Part 126 (1/2)
No doubt it is. I should not like to be in your friend's shoes.”
”Shoes!” said Spendquick, with a sort of shudder; ”you never saw a neater fellow, nor one, to do him justice, who takes more time in dressing than he does in general. And talking of shoes, he rushed out with the right boot on the left foot, and the left boot on the right.
Very mysterious!” And a third time Lord Spendquick shook his head,--and a third time that head seemed to him wondrous empty.
CHAPTER XXV.
Buy Frank had arrived in Curzon Street, leaped from the cabriolet, knocked at the door, which was opened by a strange-looking man in a buff waistcoat and corduroy smalls. Frank gave a glance at this personage, pushed him aside, and rushed upstairs. He burst into the drawing-room,--no Beatrice was there. A thin elderly man, with a ma.n.u.script book in his hands, appeared engaged in examining the furniture, and making an inventory, with the aid of Madame di Negra's upper servant. The thin man stared at Frank, and touched the hat which was on his head. The servant, who was a foreigner, approached Frank, and said, in broken English, that his lady did not receive,--that she was unwell, and kept her room. Frank thrust a sovereign into the servant's hand, and begged him to tell Madame di Negra. that Mr. Hazeldean entreated the honour of an interview. As soon as the servant vanished on this errand, Frank seized the thin man by the arm. ”What is this?--an execution?”
”Yes, sir.”
”For what sum?”
”Fifteen hundred and forty-seven pounds. We are the first in possession.”
”There are others, then?”
”Or else, sir, we should never have taken this step. Most painful to our feelings, sir; but these foreigners are here to day, and gone to-morrow.
And--”
The servant re-entered. Madame di Negra would see Mr. Hazeldean. Would he walk upstairs? Frank hastened to obey this summons.
Madame di Negra was in a small room which was fitted up as a boudoir.
Her eyes showed the traces of recent tears, but her face was composed, and even rigid, in its haughty though mournful expression. Frank, however, did not pause to notice her countenance, to hear her dignified salutation. All his timidity was gone. He saw but the woman whom he loved in distress and humiliation. As the door closed on him, he flung himself at her feet. He caught at her hand, the skirt of her robe.
”Oh, Madame di Negra!--Beatrice!” he exclaimed, tears in his eyes, and his voice half-broken by generous emotion; ”forgive me, forgive me!
don't see in me a mere acquaintance. By accident I learned, or, rather, guessed--this--this strange insult to which you are so unworthily exposed. I am here. Think of me--but as a friend,--the truest friend.
Oh, Beatrice,”--and he bent his head over the hand he held,--”I never dared say so before, it seems presuming to say it now, but I cannot help it. I love you,--I love you with my whole heart and soul; to serve you--if only but to serve you!--I ask nothing else.” And a sob went from his warm, young, foolish heart.
The Italian was deeply moved. Nor was her nature that of the mere sordid adventuress. So much love and so much confidence! She was not prepared to betray the one, and entrap the other.
”Rise, rise,” she said softly; ”I thank you gratefully. But do not suppose that I--”
”Hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+--you must not refuse me. Hus.h.!.+ don't let your pride speak.”
”No, it is not my pride. You exaggerate what is occurring here. You forget that I have a brother. I have sent for him. He is the only one I can apply to. Ah, that is his knock! But I shall never, never forget that I have found one generous n.o.ble heart in this hollow world.”
Frank would have replied, but he heard the count's voice on the stairs, and had only time to rise and withdraw to the window, trying hard to repress his agitation and compose his countenance. Count di Peschiera entered,--entered as a very personation of the beauty and magnificence of careless, luxurious, pampered, egotistical wealth,--his surtout, trimmed with the costliest sables, flung back from his splendid chest.
Amidst the folds of the glossy satin that enveloped his throat gleamed a turquoise, of such value as a jeweller might have kept for fifty years before he could find a customer rich and frivolous enough to buy it. The very head of his cane was a masterpiece of art, and the man himself, so elegant despite his strength, and so fresh despite his years!--it is astonis.h.i.+ng how well men wear when they think of no one but themselves!
”Pr-rr!” said the count, not observing Frank behind the draperies of the window; ”Pr-rr--It seems to me that you must have pa.s.sed a very unpleasant quarter of an hour. And now--Dieu me d.a.m.ne, quoi faire!”
Beatrice pointed to the window, and felt as if she could have sunk into the earth for shame. But as the count spoke in French, and Frank did not very readily comprehend that language, the words escaped him, though his ear was shocked by a certain satirical levity of tone.
Frank came forward. The count held out his hand, and with a rapid change of voice and manner, said, ”One whom my sister admits at such a moment must be a friend to me.”
”Mr. Hazeldean,” said Beatrice, with meaning, ”would indeed have n.o.bly pressed on me the offer of an aid which I need no more, since you, my brother, are here.”