“What an anti-climax, eh, my good Marcelle,” she said with cool sarcasm. “See what a fool you were to make such a scene. While you spouted heroics at me about pistols and suicide, the boy was comfortably asleep. When he wakes,” she added lightly, “send him to me, and you may chaperon him if you like. I do not see a tragedy in this sleeping prince.”

With that she went: and Nicolette ran into the next room. The Comtesse Marcelle was on the verge of a collapse. Nicolette contrived to undress her and put her to bed. Bertrand did not stir. He had drunk a couple of glasses of wine and eaten some of the cake, then apparently his head had fallen forward over his arms, and leaning right across the table he had fallen asleep. The sound of voices had not roused him. He was so tired, so tired! Nicolette, while she looked after Marcelle, was longing to undo Bertrand’s heavy boots, and place a cushion for his head, and make him lean back in his chair. This was such an uncomfortable, lonely house, lonely for every one except old Madame, who had Pérone to look after her. Marcelle and poor little Micheline looked after themselves, and Bertrand only had old Jasmin. During Mlle. de Peyron-Bompar’s visit last May, some extra servants had been got in to make a show. They had been put into smart liveries for the time being, but had since gone away again. It was all a very dreary homecoming for Tan-tan, and Nicolette, who longed to look after his creature comforts, was forced to go away before she could do anything for him.

Marcelle de Ventadour kissed and thanked her. She assured her that she felt well and strong. Pérone, though dour and repellent, would come and see to her presently, and Micheline slept in a room close by. Between them they would look after Bertrand when he woke from this long sleep. The supper ordered for two was still there. Jasmin would see to it that Bertrand had all that he wanted.

A little reassured, Nicolette went away at last, promising to come again the next day. Micheline accompanied her as far as the main door: the girl had said absolutely nothing during the long and painful scene which had put before her so grim a picture of the past: she was so self-centred, so reserved, that not even to Nicolette did she reveal what she had felt: only she clung more closely than even before to the friend whom she loved: and when the two girls finally said “good night” to one another they remained for a long time clasped in one another’s arms.

“Bertrand will be all right now,” Nicolette whispered in the end, “I don’t think old Madame will want to see him, and he is so tired that he will not even think. But do not leave him too much alone, Micheline. Promise!”

And Micheline promised.

CHAPTER XI
GREY DAWN

Strange that it should all have happened in the grey dawn of a cold winter’s morning. Nicolette, when she came home afterwards and thought it all out, marvelled whether the grey sky, the muffled cadence of the trees, the mysterious pallidity of the woods were a portent of the future. And yet if it had to be done all over again, she would not have acted differently, and minute by minute, hour by hour, it seemed as if destiny had guided her—or God’s hand, perhaps! Oh, surely it was God’s hand.

She rose early because she had passed a restless, miserable night, also her head ached and she longed for fresh air. It was still dark, but Margaï was astir, and a bright fire was blazing in the kitchen when Nicolette came down. She was not hungry, but to please Margaï she drank some warm milk and ate the home-made bread, and when the cold morning light first peeped in through the open window, she set out for a walk.

She went down the terraced gradients into the valley, and turned to wander up the river bank, keeping her shawl closely wrapped around her shoulders, as it was very cold. The Lèze, swelled by the early winter’s rains, tossed and tumbled in its bed with fretful turbulence. The snow lay deep in untidy little heaps in all sorts of unexpected nooks and crannies, but the smooth surfaces of the boulders were shiny with dewy frost and the blades of the rough grass were heavy with moisture.