Part 11 (1/2)

After tea she sat in the basket chair, and took Mirko in her arms, and told him all about the delightful, new home he was going to, the kind lady, and the beautiful view of the sea he would get from his bedroom windows; how pretty and fresh it all looked, how there were pine woods to walk in, and how she would--presently--come down to see him. And as she said this her thoughts flew to her own fate--what would her ”presently” be? And she gave a little, unconscious s.h.i.+ver almost of fear.

”What hast thou, Cherisette?” said Mirko. ”Where were thy thoughts then?--not here?”

”No, not here, little one. Thy Cherisette is going also to a new home; some day thou must visit her there.”

But when he questioned and implored her to tell him about it she answered vaguely, and tried to divert his thoughts, until he said:

”It is not to _Maman_ in heaven, is it, dear Cherisette? Because there, there would be enough place for us both--and surely thou couldst take me too?”

When she got back to Park Lane, and entered her uncle's library he was sitting at the writing table, the telephone in his hand. He welcomed her with his eyes and went on speaking, while she took a chair.

”Yes, do come and dine.--May you see her if by chance she did not go to Paris?” He looked up at Zara, who frowned. ”No--she is very tired and has gone to her room for the evening.--She has been in the country to-day, seeing some friends.--No--not to-morrow--she goes to the country again, and to Paris the following night--To the station? I will ask her, but perhaps she is like me, and dislikes being seen off,” then a laugh,--and then, ”All right--well, come and dine at eight--good-bye.”

The financier put the receiver down and looked at his niece, a whimsical smile in his eyes.

”Well,” he said, ”your fiance is very anxious to see you, it seems. What do you say?”

”Certainly not!” she flashed. ”I thought it was understood; he shall not come to the train. I will go by another if he insists.”

”He won't insist; tell me of your day?”

She calmed herself--her face had grown stormy.

”I am quite satisfied with the home you have chosen for Mirko and will take him there to-morrow. All the clothes have come that you said I might order for him, and I hope and think he will be comfortable and happy. He has a very beautiful, tender nature, and a great talent. If he could only grow strong, and more balanced! Perhaps he will, in this calm, English air.”

Francis Markrute's face changed, as it always did with the mention and discussion of Mirko--whose presence in the world was an ever-rankling proof of his loved sister's disgrace. All his sense of justice--and he was in general a just man--could never reconcile him to the idea of ever seeing or recognizing the child. ”The sins of the fathers”--was his creed and he never forgot the dying Emperor's words. He had lost sight of his niece for nearly two years after his sister's death. She had wished for no communication with him, believing then that he had left her mother to die without forgiveness, and it was not until he happened to read in a foreign paper the casual mention of Count Shulski's murder, and so guessed at Zara's whereabouts, that a correspondence had been opened again, and he was able to explain that he had been absent in Africa and had not received any letters.

He then offered her his protection and a home, if she would sever all connection with the two, Mimo and Mirko, and she had indignantly refused. And it was only when they were in dire poverty, and he had again written asking his niece to come and stay with him for a few weeks, this time with no conditions attached, that she had consented, thinking that perhaps she would be able in some way to benefit them.

But now that she looked at him she felt keenly how he had trapped her, all the same.

”We will not discuss your brother's nature,” he said, coldly. ”I will keep my side of the bargain scrupulously, for all material things; that is all you can expect of me. Now let us talk of yourself. I have ventured to send some sables for your inspection up to your sitting room; it will be cold traveling. I hope you will select what you wish. And remember, I desire you to order the most complete trousseau in Paris, everything that a great lady could possibly want for visits and entertainments; and you must secure a good maid there, and return with all the _apanages_ of your position.”

She bowed, as at the reception of an order. She did not thank him.

”I will not give you any advice what to get,” he went on. ”Your own admirable taste will direct you. I understand that in the days of your late husband you were a beautifully dressed woman, so you will know all the best places to go to. But please to remember, while I give you unlimited resources for you to do what I wish, I trust to your honor that you will bestow none of them upon the--man Sykypri. The bargain is about the child; the father is barred from it in every way.”

Zara did not answer, she had guessed this, but Mirko's welfare was of first importance. With strict economy Mimo could live upon what he possessed, if alone and if he chose to curtail his irresponsible generosities.

”Do I understand I have your word of honor about this?” her uncle demanded.

Her empress' air showed plainly now. She arose from the chair and stood haughtily drawn up:

”You know me and whether my spoken word 'is required or no,” she said, ”but if it will be any satisfaction to you to have it I give it!”

”Good--Then things are settled, and, I hope, to the happiness of all parties.”

”Happiness!” she answered bitterly. ”Who is ever happy?” Then she turned to go, but he arrested her.