She led me into the dining-room, where a supper of pâté, fruit, and burgundy was prepared for me, and though I protested that I was not hungry, she compelled me to make a pretence of eating, for the excuse of lingering to talk to me. Mademoiselle had long since retired. She herself had slept a little in order to be fresh for the excitement of my return.
We sat till far into the night, chatting about the great world, about Paris, which to her meant all the sin and misery and gaiety of the entire universe; and about the big town of Beaufort across the river. This impelled me to stand up and draw the curtain, that I might have a peep at it from the gallery. The old woman followed me, and stood leaning beside me against the flat stone balustrade. The lights now along the water were few and widely spread—but in the heaven they had multiplied and twinkled, variously-hued, upon their dark ground.
‘Down there lies the road to Beaufort—the road to Paris,’ my companion murmured wistfully. ‘It is now ten years since Mademoiselle has been watching it, but never a soul comes by it—never a soul.’
‘Whom is she watching for?’ I asked, in a tone insensibly lowered by her whisper.
‘For Dr. Vermont—little Gabrielle’s father.’
‘Is he the only relative she has?’
‘The only one. It is a sad story. The poor lady is eating her heart out with sorrow for the dead, and idle sorrowing for the living. The dead at least loved her—but the living! Ah, there is nothing harder in nature than the heart of a man turned from a loving woman.’
‘Does Dr. Vermont know that Mademoiselle loves him?’
‘Know!’ she cried indignantly. ‘Mademoiselle is a proud woman. I know because I divine it. He too might divine it, if feeling could touch him. But he was always a hard man. He stays away, and he does not write. He cares no more for his child than he does for Mademoiselle.’
She dropped into silence, and I did not want to scare her by appearing in any way to force her confidence. I was poignantly wakeful from interest and the atmosphere of mystery I breathed; nevertheless, I yielded at once to suggestion that the hours were lengthening towards morning, and was glad enough to find myself shuddering among the cold sheets that had lain long in lavender presses, while I listened to the echo of the old woman’s footsteps upon the stairs and the sound of key in lock and bolt drawn.