The Complete Short Stories of Wilkie Collins. Уилки Коллинз
Читать онлайн книгу.
room!”
The old man looked up suspiciously from his mistress to the persons who were assisting him to support her. With a strange, sudden jealousy he shook his hand at them. “Home,” he cried; “she shall go home, and I will take care of her. Away! you there — nobody holds her head but Dubois. Downstairs! downstairs to her carriage! She has nobody but me now, and I say that she shall be taken home.”
As the door closed, General Berthelin approached Trudaine, who had stood silent and apart, from the time when Lomaque first appeared in the drawing-room.
“I wish to ask your pardon,” said the old soldier, “because I have wronged you by a moment of unjust suspicion. For my daughter’s sake, I bitterly regret that we did not see each other long ago; but I thank you, nevertheless, for coming here, even at the eleventh hour.”
While he was speaking, one of his friends came up, and touching him on the shoulder, said: “Berthelin, is that scoundrel to be allowed to go?”
The general turned on his heel directly, and beckoned contemptuously to Danville to follow him to the door. When they were well out of earshot, he spoke these words:
“You have been exposed as a villain by your brother-in-law, and renounced as a liar by your mother. They have done their duty by you, and now it only remains for me to do mine. When a man enters the house of another under false pretenses, and compromises the reputation of his daughter, we old army men have a very expeditious way of making him answer for it. It is just three o’clock now; at five you will find me and one of my friends — ”
He stopped, and looked round cautiously — then whispered the rest in Danville’s ear — threw open the door, and pointed downstairs.
“Our work here is done,” said Lomaque, laying his hand on Trudaine’s arm. “Let us give Danville time to get clear of the house, and then leave it too.”
“My sister! where is she?” asked Trudaine, eagerly.
“Make your mind easy about her. I will tell you more when we get out.”
“You will excuse me, I know,” said General Berthelin, speaking to all the persons present, with his hand on the library door, “if I leave you. I have bad news to break to my daughter, and private business after that to settle with a friend.”
He saluted the company, with his usual bluff nod of the head, and entered the library. A few minutes afterward, Trudaine and Lomaque left the house.
“You will find your sister waiting for you in our apartment at the hotel,” said the latter. “She knows nothing, absolutely nothing, of what has passed.”
“But the recognition?” asked Trudaine, amazedly. “His mother saw her. Surely she — ”
“I managed it so that she should be seen, and should not see. Our former experience of Danville suggested to me the propriety of making the experiment, and my old police-office practice came in useful in carrying it out. I saw the carriage standing at the door, and waited till the old lady came down. I walked your sister away as she got in, and walked her back again past the window as the carriage drove off. A moment did it, and it turned out as useful as I thought it would. Enough of that! Go back now to your sister. Keep indoors till the night mail starts for Rouen. I have had two places taken for you on speculation. Go! resume possession of your house, and leave me here to transact the business which my employer has intrusted to me, and to see how matters end with Danville and his mother. I will make time somehow to come and bid you good-by at Rouen, though it should be only for a single day. Bah! no thanks. Give us your hand. I was ashamed to take it eight years ago — I can give it a hearty shake now! There is your way; here is mine. Leave me to my business in silks and satins, and go you back to your sister, and help her to pack up for the night mail.”
Chapter III
Three more days have passed. It is evening. Rose, Trudaine and Lomaque are seated together on the bench that overlooks the windings of the Seine. The old familiar scene spreads before them, beautiful as ever — unchanged, as if it was but yesterday since they had all looked on it for the last time.
They talk together seriously and in low voices. The same recollections fill their hearts — recollections which they refrain from acknowledging, but the influence of which each knows by instinct that the other partakes. Sometimes one leads the conversation, sometimes another; but whoever speaks, the topic chosen is always, as if by common consent, a topic connected with the future.
The evening darkens in, and Rose is the first to rise from the bench. A secret look of intelligence passes between her and her brother, and then she speaks to Lomaque.
“Will you follow me into the house,” she asks, “with as little delay as possible? I have something that I very much wish to show you.”
Her brother waits till she is out of hearing, then inquires anxiously what has happened at Paris since the night when he and Rose left it.
“Your sister is free,” Lomaque answers.
“The duel took place, then?”
“The same day. They were both to fire together. The second of his adversary asserts that he was paralyzed with terror; his own second declares that he was resolved, however he might have lived, to confront death courageously by offering his life at the first fire to the man whom he had injured. Which account is true, I know not. It is only certain that he did not discharge his pistol, that he fell by his antagonist’s first bullet, and that he never spoke afterward.”
“And his mother?”
“It is hard to gain information. Her doors are closed; the old servant guards her with jealous care. A medical man is in constant attendance, and there are reports in the house that the illness from which she is suffering affects her mind more than her body. I could ascertain no more.”
After that answer they both remain silent for a little while, then rise from the bench and walk toward the house.
“Have you thought yet about preparing your sister to hear of all that has happened?” Lomaque asks, as he sees the lamplight glimmering in the parlor window.
“I shall wait to prepare her till we are settled again here — till the first holiday pleasure of our return has worn off, and the quiet realities of our everyday life of old have resumed their way,” answers Trudaine.
They enter the house. Rose beckons to Lomaque to sit down near her, and places pen and ink and an open letter before him.
“I have a last favor to ask of you,” she says, smiling.
“I hope it will not take long to grant,” he rejoins; “for I have only tonight to be with you. Tomorrow morning, before you are up, I must be on my way back to Chalons.”
“Will you sign that letter?” she continues, still smiling, “and then give it to me to send to the post? It was dictated by Louis, and written by me, and it will be quite complete, if you will put your name at the end of it.”
“I suppose I may read it?”
She nods, and Lomaque reads these lines:
“CITIZEN — I beg respectfully to apprise you that the commission you intrusted to me at Paris has been performed.
“I have also to beg that you will accept my resignation of the place I hold in your counting-house. The kindness shown me by you and your brother before you, emboldens me to hope that you will learn with pleasure the motive of my withdrawal. Two friends of mine, who consider that they are under some obligations to me, are anxious that I should pass the rest of my days in the quiet and protection of their home. Troubles of former years have knit us together as closely as if we were all three members of one family. I need the repose of a happy fireside as much as any man, after the life I have led; and my