“She has told me about life in convents, she is very devout. She has often been in convents to ‘faire une retraite.’ She says it is very soothing there, but that I should not be in a hurry about making a decision.”
“Ah!”
“Yes—she seems to understand me—she conveys much sympathy. She has a magnetism—it draws one.”
“I know.”
“What is the matter, Mummy? You are angry. I feel sorry for the Princess, she is so alone in the world, and she says she loves me, that she is wonderfully attracted to me, that I would do her good. She called herself laughing you know, but with a sadness—she called herself ‘une damnée.’”
I could contain myself no longer. “Une damnée—well, that’s just what she is—” I wheeled about. I felt my voice rising in spite of me. “I forbid you ever to speak to her again. Do you understand? You must never speak to her again.” My child’s face hardened. The eyes widened, the nostrils dilated. She was very pale. Something sinister seemed to rise between us. She receded from me.
“Don’t—don’t!” she whispered backing away.
“Don’t—don’t what?” I cried back. “You don’t want me to stand between you and this horrible woman who has ruined my life—ruined your father—ruined us all—and who wants now to ruin you.”
“No, no, no—don’t say such things.” She was screaming too now. “It is wicked of you to say such things. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you. I won’t believe it. I love Papa, I love Papa better than you, better than you. You have done it. You have ruined his life. I know it, I have seen it. I have seen you look at him with hatred. How do you think it feels to see one’s parents hating each other? Ruined? Yes, you have ruined my life. You—you—you ought never to have brought me into the world. I wish I were dead—I wish I were dead—” She rushed into her room and banged the door.
I told myself looking out over that horrible sea, immense, restless and cold, that nothing irretrievable had happened, that Jinny would come back to me, that she would forgive, that things would be the same. But I had no faith, and what did that mean, if things were the same. Was that sufficient as a basis for the future? What if we went on and on having scenes—screaming at each other. I was ashamed, and shaken, and I was afraid. Bianca had come back—Bianca was there, down the corridor—close to us, close to Jinny. “Une damnée”? she called herself.