The Mission of Mr. Eustace Greyne | Page 9

shook his head. The Levantine eyed him curiously.
"Monsieur wishes to say something to me, and does not like to speak."
Mr. Greyne made an effort. Now that he was with this gentle lady, with her white face, her weeping eyes, her plain black dress, the mere suspicion that she could have opened a locked drawer with a secret key, and filched therefrom a private record, seemed to him unpardonable. Yet, for a brief instant, it had occurred to him, and Mrs. Greyne had seriously held it. He looked at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a sudden impulse to tell her the truth overcame him.
"Yes," he said.
"Tell me, monsieur."
In broken words--the ship was still very busy--Mr. Greyne related the incident of the loss and finding of the diary. As he spoke a slight change stole over the Levantine's face. It certainly became less pale.
"But you have fever now!" cried Mr. Greyne anxiously.
"I! No; I flush with horror, not with fever! The diary, the sacred diary of madame, exposed to view, read by the children, perhaps the servants! That footman, Thomas, with the nose of curiosity! Ah! I behold that nose penetrating into the holy secrets of the existence of madame! I behold it--ah!"
She burst into a fit of hysterics, the laughing species, which is so much more terrible than the other sort. Mr. Greyne was greatly concerned. He lurched to her, and implored her to be calm; but she only laughed the more, while tears streamed down her cheeks. The vision of Thomas gloating over Mrs. Greyne's diary seemed utterly to unnerve her, and Mr. Greyne was able to measure, by this ebullition of horror, the depth of the respect and affection entertained by her for his beloved wife. When, at length, she grew calmer he escorted her towards her cabin, offering her his arm, on which she leaned heavily. As soon as they were in the narrow and heaving passage she turned to him, and said:
"Who can have taken the diary?"
Mr. Greyne blushed again.
"We think it was Thomas," he said.
Mademoiselle Verbena looked at him steadily for a moment, then she cried:
"God bless you, monsieur!"
Mr. Greyne was startled by the abruptness of this pious ejaculation.
"Why?" he inquired.
"You are a good man. You, at least, would not condescend to insult a friendless woman by unworthy suspicions. And madame?"
"Mrs. Greyne"--stammered Mr. Greyne--"is convinced that it was Thomas. In fact--in fact, she was the first to say so."
Mademoiselle Verbena tenderly pressed his hand.
"Madame is an angel. God bless you both!"
She tottered into her cabin, and, as she shut the door, Mr. Greyne heard the terrible, laughing hysterics beginning again.
The next day an influence from Africa seemed spread upon the sea. Calm were the waters, calm and blue. No cloud appeared in the sky. The fierce activities of the ship had ceased, and Mademoiselle Verbena tripped upon the deck at an early hour, to find Mr. Greyne already installed there, and looking positively cheerful. He started up as he perceived her, and chivalrously escorted her to a chair.
Everyone who has made a voyage knows that the sea breeds intimacies. By the time the white houses of Algiers rose on their hill out of the bosom of the waves Mademoiselle Verbena and Mr. Greyne were--shall we say like sister and brother? She had told him all about her childhood in dear Paris, the death of her father the count, murmuring the name of Louis XVI., the poverty of her mother the countess, her own resolve to put aside all aristocratic prejudices and earn her own living. He, in return, had related his Eton days, his momentary bias towards the militia, his marriage--as an innocent youth--with Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker. Coming to later times, he was led to confide to the tenderhearted Levantine the fact that he hoped to increase his stock of knowledge while in Africa. Without alluding to "Catherine," he hinted that the cure of influenza was not his only reason for foreign travel.
"I wish to learn something of men and--and women," he murmured in the shell-like ear presented to him. "Of their passions, their desires, their--their follies."
"Ah!" cried Mademoiselle Verbena. "Would that I could assist monsieur! But I am only an ignorant little creature, and know nothing of the world! And I shall be ever at the bedside of mamma."
"You will give me your address? You will let me inquire for the countess?"
"Willingly; but I do not know where I shall be. There will be a message at the wharf. To what hotel goes monsieur?"
"The Grand Hotel."
"I will write there when I have seen mamma. And meanwhile----"
They were coming into harbour. The heights of Mustapha were visible, the woods of the Bois de Boulogne, the towers of the Hotel Splendid.
"Meanwhile, may I beg monsieur not to----" She hesitated.
"Not to what?" asked Mr. Greyne most softly.
"Not to let anyone