Nobody's Girl

  CHAPTER XXVI

  PAINFUL ARGUMENTS

  After the talk his mother had had with Perrine, Casimir, by his looksand manner, gave her every opportunity to confide in him. But she had nointention of telling him about the researches that his uncle was havingmade both in India and in England. True, they had no positive news ofthe exile; it was all vague and contradictory, but the blind man stillhoped on. He left no stone unturned to find his beloved son.

  Mme. Bretoneux's advice had some good effect. Until then Perrine had nottaken the liberty of having the hood of the phaeton pulled up, if shethought the day was chilly, nor had she dared advise M. Vulfran to puton an overcoat nor suggest that he have a scarf around his neck; neitherdid she dare close the window in the study if the evening was too cool,but from the moment that Mme. Bretoneux had warned her that the dampmists and rain would be bad for him she put aside all timidity.

  Now, no matter what the weather was like, she never got into thecarriage without looking to see that his overcoat was in its place and asilk scarf in the pocket; if a slight breeze came up she put the scarfaround his neck or helped him into his coat. If a drop of rain began tofall she stopped at once and put up the hood. When she first walked outwith him, she had gone her usual pace and he had followed without a wordof complaint. But now that she realized that a brisk walk hurt him andusually made him cough or breathe with difficulty, she walked slowly; inevery way she devised means of going about their usual day's routine sothat he should feel the least fatigue possible.

  Day by day the blind man's affection for little Perrine grew. He wasnever effusive, but one day while she was carefully attending to hiswants he told her that she was like a little daughter to him. She wastouched. She took his hand and kissed it.

  "Yes," he said, "you are a good girl." Putting his hand on her head, headded: "Even when my son returns you shall not leave us; he will begrateful to you for what you are to me."

  "I am so little, and I want to be so much," she said.

  "I will tell him what you have been," said the blind man, "and besideshe will see for himself; for my son has a good kind heart."

  HE TOLD HER THAT SHE WAS LIKE A LITTLE DAUGHTER TO HIM.]

  Often he would speak in these terms, and Perrine always wanted to askhim how, if these were his sentiments, he could have been so unforgivingand severe with him, but every time she tried to speak the words wouldnot come, for her throat was closed with emotion. It was a seriousmatter for her to broach such a subject, but on that particular eveningshe felt encouraged by what had happened. There could not have been amore opportune moment; she was alone with him in his study where no onecame unless summoned. She was seated near him under the lamplight. Oughtshe to hesitate longer?

  She thought not.

  "Do you mind," she said, in a little trembling voice, "if I ask yousomething that I do not understand? I think of it all the time, and yetI have been afraid to speak."

  "Speak out," he said.

  "What I cannot understand," she said timidly, "is that loving your sonas you do, you could be parted from him."

  "It is because you are so young you do not understand," he said, "thatthere is duty as well as love. As a father, it was my duty to send himaway; that was to teach him a lesson. I had to show him that my will wasstronger than his. That is why I sent him to India where I intended tokeep him but a short while. I gave him a position befitting my son andheir. He was the representative of my house. Did I know that he wouldmarry that miserable creature? He was mad!"

  "But Father Fields said that she was not a miserable creature," insistedPerrine.

  "She was or she would not have contracted a marriage that was not validin France," retorted the blind man, "and I will not recognize her as mydaughter."

  He said this in a tone that made Perrine feel suddenly cold. Then hecontinued abruptly: "You wonder why I am trying to get my son back now,if I did not want him back after he had married. Things have changed.Conditions are not the same now as then. After fourteen years of thisso-called marriage my son ought to be tired of this woman and of themiserable life that he has been forced to live on account of her.Besides conditions for me have also changed. My health is not what itwas, and I am blind. I cannot recover my sight unless I am operated uponand I must be in a calm state favorable to the success of thisoperation. When my son learns this do you think he will hesitate toleave this woman? I am willing to support her and her daughter also. Iam sure many times he has thought of Maraucourt and wanted to return. IfI love him I know that he also loves me. When he learns the truth hewill come back at once, you will see."

  "Then he would have to leave his wife and daughter?"

  "He has no wife nor has he a daughter," said the old man sternly.

  "Father Fields says that he was married at the Mission House by FatherLeclerc," said Perrine.

  "This marriage was contracted contrary to the French law," said M.Vulfran.

  "But was it not lawful in India?" asked Perrine.

  "I will have it annulled in Rome," said the blind man.

  "But the daughter?"

  "The law would not recognize that child."

  "Is the law everything?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that it is not the law that makes one love or not love one'sparents or children. It was not the law that made me love my poorfather. I loved him because he was good and kind and he loved me. I washappy when he kissed me, and smiled at me. I loved him and there wasnothing that I liked better than to be with him. He loved me because Iwas his little girl and needed his affection; he loved me because heknew that I loved him with all my heart. The law had nothing to do withthat. I did not ask if it was the law that made him my father. It wasour love that made us so much to each other."

  "What are you driving at?" asked M. Vulfran.

  "I beg your pardon if I have said anything I should not say, but I speakas I think and as I feel."

  "And that is why I am listening to you," said the blind man; "what yousay is not quite reasonable, but you speak as a good girl would."

  "Well, sir, what I am trying to say is this," said Perrine boldly; "ifyou love your son and want to have him back with you, he also loves hisdaughter and wants to have her with him."

  "He should not hesitate between his father and his daughter," said theold man; "besides, if the marriage is annulled, she will be nothing tohim. He could soon marry that woman off again with the dowry that Iwould give her. Everything is changed since he went away. My fortune ismuch larger.... He will have riches, honor and position. Surely it isn'ta little half-caste that can keep him back."

  "Perhaps she is not so dreadful as you imagine," said Perrine.

  "A Hindu."

  "In the books that I read to you it says that the Hindus are morebeautiful than the Europeans," said Perrine.

  "Travelers' exaggerations," said the old man scoffingly.

  "They have graceful figures, faces of pure oval, deep eyes with a proudlook. They are patient, courageous, industrious; they are studious...."

  "You have a memory!"

  "One should always remember what one reads, should not one?" askedPerrine. "It does not seem that the Hindu is such a horrible creature asyou say."

  "Well, what does all that matter to me as I do not know her?"

  "But if you knew her you might perhaps get interested in her and learnto love her."

  "Never! I can't bear to think of her and her mother!..."

  "But if you knew her you might not feel so angry towards her."

  He clenched his fist as though unable to control his fury, but he didnot stop her.

  "I don't suppose that she is at all like you suppose," said Perrine;"Father Fields is a good priest and he would not say what was not true,and he says that her mother was good and kind and a lady...."

  "He never knew her; it is hearsay."

  "But it seems that everyone holds this opinion. If she came to yourhouse would you not be as kind to her as you have been to me, ... astranger?"
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  "Don't say anything against yourself."

  "I do not speak for or against myself, but what I ask is for justice. Iknow if that daughter, your granddaughter, came here she would love youwith all her heart."

  She clasped her hands together and looked up at him as though he couldsee her; her voice shook with emotion.

  "Wouldn't you like to be loved by your granddaughter?" she askedpleadingly.

  The blind man rose impatiently.

  "I tell you she can never be anything to me," he cried. "I hate her as Ihate her mother. The woman took my son from me and she keeps him fromme. If she had not bewitched him he would have been back long beforethis. She has been everything to him while I, his father, have beennothing."

  He strode back and forth, carried away with his anger. She had neverseen him like this. Suddenly he stopped before her.

  "Go to your room," he said almost harshly, "and never speak of thosecreatures to me again; besides, what right have you to mix up in this?Who told you to speak to me in such a manner?"

  For a moment she was dumbfounded, then she said:

  "Oh, no one, sir, I assure you. I just put myself into your littlegranddaughter's place, that is all."

  He softened somewhat, but he continued still in a severe voice: "In thefuture do not speak on this subject; you see it is painful for me andyou must not annoy me."

  "I beg your pardon," she said, her voice full of tears; "certainly Iought not to have spoken so."