CHAPTER XXIV
AN INVITATION TO DINNER
The landlord of the _Lion d'Or,_ who had appeared for a moment to chatwith his guests while they took their morning coffee, pointed downwardsinto the valley, where little clouds of mist hung over the lowlands.
"The _messieurs_ will find themselves hot to-day," he remarked. "Here,only, there will be a breeze. Eleven hundred feet up, and only threemiles from the sea! It is wonderful, eh?"
Wrayson pointed across towards the chateau, whose towers rose from thebosom of the cool green woods.
"There, also," he said, "it will be very pleasant. The chateau is as highas we are, is it not so?"
The landlord shrugged his shoulders.
"There is little difference," he admitted, "and in the woods there isalways shade. But who may go there? Never was an estate kept so zealouslyprivate, and, does monsieur know? Since yesterday a new order has beenissued. The villagers were forbidden even their ancient rights of walkingacross the park! The head forester has posted a notice in the village."
"I have heard something of it," Wrayson admitted. "Has any reason beengiven. Are the family in residence there?"
The landlord shook his head.
"Madame la Baronne was never so exacting," he replied. "One hears thatshe has lent the chateau to friends. Two ladies are there, and onegentleman. It is all."
"Do you know who they are?" Wrayson asked.
The landlord assumed an air of mystery.
"One," he said, "is a young English lady. The other--well, they call herMadame de Melbain."
"What?"
The exclamation came like a pistol-shot from Wrayson's fellow-guest atthe inn, who, up to now, had taken no part in the conversation. He hadturned suddenly round, and was facing the startled landlord.
"Madame de Melbain," he repeated. "Monsieur, perhaps, knows the lady?"
There was a moment's silence. Then the man who had called himself Duncanlooked away, frowning.
"No!" he said, "I do not know her. The name is familiar, but there is nolady of my acquaintance bearing it at present."
The landlord looked a little disappointed.
"Ah!" he remarked, "I had hoped that monsieur would have been able togive us a little information. There are many people in the village whowould like to know who this Madame de Melbain is, for it is since hercoming that all has been different. The park has been closed, thepeasants and farmers have received orders forbidding them to acceptboarders at present, and I myself am asked--for a consideration, Iadmit--to receive no further guests. Naturally, we ask ourselves,monsieur, what does it mean? One does not wish to gossip, but there ismuch here to wonder at!"
"What is she like, this Madame de Melbain?" Duncan asked.
"No one has seen her, monsieur," the landlord answered. "She arrived ina close carriage, since when she has not passed the lodge gates. She hasher own servants who wait upon her. Without doubt she is a person of someimportance! Possibly, though, she is eccentric. They say that everyentrance to the chateau is guarded, and that a cordon of men are alwayswatching."
Wrayson laughed.
"A little exaggeration, my friend, there, eh?"
The landlord shrugged his shoulders.
"One cannot tell," he declared. "This, at least, is singular," hecontinued, bending forward confidentially. "Since the arrival of thesetwo ladies several strangers have been observed about the place, some ofwhom have endeavoured to procure lodgings. They spoke French, but theywere not Frenchmen or Englishmen. True, this may be a coincidence, butone can never tell. Monsieur has any further commands?"
Monsieur had none, and the landlord withdrew, smiling and bowing.
Duncan leaned across the table.
"My French," he said deliberately, "is rotten. I couldn't understand halfof what that fellow said. Do you mind repeating it to me?"
Wrayson did so, and his companion listened moodily. When he had finished,Duncan was gazing steadfastly over towards the chateau, and knocking theashes from his pipe.
"Sounds a little feudal, doesn't it?" he remarked, drawing his pouchfrom his pocket. "However, I don't suppose it is any concern of yoursor of mine."
Wrayson made no direct answer. He was fully conscious that his companionwas watching him closely, and he affected to be deeply interested in theselection of a cigarette.
"No!" he said at last; "it is no concern of ours, of course. And yet onecannot help feeling a little interested. I noticed myself that the lodgegates of the chateau were rather strictly guarded."
"Very likely," the other answered. "Women of fashion who suffer fromnerves take strange fancies nowadays. This Madame de Melbain is probablyone of these."
Wrayson nodded.
"Very likely," he admitted. "What are you going to do withyourself all day?"
"Loaf! I am going to lie down in the fields there amongst the wildflowers, in the shade of the woods," Duncan answered; "that is, ifone may take so great a liberty with the woods of madame! This sortof country rather fascinates me," he added thoughtfully. "I havelived so long in a land where the vegetation is a jungle and theflowers are exotics. There is a species of exaggeration about it all.I find this restful."
"Africa?" Wrayson asked.
The other nodded silently. He did not seem inclined to continue theconversation.
"You are the second man I have met lately who has come home from Africa,"Wrayson remarked, "and you represent the opposite poles of life."
"It is very possible," Duncan admitted. "We are a polyglot lot who comefrom there."
"You were in the war, of course?" Wrayson asked.
"I was in the war," Duncan answered, "almost to the finish. Afterwards Iwent into Rhodesia, and incidentally made money. That's all I have tosay about Africa. I hate the country, and I don't want to talk about it.See you later, I suppose."
He rose from his chair and stretched himself. Across the lawn thelandlord came hurrying, his face perturbed and uneasy. His bow to Wraysonwas subtly different. Here was perhaps an aristocrat under an assumedname, a person to be, without doubt, conciliated.
"Monsieur," he announced, with a little flourish of the white serviettewhich, from habit, he was carrying, "there is outside a young lady fromthe chateau who is inquiring for you."
"Which way?" Wrayson demanded anxiously.
"Monsieur will be pleased to follow me," the landlord answered.
Louise was alone in a victoria, drawn up before the front door of theinn. Wrayson saw at once that something had happened to disturb her. Evenunder her white veil he knew that she was pale, and that there were ringsunder her eyes. She leaned towards him and held out her hand inconventional manner for the benefit of the landlord, who lingered uponthe steps.
"Come round to the other side of the carriage, Herbert," she said. "Ihave something to say to you. The coachman does not understand English. Ihave tried him."
Wrayson crossed behind the carriage and stood by her side.
"Herbert," she asked, anxiously, "will you do something for me, somethingI want you to do very much?"
"If I can," he answered simply.
"You can do this," she declared. "It is very easy. I want you to leavethis place this morning, go away, anywhere! You can go back to London, oryou can travel. Only start this morning."
"Willingly," he answered, "on one condition."
"What is it?" she asked quickly.
"That you go with me," he declared.
She shook her head impatiently.
"You know that is not what I mean," she said reproachfully. "I was madlast night. You took me by surprise and I forgot everything. I was awakeall night. This morning I can see things clearly. Nothing--of thatsort--is possible between you and me. So I want you to go away!"
He shook his head, gently but firmly.
"It isn't possible, Louise," he said. "You mustn't ask me to do anythingof that sort after last night. It's too late you see, dear. You belong tome now. Nothing can alter that."
"It is not too late,"
she answered passionately. "Last night was justan hour of madness. I shall cut it out of my life. You must cut it outof yours."
He leaned over till his head nearly touched hers, and under the hollanddust-sheet which covered her knees he gripped her hand.
"I will not," he answered. "I will not go away. You belong to me, and Iwill have you!"
She looked at him for a moment without speech. Wrayson's features, moredistinguished in a general way by delicacy than strength, had assumed acuriously set and dogged appearance. His eyes met hers kindly butmercilessly. He looked like a man who has spoken his last word.
"Herbert," she murmured, "there are things which you do not know andwhich I cannot tell you, but they stand between us! They must standbetween us forever!"
"Of that," he said, "I mean to be the judge. And until you tell me whatthey are, I shall treat them as though they did not exist."
"I came here," she said, "to ask you, to beg you to go away."
"Then I am afraid you must write your mission down a failure," heanswered doggedly, "for I refuse to go!"
Her eyes flashed at him from underneath her veil. He felt the pressureof her fingers upon his hand. He heard a little sigh--could it have beenof relief?
"If I failed--" she began.
"And you have failed," he said decidedly.
"I was to bring you," she continued, "an invitation to dine to-night atthe chateau. It is only a verbal one, but perhaps you will forgive that."
The colour streamed into his cheeks. He could scarcely believe his ears.
"Louise!" he exclaimed, "you mean it?"
"Yes!" she answered softly. "It would be better for you, better, perhaps,for me, if you would do as I ask--if you would go away and forget! But ifyou will not do that, there is no reason why you should not come to thechateau. A carriage will arrive for you at seven o'clock."
"And you will come with me again into the gardens?" he whisperedpassionately.
"Perhaps," she murmured.
The horses, teased by the flies, tossed their heads, and the jingling ofharness reminded Louise that half the village, from various vantagepoints, were watching the interview between the young lady from thechateau and the visitor at the inn.
"I must go at once," she said to Wrayson. "About to-night, do not besurprised at anything you see at the chateau. I have no time to say more.If you notice anything that seems to you at all unusual, accept itnaturally. I will explain afterwards."
She spoke a word to the immovable man on the box, and waved her hand toWrayson as the horses started forward. They were round the corner in amoment, and out of sight. Wrayson turned back to the inn, but before hehad taken half a dozen paces he stopped short. He had happened to glancetowards the upper windows of the small hotel, and he caught a suddenvision of a man's face--a familiar face, transformed, rigid, yet withstaring eyes following the departing carriage. Wrayson himself wasconscious of a quick shock of surprise, followed by a sense ofapprehension. What could there possibly have been in the appearance ofLouise to have brought a look like that into the face of hisfellow-guest?