England -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Short stories, English
By this time we were outside the room, standing at the inner end of
the hall, while he fumbled with the lock of the door. Short passages
ending in swing doors ran out right and left from this point, and
through one of these a tidy, middle-aged woman wearing an apron
suddenly emerged. At sight of me she looked greatly astonished. "I
have been showing the gentleman the pictures," said my guide, who was
still occupied with the door.
A quick flash of pain altered and hardened the woman's face. "I have
been very much interested, madam," I said softly.
Her gaze left me to dwell upon the old man with infinite affection.
"John had no right to bring you in, sir," she said primly. "I have
never known him do such a thing before, and--Lord a mercy! there is
the mistress's knock. Go, John, and let her in; and this gentleman,"
with an inquisitive look at me, "will not mind stepping a bit aside,
while her ladyship goes upstairs."
"Certainly not," I answered. I hastened to draw back into one of the
side passages, into the darkest corner of it, and there stood leaning
against the cool panels, my hat in my hand.
In the short pause which ensued before John opened the door she
whispered to me, "You have not told him, sir?"
"About the pictures?"
"Yes, sir. He is blind, you see."
"Blind?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir, this year and more; and when the pictures were taken
away--by the present earl--that he had known all his life, and been so
proud to show to people just the same as if they had been his own,
why, it seemed a shame to tell him. I have never had the heart to do
it, and he thinks they are there to this day."
Blind! I had never thought of that; and while I was grasping the idea
now, and fitting it to the facts, a light footstep sounded in the
hall, and a woman's voice on the stairs; such a voice and such a
footstep that, as it seemed to me, a man, if nothing else were left to
him, might find home in them alone. "Your mistress," I said presently,
when the sounds had died away upon the floor above, "has a sweet
voice; but has not something annoyed her?
"Well, I never should have thought that you would have noticed that!"
exclaimed the housekeeper, who was, I dare say, many other things
besides housekeeper. "You have a sharp ear, sir; that I will say. Yes,
there is a something has gone wrong; but to think that an American
gentleman should have noticed it!"
"I am not an American," I said, perhaps testily.
"Oh, indeed, sir! I beg your pardon, I am sure. It was just your way
of speaking made me think it," she replied; and then there came a
second louder rap at the door as John, who had gone upstairs with his
mistress, came down in a leisurely fashion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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