These Old Shades

“Having done that, m’sieur, you may perhaps recall a family living here by the name of Bonnard.”

The Cure nodded. His eyes never wavered from Avon’s face.

“More particularly the child—Leonie.”

“One wonders what the Duc of Avon knows of Leonie. I am not likely to forget.” The blue eyes were quite inscrutable.

His Grace swung one booted leg gently to and fro.

“Before I go farther, mon pcre, I would have you know that I speak in confidence.”

The Cure brushed his quill lightly across the table.

“And before I consent to respect the confidence, my son, I will learn what it is you want of a peasant girl, and what that peasant girl is to you,” he answered.

“At the moment she is my page,” said Avon blandly.

The Cure raised his brows.

“So? Do you usually employ a girl as your page, M. le Duc?”

“It is not one of my most common practices, mon pcre. This girl does not know that I have discovered her sex.”

The quill brushed the table again, rhythmically.

“No, my son? And what comes to her?”

Avon looked haughtily across at him.

“M. de Beaupre, you will pardon me, I am sure, for pointing out to you that my morals are not your concern.”

The Cure met his look unflinchingly.

“They are your own, my son, but you have seen fit to make them all the world’s. I might retort: Leonie’s welfare is not your concern.”

“She would not agree with you, mon pcre. Let us understand one another. Body and soul she is mine. I bought her from the ruffian who called himself her brother.”

“He had reason,” said De Beaupre calmly.

“Do you think so? Rest assured, m’sieur, that Leonie is safer with me than with Jean Bonnard. I have come to ask your help for her.”

“I have never before heard that—Satanas—chose a priest for his ally, m’sieur.”

Avon’s teeth showed white for a moment in a smile.

“Withdrawn as you are from the world, mon pcre, you yet have heard that?”

“Yes, m’sieur. Your reputation is well known.”

“I am flattered. In this case my reputation lies. Leonie is safe with me.”

“Why?” asked De Beaupre serenely.

“Because, my father, there is a mystery attached to her.”

“It seems an insufficient reason.”

“Nevertheless it must suffice. My word, when I give it, is surety enough.”

The Cure folded his hands before him, and looked quietly into Avon’s eyes. Then he nodded.

“It is very well, mon fils. Tell me what became of la petite. That Jean was worthless, but he would not leave Leonie with me. Where did he take her?”

“To Paris, where he bought a tavern. He dressed Leonie as a boy, and a boy she has been for seven years. She is my page now, until I end that comedy.”

“And when you end it, what then?”

Justin tapped one polished finger-nail against the lid of his snuff-box.

“I take her to England—to my sister. I have some vague notion of—ah—adopting her. As my ward, you understand. Oh, she will be chaperoned, of course!”

“Why, my son? If you desire to do good to la petite send her to me.”

“My dear father, I have never desired to do good to anyone. I have a reason for keeping this child. And, strange to say, I have developed quite a keen affection for her. A fatherly emotion, believe me.”

The housekeeper entered at this moment, bearing a tray with wine and glasses upon it. She arranged the refreshment at her master’s elbow, and withdrew.

De Beaupre poured his visitor out a glass of canary.

“Proceed, my son. I do not yet see how I can aid you, or why you have journeyed all this way to see me.”

The Duke raised the glass to his lips.

“A most tedious journey,” he agreed. “But your main roads are good. Unlike ours in England. I came, my father, to ask you to tell me all that you know of Leonie.”

“I know very little, m’sieur. She came to this place as a babe, and left it when she was scarce twelve years old.”

Justin leaned forward, resting one arm on the table.

“From where did she come, mon pcre?”

“It was always kept secret. I believe they came from Champagne. They never told me.”

“Not even—under the seal of the confessional?”

“No. That were of no use to you, my son. From chance words that the Mcre Bonnard from time to time let fall I gathered that Champagne was their native country.”

“M’sieur,” Justin’s eyes widened a little, “I want you to speak plainly. Did you think when you saw Leonie grow from babyhood into girlhood that she was a daughter of the Bonnards?”

The Cure looked out of the window. For a moment he did not answer.

“I wondered, monsieur . . .”

“No more? Was there nothing to show that she was not a Bonnard?”

“Nothing but her face.”

“And her hair, and her hands. Did she remind you of no one, my father?”

“It is difficult to tell at that age. The features are still unformed. When the Mcre Bonnard was dying she tried to say something. That it concerned Leonie I know, but she died before she could tell me.”

His Grace frowned quickly.

“How inconvenient!”

The Cure’s lips tightened.

“What of la petite, sir? What became of her when she left this place?”

“She was, as I told you, compelled to change her sex. Bonnard married some shrewish slut, and bought a tavern in Paris. Faugh!” His Grace took snuff.

“It was perhaps as well then that Leonie was a boy,” said De Beaupre quietly.

“Without doubt. I found her one evening when she was flying from punishment. I bought her, and she mistook me for a hero.”

“I trust, mon fils, that she will never have cause to change her opinion.”

Again the Duke smiled.

“It is a hard role to maintain, my father. Let us pass over that. When first I set eyes on her it flashed across my brain that she was related to—someone I know.” He shot the Cure a swift glance, but De Beaupre’s face was impassive. “Someone I know. Yes. On that fleeting conviction I acted. The conviction has grown, mon pcre, but I have no proof. That is why I come to you.”

“You come in vain, monsieur. There is nothing to tell whether Leonie be a Bonnard or not. I too suspected, and because of that I took pains with la petite, and taught her to the best of mine ability. I tried to keep her here when the Bonnards died, but Jean would not have it so. You say he ill-treated her? Had I thought that I would have done more to retain the child. I did not think it. True, I had never an affection for Jean, but he was kind enough to la petite in those days. He promised to write to me from Paris, but he never did so, and I lost trace of him. Now it seems that Chance has led you to Leonie, and you suspect what I suspected.”

Justin set down his wine-glass.