CHAPTER II
A carriage was driving up to the steps of Fianti's.
To allow it to approach, a waiting motor was obliged to move away,and in the short interval that elapsed while this was being wound upand started off the carriage paused almost immediately opposite thewindow of Mrs. Vanderstein's bedroom; she had thus a better view of itsoccupants than it had ever previously been her fortune to obtain.
On the right of the barouche sat an elderly lady, with grey hair piledhigh under a very small black hat. She sat very upright and stiff,giving a little nervous start when the horses moved forward impatientlyand were drawn up with a jerk by the coachman.
"That is the Princess," said Barbara, whose head was touching Mrs.Vanderstein's.
Prince Felipe sat beside his mother, a middle-aged young man of fortywith a black upturned moustache and an eyeglass. He had a cigarette inhis hand and, as they looked, he turned round and gazed after a smartlydressed woman who was driving by.
On the back seat of the carriage sat two other men--gentlemen inwaiting, no doubt.
Mrs. Vanderstein's eyes were, however, fully occupied with the Princessand her son.
"Isn't he handsome?" she whispered to Barbara, as if there were a dangerof being overheard above the rattle and din of the busy roadway.
But it almost seemed as if the words reached the ears of the man she waswatching, for, the motor in the portico having at last got under way andleft the road clear for Their Highnesses, the Prince threw back his headas the carriage moved on, and looking up met Mrs. Vanderstein's eyesfixed admiringly on him.
She drew back her head in some confusion, but the Prince was stilllooking up when the barouche disappeared in the shade of the portico.
"Madame! Son Altesse vous a reconnue!" cried Madame Querterot, her facewreathed in smiles.
"He never saw me before," replied Mrs. Vanderstein, retreating into theroom. "How odd that he should have looked up just then! What a charmingface he has." And she subsided once more on the sofa, her own face aglowwith excitement and pleasure.
"Don't move from the window, Barbara, whatever you do," she said. "Justthink if we had missed them!"
As Madame Querterot resumed her rubbing, a knock came at the door, andMrs. Vanderstein's maid entered bearing the jewels her mistress intendedwearing that night at the opera. As she set the cases down on thedressing-table and busied herself in laying out the various garments ofher mistress' evening toilet, she cast from time to time disapprovingglances in the direction of Madame Querterot, whom, although acompatriot, she disliked very heartily, considering that in the privacyof Mrs. Vanderstein's chamber any ministrations besides her own wereunnecessary, and having altogether a strong tendency to look upon hercountrywoman as an interloper, who had possibly an eye to a share invarious perquisites for which Amelie preferred to see no other candidatein the field.
She took an elaborate gown from the wardrobe and spread it out upon thebed together with divers other articles of attire. She placed a jug ofhot water in the basin and a jar of aromatic salts beside it.
She straightened several objects on the dressing-table, which had noneed of being made straight; tilted the looking-glass forward andtilted it back again; lifted up a chair and set it down with a thud;and finally, despairing of ever witnessing the departure of her dreadedrival, was about to leave the room when her mistress' voice called herback.
"Amelie," she said, "just show me what necklace you have brought up forme to-night. Is it the one with the flower pendants or the stone drops?"
Amelie carried all the cases over to the sofa; and Madame Querterot leftoff rubbing while Mrs. Vanderstein sat up and opened them one by one.
In the largest a magnificent diamond necklace, imitating a garlandof wild roses and their leaves, glistened against its blue velvetbackground. The other cases, when opened, displayed bracelets and adiamond tiara, as well as rings and a pair of ear-rings formed ofimmense single stones.
Mrs. Vanderstein shut them all up again and handed them back to Amelie.
"Take them down again to Blake," she said, "and tell him I have changedmy mind and will wear the emeralds instead. They go better with thatdress."
"Ah, madame," sighed Madame Querterot, as Amelie departed with thejewels, "what marvellous diamonds! Wherever one goes one hears thejewels of Mrs. Vanderstein spoken of."
"It is true," said Mrs. Vanderstein, "that my jewels are very good. Mydear husband had a passion for them and collected stones as anotherman collects bric-a-brac. He never made a mistake, they say, and myornaments are rather out of the way in consequence. For myself I feelit an extravagance to lock up such a vast amount of capital in meregewgaws."
"My poor Eugene," said Madame Querterot, "had also this same enthusiasmfor precious stones. He loved so to adorn his wife with diamonds, thatdear soul! But with him it was, alas, more than an extravagance. It wasour ruin; for he was not a connoisseur, like monsieur votre mari, andwhen the crisis came and we would have turned my jewellery back intomoney, behold, we were told that we had been cheated in our purchases,and that, for the most part, the stones were without value. Ah, the sadday! As you know, madame, bankruptcy followed, and we had to give up ourbeautiful _etablissement_ in Bond Street. It broke the heart of thatpoor Eugene. He never recovered from the blow and soon left me, I trustfor a happier world, by way, it goes without saying, of purgatory,"added the masseuse, crossing herself like a good Catholic. "Since thatday I have faced the troubles of this life alone, without friendship,without sympathy."
Here her emotion overcame Madame Querterot, and she turned away for amoment with a display of her handkerchief. She had omitted from heraffecting narrative the fact that "that poor Eugene" had perished byhis own hand, on discovering the state of his affairs; and she slightlytrifled with the truth when she asserted that it was his unfortunatecraze for covering his wife with jewels which had brought about such adisastrous state of things. It was Madame Querterot's own passion forthe adornment of her person that had resulted in the dissipation ofEugene's savings, and brought him, at the last, to see with despair thetotal disappearance of the business, which she had neglected and ruined.
Mrs. Vanderstein's kind heart was touched.
She had heard vaguely the reason of the Querterots' removal from theirgorgeous Bond Street rooms after the death of Eugene, the incomparablehairdresser, and it was from a creditable desire not to desert theunfortunate that she continued to employ the little Frenchwoman sincethe day of the catastrophe. But no details of the affair had reachedher, and she now heard for the first time, and not without beingsincerely moved, the sad story of a man who, having spent his all inlavishing tokens of affection on his wife, had in the end reduced her toa state of poverty bordering on want, and even left her to confront thisterror in solitude, as a result of his misdirected tenderness.
Considerably affected, she tried to speak words of comfort to the poorwoman.
"It is dreadfully sad," she murmured. "Poor Madame Justine, how sorry Iam. Your poor husband, I see well how he must have adored you and thatwhat he did was all for the best. But you are not absolutely alone inthe world, are you? Have you not a daughter?"
"Yes, it is true, madame, that I have a daughter," replied MadameQuerterot, wiping her eyes and resuming her work.
"And she is no doubt a great comfort to you?"
"Children, madame, are at once a joy and a trouble," returned themasseuse evasively.
"I hope your daughter has not caused you much trouble."
"She has given me nothing but worry since the day she was born. Herchildhood, her education, her illnesses! Measles, chicken pox, whoopingcough, mumps, scarlet fever; she has had them all one after the other."
"But not while you have been coming to see me!" cried Mrs. Vanderstein,alarmed.
"Ah no, madame, all that is long finished," replied Madame Querterot,"but since then I have been obliged to provide for her education, andevery year she has become more expensive. Now she is eighteen, and youwould imagine her an
xious to repay some of the expense and _ennuis_ shehas caused me during all these years."
"Yes, no doubt," agreed Mrs. Vanderstein, "she will be a great help toyou now."
"So one would think. But figure to yourself, madame, what this younggirl proposes to me to do with her life. She desires to enter a conventand to spend her days in good works rather than be of assistance to hermother!" and Madame Querterot laughed bitterly.
"I think she ought not to take such a decisive step at present," saidMrs. Vanderstein; "at the age of eighteen she can hardly know if areligious life is really her vocation."
"She is obstinate like a donkey, madame. Just think of it, a young girl,healthy, not ugly; already she has had offers of marriage. There is ayoung man, very _bien_, very _comme il faut_, who demands her hand andwho thinks of nothing but her. But will she take him? No. Not at all. Weprefer to be a religious; and _voila_!"
Madame Querterot, having finished her massaging, was repacking the brownbag in which she had brought her apparatus.
"I hope that you will amuse yourself at the opera, madame," she went on,folding her apron and laying it on top of the other things in the bag,the lock of which clicked as she shut it down with an impatient snap.
"A demain, mesdames," she concluded, taking up the bag by the handleand giving it a shake as if she only wished she could so shake herunsatisfactory child. "A cette heure-ci, n'est-ce pas?"
And with that she bowed herself from the room.
Mrs. Vanderstein's jewels Page 2
