Читать книгу The Vision Splendid (D. K. Broster) (Literary Thoughts Edition) - D. K. Broster - Страница 13

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Armand-Maurice de la Roche-Guyon achieved, in the Rectory drawing-room, the impression which he never failed to make in any society. Man or woman, you wanted instinctively to be friends with him; he had so engaging an air of expecting it. And Horatia noticed afresh how intensely he was alive, and how little he tried to conceal the fact. She thought of the wooden, controlled visages of some of her male acquaintances, and contrasted them with his changing, vivid face, in which every feature, from the clear eyebrows to the rather mocking mouth, could express any shade of feeling from derision to adoration. Such foreign accent as he retained lent a charm to his fluent English, which, though apt to desert him at moments of crisis, carried him gallantly in ordinary conversation, and only required occasional help from a gesture or a French word. But, as he explained, he had been born in England, and therefore the English "th," the shibboleth of his countrymen, troubled him but little.

"M. l'Abbé Dubayet, who taught my daughter, never learnt our language properly, though he had been in England for a quarter of a century," remarked the Rector, commenting on his visitor's proficiency.

"So much the better for Mademoiselle, who speaks, I will wager, like a Tourangelle," responded the young Frenchman, with a little bow in Horatia's direction.

"Yes, she does speak well," said the Rector.

"Her friends complain, I believe, that they cannot follow her on that account," murmured Tristram.

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Horatia. "Do not think to flatter me into talking French with M. de la Roche-Guyon. I shall ask him the inevitable question in English: How do you like England, Monsieur?"

"Mais, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the guest, "how am I to reply to that? If you mean the country, Mademoiselle, it is not new to me; if you mean John Bull, it would not be polite of me to tell you how much he sometimes amuses me; if you mean the English ladies, you would think what I should say too polite, and you would not believe me."

"We had better let you off, La Roche-Guyon," said Tristram. "Far be it from us to ask why John Bull amuses you."

"You have seen Oxford, I suppose, Monsieur?" inquired the Rector.

"Already twice," responded M. de la Roche-Guyon. "I find it beautiful – but of a beauty! We have nothing like it; it must be the wonder of the world, your University. Fortunate young men, to live in those magnificent colleges, and disport themselves on those lawns! I saw there – what did I not see? all the colleges, I think, certainly that of Oriel, the nurse of Mr. Hungerford – and the theatre, with those heads of Roman Emperors (but, indeed, I hope they were not really like that), and the great library, superb, and a museum – I have forgotten its name, where there was a jewel of Alfred, and the sword sent by the Pope to your Henry VIII – he would not send one, I think, to William IV? – and a horn which grew upon the head of a woman (but that I do not believe, naturally) and a picture of the Christ carrying the cross made in the feathers of the humming-bird. Yes, and I also saw in the library, I think, a model of our Maison Carrée at Nîmes. But it is the whole city, with its towers and gardens, which has most ravished me."

"Ah, do you take an interest in Roman remains?" queried the Rector, brightening. "We can't show you another Maison Carrée of course, but there is a very fair Roman villa between here and Oxford, with a Roman cemetery near it. Then there is Cherbury Camp, not far from us – though that is probably pre-Roman, if not pre-British; it is egg-shaped, and has three valla, with fosses outside each – very interesting. I should have great pleasure in showing it to you, Monsieur, if you cared to see it."

"I am sure that M. le Comte will not care for that, Papa," interposed Horatia. "I assure you, Monsieur, it is nothing but a few grassy banks, all ploughed away except in one place. Imagination supplies the rest."

"And what, Miss, supplies the Roman coins in my study, from Augustus to Honorius, all found in this county?" demanded her father. "And the cameo of Hermes with a cornucopia, and the very Anglo-Saxon fibula you are wearing at this moment, ungrateful girl!"

"You have found these things!" exclaimed the young Frenchman eagerly, and his quick glance went to Horatia's neck. "De grace, Monsieur, permit me to avail myself of your so kind offer! I have always desired to behold the traces of our conquerors and yours. What a people, the Romans!"

The Rector, delighted at this responsive enthusiasm, said that he would certainly conduct the visitor to Cherbury Camp next morning, and was warmly thanked for his offer. Tristram, though a little surprised at his guest's unexpected antiquarian zeal, was not ill-pleased at the arrangement, for he had an article to finish. Miss Grenville, however, continued to oppose her father's selection.

"I have a much better idea than that," she announced. "Take M. de la Roche-Guyon to see the White Horse, Papa."

"The White Horse, what is that?" inquired the young man. "An old inn?"

"It is a horse cut in the hillside by the Anglo-Saxons," Horatia informed him. "It is said to have been made by command of Alfred to commemorate his victory over the Danes. Papa does not believe that theory, as everyone else does. But he will no doubt explain his heretical ideas to you if you go with him to-morrow. At any rate, you will get a magnificent view, and see something you have not the like of, I suppose, in France."

"But pardon," retorted the Frenchman, "in France we have the white horse of M. de Lafayette, and that is already an animal – how do you say, légendaire; and some day perhaps he will be laid out as a bed in the gardens of the Tuileries. Oh, la belle idée!"

Horatia laughed. But the mention of Lafayette reminded her of recent events.

"You were in the revolution, perhaps, Monsieur?"

The young man's face darkened. "How do you mean, 'in it,' Mademoiselle? You do not think that I am one of those scoundrelly revolutionaries?"

"No, indeed! But you saw it – you fought in it, perhaps?"

The Comte de la Roche-Guyon shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, I fought a little. But I had bad luck."

What this misfortune was he did not specify. He did not seem to wish to talk about the Days of July, and Horatia liked him for it, feeling sure that the long white seam which she suddenly espied on the back of his right hand was an honourable memento of the occasion, and not realising that the age of so well-healed a wound must be nearer two years than two months.

"Ah, a sad business," said Mr. Grenville sympathetically. "And you have just come from Lulworth, I understand. How did you find the King?"

"His Majesty is lodged tant bien que mal," responded their visitor. "The Castle is out of repair and there is little state. The day before I left I saw Madame la Dauphine and her lady driving out in the rain in a shabby little open carriage drawn by a rough pony. They both had old straw bonnets and Madame la Duchesse d'Angoulême a light brown shawl. I believe that they were one day taken for servants, for housekeepers, at a neighbouring château which they went to visit."

"What unparalleled misfortunes have been hers!" said the Rector. "And the Duchesse de Berry?"

"Ah, she finds it too dull there; she goes visiting. Madame la Duchesse de Berry will not stop at anything; she has the spirit of an Amazon. My father tells me that on the way from Paris to Cherbourg she went armed with pistols, and fired them off once, too, in the King's presence. His Majesty was much annoyed."

"It is her little son, is it not, who is the heir to the crown?" asked Horatia. "How old is he?"

"Henry V is this month ten years old," responded the Comte.

"Britwell-Prior in Oxfordshire belongs to the Welds of Lulworth," said the Rector musingly. "Oh, are you going, Tristram? Well, mind that you spare me M. de la Roche-Guyon to-morrow morning. I will be ... let me see – yes, I will be at the cross-roads at half-past ten, if he will join me there, and we will go to the White Horse, if Robin, who is really getting very fat, will carry me up the hill. And when shall I see you again?"

"At the Squire's on Saturday, I expect," said Tristram, adding that he hoped himself to get up a little dinner-party next week, if he could persuade M. de la Roche-Guyon to stay. He was beginning to take his leave when Horatia interrupted him.

"Before you go, Tristram, I want to show you this book which I picked up in Oxford before I went away. Excuse me, M. le Comte."

It is to be presumed that M. le Comte excused her, no other course being open to him, but he bent interested eyes upon her as she and Tristram stooped over the book together, eyes which had already opened wider than their wont when he first heard the mutual use of the Christian name.

"Pardon," he observed in a low voice to the Rector, "but Mademoiselle your daughter and Mr. Hungerford are par – relations, I should say?"

"A sort of cousins," replied Mr. Grenville. "Moreover Tristram Hungerford is almost a son to me – an old pupil whom I have known since he was a child." And wishing further to disarm possible foreign criticism, he added, "Our English girls have much more liberty than yours in France, you know."

"For that reason I have always wished to be an Englishman," was M. de la Roche-Guyon's reply to this.

"Your Miss Grenville is very pretty, to my mind," he observed to his host as they rode homewards some twenty minutes later. "Has she many admirers?"

Mr. Hungerford thought this question decidedly impertinent – especially as he could not answer it in the affirmative – but remembering, like Horatia, that the speaker was a foreigner, abstained from an attempt to snub him. He answered a little stiffly:

"Miss Grenville is not concerned to see every man at her feet."

"So I supposed," returned the young Frenchman.

"She is docte, instruite. Nevertheless – – " he broke off and shot a long, keen and rather malicious glance at Tristram's profile – "nevertheless, some day she will find it quite an amusing game. They all do, in the end."

Tristram pulled out his watch. "Shall we trot a little?" he suggested pleasantly. "It is later than I thought."