The pale girl who came in did not look like an empress, nor like a woman who could be cruel, nor even like one who did not understand. She looked as if she understood two things only too well—loss and a regret unutterable and hopeless. That comprehension spoke so clearly in her whole appearance that it caught Mme de Courtomer by the throat.
"Oh, you poor thing!" her heart cried. But one did not begin like that at a first call.
Rather, "How kind of you to give me this opportunity of making your acquaintance, Madame," when the visitor was seated, and the August sun came in from the Rue St. Dominique on to her wonderful hair. "Now I can thank you for all your kindness to my son during his stay at Sessignes, of which he has so often spoken to me."
"It was . . . your son who was kind to me," was Avoye's unexpected rejoinder to this. And she went on, looking at Mme de Courtomer with the saddest eyes the elder woman had ever seen. "If it were possible I should like to have the opportunity of speaking to him again."
"It is not I whom she has come to visit at all," reflected Mme de Courtomer. "It is Laurent—to find out, of course, what has happened at Aurannes." "I am so sorry," she said gently, "but my son has not yet returned, and I have heard nothing. I think, however, that we may expect him to-morrow—or even possibly to-day—and if you will allow him he shall wait upon you at once and let you know the verdict. But, of course, it will be favourable."
The bewilderment in the eyes gazing at her was succeeded by terror. "Verdict . . . what verdict?"
Good Heavens, did she not know? Well, she would have to tell her now, having blundered into it!
"Laurent is at Aurannes with your cousin, Madame. M. de la Rocheterie asked for a court of enquiry. If he has not informed you it was no doubt that he wished to spare you unnecessary anxiety, and I regret very much that I should have mentioned the matter. But, of course, he will be acquitted . . . must indeed be already acquitted by this time, and we shall soon hear the news."
One great effort did her visitor make to save appearances. "I left Sessignes so unexpectedly," she said with a formal air and a piteously trembling lip, "that the news has not followed me. Perhaps I shall hear. . . ." It was no use. The strained voice broke. "Aymar court-martialled—Aymar!" she whispered to herself, and covered her face.
Mme de Courtomer impulsively put out a hand. But it was not seen, and she withdrew it. "No, no, Madame, it is not a court-martial. M. de la Rocheterie asked for it himself. He is not under arrest, I know. Besides, I am sure it can only be a matter of form; he must be acquitted."