fr III Diane Am HER, PRIEND5 t jlEIHUR SHERBURUE ofr DIANE AND HER FRIENDS. A Novel. Illustratsd. HIS DAUGHTER FIRST. A Novel. THE WIND OF DESTINY. A Novel. BUT YET A WOMAN. A Novel. PASSE ROSE. A Novel. JOSEPH HARDY NEESIMA. A Biographical Sketch. With Portraits. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK DIANE AND HER FRIENDS MONSIEUR DE BALLOV HAS ASKED FOR YOUR HAND Diane her Friends .... By ..- Arthur Sherburne Hardy With Illustrations by Elizabeth Shippen Green Boston and New York Houghton Mifflin Company The Riverside Press Cambridge 1914 COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS COPYRIGHT, 1908, 1909, 1910, IpII, AND 1912, BY HARPER * BROS. COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY ARTHUR SHERBURNE HARDY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published October 1914 CONTENTS I. THE DEFENSE OF DIANE i II. THE CONFESSION OF THE COUNTESS ANNE 23 III. THE WAY OF DIANE 48 IV. THE THREE EXPERIENCES OF LE VIEUX 74 V. THE TWELVE GREEN RUSSIAN GARNETS 103 VI. AURELIE 133 VII. CELIMENE'S DIAMONDS 161 VIII. THE REAL BIRTHDAY OF DORANTB.... 191 IX. THE SILVER PENCIL 217 X. HOW DORANTE CROSSED THE RUBICON 250 XL THE AMBASSADOR 275 2034549 ILLUSTRATIONS " MONSIEUR DE BALLOY HAS ASKED FOR YOUR HAND " (Page 280) Frontispiece " ONE ALWAYS HAS RELATIONS " 114 MONREPOS 122 " I AM ACCUSTOMED TO PRECIPICES " 136 EXPOSED TO THE INCLEMENCY OF THE WEATHER 188 A LITTLE CHILD PLAYING ABOUT THE GARDEN 202 THE CURF. OF SAINT-MDARD FOUND MON- REPOS TO HIS LIKING 2l8 DORANTE IN HER CONFIRMATION DRESS 256 Diane and Her Friends THE DEFENSE OF DIANE I AM a soldier's wife and a soldier's daughter. It is necessary you should know this in order to answer the question which I shall propose to you. Perhaps I ought also to say at the outset that I am a Frenchwoman. But that will soon be evident. I do not think I am at all what is called "a new woman." Certainly I love to do what I please, which has always been the prerogative of all wo- men. And I approve of many things which other women appear to wish to do, without in the least wishing to do them myself. If a woman wishes to be a lawyer, that is her affair. I recognize obvious reasons why she should wish to "exercise the suf- frage," as they say in the Chamber. But I see reasons quite as obvious why I should not claim that privilege myself. I have a very sweet bone in my mouth which I prefer to any other. It is quite enough to work out my own salvation, and if I "TDiane and Her Friends love to have my own way, it is not through pure selfishness, for I admit that I should never have discovered how absurd a way mine often was if I had not insisted upon having it. All this logical tournament about our rights bores me. When I was a little girl my tutor once wished to compel me to prove that an equation of the first degree had but one root. It was so ridiculously evident, how could any one be expected to prove it? I went to my father in a passion of tears, and he quite approved of me. "Why torment the child with proving what is evident to her?" he said. That remark of my dear simple-hearted father has since saved me many worries. I have a cousin, Celimene, who married M. de Caraman. She criticizes me unmercifully be- hind my back. But I know it just the same. Things done behind your back invariably turn up in front of you sooner or later. Celimene was made for M. de Caraman. It is impossible to be- lieve that she married him in pure luck, for they are the hand and the glove which must always be fitted. They do everything correctly, and nothing which is not correct escapes them. They dress exquisitely as, for that matter, I do. But they never quarrel as Raoul and I some- .... 2 The ^Defense of T)iane times do, amicably. I am quite sure they do not adore each other, as Raoul and I do. They sim- ply adfcre the same things, not most things, but everything, which is something impossible for me to conceive of. For example, Raoul has a kind of shaving-soap which is detestable to me. It is true that I like nearly everything which Celi- mene likes, society, dress, gayety, all that is meant by that one word Paris, but not so much as she does, and an enormity of things which she does not care for at all. My responsive scale covers several octaves not on her register. She sits unconscious as the statue of Memnon when I am shivering with disgust or quivering with ecstasy. That is one reason why Celimene disap- proves of me. I am continually sounding notes not on her instrument. It isjaughable to hear her freezing, "I do not understand how you," etc. How can she understand what she does not hear, or see, or feel! I am telling you about Celimene because she has taken sides against me, and I wish you to understand why. It came about in this way. We were staying a week at the Milons' in the Vosges. It is abso- lutely necessary that I should tell you something about the Milons and their guests, because they .... 3 .... 'Diane and Her Friends are my judges, and I think it is quite as important to know something about the character of the judges as the facts in the case before them. All the trees on the lawn remain the same, but where the shadows fall depends upon the humor of the sun, does n't it? Well, my judges are of various humors. First, there was M. de Sade. I mention him first because I hate him so. Every one fears him, but he is indispensable. Imagine the most deli- ciously piquant sauce ever invented by Savarin, biting, but appetizing. No dinner, no house- party, no yachting excursion is complete without M. de Sade. Amiable wits soon bore you. M. de Sade never bores. He bites, he stings, he irritates, he makes you furious, he brings tears to your eyes like paprika, and, worst of all, he fascinates. I always wish to sit near him. He produces a kind of pain that is positively agreeable. Among com- mon people I mean those accustomed to speak plainly he would not perhaps appear so clever, so witty, so entertaining, for I suspect that it is because he tells the truth so nakedly that he is so amusing or so hateful to me. But I never feared him, and that I suspect, too, is the reason why he once forgot himself and went too far. There is The 'Defense of Diane nothing like the anger of mortification to make one forget one's self. Then there was General Texier, an old comrade of my father's, who still calls me ma petite, one of those simple brave men who will die as he has lived, a gentleman. It is not necessary to describe such people, they are so upright. Nor is it neces- sary to speak of Madame Texier. She has grown so enormous that it incommodes her to move or to think. Besides, she always agrees with "my General." It grieved me to have him take sides against me, to hear him appeal to my father's memory with real tears in those great eyes of his, which look so honestly from under his big white eyebrows. But I am not so sure my father would agree with him. It is one of those things I am dying to ask him. We were all in the library after dinner. Madame Texier was asleep in the largest fauteuil by the fire. M. de Sade was drinking his coffee, his cup in his hand, on the other side of the mantel. The general was playing whist with M. de Milon, Madame de Milon, and Celimene. There were some young people also, whom I did not know, playing bil- liards in the farther end of the room, or talking with other guests from the neighborhood. None .... 5 .... 'Diane and Her Friends of these people counted, so I pass them over. I only remember that they all seemed stupefied with amazement, as all commonplace people are when anything out of the common happens. That Jacques took my part did not surprise me. He is my husband's best friend, one of those friends I expected to find at my side, whether he approved of me or not, out of sheer loyalty, just because I am his friend's wife. That is what Monsieur Shakespeare calls "a woman's reason." You shall judge whether Jacques had a better one. M. de Sade had taken me out to dinner. I was feeling very depressed, because M. de Milon, who is a great friend of the Minister of War, had just told me that it would be impossible to have Raoul recalled from Tonkin before spring. All the time while dressing I was planning how to get to that dismal place which has cost France so many lives and millions. My thoughts were full of this proj- ect. I was making my calculations while eating my soup, and was halfway to Hainan before the turbot. Then I realized that M. de Sade had made one or two unsuccessful attempts to converse with me, and had finally turned in despair to Jacques's sister, who sat on his left. Agathe is not at all like Jacques. She is one of those women who The ^Defense of 'Diane become extraordinarily affected at the sound of their own voices. Every subject she introduces immediately begins to bloat up out of all propor- tion to its importance or interest. You know those people. They step on every sprig of conversation. Finally one ceases to make an effort and thinks of other things. With M. de Sade, on the contrary, conversation flows. One is either immensely amused or choking with indignation. He sets going in me machinery of which I was ignorant. If you think, for example, that you have no malice in your nature, wait till you have found your M. de Sade. Agathe has written a book on psychol- ogy which became famous after M. de Sade had remarked of it, " O Psyche, what crimes are committed in thy name!" I think she must have been speaking of it, for after the turbot M. de Sade whispered to me, "Why do you go to Africa to look for lions, when in Paris they lie in wait for you? " Now this requires that I should speak a little of myself. You will not be able to judge fairly if you do not understand me. I have always thought judges erred in taking no account of personality. They make no distinction between A and B, as if by any possibility A could conduct himself like B 'Diane and Her Friends under the same circumstances. If the circum- stances are the same, both heads fall into the bas- ket! I wish you to know at once, therefore, that it is true that I shot a lion in Africa, though I was bred in a convent. It is not my fault that my mother died in giving me birth, though I reproach myself on that account, as one cannot help doing for many things of which one is the most innocent cause. It is not my fault that my father loved me the better because I was all that he had to worship, or that he scandalized my Aunt Julie by taking me with him to Africa. You see, at the very beginning I was the cause of scandal. When I was sixteen I made with him the cam- paign against the Kabyles. Please realize what that means. For one thing it means that in the mountains of Africa one cannot ride as in the Bois de Boulogne, and that my Aunt Julie was shocked that I adapted myself to circumstances by preferring safety and ease on a man's saddle to danger and discomfort on a woman's. It goes with- out saying that I have a good seat on either, and that I do not behave in Paris as in Kabyle. But people like Aunt Julie, when they have worked themselves into a state of receptivity for shocks, are shocked at anything. Do not think I am going The 'Defense of ^Diane to tell you how I shot that lion. I only wish you to know how it happens that I am not like Celi- mne, who is obliged to rouge and who carries crbme de la reine and salts and Heaven knows what in her porte-mouchoir. What would any young girl do in my place? She would drink health and strength in the air of the desert and the mountains. She would learn to keep cool, to be mistress of herself, and to shoot straight.- She would have comrades instead of acquaintances. She would learn to dress a wound without shrink- ing, and to overcome the weakness natural to one who has never seen blood or suffering, without forfeiting the respect due to womanhood. Never among all these men with whom I lived so many years was I made to blush for shame or anger; no, never till that evening in the library at the Milons. But before I speak of that there is one thing more you must know that I fence I might as well say it, for it is true admirably. The sword or the foil, it makes no difference which. It is quite important that you should understand this, therefore I speak plainly, without any wish to boast. Moreover, you may ask Raoul. He will tell you, a little ruefully, that my wrist is more .... 9 .... 'Diane and Her Friends supple than his. I think it is also as strong. Al- most invariably in our bouts together I have the advantage in hits. I even know a trick which I have not dared to practice upon him, because it is not rigorously correct. It is not disloyal, but it is not in the manuals. You see, I began in mere fun with my father. He was so proud of me that he used to laugh when I touched him. At his age, naturally, he was a little stiff, so I began to tease some of the young officers. I confess I took great satisfaction in worsting them, for that happened sometimes. Then I begged of my father to permit me to take lessons that is the way I put it with an old maitre d'armes who was reputed to be the best sword in the army. It was he who taught me that trick, of which I will tell you more presently. Naturally, when I married Raoul we kept in practice together. Raoul never disapproved of anything which I wished to do. He has only one serious fault which sometimes annoys me he wishes to prove every thing, like the tutor of whom I told you. It is a positive mania. We quarrel occa- sionally, but only about things or other people, never about each other. No one except my father and Jacques begins to understand me like Raoul. .... I0 .... The defense of ^Diane When I recollect that, I do not much care about what has happened. When I have talked to him he will entirely approve of what I have done. Well, all this is what the lawyers call the exten- uating circumstances. Now I come to the pitce de conviction. As I said before, we were in the library after dinner. There had been introduced in the Cham- ber some bill about the rights of women. I do not know what it was exactly. M. de Sade was relat- ing the incident. He is a Deputy. I only recall that I was thinking about Raoul and how I should get to Tonkin. We had been separated nearly a year, and my head was so full of my project to go to him at all hazards that I had taken Jacques from his partner on the plea that I must consult him about something of great importance. We sat down in the embrasure of the window looking on the terrace. At first he had his cue in his hand, but when he found I was so serious he gave his cue to M. de Caraman and begged him to continue his game. Then he returned to me. I told him that Raoul was not coming back and that I simply must go to Tonkin. I was very earnest, and I sup- pose I became excited. I knew he would oppose me at first, so I waited patiently while he said all 'Diane and Her Friends that I knew beforehand he would say that I ought to consult Raoul, that it was a long journey, one a woman ought not to take alone, that Raoul might be ordered somewhere else before I reached there, and that Tonkin was not a fit place for a woman anyway. As if I had not thought of all these things, or that they amounted to anything after I had made up my mind ! I only said, " What is fit for Raoul is fit for me." Please remember that remark, because it is the key to my char- acter and to what followed. Well, Jacques took my hands in both of his, and then I became tranquil, for I knew he would help me. "My dear Diane," he said, "you are disap- pointed and excited. This is a serious undertak- ing. Promise me you will do nothing without consulting me. Promise me to think of it over- night." As I had already consulted him and was sure to think of nothing else, I almost laughed at his dear simplicity. "I am going to Paris to-morrow," he continued. "I will go to the Ministry and make inquiries." Jacques and I, you know, are like brother and sister. He was on my father's staff in Africa. I .... 12 . Tbe defense of ^Diane love him next to Raoul if one can use the same word about such different things. His emotion touched me. "Dear Jacques," I replied, "I promise you solemnly." Then he kissed me, laughing, evidently quite relieved, and said, "You are a good girl." Then we rose. M. de Sade was finishing his account of the sitting, and, as usual when M. de Sade is en veine, everybody was listening. You can imagine how entrancing he is when even General Texier forgets the trump. "It is quite simple," he was saying. "With privileges go duties; with rights, responsibilities. Madame Celimene wishes the suffrage. Let her serve, then, in Africa like Madame Diane. Of what account is her complexion when the State is in danger? Place aux dames! They wish to earn their own living, to drive cabs, to study anatomy on the benches of the ficole de Medecine, to descend with the latest hat a la mode into the pit where men struggle " "Really, M. de Sade," I interrupted, "do you, then, struggle so hard? I had not observed it." 'Diane and Her Friends "Ah, madame," he replied, with that malicious urbanity of which he is master, " when that day comes when in defiance of nature you have pos- sessed yourself of that phantom equality which you are in pursuit of, on that day I should ask you to do me the honor to explain a remark which women who have not descended to equality are privileged to make with impunity." "And if I refused?" "I should be privileged then to throw my glove in your charming face and await your seconds." There was a storm of protestations. "I have no wish to drive cabs," I remarked dryly, "but I agree with you, and if occasion arises I shall hold you to your theory." "I shall be at your service, madame." "Are you sure, M. de Sade?" I could not resist pushing him over the precipice. "Absolutely," he said, bowing. "Bravo!" cried M. de Milon, patting my shoulder. "Qu'il est bte/" muttered the general, under his breath. " Un vrai fou," said his wife, whose nap had been disturbed. .... I4 .... The ^Defense of Ttiane And then Jacques put an end to it all by saying it was too silly for discussion. No one paid any further attention to what had been said. The boutades of M.xle Sade were never taken seriously. But I could not rid my mind of it. I felt that something momentous had taken place and that something more momentous was inev- itable. If I were not resolved to be quite truthful, I should pretend that my disappointment about Raoul accounted for my agitation I mean my inward agitation, for outwardly I was growing frigid. But I will bare my whole heart. Besides, you have foreseen already that M. de Sade had seen Jacques kiss me. I cannot tell you how that thought irritated me. Not because he had seen, all the world might have seen, but because in his eyes there was such a wicked smile. When such an atmosphere exists as that I was breathing, it is impossible to avoid an explosion. The only way to peace is through a storm. The storm came in this way. The general, hav- ing heard from M. de Milon that Raoul was not to be ordered home for another year, came over beside me and in his fatherly manner endeavored to cheer me. Indeed, I had a great desire to cry. One must cry sometimes whether one has been 'Diane and Her Friends educated in Africa or a convent. They all be- came interested and gathered about me. "At our age," said Celimene, "a year is not so long. Do not think of it and it will pass quickly. " Imagine! She is five years older than I, and has M. de Caraman for a husband! "I do not think of it," I said resolutely, "be- cause I have decided to go to Raoul. " Before any one could express astonishment, M. de Sade spoke. "Excellent idea," he said. My tears were dry in an instant. I stood up and confronted him. "Why do you say that?" I flashed, looking him in the eyes. If I am to blame in any respect, it was at that moment, for I felt the challenge in my voice and that he could not resist it. "Because," he replied, slowly, returning my gaze, "because since the days of King David it is dangerous to separate wives and husbands. " No one at first fully comprehended what was transpiring, except Jacques. He sprang to his feet. " Wait, " I said, pushing him aside; " this is my affair." The Defense of T>iane Then I turned to M. de Sade. "Monsieur," I said, "I have not, to employ your words, descended to equality with you, but I do not for that reason claim the immunity you offer me. On the contrary, I accept full responsi- bility for what I shall say to you. You have in- sulted me, and it is to me, not to another, that you shall make reparation. You will apologize for what you have said, now, in the presence of those who heard you, or " "Or?" he interrupted, with that wicked smile of his, lighting a cigarette as if it were only a pleasantry. I tore off my long white glove and struck him across the face with all my strength. For a moment no one moved. Every one was stupefied. I saw distinctly the red mark of my glove, and I heard Celimene cry, "Oh!" Then I gathered up my dress and left the room. As was to be expected, they all came to ex- postulate with me. First, M. de Milon and the general. They said M. de Sade's conduct was infamous, that I had behaved with spirit under great provocation, but that of course it was im- possible for a gentleman to cross swords with a woman. ..... I7 .... 'Diane and Her Friends "Why?" I said, "if it is possible for him to insult one. " "Old as I am," said the general, "he shall answer for this to me. Be reasonable. " And then he began to walk up and down, gesticulating and saying, "It is impossible, my child, impossi- ble." I will not repeat all they said because you know it already. But please try to keep my point of view. Afterwards came Celimene, poor Celimene! with her tears and salts and her "No one ever heard of such a thing. " "Well, they will hear of it now," I said. "You were most imprudent, my dear," she continued. "That does not excuse M. de Sade. He was abominable. But do not add to the scan- dal. A woman in your position cannot conduct herself like a common scold. Thank Heaven, we have not yet come to that! Instead of becoming a hero" what a nasty insinuation! "you will make M. de Sade one. " None of these arguments moved me. More- over, I had not failed to observe that Jacques had not come to me. I was sure that he would not. Being married, I know the habits of men The ^Defense of THane tolerably well. For that reason, after the house became quiet, I went to bed as usual, resolved to be awake early. There was no need to tell my maid to call me, for I have the habit of waking when I wish to. To prove to you that I had a good conscience, I slept soundly and woke with the sun. My maid was still sleeping. I dressed my- self quickly, pulling on the short skirt and jacket I wear when there is a battue in the forest but without corsets. Then I sat down by the window. It looked out upon the terrace, over the gardens and pond to the wood. I was not mistaken, for presently Jacques, with M. de Caraman and the general, came out from the library, crossed the terrace, and disappeared in the shrubbery. When I reached the spot they were talking, the general, M. de Caraman, M. de Milon, and two others whom I did not know. M. de Sade and Jacques were in their shirt-sleeves. It was an open space, across which the morning sun threw long shad- ows, and I waited on the edge till they took their places. Then I went forward. M. de Sade was facing me. He smiled when he saw me, and shrugged his shoulders as if much amused. I admit that when one has no protection, no mask, and no button on one's foil, one feels quite .... I9 .... 'Diane and Her Friends differently. But that shrug of the shoulders was all I needed. I was beside Jacques before he saw me. " Give it me, " I said I ordered, grasping the guard. At first he held back. "Jacques!" I said. For just a second he hesitated, our eyes to- gether. Then he let go. M. de Sade had thrown down his weapon and stood with his arms folded, still smiling. "Stand back!" I cried to those who were ad- vancing. " Messieurs, you will pardon my ignor- ance of etiquette. We have passed beyond the need of it. " Then I turned to M. de Sade and saluted him. "En garde /"I said. "There is a coat which is not precisely a coat of mail," he sneered, "but which is quite the equivalent of one. Will madame assure me " Viper to the last! "M. de Sade," I said, advancing a step, "if you do not resume your sword, you will compel me to do with mine what last night I did with my glove." He stooped, white with rage, and took up his sword. .... 20 The ^Defense of Tliane "Gentlemen," he asked, "will you permit me to defend myself?" Without losing a precious second I attacked him. I heard the two strangers protest. The others seemed paralyzed, it was all so unexpected and so sudden. I think the general was about to part us, when I heard dear Jacques's voice say- ing, "I will answer for her." As for myself I was too busy to pay attention to them. I perceived at once that M. de Sade was only defending himself. Then I thought of the lesson of the old maitre d'armes. With every resource at my command I attacked, obliging him to use all his own to parry, forcing him back at every thrust for he would not reply till he began to get worried, and then well, this time it was not he who threw down his sword. He was astounded. I was tempted to laugh at him, it was so comical. I am not vindictive. When I have had my way I am satisfied. But I had not quite finished. "Resume your sword, monsieur," I said. "I have not done with you. " "Enough, enough!" cried the general, run- ning forward. But M. de Sade held up his hand. I had not .... 21 TDiane and Her Friends ? observed before the little red stream trickling from his wrist. "Gentlemen," he said, "I admit freely that madame is my superior with the sword and" bowing to me very sweetly "in manners." It was a little late; but, you see, after all, at heart he was a gentleman. Well, I ask you, did I not do right? No one but Jacques will admit it. M. de Milon is quite obstinate about it. The general shakes his head at me from time to time, on principle, you know, and madame sighs without speak- ing. Celimene had hysterics, at breakfast. She cannot understand, she keeps repeating, how M. de Caraman permitted it. I tell her it was be- cause I was there. But you should hear Agathe. She says it is a case of atavism! Jacques has kissed me again, with both arms, too, only this time in private. To-morrow I start for Tonkin, to prove to Celimene that I have no wish to pose as a hero and to see my husband. II THE CONFESSION OF THE COUNTESS ANNE AN object dropped from certain windows of the Chateau de Freyr fell into the Meuse, and from that side, indeed, but for these windows its gray walls were hardly to be distinguished from the cliff which they prolonged. To the south, where the river escaped from the shadow of the cliff into the sunlight of the meadows, the ap- proaches were less abrupt, the lower slopes being covered with vineyards. Still farther around, to the west, a noble wood of chestnut and oak rose in steps to the great wall of the terrace, their top- most branches almost reaching to the terrace level. Even on this side, however, the pathway, which first skirted the vineyards and then dis- appeared in the wood, was so steep that when the Countess Anne returned from an excursion to the town a donkey was always in waiting for her at the Sign of the White Fawn, where the path left the main road. There is a legend that when the King of France passed a night in the chateau .... 23 -. 'Diane and Her Friends on his way to Flanders, four stout Flemish draught horses had dragged His Majesty's coach up the hill into the courtyard whose stones had never before, as certainly they never have since, felt the wheel of a carriage. But this legend is of doubtful authenticity, and was repeated to the few travelers who stopped for a glass of wine at the Sign of the White Fawn only as one repeats similar doubtful tales of what happened in the days when there were giants in the land with a "they say" and a shrug of the shoulders. "Evidently," said the Countess Anne one day to Dr. Leroux as they climbed the path to the chateau, "evidently my ancestors were in the habit of paying visits which they did not wish returned." The cluster of houses at the foot of the chateau was also known as Freyr. A few of its narrower streets straggled a little way up the hill, but the greater number, including the great square with its fountain by Girardon, stretched out into the meadows along the river, bordered by a wide allee of plane trees, in whose shade gossips knitted, and children played, when the weather was fine. These gossips would have told you that it was now thirty-five years or more since the Countess .... 24 The Confession of the Countess Anne Anne came to Freyr, an event of great import- ance at the time, inasmuch as the chateau had not been inhabited for more than a century. An event, too, which gave rise to much speculation, for in those days, of course, the countess was young, barely twenty, and according to rumor, marvelously beautiful. According to rumor, too, she had lived in a brilliant world with which Freyr and its lonely chateau had nothing in com- mon. Would she bring gallants and ladies in her train? Would the cor de chasse sound once more in the park, and candle-lights dance again in the mirrors of the salle de bal? Then, little by little, other rumors, from God knows where, filtered through the town that there was a count who had eaten the countess's dowry in less than a year, some said in less time even; that the young wife had fled from her husband as from the plague, or, according to others, had been deserted as soon as the dowry was gone. Possibly the Abbe D'Arlot or Dr. Leroux could tell you whether the count was still alive. But as he had never been seen by any of the inhabitants of Freyr, and as there were no children to remind one that he had ever existed, he was gradually forgotten even by the gossips who knitted in the allee by the Meuse. .... 25 .... 'Diane and Her Friends Even his name had perished from the land, for every one in Freyr had come to say " the Countess Anne." "I think," said the countess one day to Dr. Leroux as he walked beside her donkey up the path, "that I must purchase another donkey. Balafre is beginning to stumble, and when he stumbles badly he gives me such a shock that I have a pain in my heart." "That is not the fault of Balafre," said Dr. Leroux. "No, so you have told me before. It is the fault of my heart. " "Undoubtedly. What could I say to my con- science if I did not warn you against those exer- tions which ... for example, I saw you to-day lift that big baby of Mere Bigot" "The dear child! so I did," said the countess. And then, after a little silence, " So you think it will stop some day, without warning?" "It is possible, certainly." "Provided I have time for confession and the sacraments," said the countess as if to herself, "I should not object so much to that way." "You know I do not attach any" he em- phasized the word gently "importance to the .... 26 The Confession of the Countess Anne sacraments. As for confession, that is another matter. A good confession has often been of great assistance to me. But for you," he said, laying his hand on Balafre's back, for the path was steep at this point, "what can you possibly ... ah, well," for the gesture of the countess arrested him, "if that is so, why not make your confession now?" "There are confessions one does not make till one is sure one is about to die," replied the Count- ess Anne. Dr. Leroux walked on beside Balafre in silence. There was sometimes such a mingling of serious- ness and playfulness in the countess's answers that silence was the best refuge for uncertainty. Often, however, as now, the doctor's silence was the silence of irritation. It irritated him to think that she, whom he held to be no whit lower than the angels, should be tormented by the need of confession. For what could such a woman possi- bly have to confess ! And his irritation found vent when, on his way home, he encountered the Abbe* D'Arlot, who always dined at the chateau on Thursdays, slowly ascending the path. "Why do you seek to govern by fear!" he ex- claimed, shaking his cane. "That the law should *Diane and Her Friends inspire fear, that is natural; but for religion, it is folly. The criminal does not commit murder for fear of the gallows. That is well for the victim ! that is well for society, which protects itself. But what good does this fear accomplish for the crimi- nal himself ? Absolutely none. It stays his hand, it does not change his heart. Is it to wash the hand or to cleanse the heart that the Church exists? Ah, that the law should govern by fear, that I admit. But the Church! when the Church inspires fear it is because it wishes to usurp the place of law, to govern as well as to pardon." And turning on his heel, the doctor went grum- bling down the path. Accustomed to these outbursts, the abb6 smiled. None knew better than he that his friend possessed the kindest of hearts. But it took fire easily. As Pere Bigot said: "C'est comme les allumettes faut pas les gratter ! " for Pere Bigot had often experienced the doctor's wrath, being accustomed to descant to the habitues of the White Fawn on the art of government, a pro- ceeding which excited the doctor's bitter scorn. "There is one branch of knowledge," he said one day to the mayor, "which it is not necessary to teach in the schools." .... 28 .. The Confession of the Countess Anne "What is that?" inquired the mayor unsus- pectingly. "How to govern one's neighbor." Yet Pere Bigot was never tired of telling how, when he broke his leg drawing logs from the forest, Monsieur le Docteur had cared for him "as if he had been the Countess Anne." The truth is that while tolerant of every form of weakness and suffering, the doctor despised every form of pretension. With politics he would have nothing to do, and on all social questions was as conservative as on religious ones he was radical. His speech was often hot and his silence chilling, and with many ideas of the day which, like other ephemeral fashions, penetrated even to Freyr, he was sadly out of joint. "But," said Madame Leroux, "he has the heart of a little lamb " and Madame Leroux, while adoring her husband, understood him well. As for the baby of Mere Bigot it was true, as the doctor had pointed out, that it was enor- mously heavy for a baby of its age. But then, it had such an enticing way of stretching out its hands that it was impossible to resist their appeal. Not that it enjoyed any special prerogatives. To the Countess Anne all babies were appealing. .... 29 THane and Her Friends No mother in Freyr had any cause for jealousy in this respect. "Ah, what a pity she is not a mother," they used to say. But this had not always been so. Time was when the peasant on the straight white road which divided the meadows, doffing his hat as she went by, slender and erect on her black gelding, re- ceived but scant acknowledgment. Tradesmen who had counted on better times with her coming were sorely disappointed in those days, for there were neither revels nor feasting to quicken trade, nor any change in the usual life of Freyr. A few lights shone at night in the chateau windows, and now and then a solitary figure walked in the chateau wood that was all. How or why the transformation came to pass, no one in Freyr could have told you. You know how marvelously the dead leaves of the dead year disappear, how little by little the naked branches take on those faint colors which herald the spring; and then, after days of alternate sun and cold, and delays without number, how, in spite of all these warnings, we are suddenly as- tonished to find every bud and leaf in its place, and to hear the strife of chattering birds seeking nests. No less wonderful was the miracle wrought .... 30 .... The Confession of the Countess Anne in the Countess Anne. When first she came to Freyr the signs of a winter lately passed were in her face, as if something had frozen the sources of life as winter freezes the wood springs; and in her manner a hauteur and aloofness such as one feels when one attempts to penetrate in winter the snow-bound wood. And now the littlest child sitting on the doorstep in the sun stretched out its tiny hands confidently as she passed by, and Madame Leroux, watching her retreating form as she went out the gateway of the H6tel Dieu, turned to her husband saying: "It is not the same woman that came to Freyr years ago." "The very same," he replied. "Go get that stone, my dear, which you keep in the depths of your chest, and see how it will shine when it sees the light of the sun." Madame Leroux knew very well that he was chiding her for so rarely wearing the one jewel she possessed a souvenir of such happy days that she locked it securely in her chest lest it should be lost and smiled. Then she began to think, to wonder what sun had shone upon the heart of the Countess Anne. She remembered the day her husband had first 'Diane and Her Friends gone to the chateau, and how, when he had re- turned and had talked for a whole hour on every subject but the one which was consuming her heart, unable to refrain any longer she had asked at last if the countess was really as beautiful as rumor had said. They were at table, and she remembered well how her husband, looking up from his plate, replied: "My dear, what do you say of this ragout?" "Of this ragout?" she had stammered, taken aback, "why, it is delicious." " So? and what do you say of a morning of May, one of those mornings, for example, when the buds are turning silver and rose, when the leaves are preparing to unfold and birds are calling in the wood?" "That it is beautiful, certainly." "O words, words! why not delicious not like this ragout" he added maliciously, smiling over the rim of his spectacles, "but like the Countess Anne." She remembered that day was the first day of spring, for the windows were open and the bees came in and out seeking what was not yet to be found in the fields, and that her husband, finish- ing his coffee by the garden window, had added: .... 33 .... The Confession of the Countess Anne "Something, perhaps, not yet beautiful, but which promises to be so, which charms because it suggests, which stirs the imagination and calls out to the things in the heart which are dying, saying 'do not die, do not die.'" Ah, Madame Leroux had thought, she must be beautiful, indeed. Above all she remembered her disappointment when in her turn she also first saw the Countess Anne a black figure, its face as white as its white hands, taking scarcely more notice of her curtsy than did the hound by its side. And now the countess was an old woman, with white hair and a figure no longer slim, but with eter- nal spring in her eyes. Yes, it was true, as her husband had said some one, something, had taken the jewel out of the dark into the sun. And Madame Leroux, who endeavored to atone for her husband's delinquencies, crossed her- self, saying, "God only was capable of such a miracle. " Of the two men most people would have se- lected the abbe rather than the doctor for the friendship of the Countess Anne. For the abbe, though poor, was of noble family, having in his face and manners those signs of race which , 33 - "Diane and Her Friends circumstances can never wholly efface or dis- guise, and which often contrasted strongly with the brusque, even bourgeois ways of the doctor. Yet whereas the abbe dined at the chateau only once a week, Dr. Leroux was a frequent visitor. This did not trouble the peace of Madame Leroux. She knew that she was his wife, the mother of his children, the woman who in certain respects was his inferior, but whom he tenderly loved. She knew, also, that the other was the woman who in certain other respects was his superior, who, in the dull monotony of Freyr, was the stimulus to his intellectual nature as she, Madame Leroux, was its rest. Notwithstanding their different natures and beliefs, there were no better friends in Freyr than the abbe and the doctor. Often in the dusk of the allee under the limes they were to be seen walk- ing leisurely to and fro of summer evenings, the abbe, his hands crossed behind his back, listen- ing, defending, explaining, the doctor always at- tacking something, pounding the gravel with his cane. On one subject above all others the doctor loved to talk, the Countess Anne, and it was strange that the abbe", who certainly shared his friend's opinion on this subject if on no other, The Confession of tbe Countess Anne was so reticent whenever her name was spoken. For example, the doctor would say: "What is adorable is that she gives without ostentation, without playing that odious part of the Lady Bountiful who cannot forget the gulf over which she steps. " "Do you think she is even aware of it?" The abbe would reply gently. "But no discretion," the doctor would pur- sue, waving his stick aloft, "no discretion. Only yesterday I said to her, 'Please, please discriminate a little. That piece of a hundred sous which you gave to that old rascal Gervais will certainly find its way into the till of the White Fawn.'" And then the abbe would remain silent, or per- haps, on the way home, just before parting, would say in an impersonal way: "Charity does not discriminate. Organize charity, ask of it judgment, reason, and it is no longer charity. Such only creates what it seeks to relieve. There is only one charity, the charity that reaches the heart because it proceeds from the heart, and that charity never hesitates, never reasons it gives, at the first touch of the hand on the hem of the garment. The mistakes it .... 35 .... 'Diane and Her Friends makes are only the price it pays for the immense privilege of doing good. " It was a day of early autumn the grapes still hung between the yellowing leaves of the vines when Dr. Leroux, his black felt hat pulled down to his shaggy eyebrows, came through the gate of the chateau path, past the creaking sign of the White Fawn and along the narrow street which led to his own door. If there had been nothing else to mark that day Madame Leroux would have remembered it as one on which her husband had no greeting for her when she looked up at the sound of the opening door. For with- out even taking off his coat or hat, he disappeared into the laboratory, a small yellow phial in his hand. She was just reaching to the nail where hung the little green bag of woven grass she always carried when she went to town for the maid had forgotten the black beans for the master's soup when something stayed her hand. She was not alarmed, but, as she afterward said, she " felt something. " So laying aside her black shawl and taking her knitting from her pocket, she sat down by the window. And then, while waiting, .... 36 .... The Confession of the Countess Anne recollecting that her husband had been called to the chateau, she began to feel fear, that fear which is just fear, and which, because it is fear of one knows not what, is the worst fear of all. How long she sat there, listening for her husband's step, she did not know, though the clock ticked in full sight above the chimney mantel. At last the door opened and her husband came in, sitting down beside her heavily, with a great sigh, like a man whose strength is spent. She laid her hand over his as it rested on the arm of his chair, look- ing into his face but not venturing to speak. "I give her three days perhaps not even that," he groaned. She stood up at his first words, leaning, dazed, against the wall. "What will Freyr do without the Countess Anne?" she gasped with a little choking sob. Of all the tributes the Countess Anne had ever received, this first thought of Madame Leroux, selfish as it might seem, was perhaps the greatest and best. "And to think that I foresaw nothing," he moaned pitifully; "that while I stood at the door death should come in the window that I can do nothing that I am helpless!" .... 37 .... SDiane and Her Friends The needles trembled in Madame Leroux's hand. "There is God, my dear," she murmured. "Please do not speak to me of God," he said with a gesture of weariness. Then silence fell upon them both. There was a little path in the garden, covered with a trellis from which grapes hung in yellow and purple clusters. Here, up and down, for a long hour the doctor walked that day, struggling with thoughts which had never troubled him before. Should he tell the Countess Anne? Surely it was his duty always to prolong life to the last possible moment, to fight Death with every ally at his command, even when the battle was lost. And no ally was stronger than Hope. To say "Courage! we two will conquer," that was what he had always said to every patient. By what right could he say, "It is useless, dis- miss the physician and send for the priest"? To soften pain was one thing, to shorten life another. Was it less criminal to shorten it by taking away hope than by administering an opiate? Besides, what could she have to confess, such a woman, .... 38 .... The Confession of the Countess Anne whose life had been open to his eye for nearly forty years? Nothing. It was monstrous, absurd. Why should he attach so much importance to a chance word? Yet what if it were true, that something lay on that white heart? By what right should he deprive it of its desire? For the end was sure, the fight was hopeless. Why then should he say there is hope, when hope there was none? What if, after all, there was God waiting, ready to listen, a God of Judgment, a God of Wrath as well as of Mercy, who would say, "In- asmuch as ye did not cast your burden upon Me, depart from Me into everlasting darkness." That too, was monstrous, absurd. That such a God should one day hold him responsible for the peace of a soul troubled him less than that that soul should one day look at him with reproachful eyes. For the first time in his life he almost wished for such a God, some final Judge to whom he could turn in his doubt, upon whom he could cast the burden of his perplexity. A wooden gate opened from the garden. He lifted the latch mechanically, following the wind- ing street, heedless of greetings, and turned up the path by the Sign of the White Fawn. "How good of you to come! I believe there Ttiane and Her Friends must be some truth in these newfangled notions of telepathy. I was really about to send for you." He pressed the white hand in his for reply, his throat too rebellious for speech. Then, abruptly, without further waiting, a little timidly, almost as it were like a novice speaking of things in which she was not proficient: "Do you know, my friend, I think I am about to die." He started, involuntarily, experiencing an im- mense relief that his task was made so easy. She looked into his face searchingly. He did not exclaim, "Nonsense!" brusquely, as perhaps she expected. "Do you believe, then, in presentiments?" she asked, her voice trembling, but very sweet and clear. "They are sometimes not to be disregarded," he said hoarsely. Her eyes did not fall, and she understood. "Thank you," she replied steadily. And then, after a pause, "You are always the good friend." He walked away to hide his face and was stand- ing at the window when she spoke again. "Please come and sit here, beside me, I am not afraid." .... 40 .- The Confession of the Countess Anne The strength in her voice astonished and stead- ied him. Not afraid! For a moment the world became fairer and brighter. What a fool he had been ! Then the reality came back, and as he took the seat beside her again he covered his eyes with his hand. She took the free hand and drew him down, smiling. "You came to comfort me, and now now it is I who have to comfort you." He straightened up, smiling too, something like his old self, and laid his other hand over hers. Her eyes wandered a while over the room and then came back to his. "Tell me, will there be pain? You know what a coward I am." Ah, what scenes, what suffering he had wit- nessed, dry-eyed. Now the tears rolled down his cheeks. He shook his head. "Precious tears, I love them, every one," thought the Countess Anne. "Just drowsiness, such as I felt before you came?" He nodded. "Sometimes God is good," she murmured, clos- ing her eyes. Then she roused herself and tak- ing a key from under her pillow put it in his hand. "We have had much business together," she said .... 4I .... T)iane and Her Friends earnestly. "That must not stop. You will find in my desk everything I wish done. You will do it just the same just the same as if hush! better, perhaps. And now, my friend, you must go, for a while but not far." "Never far," he whispered. The big tears fell on the white sheet as he bent over her. She kept his hand a moment, then released it reluctantly and turned her face to the wall, repeating under her breath, "Not far not far." As he moved softly toward the door she called to him. " WiU you send, please, for the Abbe d'Arlot? " He nodded silently. "Remember, I am not afraid," she smiled. Then he left the room. Although it was only mid-afternoon when Dr. Leroux knocked at the abbe's door, the day be- ing Thursday, the abbe already wore his best soutane for Thursday was the day on which he dined at the chateau. Few and blunt words suffice for men. When, therefore, in his usual courtly manner the abbe had offered him a chair, the doctor began at once, without preamble. .... 42 .... The Confession of the Countess Anne After his visit at the chateau it was a relief to speak freely again. "The Countess Anne is dying." The abbe's face became pale as death. "Dying!" he exclaimed with a quick indrawn breath, brushing with a gesture of bewilderment the thin hair from his forehead with his thin white hand. " She has sent for you you had better go at once she wishes to make confession." The words came with an effort. " She wishes me? But I am not her confessor," gasped the abbe, sinking into his chair. His breast rose and fell so violently under his robe that Dr. Leroux strode to the sideboard. "Have you no brandy? Here, take this." He filled a glass from the decanter of wine and carried it to the abbe's lips. "It is nothing. I will go," he said, refusing the proffered glass. " Dying ! Mon Dieu ! Man Dieu I " he moaned. "You are not her confessor?" said Dr. Leroux. "I thought I always supposed at all events," he faltered, "she desires you." He put on his hat and went to the door. "I am going to her also. This is a time when she needs us both." Ttiane and Her Friends As the door closed he heard the sound of sob- bing within. Through the wicker gate, between the high vineyard walls, and then into the cool spaces of the wood the abbe climbed the chateau path. The loiterers at the tables under the trellis of the White Fawn rose and touched their hats at his approach. But he took no heed of them. "The abbe" is growing old," said one. Halfway through the wood he paused to rest on a wooden bench, just where an opening in the trees disclosed the meadows and the curve of the winding Meuse. Every Thursday for twenty years he had climbed this path. Every Thursday evening for twenty years he had sat in the same chair at the same table in the great dining-room of the chateau. In summer, after dinner, they sat on the terrace, and in winter in the two high damask-covered chairs before the fire. And every Thursday evening for twenty years there had been three games of draughts before he took his leave. Now that was all over, forever. Dying? He had not even observed that she was growing old. In the courtyard the great Dane welcomed .... 44 .... The Confession of the Countess Anne him as always. There was no commotion. Noth- ing was changed. For a moment he said to him- self, "I dream." Then he rang the bell at the small side door. Dr. Leroux was in the anteroom. "You have no time to lose," he said. " No, not yet," he re- plied to the abbe's eyes, "but unconsciousness that may come soon." The abbe" had become quite calm now. His pale, refined face had become still and his step firm. When the door closed behind him he lifted his eyes. It was not the face of the dying that they saw, but a face transfigured, radiant, the face of one whose waiting was at an end. He went forward fascinated, bewildered, by that radi- ance, like a man who does not know what is to come. "Sit down here," she said, indicating the chair by her bed. He took the chair. " Nearer," said the Countess Anne. He felt that he was be- ginning to tremble, that self-control was slipping away. "Nearer," she repeated. He bent his white head till it rested on the sheet close to her arm. "Look up" her voice was almost a whisper; .... 45 .... 'Diane and Her Friends "did you think you could love me for twenty years and give no sign?" she smiled. A strange groan escaped his lips, and his head fell upon the pillow beside hers. " Do you hear? " she whispered. " I love you I love you." "And you are dying dying," he cried aloud. "That makes no difference," said the Countess Anne. If any one would know what was passing hi the abbe's heart, let him go to the marshes when the tide is full. He had forgotten his calling, the long weary years. God and the world were swept away. Strength had forsaken him. He lay like a little child, weak, powerless, before that tide that came so resistlessly filling every empty chamber, stilling every ache, satisfying every thirsty root, till the heart, like the marsh, was full and then, suddenly, mercifully, came night. Dr. Leroux had hastened in at the first faint cry. They bore him away gently, but every effort was unavailing. He had climbed the chateau path for the last time. "At last," thought Dr. Leroux bitterly, .... 4 6 .- The Confession of the Countess Anne "peace with God is made and it has cost a life." When he reentered the room the countess's eyes were still shining. They looked up to his in mute appeal, and before he know what words he was uttering, under their insistent spell he had spoken: " Grief killed him." The lips quivered, but the strange, triumphant smile remained. A feeble hand plucked at his sleeve and drew his head down till his ear touched her lips. "It was not grief it was joy," she whispered. The next day there was a great stillness in Freyr. Every shop was closed. For the bells of Our Lady of Mercy were tolling in the great square. Dr. Leroux walked rarely now in the allee by the Meuse. When his work was done he loved rather to sit with Madame Leroux under the gar- den trellis or before the fire, his hand in hers. But she never knew what sun had shone upon the heart of the Countess Anne. Ill THE WAY OF DIANE IN August there was no place in Freyr so cool as the terrace of the Hdtel d'ltalie et d'An- gleterre. Only when the breeze lifted the leaves of its closely woven roof of vines could a few flecks of sunshine find their way to the gravel below. At the dinner hour the tables in the arbors next the railing along the river wall were always in demand, for there one could see the lights on the bridge dancing in the water-mirror and the fainter reflections from the windows of the cha- teau in the background. Even at midday, when the morning breeze had died away and the river had settled into sleep, one often had to wait for some old habitue lingering persistently over his coffee and cognac. Something in the lapping of the little waves against the foot of the wall and the shimmer under the willows that fringed the meadows rendered the busiest indifferent to the flight of time. Under such circumstances it was no wonder that M. Achille, the proprietor, pictured to him- .... 48 ..- The Way of ^Diane self with satisfaction the deserted tables of the Cafe de la Regence in the hot, dusty square. In winter, however, the Hotel d'ltalie et d'An- gleterre retreated into itself like a snail, and the Cafe de la Regence had its revenge. On this particular morning the garden was al- most deserted. In one of the arbors an officer and his wife were finishing their early breakfast. Beyond, quite hidden by the screen of leaves, a priest was sitting, sipping a glass of sugared water. It was the hour when M. Achille made his rounds inspecting the arrangement of the tables, moving here a napkin, there a menu, on the white cloths, making sure, like a good general, that all was ready for the assault of noon. Only in this quiet morning hour did the Abbe" d'Arlot permit himself the luxury of the terrace at the price of his glass of sugared water. From his own little garden, inclosed as it was by high walls, he loved to escape from time to time to sit beside this river flowing out from the stillness of Freyr to great cities and the sea. Perhaps in some measure it symbolized for him the life of the race, or even his own. For time was when it ran joyous and free, forcing its way through the hill barriers '- 49 'Diane and Her Friends as in olden days the northern hordes had forced their way through its valley to southern lands. Tamed now, it ran, obedient, between the stone quays of the sleepy town, by the prim rows of clipped willows as little free to bud at will as the river to change its course. Only in the eddies under the black rock of the chateau was there any sign of revolt or discontent. If these existed in the abbe's heart, they were not visible on his placid face as he sat this August morning, for- getting in the call of the river the open book on his knee. Now and then a voice from the adjoin- ing arbor roused him from his reverie, and he lifted his head, listening for a moment, as if re- calling vaguely something once familiar. "He is abominable, your Minister!" The clear, insistent voice seemed to quicken his mem- ory, for a bright smile illuminated his thin face. Then, lest he should become an unwilling listener, he changed his seat. Crumbling M. Achille's bread to the minnows at the foot of the wall, her face reflected hi the water, her shoes projecting through the railing, the author of this explosion had clearly reached the limit of self-restraint. From time to time she threw a crust at the minnows with an energy .... 50 .... Tbe Way of TXane which scattered them in a flurry of fear. She had come with her husband to spend his month's leave of absence in the quiet of Freyr, and he had just received a telegram from the War Office summoning him to Paris. What for? Were they going to send him away again? Such a procedure, after three years of separation, filled her with in- dignation. Would they never allow her little girl to become acquainted with her father? And in an hour he would be gone! "Abominable!" she repeated, "and unjust." At this reiterated denunciation her companion, who, having finished the feuilleton of the "cho de Paris," was endeavoring to extract a last crumb of interest from the advertisements, laid down his paper. "Be a little reasonable, Diane. How can you say a thing is unjust of which you know nothing? " The blue eyes, following the retreating minnows, smiled. Raoul was so logical! "After I have seen the Minister we shall know, and I will telegraph you to-morrow. " "To-morrow, to-morrow! I am tired of to- morrow. Three years of it is quite enough. I want to-day. " "Well, we shall have had half of it at all c Diane and Her Friends events," said the captain, who was apt to be literal as well as logical. "And I want to-day to-morrow, too. Please tell that to your Minister. " At that instant a young girl, her face framed in a long veil, appeared in the terrace doorway. Something in her carriage and gray eyes sug- gested qualities and privileges which M. Achille had hitherto associated only with the married state. It was, however, to her and not to the elderly persons accompanying her that he was rendering the things that are Caesar's. " Would mademoiselle sit here, by the fish-pond, or here, behind the box trees?" As the gray eyes wandered from table to table they met the blue ones at the railing. "Take this one, I beg of you," said Diane, rising and gathering up her gloves. "From here one can see the river we have finished. " "Are you quite sure?" "Quite, I assure you. Raoul, you are forget- ting your paper." "Diane," said her husband, as they passed out between the box trees, "what possessed you to speak to those people! The English do not like to be addressed in that way. " .... 52 .... The Way of