Part 4

The arrangements took up all of the forenoon and much of the afternoon, and instead of turning up at the Villa Rose punctually at five o’clock for tea, as was his habit, Monsieur de Latour was, at that time, in the telegraph office sending and receiving despatches concerning work on the Chateau of Montplaisir.

But meanwhile Louis de Latour appeared at the villa to pay his respects to the ladies, quite unconscious of a strange and fortuitous meeting which was ahead of him.

A little before five o’clock Louis rang the bell of the villa, and was ushered through a gateway into a beautiful garden at the back, where, at their tea-table in a little grassy place almost surrounded by ancient rose-trees in the last blooming of summer, Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie received their guests in the afternoons. The air was soft and fragrant with the late blown roses, and the sunlight in unclouded splendour lay over land and sea. As Louis walked along the shady garden path to where the tea-table stood, the graceful figure of a girl, dressed modestly in black, was preceding him through the mazes of the shrubbery. One look sufficed. It was Julie de Brésac. Louis felt a shock of delight, rushed after her, and they met, unseen by other eyes, in a sweet and odorous solitude formed by a circle of rose-trees. Louis seized Julie’s hand, and she turned on him two sweet, dark eyes and a charming face all dimpling with smiles. There was pure delight in her glance.

“I did not expect to meet you here,” she said with pretty gravity, seating herself on a garden-chair and arranging her black draperies gracefully around her.

“And I did not expect to meet you here, mademoiselle,” answered Louis in rapture. “I suppose you have come, as I have, to call upon Mademoiselle Cheri and Mademoiselle Dupont, the niece of my benefactor, Monsieur de Latour. O mademoiselle, what a budget I have to unpack for you!”

“That will keep,” replied Julie hurriedly, raising her hand in a warning gesture. “But you are not to know that I am here nor to recognise me in the least, until we are introduced.”

What madcap prank had Julie now in her pretty head? thought Louis; for Julie was a madcap and given to pranks, and those which did not come of themselves into her head Madame de Beauregard was tolerably certain to put there, and this Louis expressed in guarded language. Suddenly it flashed upon him, the escapade which Julie proposed entering upon with Monsieur de Latour, and Julie herself confirmed this by whispering to him, as she opened her dainty black parasol so as to conceal her laughing face:

“You know, I have never seen Monsieur de Latour, who is the trustee of my property, but I happen to know that he has arrived at Dinard with his niece, Mélanie, and my cousin Eugène adores that girl. I also found out that Monsieur de Latour was advertising for a companion for Mélanie; so it came into my head and that of my aunt that I would take a look at my trustee without telling him who I am. So I have replied to the advertisement, and I am here to-day to be inspected for the position of companion.”

Julie said this with a dangerous demureness. Louis had discovered, in those radiant days at Algiers, that Julie was never perfectly serious unless she was bent on mischief.

“But, mademoiselle,” he said, “although Monsieur de Latour may not have mentioned it in his advertisement, he wishes a serious and settled person as companion, or rather chaperon, for Mademoiselle Mélanie. That much I know, although I met Monsieur de Latour only yesterday morning.”

“Am I not a serious and settled person?” asked Julie, tapping her little shoe with the end of her parasol. “At least am I not as serious and settled as you are?”

“Perhaps so, mademoiselle,” answered Louis, smiling. “I am afraid that both of us are a little intoxicated with the new wine of life which we are drinking.”

“At least,” promptly replied Julie, “I am twice as serious and settled as my aunt.” And at this they both laughed.

“All I ask of you,” added Julie, with a sidelong glance which enforced her request, “is that you will let me play my little part undiscovered. It is no harm--how can it be? I simply want to amuse myself a little. By the way, this is my first opportunity of congratulating you upon coming into your inheritance.”

“I wish it were a better inheritance,” replied Louis, fixing his eyes, bright with meaning, on Julie.

These two young souls, gay, affectionate, and exuberant by nature, had from the beginning, established a perfect communication by glances and unspoken words. Julie knew Louis to be her lover, and Louis felt that the thought was far from unpleasing to Julie, and she understood perfectly why he uttered this wish. He desired that his inheritance should be more worthy of her.

“But,” he said, “I have had a great, a marvellous piece of good fortune. Monsieur de Latour, you know, belongs, or thinks he belongs, to my family. Very well--I am only too happy to have an honest, hard-working soap-boiler among my relations. So Monsieur de Latour has arranged to make me a gift of three hundred thousand francs and to adopt me legally as his nephew. The papers will be prepared and will be signed as soon as ready. And then there is another glorious possibility in store for me. My Heaven-sent uncle tells me that you and Madame de Beauregard may be induced to visit us at the chateau as soon as part of it can be made habitable.”

“Then,” responded Julie softly, giving him another one of those lovely sidelong glances into which she threw both archness and sentiment, “even if I don’t succeed in playing this delightful trick on Monsieur de Latour, I shall at least have--the pleasure----”

Here Julie stopped, smiling and blushing, and Louis, taking up the thread, said delightedly:

“I shall have the joy of being under the same roof with you, at all events, for a little time.”

Louis paused and looked about him. They were quite alone except for the presence of a pair of blue pigeons, which were cooing softly on the top of an arbour near them. Louis leaned over and said one word, “Julie,” and Julie, whose eyes were suddenly downcast, raised them with a look in their blue depths which Louis had seen there when he had scarcely a franc to his name. Just then voices were heard, and in a half minute more Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie were seen approaching. There was no time for any further explanation. Julie, like most women of her class, was an admirable actress. As the women of good society have to appear interested when they are bored, to maintain their gravity when they are secretly amused, to regulate their antipathies and control their emotions, they are already graduates of the best school of acting in the world. Julie at once assumed an air which Louis had never dreamed that she possessed--an air submissive and deprecatory and well adapted to the character which she assumed of a young person looking for work. Mademoiselle Cheri spoke first, in her usual kind manner; she had no idea that this fascinating young girl was the person applying for a place as companion, and was considerably astonished when Julie said modestly:

“I am Mademoiselle de Courcey, and I have called by appointment at this hour in answer to an advertisement for a companion.”

Mademoiselle Cheri looked a little puzzled, glancing toward Louis, whom she had never seen and for whose presence she could not well account.

“Pardon, mademoiselle,” he said, advancing, “permit me to introduce myself. I am Monsieur Louis Victor de Latour, a relative of Monsieur Victor Louis de Latour, and I believe I have the honour of claiming relationship also with this young lady.” And he bowed and smiled in a pleasant manner peculiarly his own at Mélanie, who bowed and smiled in return.

There was nothing patronizing or uppish about this young man. Nothing could be simpler or more agreeable than his manner, thought Mélanie, who had expected to find him haughty to the last degree.

“I called to pay my respects to you, mademoiselle, and to my relative, Mademoiselle Dupont; but I perceive that you have an appointment with this lady, and I will postpone my visit to a more opportune season. May I return in half an hour?”

“Certainly, monsieur,” replied Mademoiselle Cheri. “I hope by that time Monsieur de Latour will be here. We expected him at five o’clock, and he is likely to arrive at any moment.”

Louis bowed himself off, and then Mademoiselle Cheri, inviting Julie to be seated, said to her politely:

“I am afraid, mademoiselle, there is a mistake here. I think Monsieur de Latour desired a lady old enough to be a chaperon, as well as a companion, for his niece.”

“Nothing was said about age, mademoiselle,” answered Julie demurely, “and I thought it possible that Monsieur de Latour might desire a companion rather than a chaperon.”

“That is what I really desire,” said Mélanie timidly. “I have no sisters, no cousins, and few girl friends. I have often longed for a companion of my own age.”

The two girls looked at each other with mutual good-will. Nothing could be more dissimilar--Mélanie, nun-like in her simplicity and piety, and Julie, full of the spirit of mischief without a restraining hand to guide her. But both of them were instinctively good, tender of heart and incapable of meanness, and their very oppositeness drew them together.

“Perhaps,” said Julie, “Monsieur de Latour might accept me temporarily as a companion for you, mademoiselle.”

“Yes,” answered Mélanie, clapping her hands softly, “at least while we are at Dinard. I should love to have a companion, and dear Mademoiselle Séline will chaperon us both.”

The two girls continued to gaze at each other with friendly and smiling eyes. Mademoiselle Cheri, the best of women and by nature a spoiler of children, girls, men, women, servants, horses, dogs, cats, and birds, at once replied:

“If it is agreeable to Monsieur de Latour, I am more than willing to chaperon you while we are at Dinard. I love to have young life about me.”

The two girls immediately plunged into a conversation with each other, Mademoiselle Cheri taking an occasional part, and the longer they conversed the more companionable they seemed. After waiting half an hour for Monsieur de Latour tea was served, and Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie succumbed still more to Julie’s sweetness and sprightliness. At last, finding it impossible to wait longer, as the alleged companion had an engagement for a very smart party given at one of the finest chateaux in the neighbourhood, Julie rose to go. She left behind her a strong desire in the minds of both Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie to see more of her.

It was quite six o’clock before Monsieur de Latour, red and panting, turned up, bringing with him Louis, who had promised to return within half an hour, but who had carefully watched the garden waiting for Julie’s departure. He had by no means the same confidence in his powers of acting that Julie had in hers, and had no mind to meet her again until he had better learned his part. Monsieur de Latour, seating himself, demanded refreshment at once, not only in the shape of tea, but in a glass of cognac.

“For I can tell you,” he puffed, turning to Louis, “I have had as hard a day’s work as I ever did when I was in charge of the vats of your respected father, Mademoiselle Séline. But,” he continued, after disposing promptly of the cognac, “I have been quite successful. In ten days more, thanks to my own energy and determination and the good-will of my nephew here”--at which he slapped Louis on the back--“one wing of my ancestral chateau will be habitable.”

Louis agreed to every plan, and even suggestion, that Monsieur de Latour made, and expressed the highest gratification at all that had been undertaken, of which he frankly acknowledged himself the beneficiary.

“And then,” he said, smiling, “I shall hope to have the pleasure of seeing you, dear uncle, and my Cousin Mélanie and Mademoiselle Cheri, established at the Chateau of Montplaisir, to stay as long as you like.”

Monsieur de Latour was delighted at this, and went on to explain the various orders he had given. Mélanie attempted once or twice to bring up the subject of the companion, but Monsieur de Latour, with his tongue tied to no ear but his own, would not listen.

“The great matter,” he said, “was the roof. I can get it temporarily patched up, and then, when the season at Dinard is over, I can have the work done properly. The windows gave me very little trouble, as I found the frames were the regulation size. The furniture and tapestries were easily managed, and I think those lazy Paris tradesmen will learn a thing or two from the way we do things at Brionville; eh, Mademoiselle Séline?”

Mademoiselle Cheri, who was as fond of her native town as provincials usually are, promptly agreed to this. Monsieur de Latour could not forbear chuckling at the accounts of his aristocratic splendour which his servants would take back to Brionville.

At last Mélanie managed to get his attention and told him that Mademoiselle de Courcey had called and was much disappointed at not seeing him, but had arranged to come to the villa again the next morning at twelve o’clock, when he must be there to meet her.

“But, my dear,” remonstrated Monsieur de Latour, “I am to be at the Chateau of Montplaisir at twelve o’clock. However, couldn’t you and Mademoiselle Cheri, as I wish to show you the chateau, bring the lady there, and we could have the interview as well as here.”

“Certainly, dear uncle,” cried Mélanie, and putting her hand on his arm, she continued: “I do hope that you will like Mademoiselle de Courcey. Ask Mademoiselle Séline what she thinks of her.”

“I admired her very much. She has the unmistakable air of good breeding which I think very necessary to a companion and most difficult to find in that capacity,” answered Mademoiselle Cheri, secretly trying to forward the wishes of the two girls. “Don’t you think so, monsieur?” she added, turning to Louis.

Louis, who wished to keep out of the imbroglio, was forced to speak, and he uttered only the truth when he cordially agreed with Mademoiselle Cheri.

“And the languages?” asked Monsieur de Latour.

Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie looked a little blank at this. They had been so captivated by Julie’s charm that they had not inquired into her accomplishments. But Louis came to the front, saying:

“I have reason to know that Mademoiselle de Courcey speaks English and German fluently, and is an admirable musician.”

Luckily, Monsieur de Latour did not demand the source from whence Louis had acquired his information, but asked the question which Mélanie had apprehended.

“And how about her age?” he inquired. “She must be over fifty, of course.”

There was a pause before Mélanie said timidly:

“She is quite young--not more than two-and-twenty, I fancy. But, uncle, I want her for a girl companion and friend, at least while we are at Dinard, and Mademoiselle Cheri says she will chaperon us both.”

Monsieur de Latour put his cup down and looked around sternly. He felt that he had been chicaned by the whole party.

“No, my love,” he said positively, “you have been talking nonsense, if you will pardon me for saying so, and you have committed a very great folly in encouraging this young lady, Mademoiselle de Courcey, to suppose that she was by any means the person I desired. I admit all her accomplishments, but she is too young. She would require more chaperoning even than you, and kind as Mademoiselle Cheri is, I could not think of imposing two girls upon her instead of one. So I am afraid you will have to give up the notion of having her.”

“But, uncle----”

“Not another word on the subject, my dear. She is too young. I wonder that you should not see the impossibility of any such arrangement. Besides, think of the scandal it would give. People would say that I intended to marry the young woman, and, being a bachelor, I must be on my guard.”

“I never observed,” said Mademoiselle Cheri, “that a bachelor on his guard was any safer than a bachelor off his guard, and besides, age is as good a protection to a man as to a woman.”

Monsieur de Latour glared at Mademoiselle Cheri. This way she had of giving him penknife thrusts when he least expected them was most unpleasant. He felt then far more inclined to marry Madame de Beauregard than Mademoiselle Cheri, being fully persuaded that he could have either lady at any time he wished.

Louis listened to this conversation with alternate hope and fear. The idea of having Julie established at the chateau where he could see her daily was inexpressibly captivating to him, but her taste for lively adventures, which was ardently fostered by that rollicking old madcap, the Comtesse de Beauregard, made him shiver with apprehension. However, he thought if he could once call Julie his own--and he had reason enough to believe he could--she would, like all other women who love, accommodate herself to his ideas, which, although not as strict as Mademoiselle Cheri’s, were not exactly as lax as Madame de Beauregard’s. The more Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie saw of Louis, the better they liked him, and he gave every indication of an intention to live up to his bargain with Monsieur de Latour and to treat the old gentleman and his family and friends with the greatest consideration.

“It would be just as well,” said Monsieur de Latour after a while, “that we should have a family meeting and a little festivity at the chateau to commemorate the reunion of the two branches of the family. My lawyers promised to have all of the papers ready in a few days, and then I shall hand over the sum agreed upon to my nephew-to-be, and it may not be all that he will get from me eventually.”

To which Louis replied by a sudden sortie on Monsieur de Latour, and an embrace which Monsieur de Latour, rubbing his sides afterward, declared almost cost him his life. But he liked the heartiness and good-will which Louis showed, and the indisposition to haggle over the terms of the bargain.

The next morning at ten o’clock Monsieur de Latour was in his glory at the Chateau of Montplaisir. The hammering of workmen resounded upon the roof, masons and carpenters were all over the place, and Monsieur de Latour was inspiring and directing them with more zeal than helpfulness. He distracted the workmen by his directions, called them when they were busy to urge them to make greater haste, and, in short, his wishes outran his discretion, as the case is with most people.

The August sun shone brightly, and the old rookery was flooded with the warm blue air. The presence of the workmen and Monsieur de Latour, strutting about declaiming in a loud, cheerful voice, followed at every step by Louis in great spirits, made a complete transformation of the scene. There was but one thing in Louis to which Monsieur de Latour objected, and that was Louis’s propensity to embrace the old gentleman on every possible occasion. When he had done this about twenty times that morning, Monsieur de Latour stopped him in the middle of the court-yard and remonstrated strongly.

“Look here,” he said, “I can’t stand this eternal embracing and kissing on your part. It’s all well enough to be grateful, and I like to see the spirit in you, young man, but I can’t run the risk of having my ribs broken twenty times a day. There must be some limit put to it.”

“Very well, then, dear uncle,” replied Louis affectionately, “only grant me the privilege of embracing you and kissing the top of your head three times a day. With less I cannot exist.”

“Wouldn’t once a day answer?” asked Monsieur de Latour dubiously.

“No, a dozen times no! I cannot control the exuberance of my feelings for twenty-four hours consecutively. I must embrace you at least three times a day. Would you consider it a violation of this arrangement, which, after all, seems so inadequate to express my feelings, if I were to put my arm affectionately around your neck, thus?”

Here Louis insinuated his arm around Monsieur de Latour’s neck and rested his head against his new-found uncle’s left ear.

“Decidedly so,” replied Monsieur de Latour, shaking him off. “It is the first time in my life that I have ever had to repress gratitude; but gratitude such as yours is positively dangerous. I think my life has been in jeopardy a dozen times since I arranged to give you the three hundred thousand francs. You are a very athletic young man and I am not as young as I was once, and although my life is insured I don’t care to take unnecessary risks.”

“I must then submit,” said Louis sorrowfully, withdrawing his arm. “But recollect, three times a day I am to be allowed to express to you by my endearments my affection and grateful thanks.”

“Yes, and whenever else you feel the impulse you will have to embrace my umbrella and hat. I put no restrictions whatever upon your endearments to those. Now let us go out upon the terrace and await our friends.”

The terrace, like the court-yard and the chateau, was mouldering, cracked, and broken in every part, but the view of the laughing blue sea, the beautiful gardens and trees and grass and the charming villas of Dinard was most lovely. Louis and Monsieur de Latour had just reached the terrace when Mademoiselle Cheri and Mélanie and Julie appeared. Mélanie ran forward and, taking her uncle’s hand, cried:

“Dear uncle, here we are with Mademoiselle de Courcey.”