The Massarenes

by Ouida

“I’ll sing all the parts myself,” she said rapturously.

“You must give the tenor’s to me,” said the purchaser of it, with a double meaning.

“Tenors is always spitted,” said Boo solemnly. “They’re always spitted—or poisoned.”

Her mother passed some days in perplexed meditation. She felt that all the charms of her ever-irresistible sorcery would be thrown away on the owner of that delicious sea-palace, and that, as matters now stood, there was not a shadow of reason for the threat of Prince Khristof to be put into execution. But she was tenacious, and did not like to acknowledge herself beaten. She could not readily believe that Vanderlin was so different to other men that he could in the end remain wholly uninfluenced by her. The great difficulty was to approach him, for she felt that she had already committed herself to more than was wise or was delicate in her advances to him in his solitude. She cast about her for some deus ex machina that she could set in motion, and decided on the old Austrian Archduke.

The Archduke was an old man in years, but not in temperament, and he was highly sensible of her attractions; she did very much as she pleased with him, and he, sternest of martinets and harshest of commanding officers, was like a ball of feathers in her hands. With great adroitness, and the magnetism which every charming woman exercises, she so interested him by her descriptions of Les Mouettes, that he was inspired by a desire of seeing the place for himself, and was induced to overcome both his well-bred dislike to intruding on a recluse, and his imperial reluctance to cross the threshold of a man not noble. In the end, so well did she know how to turn men and things to her own purposes, that, despite the mutual reluctance of both the guest and the host, Vanderlin did, taken at a disadvantage one day, when he met them all three together, invite the old general to breakfast, and invited also herself and her little girl, and the invitations were promptly accepted. It was impossible to be more perfectly courteous than Vanderlin was on the occasion, or to show more urbanity and tact than he did in his reception of them; but even she, who could easily persuade herself of most things which she wished to believe, could not fail to see that the entertainment was a weariness to him—a concession, and an unwilling one, to the wishes of an aged prince with whom his banking-house had, for many years, had relations.

No one was ever, she thought, so gracefully courteous and so impenetrably indifferent as her host was. The child alone seemed to interest him; and Boo, who had taken her cue unbidden from her mother, was charming, subdued, almost shy, and wholly bewitching. She had a genuine respect for the man made of millions.

The Archduke, after the luncheon, tired by his perambulations over the large house, and having eaten and drunk largely, fell asleep on a sofa with some miniatures, which he was looking at, lying on his knees; he was sunk in the heavy slumber of age and defective digestion. Not to disturb him, Vanderlin and she conversed in low tones at some distance from him, whilst the gentleman of his household, who had accompanied him, discreetly played a noiseless game of ball with Boo on the terrace outside the windows.

She, who was greatly daring, thought that now or never was the moment to find out what her host’s feelings were toward the woman whom he had divorced. It was difficult, and she knew that it was shockingly ill-bred to invade the privacy of such a subject, but she felt that it was the only way to get even with Khris Kar.

They were in a room consecrated to the portraits of women—a collection made by Vanderlin’s father—chiefly portraits of the eighteenth century, some oils, some pastels, some crayons, and most of them French work, except a Romney or two and several Conway miniatures. She had looked, admired, criticised them with that superficial knowledge of the technique and jargon of art which is so easily acquired in the world by people to whom art, quâ art, is absolutely indifferent. She said the right thing in the right place, displaying culture and accurate criticism, and looking, as she always did, like a brilliant Romney herself, very simply attired with a white gown, a blue ribbon round her waist, and a straw hat, covered with forget-me-nots, on her hair.

The room was in shade and silence, full of sweetness from great china bowls of lilies of the valley; the old man slept on with his chin on his chest; the sound of the sea and the smothered ripple of childish laughter came from without. Now or never, she thought, and turned to Vanderlin.