A Strange, Sad Comedy

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“There’s really a great deal that is engaging and even admirable about him,” he said. “He is a man of great natural astuteness, and if he took a stand he would be apt to know his ground well, so that he could hold it.”

Madame de Fonblanque flashed a look at Farebrother, which he met with a cool smile. She knew that he suspected her, and he knew that she knew he suspected her. Her surroundings were entirely novel to her; her hosts were like the old provincial gentry in the remote corners of France, and such people are always much alike, and easy to hoodwink. She was grateful to them for their kindness, and had no thought of deceiving them any more than was necessary. But Farebrother was a type of man that she knew all about; well learned in the ways of the world, superlatively honest, but fully able to protect himself against scamps of either sex. She wondered if he had not heard some talk about the affair between Mr. Romaine and herself—and at that very moment, she was almost overcome by chagrin and disappointment. She was desperately in need of money, despite her fur cloak and her expensive finery, and she had felt from the moment Mr. Romaine spoke that there was not the slightest chance of her getting any money from him. She wanted to write to England and consult her lawyer there before taking any further steps, and it had occurred to her, as the most convenient arrangement, to await his reply at Corbin Hall. And besides, what a rage it would put Mr. Romaine in! But if this robust and slightly bold person, with his cheerful manner and his alert blue eyes, were to be there, Madame de Fonblanque would rather be somewhere else.

The Colonel was much puzzled because Madame de Fonblanque and Farebrother were not hail-fellow-well-met, and felt very much as if Farebrother were guilty of a want of chivalry—but still, there was nothing to take hold of, for he was perfectly courteous to her. But she had nothing more to say about her intimacy with the old royalist families, and when Farebrother boldly avowed himself a firm believer in the French republic, Madame de Fonblanque did not sigh and say, “Ah, if you had ancestors who died for Louis and Charles and Louis Philippe, you would not love the republic,” as she had done when Letty advanced the same view. In short, Madame de Fonblanque had met her match.

As soon as supper was over she excused herself and went to her room for an hour or two. She really felt depressed and unequal to keeping up the strain any longer at that time. The Colonel tramped down to the stable in the snow, to see that Tom Battercake had made the horses comfortable for the night; and Miss Jemima always remained an hour in the dining-room after every meal, in close confabulation with the cook. Letty and Farebrother went alone to the library.

The lamps were lighted, but the fire needed a vigorous poking, which Letty proceeded to administer, going down on her knees. Farebrother, who knew better than to interfere, stood by the hearth watching her. When she had got through, he suddenly went up close to her and caught her hands in his.

“Letty,” he said, in a firm and serious voice that she had never heard him use before, “do you know what I came here for?”

In an instant she knew. But the knowledge staggered her. The idea that Farebrother would take the bit between his teeth and break through all her maze of little coquetries like that had never dawned upon her. In another minute he had made his meaning so plain to her that there was no evading it.

For the first time Farebrother saw a frightened look come into her clear eyes. She turned pale, but she made no effort to escape from him. He told her that he loved her well, with the manly force and directness that women like, and Letty stammered some sweet, incoherent answer which revealed that she too knew the exaltation of life’s great fever. All her pretty airs and graces dropped from her in a moment—she stood trembling, and unconsciously returned the clasp of Farebrother’s strong hands, like some weak creature holding desperately to one that is all steadfastness. Farebrother could not recall afterward one word that he had said; he only remembered that he felt as if they two stood alone on some cloud-capped peak, the whole world vanished from their sight, but sunshine above them and all around them.

Two tears dropped from Letty’s eyes, she knew not why, and Farebrother consoled her, for what he did not know—and they drank the wine of life together. But after a while they came from their own heaven down to a real world that was scarcely less beautiful to them.

Almost the first rational question Farebrother asked her was—“And how about that good-looking villain of an Englishman?”