Part 3 (1/2)
”Yet he has carried off half-a-dozen to the supper-room, where at a side table three of my compatriots are vending knick-knacks, to add a little beef to their _ragouts_.”
”Is it that which has annoyed General Rochambeau?”
She had recognised the phrase, but let it pa.s.s.
”It is.”
She understood. For some reason her brain was unusually clear tonight.
At any other time she would have defended, or at least excused, her brother. She knew it, and found time to wonder at her new practicality as she answered:
”I must think of some way to help.”
She saw his brow clear--saw that had risen in his esteem--and was glad.
”To you, Mademoiselle, we shall find it easy to be grateful.”
”By helping them,” she explained, ”I may also be helping my brother.
You do not understand him as I do, and you sharpen your wit upon him,”
”Be a.s.sured it does not hurt him, Mademoiselle.”
”No, but it hurts _me_.”
He bowed gravely.
”It shall not hurt you, again. Whom you love, you shall protect.”
”Ah! M. Raoul!” Endymion Westcote hailed him from the doorway and crossed the room with Narcissus in tow. ”My brother is interested in your panel of Bacchus and Ariadne; he will be glad to discuss it with you. Br-r-r-!”--he s.h.i.+vered--”I have been down to the door, and it is snowing viciously. Some of our friends will hardly find their homes tonight. I hope, by the way, you have brought a great-coat?”
Raoul ignored the question.
”I fear, sir, your learning will discover half-a-dozen mistakes,” said he, addressing Narcissus and leading the way towards the panel.
”But whilst I think of it,” Endymion persisted, ”I saw half-a-dozen old baize chair-covers behind the cloak-room door. Don't hesitate to take one; you can return it to-morrow or next day.” Dorothea being his only audience, he beamed a look on her which said: ”They come to us in a hurry, these prisoners--no time to collect a wardrobe; but I think of these little things.”
”Rest a.s.sured, sir, I will turn up my coat-collar,” said Raoul; and Dorothea could see him, a moment later, shaking his head good- naturedly, though the Commissary still protested.
Dorothea, left to herself, watched them examining and discussing the panel of Bacchus and Ariadne. The orchestra started another _contre- danse_, but no partner approached to claim her. The dance began. It was the ”Das.h.i.+ng White Sergeant,” and one exuberant couple threatened to tread upon her toes. She stood up and, for lack of anything better to do, began to study the panel behind her.
A moment later her hand went up to her throat.
It was the panel on which M. Raoul had sketched an imaginary board with his thumb-nail--the Garden of the Hesperides. But the Perseus was different; he wore the face of M. Raoul himself. And beneath the throat of the nymph on the right, half concealed in the folds about her bosom, hung a locket--a small enamelled heart, edged with brilliants. Just such a trinket--a brooch--had pinned the collar of her close habit three days before, when she and M. Raoul had stood together discussing the panel. It was a legacy from her mother.
Hastily she put out a hand and drew the edge of the orange curtain over nymph and locket.
Soon after supper Endymion Westcote informed his sister that it was hopeless to think of returning to Bayfield. The barouche would convey her back to the Town House; but already the snow lay a foot and a half deep, and was still falling. He himself, after packing her off with Narcissus, would remain and attend to the comfort of the guests, many of whom must bivouac at ”The Dogs” for the night as best they could.
At midnight, or a little later, the barouche was announced. It drew up close to the porch, axle-deep in snow. Upstairs the orchestra was sawing out the strains of ”Major Malley's Reel,” as Endymion lifted his sister in and slammed the door upon her and Narcissus. The noise prevented his hearing a sash-window lifted, immediately above the porch.