I had borne her out of my body. She belonged to me. I remembered the months before she was born, I remembered the child in my womb, stirring—the obscure passionate tenderness welling up in me—the mysterious sense of union. I remembered Philibert’s disgust with my deformity, his constant absence. He had left me to myself during those months. He had left me, of course, to go to other women. I had brought Jinny into the world alone. The pain had been mine, and mine the ecstasy. What had Philibert to do with my child?
Now they proposed to dispose of her without my consent. They proposed to hand her over to a degenerate. Well, they wouldn’t, I wouldn’t stop them.
My entrance created something of a sensation in your mother’s drawing-room. They were all there. I had time to take them all in, while they stared at me. The august uncle who looked like the Emperor Francis Joseph was standing in the window with Philibert. Your mother had Jinny on one side of her, at the tea table, the Princeling on the other. Her face blanched when she saw me. There was terror in her eyes, physical terror, what did she think I was going to do?
Philibert was of course the first to recover himself. He came forward in his most perfect manner.
“Chère amie, I am so glad that after all you were able to come. I had explained to his Royal Highness about your terrible migraine—”
I took his cue. The pompous uncle and the pimple-faced Damas kissed my hand, first one then the other. I asked your mother for a cup of tea, and drank it slowly, conscious of Jinny’s eyes on my face. What did they mean, those great brown starry eyes? What was going on in her mind? I hadn’t any idea.
“I have interrupted you,” I said putting down my teacup. “Pray continue your talk.”
No one spoke.
“You were perhaps gathered together for a purpose that concerns my daughter? No?”
Philibert went crimson; the uncle coughed; I waited; your mother rattled the tea things; she looked at Philibert, he looked at her. “Mon enfant,” she quavered, at last, “His Royal Highness has honoured you with a demand for your daughter’s hand in marriage, and as you no doubt are aware, your husband,” her voice almost failed her, but she controlled it, “your husband, my son, is disposed to think that possibly these two young people would be very happy together.”