THE END OF HER HONEYMOON. Marie Belloc Lowndes
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choking feeling--one she had very, very seldom experienced during the course of her short, prosperous life, came into her throat.
Angrily she dashed away two tears from her eyes.
This was a horrid hotel! The Poulains were hateful people! Jack had made a mistake--how could he have brought her to such a place? She would tell him when he came back that he must take her away now, at once, to some ordinary, nice hotel, where the people knew English, and where they treated their guests with ordinary civility.
And then there shot through Nancy Dampier a feeling of quick relief, for, walking across the courtyard, evidently on their way out, came a pleasant-looking elderly gentleman, accompanied by the girl whom Nancy had seen for a brief moment standing on the landing close to her bedroom door the night before.
These were English people? No, American of course! But that was quite as good, for they, thank heaven! spoke English. She could ask them to be her interpreters with those extraordinary Poulains. Jack wouldn't mind her doing that. Why, he might have left quite an important message for her!
She took a step forward, and the strangers stopped. The old gentleman--Nancy called him in her own mind an old gentleman, though Senator Burton was by no means old in his own estimation or in that of his contemporaries--smiled a very pleasant, genial smile.
Nancy Dampier made a charming vision as she stood under the arch of the porte cochère, her slender, blue-clad figure silhouetted against the dark background by the street outside, and the colour coming and going in her face.
"May I speak to you a moment?" she said shyly.
"Why certainly."
The American took off his hat, and stood looking down at her kindly. "My name is Burton, Senator Burton, at your service! What can I do for you?".
The simple little question brought back all Nancy's usual happy confidence. How silly she had been just now to feel so distressed.
"I'm Mrs. Dampier, and I can't make the hotel people understand what I say," she explained. "I mean Monsieur and Madame Poulain--and the nephew--I think his name is Jules--though he is supposed to speak English, is so very stupid."
"Yes, indeed he is!" chimed in the girl whom her brother had called "Daisy." "I've long ago given up trying to make that boy understand anything, even in French. But they do work him most awfully hard, you know; they have women in each day to help with the cleaning, but that poor lad does everything else--everything, that is, that the Poulains don't do themselves."
"What is it that you can't make them understand?" asked Senator Burton indulgently. "Tell us what it is you want to ask them?"
"I only wish to know at what time my husband went out, and whether he left any message for me," answered Nancy rather shamefacedly. "You see the hotel is so full that they put us on different floors, and I haven't seen him this morning."
"I'll find that out for you at once. I expect Madame Poulain is in her kitchen just now."
The Senator turned and went back into the courtyard, leaving his daughter and the young Englishwoman alone together.
"The Poulains seem such odd, queer people," said Nancy hesitatingly.
"D'you think so? We've always found them all right," said the girl, smiling. "Of course they're dreadfully busy just now because of the Exhibition. The hotel is full of French people, and they give Madame Poulain a great deal of trouble. But she doesn't grudge it, for she and her husband are simply coining money! They're determined that their daughter shall have a splendid dowry!" She waited a moment, and then repeated, "Oh, yes, the Poulains are very good sort of people. They're very kindly and good-natured."
To this remark Nancy made no answer. She thought the Poulains both rude and disagreeable, but she had no wish to speak ill of them to this nice girl. How lucky it was that these kind Americans had come to her rescue! Though still feeling indignant and uncomfortable with regard to the way in which she had been treated by the hotel-keeper and his wife, she felt quite happy again now.
Senator Burton was away for what seemed, not only to Mrs. Dampier, but also to his daughter, a considerable time. But at last they saw him coming slowly towards them. His eyes were bent on the ground; he seemed to be thinking, deeply.
Nancy Dampier took a step forward. "Well?" she said eagerly, and then a little shyly she uttered his name, "Well, Mr. Burton? What do they say? Did my husband leave any message?"
"No, he doesn't seem to have done that." And then the Senator looked down searchingly into the young Englishwoman's face. It was a very lovely face, and just now the look of appeal, of surprise, in the blue eyes added a touch of pathetic charm. He thought of the old expression, "Beauty in distress."
His daughter broke in: "Why, Mrs. Dampier, do come upstairs and wait in our sitting-room," she said cordially. "I'll come with you, for we were only going out for a little stroll, weren't we, father?"
Nancy Dampier hesitated. She did not notice that the American Senator omitted to endorse his daughter's invitation; she hesitated for a very different reason: "You're very kind; but if I do that I shall have to tell Madame Poulain, for it would give my husband a dreadful fright if he came in and found I had left my room and disappeared"--she blushed and smiled very prettily.
And again Senator Burton looked searchingly down into the lovely, flushed little face; but the deep-blue, guileless-looking eyes met his questioning gaze very frankly. He said slowly, "Very well, I will go and tell Madame Poulain that you will be waiting up in our sitting-room, Mrs.--ah--Dampier."
He went out across the courtyard again, and once more he seemed, at any rate to his daughter, to stay away longer than was needed for the delivery of so simple a message.
Growing impatient, Miss Burton took Nancy Dampier across the sunlit courtyard to the wide old oak staircase, the escalier d'honneur, as it was still called in the hotel, down which the Marquis de Saint Ange had clattered when starting for Fontenoy.
When they were half-way up the Senator joined them, and a few moments later when they had reached the second landing, he put a key in the lock of a finely carved door, then he stood back, courteously, to allow his daughter's guest to walk through into the small lobby which led to the delightful suite of rooms which the Burtons always occupied during their frequent visits to Paris.
Nancy uttered an exclamation of delight as she passed through into the high-pitched, stately salon, whose windows overlooked one of those leafy gardens which are still the pride of old Paris. "This is delightful!" she exclaimed. "Who would ever have thought that they had such rooms as this in the Hôtel Saint Ange!"
"There are several of these suites," said Daisy Burton pleasantly. "In fact, a good many French provincial people come up here, year after year, for the winter."
While Mrs. Dampier and his daughter were exchanging these few words the Senator remained silent. Then--"Is your brother gone out?" he said abruptly.
"Yes, father. He went out about half an hour ago. But he said he'd be back in ample time to take us out to luncheon. He thought we might like to go to Foyot's to-day."
"So we will. Daisy, my dear--?" He stopped short, and his daughter looked at him, surprised.
"Yes, father?"
"I'm afraid I must ask you to leave me with this young lady for a few moments. I have something to say to her which I think it would be as well that I should say alone."
Nancy got up from the chair on which she had already seated herself, and fear flashed into her face. "What is it?" she cried apprehensively. "You're not going to tell me that anything's happened to Jack!"
"No, no," said the Senator quickly, but even as he uttered the two short, reassuring little words he averted his eyes from Mrs. Dampier's questioning anxious eyes.
His daughter left the room.
"What is it?" said Nancy again, trying to smile. "What is it, Mr. Burton?"
And then the Senator, motioning her to a chair, sat down too.
"The