‘Not even – under the seal of the confessional?’
‘No. That were of no use to you, my son. From chance words that the Mère Bonnard from time to time let fall I gathered that Champagne was their native country.’
‘M’sieur,’ Justin’s eyes widened a little, ‘I want you to speak plainly. Did you think when you saw Léonie grow from babyhood into girlhood that she was a daughter of the Bonnards?’
The Curé looked out of the window. For a moment he did not answer.
‘I wondered, monsieur…’
‘No more? Was there nothing to show that she was not a Bonnard?’
‘Nothing but her face.’
‘And her hair, and her hands. Did she remind you of no one, my father?’
‘It is difficult to tell at that age. The features are still unformed. When the Mère Bonnard was dying she tried to say something. That it concerned Léonie I know, but she died before she could tell me.’
His Grace frowned quickly.
‘How inconvenient!’
The Curé’s lips tightened.
‘What of la petite, sir? What became of her when she left this place?’
‘She was, as I told you, compelled to change her sex. Bonnard married some shrewish slut, and bought a tavern in Paris. Faugh!’ His Grace took snuff.
‘It was perhaps as well then that Léonie was a boy,’ said De Beaupré quietly.
‘Without doubt. I found her one evening when she was flying from punishment. I bought her, and she mistook me for a hero.’
‘I trust, mon fils, that she will never have cause to change her opinion.’
Again the Duke smiled.
‘It is a hard rôle to maintain, my father. Let us pass over that. When first I set eyes on her it flashed across my brain that she was related to – someone I know.’ He shot the Curé a swift glance, but De Beaupré’s face was impassive. ‘Someone I know. Yes. On the fleeting conviction I acted. The conviction has grown, mon père, but I have no proof. That is why I come to you.’
‘You come in vain, monsieur. There is nothing to tell whether Léonie be a Bonnard or not. I too suspected, and because of that I took pains with la petite, and taught her to the best of mine ability. I tried to keep her here when the Bonnards died, but Jean would not have it so. You say he ill-treated her? Had I thought that I would have done more to retain the child. I did not think it. True I had never an affection for Jean, but he was kind enough to la petite in those days. He promised to write to me from Paris, but he never did so, and I lost trace of him. Now it seems that Chance has led you to Léonie, and you suspect what I suspected.’
Justin set down his wine-glass.
‘Your suspicion, mon père ?’
It was spoken compellingly.
De Beaupré rose, and went to the window.
‘When I saw the child grow up in a delicate mould; when I saw those blue eyes, and those black brows, coupled with hair of flame, I was puzzled. I am an old man, and that was fifteen or more years ago. Yet even then I had been out of the world for many years, and I had seen no one of that world since the days of my youth. Very little news reaches us here, monsieur; you will find me strangely ignorant. As I say, I watched Léonie grow up, and every day I saw her become more and more like to a family I had known before I was a priest. It is not easy to mistake a descendant of the Saint-Vires, m’sieur.’ He turned, looking at Avon.
The Duke lay back in his chair. Beneath his heavy lids his eyes glittered coldly.
‘And thinking that – suspecting that, my father – you yet let Léonie slip through your fingers? You knew also that the Bonnards came from Champagne. It is to be supposed that you remembered where the Saint-Vire estate lay.’
The Curé looked down at him in surprised hauteur.
‘I fail to understand you, m’sieur. It is true that I thought Léonie a daughter of Saint-Vire, but what could that knowledge avail her? If Madame Bonnard wished her to know, she could have told her. But Bonnard himself recognised the child as his. It was better that Léonie should not know.’
The hazel eyes opened wide.