Clay was to say that the Marquise was most concerned and grieved. While Miss Clay went about this business the Marquise took the children upstairs.
Presently the telephone rang. The sound that she had dreaded. Her heart missed a beat. She took off the receiver and listened.
It was the manager. He said Miss Clay had just been to him. He said it was most gracious of Madame la Marquise to show concern at the unfortunate accident that had befallen Monsieur Paul. He would have spoken of it when the accident was discovered yesterday, but he did not wish to distress the clientele.
A drowning disaster was never very pleasant at a sea-side resort, it made people feel uncomfortable. Yes, of course, the police had been called in directly the body was found. It was assumed that he had fallen from the cliffs somewhere along the coast. It seemed he was very fond of photographing the sea views. And of course, with his disability, he could easily slip. His sister had often warned him to be careful. It was very sad. He was such a good fellow. Everyone liked him. He had no enemies. And such an artist, too, in his way. Madame la Marquise had been pleased with the studies Monsieur Paul had done of herself and the children? The manager was so glad. He would make a point of letting Mademoiselle Paul know this, and also of the concern shown by Madame la Marquise. Yes, indeed, she would be deeply grateful for flowers, and for a note of sympathy. The poor woman was quite broken- hearted. No, the day of the funeral had not yet been decided…
When he had finished speaking, the Marquise called to Miss Clay, and told her she must order a taxi and drive to the town seven miles inland, where the shops were larger, and where she seemed to remember there was an excellent florist. Miss Clay was to order flowers, lilies for choice, and to spare no expense, and the Marquise would write a note to go with them; and then if Miss Clay gave them to the manager when she returned he would see that they reached Mademoiselle Paul.
The Marquise wrote the note for Miss Clay to take with her to pin on the flowers. 'In deepest sympathy at your great loss.' She gave Miss Clay some money, and the governess went off to find a taxi.
Later the Marquise took the children to the beach.
'Is your chill better, maman?' asked Celeste.
'Yes, cherie, now maman can bathe again.'
And she entered the warm yielding water with the children, and splashed with them.
Tomorrow Edouard would arrive, tomorrow Edouard would come in his car and drive them away, and the white dusty roads would lengthen the distance between her and the hotel. She would not see it any more, nor the headland, nor the town, and the holiday would be blotted out like something that had never been.
'When I die,' thought the Marquise, as she stared out across the sea, 'I shall be punished. I don't fool myself I am guilty of taking life. When I die, God will accuse me. Until then, I will be a good wife to Edouard, and a good mother to Celeste and Helene. I will try to be a good woman from now. I will try and atone for what I have done by being kinder to everyone, to relations, friends, servants.'
She slept well for the first time for four days.
Her husband arrived the next morning while she was still having her breakfast. She was so glad to see him that she sprang from her bed and flung her arms round his neck. The Marquis was touched at this reception.
'I believe my girl has missed me after all,' he said.
'Missed you? But of course I've missed you. That's why I rang up. I wanted you to come so much.'
'And you are quite determined to leave today after lunch?'
'Oh, yes, yes… I couldn't bear to stay. Our packing is done, there are only the last things to put in the suit- cases.'
He sat on the balcony drinking coffee, laughing with the children, while she dressed and stripped the room of her personal possessions. The room that had been hers for a whole month became bare once more, and quite impersonal. In a fever of hurry she cleared the dressing-table, mantelpiece, the table by her bed. It was finished with. The femme de chambre would come in presently with clean sheets and make all fresh for the next visitor. And she, the Marquise, would have gone.
'Listen, Edouard,' she said, 'why must we stay for dejeuner? Wouldn't it be more fun to lunch somewhere on the way? There is always something a little dreary in lunching at a hotel when one has already paid the bill. Tipping, everything, has been done. I cannot bear a sense of anti-climax.'
'Just as you like,' he said. She had given him such a welcome that he was prepared to gratify every whim. Poor little girl. She had been really lonely without him. He must make up to her for it.
The Marquise was making up her mouth in front of the mirror in the bathroom when the telephone rang.
'Answer it, will you?' she called to her husband. 'It is probably the concierge about the luggage.'
The Marquis did so, and in a few moment he shouted through to his wife.
'It's for you, dear. It's a Mademoiselle Paul who has called to see you, and asks if she may thank you for her flowers before you go.'
The Marquise did not answer at once, and when his wife came into the bedroom it seemed to him that the lipstick had not enhanced her appearance. It made her look almost haggard, older. How very strange. She must have changed the colour. It was not becoming.
'Well,' he asked, 'what shall I say? You probably don't want to be bothered with her now, whoever she is. Would you like me to go down and get rid of her?'
The Marquise seemed uncertain, troubled. 'No,' she said, 'no, I think I had better see her. The fact is, it's a very tragic thing. She and her brother kept a little shop in the town — I had some photographs done of myself and the children — and then a dreadful thing happened, the brother was drowned. I thought it only right to send flowers.'
'How thoughtful of you,' said her husband, 'a very kind gesture. But do you need to bother now? Why, we are ready to go.'
'Tell her that,' said his wife, 'tell her that we are leaving almost immediately.'
The Marquis turned to the telephone again, and after a word or two put his hand over the receiver and whispered to his wife.
'She is very insistent,' he said. 'She says she has some prints belonging to you that she wants to give to you personally.'
A feeling of panic came over the Marquise. Prints? What prints?
'But everything is paid for,' she whispered back. 'I don't know what she can mean.'
The Marquis shrugged his shoulders.
'Well, what am I to say? She sounds as if she is crying.'
The Marquise went back into the bathroom, dabbcd more powder on her nose.
'Tell her to come up,' she said, 'but repeat that we are leaving in five minutes. Meanwhile, you go down, take the children to the car. Take Miss Clay with you. I will see the woman alone.'
When he had gone she looked about the room. Nothing remained but her gloves, her handbag. One last effort, and then the closing door, the ascenseur, the farewell bow to the manager, and freedom.
There was a knock at the door. The Marquise waited by the entrance to the balcony, her hands clasped in front of her.
'Entrez,' she said.
Mademoiselle Paul opened the door. Her face was blotched and ravaged from weeping, her old-fashioned mourning dress was long, nearly touching the ground. She hesitated, then lurched forward, her limp grotesque, as though each movement must be agony.
'Madame la Marquise…' she began, then her mouth worked, she began to cry.
'Please don't,' said the Marquise gently. 'I am so dreadfully sorry for what has happened.'
Mademoiselle Paul took her handkerchief and blew her nose.
'He was all I had in the wor1d,' she said. 'He was so good to me. What am I to do now? How am I to live?'
'You have relatives?'
'They are poor folk, Madame la Marquise. I cannot expect them to support me. Nor can I keep the shop alone, without my brother. I haven't the strength. My health has always been my trouble.'
The Marquise was fumbling in her bag. She took out a twenty thousand franc note. 'I know this is not much,' she said, 'but perhaps it will help just a little. I am afraid my husband has not many contacts in this part of the country, but I will ask him, perhaps he will be able to make some suggestions.'
