CHAPTER IV.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
Madame Raoul Palffy would, in all probability, have been intenselysurprised and entirely incredulous had any one informed her that herswas an irritating personality. But the fact remained. She was flagrantlycomplacent, and her placidity enraged one immeasurably, and goadednervous temperaments to the verge of frenzy. Tradespeople had been knownto grit their teeth and swear almost audibly at her, and at least twoguards upon the Metropolitain had lost their positions because herleisurely manner of locomotion had moved them irresistibly to breachesof the courteous treatment enjoined upon them by the General Manager'snotice to the public.
Madame Palffy was a large, florid person with a partiality for jet andcrimson velvet, and whose passing, much in the manner of a frigate underfull sail, was apt to be fatal to fragile ornaments standing unwarilytoo near to table-edges. About her there was always a suggestion ofimminent explosion, due to her chronic shortness of breath, the extremesnugness of her gowns, and the fashion in which her pudgy palms,unmercifully compressed into white gloves two sizes too small, crowdeddesperately out of the little ovals across which the top buttons yearnedtoward their proper holes. Harmoniously, her face was fat, and dappledall over with ruddy pink, with the eyes, nose, and mouth crowdedtogether in the centre, as if for sociability's sake, or in fear ofsliding off the smooth slopes of her cheeks and chin. Her hair, with itsvariety of puffs and curls, appeared to have been laid out by alandscape gardener.
As for Raoul Palffy, all that one was apt to remember about him was thefact that he had married a Miss Barrister of Worcester. He was ascompletely eclipsed by this injudicious proceeding as if he had beenelected Vice-President of the United States. He closely resembled a frogon the point of suffocation. With a loyalty worthy of a better cause, heimbibed vast quantities of the wine of his native Bordeaux, and becameeach year more shockingly apoplectic in appearance. Out of his wife'ssight, he swelled magnificently, like a red balloon, and, betweenignorance and exaggeration, was hardly on bowing terms with veracity: inher presence, he was another man. It was more than anything as if someone had taken a pin to the red balloon. As a natural result of theirrelative assertiveness, the couple moved, for the most part, not in theFrench society to which Monsieur Palffy's connections warranted theiraspiring, but in that of the Colony, where his wife's pretensions andher deplorable mismanipulation of her adopted tongue were lessconspicuously burlesque. After twenty years of Paris, Madame Palffystill said _nom de plume_ and _cafe noir_.
It was to renew acquaintance with parents so curiously contrasted thatMargery Palffy had returned from ten years of almost continuousresidence in the States. To say that she proved a surprise to them wouldbe to do but faint justice to the mental perturbation with which theysurveyed this tall, self-possessed young person, who was, in practicallyevery particular, a total stranger. Her father, with his characteristiclack of enterprise, had promptly given her up. He had neither thefaculty of rendering, nor that of inspiring, affection; and this hisdaughter seemed, from the very outset, to understand, and tacitly toaccept. They rarely met, except at dinner, and then with such adesperate lack of common interests as prevented any interchange ofconversation beyond the merest commonplaces. Madame Palffy, on thecontrary, made an earnest, if inept, attempt to fill, in her daughter'slife, a place which she had long since forfeited; and, to the best ofher ability, Margery strove to meet her half-way. But the gap made bytheir years of separation was now too wide to be effectually bridged.Madame Palffy was artificial from the summit of her elaborate _coiffure_to the tips of her inadequately ample shoes: her daughter, in everydetail of her sound and sensible make-up, was a convincing product ofall that is best, sincerest, and most wholesome in American education.The two could no more mix than oil and water. It was to Mrs. Carnby andher husband that Margery turned for sympathy, with an instantrecognition of qualities appealingly akin to her own: and these tworeceived her with open arms. For them, three months had sufficed torender Margery Palffy indispensable, and the same period served to proveto the girl, not only her need of friendship, but that here lay themeans of its satisfaction. As Madame Palffy complacently observed toMrs. Carnby.
"I think that Margery feels that there's no place like home."
And as Mrs. Carnby replied, with extreme relish:
"I'm sure of it. It must be a most comforting conviction!"
Margery Palffy, whose attitude toward the society to which she was acomparatively recent recruit was sufficiently indicated by her desire tobe called "Miss" instead of "Mademoiselle," was accustomed to reserveher Sunday afternoons for Mr. Carnby. They would go to the Bois, to walkand watch the driving, or take a _bateau mouche_ to Suresnes and return,or even slip out to Versailles or St. Germain. Jeremy was a man of smallenthusiasms, but he shared with his wife a profound affection, of thetype which is always pathetic in the childless, for this tall, slendergirl, as fresh and sweet as a ripe fig, grown on the family thistle ofthe Palffys. An impulse, which, in the light of its results, could onlybe regarded as an inspiration, had prompted Madame Palffy to send herdaughter, at the age of nine, to be educated in the States. A sound andrational school in Connecticut, and ten vacations in the superblyinvigorating air of the North Shore under the care of a sensiblyindulgent aunt, had forthwith performed a miracle. A thin, brown child,with an affected lisp, was now grown straight and tall, with an eye tomeasure a putt or a friend, a hand which knew the touch of a tiller anda rein, and a voice to win a dog, a child, or a man. Margery Palffy wasvery beautiful withal, with her russet-brown hair, her finely chiselledfeatures, and her confident smile. She impressed one immediately ashaving arranged her hair herself--by bunching it all up together, andthen giving it one inspirited twist which accomplished more than all thesystem in the world. Some one--not her mother!--knew what kind of gownshe ought to wear, but--what was more important--she knew how to wearit. One would have said that her eyes were by Helleu and her nose byGeorge du Maurier. Men looked to their hearts when her mouth was open,and to their consciences when it was closed--tight-closed! A laugh tomake them worship her, a frown to make them despise themselves, asuggestion that she was capable of giving all she would expect fromanother, a somewhat stronger suggestion that she would be apt to expecta considerable deal, very clean-cut, very sane, very good form--such wasMargery Palffy at what might be called her worst. As for Margery Palffyat her best, as yet even the most casual of Colony gossips had nevermore than hinted at a love-affair.
Madame Palffy having attended two church services, and observed withgratification that her new bonnet was far more imposing than thebonnets, old and new, of her fellow worshippers, had now sought theseclusion of her Empire boudoir. She was, above all things, consistent.In this sacred spot she ventured to lay aside her society manner, but,beyond this, she made no concessions to privacy. Her lounging-gown wouldhave been presentable at a garden-party, and she devoted five minutes torearranging her hair, before sinking massively upon the _chaise-longue_,and giving her thoughts free rein.
An unusually brilliant week had drawn to a close the evening before.Madame Palffy's dinner-table had groaned beneath its burden of silverand chiselled glass, and her box at "Louise" had presented to theauditorium such a background of white linen and vicuna as had sentpoisonous darts to the hearts of a dozen ambitious and observantmothers.
The reason was not far to seek. From the moment of her _debut_, twomonths before, Margery Palffy had been a tremendous success. Her beauty,her novelty, her shrewd wit and unfailing gaiety had swept through theColony as a sickle through corn. Madame Palffy smiled to herself as shereviewed the past few weeks. Her daughter's had been a name to conjurewith.
But, almost immediately, the smile became a sigh. Beneath hersatisfaction in Margery's triumph, the ambitious lady felt that therewas something lacking--and that something was a complete understandingof the girl herself. Since her return from the States, her mother hadbeen slowly and reluctantly forced to the conviction that there was thatin her nature which
it was beyond one's power to grasp, and her apparentfrankness and simplicity made the failure to read her doubly hard toanalyze. Her interest in life and the society world about her wasunquestionable. Fresh and unspoiled, she trod the social labyrinthundeviatingly, received the flatteries, even the open devotion, of halfa hundred men with caution, and remained--herself. And Madame Palffy, towhom social success was a guarantee of a status so little lower than theseraphim as to make the difference unworthy of consideration, lookedwith growing admiration upon that of her beautiful daughter, andtreasured every evidence thereof deep in her pompous heart. Thedifficulty lay in the fact that Margery impressed not only the world ingeneral by her dignity, but abashed her ambitious parent as well. MadamePalffy was content to have her daughter talk in parables, if she would,and be as impartial as justice itself, but afterwards, when the lightswere out and the guests had departed, she wanted the parables explainedand the preferences laid bare. And this was precisely the confidentialrelation which she had never been able to establish. In public shefigured naturally as Margery's confidant and mentor. In private she was,in reality, hardly nearer to her than was the newest of her newacquaintances.
In this state of affairs Madame Palffy distinctly perceived all theelements of a dilemma. As was naturally to be expected, her daughter hadno sooner been restored to her, than the ambitious lady's mind began towrestle with the problem of a suitable marriage--or "alliance," as shepreferred to think of it. To this intent, she had selected the Vicomtede Boussac, whom she was wont to call, for no apparent reason, "one ofher boys." Nothing was further from the Vicomte's intention than amarriage _a la mode_, imbued as he was with the national predilectionfor marriage _au mois_, but he had a habit--had De Boussac--ofdescribing himself as _enchante_ with whatsoever might be proposed tohim by one of the opposite sex. He was _enchante_ to meet Madame'sbeautiful daughter, _enchante_ to act as their escort on any and everyoccasion, _enchante_, above all, at Madame's disregard ofconventionality, whereby he was permitted to enjoy frequent_tete-a-tetes_ with Margery. But he had an eye for the boundary-line. Hesmiled with inimitable charm at Madame Palffy's transparent hints,derived considerable diversion from her daughter's society, and,throughout, behaved in a manner nothing short of exemplary. At the endof three months, during which Margery's _debut_ had come and gone, thewistful matchmaker was frankly in despair.
A beneficent Providence had begrudged Madame Palffy a very liberalallowance of diplomacy, and, this failing, she was now resolved upon adesperate move, nothing less than a complete revelation of her plans,and an appeal to Margery for confirmation of her hopes. Whenever sheconsidered this approaching ordeal, she seemed suddenly to lose acube-shaped section of her vital organs. Just now the sensation wasoppressive: for she had taken the decisive step that very morning, andrequested Margery to attend her at five o'clock; and, over there on themantel, the hands of her little ormolu clock were gallopinginconsiderately over the last quarter before the fatal hour. Even as sheglanced apprehensively at its face, the tinkle of the five strokes brokethe silence, and she had barely time to secure the lavender salts fromher dressing-table, when there came a tap at the door.
"_Entrez!_"
Margery had been walking, and with her entrance into the room came anindescribable suggestion of the open air. Her face was radiant, and theviolets at her belt, brought suddenly from the slight chill without intothe warmth of her mother's boudoir, seemed to heave a perfumed sigh ofrelief. The girl's brown eyes, aglow with youth and health, the proudpoise of her head, and her firm hands, ungloved and guiltless of rings,were all in marked contrast to the heavy woman throned upon the divan,and languidly sniffing at her salts. It was a confronting of nature andart, unmistakably to the latter's disadvantage. Somehow, thehopelessness of her self-appointed task was more than ever apparent tothe ambitious Madame Palffy.
"And where do you suppose I've been?" began Margery.
"Not to church, I know," said her mother. "I half expected to see you,but I was alone in the pew."
"No, not to church. Once a day is enough, surely. I've been with Mr.Carnby to the Jardin d'Acclimatation."
"Good gracious, my dear, what a plebeian expedition! What _were_ youdoing--visiting the _serres_?"
"Nothing half so dignified. We were at the menagerie, feeding themonkeys with gingernuts."
Madame Palffy simply gasped. There are some situations with which wordsare impotent to deal.
"Monkeys," continued Margery, "are adorable. They are sufficiently humanto be typical, and then there's the advantage that one can stare at themto one's heart's content, without being thought ill-mannered. I saw lotsof our friends--Mr. Radwalader, for instance, as vain as life and twiceas loquacious; and one haughty young creature who held himself aloof,despising the rest, and taking no pains to conceal it. That was Monsieurde Boussac. His manner was so unmistakable that I actually found myselfbowing, as our eyes met."
"Margery!"
"It's the solemn truth, mother; the Vicomte has a dual existence."
"But my dear child--the monkey-house! What _could_ Jeremy Carnby havebeen thinking of, to take you to such a place?"
"He didn't. I took him."
"But one never knows what one might catch there--typhoid--or--or fleas,my dear!"
Madame Palffy shuddered, and returned to her salts.
"Fleas, mother? I never thought of that possibility, but if I had, itwould only have been an added inducement. Never having met a flea, I amsure I should enjoy the experience. You know what somebody says?'Incomparably the bravest of all the creatures of God.' And, above allthings, I adore courage."
Here was an auspicious beginning to a serious conversation! In sheerdesperation, Madame Palffy assumed her society manner.
"Margery," she said, "you're quite old enough to take care of yourself;though, to speak frankly, you have a somewhat peculiar method of doingso. Let us abandon the monkeys for the present. I have something to sayto you. I--I--"
She hesitated for an instant, and then proceeded resolutely.
"I've been thinking of you a great deal, of late, and you must forgiveme if I speak unreservedly to you. It's because of my affection for you,and my deep interest in your welfare."
She did not see the slight contraction of her daughter's eyebrows, andit was well for her peace of mind that she did not. It argued ill for asympathetic reception of her carefully formulated appeal.
"I'm sure, my dear mother, that it's very far from my desire to resentanything you say. Why should I? Has any one a better right tospeak--er--unreservedly?"
"I've been more than proud of you always," continued Madame Palffy,"_more_ than proud, my dear. You've been a great comfort to me, and, ifI do say it, a wonderful success in the Colony. I remember no_debutante_ in ten years who has received so much attention, and thefact that it has not spoiled you shows how worthy of it all you are. Andnow," she added, with an uneasy smile, "for _la grande serieux_."
Again that curious drawing together of Miss Palffy's eyebrows.
"_Le grand serieux?_" she repeated. She detested feeling her way in thedark, and now groped dexterously for a clue. "That's usually taken tomean something quite alien to our present conversation."
"Not at all," said her mother, catching at this opening, "not at _all_alien, my dear. In fact, Margery, what I want to ask you is this.Er--have you ever thought of marrying?"
"Yes--often," said Margery promptly.
The two words were characteristic of their curious relations, as MadamePalffy realized, with a little inward sigh of despair. They answered herquestion fully, and they answered it not at all.
"You don't understand me, perhaps," she went on. "I mean, have you everseen--here in Paris, for instance--any particular man whom it has seemedto you you might--er--love? Now--there is De Boussac--"
"Ah!"
"Wait a moment, my dear. Let me finish. I'll not conceal from you thatit has been a dear wish of mine to see you married to him. I've knownhim since he was a baby. He's titled, rich, very talented
, and more thanmoderately good-looking. His position is irreproachable, and his familygoes straight back indefinitely."
She stopped nervously. The speech which she had mentally prepared,descriptive of De Boussac's desirability, had been some ten times thislength. In some fashion, Margery's eyes had shorn it of verbiage, andreduced it, as it were, to its lowest terms.
"But, my dear mother, this is the first inkling I've had of any suchidea. I can't imagine that Monsieur de Boussac has ever breathed a wordon the subject. Don't you think the first mention should come from him?I've no reason to suppose that he cares a straw for me."
"He does--I know he does," broke in Madame Palffy eagerly. "You're quitewrong in supposing he's never spoken of it. Remember, these things aremanaged differently over here. You have the American idea. In Paris onespeaks first to the girl's parents."
Margery shrugged her shoulders. A kind of instinct told her that shemust ask no questions if she would be told no lies.
"And there's another objection," she said. "I don't _want_ to marry him.He may have money, but money isn't everything. Indeed, it's entered verynear the foot of my list of the things to be desired in life. As toposition, my own is sufficiently good to make his immaterial. We go backindefinitely ourselves, you know; although, to be sure, I've found somethings in the family records which seemed to suggest that it might havebeen better not to have gone back so far. Last, but very far from least,I don't love him, and, in view of the fact that, if he really had theslightest feeling for me, I should, in all probability, have known of itlong ago, I must say, my dear mother, that your suggestion strikes me ashaving all the elements of a screaming farce."
At this point Madame Palffy applied a minute handkerchief to her eyes,and began to weep softly.
"How cruelly you speak!" she moaned, "and I--I meant it all for thebest."
Fortunately, Mrs. Carnby had never seen Madame Palffy cry. As it was,she imagined that nothing about that lady could be more irritating thanher smile. But Margery, under whose faultlessly-fitting jacket beat thetenderest and most considerate of hearts, was moved. She watched hermother in silence for a moment, and then went across to the divan, and,kneeling beside it, took Madame Palffy's available hand in hers.
"I did speak cruelly," she said, "and I'm sorry. Let me see if I can'tput it more considerately, so that you'll understand. Love is--hasalways been--to me the most sacred thing on earth. I've watched, asevery girl must watch, for its coming, believing that its touch wouldtransform all life. There can be, it seems to me, but one man in theworld able to do that, and I'm content to wait for him, without tryingto hurry the future, or aid fate or Providence, whichever it may be, inthe disposal of my heart. I've been glad all my life that we were notrich enough for our means to be an object. Of course, poverty has barredmany out from happiness, but it pleases me to think that when a manseeks me, there can be no doubt that it is for myself alone. Not onlythat, but I've hoped that he would be poor as well, and it's been mypride that, when I searched my heart, I found that wish deep within it,without affectation, without a hint of uncertainty. I'm old-fashioned, Isuppose, and out of touch with the times, but I hold the faith that wasbefore riches or social position came into the world--I hold to love,the love of a strong man for a pure woman, the love of a good woman foran honest man! Let me but start honestly, with no motive that I amashamed to tell, no thought governing my action save reverence for thosethree great responsibilities--love, marriage, and motherhood, and I haveno fear of what may come."
As the girl was speaking, Madame Palffy's sobs grew fainter, and finallyshe forgot to dab at her eyes with the morsel of lace. She wasinterested.
"It's this great reverence which I have for love," continued Margery,"that prompted me to answer impatiently when you spoke of Monsieur deBoussac. You didn't mean to hurt me, of course: I know that. But, to me,it was as if you'd torn away the veil before my holy of holies, and castout the image I had cherished there, and were thrusting a grinninggolden idol in its place. I want love to come into my life freely--notto be invited to dinner, and announced by the butler. There will be noquestion in my mind when it has really come, no measuring of the manwith a yardstick. I shall feel that he is for me, even before he asks meto be his. Above all, the question must come from his lips, and theanswer be for his ears alone. No man loving me as I would be loved wouldbe content to employ an ambassador."
Here Madame Palffy came to herself, and moaned again.
"I don't mean to reproach you, mother. I believe, and I'm very glad tobelieve, that you've always had my happiness in view. But, in the natureof things, there are many points upon which our ideas are bound todiffer, and this is one. You thought it best that I should be educatedin America, and you mustn't be surprised to find me American as aresult. Look back. Do you realize that I've not spent six full months inParis since I was a little girl? Now that I've come back to you, I can'treadjust all my ideas in a moment. I want to please you, dear, in anyway I can, but I'm an American all through, and you--well, perhapsyou're more French than you realize, yourself. We must try to growtogether, but in many ways it will not be easy. We must be patient witheach other, dear."
"I see what you mean," said Madame Palffy mournfully. "We're as farapart as the poles."
"Not quite that, I think," answered Margery, with a smile, "but, in somerespects, three thousand miles. Let us try to remember that: it willmake things easier."
"It's a terrible disappointment to me," came lugubriously from thehandkerchief.
"I'm sorry," answered Margery, "very sorry. But I'm sure that I couldnever love Monsieur de Boussac, and sure that I could never even believein his love unless he himself should tell me of it. I think weunderstand each other now, mother. If I'd had any idea of this before, Imight have spared you this talk. But, painful as it has been, it has, atall events, brought us nearer together. Don't let us speak of itagain."
Then Madame Palffy unaccountably touched her zenith.
"No," she agreed, rising majestically from the divan, "no, we'll notspeak of it again. It must make no change between us. I love you verydearly, Margery, and I wish I could have seen you his wife, but if itcannot be, that's all there is to it. Let's dress for dinner, my dear,"and, bending over, she kissed the air affectionately, a half-inch fromher daughter's cheek. "You're a strange girl," she added, "and I don'tpretend to understand you. But choose your own husband. I shall like himfor your sake."
As Margery left the room, Madame Palffy turned to the mirror, andsurveyed with a sigh the ravages which this emotional half-hour had madein her appearance. For the three following days she was a mute martyr,and relished the _role_ immeasurably.
Margery, dressing for dinner, hummed softly to herself, smiling as noone of her Paris friends had ever seen her smile.
"'Ah, Moon of my Delight, that knows no wane, The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again'"--
Andrew Vane had played an accompaniment to that a hundred times, in heraunt's big shore house at Beverly.