CHAPTER XVIII

HUSBAND AND WIFE

SNOW was upon the old Château, obliterating all paths and flower beds, showing only a wide expanse of pure white around it. The afternoon was already drawing in, lights were twinkling in the village and in the windows of the Château. Inside, there were blazing wood fires everywhere. The passages and floors were like mirrors with much polishing, and Alain was improving the occasion by sliding up and down them.

There was a sense of bustle and expectancy in the house. But upstairs, Mathilde and two nurses were in the Countess's room. Only that morning when she had seemed so much better, and had received the news of the bride and bridegroom's return with such pleasure, a sudden seizure had occurred, and she now lay unconscious, breathing with more and more difficulty as time went on. The doctor had been in and out all day, and had tried to give her oxygen, but it only seemed to distress her, and he told her daughter that nothing could save her now. Mathilde heard the car arrive, and swiftly went downstairs.

"It's a sad home-coming," she said. "Mother is dying and knows no one. Will you come up, and see if she recognizes you?"

Adrienne slipped off her fur coat in the hall and ran upstairs without a word. She was looking radiantly pretty, but now the shock of Mathilde's news paled her cheek and brought sadness to her face. Her husband followed her. In a moment or two, they stood by the large four-post bed, looking down at the fragile little figure in it, so close to the shores of eternity. Adrienne bent over her and took her hand.

"Aunt Cecily," she said in her clear voice, "do you know me?"

There was a flicker of the closed eyelids, and then they lifted. The Countess's eyes looked dark and blue, but quite intelligent.

She looked at Adrienne, then at her stepson, stretched out her hands to them with a smile, and then with rather a happy sigh lapsed into unconsciousness again. She passed away peacefully about an hour later.

Adrienne wept bitterly in her husband's arms.

"I did want her to have a short time of happiness with us, if only we could have had her a little longer!"

Mathilde retired to bed. She had had an anxious day and was quite done up by the strain of it. It was indeed a strange and sad home-coming.

Adrienne wired to her uncle, and he arrived at the Château the following evening.

Four days later they laid her to rest in the family vault in the little churchyard at the top of the hill.

Admiral Chesterton stayed on at his niece's request for another week. She took him out to some of her favourite haunts, and talked to him a good deal about her aunt.

"I feel comforted about her. Guy never left off reading to her at night till my wedding. And she seemed to like it and understand it. But since we have been away, I am afraid no one has continued it. Of course I feel that God could speak to her Himself and comfort her, but we do miss having a Protestant clergyman over here. Of course she would never have the Curé near her, though I believe he would have come. And he is such a really good little man that I'm sure he could have done her no harm. Guy says he means to take me into Orleans where there is a Protestant Service on Sundays. It seems so sad her being left quite alone the last week of her life with only Mathilde, who never seemed very fond of her mother."

"Ah well," said the Admiral reassuringly, "you must think of God's mercy and love surrounding her. We can trust her to Him."

He pleased Adrienne by saying that the Château was more comfortable and homelike than he had ever thought it could be. And when he left, he felt assured and relieved about her future.

Mathilde outstayed him. She was collecting a good many of her mother's private possessions to take back to America with her. She was not at all pleased to find that her mother's money, which came to her by will, had virtually disappeared, been frittered away by the Countess, who was continually drawing on her capital for her needs, and she spoke rather angrily to Guy about it.

"I thought you had made over the Château to my mother, yet I find you established in it before her death. It needs explanation."

"That I can give you," said Guy quietly.

He marched her off to the library, bade her be seated, and gave her a full and detailed account of her mother's debts and losses, and of the mortgage of the Château, which he had redeemed.

She came out of that room a wiser and a sadder woman.

But Adrienne felt hotly incensed at her imputations of Guy's honesty and fair dealing, and protested accordingly.

"Guy gave Aunt Cecily money again and again; he was always paying her debts and putting her straight. You haven't given him a word of thanks or of gratitude for all he has done. Don't you realize that it is owing to him that Aunt Cecily was permitted to die in her own home. Her lawyer was turning her out of it and taking possession, when Guy arrived in the nick of time to prevent him."

"I only know that I, as her daughter, ought to have some share in this property," said Mathilde.

"You can only have that by sponging upon Guy. I should think you would have too much pride to ask him for what is legally his inheritance. It was his when he let Aunt Cecily live in it for her lifetime. It is doubly his, now he has paid up the mortgage for it."

Mathilde was silenced.

"You are a little spitfire," she said. "Of course you're in love with Guy now; but wait a year or two, then you'll find him a merciless despot. I know him as you don't. My mother always feared him."

"Oh, Mathilde, don't be so disagreeable! You are going away. Let us part friends. You never loved this place, you told me you always hated it. You would be miserable if it were your home. Don't grudge it to me. I love every stick and stone of it."

Adrienne refused to quarrel with her and they parted amicably, but she was glad when Mathilde had gone.

She stood outside on the terrace waving to her, and when the car had disappeared she turned to her husband:

"And now, Guy, we are alone together. Our life has begun, what are we going to make of it?"

With his hand on her shoulder, he turned her back into the hall. It was a cold bleak afternoon; the wind was howling in the old chimneys, but the wood crackled merrily on the hearth. He pulled forward a big easy-chair close to the fire for her and took another for himself.

"We're first of all going to shut out the cold and the grey dreariness," he said in a tone of content; "and then, when we're thoroughly warm and comfortable, we shall be in a better position to discuss life with all its possibilities and failures."

"Oh," said Adrienne with a happy laugh as she tilted her head back on the cushion behind it, and looked at Guy with glowing, dreamy eyes, "isn't it good to be alone at last? There has been so much to think of, so much to do since we came home, and it has been such a sad time all round, that we've had no time to think of ourselves. Talk to me now. You and I have had no proper talk since we arrived here."

"What is proper talk?"

"Edifying, satisfying. How are we going to spend our days?"

"I shall still run the farm. I can't keep my fingers off it, and there's a lot to do in the woods this winter. Timber to be felled, young trees planted. We must settle down to a year's domesticity, but we have had a very pleasant time together in Virginia, eh?"

"How I loved it!" said Adrienne in a rapt tone. "I used to think there were no beautiful old houses to be compared with ours in England—but travel widens one's mind. If I shut my eyes, I can see your aunts quaint rambling old house with the maple trees in their autumn glory, and the deep wide verandahs running round it, and the beautiful woods surrounding it. I suppose it will come to you, Guy, when she dies? She told me as much. Alain will have two beautiful inheritances."

"He won't have both," said Guy.

They were silent. Adrienne was wondering with wistful eyes if she would be given sons of her own.

"Where would you rather live?" Guy asked her suddenly. "Virginia or here, or—England."

"We'll end our days in England," said Adrienne playfully; "spend our old age there; but at present my heart is here."

"And so, I believe, is mine," said Guy. "My wife has made me love my father's home."

"Well," said Adrienne with her radiant smile, "then I must content myself with running this old Château in a proper manner, and see that my lord is comfortable and well fed. That is my present duty in life, is it not? Only we must not forget the peasants. I do want to give them a Happy Christmas, Guy. Tell me what we can do?"

Husband and wife discussed that subject for some time together. Coals and food were chosen as the most suitable gifts, with some warm garments for the old people and children. Adrienne suggested a big Christmas Tree in the Hall for everyone.

"Alain will love it so."

"Ah," said Guy, "I wondered if he would enter into our talk."

"He's always in my thoughts. He must be doing lessons now. Who can teach him?"

"Possibly the Curé. He is a very able man."

As if in answer to their thoughts, a door banged in the distance, and Alain darted into the hall; his hands and face were floury; he carried two doughy-looking buns.

"They're just baked," he cried joyfully, holding them out to Adrienne; "and I've made them myself for you and Daddy. They're for your tea. Fanchette and me have been baking. It's jolly warm in the kitchen."

The grown-ups accepted the gifts gratefully.

"Come and sit down and talk to us," said Adrienne, putting her arm round him. "Have you ever had a Christmas Tree, Alain?"

The child nodded.

"My Aunt Susy came from Germany where the Christmas Trees grow. Are we going to have one?"

"We're thinking of it."

"And are we going to have Christmas presents? Real ones?"

"Perhaps."

"I wish you'd tell Father Christmas that I'd like a big organ of my own, like Daddy's."

"A big order," said his father, laughing.

Alain looked at him soberly.

"Are we poor, Daddy? Would it cost too much?"

"I'm very, very rich," said his father; "but I haven't money to spare."

"But rich people always have heaps of money," Alain argued.

"No. I've known some rich people who've had next to none; they've had other better things."

"What kind?"

Guy looked at Adrienne, then at his little son.

"They've got love, my boy, and belongings and a home, down here; and a loving God looking after them and keeping all His best gifts for them when they go above to be with Him."

"That's how Agatha talks," said the boy.

His bonne appeared to take him off and make him tidy for tea.

When he had disappeared, Adrienne said:

"He is very fond of Agatha. She teaches him a lot. But I must tell you what he said this morning. He had been rude to Mathilde. She always rubbed him up the wrong way; he wouldn't say he was sorry, so he was made to stand in the corner till he did. And then he lifted up his eyes as he stood there and prayed:

"'Oh, God, I do wish you'd try harder to make me a good boy, for Jesus Christ's sake, Amen.'

"What do you think of that for a prayer?"

Guy smiled:

"It shows he was aware of his utter badness, etc.? That making him good was a superhuman task."

And then Adrienne said softly:

"I needn't be afraid I shall have no work to do, when we have a little immortal soul to train."

Guy said nothing. Watching the soft flushed face of his young wife, he wondered if children of her own would be given to her to complete the crown of her womanhood.

He had no fears about the training of them. He knew that he would be able to echo the words of the wise man of old:

"Her children arise up and call her blessed."

And so Adrienne settled down to her life as mistress of the Château. She had gained the love and confidence of the village when she had been "Our Mademoiselle."

Now, as "Madame," she was always sure of a welcome from any and all. When Christmas came there was much rejoicing. Alain had his big Christmas Tree in the hall, and all the village were invited to it. Those who could not, owing to age or infirmity, be present, had presents taken to them. It was a cold winter, and blankets and grocery tickets were freely distributed. Then, when the festive season was over, Alain's education was once more discussed.

One snowy afternoon Guy came in rather late from a visit to Orleans. He found Adrienne writing letters in her boudoir. She was seated in an easy-chair by a blazing fire, with her writing-pad in her lap. She looked up with a happy smile as he appeared at the door.

"Have you had a cold drive? You took the car, did you not?"

"Yes, and it's bitter."

He came in and stood back to the fire, warming his hands behind him.

"I've engaged a tutor for Alain. Tumbled across him to-day. He's a Russian—a young Count, I believe—without relations or home, has been making his living since he left the country by teaching, and is out of a job."

Adrienne looked dubious.

"I would almost rather it were a woman," she said. "And a foreigner, Guy, and a stranger? I suppose you haven't taken him without good recommendations?"

"Excellent testimonials. He is little more than a boy, but you know how clever Russians are. We don't want him in the house, but André Gaugy has rooms, and his wife would be glad of a lodger. I've arranged that he shall come up here and give up his mornings for lessons; and in the afternoon I thought he could take the boy for rides or walks and keep him out of mischief."

"You've arranged everything very quickly. I wish you would let me have a say sometimes in your arrangements."

Adrienne spoke impulsively. She added:

"Alain is a very small boy, and very easily impressed for good or bad. I should not like him to be spoiled by unwise influence. Is this young Russian sound in religion and principles?"

Guy looked down upon her with rather rueful eyes:

"My dear little wife, perhaps I have been rash. But I felt awfully sorry for the young fellow, he looked half-starved, and it is my way to act quickly. I really have been so accustomed to arrange and do things on my own that I sometimes forget my better half at home. I've told this young Russian to come out and see you and his future charge to-morrow. I think you will like him. I did. He is Greek Church, I believe. But we have the responsibility of Alain's religious training. He will only teach him his lessons."

Adrienne said no more, and the next afternoon Monsieur Dragominsk arrived.

He was a slight, nervous-looking man, with very dark and rather restless-looking eyes. His face was pinched and sallow, his smile lightened rather a gloomy face. But he spoke both English and French like a native, and was, he said, very fond of music.

"I have taught in small boys' schools, both French and music. Also European history. And I will give your little boy a thorough grounding in Latin."

He spoke to Adrienne; something in her bearing told him that she was more critical than her husband.

"Alain is a very small boy. We want his lessons to be made pleasant to him. Have you had experience with small children? They want a lot of patience."

"Madame, my patience is infinite. I know boys. I understand them—I like them."

Then Alain was summoned, and he regarded his future tutor with big searching eyes.

"You've put your tie through a ring," he remarked suddenly. "What is on the ring? An—an animal?"

"Come and see it. It is our crest."

"Thanks, I won't come too close, till I know you better." Alain shrank away from the encircling arm.

But in a few minutes, he was talking eagerly to the stranger, and before the interview was over, it was arranged that Monsieur Dragominsk should start his teaching the following week.

When he had gone Guy turned to his wife: "Well, little woman, why so sober?"

"I don't know. I don't quite like him, Guy, and yet I can't tell you why."

"You think I was too impulsive in offering him the job?"

"I think you are so determined to help everyone in need that perhaps their needs come first with you. But he may be all right. His references are good, and if he's a genuine refugee, I'm very sorry for him."

"We can but try him. Your sharp ears and eyes will soon discover if anything is wrong."

Adrienne laughed.

"Woman's instinct is sometimes ahead of man's decisions," she said, and then they dropped the subject.