CHAPTER VII.
The lady in the pearl-coloured dress! Certainly it was a face that might
well arrest the eye and linger long on the remembrance.
There are certain "beauty-women" as there are certain "beauty-men," in
whose features one detects no fault, who are the show figures of any
assembly in which they appear, but who, somehow or other, inspire no
sentiment and excite no interest; they lack some expression, whether of
mind, or of soul, or of heart, without which the most beautiful face is
but a beautiful picture. This lady was not one of those "beauty-women."
Her features taken singly were by no means perfect, nor were they set off
by any brilliancy of colouring. But the countenance aroused and
impressed the imagination with a belief that there was some history
attached to it, which you longed to learn. The hair, simply parted over
a forehead unusually spacious and high for a woman, was of lustrous
darkness; the eyes, of a deep violet blue, were shaded with long lashes.
Their expression was soft and mournful, but unobservant. She did not
notice Alain and Lemercier as the two men slowly passed her. She seemed
abstracted, gazing into space as one absorbed in thought or revery. Her
complexion was clear and pale, and apparently betokened delicate health.
Lemercier seated himself on a bench beside the path, and invited Alain to
do the same. "She will return this way soon," said the Parisian, "and we
can observe her more attentively and more respectfully thus seated than
if we were on foot; meanwhile, what do you think of her? Is she French?
is she Italian? can she be English?"
"I should have guessed Italian, judging by the darkness of the hair and
the outline of the features; but do Italians have so delicate a fairness
of complexion?"
"Very rarely; and I should guess her to be French, judging by the
intelligence of her expression, the simple neatness of her dress, and by
that nameless refinement of air in which a Parisienne excels all the
descendants of Eve,--if it were not for her eyes. I never saw a
Frenchwoman with eyes of that peculiar shade of blue; and if a
Frenchwoman had such eyes, I flatter myself she would have scarcely
allowed us to pass without making some use of them."
"Do you think she is married?" asked Alain.
"I hope so; for a girl of her age, if _comme il faut_, can scarcely walk
alone in the Bois, and would not have acquired that look so intelligent,
--more than intelligent,--so poetic."
"But regard that air of unmistakable distinction; regard that expression
of face,-so pure, so virginal: _comme il faut_ she must be."
As Alain said these last words, the lady, who had turned back, was
approaching them, and in full view of their gaze. She seemed unconscious
of their existence as before, and Lemercier noticed that her lips moved
as if she were murmuring inaudibly to herself.
She did not return again, but continued her walk straight on till at the
end of the alley she entered a carriage in waiting for her, and was
driven off.
"Quick, quick!" cried Lemercier, running towards his own coupe; "we must
give chase."
Alain followed somewhat less hurriedly, and, agreeably to instructions
Lemercier had already given to his coachman, the Parisian's coupe set off
at full speed in the track of the strange lady's, which was still in
sight.
In less than twenty minutes the carriage in chase stopped at the grille
of one of those charming little villas to be found in the pleasant suburb
of A-----; a porter emerged from the lodge, opened the gate; the carriage
drove in, again stopped at the door of the house, and the two gentlemen
could not catch even a glimpse of the lady's robe as she descended from
the carriage and disappeared within the house.
"I see a cafe yonder," said Lemercier; "let us learn all we can as to the
fair unknown, over a _sorbet_ or a _petit verre_." Alain silently, but
not reluctantly, consented. He felt in the fair stranger an interest new
to his existence.
They entered the little cafe, and in a few minutes Lemercier, with the
easy _savoir vivre_ of a Parisian, had extracted from the _garcon_ as
much as probably any one in the neighbourhood knew of the inhabitants of
the villa.
It had been hired and furnished about two months previously in the name
of Signora Venosta; but, according to the report of the servants, that
lady appeared to be the gouvernante or guardian of a lady much younger,
out of whose income the villa was rented and the household maintained.
It was for her the _coupe_ was hired from Paris. The elder lady very
rarely stirred out during the day, but always accompanied the younger in
any evening visits to the theatre or the houses of friends.
It was only within the last few weeks that such visits had been made.
The younger lady was in delicate health, and under the care of an English
physician famous for skill in the treatment of pulmonary complaints. It
was by his advice that she took daily walking exercise in the Bois. The
establishment consisted of three servants, all Italians, and speaking but
imperfect French. The _garcon_ did not know whether either of the ladies
was married, but their mode of life was free from all scandal or
suspicion; they probably belonged to the literary or musical world, as
the _garcon_ had observed as their visitors the eminent author M. Savarin
and his wife; and, still more frequently, an old man not less eminent as
a musical composer.
"It is clear to me now," said Lemercier, as the two friends reseated
themselves in the carriage, "that our pearly _ange_ is some Italian
singer of repute enough in her own country to have gained already a
competence; and that, perhaps on account of her own health or her
friend's, she is living quietly here in the expectation of some
professional engagement, or the absence of some foreign lover."
"Lover! do you think that?" exclaimed Alain, in a tone of voice that
betrayed pain.
"It is possible enough; and in that case the Englishman may profit little
by the information I have promised to give him."
"You have promised the Englishman?"
"Do you not remember last night that he described the lady, and said that
her face haunted him: and I--"
"Ah! I remember now. What do you know of this Englishman? He is rich, I
suppose."
"Yes, I hear he is very rich now; that an uncle lately left him an
enormous sum of money. He was attached to the English Embassy many years
ago, which accounts for his good French and his knowledge of Parisian
life. He comes to Paris very often, and I have known him some time.
Indeed he has intrusted to me a difficult and delicate commission. The
English tell me that his father was one of the most eminent members of
their Parliament, of ancient birth, very highly connected, but ran out
his fortune and died poor; that our friend had for some years to maintain
himself, I fancy, by his pen; that he is considered very able; and, now
that his uncle has enriched him, likely to enter public life and run a
career as distinguished as his father's."
"Happy man! happy are the English," said the Marquis, with a sigh; and as
the carriage now entered Paris, he pleaded the excuse of an engagement,
bade his friend goodby, and went his way musing through the crowded
streets.
