France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
With that we stood facing one another; Madame Catinot watching us a
little aside. Clearly the events of the last few months, which had so
changed, so hardened Madame St. Alais, had not been lost on Louis. I
could fancy, as I confronted him, that it was M. le Marquis, the
elder, and not the younger brother, who withstood me; only--only from
under Louis' mask of defiance, there peeped, I still fancied, the old
Louis' face, doubting and miserable.
I tried that chord. "Come," I said, making an effort to swallow my
wrath, and speak reasonably, "I think that you are not in earnest, M.
le Comte, in what you say, and that we are both heated. Time was when
we agreed well enough, and you were not unwilling to have me for your
brother-in-law. Are we, because of these miserable differences----"
"Differences!" he cried, interrupting me harshly. "My mother's house
in Cahors is an empty shell. My brother's house at St. Alais is a heap
of ashes. And you talk of differences!"
"Well, call them what you like!"
"Besides," Madame Catinot interposed quickly, "pardon me,
Monsieur--besides, M. St. Alais, you know our need of converts. M. le
Vicomte is a gentleman, and a man of sense and religion. It needs but
a little--a very little," she continued, smiling faintly at me, "to
persuade him. And if your sister's hand would do that little, and
Madame were agreeable?"
"He could not have it!" he answered sullenly, looking away from me.
"But a week ago," Madame Catinot answered in a startled tone, "you
told me----"
"A week ago is not now," he said. "For the rest, I have only this to
say. I am sorry to see you here, M. le Vicomte, and I beg you to
return. You can do no good, and you may do and suffer harm. By no
possibility can you gain what you seek."
"That remains to be seen," I answered stubbornly, roused in my turn.
"To begin with, since you say that I cannot find Mademoiselle, I shall
adopt a very simple plan. I shall wait here until you leave, Monsieur,
and then accompany you home."
"You will not!" he said.
"You may depend upon it I shall!" I answered defiantly.
But Madame interposed. "No, M. de Saux," she said with dignity. "You
will not do that; I am sure that you will not; it would be an abuse of
my hospitality."
"If you forbid it?"
"I do," she answered.
"Then, Madame, I cannot," I replied. "But----"
"But nothing! Let there be a truce now, if you please," she said
firmly. "If it is to be war between you, it shall not begin here. I
think, too--I think that I had better ask you to retire," she
continued, with an appealing glance at me.
I looked at Louis. But he had turned away, and affected to ignore me.
And on that I succumbed. It was impossible to answer Madame, when she
spoke to me in that way; and equally impossible to remain in the
house, against her will. I bowed, therefore, in silence; and with the
best grace I could, though I was sore and angry, I took my cloak and
hat, which I had laid on a chair.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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