The Indiscretion of the Duchess. Anthony Hope

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СКАЧАТЬ also a small château.”

      “Is he there now?” I asked.

      “The duchess only, sir,” she answered. “Ah, they tell wonderful stories of her!”

      “Do they? Pray, of what kind?”

      “Oh, not to her harm, sir; or, at least, not exactly, though to simple country-folk—”

      The national shrug was an appropriate ending.

      “And the duke?”

      “He is a good man,” she answered earnestly, “and a very clever man. He is very highly thought of at Paris, sir.”

      I had hoped, secretly, to hear that he was a villain; but he was a good man. It was a scurvy trick to play on a good man. Well, there was no help for it. I packed my bag with some dawning misgivings; the chambermaid, undisturbed by my presence, went on rubbing the table with some strong-smelling furniture polish.

      “At least,” she observed, as though there had been no pause, “he gives much to the church and to the poor.”

      “It may be repentance,” said I, looking up with a hopeful air.

      “It is possible, sir.”

      “Or,” cried I, with a smile, “hypocrisy?”

      The chambermaid’s shake of her head refused to accept this idea; but my conscience, fastening on it, found rest. I hesitated no longer. The man was a cunning hypocrite. I would go on cheerfully, secure that he deserved all the bamboozling which the duchess and my friend Gustave might prepare for him.

      At nine o’clock, as Gustave had arranged, we started in a heavy carriage drawn by two great white horses and driven by a stolid fat hostler. Slowly we jogged along under the stars, St. Michel being our continual companion on the right hand, as we followed the road round the bay. When we had gone five or six miles, we turned suddenly inland. There were banks on each side of the road now, and we were going uphill; for rising out of the plain there was a sudden low spur of higher ground.

      “Is the house at the top?” I asked Gustave.

      “Just under the top,” said he.

      “I shall walk,” said I.

      The fact is, I had grown intolerably impatient of our slow jog, which had now sunk to a walk.

      We jumped out and strode on ahead, soon distancing our carriage, and waking echoes with our merry talk.

      “I rather wonder they have not come to meet us,” said Gustave. “See, there is the house.”

      A sudden turn in the road had brought us in sight of it. It was a rather small modern Gothic château. It nestled comfortably below the hill, which rose very steeply immediately behind it. The road along which we were approaching appeared to afford the only access, and no other house was visible. But, desolate as the spot certainly was, the house itself presented a gay appearance, for there were lights in every window from ground to roof.

      “She seems to have company,” I observed.

      “It is that she expects us,” answered Gustave. “This illumination is in our honor.”

      “Come on,” said I, quickening my pace; and Gustave burst out laughing.

      “I knew you would catch fire when once I got you started!” he cried.

      Suddenly a voice struck on my ear—a clear, pleasant voice:

      “Was he slow to catch fire, my dear Gustave?”

      I started. Gustave looked round.

      “It is she,” he said. “Where is she?”

      “Was he slow to catch fire?” asked the voice again. “Well, he has but just come near the flame”—and a laugh followed the words.

      “Slow to light is long to burn,” said I, turning to the bank on the left side of the road, for it was thence that the voice came.

      A moment later a little figure in white darted down into the road, laughing and panting. She seized Gustave’s hand.

      “I ran so hard to meet you!” she cried.

      “And have you brought Claire with you?” he asked.

      “Present your friend to me,” commanded the duchess, as though she had not heard his question.

      Did I permit myself to guess at such things, I should have guessed the duchess to be about twenty-five years old. She was not tall; her hair was a dark brown, and the color in her cheeks rich but subdued. She moved with extraordinary grace and agility, and seemed never at rest. The one term of praise (if it be one, which I sometimes incline to doubt) that I have never heard applied to her is—dignified.

      “It is most charming of you to come, Mr. Aycon,” said she. “I’ve heard so much of you, and you’ll be so terribly dull!”

      “With yourself, madame, and Mlle. de Berensac—”

      “Oh, of course you must say that!” she interrupted. “But come along, supper is ready. How delightful to have supper again! I’m never in good enough spirits to have supper when I’m alone. You’ll be terribly uncomfortable, gentlemen. The whole household consists of an old man and five women—counting myself.”

      “And are they all—?” began Gustave.

      “Discreet?” she asked, interrupting again. “Oh, they will not tell the truth! Never fear, my dear Gustave!”

      “What news of the duke?” asked he, as we began to walk, the duchess stepping a little ahead of us.

      “Oh, the best,” said she, with a nod over her shoulder. “None, you know. That’s one of your proverbs, Mr. Aycon?”

      “Even a proverb is true sometimes,” I ventured to remark.

      We reached the house and passed through the door, which stood wide open. Crossing the hall, we found ourselves in a small square room, furnished with rose-colored hangings. Here supper was spread. Gustave walked up to the table. The duchess flung herself into an armchair. She had taken her handkerchief out of her pocket, and she held it in front of her lips and seemed to be biting it. Her eyebrows were raised, and her face displayed a comical mixture of amusement and apprehension. A glance of her eyes at me invited me to share the perilous jest, in which Gustave’s demeanor appeared to bear the chief part.

      Gustave stood by the table, regarding it with a puzzled air.

      “One—two—three!” he exclaimed aloud, counting the covers laid.

      The duchess said nothing, but her eyebrows mounted a little higher, till they almost reached her clustering hair.

      “One—two—three?” repeated Gustave, in unmistakable questioning. “Does Claire remain upstairs?”

      Appeal—amusement—fright—shame—triumph—chased СКАЧАТЬ