Volume Ii Part 6 (1/2)

Nothing pleases a man better than to talk to his own wife about himself, except, perhaps, when privileged to enlarge upon the same delightful subject to somebody else's wife. So Haggard ran on; but even personal experiences must have an ending, and Haggard, at the height of good humour, condescended to compliment his wife upon the little Lucius.

”Capital little chap that, Georgie,” he said. ”Howled awfully when he saw me. I suppose they all do, though?”

Georgie's heart beat like a sledge-hammer at the heedless remark. Should she tell him at once, or finally make up her mind to pa.s.s the rest of her life as a cheat, and the accomplice of that arch-cheat, her cousin?

Alas! for her, her impulse was smothered by what she considered her duty to Lucy.

She laughed a little hollow laugh--a poor little, weak, stagey giggle.

”I fancy he's much like other children,” she said; ”they always do cry when they see a stranger.”

”Let's have a good look at him, old girl,” said her husband with a smile.

Young Mrs. Haggard called the _bonne_, who advanced at the summons, her coa.r.s.e, but handsome, peasant features lighted by a smile.

The proprieties must be observed even in the presence of a _bonne_, and Haggard's hand, which had somehow stolen round his wife's waist, now discreetly sought the shelter of his coat pocket.

”Monstrous fine creature, by Jove!” said the husband, as he emitted a vast cloud of smoke.

This appreciative remark did evidently not refer to the baby. Many wives would have resented this openly-expressed tribute to Mademoiselle Fanchette's personal attractions, but Georgie was neither surprised nor disgusted. She was accustomed to her husband's ways; often and often, on their marriage trip, had her Reginald drawn her attention to the real or supposed charms of other women. It was a way he had. He didn't admire scenery; he hated pictures; architecture, and especially ruins, were to him abominations. But he did admire the s.e.x. The pegs on which he hung his memory were pretty faces and pretty figures. He would refer to events and places in an original way of his own, as, ”The day we met that cardinal's niece with the eyes,” or, ”Where we saw the American girl with the hair.” At first, in their married life, these remarks had a sort of sting in them, but at last Georgie had come to regard them as a sort of proof of the big man's affection. She felt that they were a sign of confidence, that she was endeared to him by the far higher t.i.tle of comrades.h.i.+p, that she was, in fact, what in his language he would dignify by the appellation of his ”chum.”

Fanchette dropped a courtesy. Fanchette continued to beam, for Fanchette saw that she was appreciated by Monsieur. In fact, the appreciation was mutual; and Fanchette compared her new master, and not unfavourably, either, with the proverbial _pompier_ of her native country.

There is a cla.s.s of men ever ready to chatter with servants, particularly if they are of prepossessing appearance. To this cla.s.s Mrs.

Haggard's husband belonged. He would have been delighted to compliment the _bonne_, but, alas! his linguistic powers failed him. He rose, however, to his feet, and, with true British pluck, employed the few words of Anglo-French he knew; these he accompanied with appropriate pantomime.

”_Enfant_,” he said, pointing to the child. ”_Mon_,” he continued, indicating himself. ”_Mon enfant_,” he triumphantly added, with an air of jubilant proprietors.h.i.+p.

”_Mais a.s.surement, monsieur!_” cried the _bonne_, and then she went off into a flood of mingled praise of the infant, of her mistress, of her new master, and of herself. The child, whose eyes were open, was held aloft in triumph, and he stared at Haggard with a wondering gaze.

Haggard clapped his hands at the child in undisguised pleasure.

As Georgie sat upon the bench she wistfully watched the little drama, and gradually the old look of terror, which seemed to have left her in the excitement of her husband's return, came back to her face. The decision--the fatal decision--she felt was now irrevocable. From that moment she knew that her life was to be pa.s.sed in the carrying out of Lucy's plot. There could be no drawing back now. As she thought of all this, the colour left her face, and the strength her limbs.

The sharp eye of the _bonne_ saw that she was almost fainting.

”_Monsieur, madame se trouve mal!_” she exclaimed, distracting the husband's attention from the infant and herself.

”What's amiss, George,” he cried. ”You are not ill, dear?” he said with unusual solicitude.

But Georgie declared that it was nothing. ”I think the heat upsets me,”

she said with an effort.

Just then the clash of the luncheon bell was heard, and Haggard gave his wife his arm. She leaning heavily on it, the pair slowly proceeded towards the house, followed by the _bonne_, solacing the infant with the rather inappropriate strain of:

”Rien n'est sacre pour un sapeur--bebe.

Non, rien n'est sacre pour un sapeur.”

CHAPTER V.