'He wants an introduction to Alice, that is it undoubtedly; and for what end? He is amazingly changed, this garçon! He is no longer lymphatic, romantic in the highest degree, mawkish, or Teutonic; he rides on horseback, and affects the air of conquest. There is about him a smack of the gallant, of the coureur des dames. He is a man whom Alice would not like, but still it is as well that she did not see him at this particular time. He is going out of town, he said; and when he comes back we shall have moved into another house, our change of address will not be recorded in the fashionable newspapers, and, as I shall take care that it is not sent to Monsieur Wetter at South Audley-street, it is probable that he will know nothing about it. And so,' she added, drawing down the blinds as she heard Alice's footsteps on the stairs, 'bon soir, Monsieur Wetter.'
And for his own part, Mr. Wetter, as he rode back to London, was full of his reflections.
'What a wonderful thing,' he thought to himself; 'that I should have come across Pauline Lunelle in that house; and how lucky that I recognised her instantly, and was enabled, by playing upon her vanity, to put her off the scent of the real motive of my visit, and induce her to believe that I had come to see her! Let me see; all the points of the story seem to fit and dovetail together admirably. Pauline spoke of her companion as a widow--yes, that's right. I saw the notice of John Calverley's death just before I left New York. She said too, that her husband, the escroc, was dead--that also is right. I recollect reading the story of his having been drowned some time ago. Ay, and now I remember that it spoke of him, Mr. Durham, as having been in the employ of Messrs. Calverley. This would account for Pauline's presence in that house, and her intended connexion with that pretty girl. So far so good; je prend mon bien où je le trouve; and I think in the present instance I shall not have far to look for it. Mademoiselle Pauline Lunelle, ex-dame du comptoir, will be too much frightened at the idea of having the story of her own youth set before her friends to refuse to aid me in any way that I may wish.'
It was curious to note how Alice had accepted Pauline's companionship as a matter of course, and how she seemed to cling to the Frenchwoman for society in that dark period of her life. When Martin Gurwood visited her soon after her convalescence, he conducted himself, under Humphrey Statham's directions, with all the formality and authority of a duly appointed guardian, and as such Alice received him. Amongst the business matters which were discussed between them, the appointment of Pauline to her new charge naturally held a prominent place. Martin imagined that he might have had some difficulty in bringing Alice to his views; but Pauline had already made herself so useful and agreeable to the broken-hearted girl, relieving her of all trouble, and showing, without the least ostentation, that she thoroughly sympathised with her grief; that Alice was only too glad to learn that, for some time at least, her home was to be shared by a person so capable of understanding her position and ministering to her wants. And Martin Gurwood himself did not fail to notice the alteration in Madame Du Tertre's demeanour, the gentleness of her manner towards Alice, the delicacy with which she warded off any chance allusion that might have pained her, and the eagerness and anxiety she exhibited to do her service. Martin mentioned these facts to Humphrey Statham, who received the communication in the most matter-of-fact manner, and said something to the effect 'that he was glad to hear that the Frenchwoman was earning her money;' which Martin, who was essentially soft-hearted, and who surrounded everything connected with Alice with a halo of romance, thought rather a brutal speech.
Uncaring in most matters, assenting not languidly--for, poor child, she strove to feign an interest which she did not feel, and failed most signally in the attempt--to all that was proposed to her, Alice had yet one real anxiety, and that was to get away as quickly as possible from Rose Cottage. The place had become hateful to her; everywhere, in the house, in the garden, there was something to remind her of the kind old man who had loved her so, and whom she had lost for ever. She wanted to be rid of it all, not merely the house, but the furniture, with its haunting memories; and most fortunately there arrived one day an American gentleman, whose business compelled him to dwell in England for a few years, during which period he must be two or three times a week in London, and who was so charmed with the cottage and its contents that he took the lease of the first, and purchased the second 'right away,' as he expressed it, at the price demanded for it.
Then what was to be done, and where were they to go to? Alice had expressed a decided objection to the country; and it was accordingly decided that the new residence must be either in London itself, or in some immediate suburb. So advertisements in the newspapers were eagerly consulted, and likely house-agents were daily besieged by Martin Gurwood and Statham; until one day, just before the time when it was necessary that Rose Cottage should be given up, the latter gentleman brought word that he had seen what he thought would be a suitable house. It was the corner house in a new street of the old village of Chelsea, and from its side-window one had a pleasant glimpse of the river and the green fields and waving trees on the farther shore. A neat, unpretending, comfortable little house, neatly and comfortably furnished with the money derived from the sale of the contents of Rose Cottage, suited to Alice's means, where she could live peaceably, exciting less curiosity, perhaps, than in a more retired spot. From nine in the morning till five in the evening scarcely a man, save the tradespeople of the neighbourhood, were seen in the street, but there were plenty of lady-like women and children, with their nursemaids, passing to and fro, and to many of these Alice became speedily known as 'the pretty, delicate-looking lady at number nine.' All attempts at visiting were declined on the score of Mrs. Claxton's ill health, and the necessity for her maintaining perfect quietude. But Pauline had a bowing acquaintance with several of the neighbours, and was highly popular among the children.
In the early days of their tenancy Martin Gurwood was a daily visitor; and the intense respectability of his appearance did much to influence the neighbours in Alice's favour. On several occasions he was accompanied by Humphrey Statham; and when, after a short time, Martin had to return to his vicarage at Lullington, Mr. Statham, came up once or twice a week and took tea with the ladies, both of whom were impressed with his gentlemanly bearing, his modesty, and his practical good sense. They had no other visitors; so it was not astonishing that one evening, when their only servant was out, and Alice, feeling somewhat fatigued, was lying down in her bedroom, Pauline, seated at the window in the dusk, seeing a tall bearded gentleman making for the house, imagined him to be Humphrey Statham, and went herself to let him in. But her surprise was only equalled by her dismay when, on looking up, she found herself confronted by Henrich Wetter.
For an instant she stood in the doorway irresolute, but as the new-comer politely but firmly pressed into the passage, she felt constrained to ask him to walk into the parlour, and followed him there.
'Now really I am obliged to call this an exhibition of very bad manners, my dear Madame Durham.'
'For Heaven's sake!' cried Pauline, interrupting him; 'I am Madame Du Tertre!'