And for a moment longer his head remained bowed on her hand, while she looked down at it to imprint for ever in her mind all that she could see of him, till she felt that she could remember to eternity every rippling strand of his dark-brown hair, the dull black ribbon that tied it, the tiny curl by his ear, and the strong, delicate hand, emerging from the coarse and ruffleless sleeve, that had clenched itself on the other arm of the chair. But before she had made an end of gazing he got up from his knees, and, without a word, without a backward look, walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.
CHAPTER XVII
COMEDY OF A BURNT LETTER
When Gilbert stood a moment in the street watching the fiacre bearing Louis rapidly away from him, his first feeling was one of violent and unrestrained anger against the impulse which had placed him there. But there was no time to indulge in this emotion. Why the devil, he asked himself, had he not, on his discovery, told the driver to drive straight to the Mairie? Cursing himself, he hailed another fiacre, and set off at a tearing pace in that direction. Fortunately the mistake was soon rectified, and he found himself before long in the courtyard of the Hôtel de la Séguinière. Here a great bustle was in progress. The post-chaise was, rather to Gilbert’s surprise, already there. It would have been quite simple, under the circumstances, to walk in unannounced, but because it might have looked as if he intended spying on his cousin, Château-Foix would not do it. He was therefore preceded up the staircase by a flurried domestic.
At the top of the first flight he came on Louis, standing with his back to a door, and having very much the appearance of supporting himself by the lintel. The light was not good, but no great amount of illumination was required to emphasise the fact that he was extremely pale. He moved aside at once.
“I began to wonder if you were coming,” he said very quietly. “Lucienne is in here waiting for you. I am afraid that you will find her rather distressed.”
Gilbert looked him full in the face. “I expected as much,” he said, equally quietly, and went in.
As for Louis, he went slowly away to the far end of the landing, and sitting down on a couch in the corner buried his face in his hands. He had not, however, remained more than a minute or two in this posture when he sprang hastily up. Madame Gaumont was rustling down the staircase from the floor above.
“Is that you, Monsieur le Vicomte? Is Monsieur le Marquis here? Such a to-do; we must start at once. There was a mistake about the tide, and we shall not catch the packet unless we go immediately. Is Monsieur le Marquis with Mademoiselle? I don’t like to burst in on them. Will you go?”
“I, Madame!” exclaimed Louis with a bitter little laugh. “God forbid!”
Even in her hurry Madame Gaumont looked at him curiously for a second, and seemed about to say something unconnected with travelling arrangements. Then she thought better of it, and entered the room.