“Poor old man! I only came back yesterday.”
“I never had the pleasure of knowing his Grace,” said Mr. Maule. “But I have always heard him named as a nobleman of whom England might well be proud.”
Madame Goesler was not at the moment inclined to tell lies on the matter, and did not think that England had much cause to be proud of the Duke of Omnium. “He was a man who held a very peculiar position,” she said.
“Most peculiar;—a man of infinite wealth, and of that special dignity which I am sorry to say so many men of rank among us are throwing aside as a garment which is too much for them. We can all wear coats, but it is not everyone that can carry a robe. The Duke carried his to the last.” Madame Goesler remembered how he looked with his nightcap on, when he had lost his temper because they would not let him have a glass of curaçoa. “I don’t know that we have anyone left that can be said to be his equal,” continued Mr. Maule.
“No one like him, perhaps. He was never married, you know.”
“But was once willing to marry,” said Mr. Maule, “if all that we hear be true.” Madame Goesler, without a smile and equally without a frown, looked as though the meaning of Mr. Maule’s words had escaped her. “A grand old gentleman! I don’t know that anybody will ever say as much for his heir.”
“The men are very different.”
“Very different indeed. I dare say that Mr. Palliser, as Mr. Palliser, has been a useful man. But so is a coal-heaver a useful man. The grace and beauty of life will be clean gone when we all become useful men.”
“I don’t think we are near that yet.”
“Upon my word, Madame Goesler, I am not so sure about it. Here are sons of noblemen going into trade on every side of us. We have earls dealing in butter, and marquises sending their peaches to market. There was nothing of that kind about the Duke. A great fortune had been entrusted to him, and he knew that it was his duty to spend it. He did spend it, and all the world looked up to him. It must have been a great pleasure to you to know him so well.”
Madame Goesler was saved the necessity of making any answer to this by the announcement of another visitor. The door was opened, and Phineas Finn entered the room. He had not seen Madame Goesler since they had been together at Harrington Hall, and had never before met Mr. Maule. When riding home with the lady after their unsuccessful attempt to jump out of the wood, Phineas had promised to call in Park Lane whenever he should learn that Madame Goesler was not at Matching. Since that the Duke had died, and the bond with Matching no longer existed. It seemed but the other day that they were talking about the Duke together, and now the Duke was gone. “I see you are in mourning,” said Phineas, as he still held her hand. “I must say one word to condole with you for your lost friend.”
“Mr. Maule and I were now speaking of him,” she said, as she introduced the two gentlemen. “Mr. Finn and I had the pleasure of meeting your son at Harrington Hall a few weeks since, Mr. Maule.”
“I heard that he had been there. Did you know the Duke, Mr. Finn?”
“After the fashion in which such a one as I would know such a one as the Duke, I knew him. He probably had forgotten my existence.”
“He never forgot anyone,” said Madame Goesler.
“I don’t know that I was ever introduced to him,” continued Mr. Maule, “and I shall always regret it. I was telling Madame Goesler how profound a reverence I had for the Duke’s character.” Phineas bowed, and Madame Goesler, who was becoming tired of the Duke as a subject of conversation, asked some question as to what had been going on in the House. Mr. Maule, finding it to be improbable that he should be able to advance his cause on that occasion, took his leave. The moment he was gone Madame Goesler’s manner changed altogether. She left her former seat and came near to Phineas, sitting on a sofa close to the chair he occupied; and as she did so she pushed her hair back from her face in a manner that he remembered well in former days.
“I am so glad to see you,” she said. “Is it not odd that he should have gone so soon after what we were saying but the other day?”
“You thought then that he would not last long.”
“Long is comparative. I did not think he would be dead within six weeks, or I should not have been riding there. He was a burden to me, Mr. Finn.”
“I can understand that.”
“And yet I shall miss him sorely. He had given all the colour to my life which it possessed. It was not very bright, but still it was colour.”
“The house will be open to you just the same.”
“I shall not go there. I shall see Lady Glencora in town, of course; but I shall not go to Matching; and as to Gatherum Castle, I would not spend another week there, if they would give it me. You haven’t heard of his will?”
“No;—not a word. I hope he remembered you—to mention your name. You hardly wanted more.”
“Just so. I wanted no more than that.”
“It was made, perhaps, before you knew him.”
“He was always making it, and always altering it. He left me money, and jewels of enormous value.”
“I am so glad to hear it.”
“But I have refused to take anything. Am I not right?”
“I don’t know why you should refuse.”
“There are people
