A Diplomatic Woman Part 12

"The nearest is twenty kilometres away: we are far from civilization at Lecrese; you cannot wait until they return."

"And the nearest village?"

"Five kilometres."

I gazed around in some perplexity up to the sky, where the rosy tints were fading from the fleecy clouds, and then back into his face for inspiration. "If you are riding that way," I said, "I will ask you to send me a carriage from there."

He laughed a merry, good-tempered laugh, as though a child had asked for the moon, and again reminded me of our distance from civilization.

"Can you walk five kilometres?" he asked, with such a serious look upon his face that I smiled with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Of course," I answered; "do you take me for an old woman?"

"No," he cried, with boyish emphasis; "only I thought, perhaps--"

"Perhaps I was one of those poor creatures to whom exertion is purgatory. Show me the road, please."

"It is the one I am taking myself."

"Which, although an interesting announcement, scarcely suffices to indicate the direction," I murmured.

"I mean, if you will permit, we will walk together."

"For the moment, at least," I cried, "circ.u.mstances have made the highway our joint property: then let us share companions.h.i.+p for mutual benefit;" and I drew my cloak about my shoulders, while he, laughing a strange little laugh, as though he scarcely understood me, swung his horse's bridle on his arm, and we strolled along together.

What need to recount what happened upon that walk, for have I not said that it was a dangerous place for a foolish youth and a designing woman?

What need either to speak of other days when we met by chance again, and I saw a glow of pleasure in his face; what need to speak of his moments of gloom, when, even as we talked, the light went out of his eyes; and I, who have felt the pulse of love so often that I know its every beat, told myself that he was wondering how he was to break with the other woman, the one whom I had never met.

And I, too, felt ill at ease; the country is so different from the capital. In the life that I had lived, to-night's dangerous _tete-a-tete_ was forgotten in the rush of to-morrow's engagements, but here it was different; I yearned for finality, and a release from a position that was becoming embarra.s.sing.

Deprived of the company of my cavalier, I walked alone in the woods of Lecrese, priding myself that victory was mine, and in yet a few days I might say to him that I journeyed to Paris in full confidence that he would follow me.

Then, in the silence of the sultry afternoon, I heard his voice, and another in reply, that told me that if I chose to play the eavesdropper I might behold my rival, the actress; and I did choose, because I was upon a diplomatic mission, and--because I am a woman.

Through a cl.u.s.ter of bushes I gently forced my way, sighing as a jealous thorn caught me and ripped a strip from my silken mantle; and then, drawing the branches upon one side, I looked into the glade, where she was resting upon the trunk of a fallen tree. He sat by her side--and--angels defend us!--held her hand.

Though it be against my desires, the truth is the truth. She was not painted, neither was she old, or even plain, and, worst of all, as she sat listening to him there was a look upon her face that spoke faithfully to me that she loved him.

And he looked back at her with the reflection of the same light within his eyes.

Yet, what a clever little adventuress she was. I laughed scornfully to myself as they continued their conversation.

"What are these distinctions that the world calls difference of cla.s.s?"

she said, in a thoughtful voice. "Who has ordained that this man and that woman shall marry because they are on the same social scale?"

"Why talk of such things?" he answered. "How can it affect us? I am a poor student--"

"And I a poorer girl," she interrupted, "on a visit all too brief."

"On a visit that must last forever. I wors.h.i.+p you, and you love me."

"I have not said so," she murmured, so softly that I could scarcely catch the words.

"Your eyes have told me; you will not sacrifice our love."

"Oh, if I were only a man," she said, placing both hands upon his shoulders.

"What, then, my love?" and he would have embraced her.

"Nothing," she answered, and the look in her eyes restrained him. "Let us go."

They pa.s.sed on together, and I could not but smile at the manner in which the wretched little flirt pretended to keep him from her, and yet with every action strengthened the chain that bound him.

Then as they moved onward I discreetly followed, for I had fixed in my mind that I would spoil this rustic love-making, and show her that I knew her for what she was.

Not a poor girl, as she was pleased to term herself, but a common actress from some booth of Montmartre, a skilled adventuress, who had set herself to delude a foolish boy, knowing what was to be gained thereby. And in truth he was a foolish boy, a most annoying one, a most deceitful one, for I had made no progress when I had counted all was won.

He left her at the gate of a tiny cottage, and, as soon as the bend in the road had hidden him from view, I walked through the garden, and, lifting the latch, boldly entered.

Mademoiselle had removed her hat, and stood resting her head against the latticed window, gazing up the path that he had taken.

She turned as I entered, and stood looking towards me, and yet not with so very much wonderment, for suddenly she broke into a smile.

"You have entered to rest a while," she said. "You are welcome; we are not altogether strangers, for I have heard so much of you."

"Heard of me?" I queried, rather sharply, for this girl seemed to have the manners of such as myself.

"Certainly," she replied, still smiling; "you are the _grand dame_ whose carriage broke down, and who is so charmed with the rustic delights of Lecrese that she prolongs her stay indefinitely," and there was a tinge of becoming satire in her voice.

"How do you know that?"

"You are the only one who would walk in the woods in a costume fit only for driving in the Bois de Boulogne," she answered, and I flushed with annoyance, for she looked so cool, while I was hot with the glowing of the sun and the burning of my temper.

"We cannot all pretend to rustic innocence, mademoiselle."

"Nor succeed, if we did, madame," she retorted, and then the flash of anger left her face. "You will forgive me," she cried, taking my hand.

"I forget myself; you will rest and take tea with me."

I would have bargained my soul for a cup of tea, but I ignored the offer, and continued, "I have come to speak with you on a matter of importance."

"Be seated," she answered, coldly, and she, too, sat and waited.

She plagued me because of her calmness and dignity, the air of superiority she a.s.sumed towards me.

"Don't you think this farce has been played long enough, mademoiselle?"

I asked, scornfully, and she merely raised her eyebrows, and maintained her unruffled composure.