Part 30 (2/2)
Her listener had drifted from attention to the soft caressing tones of the one time Parisian figurante, whose devotion was so apparent and whose nature required a certain amount of demonstration. The Marquise had, from the first, comprehended her wonderfully well, and knew that back of those feminine, almost childish cravings for expression, there lived an affectionate nature too long debarred from worthy objects, and now absolutely adoring the one she deemed her benefactress; all the more adoring because of the courage and daring, that to her had a fascinating touch of masculinity about it; no woman less masterful, nor less beautiful, could have held the pretty Kora so completely. The dramatic side of her nature was appealed to by the luxurious surroundings of the Marquise, and the delightful uncertainty, as each day's curtain of dawn was lifted, whether she was to see comedy or tragedy enacted before the night fell. She had been audience to both, many times, since the Marquise had been her mistress.
Just now the mistress was in some perplexed quandary of her own, and gave little heed to the flattering opinions of the maid, and only aroused to the last remark at which she turned with questioning eyes, not entirely approving:
”Whom do you mean?” she asked, with a trifle of constraint, and the maid sighed as she selected a ribbon to bind the braid she had finished.
”No one you would remember, Marquise,” she said, shaking her head; ”the trouble is you remember none of them, though you make it impossible that they should forget you. Many of those fine gallants of Orleans I was jealous of and glad to see go; but this one, truly now, he seemed to me well worth keeping.”
”Had he a name?” asked the Marquise, removing some rings, and yawning slightly.
”He had,” said the girl, who was unfolding a night robe and shaking the wrinkles from the very Parisian confection of lawn and lace and tiny pink ribbons accenting neck and wrist. When she walked one perceived a slight halt in her step--a reminder of the injury through which her career in Paris had been brought to an end. ”He had, my Marquise. I mean the Federal officer, Monroe--Captain Jack, the men called him. Of all the Orleans gentlemen he was the only one I thought fit for a mate for you--the only one I was sorry to see you send away.”
”Send? What an imaginative romancer you are! He went where his duty called him, no doubt. I do not remember that I was responsible. And your choice of him shows you are at least not worldly in your selections, for he was a reckless sort of ranger, I believe, with his sword and his a.s.surance as chief belongings.”
”You forget, Marquise, his courage.”
”Oh, that!” and Judithe made a little gesture of dismissal; ”it is nothing in a man, all men should have courage. But, to change the subject, which of the two men have most interest for us tonight, Captain Jack or Dr. Delaven? The latter, I fancy. While you have been chattering I have been making plans.”
The maid ceased her movements about the room in the preparations for the night, and, drawing a low stool closer, listened with all attention.
”Since you are afraid here and too much oppressed by your presentiments to be useful”--she accompanied this derogatory statement with an amused smile--”I conclude it best for you to return to the sea-board at once--before Dr. Delaven and the rest pay their duty visit here.
”I had hoped the change in your appearance would place you beyond danger of recognition, and so it would with any one who had not known you personally. Madame McVeigh has been vaguely impressed with your resemblance to Monsieur Dumaresque's picture. But the impression of Dr. Delaven would probably be less vague--his remembrance of you not having been entirely the memory of a canvas.”
”That is quite true,” agreed the other, with a regretful sigh. ”I have spoken with him many times. He came with--with his friend Trouvelot to see me when I was injured. It was he who told me the physicians were propping me up with falsehoods, and taking my money for curing a lameness they knew was incurable. Yes, he was my good friend in that.
He would surely remember me,” and she looked troubled.
”So I supposed; and with rumors abroad of an unknown in the heart of the South, who is a secret agent for the Federals, it is as well not to meet any one who could suggest that the name you use is an a.s.sumed one, it might interfere with your usefulness even more than your dismal presentiments,” and she arched her brows quizzically at the maid, who sighed forlornly over the complications suggested. ”So, you must leave at once.”
”Leave, alone--without you?” and the girl's agitation was very apparent. ”Madame, I beg you to find some reason for going with me, or for following at once. I could send a dispatch from Savannah, you could make some excuse! You, oh, Marquise! if I leave you here alone I would be in despair; I would fear I should never, never see you again!”
”Nonsense, child! There is absolutely no ground for your fears. If you should meet trouble in any way you have only to send me word and I will be with you. But your imaginary terrors you must yourself subdue.
Come, now, be reasonable. You must go back--it is decided. Take note of all landmarks as we did in coming; if messengers are needed it is much better that you inform yourself of all approaches here. Wait for the yacht at Savannah. Buy anything needed for its refurnis.h.i.+ng, and see that a certain amount of repairing is done there while you wait further orders. I shall probably have it brought to Beaufort, later, which would be most convenient if I should desire to give my good friends here a little salt water excursion. So, you perceive, it is all very natural, and it is all decided.”
”Heavens, Marquise, how fast you move! I had only got so far I was afraid to remain, and afraid to excite wonder by leaving; and while I lament, you arrange a campaign.”
”Exactly; so you see how easily it is all to be done, and how little use your fears.”
”I am so much more contented that I will see everything as you wish,” promised the girl, brightly. ”Savannah, after all, is not very far, and Beaufort is nearer still. But after all, you must own, my presentiments were not all wrong, Marquise. It really was unlucky--this journey.”
”We have heretofore had only good fortune; why should we complain because of a few obstacles now?” asked her mistress. ”To become a diplomat one needs to be first a philosopher, and prepared at all times for the worst.”
”I could be more of a philosopher myself over these complications,”
agreed the girl, smiling, ”if I were a foreigner of rank seeking amus.e.m.e.nt and adventure. But the troubles of all this country have come so close home to the people of my race that we fear even to think what the worst might be.”
The Marquise held up an admonis.h.i.+ng finger and glanced towards the door.
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