She smiled. "And it is all so good! This delicious fish! This sparkling wine! How I love it! But your story is more exciting than fish or wine. To-morrow and the next day . . . food and drink are forgotten. But I shall remember your story as long as I live."
"Do you remember other people's stories so vividly then?"
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"Yes."
"I wonder why?"
"Is it because so little has happened to me? Perhaps. I still remember old Therese, at the Convent, who used to peer at everyone, and how it was said in the town that she was really looking for her Jean-Pierre whom she had loved so long ago. ... I remember Anne-Marie who went away with a rich woman in a carriage. Yes, I think I remember every little detail of what happened to other people. Perhaps it is because, when I hear these stories, I feel that I am the person to whom they are happening. / was old Therese, peering about for her Jean-Pierre; and I was Anne-Marie going away in a carriage. I was poor RaouPs grandmother growing ill in the Conciergerie. When things like that happen you cannot forget . . . even if they only happen in your mind."
"You are interested in other people's lives because you have a sympathetic nature."
"That is flattery perhaps. Sister Therese said I was inquisitive . . . the most inquisitive child she ever knew, and inquisitiveness is a sin
"I think that in you it is a charming sin."
"How can a sin be charming?"
"Most sins charm, don't they? Is that not why people find them difficult to resist?"
Fleetingly she thought of that charming sinner whom she was trying in vain to banish from her mind. But there he was—recalled by a few words.
"I think," she said, "that this is becoming an irreligious conversation." She laughed. The wine had made her eyes sparkle and Sir Charles, turning to her, looked into her animated face and said: "May I know the joke?"
"I was saying to Monsieur de la Roche that I am very inquisitive, and that is a sin or a near-sin; and he says that sins usually charm and that is why they are difficult to resist."
"And are you so very inquisitive?"
"I fear so."
There was a lull in the conversation during which Mr. Danes-borough was heard to refer to Joseph Smith, the founder of that strange sect called the Mormons, who had been murdered that year.
They all found the Mormons a fascinating topic, and the subject was taken up with animation round the table.
"Of what do they speak?" asked Leon de la Roche.
"Oh, the Mormons—a religious sect of America. I know little of them except that their religion allows them to have many wives."
"I have no doubt," Mr. Danesborough was saying, "that Mr. Brigham Young will follow in Smith's footsteps."
"They say he already has ten wives," said the lady on Mr. Danesborough's right.
"Disgusting!" said Miss Danesborough.
Mr. Danesborough said that he was not sure that a thing could be condemned until all the facts were known, whereupon everyone looked at the parson with mild exasperation and affection. He was the most extraordinary of clergymen; and it was doubtful whether his queer views would not have landed him in trouble, but for his wealth and family connections.
"But surely," protested the lady on his right, "it says in the Bible somewhere that a man should only have one wife."
Sir Charles said unexpectedly: "Solomon had a good many; and hadn't David?"
The young man next to Caroline said: "Men have murdered their wives because they wanted another. Now if, like the followers of Brigham Young, they could have as many as they could afford, such murders might be avoided."
Melisande caught Caroline's eye then and she knew that the conversation had set them both thinking of Fermor. Were they both thinking that if they were Mormons they might both be preparing for marriage?
Melisande spoke her thoughts aloud. "But I suppose even Mormons only marry one woman at a time."
She had spoken in English and shocked glances were cast in her direction. This was a most improper conversation to be carried on at the table of a clergyman, and Mr. Danesborough was as guilty as anyone; but even if the men liked to make bold comments, it was not expected that ladies should do so.
Miss Danesborough hastily changed the conversation, and Leon de la Roche bent towards Melisande and said: "Now that we have met formally, you must visit us. Mrs. Clark would be pleased to give you luncheon or dinner. If you came to luncheon Raoul would be delighted, I am sure."
"Thank you. I will ask Caroline. If she can spare me, I should very much like to come."
"We will invite Miss Trevenning too. Perhaps then there will be more hope of your coming."
"I shall look forward to that."
When they were in the drawing-room and the men were still at the dinner table, Melisande told Caroline that Leon proposed asking them to luncheon. "Would you wish to go?"
"Why, of course," said Caroline.
"I am glad."
"I am to come as a sort of chaperone?" said Caroline with a friendly grimace.
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"He did not say that."
"Well, I have no objection. You can't, you know, go calling on gentlemen alone."
How charming she is! thought Melisande. How friendly! It is because Fermor is not here.
And later during the evening the invitation was given and accepted. Caroline and Melisande were to have luncheon with the de la Roches in two days' time.
They were silent riding back in the carriage, and when they returned to the house, Caroline said to Melisande: "Come and help me. I don't want to wake Wenna at this hour."
So Melisande went to Caroline's bedroom and unhooked her gown and brushed her hair for her.
"It was a successful party," said Caroline, looking at Melisande's reflection in the mirror. "Everyone was admiring you. Did you know that . . . Melisande?"
Melisande blushed with pleasure, not because of Caroline's remark but because for the first time she had used her Christian name.
"No," she said.
"Please call me Caroline now. We don't want to stand on too much ceremony, do we? They were admiring you, Melisande. I believe everybody thought you were a connection of the family."
"Do you think so . . . Caroline?"
"I am sure of it. I wonder if Monsieur de la Roche thinks it."
"No. I told him I came from the Convent."
"Well, it clearly made no difference to him. He is rather interesting, don't you think?"
"Very interesting."
"And certainly taken with you!" Caroline laughed lightly and Melisande knew that even now she was thinking of Fermor. She wished Leon to be interested in Melisande and Melisande in Leon ... and it was because of Fermor.
The door opened and Wenna looked in.
"Why didn't you call?" she began, and stopped, seeing Melisande.
"Oh, Wenna, I didn't want to disturb you. Mademoiselle is helping."
Wenna said: "You should have called. Wouldn't you like me to . . ."
"No, no," said Caroline impatiently. "Go back to bed at once, Wenna."
"All right, all right. Goodnight then."
Both girls said goodnight and the door was closed in silence.
Then Melisande said: "She does not like me. I wish it were not so. She watches me . . . sometimes there is a hatred."