(1)
if, owing to the slackness of the once fire-eating grégoire and his superior, roland’s apparition in the gardens of mirabel had produced but little stir in official quarters, it was not so with the actual capture of a delinquent made within the chateau, and practically under the eyes of the deputy himself. for two days mirabel was turned inside out, and camain, the outwardly easy-going, piqued by this daring intrusion, superintended much of the search in person. what the soldiers and police agents expected to find appeared doubtful; and indeed there was actually little for them to discover, since, already aware of the strangely open method of ingress selected by the invader, they paid no attention to the broken shutter at the back of mirabel which had originally admitted him. the one genuine discovery which they made intrigued them a good deal—the lantern lying in the colonnade not far from the windows of the sallette—for why should a man want a lantern in the daytime?
it puzzled valentine also when she came to hear of it; but, after thought, she came to the conclusion that the lantern was, for her at least, the key to the whole mystery of the comte’s arrest—as indeed it was. she recalled that he had had a lantern when she found him in the sallette that evening; on searching her memory was fairly sure that he had not brought it with him to her room, and supposed that next morning, suddenly remembering having left it where its presence, if discovered, might prove very awkward for him—or for her—he had gone, at a most unfortunate moment, to retrieve it, had nearly been trapped in the sallette by the advent of camain and his party, and in desperation had climbed with it through the window, trusting to the colonnading outside to hide him. but on returning, after an interval, by the same way, he had had the ill-luck to be seen. for all she knew, that had been the road by which he had originally entered mirabel.
it was not until a day or two had elapsed that valentine realised how fortunate for her was the fact that m. de brencourt had been found breaking in, apparently for the first time, during the presence of visitors. it occurred to no one that it was not his first invasion, and had there been complicity on the part of the concierge it was plain that he would never have chosen such a time. that m. camain himself entertained no suspicions of her was proved by the frankness with which, coming daily during this period of turmoil, he kept his subordinate posted up in the course of events.
“the authorities can make nothing of the man,” he admitted in her little room, on the third morning. “they cannot even discover his name. but, chiefly because he turned out to have too large a sum of money on him for a common malefactor, he has been clapped into the temple, on the chance of his being a political offender.”
“political!” ejaculated valentine. “what political object could be served by breaking in here!”
“i confess i cannot imagine,” responded the administrator. “but the royalists are up to all sorts of games. if he had been better-looking, now, one might have put forward a theory that he was the duc de trélan himself, come back to have a peep at the place . . . as you once suggested to me that he might, madame vidal!” he laughed, as at something equally preposterous and amusing, but all the colour went from valentine’s face. that surmise, made in utter and desperate jest as it had been, could never know fulfilment now!
“but,” went on the deputy, unobservant, “i am relieved to find that there is no question of the minister of police wanting to confront you with this man, as i was afraid, at one point, that there might be. it is possible, however, that he may require some sworn statement of conditions here, a deposition, in short, such as one makes before a notary. and i also should be glad of it for the sake of my reputation, for though this man was fortunately seen and captured at once, you will imagine, madame, that i am not pleased to learn about that other marauder who escaped from the garden a while ago, though that has been kept very quiet—too quiet, in fact. will you believe, madame vidal, that i was only a few days ago informed of that episode?”
valentine stared at him, disconcerted. “but i thought you knew of that, monsieur le député!”
“naturally. i ought to have known of it. well, there is a more zealous sergeant at the poste de garde now, and there will henceforth be a sentry on duty here all night. so i hope that your peace will not be molested again. now, madame, if you will kindly give me writing materials. . . . thank you. be seated, pray. i shall ask you to give me an account of the early part of that day?”
“but there is nothing to give an account of,” said the duchesse. if he had asked for the preceding evening!
“so much the better,” returned camain, trying the nib of the quill on his finger-nail. “still, you can tell me how the day was passed, from your rising in the morning; and what, if anything, you observed of unusual. i take it, of course, that you had not seen this man lurking about the place before?”
“no, of course not,” lied valentine gallantly. after all, it was not for herself. but she was glad she had not to meet his eye, as he glanced up for a second.
“i was sure of that,” said he, beginning to write. “now, although i am not a notary, we will observe the forms. . . . ‘je soussignée. . . .’ what is your baptismal name, madame vidal?”
hastily mme de trélan put forward the least aristocratic sounding of her names. “marie,” she answered.
“?‘marie,’?” repeated the scribe, in somewhat lingering tones. “?‘marie.’ ‘i, the undersigned, marie vidal.’ widow, of course?”
“yes,” said valentine rather faintly, for the question stabbed her. the deputy looked up, and she had an impression that he was going to ask her how long she had been a widow, and that she would be mesmerised into answering that she did not know, that it was just what she was seeking to know. . . . but he did not; he settled to business instead—and was very business-like too. valentine had to account for every hour of that morning, and as she really had no right in the duc’s apartments she did not find it too easy. when it was finished, and she had signed, he thanked her, and looking at his watch left somewhat precipitately.
valentine came back rather thoughtful from accompanying him to the door, which she always conceived it her duty to do. he was kind; she did not like deceiving him—though indeed she had no hand in this enterprise of the comte de brencourt’s any more than in roland de céligny’s. all she was doing was to hold her tongue about the comte’s identity, and to wish him well out of the temple. his sudden capture, however, had profoundly affected her own affairs, for he could not now be the bearer of her intended letter to the marquis de kersaint, nor—since he had left her that night without giving her his leader’s address—could she send it by any other means.
unless, indeed, she thought, standing by the high barred window and looking out, she were to discover m. de kersaint’s whereabouts by communication with roland de céligny, if he were still with his cousins. no, to approach roland might be very inauspicious for him just at this juncture; moreover, she must hope, for his own sake, that he had left paris by now. she must wait a little; and, after all, the initial shock was over. gaston was dead, and details of the how and when of his death could not help him to life again. she hoped he had not died in poverty. she could not bear that thought. . . .
nor could she bear, just now, the consciousness that m. georges camain was beginning to look upon her with an eye more beaming than that of an employer. even his consideration, for which she had been grateful, was coming to displease her, for surely it exceeded what was due to a concierge. not being born to that estate she could not feel certain about this, but she did know that a demeanour in the deputy which even as mme vidal she disliked, as the duc de trélan’s widow she abhorred.
and she was troubled next day, when m. camain appeared again, in a shirt of fine batiste fastened with a golden butterfly, bearing a bunch of roses in his hand. he laid them down on the table.
“i am happy to tell you, madame vidal, that the deposition was quite sufficient. you will not be molested in any way.”
“really, citizen deputy, i am most grateful to you,” said the duchesse—and meant it.
“you are more than welcome,” returned her benefactor with a bow. “it is a pleasure to serve you in anything. besides, i look upon you as a colleague in the preservation of mirabel.”
it was well said, if, again, an unusual sentiment. however, the look which followed its enunciation gave valentine a sudden presentiment that his next words were going to be less well chosen, and she became acutely conscious of the red roses on the table. but at that very moment the door burst abruptly open, and louise, with a bucket of water and a mop tied up in a cloth, clanged into the little room.
“oh, i beg your pardon, madame vidal, i thought you were upstairs, and i was going to wash the. . . . oh, monsieur le député!” she was struck speechless.
“i will go,” said georges camain at once. “no, remain, my good woman, and do your work.” her he did not address as colleague.
“pray, monsieur le député——” began the duchesse, for form’s sake, though in reality she could have embraced that bucket-bearing form.
“no, no,” said he quite good-humouredly. “i would not for the world interfere with your wise dispositions. do not come to the door, i beg.”
he disappeared, only just avoiding a second bucket which louise had left outside in the passage, and valentine turned away to hide a smile, but not because of the bucket, for that anyone should fall over such an object was not a form of humorous incident that appealed to her. her mirth, however, was of a very fleeting nature, since the situation had elements which did not amuse her at all.
“look what beautiful flowers m. le député has brought, madame!” said louise, suddenly seeing them. “he doubtless brought them for you. a very affable gentleman, m. camain!”
mme de trélan glanced at the roses, still lying on the table. impossible to tell, since the bearer had been so hastily routed, whether they were intended for her or no. on the whole she feared they were. then the idea of another destination occurred to her. the affable gentleman was probably on his way to mlle dufour.
“you can take them away with you when you go, louise,” she said, indifferently. “m. le député must have forgotten them. but it is a pity that they should be wasted.”
“but surely madame will keep them?”
“i dislike the scent of roses,” was madame’s quite curt reply.
but rose—the rose—she had made up her mind about that ornament of the theatre. there could never have been anything between her and gaston, fastidious as he had been to his finger-tips. mlle dufour had not enough mind even to have amused him. but there was such a thing as claiming for lover a man who had on one occasion, or perhaps two, paid a woman some slight, half careless attention, especially when that man’s admiration was in itself a distinction. the duchesse de trélan had known it done in far higher circles than those in which mlle dufour moved. something told her that in 1790 the actress had employed that useful method of self-advertisement, and who was there then—or ever—to gainsay its truth? to-day that man’s wife, having seen the claimant, felt with every instinct that the claim was false. but she did not detest rose much the less.
(2)
camain did not come again for several days. the little sprite which dwelt in mme de trélan’s brain, even in the cloud of sorrow and remorse, suggested that he was trying to find out and avoid a day when minor “colleagues” might come charging into her room. and luck served him, for he arrived one beautiful afternoon when she was quite alone. but he seemed in a very business-like mood, and while he apologised for interrupting her sewing, he told her the reason for his visit; he was thinking of having the garden put in better order, though, as he said, the ridiculous sum which the directory placed at his disposal would not admit of much being done.
“but i know very little about gardens,” he concluded. “now, a woman’s taste . . . will you come out with me and give me the benefit of your advice, madame vidal?”
“but, monsieur le député,” objected valentine, “i am not a len?tre. it is gardening on a grand scale here—landscape gardening. i suppose, however, that you could begin by putting the italian garden in the front a little in order. shall i come out there with you?”
m. camain shook his head. “i should prefer to do something to the wilderness at the back—for a wilderness it is fast becoming. you would be doing mirabel a real service if you would come out there with me now.”
valentine had to acknowledge to herself that, assuming his sudden anxiety about the garden to be genuine, this was certainly true. and the state of the park had long afflicted her. nevertheless she went unwillingly.
but the deputy’s business-like mood continued, and from the great terrace at the top the two took a general survey of the rioting vegetation. nodding spires of foxgloves pierced it now, and the stately candles of the mulleins were lit, while round the rose-trees, turned once more to briars, the bindweed stretched her strangling arms, and trumpeted her victories from a thousand mouths. and arbour after arbour was nothing but a mantle of the white stars of the wild clematis.
into this jungle the administrator and the concierge of mirabel descended after a little, and pushed their way along the paths, discussing the pruning and lopping of laurel and arbor vit?, and the possibility of re-shaping the yews that once had been ships or peacocks. but it seemed very hopeless.
“indeed, i can hardly wonder that that marauder escaped the other day,” commented m. camain, standing at the top of a flight of steps not very far from the scene of the invader’s mishap. “it would need an army to make any impression on this. i almost think that you are right, madame vidal, and that, with the meagre means at my disposal; i shall have at present to content myself with the front garden.”
“there is only one saving clause,” he remarked suddenly over his shoulder as he led the way back, “and that is, that to put order into this tangle would destroy its character of the sleeping beauty’s enchanted forest, on which mme constant remarked so aptly the other day.”
valentine, annoyed, bit her lip and, answering nothing, followed him at a slackening pace. but m. georges camain, having arrived at a seat in the bosquet through which they were passing, turned round and waited for her.
“shall we sit down a moment after our walk?” he suggested.
it was a curved stone seat which the honeysuckle had so invaded as to leave little room. but one end was still clear. on this the duchesse unwillingly sat down, and her employer did the same.
“it only occurred to me the other day,” he began in a conversational tone, looking at her profile, “that i might in some sort claim relationship with you, madame vidal.”
“indeed, citizen deputy! how is that?”
“well, as i have the happiness to call mme tessier cousin, it appears to me that, since you are akin to her, i might have the even greater happiness of thinking of you as——”
“as your aunt, were you going to say, citizen?” interrupted mme de trélan with, a gleam. “but i am afraid that i cannot aspire to that honour. it is only by marriage that i am related to suzon.”
“i fear you are mocking me, madame,” said camain in a tone of relish. “you must be well aware that i do not conceive of you as my aunt.” his hand was creeping towards her along the back of the seat, over the tangled honeysuckle.
“i am nearly forty-five years old, monsieur le député,” said valentine in a very repressive voice. “old enough to be a grandmother.” she rose. “now, if you will excuse me, i must be getting back to my work.”
“but that is just what i do not wish you to do, madame vidal,” interposed camain, getting to his feet with even greater alacrity. “oblige me by sitting down a moment, and by listening to what i have to say.”
as his not inconsiderable bulk blocked the only egress from the seat there was nothing for it but to comply, and this, after a momentary hesitation, mme de trélan did.
“you must by this time,” began camain, clearing his throat, “have become aware, madame, of my profound admiration for you.”
“i know that you have shown me great consideration, citizen,” responded valentine, “and i assure you that it has been appreciated.”
“it would be impossible for me to do too much to show my regard for you,” said the deputy earnestly. “your talents, madame, your character, your gifts of heart and brain—you must forgive me if i point out (what you must surely know) that they are thrown away upon your present situation.”
“is that a kind way of intimating, monsieur le député, that you wish me to resign it?” enquired valentine, immensely relieved at the goal towards which, after all, the conversation appeared to be making.
“you have hit the nail on the head,” replied m. camain with a peculiar smile. “i do wish you to resign this post, so unworthy of your sensibilities and your education. i wish to remove you, with your consent, to another, which i dare to flatter myself will be less unworthy of you.”
mme de trélan looked at him mutely.
“all this, madame,” pursued the deputy, waving his hand to include not only the garden but the chateau itself, “all this, over which you exercise so wise a regency, is but a dead kingdom. you are but the guardian of a cenotaph. but imagine yourself,” he went on, warming to his trope, “imagine yourself ruling with a real authority where all is, on the contrary, alive, where every subject is your—i should say, every wish is your subject, every project laid at your feet for approval, every——”
but valentine broke in rather ruthlessly by saying, “i cannot imagine to what kingdom you refer, monsieur camain.”
“you do not divine?” said he, and the smile became more marked. “you must guess—’tis your adorable woman’s modesty which dictates that reluctance! madame . . . marie . . . the kingdom which i invite you to enter—ah no, not to enter, for you are already enthroned there, but to sway absolutely—is at your feet this moment, is, in short, this heart!” finished m. camain, transferring himself very neatly from the bench beside her to one bended knee, and clasping both hands to the neighbourhood of the organ he had named.
valentine surveyed him there on the gravel with stupefaction and a spice of malicious amusement.
“am i to understand, monsieur le député, that you are good enough to offer me the post recently occupied by mlle dufour?”
her suitor reddened. “good god, no, madame! i must have expressed myself but ill if i gave you to suppose that! no, mlle dufour and i have parted. it is my hand, in all respect and honesty, of which i have the honour to ask your acceptance.”
“in short,” said the duchesse, unable to resist, “vous allez vous ranger. please get up, citizen. i am very much honoured by your offer, but it is impossible for me to accept it.”
her wooer kept his countenance very well. possibly he had expected this refusal, as a further manifestation of the modesty to which he had alluded. he did get up, and, dusting the traces of the greenish gravel off the knees of his small-clothes, stood before her, rather a fine figure of a man, who probably carried off better than most the ridiculous red toga à l’antique which the members of the conseil des anciens had to wear at their assemblies.
“i am too sudden, perhaps, madame?” he enquired, his head on one side. “i recognise and bow to your superior delicacy. a flower should never be plucked in a hurry. and yet, the encouragement i have received——”
“encouragement, monsieur?” exclaimed the duchesse. “whence did you derive that?”
the deputy made her a bow. “you have been—unintentionally, no doubt—kinder than you knew.”
“do you mean to say that i—i—gave you encouragement, monsieur?” all the duchesse de trélan was in the astonishment of that emphasized pronoun.
“not openly, madame, i admit—but in a way you were unconscious of.”
“most certainly i was unconscious of it!” said valentine, in a tone of the strongest indignation. “your imagination, monsieur le député, runs away with you!”
“madame, i only used my eyes,” pleaded camain, undeterred by her displeasure—seeming, indeed, rather to enjoy it. and he sat down again on the seat. “you would not, naturally, be aware of it, chère madame. but cast your mind back a week—to the day of the arrest. it was on that day that i first received hope. . . . i see you do not believe me. must i convince you then?”
“you cannot, monsieur.”
camain bent nearer. “do you challenge me? ah, madame marie, but you will be angry with me! it was, then—you remember that day, mlle dufour was with me—it was the way you looked . . . in which i saw you looking . . . the hostile way, in short, in which you looked at poor rose.”
“rose . . . the way i looked . . . you think—is it possible that you imagine, monsieur camain, that i was jealous of your mistress?” a white and royal anger possessed the duchesse, and she got up from the stone bench more like a queen than a concierge.
“i knew you would be angry,” said camain plaintively, gazing up at her. “but as i live, i saw you looking at her once or twice in a manner which seemed to me to admit of only one explanation.”
mme de trélan gasped. she had no words before a supposition so monstrous. what had begun by resembling farce had turned to something else. here, in her own garden, to be subjected to the insolent fatuity of this man of no breeding! and rose dufour, of all women. . . .
“it is impossible for me to remain at mirabel to be insulted, monsieur camain,” she said very haughtily. “will you kindly relieve me of my charge here, and replace me as soon as you can? i should prefer to leave to-morrow.”
m. camain stooped and picked up his cameo-headed cane. with this, rising, he poked the ground for a few seconds.
“i am obliged by the terms of my appointment, madame vidal,” he said at the end of them, “to receive notice of resignation in writing.”
“then you shall have it in writing at once,” returned she. “if you will kindly let me pass——”
he stood aside. “send it by post, madame, to-morrow, if you are still of the same mind. though why my most respectful admiration should be construed——”
“that is enough, monsieur,” said mme de trélan as she might have spoken to a disobedient servant, and walked straight past him out of the grove.
m. camain, deputy for maine-et-loire, did not follow her. after a moment he reseated himself on the stone bench, and, crossing one blue and white striped leg over the other, rubbed his ankle thoughtfully. then a sort of smile passed over his well-shaven face, he put a finger and thumb into a waistcoat pocket, and drew forth a little almanac, which he consulted. this done, he rose and sauntered towards the lower end of the park, to a certain little door in the outer wall which, to his knowledge, had not been used for years. it had, as he knew, bolts only on the inside, so the absence of a key need not deter him from leaving mirabel by that way . . . unless indeed long disuse should have rusted those bolts in their sockets, or the ivy have bolted it in another fashion.
