Frances Waldeaux Part 14

"No, I am not hungry. Vannes, you said? I must go now. I haven't an hour."

"You have two, exactly. You'll take the express at eight. Oh, I'm never mistaken about a train. Here is the coffee. Now, I'll make you a nice sandwich."

Frances was faint with hunger. As she ate, she watched the pretty matter-of-fact little girl, and laughed with delight. When had she found any thing so wholesome? It was a year, too, since she had seen any one who knew George. Naturally, she began to empty her heart, which was full of him, to Lucy.

"I have not spoken English for months," she said, smiling over her coffee. "It is a relief! And you are a friend of my son's, too?"

"No. A mere acquaintance," said Lucy, with reserve.

"No one could even see George and not understand how different he is from other men."

"Oh! altogether different!" said Lucy. "Yes, you understand. And there was that future before him--when his trouble came. Oh, I've thought of it, and thought of it, until my head is tired! He fell under that woman's influence, you see. It was like mesmerism, or the voodoo curse that the negroes talk of. It came on me too. Why, there was a time when I despised him. George!" Her eyes grew full of horror. "I left him, to live my own life. He has staggered under his burden alone, and I could have rid him of it. Now there are two of them."

"Two of them?" said Lucy curiously.

"There is a baby--Pauline Felix's grandson. I beg your pardon, my child, I ought not to have named her. She is not a person whom you should ever hear of. He has them both,--George. He has that weight to carry." She stood up. "That is why I am going to him. It must be taken from him."

"You mean--a divorce?"

"I don't know--I can't think clearly. But G.o.d does such queer things!

There are millions of men in the world, and this curse falls on--George!"

Lucy put her hands on the older woman's arms and seated her. "Mrs.

Waldeaux," she said, with decision, "you need sleep, or you would not talk in that way. Lisa is not a curse. Nor a voodoo witch. She came to your son instead of to any other man--because he chose her out from all other women. He had seen them." She held her curly head erect.

"As he did choose her, he should make the best of her."

Frances looked at her as one awakened out of a dream. "You talk sensibly, child. Perhaps you are right. But I must go. Ring for a cab, please. No, I will wait in the station. Clara would argue and lecture. I could not stand that to-night," with her old comical shrug.

Lucy's entreaties were vain.

But as the train rushed through the valley of the Isar that night, Frances looked forward into the darkness with a nameless terror. "That child was so healthy and sane," she said, "I wish I had stayed with her longer."

CHAPTER XII

Prince Hugo had made no secret of his intentions with regard to Miss Dunbar, so that when it was known that his sisters and the rich American Mees would at last meet at the Countess von Amte's there was a flutter of curiosity in the exclusive circle of Munich. The countess herself called twice on Clara that day, so great was her triumph that this social event would occur at her house.

She asked boldly "Which of Miss Dunbar's marvellous Parisian confections will she wear? It is so important for her future happiness that the princesses should be favorably impressed! Aber, lieber Gott!"

she shrieked, "don't let her speak French! Not a word! That would be ruin! They are all patriotism!" She hurried away, and ran back to say that the sun was s.h.i.+ning as it had not done for days.

"She thinks nature itself is agog to see how the princesses receive Lucy," said Miss Vance indignantly. "One would suppose that the child was on trial."

"So she is. Me, too," said Jean, wistfully regarding the bebe waist of the gown which Doucet had just sent her. "I must go as an ingenue. I don't play the part well!"

"No, you do not," said Clara.

Miss Vance tapped at Lucy's door as she went down, and found her working at her embroidery. "You must lie down for an hour, my dear,"

she said, "and be fresh and rosy for this evening."

"I am not going. I must finish these pinks. I have just sent a note of apology to the countess."

"Not going!" Clara gasped, dismayed. Then she laughed with triumph.

"The princesses and all the Herrschaft of Munich will be there to pa.s.s judgment on the bride, and the bride will be sitting at home finis.h.i.+ng her pinks! Good!"

"I am no bride!" Lucy rose, stuck her needle carefully in its place, and came closer to Miss Vance. "I have made up my mind," she said earnestly. "I shall never marry. My life now is quiet and clean. I'm not at all sure that it would be either if I were the Princess Wolfburgh."

Clara stroked her hair fondly. "Your decision is sudden, my dear," she faltered, at last.

"Yes. There was something last night. It showed me what I was doing.

To marry a man just because he is good and kind, that is--vile!" The tears rushed to her eyes. There was a short silence.

"Don't look so aghast, dear Miss Vance," said Lucy cheerfully. "Go now and dress to meet the Herrschaft."

"And what will you do, child?"

"I really must finish these pinks to-night." She took up her work.

Her chin trembled a little. "We won't speak of this again, please,"

she said. "I never shall be a bride or a wife or mother. I will have a quiet, independent life--like yours."

The suns.h.i.+ne fell on the girl's grave, uplifted face, on the white walls, the blue stove, and the calm, watching Madonnas. Clara, as Mrs.

Waldeaux had done, thought of a nun in her cell to whom love could only be a sacred dream.

She smiled back at Lucy, bade her goodnight, and closed the door.

"Like mine?" she said, as she went down the corridor. "Well, it is a comfortable, quiet life. But empty----" And she laid her hand suddenly across her thin breast.

Jean listened in silence when Clara told her briefly that Lucy was not going.

"She is very shrewd," she said presently. "She means to treat them de haut en bas from the outset. It is capital policy."

Jean, when she entered the countess's salon, with downcast eyes, draped in filmy lace without a jewel or flower, was shy innocence in person.

Furst Hugo stood near the hostess, with two stout women in shabby gowns and magnificent jewels.

"The frocks they made themselves, and the emeralds are heirlooms," Jean muttered to Clara, without lifting her timid eyes.

"Miss Dunbar is not coming?" exclaimed the prince.

"No," said Miss Vance.

"The Fraulein is ill?" demanded one of his sisters.

"No," Clara said, again smiling. "WE expected to meet her," the younger princess said. "It is most singular----"

"She has sent her apology to the countess," said Clara gently, and pa.s.sed on.