The Wounded Name

by D. K. Broster

But Avoye leant forward. "Are you sure there was no sign of what he . . . meant to do if the verdict was not favourable?"

Mme de Courtomer suddenly got up and seemed to consider that a vase of flowers near Laurent's portrait needed attention. The fact was that she had suddenly and very vividly remembered Laurent telling her of such an indication, and she was afraid that her face might betray her. She did not want to pass on the knowledge to that poor child. And yet, was it not her duty? For really, if L'Oiseleur did come to that desperate step, and took it quickly, sailing perhaps from Nantes or La Rochelle, he might well be out of France before ever Mme de Villecresne could see him again, unless she were warned.

"Your cousin did say, I believe," she murmured, "that if the verdict were unfavourable—which of course, is unthinkable—he should probably leave France altogether, and go, possibly, to the United States."

Every remaining vestige of colour went from Mme de Villecresne's face. "But of course, dear Madame," went on Virginia, glancing at her anxiously, "that possibility is not worth considering; he is bound to be acquitted." And she made another attempt to lighten the atmosphere by adding, half laughing, "For purely selfish reasons I am glad to feel so certain of that, for otherwise Laurent would probably want to accompany him to America, and I cannot spare him!"

Her effort had no success. Gazing at her with a poignant directness and absence of concealment Avoye said, "Madame, I envy your son more than any one else in the world. He had his chance and took it, whereas I——"

Virginia de Courtomer could resist no longer. She stooped over her and possessed herself of her hand. "Oh, my dear, surely it is not too late yet! Forgive me—but I am so much older than you, and I do desire M. de la Rocheterie's happiness, which I am sure is bound up with you alone!"

And Avoye clung for a moment to the kind hand. Then she loosed it, as one who has no right to comfort. "Yes, it is too late. He could not forgive the things I said to him that day. And I shall never see him again now. I have deserved it all, because I had so little faith. And he went through martyrdom for me—martyrdom. He is going through it again now. That alone—the enquiry, Aymar being what he is—is enough to kill him. Only, I do thank God that he is not by himself there . . . that your son is with him. . . ."

She rose, in a calm of despair more moving than tears. Mme de Courtomer, looking at her in pity, suddenly heard a door bang downstairs, and a voice. . . . Was it? "Wait, Madame, pray! Do not go yet! That sounds like Laurent. If it is, he can give us news."

Avoye shrank back. Mme de Courtomer caught her hands. "My child, have courage! It must be good news!"

Apparently it was. There was the further sound of a light foot running up the stairs, a voice outside saying cheerfully to someone, "Is Madame la Comtesse in here?" and a hand on the door. The mother of this presence left her visitor, who shrank still farther back towards the windows. The door burst open.