XIII. THERESE'S FUTURE
M. Etienne Rambert was in the smoking-room of the house which he hadpurchased a few months previously in the Place Pereire, rueEugene-Flachat, smoking and chatting with his old friend Barbey, whoalso was his banker. The two had been discussing investments, and thewealthy merchant had displayed considerable indifference to the banker'srecommendation of various gilt-edged securities.
"To tell you the truth, my dear fellow," he said at length, "thesethings interest me very little; I've got used to big enterprises--amalmost what you would call a plunger. Of course you know that nothing isso risky as the development of rubber plantations. No doubt the industryhas prospered amazingly since the boom in motor-cars began, but you mustremember that I went into it when no one could possibly foresee theimmense market that the new means of locomotion would open for ourproduce. That's enough to prove to you that I'm no coward when it's aquestion of risking money." The banker nodded: his friend certainly diddisplay a quite extraordinary energy and will-power for a man of hisage. "As a matter of fact," M. Rambert went on, "any business of which Iam not actually a director, interests me only slightly. You know I amnot boasting when I say that my fortune is large enough to justify me inincurring a certain amount of financial risk without having to fear anyserious modification of my social position if the ventures should happento turn out ill. I've got the sporting instinct."
"It's a fine one," M. Barbey said with some enthusiasm. "And I don'tmind telling you that if I were not your banker, and so had a certainresponsibility in your case, I should not hesitate to put a schemebefore you that has been running in my head for a year or two now."
"A scheme of your own, Barbey?" said M. Rambert. "How is it you havenever told me about it? I should have thought we were close enoughfriends for that."
The hint of reproach in the words pricked the banker, and alsoencouraged him to proceed.
"It's rather a delicate matter, and you will understand my hesitationwhen I tell you--for I'll burn my boats now--that it isn't any ordinaryspeculation, such as I am in the habit of recommending to my customers.It is a speculation in which I am interested personally: in short, Iwant to increase the capital of my Bank, and convert my House into areally large concern."
"Oh-ho!" said M. Etienne Rambert, half to himself. "Well, you are quiteright, Barbey. But if you want to suggest that I shall help to financeit, you had better put all the cards on the table and let me knowexactly what the position is; I need not say that if nothing comes ofit, I shall regard any information you give me as absolutelyconfidential."
The two men plunged into the subject, and for a good half-hour discussedit in all its bearings, making endless calculations and contemplatingall contingencies. At last M. Rambert threw down his pen and looked up.
"I'm accustomed to the American method of hustle, Barbey. In principle Ilike your proposition quite well; but I won't be one of your financialpartners; if the thing goes through I'll be the only one, or not one atall. I know what is in your mind," he went on with a smile, as henoticed the banker's surprise; "you know what my fortune is, or ratheryou think you do, and you are wondering where I shall get the millionsterling, or thereabouts, that you want. Well, make your mind easy aboutthat; if I talk like this, it's because I've got it." The banker's bowwas very deferent, and M. Rambert continued: "Yes, the last year or twohave been good, even very good, for me. I've made some luckyspeculations and my capital has further been increased by some lotterieswhich have turned out right quite lately. Well!" he broke off with asigh, "I suppose one can't always be unlucky in everything, though moneycan't cure, or even touch, the wounds in one's heart."
The banker made no answer: he shrank from waking, by untimely words, thesad memories which were hardly dormant yet in the old man's mind. But M.Rambert soon reverted to his business tone.
"I'm quite disposed to be interested in a financial venture like yours,Barbey. But you must understand that you will have a good deal more thana sleeping partner in me. Will that suit you? I should not ask you toabdicate your authority, but I tell you frankly I should follow all theoperations of your house very closely indeed."
"There shall be no secrets from you, my dear friend, my dear partner, ifI may call you that," said M. Barbey, rising: "quite the contrary!"
The banker looked towards the mantelpiece, as if expecting to see aclock there; M. Rambert understood the instinctive action and drew outhis watch.
"Twenty minutes to eleven, Barbey: late hours for you. So off with you."He cut short the banker's half-hearted apologies for not prolonging theevening. "I am turning you out quite unceremoniously, my dear chap, andbesides, as you know, I'm not lonely to-night as I generally am. I havea young and very charming companion, for whom I have the greatestpossible affection, and I am going to join her."
M. Etienne Rambert conducted his friend to the hall door, heard thesound of his motor-car die away in the distance, and then walked acrossthe hall and, instead of going back to the smoking-room, turned into theadjoining drawing-room. He paused for a moment in the doorway, tenderlycontemplating the charming spectacle that met his eyes.
The shaded light from an electric lamp fell upon the bent head, ovalface and delicate features of Therese Auvernois, who was intent upon abook. The girl was emerging from childhood into young womanhood now, andsorrow had heightened her natural distinction by giving her a stamp ofgravity that was new. Her figure showed slight and supple, delicate andgraceful, and her long, tapered fingers turned over the pages of thebook with slow and regular movement. Therese looked round towardsEtienne Rambert when she heard him coming in, and laying down her bookshe came forward to meet him, moving with a very graceful, easycarriage.
"I am sure I am keeping you up most dreadfully late, dear M. Rambert,"she said apologetically, "but what am I to do? I must wait for theBaronne de Vibray, and the dear thing is so often late!"
The tragedy at the chateau of Beaulieu had had one effect in knittingall the friends of the Marquise de Langrune in closer bonds offriendship. Prior to that event Etienne Rambert had scarcely known theBaronne de Vibray; now the two were intimate friends. The Baronne hadnot desisted from her first generous effort until she had persuaded thefamily council to appoint her guardian of the orphaned ThereseAuvernois. At first she had installed the child at Querelles, andremained there with her, leading the quietest possible life, partly outof respect for Therese's grief, and partly because she herself was alsomuch upset by the distressing tragedy. She had even enjoyed the rest,and her new interest in playing mother, or rather elder sister, toTherese. But as the weeks went by and time accomplished its healingwork, Paris called to the Baronne once more, and yielding to thesolicitations of her many friends she brought her new ward to thecapital and settled in a little flat in the rue Boissy-d'Anglais. Atfirst she protested that she would go out nowhere, or at most pay onlyabsolutely necessary visits, but by degrees she accepted first one andthen many invitations, though always deploring the necessity of leavingTherese for several hours at a time.
Happily there was always Etienne Rambert, who was also staying in Parisjust now. It had gradually become the custom of the Baronne de Vibray,when she was dining out, to entrust Therese to Etienne Rambert's care,and the young girl and the old man got on together perfectly. Theirhearts had met across the awful chasm that fate had tried to cut betweenthem.
To Therese's last words now Etienne Rambert replied:
"You need not apologise for staying late, dear; you know how glad I amto see you. I wish the house were yours."
The girl glanced round the room that had grown so familiar to her, andwith a sudden rush of feeling slipped her arm around the old man's neckand laid her fair head on his shoulder.
"I should so love to stay here with you, M. Rambert!"
The old man looked oddly at her for a moment, repressing the words thathe might perhaps have wished to say, and then gently released himselffrom her affectionate clasp and led her to a sofa, on which he sat downby her side.
; "That is one of the things that we must not allow ourselves to thinkabout, my dear," he said. "I should have rejoiced to receive you in myhome, and your presence, and the brightness of your dear fair face wouldhave given a charm to my lonely fireside; but unfortunately those arevain dreams. We have to reckon with the world, and the world would notapprove of a young girl like you living in the home of a lonely man."
"Why not?" Therese enquired in surprise. "Why, you might be my father."
Etienne Rambert winced at the word.
"Ah!" he said, "you must not forget, Therese, that I am not your father,but--his: the father of him who----" but Therese's soft hand laid uponhis lips prevented him from finishing what he would have said.
To change the conversation Therese feigned concern about her own future.
"When we left Querelles," she said, "President Bonnet told me that youwould tell me something about my affairs. I gather that my fortune isnot a very brilliant one."
It was indeed the fact that after the murder of the Marquise theunpleasant discovery had been made that her fortune was by no means soconsiderable as had generally been supposed. The estate was mortgaged,and President Bonnet and Etienne Rambert had had long and anxiousdebates as to whether it might not be well for Therese to renounce herinheritance to Beaulieu, so doubtful did it seem whether the assetswould exceed the liabilities.
Etienne Rambert made a vague, but significant gesture when he heard thegirl raise the point now, but Therese had all the carelessness of youth.
"Oh, I shall not be down-hearted," she exclaimed. "My poor granniealways gave me an example of energy and hard work; I've got plenty ofpluck, and I will work too. Suppose I turn governess?"
M. Rambert looked at her thoughtfully.
"My dear child, I know how brave and earnest you are, and that gives meconfidence. I have thought about your future a great deal already. Someday, of course, some nice and wealthy young fellow will come along andmarry you---- Oh, yes, he will: you'll see. But in the meantime it willbe necessary for you to have some occupation. I am wondering whether itwill not be necessary to let, or even to sell Beaulieu. And, on theother hand, you can't always stay with the Baronne de Vibray."
"No, I realise that," said Therese, who, with the native tact that wasone of her best qualities, had quickly seen that it would not be longbefore she would become a difficulty in the way of the independence ofthe kind Baronne. "That is what troubles me most."
"Your birth and your upbringing have been such that you would certainlysuffer much in taking up the difficult and delicate, and sometimespainful, position of governess in a family; and, without wishing to beoffensive, I must remind you that you need to have studied very hard tobe a governess nowadays, and I am not aware that you are exactly ablue-stocking. But I have an idea, and this is it: for a great manyyears now I have been on the very friendliest terms with a lady whobelongs to the very best English society: Lady Beltham; you may perhapshave heard me speak of her." Therese opened wide eyes of astonishment,and Rambert went on: "A few months ago Lady Beltham lost her husband instrange circumstances, and since then she has been good enough to giveme more of her confidence than previously. She is immensely rich, andvery charitable, and I have frequently been asked by her to look aftersome of her many financial interests. Now I have often noticed that shehas with her several young English ladies who live with her, not ascompanions, but, shall I say, secretaries? Do you understand thedifference? She treats them like friends or relatives, and they allbelong to the very best social class, some of them indeed beingdaughters of English peers. If Lady Beltham, to whom I could speak aboutit, would admit you into her little company, I am sure you would be in amost delightful _milieu_, and Lady Beltham, whom, I know, you wouldplease, would almost certainly interest herself in your future. Sheknows what unhappiness is as well as you do, my dear," he added, bendingfondly over the girl, "and she would understand you."
"Dear M. Rambert!" murmured Therese, much moved: "do that; speak to LadyBeltham about me; I should be so glad!"
Therese did not finish all she would have said. A loud ring at the frontdoor bell broke in upon her words, and Etienne Rambert rose and walkedacross the room.
"That must be the good Baronne de Vibray come for you," he said.