The Maker of Opportunities Part 25

DeLaunay sank into a chair at some distance, his head in his hands.

"_Dieu!_" she heard him mutter. "What a terrible country. I cannot believe----"

Patricia got up at last and walked over and put her hand quietly on his shoulder. She was even smiling.

"I am so sorry, Monsieur. Of course you know that, don't you? But I am sure everything will turn out for the best. Aurora loves you. You must remember that poverty will make no difference in the relations between you. She will even welcome the chance to be poor--she wants to be of some real use in the world--she has said so--you had even planned that, Monsieur!"

The Frenchman turned just one look in her direction, a look in which despair, inquietude, inquiry and anger were curiously blended and then rose and strode the length of the room away.

"You are mocking me. You know, Madame--that--that it is impossible--this marriage--if--what you tell me is true."

"I wish I could rea.s.sure you," slowly.

"What proofs have you?"

"Isn't my word enough?"

"Yes, but----"

"You want confirmation. Very well!" Patricia walked to the library table, opened its drawer, and took out the _Sun_ and _Herald_. As she opened them two paper cuttings and a pair of scissors fell to the floor. She picked them up before DeLaunay could reach her, opening the newspapers, both of which bore signs of mutilation. And while he wondered what she was about to do or say, she resumed calmly, even indifferently. "I had clipped these papers that Aurora might not see them. Since you profess some incredulity, perhaps you'd rather read for yourself." And she handed them to him.

He adjusted his monocle with trembling fingers, and began reading the slips, his lips moving, his eyes dilated, while Patricia watched him, her eyes masked by her fingers. She saw him read one article through, then scan the other, his lips compressed, his small chin working forward.

"Five million dollars!" he whispered at last. "It is terrible--terrible.

And there will be nothing at all."

"It looks so, doesn't it?" she replied. "Read on."

And he read the remainder of it aloud, pausing at each sentence as though fascinated by the horror of it. When he had read the last word, the papers dropped from his fingers upon the tea-table beside him. At a grimace his eye-gla.s.s dropped the length of its cord and he stood erect, squaring his shoulders and straightening to his small height with the air of a man who has made a resolution.

"Madame," he said, more calmly, "this is very disagreeable news."

"It's quite sad, isn't it? But I must warn you against speaking to Aurora just yet. The news is spreading fast enough and to-morrow it may be necessary to tell her. In the meanwhile you must be gentle with her and tender--you can comfort her so much. She will need all your kindness now, Monsieur."

But DeLaunay had taken out his watch. "Madame, I thank you for your kindness to me, but I am--I am much perturbed--I--I do not want to see Miss North until I can think what I must do. Would you mind if I went in town to my hotel----"

"To-night?"

"Yes--to-night."

"She will think it strange for you to go without a word."

"I--I----"

"You could leave a note."

"You will permit me?"

Patricia watched him seat himself heavily at her writing-desk.

"Monsieur," she asked, "what will you say to her?"

"That I am ill--that I----"

"How will that help either you or her?"

He shrugged his shoulders hopelessly.

"What then, Madame?"

"I don't know," she said, slowly. "It is a very painful note to write. I am very sorry for you, sorry for Miss North, sorry for myself that you learned of this through me. It is curious that no one told you," she sighed. "But perhaps it is just as well that you know."

"I am grateful, Madame, I cannot tell you how grateful," he began, but she held up her hand.

"It pains me to see Miss North unhappy, but I know more of life than she does. I was educated in France, Monsieur, and I know what is expected of American girls who marry into the _ancienne n.o.blesse_--the _n.o.blesse de souche_. Of course, without a _dot_, this marriage is impossible."

"Yes, Madame, that is true. It is--impossible, absolutely impossible."

"Aurora--Miss North believes in your love for her--she will hardly understand----"

DeLaunay swung around in his chair and rose, facing the hostess.

"There must be no misunderstanding between us," decisively, "I shall go at once."

"That's your decision--your final decision?"

"It is--final."

By this time she stood beside him at the desk, and as she spoke her finger pointed to the paper and ink.

"Then you must write her to-night--before you go. It would not be fair to leave matters to me. It is not fair to her or to yourself. Sit down, Monsieur, and write."

He sank into the chair again.

"And what shall I write?"

"If I can help you----" sweetly.

"I will write what you say," with a sigh of relief.

So Patricia seated herself beside him and with a troubled brow dictated in English.

"My dear Miss North:

"I have learned with horror and dismay of the great bereavement which has fallen upon you and your family, but in view of this misfortune, I have thought it wisest to take my departure at once.

"You will understand, of course, that under these conditions it is advisable to discontinue our present relations at once, and as my presence might prove embarra.s.sing I leave with feelings of great unhappiness. You are doubtless aware of the customs of my country in the matter of settlements, the absence of which would preclude the possibility of marriage on my part.

"Mrs. Crabb has kindly consented to make my apologies and excuses to you for my abrupt departure which I take with deep regret, the deeper because of my profound esteem for your many delightful qualities, of which you may be a.s.sured I shall never cease to think with tender and regretful sentiments----"