Standing up in the boat, against the opposite bank, and leaning with crossed legs on one of the sculls planted in the gravel of the river, Count Henri d’Henriel’s handsome figure presented itself to Beauchamp’s gaze.
With a dryness that smacked of his uncle Everard Romfrey, Beauchamp said of the fantastical posture of the young man, “One can do that on fresh water.”
Renée did not comprehend the sailor-sarcasm of the remark; but she also commented on the statuesque appearance of Count Henri: “Is the pose for photography or for sculpture?”
Neither of them showed a sign of surprise or of impatience.
M. d’Henriel could not maintain the attitude. He uncrossed his legs deliberately, drooped hat in hand, and came paddling over; apologized indolently, and said, “I am not, I believe, trespassing on the grounds of Tourdestelle, Madame la Marquise!”
“You happen to be in my boat, M. le Comte,” said Renée.
“Permit me, madame.” He had set one foot on shore, with his back to Beauchamp, and reached a hand to assist her step into the boat.
Beauchamp caught fast hold of the bows while Renée laid a finger on Count Henri’s shoulder to steady herself.
The instant she had taken her seat, Count Henri dashed the scull’s blade at the bank to push off with her, but the boat was fast. His manœuvre had been foreseen. Beauchamp swung on board like the last seaman of a launch, and crouched as the boat rocked away to the stream; and still Count Henri leaned on the scull, not in a chosen attitude, but for positive support. He had thrown his force into the blow, to push off triumphantly, and leave his rival standing. It occurred that the boat’s brief resistance and rocking away agitated his artificial equipoise, and, by the operation of inexorable laws, the longer he leaned across an extending surface the more was he dependent; so that when the measure of the water exceeded the length of his failing support on land, there was no help for it: he pitched in. His grimace of chagrin at the sight of Beauchamp securely established, had scarcely yielded to the grimness of feature of the man who feels he must go, as he took the plunge; and these two emotions combined to make an extraordinary countenance.
He went like a gallant gentleman; he threw up his heels to clear the boat, dropping into about four feet of water, and his first remark on rising was, “I trust, madame, I have not had the misfortune to splash you.”