The Isle of Unrest Part 27

And at luncheon they were gay enough. For a national calamity is, after all, secondary to a family calamity. Only de Va.s.selot and Mademoiselle Brun had been close to war, and it was no new thing to them. Theirs was, moreover, that sudden gaiety which comes from re-action. The contrast of their present surroundings to that little hospital in a church within cannon-sound of Sedan--the quiet of this country house, the baroness, Denise herself young and grave--were sufficient to chase away the horror of the past weeks.

It was the baroness who kept the conversation alert, asking a hundred questions, and, as often as not, disbelieving the answers.

"And you a.s.sure me," she said for the hundredth time, "that my poor husband is well. That he does not miss me, I cannot of course believe with the best will in the world, though Mademoiselle Brun a.s.sert it with her gravest air. Now, tell me, how does he spend his day?"

"Mostly in was.h.i.+ng up dishes," replied mademoiselle, looking severely at the baron's butler, whose hand happened to shake at that moment as he offered a plate. "But he is not good at it. He was ignorant of the properties of soda until I informed him."

"But there is no glory in that," protested the baroness. "It was only because he a.s.sured me that he would not run into danger, and would inevitably be made a grand commander of the Legion of Honour, that he was allowed to go. I do not see the glory in was.h.i.+ng up dishes, my friends, I tell you frankly."

"No; but it is there," said mademoiselle.

After luncheon Lory, using his crutches, made his way laboriously to the verandah that ran the length of the southern face of the house. It was all hung with creepers, and shaded from the sun by a dense curtain of foliage. Here heliotrope grew like a vine on a trellis against the wall, and semi-tropical flowers bloomed in a bewildering confusion. A little fountain trickled sleepily near at hand, in the mossy basin of which a talkative family of frogs had their habitation.

Half asleep in a long chair, de Va.s.selot was already coming under the influence of this most healing air in the world, when the rustle of a skirt made him turn.

"It is only I, my poor Lory," said the baroness, looking down at him with an odd smile. "You turned so quickly. Is there anything you want--anything in my power to give you, I mean?"

"I am afraid you have parted with that already."

"To that--scullery-man, you mean. Yes, perhaps you are too late. It is so wise to ask too late, mon cousin."

She laughed gaily, and turned away towards the house. Then she stopped suddenly and came back to him.

"Seriously," she said, looking down at him with a grave face--"seriously. My prayers should always be for any woman who became your wife--you, and your soldiering. Ciel! it would kill any woman who really cared--"

She broke off and contemplated him as he lay at full length.

"And she might care--a little--that poor woman."

"She would have to care for France as well," said de Va.s.selot, momentarily grave at the thought of his country.

"I know," said the baroness, with a wise shake of the head. "Mon ami, I know all about that."

"I have some new newspapers from Paris," she added, going towards the house. "I will send them to you."

And it was Denise who brought the newspapers. She handed them to him in silence. Their eyes met for an instant, and both alike had that questioning look which had shone in Denise's eyes as she came downstairs.

They seemed to know each other now better than they had done when they last parted at the Casa Perucca.

There was a chair near to his, and Denise sat down there as if it had been placed on purpose--as perhaps it had--by Fate. They were silent for a few moments, gathering perhaps the threads that connected one with the other. For absence does not always break such threads, and sometimes strengthens them. Then Lory spoke without looking at her.

"You received the letter?" he said.

"Which letter?" she asked hurriedly; and then closed her lips and slowly changed colour.

There was only one letter, of course. There could be no other. For it had never been suggested that Lory should write to her.

"Yes; I received it," she answered. "Thank you."

"Will you answer one question?" asked Lory.

"If it is a fair one," she answered with a laugh.

"And who is to decide whether it is a fair one or not?"

"Oh! I will do that," replied Denise with decision.

She knew the weakness of her position, and was prepared to defend it. Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning, and the colour had not faded from her cheeks yet. Lory held his lip between his teeth as he looked at her. She waited for the question, without meeting his eyes, with a baffling little smile tilting the corners of her lips.

"Well," she said, after a pause, "I suppose you have decided not to ask it?"

"I have decided to draw conclusions instead, mademoiselle."

"Ah!"

"What does 'Ah!' mean?"

"It means that you will draw them wrong," she answered; and yet the tone of her voice seemed to suggest that she would rather like to hear the conclusions.

"One may conclude then, simply, that you changed your mind after you wrote, and claimed a woman's privilege."

"Yes--"

"That you were good enough to trust me to send the letter back unopened; and yet you would not trust me with the contents. One may conclude that it is, therefore, also a woman's privilege to be of two minds at the same time."

"If she likes," answered Denise. To which wise men know that there is no answer.

De Va.s.selot made a tragic gesture with his one available hand, and cast his eyes upwards in a mute appeal to the G.o.ds. He sighed heavily, and the expression of his face seemed to indicate a hopeless despair.

"What is the matter?" she asked, with a solicitude which was perhaps slightly exaggerated.

"What is one to understand? I ask you that?" said Lory, turning towards her almost fiercely.

"What do you want to understand, monsieur?" asked Denise, quietly.

"Mon Dieu--you!"

"Me!"

"Yes. I cannot understand you at all. You ask my advice, and then you act contrary to it. You write me a letter, and you forbid me to open it. Ah!

I was a fool to send that letter back. I have often thought so since--"

Denise was looking gravely at him with an expression in her eyes which made him stop, and laugh, and contradict himself suddenly.

"You are quite right, mademoiselle, I was not a fool to send it back. It was the only thing I could do; and yet I almost thought, just now, that you were not glad that I had done so."

"Then you thought quite wrong," said Denise, sharply, with a gleam of anger in her eyes. "You think that it is only I who am difficult to understand. You are no easier. They say in Balagna that, if you liked, you could be a sort of king in Northern Corsica, and I am quite sure you have the manners of one."

"Thank you, mademoiselle," he said with a laugh.