Part 5 (1/2)

”How stupid of me! What an idiot I am! Of course, your husband is--”

She pointed to her black dress, edged with c.r.a.pe, but said nothing.

”Yes, yes! I quite understand. Pray forgive me,” stammered the colonel, and there followed an awkward pause.

”Mine is a sad story,” she said at length, in a sorrowful tone. ”I was left suddenly alone, unprotected, without resources, in this strange country--to fight my own battle, to earn a crust of bread by my own exertions, or starve.”

”Dear, dear!” said the colonel, his sympathies fully aroused.

”I should have starved, but for Lady Essendine. She heard of me. I was trying to dispose of some lace--some very old Spanish point. You are a judge of lace, monsieur?”

”Of course, of course!” said the colonel, although, as a matter of fact, he did not know Spanish point from common _ecru_.

”This was some lace that had been in our family for generations. You must understand we were not always as you see me--poor; we belong to the old n.o.bility. My husband was highly born, but when he died I dropped the t.i.tle and became Madame Cyprienne. It was better, don't you think?”

”Perhaps so; I am not sure,” replied the colonel, hardly knowing what to say.

”It was. The idea of a countess a pauper, begging her bread!”

”What was your t.i.tle, may I ask?” inquired the colonel, eagerly. These tender confidences, accompanied by an occasional encouraging glance from her bright eyes, were rapidly increasing the interest he took in her.

”I am the Countess de Saint Clair,” replied Madame Cyprienne, proudly; ”but I do not a.s.sume the t.i.tle now. I do not choose it to be known that I live by singing, and by selling the remnants of our family lace.”

”I hope Lady Essendine paid you a decent price,” said the colonel, pleasantly.

Madame Cyprienne shook her head, with a little laugh--

”She has been very kind--exceedingly kind--but she knows how to drive a bargain: all women do.”

”What a shame! And have you sold it all? You had better entrust me with the disposal of the rest.”

”Oh! Colonel Wilders, I could not think of giving you so much trouble.”

”But I will; I should like to. Send it to me. My chambers are in Ryder Street; or, better still, I will call for it if you will tell me where,” said the colonel, artfully.

”I am lodging in a very poor place, not at all such as the Countess de Saint Clair should receive in. But I am not ashamed of it; it is in Frith Street, Soho, NO. 29A; but I do not think you ought to come there.”

”A most delightful part of the town,” said the colonel, who at the moment would have approved of Whitechapel or the New Cut. ”When shall I call?”

”In the afternoon. In the morning I am engaged in giving lessons. But come, we have lingered here long enough. _Miladi_ will expect me to sing again.”

Lady Essendine frowned at Cousin Bill when he brought back her singer; but whether it was at the length of the talk, or the withdrawal of her _protegee_ from the duties for which she was paid, her ladys.h.i.+p did not condescend to explain. It was a little of both. She was pleased to have hindered her son from paying marked attention to a person in Madame Cyprienne's doubtful position. Now she found that person exercising her fascinations upon Colonel Wilders, and it annoyed her, although Cousin Bill was surely old enough to take care of himself.

Already she was changing her opinion concerning the fair singer she had introduced into the London world. She could not fail to notice the admiration Madame Cyprienne generally received, especially from the men, and she doubted whether she had done wisely in taking her by the hand.

A few days later she had no doubt at all. To her disgust, all the old Spanish point-lace was gone; and Madame Cyprienne had told her plainly that it was her own fault for haggling over the price. Her ladys.h.i.+p's disgust was heightened when she found the best piece of all--a magnificent white mantilla--in the possession of a rival leader of fas.h.i.+on, who refused to say where she had got it, or how.

She set her emissaries at work, however--for every great London lady has a dozen devoted, unpaid _attaches_, ready to do any little commission of this kind--and the lace was traced back to Colonel Wilders.

”My dear,” she said, one morning, to her lord, ”I am afraid Colonel Wilders is very intimate with that Madame Cyprienne.”