II
Apropos of their ignorance of each other's patronymics. ... Oneafternoon Maria Dolores was taking the air at the open door of thepresbytery, when, to a mighty clattering of horses' hoofs, a bighigh-swung barouche came sweeping into the court-yard, described a boldhalf-circle, and abruptly drew up before her. In the barouche sat a bigold lady, a big soft, humorous-eyed old lady, in cool crepe-de-chine,cream-coloured, with beautiful white hair, a very gay light strawbonnet, and a much befurbelowed lavender-hued sunshade. Coachman andfootman, bolt upright, stared straight before them, as rigid as if theirliveries were of papier-mache. The horses, with a full sense of whatthey owed to appearances, fierily champed their bits, tossed theirmanes, and pawed the paving-stones. The old lady smiled upon MariaDolores with a look of great friendliness and interest, softly bowed,and wished her, in a fine, warm, old high-bred voice, "Good afternoon."
Maria Dolores (feeling an instant liking, as well as curiosity andadmiration) smiled in her turn, and responded, "Good afternoon."
"You enjoy a fine view from here," the old lady remarked, ducking hersunshade in the direction of the valley.
"A beautiful view," agreed Maria Dolores, following the sunshade withher eyes.
Those of the stranger had a gleam. "But don't you think, if theunvarnished truth may be whispered, that it's becoming the merest trifletoo hot?" she suggested.
Maria Dolores lightly laughed. "I think it is decidedly too hot," shesaid.
"I'm glad to find we're of the same opinion," declared the old lady,fanning herself. "You can positively _see_ the heat vibrating there inthe distance. We children of the North should fly such weather. For mypart, I'm off to-morrow for England, where I can shiver through thesummer comfortably in my chimney-corner."
Maria Dolores laughed out again.
"So I've driven over from Roccadoro," the newcomer continued, "to have afarewell look at a young man of my acquaintance who's staying here. Idare say you may know him. He has blue eyes and a red beard, aflattering manner and a pretty wit, and his name is Blanchemain."
"Oh?" said Maria Dolores, her eyebrows going up. "Is that his name? Youmean the young Englishman who lives with the parroco?"
The old lady's eyebrows, which were thick and dark, went up too.
"Is it possible you didn't know his name?" was her surprisedejaculation. Then she said, "I wonder whether he is anywhere about?"
"I fancy he's asleep," said Maria Dolores.
"Asleep? At this hour?" The dark eyebrows frowned their protest. "Thatsounds like a sad slugabed."
Maria Dolores looked serious. "He was up all night. We have a child illhere, and he was up all night, watching."
The stranger's grey eyes filled with concern and sympathy. "I hope, I'msure, it's not that pretty little girl, the niece of the parroco?" shesaid.
"Unhappily, it is," said Maria Dolores. "She has been very ill indeed."
"I am extremely sorry to hear it, extremely sorry," the old ladydeclared, with feeling. "If I can be of any sort of use--if I can sendanything--or in any way help--" Her eyes completed the offer.
"Oh, thank you, thank you," replied Maria Dolores. "You are most kind,but I don't think there is anything any one can do. Besides, she is onthe mend now, we hope. The doctor says the worst is probably over."
"Well, thank God for that," exclaimed the visitor, with a will. Sheconsidered for a moment, and then reverted to the previous question. "Soyou did not know that my vivid young friend's name was Blanchemain?"
"No," said Maria Dolores.
"It is a good name--there's none better in England," averred the oldlady, with a nod of emphasis that set the wheat-ears in her bonnetquivering.
"Oh--?" said Maria Dolores, looking politely interested.
"He's the nephew and heir of Lord Blanchemain of Ventmere," herinstructress went on. "That is one of our most ancient peerages."
"Really?" said Maria Dolores. (What else did she say in her heart? Wherenow was her cobbler's son?)
"And I'm glad to be able to add that I'm his sort of connection--I'm thewidow of the late Lord Blanchemain." The lady paused; then, with thatsmile of hers which we know, that smile which went as an advance-guardto disarm resentment, "People of my age are allowed to be inquisitive,"she premised. "I have introduced myself to you--won't you introduceyourself to me?"
"My name is Maria Dolores of Zelt-Neuminster," answered the personquestioned, also smiling.
The widow of the late Lord Blanchemain inwardly gasped, but she wasquick to suppress all outward symptoms of that circumstance. Thedaughter of Eve in her gasped, but the practised old Englishwoman of theworld affably and imperturbably pronounced, with a gracious movement ofthe head, "Ah, indeed? You are then, of course, a relation of thePrince?"
"I am the Prince's sister," said Maria Dolores. And, as if anexplanation of her presence was in order, she added, "I am here visitingmy old nurse and governess, to whom my brother has given a pavilion ofthe Castle for her home."
Lady Blanchemain fanned herself. "A miller's daughter!" she thought,with a silent laugh at John's expense and her own. "I am very glad tohave made your acquaintance," she said, "and I hope this may not be ourlast meeting. I'm afraid I ought now to be hastening back to Roccadoro.I wonder whether you will have the kindness, when you see him, to conveymy parting benediction to Mr. Blanchemain. Oh, no, I would not let himbe wakened, not for worlds. Thank you. Good-bye."
And with a great effect of majesty and importance, like a consciousthing, her carriage rolled away.