The Crossing [241]
I might have redeemed myself she came between me and happiness.''
``Monsieur,'' said the Vicomtesse, ``have you ever considered her sufferings?''
He looked at the Vicomtesse with a new interest. She was not so far beyond his experience as mine.
``Her sufferings?'' he repeated, and smiled.
``Madame la Vicomtesse should know them,'' I interrupted; and without heeding her glance of protest I continued, ``It is she who has cared for Mrs. Temple.''
``You, Madame!'' he exclaimed.
``Do not deny your own share in it, Mr. Ritchie,'' she answered. ``As for me, Monsieur,'' she went on, turning to Nick, ``I have done nothing that was not selfish. I have been in the world, I have lived my life, misfortunes have come upon me too. My visits to your mother have been to me a comfort, a pleasure,--for she is a rare person.''
``I have never found her so, Madame,'' he said briefly.
``I am sure it is your misfortune rather than your fault, Mr. Temple. It is because you do not know her now.''
Again he looked at me, puzzled, uneasy, like a man who would run if he could. But by a kind of fascination his eyes went back to this woman who dared a subject sore to the touch--who pressed it gently, but with determination, never doubting her powers, yet with a kindness and sympathy of tone which few women of the world possess. The Vicomtesse began to speak again, evenly, gently.
``Mr. Temple,'' said she, ``I am merely going to tell you some things which I am sure you do not know, and when I have finished I shall not appeal to you. It would be useless for me to try to influence you, and from what Mr. Ritchie and others have told me of your character I am sure that no influence will be necessary. And,'' she added, with a smile, ``it would be much more comfortable for us both if you sat down.''
He obeyed her without a word. No wonder Madame la Vicomtesse had had an influence at court.
``There!'' she said. ``If any reference I am about to make gives you pain, I am sorry.'' She paused briefly. ``After Mr. Ritchie took your mother from here to New Orleans, some five years ago, she rented a little house in the Rue Bourbon with a screen of yellow and red tiles at the edge of the roof. It is on the south side, next to the corner of the Rue St. Philippe. There she lives absolutely alone, except for a servant. Mr. Clark, who has charge of her affairs, was the only person she allowed to visit her. For her pride, however misplaced, and for her spirit we must all admire her. The friend who discovered where she was, who went to her and implored Mrs. Temple to let her stay, she refused.''
``The friend?'' he repeated in a low tone. I scarcely dared to glance at the Vicomtesse.
``Yes, it was Antoinette,'' she answered. He did not reply, but his eyes fell. ``Antoinette went to her, would have comforted her, would have cared for her, but your mother sent her away. For five years she has lived there, Mr. Temple, alone with her past, alone with her sorrow and remorse. You must draw the picture for yourself. If the world has a more terrible punishment, I have not heard of it. And when, some months ago, I came, and Antoinette sent me to her--''
``Sent you to her!'' he said, raising his head quickly.
``Under another name than my own,'' Helene continued, apparently taking no notice of his interruption. She leaned toward him and her voice faltered. ``I found your mother dying.''
He said nothing, but got to his feet and walked slowly to the door, where he stood looking out again. I felt for him, I would have gone to him then had it not been for the sense in me that Helene did not wish it. As for Helene, she sat waiting for him to turn back to her, and at length he did.
``Yes?'' he said.
``It is her heart, Mr. Temple, that we fear the most. Last night I thought the end had come. It cannot be very far away now. Sorrow and remorse have killed her, Monsieur. The one thing that she has prayed for through the long nights is that she might see you once again and obtain your forgiveness. God Himself
``Monsieur,'' said the Vicomtesse, ``have you ever considered her sufferings?''
He looked at the Vicomtesse with a new interest. She was not so far beyond his experience as mine.
``Her sufferings?'' he repeated, and smiled.
``Madame la Vicomtesse should know them,'' I interrupted; and without heeding her glance of protest I continued, ``It is she who has cared for Mrs. Temple.''
``You, Madame!'' he exclaimed.
``Do not deny your own share in it, Mr. Ritchie,'' she answered. ``As for me, Monsieur,'' she went on, turning to Nick, ``I have done nothing that was not selfish. I have been in the world, I have lived my life, misfortunes have come upon me too. My visits to your mother have been to me a comfort, a pleasure,--for she is a rare person.''
``I have never found her so, Madame,'' he said briefly.
``I am sure it is your misfortune rather than your fault, Mr. Temple. It is because you do not know her now.''
Again he looked at me, puzzled, uneasy, like a man who would run if he could. But by a kind of fascination his eyes went back to this woman who dared a subject sore to the touch--who pressed it gently, but with determination, never doubting her powers, yet with a kindness and sympathy of tone which few women of the world possess. The Vicomtesse began to speak again, evenly, gently.
``Mr. Temple,'' said she, ``I am merely going to tell you some things which I am sure you do not know, and when I have finished I shall not appeal to you. It would be useless for me to try to influence you, and from what Mr. Ritchie and others have told me of your character I am sure that no influence will be necessary. And,'' she added, with a smile, ``it would be much more comfortable for us both if you sat down.''
He obeyed her without a word. No wonder Madame la Vicomtesse had had an influence at court.
``There!'' she said. ``If any reference I am about to make gives you pain, I am sorry.'' She paused briefly. ``After Mr. Ritchie took your mother from here to New Orleans, some five years ago, she rented a little house in the Rue Bourbon with a screen of yellow and red tiles at the edge of the roof. It is on the south side, next to the corner of the Rue St. Philippe. There she lives absolutely alone, except for a servant. Mr. Clark, who has charge of her affairs, was the only person she allowed to visit her. For her pride, however misplaced, and for her spirit we must all admire her. The friend who discovered where she was, who went to her and implored Mrs. Temple to let her stay, she refused.''
``The friend?'' he repeated in a low tone. I scarcely dared to glance at the Vicomtesse.
``Yes, it was Antoinette,'' she answered. He did not reply, but his eyes fell. ``Antoinette went to her, would have comforted her, would have cared for her, but your mother sent her away. For five years she has lived there, Mr. Temple, alone with her past, alone with her sorrow and remorse. You must draw the picture for yourself. If the world has a more terrible punishment, I have not heard of it. And when, some months ago, I came, and Antoinette sent me to her--''
``Sent you to her!'' he said, raising his head quickly.
``Under another name than my own,'' Helene continued, apparently taking no notice of his interruption. She leaned toward him and her voice faltered. ``I found your mother dying.''
He said nothing, but got to his feet and walked slowly to the door, where he stood looking out again. I felt for him, I would have gone to him then had it not been for the sense in me that Helene did not wish it. As for Helene, she sat waiting for him to turn back to her, and at length he did.
``Yes?'' he said.
``It is her heart, Mr. Temple, that we fear the most. Last night I thought the end had come. It cannot be very far away now. Sorrow and remorse have killed her, Monsieur. The one thing that she has prayed for through the long nights is that she might see you once again and obtain your forgiveness. God Himself