It all occurred just before midnight, in one of the smaller rooms, whichlead in enfilade from the principal ballroom.
Dancing had been going on for some time, but the evening was close,and there seemed to be a growing desire on the part of Lady Blakeney'sguests to wander desultorily through the gardens and glasshouses, or sitabout where some measure of coolness could be obtained.
There was a rumour that a new and charming French artiste was to sing afew peculiarly ravishing songs, unheard in England before. Close tothe main ballroom was the octagon music-room which was brilliantlyilluminated, and in which a large number of chairs had been obviouslydisposed for the comfort of an audience. Into this room many ofthe guests had already assembled. It was quite clear that achamber-concert--select and attractive as were all Lady Blakeney'sentertainments--was in contemplation.
Marguerite herself, released for a moment from her constant duties nearher royal guests, had strolled through the smaller rooms, accompanied byJuliette, in order to search for Mademoiselle Candeille and to suggestthe commencement of the improvised concert.
Desiree Candeille had kept herself very much aloof throughout theevening, only talking to the one or two gentlemen whom her hostess hadpresented to her on her arrival, and with M. Chauvelin always in closeattendance upon her every movement.
Presently, when dancing began, she retired to a small boudoir, andthere sat down, demurely waiting, until Lady Blakeney should require herservices.
When Marguerite and Juliette Marny entered the little room, she rose andcame forward a few steps.
"I am ready, Madame," she said pleasantly, "whenever you wish me tobegin. I have thought out a short programme,--shall I start with the gayor the sentimental songs?"
But before Marguerite had time to utter a reply, she felt her armnervously clutched by a hot and trembling hand.
"Who... who is this woman?" murmured Juliette Marny close to her ear.
The young girl looked pale and very agitated, and her large eyes werefixed in unmistakable wrath upon the French actress before her. A littlestartled, not understanding Juliette's attitude, Marguerite tried toreply lightly:
"This is Mademoiselle Candeille, Juliette dear," she said, affectingthe usual formal introduction, "of the Varietes Theatre ofParis--Mademoiselle Desiree Candeille, who will sing some charmingFrench ditties for us to-night."
While she spoke she kept a restraining hand on Juliette's quiveringarm. Already, with the keen intuition which had been on the qui-vive thewhole evening, she scented some mystery in this sudden outburst on thepart of her young protegee.
But Juliette did not heed her: she felt surging up in her young,overburdened heart all the wrath and the contempt of the persecuted,fugitive aristocrat against the triumphant usurper. She had suffered somuch from that particular class of the risen kitchen-wench of which thewoman before her was so typical and example: years of sorrow, of povertywere behind her: loss of fortune, of kindred, of friends--she, even nowa pauper, living on the bounty of strangers.
And all this through no fault of her own: the fault of her class mayhap!but not hers!
She had suffered much, and was still overwrought and nerve-strung: forsome reason she could not afterwards have explained, she felt spitefuland uncontrolled, goaded into stupid fury by the look of insolence andof triumph with which Candeille calmly regarded her.
Afterwards she would willingly have bitten out her tongue for hervehemence, but for the moment she was absolutely incapable of checkingthe torrent of her own emotions.
"Mademoiselle Candeille, indeed?" she said in wrathful scorn, "DesireeCandeille, you mean, Lady Blakeney! my mother's kitchen-maid, flauntingshamelessly my dear mother's jewels which she has stolen mayhap..."
The young girl was trembling from head to foot, tears of anger obscuredher eyes; her voice, which fortunately remained low--not much above awhisper--was thick and husky.
"Juliette! Juliette! I entreat you," admonished Marguerite, "you mustcontrol yourself, you must, indeed you must. Mademoiselle Candeille, Ibeg of you to retire...."
But Candeille--well-schooled in the part she had to play--had nointention of quitting the field of battle. The more wrathful and excitedMademoiselle de Marny became the more insolent and triumphant waxedthe young actress' whole attitude. An ironical smile played round thecorners of her mouth, her almond-shaped eyes were half-closed, regardingthrough dropping lashed the trembling figure of the young impoverishedaristocrat. Her head was thrown well back, in obvious defiance ofthe social conventions, which should have forbidden a fracas in LadyBlakeney's hospitable house, and her fingers provocatively toyed withthe diamond necklace which glittered and sparkled round her throat.
She had no need to repeat the words of a well-learnt part: her own wit,her own emotions and feelings helped her to act just as her employerwould have wished her to do. Her native vulgarity helped her to assumethe very bearing which he would have desired. In fact, at this momentDesiree Candeille had forgotten everything save the immediate present: amore than contemptuous snub from one of those penniless aristocrats, whohad rendered her own sojourn in London so unpleasant and unsuccessful.
She had suffered from these snubs before, but had never had the chanceof forcing an esclandre, as a result of her own humiliation. That spiritof hatred for the rich and idle classes, which was so characteristic ofrevolutionary France, was alive and hot within her: she had never hadan opportunity--she, the humble fugitive actress from a minor Paristheatre--to retort with forcible taunts to the ironical remarks made atand before her by the various poverty-stricken but haughty emigres whoswarmed in those very same circles of London society into which sheherself had vainly striven to penetrate.
Now at last, one of this same hated class, provoked beyond self-control,was allowing childish and unreasoning fury to outstrip the usual calmirony of aristocratic rebuffs.
Juliette had paused awhile, in order to check the wrathful tears which,much against her will, were choking the words in her throat and blindingher eyes.
"Hoity! toity!" laughed Candeille, "hark at the young baggage!"
But Juliette had turned to Marguerite and began explaining volubly:
"My mother's jewels!" she said in the midst of her tears, "ask herhow she came by them. When I was obliged to leave the home of myfathers,--stolen from me by the Revolutionary Government--I contrived toretain my mother's jewels... you remember, I told you just now.... TheAbbe Foucquet--dear old man! Saved them for me... that and a littlemoney which I had... he took charge of them... he said he would placethem in safety with the ornaments of his church, and now I see themround that woman's neck... I know that he would not have parted withthem save with his life."
All the while that the young girl spoke in a voice half-choked withsobs, Marguerite tried with all the physical and mental will at hercommand to drag her out of the room and thus to put a summary ending tothis unpleasant scene. She ought to have felt angry with Juliette forthis childish and senseless outburst, were it not for the fact thatsomehow she knew within her innermost heart that all this had beenarranged and preordained: not by Fate--not by a Higher Hand, but by themost skilful intriguer present-day France had ever known.
And even now, as she was half succeeding in turning Juliette away fromthe sight of Candeille, she was not the least surprised or startledat seeing Chauvelin standing in the very doorway through which she hadhoped to pass. One glance at his face had made her fears tangible andreal: there was a look of satisfaction and triumph in his pale, narroweyes, a flash in them of approbation directed at the insolent attitudeof the French actress: he looked like the stage-manager of a play,content with the effect his own well-arranged scenes were producing.
What he hoped to gain by this--somewhat vulgar--quarrel between the twowomen, Marguerite of course could not guess: that something was lurkingin his mind, inimical to herself and to her husband, she did not for amoment doubt, and at this moment she felt that she would have givenher very life to induce Candeille and Juliette to cease thi
s passage ofarms, without further provocation on either side.
But though Juliette might have been ready to yield to Lady Blakeney'spersuasion, Desiree Candeille, under Chauvelin's eye, and fired by herown desire to further humiliate this overbearing aristocrat, did notwish the little scene to end so tamely just yet.
"Your old calotin was made to part with his booty, m'dear," she said,with a contemptuous shrug of her bare shoulders. "Paris and France havebeen starving these many years past: a paternal government seized allit could with which to reward those that served it well, whilst all thatwould have been brought bread and meat for the poor was being greedilystowed away by shameless traitors!"
Juliette winced at the insult.
"Oh!" she moaned, as she buried her flaming face in her hands.
Too late now did she realise that she had deliberately stirred up amud-heap and sent noisome insects buzzing about her ears.
"Mademoiselle," said Marguerite authoritatively, "I must ask you toremember that Mlle. de Marny is my friend and that you are a guest in myhouse."
"Aye! I try not to forget it," rejoined Candeille lightly, "but of atruth you must admit, Citizeness, that it would require the patienceof a saint to put up with the insolence of a penniless baggage, who butlately has had to stand her trial in her own country for impurity ofconduct."
There was a moment's silence, whilst Marguerite distinctly heard ashort sigh of satisfaction escaping from the lips of Chauvelin. Then apleasant laugh broke upon the ears of the four actors who were enactingthe dramatic little scene, and Sir Percy Blakeney, immaculate in hisrich white satin coat and filmy lace ruffles, exquisite in manners andcourtesy, entered the little boudoir, and with his long back slightlybent, his arm outstretched in a graceful and well-studied curve, heapproached Mademoiselle Desiree Candeille.
"May I have the honour," he said with his most elaborate air of courtlydeference, "of conducting Mademoiselle to her chaise?"
In the doorway just behind him stood His Royal Highness the Prince ofWales chatting with apparent carelessness to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes andLord Anthony Dewhurst. A curtain beyond the open door was partiallydrawn aside, disclosing one or two brilliantly dressed groups, strollingdesultorily through the further rooms.
The four persons assembled in the little boudoir had been so absorbedby their own passionate emotions and the violence of their quarrelthat they had not noticed the approach of Sir Percy Blakeney and of hisfriends. Juliette and Marguerite certainly were startled and Candeillewas evidently taken unawares. Chauvelin alone seemed quite indifferentand stood back a little when Sir Percy advanced, in order to allow himto pass.
But Candeille recovered quickly enough from her surprise: withoutheeding Blakeney's proffered arm, she turned with all the airs of aninsulted tragedy queen towards Marguerite.
"So 'tis I," she said with affected calm, "who am to bear every insultin a house in which I was bidden as a guest. I am turned out like someintrusive and importunate beggar, and I, the stranger in this land, amdestined to find that amidst all these brilliant English gentlemen thereis not one man of honour.
"M. Chauvelin," she added loudly, "our beautiful country has, meseems,deputed you to guard the honour as well as the worldly goods of yourunprotected compatriots. I call upon you, in the name of France, toavenge the insults offered to me to-night."
She looked round defiantly from one to the other of the several faceswhich were now turned towards her, but no one, for the moment, spoke orstirred. Juliette, silent and ashamed, had taken Marguerite's hand inhers, and was clinging to it as if wishing to draw strength of characterand firmness of purpose through the pores of the other woman's delicateskin.
Sir Percy with backbone still bent in a sweeping curve had not relaxedhis attitude of uttermost deference. The Prince of Wales and his friendswere viewing the scene with slightly amused aloofness.
For a moment--seconds at most--there was dead silence in the room,during which time it almost seemed as if the beating of several heartscould be distinctly heard.
Then Chauvelin, courtly and urbane, stepped calmly forward.
"Believe me, Citizeness," he said, addressing Candeille directly andwith marked emphasis, "I am entirely at your command, but am I nothelpless, seeing that those who have so grossly insulted you are of yourown irresponsible, if charming, sex?"
Like a great dog after a nap, Sir Percy Blakeney straightened his longback and stretched it out to its full length.
"La!" he said pleasantly, "my ever engaging friend from Calais. Sir,your servant. Meseems we are ever destined to discuss amiable matters,in an amiable spirit.... A glass of punch, Monsieur... er... Chauvelin?"
"I must ask you, Sir Percy," rejoined Chauvelin sternly, "to view thismatter with becoming seriousness."
"Seriousness is never becoming, sir," said Blakeney, politely smotheringa slight yawn, "and it is vastly unbecoming in the presence of ladies."
"Am I to understand then, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin, "that you areprepared to apologize to Mademoiselle Candeille for this insult offeredto her by Lady Blakeney?"
Sir Percy again tried to smother that tiresome little yawn, which seemedmost distressing, when he desired to be most polite. Then he flickedoff a grain of dust from his immaculate lace ruffle and buried his long,slender hands in the capacious pockets of his white satin breeches;finally he said with the most good-natured of smiles:
"Sir, have you seen the latest fashion in cravats? I would wish todraw your attention to the novel way in which we in England tie aMechlin-edged bow."
"Sir Percy," retorted Chauvelin firmly, "since you will not offerMademoiselle Candeille the apology which she has the right to expectfrom you, are you prepared that you and I should cross swords likehonourable gentlemen?"
Blakeney laughed his usual pleasant, somewhat shy laugh, shook hispowerful frame and looked from his altitude of six feet three inchesdown on the small, sable-clad figure of ex-Ambassador Chauvelin.
"The question is, sir," he said slowly, "should we then be twohonourable gentlemen crossing swords?"
"Sir Percy..."
"Sir?"
Chauvelin, who for one moment had seemed ready to lose his temper,now made a sudden effort to resume a calm and easy attitude and saidquietly:
"Of course, if one of us is coward enough to shirk the contest..."
He did not complete the sentence, but shrugged his shoulders expressiveof contempt. The other side of the curtained doorway a little crowd hadgradually assembled, attracted hither by the loud and angry voices whichcame from that small boudoir. Host and hostess had been missed from thereception rooms for some time, His Royal Highness, too, had not beenseen for the quarter of an hour: like flies attracted by the light, oneby one, or in small isolated groups, some of Lady Blakeney's quests hadfound their way to the room adjoining the royal presence.
As His Highness was standing in the doorway itself, no one could ofcourse cross the threshold, but everyone could see into the room, andcould take stock of the various actors in the little comedy. They werewitnessing a quarrel between the French envoy and Sir Percy Blakeneywherein the former was evidently in deadly earnest and the latter merelypolitely bored. Amused comments flew to and fro: laughter and a babel ofirresponsible chatter made an incessant chirruping accompaniment to theduologue between the two men.
But at this stage, the Prince of Wales, who hitherto had seemingly keptaloof from the quarrel, suddenly stepped forward and abruptly interposedthe weight of his authority and of his social position between thebickering adversaries.
"Tush, man!" he said impatiently, turning more especially towardsChauvelin, "you talk at random. Sir Percy Blakeney is an Englishgentleman, and the laws of this country do not admit of duelling, as youunderstand it in France; and I for one certainly could not allow..."
"Pardon, your Royal Highness," interrupted Sir Percy with irresistiblebonhomie, "your Highness does not understand the situation. My engagingfriend here does not propose that I should transgress the laws of thiscountry, but t
hat I should go over to France with him, and fight himthere, where duelling and... er... other little matters of that sort areallowed."
"Yes! quite so!" rejoined the Prince, "I understand M. Chauvelin'sdesire. ... But what about you, Blakeney?"
"Oh!" replied Sir Percy lightly, "I have accepted his challenge, ofcourse!"
Chapter XII: Time--Place--Conditions