The Murder on the Links
“Yes. You are your mother’s son as well as your father’s. Go then to
Mademoiselle Bella. Tell her everything. Keep nothing back—and see what
she will say!”
Jack looked irresolute.
“Go to her as a boy no longer, but a man—a man bowed by the fate of the
Past, and the fate of Today, but looking forward to a new and wonderful
life. Ask her to share it with you. You may not realize it, but your
love for each other has been tested in the fire and not found wanting.
You have both been willing to lay down your lives for each other.”
And what of Captain Arthur Hastings, humble chronicler of these pages?
There is some talk of his joining the Renaulds on a ranch across the
seas, but for the end of this story I prefer to go back to a morning in
the garden of the Villa Geneviève.
“I can’t call you Bella,” I said, “since it isn’t your name. And Dulcie
seems so unfamiliar. So it’s got to be Cinderella. Cinderella married
the Prince, you remember. I’m not a Prince, but—”
She interrupted me.
“Cinderella warned him, I’m sure! You see, she couldn’t promise to turn
into a princess. She was only a little scullion after all—”
“It’s the Prince’s turn to interrupt,” I interpolated. “Do you know
what he said?”
“No?”
“‘Hell!’ said the Prince—and kissed her!”
And I suited the action to the word.