They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [67]
‘Normally,’ said the head-mistress, ‘I do all I can to prevent the formation of little clans among my pupils, but here, for once, I encouraged it. There seemed to be no other way if your daughter Clémence was not to start shutting herself off completely from the others … and that would have been really bad for her … most harmful.’
Madame Laurent was silent for a moment or two. Then she added, ‘Car naturellement c’est une enfant assez difficile – of course she is naturally rather a difficult child.’
It was just this sentence that had worried Adrienne, for it had seemed to point to the possibility of an innate, inherited, danger. Then Madame Laurent went on: ‘I firmly believe,’ she had said with quiet confidence, ‘that with constant attention and a lot of patience we will be able to bring her to a state of mind in which she will be able to cope properly with adult life. I am glad that you brought her to us so young.’
For Adrienne these last words had been a real encouragement and even more so because before she had brought Clemmie to Lausanne she had written fully to Madame Laurent telling her the whole story of the Uzdy family, of Pal Uzdy’s madness, of Countess Clémence’s decline into silence and melancholia and every detail that could in any way be of use to her.
Adrienne had not come straight home. On the way she had changed trains at Innsbruck and gone to Meran.
She had gone with a heavy heart, but she had gone because she considered it her duty to take care of old Countess Uzdy. It did not matter to her that the old woman had hated her from the day she had married her son, nor that she herself had detested her mother-in-law just as heartily during all those years that they had been forced to live in the same house as undeclared but nonetheless implacable enemies. Now that Adrienne was the only stable element left in the wreck of that sad family she knew she must put all her personal feelings and resentments aside and see to it that the old lady was properly looked after and lacked for nothing. Before leaving Transylvania she had written to the Uzdys’ old retainer Maier, who had gone with Countess Clémence to Meran, to say that she would be coming, and she had also sent a telegram when she left Lausanne. So, when she arrived at noon, the old man was on the platform to meet her.
Maier had not changed since those traumatic days when she had last seen him. It was as if neither time nor tragedy could touch him. He was still the same powerfully-built, stocky man with a clear complexion, calm expression and intelligent eyes that she had always known. Now he must be over seventy, for his service with the Uzdy family had started when, as a fully qualified nurse, he had come to Almasko to look after Pal Uzdy’s poor mad father. After his death he had stayed on until Pal Uzdy himself had been taken away hopelessly insane and now, for the last year and a half, he had looked after the old countess. She was the third member of that unhappy family to be served by him with a devotion and discretion that was almost saintly.
‘And how is my mother-in-law?’ asked Adrienne, as she shook hands with the powerful old man. ‘Can she see people? When would be the best time?’
His answer was slow and ponderous, ‘As your Ladyship will see there has been no visible change, but then that is only to be expected in cases of mental illness. I think …’ He hesitated before going on to say, ‘… perhaps it would be best to do it as soon as your Ladyship arrives at the house.’
It was a wonderful day, and the autumn sun was as hot as if it were already spring. The snow-covered mountain-tops seemed far closer than the row after row of foothills from which they sprang. It was as if they had somehow floated free of the ravines and pine forests