XVII
MCDERMOTT VISITS HIS FRENCH COUSIN
It was true that Dermott's sudden departure for Europe had troubledFrank. But it would have disturbed him more had he known the truth, forMcDermott was not only bent upon seeing Katrine, but was stirringanother trouble for Frank, a trouble which McDermott felt had alreadyslept too long.
The week before the Irishman sailed (it was the very day upon which hedecided, with a laugh to himself, to give up the railroad fight andallow the new company to build the road on the Ravenel land) he wrotehis French cousin, the Countess de Nemours, thus:
BEAUTIFUL LADY WITHOUT MERCY,--I am writing in a perturbed state of mind, for I think I shall get for you a great fortune. You do not answer my letters, though I have written at the lowest estimate ten thousand times. I want the date of your first marriage securely stated in written evidence; also the dates of the birth and death of the child. I want every scrap of paper which you have, concerning that sad affair of thirty years ago, ready for me when I arrive in Paris two weeks from to-day.
There is a little girl over there studying music in whom I want you to interest yourself. Her name is Katrine Dulany. She is with Josef.
Yours of the Shamrock, DERMOTT MCDERMOTT.
The Countess de Nemours' house in Paris stood in the centre of thestreet of the Two Repentant Magdalens. An iron door in a griffoned archopened into a sunny court-yard, where peacocks strutted by an oldfountain, and a black poodle, who was both a thief and a miser, snarledat the passers-by.
On the right of the entrance, in a kind of sentry-box, Quantrelle theRed acted as _concierge_. He was a man above the peasant class,ridiculously long and spare, with an unbroken record for thirty years ofdrunkenness and quarrelling. His narrow head was covered with irregulartufts of scarlet hair, and in his forehead were heavy furrows whichcurved down over the nose and waved upward and back to the temple. Hiseyebrows were red tufts standing fiercely out over his little red-browneyes, and his nose, long, lean, and absurdly pointed, seemed peering athis great teeth, yellowed by much smoking of cigarettes. He added to hischarms an attire intentionally bizarre, for he dressed himself, so tospeak, in character. And with these natural and achieved drawbacks tohis appearance he had the temper of a wasp, so that it was small wonderthat questionings were rife as to the reason of his retention, his_overpaid_ retention, in the De Nemours' household. He had a wit of hisown, had Quantrelle. Frequently his pleasing fancy led him to admitvisitors when he knew Madame de Nemours to be absent, and, afterconducting them by some circuitous route to unexpected rooms, he wouldleave them waiting until discovered by any chance domestic who happenedby. And when they were ushered forth to the street he would follow themwith a torrent of shrill apology, retiring, in a paroxysm of silentlaughter, behind the shutters of his little box. Why Madame de Nemoursendured his vagaries was indeed strange, for she was one who demanded ofevery other domestic something of an over-obsequiousness in service. Itwas a well-known fact, however, that he held an assured position in thehousehold, and that the Countess only smiled at his grimaces anddrinking, rewarding him with frequent gifts and holidays in thecountry.
On the morning of Dermott's coming, Quantrelle the Red sat in his littlehouse peering out, monkeylike, expectantly, at the passers-by, andcraning his long neck to keep a constant eye on the corner around whichthe Irishman was to arrive. As the brougham drew up to the curb the RedOne sprang to his feet, threw the iron doors wide apart, and stoodbowing double as McDermott entered.
"Ah, my Quantrelle!" he cried, gayly, at sight of the thingrotesqueness. "Still in your old place; still taking care of madame!"
"Till the end," was the answer, with a serious note in the voice.
"You have not changed much in the three years since I saw you last,"Dermott said, inspecting him closely.
"Nor you, monsieur," Quantrelle answered. "In fact, you have changedlittle since twelve years ago, when I hid you and young Monsieur deChevanne on top of my box here, after some escapade, to keep you bothfrom the police." He scrutinized McDermott closely as he spoke. "Andit's not the money (which I know well you will give me anyhow) whichmakes me say you are more beautiful than ever, monsieur. The sameelegant pallor; the same pursuit in the eye! Had I had your looks"; hemade a clucking sound in his cheek with his tongue; "and your clothes!Always the blacks and grays and very elegant! They are not my colors,"he drew himself to his straightest to exhibit his maroon coat andtrousers and wide green cravat with an assumed satisfaction; "but eachhas his own style," he finished.
McDermott laughed. "You are sober, Quantrelle!"
"Distressingly so, monsieur!"
"And if I give you money you would use it for--" McDermott paused.
"Charity, monsieur," the Red One answered, his eyes drooped religiously.He took the gold coin which Dermott gave him, tossed it into thesunshine, and slipped it into his pocket with a bow. "You will notice, Ihonor your integrity by not biting it to see if it be counterfeit."
"Knowing your character, it is indeed a compliment," McDermott said. "Aurevoir, my Quantrelle!"
"Au revoir, Monsieur l'Irlandais!"
And Dermott passed.
Inside he found the Countess waiting in the drawing-room, and shegreeted him with hands outstretched, kissing him on both cheeks in theFrench fashion. Afterward she stood regarding him with a slow, sweetsmile, which came from one of the kindest hearts in the world.
"And this," she said, in a beautiful, quiet, warm voice, "is the Irishcousin who has not been to see me for so very long!"
Although past fifty, she was tall and slight, with the grace of a girl.Her hair, white and soft and wavy, was worn high in a style quite herown; her skin was pink and white as a child's; her blue eyes shone withtenderness, and they had a merry, dancing light in them continually. Herface was of a delicate oval, with a nose slender, beautifully modelled,and exceptionally high between the eyes. She wore a green-white dress ofcloth individual in its cut and very plain, with an old silver belt andbrooch to match. Her hands, fragile and beautiful as shells, wereringless.
"It seems so perfectly flat to say that I am glad to see you, doesn'tit?" she asked, as Dermott smiled down at her.
"I like it just the same," he answered.
"When did you get in?" she inquired.
"I came over from Havre yesterday. I was busy with some English folkabout a mine, or I would have tried to see you last evening."
"And you will stay--" She paused.
"Ten days at most."
"Ah!" she said. "That's horrid! You will miss so many pleasant things! ABernhardt first night for one."
"I'm a horny-handed son of toil, beautiful cousin," he answered, "and Ihave come on business only."
There was a pause, which Dermott felt the Countess was waiting for himto break.
"Patricia," he said, a beautiful consideration for her in his voice, "Iwant to spare you in every way I can in reviewing the bitter business ofyour early marriage. I have written you only what was absolutelynecessary for you to know. I discovered by accident that your firsthusband left quite an estate. If you were his wife and had a livingchild at the time of his death, and if these facts can be established,this property belongs to you. You have not as much money as you shouldhave. I shall get his estate for you--if I can."
"About the records?" she inquired.
"If you have them ready I shall go over to Tours to-morrow to make asearch for the sister of the priest."
"Dermott, dear," the Countess said, putting her hand on his shoulderaffectionately, "you are not going to make trouble for any one, areyou?"
"Am I not?" he answered, with a short laugh. "Am I not?"
She took a bundle of papers, which she had evidently prepared for him,from a desk which stood between the windows, but made no motion to givethem to him.
"It's all so far in the past," she said, "no one can ever know what Isuffered. But I want no one else to suffer in order that I may have whatyou te
rm my rights."
"Patricia," Dermott answered, gravely, "the thing is all a bit in theair as yet. Your first marriage will be difficult to establish. TheFrench law requires such absolute proof that I may not be able to obtainit. Now, don't let us discuss the matter further, nor worry that kindheart of yours." He patted her head affectionately as he spoke.
In the years past she had known him well enough to remember his moods,and she gave him the papers in silence.
"About Mademoiselle Dulany," she continued. "Since your letter, I havemade inquiries concerning her. I shall be glad to know her, for her ownsake as well as yours."
"I'm going to ask a great favor of you for her, Patricia," he answered."You live in this great house alone. It would be better to have morepeople about you. I want you to see much of her, for I am hoping thatsome day she may be my wife."
He spoke the last word tenderly, a bit wistfully.
"Ah, Dermott," she cried, "I had no idea! I shall be so glad to doanything I can! Why couldn't she come and stay with me?"
"That is like you," he answered, gratefully; "but such things can neverbe arranged happily. They must grow. Wait until you meet her. I am tosee her to-night. I will bring her to you to-morrow, if I may."
"It is arranged, this marriage?" she asked, delighted at a bit ofromance.
"Not in the least," he answered, concisely.
"But she loves you?"
"On the contrary," he said, quietly, "she loves another."
"And you are hoping--" The Countess hesitated.
"Not hoping," Dermott answered, "determined."
"How old is she?"
"Nearly nineteen, and Irish."
"Irish girls are hard to change."
"But you loved your second husband, did you not?" Dermott inquired.
"I hope I was a good wife," the Countess answered, evasively, adding,"But you remember our own Tom Moore!"
"'The wild freshness of morning--'?"
Dermott stood looking into the fire, his eyes drooped, his facesaddened.
"But there is something else to remember as well," Madame de Nemourssaid, touching him on the shoulder and looking up at him admiringly."The half-gods go when the gods arrive. And you have everything in yourfavor. You are so great a man and such a charming fellow, Dermott!"
* * * * *
On the following day Katrine came alone to see Madame de Nemours,Dermott having concluded wisely that his presence would be but adrawback to any quick acquaintance between the two.
"I am Katrine," the girl answered, in response to the Countess' query."Mr. McDermott has been so kind as to send me to you."
"It came about in this way," the Countess explained, drawing Katrine toa couch and still keeping her hand. "There was a time when I knewDermott, my cousin, very well. That was in Ireland, before he became thegreat man he now is. Since that time we have written to each otheralways, for he has been kind enough to give me his friendship. He cameyesterday. I was sad, and told him of my lonesomeness. It is best, is itnot, to be quite frank when two people are meeting as you and I aredoing? In spite of all this," and here she made a slight gesture toinclude her luxurious surroundings, "I am quite a poor woman. And sowhen I told Dermott that I was lonesome in this great house, with nonebut servants, no companions, he spoke to me of you. He was quitepractical. He said that you spent much money as you were living. He toldme of your great beauty and your greater voice. I became very muchinterested in you, and we arranged for this talk. Now that I have seenyou, I want you to come and live with me very much, _very_ much." Shewas so charming in her kindness, this great lady! "But you may notdesire it. The situation is awkward for me." She smiled here, and ahumorous light danced in her eyes, for with all her graciousness she wasquite certain of her charm. "And so we will leave you to think it overand tell Mr. McDermott, who will in turn tell the decision to me. Thatwill save my vanity from being hurt openly in case you do not come."
Impulsively, Katrine clasped both the Countess' hands in hers.
"I want to come very much," she said. "There was never any one with whomI would rather be. I know now that you are the lady of whom MonsieurJosef spoke to me once. 'Ach!' he said, you know his way, 'she is thegreatest lady in the world! It is not what she _does_, but what she _is_so beautifully.'"
As Katrine spoke with the earnestness of voice and manner always herown, the Countess leaned forward suddenly with a startled look.
"Who is it that you remind me of?" she cried, drawing her, black browstogether. "If I could only think! Who is it that you remind me of?"