XIX
A VISION OF THE PAST
Anne Lennox's residence in Paris was more closely connected with FrankRavenel than the world knew. In a letter which she had received fromMrs. Ravenel, after her illness at Bar Harbor, that comfort-loving oldlady had written that she would like to go abroad for the winter ifthere could be found some homelike place to stay.
Mrs. Lennox had grown tired of New York, and she quickly devised a planto take some of her servants with her, find a suitable establishment inParis, and ask Mrs. Ravenel to make her a prolonged visit. That Franciswould probably accompany his mother to Europe and visit her asfrequently as business made it possible was not overlooked in AnneLennox's calculations.
But Mrs. Ravenel, who was too fearful of her comfort to trust writtendescriptions, asked her son to step over to Paris, as she jauntily putit, and see Anne's home before she committed herself.
"She writes me," said Mrs. Ravenel, eyeing the invitation suspiciously,"that she has taken a house like a palace. I lived in a palace once inVenice. The walls were of marble, with moisture on them constantly, andthere was but four feet of rug on a tiled floor forty feet square. WhenI asked for fire they brought me a china basket with three or foursemi-hot coals in it, and placed it in the exact centre of the roomwhere one was liable to trip over it. The experience cured me of'dreaming to dwell in marble halls.' I want heat, electricity, and alarge bath of my own."
According to his mother's wishes, Frank had written to Anne thatbusiness was bringing him to Paris, and that he would give himself thepleasure of calling upon her some time within the following fortnight.In the stately old house, which she had taken on the BoulevardHaussmann, Anne awaited Frank's coming with more emotion than sheacknowledged to herself. She knew that he had arrived in Paris two daysbefore, had seen that he was at the Grand Club, and the day previous hadreceived from him a note asking permission to call at four. He had beenmore than deliberate in his attentions, a deliberation to which she hadbecome accustomed. It was, in fact, part of his charm. Often, in pastyears, he had hurt her so much by his coldness that his coming brought akeener pleasure than the presence of a more ardent suitor might havedone, if he could with any exactness be termed a suitor at all.
Long before her ill-assorted marriage had been dissolved by the death ofher husband, Anne Lennox's name had been connected with that of FrancisRavenel. But it was one of the few affairs of his life which had causedno scandal, one which other women had slurred over with a laugh.
"Anne's all right, you know," they explained, "and really Frank and shewould have been very well suited to each other if they could havemarried. At worst nothing but a flirtation; and who, knowing herhusband, can blame her?" These were the excuses framed for Mrs. Lennoxby her many friends. The death of her husband had brought the generalbelief that a wedding between Frank and herself would naturally follow.Nearly four years had elapsed, however, and marriage between them seemedno nearer than it had ever done.
Frank's present visit to Paris, Anne Lennox knew, with some bitterness,was a business one. He had made that disappointingly plain to her in hisletter. But as she awaited his coming in a white crepe gown, which madeher seem so fair and young, she hoped the words might be spoken whichwould bring to her the desired end.
With all the love of which her worldly heart was capable, she had lovedthis man for years, for his wealth, his family, even for his reputedsuccesses with women, which would give added distinction to the charmsof the woman whom he finally selected for a wife.
After he had been announced she rose to greet him, and stood watchinghim as he came slowly through the great hall, noticing the hangings ashe came. It was a slight thing, but a woman in love knows the value ofsuch signs.
"When did you come?" she asked.
"Three days ago." He offered no excuse for his tardy attention, addingonly, "You've a beautiful old place, Anne."
"You like it?" she asked. "I'm delighted. You are not easily pleased.But you should see the De Nemours' place. Whenever I come back afterseeing it this place seems detestably new, as if it were justvarnished! It is with the Countess de Nemours that Miss Dulany lives."
She watched him with attentiveness.
"Yes!" he answered, in a tone which might either be asking or answeringa question, adding: "The New York papers are heralding manycomplimentary things concerning her voice. Have you heard her sing?"
Anne shook her head. "She is hedged about like royalty. That dreadfulJosef prescribes every minute of her day. It must be a great bore tolive in the way she has done. I met her once, however. Do you know,Frank, she had never heard of Nick van Rensselaer, and when I told herhe had wanted to send her abroad before her fortune came she seemedamazed. Of course, your mother denied the fact that it was Mr. vanRensselaer who enabled her to come; but I always believed it was he,didn't you?"
"You are complimenting mother's veracity," Frank answered, laughing. "Ifshe said it was not Mr. van Rensselaer, as a dutiful son I am bound tobelieve it, am I not?"
"Doubtless," Anne answered, smiling. "By-the-way, Madame de Nemours hasleft with me an invitation for you to dine with her on Friday."
"Shall we hear Miss Dulany sing, do you suppose?" Frank asked, quietly,unimportantly.
"I don't know. She has never dined with us when I have been there. Ibelieve she is allowed frivolities but once a fortnight. Perhaps--" Butbefore she finished a maid entered with Madame de Nemours' card. "Youcan ask for yourself," Anne explained, glancing at the card. "Here isthe Countess in person."
It had grown dark in the room, and Frank stood in the shadow as he waspresented to the Countess, who had come with the hope of meeting him,for Katrine's sudden resolve to go to Fontainebleau had not deceived herat all. By that process of seemingly illogical reasoning by which womenarrive accurately at facts, she had come to the conclusion that Katrinehad gone away to avoid meeting either Anne Lennox or this Mr. Ravenel,and a far less brilliant woman than Madame de Nemours would havesuspected Frank of being the man who had caused Katrine such pain in thepast. That she had lived on his plantation, and that there must havebeen many opportunities for them to have been constantly together,unnoted in a place twenty miles from any dwelling, made the thing doublysure. And so Madame de Nemours, by reason of her intuitions, metFrancis Ravenel upon the defensive for this girl whom she had learned tolove so deeply.
"I am in despair," the Countess said, after the greetings had beenexchanged. "Here am I giving a dinner to distinguished Americans," thiswith a little complimentary gesture toward both of them, "on Friday, andKatrine Dulany ordered off to Fontainebleau by that terrible Josef. 'Youare not well!' said he. 'Go on such a day, on such a train, to such aplace! Say this! Think this! Imagine this!' And the poor child went offyesterday for a month to Fontainebleau, afraid to disobey. Do you know,I am thinking," she went on, "of adopting this strange child, Katrine,legally, just to circumvent Josef? For that, and other reasons," sheexplained, laughing, "I am so sorry you are not to meet her, Mr.Ravenel."
"I have met Miss Dulany frequently," Frank answered. "In Carolina, threeyears ago. Every one there was interested in her voice."
"Yes," the Countess answered, "it will be like that always with her. IfI tell you something," she said, the light dancing in her eyes as shespoke, "will you be very discreet about it? I am thinking of marryingKatrine to my nephew, the Duc de Launay. He doesn't know it, being inAfrica, but I am determined to be firm with both. Think of thosesplendid, great ways of hers! She should have been a duchess in theMiddle Ages, when she could have dressed in long, brocaded stuffs andled armies or killed a king. You can see," she said, drawing her wrapsabout her, "I am not quite sane on the subject of this Irish child, andgo before I become a regular bore. Good-bye, Mrs. Lennox; good-bye, Mr.Ravenel. I am so glad to have you both for Friday night."
She rose, and as she did so Frank came forward to assist her with herwraps. At sight of him, in the full light of the doorway, she drew backfor an instant, clutched at a curtain, gave another quick look
, andfell, with a white face, unconscious into Anne's supporting arms.
It was not long, however, before she recovered enough to be helped toher carriage; but this fainting was followed by a protracted illness,the Friday dinner was postponed indefinitely, and Katrine summonedhurriedly home from Fontainebleau.
Naturally, Anne Lennox called and brought Frank with her to makeinquiries and to leave regrets. It was in this visit, as Frank stoodwell in the sunshine admiring the old house, that Quantrelle, peeringfrom his box, saw him, and with an oath fell back into the shadow asthough hiding from an enemy. Peering from a crack in the door, he waitedFrank's departure, and after the carriage had driven away, seized a hatand ran at a mad pace down the narrow street, upsetting children anddogs as he ran.
* * * * *
Josef protested impatiently that it was a badly chosen time for theCountess to be ill, speaking as though Madame de Nemours had personallyselected it with criminal thoughtlessness of Katrine, whose debut wasclose at hand; for despite his protests, the girl took the position ofnurse, sitting up till all hours of the night, and neglecting herlessons if the Countess needed or desired her services.
The great lady herself, after the danger seemed passed, lay in silenceday by day, neither questioning nor explaining. To Katrine, however,explanations were unnecessary, for she understood that to Madame deNemours the sight of Frank had brought back, with terrible distinctnessthat other Ravenel who had been summoned to his accounting years before.Just how much Madame de Nemours knew of Frank's attitude to Katrine atthis time was never made clear, but she clung to her adopted child withlove and a new comprehension.
But no word passed between them at the time on the subject of eitherRavenel, nor did these two great ladies again speak to each other on thesubject of Francis Ravenel until the night of the Countess' death. Butit was doubtless the bond in suffering, no less than her great love,which made the Countess write to Dermott, the first day of herconvalescence, the letter which is set below:
"I am nearing the end, my dear Irish cousin, and would set the house in order before I go. What little I have (it is almost nothing, for the house goes back to the estate at my death and my income has never been large) I want to give to Katrine Dulany. I want her to have, in the old phrase, everything of which I die possessed. And of course I desire you to be the executor. Will you arrange the necessary papers and bring them with you when you come to hear her sing? And I'm hoping I may be still here to greet you and thank you once more for a lifetime of loyalty and devotion."
Sitting in his New York office, Dermott read the lines with a facesaddened and gray. But the smile, so peculiarly his own, filled withcynicism and humor, came to his lips at its close.
"Talk of justice!" he said. "Why, poetry can't touch this! Things alwayssquare themselves in the long run, though we may not live to see them doit, but this is one of the times when poetic justice itself got on thejob."
Dermott answered this letter of Madame de Nemours in person as soon asbusiness made it possible. Katrine, who understood from the Countess thesignificance of his coming, awaited him in the reception-room on thesecond floor. The curtains were drawn; a fitful fire made the figures inthe tapestry advance and retreat; the candles in silver sconces lit up amisty Greuze over the mantel-shelf. A great bowl of white roses filledthe room with fragrance, and Dermott thought, as he bent over Katrine'shand, that it was all but an exquisite setting for the girl herself.
Nearly a year had passed since their last meeting, and naturally Dermottexpected some change in her. But Katrine was entirely unprepared for thechange in Dermott. She had known but the one side of him in Carolina. Onhis previous visits to Paris, while grateful for his kindness, she waspreoccupied and sad. And so, of the serious-eyed man with the beautifulpallor and grave courtesy, she had scant remembrance.
On the instant of his coming, however, she recollected memories of theold days; recalled that underneath his bright and stagelike behaviorthere had ever been a certain constant attention, a sweeping glance, aquiet scrutiny of persons unaware of his observance, a memory of detailsand words and dates in some degree inhuman, and in the first hand-claspshe recognized the power she had not had the vision to see in the yearsbefore.
With both hands in his and her breath caught in her throat withgratitude, she said:
"If you think I'm going to try to thank you for all you've done for mehere in Paris, you're mistaken, Dermott. I'm not." And then, with aquick catching of the breath: "I couldn't do it adequately, no matterhow I tried. I know it was you who arranged for me to live here withMadame de Nemours; I know how you've been writing to Josef concerning mystudies; I know how your kindness has followed me everywhere. That's whyI can't thank you," she said, with dewy lashes and the deep note in hervoice which made her speech ever seem like a caress.
"I've done little," Dermott answered. "I hope, however, to do more."There was significance in his words, and Katrine looked at him quickly,to find him, however, gazing intently into the fire. "Tell me ofyourself," he said; "all of it: the work, the ambitions, and theachievements. I have hungered at times for direct news of you. Alreadyyour fame is newspaper talk. You are happy?" he asked, abruptly.
"Happier than I thought I ever could be again," she answered, with anevasion.
"Once," he began, in a remote tone, "I was in Arabia with a nativeserving-man whom I tried to persuade to follow me on a shooting-trip inthe desert. He said he couldn't go because he had a wife who wouldn'tleave him. 'I made the mistake of beating her once,' he explained to me,'and after a man has struck a woman once she'll stick to him forever.'"
If he expected angry speech of hurt remonstrance because of the tooevident implication of the story, he was disappointed, for Katrineraised her eyes to his with sad frankness. "I think it speaks a truth,Dermott," she said. "Sometimes I wonder if there ever was a woman wholoved the man who was kindest to her." "It's unrecorded if it everoccurred," he answered, moodily, taking another road in theconversation on the instant. "Madame de Nemours wrote me that you are tosing at Josef's recital next month."
"Yes, it is arranged."
"That will mean an opera engagement somewhere, will it not?"
Katrine laughed. "That's as may be. It depends on how I sing."
There was flattery in the answer. "It will mean Covent Garden if itdepends on that," Dermott said.
"Thank you," she replied; and in the conventionality of the response sherealized anew that the jesting-time was by between them and she had aman to reckon with.
"To-morrow," he said, "Josef has written me that, with your permission,I may hear you sing. Have I that permission, Katrine?"
"You have," she answered, noting the handsome line of the bent head andshoulders.
"To-morrow at two?"
"To-morrow at two. And then," said Katrine, "you will see for yourselfwhat I've been doing, so there's no use discussing it, is there? Tell meof yourself and Barney. Does the newspaper work go well?"
"He's doing splendidly. He's more than making good."
"And the land you purchased in North Carolina! Do the eagles flourish onit?" she inquired.
"Not yet. But there's excellent clay there, and I've turned it into abrick factory for the present. The truth is, I needn't have bought thatland. I suppose you've heard of the new railroad through Ravenel?" heasked.
"Something," she said, "but not definitely."
"They're building it on the other side from the 'Eagle Tract,'" heexplained, smiling at the words. "Mr. Ravenel is practically putting thething through himself. Do you know, Katrine," he continued, "I think Ihave underrated Ravenel. Sometimes in the last year, when I've seen himclearing obstacles from his path," and the way Dermott knew how tobelittle a rival was plainly shown in the pitying tone he used here,"I've almost admired him. I have sometimes thought if circumstances hadbeen different he might have even been something of a man."
But Katrine's utter honesty was a thing Dermott
had not calculated upon."Dermott," she said, "I have always tried to be frank with you, haven'tI?"
"And at times," he broke in, with a smile, "have succeededdiscouragingly well."
"I want to be so still. Madame de Nemours has told me the story ofRavenel."
McDermott waited, serene, inspiredly silent.
"But," Katrine went on, "I was a bit prepared for it. Almost the lastthing father said to me before he died was that you were planningtrouble for Mr. Ravenel."
McDermott waited still, but with a sterner look upon his keen and ardentface.
"Madame de Nemours has told me you need only a paper and a certainwitness at Tours to carry out your purpose. Is it true?"
"It is."
"And that purpose is--" She hesitated.
"To see justice done to Madame de Nemours," he answered.
"It will mean that Mr. Ravenel has no right either to his home or hisname?"
The pleading and protest in her voice did not escape Dermott as heanswered:
"It will mean just that!"
"And nothing can move you from your purpose?"
"Nothing that I can now think of," he answered, adding with somevehemence: "Katrine Dulany, is it that you know me so little? My cousinsuffered much. She was deserted by a scoundrel while little more than achild. These things must be paid for. But if you think I'd do a crookedthing in business to settle a grudge or belittle a rival, you don't knowme at all. There's none, not Ravenel himself, who will demand everythingproven beyond doubt sooner than I. I'll take every point I can honestly,but the man who is not absolutely honest in business is a fool. Until helearns to be honest from the higher reason, he should be honest fromselfishness. It pays. It's capital."
"Then you believe the cause just?"
"I believe that the present Ravenel's father married in America knowingthat he had a living wife and child in France."
Katrine stood, hand-clasped, looking straight into Dermott's eyes. Butwhat she saw was an old garden in Carolina, wind-blown pines, thescarlet creepers around an old bench, and a man with blanched face andrestless eyes; what she heard, underneath Dermott's voice, were wordsfrom the past:
_"I might lie to you, but the thing that separates us is family pride,family pride. I am going away to-day, going because I do not dare tostay!"_
"Nothing else in life could hurt Mr. Ravenel as this thing will ifproven," she said, at length.
"Naturally not," McDermott answered, succinctly; "but it is not provenyet," he added, in an impartial tone, adding, "I have not been able tofind the witness I need."
Was it Katrine's imagination that made her think the door moved suddenlyas by human agency? Had some of the servants been listening? She pausedin her talk, and, looking into the hall, saw Quantrelle the Red passquickly up the stairs with his daily flower for Madame de Nemours.
"And, believing that Ravenel did not belong to Mr. Ravenel," shecontinued, "you encouraged him to build the railroad?"
"I neither encouraged nor discouraged that enterprise," Dermottanswered. "Fate steered, and did it well."
"And Mrs. Ravenel?" The name, as she spoke it, was a remonstrance.
"Mademoiselle Dulany," Dermott answered, "indeed you've a wrongconception of the matter. There is to be no stage play or newspaper workin the case. It will be quietly adjusted. The Ravenels are not people topermit any publicity. There will be compromises. Mrs. Ravenel, I hope,need never know the facts in the case. There is none need ever know,save Frank."
"You have never liked him, have you, Dermott?" Katrine asked, withdirectness.
"Never," Dermott answered, with a frankness matching her own.
"Why?"
"Faith, and there are three excellent reasons," Dermott returned, withsomething of his old manner: "He was himself; I was myself; and athird," he paused, with all the power of his personality in his greatgray eyes, "a third," he repeated, "which I hope some time to explain toyou at great length, little Katrine."
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