He waved a hand, and Philippe, no doubt feeling that it was time he made an effort in the conversation, took the subject back to pictures.
I talked about the portrait I was working on. I explained one or two details and made them rather technical in the hope of confusing the Comte. He listened gravely with a faint smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. It was disconcerting to suspect that he knew what was going on in my mind. If this were so, he would know that I disliked him, and oddly enough this seemed to add to his interest in me.
“I am certain,” I was saying, ‘that although this is far from a masterpiece, the artist had a mastery of colour. I can see this already. I am sure the colour of the gown will
Philippe was listening intently; Genevieve with some awe. For me, I think because I dared engage in conversation with her father.
Fish had replaced the soup and the Comte lifted his glass to me.
“I trust you will like the wine. Mademoiselle Lawson. It is our own vintage. Are you a connoisseur of wines as well as of pictures? “
“It is a subject about which I know very little.”
“You will hear a great deal about it while you are here. Often it is the main topic of conversation. I trust you will not find it tiresome.”
“I am sure I shall find it most interesting. It is always pleasant to learn.”
I saw the smile at the corner of his mouth. Governess! I thought.
Certainly if I ever had to take up that profession || I should have the right demeanour for it.
Philippe spoke rather hesitantly: “What picture are you starting on.
Mademoiselle Lawson? “
“A portrait, painted last century in the middle, I should think. I place it about seventeen-forty.”
“You see, Cousin,” said the Comte, “Mademoiselle Lawson is an expert.
She loves pictures. She chided me for neglecting them as though I were a parent who had failed in his duty. “
Genevieve looked down at her place in embarrassment. The Comte turned to her.
“You should take advantage of Mademoiselle Lawson’s presence here. She could teach you enthusiasm.”
“Yes, Papa,” said Genevieve.
“And,” he went on, ‘if you can persuade her to talk to you in English, you might be able to speak that language intelligibly. You should try to persuade Mademoiselle Lawson when she is not engaged with her pictures, to tell you about England and the English. You could learn from their less rigid etiquette. It might give you confidence, and er aplomb. “
“We have already spoken together in English,” I said.
“Genevieve has a good vocabulary. Pronunciation is always a problem until one has conversed freely with natives. But it comes in time.”
Again spoken like a governess! I thought; and I knew he was thinking the same. But I had done my best to support Genevieve and defy him. My dislike was growing with every moment.
“It is an excellent opportunity for you, Genevieve. Do you ride.
Mademoiselle Lawson? “
“Yes. I am fond of riding.”
“There are horses in the stables. One of the grooms would advise you which was your most suitable mount. Genevieve rides too … a little.
You might ride together. The present governess is too timid.
Genevieve, you could show Mademoiselle Lawson the countryside. “
“Yes, Papa.”
“Our country is not very attractive, I fear. The wine growing land rarely is. But if you ride out a little way I am sure you will find something to please you.”
“You are very kind. I should like to ride.”
He waved a hand, and Philippe, no doubt feeling that it was time he made an effort in the conversation, took the subject back to pictures.
I talked about the portrait I was working on. I explained one or two details and made them rather technical in the hope of confusing the Comte. He listened gravely with a faint smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. It was disconcerting to suspect that he knew what was going on in my mind. If this were so, he would know that I disliked him, and oddly enough this seemed to add to his interest in me.
“I am certain,” I was saying, ‘that although this is far from a masterpiece, the artist had a mastery of colour. I can see this already. I am sure the colour of the gown will be startling, and the emeralds, restored to the colour the artist intended, will be magnificent. “
“Emeralds …” said Philippe.
The Comte looked at him.
“Oh, yes, this is the picture in which they are seen in all their glory. It will be interesting to see them … if only on canvas.”
“That,” murmured Philippe, ‘is the only chance we shall have of seeing them. “
“Who knows?” said the Comte. He turned to me.
“Phi lippe is very interested in our emeralds.”
“Aren’t we all?” retorted Philippe with unusual boldness.
“We should be if we could lay our hands on them.”
Genevieve said in a high, excited voice: “They must be somewhere, Nounou says they are in the chateau. If we could find them … oh, wouldn’t it be exciting!”
“That old nurse of yours is sure to be right,” said the Comte with sarcasm.
“And I do agree that it would be exciting to find them … apart from the fact that the discovery would add considerably to the family’s fortunes.”
“Indeed!” said Philippe, his eyes glowing.
“Do you think they are in the chateau?” I asked. Philippe said eagerly: “They have never been discovered elsewhere and stones like that would be recognized. They could not be disposed of easily.”
“My dear Philippe,” said the Comte.
“You forget the time when they were lost. A hundred years ago. Mademoiselle Lawson, such stones could have been broken up, sold separately and forgotten. The markets must have been flooded with stones which had been stolen from the mansions of France by those who had little understanding of their value. It is almost certain that this was the fate of the Gaillard emeralds. The canaille who ransacked our houses and stole our treasures had no appreciation of what they took.” The momentary anger which had shown in his eyes faded and he turned to me.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Lawson, how fortunate that you did not live in those days. How would you have endured to see great paintings desecrated, thrown out of windows to lie neglected and exposed to the weather … to collect what is it… bloom?”
“It was tragic that so much that was beautiful was lost.” I turned to Philippe: “You were telling me about the emeralds.”
“They were in the family for years,” he said.
“They were worth … it is difficult to say, for values have changed so much. They were priceless. They were kept in our strongroom at the chateau. Yet they were lost at the time of the Revolution. No one knew what had become of them. But the belief has always been that they are somewhere in the chateau.”
“Periodically there are treasure hunts,” said the Comte.
“Someone has a theory and there is a great deal of excitement. We look. We dig. We attempt to discover hidden places in the chateau that have not been opened for years. This produces a great deal of activity but never any emeralds.”
“Papa,” cried Genevieve, ‘couldn’t we have a treasure hunt now? “
The pheasant had been brought in. It was excellent but I scarcely tasted it. I found the conversation all-absorbing. I had been in a state of exaltation all day because I was going to stay here.
“You have so impressed my daughter. Mademoiselle Lawson,” said the Comte, ‘that she thinks you will succeed where others have failed. You want a renewed search, Genevieve, because you feel that now Mademoiselle Lawson is here she cannot fail. “
“No,” said Genevieve, “I didn’t think that. I just want to look for the emeralds.”