The Indiscretion of the Duchess | Page 8

shall go supperless to bed to-night," said she; and we sat down glum as two children going back to school.
Suddenly there was a commotion outside; the girls were talking to one another in rapid eager tones. The duchess raised her head, listening. Then she turned to me, asking:
"Can you hear what they say?"
"I can distinguish nothing except 'Quick, quick!'"
As I spoke the door was thrown open, and two rushed in, the foremost saying:
"Again, madame, again!"
"Impossible!" exclaimed the duchess, starting up.
"No, it is true. Jean was out, snaring a rabbit, and caught sight of the carriage."
"What carriage? Whose carriage?" I asked.
"Why, my husband's," said the duchess, quite calmly. "It is a favorite trick of his to surprise us. But Algeria! We thought we were safe with Algeria. He must travel underground like a mole, Suzanne, or we should have heard."
"Oh, one hears nothing here!"
"And what," said the duchess, "are we to do with Mr. Aycon?"
"I can solve that," I observed. "I'm off."
"But he'll see you!" cried the girl. "He is but a half-mile off."
"Mr. Aycon could take the side-path," said the duchess.
"The duke would see him before he reached it," said the girl. "He would be in sight for nearly fifty yards."
"Couldn't I hide in the bushes?" I asked.
"I hate anything that looks suspicious," remarked the duchess, still quite calm; "and if he happened to see you, it would look rather suspicious! And he has got eyes like a cat's for anything of that sort."
There was no denying that it would look suspicious if I were caught hiding in the bushes. I sat silent, having no other suggestion to make.
Suzanne, with a readiness not born, I hope, of practice, came to the rescue with a clever suggestion.
"The English groom whom madame dismissed a week ago--" said she. "Why should not the gentleman pass as the groom? The man would not take his old clothes away, for he had bought new ones, and they are still here. The gentleman would put them on and walk past--voil��."
"Can you look like a groom?" asked the duchess. "If he speaks to you, make your French just a little worse"--and she smiled.
They were all so calm and businesslike that it would have seemed disobliging and absurd to make difficulties.
"We can send your luggage soon, you know," said the duchess. "You had better hide Mr. Aycon's luggage in your room, Suzanne. Really, I am afraid you ought to be getting ready, Mr. Aycon."
The point of view again! By virtue of the duchess' calmness and Suzanne's cool readiness, the proceeding seemed a most ordinary one. Five minutes later I presented myself to the duchess, dressed in a villainous suit of clothes, rather too tight for me, and wearing a bad hat rakishly cocked over one eye. The duchess surveyed me with great curiosity.
"Fortunately the duke is not a very clever man," said she. "Oh, by the way, your name's George Sampson, and you come from Newmarket; and you are leaving because you took more to drink than was good for you. Good-by, Mr. Aycon. I do hope that we shall meet again under pleasanter circumstances."
"They could not be pleasanter--but they might be more prolonged," said I.
"It was so good of you to come," she said, pressing my hand.
"The carriage is but a quarter of a mile off!" cried Suzanne warningly.
"How very annoying it is! I wish to Heaven the Algerians had eaten the duke!"
"I shall not forget my day here," I assured her.
"You won't? It's charming of you. Oh, how dull it will be now! It only wanted the arrival of--Well, good-by!"
And with a final and long pressure of the duchess' hand, I, in the garb and personality of George Sampson, dismissed for drunkenness, walked out of the gate of the chateau.
"One thing," I observed to myself as I started, "would seem highly probable--and that is, that this sort of thing has happened before."
The idea did not please me. I like to do things first.
CHAPTER IV.
The Duchess Defines Her Position.
I walked on at a leisurely pace; the heavy carriage was very near the top of the hill. In about three minutes' time we met. There sat alone in the carriage a tall dark man, with a puffy white face, a heavy mustache, and stern cold eyes. He was smoking a cigar. I plucked my hat from my head and made as if to pass by.
"Who's this?" he called out, stopping the carriage.
I began to recite my lesson in stumbling French.
"Why, what are you? Oh, you're English! Then in Heaven's name, speak English--not that gabble." And then he repeated his order, "Speak English," in English, and continued in that language, which he spoke with stiff formal correctness.
He heard my account of myself with unmoved face.
"Have you any writings--any testimonials?" he asked.
"No, my lord," I stammered, addressing him in style