“Ah! The child! Was that the child you brought on board in a basket and dumped down among the luggage of my friends and me?” asked Bayre, with what he considered to be startling suddenness.
But Nini was on her guard, of course.
“Plait-il?” she asked blandly, raising her eyes stolidly to his face.
“You won’t own to that, I see,” he said irritably. And turning shortly to Miss Eden, he observed, with some constraint,—
“This girl is the heroine of the incident I wrote to you about from London, Miss Eden. It was she who planted a young child among our luggage. I’m sure of it.”
There was a moment’s silence. Nini did not attempt any further contradiction. She looked stolidly down on the flagged floor again and waited for further questions. Miss Eden’s conduct was equally unsatisfying.
“There must be some mistake, I think,” she said. “But, in any case, that’s not the matter under discussion, is it?”
“If she won’t tell the truth in one matter it’s not likely she will in another,” said Bayre, drily.
“Let me try,” said Miss Eden, sweetly, and she addressed the girl at once. “What sort of life did they lead at the château when old Mr Bayre brought back his young wife, Nini?”
“It was not very comfortable, mademoiselle. Young Madame did not like Mees Ford, and Mees Ford did not like young Madame. Mees Ford was all for save, save: Madame liked ease, comfort, expense. Madame did not like to see her husband always consulting his cousin instead of her. Madame want her husband always to go away, especially when the baby came. It was not gay for Madame, who was young, to sit always in the great salon, the room where the shutters are now always closed, with that effigy, Mees Ford, opposite to her, knit, knit, knitting always as if for her life. One, two, three, four, always, count, count, counting. And poor young Madame sitting opposite, yawning over a book. Even her child was not allowed to be with her much. Old M. Bayre was proud of him, but he did not like the noise of a child’s crying. So it had to be kept in rooms that were a long way off, in the charge of its nurse and of Marie Vazon. And when the child was eight months old the nurse went away and he was left to Marie Vazon only. Madame did not like Marie, and that was another trouble. Mees Ford stood by the Vazons, father and daughter, while Madame hated them. Ma foi, I, for one, was not surprised when Madame ran away. The only wonder was she stood the life so long.”