The Wounded Name

by D. K. Broster

(5)

Mme de Morsan's start of surprise when she saw Aymar, her shocked "Mon cousin, how ill you look!" which pleased the "cousin" in question not at all, her raising of the eyebrows and her surveying of Avoye de Villecresne, presumably because she had the temerity not to be wearing mourning, were the first impressions which Laurent gathered at this his second encounter with the fair traveller, who was graciously pleased, for her part, to assert a vivid remembrance of their first meeting, and of their conversation. Later, at supper, she was pretty well occupied in answering Mme de la Rocheterie's questions about her own doings during the twelve months or so which had passed since the Vicomtesse and her nephew's widow had met. Laurent could easily see that Mme de la Rocheterie had a penchant for this lively, free-spoken, handsome kinswoman, but that Mme de Villecresne did not share it. Compared with that opulent beauty in her elegant "half-dress" of rosecoloured sarcenet embroidered with shaded chenille, she looked like an evening primrose by a tiger-lily. As for Aymar, he was courteous and attentive, but no more; indeed, he was somewhat silent in the salon afterwards, and so was Avoye.

But Mme de Morsan was talkative enough, and soon began to direct most of her conversation at the other guest, an attention with which he could well have dispensed, for the company was not numerous enough to make it private, and it developed uncomfortable elements. So he had been able to repay that romantic leap into the river! And had the hero been a good patient? She could fancy him being just a little exacting, but since they were such friends Laurent would hardly betray him. And was it true that it was because he had been so ill that the Imperialists had released him? Yes, said Laurent brazenly; and Mme de la Rocheterie here intimated her conviction that their commander, for all his politics, must have had a kind heart. On this the visitor introduced into the conversation a topic equally thorny and unforeseen, for she declared that she could not imagine how this Guitton (Aymar had been obliged to supply her with the detested name), whatever his humanity, could ever have allowed such a capture as L'Oiseleur to leave his hands without giving his parole. Or had he given it? And when Laurent evasively replied that it would have been ridiculous to insist upon parole with a man in M. de la Rocheterie's then state of health, Mme de Morsan, looking pensively at her sandal, opined that it was hardly a compliment to be released unconditionally. When she further added, even though with a smile at Aymar and the air of uttering a pleasantry, that it was obvious the Imperialists must have had some reason for wanting to get rid of him, a cold and curious suspicion was already worming its way into Laurent's mind that behind this rather sub-acid banter there was knowledge of some kind. Yet it was half dispelled by the way in which she then said, laughing outright, "I will again hazard the guess that he was a trying patient!"

"Well," put in Mme de la Rocheterie with the tiniest shade of impatience, perhaps even of displeasure, "we shall never find that out from M. de Courtomer, so we can abandon the subject. Tell us, Eulalie, more of the news about Paris."

But it appeared that their visitor knew no more than the bare fact of the capitulation. As she remarked, she did not come from the neighbourhood of the capital, quite the reverse.

"I think you said you had been at Aix, did you not?" asked Avoye, speaking for almost the first time since supper. "Did you chance to meet M. de Vaubernier there?"

Aymar's and Laurent's looks met for a second. "The Marquis de Vaubernier," repeated Mme de Morsan, in evident surprise. "Has he been at Aix? No, I did not meet him there. When did he go, and why?"

It was the Vicomtesse who supplied this information, adding that, if he had returned home, she would have invited the old gentleman over that evening; he was so fond of a game of whist. And she thereupon suggested that the four young people should play a rubber. Two of these—probably three—were profoundly grateful for the suggestion, and they played cards in peace till bedtime, Laurent only suffering one spasm of probably needless apprehension and dismay when he thought he discerned Mme de Morsan looking very fixedly at Aymar's wrists as he dealt. But he could see nothing there now.

By tacit consent he went with Aymar into his room when they were upstairs.

"Do you think that Mme de Morsan can possibly know anything?" was his first question.