Lucille had exchanged bows with Ivor at first, and then had a few words with him, scanning his face as she talked, with rather troubled glances. There was, however, small leisure at first for any quiet conversation. The rooms had to be inspected, and they were found to be not at all bad as to size, though meagrely furnished. Lucille had set her heart on making everything wear as far as possible an English look, using her childish recollections of a home across the Channel; and if she was less successful than she had hoped, nobody betrayed the fact. It was clear to them all how hard she had worked to render the place comfortable.
"But it has been no trouble—non, vraiment—not at all," she assured them, with her pensive smile, when they apologised.
While sincerely anxious to help, full of sympathy for their position, and most desirous to cheer them up, she plainly feared to be guilty of intrusion, and very soon she took herself off with Madame Courant to the ground floor. A somewhat clumsy but well-intentioned maiden had been deputed to wait upon the upstairs party—probably had been hired for the purpose, since Madame Courant did most of her own house-work—and dinner was laid in the smaller salon in readiness for their arrival.
On the whole that first meal might be reckoned a success. Madame Courant was no mean cook; and though not much could be said as to the actual waiting, from an English point of view, that was a minor matter, compared with the comfort of finding clean and cosy quarters, not to speak of a kind reception. Roy did his best to supply all deficiencies in the conversational line, and his efforts were seconded, though not vigorously, by Denham.
When, however, dinner was at an end, and they had moved into the larger salon, which was to be their drawing-room—when a long evening lay before them, and there was nothing that had to be done, beyond a certain amount of unpacking and arranging, which no one felt disposed to begin upon at once—then a change came. Then the shadow of their captivity descended heavily upon them all, even upon the valiant Roy; and for once the spirit of cheerfulness and of keeping up seemed to vanish.
For a quarter of an hour they all remained together, no one speaking. No one was able to speak. They had nothing whatever to say. And presently, when this had gone on a little while, Mrs. Baron made a move, retreating into her own bedroom, avowedly to "see to a few things," but in reality, as they all knew, to indulge in a breakdown—her husband, after a brief hesitation, going thither also. Denham had flagged completely, retreating to a shady corner near the big fireplace, where he could scarcely be seen; and for Ivor to flag meant the flagging of everybody. As for Roy—but that he would have been ashamed, counting himself already almost a man, he could at this stage have flung himself on the ground and cried like a little child for very home-sickness.
He wanted Molly—oh, most awfully! He wanted her this evening more than he had ever wanted anything or anybody in his whole life. The craving that took possession of him for Molly's face, Molly's voice, Molly's companionship—the passionate desire to have dear little Molly once more by his side—was a pain never to be forgotten.
Roy did not know how to bear himself under it. He had nothing to do, nothing with which to pass the time. He stood at the window, looking out upon the darkness, trying desperately to be cool and stoical, as one five minutes crawled by after another. Denham never moved, never spoke a word. Roy could just make out his dark outline, as motionless as a carved image, a few yards distant. If only Denham would have talked, if something would have happened, if somebody would have come in, it would have been easier to keep going. But nobody came, nothing happened, and Denham did not stir.
Roy drummed with his fingers on the window-sill. He could hear shrill voices out in the street, not far off, and the sound of some tuneless instrument. One of the two candles was gone with Mrs. Baron, leaving the room dim. He tried to listen, tried not to think. And just when he counted himself victorious, there was a queer little catch of his breath which sounded suspicious. Roy drummed again angrily, hoping that Denham had not heard. He might be asleep, he was so still. But, after a slight break, he said—
"Come here."