The Pines of Lory Part 26

This woman was young and slight of figure, erect, dark-haired, and sunburned. In a single glance the quick eye of the Princess took in a number of details. She noticed that the stranger wore a jacket so faded that no trace of its original color remained; that the skirt, equally faded, was also stained and patched. But to the critical Parisian it was obvious that these garments, although threadbare, frayed, and weather-beaten, fitted extremely well.

Now, while the Princess was the more surprised of the two, the girl in the faded garments experienced a greater bewilderment. For this visitor bore a startling resemblance to the miniature,--the wife whose grave was among the pines. And Elinor stared, as if half awake, at the round face, the drooping eyes, and the very familiar features of this sudden guest.

Even the arrangement of the hair was unchanged, and the infantile mouth appeared exactly as depicted in the little portrait that hung beside her. Had this portrait come to life and stood near its own chair, the effect would have been the same.

But the lady from Paris was the first to find her voice. In French, with somewhat frigid politeness, she said:

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle; I expected to find another person here."

Also in French the girl replied:

"Madame is the daughter, perhaps, of the gentleman who lived here?"

The Princess, with her head, made a slight affirmative movement. And she frowned more from anxiety than resentment as she asked: "You say _lived_ here. Does he not live here now?"

And she read in the face before her, from its sympathy and sadness, the answer she dreaded.

Elinor, before replying, came nearer to the table. "Do you speak English?"

The Princess nodded, and seated herself in the chair of the miniature, and with clasped hands and a pale face, whispered:

"He is--dead?"

Elinor took the opposite chair. "May I tell you about it in English? I can do it more easily and better than in French."

"Certainly, certainly. And tell me all--everything."

Bravely the Princess listened. The tears flowed as she heard the story, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, and even trying to smile at times in grateful sympathy for the narrator's efforts at consolation.

"Tell me how he looked the day you found him. Did he seem to have been--ill--to have suffered?"

"We thought him asleep. There was no trace of suffering. The color of his face surprised us."

When the story of his burial was finished, the Princess rose from her seat, came around and stood by Elinor, and took her hand. "I owe you so much. You were very good and considerate. I am grateful, very grateful.

He was unfortunate in his life. It is a consolation to know his death was happy, and that he was reverently buried."

Then Elinor, after hesitating, decided to ask a question.

"If it is no secret, and if you care to do it, would you mind telling me why he came across the water, out here in the forest, and lived in such a way?"

"a.s.suredly! And even if it were a secret I should tell you. In the first place, he was the Duc de Fontrevault, a very good name in France, as perhaps you know. He fell in love--oh, so fiercely in love!--with a lady who was to marry--well, who was betrothed to a king. It sounds like a fairy tale, _n'est-ce pas_?"

"It does, indeed!"

The Princess was now sitting on the arm of Elinor's chair, looking down into her face, in a motherly, or elder sisterly, sort of way.

"Well, you would know all about the king if I told you. He died only the other day, so you will soon guess him. _C'etait un vaurien, un imbecile_. My father not only loved this--"

She stopped, abruptly, leaning forward with one hand upon the table.

"_Mais, Mon Dieu!_ there is my portrait! My old miniature of twenty years ago! How came it there?" And she pointed to the opposite chair.

"We found it hanging there when we came, and have never disturbed it."

"You found it hanging there, on the back of that chair?"

"Yes."

"My own chair--where I used to sit! So, then, I was always before him!"

Elinor nodded. In the eyes of the Princess came fresh tears. She undertook to say more, but failed; and getting up, she walked around the table and dropped into Pats's chair, gurgling something in French about the _pet.i.t pere_. Then she broke down completely, buried her face in her hands, and made no effort to control her grief.

When she recovered composure, her self-reproaches were bitter for allowing so many years to go by without a visit to this devoted parent.

Smiling as she dried her eyes,--the eyes with the drooping corners, old friends to Elinor,--she said: "You, also, had me for a guest all this time."

"No, for a hostess. It is your house."

"And where do _you_ sit?"

"Here, where I am."

"Then I have been your _vis-a-vis_?"

"Yes."

The Princess smiled. "Well, my face must be terribly familiar to you.

Perhaps you recognized me at first?"

"Yes; I supposed you must be his daughter. But we believed the portrait to be your mother."

"How amusing! But poor mamma! there is no portrait of her here. She came away in too much of a hurry to stop for trifles."

She studied the miniature in silence, then, leaning back in her chair:

"_Mais, voyons!_ I was telling something."

"About your father--why he came here."

"Ah, yes! Well, for a man to marry, or try to marry--or to dream of marrying--a princess formally betrothed to a king was _quelque chose d'inoue_. But he was badly brought up, this little father of mine: always having his own way,--_un enfant gate_,--you know, a child made worse--a child damaged--hurt--what am I trying to say?"

"A spoiled child."

"Of course! But the King also was a spoiled child, which is to be expected in a king. However, that did not smooth things for my little father, as the King was beside himself with rage--furious, wild!"

"He was jealous?"

The Princess laughed--more of a triumphant chuckle than a laugh. "And well he had reason!"

"Then the lady preferred your father to the King?"

"_Mon Dieu!_ She had eyes." Then, with a slight motion of a hand: "And she had sense."