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CHAPTER II.

"You will bathe this morning, Adrienne, will you not?" asked the little Marquise, opening her friend's door and looking in.

"Do you mean go with all those people and dance about in the water as they were doing yesterday--and in such costumes! No, thank you, Odylle; I had rather be excused."

"But, my dear, everyone does it now; and as for the costumes, some of them are quite chic. You didn't expect to see people in those nightgown-like affairs you wear in England. You couldn't swim in one."

"But the men are all with them, and those low-necked, short-sleeved dresses are very improper, I think."

"Not one whit worse than our modern evening dress," said Odylle, laughing. "My dear, don't bring any of your prudish English notions here. They won't do. Come, I know you can swim, and I told the Comte de Valtour we should be in the water this morning."

"The Comte de Valtour! You told him!" ejacu- | | 20 lated Adrienne, colouring rosily. "Oh, Odylle! How could you?"

"Why not? Where is the harm? It is quite the usual thing to do here."

"I shall not do it!" said the girl firmly. "I would rather never bathe at all, fond as I am of it, than go into the water in that fashion."

"What a silly little thing you are!" pouted Odylle. "And you would look so well in the sea; fair girls always do; and with your figure, too! What on earth have you to be afraid of?"

A hot flush rose to the delicate cheek of the English girl.

"I think it is horrid!" she said coldly.

"Oh! ma chère," laughed the pretty Parisienne, "how you do amuse me! Well, I won't argue with you; I know of old how little use it is. I am going to bathe, at all events. What shall I say to the Count if he asks for you?"

"I hope he will have the good sense not to do so," said the girl haughtily. "I think he could hardly expect to see me there."

"Well, adieu till breakfast time," laughed Odylle. "I wish you were not so particular. Believe me, a free and easy life is so much pleasanter. I never have scruples about things. What everyone does can't have much harm in it."

A faint smile hovered on Adrienne's lips.

"We think differently on many matters," she said, "I don't care to do what everyone does, so long | | 21 as their doings disagree with my own feelings and ideas."

"Oh! you will alter that by and by," laughed her friend. "Believe me, my dear, nothing makes a girl appear so odd as prejudices and opinions. It looks old-maidish."

"I don't mind that!"

"You dreadful child! But of course you don't mean it. Tell me, what did you think of Armand de Valtour?"

"He is very gentlemanly."

"Gentlemanly--he is the most finished courtier of the day! He is perfectly adored in Paris; everyone runs after him; his taste is perfect; his word is more powerful than that of a prince."

"Is he rich?" asked Adrienne.

"Yes. But he is the fashion--that is still better. He is of an ancient Provençal race; he is very proud; very difficile, very exclusive. He has never married--they say he never will now; all the women adore him. He must be nearly forty years of age. Well, I really must go if I mean to bathe. You will come and look on, perhaps?"

"No; I shall go for a walk."

"But not by yourself," urged Odylle, rather horrified. "You are not in England, remember, and you are too pretty not to be observed."

"Oh, my mother will come also, I have no doubt," said Adrienne. "I shall not outrage your French proprieties, Odylle--do not fear."

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"That is a sarcastic little speech, mon amie. Never mind, it is one of the privileges of friendship to be frank, is it not?"

And, kissing her hand, she ran merrily out of the room to prepare for that edifying exhibition which Adrienne had declined to share.

Left to herself, the girl rose slowly and put on her straw hat and arranged her simple morning dress, then went to fetch her mother as chaperon for that seaside ramble she meditated. Mrs. Heath was in no wise reluctant to accompany her daughter. The aquatic exhibition had only raised disgust in her well-drilled British mind, and she would never have permitted Adrienne to take part in it, even had she wished to do so.

They left the bathers far behind, and the planks that fashion has consecrated into a treadmill, and went on beyond to the cool sands, which were almost deserted at this hour. Mrs. Heath soon declared herself fatigued. Adrienne could have walked miles; she wanted to go much further, but her mother declared it impossible. Adrienne persuaded her to sit down and rest, while she strolled on.

Trouville has but little beauty anywhere; yet it seemed fair enough in the girl's young eyes, as she watched the slow rolling waves, the far-off shining sails, the drifting clouds, the bright sapphire of the sky.

"I should like to be in the sea. What a pity one cannot bathe by one's self here!" she thought, look- | | 23 ing with longing eyes at the lazy curling waves, with the sunshine warming their crests. She had wandered on; her mother was sitting on the sands far behind, engrossed in a book she had brought with her. Adrienne wanted no book; her thoughts were always companions enough.

Suddenly she saw a tall figure advancing from the opposite direction. Even at the distance that separated them she seemed to recognise the easy grace of the carriage, the poise of the well-shaped head.

"It is the Comte de Valtour," she thought, and flushed a little as she thought it. He had not gone with the bathers after all; he had not expected to see her there. The thought was so pleasant that she almost wondered at its pleasantness. She half turned aside that she might not seem to have perceived him, and tossed pebbles idly in among the tiny waves, and watched the widening circles spread over the blue waters before her.

"Have I then the happiness to see mademoiselle again?" murmured the pleasant, courteous voice she remembered so well.

Being calm and composed now, the girl turned her face towards him, and gave him her hand.

"I strolled here--my mother is fatigued--she is sitting yonder on that heap of sand. I wanted to walk to Villerville, but she says it is too far."

"So it is," he answered. "Even so far as you have come is a long walk for a young lady of our modern days. By the way, would you prefer to | | 24 speak English, Mdlle. Heath? I know it well."

"Yes, I should," she said quickly. "I fear I do not speak your language very well. One so soon gets out of practice."

"You speak it admirably," he answered, in her own tongue. "You learned it here, I suppose?"

"Yes--in Brussels. I was at school there. That was how I knew Odylle. She married soon after she left, and has invited me many times to stay with her. But I have never been able to do so till now."

"I wonder how you will like life here," he said, looking earnestly at her. "It is different--so different to England. It is all froth and sparkle and idleness and gaiety and dress. Do you care for such things? No? I thought not. What will you do?"

"I suppose I must look on at what others do," she said gravely. "After all, one need not live in the crowd. There is always the sea. It is pretty here in this little nook; do you often come here?"

"No--I can't think what brought me here to-day. Some kind fate, I think. I had meant to bathe, and then changed my mind. How is it you are not in the water with all the rest of the world, mademoiselle?"

She coloured shyly. "I--I did not care to go," she answered simply, and somehow felt that he would know why without further explanation.

Perhaps he did. He asked no more questions, only talked on softly and pleasantly as he well knew how, while the blue water rolled up lazily and left its | | 25 rings of foam at their feet, and the gulls spread their silvery wings in the sunlight, and whirled in circles above the mimic waves.

"My mother will be wondering what has become of me," said Adrienne at last, rousing herself with a start. "Will you come to be introduced to her, monsieur? She was not able to dine with us last night."

"I shall be honoured," he said, with a low bow as he turned and walked beside her. From time to time he looked at her, marvelling a little at the charm she held for him--a charm that was not so much in the fairness of her face as in the sweet serious gravity, so unchildlike and yet so youthful, of her manner; the perfect composure and grace that made her young years sit half-oddly on her shoulders. She was beautiful now and would be more so, that he saw. The low, broad brow, the beautiful mouth, the large serious eyes, the exquisite tint of skin and complexion, would only deepen into rarer charm with maturity. But perhaps that perfect purity and unconsciousness which was shadowed forth in her whole aspect touched this man of the world more deeply than her physical loveliness. He declared himself tired of mere beauty.

He had most of the fashionable vices of the day. Society had done its best to spoil him, and he had just convinced himself that he was thoroughly ennuyeéd by it and everything belonging to it, when fate threw this girl across his path. She was perfect | | 26 in her way, he thought. An ideal of girlhood; stately, serious, sweet, unconscious--alluring, without knowledge of the fact--enchaining without effort. He had never seen anyone like her.

"Divinement belle," he murmured to himself now, as his eyes took in the grace of form and feature. "She reminds one of the old régime. She is not suited to our rushing, tearing, excitable, frivolous modern society. And she does not seem to care for me, or wish to keep me here. How different from most women! Is she cold, I wonder, or only asleep still."

Somehow he hoped she was only the latter. He might find the waking a pleasant task--a new pastime. As a rule, he had a horror of unmarried women, but this girl--well, she would not throw herself in his path, that was evident. She would want all the wooing done for her. That would indeed be a novel position for him to be placed in. Suddenly she looked up and met his intent gaze, and blushed hotly. That vivid flush charmed him; it seemed to warm the pure cold fairness of the girl, and make her a more vivid reality of womanhood than the stately young goddess she had previously appeared.

"We are at our destination, monsieur," she said a little haughtily. "Allow me to introduce my mother. Mamma, this gentleman is the Comte de Valtour, who dined with us last evening."

Mrs. Heath rose up from her sand heap with as much dignity as she could command. She was not a | | 27 bit like her daughter; she was, in fact, the only child of a rich north country ironfounder, whom Clarence Heath, the younger son of a poor baronet, had married for her money.

"Bourgeois, decidedly," thought the Count, as he returned her by no means dignified salute. "Can they be mother and daughter? Fancy my young divinity ever turning into a mass of flesh and shapelessness and ill-fitting garments like that!"

He almost shuddered--the idea was so very dreadful; nevertheless he exerted himself to the utmost to please the good lady; and with Armand de Valtour to try was to succeed. Mrs. Heath was perfectly charmed with him. He accompanied them back to their little painted châlet for that strange meal which the English mind cannot bring itself to consider as breakfast, and there they found pretty little Madame de Savigny in the most delightful of morning wrappers, all cool muslin and soft lace and fluttering azure ribbons. She was enchanted to see the Count, and teased Adrienne prettily for her refusal to come in the sea--it had been so charming, and she had met so many people, and they had laughed and danced, and some of the costumes had been quite too lovely, and so on and on, with a string of pretty babbling nonsense that the girl listened to and smiled at, while Armand de Valtour watched her gravely, and wondering more and more at the contrast between her and the women of his Parisian world.

After breakfast he took his leave, declaring his | | 28 friend Lamboi would be wondering what had become of him, but Odylle made him promise to come to the Casino with them later on; and with one lingering look at Adrienne, as if to see whether her eyes echoed the invitation, he left.

"Ma chère;" said Odylle to her friend as the door closed, "you have made good use of your time, I see. Perhaps, after all, it was as well you did not bathe this morning. Candidly, is not Armand de Valtour charming?"

"That is a word I never could apply to a man," said Adrienne quietly; "it implies so much that is weak and womanly."

Odylle shrugged her shoulders. "It expresses the Count perfectly," she said; "and he admires you, that is plain. You don't seem to appreciate the compliment."

"He is a most delightful man," chimed in Mrs. Heath. "I have never met anyone like him."

"I suppose not," said Odylle dryly. "And he is rich, too. It is such a pity he won't marry. He has a lovely old château in Provence, and he never goes there, and an hôtel in Paris, and everyone adores him. He is in the best society."

Mrs. Heath listened eagerly. True, she did not like Frenchmen, and they always made bad husbands, but a title had great charms for her mind. To have a daughter with a château of her own, and to have her called Madame la Comtesse--that would be | | 29 indeed happiness! When Adrienne left the room she turned eagerly to Odylle.

"Did you mean that?" she said; "do you think the Count really admires Adrienne?"

"Without doubt," said the little Marquise; "one can see that very plainly. I hope he is serious. It would be so charming for Adrienne to marry a countryman of mine, and live in Paris, too. What delightful times we would have!"

"Adrienne is so strange," said her mother. "I wish she were like you, dear Marquise. She is so solemn and quiet, and somehow men never got on with her."

"She would make a charming Comtesse," repeated Odylle thoughtfully. "I don't think Armand de Valtour would object to that quiet and hauteur in a wife. She would carry his honours with dignity, and she would be a woman one might always trust. On the whole, madame, we had better marry her to the Count. An unmarried girl has no life, no position, no importance in the world; and Adrienne likes France and French ways (except bathing). Yes; I think it would be a good plan. Do not you?"

"It is all very well to say 'marry her,'" answered Mrs. Heath peevishly; "but Adrienne is not the sort of girl to do just anything one wants. She has refused several very good offers already, and since her father's death his people have been very cool to me. I do not go much into society, and nowadays | | 30 a girl must be seen everywhere to find a husband. I am always in terror lest Adrienne should marry a singer or painter or poet, or one of those dreadful people who never have any money, and are always in the clouds. She is full of such fancies."

"She has a pretty fair dot, has she not?" asked the little Marquise musingly. She had not paid much attention to Mrs. Heath's lamentation. She was too full of her scheme.

"Yes; she will have all my money," said her mother. "And if she made a marriage I approved of I would allow her a thousand a year. At my death she will have fifty thousand pounds."

"Bien," mused the pretty little woman. "And Armand won't object to a fortune. He is pretty much embarrassed, I know. Yes; we cannot do better. I will give him a hint. You can arrange it for Adrienne, madame," she added aloud.

"Arrange it! My dear Marquise, we are not accustomed to do that sort of thing in England. I could not force Adrienne to take a husband I had selected for her, however much I wished it."

"Force! Mais, de bon cœur! No one speaks of force," exclaimed Odylle wonderingly. "You are her mother. She owes you obedience. You tell her what you wish, n'est ce pas? If she be a good daughter she will fall in with those wishes. That is all."

Mrs. Heath shook her head.

"Ah, my dear Marquise, you do not know what | | 31 English girls are. We manage things so differently in our country."

"Do you?" asked the little Marquise innocently. "I thought I had read in your fashionable journals of society that marriages were always 'arranged.' I have seen it many times."

"Oh, that is merely an expression. What you call a façon de parler," said Mrs. Heath explanatorily. "A girl can always marry to please herself in England."

"And yet you need a divorce court. How droll! But to return to our subject. Would you like this marriage?"

"I should be delighted," said Mrs. Heath warmly. "But Adrienne is difficult to please."

The Marquise laughed.

"She is unlike most girls, I know; as unlike them as her name is unlike most English names. Who's choice was that, by the way?"

"Her father's, of course. Some member of his family originally married a French woman of great beauty and vast wealth. My husband wished to call our daughter after her; indeed, Adrienne resembles her greatly, though she is fairer. I did not like the name. I thought it sounded foreign and outlandish; but, of course, my wishes were never accounted anything in that family."

"It is but another reason for this alliance," said the Marquise. "Adrienne will become French like her ancestress."

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"Unless she objects to the man!" said Mrs. Heath.

"She will not be so foolish. Leave it all to me," answered Madame de Savigny. "Indeed, if I mistake not, the affair will want little aid. They are both attracted already. It is only a pity Armand de Valtour is not a few years younger, and a little less stout. But then his face is handsome still, and his manners are perfect."

"So Adrienne says."

The Marquise did not answer. She was absorbed in thought.

If she had only known it, her scheme wanted but little help--it was already ripening.

Upstairs, in her little room, the girl was kneeling, looking out through the blinds to the sunshiny coast beyond. There was no rainbow of colour now from gay dresses and fluttering figures; all was still and deserted in the noonday heat. Only a solitary figure paced up and down by the blue waves, and the colour rose to the girl's cheeks as she watched him.

"How different he is from all other men I have seen!" she thought, and then closed the blinds and turned away with a sigh.