CHAPTER VI
A LULL
Peridot lived on the Toulifot, a steep and rocky road that once upon atime was Pont Aven's main avenue to the interior of France. On the wayhe was consumed with maudlin sorrow that his beloved patron, MonsieurIngersoll, should have forbidden him to take further part in the feast.
"Tell me, then, what was my fault," he protested to Tollemache. "Name ofa pipe! can't a fellow take a thimbleful of cognac to keep the coldout?"
"Thimbleful!" laughed Tollemache. "The sort of thimble you used wouldmake a hat for any ordinary head."
"The skipper of the Stella is a _bon garcon_, and showed his gratitude,"said Peridot. "I could have carried the liquor like a drum major if Ihadn't fasted at Le Pouldu so as to keep a good appetite for supper."
"Ah! That's it, is it? Well, I'll make matters straight with MonsieurIngersoll in the morning."
Tollemache had every reason to believe that the fisherman was speakingthe truth. He had not seen Peridot intoxicated during five years offairly close acquaintance.
"The worst thing is that Madeleine will be holding her nose in the airevery time she meets me for a month," came the dejected whine.
"I'll tell her too how the accident happened. You'll be joking about ityourself tomorrow, old fellow."
"_Tiens!_ I've got it," and Peridot stood stock still in an attitude oforacular gravity. "Monsieur Ingersoll was angry, not because I was atrifle elevated, but on account of what I said about Ma'mselle Yvonne.Queer thing if that lady should really be her mother!"
"Now I know for certain that you're drunk as an owl."
"Not me! _Gars!_ Funny things occur. I could say lots if I chose. Whydoes Monsieur Ingersoll encourage Ma'mselle to dress _en Bretonne_? Whywon't he allow her to be photographed? Who has ever heard what became ofMadame Ingersoll? And aren't those two the image of each other?"
"Peridot," said Tollemache, "it would be a sad finish to a glorious dayif I were to knock you down."
"It would, Monsieur."
"But that is just what I'll do, as sure as Fate, if you utter anotherword concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne or her father."
"Mad!" declared the other. "All you Americans are mad! A man never knowshow to take you."
"Would you stand by and hear anyone running down Madeleine Demoret orher people?"
"Monsieur, I'd chew his ear!"
"Exactly. I'll spread your nose flat if you utter any more stupiditieswith regard to Mademoiselle Yvonne."
The Breton whistled softly, and staggered on up the hill. Each few yardsthereafter he halted, and whistled, evidently expressing unbounded andinarticulate surprise. All this was intensely annoying to the youngAmerican; but it had to be endured. Even more trying was theleave-taking at the door of the Larraidou cottage. The Breton caughtTollemache's hand, and was moved to tears.
"Monsieur," he gurgled, "you have my regrets--a thousand regrets! Iunderstand perfectly. A Frenchman comprehends these things quicker thanany other man in the world, even when he has filled the lamp. _Gars!_ IfI chew ears and you flatten noses, between us we'll spoil the beauty ofany rascal who dares open his mouth against either Mademoiselle Yvonneor Madeleine."
* * * * *
With difficulty Tollemache got rid of him, and strode back down thehill. He had blundered into that foolish comparison of the two girlswithout giving a thought to its possible significance. The oneconsolation was that Peridot would be tongue-tied with shame next day,and would probably remember only that he had made a fool of himself.
Passing the Hotel Julia, he ran into Yvonne hurrying down the steps ofthe annex. Then, of course, he flung care to the winds.
"Well met!" he cried. "Socrates told me you were not coming home tillmuch later."
"But where have you been?" she asked. "I imagined you were at MadamePitou's ages ago."
"As though you couldn't tell by my swollen appearance that I had suppedon white wheat and fatted fowl," he rejoined. "Of course I was there.I've been escorting Peridot home. He took an extra appetizer on an emptystomach, and it upset him. How are the patients?"
"Dr. Garnier has set the broken arm and bandaged the sprain. He gaveMrs. Carmac a stiff dose of bromide, and she is asleep. She will recoverif her nervous system withstands the shock."
"It was an extraordinary misfortune that the owner of the yacht shouldbe the one to have his head battered in. His wife realizes now that heis dead, I suppose?"
"Yes, she knows."
They crossed the square together. To reach the Rue Mathias they had togo round by the bridge and return by the right bank of the Aven. Thehour was not late, and many of the inhabitants were astir; but none gaveheed to the unusual spectacle of a Breton girl and a young man walkingin company, because both were recognized instantly, and in such mattersthe American and English residents were a law unto themselves. Had theybeen bred and born in the place, such a thing simply could not havehappened.
Somehow Tollemache felt a restraint that night that was both novel andunpleasing. A barrier of some sort had been erected between Yvonne andhimself. He cudgeled his wits to find words that would break down theobstacle, whatsoever it might be.
"We've had a lively evening at Madame's thus far," he said. "Riec andNevez shared the honors in the gavotte; but everybody agreed that PontAven would have scored if you had been there."
"I couldn't have danced tonight, Lorry, on any account."
"I don't see why. Your father took a very sensible view. 'Why shouldn'ttwenty hop because one has hooked it?' he said."
"Did he really say that?"
"Well, something to that effect."
"Poor old dad! He has had to sacrifice himself all his life."
"Don't you think you're making too much of the death of one man? Supposewe hadn't taken Peridot with us? We couldn't possibly have approachedthe reef, and twelve people would have gone under."
"Ten were strangers, and one cannot grieve for all the people who diearound us. But father knew Mr. and Mrs. Carmac years ago. Didn't he tellyou that?"
"Yes."
"Then you may be sure he is greatly upset. Now, Lorry, if there is anytalk of dancing when I appear, help my excuses by saying that I ought torest. In one sense I'm not really tired; in another I could fling myselfdown in a dark corner and weep my eyes out."
"Your eyes are too pretty to spoil in that way," said Tollemache. "I'llgive Mere Pitou the tip, and she'll fix things, I have no doubt."
* * * * *
But Yvonne was not pressed to dance. She was so pale, the eyes thatTollemache deemed too attractive that they should be marred by weepingwere so dilated and luminous with unshed tears, that these big-heartedBretons sympathized with her, and she was soon permitted to escape toher own room.
Father and daughter exchanged few words. She supplied a brief account ofthe doctor's view of the injured, and he only said:
"Thus far things are progressing well. Tomorrow morning I'm going toForbes's place, at Concarneau, for a few days. Tollemache and you canhelp Mr. Raymond in his negotiations with the authorities. Mr. Carmacwas an American, by birth, if not by domicile; so it is probable thathis relatives will wish the body to be embalmed and taken to the UnitedStates. I would advise Mr. Raymond to consult a notary, because Frenchprocedure differs essentially from American methods. I've told Lorryabout our altered plans. Perhaps we three can take a combined trip toParis after Christmas. Goodnight, Sweetheart. Sleep well, and don't meettomorrow's cares halfway."
Tollemache heard all that passed. Why, he knew not, but he found himselfregretting that they were not leaving Pont Aven by the first train inaccord with Ingersoll's original intent. He was more than ever consciousof that invisible wall which was now casting its shadow on their cheeryintimacy. Yvonne would never again be a demure Breton maid orstraight-legged, long-haired American schoolgirl. She had become a womanin an hour. Life had flung wide its
portals, and the prospect thusunfolded had saddened her inexpressibly.
What sinister influence had brought about this change? Could there beany actual foundation for Peridot's vaporings? As he walked back to thehotel through darkened streets he recalled certain vague rumors that hadreached his ears in early days. Ingersoll had always posed as a widower;but someone had said that his married life was rather mysterious, sincethere was no record of his wife's death or place of interment. It wouldindeed be passing strange if the wreck of the Stella had brought to PontAven the woman who was at once Yvonne's mother and the wife of acomplete stranger.
Tollemache buttoned the deep collar of an overcoat round his ears as hecrossed the river, because the wind was still bitingly cold. He caught aglimpse of Mere Pitou's cottage on the opposite bank of the Aven. Therewas a light in Yvonne's bedroom. Frankly in love, he threw her a kisswith his fingers.
The action did him, in his own phrase, "a heap of good." After all, suchdisplays of emotion come naturally in France.
"I don't give a red cent who her mother was, or is, or what she hasbeen, or turns out to be," he communed. "It's Yvonne I want. If Yvonnemarries me some day, I'll be the happiest man who ever lived, and themost miserable if she doesn't. So there you are, Lorry, my boy! You mustmake the best of it, whichever way the flag falls."
* * * * *
Memories of peaceful and contented years flitted through Ingersoll'smind while the steam tram lumbered next morning through tiny fields andacross rambling lanes to the quay of Concarneau. Other memories, vividand piercing, came of the period of love and dreams in Paris. Lithe andgraceful and divinely beautiful as her daughter was now, Stella Fordycehad been then. An artist to her fingertips, she came to the studio whereIngersoll was working, turning readily to the palette after some slightdefect in the vocal cords had put difficulties in the way of an operaticcareer.
It seemed to be a genuine instance of love at first sight, and they weremarried within three months of what was practically their first meeting;though Ingersoll had seen her as a girl of fourteen several yearsearlier. This step was not so foolish as it might have been in the caseof two young people without means. Ingersoll had an income of threethousand dollars a year, and complete devotion to art in his studentdays had enabled him to save a small capital, which he spent on anestablishment, and particularly on adorning an exceptionally handsomeand attractive wife.
It had been far better were they poverty-stricken. Mutual privations andcombined effort to improve their lot would have bound them by insolubleties. As it was the taste for pleasure and excitement crept into StellaIngersoll's blood. The first tiff between the two was the outcome ofsome mild protest on Ingersoll's part when his wife wished to increaserather than diminish her personal expenditure after Yvonne's birth.There were tears, and of course the man yielded: only to raise the pointagain more determinedly when an absurdly expensive dress was ordered fora ball at the opera.
Thenceforth the road to the precipice became ever smoother and steeper;though Ingersoll did not begin to suspect the crash that lay ahead untilhis wife left him and fled to her relatives in America. Her callousabandonment of the baby girl not yet a year old crushed to the dust theman who loved her. She told him plainly why she had gone. She was "sickto death" of petty economies. Indeed, her letter of farewell wasbrutally frank.
"I think I have qualities that equip me for a society that you and Itogether could never enter," she wrote. "Why, then, should I deny myselfwhile I am young, so that I may console vain regrets with copybookmaxims when I am old? I see clearly that I would only embitter your lifeand spoil your career. Be wise, and take time to reflect, and you willcome to believe that I am really serving you well by seeking my ownliberty. Meanwhile I shall do nothing to bring discredit on your name. Ipromise that, on my honor!"
Her honor! All his life John Ingersoll had hated cant, either in dogmaor phrase, and this ill-judged appeal stung him to the quick. He threwthe letter into the fire, left Paris next day, and his wife's strenuousefforts to discover his whereabouts during the subsequent year failedcompletely.
Then he heard by chance that she had divorced him, and married Walter H.Carmac in her maiden name, and the tragic romance of his life closedwith a sigh of relief, because, as he fancied, the curtain had fallen onits last act. He little dreamed that an epilogue would be staged nearlynineteen years later.
He was in such a state of mental distress that at Concarneau he sat awhole hour in a cafe opposite the station, meaning to return to PontAven by the next train. But the man's natural clarity of reasoning cameto his aid. He forced himself to think dispassionately. Two vitalprinciples served as rallying points in that time of silentbattle,--Yvonne must not be reft with crude violence from thegrief-stricken and physically broken woman who claimed a daughter'ssympathy, and he himself must avoid meeting this wife risen from thetomb. He had acted right, after all, in seeking refuge with his friend.
* * * * *
Yvonne that same morning found her mother sitting up in bed, sipping acup of chocolate. The nurse, a woman from the village, hailed the girl'spresence gleefully.
"Will you be remaining a few minutes, Mademoiselle she inquired, seeingthat invalid and visitor were on terms of intimacy.
"Yes, as long as you like, or will permit, Madame Bertrand," saidYvonne.
"That is well, then. I can go to my house for a little half-hour. Thereonly two instructions. Madame must remain quiet. If she shows any signsof faintness, send at once for Dr. Garnier."
"I shall be strict and watchful," smiled the girl, and the two were leftalone.
Her mother's first question threatened to disobey at least one of thedoctor's instructions. "Does your father know you have come here?" sheasked, and her voice trembled with foreboding.
"Yes, Dear. Now if you excite yourself in that way, I shall be expelledby the doctor," for the graceful head collapsed to the pillow in sheergratitude, and the chocolate was nearly spilled.
"But you must tell me, Yvonne! Will he permit us to meet?"
"Do you think my father would forbid it? How you must have misunderstoodhis real nature! He has even gone away from Pont Aven for a few days, sothat his presence in the village may not be irksome to you. Shall we tryand pretend to forget what has passed, Dear? It is useless to grieve nowover the mistakes of other years. And you will see, I am sure, that noone in Pont Aven should be able even to guess at our true relationship.I ask that for my father's sake. I love him dearly, and would not havehim suffer."
With a splendid effort the older woman raised herself in the bed andsummoned a wan smile. "Indeed, indeed," she cried, "I will do nothingmore to injure him! Is that a hand mirror on the dressing table? Pleasegive it me."
Yvonne hesitated, and her mother smiled again.
"I shall not grieve because of white and drawn cheeks," she said.
When she held, the mirror in a thin hand, and compared its reflectionwith Yvonne herself with critical eyes, the girl grasped her trueintent. Her abundant hair, only a shade darker than Yvonne's own browntresses, framed the well poised head and slender neck. Distress and lackof solid food had lent a pallor to cheeks and forehead which had thecurious effect of rendering the clear-cut features strikingly youthful.Mouth and chin had a certain quality of hardness and obstinacy notdiscernible in the girl's face. Otherwise they resembled sisters ratherthan mother and daughter.
"Yvonne," she said wistfully, "if we say we are strangers, no one willbelieve. I shall invent a twin sister. You are my niece. I quarreledwith my sister because she married an impoverished painter. Thin ice;but it must carry us. Your father has done the wisest possible thing inleaving Pont Aven today. He refuses to forgive my shabby treatment of asister; but Christian charity impels him not to forbid you from visitingme. Don't volunteer this information. Let it be dragged from youunwillingly. It is a cruel thing that my first advice to you should be alesson in duplicity; but I have earned that sort o
f scourge, and mustendure. Now you understand. We are aunt and niece. Don't be surprised ifI act a little when the nurse returns. By the way, write to your fatherand tell him what I have said. I'm sure he will approve, and the factthat I am eager to make this small atonement for the wrong I did himwill show that I still retain some sense of fair dealing."
"Yes, Dear, I'll write today. I don't think it is very wicked to adopt apretense that enables me to visit you without--without setting idletongues wagging."
"Without causing a village scandal, you might well have said," came thebitter retort. "Very well, Yvonne, I will not say such things," for thegirl winced at the unerring judgment that supplied the words that hadnearly escaped her. "Now let us talk of other matters. Tell me somethingof yourself. Where and how do you live? Why are you wearing thatcostume? Do you dress like that habitually? And how wonderfully itbecomes you! Talk, Dear, and I'll listen, and if I fall asleep when youare talking don't imagine that I am heedless and inattentive; for I havebeen brought nearer happiness in this hour than I would have believedpossible yesterday. Do you realize that the wreck was directly due to myfolly? The captain wished to put into the Aven estuary when the stormbecame very bad; but I refused to permit it. Wallie--that is Mr.Carmac--always yielded to my whims, and he imagined I preferred Lorientto Pont Aven. I didn't. I knew that your father lived here. His artproved more enduring than a woman's faith. It has made him famous;though I had the cruelty, the impertinence, to tell him once that hewould never emerge from the ruck. I never heard of you. For some reasonI thought you had died in infancy. Yvonne, Heaven forgive me, I may evenhave wished it! But you see now why I wanted to avoid Pont Aven. Asthough any of God's creatures can resist when He points the way!"
So it was the mother who did most of the talking, and the daughter wholistened, with never a word of reproach, and not even a hint that had awilful and conscience-tortured woman not imposed her imperious will onthe Stella's course the yacht would have ridden the gale in safety in aroadstead five miles removed from the village of Pont Aven itself!
When Madame Bertrand bustled in her patient was asleep, and Yvonne'scheeks were tear-stained.
"Poor lady!" murmured the Breton woman. "She's nothing but a bundle ofnerves. All night long, after the effect of the bromide had passed, shekept crying out for her daughter--meaning you, Mademoiselle. What anotion! Yet you are so alike!"
"With good reason, Madame," said the girl. "She is my mother's sister.There was a family quarrel years ago. Please keep this to yourself;though Madame Carmac will probably tell you of it later."
Yvonne was glad, when her father's letter arrived, to find that heagreed with the little deception, which hurt none, and explained awaythe seemingly inexplicable.
* * * * *
On the second day after the wreck Mrs. Carmac, outwardly at least, wasrestored to good health, and assumed direction of her husband's affairs.
Sending for Captain Popple, she asked if any effort had been made tosalve the large sum of money and store of jewelry on board the yacht.The red-faced mariner had evidently been giving thought to the sameproblem.
"No, Ma'am," he said. "When the vessel struck those on deck had no mindto go below, and those below were hard put to it to get on deck. We alllost everything except what we stood up in. It has been blowin' greatguns ever since, and a French gentleman who knows every inch of thecoast tells me that the reef may be ungetatable for a fortnight, or evena month, unless there's a change in the weather."
"When you say you lost everything do you mean that you and some membersof the crew lost money as well as clothing?"
"No, Ma'am. If any swab has the howdacity to pretend that a sovereign ortwo has slipped out of his pockets, I won't believe 'im; but it'll behard to prove the contrary."
"Are you in any special hurry to return home? Have you another yacht inview?"
Some men might have hesitated, but Popple was bluntly honest, both innature and speech. "Bless your heart, Ma'am!" he said huskily, "I'll getno more yachts unless I'm a luckier man after turnin' fifty than ever Iwas afore. The Stella was my last seagoin' job, an' no mistake."
"Then you will not suffer professionally by remaining here?"
"I'll stop as long as you like, Ma'am."
"Very well. I have telegraphed to my London bankers for a supply ofmoney, which should reach me tomorrow. I want you to arrange for salvageoperations. Employ a diver, and hire such other assistance as may benecessary. It is important that a jewelcase in one of my trunks shouldbe recovered, if possible, also five thousand pounds in French andEnglish bank-notes which is in a leather wallet locked in a steamertrunk beneath my husband's bed. That trunk also contains a number ofimportant papers. I shall be glad if it is brought to me unopened, nomatter what the expense. Meanwhile make out a list of all that isreasonably owing to the men, and tell them I shall arrange at once fortheir return to Southampton."
"I've done that already, Ma'am. Mr. Raymond tole me to get busy."
"Ah! That was thoughtful of him. In future, however, take orders from noone but me."
Captain Popple was evidently about to offer a comment, but checkedhimself in time. "Right you are, Ma'am," he said.
Mrs. Carmac smiled quietly. This outspoken sailor's face was easy toread. Yvonne was present, and he hardly knew what to say.
"You had something else on the tip of your tongue, Captain," sheprompted. "Out with it! I have no secrets from this young lady."
"I don't like contradict'ry sailin' orders, Ma'am, an' that's a fact,"admitted the skipper. "Mr. Raymond axed me not to do a thing, no matterwho gev the word, without consultin' him."
"His arm is broken, I believe?"
"Yes, Ma'am; but he's able to get about today."
"That simplifies matters. Kindly send him here."
The sailor raised his hand in a clumsy salute, and went out.
* * * * *
"I am not an admirer of Mr. Raymond," said Mrs. Carmac to Yvonne. "Hewas a useful sort of person to my husband; but he has a Uriah Heepmanner which I dislike intensely. Now I shall get rid of him."
For an instant the Breton shrewdness of judgment came uppermost in thegirl. "Don't make an unnecessary enemy," she ventured to suggest.
"I simply purpose dismissing him on very generous terms."
"But--have you--forgotten--perhaps you never knew--how wildly you spokethat night in the cabin of the Hirondelle? Mr. Raymond was there too. Hemay have overheard a good deal."
Mrs. Carmac was momentarily staggered. "Do you think so?" she criedrather breathlessly.
"There was every opportunity. I saw the man, and he retained his senses,though in great pain."
"Thanks for the warning, Dear. I'll handle him gently."
"Shall I go?"
"I prefer that you should remain."
"But it might be better if you were to see him alone. He has not met mesince we came ashore."
"Well--you may be right. I'll take your advice. Don't leave me too longalone. I mope when you are away."
Yvonne slipped out. She passed Raymond on the stairs; but he gave her noheed, regarding her as belonging to the establishment.
* * * * *
The secretary was a small, slightly built man, and, contrary to the rulethat renders undersized mortals rather aggressive in manner, carriedhimself with a shrinking air, as though he wished to avoid observation.He had an intelligent face; though its general expression was somewhatmarred by a heavy chin and eyes set too closely together. He looked paleand ill; which was only natural, because his broken arm, the right one,had not been attended to by a doctor until nearly three hours after theaccident. He was about thirty-five, but looked much older that morning,and Yvonne wondered if he had any forewarning of trouble, so compressedwere his thin lips and so frowning his brows.
He found his late employer's wife standing at the window, gazing downinto the little triangular Place, a
s Pont Aven calls its public square.Yvonne was passing in front of the four sycamores. She had, in fact,secured a mourning order for her friend, Le Sellin the tailor, and wasgoing to his shop on some errand connected therewith. Her mother notedthe girl's free and graceful walk, and approved the proud carriage ofher head, on which the white coif sat like a coronet. She sighed, anddid not turn until Yvonne had vanished. Then she faced the waitingsecretary.
"Ah, that you?" she said carelessly. "Pardon me if I seemed rude, Mr.Raymond. My thoughts were wandering. My niece has just left me, and, asI have not seen her for many years until she and her father saved ourlives the other evening, I was minded to watch her crossing the square."
"Your niece, did you say, Mrs. Carmac?"
Raymond's voice was pitched in the right key of hesitancy and interestedsurprise; but this worldly wise woman was far too skilled a student ofhuman nature to miss the underlying note of skepticism.
"Usually I speak clearly," she said, with a touch of hauteur.
"Yes, of course. I caught the word quite accurately. But may I remindyou that you addressed her as your daughter in the cabin of theHirondelle?"
"Does it matter to you, Mr. Raymond, how I addressed her?"
"No, no. I was only anxious to correct my own false impression."
Mrs. Carmac suddenly bethought herself. "My wits are still woolgathering," she cried. "Won't you sit down? I have a good many things todiscuss with you. Is your arm very painful? Happily I have neversuffered from a broken limb; but it sounds quite dreadful."
Raymond sank into a comfortable chair, steadying himself with his lefthand. "It's not so bad now," he said. "By comparison with the torture ofThursday afternoon it is more than bearable. The chief misfortune liesin the fact that my right arm is out of action. I had no idea how littleuse I made of my left hand until I tried to write with it."
"The doctor seems to be a very clever man; but if you think it advisableto have your injury seen to by an expert----"
"Oh, it's only a simple fracture. I have every reason to believe that itis properly set. Indeed, all it needs now is efficient dressing--andtime."
"How did you come to break it?"
"I was flung down the companionway when the yacht turned on her beamends."
"But the last thing I remember, and very vividly too, is that you and Iwere holding to a rail and looking out through the forward window of thedeck saloon. We felt a curious trembling of the hull, and the vesselswung round from the wind. There was a strange lull, and Captain Poppleshouted something. I asked you what it was, and you said that the shafthad broken, and we should be dashed against the rocks in ten minutes orless. Then, I suppose, I fainted."
"I had not seen the reef. Even Captain Popple thought we should clearit. As a matter of fact, we struck within a minute."
"And you were thrown over then? I must have fallen earlier."
"Yes. My recollection is hazy as to what actually occurred."
"The marvel is that either of us is living," she said lightly. "I gatherfrom Captain Popple that you have taken charge of affairs since we werebrought ashore. Will you kindly tell me what you have done?"
"In the first instance I telegraphed to Mr. Carmac's nephew Mr. RupertFosdyke, his lawyer Mr. Bennett, his office, and his bankers. The textof each message was practically identical. It ran, 'Yacht wrecked andtotal loss off Finistere. Mr. Carmac unfortunately killed, but allothers rescued. Mrs. Carmac seriously ill, but may recover.' I'm sorry Itook an exaggerated view of your state; but the circumstances seemed towarrant it. Then I sent to Paris for an embalmer. Did I do right?"
At that instant her daughter's parting words rang in her ears. "Don'tmake an unnecessary enemy." Good advice! She must tread warily, or hersky might fall and crush her.
"Yes. As I shall receive Mr. Fosdyke and Mr. Bennett when they arrive, Ithink I shall rest now," she said faintly. "I am greatly beholden toyou, Mr. Raymond. You are so intimately acquainted with my husband'saffairs that I should be lost without your help."
She had meant to dismiss him forthwith, with a year's salary, andRaymond himself was prepared for some such action on her part; otherwisehe would never have hinted at his possession of a secret so fraught withpossibilities as the existence of a grown-up daughter, a daughter toowhose father was living, and actually resident in Pont Aven. He wastaken aback now, and bowed as courteously as his bandaged arm wouldpermit.
"I shall be only too happy and proud to give you my best services, Mrs.Carmac," he said.