“Of course you don’t. And she never told her love, at any rate, which is an extenuating circumstance. You mustn’t think there was ever any affection between her and Ivan Petrovitch. Her parents had been pressing her to accept him, and she yielded suddenly at last, about—yes, it must have been just about the time Usk came home—simply because she had not vitality enough to hold out longer, I should think. She looked like a ghost after the engagement, but she was dragged out to all the gaieties there were, which in itself was nearly enough to kill a delicate girl brought up very quietly in the mountains. She looked worse and worse as the days went on, and Ernestine almost broke her heart over her; but when she spoke to the Grand-Duchess, she only wept, and said her husband was determined the marriage should take place, and she dared not cross him. The climax came at the time of the Mi-Carême Battle of Flowers. The Grand-Duke and the lover insisted upon the poor girl’s going, though she had a perfect terror of it, after the fright she got at the Carnival, where Usk met her first. She fainted twice while she was dressing, and the Grand-Duchess was alarmed at last, and sent for a doctor. Very fortunately, the English doctor whom Ernestine had advised her to call in was in the hotel at the moment, visiting Usk’s friend Nicholson, who was his patient. He put an absolute veto on the girl’s going out that day, and promised to come and examine her thoroughly in the morning. They told him nothing of the circumstances, but after seeing her he said there was some trouble pressing upon her mind, and if it was not removed she would die of sheer terror. The Grand-Duke stormed, but could not shake him, and as no one could pretend not to know what the trouble was, Ivan Petrovitch was sent about his business. I should imagine the Grand-Ducal family went through stormy times for a day or two. The Grand-Duke is not a pleasant man to oppose, but if you have to do it, it’s as well to do it with spirit. Félicia and he get on excellently, because if she doesn’t like what he tells her to do, she says so, and the matter is at an end. Well, the doctor continued his visits, as the Grand-Duchess asked him, but he told Ernestine privately that it was useless. There was no organic disease, but the child did not seem to have any wish to live. She knew that her parents quarrelled over her, I suppose, and had not the courage to assert herself. She was quiet and fairly happy when once her engagement was broken off, but she didn’t get better. And only just seventeen, Nadia!”
“Much too young to be thinking about engagements at all,” said Lady Caerleon, decisively but not harshly.
“Ah, well, her parents had put the thought into her mind, you see. Then, three days ago, she had a dreadful shock. Usk’s friend Nicholson had another attack of hæmorrhage, and died in the hotel. Ernestine thought him very much softened lately, and he used to like her to read to him. She was with him just before the end, and the Grand-Duchess asked her not to go and see Helene that day, lest she should inquire for him. She took an interest in him as an invalid, you see, and used to send him some of the flowers which were sent her. That afternoon the Grand-Duke came to our rooms in a terrible state of mind. The Grand-Duchess’s maid had let out to Helene that Nicholson was dead, and, somehow, it seemed to awaken the child to the fact that she wasn’t very far from dying herself. It did not disturb her to realise it, but the Grand-Duke complained that his wife and the other women looked at him as if he was a murderer. He begged Ernestine to go and see them, and even promised that anything she thought might be any good should be done. Of course Ernestine went, and you can imagine the state of things she found—the lady-in-waiting weeping in the salon, the maid sobbing in the passage, and the Grand-Duchess herself in Helene’s room in floods of tears. I suppose the poor girl thought she had no time to lose, for without giving her mother any opportunity of recovering from the first shock, she had asked for her jewels and other little things, and was saying who she would like to have them. She’s such a simple little soul that it didn’t occur to her she was doing anything hackneyed—it was just the most natural thing in the world to her. There were bracelets and so on for her sisters and cousins, and some trifle for me, and then she touched a ring which she always wears, which was given her at her confirmation, and said she would like Usk to have it. Her mother was so much astonished that she didn’t answer for a moment, and Helene said piteously, ‘You won’t mind then, will you, mamma? I shall never see him again, you know.’ Ernestine thought the Grand-Duchess had gone out of her mind, for she got up suddenly and seized her by the arm and took her out of the room. When the door was shut, she said, ‘That’s what the child wants! You will help me. We will take her to the mountains at once, and she shall marry your nephew instead of Ivan Petrovitch, and get well. Come, let us tell her about it.’ Ernestine begged her to wait and consult the Grand-Duke, but she absolutely refused. She went back into Helene’s room, and swept all the jewels into their box again. ‘Nonsense, Lenchen!’ she said. ‘You are not going to die. This place is too hot for you. We will go back to the mountains, to our own Lauterbach, just you and I, and your aunt will come and stay with us.’ Ernestine felt obliged to back her up by saying that as I could not leave Nice just at present, she would ask Usk to come and escort her to Lauterbach, and they would stay at the cottage close to the Schloss, so that Helene might be quite quiet. She says she didn’t dare to look at the child as she spoke, but she heard her whisper, ‘Then I shall see him again, after all!’ and for the first time she felt there was some hope.”
“But the Grand-Duke!” cried Lord Caerleon. “What did he think about it?”
“Well, Ernestine and the Grand-Duchess very prudently came to our rooms to have it out with him, lest Helene should be disturbed. Of course he vowed he would never hear of such a thing, but for once his wife seemed to have lost her fear of him. She told him plainly that she would separate from him rather than let Helene die when she could be saved; and as the money is nearly all hers, that brought him round. At last he calmed down sufficiently to allow the doctor to be consulted, and he was called in. He approved highly of the mountain plan, and recommended very strongly that the girl’s inclination should not be forced in any way. She was so sensitive, he said, that only a man of a most sympathetic type could hope to make her happy. In deference to the Grand-Duke’s feelings, his wife consented to leave that part of the programme in abeyance, but they start for the mountains to-morrow, and I should like to pack Usk off to join them, if you have no objection.”
“On what footing?” asked Lord Caerleon sharply. “I won’t have him bandied about according to the state of the Grand-Duke’s temper.”
“My dear Caerleon, haven’t you learnt yet that the honour—the punctilio, I might say—of the family is safe with me? Usk will be received as a suitor approved by the young lady’s parents, though he will not be formally presented to her as such.”
“Well,” said Lady Caerleon, “if I were in Princess Helene’s place, it would not make me better to know that a young man was being brought to marry me, quite irrespective of his own wishes.”
“She knows nothing of the kind, and no one has suggested it to her. I don’t pretend to say what may be passing in her mind, but I should imagine she flatters herself that she regards him merely as a dear friend. But I seem to be unfortunate in my advocacy, Nadia. Since my words only prejudice you further against the poor little girl, I shall be obliged to show you this, which I didn’t mean to bring out if I could help it, for it’s not flattering.”
He handed Lady Caerleon a photograph, which she took with a stern and unbending aspect, but her look changed suddenly.