Dross

  Chapter IV

  Disqualified

  "Rever c'est le bonheur; attendre c'est la vie."

  The Vicomte de Clericy's answer was favourable to my suit, and I dulyreceived permission to install myself in the apartments lately vacatedby Charles Miste--whoever he may have been.

  "And what, sir, is to become of me?" inquired my servant, when Iinstructed him to pack my clothes and made known to him my movementsin the immediate future. I had forgotten Loomer. A secretary couldscarcely come into residence attended by a valet, rejoicing in theusual direct or indirect emoluments, and possessing that abnormalappetite which only belongs to the man servant living in the kitchen.I told him, therefore, that his future was entirely his own, and thatwhile his final fate was unquestionable, the making of his earthlycareer remained, for the present, in his own hands. In fact, I gavehim permission to commence at once his descent to that bourne whither,I feared, his footsteps would tend.

  Mr. Loomer was good enough to evince signs of emotion, and from asomewhat confused speech, I gathered that he refused to go to Avernusuntil he could make the journey in my service and at my heels.Ultimately it was agreed, however, that he should seek a temporarysituation--he was a man of many talents, and as handy in the stable asin a gentleman's dressing-room--and remain therein until I shouldrequire his services again. As it happened, I had sufficient readycash to pay him his wages, with an additional sum to compensate forthe brevity of his notice to quit a sorry service. He took the moneywithout surprise. It is surely a sign of good breeding to receiveone's due with no astonishment.

  "Can't you keep me on, sir?" he pleaded a last time, when I had provedby a gift of a pair of hunting boots (which were too small for me)that we really were about to part.

  "My good Loomer, I am going into service myself. I always said I couldblack a boot better than you."

  As I left the room I heard the worthy domestic mutter something about"pretty work," and "a Howard of Hopton," and made no doubt that heregretted less the fall of my ancestral dignity than the loss tohimself of a careless and easily robbed master. At all events I hadbeen under the impression that I possessed a fuller store of linenthan that which emerged from my travel-stained trunks when these wereunpacked later in the day in the Rue des Palmiers.

  As for that matter of ancestral dignity, it gave me no trouble. Such apossession comes, I think, to little harm while a man keeps it in hisown hands, and only falls to pieces when it gets into the grasp of abad woman. Have we not seen half a dozen, nay, a dozen, such debaclesin our own time? And I contend that the degenerate scion of a greathouse who goes to the wrong side of the footlights for his wife is acriminal, and deserves all that may befall him. I bade my friend, JohnTurner, farewell, he standing stoutly in his smoking-room afterluncheon, and prophesying a discouraging and darksome future for oneso headstrong.

  "You're going to the devil," he said, "though you think you arerunning after an angel."

  "I am going to earn my own livelihood," answered I, with a laugh,lighting the last excellent cigar I was to have from his box for sometime, "and make my idle ancestors turn in their graves. I am going todraw emoluments of not less than one hundred and fifty pounds perannum."

  I drove across the river with my simple baggage, and was in due courseinstalled in my apartments. With these there was no fault tofind--indeed, they were worthy of a better inmate. A large and airybedroom looking out over the garden where the foliage, as I have said,had none of the mournful sables worn by the trees in London. The roomwas beautifully furnished. Even one who knew more of saddles than ofBuhl and Empire could see that at a glance. Moreover, I noted thatevery ornament or handle of brass shone like gold.

  "Madame's eyes have been here," thought I; "the clever eyes."

  Adjacent to the bedroom was the study, which the Vicomte had pointedout as being assigned to his secretary--adjoining as it did the roomwhither he himself retired at times--not, as I suspected, to engage inany great labours there.

  While I was in my bedroom, the smart young Paris servant came in,looked carelessly at my trunks, and was for withdrawing, when Istopped him.

  "Is it the buckles you are afraid of?" I said. "Beware rather of thestrap."

  Therewith I threw my keys on the table before him and went into mystudy. When I revisited my room later I found everything neatly placedwithin the drawers and the empty trunks removed.

  There were upon my study table a number of books and papers, placedthere with such evident intention that I took cognizance of them,judging them to be the accounts rendered by the Vicomte's variousestates. So far as a cursory examination could prove it, I judged thatwe had to deal with but clumsy scoundrels, and in France in those daysscoundrels were of fine fleur, I can tell you, while every sort ofvillainy flourished there.

  I was engaged with these books when the Vicomte entered, afterknocking at the door. He referred to this courteous precaution by alittle gesture indicating the panel upon which his knuckle hadsounded.

  "You see," he said, "this room is yours. Let us begin as we intend togo on."

  If I was a queer secretary, here at all events was an uncommon master.

  We fell to work at once, and one or two questions requiring immediateinvestigation came under discussion. I told him my opinion of hisstewards; for I hated to see an old man so cheated. I lived, it willbe remembered, in a glass house, and naturally was forever reaching myhand towards a stone. The Vicomte laughed in his kindly way at what hewas pleased to term my high-handedness.

  "Mon Dieu!" he cried; "what a grasp of steel. But they will besurprised--the bourgeois. I have always been so tolerant. I have ruledby kindness."

  "He who rules by kindness is the slave of thieves," I answered,penning the letter we had decided to indite.

  The Vicomte laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

  "Well," he said, "so long as we begin as we intend to go on."

  Such in any case was the beginning, and this my introduction to theduties I had undertaken. They seemed simple enough, and especially soto one who was no novice at the administration of an estate. For myfather, in his softer moments--when, in fact, he had been brought torecognize that my vices were at least hereditary--had initiated meinto the working of a great landed holding.

  At seven o'clock we dined. Mademoiselle wore a white dress with abroad yellow ribbon round her girlish waist. Her sleeves--I suppose itwas the fashion of the period--were wide and flowing, and her arms andhands were those of a child.

  Madame de Clericy, I remember, did not talk much, saying little more,indeed, than such polite words as her position of hostess renderednecessary. The burden of the conversation rested chiefly with her agedhusband, who sustained it simply and cheerily. His chief aim at this,and indeed at all times, seemed to be to establish an agreeable andmutual ease. I have seldom seen in a man, and especially in an oldman, such consideration for the feelings of others.

  Lucille's clear laugh was ever ready to welcome some littlepleasantry, and she joined occasionally in the talk. I listened moreto the voice than to the words. Her gay humour found somethinglaughable in remarks that sounded grave enough, and I suddenly felt ahundred years old. As she walked demurely into the dining-room on herfather's arm, I thought in truth that she would rather have skippedand run thither.

  During dinner mention was made of the Baron Giraud, and I learnt thatthat financier was among the Vicomte's friends. The name was not newto me, although the Baron's personality was unknown.

  The Baron was one of the mushrooms of that day--a nobleman of finance,a true product of Paris, highly respected and honoured there. JohnTurner knew him well, and was ponderously silent respecting him.

  "But why," asked Lucille, when her father had delivered a littleoration in favour of the rich man, "does Monsieur Giraud dye hishair?"

  There was a little laugh and a silence at this display of naivewisdom. Then it was Madame who spoke.

  "No doubt he feels himself unworthy to wear it white," she said,rising from the table.


  I was given to understand that the remainder of the evening was myown, and the Vicomte himself showed me the small staircase descendingfrom the passage between my study and his own, and presented me witha key to the door at the foot of it. This door, he explained, openedto a small passage running between the Rue des Palmiers and the RueCourte. It would serve me for egress and entry at any time withoutreference to the servants or disturbance to the house.

  "I would not give the key to the first comer," he added.

  I learnt later that he and I alone had access to the door of which theservants had no key, nor ever passed there. The same evening I availedmyself of my privilege and went to my club, where over a foolish gameof chance I won a year's salary.

  Such was the beginning of my career in the service of the Vicomte deClericy. During the weeks that followed I found that there was, infact, plenty for me to do were the estates to be properly worked--tobe administered as we Englishmen are called upon to treat our propertyto-day, that is to say, like a sponge, to be squeezed to its lastdrop. I soon discovered that the Vicomte was in the hands ofold-fashioned stewards, who, besides feathering their own nests, werenot making the best of the land. My conscience, it must be admitted,was at work again--and I had thought it finally vanquished.

  Here was I, admitted to the Hotel Clericy--welcomed in the familycircle, and trusted there in the immediate vicinity of and with dailyaccess to as innocent and trusting a soul as ever stepped from aFrench convent. I--a wolf who had not hitherto even troubled to covermy shaggy sides with a fleece. What could I do? Lucille was so gay, soconfiding, in a pretty girlish way which never altered as we came toknow each other better. Madame was so placid and easy-going--in herstout black silk dress, with her lace-work. Monsieur de Clericy gaveme his confidence so unreservedly--what could I do but lapse intovirtue? And I venture to think that many a blacker sheep than myselfwould have blanched in the midst of so pure a flock.

  One evening Madame asked me to join the family circle in thedrawing-room. The room was very pretty and homelike--quite unlike ourgrim drawing-room at Hopton, where my father never willingly set footsince its rightful owner had passed elsewhere. There were flowers inabundance--their scent filled the air--from the Var estate inProvence, which had been Madame's home and formed part of the _dot_she brought into the diminishing Clericy coffers. Two lampsilluminated the room rather dimly, and a pair of candles stood on thepiano.

  "YOU ARE SAD," SAID LUCILLE, WITH A LITTLE LAUGH, "WITHYOUR FACE IN YOUR HAND COMME CA."]

  Monsieur de Clericy played a game at bezique with Madame, who chuckleda good deal at her own mistakes with the cards, and then asked Lucillefor some music. The girl sat down at the piano, and there, to her ownaccompaniment, without the printed score, sang such songs of Provenceas tug at the heart strings, one knows not why. There seemed to be awail in the music--and in slurring, as it were, from one note to theother--a trick such Southern songs demand--I heard the tone I loved.

  Madame listened while she worked. The Vicomte dropped gently to sleep.I sat with my elbow on my knee and looked at the carpet. And when thevoice rose and fell, I knew that none other had the same message forme.

  "You are sad," said Lucille, with a little laugh, "with your face inyour hand, comme ca."

  And she imitated my position and expression with a merry toss of thehead. "Are you thinking of your sins?"

  "Yes, Mademoiselle," answered I, truthfully enough.

  Many evenings I passed thus in the peaceful family circle--and alwaysLucille sang those gaily sad little songs of Provence.

  The weeks slipped by, and the outer world was busy with great doings,while we in the Rue des Palmiers seemed to stand aside and watch theevents go past.

  The Emperor--than whom no greater man lived at the middle of thepresent century--was losing health, and, with that best of humangifts, his grasp over his fellowmen. The dogs were beginning tocollect--the dogs that are ever in readiness to fall on the strickenlion.

  I marvelled to discover how little the Vicomte interested himself inpolitics. One other discovery only did I make respecting my patron; Ifound that he loved money.

  My conscience, as I have said, was busy at this time, and the burdenof my deception began to weigh upon my mind as if I had been a mereschoolboy, and no man of the world. I might, however, have borne theburden easily enough if chance had not favoured the right.

  I was one morning writing in Monsieur de Clericy's study, when thedoor was impetuously thrown open and Lucille came running in. "Ah!"she said, stopping, "only you."

  "That is all, Mademoiselle."

  She was turning to go when on an impulse of the moment I called toher.

  "Mademoiselle!" She turned and slowly came back. With a little laughshe stood in front of me seated at the great table. She took up aquill pen, which I had laid aside a moment earlier, and played withit.

  "What are you writing?" she asked, looking down at the papers beforeme--"your own history?"

  As she spoke the pen escaped from her fingers and fell upon my papers,leaving ink stains there.

  "There," she cried, with a laugh of mock despair, "I have spoilt yourlife."

  "No; but you have altered its appearance," I answered. "Mademoiselle,I have something to say to you. When I came here I deceived yourfather. I told him that I was ruined--that my father had disownedme--that I was forced to earn my own livelihood. It was untrue--Ishall one day be as rich as your father."

  "Then why did you come here?" asked the girl, for a moment grave.

  "To be near you."

  And she broke into a laugh, shaking her head.

  "I saw you in the crowd at the Fete Napoleon--I heard your voice.There is no one in the world like you. I fell in love, Mademoiselle."

  Still she laughed, as if I were telling her an amusing story.

  "And it is useless," I pursued, somewhat bitterly, perhaps. "I am tooold?"

  There was a little mirror on the mantelpiece. She ran and fetched itand held it in front of my face.

  "Look," she cried merrily. "Yes, hundreds of years!"

  With a laugh and flying skirts she ran from the room.