‘He knows you are here,’ said Shield, taking a cup and saucer from Eustacie, ‘but I doubt whether he has strength enough to see any more visitors to-night.’
‘My dear Tristram, are you trying to be tactful?’ inquired the Beau, amused. ‘I am quite sure Sylvester said that he would be damned if he would see that frippery fellow Basil.
‘No, no; it cannot be my taste in dress which makes him dislike me so much, for that is almost impeccable,’ said the Beau, lovingly smoothing a wrinkle from his satin sleeve. ‘I can only think that it is because I stand next in the succession to poor Ludovic, and that is really no fault of mine.’
‘For all we know you may be further removed than that,’ said Tristram. ‘Ludovic may be married by now.’
‘Very true,’ agreed the Beau, sipping his tea. ‘And in some ways a son of Ludovic’s might best solve the vexed question of who is to reign in Sylvester’s stead.’
‘The estate is left in trust.’
‘From your gloomy expression, Tristram, I infer that you are one of the trustees,’ remarked the Beau. ‘Am I right?’
‘Oh yes, you’re right. Pickering is joined with me. I told Sylvester he should have named you.’
‘You are too modest, my dear fellow. He could not have made a better choice.’
‘I am not modest,’ replied Shield. ‘I don’t want the charge of another man’s estate; that is all.’
The Beau laughed, and setting down his tea-cup turned to Eustacie. ‘It has occurred to me that I am here merely in the rôle of chaperon to a betrothed couple,’ he said. ‘I do not feel that I am cut out for such a rôle, so I shall go away now. Dear cousin! –’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Tristram, my felicitations. If we do not meet before we shall certainly meet at Sylvester’s funeral.’
There was a short silence after he had gone. Sir Tristram snuffed a candle which was guttering, and glanced down at Eustacie, sitting still and apparently pensive by the fire. As though aware of his look, she raised her eyes and gazed at him in the intent, considering way which was so peculiarly her own.
‘Sylvester wants to see us married before he dies,’ Shield said.
‘Basil does not think he will die.’
‘I believe he is nearer to it than we know. What did the doctor say?’
‘He said he was very irreligious, and altogether insupportable,’ replied Eustacie literally.
Sir Tristram laughed, surprising his cousin, who had not imagined that his countenance could lighten so suddenly. ‘I dare say he might, but was that all he said?’
‘No, he said also that it was useless for him to come any more to see Grandpère, because when he said he should have gruel Grandpère at once sent for a green goose and a bottle of burgundy. The doctor said that it would kill him, and du vrai, I think he is piqued because it did not kill Grandpère at all. So perhaps Grandpère will not die, but on the contrary get quite well again.’
‘I am afraid it is only his will which keeps him alive.’ Shield moved towards the fire and said, looking curiously down at Eustacie: ‘Are you fond of him? Will it make you unhappy if he dies?’
‘No,’ she replied frankly. ‘I am a little fond of him, but not very much, because he is not fond of anybody, he. It is not his wish that one should be fond of him.’
‘He brought you out of France,’ Shield reminded her.
‘Yes, but I did not want to be brought out of France,’ said Eustacie bitterly.
‘Perhaps you did not then, but you are surely glad to be in England now?’
‘I am not at all glad, but, on the contrary, very sorry,’ said Eustacie. ‘If he had left me with my uncle I should have gone to Vienna, which would have been not only very gay, but also romantic, because my uncle fled from France with all his family, in a berline, just like the King and Queen.’
‘Not quite like the King and Queen if he succeeded in crossing the frontier,’ said Shield.
‘I will tell you something,’ said Eustacie, incensed. ‘Whenever I recount to you an interesting story you make me an answer which is like – which is like those snuffers – enfin!’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Shield, rather startled.
‘Well, I am sorry too,’ said Eustacie, getting up from the sofa, ‘because it makes it very difficult to converse. I shall wish you a good night, mon cousin.’
If she expected him to try to detain her she was disappointed. He merely bowed formally and opened the door for her to pass out of the room.
Five minutes later her maid, hurrying to her bedchamber in answer to a somewhat vehement tug at the bell-rope, found her seated before her mirror, stormily regarding her own reflection.