XVIII
KATRINE MEETS ANNE LENNOX
During McDermott's ten days' stay in Paris, Katrine saw him constantly.The evening after her first visit to the Countess he received with a gayair of irresponsibility the news that she was to take up her residencewith Madame de Nemours, and though he personally assisted in theestablishing of herself and Nora in the queer old house, it was with themanner of one in no way responsible for what was going forward.
Some sunny rooms on the third floor were given her, a great piano wasenthroned in a bright corner, gay flowers bloomed against the fadedtapestry, and the Countess urged her to choose from many pictures theones she desired for intimate friends.
She knew that McDermott visited Josef to speak of her, and that hereturned delighted with the visit; but in all of his attentions thereseemed even to the watchful eyes of the Countess more brotherlykindness than the solicitude of a lover. On the night before his returnto the States he had a long talk with Madame de Nemours. His visit toTours had resulted in nothing, and it was with some depression ofspirits that he was making his farewells.
But the Countess was too much occupied with her new protege to bedowncast over any mythical inheritance in America, and as she stoodunder the lamps in the doorway bidding him farewell, she said, withgirlish enthusiasm: "Don't you think about it any more. I have enough tolive on nicely. And as for that glorious Katrine, I'll deave her earswith your name! No praises. Ah, I'm too old and wise for that! It willbe this way. 'It's a pity,' I'll say, 'that Dermott is notbetter-looking,' and she'll answer, 'Sure he's one of the handsomest menin the world.' And the next day, 'How unfortunate he is so niggardly?''Niggardly!' she'll cry. 'He gives away everything he has. He's the soulof generosity!' Ah, trust me!" the Countess ended. "She shall persuadeherself there's none other like you. And there's not!" she cried,kissing her hand to him as he went down the steps.
Within the week after McDermott's leaving Paris there occurred twoevents, seemingly remote from Katrine's existence, which later wroughtthe greatest changes in her life.
The first of these was the alarming illness of Quantrelle the Red. Aftera day of peculiarly unbearable conduct on his part, the other domesticsin the house had revolted, and late in the evening turned him out topass the night in his fireless sentry-box. For ten days after thisoccurrence he hovered between life and death with an inflammation of thelungs, during which period the De Nemours' household learned his realpower, for the Countess flew into a paroxysm of rage at his treatment,discharged the cook and one of the upper maids, harangued the others,sent for the best doctors in Paris, and herself assisted in the nursing,taking little sleep or nourishment until the old fellow was well on hisway to recovery.
During all of this turmoil Katrine went quietly back and forth to herlessons, in no way questioning the conduct of the Countess, for sheunderstood to the full that human hearts form attachments by no rule.
One evening during Quantrelle's convalescence, when the Countess was hersunny self again, she offered, unasked, an explanation of her seeminglysingular conduct.
"Little person," she said, putting her hand on Katrine's shoulder, "youmustn't judge too harshly my Irish temper. It was gratitude toQuantrelle which made me act as I did. There were two years of my lifewhen I should have died but for him."
It was an amazing statement, and Katrine's face showed her astonishment.
"When I was sixteen," Madame de Nemours continued, "I was sent to aconvent school at Tours. Quantrelle's father was gate-keeper there, andlet me pass out the night I went to be married. I was only a child." TheCountess covered her face with both hands, as though to shut out somehorrid sight. "He was an American, a Protestant, and my father cursedme. Two years after the marriage my husband deserted me. Perhaps," shepaused in her story, "perhaps Dermott has told you this?"
"He has never spoken of it to me," said Katrine.
"After my baby came," Madame de Nemours continued, "I was alone withpoverty and ill health, and for two years, _two years_," she repeated,impressively, "Quantrelle, a long, thin-legged, red-haired boy, kept mealive with the money he could earn and the scant assistance his mothercould lend him. It was eleven years later, four years after my baby'sdeath and my father's forgiveness, that I married the Count. Katrine,darling, I gave him a great affection and entire devotion, but my heartdied with the first love. To have that first year over! Ah, there wasnever another like him! You could never know, Katrine, how different hewas from others."
"It was long ago?" Katrine asked.
"Thirty years. Dermott has recently been demanding papers of me. Itseems there may be some property in America belonging to my firsthusband which he can claim for me."
A premonition of the truth came to Katrine at the sound of Dermott'sname.
"And your first husband's name?" she inquired. "Will it pain you to tellit?"
"Not at all," the Countess answered, with a sad smile. "It was FrancisRavenel."
The sound of the name itself brought no shock to Katrine. She seemed tohave heard it before it was spoken, but she made no sign.
She knew it was Frank's father of whom Madame de Nemours spoke, and thetales of him in North Carolina had more than prepared her for wilddoings in his student days. It seemed strange, however, that Frank hadnever spoken of an early marriage of his father. But the more shethought of it, the firmer became her belief that he had never known it.
It was not until the gray of the following morning that she comprehendedto the full the weighty significance of Madame de Nemours' earlymarriage, and saw clearly the significance of Dermott's stay inCarolina, with the direful resulting that might come to Frank from theIrishman's investigations there.
"If Frank's father married in America, with a wife and child living inFrance--" But here Katrine stopped in her thinking, putting the ideafrom her mind as one too horrid to entertain.
The second apparently disconnected event which led by a circuitous routeto the death of Madame de Nemours, as well as to the discovery of thatmissing witness for whom McDermott long had searched, was announcedquietly by the Countess herself one morning of the following May.
Looking up from the Paris _Herald_, she said to Katrine, "I see thatAnne Lennox has leased the old Latour Place in the Boulevard Haussmannfor an indefinite period."
The three months following the coming of Mrs. Lennox made no change intheir lives whatever. Katrine was aware that Madame de Nemours and Anneexchanged visits of courtesy, each missing the other, but early in Julyshe went with the Countess and Josef to Brittany and spent the summer inwork, the world forgetting and by the world forgot.
And the divine days with Josef by the sea! His wisdom, his temper, hissplendid intolerance, his prophetic imaginings, as he stormed at theimbecility of his kind!
"It's this damned idea of realism that's killing art!" he shrieked oneday, on the rocks at Concarneau. "Who wants things natural? If Jones andSmith could be taught by reiterating life as it is, the race of foolswould soon become extinct. My neighbor loves his neighbor's wife, andthey go off together and there is murder done. Does the reading of thisin book or paper stop my going off with the woman I love if I have thechance? Not a whit! Art must raise one's ideals. It's the only thingthat helps you, me, any one!"
Or, again, and this was at twilight, waiting under the old crucifix forthe herring-boats to come in: "Anybody with eyesight can imitate the_actual_. The _real_! What has the creative mind to do with that? It isnot one great and innocent-minded girl you are to represent inMarguerite, it is _all_ girlhood in its innocence and surrender."
And another time, on the way home from Pont-Aven:
"Women of detail, women who indulge themselves in soul-wearyingrepetition of the little affairs of life, have driven more men toperdition than all the Delilahs ever created."
And Katrine and he laughed together at his anathema, and went forwardinto a dusky French twilight, singing as they went.
Around her room she pinned the written slips which he gave at everylesson, Scri
pture which seemed perverted to uses other than its own:
"He that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved.
"Live with Goethe's Faust--learn it. You will understand Gounod's better.
"All art comes from the same kind of nature. If you didn't sing yours, you would paint it, carve it, write it, play it out; for, if it is in you to create something artistic, nothing human can stop your doing it.
"There are no mute, inglorious Miltons. Every one who has the qualifications for success succeeds."
As time passed the letters to her unknown benefactor became more andmore intimate in tone by reason of her race and youth. No answer evercoming to any of them, it was as though her thoughts were written andcast into the eternal silence.
Upon the second anniversary of her farewell to Francis Ravenel, whichwas soon after her return from Brittany to Paris, she took from thedepths of an old trunk the mementos of that time which seemed to her sofar away. Such trifling things: a pine cross tied with blue ribbon; agrass ring which he had made for her once in the barley-field; a note ortwo; a book of collected poems, marked. Trifling things, indeed! but herheart throbbed with the sense of his presence as she held them in herhands.
In the next room Nora was clattering some tea things, making the plain,homely bustle that frequently keeps one sane. Out-of-doors it was one ofParis' divine gray days, with pinks and lavenders showing in theshadows; but neither the in-door noise nor the outside beauty held her.She was back in the Carolinas with her first love; there was the odor ofpine and honeysuckle in the Paris air, a harvest moon in the sky.
"To forgive and forget and understand."
On the impulse of the moment she decided to write her story to theunknown with no names, telling the pain which haunted her always; thepain which she felt would be hers until the end. Having finished thenarrative, she concluded:
"I am trying to make it very clear to you. You have been, you are, so kind. But I want you to know about me exactly as I am. The world would say that this man did not treat me well. He had faults; he had ignorances; we are none of us perfect; he was not a great man. But he was just as I would have him."
And, womanlike, she added a postscript:
"You send me too much money. Lessons in fencing, dancing, languages, music, cost a great deal. I have not been spending it all, although I have been helping an art student, who has almost starved himself to death in a room built on a roof, painting by candle-light.
"P.P.S.--Also a girl who tried to drown herself because she cannot sing, but she writes beautifully. I will send you one of her poems, to show you she is worth helping.
"P.P.P.S.--Also a very poor rag-picker with, I think, twelve children. He looks even worse than this."
The routine of her life having been thoroughly established the precedingwinter, she fell easily again into the old lines. Every day she lunchedwith Madame de Nemours. Sometimes, when engagements left them both free,they dined together in quite a stately manner in the high, old tapestryroom, and once in a fortnight she was bidden to dinner with friends ofthis great lady--Bartand, the dramatist; President Arnot; or PrinceCassini, with his terrible vitality and schemes for universalbetterment.
One morning she was disturbed at her studies by a card from theCountess, saying that Mrs. Lennox was below and wished to see her. Shehad grown accustomed to the desire of strangers to be presented to her,for, as Dermott had told her, the news of her voice was alreadynewspaper copy. In the drawing-room she found Madame de Nemours by thewindow talking animatedly, in her pleasant, low voice, to a lady, youngand vivacious, wearing aggressive mourning.
"And this," the stranger cried, in a high, strong, musical voice, comingforward, "is the Miss Dulany of whom I have been hearing such wonderfulthings?" She waited for no response. "I have just been telling theCountess that I almost met you at Ravenel House, in Carolina, over twoyears ago. There was a house-party, and you refused to come."
Katrine flushed and turned pale again suddenly, as she realized thatthis was the Mrs. Lennox whom, by current gossip, Frank was to marry,and she lived over again in an instant, it seemed, the morning when shehad met them riding together by the ford at Ravenel.
"I was ill, I remember," Katrine explained, recovering herself;"unfortunately ill, since I was prevented from meeting you." There wasboth consideration and compliment in her tone.
"Everything has changed a great deal since then," Mrs. Lennox went on,"with me as well as with others. I lost my mother the following winter,"she glanced at her mourning as she spoke, "and Mrs. Ravenel has beenback to the old place but once, for a few weeks only. Mr. Ravenel (youremember Mr. Ravenel?) has gone in for all sorts of things since then.Nobody knows what came over him. Frank had never been one to tie himselfdown, but he is a regular New York business man now. He buys mines andsells them, and railroads and things." She laughed pleasantly. "It lacksdefiniteness, I can see. And Nick van Rensselaer! I have just beentelling the Countess of him."
"I do not know Mr. van Rensselaer," said Katrine.
"What!" Mrs. Lennox cried, with amazement. "I thought you met him atRavenel! I understood he heard you sing there, and it was because of itthat he wanted to send you abroad to study."
"If it be Mr. van Rensselaer who has been so kind to me, I do not knowit," Katrine answered, in no small degree annoyed by this enforcedintimacy. "I have never seen him nor heard his name before in my life."
If Mrs. Lennox noted Katrine's manner she was in nowise deterred by itfrom going deeper into the subject.
"Mrs. Ravenel told me," she continued, with excitement in her voice,"that Nick van Rensselaer came to her at Bar Harbor, and asked the useof her name if he furnished the means to send you abroad to study. Hesaid that he was especially anxious to remain unknown in the matter.Mrs. Ravenel told me afterward that you had declined the offer becauseof having inherited a fortune yourself. But, of course, I thought youmust have met him; in fact, I remember that Frank said he thought so,too. By-the-way," she went on, rising to go, "he is coming over soon;Mr. Ravenel, I mean." She looked conscious for a second, as thoughpreferring to keep something back, and then finished: "He will, ofcourse, call while he is here?"
"He may be so kind," Katrine answered, suavely.
"Good-bye," Mrs. Lennox said, holding out a slim, black-gloved handfirst to the Countess and then to Katrine. "I hope your studies will letyou come to me soon. I hear you are to make your debut in the spring."
Katrine laughed. "That will be as Josef says."
"Good-bye again."
After Mrs. Lennox had left the room, Katrine and the Countess looked ateach other with questioning in the eyes of each.
"You lived at a place called Ravenel," Madame de Nemours asked, "andnever told me?"
"I did not think the name one you would care to hear," Katrine answered.
"Ah, you so sweet thing!" the Countess cried, impulsively, putting herhand on the girl's cheek. "You were right. There are probably thousandsof Ravenels in America unconnected with my unfortunate life."
But Katrine, who had had her own surprises in the interview, inquired,"Why did Mrs. Lennox, who is very beautiful, very wealthy, and of themonde, take so much trouble to come here to tell me of a Mr. vanRensselaer?"
"I didn't think she came for that alone," answered the Countess. "Ithought she wanted you to know that Monsieur Ravenel was coming over tovisit her."
Naturally, a marked change in Katrine's attitude toward her unknownbenefactor followed this talk with Anne Lennox. She had becomeaccustomed to think of "The Dear Unknown" as a lady, old and beneficent.The new idea was startling. Thinking it over, she became convinced ofthe extreme unlikelihood that two people should have become so greatlyinterested in her voice at exactly the same time, and her conclusionsled to believing that Mrs. Lennox had probably given her a true versionof the affair. But if Nicholas van Rensselaer were her patron, insteadof some white-haired old lady down in L
eeds or Kent or Surrey, as shehad imagined, her last letter must inevitably have told him, who hadspent so much time in North Carolina, of her love for Francis Ravenel.
The obviously honest thing to do was to write to Mr. van Rensselaerimmediately, to let him know that without effort or curiosity on herpart his identity had been revealed to her.
Her letter to him was short to abruptness. She stated briefly the mannerin which the information had come to her as well as her regret that hiswish to remain unknown had been thwarted. She hoped that her voice wouldfulfill all the promise he thought it gave two years back; referred tothe personal nature of her last letter; spoke of her desire to repay infull the money part of her obligation to him, realizing that the kindthought could never be repaid in this world, and signed herself his"grateful Katrine Dulany."
In a fortnight the answer came:
MY DEAR MISS DULANY,--Your letter reached me but a few minutes ago, and I am feeling, since its arrival, like the ass that wore the lion's skin. Mrs. Lennox was entirely wrong in her statements. It is true that I proposed the arrangement, which she told you of, to Mrs. Ravenel, but that dear lady wrote me within the week that I was too late in my offer, and that another believer in your gift had anticipated the pleasure I had promised myself in helping to give to the world a great voice.
I am extremely sorry that you are under no obligations to me. The confidences which you mention I assure you are entirely safe so far as I am concerned, for I never received a letter from you save the one which lies before me as I write.
I have heard that you will sing at the Josef recital in May. May I count upon you to write me a line as to the exact time, so that I may have the pleasure of hearing you?
If, meanwhile, there is any way that I can serve you, believe me that I shall be glad to do so, for I heard you sing "Ah! Fors e lui" one night, standing under the pines outside of your window, and my debt is great.
Sincerely, NICHOLAS VAN RENSSELAER.
And it was a curious thing to note that this letter, caused by thechatter of Anne Lennox, was the direct cause of Katrine's next meetingwith Frank, a meeting which, but for this correspondence which led to anacquaintance with the Van Rensselaers, might never have taken place.
One evening, shortly after the receipt of this letter, Madame de Nemourstold Katrine a piece of news for which she was not unprepared.
"By-the-way," she said, "Mrs. Lennox was here to-day. Mr. Ravenel isexpected in Paris to-morrow. I have asked a party to dine with them onFriday."
Katrine had just said good-night to the Countess, and was standing inthe doorway, candle in hand, with the light shining full on her face, asMadame de Nemours spoke; but she received the news with no change offace, no tremor of an eyelid. She felt it a loyalty to old love that theCountess should be forever unable to recognize in Frank the man whomthey had discussed so often, namelessly; and of whom Madame de Nemourshad such a slighting opinion. The strangest thing of all was that shehad for this man's coming; this man for whose presence she had longedday and night for two years; the remembrance of whose words couldthrill her and bring tears to her eyes or a smile to her lips; that forthis man's coming, she had no thought save regret that he was to come,and determination not to meet him.
"I want to be sent away, Illustrious Master," she said, the followingafternoon, to Josef, when the lesson was over, and they stood togetherlooking at the sun going down over the gray mist of the Paris roofs. "Iam not well, and there is some one coming to Madame de Nemours' onFriday whom I do not wish to meet."
Josef looked at her quickly.
"Mademoiselle Silence," he said, "I, who read voices as others read aprinted page, understand. You had better see him."
Katrine flushed crimson, but changed suddenly to such a whiteness thatJosef thought she would have fallen.
"Forgive me," he said, tenderly, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I amthe surgeon with the knife, but my work is almost done. Let me tell yousomething. You have worked as I have never seen any one work before. Ihave not praised much, but I have seen. Ah, I know! Tones, little, big,staccato, breath, breath, breath! Over, and yet again over. And thethinking a tone, which is the hardest of all. And the acting--toconceive what a character's voice should be; to understand that thetimbre of Carmen's voice would not be that of Marguerite's; that thesoul of the voice must change for each character. To slave, to slave, toslave, and suffer as you have done into the third year, is it not? Noneother can know the value of it all as I know it, and at the end what hasthe master done for you? Meet this man and you will find out. It is formy reward I am asking, for I, too, have done something."
Katrine took the hand of the great teacher and kissed it lovingly.
"Something?" she said. "You have done all."
"Not all; a part, a very little part," he returned. "But meet the man,my child, and you will see how much has been done by both of us. OnSaturday morning you will come to me. You will say, 'Prophetic man, I amashamed through all my being to have loved so slight a thing.' You willfind you have outgrown him, and he will have only the weight of theSanta Claus, which children painlessly outgrow. And ever after you willhave toward him a kindly mother-feeling, for that is woman's way towardtheir first loves."
Katrine shook her head. "I do not want to forget."
"No," said Josef, "you never have wanted to forget, and that has made ithard for me. You have a strange creed of your own. But sometimes, when Iknow beyond words that I have received a 'wireless' message from youover the roof-tops, I begin to believe you dangerous, Katrine Dulany.But your belief of 'mind-curing' people into being better has the seedof truth in it which makes so many new creeds dangerous. You can makeyourself so great by fine thinking that the people who come in contactwith you understand and are uplifted."
"It is a thing more subtle, Greatness!" Katrine answered.
"It is not a thing more subtle, Obstinacy!" he returned, with a laugh."However, have your way! You are ordered, to Fontainebleau to-morrow.Your voice is in rags, shall I say? You will stay for two weeks at thehouse of Madame Lomard. You will lie in the open and breathe much. Andso, good-bye to you!"