an artist or a duke. It was delightful to the girls +to come so close to these unknown great folks. They felt quite like +peris, just outside the court of heaven, with the gate a little bit +ajar. This evening Mr. Perry promised it should open for them. He was +going to bring a real prince, whom he familiarly dubbed "a jolly +fellow," to call upon Miss Vance. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is the man?" said Clara irritably. "Be careful, Mr. Perry. I +have had enough of foreign adventurers." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, the Hof Kalender will post you as to Prince Wolfburgh. I looked +him up in it. He is head of one of the great mediatized families. +Would have been reigning now if old Kaiser Wilhelm had not played +Aaron's serpent and gobbled up all the little kings. Wolfburgh has +kept all his land and castles, however." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Let us see what the man is like," Miss Vance said loftily. +</P> +<BR> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux was not in the house when they arrived. Every day she +went early in the morning to the Green Park, where she had seen George +last, and wandered about until night fell. She thought that he had +gone to Paris, and that she was alone in London. But somehow she came +nearer to him there. +</P> + +<P> +When she found that Clara had arrived, she knew that she would be full +of pity for her. She came down to dinner in full dress, told some +funny stories, and laughed incessantly. +</P> + +<P> +No. She had not missed them. The days had gone merry as a marriage +bell with her even after her son and his wife had run away to Paris. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry congratulated her warmly on the match. "The lady is very +fetching, indeed," he said. "I remarked that the first day on +ship-board. Oh, yes, I know a diamond when I see it. But your son +picks it up. Lucky fellow! He picks it up!" He told Miss Vance that +there was a curious attraction about her friend, "who, by the way, +should always wear brown velvet and lace." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance drew little Lucy aside after dinner. "Do you see," she +said, "the tears in her eyes? It wrenches my heart. She has become an +old woman in a day. I feel as if Frances were dead, and that was her +ghost joking and laughing." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy said nothing, but she went to Frances and sat beside her all +evening. When the prince arrived and was presented, going on his +triumphant way through the room, she nestled closer, whispering, "What +do you think of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"He looks very like our little fat Dutch baker in Weir—he has the same +air of patronage," said Frances coldly. She was offended that Lucy +should notice the man at all. Was it not she whom George should have +married? How happy they would have been—her boy and this sweet, neat +little girl! And already Lucy was curious about so-called princes! +</P> + +<P> +When his Highness came back to them she rose hastily and went to her +own room. +</P> + +<P> +Late that night Miss Vance found her there in the dark, sitting bolt +upright in her chair, still robed in velvet and lace. Clara regarded +her sternly, feeling that it was time to take her in hand. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not forgiven George?" she said abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux looked up, but said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he coming back soon?" +</P> + +<P> +"He never shall come back while that woman is with him." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance put her lamp on the table and sat down. "Frances," she said +deliberately, "I know what this is to you. It would have been better +for you that George had died." +</P> + +<P> +"Much better." +</P> + +<P> +"But he didn't die. He married Lisa Arpent. Now it is your duty to +accept it. Make the best of it." +</P> + +<P> +"If a lizard crawls into my house will you tell me to accept it? Make +the best of it? Oh, my God! The slimy vile creature!" +</P> + +<P> +"She is not vile! I tell you there are lovable qualities in Lisa. And +even if she were as wicked as her mother, what right have you—— You, +too, are a sinner before God." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mrs. Waldeaux gravely, "I am not. I have lived a good +Christian life. I may have been tempted to commit sin, but I cannot +remember that I ever did it." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance looked at her aghast. "But surely your religion teaches +you—— Why, you are sinning now, when you hate this girl!" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not hate her. God made her as he made the lizard. I simply will +not allow her to cross my path. What has religion to do with it? I am +clean and she is vile. That is all there is to say." +</P> + +<P> +Both women were silent. Mrs. Waldeaux got up at last and caught Clara +by the arm. She was trembling violently. "No, I'm not ill. I'm well +enough. But you don't understand! That woman has killed George. I +spent twenty years in making him what he is. I worked—there was +nothing but him for me in the world. I didn't spare myself. To make +him a gentleman—a Christian. And in a month she turns him into a +thing like herself. He is following her vulgar courses. I saw the +difference after he had lived with her for one day. He is tainted." +She stood staring into the dull lamp. "She may not live long, though," +she said. "She doesn't look strong——" +</P> + +<P> +"Frances! For God's sake!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what of it? Why shouldn't I wish her gone? The harm—the harm! +Do you remember that Swedish maid I had—a great fair woman? One day +she was stung by a green fly, and in a week she was dead, her whole +body a mass of corruption! Oh, God lets such things be done! Nothing +but a green fly——" She shook off Clara's hold, drawing her breath +with difficulty. "That is Lisa. It is George that is being poisoned, +body and soul. It's a pity to see my boy killed by a thing like +that—it's a pity——" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance was too frightened to argue with her. She brought her +wrapper, loosened her hair, soothing her in little womanish ways. But +her burning curiosity drove her presently to ask one question. +</P> + +<P> +"How can they live?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have doubled his allowance." +</P> + +<P> +"Frances! You will work harder to make money for Lisa Arpent?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what is money!" cried Frances, pushing her away impatiently. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<P> +Miss Vance persuaded Mrs. Waldeaux to go with her to Scotland. During +the weeks that followed Frances always found Lucy Dunbar at her side in +the trains or on the coaches. +</P> + +<P> +"She is a very companionable child," she told Clara. "I often forget +that I am any older than she. She never tires of hearing stories of +George's scrapes or his queer sayings when he was a child. Such +stories, I think, are usually tedious, but George was a peculiar boy." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry's search for notorieties took him also to Scotland, and, +oddly enough, Prince Wolfburgh's search for amusement led him in the +same direction. They met him and his cousin, Captain Odo Wolfburgh, at +Oban, and again on the ramparts of Stirling Castle, and the very day +that they arrived in Edinburgh, there, in Holyrood, in Queen Mary's +chamber, stood the pursy little man, curling his mustache before her +mirror. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry fell into the background with Miss Hassard. "His Highness is +becoming monotonous!" he grumbled. "These foreigners never know when +they are superfluous in society." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he superfluous?" Jean glanced to the corner where the prince and +Lucy were eagerly searching for the blood of Rizzio upon the steps. +</P> + +<P> +"Decidedly," said Perry. "I wished to show you and Miss Dunbar a live +prince, and I did it. That is done and over with. He has been seen +and heard. There is no reason why he should pop up here and there all +over Great Britain like a Jack-in-the-box. He's becoming a bore." +</P> + +<P> +"You suspect him to be an impostor?" said Jean quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"No. He's genuine enough. But we don't want any foreigners in our +caravan," stroking his red beard complacently. +</P> + +<P> +"No. What do you suppose is his object?" asked Jean, with one of her +quick, furtive glances. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry's jaws grew red as his beard. "How can I tell?" he said +gruffly. He went on irritably, a moment later: "Of course you see it. +The fellow has no delicacy. He makes no more secret of his plans than +if he were going to run down a rabbit. Last night at Stirling, over +his beer, he held forth upon the dimples on Miss Dunbar's pink elbows, +and asked me if her hair were all her own. I said, at last, that +American men did not value women like sheep by their flesh and fleece +and the money they were rated at in the market. I hit him square that +time, prince or no prince!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you did, indeed," said Jean vaguely. Her keen eyes followed Lucy +and the prince, who were loitering through the gallery, pausing before +the faded portraits. "You think it is only her money that draws him +after us?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course! A fellow like that could not appreciate Miss Dunbar's +beauty and wit." +</P> + +<P> +"You think Lucy witty?" said Jean dryly. "And you think she would not +marry for a title?" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"I don't believe any pure American girl would sell herself, like a +sheep in the shambles! And she is pure! A lamb, a lily! cried Perry, +growing incoherent in his heat. +</P> + +<P> +"She would not if her heart were preoccupied," said Jean thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"And you think——" he said breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +But Jean only laughed, and said no more. +</P> + +<P> +The guide had been paying profound deference to Prince Wolfburgh, +keeping close to his heels. Now he swung open a door. "If your +Highnesses will come this way?" he said, bowing profoundly to Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +The little girl started and hurried back to Miss Vance. Her face was +scarlet, and she laughed nervously. Prince Wolfburgh also laughed, +loudly and meaningly. He swore at the old man and went out into the +cloister where his cousin stood smoking. +</P> + +<P> +"Had enough of the old barracks?" said the captain. +</P> + +<P> +"I found I was making too fast running in there," said the prince +uneasily; "I'll waken up and find that girl married to me some day." +</P> + +<P> +"Not so bad a dream," puffed his cousin. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take a train somewhere," said the prince. "But no matter where I +go, I'll find an American old woman with a girl to marry. They all +carry the Hof Kalender in their pockets, and know every bachelor in +Germany." +</P> + +<P> +The captain watched him attentively. "I don't believe those women +inside mean to drive any marriage bargain with you, Hugo," he said +gruffly. "I doubt whether the little mees would marry you if you asked +her. Her dot, I hear, is e-normous!" waving his hand upward as if to +mountain heights. "And as for beauty, she is a wild rose!" +</P> + +<P> +Now, there were reasons why the captain should rejoice when Hugo allied +himself to the little mees. On the day when he would take these hills +of gold and wild rose to himself, the captain would become the head of +the house of Wolfburgh. It was, perhaps, a mean, ungilded throne, but +by German law no nameless Yankee woman could sit upon it. +</P> + +<P> +The prince looked at Captain Odo. "You cannot put me into a gallop +when I choose to walk," he said. "She's a pretty girl, and a good +girl, and some time I may marry her, but not now." +</P> + +<P> +Odo laughed good-humoredly, and they sauntered down the path together. +</P> + +<P> +The prince had offered to dine with Miss Vance that evening, but sent a +note to say that he was summoned to the Highlands unexpectedly. +</P> + +<P> +"It is adieu, not auf wiedersehen, I fear, with his Highness," Miss +Vance said, folding the note pensively. She had not meant to drive a +marriage bargain, and yet—to have placed a pupil upon even such a +bric-a-brac throne as that of Wolfburgh! She looked thoughtfully at +Lucy's chubby cheeks. A princess? The man was not objectionable in +himself, either—a kindly, overgrown boy. "He told me," said Jean, +"that he was going to a house party at Inverary Castle." +</P> + +<P> +"Whose house is that, Jean?" asked Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the ancestral seat of the Dukes of Argyll." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" Lucy gave a little sigh. Prince Hugo was undeniably fat and very +slow to catch a joke, but there was certainly a different flavor in +this talk of dukes and ancestral seats to the gossip about the Whites +and Greens at home. +</P> + +<P> +Indeed, the whole party, including even Mr. Perry, experienced a +sensation of sudden vacancy and flatness when his Highness left them. +It was as though they had been sheltering a royal eagle that was used +to dwelling in sunlit heights unknown to them, and now they were left +on flat ground to consort with common poultry. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<P> +Miss Vance led her party slowly through Scotland and down again to +London. Mrs. Waldeaux went with them. The girls secretly laughed +together at her fine indomitable politeness, and her violent passion +for the Stuarts, and hate of the Roundheads. But Mr. Perry was bored +by her. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it to us," he said, "that Queen Mary paddled over this lake, +or Cromwell's soldiers whitewashed that fresco? Give me a clean, new +American church, anyhow, before all of your mouldy, tomby cathedrals. +These things are so many cancelled cheques to me. I have nothing to +pay on them. It is live issues that draw on my heart. You American +girls ought to be at home looking into the negro problem, or Tammany, +or the Sugar Trust, instead of nosing into Rembrandts, or miracles at +Lourdes, or palaces. These are all back numbers. Write n. g. on them +and bury them. So, by the way, is your Mrs. Waldeaux a back number. +My own opinion is that all men and women at fifty ought to go willingly +and be shut up in the room where the world keeps its second-hand +lumber!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yet nobody," said Lucy indignantly, "is more careful or tender with +Mrs. Waldeaux than you!" +</P> + +<P> +"That is because Mr. Perry has the genuine American awe of people of +good birth," said Jean slyly. "It is the only trait which makes me +suspect that he is a self-made man." Mr. Perry, for answer, only bowed +gravely. He long ago had ceased to hide his opinion that Miss Hassard +was insufferable. +</P> + +<P> +Frances, for her part, was sure that the young people were glad to have +her as a companion. One day she decided to stay with them, and the +next to go to New York on the first steamer. She seemed to see life +hazily, as one over whose mind a cataract was growing. What had she to +do in Europe, she reasoned? George was gone. Her one actual hold on +the world had slipped from her. That great mysterious thing called +living was done and past for her. +</P> + +<P> +And yet—there was Kenilworth, and Scott's house? Scott, who had been +her friend and leader since she was eight years old! And in that +anthem at York minster there was a message, which she had been waiting +all of her life to hear! And here was Lucy beside her with her soft +voice, and loving blue eyes—Lucy, who should have been George's wife! +In all of these things something high and good called to the poor lady, +which she heard and understood as a child would the voice of its mother. +</P> + +<P> +One hour she resolved to leave her son with his wife, to go back to +Weir at once and work with the poultry and Quigg's jokes for the rest +of her life. She was dead. Let her give up and consent to be dead. +</P> + +<P> +The next, she would stay where she could see George sometimes, and try +to forgive the woman who had him in her keeping. Perhaps, after all, +she was human, as Clara said. If she could forgive Lisa, she could be +happy with these young people and live—live in this wonderful old +world, where all that was best of past ages was kept waiting for her. +</P> + +<P> +When they came to London, she went at once to Morgan's to make a +deposit, for she had been hard at work on her jokes as she travelled, +and had received her pay. +</P> + +<P> +"Your son, madam," said the clerk, "drew on his account to-day. He +said he expected remittances from you. Is this to be put to his +credit?" +</P> + +<P> +"My son was in London to-day? +</P> + +<P> +"He has just left the house." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he—he left a message for me? A letter, perhaps?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, nothing, madam." +</P> + +<P> +"Put the money to his credit, of course." She went out into the narrow +street and wandered along to the Bank of England, staring up at the +huge buildings. +</P> + +<P> +He had been looking at them—he had walked on this very pavement a +minute ago! That might be the smoke of his cigar, yonder! +</P> + +<P> +She could easily find him. Just to look at him once; to hold his hand! +He might be ill and need her; he never was well in foggy weather. +</P> + +<P> +Then she remembered that Lisa was with him. She would nurse him. +</P> + +<P> +She called a cab, and, as she drove home, looked out at the crowd with +a hard, smiling face. +</P> + +<P> +Henry Irving that night played "Shylock," and Mr. Perry secured a box +for Miss Vance. Frances went with the others. Before the curtain rose +there was a startled movement among them, a whisper, and then Clara +turned to Mrs. Waldeaux. +</P> + +<P> +"Frances, Lisa is coming into the opposite box," she said. "She is +really a beautiful woman in that decollete gown, and her cheeks +flushed, and her eyes—— I had no idea! She is superb!" +</P> + +<P> +Two men in the dress of French officers entered the box with Lisa. +They seated her, bending over her with an empressement which, to Mrs. +Waldeaux's heated fancy, was insulting. George came last, carrying his +wife's cloak, which he placed upon a chair. One of the men tossed his +cape to him, with a familiar nod, and George laid it aside and sat down +at the back of the box. +</P> + +<P> +His mother leaned forward, watching. That woman had put her son in the +place of an inferior—an attendant. +</P> + +<P> +The great orchestra shook the house with a final crash, and the curtain +rose upon the Venetian plaza. Every face in the audience was turned +attentive toward it. But Mrs. Waldeaux saw only Lisa. +</P> + +<P> +A strange change came upon her as she watched her son's wife. For +months she had struggled feebly against her hate of Lisa. Now she +welcomed it; she let herself go. +</P> + +<P> +Is the old story true after all? Is there some brutal passion hiding +in every human soul, waiting its chance, even in old age? It is +certain that this woman, after her long harmless life, recognized the +fury in her soul and freed it. +</P> + +<P> +"Frances," whispered Clara, "when this act is over, go and speak to +them. I will go with you. It is your chance to put an end to this +horrible separation. They are your children." +</P> + +<P> +"No. That woman is my enemy, Clara," said Mrs. Waldeaux quietly. "I +will make no terms with her." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance sighed and turned to the stage, but Frances still watched +the opposite box. It seemed as if the passion within her had cleared +her eyes. They never had seen George as they now saw him. +</P> + +<P> +Was that her son? Was it that little priggish, insignificant fellow +that she had made a god of? He was dull, commonplace! Satisfied to +sit dumb in the background and take orders from those bourgeois French +Jews! +</P> + +<P> +The play went on, but she saw nothing but George and his wife. +</P> + +<P> +There was the result of all her drudgery! The hot summers of work in +the filthy poultry yards; the grinding out of poor jokes; the coarse, +cheap underclothes (she used to cry when she put them on, she hated +them so). Years and years of it all; and for that cold, selfish fop! +</P> + +<P> +His mother saw him leave the box, and knew that he was coming. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, good-evening, George!" she said gayly, as he opened the door. "A +wonderful scene, wasn't it? I have always wished to see Irving in +'Hamlet.'" +</P> + +<P> +"This is 'Shylock,'" he said gravely, and turned to speak to the +others. They welcomed him eagerly, and made room for him. He had lost +something of the cold, blase air which had ennobled him in the eyes of +the young women. He looked around presently, and said with a +comfortable shrug: +</P> + +<P> +"It is so pleasant to talk English again! My wife detests it. We +speak only French. I feel like an alien and outcast among you!" He +laughed; his mother glanced at him curiously. But Lucy turned her face +away, afraid that he should see it. As he talked, George noted the +clear-cut American features of the girls, and their dainty gowns, with +a keen pleasure; then he glanced quickly at the opposite box. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" said Jean to Mr. Perry. "The soiled lace and musk are beginning +to tell! He is tired of Lisa already!" "I never liked the fellow," +said Mr. Perry coldly. "But he is hardly the cad that you suppose." +</P> + +<P> +He fell into a gloomy silence. He had wasted two years' salary in +following Lucy Dunbar about, in showering flowers on her, in posing +before her in the last fashions of Conduit Street, and yet when this +conceited fellow came into the box she was blind and deaf to all +besides! Her eyes filled with tears just now when he talked of his +loneliness. Lonely—with his wife! A married man! +</P> + +<P> +George, when the curtain fell again, sat down by Frances. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, George." Her eyes were bright and attentive, but her countenance +had fallen into hard lines new to him. +</P> + +<P> +"I went to Morgan's this afternoon. You have been very liberal to us." +</P> + +<P> +"I will do what I can. You may depend upon that amount, regularly." +</P> + +<P> +He rose and bade them good-night, and turned to her again. +</P> + +<P> +"We—we are coming to-morrow to thank you. MOTHER?" There was a hoarse +sob in his throat. He laid his hand on her arm. She moved so that it +dropped. "We will come to-morrow," he said. "Did you understand? +Lisa wishes to be friends with you. She is ready to forgive," he +groped on, blundering, like a man. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, I understand. You and Lisa are coming to forgive me +to-morrow," she said, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her, perplexed and waiting. But she said no more. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I must go now. Good-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night, George!" Her bright, smiling eyes followed him steadily, +as he went out. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux tapped at Clara's door that evening after they reached +home. +</P> + +<P> +"I came to tell you that I shall leave London early in the morning," +she said. +</P> + +<P> +"You will not wait to see George and his wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope I never shall see them again. No! Not a word! I will hear no +arguments!" She came into the room and closed the door. There was a +certain novel air of decision and youth in her figure and movements. +"I am going to make a change, Clara," she said. "I have worked for +others long enough. I am going away now, alone. I will be free. I +will live my own life—at last." Her eyes shone with exultation. +</P> + +<P> +"And—— Where are you going?" stammered Miss Vance, dismayed. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. There is so much—it has all been waiting so long for +me. There are the cathedrals—and the mountains. Or the Holy Land. +Perhaps I may try to write again. There seems to be a dumb word or two +in me. Don't be angry with me, Clara," throwing her arms about her +cousin, the tears rushing to her eyes. "I may come back to you and +little Lucy some time. But just now I want to be alone and fancy +myself young. I never was young." +</P> + +<P> +When Lucy stole into her old friend's chamber the next morning as usual +to drink her cup of coffee with her, she found the door open and the +room in disorder, and she was told that Mrs. Waldeaux had left London +at daybreak. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<P> +During the year which followed, Mr. Perry was forced to return to the +States, but he made two flying trips across "the pond," as he called +it, in the interests of his magazine, always running down his prey of +notorieties in that quarter of Europe in which Miss Vance and her +charges chanced to be. +</P> + +<P> +When he came in July he found them in a humble little inn in Bozen. He +looked with contempt at the stone floors, the clean cell-like chambers, +each with its narrow bed, and blue stone ewer perched on a wooden +stool; and he sniffed with disgust when breakfast was served on a table +set out in the Platz. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know," he said, "whether I can digest food, eating out of doors. +Myself, I never give in to these foreign ways. It's time they learned +manners from us." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no doubt," said Miss Vance placidly, "that you can find one of +the usual hotels built for rich Americans in the town. We avoid them. +We search out the inns du pays to see as far behind the scenes as we +can. I don't care to go to those huge houses with mobs of Chicagoans +and New Yorkers; and have the couriers and portiers turn the +flashlights on Europe for me, as if it were a burlesque show." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, that's just what I like!" said Perry. "I always go to the houses +where the royalties put up. I like to order better dishes and give +bigger tips than they do. They don't know Jem Perry from Adam, but +it's my way of waving the American flag." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid we have no such patriotic motive," said Clara. "My girls +seem to care for nothing now but art. We have made this little inn our +headquarters in the Tyrol chiefly out of love for the old church +yonder." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry glanced contemptuously across the Platz at the frowning gray +building, and sat down with his back to it. +</P> + +<P> +"Art, eh? Well, I've no doubt I could soon catch on to Art, if I +turned my mind that way. It pays, too,—Art. Not the fellows who +paint, but the connoisseurs. There's Miller from our town. He was a +drummer for a candy firm. Had an eye for color. Well, he buys +pictures now for Americans who want galleries in their houses. He +bought his whole collection for Stout—the great dealer in hams. Why, +Miller can tell the money value within five dollars, at sight, of any +picture in Europe. He's safe, too. Never invests in pictures that +aren't sure to go up in price. Getting rich! And began as a candy +drummer! No, ma'am! Art's no mystery. I've never taken it up myself. +Europe is sheer pleasure to me. I get the best out of it. I know +where to lodge well, and I can tell you where the famous plats are +cooked, and I have my coats built by Toole. The house pays me a salary +which justifies me in humoring my little follies," stroking his red +beard complacently. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's chubby face and steady blue eyes were turned on him +thoughtfully, and presently, when they sauntered down the windy street +together, he talked and she still silently watched him. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Precision is weighing him in the balance," said Jean, laughing, +as she poured out more black coffee. "With all of her soft ways Lucy +is shrewd. She knows quite well why he races across the Atlantic, and +why Prince Wolfburgh has backed away from us and charged on us again +all summer. She is cool. She is measuring poor Perry's qualifications +for a husband now just as she would materials for a cake. A neat +little inventory. So much energy, so much honest kindness—so much +vulgarity. I couldn't do that. If ever a man wants to marry me, I'll +fly to him or away from him, as quick as the steel needle does when the +magnet touches it." Miss Vance listened to her attentively. "Jean," +she said, after a pause, "are you sure that it is Lucy whom the prince +wishes to marry?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is not I," said Miss Hassard promptly. "He has thought of me +several times—he has weighed my qualifications. But the man is in +love with Lucy as honestly as a ploughman could be. Don't you think +I've tough luck?" she said, resting her elbow on the table and her chin +on her palm, her keen gray eyes following Miss Dunbar and her lover as +they loitered under the shadow of the church. "I am as young as Lucy. +I have a better brain and as big a dot. But her lovers make her life a +burden, and I never have had one. Just because our noses and chins are +made up differently!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my dear!" said Clara anxiously. "I never thought you cared for +that kind of success!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm only human," Jean laughed. "Of course I'm an artist. I'm going +to paint a great picture some day that all the world shall go mad +about. Of Eve. I'll put all the power of all women into her. But in +the meantime I'd like to see one man turn pale and pant before me as +the fat little prince does when Lucy snubs him." +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy is very hard to please," complained Miss Vance. "She snubs Mr. +Perry—naturally. But the prince—why should she not marry the prince?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your generation," said Jean, smiling slyly, "used to think that an +unreasonable whim called love was a good thing in marriage——" +</P> + +<P> +"But why should she not love the prince? He is honorable and kind, and +quite passable as to looks—— Can there be any one else?" turning +suddenly to Jean. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Hassard looked at her a moment, hesitating. "Your cousin George +used to be Lucy's type of a hero——" +</P> + +<P> +"Why! the man is married!" Miss Vance stood up, her lean face +reddening. "Jean! You surprise me! That kind of talk—it's indecent! +It is that loose American idea of marriage that ends in hideous divorce +cases. But for one of my girls——" +</P> + +<P> +"It is a very old idea," said Jean calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"David loved another man's wife. Mind you, I don't accuse Lucy of +loving any body, but when the needle has once touched the magnet it +answers to its call ever after." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance vouchsafed no answer. She walked away across the Platz, +jerking her bonnet strings into a knot. Jean was one of the New Women! +Her opinions stuck out on every side like Briareus' hundred elbows! +You could not come near her without being jabbed by them. Such women +were all opinions; there was no softness, no feeling, no delicacy about +them. Skeletons with no flesh! As for Lucy, she had no fear. If even +the child had loved George, she would have cast out every thought of +him on his wedding day, as a Christian girl should do! +</P> + +<P> +She passed Lucy at that moment. She was leaning against one of the +huge stone lions which crouch in front of the church, listening to Mr. +Perry. If ever a pure soul looked into the world it was through those +limpid eyes! +</P> + +<P> +The Platz was nearly empty. One or two men in blouses clattered across +the cobblestones and going into the dark church dropped on their knees. +The wind was high, and now and then swept heavy clouds low across the +sunlight space overhead. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, as Jean had guessed, knew why the man beside her had crossed the +Atlantic, and she had decided last night to end the matter at once. +The tears had stood in her eyes for pity at the thought of the pain she +must give him. Yet she had put on her new close-fitting coat and a +becoming fur cap, and pulled out the loose hair which she knew at this +moment was blowing about her pink cheeks in curly wisps in a way that +was perfectly maddening. Clara, seeing the mischief in her eyes as she +listened shyly to Perry, went on satisfied. There was no abyss of +black loss in that girl's life! +</P> + +<P> +Lucy just now was concerned only for Perry. How the poor man loved +her! Why not marry him after all, and put him out of his pain? She +was twenty-four. Most women at twenty-four had gone through their +little tragedy of love. But she had had no tragedy. She told herself +firmly that there had been no story of love in her life. There never +could be, now. She was too old. +</P> + +<P> +She was tired, too, and very lonely. This man would seat her on a +throne and worship her every day. That would be pleasant enough. +</P> + +<P> +"I am ashamed of myself," he was saying, "to pursue you in this way. +You have given me no encouragement, I know. But whenever I go to New +York and bone down to work, something tells me to come back and try +again." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy did not answer, and there was a brief silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I'm a fool,"—prodding the ground with his stick. "But if a +man were in a jail cell and knew that the sun was shining just outside, +he'd keep on beating at the wall." +</P> + +<P> +"Your life is not a jail cell. It's very comfortable, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"It has been bare enough. I have had a hard fight to live at all. I +told you that I began as a canal-boy." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him with quick sympathy. At once she fancied that she +could read old marks of want on his face. His knuckles were knobbed +like a laborer's. He had had a hard fight! It certainly would be +pleasant to rain down comfort and luxury on the good, plucky fellow! +</P> + +<P> +"Of course that was all long ago," said Perry. "I'm not ashamed of it. +As Judge Baker remarked the other day, 'The acknowledged aristocrats of +America, to-day, are its self-made men.' He ought to know. The Bakers +are the top of the heap in New York. Very exclusive. I've been +intimate there for years. No, Miss Dunbar, I may have begun as a +mule-driver on a canal, but I am choice in my society. My wife will +not find a man or woman in my circle who is half-cut." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy drew a long breath. To live all day and every day with this man! +</P> + +<P> +And yet—she was so tired! There was a good deal of money to manage, +and he could do that. He would like a gay, hospitable house, and so +would she, and they would be kind to the poor—and he was an +Episcopalian, too. There would be no hitch there. Lucy was a zealous +High Churchwoman. +</P> + +<P> +Why should she not do it? The man was as good as gold at heart. Jean +called him a cad, but the caddishness was only skin deep. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Perry watched her, reading her thoughts more keenly than she +guessed. +</P> + +<P> +"One thing I will say in justice to myself," he said. "You are a rich +woman. If you marry me, YOU will know, if nobody else does, that I am +no fortune-hunter. I shall always be independent of my wife. Every +dollar she owns shall be settled on her before I go with her to the +altar." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm not thinking of the money," said Lucy impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you are thinking of me!" He leaned over her. She felt as if she +had been suddenly dragged too close to a big unpleasant fire. "I know +you don't love me," he panted, "you cold little angel, you! But you do +like me? Eh? just a little bit, Lucy? Marry me. Give me a chance. +I'll bring you to me. If there is a single spark of love in your heart +for me, I'll blow it into a flame! I can do it, I tell you!" He +caught her fiercely by the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy drew back and threw out her hands. "Let me have time to think!" +</P> + +<P> +"Time? You've had a year!" +</P> + +<P> +"One more day. Come again this evening——" +</P> + +<P> +"This evening? I've come so often!" staring breathlessly into her +face. "It will be no use, I can see that. Well, as you please. I'll +come once more." +</P> + +<P> +The young fellow in his jaunty new clothes shook as if he had the ague. +He had touched her. For one minute she had been his! +</P> + +<P> +He turned and walked quickly across the Platz. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, left alone, was full of remorse. She looked down into her heart; +she had forgotten to do it before. No, not a spark for him to blow +into a flame; not a single warm thought of him! +</P> + +<P> +The girl was ashamed of herself. He might be a cad, but he was real; +his honest love possessed him body and soul. It was a matter of +expediency to her; a thing to debate with herself, to dally over, with +paltry pros and cons. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance came hurriedly up the street, an open letter in her hand. +Lucy ran to meet her. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it? You have heard bad news?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose we ought not to call it that. It is from George Waldeaux. +They have a son, two months old. He tells it as a matter for +rejoicing." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," said Lucy feebly. +</P> + +<P> +"They are at Vannes—in Brittany. He has a cough. He seems to know +nobody—to have no friends, and, I suspect, not much money. He is +terribly depressed." Clara folded the letter thoughtfully. "He asks +me to tell his mother that the baby has come." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is his mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Switzerland." +</P> + +<P> +"Why is she not with him?" demanded Lucy angrily. "Wandering about +gathering edelweiss, while he is alone and wretched!" +</P> + +<P> +"He has his wife. You probably do not understand the case fully," said +Clara coldly. "I am going to wire to his mother now." She turned away +and Lucy stood irresolute, her hand clutching the shaggy head of the +stone beast beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"I can give him money. I'll go to him. He needs me!" she said aloud. +Then her whole body burned with shame. She—Lucy Dunbar, good proper +Lucy, whose conscience hurt her if she laid her handkerchiefs away awry +in her drawer, nursing a criminal passion for a married man! +</P> + +<P> +She went slowly back to the inn. "He has his wife," she told herself. +"I am nothing to him. I doubt if he would know me if he met me on the +street." She tried to go back to her easy-going mannerly little +thoughts, but there was something strange and fierce behind them that +would not down. +</P> + +<P> +Jean came presently to the salle. "I have had a letter too," she said. +"The girl who writes came from Pond City. She was in the same atelier +in Paris with George. She says: 'Your friends the Waldeaux have come +to grief by a short cut. They flung money about for a few months as if +they were backed by the Barings. The Barings might have given their +suppers. As for their studio—there was no untidier jumble of old +armor and brasses and Spanish leather in Paris; and Mme. George posing +in the middle in soiled tea-gowns! But the suppers suddenly stopped, +and the leather and Persian hangings went to the Jews. I met Lisa one +day coming out of the Vendome, where she had been trying to peddle a +roll of George's sketches to the rich Americans. I asked her what was +wrong, and she laughed and said, "We were trying to make thirty francs +do the work of thirty thousand. And we have made up our minds that we +know no more of art than house painters. We are in a blind alley!" +Soon after that the baby was born. They went down to Brittany. I hear +that Lisa, since the child came, has been ill. I tell all this dreary +stuff to you thinking that you may pass it on to their folks. Somebody +ought to go to their relief.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Relief!" exclaimed Miss Vance. "And the money that they were flinging +into the gutter was earned day by day by his old mother! Every dollar +of it! I know that during the last year she has done without proper +clothes and food to send their allowance to them." "You forget," said +Lucy, "that George Waldeaux was doing noble work in the world. It was +a small thing for his mother to help him." +</P> + +<P> +"Noble work? His pictures or his sermons, Lucy?" demanded Miss Vance, +with a contemptuous shrug. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy without reply walked out to the inn garden and seated herself in a +shady corner. There Mr. Perry found her just as the first stroke of +the angelus sounded on the air. Her book lay unopened on her lap. +</P> + +<P> +He walked slowly up to her and stopped, breathing hard, as if he had +been running. "It is evening now. I have come for my answer, Miss +Dunbar," he said, forcing a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Answer?" Lucy looked up bewildered. +</P> + +<P> +"You have forgotten!" +</P> + +<P> +The blood rushed to her face. She held out her hands. "Oh, forgive +me! I heard bad news. I have been so troubled——" +</P> + +<P> +"You forgot that I had asked you to be my wife!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Perry——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, don't say another word, Miss Dunbar. I have had my answer. I +knew you didn't love me, but I did not think I was so paltry that you +would forget that I had offered to marry you." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy pressed her hands together, looking up at him miserably without a +word. He walked down the path and leaned on the wall with his back to +her. His very back was indignant. +</P> + +<P> +Presently he turned. "I will bid you goodby," he said, with an effort +at lofty courtesy, "and I will leave my adieux for your friends with +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you going—back to the States?" stammered Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am going back to the States," he replied sternly. "A man of +merit there has his place, regardless of rank. Jem Perry can hold his +head there as high as any beggarly prince. Farewell, Miss Dunbar." +</P> + +<P> +He strode down the path and disappeared. Lucy shook her head and cried +from sheer wretchedness. She felt that she had been beaten to-day with +many stripes. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the bushes beside her rustled. "Forgive me," he said +hoarsely. She looked up and saw his red honest eyes. "I behaved like +a brute. Good-by, Lucy! I never loved any woman but you, and I never +will." +</P> + +<P> +"Stay, stay!" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +He heard her, but he did not come back. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<P> +Lucy was silent and dejected for a day or two, being filled with pity +for Mr. Perry's ruined life. But when she saw his name in a list of +outgoing passengers on the Paris her heart gave a bound of relief. +Nothing more could now be done. That chapter was closed. There had +been no other chapter of moment in her life, she told herself sternly. +Now, all the clouds had cleared away. It was a new day. She would +begin again. +</P> + +<P> +So she put on new clothes, none of which she had ever worn before, and +tied back her curly hair with a fresh white ribbon, and came down to +breakfast singing gayly. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance gave her her roll and milk in silence, and frowning +importantly, drew out a letter. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy, I have just received a communication from Prince Wolfburgh. He +is in Bozen." +</P> + +<P> +"Here!" Lucy started up, glancing around like a chased hare. +</P> + +<P> +Then she sat down again and waited. There was no other chapter, and +the book was so blank! +</P> + +<P> +"His coming is very opportune," she said presently, gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! do YOU think so, my dear? Really! Well, I always have liked the +young man. So simple. So secure of his social position. The +Wolfburghs, I find, go back to the eleventh century. Mr. Perry had +noble traits, but one never felt quite safe as to his nails or his +grammar." +</P> + +<P> +"But the prince—the prince?" cried Jean. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. Well, he writes—most deferentially. He begs for the honor +of an interview with me this afternoon upon a subject of the most vital +importance. He says, 'regarding you, as I do, in loco parentis to the +hochgeboren Fraulein Dunbar.'" "Hochgeboren!" said Lucy. "My +grandfather was a saddler. Tell him so, Miss Vance. Tell him the +exact facts. I want no disclosures after——" +</P> + +<P> +"After marriage?" said Jean, rising suddenly. "Then you have decided?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have not said that I had decided," replied Lucy calmly. +</P> + +<P> +Jean laughed. "He will not be scared by the saddler. Europeans of his +order take no account of our American class distinctions. They look +upon us as low-born parvenues, all alike. They weigh and value us by +other standards than birth." +</P> + +<P> +"I have money, if you mean that, Jean," said Lucy cheerfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I think you had better go away, girls, if you have finished your +dejeuner. He may be here at any moment now," said Clara, looking +anxiously at her watch. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy went to her little chamber and sat down to work at a monstrous +caricature which she was painting of the church. Jean paced up and +down the stone corridor, looking out of the window into the Platz. +</P> + +<P> +"He has come," she said excitedly, appearing at Lucy's door. "He went +into the church first, to say an ave for help, poor little man! His +fat face is quite pale and stern. It is a matter of life and death to +him. And it's no more to you than the choosing of a new coat." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy smiled and sketched in a priest on the church steps. Her hand +shook, but Jean could not see that. She went to the window again with +something like an inward oath at the dolts of commonplace women who had +all the best chances, but was back in a moment, laughing nervously. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know he has on that old brown suit?" She leaned against the +jamb of the door. "If I were a prince, and came a-wooing, I would have +troops of my Jagers, and trumpets and banners with the arms of my +House, and I'd wear all my decorations. Of course we Americans are +bound to say that rank and royalty are dead things. But if I had them, +I'd galvanize the corpses! If they are useful as shows, I'd make the +show worth seeing. I'd cover myself with jewels like the old +Romanoffs. You would never see Queen Jean in a slouchy alpaca and +pork-pie hat like Victoria." While her tongue chattered, her eyes +watched Lucy keenly. "You don't hear me! You are deciding what to do. +Why on earth should you hesitate? He is a gentleman—he loves you!" +and then to Lucy's relief she suddenly threw on her hat and rushed off +for a walk. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Dunbar painted the priest's robe yellow, in her agitation. But +the agitation was not deep. There really seemed no reason why she +should hesitate. He would be kind; he was well-bred and agreeable. A +princess? She had a vague idea of a glorified region of ancestral +castles and palaces in which dukes and royalties dwelt apart and +discoursed of high matters. She would be one of them. +</P> + +<P> +The other day there seemed to be no reason why she should not marry Mr. +Perry. In marriage then one must only consider the suitability of the +man? There was nothing else to consider—— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +With a queer, hunted look in her soft eyes she worked on, daubing on +paint liberally. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, in the little salle below, Miss Vance sat stiffly erect, +while the prince talked in his shrill falsetto. Although he set forth +his affection for the engelreine Madchen as simply as the little German +baker in Weir (whom he certainly did resemble) might have done, she +could find, in her agitation, no fitting words in which to answer him. +That she, Clara Vance, should be the arbiter in a princely alliance! +At last she managed to ask whether Miss Dunbar had given him any +encouragement on which to found his claim. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Fraulein Vance!" he cried, laughing. "The hare does not call to +the hounds! But I have no fear. She speaks to me in other ways than +by words. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'Mein Herz und seine Augen<BR> +Verstehen sich gar so gut!'<BR> +</P> + +<P> +You know the old song. Ah, ja! I understand what she would +say—here!" touching his heart. +</P> + +<P> +He paced up and down, smiling to himself. Suddenly he drew up before +her, tossing his hands out as if to throw away some pleasant dream. "I +have come to you, gracious lady, as I would to the mother of Miss +Dunbar. I show to you the heart! But before I address her it is +necessary that I shall consult her guardian with regard to business." +</P> + +<P> +It was precisely, Clara said afterward, as if the baker from Weir had +stopped singing, and presented his bill. +</P> + +<P> +"Business?" she gasped. "Oh, I see! Settlements. We don't have such +things in the States. But I quite understand all those European social +traits. I have lived abroad for years. I——" +</P> + +<P> +"Who is Miss Dunbar's guardian?" the prince demanded alertly. He sat +down by the table and took out a notebook and papers. +</P> + +<P> +"But—settlements? Is not that a little premature?" she ventured. +"She has not accepted you." +</P> + +<P> +"HE may not accept my financial proposals. It is business, you see. +The gentle ladies, even die Amerikaner, do not comprehend business. It +is not, you perceive, dear lady, the same when the head of the House of +Wolfburgh allies himself with a hochgeboren Fraulein as when the +tailors marry——" +</P> + +<P> +"Nor bakers. I see," stammered Clara. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Dunbar's properties are valuable. Her estate in Del-aware," +glancing at his notebook, "is larger than some of our German kingdoms. +Her investments in railway and mining securities, if put on the market, +should be worth a million of florins. These are solid matters, and +must be dealt with carefully." +</P> + +<P> +"But, good gracious, Prince Wolfburgh!" cried Miss Vance, "how did you +find out about Lucy's investments?" +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her in amazement. "Meine gnadigste Fraulein! It is not +possible that you supposed that in such a matter as this men leap into +the dark—the men of rank, princes, counts, English barons, who marry +the American mees? That they do not know for what they exchange +their—all that they give? I will tell you," with a condescending +smile. "There are agents in the States—in New York—in +Chicago—in—how do you name it? St. Sanata. They furnish exact +information as to the dot of the lady who will, perhaps, marry here. +Oh, no! We do not leap into the dark!" +</P> + +<P> +"So I perceive," said Clara dryly. "And may I inquire, your Highness, +what financial arrangement you propose, in case she becomes your wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"Assuredly." He hastily unfolded a large paper. "This must be +accepted by her guardian before the betrothal can take place. I will +translate, in brief. The whole estate passes to me, and is secured to +me in case of my wife's death without issue. I inserted that clause," +he said, looking up, smiling, for approval, "because American Frauleins +are so fragile—not like our women. I will, of course, if we have +issue, try to preserve the real estate for my heir, and the remaining +property for my other children." +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to me that a good deal is taken for granted there," said +Clara, whose cheeks were very hot. "And where does Miss Dunbar come +into this arrangement? Is she not to have any money at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"My widow, should I die first, will be paid an annuity from my estate. +But while Mees Lucy is my wife, <I>I</I> will buy all that she needs. I +will delight to dress her, to feed her well. With discretion, of +course. For there are many channels into which my income must flow. +But I will not be a niggardly husband to her! No, no!" cried the +little man in a glow. +</P> + +<P> +"That is very kind of you. But she will not have any of her own money +to spend? In her own purse? To fling into the gutter if she chooses?" +</P> + +<P> +The prince laughed gayly. "How American you are, gracious lady! A +German wife does not ask for her 'own purse.' My wife will cease to be +American; she will be German," patting his soft hands ecstatically. +"But you have not told me the name of her guardian?" +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy," said Miss Vance reluctantly, "is of age. She has full control +of her property. A Trust Company manages it for her, but they have no +authority to stop her if she chooses to—throw it into the gutter." +</P> + +<P> +The prince looked up sharply. Could this be a trick? But if it were, +the agent would find out for him. He rose. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"To have the sole disposal of her own hand and of her fortune? That +seems strange to us," he said, smiling. "But I have your consent, most +dear lady, to win both, if I can?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, prince. If you can." +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand and bowed profoundly over it, but no courtly grace nor +words could bring back Clara's awe of him. She had a vague impression +that the Weir baker had been wrangling with her about his bill. +</P> + +<P> +"Your Highness has asked a good many questions," she said. "May I put +one to you? Did you inquire concerning Miss Hassard's dot, also?" "Ah, +certainly! Why not? It is very large. I have spoken of it to my +cousin Count Odo. But the drawback—her father still lives. He may +marry again. Her dot depends upon his good pleasure. Whereas Miss +Dunbar is an orphan; and besides that, she is so dear to me!" clasping +his hands, his face red with fervor. "So truly dear!" +</P> + +<P> +And she knew that he honestly meant it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<P> +When Miss Vance came into the corridor after she had reported this +interview to Lucy, Jean swept her into her room and dragged the whole +story from her. In fact the poor anxious lady was glad to submit it to +the girl's shrewd hard sense. +</P> + +<P> +"You told him that she was the uncontrolled mistress of her money!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is the truth. I had to tell him the truth, my dear." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I suppose so, for he would have found it out anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +"I do feel," panted Clara, "as if I had put a dove into the claws of a +vulture." +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all," said Jean promptly. "The little man has a heart, but an +empty pocket. Was Lucy interested most in his love or his bargaining?" +</P> + +<P> +"In neither, I think. She just went on painting, and said nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she will decide the matter in time! She will bring her little +intellect to bear on it as if it were a picnic for her Sunday-school +class!" Jean stood silent a while. "Miss Vance," she said suddenly, +"let me engineer this affair for a few days. I can help you." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you propose to do, Jean?" +</P> + +<P> +"To leave Bozen to-morrow. For Munich." +</P> + +<P> +"But the Wolfburghs have a palace or—something in Munich. Is it quite +delicate for us——" +</P> + +<P> +"It is quite rational. Let us see what the something is. So far in +our dealings with principalities and powers, we have had a stout little +man—with no background." The prince was startled when he was told of +this sudden journey, but declared that he would follow them to-morrow. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, as usual, asked no questions, but calmly packed her satchel. +</P> + +<P> +As the little train, the next day, lumbered through the valley of the +Eisach, she sat in her corner, reading a newspaper. Miss Vance dozed, +or woke with a start to lecture on points of historic interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you look, Lucy? That monastery was a Roman fortress in the +third century. And you are missing the color effects of the vineyards." +</P> + +<P> +"I can look now. I have finished my paper." Lucy folded it neatly and +replaced it in her bag. "I have read the Delaware State Sun," she said +triumphantly, "regularly, every week since we left home. When I go +back I shall be only seven days behind with the Wilmington news." +</P> + +<P> +Jean glanced at her contemptuously. "Look at that great castle on +yonder mountain," she said. "You could lodge a village inside of the +ramparts. Do you think Wolfburgh Schloss is like that? The prince +told us last night," turning to Miss Vance, "the old legends about his +castle. The first Wolfburgh was a Titan about the time of Noah, and +married a human wife, and with his hands tore open the mountain for +rocks to lay the foundation of his house. According to his story there +were no end of giants and trolls and kings concerned in the building of +it," she went on, furtively watching the deepening pink in Lucy's +cheek. "The Wolfburgh of Charlemagne's day was besieged by him, and +another entertained St. Louis and all his crusaders within the walls." +Jean's voice rose shrilly and her eyes glowed. She leaned forward, +looking eagerly across the fields. "The prince told us that the +Schloss of his race had for centuries been one of the great fortresses +of Christendom. And here it is! Now we shall see—we shall see!" +</P> + +<P> +The car stopped. The guard opened the door and Miss Vance and Lucy +suddenly found themselves swept by Jean on to the platform, while the +little train rumbled on down the valley. Miss Vance cried out in +dismay. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind. There will be another train in a half hour," said Jean. +"Here is the Schloss," pointing to a pepper-box tower neatly +whitewashed, which rose out of a huge mass of broken stone. "And here, +I suppose, is the capital of the kingdom over which the Wolfburghs now +reign feudal lords?" +</P> + +<P> +Clara found herself against her will looking curiously at the forge, +the dirty shop, the tiny bier-halle, and a half a dozen huts, out of +which swarmed a few old women and children. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are the men of this village?" Jean demanded of the station +master, a stout old man with a pipe in his mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"Gone to America, for the most part," he said, with a shrug. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy came up hastily, an angry glitter in her soft eyes. "You have no +right to make me play the spy in this way!" she said haughtily, and +going into the little station sat down with her back to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"You? It is I—I——" muttered Jean breathlessly. "And who lives in +the tower, my good man? It is not big enough for a dozen hens." She +slipped a florin into his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Four of the noble ladies live there. The princesses. The gracious +sisters of Furst Hugo. There come two of them now." +</P> + +<P> +A couple of lean, wrinkled women dressed in soiled merino gowns and +huge black aprons, their hair bristling in curl papers, crossed the +road, peering curiously at the strangers. +</P> + +<P> +"They came to look at you, Fraulein," said the man, chuckling. +"Strangers do not stop at Wolfburgh twice in the year." +</P> + +<P> +"And what do the noble ladies do all the year?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jean, Jean!" remonstrated Clara. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Miss Vance! This is life and death to some of us! What do they +do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do?" said the man, staring. "What shall any gracious lady do? They +cook and brew, and crochet lace and——" +</P> + +<P> +"Are there any more princesses—sisters of Furst Hugo?" +</P> + +<P> +"Two more. They live in Munich. No, none of them are married. +Because," he added zealously, "there are no men as high-born as our +gracious ladies, so they cannot marry." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt that accounts for it," said Jean. "Six. These are 'the +channels into which the income will flow,' hey?" She gave him more +money, and marching into the station caught Lucy by the shoulder, +shaking her passionately. "Do you think any American girl could stand +that? How would YOU like to be caged up in that ridiculous tower to +cook and crochet and brew beer and watch the train go by for +recreation? The year round—the year round?" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy rose quietly. "The train is coming now," she said. "Calm +yourself, Jean. YOU will not have to live in the tower." +</P> + +<P> +Jean laughed. When they were seated in the car again, she looked +wistfully out at the heaps of ruins. +</P> + +<P> +"It must have been a mighty fortress once," she said. "Those stones +were hewed before Charlemagne's time. And a great castle could easily +be built with them now," she added thoughtfully. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<P> +The travellers entered Munich at noon. The great generous city lay +tranquil and smiling in the frosty sunlight. +</P> + +<P> +"I have secured apartments," said Miss Vance, "used hitherto by +royalties or American millionaires. My girl must be properly framed +when a prince comes a-wooing." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy smiled. But her usual warm color faded as they drove through the +streets. Jean, however, was gay and eager. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, the dear splendid town!" she cried. "It always seems to give us a +royal welcome. Nothing is changed! There is the music in the Kellers, +and there go the same Bavarian officers with their swagger and saucy +blue eyes. They are the handsomest men in Europe! And here is the +Munchen-kindl laughing at us, and the same crowds are going to the +Pinakothek! What do you want more? Beer and splendor and fun and art! +What a home it will be for you, Lucy!" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's cold silence did not check Jean's affectionate zeal. She +anxiously searched among the stately old buildings, which they passed, +for the Wolfburgh palace. "It will not be in these commonplace +Haussmannized streets," she said. "It is in some old corner; it has a +vast, mysterious, feudal air, I fancy. You will hold a little court in +it, and sometimes let a poor American artist from Pond City in to hang +on the edge of the crowd and stare at the haute noblesse." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be absurd, Jean," said Miss Vance. +</P> + +<P> +"I am quite serious. I think an American girl like Lucy, with her +beauty and her money, will be welcomed by these German nobles as a +white swan among ducks. She ought to take her place and hold it." +Jean's black eyes snapped and the blood flamed up her cheeks. "If I +were she I'd make my money tell! I'd buy poor King Ludwig's residence +at Binderhof, with the cascades and jewelled peacocks and fairy +grottos, for my country seat. The Bavarian nobility are a beggarly +lot. If they knew that Lucy and her millions were coming to town in +this cab, they'd blow their trumpets for joy. 'Wave, Munich, all thy +banners wave!'" Lucy's impatient shrug silenced her, but she was +preoccupied and excited throughout the day. Miss Vance watched her +curiously. Could it be that she had heard of the prince's plan of +marrying her to his cousin, and that she was building these air castles +for herself? +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A day or two sufficed to make Miss Vance's cheery apartments the +rendezvous of troops of Americans of all kinds: from the rich lounger, +bored by the sight of pictures, which he did not understand, and courts +which he could not enter, to the half-starved, eager-eyed art students, +who smoked, and drank beer, and chattered in gutturals, hoping to pass +for Germans. +</P> + +<P> +There were plenty of idle young New Yorkers and Bostonians too, +hovering round Lucy and Jean, overweighted by their faultless London +coats and trousers and fluent French. But they deceived nobody; they +all had that nimble brain, and that unconscious swagger of importance +and success which stamps the American in every country. Prince Hugo, +in his old brown suit, came and went quietly among them. +</P> + +<P> +"The genuine article!" Jean declared loudly. "There is something royal +in his hospitality! He lays all Munich at Lucy's feet, as if it were +his own estate, and the museums and palaces were the furniture of his +house. That homely simplicity of his is tremendously fine, if she +could understand it!" +</P> + +<P> +The homely genuineness had its effect even upon Lucy. The carriage +which he brought to drive them to Isar-anen was scaly with age, but the +crest upon it was the noblest in Bavaria; in the cabinet of portraits +of ancient beauties in the royal palace he showed her indifferently two +or three of his aunts and grandmothers, and in the historical picture +of the anointing of the great Charlemagne, one of his ancestors, stout +and good-humored as Hugo himself, supported the emperor. +</P> + +<P> +"The pudgy little man," said Jean one day, "somehow belongs to the old +world of knights and crusaders—Sintram and his companions. He will +make it all real to Lucy when she marries him. He is like Ali Baba, +standing at the shut door of the cave full of jewels and treasures with +the key in his hand." +</P> + +<P> +"Those Arabian Night stories are simply silly," said Lucy severely. "I +am astonished that any woman in this age of the world should read that +kind of trash." +</P> + +<P> +"But the prince's cave?" persisted Jean. "When are we to look into it? +I want to be sure of the treasures inside. When are we to go to his +palace? When will his sisters ask us to dinner?" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance looked anxious. "That is a question of great importance," +she said. "The princesses have invited me through their brother to +call. It is of course etiquette here for the stranger to call first, +but I don't wish to compromise Lucy by making advances." +</P> + +<P> +There was a moment's silence, then Lucy said, blushing and faltering a +little, "It would be better perhaps to call, and not prejudice them, by +any discourtesy, against us. The prince is very kind." +</P> + +<P> +"So! The wind is in that quarter?" Jean said, with a harsh laugh. +</P> + +<P> +She jumped up and went to her own room. She was in a rage at herself. +Why had she not run away to Paris months ago and begun her great +picture of the World's mother, Eve? There was a career for her! And +thinking—perhaps of Eve—she cried hot salt tears. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<P> +A week passed, but the question of the first call was not yet settled. +It required as much diplomacy as an international difficulty. Furst +Hugo represented the princesses as "burning with impatience to behold +the engelreine Madchen whom they hoped to embrace as a sister," but no +visible sign of their ardor reached Miss Vance. +</P> + +<P> +On Monday Jean went to spend the day with some of her artist friends, +but at noon she dashed into the room where Clara and Lucy sat sewing, +her dark face blotched red, and her voice stuttering with excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen into the cave!" she shouted. "I have got at the truth! +It's a rather stagy throne, the Wolfburghs! Plated, cheap!" +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter with you?" said Miss Vance. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing is the matter with ME. It is Lucy's tragedy. I've seen the +magnificent ancient palace of the Wolfburghs. It is a flat! In the +very house where I went to-day. The third story flat just under the +attics where the poor Joneses daub portraits. I passed the open doors +and I saw the shabby old tables and chairs and the princesses—two fat +old women in frowzy wrappers, and their hair in papers, eating that +soup of pork and cabbages and raisins—the air was thick with the +smell! And that is not the worst!" +</P> + +<P> +"Take breath, Jean," said Lucy calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"The prince himself—the Joneses told me, there can be no doubt—the +prince makes soap for a living! No wonder you turn pale, Miss Vance. +Soap! He is the silent partner in the firm of Woertz und Zimmer, and +it is not a paying business either." +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not wait for an answer, but walked up and down the room, +laughing angrily to herself. "Yes, soap! He cannot sneer at Lucy's +ancestral saddles, now. Nor my father's saws! His rank is the only +thing he has to give for Lucy's millions, and now she knows what it is +worth!" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy rose and, picking up her work basket, walked quietly out of the +room. Jean flashed an indignant glance after her. +</P> + +<P> +"She might have told me that he gave himself! Surely the man counts +for something! Anyhow, rank like his is not smirched by poverty or +trade. Bismarck himself brews beer." +</P> + +<P> +"Your temper is contradictory to-day," said Clara coldly. "Did you +know," she said presently, "that the princesses will be at the Countess +von Amte's to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then we shall meet them!" cried Jean. "Then something will be +settled." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy locked the door of her chamber after her. She found much comfort +in the tiny bare room with its white walls and blue stove, and the +table where lay her worn Bible and a picture of her old home. The room +seemed a warm home to her now. Above the wall she had hung photographs +of the great Madonnas, and lately she had placed one of Frances +Waldeaux among them. That was the face on which she looked last at +night. When Clara had noticed it, Lucy had said, "I am as fond of the +dear lady as if she were my own mother." +</P> + +<P> +She sat down before it now, and taking out her sewing began to work, +glancing up at it, half smiling as to a friend who talked to her. She +thought of Furst Hugo boiling soap, with a gentle pity, and of Jean +with hot disdain. What had Jean to do with it? The prince was her own +lover, as her gloves were her own. +</P> + +<P> +But indeed, the prince and love were but shadows on the far sky line to +the little girl; the real things were her work and her Bible, and +George's mother talking to her. She often traced remembered +expressions on Mrs. Waldeaux's face; the gayety, the sympathy, a +strange foreboding in the eyes. Finer meanings, surely, than any in +the features of these immortal insipid Madonnas! +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes Lucy could not decide whether she had seen these meanings on +Frances Waldeaux's face, or on her son's. +</P> + +<P> +She sewed until late in the afternoon. There came a tap at the door. +She opened it, and there stood Mrs. Waldeaux, wrapped in a heavy cloak. +Lucy jumped at her, trembling, and hugged her. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, come in! Come in!" she cried shrilly. "I have just been thinking +of you and talking to you!" +</P> + +<P> +Frances laughed, bewildered. "Oh, it is Miss Dunbar? The man sent me +here by mistake to wait. Miss Vance is out, he said." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I suppose so. But I—I am here." Lucy threw her arms around her +again, laying her head down on her shoulder. She felt as if something +that she had waited for a long time was coming to her. "Sit by the +stove. Your hands are like ice," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am usually cold now; I don't know why." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy then saw a curious change in her face. The fine meanings were not +in it now. It was fatter—coarser; the hair was dead, the eyes moved +sluggishly, like the glass eyes of a doll. +</P> + +<P> +"You are always cold? Your blood is thin, perhaps. You are overtired, +dear. Have you travelled much?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes! all of the time. I have seen whole tracts of pictures, and +no end of palaces and hotels—hotels—hotels!" Frances said, awakening +to the necessity of being talkative and vivacious with the young girl. +She threw off her cloak. There was a rip in the fur, and the dirty +lining hung out. Lucy shuddered. Mrs. Waldeaux's blood must have +turned to water, or she would never have permitted that! +</P> + +<P> +"You must rest now. I will take care of you," she said, with a little +nod of authority. Frances looked at her perplexed. Why should this +pretty creature mother her with such tenderness? +</P> + +<P> +Oh! It was the girl that George should have married! +</P> + +<P> +She glanced at the white room with its dainty bibelots, the Bible, the +Madonnas, watching, benign. Poor little nun, waiting for the love that +never could come to her! +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad you are here, my child. You can tell me what I want to +know. I have not an hour to spare. I am going to my son—to George. +Do you know where he is?" +</P> + +<P> +"At Vannes, in Brittany." +</P> + +<P> +"Brittany—that is a long way." Frances rose uncertainly. "I hoped he +was near. I was in a Russian village, and Clara's letter was long in +finding me. When I got it, I travelled night and day. I somehow +thought I should meet him on the way. I fancied he would come to meet +me." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's blue eyes watched her keenly a moment. Then she rang the bell. +</P> + +<P> +"You must eat, first of all," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I am not hungry. Vannes, you said? I must go now. I haven't an +hour." +</P> + +<P> +"You have two, exactly. You'll take the express at eight. Oh, I'm +never mistaken about a train. Here is the coffee. Now, I'll make you +a nice sandwich." +</P> + +<P> +Frances was faint with hunger. As she ate, she watched the pretty +matter-of-fact little girl, and laughed with delight. When had she +found any thing so wholesome? It was a year, too, since she had seen +any one who knew George. Naturally, she began to empty her heart, +which was full of him, to Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +"I have not spoken English for months," she said, smiling over her +coffee. "It is a relief! And you are a friend of my son's, too?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. A mere acquaintance," said Lucy, with reserve. +</P> + +<P> +"No one could even see George and not understand how different he is +from other men." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! altogether different!" said Lucy. "Yes, you understand. And +there was that future before him—when his trouble came. Oh, I've +thought of it, and thought of it, until my head is tired! He fell +under that woman's influence, you see. It was like mesmerism, or the +voodoo curse that the negroes talk of. It came on me too. Why, there +was a time when I despised him. George!" Her eyes grew full of +horror. "I left him, to live my own life. He has staggered under his +burden alone, and I could have rid him of it. Now there are two of +them." +</P> + +<P> +"Two of them?" said Lucy curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a baby—Pauline Felix's grandson. I beg your pardon, my +child, I ought not to have named her. She is not a person whom you +should ever hear of. He has them both,—George. He has that weight to +carry." She stood up. "That is why I am going to him. It must be +taken from him." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—a divorce?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know—I can't think clearly. But God does such queer things! +There are millions of men in the world, and this curse falls +on—George!" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy put her hands on the older woman's arms and seated her. "Mrs. +Waldeaux," she said, with decision, "you need sleep, or you would not +talk in that way. Lisa is not a curse. Nor a voodoo witch. She came +to your son instead of to any other man—because he chose her out from +all other women. He had seen them." She held her curly head erect. +"As he did choose her, he should make the best of her." +</P> + +<P> +Frances looked at her as one awakened out of a dream. "You talk +sensibly, child. Perhaps you are right. But I must go. Ring for a +cab, please. No, I will wait in the station. Clara would argue and +lecture. I could not stand that to-night," with her old comical shrug. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's entreaties were vain. +</P> + +<P> +But as the train rushed through the valley of the Isar that night, +Frances looked forward into the darkness with a nameless terror. "That +child was so healthy and sane," she said, "I wish I had stayed with her +longer." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<P> +Prince Hugo had made no secret of his intentions with regard to Miss +Dunbar, so that when it was known that his sisters and the rich +American Mees would at last meet at the Countess von Amte's there was a +flutter of curiosity in the exclusive circle of Munich. The countess +herself called twice on Clara that day, so great was her triumph that +this social event would occur at her house. +</P> + +<P> +She asked boldly "Which of Miss Dunbar's marvellous Parisian +confections will she wear? It is so important for her future happiness +that the princesses should be favorably impressed! Aber, lieber Gott!" +she shrieked, "don't let her speak French! Not a word! That would be +ruin! They are all patriotism!" She hurried away, and ran back to say +that the sun was shining as it had not done for days. +</P> + +<P> +"She thinks nature itself is agog to see how the princesses receive +Lucy," said Miss Vance indignantly. "One would suppose that the child +was on trial." +</P> + +<P> +"So she is. Me, too," said Jean, wistfully regarding the bebe waist of +the gown which Doucet had just sent her. "I must go as an ingenue. I +don't play the part well!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, you do not," said Clara. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance tapped at Lucy's door as she went down, and found her +working at her embroidery. "You must lie down for an hour, my dear," +she said, "and be fresh and rosy for this evening." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not going. I must finish these pinks. I have just sent a note +of apology to the countess." +</P> + +<P> +"Not going!" Clara gasped, dismayed. Then she laughed with triumph. +"The princesses and all the Herrschaft of Munich will be there to pass +judgment on the bride, and the bride will be sitting at home finishing +her pinks! Good!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am no bride!" Lucy rose, stuck her needle carefully in its place, +and came closer to Miss Vance. "I have made up my mind," she said +earnestly. "I shall never marry. My life now is quiet and clean. I'm +not at all sure that it would be either if I were the Princess +Wolfburgh." +</P> + +<P> +Clara stroked her hair fondly. "Your decision is sudden, my dear," she +faltered, at last. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. There was something last night. It showed me what I was doing. +To marry a man just because he is good and kind, that is—vile!" The +tears rushed to her eyes. There was a short silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't look so aghast, dear Miss Vance," said Lucy cheerfully. "Go now +and dress to meet the Herrschaft." +</P> + +<P> +"And what will you do, child?" +</P> + +<P> +"I really must finish these pinks to-night." She took up her work. +Her chin trembled a little. "We won't speak of this again, please," +she said. "I never shall be a bride or a wife or mother. I will have +a quiet, independent life—like yours." +</P> + +<P> +The sunshine fell on the girl's grave, uplifted face, on the white +walls, the blue stove, and the calm, watching Madonnas. Clara, as Mrs. +Waldeaux had done, thought of a nun in her cell to whom love could only +be a sacred dream. +</P> + +<P> +She smiled back at Lucy, bade her goodnight, and closed the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Like mine?" she said, as she went down the corridor. "Well, it is a +comfortable, quiet life. But empty——" And she laid her hand suddenly +across her thin breast. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Jean listened in silence when Clara told her briefly that Lucy was not +going. +</P> + +<P> +"She is very shrewd," she said presently. "She means to treat them de +haut en bas from the outset. It is capital policy." +</P> + +<P> +Jean, when she entered the countess's salon, with downcast eyes, draped +in filmy lace without a jewel or flower, was shy innocence in person. +Furst Hugo stood near the hostess, with two stout women in shabby gowns +and magnificent jewels. +</P> + +<P> +"The frocks they made themselves, and the emeralds are heirlooms," Jean +muttered to Clara, without lifting her timid eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Dunbar is not coming?" exclaimed the prince. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Miss Vance. +</P> + +<P> +"The Fraulein is ill?" demanded one of his sisters. +</P> + +<P> +"No," Clara said, again smiling. "WE expected to meet her," the +younger princess said. "It is most singular——" +</P> + +<P> +"She has sent her apology to the countess," said Clara gently, and +passed on. +</P> + +<P> +But her little triumph was short lived. +</P> + +<P> +A famous professional soprano appeared in a white-ribboned enclosure at +the end of the salon, and the guests were rapidly arranged according to +their rank to listen. Clara and Jean stood until every man and woman +were comfortably seated, when they were placed in the back row. +</P> + +<P> +When the music was over supper was announced, and the same ceremony was +observed. The Highnessess, the hochwohlgeboren privy councillors, the +hochgeboren secretaries, even the untitled Herren who held some petty +office, were ushered with profound deference to their seats at the long +table, while Clara stood waiting. Jean's eyes still drooped meekly, +but even her lips were pale. +</P> + +<P> +"How can you look so placid?" she whispered. "It is a deliberate +insult to your gray hairs." +</P> + +<P> +"No. It is the custom of the country. It does not hurt me." +</P> + +<P> +They were led at the moment to the lowest seats. Jean shot one +vindictive glance around the table. +</P> + +<P> +"You have more wit and breeding than any of them!" she said. "And as +for me, this lace I wear would buy any of their rickety old palaces." +</P> + +<P> +"They have something which we cannot buy," said Miss Vance gravely. "I +never understood before how actual a thing rank is here." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Cannot it be bought? I am going to look into that when this huge feed +is over," Miss Hassard said to herself. +</P> + +<P> +Late in the evening she danced with Count Odo, and prattled to him in a +childish, frank fashion which he found very charming. +</P> + +<P> +"Your rules of precedence are very disagreeable!" she pouted. +"Especially when one sits at the foot of the table and is served last." +</P> + +<P> +"They must seem queer to you," he said, laughing, "but they are +inflexible as iron." +</P> + +<P> +"But they will bend for Miss Dunbar, if she makes up her mind to marry +your cousin?" she asked, looking up into his face like an innocent +child. +</P> + +<P> +"No. Hugo makes a serious sacrifice in marrying a woman of no birth," +he said. "He must give up his place and title as head of the family. +She will not be received at court nor in certain houses; she must +always remain outside of much of his social life." +</P> + +<P> +He led her back to Miss Vance. She seemed to be struck dumb, and even +forgot to smile when he bowed low and thanked her for the dance. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go home," she whispered to Clara. "The American girl is a fool +who marries one of these men!" +</P> + +<P> +When Miss Vance's carriage reached her hotel, she found Prince Hugo's +coupe before the door. +</P> + +<P> +"He has come to see Lucy, alone!" she said indignantly, as she hurried +up the steps. "He has no right to annoy her!" +</P> + +<P> +She met him coming out of the long salle. The little man walked +nervously, fingering his sword hilt. He could not control his voice +when he tried to speak naturally. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, gracious lady, I am guilty. It was unpardonable to come when I +knew the chaperone was gone. But—ach! I could not wait!" throwing +out both hands to her. "I have waited so long! I knew when she did +not come to meet my sisters to-night she had resolved against me, but I +could not sleep uncertain. So I break all the laws, and come!" +</P> + +<P> +"You have seen her, then? She has told you?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded without speaking. His round face was red, and something like +tears stood in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +He waited irresolute a moment, and then threw up his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Soh! It is over! I shall not whine! You have been very good to me," +he said earnestly, taking Clara's hand. "This is the first great +trouble in my life. I have loved her very dearly. I decided to make +great sacrifices for her. But I am not to have her—never." +</P> + +<P> +"I am so sorry for you, prince." Clara squeezed his hand energetically. +"Nor her dot. That would have been so comfortable for me," he said +simply. +</P> + +<P> +Clara hid a smile, and bade him an affectionate good-night. +</P> + +<P> +As he passed into the outer salle a childish figure in creamy lace rose +before him, and a soft hand was held out. "I know what has happened!" +she whispered passionately. "She has treated you scandalously! She +cannot appreciate YOU!" +</P> + +<P> +Prince Hugo stuttered and coughed and almost kissed the little hand +which lay so trustingly in his. He found himself safely outside at +last, and drove away, wretched to the soul. +</P> + +<P> +But below his wretchedness something whispered: "SHE appreciates me, +and her dot is quite as large." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<P> +George Waldeaux hummed a tune gayly as he climbed the winding maze of +streets in Vannes, one cloudy afternoon, with Lisa. +</P> + +<P> +"It is impertinent to be modern Americans in this old town," he said. +"We might play that we were jongleurs, and that it was still mediaeval +times. I am sure the gray walls yonder and the fortress houses in this +street have not changed in ages." +</P> + +<P> +"Neither have the smells, apparently," said Lisa grimly. "Wrap this +scarf about your throat, George. You coughed last night." +</P> + +<P> +George tied up his throat. "Coughed, did I?" he said anxiously. He +had had a cold last winter, and his wife with her poultices and fright +had convinced him that he was a confirmed invalid. The coming of her +baby had given to the woman a motherly feeling toward all of the world, +even to her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at these women," he said, going on with his fancy presently. "I +am sure that they were here wearing these black gowns and huge red +aprons in the twelfth century. What is this?" he said, stopping +abruptly, to a boy of six who was digging mud at the foot of an ancient +ivy-covered tower. +</P> + +<P> +"C'est le tour du Connetable," the child lisped. "Et v'la, monsieur!" +pointing to a filthy pen with a gate of black oak; "v'la le donjon de +Clisson!" "Who was Clisson?" said Lisa impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"A live man to Froissart—and to this boy," said George, laughing. "I +told you that we had gone back seven centuries. This fog comes in from +the Morbihan sea where Arthur and his knights went sailing to find the +Holy Greal. They have not come back. And south yonder is the country +of the Druids. I will take you to-morrow and show you twenty thousand +of their menhirs, and then we will sail away to an island where there +is an altar that the serpent worshippers built ages before Christ." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Lisa laughed. He was not often in this playful mood. She panted as +she toiled up the dark little street, a step behind him, but he did not +think of giving her his arm. He had grown accustomed to regard himself +as the invalid now, and the one who needed care. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going for letters," he called back, diving into a dingy alley. +The baby and its bonne were near Lisa. The child never was out of her +sight for, a moment. She waited, standing a little apart from Colette +to watch whether the passers-by would notice the baby. When one or two +of the gloomy and stolid women who hurried past in their wooden sabots +clicked their fingers to it, she could not help smiling gayly and +bidding them good-day. +</P> + +<P> +The fog was stifling. As she waited she gave a tired gasp. Colette +ran to her. "Madame is going to be ill!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! Don't frighten monsieur." +</P> + +<P> +George came out of the gate at the moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Going to faint again, Lisa?" he said, with an annoyed glance around +the street. "Your attacks do choose the most malapropos times——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, dear no, George! I am quite well quite." She walked beside him +with an airy step, laughing gayly now and then, but George's frown +deepened. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand these seizures at all," he said. "You seem to be +in sound physical condition." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, all women have queer turns, George." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you consult D'Abri, as I told you to do, in Paris?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes! Now let us talk no more about it. I have had +these—symptoms since I was a child." +</P> + +<P> +"You never told me of them before we were married," he muttered. +</P> + +<P> +Lisa scowled darkly at him, but she glanced at the baby and her mouth +closed. Little Jacques should never hear her rage nor swear. +</P> + +<P> +From an overhanging gable at the street corner looked down a roughly +hewn stone Madonna. The arms of the Holy Child were outstretched to +bless. Lisa paused before it, crossing herself. A strange joy filled +her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"I too am a mother! I too!" she said. She hurried after George and +clung to his arm as they went home. +</P> + +<P> +"Was there any letter?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Only one from Munich—Miss Vance. I haven't opened it." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought your mother would write. She must have heard about the boy!" +</P> + +<P> +George's face grew dark. "No, she'll not write. Nor come." +</P> + +<P> +"You wish for her every day, George?" She looked at him wistfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I do. She and I were comrades to a queer degree. I long for +something hearty and homelike again. See here, Lisa. I'm going home +before my boy begins to talk. I mean he shall grow up under wholesome +American influences—not foreign." +</P> + +<P> +"Not foreign," she repeated gravely. She was silent a while. "I have +thought much of it all lately," she said at last. "It will be +wholesome for Jacques on your farm. Horses—dogs—— Your mother will +love him. She can't help it. She—I acted like a beast to that woman, +George. I'll say that. She hit me hard. But she has good traits. +She is not unlike my own mother." +</P> + +<P> +George said nothing. God forbid that he should tell her, even by a +look, that she and her mother were of a caste different from his own. +</P> + +<P> +But he was bored to the soul by the difference; he was tired of her +ignorances, which she showed every minute, of her ghastly, unclean +knowledges—which she never showed. +</P> + +<P> +They came into the courtyard of the Chateau de la Motte, the ancient +castle of the Breton dukes, which is now an inn. The red sunset flamed +up behind the sad little town and its gray old houses and spires massed +on the hill, and the black river creeping by. George's eyes kindled at +the sombre picture. +</P> + +<P> +"In this very court," he said, "Constance stood when she summoned the +States of Brittany to save her boy Arthur from King John." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, you have read of it to me in your Shakespeare. It is one of +his unpleasant stories. Come, Bebe. It grows damp." +</P> + +<P> +As she climbed the stone stairway with the child, Colette lingered to +gossip with the portier. "Poor lady! You will adore her! She is one +of us. But she makes of that bete Anglais and the ugly child, saints +and gods!" +</P> + +<P> +When George presently came up to their bare little room, Lisa was +singing softly, as she rocked Jacques to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you sing the boy something a bit more cheerful?" he said. "You +used to know some jolly catches from the music halls." +</P> + +<P> +"Catches for HIM?" with a frightened look at the child's shut eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"The 'Adeste Fideles' is moral, but it is not a merry air. You sing it +morning, noon, and night," he grumbled. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she whispered, laying the child in its crib. "One never knows +how much HE understands, and he may remember, I thought. Some day when +he is a great boy, he may hear it and he'll think, 'My mother sang that +hymn. She must have been a good woman!'" +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense, Lisa," said George kindly. "You'll teach him every day, +while he is growing to be a great boy, that you are a good woman." +</P> + +<P> +She said nothing, but stood on the other side of the crib looking at +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what is it?" said George uneasily. "You look at me as if +somebody were dragging you away from me." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed. "What ridiculous fancies you have!" She came behind him +and, drawing his head back, kissed him on the forehead. "Oh, you poor, +foolish boy!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +Lisa sat down to her work, which was the making of garments for Jacques +out of her own gowns. She was an expert needlewoman, and had already a +pile of fantastic kilts of cloth and velvet. +</P> + +<P> +"Enough to last until he is ten years old," George said contemptuously. +"And you will not leave a gown for yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"There will be all I shall need," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He turned up the lamp and opened Clara's letter. +</P> + +<P> +Lisa's needle flew through the red and yellow silk. It was pleasant +work; she was doing it skilfully. The fire warmed her thin blood. She +could hear the baby's regular, soft breathing as it slept. A pleasure +that was almost like health stole through her lean body. She leaned +back in her chair looking at Jacques. In three years he could wear the +velvet suit with the cap and pompon. His hair would be yellow and +curly, like his father's. But his eyes would be like her mother's. +She pressed her hands together, laughing, the hot tears rushing to her +eyes. "Ah, maman!" she said. "Do you know that your little girl has a +baby? Can you see him?" +</P> + +<P> +What a superb "great boy" he would be! He should go to a military +school. Yes! She lay back in her chair, watching him. +</P> + +<P> +George suddenly started up with a cry of amazement. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" she said indifferently. +</P> + +<P> +He did not answer, but turned the letter and read it over again. Then +he folded it with shaking fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"I have news here. Miss Vance thinks it time that I was told, and I +agree with her. It appears that I am a pauper, and always have been. +My father died penniless." +</P> + +<P> +"Then Jacques will be poor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jacques! You think of nothing but that mewling, senseless thing! It +is mother—she always has supported me. We are living now on the money +that she earns from week to week, while I play that I am an artist!" +</P> + +<P> +Lisa listened attentively. "It does not seem strange that a mother +should work for her son," she said slowly. "But she has never told us! +That is fine! I like that! I told you she had very good traits." +</P> + +<P> +George stared at her. "But—me! Don't you see what a cad I am?" +</P> + +<P> +He paced up and down, muttering, and then throwing on his hat went out +into the night to be alone. +</P> + +<P> +Lisa sank back again and watched Jacques. At military school, yes; and +after he had left school he would be a soldier, perhaps. Such a +gallant young fellow! +</P> + +<P> +She leaned over the cradle, holding out her hands. Ah, God! if she +could but live to see it! Surely it might be? There was no pain now. +Doctors were not infallible—even D'Abri might be mistaken, after all. +</P> + +<P> +George, coming in an hour later, found her sitting with her hands +covering her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you asleep, Lisa?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"There is a telegram from Clara. My mother has left Munich for Vannes. +She will be here in two days." +</P> + +<P> +She rose with an effort. "I am glad for you, George." +</P> + +<P> +"You are ill, Lisa!" +</P> + +<P> +"A little tired, only. Colette will give me my powder, and I shall be +quite well in the morning. Will you send her to me now?" +</P> + +<P> +After George was gone the rumbling of a diligence was heard in the +courtyard, and presently a woman was brought up to the opposite chamber. +</P> + +<P> +The hall was dark. Looking across it, Frances Waldeaux saw in the +lighted room Lisa and her child. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<P> +Before we come to the dark story of that night in the inn, it is but +fair to Frances to say that she came there with no definite evil +purpose. She had been cheerful on her journey from Munich. There was +one clear fact in her brain: She was on her way to George. +</P> + +<P> +The countless toy farms of southern France, trimmed neatly by the inch, +swept past her. In Brittany came melancholy stretches of brown heath +and rain-beaten hills; or great affluent estates, the Manor houses +covered with thatch, stagnant pools close to the doors, the cattle +breaking through the slovenly wattled walls. +</P> + +<P> +Frances, being a farmer, felt a vague amusement at these things, but +they were all dim to her as a faded landscape hanging on the wall. +</P> + +<P> +She was going to George. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes she seemed to be in Lucy's room again, with the sweet, clean +air of youth about her. All of that purity and love might have gone +into George's life—before it fell into the slough. +</P> + +<P> +But she was going now to take it out of the slough. +</P> + +<P> +There was a merchant and his wife from Geneva in the carriage with +their little boy, a pretty child of five. Frances played and joked +with him. +</P> + +<P> +"Has madam also a son?" his mother asked civilly. +</P> + +<P> +She said yes, and presently added, "My son has now a great trouble, but +I am going to relieve him of it." +</P> + +<P> +The woman, startled, stared at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it not right for me to rid him of it?" she demanded loudly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mais oui, certainement," said the Swiss. She watched Frances after +that furtively. Her eyes, she thought, were quite sane. But how +eccentric all of these Americans were! +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux reached Vannes at nightfall. At last! Here was the +place in this great empty world where he was. +</P> + +<P> +When the diligence entered the courtyard, George was so near to the +gate that the smoke of his cigar was blown into her face, but he did +not see her. He was lean and pale, and his eyes told his misery. When +she saw them his mother grew sick from head to foot with a sudden +nausea. This was his wife's doing. She was killing him! Frances +hurried into the inn, her legs giving way under her. She could not +speak to him. She must think what to do. +</P> + +<P> +She was taken to her room. It was dark, and across the corridor she +saw Lisa in her lighted chamber. This was good luck! God had put the +creature at once into her hands to deal with! +</P> + +<P> +She was conscious of a strange exaltation, as if from wine—as if she +would never need to sleep nor eat again. Her thoughts came and went +like flashes of fire. She watched Lisa as she would a vampire, a +creeping deadly beast. Pauline Felix—all that was adulterous and vile +in women—there it was! +</P> + +<P> +Her mind too, as never before, was full of a haughty complacency in +herself. She felt like the member of some petty sect who is sure that +God communes with him inside of his altar rails, while the man is +outside whom he believes that God made only to be damned. +</P> + +<P> +Lisa began to undress. Frances quickly turned away, ashamed of peeping +into her chamber. But the one fact burned on into her brain: +</P> + +<P> +The woman was killing George. +</P> + +<P> +If God would rid the world of her! If a storm should rise now, and the +lightning strike the house, and these stone walls should fall on her, +now—now! +</P> + +<P> +But the walls stood firm and the moonlight shone tranquilly on the +world outside. +</P> + +<P> +She told herself to be calm—to be just. But there was no justice +while this woman went on with her work! God saw. He meant her to be +stopped. Frances prayed to him frantically that Lisa might soon be put +off of the earth. Just as the Catholic used to pray before he +massacred the Huguenot, or the Protestant, when he tied his Catholic +brother to the stake. If this woman was mad for blood, it was a +madness that many sincere people have shared. +</P> + +<P> +Colette was busy with her mistress for a long time. She was very +gentle and tender, being fond of Lisa, as people of her class always +were. She raised her voice as she made ready to leave the room. +</P> + +<P> +"If the pain returns, here is the powder of morphia, mixed, within +madame's reach," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Frances came close to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"And if it continues?" asked Lisa. +</P> + +<P> +"Let monsieur call me. I would not trust him to measure a powder," +Colette said, laughing. "It is too dangerous. He is not used to +it—like me." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux saw her lay a paper package on a shelf. +</P> + +<P> +"I will pray that the pain will not return," the girl said. "But if it +does, let monsieur knock at my door. Here is the tisane when you are +thirsty." She placed a goblet of milky liquid near the bed. +</P> + +<P> +What more she said Frances did not hear. +</P> + +<P> +It was to be! There was the morphia, and yonder the night drink within +her reach. It was God's will. +</P> + +<P> +Colette turned out the lamp, hesitated, and sat down by the fire. +Presently she rose softly, bent over her mistress, and, finding her +asleep, left the room noiselessly. Her door closed far down the +corridor. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux was quite alone, now. +</P> + +<P> +It was but a step across the hall. So easy to do—easy. It must be +done at once. +</P> + +<P> +But her feet were like lead, she could not move; her tongue lay icy +cold in her mouth. Her soul was willing, but her body rebelled. +</P> + +<P> +What folly was this? It was the work of a moment. George would be +free. She would have freed him. +</P> + +<P> +In God's name then—— +</P> + +<P> +She crossed the hall softly. Into the hell of her thoughts flashed a +little womanish shame, that she, Frances Waldeaux, should be walking on +tiptoe, like a thief. +</P> + +<P> +She took down the package, and leaning over the table at the side of +the bed, shook the white powder into the glass. Then she went back to +her room and shut the door. +</P> + +<P> +The casement was open and the moonlight was white outside. She was +conscious that the glare hurt her eyes, and that there was a strange +stricture about her jaws and the base of her brain, like an iron hand. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to her but a minute that she stood there, but the dawn was +breaking when there was a sudden confusion in the opposite room. She +heard Colette's voice, and then George's, calling Lisa. +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer. +</P> + +<P> +Frances stood up, to listen. "Will she not speak?" she cried. "Make +her speak!" +</P> + +<P> +But in reality she said nothing. Even her breath had stopped to listen. +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer. +</P> + +<P> +Frances was awake now, for the rest of her life. She knew what she had +done. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, George," she said, "she cannot speak. She is dead. I did it." +</P> + +<P> +She stood in the room a minute, looking from side to side, and then +went with measured steps out of it, down the corridor and into the +street. +</P> + +<P> +"I did it," she said to herself again and again, as she walked slowly +on. +</P> + +<P> +The old cathedral is opposite to the inn. Her eyes, as she passed, +rested on the gargoyles, and she thought how fine they were. One was a +ridiculous head with lolling tongue. +</P> + +<P> +A priest's voice inside was chanting mass. A dozen Breton women in +their huge white winged caps and wooden shoes hurried up to the door, +through the gray fog. They met Mrs. Waldeaux and saw her face. They +huddled to one side, crossing themselves, and when she passed, stood +still, forgetting the mass and looking, frightened, up the steep street +behind her to find what horror had pursued her. +</P> + +<P> +"They know what I have done," she said aloud. +</P> + +<P> +Once when she was a child she had accidentally seen a bloated wretch, a +murderer, on his way to the gallows. +</P> + +<P> +"I am he," she thought. "I—<I>I</I>, Frances." +</P> + +<P> +Then the gargoyle came into her mind again. What a capital headpiece +it would make for "Quigg's" next column! It was time this week's jokes +were sent. +</P> + +<P> +But at last these ghosts of yesterday's life faded out, and she saw the +fact. +</P> + +<P> +She had hated her son's wife and had killed her! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<P> +When the sun was well up the women who had been at mass gathered down +by the little river which runs through the old city, to wash their +clothes. They knelt on the broad stones by the edge of the water, +chattering and singing, tossing the soap from one to another. +</P> + +<P> +There was a sudden silence. "Here she is again," they whispered, as a +slight, delicate woman crossed the bridge with steady steps. +</P> + +<P> +"She is blind and deaf," said old Barbe. "I met her an hour ago and +asked her whom she sought. She did not see nor hear me, but walked +straight on." +</P> + +<P> +Oliver Bauzy was lounging near, as usual, watching his wife work. +</P> + +<P> +"She is English. What does she know of your Breton talk? I speak +English and French—I!" he bragged, and walking up to Mrs. Waldeaux, +he flourished his ragged hat, smiling. "Is madame ill? She has walked +far," he said kindly. +</P> + +<P> +The English words seemed to waken her. "It is always the town," +looking around bewildered. "The people—houses. I think I am not +well. If I could find the woods——" +</P> + +<P> +Bauzy had but a hazy idea of her meaning, but he nodded gravely. "She +is a tourist. She wants to go out of Vannes—to see the chateaux, the +dolmens. I'm her man. I'll drive her to Larmor Baden," he said to his +wife. "I have to go there to-day, and I may as well make a franc or +two. Keep her until I bring the voiture." +</P> + +<P> +But Frances stood motionless until the old wagon rattled up to the +water's edge. +</P> + +<P> +"She has a dear old face," Bauzy's wife whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"She is blind and deaf, I tell you," old Barbe grumbled, peering up at +her. "Make her pay, Oliver, before you go." +</P> + +<P> +Bauzy nodded, and when Frances was seated held out his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty francs," he said. +</P> + +<P> +She opened her bag and gave them to him. +</P> + +<P> +"She must be folle!" he said uneasily. "I feel like a thief. Away +with you, Babette!" as a pretty baby ran up to him. "You want to ride? +That is impossible. Unless, indeed, madame desires it?" lifting the +child to place her on the seat. Babette laughed and held out her hands. +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Waldeaux shrank back, shuddering. "Take her away," she +whispered. "She must not touch me!" +</P> + +<P> +The mother seized the child, and the women all talked vehemently at +once. Oliver climbed into the voiture and drove off in silence. When +he looked around presently he saw that the woman's face was bloodless, +and a cold sweat stood on it. He considered a while. "You want food," +he said, and brought out some hard bread and a jug of Normandy cider. +</P> + +<P> +Frances shook her head. She only spoke once during the morning, and +then told him something about a woman "whom no child could touch. No +man or woman could touch her as long as she lived. Not even her son." +</P> + +<P> +As Bauzy could make nothing of this, he could only nod and laugh +civilly. But presently he, too, grew silent, glancing at her +uncomfortably from time to time. +</P> + +<P> +They drove through great red fields of sarasson, hedged by long banks +of earth, which were masses of golden gorse and bronzed and crimson +ferns. The sun shone, the clover-scented air was full of the joyous +buzzing of bees and chirp of birds. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a gay, blessed day!" Bauzy said, "thanks to the good God!" He +waited anxiously for her reply, but she stared into the sunshine and +said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Larmor Baden is a lonely little cluster of gray stone huts on the shore +of the Morbihan sea. Some of Bauzy's friends lounged smiling up to +welcome him, waving their wide black hats with velvet streamers, and +bowing low to the lady. Oliver alighted with decision. One thing he +knew: He would not drive back with her. Something was amiss. He +would wash his hands of her. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, madame, is Vincent Selo, paysageur," he said rapidly in French. +"He has a good boat. He will take you where you desire. Sail with her +to Gavr' Inis," he said to Selo, "and bring her back at her pleasure. +Somebody can drive her back to Vannes, and don't overcharge her, you +robbers!" +</P> + +<P> +"Gavr' Inis?" Frances repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"It is an island in the sea yonder, madame. A quiet place of trees. +When there was not a man in the world, evil spirits built there an +altar for the worship of the devil. No men could have built it. There +are huge stones carried there from the mountains far inland, that no +engine could lift. It is a great mystery." +</P> + +<P> +"It is the one place in the world, people say," interrupted Selo, +lowering his voice, "where God never has been. A dreadful place, +madame!" +</P> + +<P> +Frances laughed. "That is the place for me," she said to Selo. "Take +me there." +</P> + +<P> +The old man looked at her with shrewd, friendly eyes, and then beckoned +Bauzy aside. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is she? She has the bearing of a great lady, but her face hurts +me. What harm has come to her?" +</P> + +<P> +"How do I know?" said Bauzy. "Go for your boat. The sea is rising." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Late in the afternoon M. Selo landed his strange passenger upon the +pebbly beach of the accursed island. He led her up on the rocks, +talking, and pointing across the sea. +</P> + +<P> +"Beyond is the Atlantic, and on yonder headland are the great menhirs +of Carnac—thirty thousand of them, brought there before Christ was +born. But the Evil One loves this island best of all places. It has +in it the mystery of the world. Come," he said, in an awed voice. "It +is here." +</P> + +<P> +He crossed to the hill, stooped, and entered a dark cave about forty +feet long, which was wholly lined with huge flat rocks carved with +countless writhing serpents. As Frances passed they seemed to stir and +breathe beside her, at her feet, overhead. The cave opened into a +sacrificial chamber. The reptiles grew gigantic here, and crowded +closer. Through some rift a beam of melancholy light crept in; a smell +of death hung in the thick, unclean air. +</P> + +<P> +Selo pointed to a stone altar. "It was there they killed their +victims," he whispered, and began to pray anxiously, half-aloud. When +he had finished, he hurried back, beckoning to her to come out. +</P> + +<P> +"Go," she said. "I will stay here." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will wait outside. This is no place for Christian souls. But +we must return soon, madame. My little girl will be watching now for +me." +</P> + +<P> +When he was gone she stood by the altar. This island of Gavr' Inis was +one of the places to which she and George had long ago planned to come. +She remembered the very day on which they had read the legend that on +this altar men before the Flood had sacrificed to the god of Murder. +</P> + +<P> +"I am the murderer now, and George knows it," she said quietly. But +she was cold and faint, and presently began to tremble weakly. +</P> + +<P> +She went out of the cave and stood on the beach. "I want to go home, +George," she said aloud. "I want to be Frances Waldeaux again. I'm +sure I didn't know it was in me to do that thing." +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer. She was alone in the great space of sky and sea. +The world was so big and empty, and she alone and degraded in it! +</P> + +<P> +"I never shall see George again. He will think of me only as the woman +who killed his wife," she thought. +</P> + +<P> +She went on blindly toward the water, and stood there a long time. +</P> + +<P> +Then, in the strait of her agony, there came to Frances Waldeaux, for +the first time in her life, a perception that there was help for her in +the world, outside of her own strength. Her poor tortured wits +discerned One, more real than her crime, or George, or the woman that +she had killed. It was an old, hackneyed story, that He knew every man +and woman in the world, that He could help them. She had heard it +often. +</P> + +<P> +Was there any thing in it? Could He help her? +</P> + +<P> +Slowly, the nervous twitching of her body quieted, her dulled eyes +cleared as if a new power of sight were coming to them. +</P> + +<P> +After a long time she heard steps, and Selo calling. She rose. +</P> + +<P> +The murder was known. They were coming to arrest her. +</P> + +<P> +What did it matter? She had found help. +</P> + +<P> +Selo came up excitedly. +</P> + +<P> +"It is another boat, English folk also, that comes to arrive." +</P> + +<P> +She turned and waited. +</P> + +<P> +And then, coming up the hill, she saw George, and with him—Lisa! +Lisa, smiling as she talked. +</P> + +<P> +They ran to meet her with cries of amazement. She staggered back on +the rock. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not dead? Lisa——" +</P> + +<P> +"Dead? Poor lady!" catching her in her arms. "Some water, George! It +is her head. She has been too much alone." +</P> + +<P> +When Frances opened her eyes she was lying on the grass, her children +kneeling beside her. She caught Lisa's arm in both hands and felt it: +then she sat up. +</P> + +<P> +"I must tell you what I did—before you speak to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Not now," said Lisa. "You are not well. I am going to be your nurse. +The baby has made me a very good nurse," and she stooped again over +Frances, with kind, smiling eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Selo came to wile George up to the mysterious cave, but Lisa +impatiently hurried them to the beach. "Caves and serpent worshippers +truly!" she cried. "Why, she has not seen Jacques!" and when, in the +boat, George, who was greatly alarmed, tried to rouse his mother from +her silent stupor, Lisa said gayly, "She will be herself again as soon +as she sees HIM." +</P> + +<P> +When they reached Larmor Baden, she despatched George in search of +Colette and the child, and she went into the church. It was late, and +the village women sat on the steps gossipping in the slanting sunlight. +There is nothing in their lives but work and the church; and when, each +day, they have finished with one they go to the other. +</P> + +<P> +Frances followed her. The sombre little church was vacant. She +touched Lisa on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"There is something I must tell you," she said. "You would not let me +touch the child, if you knew it." +</P> + +<P> +She stooped and spoke a few sentences in a vehement whisper, and then +leaned back, exhausted, against the wall. +</P> + +<P> +Lisa drew back. Her lips were white with sudden fright, but she +scanned Mrs. Waldeaux's face keenly. +</P> + +<P> +"You were in Vannes last night? You tried—— My God, I remember! +The tisane tasted queerly, and I threw it out." She walked away for a +moment, and then turning, said, "You called my mother a vile woman +once. But SHE would not have done that thing! +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Frances, not raising her head. "No." +</P> + +<P> +Lisa stood looking at her as she crouched against the wall. The fierce +scorn slowly died out of her eyes. She was a coarse, but a +good-natured, woman. An awful presence, too, walked with her always +now, step by step, and in that dread shadow she saw the things of life +more justly than we do. She took Frances by the hand at last. "You +were not quite yourself, I think," she said quietly. "I have pushed +you too hard. George has told me so much about you! If we could be +together for a while, perhaps we should love each other a little. But +there is no time now——" She turned hastily, and threw herself down +before a crucifix. +</P> + +<P> +After a long time she went out to the vestibule, where she found +Frances, and said, with an effort to be cheerful and matter-of-fact, +"Come, now, let us talk like reasonable people. A thing is coming to +me which comes to every-body. I'm not one to whine. But it's the +child—I don't think any baby ever was as much to a woman as Jacques is +to me. I suppose God does not think I am fit to bring him up. Sit +down and let me tell you all about it." +</P> + +<P> +They sat on the steps, talking in a low tone. Frances cried, but +Lisa's eyes were quite dry and bright. She rose at last. +</P> + +<P> +"You see, there will be no woman to care for him, if you do not. There +he is with Colette." She ran down, took the baby from the bonne, and +laid him in Frances's arms. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux looked down at him. "George's son," she whispered, +"George's boy!" +</P> + +<P> +"He is very like George and you," Lisa answered. "He is a Waldeaux." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I see." +</P> + +<P> +She held him close to her breast as they drove back to Vannes. George +whistled and sang on the box. He was very light of heart to have her +with him again. +</P> + +<P> +He looked impatiently at an ancient village through which they passed, +with its towers, and peasants in strange garbs, like the pictures in +some crusading tale. +</P> + +<P> +"Now that we have mother, Lisa," he said, "we'll go straight back home. +I am tired of mediaeval times. I must get to work for this youngster." +</P> + +<P> +Lisa did not speak for a moment. "I should like to stay in Vannes a +little longer," she said. "I did not tell you, but—my mother is +buried there. That was why I came; I should like to be with her." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course, dear. As long as you like," he said affectionately. +"I will not detain you long. Perhaps only a week or two," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He nodded, and began to whistle cheerfully again. Frances looked at +Lisa, and her eyes filled with tears. It was a pitiful tragedy! +</P> + +<P> +But the poor girl was quite right not to worry George until the last +moment. She was blocking his way—ruining his life, and God was taking +her away so that she could no longer harm him. +</P> + +<P> +And yet—poor Lisa! +</P> + +<P> +They drove on. The sun warmed the crimson fields, and the birds +chirped, and this was George's child creeping close to her breast. It +stirred there a keen pang of joy. +</P> + +<P> +Surely He had forgiven her. +</P> + +<P> +A month later a group of passengers in deep mourning stood apart on the +deck of the Paris as she left the dock at Liverpool. It was George +Waldeaux, his mother, and little Jacques with his nurse. Mrs. Waldeaux +was looking at Clara and her girls, who were watching her from the +dock. They had come to Vannes when Lisa died, and had taken care of +her and the baby until now. Frances had cried at leaving them, but +George stood with his back to them moodily, looking down into the black +water. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems but a few days since we sailed from New York on the Kaiser +Wilhelm," he said, "and yet I have lived out all my life in that time." +</P> + +<P> +"All? Is there nothing left, George?" his mother said gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, of course, you are always a good companion, and there is the +child——" He paused. The fierce passions, the storms of delight and +pain of his life with Lisa rushed back on him. "I will work for +others, and wear out the days as I can," he said. "But life is over +for me. The story is told. There are only blank pages now to the end." +</P> + +<P> +He turned his dim eyes toward the French coast. She knew that they saw +the little bare grave on the hill in Vannes. "I wish I could have seen +something green growing on it before I left her there alone!" he +muttered. +</P> + +<P> +"Her mother's grave was covered with roses——" Frances answered +quickly. "They will creep over to her. She is not alone, George. I +am glad she was laid by her mother. She loved her dearly." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Better than any thing on earth," he responded gloomily. +</P> + +<P> +A few moments later the ship swung heavily around. +</P> + +<P> +"We are going!" Mrs. Waldeaux cried, waving her hand. "Won't you look +at Clara and Lucy, George? They have been so good to us. If Lucy had +been my own child, she could not have been kinder to me." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Waldeaux turned and raised his crepe-bound hat, looking at Lucy in +her soft gray gown vaguely, as he might at a white gull dropped on the +shore. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I never shall see her again," said his mother. "Clara tells +me she is besieged by lovers. She is going to marry a German prince, +probably." +</P> + +<P> +"That would be a pity," George said, with a startled glance back at the +girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, my dear!" Mrs. Waldeaux leaned over the bulwark. "She is +beautiful as an angel! Good-by, Lucy! God bless you!" she sobbed, +kissing her hand. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Waldeaux looked steadily at Lucy. "How clean she is!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +When the shore was gone he walked down the deck, conscious of a sudden +change in himself. He was wakening out of an ugly dream. The sight of +the healthy little girl, with her dewy freshness and blue eyes, full of +affection and common sense, cheered and heartened him. He did not know +what was doing it, but he threw up his head and walked vigorously. The +sun shone and the cold wind swept him out into a dim future to begin a +new life. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<P> +George Waldeaux took his mother and boy back to the old homestead in +Delaware. They arrived at night, and early the next morning he rowed +away in his bateau to some of his old haunts in the woods on the bay, +and was seen no more that day. +</P> + +<P> +"He is inconsolable!" his mother told some of her old neighbors who +crowded to welcome her. "His heart is in that grave in Vannes." The +women listened in surprise, for Frances was not in the habit of +exploiting her emotions in words. +</P> + +<P> +"We understood," said one of them, with a sympathetic shake of the +head, "that it was a pure love match. Mrs. George Waldeaux, we heard, +was a French artist of remarkable beauty?" +</P> + +<P> +Frances moved uneasily. "I never thought her—but I can't discuss +Lisa!" She was silent a moment. "But as for her social position"—she +drew herself up stiffly, fixing cold defiant eyes on her +questioner—"as for her social position," she went on resolutely, "she +was descended on one side from an excellent American family, and on the +other from one of the noblest houses in Europe." +</P> + +<P> +When they were gone she hugged little Jacques passionately as he lay on +her lap. "That is settled for you!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +When George came back in the evening, he found her walking with the boy +in her arms on the broad piazzas. +</P> + +<P> +"I really think he knows that he has come home, George!" she exclaimed. +"See how he laughs! And he liked the dogs and horses just as Lisa +thought he would. I am glad it is such a beautiful home for him. Look +at that slope to the bay! There is no nobler park in England! And the +house is as big as most of their palaces, and much more comfortable!" +</P> + +<P> +"Give the child to Colette, mother, and listen to me. Now that I have +settled you and him here, I must go and earn your living." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +She followed him into the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"I leave you to-morrow. There is no time to be lost." +</P> + +<P> +"You are going back to art, George?" +</P> + +<P> +"No! Never!" +</P> + +<P> +Frances grew pale. She thought she had torn open his gaping wound. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not mean to remind you of—of——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, it isn't that!" +</P> + +<P> +He scowled at the fire. Art meant for him his own countless daubs, and +the sickening smell of oily paints and musk, and soiled silk tea gowns, +and the whole slovenly, disreputable scramble of Bohemian life in Paris. +</P> + +<P> +"I loathe art!" he said, with a furious blow at the smouldering log in +the fireplace, as if he struck these things all down into the ashes +with it. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you go back into the Church, dear?" his mother ventured timidly. +</P> + +<P> +"Most certainly, no!" he said vehemently. "Of all mean frauds the +perfunctory priest is the meanest. If I could be like one of the old +holy gospellers—then indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +He was silent a moment, and then began to stride up and down the long +hall, his head thrown back, his chest inflated. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a message for the world, mother." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure of it," she interrupted eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"But I must deliver it in my own way. I have lost two years. I am +going to put in big strokes of work now. In the next two years I +intend to take my proper place in my own country. I will find standing +room for George Waldeaux," with a complacent smile. "And in the +meantime, of course, I must make money enough to support you and the +boy handsomely. So you see, mother," he ended, laughing, "I have no +time to lose." +</P> + +<P> +"No, George!" It was the proudest moment of her life. How heroic and +generous he was! +</P> + +<P> +She filled his pocket-book the next day, when he went to New York to +take the world by the throat. It was really not George Waldeaux's +fault that she filled it. +</P> + +<P> +Nor was it his fault that during the next two years the world was in no +hurry to run to his feet, either to learn of him, or to bring him its +bags of gold. The little man did his best; he put his "message," as he +called it, into poems, into essays, into a novel. Publishers thanked +him effusively for the pleasure of reading them, and—sent them back. +The only word of his which reached the public was a review of the work +of a successful author. It was so personal, so malignant, that George, +when he read it, writhed with shame and humiliation. He tore the paper +into fragments. +</P> + +<P> +"Am I so envious and small as that! Before God, no words of mine shall +ever go into print again!" he said, and he kept his word. +</P> + +<P> +He came down every month or two to his mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not try teaching, George?" she said anxiously. "These great +scholars and scientific men have places and reputations which even you +need not despise." +</P> + +<P> +He laughed bitterly. "I tried for a place as tutor in a third-class +school, and could not pass the examinations. I know nothing +accurately. Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +It occurred to him to go into politics and help reform the world by +routing a certain Irish boss. He made a speech at a ward meeting, and +broke down in the middle of it before the storm of gibes and hootings. +</P> + +<P> +"What was the matter?" he asked a friend, whose face was red with +laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear fellow, you shouldn't lecture them! You're not the parson. +They resent your air of enormous superiority. For Heaven's sake, don't +speak again—in this campaign." +</P> + +<P> +It is a wretched story. There is no need of going into the details. +There was no room for him. He tried in desperation to get some +foothold in business. The times were hard that winter, which of course +was against him. Besides, his critical, haughty air naturally did not +prepossess employers in his favor when he came to ask for a job. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the second year the man broke down. +</P> + +<P> +"The work of the world," he told Frances, "belongs to specialists. +Even a bootblack knows his trade. I know nothing. I can do nothing. +I am a mass of flabby pretences." +</P> + +<P> +Every month she filled his pocket-book. She found at last that he did +not touch the money. He sold his clothes and his jewelry to keep +himself alive while he tramped the streets of New York looking for +work. He starved himself to make this money last. His flesh was +lead-colored from want of proper food, and he staggered from weakness. +"'He that will not work neither let him eat,'" he said grimly. +</P> + +<P> +It was about this time that Miss Vance came home. Mrs. Waldeaux in a +moment of weakness gave her a hint of his defeat. +</P> + +<P> +"Is the world blind," she cried, "to deny work to a man of George's +capacity? What does it mean?" +</P> + +<P> +Clara heard of George's sufferings with equanimity. "The truth is," +she said, when she told the story to Miss Dunbar, "Frances brought that +boy up to believe that he was a Grand Llama among men. There is no +work for Grand Llamas in this country, and when he understands that he +is made of very ordinary clay indeed, he will probably be of some use +in the world." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy was watering her roses. "It is a matter of indifference to me," +she said, "what the people of New York think of Mr. Waldeaux." +</P> + +<P> +Clara looked at her quickly. "I do not quite catch your meaning?" she +said. +</P> + +<P> +But Lucy filled her can, and forgot to answer. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<P> +Clara had brought Miss Dunbar back and established her in her own house +near Weir, under the care of a deaf widowed aunt. Dunbar Place was a +stately colonial house, set in a large demesne, and all Kent County +waited breathless to know what revelations the heiress would make to +it, in the way of equi-pages, marqueterie furniture, or Paris gowns. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux found Lucy one day, a month after her arrival, seated at +her sewing on the broad, rose-covered piazza, looking as if she never +had left it. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you come to stay now, my dear," she said, "or will Prince +Wolfburgh——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that is an old story," interrupted Clara. "Lucy handed the little +prince over to Jean Hassard, who married him after he had a long fight +with her father about her dot. He won the dot, but Count Odo is now +the head of the house. Jean, I hear, is in Munich fighting her way up +among the Herrschaft." +</P> + +<P> +"Jean has good fighting qualities," Lucy said. "She will win." +</P> + +<P> +"I had a letter from her to-day," said Miss Vance. "Here it is. She +says, 'I mean to rebuild the Schloss, and I have put a stop to the +soap-boiling business. I will have no fumes of scorching fat in our +ancestral halls. Four of the princesses live with us here in the flat. +Gussy Carson from Pond City is staying with me now. We have an +American tea every Wednesday. Gus receives with me.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Poor princesses!" said Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance folded the letter with a complacent nod. "I am glad that +Jean is settled so satisfactorily," she said. "As for Lucy——" +</P> + +<P> +No one answered. Lucy threaded her needle. +</P> + +<P> +"I start next week to Chicago, did you know, Frances? The Bixbys—two +orphan heiresses—wish me to take them to Australia, coming back by +India. And I suppose," she said, rising impatiently, "if I were to +stay away forty years I should find Lucy when I came back, with white +hair maybe, but sitting calmly sewing, not caring whether there was a +man in the world or not!" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy laughed, but did not even blush. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux presently said good-by, and Clara went home with her to +spend the night. Lucy was left alone upon the piazza. It was there +that George Waldeaux saw her again. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +This had been the hardest day of his life. He rose that morning +telling himself with an oath that he would earn the money to buy his +own food or never eat again. His mother had sent him a cheque by post. +He tore it up and went out of his cheap lodging-house without +breakfast. There was a queer change in him—a sudden lofty +independence—a sudden loathing of himself. He knew now that it was +not in him to do good work in the world, but at least he would pay his +own way. He had been a mass of vanity and now he was so mean in his +own eyes that he shrank from the passers-by. Perhaps the long strain +had damaged the gray matter of the brain, or some nervous centre—I do +not know what change a physician would have found in him, but the man +was changed. +</P> + +<P> +A clerk was needed in a provision shop on Green Street. George placed +himself in the line of dirty, squalid applicants. The day was hot, the +air of the shop was foul with the smells of rotting meat and +vegetables. He felt himself stagger against a stall. He seemed to be +asleep, but he heard the butchers laughing. They called him a drunken +tramp, and then he was hurled out on the muddy pavement. +</P> + +<P> +"Too much whiskey for this time o' day!" a policeman said, hauling him +to his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Move along, young man!" +</P> + +<P> +Whiskey? That was what he wanted. He turned into a shop and bought a +dram with his last pennies. It made him comfortable for a few hours, +then he began to cry and swear. George Waldeaux had never been drunk +in his life. The ascetic, stainless priest in him stood off and looked +at this dog of the gutter with his obscene talk, and then came defeat +of soul and body. +</P> + +<P> +"I give up!" he said quietly. "I'll never try again." +</P> + +<P> +He wandered unconsciously to the ferry and, having his yearly book of +tickets in his pocket, took the train for home from force of habit. He +left the cars at a station several miles from Weir, and wandered across +the country. Just at sundown, covered with mud and weak from hunger +and drunkenness, he crossed the lawn before Lucy's house and, looking +up, saw her. +</P> + +<P> +He had stumbled into a world of peace and purity! A soft splendor +filled the sky and the bay and the green slopes, with their clumps of +mighty forest trees. The air was full of the scents of flowers and the +good-night song of happy birds. And in the midst of it all, lady of +the great domain, under her climbing rose vines, sat the young, fair +woman, clad in some fleecy white garments, her head bent, her blue eyes +fixed on the distance—waiting. +</P> + +<P> +George stopped, sobered by a sudden wrench of his heart. There was the +world to which he belonged—there! His keen eye noted every delicate +detail of her beauty and of her dress. He was of her sort, her +kind—he, kicked into the gutter from that foul shop as a tramp! +</P> + +<P> +This is what I have lost! his soul cried to him. +</P> + +<P> +He had not as yet recognized Lucy. But now she saw him, and with a +little inarticulate cry like that of a bird, she flew down the steps. +"Ah! It is you!" she said. "I thought you would come to welcome me +some time!" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was like a soft breath; her airy draperies blew against him. +It was as if a wonderful, beautiful dream were folding him in—and in. +</P> + +<P> +He drew back. "I am not fit, Miss Dunbar. I did not know you were +here. Why—look at me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! You are ill! You have had an accident!" she cried. She had laid +her little white fingers on his hand and now, feeling it burn and +tremble at her touch, she caught it in both of her own and drew him +into the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Waldeaux," she said to a servant who appeared, "has had a fall. +Bring him water and towels. Take care of him, Stephen." She spoke +quietly, but her voice trembled with fright. +</P> + +<P> +The man led George to an inner room. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you thrown, sir?" he asked sympathetically. +</P> + +<P> +George hesitated. "Yes, I was thrown," he said grimly. +</P> + +<P> +He made himself clean in angry haste, taking the whisk from the man and +brushing off the dry mud with a vicious fury. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy came to meet him, with a pale, anxious smile. "You must not go +without a cup of hot coffee," she said, leading him to a lounge in the +hall. It was very sweet to be treated like a sick man! +</P> + +<P> +"And God knows I am sick, body and soul!" he thought, sinking down. +</P> + +<P> +Beside the lounge was a little table with one cover. He noted with +keen pleasure the delicate napery, the silver candlesticks, the bowl of +roses, with which the substantial meal was set out. Lucy waited on him +with the quick intelligence of a trained nurse. She scarcely spoke, +yet her every motion, as she served him, seemed a caress. When he had +finished he began to stammer out his thanks. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said, rising decisively. "You are too weak to talk to me +to-night, Mr. Waldeaux. The coupe is at the door. John will drive you +home. You need sleep now." +</P> + +<P> +As he sank down into the luxurious cushions and drove away through the +twilight, he saw the little white figure in the door, and the grave +wistful face looking after him. +</P> + +<P> +"Did she suspect!" he suddenly cried, starting up. +</P> + +<P> +But George Waldeaux never knew how much Lucy suspected that night. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Meanwhile Mrs. Waldeaux's mare had jogged on leisurely, dragging her +mistress and Miss Vance home through the shady country lanes. +</P> + +<P> +"Phebe is old," apologized Frances. "She really is a retired car +horse." +</P> + +<P> +"You used to take pride in your horses, Frances?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Mrs. Waldeaux added after a pause. "My income is small. Of +course George soon will be coining money, but just now—— The peach +crop failed this year too. And I save every dollar for Jack's +education." +</P> + +<P> +"But what of the jokes for the New York paper? They were profitable." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I gave them up long ago." She glanced around cautiously. "Never +speak of that, Clara. I would not have George know for the world; I +never would hold up my head if he knew that I was 'Quigg.'" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance gave a contemptuous sniff, but Mrs. Waldeaux went on +eagerly, "I have a plan! You know that swampy tract of ours near +Lewes? When I have enough money I'll drain it and lay out a summer +resort—hotels—cottages. I'll develop it as I sell the lots. Oh, +Jack shall have his millions yet to do great work in the world!" her +eyes sparkling. "Though perhaps he may choose to strip himself of +everything to give to the poor, like Francis d'Assisi! That would be +best of all. It's not unlikely. He is the most generous boy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Stuff!" said Miss Vance. "St. Francis, indeed! I observe, by the +way, that he crosses himself after his meals. Are you making a +Romanist of the child? And you speak French to him, too?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux's color rose. "His mother was French and Catholic," she +said. "I will not have Lisa forgotten." +</P> + +<P> +They went on in silence. Miss Vance was lost in thought. Was George +Waldeaux equally eager to keep his wife's memory alive? Now that the +conceit had been beaten out of him, he would not make a bad husband. +And her child Lucy had always—esteemed him highly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +The next day was Sunday. George jumped out of bed with the dawn. He +whistled and sang scraps of songs as he took his bath. The sun shone. +What a full, happy world it was, anyhow! And he had given up the game +last night? Why, life was just beginning for him! He was nothing but +a boy—not yet thirty. He would make a big success soon, and then try +to win—to win—— He stopped, breathless, looking into the distance, +and his eyes slowly grew wet with passion and longing. +</P> + +<P> +He left the house and struck across the country through the woodland +and farms. He did not know why he went—he had to go. When he reached +the Dunbar woods, he stood in the thicket for hours, watching the +house. She came out at last and sat down on the steps to play with the +dog. Last night in her white, delicate beauty she had not seemed +real—she was far off, like an angel coming down into his depths of +misery. +</P> + +<P> +But to-day she sat on the steps in her pretty blue gown, and laughed +and rolled Tramp over, and sung snatches of songs, and was nothing but +a foolish girl. For so many years he had been thinking of work and +money-making and bosses. All of that mean drudgery fell out of sight +now. He was a man, young, alone, on fire with hope and passion. His +share of life had been mean and pinched; yonder was youth and gladness +and tranquillity. The world was empty, save for themselves. He was +here, and there was the one woman in it—the one woman. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at his tanned, rough fingers. Last night she had folded them +in her two soft little hands, and drawn him on—on into home! +</P> + +<P> +He would go up to her now and tell her—— +</P> + +<P> +George pushed aside the bushes, but at that moment Lucy rose and went +into the house. After a moment he crossed the lawn and sat down on the +piazza, calling the dog to him. She would come back soon. Tramp's +head rested on his knee as he stroked it. It was here her hand had +touched it—and here—— +</P> + +<P> +The scent of roses was heavy in the sunshine, the bees hummed; he sat +there in a hazy dream, waiting for the door to open and the joy of his +life to begin. +</P> + +<P> +He was dragged roughly enough out of his dream. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Dunbar's landau drove to the door to take her to church. George +looked up, carelessly noting how quiet and perfectly appointed it was, +from the brown liveries of the negro coachman and footman to the +trappings on the black ponies. There were no horses of such high breed +in Delaware. He stood up suddenly, his jaws pale as if he had been +struck. What money there was in it! He had forgotten. She was a +great heiress. +</P> + +<P> +She came out at the moment. He scanned her fiercely, the plain, costly +gown, the ruby blazing on her ungloved hand. Then he glanced down at +his own shabby Sunday suit. She was the richest woman in Delaware, and +he had not a dollar in his pocket, and no way to earn one. +</P> + +<P> +He went up to her, courteously took her hand when she held it out, +blushing and dimpling, bowed to her aunt, saying that he had merely +walked over to put her into her carriage, and, having shut the door, +looked after them, hat in hand, smiling when she glanced shyly back at +him. +</P> + +<P> +Then he laughed loudly. If he had the salary that she paid her negro +driver he would be lucky! And he had meant to marry her. He laughed +again and took his way homeward. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<P> +His mother was waiting to give George his breakfast. Whether he chose +to lie in bed until noon or to walk twenty miles at dawn, she smiled a +joyful approval. But neither the crisp toast, nor the fried chicken, +nor any of her funny stories, would penetrate the blackness of his +gloom. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, by the way!" she said; "here is a letter that came by last night's +mail. I forgot to give it to you." +</P> + +<P> +He glanced at the envelope. "Great Heavens! It is life and death to +me, and you forget it to tell Jack's pert sayings!" He read the letter +and threw it down. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, George?" she asked humbly. +</P> + +<P> +"Burnett & Hoyle offer me a place in their house." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Hoyle is an old friend of mine. I wrote to him. What is the +salary, George?" +</P> + +<P> +"Forty dollars a week. I could earn more as a coachman—for some rich +heiress." +</P> + +<P> +"But George dear—— It would be a beginning. They are brokers, and +there are so many short cuts to fortune in that business! Do try it, +my son." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I'll try it. Do you think I'm a fool? It will keep me from +starving. But I want something else in life than to be kept from +starving, mother." +</P> + +<P> +He stretched out his arms with a groan, and walked to the window. She +followed him with wretched, comprehending eyes. Why did not Lucy give +him her fortune? Any woman would be honored who could give George her +fortune. +</P> + +<P> +"I always have heard that brokers know the short cuts to wealth," she +said calmly. "You go on the Street some day, and come back a +millionaire." +</P> + +<P> +"That is a woman's idea of business. Instead, I will sit on a high +stool and drudge all day, and on Saturday get my wages, and after three +or four years I'll make a fight for ten dollars more a week, and thank +God if I get it. 'A short cut to fortune!'" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waldeaux carefully averted her eyes from him. "You may marry," she +said, "and it may happen that your wife also will have some little +income——" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother! Look at me!" he interrupted her sternly. "I will never be +dependent on my wife, so help me God!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, George, no! Of course not. Don't speak so loud. Only, I thought +if she had a small sum of her own, she would feel more comfortable, +that's all." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +In spite of his ill temper George threw himself into his work with +zeal. After a couple of months he came home for a day. He was dressed +with the quiet elegance which once had been so important in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +His mother noted it shrewdly. "A man has more courage to face life, +decently clothed," she said to herself. +</P> + +<P> +He did not come again until winter. Lucy happened to be spending the +day with Mrs. Waldeaux. There were no liveried servants, no priceless +rings, no Worth gown in sight. She was just the shy, foolish girl whom +he had once for an hour looked upon as his wife. George talked about +Wall Street to her, being now wise as to stocks; took her out +sleighing, and when in the evening she took Jack in her arms and sang +him to sleep, sat listening with his head buried in his hands. Mrs. +Waldeaux carried the boy up to bed, and Lucy and George were left +alone. They talked long and earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +"She consulted me about her affairs," he said, after she was gone, his +eyes shining. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid she does not understand business!" Mrs. Waldeaux replied +anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, like a woman! That is, not at all. Her whole property is in the +hands of The Consolidated Good Faith Companies. I reminded her of the +old adage, 'Never put all of your eggs into one basket.'" +</P> + +<P> +"But that is so sound a basket, George!" "Yes. It is thought so," with +a shrug. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor child! She needs a guardian to advise her." +</P> + +<P> +Waldeaux's countenance grew black. "She should employ an attorney. It +certainly will never be my duty to advise Miss Dunbar," he retorted +irritably. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +George showed himself shrewd and able in his work. Mr. Hoyle was a +powerful backer. Before spring his salary was doubled. But what was +that? The gulf between him and the great heiress gaped, impassable. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy spent much time with her old friend, and Frances at last broke the +silence concerning him. +</P> + +<P> +"The boy never before knew what love was. And it is you that he loves, +child." +</P> + +<P> +"He has not told me so," said Lucy coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"No. And never will. It is your wealth that makes him dumb. I wish +it was gone," said Frances earnestly. "Gone. You would be so happy. +What is money compared to being——" +</P> + +<P> +"George's wife?" Lucy laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. George's wife. I know what he is worth," his mother said +boldly. "You might give it away?" looking eagerly in the girl's face. +"In charity." +</P> + +<P> +"I might do so," said Miss Dunbar tranquilly. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +One morning in April Mrs. Waldeaux saw George coming up from the +station. She ran to meet him. +</P> + +<P> +He was pale and breathless with excitement. "What is it? What has +happened?" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush—h! Come in. Shut the door. No one must hear. The +Consolidated Companies have failed. They have robbed their depositors." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, George? What have we—— Oh, Lucy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Lucy! She is ruined! She has nothing. It was all there." He +paced up and down, hoarse with agitation and triumph. "She mustn't +know it, mother, until she is safe in another home." +</P> + +<P> +"Another home?" "Oh, surely you understand! Here—if she will come. +Poor little girl! She has not a dollar! I am getting a big salary. I +can work for you all. My God! I will have her at last! Unless—— +Perhaps she won't come! Mother, do you think she will come?" He +caught her arm, his jaws twitched, the tears stood in his eyes, as when +he used to come to her with his boyish troubles. +</P> + +<P> +"How can I tell?" said Frances. "Go and ask her." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<P> +In July Miss Vance returned unexpectedly. Her charges had tired of +travel, and turned their backs upon India. She dropped them in +Chicago, and came to Weir for rest. The evening of her arrival she +strolled with Frances through the park, listening to the story of +George's sudden wooing, and the quiet, hurried wedding. +</P> + +<P> +"It had to be quiet and hurried," said Mrs. Waldeaux, "in order to keep +her ignorant of her change of fortune. He took her to the Virginia +mountains, so that no newspapers could reach her. They are coming +to-morrow. It won't trouble her to hear that her money is gone when +she is here with us all, at home. As for me," she went on excitedly, +"I am beginning to advertise the summer resort. I must put my hand to +the plough. I don't mean that she shall miss any comfort or luxury as +George's wife." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance looked at her. "Frances, give up your planning and working. +Let George work for you and his wife," she said curtly. "It is time for +you to stop and rest." +</P> + +<P> +"And why should I stop and rest, Clara?" said Frances, amazed. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely you know, dear. You are not as young as you once were. Your +eyes are weak, and your hearing is a little dulled, and——" +</P> + +<P> +Frances threw out her hand eagerly. "You think I am growing old! It +is only my eyes and ears that are wearing out. <I>I</I> am not deaf nor +blind," she said earnestly. "<I>I</I> am not old. I find more fun and +flavor in life now than I did at sixteen. If I live to be seventy, or +a hundred, I shall be the same Frances Waldeaux still." +</P> + +<P> +Clara gave an annoyed shrug. "But really, <I>I</I> make the thought of +death my constant companion. And you are older than I." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'After the busy day<BR> +Comes the calm sleep of night,'"<BR> +</P> + +<P> +she quoted, with a sententious sigh. +</P> + +<P> +"Calm and sleep do not appear to me to be the highest conditions of +life. No! I will not be set aside, even when I am dead, like a +burned-out candle!" The indignant tears stood in her eyes. "Why, even +in that other world I shall not be a barren stock, thank God! I have +given a family to mankind. To watch a long line of your descendants at +work, to see in them your own thoughts and your own soul reaching out, +live powers through all eternity—I often think of it. That will +be—not calm nor sleep." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vance touched Mrs. Waldeaux's arm affectionately. "What a queer +idea, Frances. Well, I never argue, you know. Drop in the harness, if +you choose. Let us go in now. It is chilly." +</P> + +<P> +The older woman looked after her, and smiled good-humoredly. After a +moment she raised her hand, examining it attentively. Her hand had +been very beautiful in shape, white and dimpled, and she had been vain +enough to wear fine rings. Now it was yellow and wrinkled. The great +emerald looked like a bit of glass upon it. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I see," she said, with a miserable little laugh, and then stood +looking out into the far distance. "But <I>I</I> am not growing old." She +spoke aloud, as if to one who stood apart with her and could +understand. "Even out in that other world I shall not be only a +mother. I shall be me. ME!" touching her breast. "After a million of +years—it will still be me." +</P> + +<P> +There stirred within the lean body and rheumatic limbs depths of unused +power, of thought, of love and passion, and, deeper than all, awful +possibilities of change. +</P> + +<P> +"I have it in me still to be worse than a murderer," she thought, with +whitening face. +</P> + +<P> +She stood a long time, alone. A strange content and light came slowly +into her face. "Come what will, I shall never be left to myself +again," she said at last, speaking to a Friend whom she had found long +ago. +</P> + +<P> +Then she went in search of the boy. "Come, Jack," she said cheerfully, +"there are busy days before us." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +George and Lucy that evening reached Dover, prettiest of American +towns. They strolled down the shaded street out into a quiet country +lane. Lucy sat down upon a fallen tree, and George threw himself upon +the grass beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow we shall be at home," she said, pushing his hair back. "Do +you know that your profile is absolutely Greek?" Her eyes half closed +critically. "Yes, we shall be at home about eleven o'clock. I wrote +to Stephen to order all the dishes that you like for luncheon. Your +mother and Jack are coming. It will be such a gay, happy day!" +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand. He would tell her now. It would not distress her. +The money weighed for nothing in her life. He was her world; he knew +that. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +She turned, startled at his grave tone. The color rose in her delicate +little face, and there was a keen flash of intelligence in her blue +eyes. It vanished, and they were only blue and innocent. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy, would you be willing to come to my house? To take it for home? +To be a poor man's wife, there? God knows I'll try to make you happy +in it." +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said gently. "That is your mother's home. She has made it. +It is not fair to bring young queen bees into the old queen's hive. We +will live at your house, Dunbar Place, George." +</P> + +<P> +"It is not mine nor yours!" George broke out. "Oh, my darling, I have +hidden something from you. It is all gone. Your property, income, +every thing! The Consolidated Consolidated Companies failed. Their +depositors are ruined." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know," said Lucy, brushing a fallen leaf from her gown. "But +they had no control over my affairs. I withdrew them from their +management in February." +</P> + +<P> +George started up. "Then you—you are a great heiress still?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." She rose, holding out her hands, laughing. "My husband, I +believe, is a rich man, and I shall have what he gives me." +</P> + +<P> +But he did not hear her. He walked away down the road, shaken by a +dumb fury. He had been tricked! Who had tricked him? +</P> + +<P> +Then he heard a miserable sob and turned. Great God! Was any thing on +earth so dear as that little woman standing there? She was crying! +Had he struck her? He was a brute. What had he done? +</P> + +<P> +He ran to her, and taking her outstretched hands, kissed them +passionately. +</P> + +<P> +"They are mine—mine!" he whispered, and knew nothing beyond. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +They walked together like two happy children down the shady lane toward +the golden sunset. The money was forgotten. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Frances Waldeaux, by Rebecca Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES WALDEAUX *** + +***** This file should be named 335-h.htm or 335-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/335/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</BODY> + +</HTML> + @@ -0,0 +1,4943 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Frances Waldeaux, by Rebecca Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Frances Waldeaux + +Author: Rebecca Harding Davis + +Release Date: March 28, 2008 [EBook #335] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES WALDEAUX *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +FRANCES WALDEAUX + +A Novel + + +BY + +REBECCA HARDING DAVIS + + +AUTHOR OF "DOCTOR WARRICK'S DAUGHTER" + + + + + A REMEMBRANCER + OF + BRITTANY + FOR THE BEST FELLOW-TRAVELLER + IN THE WORLD + + + +FRANCES WALDEAUX + + +CHAPTER I + +In another minute the Kaiser Wilhelm would push off from her pier in +Hoboken. The last bell had rung, the last uniformed officer and +white-jacketed steward had scurried up the gangway. The pier was +massed with people who had come to bid their friends good-by. They +were all Germans, and there had been unlimited embracing and kissing +and sobs of "Ach! mein lieber Sckatz!" and "Gott bewahre Dick!" + +Now they stood looking up to the crowded decks, shouting out last fond +words. A band playing "The Merry Maiden and the Tar" marched on board. + +The passengers pressed against the rails, looking down. Almost every +one held flowers which had been brought to them: not costly bouquets, +but homely bunches of marigolds or pinks. They carried, too, little +German or American flags, which they waved frantically. + +The gangways fell, and the huge ship parted from the dock. It was but +an inch, but the whole ocean yawned in it between those who went and +those who stayed. There was a sudden silence; a thousand handkerchiefs +fluttered white on the pier and the flags and flowers were waved on the +ship, but there was not a cry nor a sound. + +James Perry, one of the dozen Americans on board, was leaning over the +rail watching it all with an amused smile. "Hello, Watts!" he called, +as another young man joined him. "Going over? Quite dramatic, isn't +it? It might be a German ship going out of a German port. The other +liners set off in as commonplace a way as a Jersey City ferryboat, but +these North German Lloyd ships always sail with a certain ceremony and +solemnity. I like it." + +"I always cross on them," said Dr. Watts. "I have but a month's +vacation--two weeks on board ship, two on land. Now you, I suppose, +don't have to count your days? You cross every year. I can't see, for +my part, what business the assistant editor of a magazine has abroad." + +"Oh, we make a specialty of articles from notorieties over there; +statesmen, scientific fellows, or people with titles. I expect to +capture a paper from Lorne and some sketches by the Princess Beatrice +this time." + +"Lorne? It throws you into contact with that sort of folk, eh?" said +the doctor, looking at him enviously. "How do they strike you, Jem?" + +"Well," said Perry importantly, "well-bred people are the same the +world over. I only see them in a business way, of course, but one can +judge. Their voices are better than ours, but as to looks--no! It's +queer, but American women--the wives and daughters of saddlers or +farmers, perhaps--have more often the patrician look than English +duchesses. Now there, for example," warming to the subject, "that +woman to whom you bowed just now, the middle-aged one in blue cloth. +Some Mrs. Smith or Pratt, probably. A homely woman, but there is a +distinction in her face, a certain surety of good breeding, which is +lacking in the heavy-jawed English royalties." + +"Yes; that is a friend of mine," said Watts. + +"She is a Mrs. Waldeaux from Wier, in Delaware. You could hardly call +her a typical American woman. Old French emigre family. Probably +better blood than the Coburgs a few generations back. That priggish +young fellow is her son. Going to be an Episcopalian minister." + +Mr. Perry surveyed his friend's friends good-humoredly. "Brand new +rugs and cushions," he said. "First voyage. Heavens! I wish it were +my first voyage, and that I had their appetite for Europe." + +"You might as well ask for your relish of the bread and butter of your +youth," said Watts. + +The two men leaned lazily against the bulwark watching the other +passengers who were squabbling about trunks. + +Mr. Perry suddenly stood upright as a group of women passed. + +"Do you know who that girl is?" he said eagerly. "The one who looked +back at us over her shoulder." + +"No. They are only a lot of school-girls, personally conducted. That +is the teacher in front." "Of course, I see that. But the short, dark +one--surely I know that woman." + +The doctor looked after her. "She looks like a dog turning into a +human being," he said leisurely. "One often sees such cases of +arrested evolution. D'ye see? Thick lips, coarse curls, flat +nostrils----" + +Perry laughed. "The eyes, anyhow, are quite human," he said. "They +challenge the whole world of men. I can't place her!" staring after +her, perplexed. "I really don't believe I ever saw her before. Yet +her face brings up some old story of a tragedy or crime to me." + +"Nonsense! The girl is not twenty. Very fetching with all her +vulgarity, though. Steward, send some coffee to my stateroom. Let's +go down, Jem. The fog is too chilly." + +Frances Waldeaux did not find the fog chilly. She had been thinking +for thirty years of the day when she should start to Europe--ever since +she could think at all. + +This was the day. It was like no other, now that it had come. The +fog, the crowd, the greasy smells of the pier, all familiar enough +yesterday, took on a certain remoteness and mystery. It seemed to her +that she was doing something which nobody had ever done before. She +was going to discover the Old World. + +The New was not more tremendous or unreal before the eyes of Columbus +when he, too, stood on the poop of his ship. + +Her son was arguing with the deck steward about chairs. + +"Now, mother," he said at last, "it's all right. They are under cover +so that the glare will not strain your eyes, and we can keep dry while +we watch the storms." + +"How did you know about it all? One would think you had crossed a +dozen times, George." + +"Oh, I've studied the whole thing up thoroughly," George said, with a +satisfied little nod. "I've had time enough! Why, when I was in +petticoats you used to tell me you would buy a ship and we would sail +away together. You used to spoil all my school maps with red lines, +drawing our routes." + +"Yes. And now we're going!" said Frances to herself. + +He sat down beside her and they watched the unending procession of +passengers marching around the deck. George called her attention by a +wink to any picturesque or queer figure that passed. He liked to watch +her quiet brown eyes gleam with fun. Nobody had such a keen sense of +the ridiculous as his mother. Sometimes, at the mere remembrance of +some absurd idea, she would go off into soft silent paroxysms of +laughter until the tears would stream down her cheeks. + +George was fond and proud of his childish little mother. He had never +known any body, he thought, so young or so transparent. It was easily +understood. She had married at sixteen, and had been left a widow +little more than a year afterward. "And I," he used to think, "was +born with an old head on my shoulders; so we have grown up together. I +suppose the dear soul never had a thought in her life which she has not +told me." + +As they sat together a steward brought Mrs. Waldeaux a note, which she +read, blushing and smiling. + +"The captain invites us to sit at his table," she said, when the man +was gone. + +"Very proper in the captain," said George complacently. "You see, +Madam Waldeaux, even the men who go down in ships have heard of you and +your family!" + +"I don't believe the captain ever heard of me," she said, after a grave +consideration, "nor of the Waldeaux. It is much more likely that he +has read your article in the Quarterly, George." + +"Nonsense!" But he stiffened himself up consciously. + +He had sent a paper on some abstruse point of sociology to the +Quarterly last spring, and it had aroused quite a little buzz of +criticism. His mother had regarded it very much as the Duchess of Kent +did the crown when it was set upon her little girl's head. She always +had known that her child was born to reign, but it was satisfactory to +see this visible sign of it. + +She whispered now, eagerly leaning over to him. "There was something +about that paper which I never told you. I think I'll tell you now +that the great day has come." + +"Well?" + +"Why, you know--I never think of you as my son, or a man, or anything +outside of me--not at all. You are just ME, doing the things I should +have done if I had not been a woman. Well,"--she drew her breath +quickly,--"when I was a girl it seemed as if there was something in me +that I must say, so I tried to write poems. No, I never told you +before. It had counted for so much to me I could not talk of it. I +always sent them to the paper anonymously, signed 'Sidney.' Oh, it was +long--long ago! I've been dumb, as you might say, for years. But when +I read your article, George--do you know if I had written it I should +have used just the phrases you did? And you signed it 'Sidney'!" She +watched him breathlessly. "That was more than a coincidence, don't you +think? I AM dumb, but you speak for me now. It is because we are just +one. Don't you think so, George?" She held his arm tightly. + +Young Waldeaux burst into a loud laugh. Then he took her hand in his, +stroking it. "You dear little woman! What do you know of sociology?" +he said, and then walked away to hide his amusement, muttering "Poems? +Great Heavens!" + +Frances looked after him steadily. "Oh, well!" she said to herself +presently. + +She forced her mind back to the Quarterly article. It was a beginning +of just the kind of triumph that she always had expected for him. He +would soon be recognized by scientific men all over the world as their +confrere, especially after his year's study at Oxford. + +When George was in his cradle she had planned that he should be a +clergyman, just as she had planned that he should be a well-bred man, +and she had fitted him for both roles in life, and urged him into them +by the same unceasing soft pats and pushes. She would be delighted +when she saw him in white robes serving at the altar. + +Not that Frances had ever taken her religion quite seriously. It was +like her gowns, or her education, a matter of course; a trustworthy, +agreeable part of her. She had never once in her life shuddered at a +glimpse of any vice in herself, or cried to God in agony, even to grant +her a wish. + +But she knew that Robert Waldeaux's son would be safer in the pulpit. +He could take rank with scholars there, too. + +She inspected him now anxiously, trying to see him with the eyes of +these Oxford magnates. Nobody would guess that he was only twenty-two. +The bald spot on his crown and the spectacles gave him a scholastic +air, and the finely cut features and a cold aloofness in his manner +spoke plainly, she thought, of his good descent and high pursuits. + +Frances herself had a drop of vagabond blood which found comrades for +her among every class and color. But there was not an atom of the +tramp in her son's well-built and fashionably clothed body. He never +had had a single intimate friend even when he was a boy. "He will +probably find his companions among the great English scholars," she +thought complacently. Of course she would always be his only comrade, +his chum. She continually met and parted with thousands of +people--they came and went. "But George and I will be together for all +time," she told herself. + +He came up presently and sat down beside her, with an anxious, +apologetic air. It hurt him to think that he had laughed at her. +"That dark haze is the Jersey shore," he said. "How dim it grows! +Well, we are really out now in the big world! It is so good to be +alone there with you," he added, touching her arm affectionately. +"Those cynical old-men-boys at Harvard bored me." + +"I don't bore you, then, George?" + +"You!" He was very anxious to make her forget his roughness. "Apart +from my affection for you, mother," he said judicially, "I LIKE you. I +approve of you as I never probably shall approve of another woman. +Your peculiarities--the way your brown hair ripples back into that knot +"--surveying her critically. "And the way you always look as if you +had just come out of a bath, even on a grimy train; and your gowns, so +simple--and rich. I confess," he said gravely, "I can't always follow +your unsteady little ideas when you talk. They frisk about so. It is +the difference probably between the man's mind and the woman's. +Besides, we have been separated for so many years! But I soon will +understand you. I know that while you keep yourself apart from all the +world you open your heart to me." + +"Wrap the rug about my feet, George," she said hastily, and then sent +him away upon an errand, looking after him uneasily. + +It was very pleasant to hear her boy thus formally sum up his opinion +of her. But when he found that it was based upon a lie? + +For Frances, candid enough to the world, had deceived her son ever +since he was born. + +George had always believed that she had inherited a fortune from his +father. It gave solidity and comfort to his life to think of her in +the stately old mansion on the shores of Delaware Bay, with nothing to +do except to be beautiful and gracious, as befitted a well-born woman. +It pleased him, in a lofty, generous way, that his father (whom she had +taught him to reverence as the most chivalric of gentlemen) had left +him wholly dependent upon her. It was a legal fiction, of course. He +was the heir--the crown prince. He had always been liberally supplied +with money at school and at Harvard. Her income was large. No doubt +the dear soul mismanaged the estates fearfully, but now he would have +leisure to take care of them. + +Now, the fact was that Colonel Waldeaux had been a drunken spendthrift +who had left nothing. The house and farm always had belonged to his +wife. She had supported George by her own work all of his life. She +could not save money, but she had the rarer faculty of making it. She +had raised fine fruit and flowers for the Philadelphia market; she had +traded in high breeds of poultry and cattle, and had invested her +earnings shrewdly. With these successes she had been able to provide +George with money to spend freely at college. She lived scantily at +home, never expecting any luxury or great pleasure to come into her own +life. + +But two years ago a queer thing had happened to her. In an idle hour +she wrote a comical squib and sent it to a New York paper. As +everybody knows, fun, even vulgar fun, sells high in the market. Her +fun was not vulgar, but coarse and biting enough to tickle the ears of +the common reader. The editor offered her a salary equal to her whole +income for a weekly column of such fooling. + +She had hoarded every penny of this money. With it she meant to pay +her expenses in Europe and to support George in his year at Oxford. +The work and the salary were to go on while she was gone. + +It was easy enough to hide all of these things from her son while he +was in Cambridge and she in Delaware. But now? What if he should find +out that his mother was the "Quigg" of the New York ----, a paper which +he declared to be unfit for a gentleman to read? + +She was looking out to sea and thinking of this when her cousin, Miss +Vance, came up to her. Miss Vance was a fashionable teacher in New +York, who was going to spend a year abroad with two wealthy pupils. +She was a thin woman, quietly dressed; white hair and black brows, with +gold eye-glasses bridging an aquiline nose, gave her a commanding, +inquisitorial air. + +"Well, Frances!" she began briskly, "I have not had time before to +attend to you. Are your bags hung in your stateroom?" + +"I haven't been down yet," said Mrs. Waldeaux meekly. "We were +watching the fog in the sun." + +"Fog! Mercy on me! You know you may be ill any minute, and your room +not ready! Of course, you did not take the bromides that I sent you a +week ago? + +"No, Clara." + +Miss Vance glanced at her. "Well, just as you please. I've done what +I could. Let me look at your itinerary. You will be too ill for me to +advise you about it later." + +"Oh, we made none!" said George gayly, coming up to his mother's aid. +"We are going to be vagabonds, and have no plans. Mother's soul draws +us to York Cathedral, and mine to the National Gallery. That is all we +know." + +"I thought you had given up that whim of being an artist?" said Miss +Vance, sharply facing on him. + +Young Waldeaux reddened. "Yes, I have given it up. I know as well as +you do that I have no talent. I am going to study my profession at +Oxford, and earn my bread by it." + +"Quite right. You never would earn it by art," she said decisively. +"How long do you stay in York, Frances?" + +"Oh, a day, or a month--or--years, as we please," said Frances, lazily +turning her head away. She wanted to set Clara Vance down in her +proper place. Mrs. Waldeaux abhorred cousinly intimates--people who +run into your back door to pry into the state of your larder or your +income. But Miss Vance, as Frances knew, unfortunately held a key to +her back door. She knew of George's wretched daubs, and his insane +desire, when he was a boy, to study art. He gave it up years ago. Why +should she nag him now about it? By virtue of her relationship she +knew, too, all of Mrs. Waldeaux's secrets. It was most unfortunate +that she should have chosen to sail on this vessel. + +"Well, mother," George said, uneasy to get away, "no doubt Miss Vance +is right. We should set things in order. I am going now to give my +letter of credit to the purser to lock up; shall I take yours?" + +Mrs. Waldeaux did not reply at once. "No," she said at last. "I like +to carry my own purse." + +He smiled indulgently as on a child. "Of course, dear. It IS your +own. My father was wise in that. But, on this journey, I can act as +your paymaster, can't I? I have studied foreign money----" + +"We shall see. I can keep it as safe as any purser now," she said, +obstinately shaking her head. + +He laughed and walked away. + +"You have not told him, then?" demanded Clara. + +"No. And I never will. I will not hurt the boy by letting him know +that his mother has supported him, and remember, Clara, that he can +only hear it through you. Nobody knows that I am 'Quigg' but you." + +Miss Vance lifted her eyebrows. "Nothing can need a lie," she quoted +calmly. Presently she said earnestly, "Frances, you are making a +mistake. Somebody ought to tell you the truth. There is no reason why +your whole being should be buried in that man. He should stand on his +own feet, now. You can be all that he needs as a mother, and yet live +out your own life. It is broader than his will ever be. At your age, +and with your capabilities, you should marry again. Think of the many +long years that are before you." + +"I have thought of them," said Mrs. Waldeaux slowly. "I have had +lovers who came close to me as friends, but I never for a moment was +tempted to marry one of them. No, Clara. When the devil drove my +father to hand me over--innocent child as I was--to a man like Robert +Waldeaux, he killed in me the capacity for that kind of love. It is +not in me." She turned her strenuous face to the sea and was silent. +"It is not in me," she repeated after a while. "I have but one +feeling, and that is for my boy. It is growing on me absurdly, too." +She laughed nervously. "I used to be conscious of other people in the +world, but now, if I see a boy or man, I see only what George was or +will be at his age; if I read a book, it only suggests what George will +say of it. I am like one of those plants that have lost their own sap +and color, and suck in their life from another. It scares me +sometimes." + +Miss Vance smiled with polite contempt. No doubt Frances had a shrewd +business faculty, but in other matters she was not ten years old. + +"And George will marry some time," she said curtly. + +"Oh, I hope so! And soon. Then I shall have a daughter. I know just +the kind of a wife George will choose," she chattered on eagerly. "I +understand him so thoroughly that I can understand her. But where +could he find her? He is so absurdly fastidious!" + +Miss Vance was silent and thoughtful a moment. Then she came closer. +"I will tell you where to find her," she said, in a low voice. "I have +thought of it for a long time. It seems to me that Providence actually +made Lucy Dunbar for George." + +"Really?" Mrs. Waldeaux drew her self up stiffly. + +"Wait, Frances. Lucy has been with me for three years. I know her. +She is a sincere, modest, happy little thing. Not too clever. She is +an heiress, too. And her family is good; and all underground, which is +another advantage. You can mould her as you choose. She loves you +already." + +"Or is it that she----?" + +"You have no right to ask that!" said Miss Vance quickly. + +"No, I am ashamed of myself." Mrs. Waldeaux reddened. + +A group of girls came up the deck. Both women scanned the foremost one +critically. "I like that wholesome, candid look of her," said Miss +Vance. + +"Oh, she is well enough," said Frances. "But I am sure George does not +like yellow hair. Nothing but an absolutely beautiful woman will +attract him." + +"An artist," said Miss Vance hastily, "would tell you her features were +perfect. And her flesh tints----" + +"For Heaven's sake, Clara, don't dissect the child. Who is that girl +with the red cravat? Your maid?" + +"It is not a cravat, it's an Indian scarf. If it only were clean----" +Miss Vance looked uneasy and perplexed. "She is not my maid. She is +Fraulein Arpent. The Ewalts brought her as governess from Paris, don't +you remember? They sent the girls to Bryn Mawr last week and turned +her adrift, almost penniless. She wished to go back to France. I +engaged her as assistant chaperone for the season." + +Mrs. Waldeaux's eyebrows went up significantly. She never commented in +words on the affairs of others, but her face always was indiscreet. +George, who had come up in time to hear the last words, was not so +scrupulous. He surveyed the young woman through his spectacles as she +passed again, with cold disapproval. + +"French or German?" he asked. + +"I really don't know. She has a singular facility in tongues," said +Miss Vance. + +"Well, that is not the companion _I_ should have chosen for those +innocent little girls," he said authoritatively, glad to be +disagreeable to his cousin. "She looks like a hawk among doves." + +"The woman is harmless enough," said Miss Vance tartly. "She speaks +exquisite French." + +"But what does she say in it?" persisted George. "She is vulgar from +her red pompon to her boots. She has the swagger of a soubrette and +she has left a trail of perfume behind her--pah! I confess I am +surprised at you, Miss Vance. You do not often slip in your judgment." + +"Don't make yourself unpleasant, George," said his mother gently. Miss +Vance smiled icily, and as the girls came near again, stopped them and +stood talking to Mlle. Arpent with an aggressive show of familiarity. + +"Why do you worry Clara?" said Mrs. Waldeaux. "She knows she has made +a mistake. What do you think of that little blonde girl?" she asked +presently, watching him anxiously. "She has remarkable beauty, +certainly; but there is something finical--precise----" + +"Take care. She will hear you," said George. "Beauty, eh? Oh, I +don't know," indifferently. "She is passably pretty. I have never +seen a woman yet whose beauty satisfied ME." + +Mrs. Waldeaux leaned back with a comfortable little laugh. "But you +must not be so hard to please, my son. You must bring me my daughter +soon," she said. + +"Not very soon. I have some thing else to think of than marriage for +the next ten years." + +Just then Dr. Watts came up and asked leave to present his friend +Perry. The doctor, like all young men who knew Mrs. Waldeaux, had +succumbed to her peculiar charm, which was only that of a woman past +her youth who had strong personal magnetism and not a spark of +coquetry. George's friends all were sure that they would fall in love +with a woman just like her--but not a man of them ever thought of +falling in love with her. + +Young Perry, in twenty minutes, decided that she was the most brilliant +and agreeable of companions. He had talked, and she had spoken only +with her listening, sympathetic eyes. He was always apt to be voluble. +On this occasion he was too voluble. "You are from Weir, I think, in +Delaware, Mrs. Waldeaux?" he asked. "I must have seen the name of the +town with yours on the list of passengers, for the story of a woman who +once lived there has been haunting me all day. I have not seen nor +thought of her for years, and I could not account for my sudden +remembrance of her." + +"Who was she?" asked George, trying to save his mother from Perry, who +threatened to be a bore. + +"Her name was Pauline Felix. You have heard her story, Mrs. Waldeaux?" + +"Yes" said Frances coldly. "I have heard her story. Can you find my +shawl, George?" + +But Perry was conscious of no rebuff, and turned cheerfully to George. +"It was one of those dramas of real life, too unlikely to put into a +novel. She was the daughter of a poor clergyman in Weir, a devout, +good man, I believe. She had marvellous beauty and a devilish +disposition. She ran away, lived a wild life in Paris, and became the +mistress of a Russian Grand Duke. Her death----" + +He could not have told why he stopped. Mrs. Waldeaux still watched +him, attentive, but the sympathetic smile had frozen into icy civility. +She had the old-fashioned modesty of her generation. What right had +this young man to speak of "mistresses" to her? Clara's girls within +hearing too! She rose when he paused, bowed, and hurried to them, like +a hen fluttering to protect her chicks. + +"He was talking to me of a woman," she said excitedly to Clara, "who is +never mentioned by decent people." + +"Yes, I heard him," said Miss Vance. "Poor Pauline! Her career was +always a mystery to me. I was at school with her, and she was the most +generous, lovable girl! Yet she came to a wretched end," turning to +her flock, her tone growing didactic. "One is never safe, you see. One +must always be on guard." + +"Oh, my dear!" cried Frances impatiently. "You surely don't mean to +class these girls and me with Pauline Felix! Come, come!" + +"None of us is safe," repeated Clara stiffly. "Somebody says there is +a possible vice in the purest soul, and it may lie perdu there until +old age. But it will break out some day." + +Mrs. Waldeaux looked, laughing, at the eager, blushing faces around +her. "It is not likely to break out in us, girls, eh! Really, Clara," +she said, in a lower tone, "that seems to me like wasted morality. +Women of our class are in no more danger of temptation to commit great +crimes than they are of finding tigers in their drawing-rooms. Pauline +Felix was born vicious. No woman could fall as she did, who was not +rotten to the core." + +A sudden shrill laugh burst from the French woman, who had been looking +at Mrs. Waldeaux with insolent, bold eyes. But as she laughed, her +head fell forward and she swung from side to side. + +"It is nothing," she cried, "I am only a little faint. I must go +below." + +The ship was now crossing short, choppy waves. The passengers +scattered rapidly. George took his mother to her stateroom, and there +she stayed until land was sighted on the Irish coast. Clara and her +companions also were forced to keep to their berths. + +During the speechless misery of the first days Mrs. Waldeaux was +conscious that George was hanging over her, tender as a mother with a +baby. She commanded him to stay on deck, for each day she saw that he, +too, grew more haggard. "Let me fight it out alone," she would beg of +him. "My worst trouble is that I cannot take care of you." + +He obeyed her at last, and would come down but once during the day, and +then for only a few hurried minutes. His mother was alarmed at the +ghastliness of his face and the expression of anxious wretchedness new +to it. "His eye avoids mine craftily, like that of an insane man," she +told herself, and when the doctor came, she asked him whether +sea-sickness affected the brain. + +On the last day of the voyage the breeze was from land, and with the +first breath of it Frances found her vigor suddenly return. She rose +and dressed herself. George had not been near her that day. "He must +be very ill," she thought, and hurried out. "Is Mr. Waldeaux in his +stateroom?" she asked the steward. + +"No, madam. He is on deck. All the passengers are on deck," the man +added, smiling. "Land is in sight." + +Land! And George had not come to tell her! He must be desperately ill! + +She groped up the steps, holding by the brass rail. "I will give him a +fine surprise!" she said to herself. "I can take care of him, now. +To-night we shall be on shore and this misery all over. And then the +great joy will begin!" + +She came out on deck. The sunshine and cold pure wind met her. She +looked along the crowded deck for her invalid. Every-body was in +holiday clothes, every-body was smiling and talking at once. Ah! there +he was! + +He was leaning over Frances' steamer chair, on which a woman lay +indolently. He was in rude health, laughing, his face flushed, his +eyes sparkling. + +Looking up, he saw his mother and came hastily to meet her. The laugh +was gone. "So you came up?" he said impatiently. "I would have called +you in time. I---- Mother!" He caught her by the arm. "Wait, I must +see you alone for a minute." Urged by the amazed fright in her face, +he went on desperately, "I have something to tell you. I intended to +break it to you. I don't want to hurt you, God knows. But I have not +been idle in these days. I have found your daughter. She is here." + +He led her up to the chair. The girl's head was wrapped in a veil and +turned from her. + +Mrs. Waldeaux held out her hands. "Lucy! Lucy Dunbar!" she heard +herself say. + +"Mais non! Cest moi!" said a shrill voice, and Mlle. Arpent, turning +her head lazily, looked at her, smiling. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +Clara Vance had her faults, but nobody could deny that, in this crisis, +she acted with feeling and tact. She ignored mademoiselle and her +lover, whose bliss was in evidence on deck all day, and took possession +of Mrs. Waldeaux, caring for her as tenderly as if she had been some +poor wretch sentenced to death. "She has no intellect left except her +ideas about George," she told herself, "and if he turns his back on her +for life in this way---- She never was too sane!" shaking her head +ominously. + +She thought it best to talk frankly of the matter to little Lucy +Dunbar, and was relieved to find her ready to joke and laugh at it. +"No bruise in that tender heart!" thought Clara, who was anxious as a +mother for her girls. + +"We all worshipped Mr. George," said Lucy saucily. "I, most of all. +He is so cold, so exalted and ah--h, so good-looking! Like a Greek +god. But he never gave a look to poor little me! The fraulein came on +deck as soon as we all went down with sea-sickness, and bewitched him +with her eyes. It must have been her eyes; they are yellow--witch's +eyes. Or maybe that cheap smell about her is a love-philter! Or was +it just soul calling to soul? I should have said the fraulein had the +soul of a milliner. She put great ideas into the hat that she altered +for me," Lucy added, with an unsteady laugh. + +"I care nothing for them or their souls," said Miss Vance crossly. "It +is his mother that I think of." + +"But really," said Lucy, "mademoiselle is quite raw material. No +ideas--no manners whatever. Mrs. Waldeaux may mould her into something +good and fine." + +"She will not try. She will never accept that creature as a daughter." + +"She seems to me to be indifferent," said Lucy. "She does not see how +terrible it is. She was leaning over the bulwark just now, laughing at +the queer gossoons selling their shillalahs." + +"Oh, she will laugh at Death himself when he comes to fetch her, and +see something 'queer'in him," said Clara. + +But her little confidence with Lucy had relieved her. The child cared +nothing for George, that was plain. + +Mademoiselle, watching Mrs. Waldeaux closely all day, was not deceived +by her laugh. "The old lady, your mother," she said to George, "is +what you men call 'game.' She has blood and breeding. More than you, +monsieur. That keeps her up. I did not count on that," said the young +woman thoughtfully. + +George took off his glasses and rubbed them nervously as he talked. "I +don't understand my mother at all! She has always been very +considerate and kind. I never thought that she would receive my wife, +when I brought her to her, with calm civility. Not a kiss nor a +blessing!" + +"A kiss? A blessing for me?" Lisa laughed and nodded meaningly to the +sea and world at large. "She could hardly have blessed a woman lolling +full length in her chair," she thought. "It IS her chair. And I have +unseated her for life curling herself up in the rugs." + +Yet she had a twinge of pity for the old lady. Even the wild boar has +its affections and moments of gentleness. A week ago Lisa could have +trampled the life out of this woman who had slandered her dead mother, +with the fury of any wild beast. For she was Pauline Felix's daughter. +It was her mother's name that Mrs. Waldeaux had said could not be +spoken by any decent woman. Lisa had been but a child, but she had +held her mother's head close to her stout little heart as she lay +dying--that awful mysterious death of which the young man had tried to +make a telling story. The girl crossed herself now and closed her +tired eyes as she thought of it. She had been a wicked child and a +wicked woman, but she knew certainly that the Virgin and her Son had +come near to her that day, and had helped her. + +George, who was poring fondly on her face, exclaimed: "Your eyes are +wet. You are in trouble!" + +"I was thinking of my mother," she said gently, holding out her hand to +him. + +He took it and said presently, "Will you not talk to me about her, +Lisa? You have not told me any thing of your people, my darling. Nor +of yourself. Why, I don't even know whether you are French or German." + +"Oh, you shall hear the whole story when we are married," she replied +softly, a wicked glitter in her eyes. "Some of the noblest blood in +Europe is in my veins. I will give you my genealogical tree to hang up +in that old homestead of yours. It will interest the people of +Weir--and please your mother." + +"It is good in you to think of her," he said, tenderly looking down at +her. + +He was not blind. He saw the muddy skin, the thick lips, the soiled, +ragged lace. They would have disgusted him in another woman. + +But this was--Lisa. There was no more to be said. + +These outside trifles would fall off when she came into his life. Even +with them she was the breath and soul of it. + +She saw the difference between them more sharply than he did. She had +been cast for a low part in the play, and knew it. Sometimes she had +earned the food which kept her alive in ways of which this untempted +young priest had never even heard. There was something in this clean +past of his, in his cold patrician face and luxurious habits new to +her, and she had a greedy relish for it all. + +She had been loved before, caressed as men caress a dog, kicking it off +when it becomes troublesome. George's boyish shyness, his reverent awe +of her, startled her. + +"He thinks Lisa Arpent a jeune fille--like these others. A little +white rose!" she thought, and laughed. She would not tell him why she +laughed, and muttered an oath when he stupidly insisted on knowing. + +He was the first lover who had ever believed in her. + +She had begun this affair simply to punish the "old woman"; the man in +it had counted for nothing. But now, as they crossed the gangway, she +looked up at him with eyes that for the moment were honest and true as +a child's, and her firm hand suddenly trembled in his. + + +Three weeks later Mrs. Waldeaux came into Miss Vance's little parlor on +Half Moon Street. Her face was red from the wind, her eyes sparkled, +and she hummed some gay air which an organ ground outside. Clara laid +down her pen. + +"Where have you been, Frances? It is a week since I saw you." + +"Oh, everywhere! George has been showing me London!" She sat down +before the fire with a gurgle of comfort and dropped her bonnet and +gloves on the floor beside her. "Yesterday we spent at the Museum. +George explained the Elgin marbles to me. I don't suppose any body in +London has studied their history so thoroughly. I did wish you could +have heard him. And the day before I was at the House--in the ladies' +gallery. I can't imagine how he got admission for me. He IS so +clever!" + +"We are going down to Canterbury for a couple of days," said Clara. +"We start at noon. Will you go with us?" + +"No, I think not. George does not seem to care for cathedrals. And he +has plans for me, no doubt." + +Miss Vance brushed the bonnet and carefully rolled up the strings. +"Are you satisfied? Is London the London you have been thinking of +these twenty years?" she asked. + +"Oh, a thousand times more! And George has been with me every +day--every day!" + +Miss Vance picked up the gloves, looking impatiently at the poor lady's +happy face. "Now she has gone off into one of her silly transports of +delight, and for no earthly reason!" + +"I noticed that George has seen very little of Lisa lately," she said +tentatively. "If he really means to marry her----" + +"Marry her! Clara! You surely never feared THAT?" + +"He certainly told us plainly enough that he would do it," said Miss +Vance testily. + +"Oh, you don't understand him! You have had so little to do with young +men. They are all liable to attacks like that--as to measles and +scarlet fever. But they pass off. Now, George is not as susceptible +as most of them. But," lowering her voice, "he was madly in love with +the butcher's Kate when he was ten, and five years afterward offered to +marry the widow Potts. I thought he had outgrown the disease. There +has been nothing of the kind since, until this fancy. It is passing +off. Of course it is mortifying enough to think that such a poor +creature as that could attract him for an hour." + +"I was to blame," Miss Vance said, with an effort. "I brought her in +his way. But how was I to know that she was such a cat, and he +such---- If he should marry her----" + +Mrs. Waldeaux laughed angrily. "You are too absurd, Clara. A +flirtation with such a woman was degrading enough, but George is not +quite mad. He has not even spoken of her for days. Oh, here he comes! +That is his step on the stairs." She ran to the door. "He found that +I was out and has followed me. He is the most ridiculous mother's boy! +Well, George, here I am! Have you thought of some thing new for me to +see?" She glanced at Miss Vance, well pleased that she should see the +lad's foolish fondness for her. + +George forced a smile. He looked worn and jaded. Miss Vance noticed +that his usually neat cravat was awry and his hands were gloveless. +"Yes," he said. "It is a little church. The oldest in London. I want +to show it to you." + +Miss Vance tied on Mrs. Waldeaux's bonnet, smoothing her hair +affectionately. "There are too many gray hairs here for your age, +Frances," she said. "George, you should keep your mother from worry +and work. Don't let her hair grow gray so soon." + +George bowed. "I hope I shall do my duty," he said, with dignity. +"Come, mother." + +As they drove down Piccadilly Mrs. Waldeaux chattered eagerly to her +son. She could not pour out her teeming fancies about this new world +to any body else, but she could not talk fast enough to him. Had they +not both been waiting for a lifetime to see this London? + +"The thing," she said earnestly, as she settled herself beside him, +"the thing that has impressed me most, I think, were those great +Ninevite gods yesterday. I sat for hours before them while you were +gone. There they sit, their hands on their knees, and stare out of +their awful silence at the London fog, just as they stared at the +desert before Christ was born. I felt so miserably young and sham!" + +George adjusted his cravat impatiently. "I'm afraid I don't quite +follow you, mother. These little flights of yours---- They belong to +your generation, I suppose. It was a more sentimental one than mine. +You are not very young. And you certainly are not a sham. The statues +are interesting, but I fail to see why they should have had such an +effect upon you." + +"Oh!" said Frances. "But you did not stay alone with them as long as I +did, or you would have felt it too. Now I am sure that the debates in +Parliament impressed you just as they did me?" + +George said nothing, but she went on eagerly. It never occurred to her +that he could be bored by her impressions in these greatest days of her +life. "To see a half-dozen well-groomed young men settle the affairs +of India and Australia in a short, indifferent colloquy! How shy and +awkward they were, too! They actually stuttered out their sentences in +their fear of posing or seeming pretentious. So English! Don't you +think it was very English, George?" + +"I really did not think about it at all. I have had very different +things to occupy me," said George, coldly superior to all mothers and +Parliaments. "This is the church." + +The cab stopped before an iron door between two shops in the most +thronged part of Bishopsgate Street. He pushed it open, and they +passed suddenly out of the hurrying crowd into the solemn silence of an +ancient dingy building. A dim light fell through a noble window of the +thirteenth century upon cheap wooden pews. The church was empty, and +had that curious significance and half-spoken message of its own which +belongs to a vacant house. + +"I remember," whispered Frances, awestruck. "This was built by the +first Christian convert, St. Ethelburga." + +"You believe every thing, mother!" said George irritably. She wandered +about, looking at the sombre walls and inscriptions, and then back +uneasily, to his moody face. + +Suddenly she came up to him as he stood leaning against a pillar. +"Something has happened!" she said. "You did not bring me here to look +at the church. You have something to tell me." + +The young man looked at her and turned away. "Yes, I have. It isn't a +death," he said, with a nervous laugh. "You need not look in that way. +It is--something very different. I--I was married in this church +yesterday to Lisa Arpent." + +Frances did not at first comprehend the great disaster that bulked +black across her whole life, but, woman-like, grasped at a fragment of +it. + +"You were married and I was not there! Yesterday! My boy was married +and he forgot me!" + +"Mother! Don't look like that! Here, sit down," grabbing her +helplessly by the arms. "I didn't want to hurt you. I brought you +here to tell you quietly. Cry! Why don't you cry if you're worried! +Oh! I believe she's dying!" he shouted, staring around the empty church. + +She spoke at last. + +"You were married and I couldn't say God bless you! You forgot me! I +never forgot you, George, for one minute since you were born." + +"Mother, what fool talk is that? I only didn't want a scene. I kept +away from Lisa for weeks so as not to vex you. Forget you! I think I +have been very considerate of you under the circumstances. You have a +dislike to Lisa, a most groundless dislike----" + +"Oh, what is Lisa?" said Frances haughtily. "It is that you have +turned away from me. She has nothing to do with the relation between +you and me. How can any woman come between me and my son?" She held +up her hands. "Why, you are my boy, Georgy. You are all I have!" + +He looked at the face, curiously pinched and drawn as if by death, that +was turned up to his, and shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Now +this is exactly what I tried to escape yesterday. Am I never to be a +man, nor have the rights of a man? You must accept the situation, +mother. Lisa is my wife, and dearer to me than all the world beside." + +He saw her lips move. "Dearer? Dearer than me!" She sat quite still +after that, and did not seem to hear when he spoke. Something in her +silence frightened him. She certainly had been a fond, indulgent +mother, and he perhaps had been abrupt in cutting the tie between them. +It must be cut. He had promised Lisa the whole matter should be +settled to-day. But his mother certainly was a weak woman, and he must +be patient with her. Secretly he approved the manliness of his +patience. + +"The cab is waiting, dear," he said. She rose and walked to the +street, standing helpless there while the crowd jostled her. Was she +blind and deaf? He put her into the cab and sat down opposite to her. +"Half Moon Street," he called to the driver. + +"Mother," touching her on the knee. + +"Yes, George." + +"I told him to drive to Half Moon Street. I will take you to Clara +Vance. We may as well arrange things now, finally. You do not like my +wife. That is clear. For the present, therefore, it is better that we +should separate. I have consulted with Lisa, and she has suggested +that you shall join Clara Vance's party while we go our own way." + +She stared at him. "Do you mean that you and I are not to see London +together? Not to travel through Europe together?" + +He pitied her a little, and, leaning forward, kissed her clammy lips. +"The thing will seem clearer to you to-morrow, no doubt. I must leave +you now. Go to Clara and her girls. They all like to pet and make +much of you. I will bring Lisa in the morning, to talk business a +little. She has an uncommonly clear head for business. Good-by, +dear!" He stopped the cab, jumped out, and walked briskly to the +corner where his wife was waiting for him. + +"You have told her?" she asked breathlessly. + +"Yes. It's over." + +"That we must separate?" + +"Yes, yes. I told her you thought it best." + +"And she was not willing?" + +"Well, she did not approve very cordially," said George, evading her +eye. + +"But she shall approve!" hanging upon his arm, her burning eyes close +to his face. "You are mine, George! I love you. I will share you +with nobody!" She whistled shrilly, and a hansom stopped. + +"What are you going to do, darling?" + +"Follow her. I will tell her something that will make her willing to +separate. Get in, get in!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Frances, when in trouble, went out of doors among the trees as +naturally as other women take to their beds. Lisa's sharp eyes saw her +sitting in the Green Park as they passed. The mist, which was heavy as +rain, hung in drops on the stretches of sward and filled the far aisles +of trees with a soft gray vapor. The park was deserted but for an old +man who asked Mrs. Waldeaux for the penny's hire for her chair. As he +hobbled away, he looked back at her curiously. + +"She gave him a shilling!" exclaimed Lisa, as he passed them. "I told +you she was not fit to take care of money." + +"But why not wait until to-morrow to talk of business? She is hurt and +unnerved just now, and she--she does not like you, Lisa." + +"I am not afraid. She will be civil. She is like Chesterfield. 'Even +death cannot kill the courtesy in her.' You don't seem to know the +woman, George. Come." + +But George hung back and loitered among the trees. He was an honest +fellow, though slow of wit; he loved his mother and was penetrated to +the quick just now by a passionate fondness for his wife. Two such +good, clever women! Why couldn't they hit it off together? + +"George?" said Frances, hearing his steps. + +Lisa came up to her. She rose, and smiled to her son's wife, and after +a moment held out her hand. + +But the courtesy which Lisa had expected suddenly enraged her. "No! +There need be no pretence between us," she said. "You are not glad to +see me. There is no pretence in me. I am honest. I did not come here +to make compliments, but to talk business." + +"George said to-morrow. Can it not wait until to-morrow?" + +"No. What is to do--do it! That is my motto. George, come here! +Tell your mother what we have decided. Oh, very well, if you prefer +that I should speak. We go to Paris at once, Mrs. Waldeaux, and will +take apartments there. You will remain with Miss Vance." + +"Yes, I know. I am to remain----" Frances passed her hand once or +twice over her mouth irresolutely. "But Oxford, George?" she said. +"You forget your examinations?" + +George took off his spectacles and wiped them. + +"Speak! Have you no mind of your own?" his wife whispered. "I will +tell you, then, madam. He has done with that silly whim! A priest, +indeed! I am Catholic, and priests do not marry. He goes to Paris to +study art. I see a great future for him, in art." + +Frances stared at him, and then sat down, dully. What did it matter? +Paris or Oxford? She would not be there. What did it matter? + +Lisa waited a moment for some comment, and then began sharply, "Now, we +come to affaires! Listen, if you please. I am a woman of business. +Plain speaking is always best, to my idea." + + +Mrs. Waldeaux drew herself together and turned her eyes on her with +sudden apprehension, as she would on a snapping dog. The woman's tones +threatened attack. + +"To live in Paris, to work effectively, your son must have money. I +brought him no dot, alas! Except"--with a burlesque courtesy--"my +beauty and my blood. I must know how much money we shall have before I +design the menage." + +"George has his income," said his mother hastily. + +"Ah! You are alarmed, madam! You do not like plain words about the +affaires? George tells me that although he is long ago of age, he has +as yet received no portion of his father's estates." + +"Lisa! You do not understand! Mother, I did not complain. You have +always given me my share of the income from the property. I have no +doubt it was a fair share--as much as if my father had left me my +portion, according to custom." + +"Yes, it was a fair share," said Frances. + +"Ah! you smile, madam!" interrupted Lisa. "I am told it is a vast +property, a grand chateau--many securities! M. Waldeaux pere made a +will, on dit, incredibly foolish, with no mention of his son. But now +that this son comes to marry, to become the head of the house, if you +were a French mother, if you were just, you would---- You appear to be +amused, madam?" + +For Mrs. Waldeaux was laughing. She could not speak for a moment. The +tears stood in her eyes. + +"The matter has somewhat of droll to you?" + +"It has its humorous side," said Frances. "I quite understand, George, +that you will need more money to support a wife. I will double your +allowance. It shall be paid quarterly." + +"You would prefer to do that?" hesitated George. "Rather than to make +over a son's share of the property to me absolutely? Some of the +landed estate or securities? I have probably a shrewder business +talent than yours, and if I had control could make my property more +profitable." + +"I should prefer to pay your income as before--yes," said Frances +quietly. + +"Well, as you choose. It is yours to give, of course." George coughed +and shuffled to conquer his disappointment. Then he said, "Have it +your own way." He put his hand affectionately on her shoulder. "And +when you have had your little outing and go home to Weir, you will be +glad to have us come to you, for a visit--won't you, mother? You +haven't said so." + +"Why should I say so? It is your home, George, yours and your wife's." +She caught his hand and held it to her lips. + +But Lisa had not so easily conquered her disappointment. This woman +was coolly robbing George of his rights and was going instead to kill +for him a miserable little fatted calf! Bah! This woman, who had +maligned her dead mother! + +She should have her punishment now. In one blow, straight from the +shoulder. + +"But you should know, madam," she said gently, "who it is your son has +married before you take her home. I assure you that you can present me +to the society in Weir with pride. I have royal blood----" "Lisa!" +George caught her arm. "It is not necessary. You forget----" + +"Oh, I forget nothing! I said royal blood. My father, madam, was the +brother of the Czar, and my mother was Pauline Felix. You don't seem +to understand----" after a moment's pause. "It was my mother whose +name you said should not cross any decent woman's lips--my mother----" +She broke down into wild sobs. + +"When I said it I did not know that you---- I am sorry." Frances +suddenly walked away, pulling open her collar. It seemed to her that +there was no breath in the world. George followed her. "Did you know +this?" she said at last, in a hoarse whisper. "And you are--married to +her? There is no way of being rid of her?" + +"No, there is no way," said Waldeaux stoutly. "And if there were, I +should not look for it. I am sorry that there is any smirch on Lisa's +birth. But even her mother, I fancy, was not altogether a bad lot. +Bygones must be bygones. I love my wife, mother. She's worth loving, +as you'd find if you would take the trouble to know her. Her dead +mother shall not come between her and me." + +"She's like her, George!" said Mrs. Waldeaux, with white, trembling +lips. "I ought to have seen it at first. Those luring, terrible eyes. +It is Pauline Felix's heart that is in her. Rotten to the +core--rotten----" + +"I don't care. I'll stand by her." But George's face, too, began to +lose its color. He shook himself uncomfortably. "The thing's done +now," he muttered. + +"Certainly, certainly," Frances repeated mechanically. "Tell her that +I am sorry I spoke of her mother before her. It was rude--brutal. I +ask her pardon." + +"Oh, she'll soon forget that! Lisa has a warm heart, if you take her +right. There's lots of hearty fun in her too. You'll like that. Are +you going now? Good-by, dear. We will come and see you in the +morning. The thing will not seem half so bad when you have slept on +it." + +He paused uncertainly, as she still stood motionless. She was facing +the grim walls of Stafford House, looming dimly through the mist, her +eyes fixed as if she were studying the sky line. + +"George," she said. "You don't understand. You will come to me always. +But that woman never shall cross my threshold." "Mother! Do you mean +what you say?" + +It was a man, not a shuffling boy that spoke now. "Do you mean that we +are not to go to you to-morrow? Not to go home in October? Never----" + +"Your home is open to you. But Pauline Felix's child is no more to me +than a wild beast--or a snake in the grass, and never can be." She +faced him steadily now. + +"There she is," said Frances, looking at the little black figure under +the trees, "and here am I. You can choose between us." + +"Those whom God hath joined together," muttered George. "You know +that." + +"You have known her for three weeks," cried Frances vehemently. "I +gave you life. I have been your slave every hour since you were born. +I have lived but for you. Which of us has God joined together?" + +"Mother, you're damnably unreasonable! It is the course of nature for +a man to leave his parents and cleave to his wife." + +"Yes, I know," she said slowly. "You can keep that foul thing in your +life, but it never shall come into mine." + +"Then neither will I. I will stand by my wife." + +"That is the end, then?" + +She waited, her eyes on his. + +He did not speak. + +She turned and left him, disappearing slowly in the rain and mist. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Two days later Mr. Perry met Miss Vance in Canterbury and told her of +the marriage. She hurried back to London. She could not hide her +distress and dismay from the two girls. + +"How did she force him into it? One is almost driven to believe in +hypnotism," she cried. + +Lucy Dunbar had no joke to make about it to-day. The merry little girl +was silent, having, she said, a headache. + +"You've had too much cathedral!" said Miss Hassard. "And the whole +church is wretchedly out of drawing!" + +Jean Hassard had studied art at Pond City in Dakota, and her soul's +hope had been to follow Marie Bashkirtseff's career in Paris. But her +father had morally handcuffed her and put her into Clara's custody for +a year. It was hard! To be led about to old churches, respectable as +her grandmother, when she might have been studying the nude in a mixed +class! She rattled her chains disagreeably at every step. + +"The mesalliance is on the other side," she told Lucy privately. "A +woman of the world who knew life, to marry that bloodless, finical +priest!" + +"He was not bloodless. He loved her." + +Mr. Perry came up with them from Canterbury, being secretly alarmed +about Miss Dunbar's headache. Nobody took proper care of that lovely +child! He had attached himself to Miss Vance's party in England; he +dropped in every evening to tell of his interviews with Gladstone or +Mrs. Oliphant or an artist or a duke. It was delightful to the girls +to come so close to these unknown great folks. They felt quite like +peris, just outside the court of heaven, with the gate a little bit +ajar. This evening Mr. Perry promised it should open for them. He was +going to bring a real prince, whom he familiarly dubbed "a jolly +fellow," to call upon Miss Vance. + +"Who is the man?" said Clara irritably. "Be careful, Mr. Perry. I +have had enough of foreign adventurers." + +"Oh, the Hof Kalender will post you as to Prince Wolfburgh. I looked +him up in it. He is head of one of the great mediatized families. +Would have been reigning now if old Kaiser Wilhelm had not played +Aaron's serpent and gobbled up all the little kings. Wolfburgh has +kept all his land and castles, however." + +"Very well. Let us see what the man is like," Miss Vance said loftily. + + +Mrs. Waldeaux was not in the house when they arrived. Every day she +went early in the morning to the Green Park, where she had seen George +last, and wandered about until night fell. She thought that he had +gone to Paris, and that she was alone in London. But somehow she came +nearer to him there. + +When she found that Clara had arrived, she knew that she would be full +of pity for her. She came down to dinner in full dress, told some +funny stories, and laughed incessantly. + +No. She had not missed them. The days had gone merry as a marriage +bell with her even after her son and his wife had run away to Paris. + +Mr. Perry congratulated her warmly on the match. "The lady is very +fetching, indeed," he said. "I remarked that the first day on +ship-board. Oh, yes, I know a diamond when I see it. But your son +picks it up. Lucky fellow! He picks it up!" He told Miss Vance that +there was a curious attraction about her friend, "who, by the way, +should always wear brown velvet and lace." + +Miss Vance drew little Lucy aside after dinner. "Do you see," she +said, "the tears in her eyes? It wrenches my heart. She has become an +old woman in a day. I feel as if Frances were dead, and that was her +ghost joking and laughing." + +Lucy said nothing, but she went to Frances and sat beside her all +evening. When the prince arrived and was presented, going on his +triumphant way through the room, she nestled closer, whispering, "What +do you think of him?" + +"He looks very like our little fat Dutch baker in Weir--he has the same +air of patronage," said Frances coldly. She was offended that Lucy +should notice the man at all. Was it not she whom George should have +married? How happy they would have been--her boy and this sweet, neat +little girl! And already Lucy was curious about so-called princes! + +When his Highness came back to them she rose hastily and went to her +own room. + +Late that night Miss Vance found her there in the dark, sitting bolt +upright in her chair, still robed in velvet and lace. Clara regarded +her sternly, feeling that it was time to take her in hand. + +"You have not forgiven George?" she said abruptly. + +Mrs. Waldeaux looked up, but said nothing. + +"Is he coming back soon?" + +"He never shall come back while that woman is with him." + +Miss Vance put her lamp on the table and sat down. "Frances," she said +deliberately, "I know what this is to you. It would have been better +for you that George had died." + +"Much better." + +"But he didn't die. He married Lisa Arpent. Now it is your duty to +accept it. Make the best of it." + +"If a lizard crawls into my house will you tell me to accept it? Make +the best of it? Oh, my God! The slimy vile creature!" + +"She is not vile! I tell you there are lovable qualities in Lisa. And +even if she were as wicked as her mother, what right have you---- You, +too, are a sinner before God." + +"No," said Mrs. Waldeaux gravely, "I am not. I have lived a good +Christian life. I may have been tempted to commit sin, but I cannot +remember that I ever did it." + +Miss Vance looked at her aghast. "But surely your religion teaches +you---- Why, you are sinning now, when you hate this girl!" + +"I do not hate her. God made her as he made the lizard. I simply will +not allow her to cross my path. What has religion to do with it? I am +clean and she is vile. That is all there is to say." + +Both women were silent. Mrs. Waldeaux got up at last and caught Clara +by the arm. She was trembling violently. "No, I'm not ill. I'm well +enough. But you don't understand! That woman has killed George. I +spent twenty years in making him what he is. I worked--there was +nothing but him for me in the world. I didn't spare myself. To make +him a gentleman--a Christian. And in a month she turns him into a +thing like herself. He is following her vulgar courses. I saw the +difference after he had lived with her for one day. He is tainted." +She stood staring into the dull lamp. "She may not live long, though," +she said. "She doesn't look strong----" + +"Frances! For God's sake!" + +"Well, what of it? Why shouldn't I wish her gone? The harm--the harm! +Do you remember that Swedish maid I had--a great fair woman? One day +she was stung by a green fly, and in a week she was dead, her whole +body a mass of corruption! Oh, God lets such things be done! Nothing +but a green fly----" She shook off Clara's hold, drawing her breath +with difficulty. "That is Lisa. It is George that is being poisoned, +body and soul. It's a pity to see my boy killed by a thing like +that--it's a pity----" + +Miss Vance was too frightened to argue with her. She brought her +wrapper, loosened her hair, soothing her in little womanish ways. But +her burning curiosity drove her presently to ask one question. + +"How can they live?" + +"I have doubled his allowance." + +"Frances! You will work harder to make money for Lisa Arpent?" + +"Oh, what is money!" cried Frances, pushing her away impatiently. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Miss Vance persuaded Mrs. Waldeaux to go with her to Scotland. During +the weeks that followed Frances always found Lucy Dunbar at her side in +the trains or on the coaches. + +"She is a very companionable child," she told Clara. "I often forget +that I am any older than she. She never tires of hearing stories of +George's scrapes or his queer sayings when he was a child. Such +stories, I think, are usually tedious, but George was a peculiar boy." + +Mr. Perry's search for notorieties took him also to Scotland, and, +oddly enough, Prince Wolfburgh's search for amusement led him in the +same direction. They met him and his cousin, Captain Odo Wolfburgh, at +Oban, and again on the ramparts of Stirling Castle, and the very day +that they arrived in Edinburgh, there, in Holyrood, in Queen Mary's +chamber, stood the pursy little man, curling his mustache before her +mirror. + +Mr. Perry fell into the background with Miss Hassard. "His Highness is +becoming monotonous!" he grumbled. "These foreigners never know when +they are superfluous in society." + +"Is he superfluous?" Jean glanced to the corner where the prince and +Lucy were eagerly searching for the blood of Rizzio upon the steps. + +"Decidedly," said Perry. "I wished to show you and Miss Dunbar a live +prince, and I did it. That is done and over with. He has been seen +and heard. There is no reason why he should pop up here and there all +over Great Britain like a Jack-in-the-box. He's becoming a bore." + +"You suspect him to be an impostor?" said Jean quickly. + +"No. He's genuine enough. But we don't want any foreigners in our +caravan," stroking his red beard complacently. + +"No. What do you suppose is his object?" asked Jean, with one of her +quick, furtive glances. + +Mr. Perry's jaws grew red as his beard. "How can I tell?" he said +gruffly. He went on irritably, a moment later: "Of course you see it. +The fellow has no delicacy. He makes no more secret of his plans than +if he were going to run down a rabbit. Last night at Stirling, over +his beer, he held forth upon the dimples on Miss Dunbar's pink elbows, +and asked me if her hair were all her own. I said, at last, that +American men did not value women like sheep by their flesh and fleece +and the money they were rated at in the market. I hit him square that +time, prince or no prince!" + +"Yes, you did, indeed," said Jean vaguely. Her keen eyes followed Lucy +and the prince, who were loitering through the gallery, pausing before +the faded portraits. "You think it is only her money that draws him +after us?" + +"Why, of course! A fellow like that could not appreciate Miss Dunbar's +beauty and wit." + +"You think Lucy witty?" said Jean dryly. "And you think she would not +marry for a title?" + + +"I don't believe any pure American girl would sell herself, like a +sheep in the shambles! And she is pure! A lamb, a lily! cried Perry, +growing incoherent in his heat. + +"She would not if her heart were preoccupied," said Jean thoughtfully. + +"And you think----" he said breathlessly. + +But Jean only laughed, and said no more. + +The guide had been paying profound deference to Prince Wolfburgh, +keeping close to his heels. Now he swung open a door. "If your +Highnesses will come this way?" he said, bowing profoundly to Lucy. + +The little girl started and hurried back to Miss Vance. Her face was +scarlet, and she laughed nervously. Prince Wolfburgh also laughed, +loudly and meaningly. He swore at the old man and went out into the +cloister where his cousin stood smoking. + +"Had enough of the old barracks?" said the captain. + +"I found I was making too fast running in there," said the prince +uneasily; "I'll waken up and find that girl married to me some day." + +"Not so bad a dream," puffed his cousin. + +"I'll take a train somewhere," said the prince. "But no matter where I +go, I'll find an American old woman with a girl to marry. They all +carry the Hof Kalender in their pockets, and know every bachelor in +Germany." + +The captain watched him attentively. "I don't believe those women +inside mean to drive any marriage bargain with you, Hugo," he said +gruffly. "I doubt whether the little mees would marry you if you asked +her. Her dot, I hear, is e-normous!" waving his hand upward as if to +mountain heights. "And as for beauty, she is a wild rose!" + +Now, there were reasons why the captain should rejoice when Hugo allied +himself to the little mees. On the day when he would take these hills +of gold and wild rose to himself, the captain would become the head of +the house of Wolfburgh. It was, perhaps, a mean, ungilded throne, but +by German law no nameless Yankee woman could sit upon it. + +The prince looked at Captain Odo. "You cannot put me into a gallop +when I choose to walk," he said. "She's a pretty girl, and a good +girl, and some time I may marry her, but not now." + +Odo laughed good-humoredly, and they sauntered down the path together. + +The prince had offered to dine with Miss Vance that evening, but sent a +note to say that he was summoned to the Highlands unexpectedly. + +"It is adieu, not auf wiedersehen, I fear, with his Highness," Miss +Vance said, folding the note pensively. She had not meant to drive a +marriage bargain, and yet--to have placed a pupil upon even such a +bric-a-brac throne as that of Wolfburgh! She looked thoughtfully at +Lucy's chubby cheeks. A princess? The man was not objectionable in +himself, either--a kindly, overgrown boy. "He told me," said Jean, +"that he was going to a house party at Inverary Castle." + +"Whose house is that, Jean?" asked Lucy. + +"It is the ancestral seat of the Dukes of Argyll." + +"Oh!" Lucy gave a little sigh. Prince Hugo was undeniably fat and very +slow to catch a joke, but there was certainly a different flavor in +this talk of dukes and ancestral seats to the gossip about the Whites +and Greens at home. + +Indeed, the whole party, including even Mr. Perry, experienced a +sensation of sudden vacancy and flatness when his Highness left them. +It was as though they had been sheltering a royal eagle that was used +to dwelling in sunlit heights unknown to them, and now they were left +on flat ground to consort with common poultry. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Miss Vance led her party slowly through Scotland and down again to +London. Mrs. Waldeaux went with them. The girls secretly laughed +together at her fine indomitable politeness, and her violent passion +for the Stuarts, and hate of the Roundheads. But Mr. Perry was bored +by her. + +"What is it to us," he said, "that Queen Mary paddled over this lake, +or Cromwell's soldiers whitewashed that fresco? Give me a clean, new +American church, anyhow, before all of your mouldy, tomby cathedrals. +These things are so many cancelled cheques to me. I have nothing to +pay on them. It is live issues that draw on my heart. You American +girls ought to be at home looking into the negro problem, or Tammany, +or the Sugar Trust, instead of nosing into Rembrandts, or miracles at +Lourdes, or palaces. These are all back numbers. Write n. g. on them +and bury them. So, by the way, is your Mrs. Waldeaux a back number. +My own opinion is that all men and women at fifty ought to go willingly +and be shut up in the room where the world keeps its second-hand +lumber!" + +"Yet nobody," said Lucy indignantly, "is more careful or tender with +Mrs. Waldeaux than you!" + +"That is because Mr. Perry has the genuine American awe of people of +good birth," said Jean slyly. "It is the only trait which makes me +suspect that he is a self-made man." Mr. Perry, for answer, only bowed +gravely. He long ago had ceased to hide his opinion that Miss Hassard +was insufferable. + +Frances, for her part, was sure that the young people were glad to have +her as a companion. One day she decided to stay with them, and the +next to go to New York on the first steamer. She seemed to see life +hazily, as one over whose mind a cataract was growing. What had she to +do in Europe, she reasoned? George was gone. Her one actual hold on +the world had slipped from her. That great mysterious thing called +living was done and past for her. + +And yet--there was Kenilworth, and Scott's house? Scott, who had been +her friend and leader since she was eight years old! And in that +anthem at York minster there was a message, which she had been waiting +all of her life to hear! And here was Lucy beside her with her soft +voice, and loving blue eyes--Lucy, who should have been George's wife! +In all of these things something high and good called to the poor lady, +which she heard and understood as a child would the voice of its mother. + +One hour she resolved to leave her son with his wife, to go back to +Weir at once and work with the poultry and Quigg's jokes for the rest +of her life. She was dead. Let her give up and consent to be dead. + +The next, she would stay where she could see George sometimes, and try +to forgive the woman who had him in her keeping. Perhaps, after all, +she was human, as Clara said. If she could forgive Lisa, she could be +happy with these young people and live--live in this wonderful old +world, where all that was best of past ages was kept waiting for her. + +When they came to London, she went at once to Morgan's to make a +deposit, for she had been hard at work on her jokes as she travelled, +and had received her pay. + +"Your son, madam," said the clerk, "drew on his account to-day. He +said he expected remittances from you. Is this to be put to his +credit?" + +"My son was in London to-day? + +"He has just left the house." + +"Did he--he left a message for me? A letter, perhaps?" + +"No, nothing, madam." + +"Put the money to his credit, of course." She went out into the narrow +street and wandered along to the Bank of England, staring up at the +huge buildings. + +He had been looking at them--he had walked on this very pavement a +minute ago! That might be the smoke of his cigar, yonder! + +She could easily find him. Just to look at him once; to hold his hand! +He might be ill and need her; he never was well in foggy weather. + +Then she remembered that Lisa was with him. She would nurse him. + +She called a cab, and, as she drove home, looked out at the crowd with +a hard, smiling face. + +Henry Irving that night played "Shylock," and Mr. Perry secured a box +for Miss Vance. Frances went with the others. Before the curtain rose +there was a startled movement among them, a whisper, and then Clara +turned to Mrs. Waldeaux. + +"Frances, Lisa is coming into the opposite box," she said. "She is +really a beautiful woman in that decollete gown, and her cheeks +flushed, and her eyes---- I had no idea! She is superb!" + +Two men in the dress of French officers entered the box with Lisa. +They seated her, bending over her with an empressement which, to Mrs. +Waldeaux's heated fancy, was insulting. George came last, carrying his +wife's cloak, which he placed upon a chair. One of the men tossed his +cape to him, with a familiar nod, and George laid it aside and sat down +at the back of the box. + +His mother leaned forward, watching. That woman had put her son in the +place of an inferior--an attendant. + +The great orchestra shook the house with a final crash, and the curtain +rose upon the Venetian plaza. Every face in the audience was turned +attentive toward it. But Mrs. Waldeaux saw only Lisa. + +A strange change came upon her as she watched her son's wife. For +months she had struggled feebly against her hate of Lisa. Now she +welcomed it; she let herself go. + +Is the old story true after all? Is there some brutal passion hiding +in every human soul, waiting its chance, even in old age? It is +certain that this woman, after her long harmless life, recognized the +fury in her soul and freed it. + +"Frances," whispered Clara, "when this act is over, go and speak to +them. I will go with you. It is your chance to put an end to this +horrible separation. They are your children." + +"No. That woman is my enemy, Clara," said Mrs. Waldeaux quietly. "I +will make no terms with her." + +Miss Vance sighed and turned to the stage, but Frances still watched +the opposite box. It seemed as if the passion within her had cleared +her eyes. They never had seen George as they now saw him. + +Was that her son? Was it that little priggish, insignificant fellow +that she had made a god of? He was dull, commonplace! Satisfied to +sit dumb in the background and take orders from those bourgeois French +Jews! + +The play went on, but she saw nothing but George and his wife. + +There was the result of all her drudgery! The hot summers of work in +the filthy poultry yards; the grinding out of poor jokes; the coarse, +cheap underclothes (she used to cry when she put them on, she hated +them so). Years and years of it all; and for that cold, selfish fop! + +His mother saw him leave the box, and knew that he was coming. + +"Oh, good-evening, George!" she said gayly, as he opened the door. "A +wonderful scene, wasn't it? I have always wished to see Irving in +'Hamlet.'" + +"This is 'Shylock,'" he said gravely, and turned to speak to the +others. They welcomed him eagerly, and made room for him. He had lost +something of the cold, blase air which had ennobled him in the eyes of +the young women. He looked around presently, and said with a +comfortable shrug: + +"It is so pleasant to talk English again! My wife detests it. We +speak only French. I feel like an alien and outcast among you!" He +laughed; his mother glanced at him curiously. But Lucy turned her face +away, afraid that he should see it. As he talked, George noted the +clear-cut American features of the girls, and their dainty gowns, with +a keen pleasure; then he glanced quickly at the opposite box. + +"Ah!" said Jean to Mr. Perry. "The soiled lace and musk are beginning +to tell! He is tired of Lisa already!" "I never liked the fellow," +said Mr. Perry coldly. "But he is hardly the cad that you suppose." + +He fell into a gloomy silence. He had wasted two years' salary in +following Lucy Dunbar about, in showering flowers on her, in posing +before her in the last fashions of Conduit Street, and yet when this +conceited fellow came into the box she was blind and deaf to all +besides! Her eyes filled with tears just now when he talked of his +loneliness. Lonely--with his wife! A married man! + +George, when the curtain fell again, sat down by Frances. + +"Mother," he said. + +"Yes, George." Her eyes were bright and attentive, but her countenance +had fallen into hard lines new to him. + +"I went to Morgan's this afternoon. You have been very liberal to us." + +"I will do what I can. You may depend upon that amount, regularly." + +He rose and bade them good-night, and turned to her again. + +"We--we are coming to-morrow to thank you. MOTHER?" There was a hoarse +sob in his throat. He laid his hand on her arm. She moved so that it +dropped. "We will come to-morrow," he said. "Did you understand? +Lisa wishes to be friends with you. She is ready to forgive," he +groped on, blundering, like a man. + +"Oh, yes, I understand. You and Lisa are coming to forgive me +to-morrow," she said, smiling. + +He looked at her, perplexed and waiting. But she said no more. + +"Well, I must go now. Good-night." + +"Good-night, George!" Her bright, smiling eyes followed him steadily, +as he went out. + + +Mrs. Waldeaux tapped at Clara's door that evening after they reached +home. + +"I came to tell you that I shall leave London early in the morning," +she said. + +"You will not wait to see George and his wife?" + +"I hope I never shall see them again. No! Not a word! I will hear no +arguments!" She came into the room and closed the door. There was a +certain novel air of decision and youth in her figure and movements. +"I am going to make a change, Clara," she said. "I have worked for +others long enough. I am going away now, alone. I will be free. I +will live my own life--at last." Her eyes shone with exultation. + +"And---- Where are you going?" stammered Miss Vance, dismayed. + +"I don't know. There is so much--it has all been waiting so long for +me. There are the cathedrals--and the mountains. Or the Holy Land. +Perhaps I may try to write again. There seems to be a dumb word or two +in me. Don't be angry with me, Clara," throwing her arms about her +cousin, the tears rushing to her eyes. "I may come back to you and +little Lucy some time. But just now I want to be alone and fancy +myself young. I never was young." + +When Lucy stole into her old friend's chamber the next morning as usual +to drink her cup of coffee with her, she found the door open and the +room in disorder, and she was told that Mrs. Waldeaux had left London +at daybreak. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +During the year which followed, Mr. Perry was forced to return to the +States, but he made two flying trips across "the pond," as he called +it, in the interests of his magazine, always running down his prey of +notorieties in that quarter of Europe in which Miss Vance and her +charges chanced to be. + +When he came in July he found them in a humble little inn in Bozen. He +looked with contempt at the stone floors, the clean cell-like chambers, +each with its narrow bed, and blue stone ewer perched on a wooden +stool; and he sniffed with disgust when breakfast was served on a table +set out in the Platz. + +"Don't know," he said, "whether I can digest food, eating out of doors. +Myself, I never give in to these foreign ways. It's time they learned +manners from us." + +"I have no doubt," said Miss Vance placidly, "that you can find one of +the usual hotels built for rich Americans in the town. We avoid them. +We search out the inns du pays to see as far behind the scenes as we +can. I don't care to go to those huge houses with mobs of Chicagoans +and New Yorkers; and have the couriers and portiers turn the +flashlights on Europe for me, as if it were a burlesque show." + +"Now, that's just what I like!" said Perry. "I always go to the houses +where the royalties put up. I like to order better dishes and give +bigger tips than they do. They don't know Jem Perry from Adam, but +it's my way of waving the American flag." + +"I am afraid we have no such patriotic motive," said Clara. "My girls +seem to care for nothing now but art. We have made this little inn our +headquarters in the Tyrol chiefly out of love for the old church +yonder." + +Mr. Perry glanced contemptuously across the Platz at the frowning gray +building, and sat down with his back to it. + +"Art, eh? Well, I've no doubt I could soon catch on to Art, if I +turned my mind that way. It pays, too,--Art. Not the fellows who +paint, but the connoisseurs. There's Miller from our town. He was a +drummer for a candy firm. Had an eye for color. Well, he buys +pictures now for Americans who want galleries in their houses. He +bought his whole collection for Stout--the great dealer in hams. Why, +Miller can tell the money value within five dollars, at sight, of any +picture in Europe. He's safe, too. Never invests in pictures that +aren't sure to go up in price. Getting rich! And began as a candy +drummer! No, ma'am! Art's no mystery. I've never taken it up myself. +Europe is sheer pleasure to me. I get the best out of it. I know +where to lodge well, and I can tell you where the famous plats are +cooked, and I have my coats built by Toole. The house pays me a salary +which justifies me in humoring my little follies," stroking his red +beard complacently. + +Lucy's chubby face and steady blue eyes were turned on him +thoughtfully, and presently, when they sauntered down the windy street +together, he talked and she still silently watched him. + +"Miss Precision is weighing him in the balance," said Jean, laughing, +as she poured out more black coffee. "With all of her soft ways Lucy +is shrewd. She knows quite well why he races across the Atlantic, and +why Prince Wolfburgh has backed away from us and charged on us again +all summer. She is cool. She is measuring poor Perry's qualifications +for a husband now just as she would materials for a cake. A neat +little inventory. So much energy, so much honest kindness--so much +vulgarity. I couldn't do that. If ever a man wants to marry me, I'll +fly to him or away from him, as quick as the steel needle does when the +magnet touches it." Miss Vance listened to her attentively. "Jean," +she said, after a pause, "are you sure that it is Lucy whom the prince +wishes to marry?" + +"It is not I," said Miss Hassard promptly. "He has thought of me +several times--he has weighed my qualifications. But the man is in +love with Lucy as honestly as a ploughman could be. Don't you think +I've tough luck?" she said, resting her elbow on the table and her chin +on her palm, her keen gray eyes following Miss Dunbar and her lover as +they loitered under the shadow of the church. "I am as young as Lucy. +I have a better brain and as big a dot. But her lovers make her life a +burden, and I never have had one. Just because our noses and chins are +made up differently!" + +"Oh, my dear!" said Clara anxiously. "I never thought you cared for +that kind of success!" + +"I'm only human," Jean laughed. "Of course I'm an artist. I'm going +to paint a great picture some day that all the world shall go mad +about. Of Eve. I'll put all the power of all women into her. But in +the meantime I'd like to see one man turn pale and pant before me as +the fat little prince does when Lucy snubs him." + +"Lucy is very hard to please," complained Miss Vance. "She snubs Mr. +Perry--naturally. But the prince--why should she not marry the prince?" + +"Your generation," said Jean, smiling slyly, "used to think that an +unreasonable whim called love was a good thing in marriage----" + +"But why should she not love the prince? He is honorable and kind, and +quite passable as to looks---- Can there be any one else?" turning +suddenly to Jean. + +Miss Hassard looked at her a moment, hesitating. "Your cousin George +used to be Lucy's type of a hero----" + +"Why! the man is married!" Miss Vance stood up, her lean face +reddening. "Jean! You surprise me! That kind of talk--it's indecent! +It is that loose American idea of marriage that ends in hideous divorce +cases. But for one of my girls----" + +"It is a very old idea," said Jean calmly. + +"David loved another man's wife. Mind you, I don't accuse Lucy of +loving any body, but when the needle has once touched the magnet it +answers to its call ever after." + +Miss Vance vouchsafed no answer. She walked away across the Platz, +jerking her bonnet strings into a knot. Jean was one of the New Women! +Her opinions stuck out on every side like Briareus' hundred elbows! +You could not come near her without being jabbed by them. Such women +were all opinions; there was no softness, no feeling, no delicacy about +them. Skeletons with no flesh! As for Lucy, she had no fear. If even +the child had loved George, she would have cast out every thought of +him on his wedding day, as a Christian girl should do! + +She passed Lucy at that moment. She was leaning against one of the +huge stone lions which crouch in front of the church, listening to Mr. +Perry. If ever a pure soul looked into the world it was through those +limpid eyes! + +The Platz was nearly empty. One or two men in blouses clattered across +the cobblestones and going into the dark church dropped on their knees. +The wind was high, and now and then swept heavy clouds low across the +sunlight space overhead. + +Lucy, as Jean had guessed, knew why the man beside her had crossed the +Atlantic, and she had decided last night to end the matter at once. +The tears had stood in her eyes for pity at the thought of the pain she +must give him. Yet she had put on her new close-fitting coat and a +becoming fur cap, and pulled out the loose hair which she knew at this +moment was blowing about her pink cheeks in curly wisps in a way that +was perfectly maddening. Clara, seeing the mischief in her eyes as she +listened shyly to Perry, went on satisfied. There was no abyss of +black loss in that girl's life! + +Lucy just now was concerned only for Perry. How the poor man loved +her! Why not marry him after all, and put him out of his pain? She +was twenty-four. Most women at twenty-four had gone through their +little tragedy of love. But she had had no tragedy. She told herself +firmly that there had been no story of love in her life. There never +could be, now. She was too old. + +She was tired, too, and very lonely. This man would seat her on a +throne and worship her every day. That would be pleasant enough. + +"I am ashamed of myself," he was saying, "to pursue you in this way. +You have given me no encouragement, I know. But whenever I go to New +York and bone down to work, something tells me to come back and try +again." + +Lucy did not answer, and there was a brief silence. + +"Of course I'm a fool,"--prodding the ground with his stick. "But if a +man were in a jail cell and knew that the sun was shining just outside, +he'd keep on beating at the wall." + +"Your life is not a jail cell. It's very comfortable, I think." + +"It has been bare enough. I have had a hard fight to live at all. I +told you that I began as a canal-boy." + +She looked at him with quick sympathy. At once she fancied that she +could read old marks of want on his face. His knuckles were knobbed +like a laborer's. He had had a hard fight! It certainly would be +pleasant to rain down comfort and luxury on the good, plucky fellow! + +"Of course that was all long ago," said Perry. "I'm not ashamed of it. +As Judge Baker remarked the other day, 'The acknowledged aristocrats of +America, to-day, are its self-made men.' He ought to know. The Bakers +are the top of the heap in New York. Very exclusive. I've been +intimate there for years. No, Miss Dunbar, I may have begun as a +mule-driver on a canal, but I am choice in my society. My wife will +not find a man or woman in my circle who is half-cut." + +Lucy drew a long breath. To live all day and every day with this man! + +And yet--she was so tired! There was a good deal of money to manage, +and he could do that. He would like a gay, hospitable house, and so +would she, and they would be kind to the poor--and he was an +Episcopalian, too. There would be no hitch there. Lucy was a zealous +High Churchwoman. + +Why should she not do it? The man was as good as gold at heart. Jean +called him a cad, but the caddishness was only skin deep. + +Mr. Perry watched her, reading her thoughts more keenly than she +guessed. + +"One thing I will say in justice to myself," he said. "You are a rich +woman. If you marry me, YOU will know, if nobody else does, that I am +no fortune-hunter. I shall always be independent of my wife. Every +dollar she owns shall be settled on her before I go with her to the +altar." + +"Oh, I'm not thinking of the money," said Lucy impatiently. + +"Then you are thinking of me!" He leaned over her. She felt as if she +had been suddenly dragged too close to a big unpleasant fire. "I know +you don't love me," he panted, "you cold little angel, you! But you do +like me? Eh? just a little bit, Lucy? Marry me. Give me a chance. +I'll bring you to me. If there is a single spark of love in your heart +for me, I'll blow it into a flame! I can do it, I tell you!" He +caught her fiercely by the shoulder. + +Lucy drew back and threw out her hands. "Let me have time to think!" + +"Time? You've had a year!" + +"One more day. Come again this evening----" + +"This evening? I've come so often!" staring breathlessly into her +face. "It will be no use, I can see that. Well, as you please. I'll +come once more." + +The young fellow in his jaunty new clothes shook as if he had the ague. +He had touched her. For one minute she had been his! + +He turned and walked quickly across the Platz. + +Lucy, left alone, was full of remorse. She looked down into her heart; +she had forgotten to do it before. No, not a spark for him to blow +into a flame; not a single warm thought of him! + +The girl was ashamed of herself. He might be a cad, but he was real; +his honest love possessed him body and soul. It was a matter of +expediency to her; a thing to debate with herself, to dally over, with +paltry pros and cons. + +Miss Vance came hurriedly up the street, an open letter in her hand. +Lucy ran to meet her. + +"What is it? You have heard bad news?" + +"I suppose we ought not to call it that. It is from George Waldeaux. +They have a son, two months old. He tells it as a matter for +rejoicing." + +"Oh, yes," said Lucy feebly. + +"They are at Vannes--in Brittany. He has a cough. He seems to know +nobody--to have no friends, and, I suspect, not much money. He is +terribly depressed." Clara folded the letter thoughtfully. "He asks +me to tell his mother that the baby has come." + +"Where is his mother?" + +"In Switzerland." + +"Why is she not with him?" demanded Lucy angrily. "Wandering about +gathering edelweiss, while he is alone and wretched!" + +"He has his wife. You probably do not understand the case fully," said +Clara coldly. "I am going to wire to his mother now." She turned away +and Lucy stood irresolute, her hand clutching the shaggy head of the +stone beast beside her. + +"I can give him money. I'll go to him. He needs me!" she said aloud. +Then her whole body burned with shame. She--Lucy Dunbar, good proper +Lucy, whose conscience hurt her if she laid her handkerchiefs away awry +in her drawer, nursing a criminal passion for a married man! + +She went slowly back to the inn. "He has his wife," she told herself. +"I am nothing to him. I doubt if he would know me if he met me on the +street." She tried to go back to her easy-going mannerly little +thoughts, but there was something strange and fierce behind them that +would not down. + +Jean came presently to the salle. "I have had a letter too," she said. +"The girl who writes came from Pond City. She was in the same atelier +in Paris with George. She says: 'Your friends the Waldeaux have come +to grief by a short cut. They flung money about for a few months as if +they were backed by the Barings. The Barings might have given their +suppers. As for their studio--there was no untidier jumble of old +armor and brasses and Spanish leather in Paris; and Mme. George posing +in the middle in soiled tea-gowns! But the suppers suddenly stopped, +and the leather and Persian hangings went to the Jews. I met Lisa one +day coming out of the Vendome, where she had been trying to peddle a +roll of George's sketches to the rich Americans. I asked her what was +wrong, and she laughed and said, "We were trying to make thirty francs +do the work of thirty thousand. And we have made up our minds that we +know no more of art than house painters. We are in a blind alley!" +Soon after that the baby was born. They went down to Brittany. I hear +that Lisa, since the child came, has been ill. I tell all this dreary +stuff to you thinking that you may pass it on to their folks. Somebody +ought to go to their relief.'" + +"Relief!" exclaimed Miss Vance. "And the money that they were flinging +into the gutter was earned day by day by his old mother! Every dollar +of it! I know that during the last year she has done without proper +clothes and food to send their allowance to them." "You forget," said +Lucy, "that George Waldeaux was doing noble work in the world. It was +a small thing for his mother to help him." + +"Noble work? His pictures or his sermons, Lucy?" demanded Miss Vance, +with a contemptuous shrug. + +Lucy without reply walked out to the inn garden and seated herself in a +shady corner. There Mr. Perry found her just as the first stroke of +the angelus sounded on the air. Her book lay unopened on her lap. + +He walked slowly up to her and stopped, breathing hard, as if he had +been running. "It is evening now. I have come for my answer, Miss +Dunbar," he said, forcing a smile. + +"Answer?" Lucy looked up bewildered. + +"You have forgotten!" + +The blood rushed to her face. She held out her hands. "Oh, forgive +me! I heard bad news. I have been so troubled----" + +"You forgot that I had asked you to be my wife!" + +"Mr. Perry----" + +"No, don't say another word, Miss Dunbar. I have had my answer. I +knew you didn't love me, but I did not think I was so paltry that you +would forget that I had offered to marry you." + +Lucy pressed her hands together, looking up at him miserably without a +word. He walked down the path and leaned on the wall with his back to +her. His very back was indignant. + +Presently he turned. "I will bid you goodby," he said, with an effort +at lofty courtesy, "and I will leave my adieux for your friends with +you." + +"Are you going--back to the States?" stammered Lucy. + +"Yes, I am going back to the States," he replied sternly. "A man of +merit there has his place, regardless of rank. Jem Perry can hold his +head there as high as any beggarly prince. Farewell, Miss Dunbar." + +He strode down the path and disappeared. Lucy shook her head and cried +from sheer wretchedness. She felt that she had been beaten to-day with +many stripes. + +Suddenly the bushes beside her rustled. "Forgive me," he said +hoarsely. She looked up and saw his red honest eyes. "I behaved like +a brute. Good-by, Lucy! I never loved any woman but you, and I never +will." + +"Stay, stay!" she cried. + +He heard her, but he did not come back. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Lucy was silent and dejected for a day or two, being filled with pity +for Mr. Perry's ruined life. But when she saw his name in a list of +outgoing passengers on the Paris her heart gave a bound of relief. +Nothing more could now be done. That chapter was closed. There had +been no other chapter of moment in her life, she told herself sternly. +Now, all the clouds had cleared away. It was a new day. She would +begin again. + +So she put on new clothes, none of which she had ever worn before, and +tied back her curly hair with a fresh white ribbon, and came down to +breakfast singing gayly. + +Miss Vance gave her her roll and milk in silence, and frowning +importantly, drew out a letter. + +"Lucy, I have just received a communication from Prince Wolfburgh. He +is in Bozen." + +"Here!" Lucy started up, glancing around like a chased hare. + +Then she sat down again and waited. There was no other chapter, and +the book was so blank! + +"His coming is very opportune," she said presently, gently. + +"Oh! do YOU think so, my dear? Really! Well, I always have liked the +young man. So simple. So secure of his social position. The +Wolfburghs, I find, go back to the eleventh century. Mr. Perry had +noble traits, but one never felt quite safe as to his nails or his +grammar." + +"But the prince--the prince?" cried Jean. + +"Oh, yes. Well, he writes--most deferentially. He begs for the honor +of an interview with me this afternoon upon a subject of the most vital +importance. He says, 'regarding you, as I do, in loco parentis to the +hochgeboren Fraulein Dunbar.'" "Hochgeboren!" said Lucy. "My +grandfather was a saddler. Tell him so, Miss Vance. Tell him the +exact facts. I want no disclosures after----" + +"After marriage?" said Jean, rising suddenly. "Then you have decided?" + +"I have not said that I had decided," replied Lucy calmly. + +Jean laughed. "He will not be scared by the saddler. Europeans of his +order take no account of our American class distinctions. They look +upon us as low-born parvenues, all alike. They weigh and value us by +other standards than birth." + +"I have money, if you mean that, Jean," said Lucy cheerfully. + +"I think you had better go away, girls, if you have finished your +dejeuner. He may be here at any moment now," said Clara, looking +anxiously at her watch. + +Lucy went to her little chamber and sat down to work at a monstrous +caricature which she was painting of the church. Jean paced up and +down the stone corridor, looking out of the window into the Platz. + +"He has come," she said excitedly, appearing at Lucy's door. "He went +into the church first, to say an ave for help, poor little man! His +fat face is quite pale and stern. It is a matter of life and death to +him. And it's no more to you than the choosing of a new coat." + +Lucy smiled and sketched in a priest on the church steps. Her hand +shook, but Jean could not see that. She went to the window again with +something like an inward oath at the dolts of commonplace women who had +all the best chances, but was back in a moment, laughing nervously. + +"Do you know he has on that old brown suit?" She leaned against the +jamb of the door. "If I were a prince, and came a-wooing, I would have +troops of my Jagers, and trumpets and banners with the arms of my +House, and I'd wear all my decorations. Of course we Americans are +bound to say that rank and royalty are dead things. But if I had them, +I'd galvanize the corpses! If they are useful as shows, I'd make the +show worth seeing. I'd cover myself with jewels like the old +Romanoffs. You would never see Queen Jean in a slouchy alpaca and +pork-pie hat like Victoria." While her tongue chattered, her eyes +watched Lucy keenly. "You don't hear me! You are deciding what to do. +Why on earth should you hesitate? He is a gentleman--he loves you!" +and then to Lucy's relief she suddenly threw on her hat and rushed off +for a walk. + +Miss Dunbar painted the priest's robe yellow, in her agitation. But +the agitation was not deep. There really seemed no reason why she +should hesitate. He would be kind; he was well-bred and agreeable. A +princess? She had a vague idea of a glorified region of ancestral +castles and palaces in which dukes and royalties dwelt apart and +discoursed of high matters. She would be one of them. + +The other day there seemed to be no reason why she should not marry Mr. +Perry. In marriage then one must only consider the suitability of the +man? There was nothing else to consider---- + + +With a queer, hunted look in her soft eyes she worked on, daubing on +paint liberally. + +Meanwhile, in the little salle below, Miss Vance sat stiffly erect, +while the prince talked in his shrill falsetto. Although he set forth +his affection for the engelreine Madchen as simply as the little German +baker in Weir (whom he certainly did resemble) might have done, she +could find, in her agitation, no fitting words in which to answer him. +That she, Clara Vance, should be the arbiter in a princely alliance! +At last she managed to ask whether Miss Dunbar had given him any +encouragement on which to found his claim. + +"Ah, Fraulein Vance!" he cried, laughing. "The hare does not call to +the hounds! But I have no fear. She speaks to me in other ways than +by words. + + "'Mein Herz und seine Augen + Verstehen sich gar so gut!' + +You know the old song. Ah, ja! I understand what she would +say--here!" touching his heart. + +He paced up and down, smiling to himself. Suddenly he drew up before +her, tossing his hands out as if to throw away some pleasant dream. "I +have come to you, gracious lady, as I would to the mother of Miss +Dunbar. I show to you the heart! But before I address her it is +necessary that I shall consult her guardian with regard to business." + +It was precisely, Clara said afterward, as if the baker from Weir had +stopped singing, and presented his bill. + +"Business?" she gasped. "Oh, I see! Settlements. We don't have such +things in the States. But I quite understand all those European social +traits. I have lived abroad for years. I----" + +"Who is Miss Dunbar's guardian?" the prince demanded alertly. He sat +down by the table and took out a notebook and papers. + +"But--settlements? Is not that a little premature?" she ventured. +"She has not accepted you." + +"HE may not accept my financial proposals. It is business, you see. +The gentle ladies, even die Amerikaner, do not comprehend business. It +is not, you perceive, dear lady, the same when the head of the House of +Wolfburgh allies himself with a hochgeboren Fraulein as when the +tailors marry----" + +"Nor bakers. I see," stammered Clara. + +"Miss Dunbar's properties are valuable. Her estate in Del-aware," +glancing at his notebook, "is larger than some of our German kingdoms. +Her investments in railway and mining securities, if put on the market, +should be worth a million of florins. These are solid matters, and +must be dealt with carefully." + +"But, good gracious, Prince Wolfburgh!" cried Miss Vance, "how did you +find out about Lucy's investments?" + +He looked at her in amazement. "Meine gnadigste Fraulein! It is not +possible that you supposed that in such a matter as this men leap into +the dark--the men of rank, princes, counts, English barons, who marry +the American mees? That they do not know for what they exchange +their--all that they give? I will tell you," with a condescending +smile. "There are agents in the States--in New York--in +Chicago--in--how do you name it? St. Sanata. They furnish exact +information as to the dot of the lady who will, perhaps, marry here. +Oh, no! We do not leap into the dark!" + +"So I perceive," said Clara dryly. "And may I inquire, your Highness, +what financial arrangement you propose, in case she becomes your wife?" + +"Assuredly." He hastily unfolded a large paper. "This must be +accepted by her guardian before the betrothal can take place. I will +translate, in brief. The whole estate passes to me, and is secured to +me in case of my wife's death without issue. I inserted that clause," +he said, looking up, smiling, for approval, "because American Frauleins +are so fragile--not like our women. I will, of course, if we have +issue, try to preserve the real estate for my heir, and the remaining +property for my other children." + +"It seems to me that a good deal is taken for granted there," said +Clara, whose cheeks were very hot. "And where does Miss Dunbar come +into this arrangement? Is she not to have any money at all?" + +"My widow, should I die first, will be paid an annuity from my estate. +But while Mees Lucy is my wife, _I_ will buy all that she needs. I +will delight to dress her, to feed her well. With discretion, of +course. For there are many channels into which my income must flow. +But I will not be a niggardly husband to her! No, no!" cried the +little man in a glow. + +"That is very kind of you. But she will not have any of her own money +to spend? In her own purse? To fling into the gutter if she chooses?" + +The prince laughed gayly. "How American you are, gracious lady! A +German wife does not ask for her 'own purse.' My wife will cease to be +American; she will be German," patting his soft hands ecstatically. +"But you have not told me the name of her guardian?" + +"Lucy," said Miss Vance reluctantly, "is of age. She has full control +of her property. A Trust Company manages it for her, but they have no +authority to stop her if she chooses to--throw it into the gutter." + +The prince looked up sharply. Could this be a trick? But if it were, +the agent would find out for him. He rose. + + +"To have the sole disposal of her own hand and of her fortune? That +seems strange to us," he said, smiling. "But I have your consent, most +dear lady, to win both, if I can?" + +"Oh, yes, prince. If you can." + +He took her hand and bowed profoundly over it, but no courtly grace nor +words could bring back Clara's awe of him. She had a vague impression +that the Weir baker had been wrangling with her about his bill. + +"Your Highness has asked a good many questions," she said. "May I put +one to you? Did you inquire concerning Miss Hassard's dot, also?" "Ah, +certainly! Why not? It is very large. I have spoken of it to my +cousin Count Odo. But the drawback--her father still lives. He may +marry again. Her dot depends upon his good pleasure. Whereas Miss +Dunbar is an orphan; and besides that, she is so dear to me!" clasping +his hands, his face red with fervor. "So truly dear!" + +And she knew that he honestly meant it. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +When Miss Vance came into the corridor after she had reported this +interview to Lucy, Jean swept her into her room and dragged the whole +story from her. In fact the poor anxious lady was glad to submit it to +the girl's shrewd hard sense. + +"You told him that she was the uncontrolled mistress of her money!" + +"It is the truth. I had to tell him the truth, my dear." + +"Yes, I suppose so, for he would have found it out anyhow." + +"I do feel," panted Clara, "as if I had put a dove into the claws of a +vulture." + +"Not at all," said Jean promptly. "The little man has a heart, but an +empty pocket. Was Lucy interested most in his love or his bargaining?" + +"In neither, I think. She just went on painting, and said nothing." + +"Oh, she will decide the matter in time! She will bring her little +intellect to bear on it as if it were a picnic for her Sunday-school +class!" Jean stood silent a while. "Miss Vance," she said suddenly, +"let me engineer this affair for a few days. I can help you." + +"What do you propose to do, Jean?" + +"To leave Bozen to-morrow. For Munich." + +"But the Wolfburghs have a palace or--something in Munich. Is it quite +delicate for us----" + +"It is quite rational. Let us see what the something is. So far in +our dealings with principalities and powers, we have had a stout little +man--with no background." The prince was startled when he was told of +this sudden journey, but declared that he would follow them to-morrow. + +Lucy, as usual, asked no questions, but calmly packed her satchel. + +As the little train, the next day, lumbered through the valley of the +Eisach, she sat in her corner, reading a newspaper. Miss Vance dozed, +or woke with a start to lecture on points of historic interest. + +"Why don't you look, Lucy? That monastery was a Roman fortress in the +third century. And you are missing the color effects of the vineyards." + +"I can look now. I have finished my paper." Lucy folded it neatly and +replaced it in her bag. "I have read the Delaware State Sun," she said +triumphantly, "regularly, every week since we left home. When I go +back I shall be only seven days behind with the Wilmington news." + +Jean glanced at her contemptuously. "Look at that great castle on +yonder mountain," she said. "You could lodge a village inside of the +ramparts. Do you think Wolfburgh Schloss is like that? The prince +told us last night," turning to Miss Vance, "the old legends about his +castle. The first Wolfburgh was a Titan about the time of Noah, and +married a human wife, and with his hands tore open the mountain for +rocks to lay the foundation of his house. According to his story there +were no end of giants and trolls and kings concerned in the building of +it," she went on, furtively watching the deepening pink in Lucy's +cheek. "The Wolfburgh of Charlemagne's day was besieged by him, and +another entertained St. Louis and all his crusaders within the walls." +Jean's voice rose shrilly and her eyes glowed. She leaned forward, +looking eagerly across the fields. "The prince told us that the +Schloss of his race had for centuries been one of the great fortresses +of Christendom. And here it is! Now we shall see--we shall see!" + +The car stopped. The guard opened the door and Miss Vance and Lucy +suddenly found themselves swept by Jean on to the platform, while the +little train rumbled on down the valley. Miss Vance cried out in +dismay. + +"Never mind. There will be another train in a half hour," said Jean. +"Here is the Schloss," pointing to a pepper-box tower neatly +whitewashed, which rose out of a huge mass of broken stone. "And here, +I suppose, is the capital of the kingdom over which the Wolfburghs now +reign feudal lords?" + +Clara found herself against her will looking curiously at the forge, +the dirty shop, the tiny bier-halle, and a half a dozen huts, out of +which swarmed a few old women and children. + +"Where are the men of this village?" Jean demanded of the station +master, a stout old man with a pipe in his mouth. + +"Gone to America, for the most part," he said, with a shrug. + +Lucy came up hastily, an angry glitter in her soft eyes. "You have no +right to make me play the spy in this way!" she said haughtily, and +going into the little station sat down with her back to the door. + +"You? It is I--I----" muttered Jean breathlessly. "And who lives in +the tower, my good man? It is not big enough for a dozen hens." She +slipped a florin into his hand. + +"Four of the noble ladies live there. The princesses. The gracious +sisters of Furst Hugo. There come two of them now." + +A couple of lean, wrinkled women dressed in soiled merino gowns and +huge black aprons, their hair bristling in curl papers, crossed the +road, peering curiously at the strangers. + +"They came to look at you, Fraulein," said the man, chuckling. +"Strangers do not stop at Wolfburgh twice in the year." + +"And what do the noble ladies do all the year?" + +"Jean, Jean!" remonstrated Clara. + +"Oh, Miss Vance! This is life and death to some of us! What do they +do?" + +"Do?" said the man, staring. "What shall any gracious lady do? They +cook and brew, and crochet lace and----" + +"Are there any more princesses--sisters of Furst Hugo?" + +"Two more. They live in Munich. No, none of them are married. +Because," he added zealously, "there are no men as high-born as our +gracious ladies, so they cannot marry." + +"No doubt that accounts for it," said Jean. "Six. These are 'the +channels into which the income will flow,' hey?" She gave him more +money, and marching into the station caught Lucy by the shoulder, +shaking her passionately. "Do you think any American girl could stand +that? How would YOU like to be caged up in that ridiculous tower to +cook and crochet and brew beer and watch the train go by for +recreation? The year round--the year round?" + +Lucy rose quietly. "The train is coming now," she said. "Calm +yourself, Jean. YOU will not have to live in the tower." + +Jean laughed. When they were seated in the car again, she looked +wistfully out at the heaps of ruins. + +"It must have been a mighty fortress once," she said. "Those stones +were hewed before Charlemagne's time. And a great castle could easily +be built with them now," she added thoughtfully. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +The travellers entered Munich at noon. The great generous city lay +tranquil and smiling in the frosty sunlight. + +"I have secured apartments," said Miss Vance, "used hitherto by +royalties or American millionaires. My girl must be properly framed +when a prince comes a-wooing." + +Lucy smiled. But her usual warm color faded as they drove through the +streets. Jean, however, was gay and eager. + +"Ah, the dear splendid town!" she cried. "It always seems to give us a +royal welcome. Nothing is changed! There is the music in the Kellers, +and there go the same Bavarian officers with their swagger and saucy +blue eyes. They are the handsomest men in Europe! And here is the +Munchen-kindl laughing at us, and the same crowds are going to the +Pinakothek! What do you want more? Beer and splendor and fun and art! +What a home it will be for you, Lucy!" + +Lucy's cold silence did not check Jean's affectionate zeal. She +anxiously searched among the stately old buildings, which they passed, +for the Wolfburgh palace. "It will not be in these commonplace +Haussmannized streets," she said. "It is in some old corner; it has a +vast, mysterious, feudal air, I fancy. You will hold a little court in +it, and sometimes let a poor American artist from Pond City in to hang +on the edge of the crowd and stare at the haute noblesse." + +"Don't be absurd, Jean," said Miss Vance. + +"I am quite serious. I think an American girl like Lucy, with her +beauty and her money, will be welcomed by these German nobles as a +white swan among ducks. She ought to take her place and hold it." +Jean's black eyes snapped and the blood flamed up her cheeks. "If I +were she I'd make my money tell! I'd buy poor King Ludwig's residence +at Binderhof, with the cascades and jewelled peacocks and fairy +grottos, for my country seat. The Bavarian nobility are a beggarly +lot. If they knew that Lucy and her millions were coming to town in +this cab, they'd blow their trumpets for joy. 'Wave, Munich, all thy +banners wave!'" Lucy's impatient shrug silenced her, but she was +preoccupied and excited throughout the day. Miss Vance watched her +curiously. Could it be that she had heard of the prince's plan of +marrying her to his cousin, and that she was building these air castles +for herself? + + +A day or two sufficed to make Miss Vance's cheery apartments the +rendezvous of troops of Americans of all kinds: from the rich lounger, +bored by the sight of pictures, which he did not understand, and courts +which he could not enter, to the half-starved, eager-eyed art students, +who smoked, and drank beer, and chattered in gutturals, hoping to pass +for Germans. + +There were plenty of idle young New Yorkers and Bostonians too, +hovering round Lucy and Jean, overweighted by their faultless London +coats and trousers and fluent French. But they deceived nobody; they +all had that nimble brain, and that unconscious swagger of importance +and success which stamps the American in every country. Prince Hugo, +in his old brown suit, came and went quietly among them. + +"The genuine article!" Jean declared loudly. "There is something royal +in his hospitality! He lays all Munich at Lucy's feet, as if it were +his own estate, and the museums and palaces were the furniture of his +house. That homely simplicity of his is tremendously fine, if she +could understand it!" + +The homely genuineness had its effect even upon Lucy. The carriage +which he brought to drive them to Isar-anen was scaly with age, but the +crest upon it was the noblest in Bavaria; in the cabinet of portraits +of ancient beauties in the royal palace he showed her indifferently two +or three of his aunts and grandmothers, and in the historical picture +of the anointing of the great Charlemagne, one of his ancestors, stout +and good-humored as Hugo himself, supported the emperor. + +"The pudgy little man," said Jean one day, "somehow belongs to the old +world of knights and crusaders--Sintram and his companions. He will +make it all real to Lucy when she marries him. He is like Ali Baba, +standing at the shut door of the cave full of jewels and treasures with +the key in his hand." + +"Those Arabian Night stories are simply silly," said Lucy severely. "I +am astonished that any woman in this age of the world should read that +kind of trash." + +"But the prince's cave?" persisted Jean. "When are we to look into it? +I want to be sure of the treasures inside. When are we to go to his +palace? When will his sisters ask us to dinner?" + +Miss Vance looked anxious. "That is a question of great importance," +she said. "The princesses have invited me through their brother to +call. It is of course etiquette here for the stranger to call first, +but I don't wish to compromise Lucy by making advances." + +There was a moment's silence, then Lucy said, blushing and faltering a +little, "It would be better perhaps to call, and not prejudice them, by +any discourtesy, against us. The prince is very kind." + +"So! The wind is in that quarter?" Jean said, with a harsh laugh. + +She jumped up and went to her own room. She was in a rage at herself. +Why had she not run away to Paris months ago and begun her great +picture of the World's mother, Eve? There was a career for her! And +thinking--perhaps of Eve--she cried hot salt tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A week passed, but the question of the first call was not yet settled. +It required as much diplomacy as an international difficulty. Furst +Hugo represented the princesses as "burning with impatience to behold +the engelreine Madchen whom they hoped to embrace as a sister," but no +visible sign of their ardor reached Miss Vance. + +On Monday Jean went to spend the day with some of her artist friends, +but at noon she dashed into the room where Clara and Lucy sat sewing, +her dark face blotched red, and her voice stuttering with excitement. + +"I have seen into the cave!" she shouted. "I have got at the truth! +It's a rather stagy throne, the Wolfburghs! Plated, cheap!" + +"What is the matter with you?" said Miss Vance. + +"Nothing is the matter with ME. It is Lucy's tragedy. I've seen the +magnificent ancient palace of the Wolfburghs. It is a flat! In the +very house where I went to-day. The third story flat just under the +attics where the poor Joneses daub portraits. I passed the open doors +and I saw the shabby old tables and chairs and the princesses--two fat +old women in frowzy wrappers, and their hair in papers, eating that +soup of pork and cabbages and raisins--the air was thick with the +smell! And that is not the worst!" + +"Take breath, Jean," said Lucy calmly. + +"The prince himself--the Joneses told me, there can be no doubt--the +prince makes soap for a living! No wonder you turn pale, Miss Vance. +Soap! He is the silent partner in the firm of Woertz und Zimmer, and +it is not a paying business either." + +Jean did not wait for an answer, but walked up and down the room, +laughing angrily to herself. "Yes, soap! He cannot sneer at Lucy's +ancestral saddles, now. Nor my father's saws! His rank is the only +thing he has to give for Lucy's millions, and now she knows what it is +worth!" + +Lucy rose and, picking up her work basket, walked quietly out of the +room. Jean flashed an indignant glance after her. + +"She might have told me that he gave himself! Surely the man counts +for something! Anyhow, rank like his is not smirched by poverty or +trade. Bismarck himself brews beer." + +"Your temper is contradictory to-day," said Clara coldly. "Did you +know," she said presently, "that the princesses will be at the Countess +von Amte's to-morrow?" + +"Then we shall meet them!" cried Jean. "Then something will be +settled." + +Lucy locked the door of her chamber after her. She found much comfort +in the tiny bare room with its white walls and blue stove, and the +table where lay her worn Bible and a picture of her old home. The room +seemed a warm home to her now. Above the wall she had hung photographs +of the great Madonnas, and lately she had placed one of Frances +Waldeaux among them. That was the face on which she looked last at +night. When Clara had noticed it, Lucy had said, "I am as fond of the +dear lady as if she were my own mother." + +She sat down before it now, and taking out her sewing began to work, +glancing up at it, half smiling as to a friend who talked to her. She +thought of Furst Hugo boiling soap, with a gentle pity, and of Jean +with hot disdain. What had Jean to do with it? The prince was her own +lover, as her gloves were her own. + +But indeed, the prince and love were but shadows on the far sky line to +the little girl; the real things were her work and her Bible, and +George's mother talking to her. She often traced remembered +expressions on Mrs. Waldeaux's face; the gayety, the sympathy, a +strange foreboding in the eyes. Finer meanings, surely, than any in +the features of these immortal insipid Madonnas! + +Sometimes Lucy could not decide whether she had seen these meanings on +Frances Waldeaux's face, or on her son's. + +She sewed until late in the afternoon. There came a tap at the door. +She opened it, and there stood Mrs. Waldeaux, wrapped in a heavy cloak. +Lucy jumped at her, trembling, and hugged her. + +"Oh, come in! Come in!" she cried shrilly. "I have just been thinking +of you and talking to you!" + +Frances laughed, bewildered. "Oh, it is Miss Dunbar? The man sent me +here by mistake to wait. Miss Vance is out, he said." + +"Yes, I suppose so. But I--I am here." Lucy threw her arms around her +again, laying her head down on her shoulder. She felt as if something +that she had waited for a long time was coming to her. "Sit by the +stove. Your hands are like ice," she said. + +"Yes, I am usually cold now; I don't know why." + +Lucy then saw a curious change in her face. The fine meanings were not +in it now. It was fatter--coarser; the hair was dead, the eyes moved +sluggishly, like the glass eyes of a doll. + +"You are always cold? Your blood is thin, perhaps. You are overtired, +dear. Have you travelled much?" + +"Oh, yes! all of the time. I have seen whole tracts of pictures, and +no end of palaces and hotels--hotels--hotels!" Frances said, awakening +to the necessity of being talkative and vivacious with the young girl. +She threw off her cloak. There was a rip in the fur, and the dirty +lining hung out. Lucy shuddered. Mrs. Waldeaux's blood must have +turned to water, or she would never have permitted that! + +"You must rest now. I will take care of you," she said, with a little +nod of authority. Frances looked at her perplexed. Why should this +pretty creature mother her with such tenderness? + +Oh! It was the girl that George should have married! + +She glanced at the white room with its dainty bibelots, the Bible, the +Madonnas, watching, benign. Poor little nun, waiting for the love that +never could come to her! + +"I am glad you are here, my child. You can tell me what I want to +know. I have not an hour to spare. I am going to my son--to George. +Do you know where he is?" + +"At Vannes, in Brittany." + +"Brittany--that is a long way." Frances rose uncertainly. "I hoped he +was near. I was in a Russian village, and Clara's letter was long in +finding me. When I got it, I travelled night and day. I somehow +thought I should meet him on the way. I fancied he would come to meet +me." + +Lucy's blue eyes watched her keenly a moment. Then she rang the bell. + +"You must eat, first of all," she said. + +"No, I am not hungry. Vannes, you said? I must go now. I haven't an +hour." + +"You have two, exactly. You'll take the express at eight. Oh, I'm +never mistaken about a train. Here is the coffee. Now, I'll make you +a nice sandwich." + +Frances was faint with hunger. As she ate, she watched the pretty +matter-of-fact little girl, and laughed with delight. When had she +found any thing so wholesome? It was a year, too, since she had seen +any one who knew George. Naturally, she began to empty her heart, +which was full of him, to Lucy. + +"I have not spoken English for months," she said, smiling over her +coffee. "It is a relief! And you are a friend of my son's, too?" + +"No. A mere acquaintance," said Lucy, with reserve. + +"No one could even see George and not understand how different he is +from other men." + +"Oh! altogether different!" said Lucy. "Yes, you understand. And +there was that future before him--when his trouble came. Oh, I've +thought of it, and thought of it, until my head is tired! He fell +under that woman's influence, you see. It was like mesmerism, or the +voodoo curse that the negroes talk of. It came on me too. Why, there +was a time when I despised him. George!" Her eyes grew full of +horror. "I left him, to live my own life. He has staggered under his +burden alone, and I could have rid him of it. Now there are two of +them." + +"Two of them?" said Lucy curiously. + +"There is a baby--Pauline Felix's grandson. I beg your pardon, my +child, I ought not to have named her. She is not a person whom you +should ever hear of. He has them both,--George. He has that weight to +carry." She stood up. "That is why I am going to him. It must be +taken from him." + +"You mean--a divorce?" + +"I don't know--I can't think clearly. But God does such queer things! +There are millions of men in the world, and this curse falls +on--George!" + +Lucy put her hands on the older woman's arms and seated her. "Mrs. +Waldeaux," she said, with decision, "you need sleep, or you would not +talk in that way. Lisa is not a curse. Nor a voodoo witch. She came +to your son instead of to any other man--because he chose her out from +all other women. He had seen them." She held her curly head erect. +"As he did choose her, he should make the best of her." + +Frances looked at her as one awakened out of a dream. "You talk +sensibly, child. Perhaps you are right. But I must go. Ring for a +cab, please. No, I will wait in the station. Clara would argue and +lecture. I could not stand that to-night," with her old comical shrug. + +Lucy's entreaties were vain. + +But as the train rushed through the valley of the Isar that night, +Frances looked forward into the darkness with a nameless terror. "That +child was so healthy and sane," she said, "I wish I had stayed with her +longer." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Prince Hugo had made no secret of his intentions with regard to Miss +Dunbar, so that when it was known that his sisters and the rich +American Mees would at last meet at the Countess von Amte's there was a +flutter of curiosity in the exclusive circle of Munich. The countess +herself called twice on Clara that day, so great was her triumph that +this social event would occur at her house. + +She asked boldly "Which of Miss Dunbar's marvellous Parisian +confections will she wear? It is so important for her future happiness +that the princesses should be favorably impressed! Aber, lieber Gott!" +she shrieked, "don't let her speak French! Not a word! That would be +ruin! They are all patriotism!" She hurried away, and ran back to say +that the sun was shining as it had not done for days. + +"She thinks nature itself is agog to see how the princesses receive +Lucy," said Miss Vance indignantly. "One would suppose that the child +was on trial." + +"So she is. Me, too," said Jean, wistfully regarding the bebe waist of +the gown which Doucet had just sent her. "I must go as an ingenue. I +don't play the part well!" + +"No, you do not," said Clara. + +Miss Vance tapped at Lucy's door as she went down, and found her +working at her embroidery. "You must lie down for an hour, my dear," +she said, "and be fresh and rosy for this evening." + +"I am not going. I must finish these pinks. I have just sent a note +of apology to the countess." + +"Not going!" Clara gasped, dismayed. Then she laughed with triumph. +"The princesses and all the Herrschaft of Munich will be there to pass +judgment on the bride, and the bride will be sitting at home finishing +her pinks! Good!" + +"I am no bride!" Lucy rose, stuck her needle carefully in its place, +and came closer to Miss Vance. "I have made up my mind," she said +earnestly. "I shall never marry. My life now is quiet and clean. I'm +not at all sure that it would be either if I were the Princess +Wolfburgh." + +Clara stroked her hair fondly. "Your decision is sudden, my dear," she +faltered, at last. + +"Yes. There was something last night. It showed me what I was doing. +To marry a man just because he is good and kind, that is--vile!" The +tears rushed to her eyes. There was a short silence. + +"Don't look so aghast, dear Miss Vance," said Lucy cheerfully. "Go now +and dress to meet the Herrschaft." + +"And what will you do, child?" + +"I really must finish these pinks to-night." She took up her work. +Her chin trembled a little. "We won't speak of this again, please," +she said. "I never shall be a bride or a wife or mother. I will have +a quiet, independent life--like yours." + +The sunshine fell on the girl's grave, uplifted face, on the white +walls, the blue stove, and the calm, watching Madonnas. Clara, as Mrs. +Waldeaux had done, thought of a nun in her cell to whom love could only +be a sacred dream. + +She smiled back at Lucy, bade her goodnight, and closed the door. + +"Like mine?" she said, as she went down the corridor. "Well, it is a +comfortable, quiet life. But empty----" And she laid her hand suddenly +across her thin breast. + + +Jean listened in silence when Clara told her briefly that Lucy was not +going. + +"She is very shrewd," she said presently. "She means to treat them de +haut en bas from the outset. It is capital policy." + +Jean, when she entered the countess's salon, with downcast eyes, draped +in filmy lace without a jewel or flower, was shy innocence in person. +Furst Hugo stood near the hostess, with two stout women in shabby gowns +and magnificent jewels. + +"The frocks they made themselves, and the emeralds are heirlooms," Jean +muttered to Clara, without lifting her timid eyes. + +"Miss Dunbar is not coming?" exclaimed the prince. + +"No," said Miss Vance. + +"The Fraulein is ill?" demanded one of his sisters. + +"No," Clara said, again smiling. "WE expected to meet her," the +younger princess said. "It is most singular----" + +"She has sent her apology to the countess," said Clara gently, and +passed on. + +But her little triumph was short lived. + +A famous professional soprano appeared in a white-ribboned enclosure at +the end of the salon, and the guests were rapidly arranged according to +their rank to listen. Clara and Jean stood until every man and woman +were comfortably seated, when they were placed in the back row. + +When the music was over supper was announced, and the same ceremony was +observed. The Highnessess, the hochwohlgeboren privy councillors, the +hochgeboren secretaries, even the untitled Herren who held some petty +office, were ushered with profound deference to their seats at the long +table, while Clara stood waiting. Jean's eyes still drooped meekly, +but even her lips were pale. + +"How can you look so placid?" she whispered. "It is a deliberate +insult to your gray hairs." + +"No. It is the custom of the country. It does not hurt me." + +They were led at the moment to the lowest seats. Jean shot one +vindictive glance around the table. + +"You have more wit and breeding than any of them!" she said. "And as +for me, this lace I wear would buy any of their rickety old palaces." + +"They have something which we cannot buy," said Miss Vance gravely. "I +never understood before how actual a thing rank is here." + + +"Cannot it be bought? I am going to look into that when this huge feed +is over," Miss Hassard said to herself. + +Late in the evening she danced with Count Odo, and prattled to him in a +childish, frank fashion which he found very charming. + +"Your rules of precedence are very disagreeable!" she pouted. +"Especially when one sits at the foot of the table and is served last." + +"They must seem queer to you," he said, laughing, "but they are +inflexible as iron." + +"But they will bend for Miss Dunbar, if she makes up her mind to marry +your cousin?" she asked, looking up into his face like an innocent +child. + +"No. Hugo makes a serious sacrifice in marrying a woman of no birth," +he said. "He must give up his place and title as head of the family. +She will not be received at court nor in certain houses; she must +always remain outside of much of his social life." + +He led her back to Miss Vance. She seemed to be struck dumb, and even +forgot to smile when he bowed low and thanked her for the dance. + +"Let us go home," she whispered to Clara. "The American girl is a fool +who marries one of these men!" + +When Miss Vance's carriage reached her hotel, she found Prince Hugo's +coupe before the door. + +"He has come to see Lucy, alone!" she said indignantly, as she hurried +up the steps. "He has no right to annoy her!" + +She met him coming out of the long salle. The little man walked +nervously, fingering his sword hilt. He could not control his voice +when he tried to speak naturally. + +"Yes, gracious lady, I am guilty. It was unpardonable to come when I +knew the chaperone was gone. But--ach! I could not wait!" throwing +out both hands to her. "I have waited so long! I knew when she did +not come to meet my sisters to-night she had resolved against me, but I +could not sleep uncertain. So I break all the laws, and come!" + +"You have seen her, then? She has told you?" + +He nodded without speaking. His round face was red, and something like +tears stood in his eyes. + +He waited irresolute a moment, and then threw up his head. + +"Soh! It is over! I shall not whine! You have been very good to me," +he said earnestly, taking Clara's hand. "This is the first great +trouble in my life. I have loved her very dearly. I decided to make +great sacrifices for her. But I am not to have her--never." + +"I am so sorry for you, prince." Clara squeezed his hand energetically. +"Nor her dot. That would have been so comfortable for me," he said +simply. + +Clara hid a smile, and bade him an affectionate good-night. + +As he passed into the outer salle a childish figure in creamy lace rose +before him, and a soft hand was held out. "I know what has happened!" +she whispered passionately. "She has treated you scandalously! She +cannot appreciate YOU!" + +Prince Hugo stuttered and coughed and almost kissed the little hand +which lay so trustingly in his. He found himself safely outside at +last, and drove away, wretched to the soul. + +But below his wretchedness something whispered: "SHE appreciates me, +and her dot is quite as large." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +George Waldeaux hummed a tune gayly as he climbed the winding maze of +streets in Vannes, one cloudy afternoon, with Lisa. + +"It is impertinent to be modern Americans in this old town," he said. +"We might play that we were jongleurs, and that it was still mediaeval +times. I am sure the gray walls yonder and the fortress houses in this +street have not changed in ages." + +"Neither have the smells, apparently," said Lisa grimly. "Wrap this +scarf about your throat, George. You coughed last night." + +George tied up his throat. "Coughed, did I?" he said anxiously. He +had had a cold last winter, and his wife with her poultices and fright +had convinced him that he was a confirmed invalid. The coming of her +baby had given to the woman a motherly feeling toward all of the world, +even to her husband. + +"Look at these women," he said, going on with his fancy presently. "I +am sure that they were here wearing these black gowns and huge red +aprons in the twelfth century. What is this?" he said, stopping +abruptly, to a boy of six who was digging mud at the foot of an ancient +ivy-covered tower. + +"C'est le tour du Connetable," the child lisped. "Et v'la, monsieur!" +pointing to a filthy pen with a gate of black oak; "v'la le donjon de +Clisson!" "Who was Clisson?" said Lisa impatiently. + +"A live man to Froissart--and to this boy," said George, laughing. "I +told you that we had gone back seven centuries. This fog comes in from +the Morbihan sea where Arthur and his knights went sailing to find the +Holy Greal. They have not come back. And south yonder is the country +of the Druids. I will take you to-morrow and show you twenty thousand +of their menhirs, and then we will sail away to an island where there +is an altar that the serpent worshippers built ages before Christ." + + +Lisa laughed. He was not often in this playful mood. She panted as +she toiled up the dark little street, a step behind him, but he did not +think of giving her his arm. He had grown accustomed to regard himself +as the invalid now, and the one who needed care. + +"I am going for letters," he called back, diving into a dingy alley. +The baby and its bonne were near Lisa. The child never was out of her +sight for, a moment. She waited, standing a little apart from Colette +to watch whether the passers-by would notice the baby. When one or two +of the gloomy and stolid women who hurried past in their wooden sabots +clicked their fingers to it, she could not help smiling gayly and +bidding them good-day. + +The fog was stifling. As she waited she gave a tired gasp. Colette +ran to her. "Madame is going to be ill!" + +"No, no! Don't frighten monsieur." + +George came out of the gate at the moment. + +"Going to faint again, Lisa?" he said, with an annoyed glance around +the street. "Your attacks do choose the most malapropos times----" + +"Oh, dear no, George! I am quite well quite." She walked beside him +with an airy step, laughing gayly now and then, but George's frown +deepened. + +"I don't understand these seizures at all," he said. "You seem to be +in sound physical condition." + +"Oh, all women have queer turns, George." + +"Did you consult D'Abri, as I told you to do, in Paris?" + +"Yes, yes! Now let us talk no more about it. I have had +these--symptoms since I was a child." + +"You never told me of them before we were married," he muttered. + +Lisa scowled darkly at him, but she glanced at the baby and her mouth +closed. Little Jacques should never hear her rage nor swear. + +From an overhanging gable at the street corner looked down a roughly +hewn stone Madonna. The arms of the Holy Child were outstretched to +bless. Lisa paused before it, crossing herself. A strange joy filled +her heart. + +"I too am a mother! I too!" she said. She hurried after George and +clung to his arm as they went home. + +"Was there any letter?" she asked. + +"Only one from Munich--Miss Vance. I haven't opened it." + +"I thought your mother would write. She must have heard about the boy!" + +George's face grew dark. "No, she'll not write. Nor come." + +"You wish for her every day, George?" She looked at him wistfully. + +"Yes, I do. She and I were comrades to a queer degree. I long for +something hearty and homelike again. See here, Lisa. I'm going home +before my boy begins to talk. I mean he shall grow up under wholesome +American influences--not foreign." + +"Not foreign," she repeated gravely. She was silent a while. "I have +thought much of it all lately," she said at last. "It will be +wholesome for Jacques on your farm. Horses--dogs---- Your mother will +love him. She can't help it. She--I acted like a beast to that woman, +George. I'll say that. She hit me hard. But she has good traits. +She is not unlike my own mother." + +George said nothing. God forbid that he should tell her, even by a +look, that she and her mother were of a caste different from his own. + +But he was bored to the soul by the difference; he was tired of her +ignorances, which she showed every minute, of her ghastly, unclean +knowledges--which she never showed. + +They came into the courtyard of the Chateau de la Motte, the ancient +castle of the Breton dukes, which is now an inn. The red sunset flamed +up behind the sad little town and its gray old houses and spires massed +on the hill, and the black river creeping by. George's eyes kindled at +the sombre picture. + +"In this very court," he said, "Constance stood when she summoned the +States of Brittany to save her boy Arthur from King John." + +"Oh, yes, you have read of it to me in your Shakespeare. It is one of +his unpleasant stories. Come, Bebe. It grows damp." + +As she climbed the stone stairway with the child, Colette lingered to +gossip with the portier. "Poor lady! You will adore her! She is one +of us. But she makes of that bete Anglais and the ugly child, saints +and gods!" + +When George presently came up to their bare little room, Lisa was +singing softly, as she rocked Jacques to sleep. + +"Can't you sing the boy something a bit more cheerful?" he said. "You +used to know some jolly catches from the music halls." + +"Catches for HIM?" with a frightened look at the child's shut eyes. + +"The 'Adeste Fideles' is moral, but it is not a merry air. You sing it +morning, noon, and night," he grumbled. + +"Yes," she whispered, laying the child in its crib. "One never knows +how much HE understands, and he may remember, I thought. Some day when +he is a great boy, he may hear it and he'll think, 'My mother sang that +hymn. She must have been a good woman!'" + +"Nonsense, Lisa," said George kindly. "You'll teach him every day, +while he is growing to be a great boy, that you are a good woman." + +She said nothing, but stood on the other side of the crib looking at +him. + +"Well, what is it?" said George uneasily. "You look at me as if +somebody were dragging you away from me." + +She laughed. "What ridiculous fancies you have!" She came behind him +and, drawing his head back, kissed him on the forehead. "Oh, you poor, +foolish boy!" she said. + +Lisa sat down to her work, which was the making of garments for Jacques +out of her own gowns. She was an expert needlewoman, and had already a +pile of fantastic kilts of cloth and velvet. + +"Enough to last until he is ten years old," George said contemptuously. +"And you will not leave a gown for yourself." + +"There will be all I shall need," she said. + +He turned up the lamp and opened Clara's letter. + +Lisa's needle flew through the red and yellow silk. It was pleasant +work; she was doing it skilfully. The fire warmed her thin blood. She +could hear the baby's regular, soft breathing as it slept. A pleasure +that was almost like health stole through her lean body. She leaned +back in her chair looking at Jacques. In three years he could wear the +velvet suit with the cap and pompon. His hair would be yellow and +curly, like his father's. But his eyes would be like her mother's. +She pressed her hands together, laughing, the hot tears rushing to her +eyes. "Ah, maman!" she said. "Do you know that your little girl has a +baby? Can you see him?" + +What a superb "great boy" he would be! He should go to a military +school. Yes! She lay back in her chair, watching him. + +George suddenly started up with a cry of amazement. + +"What is it?" she said indifferently. + +He did not answer, but turned the letter and read it over again. Then +he folded it with shaking fingers. + +"I have news here. Miss Vance thinks it time that I was told, and I +agree with her. It appears that I am a pauper, and always have been. +My father died penniless." + +"Then Jacques will be poor?" + +"Jacques! You think of nothing but that mewling, senseless thing! It +is mother--she always has supported me. We are living now on the money +that she earns from week to week, while I play that I am an artist!" + +Lisa listened attentively. "It does not seem strange that a mother +should work for her son," she said slowly. "But she has never told us! +That is fine! I like that! I told you she had very good traits." + +George stared at her. "But--me! Don't you see what a cad I am?" + +He paced up and down, muttering, and then throwing on his hat went out +into the night to be alone. + +Lisa sank back again and watched Jacques. At military school, yes; and +after he had left school he would be a soldier, perhaps. Such a +gallant young fellow! + +She leaned over the cradle, holding out her hands. Ah, God! if she +could but live to see it! Surely it might be? There was no pain now. +Doctors were not infallible--even D'Abri might be mistaken, after all. + +George, coming in an hour later, found her sitting with her hands +covering her face. + +"Are you asleep, Lisa?" + +"No." + +"There is a telegram from Clara. My mother has left Munich for Vannes. +She will be here in two days." + +She rose with an effort. "I am glad for you, George." + +"You are ill, Lisa!" + +"A little tired, only. Colette will give me my powder, and I shall be +quite well in the morning. Will you send her to me now?" + +After George was gone the rumbling of a diligence was heard in the +courtyard, and presently a woman was brought up to the opposite chamber. + +The hall was dark. Looking across it, Frances Waldeaux saw in the +lighted room Lisa and her child. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Before we come to the dark story of that night in the inn, it is but +fair to Frances to say that she came there with no definite evil +purpose. She had been cheerful on her journey from Munich. There was +one clear fact in her brain: She was on her way to George. + +The countless toy farms of southern France, trimmed neatly by the inch, +swept past her. In Brittany came melancholy stretches of brown heath +and rain-beaten hills; or great affluent estates, the Manor houses +covered with thatch, stagnant pools close to the doors, the cattle +breaking through the slovenly wattled walls. + +Frances, being a farmer, felt a vague amusement at these things, but +they were all dim to her as a faded landscape hanging on the wall. + +She was going to George. + +Sometimes she seemed to be in Lucy's room again, with the sweet, clean +air of youth about her. All of that purity and love might have gone +into George's life--before it fell into the slough. + +But she was going now to take it out of the slough. + +There was a merchant and his wife from Geneva in the carriage with +their little boy, a pretty child of five. Frances played and joked +with him. + +"Has madam also a son?" his mother asked civilly. + +She said yes, and presently added, "My son has now a great trouble, but +I am going to relieve him of it." + +The woman, startled, stared at her. + +"Is it not right for me to rid him of it?" she demanded loudly. + +"Mais oui, certainement," said the Swiss. She watched Frances after +that furtively. Her eyes, she thought, were quite sane. But how +eccentric all of these Americans were! + +Mrs. Waldeaux reached Vannes at nightfall. At last! Here was the +place in this great empty world where he was. + +When the diligence entered the courtyard, George was so near to the +gate that the smoke of his cigar was blown into her face, but he did +not see her. He was lean and pale, and his eyes told his misery. When +she saw them his mother grew sick from head to foot with a sudden +nausea. This was his wife's doing. She was killing him! Frances +hurried into the inn, her legs giving way under her. She could not +speak to him. She must think what to do. + +She was taken to her room. It was dark, and across the corridor she +saw Lisa in her lighted chamber. This was good luck! God had put the +creature at once into her hands to deal with! + +She was conscious of a strange exaltation, as if from wine--as if she +would never need to sleep nor eat again. Her thoughts came and went +like flashes of fire. She watched Lisa as she would a vampire, a +creeping deadly beast. Pauline Felix--all that was adulterous and vile +in women--there it was! + +Her mind too, as never before, was full of a haughty complacency in +herself. She felt like the member of some petty sect who is sure that +God communes with him inside of his altar rails, while the man is +outside whom he believes that God made only to be damned. + +Lisa began to undress. Frances quickly turned away, ashamed of peeping +into her chamber. But the one fact burned on into her brain: + +The woman was killing George. + +If God would rid the world of her! If a storm should rise now, and the +lightning strike the house, and these stone walls should fall on her, +now--now! + +But the walls stood firm and the moonlight shone tranquilly on the +world outside. + +She told herself to be calm--to be just. But there was no justice +while this woman went on with her work! God saw. He meant her to be +stopped. Frances prayed to him frantically that Lisa might soon be put +off of the earth. Just as the Catholic used to pray before he +massacred the Huguenot, or the Protestant, when he tied his Catholic +brother to the stake. If this woman was mad for blood, it was a +madness that many sincere people have shared. + +Colette was busy with her mistress for a long time. She was very +gentle and tender, being fond of Lisa, as people of her class always +were. She raised her voice as she made ready to leave the room. + +"If the pain returns, here is the powder of morphia, mixed, within +madame's reach," she said. + +Frances came close to the door. + +"And if it continues?" asked Lisa. + +"Let monsieur call me. I would not trust him to measure a powder," +Colette said, laughing. "It is too dangerous. He is not used to +it--like me." + +Mrs. Waldeaux saw her lay a paper package on a shelf. + +"I will pray that the pain will not return," the girl said. "But if it +does, let monsieur knock at my door. Here is the tisane when you are +thirsty." She placed a goblet of milky liquid near the bed. + +What more she said Frances did not hear. + +It was to be! There was the morphia, and yonder the night drink within +her reach. It was God's will. + +Colette turned out the lamp, hesitated, and sat down by the fire. +Presently she rose softly, bent over her mistress, and, finding her +asleep, left the room noiselessly. Her door closed far down the +corridor. + +Mrs. Waldeaux was quite alone, now. + +It was but a step across the hall. So easy to do--easy. It must be +done at once. + +But her feet were like lead, she could not move; her tongue lay icy +cold in her mouth. Her soul was willing, but her body rebelled. + +What folly was this? It was the work of a moment. George would be +free. She would have freed him. + +In God's name then---- + +She crossed the hall softly. Into the hell of her thoughts flashed a +little womanish shame, that she, Frances Waldeaux, should be walking on +tiptoe, like a thief. + +She took down the package, and leaning over the table at the side of +the bed, shook the white powder into the glass. Then she went back to +her room and shut the door. + +The casement was open and the moonlight was white outside. She was +conscious that the glare hurt her eyes, and that there was a strange +stricture about her jaws and the base of her brain, like an iron hand. + +It seemed to her but a minute that she stood there, but the dawn was +breaking when there was a sudden confusion in the opposite room. She +heard Colette's voice, and then George's, calling Lisa. + +There was no answer. + +Frances stood up, to listen. "Will she not speak?" she cried. "Make +her speak!" + +But in reality she said nothing. Even her breath had stopped to listen. + +There was no answer. + +Frances was awake now, for the rest of her life. She knew what she had +done. + +"Why, George," she said, "she cannot speak. She is dead. I did it." + +She stood in the room a minute, looking from side to side, and then +went with measured steps out of it, down the corridor and into the +street. + +"I did it," she said to herself again and again, as she walked slowly +on. + +The old cathedral is opposite to the inn. Her eyes, as she passed, +rested on the gargoyles, and she thought how fine they were. One was a +ridiculous head with lolling tongue. + +A priest's voice inside was chanting mass. A dozen Breton women in +their huge white winged caps and wooden shoes hurried up to the door, +through the gray fog. They met Mrs. Waldeaux and saw her face. They +huddled to one side, crossing themselves, and when she passed, stood +still, forgetting the mass and looking, frightened, up the steep street +behind her to find what horror had pursued her. + +"They know what I have done," she said aloud. + +Once when she was a child she had accidentally seen a bloated wretch, a +murderer, on his way to the gallows. + +"I am he," she thought. "I--_I_, Frances." + +Then the gargoyle came into her mind again. What a capital headpiece +it would make for "Quigg's" next column! It was time this week's jokes +were sent. + +But at last these ghosts of yesterday's life faded out, and she saw the +fact. + +She had hated her son's wife and had killed her! + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +When the sun was well up the women who had been at mass gathered down +by the little river which runs through the old city, to wash their +clothes. They knelt on the broad stones by the edge of the water, +chattering and singing, tossing the soap from one to another. + +There was a sudden silence. "Here she is again," they whispered, as a +slight, delicate woman crossed the bridge with steady steps. + +"She is blind and deaf," said old Barbe. "I met her an hour ago and +asked her whom she sought. She did not see nor hear me, but walked +straight on." + +Oliver Bauzy was lounging near, as usual, watching his wife work. + +"She is English. What does she know of your Breton talk? I speak +English and French--I!" he bragged, and walking up to Mrs. Waldeaux, +he flourished his ragged hat, smiling. "Is madame ill? She has walked +far," he said kindly. + +The English words seemed to waken her. "It is always the town," +looking around bewildered. "The people--houses. I think I am not +well. If I could find the woods----" + +Bauzy had but a hazy idea of her meaning, but he nodded gravely. "She +is a tourist. She wants to go out of Vannes--to see the chateaux, the +dolmens. I'm her man. I'll drive her to Larmor Baden," he said to his +wife. "I have to go there to-day, and I may as well make a franc or +two. Keep her until I bring the voiture." + +But Frances stood motionless until the old wagon rattled up to the +water's edge. + +"She has a dear old face," Bauzy's wife whispered. + +"She is blind and deaf, I tell you," old Barbe grumbled, peering up at +her. "Make her pay, Oliver, before you go." + +Bauzy nodded, and when Frances was seated held out his hand. + +"Twenty francs," he said. + +She opened her bag and gave them to him. + +"She must be folle!" he said uneasily. "I feel like a thief. Away +with you, Babette!" as a pretty baby ran up to him. "You want to ride? +That is impossible. Unless, indeed, madame desires it?" lifting the +child to place her on the seat. Babette laughed and held out her hands. + +But Mrs. Waldeaux shrank back, shuddering. "Take her away," she +whispered. "She must not touch me!" + +The mother seized the child, and the women all talked vehemently at +once. Oliver climbed into the voiture and drove off in silence. When +he looked around presently he saw that the woman's face was bloodless, +and a cold sweat stood on it. He considered a while. "You want food," +he said, and brought out some hard bread and a jug of Normandy cider. + +Frances shook her head. She only spoke once during the morning, and +then told him something about a woman "whom no child could touch. No +man or woman could touch her as long as she lived. Not even her son." + +As Bauzy could make nothing of this, he could only nod and laugh +civilly. But presently he, too, grew silent, glancing at her +uncomfortably from time to time. + +They drove through great red fields of sarasson, hedged by long banks +of earth, which were masses of golden gorse and bronzed and crimson +ferns. The sun shone, the clover-scented air was full of the joyous +buzzing of bees and chirp of birds. + +"It is a gay, blessed day!" Bauzy said, "thanks to the good God!" He +waited anxiously for her reply, but she stared into the sunshine and +said nothing. + +Larmor Baden is a lonely little cluster of gray stone huts on the shore +of the Morbihan sea. Some of Bauzy's friends lounged smiling up to +welcome him, waving their wide black hats with velvet streamers, and +bowing low to the lady. Oliver alighted with decision. One thing he +knew: He would not drive back with her. Something was amiss. He +would wash his hands of her. + +"Here, madame, is Vincent Selo, paysageur," he said rapidly in French. +"He has a good boat. He will take you where you desire. Sail with her +to Gavr' Inis," he said to Selo, "and bring her back at her pleasure. +Somebody can drive her back to Vannes, and don't overcharge her, you +robbers!" + +"Gavr' Inis?" Frances repeated. + +"It is an island in the sea yonder, madame. A quiet place of trees. +When there was not a man in the world, evil spirits built there an +altar for the worship of the devil. No men could have built it. There +are huge stones carried there from the mountains far inland, that no +engine could lift. It is a great mystery." + +"It is the one place in the world, people say," interrupted Selo, +lowering his voice, "where God never has been. A dreadful place, +madame!" + +Frances laughed. "That is the place for me," she said to Selo. "Take +me there." + +The old man looked at her with shrewd, friendly eyes, and then beckoned +Bauzy aside. + +"Who is she? She has the bearing of a great lady, but her face hurts +me. What harm has come to her?" + +"How do I know?" said Bauzy. "Go for your boat. The sea is rising." + + +Late in the afternoon M. Selo landed his strange passenger upon the +pebbly beach of the accursed island. He led her up on the rocks, +talking, and pointing across the sea. + +"Beyond is the Atlantic, and on yonder headland are the great menhirs +of Carnac--thirty thousand of them, brought there before Christ was +born. But the Evil One loves this island best of all places. It has +in it the mystery of the world. Come," he said, in an awed voice. "It +is here." + +He crossed to the hill, stooped, and entered a dark cave about forty +feet long, which was wholly lined with huge flat rocks carved with +countless writhing serpents. As Frances passed they seemed to stir and +breathe beside her, at her feet, overhead. The cave opened into a +sacrificial chamber. The reptiles grew gigantic here, and crowded +closer. Through some rift a beam of melancholy light crept in; a smell +of death hung in the thick, unclean air. + +Selo pointed to a stone altar. "It was there they killed their +victims," he whispered, and began to pray anxiously, half-aloud. When +he had finished, he hurried back, beckoning to her to come out. + +"Go," she said. "I will stay here." + +"Then I will wait outside. This is no place for Christian souls. But +we must return soon, madame. My little girl will be watching now for +me." + +When he was gone she stood by the altar. This island of Gavr' Inis was +one of the places to which she and George had long ago planned to come. +She remembered the very day on which they had read the legend that on +this altar men before the Flood had sacrificed to the god of Murder. + +"I am the murderer now, and George knows it," she said quietly. But +she was cold and faint, and presently began to tremble weakly. + +She went out of the cave and stood on the beach. "I want to go home, +George," she said aloud. "I want to be Frances Waldeaux again. I'm +sure I didn't know it was in me to do that thing." + +There was no answer. She was alone in the great space of sky and sea. +The world was so big and empty, and she alone and degraded in it! + +"I never shall see George again. He will think of me only as the woman +who killed his wife," she thought. + +She went on blindly toward the water, and stood there a long time. + +Then, in the strait of her agony, there came to Frances Waldeaux, for +the first time in her life, a perception that there was help for her in +the world, outside of her own strength. Her poor tortured wits +discerned One, more real than her crime, or George, or the woman that +she had killed. It was an old, hackneyed story, that He knew every man +and woman in the world, that He could help them. She had heard it +often. + +Was there any thing in it? Could He help her? + +Slowly, the nervous twitching of her body quieted, her dulled eyes +cleared as if a new power of sight were coming to them. + +After a long time she heard steps, and Selo calling. She rose. + +The murder was known. They were coming to arrest her. + +What did it matter? She had found help. + +Selo came up excitedly. + +"It is another boat, English folk also, that comes to arrive." + +She turned and waited. + +And then, coming up the hill, she saw George, and with him--Lisa! +Lisa, smiling as she talked. + +They ran to meet her with cries of amazement. She staggered back on +the rock. + +"You are not dead? Lisa----" + +"Dead? Poor lady!" catching her in her arms. "Some water, George! It +is her head. She has been too much alone." + +When Frances opened her eyes she was lying on the grass, her children +kneeling beside her. She caught Lisa's arm in both hands and felt it: +then she sat up. + +"I must tell you what I did--before you speak to me." + +"Not now," said Lisa. "You are not well. I am going to be your nurse. +The baby has made me a very good nurse," and she stooped again over +Frances, with kind, smiling eyes. + +Selo came to wile George up to the mysterious cave, but Lisa +impatiently hurried them to the beach. "Caves and serpent worshippers +truly!" she cried. "Why, she has not seen Jacques!" and when, in the +boat, George, who was greatly alarmed, tried to rouse his mother from +her silent stupor, Lisa said gayly, "She will be herself again as soon +as she sees HIM." + +When they reached Larmor Baden, she despatched George in search of +Colette and the child, and she went into the church. It was late, and +the village women sat on the steps gossipping in the slanting sunlight. +There is nothing in their lives but work and the church; and when, each +day, they have finished with one they go to the other. + +Frances followed her. The sombre little church was vacant. She +touched Lisa on the shoulder. + +"There is something I must tell you," she said. "You would not let me +touch the child, if you knew it." + +She stooped and spoke a few sentences in a vehement whisper, and then +leaned back, exhausted, against the wall. + +Lisa drew back. Her lips were white with sudden fright, but she +scanned Mrs. Waldeaux's face keenly. + +"You were in Vannes last night? You tried---- My God, I remember! +The tisane tasted queerly, and I threw it out." She walked away for a +moment, and then turning, said, "You called my mother a vile woman +once. But SHE would not have done that thing! + +"No," said Frances, not raising her head. "No." + +Lisa stood looking at her as she crouched against the wall. The fierce +scorn slowly died out of her eyes. She was a coarse, but a +good-natured, woman. An awful presence, too, walked with her always +now, step by step, and in that dread shadow she saw the things of life +more justly than we do. She took Frances by the hand at last. "You +were not quite yourself, I think," she said quietly. "I have pushed +you too hard. George has told me so much about you! If we could be +together for a while, perhaps we should love each other a little. But +there is no time now----" She turned hastily, and threw herself down +before a crucifix. + +After a long time she went out to the vestibule, where she found +Frances, and said, with an effort to be cheerful and matter-of-fact, +"Come, now, let us talk like reasonable people. A thing is coming to +me which comes to every-body. I'm not one to whine. But it's the +child--I don't think any baby ever was as much to a woman as Jacques is +to me. I suppose God does not think I am fit to bring him up. Sit +down and let me tell you all about it." + +They sat on the steps, talking in a low tone. Frances cried, but +Lisa's eyes were quite dry and bright. She rose at last. + +"You see, there will be no woman to care for him, if you do not. There +he is with Colette." She ran down, took the baby from the bonne, and +laid him in Frances's arms. + +Mrs. Waldeaux looked down at him. "George's son," she whispered, +"George's boy!" + +"He is very like George and you," Lisa answered. "He is a Waldeaux." + +"Yes, I see." + +She held him close to her breast as they drove back to Vannes. George +whistled and sang on the box. He was very light of heart to have her +with him again. + +He looked impatiently at an ancient village through which they passed, +with its towers, and peasants in strange garbs, like the pictures in +some crusading tale. + +"Now that we have mother, Lisa," he said, "we'll go straight back home. +I am tired of mediaeval times. I must get to work for this youngster." + +Lisa did not speak for a moment. "I should like to stay in Vannes a +little longer," she said. "I did not tell you, but--my mother is +buried there. That was why I came; I should like to be with her." + +"Why, of course, dear. As long as you like," he said affectionately. +"I will not detain you long. Perhaps only a week or two," she said. + +He nodded, and began to whistle cheerfully again. Frances looked at +Lisa, and her eyes filled with tears. It was a pitiful tragedy! + +But the poor girl was quite right not to worry George until the last +moment. She was blocking his way--ruining his life, and God was taking +her away so that she could no longer harm him. + +And yet--poor Lisa! + +They drove on. The sun warmed the crimson fields, and the birds +chirped, and this was George's child creeping close to her breast. It +stirred there a keen pang of joy. + +Surely He had forgiven her. + +A month later a group of passengers in deep mourning stood apart on the +deck of the Paris as she left the dock at Liverpool. It was George +Waldeaux, his mother, and little Jacques with his nurse. Mrs. Waldeaux +was looking at Clara and her girls, who were watching her from the +dock. They had come to Vannes when Lisa died, and had taken care of +her and the baby until now. Frances had cried at leaving them, but +George stood with his back to them moodily, looking down into the black +water. + +"It seems but a few days since we sailed from New York on the Kaiser +Wilhelm," he said, "and yet I have lived out all my life in that time." + +"All? Is there nothing left, George?" his mother said gently. + +"Oh, of course, you are always a good companion, and there is the +child----" He paused. The fierce passions, the storms of delight and +pain of his life with Lisa rushed back on him. "I will work for +others, and wear out the days as I can," he said. "But life is over +for me. The story is told. There are only blank pages now to the end." + +He turned his dim eyes toward the French coast. She knew that they saw +the little bare grave on the hill in Vannes. "I wish I could have seen +something green growing on it before I left her there alone!" he +muttered. + +"Her mother's grave was covered with roses----" Frances answered +quickly. "They will creep over to her. She is not alone, George. I +am glad she was laid by her mother. She loved her dearly." + +"Yes. Better than any thing on earth," he responded gloomily. + +A few moments later the ship swung heavily around. + +"We are going!" Mrs. Waldeaux cried, waving her hand. "Won't you look +at Clara and Lucy, George? They have been so good to us. If Lucy had +been my own child, she could not have been kinder to me." + +Mr. Waldeaux turned and raised his crepe-bound hat, looking at Lucy in +her soft gray gown vaguely, as he might at a white gull dropped on the +shore. + +"I suppose I never shall see her again," said his mother. "Clara tells +me she is besieged by lovers. She is going to marry a German prince, +probably." + +"That would be a pity," George said, with a startled glance back at the +girl. + +"Good-by, my dear!" Mrs. Waldeaux leaned over the bulwark. "She is +beautiful as an angel! Good-by, Lucy! God bless you!" she sobbed, +kissing her hand. + +Mr. Waldeaux looked steadily at Lucy. "How clean she is!" he said. + +When the shore was gone he walked down the deck, conscious of a sudden +change in himself. He was wakening out of an ugly dream. The sight of +the healthy little girl, with her dewy freshness and blue eyes, full of +affection and common sense, cheered and heartened him. He did not know +what was doing it, but he threw up his head and walked vigorously. The +sun shone and the cold wind swept him out into a dim future to begin a +new life. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +George Waldeaux took his mother and boy back to the old homestead in +Delaware. They arrived at night, and early the next morning he rowed +away in his bateau to some of his old haunts in the woods on the bay, +and was seen no more that day. + +"He is inconsolable!" his mother told some of her old neighbors who +crowded to welcome her. "His heart is in that grave in Vannes." The +women listened in surprise, for Frances was not in the habit of +exploiting her emotions in words. + +"We understood," said one of them, with a sympathetic shake of the +head, "that it was a pure love match. Mrs. George Waldeaux, we heard, +was a French artist of remarkable beauty?" + +Frances moved uneasily. "I never thought her--but I can't discuss +Lisa!" She was silent a moment. "But as for her social position"--she +drew herself up stiffly, fixing cold defiant eyes on her +questioner--"as for her social position," she went on resolutely, "she +was descended on one side from an excellent American family, and on the +other from one of the noblest houses in Europe." + +When they were gone she hugged little Jacques passionately as he lay on +her lap. "That is settled for you!" she said. + +When George came back in the evening, he found her walking with the boy +in her arms on the broad piazzas. + +"I really think he knows that he has come home, George!" she exclaimed. +"See how he laughs! And he liked the dogs and horses just as Lisa +thought he would. I am glad it is such a beautiful home for him. Look +at that slope to the bay! There is no nobler park in England! And the +house is as big as most of their palaces, and much more comfortable!" + +"Give the child to Colette, mother, and listen to me. Now that I have +settled you and him here, I must go and earn your living." + +"Yes." + +She followed him into the hall. + +"I leave you to-morrow. There is no time to be lost." + +"You are going back to art, George?" + +"No! Never!" + +Frances grew pale. She thought she had torn open his gaping wound. + +"I did not mean to remind you of--of----" + +"No, it isn't that!" + +He scowled at the fire. Art meant for him his own countless daubs, and +the sickening smell of oily paints and musk, and soiled silk tea gowns, +and the whole slovenly, disreputable scramble of Bohemian life in Paris. + +"I loathe art!" he said, with a furious blow at the smouldering log in +the fireplace, as if he struck these things all down into the ashes +with it. + +"Will you go back into the Church, dear?" his mother ventured timidly. + +"Most certainly, no!" he said vehemently. "Of all mean frauds the +perfunctory priest is the meanest. If I could be like one of the old +holy gospellers--then indeed!" + +He was silent a moment, and then began to stride up and down the long +hall, his head thrown back, his chest inflated. + +"I have a message for the world, mother." + +"I am sure of it," she interrupted eagerly. + +"But I must deliver it in my own way. I have lost two years. I am +going to put in big strokes of work now. In the next two years I +intend to take my proper place in my own country. I will find standing +room for George Waldeaux," with a complacent smile. "And in the +meantime, of course, I must make money enough to support you and the +boy handsomely. So you see, mother," he ended, laughing, "I have no +time to lose." + +"No, George!" It was the proudest moment of her life. How heroic and +generous he was! + +She filled his pocket-book the next day, when he went to New York to +take the world by the throat. It was really not George Waldeaux's +fault that she filled it. + +Nor was it his fault that during the next two years the world was in no +hurry to run to his feet, either to learn of him, or to bring him its +bags of gold. The little man did his best; he put his "message," as he +called it, into poems, into essays, into a novel. Publishers thanked +him effusively for the pleasure of reading them, and--sent them back. +The only word of his which reached the public was a review of the work +of a successful author. It was so personal, so malignant, that George, +when he read it, writhed with shame and humiliation. He tore the paper +into fragments. + +"Am I so envious and small as that! Before God, no words of mine shall +ever go into print again!" he said, and he kept his word. + +He came down every month or two to his mother. + +"Why not try teaching, George?" she said anxiously. "These great +scholars and scientific men have places and reputations which even you +need not despise." + +He laughed bitterly. "I tried for a place as tutor in a third-class +school, and could not pass the examinations. I know nothing +accurately. Nothing." + +It occurred to him to go into politics and help reform the world by +routing a certain Irish boss. He made a speech at a ward meeting, and +broke down in the middle of it before the storm of gibes and hootings. + +"What was the matter?" he asked a friend, whose face was red with +laughter. + +"My dear fellow, you shouldn't lecture them! You're not the parson. +They resent your air of enormous superiority. For Heaven's sake, don't +speak again--in this campaign." + +It is a wretched story. There is no need of going into the details. +There was no room for him. He tried in desperation to get some +foothold in business. The times were hard that winter, which of course +was against him. Besides, his critical, haughty air naturally did not +prepossess employers in his favor when he came to ask for a job. + +At the end of the second year the man broke down. + +"The work of the world," he told Frances, "belongs to specialists. +Even a bootblack knows his trade. I know nothing. I can do nothing. +I am a mass of flabby pretences." + +Every month she filled his pocket-book. She found at last that he did +not touch the money. He sold his clothes and his jewelry to keep +himself alive while he tramped the streets of New York looking for +work. He starved himself to make this money last. His flesh was +lead-colored from want of proper food, and he staggered from weakness. +"'He that will not work neither let him eat,'" he said grimly. + +It was about this time that Miss Vance came home. Mrs. Waldeaux in a +moment of weakness gave her a hint of his defeat. + +"Is the world blind," she cried, "to deny work to a man of George's +capacity? What does it mean?" + +Clara heard of George's sufferings with equanimity. "The truth is," +she said, when she told the story to Miss Dunbar, "Frances brought that +boy up to believe that he was a Grand Llama among men. There is no +work for Grand Llamas in this country, and when he understands that he +is made of very ordinary clay indeed, he will probably be of some use +in the world." + +Lucy was watering her roses. "It is a matter of indifference to me," +she said, "what the people of New York think of Mr. Waldeaux." + +Clara looked at her quickly. "I do not quite catch your meaning?" she +said. + +But Lucy filled her can, and forgot to answer. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Clara had brought Miss Dunbar back and established her in her own house +near Weir, under the care of a deaf widowed aunt. Dunbar Place was a +stately colonial house, set in a large demesne, and all Kent County +waited breathless to know what revelations the heiress would make to +it, in the way of equi-pages, marqueterie furniture, or Paris gowns. + +Mrs. Waldeaux found Lucy one day, a month after her arrival, seated at +her sewing on the broad, rose-covered piazza, looking as if she never +had left it. + +"Have you come to stay now, my dear," she said, "or will Prince +Wolfburgh----" + +"Oh, that is an old story," interrupted Clara. "Lucy handed the little +prince over to Jean Hassard, who married him after he had a long fight +with her father about her dot. He won the dot, but Count Odo is now +the head of the house. Jean, I hear, is in Munich fighting her way up +among the Herrschaft." + +"Jean has good fighting qualities," Lucy said. "She will win." + +"I had a letter from her to-day," said Miss Vance. "Here it is. She +says, 'I mean to rebuild the Schloss, and I have put a stop to the +soap-boiling business. I will have no fumes of scorching fat in our +ancestral halls. Four of the princesses live with us here in the flat. +Gussy Carson from Pond City is staying with me now. We have an +American tea every Wednesday. Gus receives with me.'" + +"Poor princesses!" said Lucy. + +Miss Vance folded the letter with a complacent nod. "I am glad that +Jean is settled so satisfactorily," she said. "As for Lucy----" + +No one answered. Lucy threaded her needle. + +"I start next week to Chicago, did you know, Frances? The Bixbys--two +orphan heiresses--wish me to take them to Australia, coming back by +India. And I suppose," she said, rising impatiently, "if I were to +stay away forty years I should find Lucy when I came back, with white +hair maybe, but sitting calmly sewing, not caring whether there was a +man in the world or not!" + +Lucy laughed, but did not even blush. + +Mrs. Waldeaux presently said good-by, and Clara went home with her to +spend the night. Lucy was left alone upon the piazza. It was there +that George Waldeaux saw her again. + + +This had been the hardest day of his life. He rose that morning +telling himself with an oath that he would earn the money to buy his +own food or never eat again. His mother had sent him a cheque by post. +He tore it up and went out of his cheap lodging-house without +breakfast. There was a queer change in him--a sudden lofty +independence--a sudden loathing of himself. He knew now that it was +not in him to do good work in the world, but at least he would pay his +own way. He had been a mass of vanity and now he was so mean in his +own eyes that he shrank from the passers-by. Perhaps the long strain +had damaged the gray matter of the brain, or some nervous centre--I do +not know what change a physician would have found in him, but the man +was changed. + +A clerk was needed in a provision shop on Green Street. George placed +himself in the line of dirty, squalid applicants. The day was hot, the +air of the shop was foul with the smells of rotting meat and +vegetables. He felt himself stagger against a stall. He seemed to be +asleep, but he heard the butchers laughing. They called him a drunken +tramp, and then he was hurled out on the muddy pavement. + +"Too much whiskey for this time o' day!" a policeman said, hauling him +to his feet. + +"Move along, young man!" + +Whiskey? That was what he wanted. He turned into a shop and bought a +dram with his last pennies. It made him comfortable for a few hours, +then he began to cry and swear. George Waldeaux had never been drunk +in his life. The ascetic, stainless priest in him stood off and looked +at this dog of the gutter with his obscene talk, and then came defeat +of soul and body. + +"I give up!" he said quietly. "I'll never try again." + +He wandered unconsciously to the ferry and, having his yearly book of +tickets in his pocket, took the train for home from force of habit. He +left the cars at a station several miles from Weir, and wandered across +the country. Just at sundown, covered with mud and weak from hunger +and drunkenness, he crossed the lawn before Lucy's house and, looking +up, saw her. + +He had stumbled into a world of peace and purity! A soft splendor +filled the sky and the bay and the green slopes, with their clumps of +mighty forest trees. The air was full of the scents of flowers and the +good-night song of happy birds. And in the midst of it all, lady of +the great domain, under her climbing rose vines, sat the young, fair +woman, clad in some fleecy white garments, her head bent, her blue eyes +fixed on the distance--waiting. + +George stopped, sobered by a sudden wrench of his heart. There was the +world to which he belonged--there! His keen eye noted every delicate +detail of her beauty and of her dress. He was of her sort, her +kind--he, kicked into the gutter from that foul shop as a tramp! + +This is what I have lost! his soul cried to him. + +He had not as yet recognized Lucy. But now she saw him, and with a +little inarticulate cry like that of a bird, she flew down the steps. +"Ah! It is you!" she said. "I thought you would come to welcome me +some time!" + +Her voice was like a soft breath; her airy draperies blew against him. +It was as if a wonderful, beautiful dream were folding him in--and in. + +He drew back. "I am not fit, Miss Dunbar. I did not know you were +here. Why--look at me!" + +"Oh! You are ill! You have had an accident!" she cried. She had laid +her little white fingers on his hand and now, feeling it burn and +tremble at her touch, she caught it in both of her own and drew him +into the house. + +"Mr. Waldeaux," she said to a servant who appeared, "has had a fall. +Bring him water and towels. Take care of him, Stephen." She spoke +quietly, but her voice trembled with fright. + +The man led George to an inner room. + +"Were you thrown, sir?" he asked sympathetically. + +George hesitated. "Yes, I was thrown," he said grimly. + +He made himself clean in angry haste, taking the whisk from the man and +brushing off the dry mud with a vicious fury. + +Lucy came to meet him, with a pale, anxious smile. "You must not go +without a cup of hot coffee," she said, leading him to a lounge in the +hall. It was very sweet to be treated like a sick man! + +"And God knows I am sick, body and soul!" he thought, sinking down. + +Beside the lounge was a little table with one cover. He noted with +keen pleasure the delicate napery, the silver candlesticks, the bowl of +roses, with which the substantial meal was set out. Lucy waited on him +with the quick intelligence of a trained nurse. She scarcely spoke, +yet her every motion, as she served him, seemed a caress. When he had +finished he began to stammer out his thanks. + +"No," she said, rising decisively. "You are too weak to talk to me +to-night, Mr. Waldeaux. The coupe is at the door. John will drive you +home. You need sleep now." + +As he sank down into the luxurious cushions and drove away through the +twilight, he saw the little white figure in the door, and the grave +wistful face looking after him. + +"Did she suspect!" he suddenly cried, starting up. + +But George Waldeaux never knew how much Lucy suspected that night. + + +Meanwhile Mrs. Waldeaux's mare had jogged on leisurely, dragging her +mistress and Miss Vance home through the shady country lanes. + +"Phebe is old," apologized Frances. "She really is a retired car +horse." + +"You used to take pride in your horses, Frances?" + +"Yes." Mrs. Waldeaux added after a pause. "My income is small. Of +course George soon will be coining money, but just now---- The peach +crop failed this year too. And I save every dollar for Jack's +education." + +"But what of the jokes for the New York paper? They were profitable." + +"Oh, I gave them up long ago." She glanced around cautiously. "Never +speak of that, Clara. I would not have George know for the world; I +never would hold up my head if he knew that I was 'Quigg.'" + +Miss Vance gave a contemptuous sniff, but Mrs. Waldeaux went on +eagerly, "I have a plan! You know that swampy tract of ours near +Lewes? When I have enough money I'll drain it and lay out a summer +resort--hotels--cottages. I'll develop it as I sell the lots. Oh, +Jack shall have his millions yet to do great work in the world!" her +eyes sparkling. "Though perhaps he may choose to strip himself of +everything to give to the poor, like Francis d'Assisi! That would be +best of all. It's not unlikely. He is the most generous boy!" + +"Stuff!" said Miss Vance. "St. Francis, indeed! I observe, by the +way, that he crosses himself after his meals. Are you making a +Romanist of the child? And you speak French to him, too?" + +Mrs. Waldeaux's color rose. "His mother was French and Catholic," she +said. "I will not have Lisa forgotten." + +They went on in silence. Miss Vance was lost in thought. Was George +Waldeaux equally eager to keep his wife's memory alive? Now that the +conceit had been beaten out of him, he would not make a bad husband. +And her child Lucy had always--esteemed him highly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +The next day was Sunday. George jumped out of bed with the dawn. He +whistled and sang scraps of songs as he took his bath. The sun shone. +What a full, happy world it was, anyhow! And he had given up the game +last night? Why, life was just beginning for him! He was nothing but +a boy--not yet thirty. He would make a big success soon, and then try +to win--to win---- He stopped, breathless, looking into the distance, +and his eyes slowly grew wet with passion and longing. + +He left the house and struck across the country through the woodland +and farms. He did not know why he went--he had to go. When he reached +the Dunbar woods, he stood in the thicket for hours, watching the +house. She came out at last and sat down on the steps to play with the +dog. Last night in her white, delicate beauty she had not seemed +real--she was far off, like an angel coming down into his depths of +misery. + +But to-day she sat on the steps in her pretty blue gown, and laughed +and rolled Tramp over, and sung snatches of songs, and was nothing but +a foolish girl. For so many years he had been thinking of work and +money-making and bosses. All of that mean drudgery fell out of sight +now. He was a man, young, alone, on fire with hope and passion. His +share of life had been mean and pinched; yonder was youth and gladness +and tranquillity. The world was empty, save for themselves. He was +here, and there was the one woman in it--the one woman. + +He looked at his tanned, rough fingers. Last night she had folded them +in her two soft little hands, and drawn him on--on into home! + +He would go up to her now and tell her---- + +George pushed aside the bushes, but at that moment Lucy rose and went +into the house. After a moment he crossed the lawn and sat down on the +piazza, calling the dog to him. She would come back soon. Tramp's +head rested on his knee as he stroked it. It was here her hand had +touched it--and here---- + +The scent of roses was heavy in the sunshine, the bees hummed; he sat +there in a hazy dream, waiting for the door to open and the joy of his +life to begin. + +He was dragged roughly enough out of his dream. + +Miss Dunbar's landau drove to the door to take her to church. George +looked up, carelessly noting how quiet and perfectly appointed it was, +from the brown liveries of the negro coachman and footman to the +trappings on the black ponies. There were no horses of such high breed +in Delaware. He stood up suddenly, his jaws pale as if he had been +struck. What money there was in it! He had forgotten. She was a +great heiress. + +She came out at the moment. He scanned her fiercely, the plain, costly +gown, the ruby blazing on her ungloved hand. Then he glanced down at +his own shabby Sunday suit. She was the richest woman in Delaware, and +he had not a dollar in his pocket, and no way to earn one. + +He went up to her, courteously took her hand when she held it out, +blushing and dimpling, bowed to her aunt, saying that he had merely +walked over to put her into her carriage, and, having shut the door, +looked after them, hat in hand, smiling when she glanced shyly back at +him. + +Then he laughed loudly. If he had the salary that she paid her negro +driver he would be lucky! And he had meant to marry her. He laughed +again and took his way homeward. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +His mother was waiting to give George his breakfast. Whether he chose +to lie in bed until noon or to walk twenty miles at dawn, she smiled a +joyful approval. But neither the crisp toast, nor the fried chicken, +nor any of her funny stories, would penetrate the blackness of his +gloom. + +"Oh, by the way!" she said; "here is a letter that came by last night's +mail. I forgot to give it to you." + +He glanced at the envelope. "Great Heavens! It is life and death to +me, and you forget it to tell Jack's pert sayings!" He read the letter +and threw it down. + +"What is it, George?" she asked humbly. + +"Burnett & Hoyle offer me a place in their house." + +"Mr. Hoyle is an old friend of mine. I wrote to him. What is the +salary, George?" + +"Forty dollars a week. I could earn more as a coachman--for some rich +heiress." + +"But George dear---- It would be a beginning. They are brokers, and +there are so many short cuts to fortune in that business! Do try it, +my son." + +"Of course I'll try it. Do you think I'm a fool? It will keep me from +starving. But I want something else in life than to be kept from +starving, mother." + +He stretched out his arms with a groan, and walked to the window. She +followed him with wretched, comprehending eyes. Why did not Lucy give +him her fortune? Any woman would be honored who could give George her +fortune. + +"I always have heard that brokers know the short cuts to wealth," she +said calmly. "You go on the Street some day, and come back a +millionaire." + +"That is a woman's idea of business. Instead, I will sit on a high +stool and drudge all day, and on Saturday get my wages, and after three +or four years I'll make a fight for ten dollars more a week, and thank +God if I get it. 'A short cut to fortune!'" + +Mrs. Waldeaux carefully averted her eyes from him. "You may marry," she +said, "and it may happen that your wife also will have some little +income----" + +"Mother! Look at me!" he interrupted her sternly. "I will never be +dependent on my wife, so help me God!" + +"No, George, no! Of course not. Don't speak so loud. Only, I thought +if she had a small sum of her own, she would feel more comfortable, +that's all." + + +In spite of his ill temper George threw himself into his work with +zeal. After a couple of months he came home for a day. He was dressed +with the quiet elegance which once had been so important in his eyes. + +His mother noted it shrewdly. "A man has more courage to face life, +decently clothed," she said to herself. + +He did not come again until winter. Lucy happened to be spending the +day with Mrs. Waldeaux. There were no liveried servants, no priceless +rings, no Worth gown in sight. She was just the shy, foolish girl whom +he had once for an hour looked upon as his wife. George talked about +Wall Street to her, being now wise as to stocks; took her out +sleighing, and when in the evening she took Jack in her arms and sang +him to sleep, sat listening with his head buried in his hands. Mrs. +Waldeaux carried the boy up to bed, and Lucy and George were left +alone. They talked long and earnestly. + +"She consulted me about her affairs," he said, after she was gone, his +eyes shining. + +"I am afraid she does not understand business!" Mrs. Waldeaux replied +anxiously. + +"Oh, like a woman! That is, not at all. Her whole property is in the +hands of The Consolidated Good Faith Companies. I reminded her of the +old adage, 'Never put all of your eggs into one basket.'" + +"But that is so sound a basket, George!" "Yes. It is thought so," with +a shrug. + +"Poor child! She needs a guardian to advise her." + +Waldeaux's countenance grew black. "She should employ an attorney. It +certainly will never be my duty to advise Miss Dunbar," he retorted +irritably. + + +George showed himself shrewd and able in his work. Mr. Hoyle was a +powerful backer. Before spring his salary was doubled. But what was +that? The gulf between him and the great heiress gaped, impassable. + +Lucy spent much time with her old friend, and Frances at last broke the +silence concerning him. + +"The boy never before knew what love was. And it is you that he loves, +child." + +"He has not told me so," said Lucy coldly. + +"No. And never will. It is your wealth that makes him dumb. I wish +it was gone," said Frances earnestly. "Gone. You would be so happy. +What is money compared to being----" + +"George's wife?" Lucy laughed. + +"Yes. George's wife. I know what he is worth," his mother said +boldly. "You might give it away?" looking eagerly in the girl's face. +"In charity." + +"I might do so," said Miss Dunbar tranquilly. + + +One morning in April Mrs. Waldeaux saw George coming up from the +station. She ran to meet him. + +He was pale and breathless with excitement. "What is it? What has +happened?" she cried. + +"Hush--h! Come in. Shut the door. No one must hear. The +Consolidated Companies have failed. They have robbed their depositors." + +"Well, George? What have we---- Oh, Lucy!" + +"Yes, Lucy! She is ruined! She has nothing. It was all there." He +paced up and down, hoarse with agitation and triumph. "She mustn't +know it, mother, until she is safe in another home." + +"Another home?" "Oh, surely you understand! Here--if she will come. +Poor little girl! She has not a dollar! I am getting a big salary. I +can work for you all. My God! I will have her at last! Unless---- +Perhaps she won't come! Mother, do you think she will come?" He +caught her arm, his jaws twitched, the tears stood in his eyes, as when +he used to come to her with his boyish troubles. + +"How can I tell?" said Frances. "Go and ask her." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +In July Miss Vance returned unexpectedly. Her charges had tired of +travel, and turned their backs upon India. She dropped them in +Chicago, and came to Weir for rest. The evening of her arrival she +strolled with Frances through the park, listening to the story of +George's sudden wooing, and the quiet, hurried wedding. + +"It had to be quiet and hurried," said Mrs. Waldeaux, "in order to keep +her ignorant of her change of fortune. He took her to the Virginia +mountains, so that no newspapers could reach her. They are coming +to-morrow. It won't trouble her to hear that her money is gone when +she is here with us all, at home. As for me," she went on excitedly, +"I am beginning to advertise the summer resort. I must put my hand to +the plough. I don't mean that she shall miss any comfort or luxury as +George's wife." + +Miss Vance looked at her. "Frances, give up your planning and working. +Let George work for you and his wife," she said curtly. "It is time for +you to stop and rest." + +"And why should I stop and rest, Clara?" said Frances, amazed. + +"Surely you know, dear. You are not as young as you once were. Your +eyes are weak, and your hearing is a little dulled, and----" + +Frances threw out her hand eagerly. "You think I am growing old! It +is only my eyes and ears that are wearing out. _I_ am not deaf nor +blind," she said earnestly. "_I_ am not old. I find more fun and +flavor in life now than I did at sixteen. If I live to be seventy, or +a hundred, I shall be the same Frances Waldeaux still." + +Clara gave an annoyed shrug. "But really, _I_ make the thought of +death my constant companion. And you are older than I." + + + "'After the busy day + Comes the calm sleep of night,'" + +she quoted, with a sententious sigh. + +"Calm and sleep do not appear to me to be the highest conditions of +life. No! I will not be set aside, even when I am dead, like a +burned-out candle!" The indignant tears stood in her eyes. "Why, even +in that other world I shall not be a barren stock, thank God! I have +given a family to mankind. To watch a long line of your descendants at +work, to see in them your own thoughts and your own soul reaching out, +live powers through all eternity--I often think of it. That will +be--not calm nor sleep." + +Miss Vance touched Mrs. Waldeaux's arm affectionately. "What a queer +idea, Frances. Well, I never argue, you know. Drop in the harness, if +you choose. Let us go in now. It is chilly." + +The older woman looked after her, and smiled good-humoredly. After a +moment she raised her hand, examining it attentively. Her hand had +been very beautiful in shape, white and dimpled, and she had been vain +enough to wear fine rings. Now it was yellow and wrinkled. The great +emerald looked like a bit of glass upon it. + +"Yes, I see," she said, with a miserable little laugh, and then stood +looking out into the far distance. "But _I_ am not growing old." She +spoke aloud, as if to one who stood apart with her and could +understand. "Even out in that other world I shall not be only a +mother. I shall be me. ME!" touching her breast. "After a million of +years--it will still be me." + +There stirred within the lean body and rheumatic limbs depths of unused +power, of thought, of love and passion, and, deeper than all, awful +possibilities of change. + +"I have it in me still to be worse than a murderer," she thought, with +whitening face. + +She stood a long time, alone. A strange content and light came slowly +into her face. "Come what will, I shall never be left to myself +again," she said at last, speaking to a Friend whom she had found long +ago. + +Then she went in search of the boy. "Come, Jack," she said cheerfully, +"there are busy days before us." + + +George and Lucy that evening reached Dover, prettiest of American +towns. They strolled down the shaded street out into a quiet country +lane. Lucy sat down upon a fallen tree, and George threw himself upon +the grass beside her. + +"To-morrow we shall be at home," she said, pushing his hair back. "Do +you know that your profile is absolutely Greek?" Her eyes half closed +critically. "Yes, we shall be at home about eleven o'clock. I wrote +to Stephen to order all the dishes that you like for luncheon. Your +mother and Jack are coming. It will be such a gay, happy day!" + +He took her hand. He would tell her now. It would not distress her. +The money weighed for nothing in her life. He was her world; he knew +that. + +"Lucy!" he said. + +She turned, startled at his grave tone. The color rose in her delicate +little face, and there was a keen flash of intelligence in her blue +eyes. It vanished, and they were only blue and innocent. + +"Lucy, would you be willing to come to my house? To take it for home? +To be a poor man's wife, there? God knows I'll try to make you happy +in it." + +"No," she said gently. "That is your mother's home. She has made it. +It is not fair to bring young queen bees into the old queen's hive. We +will live at your house, Dunbar Place, George." + +"It is not mine nor yours!" George broke out. "Oh, my darling, I have +hidden something from you. It is all gone. Your property, income, +every thing! The Consolidated Consolidated Companies failed. Their +depositors are ruined." + +"Yes, I know," said Lucy, brushing a fallen leaf from her gown. "But +they had no control over my affairs. I withdrew them from their +management in February." + +George started up. "Then you--you are a great heiress still?" + +"No." She rose, holding out her hands, laughing. "My husband, I +believe, is a rich man, and I shall have what he gives me." + +But he did not hear her. He walked away down the road, shaken by a +dumb fury. He had been tricked! Who had tricked him? + +Then he heard a miserable sob and turned. Great God! Was any thing on +earth so dear as that little woman standing there? She was crying! +Had he struck her? He was a brute. What had he done? + +He ran to her, and taking her outstretched hands, kissed them +passionately. + +"They are mine--mine!" he whispered, and knew nothing beyond. + + +They walked together like two happy children down the shady lane toward +the golden sunset. The money was forgotten. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Frances Waldeaux, by Rebecca Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES WALDEAUX *** + +***** This file should be named 335.txt or 335.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/335/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. Binary files differdiff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2d9f85 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #335 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/335) diff --git a/old/fwald10.txt b/old/fwald10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ea75c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fwald10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5511 @@ + +Project Gutenberg's Etext of Frances Waldeaux, by Rebecca Davis + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Frances Waldeaux, by Rebecca Harding Davis + +September, 1995 [Etext #335] + + +Project Gutenberg's Etext of Frances Waldeaux, by Rebecca Davis +*****This file should be named fwald10.txt or fwald10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, fwald11.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, fwald10a.txt. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $4 +million dollars per hour this year as we release some eight text +files per month: thus upping our productivity from $2 million. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is 10% of the expected number of computer users by the end +of the year 2001. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/IBC", and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law ("IBC" is Illinois +Benedictine College). (Subscriptions to our paper newsletter go +to IBC, too) + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Michael S. Hart, Executive +Director: +hart@vmd.cso.uiuc.edu (internet) hart@uiucvmd (bitnet) + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp mrcnext.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext95 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Illinois Benedictine College (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois + Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Illinois Benedictine College". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + +This etext was prepared with the use of Calera WordScan Plus 2.0 + + +FRANCES WALDEAUX + +A Novel + +BY + +REBECCA HARDING DAVIS +AUTHOR OF "DOCTOR WARRICK'S DAUGHTER" + + + + +A REMEMBRANCER +OF +BRITTANY +FOR THE BEST FELLOW-TRAVELLER +IN THE WORLD + + + +FRANCES WALDEAUX +---- +CHAPTER I + +In another minute the Kaiser Wilhelm would push off +from her pier in Hoboken. The last bell had rung, the +last uniformed officer and white-jacketed steward had +scurried up the gangway. The pier was massed with people +who had come to bid their friends good-by. They were all +Germans, and there had been unlimited embracing and +kissing and sobs of "Ach! mein lieber Sckatz!" and +"Gott bewahre Dick!" + +Now they stood looking up to the crowded decks, shouting +out last fond words. A band playing "The Merry Maiden +and the Tar" marched on board. + +The passengers pressed against the rails, looking down. +Almost every one held flowers which had been brought to +them: not costly bouquets, but homely bunches of +marigolds or pinks. They carried, too, little German +or American flags, which they waved frantically. + +The gangways fell, and the huge ship parted from the +dock. It was but an inch, but the whole ocean yawned in +it between those who went and those who stayed. There +was a sudden silence; a thousand handkerchiefs fluttered +white on the pier and the flags and flowers were waved on +the ship, but there was not a cry nor a sound. + +James Perry, one of the dozen Americans on board, was +leaning over the rail watching it all with an amused +smile. "Hello, Watts!" he called, as another young man +joined him. "Going over? Quite dramatic, isn't it? It +might be a German ship going out of a German port. The +other liners set off in as commonplace a way as a Jersey +City ferryboat, but these North German Lloyd ships always +sail with a certain ceremony and solemnity. I like it." + +"I always cross on them," said Dr. Watts. "I have but a +month's vacation--two weeks on board ship, two on land. +Now you, I suppose, don't have to count your days? +You cross every year. I can't see, for my part, what +business the assistant editor of a magazine has abroad." + +"Oh, we make a specialty of articles from notorieties +over there; statesmen, scientific fellows, or people with +titles. I expect to capture a paper from Lorne and some +sketches by the Princess Beatrice this time." + +"Lorne? It throws you into contact with that sort of +folk, eh?" said the doctor, looking at him enviously. +"How do they strike you, Jem?" + +"Well," said Perry importantly, "well-bred people are the +same the world over. I only see them in a business way, +of course, but one can judge. Their voices are better +than ours, but as to looks--no! It's queer, but American +women--the wives and daughters of saddlers or farmers, +perhaps--have more often the patrician look than English +duchesses. Now there, for example," warming to the +subject, "that woman to whom you bowed just now, the +middle-aged one in blue cloth. Some Mrs. Smith or Pratt, +probably. A homely woman, but there is a distinction in +her face, a certain surety of good breeding, which is +lacking in the heavy-jawed English royalties." + +"Yes; that is a friend of mine," said Watts. + +She is a Mrs. Waldeaux from Wier, in Delaware. You could +hardly call her a typical American woman. Old French +emigre family. Probably better blood than the Coburgs +a few generations back. That priggish young fellow is +her son. Going to be an Episcopalian minister." + +Mr. Perry surveyed his friend's friends good-humoredly. +"Brand new rugs and cushions," he said. "First voyage. +Heavens! I wish it were my first voyage, and that I had +their appetite for Europe." + +"You might as well ask for your relish of the bread and +butter of your youth," said Watts. + +The two men leaned lazily against the bulwark watching +the other passengers who were squabbling about trunks. + +Mr. Perry suddenly stood upright as a group of women +passed. + +"Do you know who that girl is?" he said eagerly. "The +one who looked back at us over her shoulder." + +"No. They are only a lot of school-girls, personally +conducted. That is the teacher in front." +"Of course, I see that. But the short, dark one--surely +I know that woman." + +The doctor looked after her. "She looks like a dog +turning into a human being," he said leisurely. "One +often sees such cases of arrested evolution. D'ye see? +Thick lips, coarse curls, flat nostrils----" + +Perry laughed. "The eyes, anyhow, are quite human," he +said. "They challenge the whole world of men. I can't +place her!" staring after her, perplexed. "I really +don't believe I ever saw her before. Yet her face brings +up some old story of a tragedy or crime to me." + +"Nonsense! The girl is not twenty. Very fetching with +all her vulgarity, though. Steward, send some coffee to +my stateroom. Let's go down, Jem. The fog is too +chilly." + +Frances Waldeaux did not find the fog chilly. She had +been thinking for thirty years of the day when she should +start to Europe--ever since she could think at all. + +This was the day. It was like no other, now that it +had come. The fog, the crowd, the greasy smells of the +pier, all familiar enough yesterday, took on a certain +remoteness and mystery. It seemed to her that she was +doing something which nobody had ever done before. She +was going to discover the Old World. + +The New was not more tremendous or unreal before the eyes +of Columbus when he, too, stood on the poop of his ship. + +Her son was arguing with the deck steward about chairs. + +"Now, mother," he said at last, "it's all right. They +are under cover so that the glare will not strain your +eyes, and we can keep dry while we watch the storms." + +"How did you know about it all? One would think you had +crossed a dozen times, George." + +"Oh, I've studied the whole thing up thoroughly," George +said, with a satisfied little nod. "I've had time +enough! Why, when I was in petticoats you used to tell +me you would buy a ship and we would sail away together. +You used to spoil all my school maps with red lines, +drawing our routes." + +"Yes. And now we're going!" said Frances to herself. + +He sat down beside her and they watched the unending +procession of passengers marching around the deck. +George called her attention by a wink to any picturesque +or queer figure that passed. He liked to watch her quiet +brown eyes gleam with fun. Nobody had such a keen sense +of the ridiculous as his mother. Sometimes, at the mere +remembrance of some absurd idea, she would go off into +soft silent paroxysms of laughter until the tears would +stream down her cheeks. + +George was fond and proud of his childish little mother. +He had never known any body, he thought, so young or so +transparent. It was easily understood. She had married +at sixteen, and had been left a widow little more than a +year afterward. "And I," he used to think, "was born +with an old head on my shoulders; so we have grown up +together. I suppose the dear soul never had a thought in +her life which she has not told me." + +As they sat together a steward brought Mrs. Waldeaux a +note, which she read, blushing and smiling. + +"The captain invites us to sit at his table," she said, +when the man was gone. + +"Very proper in the captain," said George complacently. +"You see, Madam Waldeaux, even the men who go down in +ships have heard of you and your family!" + +"I don't believe the captain ever heard of me," she said, +after a grave consideration," nor of the Waldeaux. It is +much more likely that he has read your article in the +Quarterly, George." + +"Nonsense!" But he stiffened himself up consciously. + +He had sent a paper on some abstruse point of sociology +to the Quarterly last spring, and it had aroused quite +a little buzz of criticism. His mother had regarded it +very much as the Duchess of Kent did the crown when it +was set upon her little girl's head. She always had +known that her child was born to reign, but it was +satisfactory to see this visible sign of it. + +She whispered now, eagerly leaning over to him. "There +was something about that paper which I never told you. +I think I'll tell you now that the great day has come." + +"Well?" + +"Why, you know--I never think of you as my son, or a man, +or anything outside of me--not at all. You are just +ME, doing the things I should have done if I had not +been a woman. Well,"--she drew her breath +quickly,--"when I was a girl it seemed as if there was +something in me that I must say, so I tried to write +poems. No, I never told you before. It had counted for +so much to me I could not talk of it. I always sent them +to the paper anonymously, signed `Sidney.' Oh, it was +long--long ago! I've been dumb, as you might say, for +years. But when I read your article, George--do you know +if I had written it I should have used just the phrases +you did? And you signed it `Sidney'!" She watched him +breathlessly. "That was more than a coincidence, don't +you think? I AM dumb, but you speak for me now. It is +because we are just one. Don't you think so, George?" +She held his arm tightly. + +Young Waldeaux burst into a loud laugh. Then he took her +hand in his, stroking it. "You dear little woman! What +do you know of sociology?" he said, and then walked +away to hide his amusement, muttering "Poems? Great +Heavens!" + +Frances looked after him steadily. "Oh, well!" she said +to herself presently. + +She forced her mind back to the Quarterly article. It +was a beginning of just the kind of triumph that she +always had expected for him. He would soon be recognized +by scientific men all over the world as their confrere, +especially after his year's study at Oxford. + +When George was in his cradle she had planned that he +should be a clergyman, just as she had planned that he +should be a well-bred man, and she had fitted him for +both roles in life, and urged him into them by the same +unceasing soft pats and pushes. She would be delighted +when she saw him in white robes serving at the altar. + +Not that Frances had ever taken her religion quite +seriously. It was like her gowns, or her education, a +matter of course; a trustworthy, agreeable part of her. +She had never once in her life shuddered at a glimpse of +any vice in herself, or cried to God in agony, even to +grant her a wish. + +But she knew that Robert Waldeaux's son would be +safer in the pulpit. He could take rank with scholars +there, too. + +She inspected him now anxiously, trying to see him with +the eyes of these Oxford magnates. Nobody would guess +that he was only twenty-two. The bald spot on his crown +and the spectacles gave him a scholastic air, and the +finely cut features and a cold aloofness in his manner +spoke plainly, she thought, of his good descent and high +pursuits. + +Frances herself had a drop of vagabond blood which found +comrades for her among every class and color. But there +was not an atom of the tramp in her son's well-built and +fashionably clothed body. He never had had a single +intimate friend even when he was a boy. He will probably +find his companions among the great English scholars," +she thought complacently. Of course she would always be +his only comrade, his chum. She continually met and +parted with thousands of people--they came and went. +"But George and I will be together for all time," she +told herself. + +He came up presently and sat down beside her, with an +anxious, apologetic air. It hurt him to think that he +had laughed at her. "That dark haze is the Jersey +shore," he said. "How dim it grows! Well, we are really +out now in the big world! It is so good to be alone +there with you," he added, touching her arm +affectionately. "Those cynical old-men-boys at Harvard +bored me." + +"I don't bore you, then, George?" + +"You!" He was very anxious to make her forget his +roughness. "Apart from my affection for you, mother," he +said judicially, "I LIKE you. I approve of you as I +never probably shall approve of another woman. Your +peculiarities--the way your brown hair ripples back into +that knot "--surveying her critically. "And the way you +always look as if you had just come out of a bath, even +on a grimy train; and your gowns, so simple--and rich. +I confess," he said gravely, "I can't always follow your +unsteady little ideas when you talk. They frisk about +so. It is the difference probably between the man's mind +and the woman's. Besides, we have been separated for so +many years! But I soon will understand you. I know that +while you keep yourself apart from all the world you open +your heart to me." + +"Wrap the rug about my feet, George," she said +hastily, and then sent him away upon an errand, looking +after him uneasily. + +It was very pleasant to hear her boy thus formally sum up +his opinion of her. But when he found that it was based +upon a lie? + +For Frances, candid enough to the world, had deceived her +son ever since he was born. + +George had always believed that she had inherited a +fortune from his father. It gave solidity and comfort to +his life to think of her in the stately old mansion on +the shores of Delaware Bay, with nothing to do except to +be beautiful and gracious, as befitted a well-born woman. +It pleased him, in a lofty, generous way, that his father +(whom she had taught him to reverence as the most +chivalric of gentlemen) had left him wholly dependent +upon her. It was a legal fiction, of course. He was the +heir--the crown prince. He had always been liberally +supplied with money at school and at Harvard. Her income +was large. No doubt the dear soul mismanaged the estates +fearfully, but now he would have leisure to take care of +them. + +Now, the fact was that Colonel Waldeaux had been a +drunken spendthrift who had left nothing. The house and +farm always had belonged to his wife. She had supported +George by her own work all of his life. She could not +save money, but she had the rarer faculty of making it. +She had raised fine fruit and flowers for the +Philadelphia market; she had traded in high breeds of +poultry and cattle, and had invested her earnings +shrewdly. With these successes she had been able to +provide George with money to spend freely at college. +She lived scantily at home, never expecting any luxury or +great pleasure to come into her own life. + +But two years ago a queer thing had happened to her. In +an idle hour she wrote a comical squib and sent it to a +New York paper. As everybody knows, fun, even vulgar +fun, sells high in the market. Her fun was not vulgar, +but coarse and biting enough to tickle the ears of the +common reader. The editor offered her a salary equal to +her whole income for a weekly column of such fooling. + +She had hoarded every penny of this money. With it she +meant to pay her expenses in Europe and to support George +in his year at Oxford. The work and the salary were +to go on while she was gone. + +It was easy enough to hide all of these things from her +son while he was in Cambridge and she in Delaware. But +now? What if he should find out that his mother was the +Quigg" of the New York ----, a paper which he declared to +be unfit for a gentleman to read? + +She was looking out to sea and thinking of this when her +cousin, Miss Vance, came up to her. Miss Vance was a +fashionable teacher in New York, who was going to spend +a year abroad with two wealthy pupils. She was a thin +woman, quietly dressed; white hair and black brows, with +gold eye-glasses bridging an aquiline nose, gave her a +commanding, inquisitorial air. + +"Well, Frances!" she began briskly, "I have not had time +before to attend to you. Are your bags hung in your +stateroom?" + +"I haven't been down yet," said Mrs. Waldeaux meekly. +"We were watching the fog in the sun." + +"Fog! Mercy on me! You know you may be ill any minute, +and your room not ready! Of course, you did not take +the bromides that I sent you a week ago? + +"No, Clara." + +Miss Vance glanced at her. "Well, just as you please. +I've done what I could. Let me look at your itinerary. +You will be too ill for me to advise you about it later." + +"Oh, we made none!" said George gayly, coming up to his +mother's aid. "We are going to be vagabonds, and have no +plans. Mother's soul draws us to York Cathedral, and +mine to the National Gallery. That is all we know." + +"I thought you had given up that whim of being an +artist?" said Miss Vance, sharply facing on him. + +Young Waldeaux reddened. "Yes, I have given it up. I +know as well as you do that I have no talent. I am going +to study my profession at Oxford, and earn my bread by +it." + +"Quite right. You never would earn it by art," she said +decisively. "How long do you stay in York, Frances?" + +"Oh, a day, or a month--or--years, as we please," said +Frances, lazily turning her head away. She wanted to set +Clara Vance down in her proper place. Mrs. Waldeaux +abhorred cousinly intimates--people who run into your +back door to pry into the state of your larder or your +income. But Miss Vance, as Frances knew, unfortunately +held a key to her back door. She knew of George's +wretched daubs, and his insane desire, when he was a boy, +to study art. He gave it up years ago. Why should she +nag him now about it? By virtue of her relationship she +knew, too, all of Mrs. Waldeaux's secrets. It was most +unfortunate that she should have chosen to sail on this +vessel. + +"Well, mother," George said, uneasy to get away, "no +doubt Miss Vance is right. We should set things in +order. I am going now to give my letter of credit to the +purser to lock up; shall I take yours?" + +Mrs. Waldeaux did not reply at once. "No," she said at +last. "I like to carry my own purse." + +He smiled indulgently as on a child. "Of course, dear. +It IS your own. My father was wise in that. But, on +this journey, I can act as your paymaster, can't I? I +have studied foreign money----" + +"We shall see. I can keep it as safe as any purser now," +she said, obstinately shaking her head. + +He laughed and walked away. + +"You have not told him, then?" demanded Clara. + +"No. And I never will. I will not hurt the boy by +letting him know that his mother has supported him, and +remember, Clara, that he can only hear it through you. +Nobody knows that I am `Quigg' but you." + +Miss Vance lifted her eyebrows. "Nothing can need a +lie," she quoted calmly. Presently she said earnestly, +"Frances, you are making a mistake. Somebody ought to +tell you the truth. There is no reason why your whole +being should be buried in that man. He should stand on +his own feet, now. You can be all that he needs as a +mother, and yet live out your own life. It is broader +than his will ever be. At your age, and with your +capabilities, you should marry again. Think of the many +long years that are before you." + +"I have thought of them," said Mrs. Waldeaux slowly. "I +have had lovers who came close to me as friends, but I +never for a moment was tempted to marry one of them. +No, Clara. When the devil drove my father to hand me +over--innocent child as I was--to a man like Robert +Waldeaux, he killed in me the capacity for that kind of +love. It is not in me." She turned her strenuous face +to the sea and was silent. "It is not in me," she +repeated after a while. "I have but one feeling, and +that is for my boy. It is growing on me absurdly, too." +She laughed nervously. "I used to be conscious of other +people in the world, but now, if I see a boy or man, I +see only what George was or will be at his age; if I read +a book, it only suggests what George will say of it. I +am like one of those plants that have lost their own sap +and color, and suck in their life from another. It +scares me sometimes." + +Miss Vance smiled with polite contempt. No doubt Frances +had a shrewd business faculty, but in other matters she +was not ten years old. + +"And George will marry some time," she said curtly. + +"Oh, I hope so! And soon. Then I shall have a daughter. +I know just the kind of a wife George will choose," +she chattered on eagerly. "I understand him so +thoroughly that I can understand her. But where could he +find her? He is so absurdly fastidious!" + +Miss Vance was silent and thoughtful a moment. Then she +came closer. "I will tell you where to find her," she +said, in a low voice. "I have thought of it for a long +time. It seems to me that Providence actually made Lucy +Dunbar for George." + +"Really?" Mrs. Waldeaux drew her self up stiffly. + +"Wait, Frances. Lucy has been with me for three years. +I know her. She is a sincere, modest, happy little +thing. Not too clever. She is an heiress, too. And her +family is good; and all underground, which is another +advantage. You can mould her as you choose. She loves +you already." + +"Or is it that she----?" + +"You have no right to ask that!" said Miss Vance quickly. + +"No, I am ashamed of myself." Mrs. Waldeaux reddened. + +A group of girls came up the deck. Both women scanned +the foremost one critically. "I like that wholesome, +candid look of her," said Miss Vance. + +"Oh, she is well enough," said Frances. "But I am sure +George does not like yellow hair. Nothing but an +absolutely beautiful woman will attract him." + +"An artist," said Miss Vance hastily, "would tell you her +features were perfect. And her flesh tints----" + +"For Heaven's sake, Clara, don't dissect the child. Who +is that girl with the red cravat? Your maid?" + +"It is not a cravat, it's an Indian scarf. If it only +were clean----" Miss Vance looked uneasy and perplexed. +"She is not my maid. She is Fraulein Arpent. The Ewalts +brought her as governess from Paris, don't you remember? +They sent the girls to Bryn Mawr last week and turned her +adrift, almost penniless. She wished to go back to +France. I engaged her as assistant chaperone for the +season." + +Mrs. Waldeaux's eyebrows went up significantly. She +never commented in words on the affairs of others, but +her face always was indiscreet. George, who had come up +in time to hear the last words, was not so +scrupulous. He surveyed the young woman through his +spectacles as she passed again, with cold disapproval. + +"French or German?" he asked. + +"I really don't know. She has a singular facility in +tongues," said Miss Vance. + +"Well, that is not the companion _I_ should have chosen +for those innocent little girls," he said +authoritatively, glad to be disagreeable to his cousin. +"She looks like a hawk among doves." + +"The woman is harmless enough," said Miss Vance tartly. +"She speaks exquisite French." + +"But what does she say in it?" persisted George. "She is +vulgar from her red pompon to her boots. She has the +swagger of a soubrette and she has left a trail of +perfume behind her--pah! I confess I am surprised at +you, Miss Vance. You do not often slip in your +judgment." + +"Don't make yourself unpleasant, George," said his mother +gently. Miss Vance smiled icily, and as the girls came +near again, stopped them and stood talking to Mlle. +Arpent with an aggressive show of familiarity. + +"Why do you worry Clara?" said Mrs. Waldeaux. "She +knows she has made a mistake. What do you think of that +little blonde girl?" she asked presently, watching him +anxiously. "She has remarkable beauty, certainly; but +there is something finical--precise----" + +"Take care. She will hear you," said George. "Beauty, +eh? Oh, I don't know," indifferently. "She is passably +pretty. I have never seen a woman yet whose beauty +satisfied ME." + +Mrs. Waldeaux leaned back with a comfortable little +laugh. "But you must not be so hard to please, my son. +You must bring me my daughter soon," she said. + +"Not very soon. I have some thing else to think of than +marriage for the next ten years." + +Just then Dr. Watts came up and asked leave to present +his friend Perry. The doctor, like all young men who +knew Mrs. Waldeaux, had succumbed to her peculiar charm, +which was only that of a woman past her youth who had +strong personal magnetism and not a spark of coquetry. +George's friends all were sure that they would fall in +love with a woman just like her--but not a man of +them ever thought of falling in love with her. + +Young Perry, in twenty minutes, decided that she was the +most brilliant and agreeable of companions. He had +talked, and she had spoken only with her listening, +sympathetic eyes. He was always apt to be voluble. On +this occasion he was too voluble. +"You are from Weir, I think, in Delaware, Mrs. Waldeaux?" +he asked. "I must have seen the name of the town with +yours on the list of passengers, for the story of a woman +who once lived there has been haunting me all day. I +have not seen nor thought of her for years, and I could +not account for my sudden remembrance of her." + +"Who was she?" asked George, trying to save his mother +from Perry, who threatened to be a bore. + +"Her name was Pauline Felix. You have heard her story, +Mrs. Waldeaux?" + +"Yes" said Frances coldly. "I have heard her story. Can +you find my shawl, George?" + +But Perry was conscious of no rebuff, and turned +cheerfully to George. "It was one of those dramas of +real life, too unlikely to put into a novel. She was +the daughter of a poor clergyman in Weir, a devout, good +man, I believe. She had marvellous beauty and a devilish +disposition. She ran away, lived a wild life in Paris, +and became the mistress of a Russian Grand Duke. Her +death----" + +He could not have told why he stopped. Mrs. Waldeaux +still watched him, attentive, but the sympathetic smile +had frozen into icy civility. She had the old-fashioned +modesty of her generation. What right had this young man +to speak of "mistresses" to her? Clara's girls within +hearing too! She rose when he paused, bowed, and hurried +to them, like a hen fluttering to protect her chicks. + +"He was talking to me of a woman," she said excitedly to +Clara, "who is never mentioned by decent people." + +"Yes, I heard him," said Miss Vance. "Poor Pauline! Her +career was always a mystery to me. I was at school with +her, and she was the most generous, lovable girl! Yet +she came to a wretched end," turning to her flock, her +tone growing didactic. "One is never safe, you see. One +must always be on guard." + +"Oh, my dear!" cried Frances impatiently. "You +surely don't mean to class these girls and me with +Pauline Felix! Come, come!" + +"None of us is safe," repeated Clara stiffly. "Somebody +says there is a possible vice in the purest soul, and it +may lie perdu there until old age. But it will break out +some day." + +Mrs. Waldeaux looked, laughing, at the eager, blushing +faces around her. "It is not likely to break out in us, +girls, eh! Really, Clara," she said, in a lower tone, +"that seems to me like wasted morality. Women of our +class are in no more danger of temptation to commit great +crimes than they are of finding tigers in their +drawing-rooms. Pauline Felix was born vicious. No woman +could fall as she did, who was not rotten to the core." + +A sudden shrill laugh burst from the French woman, who +had been looking at Mrs. Waldeaux with insolent, bold +eyes. But as she laughed, her head fell forward and she +swung from side to side. + +"It is nothing," she cried, "I am only a little faint. +I must go below." + +The ship was now crossing short, choppy waves. The +passengers scattered rapidly. George took his mother to +her stateroom, and there she stayed until land was +sighted on the Irish coast. Clara and her companions +also were forced to keep to their berths. + +During the speechless misery of the first days Mrs. +Waldeaux was conscious that George was hanging over her, +tender as a mother with a baby. She commanded him to +stay on deck, for each day she saw that he, too, grew +more haggard. "Let me fight it out alone," she would beg +of him. "My worst trouble is that I cannot take care of +you." + +He obeyed her at last, and would come down but once +during the day, and then for only a few hurried minutes. +His mother was alarmed at the ghastliness of his face and +the expression of anxious wretchedness new to it. "His +eye avoids mine craftily, like that of an insane man," +she told herself, and when the doctor came, she asked him +whether sea-sickness affected the brain. + +On the last day of the voyage the breeze was from land, +and with the first breath of it Frances found her vigor +suddenly return. She rose and dressed herself. George +had not been near her that day. "He must be very ill," +she thought, and hurried out. "Is Mr. Waldeaux in +his stateroom?" she asked the steward. + +"No, madam. He is on deck. All the passengers are on +deck," the man added, smiling. Land is in sight." + +Land! And George had not come to tell her! He must be +desperately ill! + +She groped up the steps, holding by the brass rail. "I +will give him a fine surprise!" she said to herself. "I +can take care of him, now. To-night we shall be on shore +and this misery all over. And then the great joy will +begin!" + +She came out on deck. The sunshine and cold pure wind +met her. She looked along the crowded deck for her +invalid. Every-body was in holiday clothes, every-body +was smiling and talking at once. Ah! there he was! + +He was leaning over Frances' steamer chair, on which a +woman lay indolently. He was in rude health, laughing, +his face flushed, his eyes sparkling. + +Looking up, he saw his mother and came hastily to meet +her. The laugh was gone. "So you came up?" he said +impatiently. "I would have called you in time. +I---- Mother!" He caught her by the arm. "Wait, I must +see you alone for a minute." Urged by the amazed fright +in her face, he went on desperately, "I have something to +tell you. I intended to break it to you. I don't want +to hurt you, God knows. But I have not been idle in +these days. I have found your daughter. She is here." + +He led her up to the chair. The girl's head was wrapped +in a veil and turned from her. + +Mrs. Waldeaux held out her hands. "Lucy! Lucy Dunbar!" +she heard herself say. + +"Mais non! Cest moi!" said a shrill voice, and Mlle. +Arpent, turning her head lazily, looked at her, smiling. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Clara Vance had her faults, but nobody could deny that, +in this crisis, she acted with feeling and tact. She +ignored mademoiselle and her lover, whose bliss was in +evidence on deck all day, and took possession of Mrs. +Waldeaux, caring for her as tenderly as if she had been +some poor wretch sentenced to death. "She has no +intellect left except her ideas about George," she told +herself, "and if he turns his back on her for life in +this way---- She never was too sane!" shaking her head +ominously. + +She thought it best to talk frankly of the matter to +little Lucy Dunbar, and was relieved to find her ready to +joke and laugh at it. "No bruise in that tender heart!" +thought Clara, who was anxious as a mother for her girls. + +"We all worshipped Mr. George," said Lucy saucily. "I, +most of all. He is so cold, so exalted and ah--h, so +good-looking! Like a Greek god. But he never gave +a look to poor little me! The fraulein came on deck as +soon as we all went down with sea-sickness, and bewitched +him with her eyes. It must have been her eyes; they are +yellow--witch's eyes. Or maybe that cheap smell about +her is a love-philter! Or was it just soul calling to +soul? I should have said the fraulein had the soul of a +milliner. She put great ideas into the hat that she +altered for me," Lucy added, with an unsteady laugh. + +"I care nothing for them or their souls," said Miss Vance +crossly. "It is his mother that I think of." + +"But really," said Lucy, "mademoiselle is quite raw +material. No ideas--no manners whatever. Mrs. Waldeaux +may mould her into something good and fine." + +"She will not try. She will never accept that creature +as a daughter." + +"She seems to me to be indifferent," said Lucy. "She +does not see how terrible it is. She was leaning over +the bulwark just now, laughing at the queer gossoons +selling their shillalahs." + +"Oh, she will laugh at Death himself when he comes to +fetch her, and see something `queer'in him," said Clara. + +But her little confidence with Lucy had relieved her. +The child cared nothing for George, that was plain. + +Mademoiselle, watching Mrs. Waldeaux closely all day, was +not deceived by her laugh. "The old lady, your mother," +she said to George, "is what you men call `game.' She +has blood and breeding. More than you, monsieur. That +keeps her up. I did not count on that," said the young +woman thoughtfully. + +George took off his glasses and rubbed them nervously as +he talked. "I don't understand my mother at all! She +has always been very considerate and kind. I never +thought that she would receive my wife, when I brought +her to her, with calm civility. Not a kiss nor a +blessing!" + +"A kiss? A blessing for me?" Lisa laughed and nodded +meaningly to the sea and world at large. "She could +hardly have blessed a woman lolling full length in her +chair," she thought. "It IS her chair. And I have +unseated her for life curling herself up in the rugs. + +Yet she had a twinge of pity for the old lady. Even the +wild boar has its affections and moments of gentleness. +A week ago Lisa could have trampled the life out of this +woman who had slandered her dead mother, with the fury of +any wild beast. +For she was Pauline Felix's daughter. It was her +mother's name that Mrs. Waldeaux had said could not be +spoken by any decent woman. Lisa had been but a child, +but she had held her mother's head close to her stout +little heart as she lay dying--that awful mysterious +death of which the young man had tried to make a telling +story. The girl crossed herself now and closed her tired +eyes as she thought of it. She had been a wicked child +and a wicked woman, but she knew certainly that the +Virgin and her Son had come near to her that day, and had +helped her. + +George, who was poring fondly on her face, exclaimed: +"Your eyes are wet. You are in trouble!" + +"I was thinking of my mother," she said gently, holding +out her hand to him. + +He took it and said presently, "Will you not talk to me +about her, Lisa? You have not told me any thing of +your people, my darling. Nor of yourself. Why, I don't +even know whether you are French or German." + +"Oh, you shall hear the whole story when we are married," +she replied softly, a wicked glitter in her eyes. "Some +of the noblest blood in Europe is in my veins. I will +give you my genealogical tree to hang up in that old +homestead of yours. It will interest the people of +Weir--and please your mother." + +"It is good in you to think of her," he said, tenderly +looking down at her. + +He was not blind. He saw the muddy skin, the thick lips, +the soiled, ragged lace. They would have disgusted him +in another woman. + +But this was--Lisa. There was no more to be said. + +These outside trifles would fall off when she came into +his life. Even with them she was the breath and soul of +it. + +She saw the difference between them more sharply than he +did. She had been cast for a low part in the play, and +knew it. Sometimes she had earned the food which kept +her alive in ways of which this untempted young priest +had never even heard. There was something in this +clean past of his, in his cold patrician face and +luxurious habits new to her, and she had a greedy relish +for it all. + +She had been loved before, caressed as men caress a dog, +kicking it off when it becomes troublesome. George's +boyish shyness, his reverent awe of her, startled her. + +"He thinks Lisa Arpent a jeune fille--like these +others. A little white rose!" she thought, and laughed. +She would not tell him why she laughed, and muttered an +oath when he stupidly insisted on knowing. + +He was the first lover who had ever believed in her. + +She had begun this affair simply to punish the "old +woman"; the man in it had counted for nothing. But now, +as they crossed the gangway, she looked up at him with +eyes that for the moment were honest and true as a +child's, and her firm hand suddenly trembled in his. + + +Three weeks later Mrs. Waldeaux came into Miss Vance's +little parlor on Half Moon Street. Her face was red from +the wind, her eyes sparkled, and she hummed some gay air +which an organ ground outside. Clara laid down her +pen. + +"Where have you been, Frances? It is a week since I saw +you." + +"Oh, everywhere! George has been showing me London!" +She sat down before the fire with a gurgle of comfort +and dropped her bonnet and gloves on the floor beside +her. "Yesterday we spent at the Museum. George +explained the Elgin marbles to me. I don't suppose any +body in London has studied their history so thoroughly. +I did wish you could have heard him. And the day before +I was at the House--in the ladies' gallery. I can't +imagine how he got admission for me. He IS so clever!" + +"We are going down to Canterbury for a couple of days," +said Clara. "We start at noon. Will you go with us?" + +"No, I think not. George does not seem to care for +cathedrals. And he has plans for me, no doubt." + +Miss Vance brushed the bonnet and carefully rolled up the +strings. "Are you satisfied? Is London the London you +have been thinking of these twenty years?" she asked. + +"Oh, a thousand times more! And George has been with me +every day--every day!" + +Miss Vance picked up the gloves, looking impatiently at +the poor lady's happy face. "Now she has gone off into +one of her silly transports of delight, and for no +earthly reason!" + +"I noticed that George has seen very little of Lisa +lately," she said tentatively. "If he really means to +marry her----" + +"Marry her! Clara! You surely never feared THAT?" + +"He certainly told us plainly enough that he would do +it," said Miss Vance testily. + +"Oh, you don't understand him! You have had so little to +do with young men. They are all liable to attacks like +that--as to measles and scarlet fever. But they pass +off. Now, George is not as susceptible as most of them. +But," lowering her voice, "he was madly in love with the +butcher's Kate when he was ten, and five years afterward +offered to marry the widow Potts. I thought he had +outgrown the disease. There has been nothing of the kind +since, until this fancy. It is passing off. Of course +it is mortifying enough to think that such a poor +creature as that could attract him for an hour." + +"I was to blame," Miss Vance said, with an effort. "I +brought her in his way. But how was I to know that she +was such a cat, and he such---- If he should marry +her----" + +Mrs. Waldeaux laughed angrily. "You are too absurd, +Clara. A flirtation with such a woman was degrading +enough, but George is not quite mad. He has not even +spoken of her for days. Oh, here he comes! That is his +step on the stairs." She ran to the door. "He found +that I was out and has followed me. He is the most +ridiculous mother's boy! Well, George, here I am! Have +you thought of some thing new for me to see?" She +glanced at Miss Vance, well pleased that she should see +the lad's foolish fondness for her. + +George forced a smile. He looked worn and jaded. Miss +Vance noticed that his usually neat cravat was awry and +his hands were gloveless. "Yes," he said. "It is a lit- +tle church. The oldest in London. I want to show it to +you." + +Miss Vance tied on Mrs. Waldeaux's bonnet, smoothing her +hair affectionately. "There are too many gray hairs +here for your age, Frances," she said. "George, you +should keep your mother from worry and work. Don't let +her hair grow gray so soon." + +George bowed. "I hope I shall do my duty," he said, with +dignity. "Come, mother." + +As they drove down Piccadilly Mrs. Waldeaux chattered +eagerly to her son. She could not pour out her teeming +fancies about this new world to any body else, but she +could not talk fast enough to him. Had they not both +been waiting for a lifetime to see this London? + +"The thing," she said earnestly, as she settled herself +beside him, "the thing that has impressed me most, I +think, were those great Ninevite gods yesterday. I sat +for hours before them while you were gone. There they +sit, their hands on their knees, and stare out of their +awful silence at the London fog, just as they stared at +the desert before Christ was born. I felt so miserably +young and sham!" + +George adjusted his cravat impatiently. "I'm afraid I +don't quite follow you, mother. These little flights of +yours---- They belong to your generation, I suppose. It +was a more sentimental one than mine. You are not +very young. And you certainly are not a sham. The +statues are interesting, but I fail to see why they +should have had such an effect upon you." + +"Oh!" said Frances. "But you did not stay alone with +them as long as I did, or you would have felt it too. +Now I am sure that the debates in Parliament impressed +you just as they did me?" + +George said nothing, but she went on eagerly. It never +occurred to her that he could be bored by her impressions +in these greatest days of her life. "To see a half-dozen +well-groomed young men settle the affairs of India and +Australia in a short, indifferent colloquy! How shy and +awkward they were, too! They actually stuttered out +their sentences in their fear of posing or seeming +pretentious. So English! Don't you think it was very +English, George?" + +"I really did not think about it at all. I have had very +different things to occupy me," said George, coldly +superior to all mothers and Parliaments. This is the +church." + +The cab stopped before an iron door between two shops +in the most thronged part of Bishopsgate Street. He +pushed it open, and they passed suddenly out of the +hurrying crowd into the solemn silence of an ancient +dingy building. A dim light fell through a noble window +of the thirteenth century upon cheap wooden pews. The +church was empty, and had that curious significance and +half-spoken message of its own which belongs to a vacant +house. + +"I remember," whispered Frances, awestruck. "This was +built by the first Christian convert, St. Ethelburga." + +"You believe every thing, mother!" said George irritably. +She wandered about, looking at the sombre walls and +inscriptions, and then back uneasily, to his moody face. + +Suddenly she came up to him as he stood leaning against +a pillar. "Something has happened!" she said. "You did +not bring me here to look at the church. You have +something to tell me." + +The young man looked at her and turned away. "Yes, I +have. It isn't a death," he said, with a nervous laugh. +"You need not look in that way. It is--something +very different. I--I was married in this church +yesterday to Lisa Arpent." + +Frances did not at first comprehend the great disaster +that bulked black across her whole life, but, woman-like, +grasped at a fragment of it. + +"You were married and I was not there! Yesterday! My +boy was married and he forgot me!" + +"Mother! Don't look like that! Here, sit down," +grabbing her helplessly by the arms. "I didn't want to +hurt you. I brought you here to tell you quietly. Cry! +Why don't you cry if you're worried! Oh! I believe she's +dying!" he shouted, staring around the empty church. + +She spoke at last. + +"You were married and I couldn't say God bless you! You +forgot me! I never forgot you, George, for one minute +since you were born." + +"Mother, what fool talk is that? I only didn't want a +scene. I kept away from Lisa for weeks so as not to vex +you. Forget you! I think I have been very considerate +of you under the circumstances. You have a dislike +to Lisa, a most groundless dislike----" + +"Oh, what is Lisa? " said Frances haughtily. "It is that +you have turned away from me. She has nothing to do with +the relation between you and me. How can any woman come +between me and my son?" She held up her hands. "Why, +you are my boy, Georgy. You are all I have!" + +He looked at the face, curiously pinched and drawn as if +by death, that was turned up to his, and shrugged his +shoulders impatiently. "Now this is exactly what I tried +to escape yesterday. Am I never to be a man, nor have +the rights of a man? You must accept the situation, +mother. Lisa is my wife, and dearer to me than all the +world beside." + +He saw her lips move. "Dearer? Dearer than me!" +She sat quite still after that, and did not seem to hear +when he spoke. Something in her silence frightened him. +She certainly had been a fond, indulgent mother, and he +perhaps had been abrupt in cutting the tie between them. +It must be cut. He had promised Lisa the whole matter +should be settled to-day. But his mother certainly +was a weak woman, and he must be patient with her. +Secretly he approved the manliness of his patience. + +"The cab is waiting, dear," he said. She rose and walked +to the street, standing helpless there while the crowd +jostled her. Was she blind and deaf? He put her into +the cab and sat down opposite to her. "Half Moon +Street," he called to the driver. + +"Mother," touching her on the knee. + +"Yes, George." + +"I told him to drive to Half Moon Street. I will take +you to Clara Vance. We may as well arrange things now, +finally. You do not like my wife. That is clear. For +the present, therefore, it is better that we should +separate. I have consulted with Lisa, and she has +suggested that you shall join Clara Vance's party while +we go our own way." + +She stared at him. "Do you mean that you and I are not +to see London together? Not to travel through Europe +together?" + +He pitied her a little, and, leaning forward, kissed her +clammy lips. "The thing will seem clearer to you +to-morrow, no doubt. I must leave you now. Go to Clara +and her girls. They all like to pet and make much of +you. I will bring Lisa in the morning, to talk business +a little. She has an uncommonly clear head for business. +Good-by, dear!" He stopped the cab, jumped out, and +walked briskly to the corner where his wife was waiting +for him. + +"You have told her?" she asked breathlessly. + +"Yes. It's over." + +"That we must separate?" + +"Yes, yes. I told her you thought it best." + +"And she was not willing?" + +"Well, she did not approve very cordially," said George, +evading her eye. + +"But she shall approve!" hanging upon his arm, her +burning eyes close to his face. "You are mine, George! +I love you. I will share you with nobody!" She whistled +shrilly, and a hansom stopped. + +"What are you going to do, darling?" + +"Follow her. I will tell her something that will make +her willing to separate. Get in, get in! " + + + +CHAPTER III + +Frances, when in trouble, went out of doors among the +trees as naturally as other women take to their beds. +Lisa's sharp eyes saw her sitting in the Green Park as +they passed. The mist, which was heavy as rain, hung in +drops on the stretches of sward and filled the far aisles +of trees with a soft gray vapor. The park was deserted +but for an old man who asked Mrs. Waldeaux for the +penny's hire for her chair. As he hobbled away, he +looked back at her curiously. + +"She gave him a shilling!" exclaimed Lisa, as he passed +them. "I told you she was not fit to take care of +money." + +"But why not wait until to-morrow to talk of business? +She is hurt and unnerved just now, and she--she does not +like you, Lisa." + +"I am not afraid. She will be civil. She is like +Chesterfield. `Even death cannot kill the courtesy in +her.' You don't seem to know the woman, George. Come." + +But George hung back and loitered among the trees. He +was an honest fellow, though slow of wit; he loved his +mother and was penetrated to the quick just now by a +passionate fondness for his wife. Two such good, clever +women! Why couldn't they hit it off together? + +"George?" said Frances, hearing his steps. + +Lisa came up to her. She rose, and smiled to her son's +wife, and after a moment held out her hand. + +But the courtesy which Lisa had expected suddenly enraged +her. "No! There need be no pretence between us," she +said. "You are not glad to see me. There is no pretence +in me. I am honest. I did not come here to make +compliments, but to talk business." + +"George said to-morrow. Can it not wait until +to-morrow?" + +"No. What is to do--do it! That is my motto. George, +come here! Tell your mother what we have decided. Oh, +very well, if you prefer that I should speak. We go to +Paris at once, Mrs. Waldeaux, and will take apartments +there. You will remain with Miss Vance." + +"Yes, I know. I am to remain----" Frances passed her +hand once or twice over her mouth irresolutely. "But +Oxford, George?" she said. "You forget your +examinations?" + +George took off his spectacles and wiped them. + +"Speak! Have you no mind of your own?" his wife +whispered. "I will tell you, then, madam. He has done +with that silly whim! A priest, indeed! I am Catholic, +and priests do not marry. He goes to Paris to study art. +I see a great future for him, in art." + +Frances stared at him, and then sat down, dully. What +did it matter? Paris or Oxford? She would not be there. +What did it matter? + +Lisa waited a moment for some comment, and then began +sharply, "Now, we come to affaires! Listen, if you +please. I am a woman of business. Plain speaking is +always best, to my idea." + + +Mrs. Waldeaux drew herself together and turned her eyes +on her with sudden apprehension, as she would on a +snapping dog. The woman's tones threatened attack. + +"To live in Paris, to work effectively, your son must +have money. I brought him no dot, alas! Except"--with +a burlesque courtesy--"my beauty and my blood. I must +know how much money we shall have before I design the +menage." + +"George has his income," said his mother hastily. + +"Ah! You are alarmed, madam! You do not like plain +words about the affaires? George tells me that +although he is long ago of age, he has as yet received no +portion of his father's estates." + +"Lisa! You do not understand! Mother, I did not +complain. You have always given me my share of the +income from the property. I have no doubt it was a fair +share--as much as if my father had left me my portion, +according to custom." + +"Yes, it was a fair share," said Frances. + +"Ah! you smile, madam!" interrupted Lisa. "I am told it +is a vast property, a grand chateau--many securities! M. +Waldeaux pere made a will, on dit, incredibly +foolish, with no mention of his son. But now that this +son comes to marry, to become the head of the house, if +you were a French mother, if you were just, you +would---- You appear to be amused, madam?" + +For Mrs. Waldeaux was laughing. She could not speak for +a moment. The tears stood in her eyes. + +"The matter has somewhat of droll to you?" + +"It has its humorous side," said Frances. "I quite +understand, George, that you will need more money to +support a wife. I will double your allowance. It shall +be paid quarterly." + +"You would prefer to do that?" hesitated George. "Rather +than to make over a son's share of the property to me +absolutely? Some of the landed estate or securities? I +have probably a shrewder business talent than yours, and +if I had control could make my property more profitable." + +"I should prefer to pay your income as before--yes," said +Frances quietly. + +"Well, as you choose. It is yours to give, of course." +George coughed and shuffled to conquer his +disappointment. Then he said, "Have it your own way." +He put his hand affectionately on her shoulder. "And +when you have had your little outing and go home to Weir, +you will be glad to have us come to you, for a +visit--won't you, mother? You haven't said so." + +"Why should I say so? It is your home, George, yours and +your wife's." She caught his hand and held it to her +lips. + +But Lisa had not so easily conquered her disappointment. +This woman was coolly robbing George of his rights and +was going instead to kill for him a miserable little +fatted calf! Bah! This woman, who had maligned her dead +mother! + +She should have her punishment now. In one blow, +straight from the shoulder. + +"But you should know, madam," she said gently, "who it is +your son has married before you take her home. I assure +you that you can present me to the society in Weir with +pride. I have royal blood----" +"Lisa!" George caught her arm. "It is not necessary. +You forget----" + +"Oh, I forget nothing! I said royal blood. My father, +madam, was the brother of the Czar, and my mother was +Pauline Felix. You don't seem to understand----" after +a moment's pause. " It was my mother whose name you +said should not cross any decent woman's lips--my +mother----" She broke down into wild sobs. + +"When I said it I did not know that you---- I am sorry." +Frances suddenly walked away, pulling open her collar. +It seemed to her that there was no breath in the world. +George followed her. "Did you know this?" she said at +last, in a hoarse whisper. "And you are--married to her? +There is no way of being rid of her?" + +"No, there is no way," said Waldeaux stoutly. "And if +there were, I should not look for it. I am sorry that +there is any smirch on Lisa's birth. But even her +mother, I fancy, was not altogether a bad lot. Bygones +must be bygones. I love my wife, mother. She's worth +loving, as you'd find if you would take the trouble to +know her. Her dead mother shall not come between her and +me." + +"She's like her, George!" said Mrs. Waldeaux, with white, +trembling lips. "I ought to have seen it at first. +Those luring, terrible eyes. It is Pauline Felix's heart +that is in her. Rotten to the core--rotten----" + +"I don't care. I'll stand by her." But George's face, +too, began to lose its color. He shook himself +uncomfortably. "The thing's done now," he muttered. + +"Certainly, certainly," Frances repeated mechanically. +"Tell her that I am sorry I spoke of her mother before +her. It was rude--brutal. I ask her pardon." + +"Oh, she'll soon forget that! Lisa has a warm heart, if +you take her right. There's lots of hearty fun in her +too. You'll like that. Are you going now? Good-by, +dear. We will come and see you in the morning. The +thing will not seem half so bad when you have slept on +it." + +He paused uncertainly, as she still stood motionless. +She was facing the grim walls of Stafford House, looming +dimly through the mist, her eyes fixed as if she were +studying the sky line. + +"George," she said. "You don't understand. You will come +to me always. But that woman never shall cross my +threshold." +"Mother! Do you mean what you say?" + +It was a man, not a shuffling boy that spoke now. "Do +you mean that we are not to go to you to-morrow? Not to +go home in October? Never----" + +"Your home is open to you. But Pauline Felix's child is +no more to me than a wild beast--or a snake in the grass, +and never can be." She faced him steadily now. + +"There she is," said Frances, looking at the little black +figure under the trees, "and here am I. You can choose +between us." + +"Those whom God hath joined together," muttered George. +"You know that." + +"You have known her for three weeks," cried Frances +vehemently. "I gave you life. I have been your slave +every hour since you were born. I have lived but for +you. Which of us has God joined together?" + +"Mother, you're damnably unreasonable! It is the course +of nature for a man to leave his parents and cleave to +his wife." + +"Yes , I know," she said slowly. "You can keep that foul +thing in your life, but it never shall come into mine." + +"Then neither will I. I will stand by my wife." + +"That is the end, then?" + +She waited, her eyes on his. + +He did not speak. + +She turned and left him, disappearing slowly in the rain +and mist. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Two days later Mr. Perry met Miss Vance in Canterbury and +told her of the marriage. She hurried back to London. +She could not hide her distress and dismay from the two +girls. + +"How did she force him into it? One is almost driven to +believe in hypnotism," she cried. + +Lucy Dunbar had no joke to make about it to-day. The +merry little girl was silent, having, she said, a +headache. + +"You've had too much cathedral!" said Miss Hassard. "And +the whole church is wretchedly out of drawing!" + +Jean Hassard had studied art at Pond City in Dakota, and +her soul's hope had been to follow Marie Bashkirtseff's +career in Paris. But her father had morally handcuffed +her and put her into Clara's custody for a year. It was +hard! To be led about to old churches, respectable as +her grandmother, when she might have been studying +the nude in a mixed class! She rattled her chains +disagreeably at every step. + +"The mesalliance is on the other side," she told Lucy +privately. "A woman of the world who knew life, to marry +that bloodless, finical priest!" + +"He was not bloodless. He loved her." + +Mr. Perry came up with them from Canterbury, being +secretly alarmed about Miss Dunbar's headache. Nobody +took proper care of that lovely child! He had attached +himself to Miss Vance's party in England; he dropped in +every evening to tell of his interviews with Gladstone or +Mrs. Oliphant or an artist or a duke. It was delightful +to the girls to come so close to these unknown great +folks. They felt quite like peris, just outside the +court of heaven, with the gate a little bit ajar. This +evening Mr. Perry promised it should open for them. He +was going to bring a real prince, whom he familiarly +dubbed "a jolly fellow," to call upon Miss Vance. + +"Who is the man?" said Clara irritably. "Be careful, Mr. +Perry. I have had enough of foreign adventurers." + +"Oh, the Hof Kalender will post you as to Prince +Wolfburgh. I looked him up in it. He is head of one of +the great mediatized families. Would have been reigning +now if old Kaiser Wilhelm had not played Aaron's serpent +and gobbled up all the little kings. Wolfburgh has kept +all his land and castles, however." + +"Very well. Let us see what the man is like," Miss Vance +said loftily. + + +Mrs. Waldeaux was not in the house when they arrived. +Every day she went early in the morning to the Green +Park, where she had seen George last, and wandered about +until night fell. She thought that he had gone to Paris, +and that she was alone in London. But somehow she came +nearer to him there. + +When she found that Clara had arrived, she knew that she +would be full of pity for her. She came down to dinner +in full dress, told some funny stories, and laughed +incessantly. + +No. She had not missed them. The days had gone merry as +a marriage bell with her even after her son and his wife +had run away to Paris. + +Mr. Perry congratulated her warmly on the match. +"The lady is very fetching, indeed," he said. "I +remarked that the first day on ship-board. Oh, yes, I +know a diamond when I see it. But your son picks it up. +Lucky fellow! He picks it up!" He told Miss Vance that +there was a curious attraction about her friend, "who, by +the way, should always wear brown velvet and lace." + +Miss Vance drew little Lucy aside after dinner. "Do you +see," she said, "the tears in her eyes? It wrenches my +heart. She has become an old woman in a day. I feel as +if Frances were dead, and that was her ghost joking and +laughing." + +Lucy said nothing, but she went to Frances and sat beside +her all evening. When the prince arrived and was +presented, going on his triumphant way through the room, +she nestled closer, whispering, "What do you think of +him?" + +"He looks very like our little fat Dutch baker in +Weir--he has the same air of patronage," said Frances +coldly. She was offended that Lucy should notice the man +at all. Was it not she whom George should have married? +How happy they would have been--her boy and this +sweet, neat little girl! And already Lucy was curious +about so-called princes! + +When his Highness came back to them she rose hastily and +went to her own room. + +Late that night Miss Vance found her there in the dark, +sitting bolt upright in her chair, still robed in velvet +and lace. Clara regarded her sternly, feeling that it +was time to take her in hand. + +"You have not forgiven George?" she said abruptly. + +Mrs. Waldeaux looked up, but said nothing. + +"Is he coming back soon?" + +"He never shall come back while that woman is with him." + +Miss Vance put her lamp on the table and sat down. +"Frances," she said deliberately, "I know what this is to +you. It would have been better for you that George had +died." + +"Much better." + +"But he didn't die. He married Lisa Arpent. Now it is +your duty to accept it. Make the best of it." + +"If a lizard crawls into my house will you tell me to +accept it? Make the best of it? Oh, my God! The slimy +vile creature!" + +"She is not vile! I tell you there are lovable qualities +in Lisa. And even if she were as wicked as her mother, +what right have you---- You, too, are a sinner before +God." + +"No," said Mrs. Waldeaux gravely, "I am not. I have +lived a good Christian life. I may have been tempted to +commit sin, but I cannot remember that I ever did it." + +Miss Vance looked at her aghast. "But surely your +religion teaches you---- Why, you are sinning now, when +you hate this girl!" + +"I do not hate her. God made her as he made the lizard. +I simply will not allow her to cross my path. What has +religion to do with it? I am clean and she is vile. +That is all there is to say." + +Both women were silent. Mrs. Waldeaux got up at last and +caught Clara by the arm. She was trembling violently. +"No, I'm not ill. I'm well enough. But you don't under- +stand! That woman has killed George. I spent twenty +years in making him what he is. I worked--there was +nothing but him for me in the world. I didn't spare +myself. To make him a gentleman--a Christian. And +in a month she turns him into a thing like herself. He +is following her vulgar courses. I saw the difference +after he had lived with her for one day. He is tainted." +She stood staring into the dull lamp. "She may not live +long, though," she said. "She doesn't look strong----" + +"Frances! For God's sake!" + +"Well, what of it? Why shouldn't I wish her gone? The +harm--the harm! Do you remember that Swedish maid I +had--a great fair woman? One day she was stung by a +green fly, and in a week she was dead, her whole body a +mass of corruption! Oh, God lets such things be done! +Nothing but a green fly----" She shook off Clara's hold, +drawing her breath with difficulty. "That is Lisa. It +is George that is being poisoned, body and soul. It's a +pity to see my boy killed by a thing like that--it's a +pity----" + +Miss Vance was too frightened to argue with her. She +brought her wrapper, loosened her hair, soothing her in +little womanish ways. But her burning curiosity drove +her presently to ask one question. + +"How can they live?" + +"I have doubled his allowance." + +"Frances! You will work harder to make money for Lisa +Arpent?" + +"Oh, what is money!" cried Frances, pushing her away +impatiently. + + + +CHAPTER V + +Miss Vance persuaded Mrs. Waldeaux to go with her to +Scotland. During the weeks that followed Frances always +found Lucy Dunbar at her side in the trains or on the +coaches. + +"She is a very companionable child," she told Clara. "I +often forget that I am any older than she. She never +tires of hearing stories of George's scrapes or his queer +sayings when he was a child. Such stories, I think, are +usually tedious, but George was a peculiar boy." + +Mr. Perry's search for notorieties took him also to +Scotland, and, oddly enough, Prince Wolfburgh's search +for amusement led him in the same direction. They met +him and his cousin, Captain Odo Wolfburgh, at Oban, and +again on the ramparts of Stirling Castle, and the very +day that they arrived in Edinburgh, there, in Holyrood, +in Queen Mary's chamber, stood the pursy little man, +curling his mustache before her mirror. + +Mr. Perry fell into the background with Miss Hassard. +"His Highness is becoming monotonous!" he grumbled. +"These foreigners never know when they are superfluous in +society." + +"Is he superfluous?" Jean glanced to the corner where the +prince and Lucy were eagerly searching for the blood of +Rizzio upon the steps. + +"Decidedly," said Perry. "I wished to show you and Miss +Dunbar a live prince, and I did it. That is done and +over with. He has been seen and heard. There is no +reason why he should pop up here and there all over Great +Britain like a Jack-in-the-box. He's becoming a bore." + +"You suspect him to be an impostor?" said Jean quickly. + +"No. He's genuine enough. But we don't want any +foreigners in our caravan," stroking his red beard +complacently. + +"No. What do you suppose is his object?" asked Jean, +with one of her quick, furtive glances. + +Mr. Perry's jaws grew red as his beard. "How can I +tell?" he said gruffly. He went on irritably, a moment +later: "Of course you see it. The fellow has no +delicacy. He makes no more secret of his plans than if +he were going to run down a rabbit. Last night at +Stirling, over his beer, he held forth upon the dimples +on Miss Dunbar's pink elbows, and asked me if her hair +were all her own. I said, at last, that American men did +not value women like sheep by their flesh and fleece and +the money they were rated at in the market. I hit him +square that time, prince or no prince!" + +"Yes, you did, indeed," said Jean vaguely. Her keen eyes +followed Lucy and the prince, who were loitering through +the gallery, pausing before the faded portraits. "You +think it is only her money that draws him after us?" + +"Why, of course! A fellow like that could not appreciate +Miss Dunbar's beauty and wit." + +"You think Lucy witty?" said Jean dryly. "And you think +she would not marry for a title?" + + +"I don't believe any pure American girl would sell +herself, like a sheep in the shambles! And she is +pure! A lamb, a lily! cried Perry, growing incoherent in +his heat. + +"She would not if her heart were preoccupied," said Jean +thoughtfully. + +"And you think----" he said breathlessly. + +But Jean only laughed, and said no more. + +The guide had been paying profound deference to Prince +Wolfburgh, keeping close to his heels. Now he swung open +a door. "If your Highnesses will come this way?" he +said, bowing profoundly to Lucy. + +The little girl started and hurried back to Miss Vance. +Her face was scarlet, and she laughed nervously. Prince +Wolfburgh also laughed, loudly and meaningly. He swore +at the old man and went out into the cloister where his +cousin stood smoking. + +"Had enough of the old barracks?" said the captain. + +"I found I was making too fast running in there," said +the prince uneasily; "I'll waken up and find that girl +married to me some day." + +"Not so bad a dream," puffed his cousin. + +"I'll take a train somewhere," said the prince. "But no +matter where I go, I'll find an American old woman with +a girl to marry. They all carry the Hof Kalender +in their pockets, and know every bachelor in Germany." + +The captain watched him attentively. "I don't believe +those women inside mean to drive any marriage bargain +with you, Hugo," he said gruffly. "I doubt whether the +little mees would marry you if you asked her. Her dot, +I hear, is e-normous!" waving his hand upward as if to +mountain heights. "And as for beauty, she is a wild +rose!" + +Now, there were reasons why the captain should rejoice +when Hugo allied himself to the little mees. On the day +when he would take these hills of gold and wild rose to +himself, the captain would become the head of the house +of Wolfburgh. It was, perhaps, a mean, ungilded throne, +but by German law no nameless Yankee woman could sit upon +it. + +The prince looked at Captain Odo. "You cannot put me +into a gallop when I choose to walk," he said. "She's a +pretty girl, and a good girl, and some time I may marry +her, but not now." + +Odo laughed good-humoredly, and they sauntered down the +path together. + +The prince had offered to dine with Miss Vance that +evening, but sent a note to say that he was summoned to +the Highlands unexpectedly. + +"It is adieu, not auf wiedersehen, I fear, with his +Highness," Miss Vance said, folding the note pensively. +She had not meant to drive a marriage bargain, and +yet--to have placed a pupil upon even such a bric-a-brac +throne as that of Wolfburgh! She looked thoughtfully at +Lucy's chubby cheeks. A princess? The man was not +objectionable in himself, either--a kindly, overgrown +boy. +"He told me," said Jean, "that he was going to a house +party at Inverary Castle." + +"Whose house is that, Jean?" asked Lucy. + +"It is the ancestral seat of the Dukes of Argyll." + +"Oh!" Lucy gave a little sigh. Prince Hugo was +undeniably fat and very slow to catch a joke, but there +was certainly a different flavor in this talk of dukes +and ancestral seats to the gossip about the Whites and +Greens at home. + +Indeed, the whole party, including even Mr. Perry, +experienced a sensation of sudden vacancy and +flatness when his Highness left them. It was as though +they had been sheltering a royal eagle that was used to +dwelling in sunlit heights unknown to them, and now they +were left on flat ground to consort with common poultry. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Miss Vance led her party slowly through Scotland and down +again to London. Mrs. Waldeaux went with them. The +girls secretly laughed together at her fine indomitable +politeness, and her violent passion for the Stuarts, and +hate of the Roundheads. But Mr. Perry was bored by her. + +"What is it to us," he said, "that Queen Mary paddled +over this lake, or Cromwell's soldiers whitewashed that +fresco? Give me a clean, new American church, anyhow, +before all of your mouldy, tomby cathedrals. These +things are so many cancelled cheques to me. I have +nothing to pay on them. It is live issues that draw on +my heart. You American girls ought to be at home looking +into the negro problem, or Tammany, or the Sugar Trust, +instead of nosing into Rembrandts, or miracles at +Lourdes, or palaces. These are all back numbers. Write +n. g. on them and bury them. So, by the way, is your +Mrs. Waldeaux a back number. My own opinion is that +all men and women at fifty ought to go willingly and be +shut up in the room where the world keeps its second-hand +lumber!" + +"Yet nobody," said Lucy indignantly, "is more careful or +tender with Mrs. Waldeaux than you!" + +"That is because Mr. Perry has the genuine American awe +of people of good birth," said Jean slyly. "It is the +only trait which makes me suspect that he is a self-made +man." +Mr. Perry, for answer, only bowed gravely. He long ago +had ceased to hide his opinion that Miss Hassard was +insufferable. + +Frances, for her part, was sure that the young people +were glad to have her as a companion. One day she +decided to stay with them, and the next to go to New York +on the first steamer. She seemed to see life hazily, as +one over whose mind a cataract was growing. What had she +to do in Europe, she reasoned? George was gone. Her one +actual hold on the world had slipped from her. That +great mysterious thing called living was done and past +for her. + +And yet--there was Kenilworth, and Scott's house? +Scott, who had been her friend and leader since she was +eight years old! And in that anthem at York minster +there was a message, which she had been waiting all of +her life to hear! And here was Lucy beside her with her +soft voice, and loving blue eyes--Lucy, who should have +been George's wife! In all of these things something +high and good called to the poor lady, which she heard +and understood as a child would the voice of its mother. + +One hour she resolved to leave her son with his wife, to +go back to Weir at once and work with the poultry and +Quigg's jokes for the rest of her life. She was dead. +Let her give up and consent to be dead. + +The next, she would stay where she could see George +sometimes, and try to forgive the woman who had him in +her keeping. Perhaps, after all, she was human, as Clara +said. If she could forgive Lisa, she could be happy with +these young people and live--live in this wonderful old +world, where all that was best of past ages was kept +waiting for her. + +When they came to London, she went at once to +Morgan's to make a deposit, for she had been hard at work +on her jokes as she travelled, and had received her pay. + +"Your son, madam," said the clerk, "drew on his account +to-day. He said he expected remittances from you. Is +this to be put to his credit?" + +"My son was in London to-day? + +"He has just left the house." + +"Did he--he left a message for me? A letter, perhaps?" + +"No, nothing, madam." + +"Put the money to his credit, of course." +She went out into the narrow street and wandered along to +the Bank of England, staring up at the huge buildings. + +He had been looking at them--he had walked on this very +pavement a minute ago! That might be the smoke of his +cigar, yonder! + +She could easily find him. Just to look at him once; to +hold his hand! He might be ill and need her; he never +was well in foggy weather. + +Then she remembered that Lisa was with him. She would +nurse him. + +She called a cab, and, as she drove home, looked out at +the crowd with a hard, smiling face. + +Henry Irving that night played "Shylock," and Mr. Perry +secured a box for Miss Vance. Frances went with the +others. Before the curtain rose there was a startled +movement among them, a whisper, and then Clara turned to +Mrs. Waldeaux. + +"Frances, Lisa is coming into the opposite box," she +said. "She is really a beautiful woman in that +decollete gown, and her cheeks flushed, and her +eyes---- I had no idea! She is superb!" + +Two men in the dress of French officers entered the box +with Lisa. They seated her, bending over her with an +empressement which, to Mrs. Waldeaux's heated fancy, +was insulting. George came last, carrying his wife's +cloak, which he placed upon a chair. One of the men +tossed his cape to him, with a familiar nod, and George +laid it aside and sat down at the back of the box. + +His mother leaned forward, watching. That woman had put +her son in the place of an inferior--an attendant. + +The great orchestra shook the house with a final crash, +and the curtain rose upon the Venetian plaza. Every face +in the audience was turned attentive toward it. But Mrs. +Waldeaux saw only Lisa. + +A strange change came upon her as she watched her son's +wife. For months she had struggled feebly against her +hate of Lisa. Now she welcomed it; she let herself go. + +Is the old story true after all? Is there some brutal +passion hiding in every human soul, waiting its chance, +even in old age? It is certain that this woman, after +her long harmless life, recognized the fury in her soul +and freed it. + +"Frances," whispered Clara, "when this act is over, go +and speak to them. I will go with you. It is your +chance to put an end to this horrible separation. They +are your children." + +"No. That woman is my enemy, Clara," said Mrs. Waldeaux +quietly. "I will make no terms with her." + +Miss Vance sighed and turned to the stage, but Frances +still watched the opposite box. It seemed as if the +passion within her had cleared her eyes. They never +had seen George as they now saw him. + +Was that her son? Was it that little priggish, +insignificant fellow that she had made a god of? He was +dull, commonplace! Satisfied to sit dumb in the +background and take orders from those bourgeois French +Jews! + +The play went on, but she saw nothing but George and his +wife. + +There was the result of all her drudgery! The hot +summers of work in the filthy poultry yards; the grinding +out of poor jokes; the coarse, cheap underclothes (she +used to cry when she put them on, she hated them so). +Years and years of it all; and for that cold, selfish +fop! + +His mother saw him leave the box, and knew that he was +coming. + +"Oh, good-evening, George!" she said gayly, as he opened +the door. "A wonderful scene, wasn't it? I have always +wished to see Irving in `Hamlet.'" + +"This is `Shylock,'" he said gravely, and turned to speak +to the others. They welcomed him eagerly, and made room +for him. He had lost something of the cold, blase air +which had ennobled him in the eyes of the young +women. He looked around presently, and said with a +comfortable shrug: + +"It is so pleasant to talk English again! My wife +detests it. We speak only French. I feel like an alien +and outcast among you!" He laughed; his mother glanced +at him curiously. But Lucy turned her face away, afraid +that he should see it. As he talked, George noted the +clear-cut American features of the girls, and their +dainty gowns, with a keen pleasure; then he glanced +quickly at the opposite box. + +"Ah!" said Jean to Mr. Perry. "The soiled lace and musk +are beginning to tell! He is tired of Lisa already!" +"I never liked the fellow," said Mr. Perry coldly. "But +he is hardly the cad that you suppose." + +He fell into a gloomy silence. He had wasted two years' +salary in following Lucy Dunbar about, in showering +flowers on her, in posing before her in the last fashions +of Conduit Street, and yet when this conceited fellow +came into the box she was blind and deaf to all besides! +Her eyes filled with tears just now when he talked of +his loneliness. Lonely--with his wife! A married man! + +George, when the curtain fell again, sat down by Frances. + +"Mother," he said. + +"Yes, George." Her eyes were bright and attentive, but +her countenance had fallen into hard lines new to him. + +"I went to Morgan's this afternoon. You have been very +liberal to us." + +"I will do what I can. You may depend upon that amount, +regularly." + +He rose and bade them good-night, and turned to her +again. + +"We--we are coming to-morrow to thank you. MOTHER?" +There was a hoarse sob in his throat. He laid his hand +on her arm. She moved so that it dropped. "We will come +to-morrow," he said. "Did you understand? Lisa wishes +to be friends with you. She is ready to forgive," he +groped on, blundering, like a man. + +"Oh, yes, I understand. You and Lisa are coming to +forgive me to-morrow," she said, smiling. + +He looked at her, perplexed and waiting. But she said no +more. + +"Well, I must go now. Good-night." + +"Good-night, George! "Her bright, smiling eyes followed +him steadily, as he went out. + + +Mrs. Waldeux tapped at Clara's door that evening after +they reached home. + +"I came to tell you that I shall leave London early in +the morning," she said. + +"You will not wait to see George and his wife?" + +"I hope I never shall see them again. No! Not a word! +I will hear no arguments!" She came into the room and +closed the door. There was a certain novel air of +decision and youth in her figure and movements. "I am +going to make a change, Clara," she said. "I have worked +for others long enough. I am going away now, alone. I +will be free. I will live my own life--at last." Her +eyes shone with exultation. + +"And---- Where are you going?" stammered Miss Vance, +dismayed. + +"I don't know. There is so much--it has all been waiting +so long for me. There are the cathedrals--and the +mountains. Or the Holy Land. Perhaps I may try to write +again. There seems to be a dumb word or two in me. +Don't be angry with me, Clara," throwing her arms about +her cousin, the tears rushing to her eyes. "I may come +back to you and little Lucy some time. But just now I +want to be alone and fancy myself young. I never was +young." + +When Lucy stole into her old friend's chamber the next +morning as usual to drink her cup of coffee with her, she +found the door open and the room in disorder, and she was +told that Mrs. Waldeaux had left London at daybreak. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +During the year which followed, Mr. Perry was forced to +return to the States, but he made two flying trips across +"the pond," as he called it, in the interests of his +magazine, always running down his prey of notorieties in +that quarter of Europe in which Miss Vance and her +charges chanced to be. + +When he came in July he found them in a humble little inn +in Bozen. He looked with contempt at the stone floors, +the clean cell-like chambers, each with its narrow bed, +and blue stone ewer perched on a wooden stool; and he +sniffed with disgust when breakfast was served on a table +set out in the Platz. + +"Don't know," he said, "whether I can digest food, eating +out of doors. Myself, I never give in to these foreign +ways. It's time they learned manners from us." + +"I have no doubt," said Miss Vance placidly, "that you +can find one of the usual hotels built for rich Americans +in the town. We avoid them. We search out the inns +du pays to see as far behind the scenes as we can. I +don't care to go to those huge houses with mobs of +Chicagoans and New Yorkers; and have the couriers and +portiers turn the flashlights on Europe for me, as if it +were a burlesque show." + +"Now, that's just what I like!" said Perry. "I always go +to the houses where the royalties put up. I like to +order better dishes and give bigger tips than they do. +They don't know Jem Perry from Adam, but it's my way of +waving the American flag." + +"I am afraid we have no such patriotic motive," said +Clara. "My girls seem to care for nothing now but art. +We have made this little inn our headquarters in the +Tyrol chiefly out of love for the old church yonder." + +Mr. Perry glanced contemptuously across the Platz at the +frowning gray building, and sat down with his back to it. + +"Art, eh? Well, I've no doubt I could soon catch on to +Art, if I turned my mind that way. It pays, too,--Art. +Not the fellows who paint, but the connoisseurs. There's +Miller from our town. He was a drummer for a candy +firm. Had an eye for color. Well, he buys pictures now +for Americans who want galleries in their houses. He +bought his whole collection for Stout--the great dealer +in hams. Why, Miller can tell the money value within +five dollars, at sight, of any picture in Europe. He's +safe, too. Never invests in pictures that aren't sure to +go up in price. Getting rich! And began as a candy +drummer! No, ma'am! Art's no mystery. I've never taken +it up myself. Europe is sheer pleasure to me. I get the +best out of it. I know where to lodge well, and I can +tell you where the famous plats are cooked, and I have my +coats built by Toole. The house pays me a salary which +justifies me in humoring my little follies," stroking his +red beard complacently. + +Lucy's chubby face and steady blue eyes were turned on +him thoughtfully, and presently, when they sauntered down +the windy street together, he talked and she still +silently watched him. + +"Miss Precision is weighing him in the balance," said +Jean, laughing, as she poured out more black coffee. +"With all of her soft ways Lucy is shrewd. She knows +quite well why he races across the Atlantic, and why +Prince Wolfburgh has backed away from us and charged on +us again all summer. She is cool. She is measuring poor +Perry's qualifications for a husband now just as she +would materials for a cake. A neat little inventory. So +much energy, so much honest kindness--so much vulgarity. +I couldn't do that. If ever a man wants to marry me, +I'll fly to him or away from him, as quick as the steel +needle does when the magnet touches it." +Miss Vance listened to her attentively. "Jean," she +said, after a pause, "are you sure that it is Lucy whom +the prince wishes to marry?" + +"It is not I," said Miss Hassard promptly. "He has +thought of me several times--he has weighed my +qualifications. But the man is in love with Lucy as +honestly as a ploughman could be. Don't you think I've +tough luck?" she said, resting her elbow on the table and +her chin on her palm, her keen gray eyes following Miss +Dunbar and her lover as they loitered under the shadow of +the church. "I am as young as Lucy. I have a better +brain and as big a dot. But her lovers make her +life a burden, and I never have had one. Just because +our noses and chins are made up differently!" + +"Oh, my dear!" said Clara anxiously. "I never thought +you cared for that kind of success!" + +"I'm only human," Jean laughed. "Of course I'm an +artist. I'm going to paint a great picture some day that +all the world shall go mad about. Of Eve. I'll put all +the power of all women into her. But in the meantime I'd +like to see one man turn pale and pant before me as the +fat little prince does when Lucy snubs him." + +"Lucy is very hard to please," complained Miss Vance. +"She snubs Mr. Perry--naturally. But the prince--why +should she not marry the prince?" + +"Your generation," said Jean, smiling slyly, "used to +think that an unreasonable whim called love was a good +thing in marriage----" + +"But why should she not love the prince? He is honorable +and kind, and quite passable as to looks---- Can there +be any one else?" turning suddenly to Jean. + +Miss Hassard looked at her a moment, hesitating. "Your +cousin George used to be Lucy's type of a hero----" + +"Why! the man is married!" Miss Vance stood up, her lean +face reddening. "Jean! You surprise me! That kind of +talk--it's indecent! It is that loose American idea of +marriage that ends in hideous divorce cases. But for one +of my girls----" + +"It is a very old idea," said Jean calmly. + +"David loved another man's wife. Mind you, I don't accuse +Lucy of loving any body, but when the needle has once +touched the magnet it answers to its call ever after." + +Miss Vance vouchsafed no answer. She walked away across +the Platz, jerking her bonnet strings into a knot. Jean +was one of the New Women! Her opinions stuck out on +every side like Briareus' hundred elbows! You could not +come near her without being jabbed by them. Such women +were all opinions; there was no softness, no feeling, no +delicacy about them. Skeletons with no flesh! As for +Lucy, she had no fear. If even the child had loved +George, she would have cast out every thought of him +on his wedding day, as a Christian girl should do! + +She passed Lucy at that moment. She was leaning against +one of the huge stone lions which crouch in front of the +church, listening to Mr. Perry. If ever a pure soul +looked into the world it was through those limpid eyes! + +The Platz was nearly empty. One or two men in blouses +clattered across the cobblestones and going into the dark +church dropped on their knees. The wind was high, and +now and then swept heavy clouds low across the sunlight +space overhead. + +Lucy, as Jean had guessed, knew why the man beside her +had crossed the Atlantic, and she had decided last night +to end the matter at once. The tears had stood in her +eyes for pity at the thought of the pain she must give +him. Yet she had put on her new close-fitting coat and +a becoming fur cap, and pulled out the loose hair which +she knew at this moment was blowing about her pink cheeks +in curly wisps in a way that was perfectly maddening. +Clara, seeing the mischief in her eyes as she listened +shyly to Perry, went on satisfied. There was no +abyss of black loss in that girl's life! + +Lucy just now was concerned only for Perry. How the poor +man loved her! Why not marry him after all, and put him +out of his pain? She was twenty-four. Most women at +twenty-four had gone through their little tragedy of +love. But she had had no tragedy. She told herself +firmly that there had been no story of love in her life. +There never could be, now. She was too old. + +She was tired, too, and very lonely. This man would seat +her on a throne and worship her every day. That would be +pleasant enough. + +"I am ashamed of myself," he was saying, "to pursue you +in this way. You have given me no encouragement, I know. +But whenever I go to New York and bone down to work, +something tells me to come back and try again." + +Lucy did not answer, and there was a brief silence. + +"Of course I'm a fool,"--prodding the ground with his +stick. "But if a man were in a jail cell and knew that +the sun was shining just outside, he'd keep on +beating at the wall." + +"Your life is not a jail cell. It's very comfortable, I +think." + +"It has been bare enough. I have had a hard fight to +live at all. I told you that I began as a canal-boy." + +She looked at him with quick sympathy. At once she +fancied that she could read old marks of want on his +face. His knuckles were knobbed like a laborer's. He +had had a hard fight! It certainly would be pleasant to +rain down comfort and luxury on the good, plucky fellow! + +"Of course that was all long ago," said Perry. "I'm not +ashamed of it. As Judge Baker remarked the other day, +`The acknowledged aristocrats of America, to-day, are its +self-made men.' He ought to know. The Bakers are the +top of the heap in New York. Very exclusive. I've been +intimate there for years. No, Miss Dunbar, I may have +begun as a mule-driver on a canal, but I am choice in my +society. My wife will not find a man or woman in my +circle who is half-cut." + +Lucy drew a long breath. To live all day and every day +with this man! + +And yet--she was so tired! There was a good deal of +money to manage, and he could do that. He would like a +gay, hospitable house, and so would she, and they would +be kind to the poor--and he was an Episcopalian, too. +There would be no hitch there. Lucy was a zealous High +Churchwoman. + +Why should she not do it? The man was as good as gold at +heart. Jean called him a cad, but the caddishness was +only skin deep. + +Mr. Perry watched her, reading her thoughts more keenly +than she guessed. + +"One thing I will say in justice to myself," he said. +"You are a rich woman. If you marry me, YOU will know, +if nobody else does, that I am no fortune-hunter. I +shall always be independent of my wife. Every dollar she +owns shall be settled on her before I go with her to the +altar." + +"Oh, I'm not thinking of the money," said Lucy +impatiently. + +"Then you are thinking of me!" He leaned over her. She +felt as if she had been suddenly dragged too close to +a big unpleasant fire. "I know you don't love me," he +panted, "you cold little angel, you! But you do like me? +Eh? just a little bit, Lucy? Marry me. Give me a +chance. I'll bring you to me. If there is a single +spark of love in your heart for me, I'll blow it into a +flame! I can do it, I tell you!" He caught her fiercely +by the shoulder. + +Lucy drew back and threw out her hands. "Let me have +time to think!" + +"Time? You've had a year!" + +"One more day. Come again this evening----" + +"This evening? I've come so often!" staring breathlessly +into her face. "It will be no use, I can see that. +Well, as you please. I'll come once more." + +The young fellow in his jaunty new clothes shook as if he +had the ague. He had touched her. For one minute she +had been his! + +He turned and walked quickly across the Platz. + +Lucy, left alone, was full of remorse. She looked down +into her heart; she had forgotten to do it before. No, +not a spark for him to blow into a flame; not a +single warm thought of him! + +The girl was ashamed of herself. He might be a cad, but +he was real; his honest love possessed him body and soul. +It was a matter of expediency to her; a thing to debate +with herself, to dally over, with paltry pros and cons. + +Miss Vance came hurriedly up the street, an open letter +in her hand. Lucy ran to meet her. + +"What is it? You have heard bad news?" + +"I suppose we ought not to call it that. It is from +George Waldeaux. They have a son, two months old. He +tells it as a matter for rejoicing." + +"Oh, yes," said Lucy feebly. + +"They are at Vannes--in Brittany. He has a cough. He +seems to know nobody--to have no friends, and, I suspect, +not much money. He is terribly depressed." Clara folded +the letter thoughtfully. "He asks me to tell his mother +that the baby has come." + +"Where is his mother?" + +"In Switzerland." + +"Why is she not with him?" demanded Lucy angrily. +"Wandering about gathering edelweiss, while he is alone +and wretched!" + +"He has his wife. You probably do not understand the +case fully," said Clara coldly. "I am going to wire to +his mother now." She turned away and Lucy stood +irresolute, her hand clutching the shaggy head of the +stone beast beside her. + +"I can give him money. I'll go to him. He needs me!" +she said aloud. Then her whole body burned with shame. +She--Lucy Dunbar, good proper Lucy, whose conscience hurt +her if she laid her handkerchiefs away awry in her +drawer, nursing a criminal passion for a married man! + +She went slowly back to the inn. "He has his wife," she +told herself. "I am nothing to him. I doubt if he would +know me if he met me on the street." She tried to go +back to her easy-going mannerly little thoughts, but +there was something strange and fierce behind them that +would not down. + +Jean came presently to the salle. "I have had a letter +too," she said. "The girl who writes came from Pond +City. She was in the same atelier in Paris with +George. She says: `Your friends the Waldeaux have +come to grief by a short cut. They flung money about for +a few months as if they were backed by the Barings. The +Barings might have given their suppers. As for their +studio--there was no untidier jumble of old armor and +brasses and Spanish leather in Paris; and Mme. George +posing in the middle in soiled tea-gowns! But the +suppers suddenly stopped, and the leather and Persian +hangings went to the Jews. I met Lisa one day coming out +of the Vendome, where she had been trying to peddle a +roll of George's sketches to the rich Americans. I asked +her what was wrong, and she laughed and said, "We were +trying to make thirty francs do the work of thirty +thousand. And we have made up our minds that we know no +more of art than house painters. We are in a blind +alley!" Soon after that the baby was born. They went +down to Brittany. I hear that Lisa, since the child +came, has been ill. I tell all this dreary stuff to you +thinking that you may pass it on to their folks. +Somebody ought to go to their relief.'" + +"Relief!" exclaimed Miss Vance. "And the money that they +were flinging into the gutter was earned day by day +by his old mother! Every dollar of it! I know that +during the last year she has done without proper clothes +and food to send their allowance to them." +"You forget," said Lucy, "that George Waldeaux was doing +noble work in the world. It was a small thing for his +mother to help him." + +"Noble work? His pictures or his sermons, Lucy?" +demanded Miss Vance, with a contemptuous shrug. + +Lucy without reply walked out to the inn garden and +seated herself in a shady corner. There Mr. Perry found +her just as the first stroke of the angelus sounded on +the air. Her book lay unopened on her lap. + +He walked slowly up to her and stopped, breathing hard, +as if he had been running. "It is evening now. I have +come for my answer, Miss Dunbar," he said, forcing a +smile. + +"Answer?" Lucy looked up bewildered. + +"You have forgotten!" + +The blood rushed to her face. She held out her hands. +"Oh, forgive me! I heard bad news. I have been so +troubled----" + +"You forgot that I had asked you to be my wife!" + +"Mr. Perry----" + +"No, don't say another word, Miss Dunbar. I have had my +answer. I knew you didn't love me, but I did not think +I was so paltry that you would forget that I had offered +to marry you." + +Lucy pressed her hands together, looking up at him +miserably without a word. He walked down the path and +leaned on the wall with his back to her. His very back +was indignant. + +Presently he turned. "I will bid you goodby," he said, +with an effort at lofty courtesy, "and I will leave my +adieux for your friends with you." + +"Are you going--back to the States?" stammered Lucy. + +"Yes, I am going back to the States," he replied sternly. +"A man of merit there has his place, regardless of rank. +Jem Perry can hold his head there as high as any beggarly +prince. Farewell, Miss Dunbar." + +He strode down the path and disappeared. Lucy shook her +head and cried from sheer wretchedness. She felt +that she had been beaten to-day with many stripes. + +Suddenly the bushes beside her rustled. "Forgive me," he +said hoarsely. She looked up and saw his red honest +eyes. "I behaved like a brute. Good-by, Lucy! I never +loved any woman but you, and I never will." + +"Stay, stay!" she cried. + +He heard her, but he did not come back. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Lucy was silent and dejected for a day or two, being +filled with pity for Mr. Perry's ruined life. But when +she saw his name in a list of outgoing passengers on the +Paris her heart gave a bound of relief. Nothing more +could now be done. That chapter was closed. There had +been no other chapter of moment in her life, she told +herself sternly. Now, all the clouds had cleared away. +It was a new day. She would begin again. + +So she put on new clothes, none of which she had ever +worn before, and tied back her curly hair with a fresh +white ribbon, and came down to breakfast singing gayly. + +Miss Vance gave her her roll and milk in silence, and +frowning importantly, drew out a letter. + +"Lucy, I have just received a communication from Prince +Wolfburgh. He is in Bozen." + +"Here!" Lucy started up, glancing around like a chased +hare. + +Then she sat down again and waited. There was no other +chapter, and the book was so blank! + +"His coming is very opportune," she said presently, +gently. + +"Oh! do YOU think so, my dear? Really! Well, I always +have liked the young man. So simple. So secure of his +social position. The Wolfburghs, I find, go back to the +eleventh century. Mr. Perry had noble traits, but one +never felt quite safe as to his nails or his grammar." + +"But the prince--the prince?" cried Jean. + +"Oh, yes. Well, he writes--most deferentially. He begs +for the honor of an interview with me this afternoon upon +a subject of the most vital importance. He says, +`regarding you, as I do, in loco parentis to the +hochgeboren Fraulein Dunbar.'" +"Hochgeboren!" said Lucy. "My grandfather was a +saddler. Tell him so, Miss Vance. Tell him the exact +facts. I want no disclosures after----" + +"After marriage?" said Jean, rising suddenly. "Then you +have decided?" + +"I have not said that I had decided," replied Lucy +calmly. + +Jean laughed. "He will not be scared by the saddler. +Europeans of his order take no account of our American +class distinctions. They look upon us as low-born +parvenues, all alike. They weigh and value us by other +standards than birth." + +"I have money, if you mean that, Jean," said Lucy +cheerfully. + +"I think you had better go away, girls, if you have +finished your dejeuner. He may be here at any moment +now," said Clara, looking anxiously at her watch. + +Lucy went to her little chamber and sat down to work at +a monstrous caricature which she was painting of the +church. Jean paced up and down the stone corridor, +looking out of the window into the Platz. + +"He has come," she said excitedly, appearing at Lucy's +door. "He went into the church first, to say an ave for +help, poor little man! His fat face is quite pale and +stern. It is a matter of life and death to him. And +it's no more to you than the choosing of a new coat." + +Lucy smiled and sketched in a priest on the church +steps. Her hand shook, but Jean could not see that. She +went to the window again with something like an inward +oath at the dolts of commonplace women who had all the +best chances, but was back in a moment, laughing +nervously. + +"Do you know he has on that old brown suit?" She leaned +against the jamb of the door. "If I were a prince, and +came a-wooing, I would have troops of my Jagers, and +trumpets and banners with the arms of my House, and I'd +wear all my decorations. Of course we Americans are +bound to say that rank and royalty are dead things. But +if I had them, I'd galvanize the corpses! If they are +useful as shows, I'd make the show worth seeing. I'd +cover myself with jewels like the old Romanoffs. You +would never see Queen Jean in a slouchy alpaca and +pork-pie hat like Victoria." While her tongue chattered, +her eyes watched Lucy keenly. "You don't hear me! You +are deciding what to do. Why on earth should you +hesitate? He is a gentleman--he loves you!" and then to +Lucy's relief she suddenly threw on her hat and rushed +off for a walk. + +Miss Dunbar painted the priest's robe yellow, in her +agitation. But the agitation was not deep. There really +seemed no reason why she should hesitate. He would be +kind; he was well-bred and agreeable. A princess? She +had a vague idea of a glorified region of ancestral +castles and palaces in which dukes and royalties dwelt +apart and discoursed of high matters. She would be one +of them. + +The other day there seemed to be no reason why she should +not marry Mr. Perry. In marriage then one must only +consider the suitability of the man? There was nothing +else to consider---- + + +With a queer, hunted look in her soft eyes she worked on, +daubing on paint liberally. + +Meanwhile, in the little salle below, Miss Vance sat +stiffly erect, while the prince talked in his shrill +falsetto. Although he set forth his affection for the +engelreine Madchen as simply as the little German baker +in Weir (whom he certainly did resemble) might have done, +she could find, in her agitation, no fitting words in +which to answer him. That she, Clara Vance, should be +the arbiter in a princely alliance! At last she managed +to ask whether Miss Dunbar had given him any +encouragement on which to found his claim. + +"Ah, Fraulein Vance!" he cried, laughing. "The hare does +not call to the hounds! But I have no fear. She speaks +to me in other ways than by words. + + + "`Mein Herz und seine Augen + Verstehen sich gar so gut!' + + +You know the old song. Ah, ja! I understand what she +would say--here!" touching his heart. + +He paced up and down, smiling to himself. Suddenly he +drew up before her, tossing his hands out as if to throw +away some pleasant dream. "I have come to you, gracious +lady, as I would to the mother of Miss Dunbar. I show to +you the heart! But before I address her it is necessary +that I shall consult her guardian with regard to +business." + +It was precisely, Clara said afterward, as if the baker +from Weir had stopped singing, and presented his bill. + +"Business?" she gasped. "Oh, I see! Settlements. We +don't have such things in the States. But I quite +understand all those European social traits. I have +lived abroad for years. I----" + +"Who is Miss Dunbar's guardian?" the prince demanded +alertly. He sat down by the table and took out a +notebook and papers. + +"But--settlements? Is not that a little premature?" she +ventured. "She has not accepted you." + +"HE may not accept my financial proposals. It is +business, you see. The gentle ladies, even die +Amerikaner, do not comprehend business. It is not, you +perceive, dear lady, the same when the head of the House +of Wolfburgh allies himself with a hochgeboren +Fraulein as when the tailors marry----" + +"Nor bakers. I see," stammered Clara. + +"Miss Dunbar's properties are valuable. Her estate in +Del-aware," glancing at his notebook, "is larger than +some of our German kingdoms. Her investments in railway +and mining securities, if put on the market, should be +worth a million of florins. These are solid matters, and +must be dealt with carefully." + +"But, good gracious, Prince Wolfburgh! cried Miss Vance, +"how did you find out about Lucy's investments?" + +He looked at her in amazement. "Meine gnadigste +Fraulein! It is not possible that you supposed that in +such a matter as this men leap into the dark--the men of +rank, princes, counts, English barons, who marry the +American mees? That they do not know for what they +exchange their--all that they give? I will tell you," +with a condescending smile. "There are agents in the +States--in New York--in Chicago--in--how do you name it? +St. Sanata. They furnish exact information as to the +dot of the lady who will, perhaps, marry here. Oh, no! +We do not leap into the dark!" + +"So I perceive," said Clara dryly. "And may I inquire, +your Highness, what financial arrangement you propose, in +case she becomes your wife?" + +"Assuredly." He hastily unfolded a large paper. "This +must be accepted by her guardian before the betrothal can +take place. I will translate, in brief. The whole +estate passes to me, and is secured to me in case of my +wife's death without issue. I inserted that clause," he +said, looking up, smiling, for approval, "because +American Frauleins are so fragile--not like our +women. I will, of course, if we have issue, try to +preserve the real estate for my heir, and the remaining +property for my other children." + +"It seems to me that a good deal is taken for granted +there," said Clara, whose cheeks were very hot. "And +where does Miss Dunbar come into this arrangement? Is +she not to have any money at all?" + +"My widow, should I die first, will be paid an annuity +from my estate. But while Mees Lucy is my wife, _I_ will +buy all that she needs. I will delight to dress her, to +feed her well. With discretion, of course. For there +are many channels into which my income must flow. +But I will not be a niggardly husband to her! No, no!" +cried the little man in a glow. + +"That is very kind of you. But she will not have any of +her own money to spend? In her own purse? To fling into +the gutter if she chooses?" + +The prince laughed gayly. "How American you are, +gracious lady! A German wife does not ask for her `own +purse.' My wife will cease to be American; she will be +German," patting his soft hands ecstatically. "But +you have not told me the name of her guardian?" + +"Lucy," said Miss Vance reluctantly, "is of age. She has +full control of her property. A Trust Company manages it +for her, but they have no authority to stop her if she +chooses to--throw it into the gutter." + +The prince looked up sharply. Could this be a trick? +But if it were, the agent would find out for him. He +rose. + + +"To have the sole disposal of her own hand and of her +fortune? That seems strange to us," he said, smiling. +"But I have your consent, most dear lady, to win both, if +I can?" + +"Oh, yes, prince. If you can." + +He took her hand and bowed profoundly over it, but no +courtly grace nor words could bring back Clara's awe of +him. She had a vague impression that the Weir baker had +been wrangling with her about his bill. + +"Your Highness has asked a good many questions," she +said. "May I put one to you? Did you inquire concerning +Miss Hassard's dot, also?" +"Ah, certainly! Why not? It is very large. I have +spoken of it to my cousin Count Odo. But the +drawback--her father still lives. He may marry again. +Her dot depends upon his good pleasure. Whereas Miss +Dunbar is an orphan; and besides that, she is so dear to +me!" clasping his hands, his face red with fervor. "So +truly dear!" + +And she knew that he honestly meant it. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +When Miss Vance came into the corridor after she had +reported this interview to Lucy, Jean swept her into her +room and dragged the whole story from her. In fact the +poor anxious lady was glad to submit it to the girl's +shrewd hard sense. + +"You told him that she was the uncontrolled mistress of +her money!" + +"It is the truth. I had to tell him the truth, my dear." + +"Yes, I suppose so, for he would have found it out +anyhow." + +"I do feel," panted Clara, "as if I had put a dove into +the claws of a vulture." + +"Not at all," said Jean promptly. "The little man has a +heart, but an empty pocket. Was Lucy interested most in +his love or his bargaining?" + +"In neither, I think. She just went on painting, and +said nothing." + +Oh, she will decide the matter in time! She will +bring her little intellect to bear on it as if it were a +picnic for her Sunday-school class!" Jean stood silent +a while. "Miss Vance," she said suddenly, "let me +engineer this affair for a few days. I can help you." + +"What do you propose to do, Jean?" + +"To leave Bozen to-morrow. For Munich." + +"But the Wolfburghs have a palace or--something in +Munich. Is it quite delicate for us----" + +"It is quite rational. Let us see what the something is. +So far in our dealings with principalities and powers, we +have had a stout little man--with no background." +The prince was startled when he was told of this sudden +journey, but declared that he would follow them +to-morrow. + +Lucy, as usual, asked no questions, but calmly packed her +satchel. + +As the little train, the next day, lumbered through the +valley of the Eisach, she sat in her corner, reading a +newspaper. Miss Vance dozed, or woke with a start to +lecture on points of historic interest. + +"Why don't you look, Lucy? That monastery was a Roman +fortress in the third century. And you are missing +the color effects of the vineyards." + +"I can look now. I have finished my paper." Lucy folded +it neatly and replaced it in her bag. "I have read the +Delaware State Sun," she said triumphantly, "regularly, +every week since we left home. When I go back I shall be +only seven days behind with the Wilmington news." + +Jean glanced at her contemptuously. "Look at that great +castle on yonder mountain," she said. "You could lodge +a village inside of the ramparts. Do you think Wolfburgh +Schloss is like that? The prince told us last night," +turning to Miss Vance, "the old legends about his castle. +The first Wolfburgh was a Titan about the time of Noah, +and married a human wife, and with his hands tore open +the mountain for rocks to lay the foundation of his +house. According to his story there were no end of +giants and trolls and kings concerned in the building of +it," she went on, furtively watching the deepening pink +in Lucy's cheek. "The Wolfburgh of Charlemagne's day was +besieged by him, and another entertained St. Louis and +all his crusaders within the walls." Jean's voice rose shrilly +and her eyes glowed. She leaned forward, looking eagerly +across the fields. "The prince told us that the Schloss +of his race had for centuries been one of the great +fortresses of Christendom. And here it is! Now we shall +see--we shall see!" + +The car stopped. The guard opened the door and Miss +Vance and Lucy suddenly found themselves swept by Jean on +to the platform, while the little train rumbled on down +the valley. Miss Vance cried out in dismay. + +"Never mind. There will be another train in a half +hour," said Jean. "Here is the Schloss," pointing to a +pepper-box tower neatly whitewashed, which rose out of a +huge mass of broken stone. "And here, I suppose, is the +capital of the kingdom over which the Wolfburghs now +reign feudal lords?" + +Clara found herself against her will looking curiously at +the forge, the dirty shop, the tiny bier-halle, and a +half a dozen huts, out of which swarmed a few old women +and children. + +"Where are the men of this village?" Jean demanded of the +station master, a stout old man with a pipe in his mouth. + +"Gone to America, for the most part," he said, with a +shrug. + +Lucy came up hastily, an angry glitter in her soft eyes. +"You have no right to make me play the spy in this way!" +she said haughtily, and going into the little station sat +down with her back to the door. + +"You? It is I--I----" muttered Jean breathlessly. "And +who lives in the tower, my good man? It is not big +enough for a dozen hens." She slipped a florin into his +hand. + +"Four of the noble ladies live there. The princesses. +The gracious sisters of Furst Hugo. There come two of +them now." + +A couple of lean, wrinkled women dressed in soiled merino +gowns and huge black aprons, their hair bristling in curl +papers, crossed the road, peering curiously at the +strangers. + +"They came to look at you, Fraulein," said the man, +chuckling. "Strangers do not stop at Wolfburgh twice in +the year." + +"And what do the noble ladies do all the year?" + +"Jean, Jean!" remonstrated Clara. + +"Oh, Miss Vance! This is life and death to some of us! +What do they do?" + +"Do?" said the man, staring. "What shall any gracious +lady do? They cook and brew, and crochet lace and----" + +"Are there any more princesses--sisters of Furst Hugo?" + +"Two more. They live in Munich. No, none of them are +married. Because," he added zealously, "there are no men +as high-born as our gracious ladies, so they cannot +marry." + +"No doubt that accounts for it," said Jean. "Six. These +are `the channels into which the income will flow,' hey?" +She gave him more money, and marching into the station +caught Lucy by the shoulder, shaking her passionately. +"Do you think any American girl could stand that? How +would YOU like to be caged up in that ridiculous tower +to cook and crochet and brew beer and watch the train go +by for recreation? The year round--the year round?" + +Lucy rose quietly. "The train is coming now," she said. +"Calm yourself, Jean. YOU will not have to live in the +tower." + +Jean laughed. When they were seated in the car +again, she looked wistfully out at the heaps of ruins. + +"It must have been a mighty fortress once," she said. +"Those stones were hewed before Charlemagne's time. And +a great castle could easily be built with them now," she +added thoughtfully. + + + +CHAPTER X + +The travellers entered Munich at noon. The great +generous city lay tranquil and smiling in the frosty +sunlight. + +"I have secured apartments," said Miss Vance, "used +hitherto by royalties or American millionaires. My girl +must be properly framed when a prince comes a-wooing." + +Lucy smiled. But her usual warm color faded as they +drove through the streets. Jean, however, was gay and +eager. + +"Ah, the dear splendid town!" she cried. "It always +seems to give us a royal welcome. Nothing is changed! +There is the music in the Kellers, and there go the +same Bavarian officers with their swagger and saucy blue +eyes. They are the handsomest men in Europe! And here +is the Munchen-kindl laughing at us, and the same +crowds are going to the Pinakothek! What do you want +more? Beer and splendor and fun and art! What a home it +will be for you, Lucy!" + +Lucy's cold silence did not check Jean's affectionate +zeal. She anxiously searched among the stately old +buildings, which they passed, for the Wolfburgh palace. +"It will not be in these commonplace Haussmannized +streets," she said. "It is in some old corner; it has a +vast, mysterious, feudal air, I fancy. You will hold a +little court in it, and sometimes let a poor American +artist from Pond City in to hang on the edge of the crowd +and stare at the haute noblesse." + +"Don't be absurd, Jean," said Miss Vance. + +"I am quite serious. I think an American girl like Lucy, +with her beauty and her money, will be welcomed by these +German nobles as a white swan among ducks. She ought to +take her place and hold it." Jean's black eyes snapped +and the blood flamed up her cheeks. "If I were she I'd +make my money tell! I'd buy poor King Ludwig's residence +at Binderhof, with the cascades and jewelled peacocks and +fairy grottos, for my country seat. The Bavarian +nobility are a beggarly lot. If they knew that Lucy and +her millions were coming to town in this cab, they'd blow +their trumpets for joy. `Wave, Munich, all thy +banners wave!'" Lucy's impatient shrug silenced +her, but she was preoccupied and excited throughout the +day. Miss Vance watched her curiously. Could it be that +she had heard of the prince's plan of marrying her to his +cousin, and that she was building these air castles for +herself? + + +A day or two sufficed to make Miss Vance's cheery +apartments the rendezvous of troops of Americans of all +kinds: from the rich lounger, bored by the sight of +pictures, which he did not understand, and courts which +he could not enter, to the half-starved, eager-eyed art +students, who smoked, and drank beer, and chattered in +gutturals, hoping to pass for Germans. + +There were plenty of idle young New Yorkers and +Bostonians too, hovering round Lucy and Jean, +overweighted by their faultless London coats and trousers +and fluent French. But they deceived nobody; they all +had that nimble brain, and that unconscious swagger of +importance and success which stamps the American in every +country. Prince Hugo, in his old brown suit, came and +went quietly among them. + +"The genuine article!" Jean declared loudly. "There +is something royal in his hospitality! He lays all +Munich at Lucy's feet, as if it were his own estate, and +the museums and palaces were the furniture of his house. +That homely simplicity of his is tremendously fine, if +she could understand it!" + +The homely genuineness had its effect even upon Lucy. +The carriage which he brought to drive them to Isar-anen +was scaly with age, but the crest upon it was the noblest +in Bavaria; in the cabinet of portraits of ancient +beauties in the royal palace he showed her indifferently +two or three of his aunts and grandmothers, and in the +historical picture of the anointing of the great +Charlemagne, one of his ancestors, stout and good-humored +as Hugo himself, supported the emperor. +"The pudgy little man," said Jean one day, somehow +belongs to the old world of knights and +crusaders--Sintram and his companions. He will make it +all real to Lucy when she marries him. He is like Ali +Baba, standing at the shut door of the cave full of +jewels and treasures with the key in his hand." + +"Those Arabian Night stories are simply silly," said Lucy +severely. "I am astonished that any woman in this +age of the world should read that kind of trash." + +"But the prince's cave?" persisted Jean. "When are we to +look into it? I want to be sure of the treasures inside. +When are we to go to his palace? When will his sisters +ask us to dinner?" + +Miss Vance looked anxious. "That is a question of great +importance," she said. "The princesses have invited me +through their brother to call. It is of course etiquette +here for the stranger to call first, but I don't wish to +compromise Lucy by making advances." + +There was a moment's silence, then Lucy said, blushing +and faltering a little, "It would be better perhaps to +call, and not prejudice them, by any discourtesy, against +us. The prince is very kind." + +"So! The wind is in that quarter?" Jean said, with a +harsh laugh. + +She jumped up and went to her own room. She was in a +rage at herself. Why had she not run away to Paris +months ago and begun her great picture of the World's +mother, Eve? There was a career for her! And +thinking--perhaps of Eve--she cried hot salt tears. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A week passed, but the question of the first call was not +yet settled. It required as much diplomacy as an +international difficulty. Furst Hugo represented the +princesses as "burning with impatience to behold the +engelreine Madchen whom they hoped to embrace as a +sister," but no visible sign of their ardor reached Miss +Vance. + +On Monday Jean went to spend the day with some of her +artist friends, but at noon she dashed into the room +where Clara and Lucy sat sewing, her dark face blotched +red, and her voice stuttering with excitement. + +"I have seen into the cave!" she shouted. I have got at +the truth! It's a rather stagy throne, the Wolfburghs! +Plated, cheap!" + +"What is the matter with you?" said Miss Vance. + +"Nothing is the matter with ME. It is Lucy's tragedy. +I've seen the magnificent ancient palace of the +Wolfburghs. It is a flat! In the very house where +I went to-day. The third story flat just under the +attics where the poor Joneses daub portraits. I passed +the open doors and I saw the shabby old tables and chairs +and the princesses--two fat old women in frowzy wrappers, +and their hair in papers, eating that soup of pork and +cabbages and raisins--the air was thick with the smell! +And that is not the worst!" + +"Take breath, Jean," said Lucy calmly. + +"The prince himself--the Joneses told me, there can be no +doubt--the prince makes soap for a living! No wonder you +turn pale, Miss Vance. Soap! He is the silent partner +in the firm of Woertz und Zimmer, and it is not a paying +business either." + +Jean did not wait for an answer, but walked up and down +the room, laughing angrily to herself. "Yes, soap! He +cannot sneer at Lucy's ancestral saddles, now. Nor my +father's saws! His rank is the only thing he has to give +for Lucy's millions, and now she knows what it is worth!" + +Lucy rose and, picking up her work basket, walked quietly +out of the room. Jean flashed an indignant glance after +her. + +"She might have told me that he gave himself! Surely the +man counts for something! Anyhow, rank like his is not +smirched by poverty or trade. Bismarck himself brews +beer." + +"Your temper is contradictory to-day," said Clara coldly. +"Did you know," she said presently, "that the princesses +will be at the Countess von Amte's to-morrow?" + +"Then we shall meet them!" cried Jean. "Then something +will be settled." + +Lucy locked the door of her chamber after her. +She found much comfort in the tiny bare room with its +white walls and blue stove, and the table where lay her +worn Bible and a picture of her old home. The room +seemed a warm home to her now. Above the wall she had +hung photographs of the great Madonnas, and lately she +had placed one of Frances Waldeaux among them. That was +the face on which she looked last at night. When Clara +had noticed it, Lucy had said, "I am as fond of the dear +lady as if she were my own mother." + +She sat down before it now, and taking out her sewing +began to work, glancing up at it, half smiling as to +a friend who talked to her. She thought of Furst Hugo +boiling soap, with a gentle pity, and of Jean with hot +disdain. What had Jean to do with it? The prince was +her own lover, as her gloves were her own. + +But indeed, the prince and love were but shadows on the +far sky line to the little girl; the real things were her +work and her Bible, and George's mother talking to her. +She often traced remembered expressions on Mrs. +Waldeaux's face; the gayety, the sympathy, a strange +foreboding in the eyes. Finer meanings, surely, than any +in the features of these immortal insipid Madonnas! + +Sometimes Lucy could not decide whether she had seen +these meanings on Frances Waldeaux's face, or on her +son's. + +She sewed until late in the afternoon. There came a tap +at the door. She opened it, and there stood Mrs. +Waldeaux, wrapped in a heavy cloak. Lucy jumped at her, +trembling, and hugged her. + +"Oh, come in! Come in!" she cried shrilly. "I have just +been thinking of you and talking to you!" + +Frances laughed, bewildered. "Oh, it is Miss +Dunbar? The man sent me here by mistake to wait. Miss +Vance is out, he said." + +"Yes, I suppose so. But I--I am here." Lucy threw her +arms around her again, laying her head down on her +shoulder. She felt as if something that she had waited +for a long time was coming to her. "Sit by the stove. +Your hands are like ice," she said. + +"Yes, I am usually cold now; I don't know why." + +Lucy then saw a curious change in her face. The fine +meanings were not in it now. It was fatter--coarser; the +hair was dead, the eyes moved sluggishly, like the glass +eyes of a doll. + +"You are always cold? Your blood is thin, perhaps. You +are overtired, dear. Have you travelled much?" + +"Oh, yes! all of the time. I have seen whole tracts of +pictures, and no end of palaces and +hotels--hotels--hotels!" Frances said, awakening to the +necessity of being talkative and vivacious with the young +girl. She threw off her cloak. There was a rip in the +fur, and the dirty lining hung out. Lucy shuddered. +Mrs. Waldeaux's blood must have turned to water, or she +would never have permitted that! + +"You must rest now. I will take care of you," she said, +with a little nod of authority. Frances looked at her +perplexed. Why should this pretty creature mother her +with such tenderness? + +Oh! It was the girl that George should have married! + +She glanced at the white room with its dainty bibelots, +the Bible, the Madonnas, watching, benign. Poor little +nun, waiting for the love that never could come to her! + +"I am glad you are here, my child. You can tell me what +I want to know. I have not an hour to spare. I am going +to my son--to George. Do you know where he is?" + +"At Vannes, in Brittany." + +"Brittany--that is a long way." Frances rose +uncertainly. "I hoped he was near. I was in a Russian +village, and Clara's letter was long in finding me. When +I got it, I travelled night and day. I somehow thought +I should meet him on the way. I fancied he would come to +meet me." + +Lucy's blue eyes watched her keenly a moment. Then she +rang the bell. + +"You must eat, first of all," she said. + +"No, I am not hungry. Vannes, you said? I must go now. +I haven't an hour." + +"You have two, exactly. You'll take the express at +eight. Oh, I'm never mistaken about a train. Here is +the coffee. Now, I'll make you a nice sandwich." + +Frances was faint with hunger. As she ate, she watched +the pretty matter-of-fact little girl, and laughed with +delight. When had she found any thing so wholesome? It +was a year, too, since she had seen any one who knew +George. Naturally, she began to empty her heart, which +was full of him, to Lucy. + +"I have not spoken English for months," she said, smiling +over her coffee. "It is a relief! And you are a friend +of my son's, too?" + +"No. A mere acquaintance," said Lucy, with reserve. + +"No one could even see George and not understand how +different he is from other men." + +"Oh! altogether different!" said Lucy. "Yes, you +understand. And there was that future before +him--when his trouble came. Oh, I've thought of it, and +thought of it, until my head is tired! He fell under +that woman's influence, you see. It was like mesmerism, +or the voodoo curse that the negroes talk of. It came on +me too. Why, there was a time when I despised him. +George!" Her eyes grew full of horror. "I left him, to +live my own life. He has staggered under his burden +alone, and I could have rid him of it. Now there are two +of them." + +"Two of them? " said Lucy curiously. + +"There is a baby--Pauline Felix's grandson. I beg your +pardon, my child, I ought not to have named her. She is +not a person whom you should ever hear of. He has them +both,--George. He has that weight to carry." She stood +up. "That is why I am going to him. It must be taken +from him." + +"You mean--a divorce?" + +"I don't know--I can't think clearly. But God does such +queer things! There are millions of men in the world, +and this curse falls on--George!" + +Lucy put her hands on the older woman's arms and seated +her. "Mrs. Waldeaux," she said, with decision, "you +need sleep, or you would not talk in that way. Lisa is +not a curse. Nor a voodoo witch. She came to your son +instead of to any other man--because he chose her out +from all other women. He had seen them." She held her +curly head erect. "As he did choose her, he should make +the best of her." + +Frances looked at her as one awakened out of a dream. +"You talk sensibly, child. Perhaps you are right. But +I must go. Ring for a cab, please. No, I will wait in +the station. Clara would argue and lecture. I could not +stand that to-night," with her old comical shrug. + +Lucy's entreaties were vain. + +But as the train rushed through the valley of the Isar +that night, Frances looked forward into the darkness with +a nameless terror. "That child was so healthy and sane," +she said, "I wish I had stayed with her longer." + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Prince Hugo had made no secret of his intentions with +regard to Miss Dunbar, so that when it was known that his +sisters and the rich American Mees would at last meet at +the Countess von Amte's there was a flutter of curiosity +in the exclusive circle of Munich. The countess herself +called twice on Clara that day, so great was her triumph +that this social event would occur at her house. + +She asked boldly "Which of Miss Dunbar's marvellous +Parisian confections will she wear? It is so important +for her future happiness that the princesses should be +favorably impressed! Aber, lieber Gott!" she shrieked, +"don't let her speak French! Not a word! That would be +ruin! They are all patriotism!" She hurried away, and +ran back to say that the sun was shining as it had not +done for days. + +"She thinks nature itself is agog to see how the +princesses receive Lucy," said Miss Vance +indignantly. "One would suppose that the child was on +trial." + +"So she is. Me, too," said Jean, wistfully regarding the +bebe waist of the gown which Doucet had just sent her. +"I must go as an ingenue. I don't play the part well!" + +"No, you do not," said Clara. + +Miss Vance tapped at Lucy's door as she went down, and +found her working at her embroidery. "You must lie down +for an hour, my dear," she said, "and be fresh and rosy +for this evening." + +"I am not going. I must finish these pinks. I have just +sent a note of apology to the countess." + +"Not going!" Clara gasped, dismayed. Then she laughed +with triumph. "The princesses and all the Herrschaft of +Munich will be there to pass judgment on the bride, and +the bride will be sitting at home finishing her pinks! +Good!" + +"I am no bride!" Lucy rose, stuck her needle carefully in +its place, and came closer to Miss Vance. "I have made +up my mind," she said earnestly. "I shall never marry. +My life now is quiet and clean. I'm not at all sure +that it would be either if I were the Princess +Wolfburgh." + +Clara stroked her hair fondly. "Your decision is sudden, +my dear," she faltered, at last. + +"Yes. There was something last night. It showed me what +I was doing. To marry a man just because he is good and +kind, that is--vile!" The tears rushed to her eyes. +There was a short silence. + +"Don't look so aghast, dear Miss Vance," said Lucy +cheerfully. "Go now and dress to meet the Herrschaft." + +"And what will you do, child?" + +"I really must finish these pinks to-night." She took up +her work. Her chin trembled a little. "We won't speak +of this again, please," she said. "I never shall be a +bride or a wife or mother. I will have a quiet, +independent life--like yours." + +The sunshine fell on the girl's grave, uplifted face, on +the white walls, the blue stove, and the calm, watching +Madonnas. Clara, as Mrs. Waldeaux had done, thought of +a nun in her cell to whom love could only be a sacred +dream. + +She smiled back at Lucy, bade her goodnight, and closed +the door. + +"Like mine?" she said, as she went down the corridor. +"Well, it is a comfortable, quiet life. But empty----" +And she laid her hand suddenly across her thin breast. + + +Jean listened in silence when Clara told her briefly that +Lucy was not going. + +"She is very shrewd," she said presently. "She means to +treat them de haut en bas from the outset. It is +capital policy." + +Jean, when she entered the countess's salon, with +downcast eyes, draped in filmy lace without a jewel or +flower, was shy innocence in person. Furst Hugo stood +near the hostess, with two stout women in shabby gowns +and magnificent jewels. + +"The frocks they made themselves, and the emeralds are +heirlooms," Jean muttered to Clara, without lifting her +timid eyes. + +"Miss Dunbar is not coming?" exclaimed the prince. + +"No," said Miss Vance. + +"The Fraulein is ill?" demanded one of his sisters. + +"No," Clara said, again smiling. +"WE expected to meet her," the younger princess said. +"It is most singular----" + +"She has sent her apology to the countess," said Clara +gently, and passed on. + +But her little triumph was short lived. + +A famous professional soprano appeared in a +white-ribboned enclosure at the end of the salon, and +the guests were rapidly arranged according to their rank +to listen. Clara and Jean stood until every man and +woman were comfortably seated, when they were placed in +the back row. + +When the music was over supper was announced, and the +same ceremony was observed. The Highnessess, the +hochwohlgeboren privy councillors, the hochgeboren +secretaries, even the untitled Herren who held some petty +office, were ushered with profound deference to their +seats at the long table, while Clara stood waiting. +Jean's eyes still drooped meekly, but even her lips were +pale. + +"How can you look so placid?" she whispered. "It is a +deliberate insult to your gray hairs." + +"No. It is the custom of the country. It does not hurt +me." + +They were led at the moment to the lowest seats. Jean +shot one vindictive glance around the table. + +"You have more wit and breeding than any of them!" she +said. "And as for me, this lace I wear would buy any of +their rickety old palaces." + +"They have something which we cannot buy," said Miss +Vance gravely. "I never understood before how actual a +thing rank is here." + + +"Cannot it be bought? I am going to look into that when +this huge feed is over," Miss Hassard said to herself. + +Late in the evening she danced with Count Odo, and +prattled to him in a childish, frank fashion which he +found very charming. + +"Your rules of precedence are very disagreeable!" she +pouted. "Especially when one sits at the foot of the +table and is served last." + +"They must seem queer to you," he said, laughing, "but +they are inflexible as iron." + +"But they will bend for Miss Dunbar, if she makes up her +mind to marry your cousin?"she asked, looking up +into his face like an innocent child. + +"No. Hugo makes a serious sacrifice in marrying a woman +of no birth," he said. "He must give up his place and +title as head of the family. She will not be received at +court nor in certain houses; she must always remain out- +side of much of his social life." + +He led her back to Miss Vance. She seemed to be struck +dumb, and even forgot to smile when he bowed low and +thanked her for the dance. + +"Let us go home," she whispered to Clara. "The American +girl is a fool who marries one of these men!" + +When Miss Vance's carriage reached her hotel, she found +Prince Hugo's coupe before the door. + +"He has come to see Lucy, alone!" she said indignantly, +as she hurried up the steps. "He has no right to annoy +her!" + +She met him coming out of the long salle. The little +man walked nervously, fingering his sword hilt. He could +not control his voice when he tried to speak naturally. + +"Yes, gracious lady, I am guilty. It was +unpardonable to come when I knew the chaperone was gone. +But--ach! I could not wait!" throwing out both hands +to her. "I have waited so long! I knew when she did not +come to meet my sisters to-night she had resolved against +me, but I could not sleep uncertain. So I break all the +laws, and come!" + +"You have seen her, then? She has told you?" + +He nodded without speaking. His round face was red, and +something like tears stood in his eyes. + +He waited irresolute a moment, and then threw up his +head. + +"Soh! It is over! I shall not whine! You have been +very good to me," he said earnestly, taking Clara's hand. +"This is the first great trouble in my life. I have +loved her very dearly. I decided to make great +sacrifices for her. But I am not to have her--never." + +"I am so sorry for you, prince." Clara squeezed his hand +energetically. +"Nor her dot. That would have been so comfortable for +me," he said simply. + +Clara hid a smile, and bade him an affectionate +good-night. + +As he passed into the outer salle a childish figure in +creamy lace rose before him, and a soft hand was held +out. "I know what has happened!" she whispered +passionately. "She has treated you scandalously! She +cannot appreciate YOU!" + +Prince Hugo stuttered and coughed and almost kissed the +little hand which lay so trustingly in his. He found +himself safely outside at last, and drove away, wretched +to the soul. + +But below his wretchedness something whispered: "SHE +appreciates me, and her dot is quite as large." + + +CHAPTER XIII + +George Waldeaux hummed a tune gayly as he climbed the +winding maze of streets in Vannes, one cloudy afternoon, +with Lisa. + +"It is impertinent to be modern Americans in this old +town," he said. "We might play that we were jongleurs, +and that it was still mediaeval times. I am sure the +gray walls yonder and the fortress houses in this street +have not changed in ages." + +"Neither have the smells, apparently," said Lisa grimly. +"Wrap this scarf about your throat, George. You coughed +last night." + +George tied up his throat. "Coughed, did I?" he said +anxiously. He had had a cold last winter, and his wife +with her poultices and fright had convinced him that he +was a confirmed invalid. The coming of her baby had +given to the woman a motherly feeling toward all of the +world, even to her husband. + +"Look at these women," he said, going on with his fancy +presently. "I am sure that they were here wearing +these black gowns and huge red aprons in the twelfth +century. What is this?" he said, stopping abruptly, to +a boy of six who was digging mud at the foot of an +ancient ivy-covered tower. + +"C'est le tour du Connetable," the child lisped. "Et +v'la, monsieur!" pointing to a filthy pen with a gate of +black oak; "v'la le donjon de Clisson!" +"Who was Clisson?" said Lisa impatiently. + +"A live man to Froissart--and to this boy," said George, +laughing. "I told you that we had gone back seven +centuries. This fog comes in from the Morbihan sea where +Arthur and his knights went sailing to find the Holy +Greal. They have not come back. And south yonder is the +country of the Druids. I will take you to-morrow and +show you twenty thousand of their menhirs, and then we +will sail away to an island where there is an altar that +the serpent worshippers built ages before Christ." + + +Lisa laughed. He was not often in this playful mood. +She panted as she toiled up the dark little street, a +step behind him, but he did not think of giving her his +arm. He had grown accustomed to regard himself as +the invalid now, and the one who needed care. + +"I am going for letters," he called back, diving into a +dingy alley. The baby and its bonne were near Lisa. +The child never was out of her sight for, a moment. She +waited, standing a little apart from Colette to watch +whether the passers-by would notice the baby. When one +or two of the gloomy and stolid women who hurried past in +their wooden sabots clicked their fingers to it, she +could not help smiling gayly and bidding them good-day. + +The fog was stifling. As she waited she gave a tired +gasp. Colette ran to her. "Madame is going to be ill!" + +"No, no! Don't frighten monsieur." + +George came out of the gate at the moment. + +"Going to faint again, Lisa?" he said, with an annoyed +glance around the street. "Your attacks do choose the +most malapropos times----" + +"Oh, dear no, George! I am quite well quite." She +walked beside him with an airy step, laughing gayly +now and then, but George's frown deepened. + +"I don't understand these seizures at all," he said. +"You seem to be in sound physical condition." + +"Oh, all women have queer turns, George." + +"Did you consult D'Abri, as I told you to do, in Paris?" + +"Yes, yes! Now let us talk no more about it. I have had +these--symptoms since I was a child." + +"You never told me of them before we were married," he +muttered. + +Lisa scowled darkly at him, but she glanced at the baby +and her mouth closed. Little Jacques should never hear +her rage nor swear. + +From an overhanging gable at the street corner looked +down a roughly hewn stone Madonna. The arms of the Holy +Child were outstretched to bless. Lisa paused before it, +crossing herself. A strange joy filled her heart. + +"I too am a mother! I too!" she said. She hurried after +George and clung to his arm as they went home. + +"Was there any letter?" she asked. + +"Only one from Munich--Miss Vance. I haven't opened it." + +"I thought your mother would write. She must have heard +about the boy!" + +George's face grew dark. "No, she'll not write. Nor +come." + +"You wish for her every day, George?" She looked at him +wistfully. + +"Yes, I do. She and I were comrades to a queer degree. +I long for something hearty and homelike again. See +here, Lisa. I'm going home before my boy begins to talk. +I mean he shall grow up under wholesome American +influences--not foreign." + +"Not foreign," she repeated gravely. She was silent a +while. "I have thought much of it all lately," she said +at last. "It will be wholesome for Jacques on your farm. +Horses--dogs---- Your mother will love him. She can't +help it. She--I acted like a beast to that woman, +George. I'll say that. She hit me hard. But she has +good traits. She is not unlike my own mother." + +George said nothing. God forbid that he should tell her, +even by a look, that she and her mother were of a caste +different from his own. + +But he was bored to the soul by the difference; he was +tired of her ignorances, which she showed every minute, +of her ghastly, unclean knowledges--which she never +showed. + +They came into the courtyard of the Chateau de la Motte, +the ancient castle of the Breton dukes, which is now an +inn. The red sunset flamed up behind the sad little town +and its gray old houses and spires massed on the hill, +and the black river creeping by. George's eyes kindled +at the sombre picture. + +"In this very court," he said, "Constance stood when she +summoned the States of Brittany to save her boy Arthur +from King John." + +"Oh, yes, you have read of it to me in your Shakespeare. +It is one of his unpleasant stories. Come, Bebe. It +grows damp." + +As she climbed the stone stairway with the child, Colette +lingered to gossip with the portier. "Poor lady! You +will adore her! She is one of us. But she makes of that +bete Anglais and the ugly child, saints and gods!" + +When George presently came up to their bare little room, +Lisa was singing softly, as she rocked Jacques to sleep. + +"Can't you sing the boy something a bit more +cheerful?" he said. "You used to know some jolly catches +from the music halls." + +"Catches for HIM?" with a frightened look at the +child's shut eyes. + +"The `Adeste Fideles' is moral, but it is not a merry +air. You sing it morning, noon, and night," he grumbled. + +"Yes," she whispered, laying the child in its crib. "One +never knows how much HE understands, and he may +remember, I thought. Some day when he is a great boy, he +may hear it and he'll think, `My mother sang that hymn. +She must have been a good woman!'" + +"Nonsense, Lisa," said George kindly. "You'll teach him +every day, while he is growing to be a great boy, that +you are a good woman." + +She said nothing, but stood on the other side of the crib +looking at him. + +"Well, what is it?" said George uneasily. "You look at me +as if somebody were dragging you away from me." + +She laughed. "What ridiculous fancies you have!" She +came behind him and, drawing his head back, kissed him on +the forehead. "Oh, you poor, foolish boy!" she said. + +Lisa sat down to her work, which was the making of +garments for Jacques out of her own gowns. She was an +expert needlewoman, and had already a pile of fantastic +kilts of cloth and velvet. + +"Enough to last until he is ten years old," George said +contemptuously. "And you will not leave a gown for +yourself." + +"There will be all I shall need," she said. + +He turned up the lamp and opened Clara's letter. + +Lisa's needle flew through the red and yellow silk. It +was pleasant work; she was doing it skilfully. The fire +warmed her thin blood. She could hear the baby's +regular, soft breathing as it slept. A pleasure that was +almost like health stole through her lean body. She +leaned back in her chair looking at Jacques. In three +years he could wear the velvet suit with the cap and +pompon. His hair would be yellow and curly, like his +father's. But his eyes would be like her mother's. She +pressed her hands together, laughing, the hot tears +rushing to her eyes. "Ah, maman!" she said. "Do you +know that your little girl has a baby? Can you see him?" + +What a superb "great boy" he would be! He should go to +a military school. Yes! She lay back in her chair, +watching him. + +George suddenly started up with a cry of amazement. + +"What is it?" she said indifferently. + +He did not answer, but turned the letter and read it over +again. Then he folded it with shaking fingers. + +"I have news here. Miss Vance thinks it time that I was +told, and I agree with her. It appears that I am a +pauper, and always have been. My father died penniless." + +"Then Jacques will be poor?" + +"Jacques! You think of nothing but that mewling, +senseless thing! It is mother--she always has supported +me. We are living now on the money that she earns from +week to week, while I play that I am an artist!" + +Lisa listened attentively. "It does not seem strange +that a mother should work for her son," she said slowly. +"But she has never told us! That is fine! I like that! +I told you she had very good traits." + +George stared at her. "But--me! Don't you see what a cad +I am?" + +He paced up and down, muttering, and then throwing on his +hat went out into the night to be alone. + +Lisa sank back again and watched Jacques. At military +school, yes; and after he had left school he would be a +soldier, perhaps. Such a gallant young fellow! + +She leaned over the cradle, holding out her hands. Ah, +God! if she could but live to see it! Surely it might +be? There was no pain now. Doctors were not +infallible--even D'Abri might be mistaken, after all. + +George, coming in an hour later, found her sitting with +her hands covering her face. + +"Are you asleep, Lisa?" + +"No." + +"There is a telegram from Clara. My mother has left +Munich for Vannes. She will be here in two days." + +She rose with an effort. "I am glad for you, George." + +"You are ill, Lisa!" + +"A little tired, only. Colette will give me my powder, +and I shall be quite well in the morning. Will you send +her to me now?" + +After George was gone the rumbling of a diligence +was heard in the courtyard, and presently a woman was +brought up to the opposite chamber. + +The hall was dark. Looking across it, Frances Waldeaux +saw in the lighted room Lisa and her child. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Before we come to the dark story of that night in the +inn, it is but fair to Frances to say that she came there +with no definite evil purpose. She had been cheerful on +her journey from Munich. There was one clear fact in her +brain: She was on her way to George. + +The countless toy farms of southern France, trimmed +neatly by the inch, swept past her. In Brittany came +melancholy stretches of brown heath and rain-beaten +hills; or great affluent estates, the Manor houses +covered with thatch, stagnant pools close to the doors, +the cattle breaking through the slovenly wattled walls. + Frances, being a farmer, felt a vague amusement at +these things, but they were all dim to her as a faded +landscape hanging on the wall. + +She was going to George. + +Sometimes she seemed to be in Lucy's room again, with the +sweet, clean air of youth about her. All of that +purity and love might have gone into George's +life--before it fell into the slough. + +But she was going now to take it out of the slough. + +There was a merchant and his wife from Geneva in the +carriage with their little boy, a pretty child of five. +Frances played and joked with him. + +"Has madam also a son?" his mother asked civilly. + +She said yes, and presently added, "My son has now a +great trouble, but I am going to relieve him of it." + +The woman, startled, stared at her. + +"Is it not right for me to rid him of it?" she demanded +loudly. + +"Mais oui, certainement" said the Swiss. She watched +Frances after that furtively. Her eyes, she thought, +were quite sane. But how eccentric all of these +Americans were! + +Mrs. Waldeaux reached Vannes at nightfall. At last! +Here was the place in this great empty world where he +was. + +When the diligence entered the courtyard, George was so +near to the gate that the smoke of his cigar was +blown into her face, but he did not see her. He was lean +and pale, and his eyes told his misery. When she saw +them his mother grew sick from head to foot with a sudden +nausea. This was his wife's doing. She was killing him! +Frances hurried into the inn, her legs giving way under +her. She could not speak to him. She must think what to +do. + +She was taken to her room. It was dark, and across the +corridor she saw Lisa in her lighted chamber. This was +good luck! God had put the creature at once into her +hands to deal with! + +She was conscious of a strange exaltation, as if from +wine--as if she would never need to sleep nor eat again. +Her thoughts came and went like flashes of fire. She +watched Lisa as she would a vampire, a creeping deadly +beast. Pauline Felix--all that was adulterous and vile +in women--there it was! + +Her mind too, as never before, was full of a haughty +complacency in herself. She felt like the member of some +petty sect who is sure that God communes with him inside +of his altar rails, while the man is outside whom he +believes that God made only to be damned. + +Lisa began to undress. Frances quickly turned away, +ashamed of peeping into her chamber. But the one fact +burned on into her brain: + +The woman was killing George. + +If God would rid the world of her! If a storm should +rise now, and the lightning strike the house, and these +stone walls should fall on her, now--now! + +But the walls stood firm and the moonlight shone +tranquilly on the world outside. + +She told herself to be calm--to be just. But there was +no justice while this woman went on with her work! God +saw. He meant her to be stopped. Frances prayed to him +frantically that Lisa might soon be put off of the earth. +Just as the Catholic used to pray before he massacred the +Huguenot, or the Protestant, when he tied his Catholic +brother to the stake. If this woman was mad for blood, +it was a madness that many sincere people have shared. + +Colette was busy with her mistress for a long time. She +was very gentle and tender, being fond of Lisa, as people +of her class always were. She raised her voice as she +made ready to leave the room. + +"If the pain returns, here is the powder of morphia, +mixed, within madame's reach," she said. + +Frances came close to the door. + +"And if it continues?" asked Lisa. + +"Let monsieur call me. I would not trust him to measure +a powder," Colette said, laughing. "It is too dangerous. +He is not used to it--like me." + +Mrs. Waldeaux saw her lay a paper package on a shelf. + +"I will pray that the pain will not return," the girl +said. "But if it does, let monsieur knock at my door. +Here is the tisane when you are thirsty." She placed a +goblet of milky liquid near the bed. + +What more she said Frances did not hear. + +It was to be! There was the morphia, and yonder the +night drink within her reach. It was God's will. + +Colette turned out the lamp, hesitated, and sat down by +the fire. Presently she rose softly, bent over her +mistress, and, finding her asleep, left the room +noiselessly. Her door closed far down the corridor. + +Mrs. Waldeaux was quite alone, now. + +It was but a step across the hall. So easy to do--easy. +It must be done at once. + +But her feet were like lead, she could not move; her +tongue lay icy cold in her mouth. Her soul was willing, +but her body rebelled. + +What folly was this? It was the work of a moment. +George would be free. She would have freed him. + +In God's name then---- + +She crossed the hall softly. Into the hell of her +thoughts flashed a little womanish shame, that she, +Frances Waldeaux, should be walking on tiptoe, like a +thief. + +She took down the package, and leaning over the table at +the side of the bed, shook the white powder into the +glass. Then she went back to her room and shut the door. + +The casement was open and the moonlight was white +outside. She was conscious that the glare hurt her eyes, +and that there was a strange stricture about her jaws and +the base of her brain, like an iron hand. + +It seemed to her but a minute that she stood there, but +the dawn was breaking when there was a sudden confusion +in the opposite room. She heard Colette's voice, +and then George's, calling Lisa. + +There was no answer. + +Frances stood up, to listen. "Will she not speak?" she +cried. "Make her speak!" + +But in reality she said nothing. Even her breath had +stopped to listen. + +There was no answer. + +Frances was awake now, for the rest of her life. She +knew what she had done. + +"Why, George," she said, "she cannot speak. She is dead. +I did it." + +She stood in the room a minute, looking from side to +side, and then went with measured steps out of it, down +the corridor and into the street. + +"I did it," she said to herself again and again, as she +walked slowly on. + +The old cathedral is opposite to the inn. Her eyes, as +she passed, rested on the gargoyles, and she thought how +fine they were. One was a ridiculous head with lolling +tongue. + +A priest's voice inside was chanting mass. A dozen +Breton women in their huge white winged caps and wooden +shoes hurried up to the door, through the gray fog. They +met Mrs. Waldeaux and saw her face. They huddled to +one side, crossing themselves, and when she passed, stood +still, forgetting the mass and looking, frightened, up +the steep street behind her to find what horror had +pursued her. + +"They know what I have done," she said aloud. + +Once when she was a child she had accidentally seen a +bloated wretch, a murderer, on his way to the gallows. + +"I am he," she thought. "I--_I_, Frances." + +Then the gargoyle came into her mind again. What a +capital headpiece it would make for "Quigg's" next +column! It was time this week's jokes were sent. + +But at last these ghosts of yesterday's life faded out, +and she saw the fact. + +She had hated her son's wife and had killed her! + + + +CHAPTER XV + +When the sun was well up the women who had been at mass +gathered down by the little river which runs through the +old city, to wash their clothes. They knelt on the broad +stones by the edge of the water, chattering and singing, +tossing the soap from one to another. + +There was a sudden silence. "Here she is again," they +whispered, as a slight, delicate woman crossed the bridge +with steady steps. + +"She is blind and deaf," said old Barbe. "I met her an +hour ago and asked her whom she sought. She did not see +nor hear me, but walked straight on." + +Oliver Bauzy was lounging near, as usual, watching his +wife work. + +"She is English. What does she know of your Breton talk? +I speak English and French--I!" he bragged, and walking +up to Mrs. Waldeaux, he flourished his ragged hat, +smiling. "Is madame ill? She has walked far," he said +kindly. + +The English words seemed to waken her. "It is always the +town," looking around bewildered. "The people--houses. +I think I am not well. If I could find the woods----" + +Bauzy had but a hazy idea of her meaning, but he nodded +gravely. "She is a tourist. She wants to go out of +Vannes--to see the chateaux, the dolmens. I'm her man. +I'll drive her to Larmor Baden," he said to his wife. "I +have to go there to-day, and I may as well make a franc +or two. Keep her until I bring the voiture." + +But Frances stood motionless until the old wagon rattled +up to the water's edge. + +"She has a dear old face," Bauzy's wife whispered. + +"She is blind and deaf, I tell you," old Barbe grumbled, +peering up at her. "Make her pay, Oliver, before you +go." + +Bauzy nodded, and when Frances was seated held out his +hand. + +"Twenty francs," he said. + +She opened her bag and gave them to him. + +"She must be folle!" he said uneasily. "I feel like a +thief. Away with you, Babette!" as a pretty baby ran up +to him. "You want to ride? That is impossible. +Unless, indeed, madame desires it?" lifting the child to +place her on the seat. Babette laughed and held out her +hands. + +But Mrs. Waldeaux shrank back, shuddering. "Take her +away," she whispered. "She must not touch me!" + +The mother seized the child, and the women all talked +vehemently at once. Oliver climbed into the voiture +and drove off in silence. When he looked around +presently he saw that the woman's face was bloodless, and +a cold sweat stood on it. +He considered a while. "You want food," he said, and +brought out some hard bread and a jug of Normandy cider. + +Frances shook her head. She only spoke once during the +morning, and then told him something about a woman "whom +no child could touch. No man or woman could touch her as +long as she lived. Not even her son." + +As Bauzy could make nothing of this, he could only nod +and laugh civilly. But presently he, too, grew silent, +glancing at her uncomfortably from time to time. + +They drove through great red fields of sarasson, +hedged by long banks of earth, which were masses of +golden gorse and bronzed and crimson ferns. The sun +shone, the clover-scented air was full of the joyous +buzzing of bees and chirp of birds. + +"It is a gay, blessed day!" Bauzy said, thanks to the +good God! "He waited anxiously for her reply, but she +stared into the sunshine and said nothing. + +Larmor Baden is a lonely little cluster of gray stone +huts on the shore of the Morbihan sea. Some of Bauzy's +friends lounged smiling up to welcome him, waving their +wide black hats with velvet streamers, and bowing low to +the lady. Oliver alighted with decision. One thing he +knew: He would not drive back with her. Something was +amiss. He would wash his hands of her. + +"Here, madame, is Vincent Selo, paysageur," he said +rapidly in French. "He has a good boat. He will take +you where you desire. Sail with her to Gavr' Inis," he +said to Selo, "and bring her back at her pleasure. +Somebody can drive her back to Vannes, and don't +overcharge her, you robbers!" + +"Gavr' Inis?" Frances repeated. + +"It is an island in the sea yonder, madame. A quiet +place of trees. When there was not a man in the world, +evil spirits built there an altar for the worship of the +devil. No men could have built it. There are huge +stones carried there from the mountains far inland, that +no engine could lift. It is a great mystery." + +"It is the one place in the world, people say," +interrupted Selo, lowering his voice, "where God never +has been. A dreadful place, madame!" + +Frances laughed. "That is the place for me," she said to +Selo. "Take me there." + +The old man looked at her with shrewd, friendly eyes, and +then beckoned Bauzy aside. + +"Who is she? She has the bearing of a great lady, but +her face hurts me. What harm has come to her?" + +"How do I know?" said Bauzy. "Go for your boat. The sea +is rising." + + +Late in the afternoon M. Selo landed his strange +passenger upon the pebbly beach of the accursed island. +He led her up on the rocks, talking, and pointing across +the sea. + +"Beyond is the Atlantic, and on yonder headland are the +great menhirs of Carnac--thirty thousand of them, brought +there before Christ was born. But the Evil One loves +this island best of all places. It has in it the mystery +of the world. Come," he said, in an awed voice. "It is +here." + +He crossed to the hill, stooped, and entered a dark cave +about forty feet long, which was wholly lined with huge +flat rocks carved with countless writhing serpents. As +Frances passed they seemed to stir and breathe beside +her, at her feet, overhead. The cave opened into a +sacrificial chamber. The reptiles grew gigantic here, +and crowded closer. Through some rift a beam of +melancholy light crept in; a smell of death hung in the +thick, unclean air. + +Selo pointed to a stone altar. "It was there they killed +their victims," he whispered, and began to pray +anxiously, half-aloud. When he had finished, he hurried +back, beckoning to her to come out. + +"Go," she said. "I will stay here." + +"Then I will wait outside. This is no place for +Christian souls. But we must return soon, madame. +My little girl will be watching now for me." + +When he was gone she stood by the altar. This island of +Gavr' Inis was one of the places to which she and George +had long ago planned to come. She remembered the very +day on which they had read the legend that on this altar +men before the Flood had sacrificed to the god of Murder. + +"I am the murderer now, and George knows it," she said +quietly. But she was cold and faint, and presently began +to tremble weakly. + +She went out of the cave and stood on the beach. "I want +to go home, George," she said aloud. "I want to be +Frances Waldeaux again. I'm sure I didn't know it was in +me to do that thing." + +There was no answer. She was alone in the great space of +sky and sea. The world was so big and empty, and she +alone and degraded in it! + +"I never shall see George again. He will think of me +only as the woman who killed his wife," she thought. + +She went on blindly toward the water, and stood there a +long time. + +Then, in the strait of her agony, there came to Frances +Waldeaux, for the first time in her life, a perception +that there was help for her in the world, outside of her +own strength. Her poor tortured wits discerned One, more +real than her crime, or George, or the woman that she had +killed. It was an old, hackneyed story, that He knew +every man and woman in the world, that He could help +them. She had heard it often. + +Was there any thing in it? Could He help her? + +Slowly, the nervous twitching of her body quieted, her +dulled eyes cleared as if a new power of sight were +coming to them. + +After a long time she heard steps, and Selo calling. She +rose. + +The murder was known. They were coming to arrest her. + +What did it matter? She had found help. + +Selo came up excitedly. + +"It is another boat, English folk also, that comes to +arrive." + +She turned and waited. + +And then, coming up the hill, she saw George, and +with him--Lisa! Lisa, smiling as she talked. + +They ran to meet her with cries of amazement. She +staggered back on the rock. + +"You are not dead? Lisa----" + +"Dead? Poor lady!" catching her in her arms. "Some +water, George! It is her head. She has been too much +alone." + +When Frances opened her eyes she was lying on the grass, +her children kneeling beside her. She caught Lisa's arm +in both hands and felt it: then she sat up. + +"I must tell you what I did--before you speak to me." + +"Not now," said Lisa. "You are not well. I am going to +be your nurse. The baby has made me a very good nurse," +and she stooped again over Frances, with kind, smiling +eyes. + +Selo came to wile George up to the mysterious cave, but +Lisa impatiently hurried them to the beach. "Caves and +serpent worshippers truly!" she cried. "Why, she has not +seen Jacques!" and when, in the boat, George, who was +greatly alarmed, tried to rouse his mother from her +silent stupor, Lisa said gayly, "She will be herself +again as soon as she sees HIM." + +When they reached Larmor Baden, she despatched George in +search of Colette and the child, and she went into the +church. It was late, and the village women sat on the +steps gossipping in the slanting sunlight. There is +nothing in their lives but work and the church; and when, +each day, they have finished with one they go to the +other. + +Frances followed her. The sombre little church was +vacant. She touched Lisa on the shoulder. + +"There is something I must tell you," she said. "You +would not let me touch the child, if you knew it." + +She stooped and spoke a few sentences in a vehement +whisper, and then leaned back, exhausted, against the +wall. + +Lisa drew back. Her lips were white with sudden fright, +but she scanned Mrs. Waldeaux's face keenly. + +"You were in Vannes last night? You tried---- My God, +I remember! The tisane tasted queerly, and I threw it +out." She walked away for a moment, and then turning, +said, "You called my mother a vile woman once. But SHE +would not have done that thing! + +"No," said Frances, not raising her head. "No." + +Lisa stood looking at her as she crouched against the +wall. The fierce scorn slowly died out of her eyes. She +was a coarse, but a good-natured, woman. An awful +presence, too, walked with her always now, step by step, +and in that dread shadow she saw the things of life more +justly than we do. +She took Frances by the hand at last. "You were not +quite yourself, I think," she said quietly. "I have +pushed you too hard. George has told me so much about +you! If we could be together for a while, perhaps we +should love each other a little. But there is no time +now----" She turned hastily, and threw herself down +before a crucifix. + +After a long time she went out to the vestibule, where +she found Frances, and said, with an effort to be +cheerful and matter-of-fact, "Come, now, let us talk like +reasonable people. A thing is coming to me which comes +to every-body. I'm not one to whine. But it's the +child--I don't think any baby ever was as much to a woman +as Jacques is to me. I suppose God does not think I am +fit to bring him up. Sit down and let me tell you +all about it." + +They sat on the steps, talking in a low tone. Frances +cried, but Lisa's eyes were quite dry and bright. She +rose at last. + +"You see, there will be no woman to care for him, if you +do not. There he is with Colette." She ran down, took +the baby from the bonne, and laid him in Frances's +arms. + +Mrs. Waldeaux looked down at him. "George's son," she +whispered, "George's boy!" + +"He is very like George and you," Lisa answered. "He is +a Waldeaux." + +"Yes, I see." + +She held him close to her breast as they drove back to +Vannes. George whistled and sang on the box. He was +very light of heart to have her with him again. + +He looked impatiently at an ancient village through which +they passed, with its towers, and peasants in strange +garbs, like the pictures in some crusading tale. + +"Now that we have mother, Lisa," he said, "we'll go +straight back home. I am tired of mediaeval times. +I must get to work for this youngster." + +Lisa did not speak for a moment. "I should like to stay +in Vannes a little longer," she said. "I did not tell +you, but--my mother is buried there. That was why I +came; I should like to be with her." + +"Why, of course, dear. As long as you like," he said +affectionately. +"I will not detain you long. Perhaps only a week or +two," she said. + +He nodded, and began to whistle cheerfully again. +Frances looked at Lisa, and her eyes filled with tears. +It was a pitiful tragedy! + +But the poor girl was quite right not to worry George +until the last moment. She was blocking his way--ruining +his life, and God was taking her away so that she could +no longer harm him. + +And yet--poor Lisa! + +They drove on. The sun warmed the crimson fields, and +the birds chirped, and this was George's child creeping +close to her breast. It stirred there a keen pang of +joy. + +Surely He had forgiven her. + +A month later a group of passengers in deep mourning +stood apart on the deck of the Paris as she left the +dock at Liverpool. It was George Waldeaux, his mother, +and little Jacques with his nurse. Mrs. Waldeaux was +looking at Clara and her girls, who were watching her +from the dock. They had come to Vannes when Lisa died, +and had taken care of her and the baby until now. +Frances had cried at leaving them, but George stood with +his back to them moodily, looking down into the black +water. + +"It seems but a few days since we sailed from New York on +the Kaiser Wilhelm," he said, "and yet I have lived out +all my life in that time." + +"All? Is there nothing left, George?" his mother said +gently. + +"Oh, of course, you are always a good companion, and +there is the child----" He paused. The fierce passions, +the storms of delight and pain of his life with Lisa +rushed back on him. "I will work for others, and wear +out the days as I can," he said. "But life is over for +me. The story is told. There are only blank pages now +to the end." + +He turned his dim eyes toward the French coast. She knew +that they saw the little bare grave on the hill in +Vannes. "I wish I could have seen something green +growing on it before I left her there alone!" he +muttered. + +"Her mother's grave was covered with roses----" Frances +answered quickly. "They will creep over to her. +She is not alone, George. I am glad she was laid by her +mother. She loved her dearly." + +"Yes. Better than any thing on earth," he responded +gloomily. + +A few moments later the ship swung heavily around. + +"We are going! Mrs. Waldeaux cried, waving her hand. +"Won't you look at Clara and Lucy, George? They have been +so good to us. If Lucy had been my own child, she could +not have been kinder to me." + +Mr. Waldeaux turned and raised his crepe-bound hat, +looking at Lucy in her soft gray gown vaguely, as he +might at a white gull dropped on the shore. + +"I suppose I never shall see her again," said his mother. +"Clara tells me she is besieged by lovers. She is +going to marry a German prince, probably." + +"That would be a pity," George said, with a startled +glance back at the girl. + +"Good-by, my dear!" Mrs. Waldeaux leaned over the +bulwark. "She is beautiful as an angel! Good-by, Lucy! +God bless you! she sobbed, kissing her hand. + +Mr. Waldeaux looked steadily at Lucy. "How clean she +is!" he said. + +When the shore was gone he walked down the deck, +conscious of a sudden change in himself. He was wakening +out of an ugly dream. The sight of the healthy little +girl, with her dewy freshness and blue eyes, full of +affection and common sense, cheered and heartened him. +He did not know what was doing it, but he threw up his +head and walked vigorously. The sun shone and the cold +wind swept him out into a dim future to begin a new life. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +George Waldeaux took his mother and boy back to the old +homestead in Delaware. They arrived at night, and early +the next morning he rowed away in his bateau to some of +his old haunts in the woods on the bay, and was seen no +more that day. + +"He is inconsolable!" his mother told some of her old +neighbors who crowded to welcome her. "His heart is in +that grave in Vannes." +The women listened in surprise, for Frances was not in +the habit of exploiting her emotions in words. + +"We understood," said one of them, with a sympathetic +shake of the head, "that it was a pure love match. Mrs. +George Waldeaux, we heard, was a French artist of +remarkable beauty?" + +Frances moved uneasily. "I never thought her--but I +can't discuss Lisa!" She was silent a moment. "But as +for her social position"--she drew herself up +stiffly, fixing cold defiant eyes on her questioner--"as +for her social position," she went on resolutely, "she +was descended on one side from an excellent American +family, and on the other from one of the noblest houses +in Europe." + +When they were gone she hugged little Jacques +passionately as he lay on her lap. "That is settled for +you!" she said. + +When George came back in the evening, he found her +walking with the boy in her arms on the broad piazzas. + +"I really think he knows that he has come home, George!" +she exclaimed. "See how he laughs! And he liked the +dogs and horses just as Lisa thought he would. I am glad +it is such a beautiful home for him. Look at that slope +to the bay! There is no nobler park in England! And the +house is as big as most of their palaces, and much more +comfortable!" + +"Give the child to Colette, mother, and listen to me. +Now that I have settled you and him here, I must go and +earn your living." + +"Yes." + +She followed him into the hall. + +"I leave you to-morrow. There is no time to be lost." + +"You are going back to art, George?" + +"No! Never!" + +Frances grew pale. She thought she had torn open his +gaping wound. + +"I did not mean to remind you of--of----" + +"No, it isn't that!" + +He scowled at the fire. Art meant for him his own +countless daubs, and the sickening smell of oily paints +and musk, and soiled silk tea gowns, and the whole +slovenly, disreputable scramble of Bohemian life in +Paris. + +"I loathe art!" he said, with a furious blow at the +smouldering log in the fireplace, as if he struck these +things all down into the ashes with it. + +"Will you go back into the Church, dear?" his mother +ventured timidly. + +"Most certainly, no!" he said vehemently. "Of all mean +frauds the perfunctory priest is the meanest. If I +could be like one of the old holy gospellers--then indeed!" + +He was silent a moment, and then began to stride up and +down the long hall, his head thrown back, his chest +inflated. + +"I have a message for the world, mother." + +"I am sure of it," she interrupted eagerly. + +"But I must deliver it in my own way. I have lost two +years. I am going to put in big strokes of work now. In +the next two years I intend to take my proper place in my +own country. I will find standing room for George +Waldeaux," with a complacent smile. "And in the +meantime, of course, I must make money enough to support +you and the boy handsomely. So you see, mother," he +ended, laughing, "I have no time to lose." + +"No, George!" It was the proudest moment of her life. +How heroic and generous he was! + +She filled his pocket-book the next day, when he went to +New York to take the world by the throat. It was really +not George Waldeaux's fault that she filled it. + +Nor was it his fault that during the next two years the +world was in no hurry to run to his feet, either to learn +of him, or to bring him its bags of gold. The little man +did his best; he put his "message," as he called it, into +poems, into essays, into a novel. Publishers thanked him +effusively for the pleasure of reading them, +and--sent them back. The only word of his which reached +the public was a review of the work of a successful +author. It was so personal, so malignant, that George, +when he read it, writhed with shame and humiliation. He +tore the paper into fragments. + +"Am I so envious and small as that! Before God, no words +of mine shall ever go into print again!" he said, and he +kept his word. + +He came down every month or two to his mother. + +"Why not try teaching, George?" she said anxiously. +"These great scholars and scientific men have places and +reputations which even you need not despise." + +He laughed bitterly. "I tried for a place as tutor in a +third-class school, and could not pass the examinations. +I know nothing accurately. Nothing." + +It occurred to him to go into politics and help reform +the world by routing a certain Irish boss. He made a +speech at a ward meeting, and broke down in the middle of +it before the storm of gibes and hootings. + +"What was the matter?" he asked a friend, whose face was +red with laughter. + +"My dear fellow, you shouldn't lecture them! You're not +the parson. They resent your air of enormous +superiority. For Heaven's sake, don't speak again--in +this campaign." + +It is a wretched story. There is no need of going into +the details. There was no room for him. He tried in +desperation to get some foothold in business. The times +were hard that winter, which of course was against him. +Besides, his critical, haughty air naturally did not +prepossess employers in his favor when he came to ask for +a job. + +At the end of the second year the man broke down. + +"The work of the world," he told Frances, "belongs to +specialists. Even a bootblack knows his trade. I know +nothing. I can do nothing. I am a mass of flabby +pretences." + +Every month she filled his pocket-book. She found at +last that he did not touch the money. He sold his +clothes and his jewelry to keep himself alive while he +tramped the streets of New York looking for work. He +starved himself to make this money last. His flesh was +lead-colored from want of proper food, and he +staggered from weakness. "`He that will not work neither +let him eat,'" he said grimly. + +It was about this time that Miss Vance came home. Mrs. +Waldeaux in a moment of weakness gave her a hint of his +defeat. + +"Is the world blind," she cried, "to deny work to a man +of George's capacity? What does it mean?" + +Clara heard of George's sufferings with equanimity. "The +truth is," she said, when she told the story to Miss +Dunbar, "Frances brought that boy up to believe that he +was a Grand Llama among men. There is no work for Grand +Llamas in this country, and when he understands that he +is made of very ordinary clay indeed, he will probably be +of some use in the world." + +Lucy was watering her roses. "It is a matter of +indifference to me," she said, "what the people of New +York think of Mr. Waldeaux." + +Clara looked at her quickly. "I do not quite catch your +meaning?" she said. + +But Lucy filled her can, and forgot to answer. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Clara had brought Miss Dunbar back and established her in +her own house near Weir, under the care of a deaf widowed +aunt. Dunbar Place was a stately colonial house, set in +a large demesne, and all Kent County waited breathless to +know what revelations the heiress would make to it, in +the way of equi-pages, marqueterie furniture, or Paris +gowns. + +Mrs. Waldeaux found Lucy one day, a month after her +arrival, seated at her sewing on the broad, rose-covered +piazza, looking as if she never had left it. + +"Have you come to stay now, my dear," she said, "or will +Prince Wolfburgh----" + +"Oh, that is an old story," interrupted Clara. "Lucy +handed the little prince over to Jean Hassard, who +married him after he had a long fight with her father +about her dot. He won the dot, but Count Odo is now +the head of the house. Jean, I hear, is in Munich +fighting her way up among the Herrschaft." + +"Jean has good fighting qualities," Lucy said. "She will +win." + +"I had a letter from her to-day," said Miss Vance. +"Here it is. She says, `I mean to rebuild the Schloss, +and I have put a stop to the soap-boiling business. I +will have no fumes of scorching fat in our ancestral +halls. Four of the princesses live with us here in the +flat. Gussy Carson from Pond City is staying with me +now. We have an American tea every Wednesday. Gus +receives with me.'" + +"Poor princesses!" said Lucy. + +Miss Vance folded the letter with a complacent nod. "I +am glad that Jean is settled so satisfactorily," she +said. "As for Lucy----" + +No one answered. Lucy threaded her needle. + +"I start next week to Chicago, did you know, Frances? +The Bixbys--two orphan heiresses--wish me to take them to +Australia, coming back by India. And I suppose," she +said, rising impatiently, "if I were to stay away forty +years I should find Lucy when I came back, with white +hair maybe, but sitting calmly sewing, not caring whether +there was a man in the world or not!" + +Lucy laughed, but did not even blush. + +Mrs. Waldeaux presently said good-by, and Clara went home +with her to spend the night. Lucy was left alone upon +the piazza. It was there that George Waldeaux saw her +again. + + +This had been the hardest day of his life. He rose that +morning telling himself with an oath that he would earn +the money to buy his own food or never eat again. His +mother had sent him a cheque by post. He tore it up and +went out of his cheap lodging-house without breakfast. +There was a queer change in him--a sudden lofty +independence--a sudden loathing of himself. He knew now +that it was not in him to do good work in the world, but +at least he would pay his own way. He had been a mass of +vanity and now he was so mean in his own eyes that he +shrank from the passers-by. Perhaps the long strain had +damaged the gray matter of the brain, or some nervous +centre--I do not know what change a physician would have +found in him, but the man was changed. + +A clerk was needed in a provision shop on Green +Street. George placed himself in the line of dirty, +squalid applicants. The day was hot, the air of the shop +was foul with the smells of rotting meat and vegetables. +He felt himself stagger against a stall. He seemed to be +asleep, but he heard the butchers laughing. They called +him a drunken tramp, and then he was hurled out on the +muddy pavement. + +"Too much whiskey for this time o' day!" a policeman +said, hauling him to his feet. + +"Move along, young man!" + +Whiskey? That was what he wanted. He turned into a shop +and bought a dram with his last pennies. It made him +comfortable for a few hours, then he began to cry and +swear. George Waldeaux had never been drunk in his life. +The ascetic, stainless priest in him stood off and looked +at this dog of the gutter with his obscene talk, and then +came defeat of soul and body. + +"I give up!" he said quietly. "I'll never try again." + +He wandered unconsciously to the ferry and, having his +yearly book of tickets in his pocket, took the train for +home from force of habit. He left the cars at a +station several miles from Weir, and wandered across the +country. Just at sundown, covered with mud and weak from +hunger and drunkenness, he crossed the lawn before Lucy's +house and, looking up, saw her. + +He had stumbled into a world of peace and purity! A soft +splendor filled the sky and the bay and the green slopes, +with their clumps of mighty forest trees. The air was +full of the scents of flowers and the good-night song of +happy birds. And in the midst of it all, lady of the +great domain, under her climbing rose vines, sat the +young, fair woman, clad in some fleecy white garments, +her head bent, her blue eyes fixed on the +distance--waiting. + +George stopped, sobered by a sudden wrench of his heart. +There was the world to which he belonged--there! His +keen eye noted every delicate detail of her beauty and of +her dress. He was of her sort, her kind--he, kicked into +the gutter from that foul shop as a tramp! + +This is what I have lost! his soul cried to him. + +He had not as yet recognized Lucy. But now she saw him, +and with a little inarticulate cry like that of a +bird, she flew down the steps. "Ah! It is you!" she +said. "I thought you would come to welcome me some +time!" + +Her voice was like a soft breath; her airy draperies blew +against him. It was as if a wonderful, beautiful dream +were folding him in--and in. + +He drew back. "I am not fit, Miss Dunbar. I did not +know you were here. Why--look at me!" + +"Oh! You are ill! You have had an accident!" she cried. +She had laid her little white fingers on his hand and +now, feeling it burn and tremble at her touch, she caught +it in both of her own and drew him into the house. + +"Mr. Waldeaux," she said to a servant who appeared, +"has had a fall. Bring him water and towels. Take care +of him, Stephen." She spoke quietly, but her voice +trembled with fright. + +The man led George to an inner room. + +"Were you thrown, sir?" he asked sympathetically. + +George hesitated. "Yes, I was thrown," he said grimly. + +He made himself clean in angry haste, taking the +whisk from the man and brushing off the dry mud with a +vicious fury. + +Lucy came to meet him, with a pale, anxious smile. "You +must not go without a cup of hot coffee," she said, +leading him to a lounge in the hall. It was very sweet +to be treated like a sick man! + +"And God knows I am sick, body and soul!" he thought, +sinking down. + +Beside the lounge was a little table with one cover. He +noted with keen pleasure the delicate napery, the silver +candlesticks, the bowl of roses, with which the +substantial meal was set out. Lucy waited on him with +the quick intelligence of a trained nurse. She scarcely +spoke, yet her every motion, as she served him, seemed a +caress. When he had finished he began to stammer out his +thanks. + +"No," she said, rising decisively. "You are too weak to +talk to me to-night, Mr. Waldeaux. The coupe is at the +door. John will drive you home. You need sleep now." + +As he sank down into the luxurious cushions and drove +away through the twilight, he saw the little white figure +in the door, and the grave wistful face looking after +him. + +"Did she suspect!" he suddenly cried, starting up. + +But George Waldeaux never knew how much Lucy suspected +that night. + + +Meanwhile Mrs. Waldeaux's mare had jogged on leisurely, +dragging her mistress and Miss Vance home through the +shady country lanes. + +"Phebe is old," apologized Frances. "She really is a +retired car horse." + +"You used to take pride in your horses, Frances?" + +"Yes." Mrs. Waldeaux added after a pause. "My income is +small. Of course George soon will be coining money, but +just now---- The peach crop failed this year too. And +I save every dollar for Jack's education." + +"But what of the jokes for the New York paper? They were +profitable." + +"Oh, I gave them up long ago." She glanced around +cautiously. "Never speak of that, Clara. I would not +have George know for the world; I never would hold up my +head if he knew that I was `Quigg.'" + +Miss Vance gave a contemptuous sniff, but Mrs. Waldeaux +went on eagerly, "I have a plan! You know that +swampy tract of ours near Lewes? When I have enough +money I'll drain it and lay out a summer +resort--hotels--cottages. I'll develop it as I sell the +lots. Oh, Jack shall have his millions yet to do great +work in the world!" her eyes sparkling. "Though perhaps +he may choose to strip himself of everything to give to +the poor, like Francis d'Assisi! That would be best of +all. It's not unlikely. He is the most generous boy!" + +"Stuff!" said Miss Vance. "St. Francis, indeed! I +observe, by the way, that he crosses himself after his +meals. Are you making a Romanist of the child? And you +speak French to him, too?" + +Mrs. Waldeaux's color rose. "His mother was French and +Catholic," she said. "I will not have Lisa forgotten." + +They went on in silence. Miss Vance was lost in thought. +Was George Waldeaux equally eager to keep his wife's +memory alive? Now that the conceit had been beaten out +of him, he would not make a bad husband. And her child +Lucy had always--esteemed him highly. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +The next day was Sunday. George jumped out of bed with +the dawn. He whistled and sang scraps of songs as he +took his bath. The sun shone. What a full, happy world +it was, anyhow! And he had given up the game last night? +Why, life was just beginning for him! He was nothing but +a boy--not yet thirty. He would make a big success soon, +and then try to win--to win---- He stopped, breathless, +looking into the distance, and his eyes slowly grew wet +with passion and longing. + +He left the house and struck across the country through +the woodland and farms. He did not know why he went--he +had to go. When he reached the Dunbar woods, he stood in +the thicket for hours, watching the house. She came out +at last and sat down on the steps to play with the dog. +Last night in her white, delicate beauty she had not +seemed real--she was far off, like an angel coming down +into his depths of misery. + +But to-day she sat on the steps in her pretty blue gown, +and laughed and rolled Tramp over, and sung snatches of +songs, and was nothing but a foolish girl. For so many +years he had been thinking of work and money-making and +bosses. All of that mean drudgery fell out of sight now. +He was a man, young, alone, on fire with hope and +passion. His share of life had been mean and pinched; +yonder was youth and gladness and tranquillity. The +world was empty, save for themselves. He was here, and +there was the one woman in it--the one woman. + +He looked at his tanned, rough fingers. Last night she +had folded them in her two soft little hands, and drawn +him on--on into home! + +He would go up to her now and tell her---- + +George pushed aside the bushes, but at that moment Lucy +rose and went into the house. After a moment he crossed +the lawn and sat down on the piazza, calling the dog to +him. She would come back soon. Tramp's head rested on +his knee as he stroked it. It was here her hand had +touched it--and here---- + +The scent of roses was heavy in the sunshine, the bees +hummed; he sat there in a hazy dream, waiting for +the door to open and the joy of his life to begin. + +He was dragged roughly enough out of his dream. + +Miss Dunbar's landau drove to the door to take her to +church. George looked up, carelessly noting how quiet +and perfectly appointed it was, from the brown liveries +of the negro coachman and footman to the trappings on the +black ponies. There were no horses of such high breed in +Delaware. He stood up suddenly, his jaws pale as if he +had been struck. What money there was in it! He had +forgotten. She was a great heiress. + +She came out at the moment. He scanned her fiercely, the +plain, costly gown, the ruby blazing on her ungloved +hand. Then he glanced down at his own shabby Sunday +suit. She was the richest woman in Delaware, and he had +not a dollar in his pocket, and no way to earn one. + +He went up to her, courteously took her hand when she +held it out, blushing and dimpling, bowed to her aunt, +saying that he had merely walked over to put her into her +carriage, and, having shut the door, looked after +them, hat in hand, smiling when she glanced shyly back at +him. + +Then he laughed loudly. If he had the salary that she +paid her negro driver he would be lucky! And he had +meant to marry her. He laughed again and took his way +homeward. + + +CHAPTER XIX + +His mother was waiting to give George his breakfast. +Whether he chose to lie in bed until noon or to walk +twenty miles at dawn, she smiled a joyful approval. But +neither the crisp toast, nor the fried chicken, nor any +of her funny stories, would penetrate the blackness of +his gloom. + +"Oh, by the way!" she said; "here is a letter that came +by last night's mail. I forgot to give it to you." + +He glanced at the envelope. "Great Heavens! It is life +and death to me, and you forget it to tell Jack's pert +sayings!" He read the letter and threw it down. + +"What is it, George?" she asked humbly. + +"Burnett & Hoyle offer me a place in their house." + +"Mr. Hoyle is an old friend of mine. I wrote to him. +What is the salary, George?" + +"Forty dollars a week. I could earn more as a +coachman--for some rich heiress." + +"But George dear---- It would be a beginning. They are +brokers, and there are so many short cuts to fortune in +that business! Do try it, my son." + +"Of course I'll try it. Do you think I'm a fool? It +will keep me from starving. But I want something else in +life than to be kept from starving, mother." + +He stretched out his arms with a groan, and walked to the +window. She followed him with wretched, comprehending +eyes. Why did not Lucy give him her fortune? Any woman +would be honored who could give George her fortune. + +"I always have heard that brokers know the short cuts to +wealth," she said calmly. "You go on the Street some +day, and come back a millionaire." + +"That is a woman's idea of business. Instead, I will sit +on a high stool and drudge all day, and on Saturday get +my wages, and after three or four years I'll make a fight +for ten dollars more a week, and thank God if I get it. +`A short cut to fortune!'" + +Mrs. Waldeaux carefully averted her eyes from him. "You +may marry," she said, "and it may happen that your +wife also will have some little income----" + +"Mother! Look at me!" he interrupted her sternly. "I +will never be dependent on my wife, so help me God! " + +"No, George, no! Of course not. Don't speak so loud. +Only, I thought if she had a small sum of her own, she +would feel more comfortable, that's all." + + +In spite of his ill temper George threw himself into his +work with zeal. After a couple of months he came home +for a day. He was dressed with the quiet elegance which +once had been so important in his eyes. + +His mother noted it shrewdly. "A man has more courage to +face life, decently clothed," she said to herself. + +He did not come again until winter. Lucy happened to be +spending the day with Mrs. Waldeaux. There were no +liveried servants, no priceless rings, no Worth gown in +sight. She was just the shy, foolish girl whom he had +once for an hour looked upon as his wife. George talked +about Wall Street to her, being now wise as to stocks; +took her out sleighing, and when in the evening she +took Jack in her arms and sang him to sleep, sat +listening with his head buried in his hands. Mrs. +Waldeaux carried the boy up to bed, and Lucy and George +were left alone. They talked long and earnestly. + +"She consulted me about her affairs," he said, after she +was gone, his eyes shining. + +"I am afraid she does not understand business!" Mrs. +Waldeaux replied anxiously. + +"Oh, like a woman! That is, not at all. Her whole +property is in the hands of The Consolidated Good Faith +Companies. I reminded her of the old adage, `Never put +all of your eggs into one basket.'" + +"But that is so sound a basket, George!" +"Yes. It is thought so," with a shrug. + +"Poor child! She needs a guardian to advise her." + +Waldeaux's countenance grew black. "She should employ an +attorney. It certainly will never be my duty to advise +Miss Dunbar," he retorted irritably. + + +George showed himself shrewd and able in his work. Mr. +Hoyle was a powerful backer. Before spring his +salary was doubled. But what was that? The gulf between +him and the great heiress gaped, impassable. + +Lucy spent much time with her old friend, and Frances at +last broke the silence concerning him. + +"The boy never before knew what love was. And it is you +that he loves, child." + +"He has not told me so," said Lucy coldly. + +"No. And never will. It is your wealth that makes him +dumb. I wish it was gone," said Frances earnestly. +"Gone. You would be so happy. What is money compared to +being----" + +"George's wife?" Lucy laughed. + +"Yes. George's wife. I know what he is worth," his +mother said boldly. "You might give it away?" looking +eagerly in the girl's face. "In charity." + +"I might do so," said Miss Dunbar tranquilly. + + +One morning in April Mrs. Waldeaux saw George coming up +from the station. She ran to meet him. + +He was pale and breathless with excitement. "What is it? +What has happened?" she cried. + +"Hush--h! Come in. Shut the door. No one must hear. +The Consolidated Companies have failed. They have robbed +their depositors." + +"Well, George? What have we---- Oh, Lucy!" + +"Yes, Lucy! She is ruined! She has nothing. It was all +there." He paced up and down, hoarse with agitation and +triumph. "She mustn't know it, mother, until she is safe +in another home." + +"Another home?" +"Oh, surely you understand! Here--if she will come. +Poor little girl! She has not a dollar! I am getting a +big salary. I can work for you all. My God! I will +have her at last! Unless---- Perhaps she won't come! +Mother, do you think she will come?" He caught her arm, +his jaws twitched, the tears stood in his eyes, as when +he used to come to her with his boyish troubles. + +"How can I tell?" said Frances. "Go and ask her." + + + +CHAPTER XX + +In July Miss Vance returned unexpectedly. Her charges +had tired of travel, and turned their backs upon India. +She dropped them in Chicago, and came to Weir for rest. +The evening of her arrival she strolled with Frances +through the park, listening to the story of George's +sudden wooing, and the quiet, hurried wedding. + +"It had to be quiet and hurried," said Mrs. Waldeaux, "in +order to keep her ignorant of her change of fortune. He +took her to the Virginia mountains, so that no newspapers +could reach her. They are coming to-morrow. It won't +trouble her to hear that her money is gone when she is +here with us all, at home. As for me," she went on +excitedly, "I am beginning to advertise the summer +resort. I must put my hand to the plough. I don't mean +that she shall miss any comfort or luxury as George's +wife." + +Miss Vance looked at her. "Frances, give up your +planning and working. Let George work for you and his +wife," she said curtly. "It is time for you to stop and +rest." + +"And why should I stop and rest, Clara?" said Frances, +amazed. + +"Surely you know, dear. You are not as young as you once +were. Your eyes are weak, and your hearing is a little +dulled, and----" + +Frances threw out her hand eagerly. "You think I am +growing old! It is only my eyes and ears that are +wearing out. _I_ am not deaf nor blind," she said +earnestly. "_I_ am not old. I find more fun and flavor +in life now than I did at sixteen. If I live to be +seventy, or a hundred, I shall be the same Frances Wal- +deaux still." + +Clara gave an annoyed shrug. "But really, _I_ make the +thought of death my constant companion. And you are +older than I." + + + "`After the busy day + Comes the calm sleep of night,'" + + +she quoted, with a sententious sigh. + +"Calm and sleep do not appear to me to be the highest +conditions of life. No! I will not be set aside, even +when I am dead, like a burned-out candle!" The +indignant tears stood in her eyes. "Why, even in that +other world I shall not be a barren stock, thank God! I +have given a family to mankind. To watch a long line of +your descendants at work, to see in them your own +thoughts and your own soul reaching out, live powers +through all eternity--I often think of it. That will +be--not calm nor sleep." + +Miss Vance touched Mrs. Waldeaux's arm affectionately. +"What a queer idea, Frances. Well, I never argue, you +know. Drop in the harness, if you choose. Let us go in +now. It is chilly." + +The older woman looked after her, and smiled +good-humoredly. After a moment she raised her hand, +examining it attentively. Her hand had been very +beautiful in shape, white and dimpled, and she had been +vain enough to wear fine rings. Now it was yellow and +wrinkled. The great emerald looked like a bit of glass +upon it. + +"Yes, I see," she said, with a miserable little laugh, +and then stood looking out into the far distance. "But +_I_ am not growing old." She spoke aloud, as if to one +who stood apart with her and could understand. +"Even out in that other world I shall not be only a +mother. I shall be me. ME!" touching her breast. +"After a million of years--it will still be me." + +There stirred within the lean body and rheumatic limbs +depths of unused power, of thought, of love and passion, +and, deeper than all, awful possibilities of change. + +"I have it in me still to be worse than a +murderer," she thought, with whitening face. + +She stood a long time, alone. A strange content and +light came slowly into her face. "Come what will, I +shall never be left to myself again," she said at last, +speaking to a Friend whom she had found long ago. + +Then she went in search of the boy. "Come, Jack," she +said cheerfully, "there are busy days before us." + + +George and Lucy that evening reached Dover, prettiest of +American towns. They strolled down the shaded street out +into a quiet country lane. Lucy sat down upon a fallen +tree, and George threw himself upon the grass beside her. + +"To-morrow we shall be at home," she said, pushing his +hair back. "Do you know that your profile is absolutely +Greek?" Her eyes half closed critically. "Yes, we shall +be at home about eleven o'clock. I wrote to Stephen to +order all the dishes that you like for luncheon. Your +mother and Jack are coming. It will be such a gay, happy +day!" + +He took her hand. He would tell her now. It would not +distress her. The money weighed for nothing in her life. +He was her world; he knew that. + +"Lucy!" he said. + +She turned, startled at his grave tone. The color rose +in her delicate little face, and there was a keen flash +of intelligence in her blue eyes. It vanished, and they +were only blue and innocent. + +"Lucy, would you be willing to come to my house? To take +it for home? To be a poor man's wife, there? God knows +I'll try to make you happy in it." + +"No," she said gently. "That is your mother's home. She +has made it. It is not fair to bring young queen bees +into the old queen's hive. We will live at your +house, Dunbar Place, George." + +"It is not mine nor yours!" George broke out. "Oh, my +darling, I have hidden something from you. It is all +gone. Your property, income, every thing! The Consolidated +Consolidated Companies failed. Their depositors are ruined." + +"Yes, I know," said Lucy, brushing a fallen leaf from her +gown. "But they had no control over my affairs. I +withdrew them from their management in February." + +George started up. "Then you--you are a great heiress still?" + +"No." She rose, holding out her hands, laughing. "My +husband, I believe, is a rich man, and I shall have what +he gives me." + +But he did not hear her. He walked away down the road, +shaken by a dumb fury. He had been tricked! Who had +tricked him? + +Then he heard a miserable sob and turned. Great God! +Was any thing on earth so dear as that little woman +standing there? She was crying! Had he struck her? He +was a brute. What had he done? + +He ran to her, and taking her outstretched hands, kissed +them passionately. + +"They are mine--mine!" he whispered, and knew nothing beyond. + + +They walked together like two happy children down the +shady lane toward the golden sunset. The money was forgotten. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of Frances Waldeaux + diff --git a/old/fwald10.zip b/old/fwald10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..570527b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fwald10.zip |