LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter 2 THE COMING OF THE CHAROLAIS

      Sonia went back to her table, and once more began putting wedding- cards in their envelopes and addressing them. Germaine moved restlessly about the room, fidgeting with the bric-a-brac on the cabinets, shifting the pieces about, interrupting Sonia to ask whether she preferred this arrangement or that, throwing herself into a chair to read a magazine, getting up in a couple of minutes to straighten a picture on the wall, throwing out all the while idle questions not worth answering. Ninety-nine human beings would have been irritated to exasperation by her fidgeting; Sonia endured it with a perfect patience. Five times Germaine asked her whether she should wear her heliotrope or her pink gown at a forthcoming dinner at Madame de Relzieres'. Five times Sonia said, without the slightest variation in her tone, "I think you look better in the pink." And all the while the pile of addressed envelopes rose steadily.

      Presently the door opened, and Alfred stood on the threshold.

      "Two gentlemen have called to see you, miss," he said.

      "Ah, the two Du Buits," cried Germaine.

      "They didn't give their names, miss."

      "A gentleman in the prime of life and a younger one?" said Germaine.

      "Yes, miss."

      "I thought so. Show them in."

      "Yes, miss. And have you any orders for me to give Victoire when we get to Paris?" said Alfred.

      "No. Are you starting soon?"

      "Yes, miss. We're all going by the seven o'clock train. It's a long way from here to Paris; we shall only reach it at nine in the morning. That will give us just time to get the house ready for you by the time you get there to-morrow evening," said Alfred.

      "Is everything packed?"

      "Yes, miss—everything. The cart has already taken the heavy luggage to the station. All you'll have to do is to see after your bags."

      "That's all right. Show M. du Buit and his brother in," said Germaine.

      She moved to a chair near the window, and disposed herself in an attitude of studied, and obviously studied, grace.

      As she leant her head at a charming angle back against the tall back of the chair, her eyes fell on the window, and they opened wide.

      "Why, whatever's this?" she cried, pointing to it.

      "Whatever's what?" said Sonia, without raising her eyes from the envelope she was addressing.

      "Why, the window. Look! one of the panes has been taken out. It looks as if it had been cut."

      "So it has—just at the level of the fastening," said Sonia. And the two girls stared at the gap.

      "Haven't you noticed it before?" said Germaine.

      "No; the broken glass must have fallen outside," said Sonia.

      The noise of the opening of the door drew their attention from the window. Two figures were advancing towards them—a short, round, tubby man of fifty-five, red-faced, bald, with bright grey eyes, which seemed to be continually dancing away from meeting the eyes of any other human being. Behind him came a slim young man, dark and grave. For all the difference in their colouring, it was clear that they were father and son: their eyes were set so close together. The son seemed to have inherited, along with her black eyes, his mother's nose, thin and aquiline; the nose of the father started thin from the brow, but ended in a scarlet bulb eloquent of an exhaustive acquaintance with the vintages of the world.

      Germaine rose, looking at them with an air of some surprise and uncertainty: these were not her friends, the Du Buits.

      The elder man, advancing with a smiling bonhomie, bowed, and said in an adenoid voice, ingratiating of tone: "I'm M. Charolais, young ladies—M. Charolais—retired brewer—chevalier of the Legion of Honour—landowner at Rennes. Let me introduce my son." The young man bowed awkwardly. "We came from Rennes this morning, and we lunched at Kerlor's farm."

      "Shall I order tea for them?" whispered Sonia.

      "Gracious, no!" said Germaine sharply under her breath; then, louder, she said to M. Charolais, "And what is your object in calling?"

      "We asked to see your father," said M. Charolais, smiling with broad amiability, while his eyes danced across her face, avoiding any meeting with hers. "The footman told us that M. Gournay-Martin was out, but that his daughter was at home. And we were unable, quite unable, to deny ourselves the pleasure of meeting you." With that he sat down; and his son followed his example.

      Sonia and Germaine, taken aback, looked at one another in some perplexity.

      "What a fine chateau, papa!" said the young man.

      "Yes, my boy; it's a very fine chateau," said M. Charolais, looking round the hall with appreciative but greedy eyes.

      There was a pause.

      "It's a very fine chateau, young ladies," said M. Charolais.

      "Yes; but excuse me, what is it you have called about?" said Germaine.

      M. Charolais crossed his legs, leant back in his chair, thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and said: "Well, we've come about the advertisement we saw in the RENNES ADVERTISER, that M. Gournay-Martin wanted to get rid of a motor-car; and my son is always saying to me, 'I should like a motor-car which rushes the hills, papa.' He means a sixty horse-power."

      "We've got a sixty horse-power; but it's not for sale. My father is even using it himself to-day," said Germaine.

      "Perhaps it's the car we saw in the stable-yard," said M. Charolais.

      "No; that's a thirty to forty horse-power. It belongs to me. But if your son really loves rushing hills, as you say, we have a hundred horse-power car which my father wants to get rid of. Wait; where's the photograph of it, Sonia? It ought to be here somewhere."

      The two girls rose, went to a table set against the wall beyond the window, and began turning over the papers with which it was loaded in the search for the photograph. They had barely turned their backs, when the hand of young Charolais shot out as swiftly as the tongue of a lizard catching a fly, closed round the silver statuette on the top of the cabinet beside him, and flashed it into his jacket pocket.

      Charolais was watching the two girls; one would have said that he had eyes for nothing else, yet, without moving a muscle of his face, set in its perpetual beaming smile, he hissed in an angry whisper, "Drop it, you idiot! Put it back!"

      The young man scowled askance at him.

      "Curse you! Put it back!" hissed Charolais.

      The young man's arm shot out with the same quickness, and the statuette stood in its place.

      There was just the faintest sigh of relief from Charolais, as Germaine turned and came to him with the photograph in her hand. She gave it to him.

      "Ah, here we are," he said, putting on a pair of gold-rimmed pince- nez. "A hundred horse-power car. Well, well, this is something to talk over. What's the least you'll take for it?"

      "I have nothing to do with this kind of thing," cried Germaine. "You must see my father. He will be back from Rennes soon. Then you can settle the matter with him."

      M. Charolais rose, and said: "Very good. We will go now, and come back presently. I'm sorry to have intruded on you, young ladies— taking up your time like this—"

      "Not at all—not at all," murmured Germaine politely.

      "Good-bye—good-bye," said M. Charolais; and he and his son went to the door, and bowed themselves out.

      "What creatures!" said Germaine, going to the window, as the door closed behind the two visitors. "All the same, if they do buy the

Скачать книгу