The Purchase Price Part 30

"It can't endure this way," said he, after a time at last. "You must go. Once in a while I forget. It's got to be good-by between you and me. We'll set to-morrow morning as the time for you to go.

"As I have a witness," he said at last, "I've paid. Good-by!"

He crushed her to him once, as though she were no more than a flower, as though he would take the heart of her fragrance. Then, even as she felt the heave of his great body, panting at the touch of her, mad at the scent of her hair, he put her back from him with a sob, a groan. As when the knife had begun its work, his scarred fingers caught her white arms. He bent over, afraid to look into her eyes, afraid to ask if her throat panted too, afraid to risk the red curve of her lips, so close now to his, so sure to ruin him. He bent and kissed her hands, his lips hot on them; and so left her trembling.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He bent and kissed her hands.]

CHAPTER XXII

THE WAY OF A MAID

It is the blessing of the humble that they have simplicity of mental processes. Not that Hector himself perhaps would thus have described himself. The curve of the black crow's wing on his somewhat retreating forehead, the tilt of his little hat, the swing of his body above the hips as he walked, all bespoke Hector's opinion of himself to be a good one. Valiant among men, irresistible among the women of St. Genevieve, he was not the one to mitigate his confidence in himself now that he found himself free from compet.i.tion and in the presence of a fair one whom in sudden resolve he established in his affections as quite without compare. In short, Hector had not tarried a second week at Tallwoods before offering his hand and his cooper shop to Jeanne.

To the eyes of Jeanne herself, confined as they had been to the offerings of a somewhat hopeless cla.s.s of serving persons here or there, this swaggering young man, with his broad shoulders, his bulky body, his air of bravado, his easy speech, his ready arm, offered a personality with which she was not too familiar, and which did not lack its appeal. With Gallic caution she made delicate inquiry of Hector's father as to the yearly returns and probable future of the cooperage business at St. Genevieve, as to the desirability of the surrounding country upon which the cooperage business must base its own fortunes. All these matters met her approval. Wherefore, the air of Jeanne became tinged with a certain lofty condescension. In her own heart she trembled now, not so much as to her own wisdom or her own future, but as to the meeting which must be had between herself and her mistress.

This meeting at last did take place, not by the original motion of Jeanne herself. The eye of her mistress had not been wholly blind all these days.

"Jeanne," she demanded one day, "why are you away so much when I desire you? I have often seen you and that young man yonder in very close conversation. Since I stand with you as your guardian and protector, I feel it my duty to inquire, although it is not in the least my pleasure. You must have a care."

"Madame," expostulated Jeanne, "it is nothing, I a.s.sure you. _Rien du tout--jamais de la vie_, Madame."

"Perhaps, but it is of such nothings that troubles sometimes come.

Tell, me, what has this young man said to you?"

"But, Madame!--"

"Tell me. It is quite my right to demand it."

"But he has said many things, Madame."

"As, for instance, that you please him, that you are beautiful, that you have a voice and hand, a turn of the arm--that you have the manner Parisienne--Jeanne, is it not so?"

"But, yes, Madame, and indeed more. I find that young man of excellent judgment, of most discriminating taste."

"And also of sufficient boldness to express the same to you, is it not so, Jeanne?"

"Madame, the strong are brave. I do not deny. Also he is of an excellent cooperage business in St. Genevieve yonder. Moreover, I find the produce of the grape in this country to increase yearly, so that the business seems to be of a certain future, Madame. His community is well founded, the oldest in this portion of the valley. He is young, he has no entanglements--at least, so far as I discover. He has an excellent home with his old mother. Ah, well! Madame, one might do worse."

"So, then, a cooperage business so promising as that, Jeanne, seems more desirable than my own poor employment? You have no regard for your duty to one who has cared for you, I suppose? You desert me precisely at the time my own affairs require my presence in Was.h.i.+ngton."

"But, Madame, why Was.h.i.+ngton? Is that our home? What actual home has madame on the face of the earth? Ah, Heaven!--were only it possible that this man were to be considered. This place so large, so beautiful, so in need of a mistress to control it. Madame says she was carried away against her will. _Mon Dieu_! All my life have I dreamed--have I hoped--that some time a man should steal me, to carry me away to some place such as this! And to make love of such a warmness! Ah, _Mon Dieu_!

"Behold, Madame," she went on, "France itself is not more beautiful than this country. There is richness here, large lands. That young man Hector, he says that none in the country is so rich as Mr. Dunwodee--he does not know how rich he is himself. And such romance!"

"Jeanne, I forbid you to continue!" The eyes of her mistress had a dangerous sparkle.

"I obey, Madame, I am silent. But listen! I have followed the fortunes of madame quite across the sea. As madame knows, I do not lack intelligence. I have read--many romances, my heart not lacking interest. Always I have read, I have dreamed, of some man who should carry me away, who should oblige me--Ah, Madame! what girl has not in her soul some hero? Almost I was about to say it was the sight, the words, of the boldness, the audacity of this a.s.sa.s.sin, this brute, who has brought us here by force--the words of his love so pa.s.sionate to madame, which stirred in my own heart the pa.s.sion! That I might be stolen! It was the dream of my youth! And now comes this Hector, far more bold and determined than this Mr. Dunwodee. That a.s.sa.s.sin, that brute _began_, but hesitated. Ah, Hector has not hesitated! Seeing that he would in any case possess myself, would carry me away, I yielded, but with honor and grace, Madame. As between Monsieur Dunwodee and Hector--_il y a une difference_, Madame!"

"_Je crois qu' oui_, Jeanne--_Je le crois_! But it comes to the same thing, eh? You forsake me?"

"Madame, I confess sometimes in my heart there comes a desire for a home, for a place where one may abide, where one may cease to wander."

Josephine sat silent for a moment. In what direction might she herself now turn for even the humblest friends.h.i.+p? And where was any home now for her? The recreant maid saw something of this upon her face.

"Madame," she exclaimed, falling upon her knees in consternation.

"To think I would desert you! In my heart resides nothing but loyalty for you. How could you doubt?"

But Josephine was wise in her own way. That night Jeanne kissed her hand dutifully, yet the very next morning she had changed her mind. With sobs, tears, she admitted that she had decided to leave service, no longer to be Jeanne, but Madame Hector Fournier. Thus, at the very time when she most would have needed aid and attendance, Josephine saw herself about to be left alone.

"But, Madame," said Jeanne, still tearful, returning after brief absence from the room, "although I leave now for St. Genevieve to stand before the priest, I shall not see madame left without attendance. See, I have asked of this Lily person,--_la voici_, Madame--if she could take service with madame. Madame plans soon to return to the East. Perhaps this Lily, then--"

"Ma'am, I want to work for you!" broke out Lily suddenly, stretching out her hands. "I don't want to go back home. I want to go with you. I cain't go back home--I'd only run away--again.

They'd have to kill me."

Some swift arithmetic was pa.s.sing through Josephine's mind at the time. Here, then, was concrete opportunity to set in practice some of her theories.

"Lily, would you like to come with me as my maid?" she demanded.

"Could you learn, do you think, in case I should need you?"

"Of co'se I could learn, Ma'am. I'd do my very best."

It was thus that it was agreed, with small preliminary, that on the next morning Tallwoods should lose three of its late tenants.

Josephine ventured to inquire of Dunwody regarding Lily. "Take her if you like," said he bruskly. "I will arrange the papers for it with Clayton himself. There will be no expense to you. If he wants to sell the girl I'll pay him. No, not a cent from you. Go on, Lily, if you want to. This time you'll get shut of us, I reckon, and we'll get shut of you. I hope you'll never come back, this time. You've made trouble enough already."

Thus, then, on the day of departure, Josephine St. Auban found herself standing before her mirror. It was not an unlovely image which she saw there. In some woman's fas.h.i.+on, a.s.sisted by Jeanne's last tearful services and the clumsy art of Lily, she had managed a garbing different from that of her first arrival at this place.

The lines of her excellent figure now were wholly shown in this costume of golden brown which she had reserved to the last. Her hair was even glossier than when she first came here to Tallwoods, her cheek of better color. She was almost disconcerted that the trials of the winter had wrought no greater ravages; but after all, a smile was not absent from her lips. Not abolitionist here in the mirror, but a beautiful young woman. Certainly, whichever or whoever she was, she made a picture fit wholly to fill the eyes of the master of Tallwoods when he came to tell her the coach was ready for the journey to St. Genevieve. But he made no comment, not daring.

"See," she said, almost gaily, "I can put on both my gloves." She held out to him her hands.

"They are very small," he replied studiously. He was calm now.

She saw he had himself well in hand. His face was pale and grave.

"Well," said she finally, as the great coach drove around to the door, "I suppose I am to say good-by."

"I'll just walk with you down the road," he answered. "We walked up it, once, together."

They followed on, after the coach had pa.s.sed down the driveway, Dunwody now moody and silent, his head dropped, his hands behind him, until the carriage pulled up and waited at the end of the shut-in at the lower end of the valley. Josephine herself remained silent as well, but as the turn of the road approached which would cut off the view of Tallwoods, she turned impulsively and waved a hand in farewell at the great mansion house which lay back, silent and strong, among the hills.

[Ill.u.s.tration: She waved a hand in farewell.]

He caught the gesture and looked at her quickly. "That's nice of you," said he, "mighty nice."

In some new sort of half-abashment she found no immediate reply.

He left her then, and walked steadily back up the driveway, saying nothing in farewell, and not once looking back. For a time she followed him with her gaze, a strange sinking at her heart of which she was ashamed, which gave her alike surprise and sudden fear.