(10)
Laurent, walking restlessly up and down by the chaise, saw them coming at length—Aymar and the woman who was all the world to him . . . and who must, by virtue of that distinction, be very specially set apart from any of her sex. She was also the cause of all that had come upon him; Laurent could almost wish that she knew it. And, plainly, she was also the lady of the Tuileries garden. As she came nearer, holding up her long habit, Laurent saw that she had a face that a man might die for—a man like Aymar, at all events. . . .
Then Aymar himself was saying, "Avoye, this is Monsieur le Comte de Courtomer, to whose care I owe my life," and Laurent had bowed over her hand. She gave him a charming smile, a little grave, and said, "That is too valuable a possession to us, Monsieur de Courtomer, to be paid for in mere thanks. I am glad that you are at least accompanying us to Sessignes." And while Laurent was answering rather confusedly that M. de la Rocheterie owed his life, on the contrary, to their good doctor, Aymar himself went off to give orders about the saddle-horses.
Directly he was out of earshot Mme de Villecresne came much closer. "Monsieur de Courtomer, his appearance has horrified me! For God's sake assure me that there is nothing which care cannot put right—no deadly injury, nothing irreparable!"
"Nothing, on my honour as a gentleman," replied Laurent earnestly. "He is very weak still, but that is all"—"save for mental torment," he added to himself, as Aymar, returning, announced that Eveno had gone off in search of his father, and that they could start.
It was soon blessedly plain to Laurent, as they drove along, that Mme de Villecresne had no intention of asking any awkward questions, either of or in front of L'Oiseleur. Whatever she had learnt in the cottage her love, at least, had suffered no hurt there. Despite her visible anxiety, there was a kind of submerged radiance about her which would have told anybody that. As for Aymar, he gave the impression of having been far away and of having incompletely returned. He said very little. But Laurent was not conscious, as he had expected, of being de trop in their company. The atmosphere of care and tenderness which Mme de Villecresne gradually diffused seemed to include him, too, and the perfectly unwarrantable bias which he cherished against her began to be shaken.
He could study her more at his leisure now. She had much the same colouring as Aymar, but otherwise the resemblance between them was not striking. Her hair, where the riding-hat showed it, was brighter than his, and her eyes were less unusual; they were grey . . . or violet? It was not till later that he noticed in her, too, that free and noble carriage of the head which was one of Aymar's most striking characteristics. But he did observe, as she talked to him, both the sweetness of her expression and the air of resolution which seemed somehow to reside in her little pointed chin.
They were at their journey's end before Laurent realized the fact, or had obtained that distant view of the château which he had promised himself. By that time Aymar's extreme fatigue was so impossible to disguise that his cousin decreed he should go straight to his room before seeing his grandmother, and she would present M. de Courtomer.
But these plans were disordered, directly they entered the hall, through the agency of the huge dog who first leapt upon his master with such an impact that he sent him staggering, and then set up so tremendous a paean of joy that the whole house seemed to reverberate with it. It was hardly surprising that, by the time quiet was restored, an old lady stood in a doorway, a little Dresden china image, saying, "Why has Sarrasin been allowed out of the stables? . . . Good God, is that—Aymar!"
L'Oiseleur dragged himself to kiss her hand. Laurent saw the delicate colour go completely from her face, and he guessed that nobody there existed for her at all in that moment save her grandson. She caught him by the wrist.
"Go up to your room at once!" she said with a catch of the breath. "Where is Anselme?"
"I have sent for him, Grand'mère," answered Mme de Villecresne. "Yes, Aymar is very tired."
"Tired!" ejaculated Mme de la Rocheterie.
"Is it not allowed, Grand'mère?" interposed Aymar with the best smile that he could muster. "However, I will go and rest a little, but first—Monsieur de Courtomer!"
Laurent came forward, still feeling that he had no existence. But there was nothing to complain of in the Vicomtesse de la Rocheterie's reception of him, for all that. She belonged to an age which had valued good breeding above anything else in the world . . . except the privilege of dispensing with it at will.