Chapter XIV

Le Gautier followed the footman into the drawing-room, where Enid was engaged with some visitors—three tall showy-looking girls, with an extremely vivacious mother. Le Gautier stood looking out of one of the windows, and noticed with satisfaction their intention of a speedy exit. For some moments the visitors remained chattering, and then, after a profusion of compliments, accompanied by much laughter, their voluminous skirts were heard switching down the broad staircase. It has often been a matter of speculation as to whether a man can be in love with two women at the same time; but without going into this delicate question, it is possible to imagine a man with a penchant for two women, though the experiment probably would be attended with great hazard and danger. Le Gautier forgot the dark-eyed Marie, as he gazed upon Enid’s fairer charms.

‘You have heard nothing of Maxwell?’ he asked after a pause in the desultory conversation. ‘A strange thing he does not write. Many men would imagine that such a thing is not altogether an accident; there are occasions when a little absence from the gaze of man is desirable, Miss Charteris.’

‘Many men, as usual, would be wrong,’ Enid answered coldly. ‘You should not shield your want of charity by these generalities, Monsieur le Gautier, though perhaps you have derived benefit from these absences yourself, you seem to understand the subject so thoroughly.’

Enid was angry at his cool insolence, and replied to his want of taste by a little plain language herself; and her random shaft went home.

‘You are severe; but really, while sorry for Maxwell, there is something in it which is comforting to me. Can you not guess what I mean?’

Enid Charteris, though guileless and pure as woman can be, had not mixed with the great world for nothing. She had had suitors enough to know what a proposal was, and above all things she dreaded one from this man. Some instinct told her he would be a dangerous enemy. ‘You speak in riddles,’ she said calmly. ‘I have not been educated to the language of diplomacy. Pray, explain yourself.’

‘Then I must be more explicit. Maxwell’s absence rids me of a dangerous rival. Now he is away, the path is all the smoother for me. Need I tell you, Miss Charteris—Enid—that I love you? Surely you must have known that for a long time past. While another was in the way, I sealed my lips; but I can restrain myself no longer now.’

‘It would be affectation not to understand you,’ Enid replied with a calmness that boded ill for Le Gautier’s success. ‘I am sorry to hear it. If you are wise, you will not put me to the pain of a refusal.’

‘I will take no refusal,’ Le Gautier burst out passionately; ‘for I swear that if you are not mine, you shall wed no other man. Enid, you must, you shall be mine! You may look upon me coldly now, but the time will come when you shall love me well enough.’

‘The time will come when I shall—love—you?’ The bitter scorn in these words stung Le Gautier to madness, stirring up a desperate passion in his veins, now that the prize seemed like slipping from his grasp. He fell at her feet on his knees. ‘Hear me!’ he exclaimed passionately—‘only listen to me, Enid. I have vowed that you are the only woman I have chosen—the only girl I could really love. Such love as mine must win a return some day; only try; only give me a little chance of hope.’

‘If you are a man, you will rise from that absurd position. Who am I, that you should kneel to me? You must take my word for it; and if you have any consideration for my feelings, you will change the subject.’

‘And this is your absolute and final decision?’

‘Yes, it is my absolute and final decision.’

Le Gautier rose to his feet, pale but smiling, and there was a darkly evil look upon his white set face. When he spoke again his words were cold and incisive. ‘Consider, before you wilfully make an enemy of me.’ He uttered the words with a low sibilation. ‘I have made you an offer—the highest compliment I could pay, and you have scornfully rejected it. The next favour you ask from me you may seek for on your knees.’

‘And to what purpose, sir, shall _I_ ask a favour from _you_?’

‘For your father,’ Le Gautier answered quietly, though his tones were deep and earnest. ‘You have guessed that Maxwell has gone away on a dangerous mission. Why should not Sir Geoffrey be chosen in his turn? And if so, who can save him? I, Hector le Gautier, and no other man.’

‘And by whose evil counsel has my poor father been dragged into your infamous Brotherhood?—By yours alone! He would be a happy man now, if he had never known you’——

‘On the contrary,’ Le Gautier interrupted, ‘I tried to save him. He has joined on his own wish. You do not credit my words. Go and ask him now if my words are not true, and that, if it is not his dearest wish that you should become my wife.’

‘He might think so,’ Enid answered haughtily; ‘but he does not wish it in his heart. Monsieur le Gautier, if you are a gentleman, you will cease this discussion. The subject is painful to me.’ She stood there, looking at him coldly and scornfully.

But her very iciness only served to increase the warmth of his passion. ‘I cannot!’ he exclaimed. ‘I will not cease! For five years, ever since I first met you at Rome, I have never ceased to love you. Bid me do anything in reason; ask me any favour; but to forget you is impossible!’

‘I am sorry for you,’ Enid said gently, touched a little by the ring of genuine passion in his voice—‘I am sorry; but it cannot be. I do not break my pledges so lightly, even if I wished to do so.’

‘Which you do not,’ Le Gautier bitterly remarked. ‘I do not care. I am desperate now. You despise and scorn me; but I will not be rejected thus. If you will not be my wife for my sake, you must for your father’s and the honour of your house.’ He stopped abruptly, for standing in the room was Sir Geoffrey, his face pale, and his whole aspect downcast and degraded to a pitiable degree.

Enid turned to her father eagerly. ‘Did you hear these words?’ she asked. ‘Can it be possible that you—that I—that the honour of our house is in any man’s hands? Can it be your wish, father, that I—I—should form an alliance with Monsieur le Gautier? Speak, and show him how mistaken he can be!’

But Sir Geoffrey never spoke. His head sank lower upon his breast. For the first time, he realised the sacrifice he had imposed upon his daughter, and so he stood there, an English gentleman no longer, but a poor enfeebled, shamefaced old man.

A wild feeling of alarm took possession of Enid as she saw this thing. ‘Why do you not speak?’ she demanded. ‘What cause have you to hesitate in indorsing my words?’

Still the baronet never spoke, never raised his head.

Enid ran swiftly to his side and threw one arm round his shoulder. She could feel the spasm that struck him as he encountered her touch. ‘Father,’ she asked in a dull even voice, ‘does your silence mean that he is right?’

‘Yes, my dear child; he is right. There is no alternative.’

There is a providence which helps us in such times as these, a numbness of the senses that for a time deadens pain. Enid’s voice was very calm as she turned to Le Gautier, standing there trying to disguise his triumph. ‘I do not know what all this means,’ she said. ‘I do not understand whence you derive your power. I cannot think now. For his sake,’ she continued, pointing to her father, ‘I consent.’

Le Gautier sprang forward; but she repelled him with a glance.

‘Listen to my conditions,’ she continued. ‘I have said I consent; but I warn you that if there is any loophole for escape from you, I shall take it. You are going away, you say. Nothing must be done till your return, and then the contract shall be fulfilled. Now, go.’

When Lucrece entered the room a few moments later, she found her mistress lying unconscious upon the floor. Looking out of the window, she saw the slim figure of Le Gautier disappearing in the distance, and smiled. He was smiling, too, as he walked away. Nothing remained now but only the final interview with Marie, and to regain possession of the lost moidore. A few weeks at Warsaw, and then——