“Still, m’sieur,” she said, “you will admit that you have received full value for your money, n’est-ce-pas?”
During this conversation, carried on in one of the ante-rooms within earshot of the music in the ballroom, Vera sat almost in silence. I grew to understand the woman Judith better, indeed almost to like her. She said little about herself, though I questioned her frequently concerning her own life. She seemed more inclined to talk of other people, and their doings. One thing I did gather was that she belonged to a gang of male and female adventurers, who probably stood at nothing when they had an end to gain. To this gang belonged also the Baronne, Paulton and Henderson. Whether Sir Charles Thorold was, or was not, in some way mixed up in this gang’s schemes I could not ascertain for certain, though several times I tried to. For about Sir Charles and Lady Thorold, Judith seemed unwilling to speak.
I had a long and confidential chat with Vera. Ah! that hour was perhaps full of the sweetest happiness of my life. She was mine—mine! It was past three in the morning when we paused for a few moments in our animated conversation. “Ah, here comes your friend,” exclaimed my sweet beloved.
Faulkner, passing the open door, had caught sight of us and strolled in. Violet de Coudron was with him. She looked dreadfully tired, I thought, though this did not greatly detract from her very exceptional beauty.
Briefly, I told Faulkner all that had happened.
“It is fortunate we are not conventional,” he said lightly, when I had outlined my plan. “What food for scandal some people would find in all this. I think, after all, that our visit here to-night has not been wholly unprofitable—eh? You may be surprised to hear that this new friend of mine”—and he indicated Violet de Coudron, seated beside him—“has arranged to leave the Baronne for good and all. She tells me she leads an awful life here, and that when Vera is gone—”
“But you have known Vera only a few weeks,” I interrupted, addressing Violet.
“Yes,” she answered sadly, with her pretty accent, “and those are the only weeks of comparative happiness I have had. I couldn’t stay here with these people without her. I couldn’t. I really couldn’t. Oh, if you only knew all I have been through—all I have been forced to endure since the Baronne adopted me!” And she hid her face in her hands.
“Adopted you!” I exclaimed. “You said you were the Baronne’s niece.”
“I said so—yes. I always said so, because she made me, and I passed always as her niece. But I am not. I can scarcely remember my parents. All I can recollect is that they were very poor—but oh, so kind to me! I remember their kissing me passionately one day, with tears streaming down their cheeks—it was evening, and nearly dark—and telling me that they had to go away from me, that probably we should never meet again in this world.”