The Crossing [225]
its sheen of the night waters--these in black. The simple gown--a tribute to the art of her countrywomen--in white.
Mrs. Temple had gone forward to meet her, but I stood staring, marvelling, forgetful, in the path. They were talking, they were coming towards me, and I heard Mrs. Temple pronounce my name and hers--Madame de Montmery. I bowed, she courtesied. There was a baffling light in the lady's brown eyes when I dared to glance at them, and a smile playing around her mouth. Was there no word in the two languages to find its way to my lips? Mrs. Temple laid her hand on my arm.
``David is not what one might call a ladies' man, Madame,'' she said.
The lady laughed.
``Isn't he?'' she said.
``I am sure you will frighten him with your wit,'' answered Mrs. Temple, smiling. ``He is worth sparing.''
``He is worth frightening, then,'' said the lady, in exquisite English, and she looked at me again.
``You and David should like each other,'' said Mrs. Temple; ``you are both capable persons, friends of the friendless and towers of strength to the weak.''
The lady's face became serious, but still there was the expression I could not make out. In an instant she seemed to have scrutinized me with a precision from which there could be no appeal.
``I seem to know Mr. Ritchie,'' she said, and added quickly: ``Mrs. Clive has talked a great deal about you. She has made you out a very wonderful person.''
``My dear,'' said Mrs. Temple, ``the wonderful people of this world are those who find time to comfort and help the unfortunate. That is why you and David are wonderful. No one knows better than I how easy it is to be selfish.''
``I have brought you an English novel,'' said Madame de Montomery, turning abruptly to Mrs. Temple. ``But you must not read it at night. Lindy is not to let you have it until to-morrow.''
``There,'' said Mrs. Temple, gayly, to me, ``Madame is not happy unless she is controlling some one, and I am a rebellious subject.
``You have not been taking care of yourself,'' said Madame. She glanced at me, and bit her lips, as though guessing the emotion which my visit had caused. ``Listen,'' she said, ``the vesper bells! You must go into the house, and Mr. Ritchie and I must leave you.''
She took Mrs. Temple by the arm and led her, unresisting, along the path. I followed, a thousand thoughts and conjectures spinning in my brain. They reached the bench under the little tree beside the door, and stood talking for a moment of the routine of Mrs. Temple's life. Madame, it seemed, had prescribed a regimen, and meant to have it followed. Suddenly I saw Mrs. Temple take the lady's arm, and sink down upon the bench. Then we were both beside her, bending over her, she sitting upright and smiling at us.
``It is nothing,'' she said; ``I am so easily tired.''
Her lips were ashen, and her breath came quickly. Madame acted with that instant promptness which I expected of her.
``You must carry her in, Mr. Ritchie,'' she said quietly.
``No, it is only momentary, David,'' said Mrs. Temple. I remember how pitifully frail and light she was as I picked her up and followed Madame through the doorway into the little bedroom. I laid Mrs. Temple on the bed.
``Send Lindy here,'' said Madame.
Lindy was in the front room with the negress whom Madame had brought with her. They were not talking. I supposed then this was because Lindy did not speak French. I did not know that Madame de Montmery's maid was a mute. Both of them went into the bedroom, and I was left alone. The door and windows were closed, and a green myrtle-berry candle was burning on the table. I looked about me with astonishment. But for the low ceiling and the wide cypress puncheons of the floor the room might have been a boudoir in a manor-house. On the slender-legged, polished mahogany table lay books in tasteful bindings; a diamond-paned bookcase stood in the corner; a fauteuil and various other chairs which might have come from the hands of an Adam were ranged about. Tall silver candlesticks
Mrs. Temple had gone forward to meet her, but I stood staring, marvelling, forgetful, in the path. They were talking, they were coming towards me, and I heard Mrs. Temple pronounce my name and hers--Madame de Montmery. I bowed, she courtesied. There was a baffling light in the lady's brown eyes when I dared to glance at them, and a smile playing around her mouth. Was there no word in the two languages to find its way to my lips? Mrs. Temple laid her hand on my arm.
``David is not what one might call a ladies' man, Madame,'' she said.
The lady laughed.
``Isn't he?'' she said.
``I am sure you will frighten him with your wit,'' answered Mrs. Temple, smiling. ``He is worth sparing.''
``He is worth frightening, then,'' said the lady, in exquisite English, and she looked at me again.
``You and David should like each other,'' said Mrs. Temple; ``you are both capable persons, friends of the friendless and towers of strength to the weak.''
The lady's face became serious, but still there was the expression I could not make out. In an instant she seemed to have scrutinized me with a precision from which there could be no appeal.
``I seem to know Mr. Ritchie,'' she said, and added quickly: ``Mrs. Clive has talked a great deal about you. She has made you out a very wonderful person.''
``My dear,'' said Mrs. Temple, ``the wonderful people of this world are those who find time to comfort and help the unfortunate. That is why you and David are wonderful. No one knows better than I how easy it is to be selfish.''
``I have brought you an English novel,'' said Madame de Montomery, turning abruptly to Mrs. Temple. ``But you must not read it at night. Lindy is not to let you have it until to-morrow.''
``There,'' said Mrs. Temple, gayly, to me, ``Madame is not happy unless she is controlling some one, and I am a rebellious subject.
``You have not been taking care of yourself,'' said Madame. She glanced at me, and bit her lips, as though guessing the emotion which my visit had caused. ``Listen,'' she said, ``the vesper bells! You must go into the house, and Mr. Ritchie and I must leave you.''
She took Mrs. Temple by the arm and led her, unresisting, along the path. I followed, a thousand thoughts and conjectures spinning in my brain. They reached the bench under the little tree beside the door, and stood talking for a moment of the routine of Mrs. Temple's life. Madame, it seemed, had prescribed a regimen, and meant to have it followed. Suddenly I saw Mrs. Temple take the lady's arm, and sink down upon the bench. Then we were both beside her, bending over her, she sitting upright and smiling at us.
``It is nothing,'' she said; ``I am so easily tired.''
Her lips were ashen, and her breath came quickly. Madame acted with that instant promptness which I expected of her.
``You must carry her in, Mr. Ritchie,'' she said quietly.
``No, it is only momentary, David,'' said Mrs. Temple. I remember how pitifully frail and light she was as I picked her up and followed Madame through the doorway into the little bedroom. I laid Mrs. Temple on the bed.
``Send Lindy here,'' said Madame.
Lindy was in the front room with the negress whom Madame had brought with her. They were not talking. I supposed then this was because Lindy did not speak French. I did not know that Madame de Montmery's maid was a mute. Both of them went into the bedroom, and I was left alone. The door and windows were closed, and a green myrtle-berry candle was burning on the table. I looked about me with astonishment. But for the low ceiling and the wide cypress puncheons of the floor the room might have been a boudoir in a manor-house. On the slender-legged, polished mahogany table lay books in tasteful bindings; a diamond-paned bookcase stood in the corner; a fauteuil and various other chairs which might have come from the hands of an Adam were ranged about. Tall silver candlesticks