813 by Maurice LeBlanc (best young adult book series .txt) 📕

catching sight of the roofs of the house and the four garden-houses in the distance.

He crossed the park and walked toward the lake.

Suddenly he stopped behind a clump of trees. He had seen two ladies against the parapet of the bridge that crossed the lake:

“Vamier and his men must be somewhere near. But, by Jove, they are keeping jolly well hidden! I can’t see them anywhere…”

The two ladies were now strolling across the lawns, under the tall, venerable trees. The blue of the sky appeared between the branches, which swayed in the peaceful breeze, and the scent of spring and of young vegetation was wafted through the air.

On the grassy slopes that ran down to the motionless water, daisies, violets, daffodils, lilies of the valley, all the little flowers of April and May stood grouped, and, here and there, formed constellations of every color. The sun was sinking on the horizon.

And, all at once, three men started from a thicket of bushes and made for the two ladies.

They accosted them. A few words were exchanged. The ladies gave visible signs of dread. One of the men went up to the shorter of the two and tried to snatch the gold purse which she was carrying in her hand. They cried out; and the three men flung themselves upon them.

“Now or never!” said the prince.

And he rushed forward. In ten seconds he had almost reached the brink of the water. At his approach, the three men fled.

“Run away, you vagabonds,” he chuckled; “run for all you are worth! Here’s the rescuer coming!”

And he set out in pursuit of them. But one of the ladies entreated him:

“Oh, sir, I beg of you… my friend is ill.”

The shorter lady had fallen on the grass in a dead faint.

He retraced his steps and, anxiously:

“She is not wounded?” he asked. “Did those scoundrels…”

“No… no… it’s only the fright… the excitement… Besides you will understand… the lady is Mrs. Kesselbach…”

“Oh!” he said.

He produced a bottle of smelling-salts, which the younger woman at once applied to her friend’s nostrils. And he added:

“Lift the amethyst that serves as a stopper… You will see a little box containing some tabloids. Give madame one of them… one, no more… they are very strong…”

He watched the young woman helping her friend. She was fair-haired, very simply dressed; and her face was gentle and grave, with a smile that lit up her features even when she was not smiling.

“That is GeneviŽve,” he thought. And he repeated with emotion, “GeneviŽve… GeneviŽve…”

Meanwhile, Mrs. Kesselbach gradually recovered consciousness. She was astonished at first, seemed not to understand. Then, her memory returning, she thanked her deliverer with a movement of the head.

He made a deep bow and said:

“Allow me to introduce myself… I am Prince Sernine…”

She said, in a faint voice:

“I do not know how to express my gratitude.”

“By not expressing it at all, madame. You must thank chance, the chance that turned my steps in this direction. May I offer you my arm?”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Kesselbach rang at the door of the House of Retreat and said to the prince:

“I will ask one more service of you, monsieur. Do not speak of this assault.”

“And yet, madame, it would be the only way of finding out…”

“Any attempt to find out would mean an inquiry; and that would involve more noise and fuss about me, examinations, fatigue; and I am worn out as it is.”

The prince did not insist. Bowing to her, he asked:

“Will you allow me to call and ask how you are?”

“Oh, certainly…”

She kissed GeneviŽve and went indoors.

Meantime, night was beginning to fall. Sernine would not let GeneviŽve return alone. But they had hardly entered the path, when a figure, standing out against the shadow, hastened toward them.

“Grandmother!” cried GeneviŽve.

She threw herself into the arms of an old woman, who covered her with kisses:

“Oh, my darling, my darling, what has happened? How late you are!… And you are always so punctual!”

GeneviŽve introduced the prince:

“Prince Sernine… Mme. Ernemont, my grandmother…”

Then she related the incident, and Mme. Ernemont repeated:

“Oh, my darling, how frightened you must have been!… I shall never forget your kindness, monsieur, I assure you… But how frightened you must have been, my poor darling!”

“Come, granny, calm yourself, as I am here…”

“Yes, but the fright may have done you harm… One never knows the consequences… Oh, it’s horrible!…”

They went along a hedge, through which a yard planted with trees, a few shrubs, a playground and a white house were just visible. Behind the house, sheltered by a clump of elder-trees arranged to form a covered walk, was a little gate.

The old lady asked Prince Sernine to come in and led the way to a little drawing-room or parlor. GeneviŽve asked leave to withdraw for a moment, to go and see her pupils, whose supper-time it was. The prince and Mme. Ernemont remained alone.

The old lady had a sad and a pale face, under her white hair, which ended in two long, loose curls. She was too stout, her walk was heavy and, notwithstanding her appearance and her dress, which was that of a lady, she had something a little vulgar about her; but her eyes were immensely kind.

Prince Sernine went up to her, took her head in his two hands and kissed her on both cheeks:

“Well, old one, and how are you?”

She stood dumfounded, wild-eyed, open-mouthed. The prince kissed her again, laughing.

She spluttered:

“You! It’s you! O mother of God!… O mother of God!… Is it possible!… O mother of God!…”

“My dear old Victoire!”

“Don’t call me that,” she cried, shuddering. “Victoire is dead… your old servant no longer exists. I belong entirely to GeneviŽve.” And, lowering her voice, “O mother of God!… I saw your name in the papers: then it’s true that you have taken to your wicked life again?”

“As you see.”

“And yet you swore to me that it was finished, that you were going away for good, that you wanted to become an honest man.”

“I tried. I have been trying for four years… You can’t say that I have got myself talked about during those four years!”

“Well?”

“Well, it bores me.”

She gave a sigh and asked:

“Always the same… You haven’t changed… Oh, it’s settled, you never will change… So you are in the Kesselbach case?”

“Why, of course! But for that, would I have taken the trouble to arrange for an attack on Mrs. Kesselbach at six o’clock, so that I might have the opportunity of delivering her from the clutches of my own men at five minutes past? Looking upon me as her rescuer, she is obliged to receive me. I am now in the heart of the citadel and, while protecting the widow, can keep a lookout all round. Ah, you see, the sort of life which I lead does not permit me to lounge about and waste my time on little questions of politeness and such outside matters. I have to go straight to the point, violently, brutally, dramatically…”

She looked at him in dismay and gasped:

“I see… I see… it’s all lies about the attack… But then… GeneviŽve…”

“Why, I’m killing two birds with one stone! It was as easy to rescue two as one. Think of the time it would have taken, the efforts—useless efforts, perhaps—to worm myself into that child’s friendship! What was I to her? What should I be now? An unknown person… a stranger. Whereas now I am the rescuer. In an hour I shall be… the friend.”

She began to tremble:

“So… so you did not rescue GeneviŽve… So you are going to mix us up in your affairs…” And, suddenly, in a fit of rebellion, seizing him by the shoulders, “No, I won’t have it, do you understand? You brought the child to me one day, saying, ‘Here, I entrust her to you… her father and mother are dead… take her under your protection.’ Well, she’s under my protection now and I shall know how to defend her against you and all your manoeuvers!”

Standing straight upright, in a very determined attitude, Mme. Ernemont seemed ready for all emergencies.

Slowly and deliberately Sernine loosened the two hands, one after the other, that held him, and in his turn, took the old lady by the shoulders, forced her into an arm-chair, stooped over and, in a very calm voice, said:

“Rot!”

She began to cry and, clasping her hands together, implored him:

“I beseech you, leave us in peace. We were so happy! I thought that you had forgotten us and I blessed Heaven every time a day had passed. Why, yes… i love you just the same. But, GeneviŽve… you see, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for that child. She has taken your place in my heart.”

“So I perceive,” said he, laughing. “You would send me to the devil with pleasure. Come, enough of this nonsense! I have no time to waste. I must talk to GeneviŽve.”

“You’re going to talk to her?”

“Well, is that a crime?”

“And-what have you to tell her?”

“A secret… a very grave secret… and a very touching one…”

The old lady took fright:

“And one that will cause her sorrow, perhaps? Oh, I fear everything, I fear everything, where she’s concerned!…”

“She is coming,” he said.

“No, not yet.”

“Yes, yes, I hear her… Wipe your eyes and be sensible.”

“Listen,” said she, eagerly, “listen. I don’t know what you are going to say, what secret you mean to reveal to this child whom you don’t know. But I, who do know her, tell you this: GeneviŽve has a very plucky, very spirited, but very sensitive nature. Be careful how you choose your words… You might wound feelings… the existence of which you cannot even suspect…”

“Lord bless me! And why not?”

“Because she belongs to another race than you, to a different world… I mean, a different moral world… There are things which you are forbidden to understand nowadays. Between you and her, the obstacle is insurmountable… GeneviŽve has the most unblemished and upright conscience… and you…”

“And I?”

“And you are not an honest man!”

GeneviŽve entered, bright and charming:

“All my babies have gone to bed; I have ten minutes to spare… Why, grandmother, ‘what’s the matter? You look quite upset… Is it still that business with the…”

“No, mademoiselle,” said Sernine, “I believe I have had the good fortune to reassure your grandmother. Only, we were talking of you, of your childhood; and that is a subject, it seems, which your grandmother cannot touch upon without emotion.”

“Of my childhood?” said GeneviŽve, reddening. “Oh, grandmother!”

“Don’t scold her, mademoiselle. The conversation turned in that direction by accident. It so happens that I have often passed through the little village where you were brought up.”

“Aspremont?”

“Yes, Aspremont, near Nice. You used to live in a new house, white all over…”

“Yes,” she said, “white all over, with a touch of blue paint round the windows… I was only seven years old when I left Aspremont; but I remember the least things of that period. And I have not forgotten the glare of the sun on the white front of the house, nor the shade of the eucalyptus-tree at the bottom of the garden.”

“At the bottom of the garden, mademoiselle, was a field of olive-trees; and under one of those olive-trees stood a table at which your mother used to work on hot days…”

“That’s true, that’s true,” she said, quite excitedly “I used to play by her side…”

“And it was there,” said he, “that I saw your mother several times… I