“I did. He didn’t believe me. Then I said: ” I’m fond of Kate, and I think she is of me. “
“What did he say to that?”
“He was stunned for a few seconds. Then he laughed at me. He said:
“Nonsense. She’d never have you. In any case I should consider such a match most unsuitable.” I lost my temper. I remembered all those times when we. my family . had had to do what he wanted. This was the last straw. I went on shouting about his throwing his castoff mistresses at me and that I would never marry any of them. Then I went to my room and started getting my things together . “
“Oughtn’t you to wait until tomorrow?”
“Stay under this roof! Never! There is an inn not far from here. I will go there for the night and then tomorrow morning I’ll be waiting for you and we’ll travel to Paris together.”
“Oh Bertrand,” I said.
“I am so sorry.”
“I had to make a stand some time. There comes a time when it is simply not possible to take any more. You gave me courage. He can do me no harm. He might endeavour to make us poorer … never mind that now.
I can get by without him. Oh Kate, in a way I feel wonderfully relieved. I feel free. Do you think I was right to act as I did? “
“Absolutely right.”
“And don’t you think it was a horrible thing to suggest?”
“Despicable.”
He took my hands and kissed them.
“Kate,” he said, ‘will you marry me . when we’ve had time to work things out? “
“Yes,” I replied.
“I will.”
Finally he released me.
“I shall be out of this castle in a quarter of an hour,” he said.
“I will see you on the train to Paris.”
Then he had gone.
I was appalled by what Bertrand had told me, and I reproached myself for having felt I liked the Baron a little because of what he had done for me. He was ruthless, cynical and a man of no principles.
At dinner one or two people asked where Bertrand was and the Baron said that he had been called unexpectedly to Paris.
The next day my father and I left Centeville in the company of one of the Baron’s upper servants.
I felt completely bewildered by everything that had happened. In a short time I had not only been accepted as an artist of repute but had become engaged to be married. I wished that I did not feel so uneasy.
Had I perhaps been hurried into accepting Bertrand’s proposal because of the Baron’s despicable conduct? Poor Bertrand had been so distressed. I had felt I had to comfort him as best I could. It seemed to me that the Baron was changing the course of my life even if unwittingly, merely by being there a malignant presence.
I was fond of Bertrand. Of course I was. I liked what I knew of him, but how well did I know him?
I wished I had not been so impulsive. I was of course pleased that our relationship had not ended, but was I rushing ahead too fast.
I wished I could stop thinking about the Baron. It seemed so strange that a man who had done so much for me could have behaved as he had towards Bertrand.
It was fortunate that I was leaving the castle. When I had driven the Baron from my mind I would begin to see that life was offering me a wonderful future.
I must take it with both hands and be grateful for it.
The Streets of Paris
I loved Paris from the moment I entered the city, and I promised myself that I would see as much of it as I possibly could during my stay there.
First we saw my father off at the Gare du Nord and then Bertrand, who had accompanied us on the train to Paris, said he would take me to the house in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore which was the Paris home of the Princesse de Crespigny and where I was to paint the miniature.
I was received by a dignified manservant who begged me to come in, so I said goodbye to Bertrand, who promised to see me within a few days, while the manservant summoned a maid and told her to take me to the room which had been prepared for me.
It was a magnificent house, and I was impressed by the wonderful staircase which wound upwards from the reception area. It was indeed a small palace and from the moment I entered it I was struck by the rather subdued but what, in my opinion, seemed the faultless taste of the decor. There was a great deal of white-the faintest touch of red and a certain amount of gold. It gave an impression of unobtrusive richness.
We went quite a long way up and I had an opportunity of examining the intricate ironwork of the staircase.
“Madame la Princesse will see you tomorrow,” I was told.
“We have instructions to make you comfortable and supply what you need. Madame la Gouvernante will see you later. She thought you would wish to settle in after the journey.”
It was as well that I had improved my French lately for she spoke in an accent of the south which was not easy to follow.
We came to a landing and a door was opened. I was in a rather large, pleasant room. The double bed had white lacy curtains about it held back by gold-coloured bands. The oriental carpets were subdued in colour pinks, blues and pastel shades; there were several pieces of furniture in the Louis Quatorze or Quinze period highly polished and extremely elegant.
The maid asked if I would like hot water with which to wash and I said gratefully that I would While I was waiting I went round the room examining its contents. How different from the castle at Centeville! I wondered if this elegant house reflected the personality of the Princesse as the castle certainly did that of its owner. Even at this moment my thoughts went back to him. What impudence to attempt to pass off his discarded mistress to Bertrand. I was glad Bertrand had stood up to him so fiercely. It had just taken that to turn me impulsively towards him.
When he became so angry he seemed to become a man I could admire strong, determined. Previously perhaps I had wondered whether he were not too much in awe of the Baron, which had indicated to me a certain weakness and made me wonder whether the protective kind of love he inspired in me was the right sort one should have for a husband.
It was too bad to let that odious Baron intrude into this charming house. But of course he must intrude. He was the reason I was here. It was good of him to have acknowledged the quality of my work. No, I thought fiercely, it was not. It was just plain honesty. The biggest rogue on earth could be honest about art and dispense with the ridiculous prejudices which prevailed against women.
I wondered if the miniature of the Princesse would excite me as much as painting the Baron had done. It was hardly likely. There would not be the same intrigue and subterfuge,
which although it had been frightening at times had in fact been very stimulating.
I washed and changed into a black skirt and white blouse and unpacked the rest of my things while I awaited the arrival of Madame la Gouvernante.
She came at length-a middle-aged woman wearing a black dress, very simply but elegantly cut. At her throat was a small diamond brooch, her only jewellery.
“Welcome,” she said.
“I trust you had a good journey. The Baron sent word that you would be arriving today but was unsure of the time.”
“It was good of him,” I said.
“We saw my father off and came straight here. My father is returning to England.”
“I am glad you speak French. Language can provide such difficulties.
If there is anything you lack, you must ring. ” She indicated the white rope hanging near the bed.
“I thought you would like your dinner sent up this evening. You must be weary after your journey. That will be in an hour’s time.”
“That will be splendid,” I told her.
“The Princesse … eris she eager to be painted?”
She smiled.
“The Princesse has been painted many times. She thinks little of it. You might find her an impatient sitter and I would advise you not to keep her too long at a time.”