Caroline had told him of Melisande's encounter with the Frenchman. Danesborough had, in his usual manner, quickly made the acquaintance of the young man and his precious charge. It was Sir Charles who had suggested that Caroline's companion should be invited to meet the young Frenchman; and Danesborough, who had asked de la Roche for dinner extended the invitation to Melisande without hesitation.
Danesborough was a broad-minded man; and Sir Charles had pointed out that, although she was in poor circumstances, Melisande was a girl of education.
They had arrived at the Danesboroughs' and in the drawing-room,
Mr. Danesborough with his sister, who was the chatelaine of the household since the death of Mrs. Danesborough, greeted them warmly.
There were other guests and among them Melisande saw, with surprise and pleasure, Leon de la Roche.
"Ah, Mademoiselle St. Martin!" cried the jovial Mr. Danesborough, "I am so glad you have come. Monsieur de la Roche has been telling me how you and he were introduced by young RaouL ,,
"It is so," said Melisande. "He rescued me and introduced me. It was a double kindness."
Mr. Danesborough was clearly enchanted with her. Sir Charles, he said, had told him of her learning but had not prepared him for her beauty. He had promised Monsieur de la Roche that he should take her in to dinner; Mr. Danesborough implied that he envied Monsieur de la Roche.
And here was Leon de la Roche himself. To Melisande he looked different in this new setting—remote, less friendly, a pale stranger; but there was no doubt of his pleasure in seeing her.
"I am delighted," he said in his own tongue.
She answered in French: "I had no idea that you would be here. You must be the surprise. Caroline told me there was a surprise. A rather nice one, she said." She laughed. She felt young and carefree. This house held no memories of Fermor, and chatting with Leon she could forget all about him. She began to chatter of how excited she was to come out to dinner. "I have never before been out to dinner. It is my first dinner party. Of course, I have had supper with the servants in the servants' hall. Such things there are to eat! And that is great fun. But this is grand . . . and how different you look! And I too, I daresay."
"You look charming. You always look charming. But to-night you are very beautiful."
"It is the dress. It is beautiful. I longed to wear it, but this is the only suitable occasion there has been. I hope there will be other suitable occasions . . . many, many of them."
"So do I. It is a delightful dress."
"It is French. That is why you like it. The flower is English though. Made with these hands from cuttings given by Miss Pennifield. So perhaps it is half French ? She gave the material; I made the flower. I have been wondering if I can earn my living making flowers."
"You go too fast. Why should you earn your living making flowers?"
"If it should be necessary," she said. "Who knows? It would be a little accomplishment."
"But you have many accomplishments."
"I do not know them. You are to take me in to dinner. Mr. Danesborough told me."
"I am delighted."
"Isn't it fun . . . meeting properly like this . . . not just a chance encounter on the seashore, and I promise to be there if we can arrange it and it does not rain!"
"It is. But it was also fun on the seashore . . . the greatest fun."
"And fun to be talking French as loudly as we like. Few, if any of them, know what we are saying."
"It makes us seem apart. I can't tell you how glad I am to find you here. Mr. Danesborough is an interesting man. He called on us and told me a good deal about the neighbourhood . . . past and present. Raoul has taken a fancy to his son Frith who came with him."
"His son?"
"He's not here to-night. He's home for the holidays, I think. Too young for dinner parties. Although I doubt whether he is much younger than you are."
"It is an advantage to be out in the world. Then you come to dinner parties and renew acquaintance with interesting people whom you meet on the beach."
They went in to dinner together. It was delightful, thought Melisande, to walk in a sort of crocodile, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a gentleman. It reminded her of another crocodile— by its very difference.
The table was a magnificent sight to Melisande, with its flower centre-piece and cutlery. Everything was wonderful to-night, she decided. She refused to think of Fermor; she refused to think beyond to-night. She found herself between Leon and Sir Charles, and felt immediately at home.
Sir Charles was talking to a lady on his right, but she could not but be aware that he was listening to what she and Leon were saying, although she doubted whether he could follow their rapid French.
"How is Raoul?" she asked.
"Quite well. This place suits him. He likes it, so we shall stay here."
She smiled. "It seems strange ... a small boy to make the decisions."
"It is an unusual position. Sometimes I think he would be better surrounded by children of his own age."
"Those who did not let him have so much of his own way perhaps. Has he been long in your charge?"
"Since he was five years old. That was when his mother died. Poor Raoul! He belongs to a tragic family. His grandmother was a young woman at the time of the revolution. She was at the court— a close friend of Marie Antoinette. She was imprisoned and suffered
much hardship. It undermined her health. But by some extraordinary good fortune she was released. She was one of those who escaped the guillotine. But there were many who lived and suffered through the revolution."
His expression was mournful, and she thought: What a sad face he has! She longed to make him smile. The smile of a sad person, she decided, was a charming thing, because it came so rarely. She was again thinking of Fermor with his brash gaiety How different was this man! His gentle melancholy appealed to her the more because she had known Fermor.
"Raoul is yet another victim,'' he said.
"Raoul! After all these years!"
"His grandmother escaped, but months in the Conciergerie had ruined her health. She was only seventeen when she was freed, and then she married. She died just after her daughter was born. That daughter was Raoul's mother. She too was fragile. You see, the same disease, the disease of the Conciergerie, was passed on to her. She married. Raoul was born; she died as her mother had, and her sickness began to show itself in Raoul."
"That is terrible!" said Melisande. "To pass on a weakness so. It seems as if a bad thing will live for ever."
"There is hope for Raoul. More is known of these things now. When his father—my cousin—died, he left Raoul in my charge. He asked me to look after him, to educate him, to watch over his health. I have done so for four years."
"That is good of you."
"I don't want to masquerade under false colours. I was poor . . . very poor. My family, you see, lost everything during the Terror. Estates . . . fortune . . . everything gone. I had nothing. My wealthy cousin, in leaving me in charge of his son, was also providing for me."
"Well, perhaps you are fortunate. You have the little boy and your good health."
"You are a comforter," he said, smiling his gentle melancholy smile.
"You have a longing for a different life?"
"We lost much. As you so properly remind me, I have good health, and that is the most important of all possessions. The canaille left my family that—which is more than they did poor Raoul's. You are not eating. I distract you from your food."