His sleep is like the sleep of a dog; if you only approach him, he wakes instantly. Forgive me for troubling you with these trifling details, only interesting to ourselves. You will at least understand the constant anxiety that we suffer."
"In your unhappy position," said Stella, "I should try to resign myself to parting with him--I mean to placing him under medical care."
The mother's face saddened. "I have inquired about it," she answered. "He must pass a night in the workhouse before he can be received as a pauper lunatic in a public asylum. Oh, my dear, I am afraid there is some pride still left in me! He is my only son now; his father was a General in the French army; I was brought up among people of good blood and breeding--I can't take my own boy to the workhouse!"
Stella understood her. "I feel for you with all my heart," she said. "Place him privately, dear Madame Marillac, under skillful and kind control--and let me, do let me, open the pocketbook again."
The widow steadily refused even to look at the pocketbook. "Perhaps," Stella persisted, "you don't know of a private asylum that would satisfy you?"
"My dear, I do know of such a place! The good doctor who attended my husband in his last illness told me of it. A friend of his receives a certain number of poor people into his house, and charges no more than the cost of maintaining them. An unattainable sum to me! There is the temptation that I spoke of. The help of a few pounds I might accept, if I fell ill, because I might afterward pay it back. But a larger sum--never!"
She rose, as if to end the interview. Stella tried every means of persuasion that she could think of, and tried in vain. The friendly dispute between them might have been prolonged, if they had not both been silenced by another interruption from the next room.
This time, it was not only endurable, it was even welcome. The poor boy was playing the air of a French vaudeville on a pipe or flageolet. "Now he is happy!" said the mother. "He is a born musician; do come and see him!" An idea struck Stella. She overcame the inveterate reluctance in her to see the boy so fatally associated with the misery of Romayne's life. As Madame Marillac led the way to the door of communication between the rooms, she quickly took from her pocketbook the bank-notes with which she had provided herself, and folded them so that they could be easily concealed in her hand.
She followed the widow into the little room.
The boy was sitting on his bed. He laid down his flageolet and bowed to Stella. His long silky hair flowed to his shoulders. But one betrayal of a deranged mind presented itself in his delicate face--his large soft eyes had the glassy, vacant look which it is impossible to mistake. "Do you like music, mademoiselle?" he asked, gently. Stella asked him to play his little vaudeville air again. He proudly complied with the request. His sister seemed to resent the presence of a stranger. "The work is at a standstill," she said--and passed into the front room. Her mother followed her as far as the door, to give her some necessary directions. Stella seized her opportunity. She put the bank-notes into the pocket of the boy's jacket, and whispered to him: "Give them to your mother when I have gone away." Under those circumstances, she felt sure that Madame Marillac would yield to the temptation. She could resist much--but she could not resist her son.
The boy nodded, to show that he understood her. The moment after. he laid down his flageolet with an expression of surprise.
"You are trembling!" he said. "Are you frightened?"
She was frightened. The mere sense of touching him had made her shudder. Did she feel a vague presentiment of some evil to come from that momentary association with him?
Madame Marillac, turning away again from her daughter, noticed Stella's agitation. "Surely, my poor boy doesn't alarm you?" she said. Before Stella could answer, some one outside knocked at the door. Lady Loring's servant appeared, charged with a carefully-worded message. "If you please, miss, a friend is waiting for you below." Any excuse for departure was welcome to Stella at that moment. She promised to call at the house again in a few days. Madame Marillac kissed her on the forehead as she took leave. Her nerves were still shaken by that momentary contact with the boy. Descending the stairs, she trembled so that she was obliged to hold by the servant's arm. She was not naturally timid. What did it mean?
Lady Loring's carriage was waiting at the entrance of the street, with all the children in the neighborhood assembled to admire it. She impulsively forestalled the servant in opening the carriage door. "Come in!" she cried. "Oh, Stella, you don't know how you have frightened me! Good heavens, you look frightened yourself! From what wretches have I rescued you? Take my smelling bottle, and tell me all about it."
The fresh air, and the reassuring presence of her old friend, revived Stella. She was able to describe her interview with the General's family, and to answer the inevitable inquiries which the narrative called forth. Lady Loring's last question was the most important of the series: "What are you going to do about Romayne?"
"I am going to write to him the moment we get home."
The answer seemed to alarm Lady Loring. "You won't betray me?" she said.
"What do you mean?"
"You won't let Romayne discover that I have told you about the duel?"
"Certainly not. You shall see my letter before I send it to be forwarded."
Tranquilized so far, Lady Loring bethought herself next of Major Hynd. "Can we tell him what you have done?" her ladyship asked.
"Of course we can tell him," Stella replied. "I shall conceal nothing from Lord Loring, and I shall beg your good husband to write to the Major. He need only say that I have made the necessary inquiries, after being informed of the circumstances by you, and that I have communicated the favorable result to Mr. Romayne."
"It's easy enough to write the letter, my dear. But it's not so easy to say what Major Hynd may think of you."
"Does it matter to me what Major Hynd thinks?"
Lady Loring looked at Stella with a malicious smile. "Are you equally indifferent," she said, "to what Romayne's opinion of your conduct may be?"
Stella's color rose. "Try to be serious, Adelaide, when you speak to me of Romayne," she answered, gravely. "His good opinion of me is the breath of my life."
An hour later, the important letter to Romayne was written. Stella scrupulously informed him of all that had happened--with two necessary omissions. In the first place, nothing was said of the widow's reference to her son's death, and of the effect produced by it on his younger brother. The boy was simply described as being of weak intellect, and as requiring to be kept under competent control. In the second place, Romayne was left to infer that ordinary motives of benevolence were the only motives, on his part, known to Miss Eyrecourt.
The letter ended in these lines:
"If I have taken an undue liberty in venturing, unasked, to appear as your representative, I can only plead that I meant well.