Wanderfoot (The Dream Ship)
big wide _ateliers_! one for herself, one for the little Bran, and one
other for--_who_? Who is it that dwells in the third _atelier_ across
the landing, Haidee, my very dear?"
"Don't ask _me_," said Haidee sulkily, yet with alert eyes, for she was
unable to contain her curiosity and amazement at the news. Val with
three studios, who on their return to Paris had not possessed the price
of a quarter's rent for one! And according to Madame de Vervanne they
were big studios--no mere holes in the wall with skylights let in the
ceiling. Parquet floors, beautifully shaded walls, wide galleries and
French windows that led into balconies! It sounded like an Arabian
tale. Haidee knew, as she knew most practical everyday things, how the
rents of studios ranged, and she computed that the rent of such a one as
the Comtesse described ran into not a centime less than three thousand
francs a year. And Val with three! But the thing was incomprehensible,
_impayable_--fantastic indeed as the Comtesse described it!
She was aware from the new address forwarded to her that Val had removed
to the Lamartine Building in Boulevard Raspail, a great block of newly
finished and very elaborate studios, which they in company with all the
other hard-working and poor artists of the Quarter had long made a mock
of, calling it the American Crystal Palace. It had lifts, a roof garden,
balconies, baths, and all the luxuries that artists can never aspire to.
Haidee on seeing the changed address had supposed that in the feeble
condition of the family finances Val had been obliged to take one or two
of the tiny rooms always to be let at the top of most big mansions, and
which are usually rented out to domestics. The idea was not displeasing
to Haidee. In the frame of mind she had adopted she liked to think of
Val suffering discomfort and poverty. And she did not care either if
Bran had to undergo the same thing, because she knew that if Bran's
quarters were cramped Val would suffer far more than for herself. It
will be seen that the dark caves in Haidee's soul had taken unto
themselves infernal occupants, as dark caves will if the sunshine of
loving-kindness is not let into them from day to day. It actually irked
her to hear now from Christiane de Vervanne that Bran's room was as big
as a schoolroom.
"About four times as big as this," said the Comtesse, casting an
appraising eye round classroom B of the Pavilion Mauve. "With shelves
all round, and an assortment of toys most wonderful. Even I could find
myself very much amused with such toys. He has a _foxe_ too."
"A fox!" shrieked Haidee.
"But yes--one of the little black and white ones with the tail of him
cut off."
"Oh, a fox-_terrier_." Haidee turned away impatiently, but curiosity
obliged her to turn back instantly to hear the rest of the amazing tale.
"At one end of this big nursery studio two white beds, one for the
_petit_ Bran and one for the American governess who is permanently
installed and very devoted."
"A governess to sleep with Bran!" exclaimed Haidee. "Oh, no, that is
too strong. I have never known Val let Bran sleep out of her sight!"
"But yes--it is all so _bizarre_. You must go home and see, my Haidee."
Indeed Haidee registered a resolution to write to Val that very night
and ask for a _sortie_ letter to be sent for her to come home for the
following Saturday night and Sunday. She was still hating Val with a
fierce hatred and had no desire to see her. But this was a thing that
had got to be looked into.
"And," continued Madame de Vervanne, with her amiable air of finding
everything extremely amusing, "who do I find installed in the studio of
Madame Valdana taking tea, indeed making tea, as much at home as if he
had collected the sticks for it on the Mascaret beach, but--who do you
think, my Cabbage?"
"Goodness knows!" muttered the Cabbage. "Val is mad."
"Why, who but our _cher_ Poulot, Rupert!"
"Rupert! She 's got _him_, now?" cried Haidee, and her face darkened as
definitely as if some one had passed a blacking-brush over it.
"Yes," said the Comtesse softly, reflectively. "It is as you say. First
poor dear Sacha, now the innocent Poulot. Who next?" She sighed.
There was a little silence. Then Haidee said:
"Rupert has been twice to see me, once on Sunday and once on Thursday."
"Ah! and did he tell you how many times he went to see Madame
Valentine?"
"No, indeed, and I don't care anyhow," was the retort given with perhaps
unnecessary fierceness.
"But," cooed Madame soothingly, "one should care a little, _chere_
Haidee, for the sake of the poor good Poulot. She is no doubt a very
fine lady, the charming Mistress Valentine, but we do not wish to see
Rupert suffer as Sacha did."
The subtle words bit into Haidee's heart like acid on an old wound. She
had been very much touched at the Comtesse's act in writing to the
Directrice for permission to call at the Lycee. And it was very
gratifying that Madame de Vervanne should have arrived in a motor which
also contained a young lieutenant of Dragons in uniform, and which stood
growling and puffing at the Lycee gates, filling all the girls with
excitement and envy. Haidee's vanity too was greatly flattered by the
tender and confidential manner of the older woman, who never forgot also
to tell her how pretty and clever she was and to give recognition to the
fact that she was now seventeen. So different to Val's manner of
treating her as though she were still a child and quite unable to
arrange her own destiny. A curious, fresh access of fury was aroused in
Haidee's breast by the Comtesse's tale of Rupert's devotion to Val.
Rupert had been to see Haidee twice. He was stationed at Fontainebleau,
doing his second year of military service, and when he came to the Lycee
accompanied by his sister Celine he was wearing the ordinary private
soldier's uniform, and looking very handsome in the gay red and blue.
All the girls had admired him immensely, and Haidee herself liked him
extraordinarily better than in Mascaret. While Celine talked with some
of the girls she knew, Rupert and Haidee had wandered about the gardens,
talking about Sacha and little incidents of their happy time together
that now, looked at from a little distance of time, seemed wonderfully
perfumed and beautified. The remembrance of these two walks with him
made Haidee burn with sudden indignation against Val.
The Comtesse had begun to talk about other things, made Haidee show her
all round Pavilion Mauve and the big roomy schoolhouse, then take her
out into the grounds, along the paths that wound amongst other
Pavilions, the Red, the Blue, the Rose--and over broad lawns that in the
soft mild air of Versailles were green, even in winter. In the middle
of one of the lawns was a little lake bordered by strange-leaved
dwarf-like bushes that in summer were thick with crimson flowers, but
which now stretched out frail black branches to the silent fountain.
Dead leaves rustled and cracked under the Comtesse's high-heeled shoes
as they walked. She waved her hand at the well-kept tennis courts.
"But you are charmingly well here!" she cried, in her gay little
soprano. "Oh, to be young again and lovely like you, my child! Not all
the Mistress Valdanas could take away from me what I wanted!"
She returned meditatively to the former subject.
"But who is it that resides in the third _atelier_ think you, Haidee?
Curiosity consumes and burns me. There is a door leading into it from
Madame's _atelier_. Twice she left us to go swiftly and return. Once
when the door opened I heard a man cough. Tell me?--it could not be the
mysterious papa returned, could it?"
Haidee gazed at her blankly.
"There _is_ a mysterious papa, is it not?" If the curiosity of the
Comtesse had not always been pleasantly glossed by pretty childish
gestures and rippling laughter, it might have seemed vulgar. Haidee was
not clever enough to realise this, and she was staggered by the whole
strange story, which sounded unlike Val in every detail, but even in her
amazement she was not going to confide to a comparative stranger the
tangled domestic history of the family. If she had no feeling but one
of resentment for Val, she could still be loyal to Westenra.
"Oh yes, there is a papa--Bran's papa of course, and my guardian; but it
would n't be him."
"That makes even more _bizarre_ the affair," said the Comtesse lightly.
Then, knowing that she had said enough for the time being, she dismissed
the subject and shortly afterwards departed with her Dragon.
As soon as she was gone Haidee, who was nothing if not prompt, sat down
and wrote to Val for a _sortie_ letter for the coming Sunday. She
intended to investigate this mystery of the three studios for
herself--likewise the story of Rupert's entanglement.
But to her acute annoyance the opportunity was not afforded her. A
letter from Val came by return to the effect that she was too busy and
worried to be able to receive Haidee that term. As a palliative she sent
a parcel of books, an enormous box of exquisite chocolates from
Boissier's, and a dozen tennis balls. Haidee was a devotee of tennis
and always complained bitterly of the lack of balls, for tennis balls
are outrageously expensive in France. These Val sent were of the best
quality and must have cost at least three francs each. The mystery
deepened.
----
During the bad time of worriment and weariness with Valdana, Rupert was
indeed a great stay to Val. Being stationed so close to Paris he was
able to come often to the Lamartine Studios, and she was always glad to
see the blue friendly eyes that had in them some of the space and
compassion of sea and sky. There was something so loyal and reliable
about him that she had actually told him the truth about Valdana, and
been definitely aided by his sympathy and understanding. His influence
was good, too, for Bran, who was beginning to reach that stage when the
society and point of view of men means a great deal in a boy's life.
And Bran had always had a special _penchant_ for boys and men. It gave
Val many a sharp pang, not of resentment but of sorrow, to observe in
him a yearning for his father, for she knew that whatever she was able
to do for her son, she could never assuage that longing, never give him
the masculine companionship and influence of which he had been robbed.
It grieved her terribly to think that in her son's life those lovely
pliable years, when bonds between father and son are so simply but
strongly fashioned from the one's weakness and the other's strength,
were passing week by week, month by month. Glad enough then was she that
he had at least the friendly brotherly affection and influence of so
clear-hearted a boy as Rupert.
With Valdana she never allowed Bran to come into contact. Indeed,
Valdana from the first was practically oblivious to those about him. His
race was very nearly run. He had come to Val in the last lap of it,
upheld by God knew what strange resolution to make her share to the
bitter end their disastrous partnership. Having found her he seemed
content to let life wreak her pitiless worst on him before he was
allowed to depart to that death which he had once ignobly shirked, but
whose embrace he now longed for with the ardour of a lover. His
sufferings, indeed, were terrible. In the centre of the great lofty
room he lay and wrestled with an agony that was almost unceasing. But
he was well aware of being surrounded and enfolded by every comfort.
Softened light, flowers, music, good nursing, everything that money and
kindness could supply to alleviate pain was at hand, and he knew he had
Val to thank, and vaguely wondered how she achieved it, but did not care