"Not that he can do any good. The case is too far advanced for operation--even I can tell you that. But he will be able to give the best treatment for alleviation until the end comes--that won't be long, I expect."

And the great specialist could do no more (as is more often the case than people guess) than confirm the verdict of the ordinary pract.i.tioner.

"A matter of months!" he said. "And they will be bad months--for others beside the patient. You had better send him to a hospital."

But Val shook her head. She had determined to accept this duty that was so clear to her; and there was money now to ease the way. Seventy-five thousand pounds! How neatly that sum had been inserted into the gap of circ.u.mstance by the clever hand of Fate!

CHAPTER XX

THE WAYS OF LIFE AND DEATH

"Oh them who plantest in the eyes and hearts of girls The cult of wounding and the barbs of love!"

Translation from BAUDELAIRE'S Litany to Satan.

"Yes; she is very droll, your _belle-maman_," said the Comtesse de Vervanne. "To live in three _ateliers_! That is _fantastique_! Three big wide _ateliers_! one for herself, one for the little Bran, and one other for--_who_? Who is it that dwells in the third _atelier_ across the landing, Haidee, my very dear?"

"Don't ask _me_," said Haidee sulkily, yet with alert eyes, for she was unable to contain her curiosity and amazement at the news. Val with three studios, who on their return to Paris had not possessed the price of a quarter's rent for one! And according to Madame de Vervanne they were big studios--no mere holes in the wall with skylights let in the ceiling. Parquet floors, beautifully shaded walls, wide galleries and French windows that led into balconies! It sounded like an Arabian tale. Haidee knew, as she knew most practical everyday things, how the rents of studios ranged, and she computed that the rent of such a one as the Comtesse described ran into not a centime less than three thousand francs a year. And Val with three! But the thing was incomprehensible, _impayable_--fantastic indeed as the Comtesse described it!

She was aware from the new address forwarded to her that Val had removed to the Lamartine Building in Boulevard Raspail, a great block of newly finished and very elaborate studios, which they in company with all the other hard-working and poor artists of the Quarter had long made a mock of, calling it the American Crystal Palace. It had lifts, a roof garden, balconies, baths, and all the luxuries that artists can never aspire to.

Haidee on seeing the changed address had supposed that in the feeble condition of the family finances Val had been obliged to take one or two of the tiny rooms always to be let at the top of most big mansions, and which are usually rented out to domestics. The idea was not displeasing to Haidee. In the frame of mind she had adopted she liked to think of Val suffering discomfort and poverty. And she did not care either if Bran had to undergo the same thing, because she knew that if Bran's quarters were cramped Val would suffer far more than for herself. It will be seen that the dark caves in Haidee's soul had taken unto themselves infernal occupants, as dark caves will if the sunshine of loving-kindness is not let into them from day to day. It actually irked her to hear now from Christiane de Vervanne that Bran's room was as big as a schoolroom.

"About four times as big as this," said the Comtesse, casting an appraising eye round cla.s.sroom B of the Pavilion Mauve. "With shelves all round, and an a.s.sortment of toys most wonderful. Even I could find myself very much amused with such toys. He has a _foxe_ too."

"A fox!" shrieked Haidee.

"But yes--one of the little black and white ones with the tail of him cut off."

"Oh, a fox-_terrier_." Haidee turned away impatiently, but curiosity obliged her to turn back instantly to hear the rest of the amazing tale.

"At one end of this big nursery studio two white beds, one for the _pet.i.t_ Bran and one for the American governess who is permanently installed and very devoted."

"A governess to sleep with Bran!" exclaimed Haidee. "Oh, no, that is too strong. I have never known Val let Bran sleep out of her sight!"

"But yes--it is all so _bizarre_. You must go home and see, my Haidee."

Indeed Haidee registered a resolution to write to Val that very night and ask for a _sortie_ letter to be sent for her to come home for the following Sat.u.r.day night and Sunday. She was still hating Val with a fierce hatred and had no desire to see her. But this was a thing that had got to be looked into.

"And," continued Madame de Vervanne, with her amiable air of finding everything extremely amusing, "who do I find installed in the studio of Madame Valdana taking tea, indeed making tea, as much at home as if he had collected the sticks for it on the Mascaret beach, but--who do you think, my Cabbage?"

"Goodness knows!" muttered the Cabbage. "Val is mad."

"Why, who but our _cher_ Poulot, Rupert!"

"Rupert! She 's got _him_, now?" cried Haidee, and her face darkened as definitely as if some one had pa.s.sed a blacking-brush over it.

"Yes," said the Comtesse softly, reflectively. "It is as you say. First poor dear Sacha, now the innocent Poulot. Who next?" She sighed.

There was a little silence. Then Haidee said:

"Rupert has been twice to see me, once on Sunday and once on Thursday."

"Ah! and did he tell you how many times he went to see Madame Valentine?"

"No, indeed, and I don't care anyhow," was the retort given with perhaps unnecessary fierceness.

"But," cooed Madame soothingly, "one should care a little, _chere_ Haidee, for the sake of the poor good Poulot. She is no doubt a very fine lady, the charming Mistress Valentine, but we do not wish to see Rupert suffer as Sacha did."

The subtle words bit into Haidee's heart like acid on an old wound. She had been very much touched at the Comtesse's act in writing to the Directrice for permission to call at the Lycee. And it was very gratifying that Madame de Vervanne should have arrived in a motor which also contained a young lieutenant of Dragons in uniform, and which stood growling and puffing at the Lycee gates, filling all the girls with excitement and envy. Haidee's vanity too was greatly flattered by the tender and confidential manner of the older woman, who never forgot also to tell her how pretty and clever she was and to give recognition to the fact that she was now seventeen. So different to Val's manner of treating her as though she were still a child and quite unable to arrange her own destiny. A curious, fresh access of fury was aroused in Haidee's breast by the Comtesse's tale of Rupert's devotion to Val.

Rupert had been to see Haidee twice. He was stationed at Fontainebleau, doing his second year of military service, and when he came to the Lycee accompanied by his sister Celine he was wearing the ordinary private soldier's uniform, and looking very handsome in the gay red and blue.

All the girls had admired him immensely, and Haidee herself liked him extraordinarily better than in Mascaret. While Celine talked with some of the girls she knew, Rupert and Haidee had wandered about the gardens, talking about Sacha and little incidents of their happy time together that now, looked at from a little distance of time, seemed wonderfully perfumed and beautified. The remembrance of these two walks with him made Haidee burn with sudden indignation against Val.

The Comtesse had begun to talk about other things, made Haidee show her all round Pavilion Mauve and the big roomy schoolhouse, then take her out into the grounds, along the paths that wound amongst other Pavilions, the Red, the Blue, the Rose--and over broad lawns that in the soft mild air of Versailles were green, even in winter. In the middle of one of the lawns was a little lake bordered by strange-leaved dwarf-like bushes that in summer were thick with crimson flowers, but which now stretched out frail black branches to the silent fountain.

Dead leaves rustled and cracked under the Comtesse's high-heeled shoes as they walked. She waved her hand at the well-kept tennis courts.

"But you are charmingly well here!" she cried, in her gay little soprano. "Oh, to be young again and lovely like you, my child! Not all the Mistress Valdanas could take away from me what I wanted!"

She returned meditatively to the former subject.

"But who is it that resides in the third _atelier_ think you, Haidee?

Curiosity consumes and burns me. There is a door leading into it from Madame's _atelier_. Twice she left us to go swiftly and return. Once when the door opened I heard a man cough. Tell me?--it could not be the mysterious papa returned, could it?"

Haidee gazed at her blankly.

"There _is_ a mysterious papa, is it not?" If the curiosity of the Comtesse had not always been pleasantly glossed by pretty childish gestures and rippling laughter, it might have seemed vulgar. Haidee was not clever enough to realise this, and she was staggered by the whole strange story, which sounded unlike Val in every detail, but even in her amazement she was not going to confide to a comparative stranger the tangled domestic history of the family. If she had no feeling but one of resentment for Val, she could still be loyal to Westenra.

"Oh yes, there is a papa--Bran's papa of course, and my guardian; but it would n't be him."

"That makes even more _bizarre_ the affair," said the Comtesse lightly.

Then, knowing that she had said enough for the time being, she dismissed the subject and shortly afterwards departed with her Dragon.

As soon as she was gone Haidee, who was nothing if not prompt, sat down and wrote to Val for a _sortie_ letter for the coming Sunday. She intended to investigate this mystery of the three studios for herself--likewise the story of Rupert's entanglement.

But to her acute annoyance the opportunity was not afforded her. A letter from Val came by return to the effect that she was too busy and worried to be able to receive Haidee that term. As a palliative she sent a parcel of books, an enormous box of exquisite chocolates from Boissier's, and a dozen tennis b.a.l.l.s. Haidee was a devotee of tennis and always complained bitterly of the lack of b.a.l.l.s, for tennis b.a.l.l.s are outrageously expensive in France. These Val sent were of the best quality and must have cost at least three francs each. The mystery deepened.

During the bad time of worriment and weariness with Valdana, Rupert was indeed a great stay to Val. Being stationed so close to Paris he was able to come often to the Lamartine Studios, and she was always glad to see the blue friendly eyes that had in them some of the s.p.a.ce and compa.s.sion of sea and sky. There was something so loyal and reliable about him that she had actually told him the truth about Valdana, and been definitely aided by his sympathy and understanding. His influence was good, too, for Bran, who was beginning to reach that stage when the society and point of view of men means a great deal in a boy's life.

And Bran had always had a special _penchant_ for boys and men. It gave Val many a sharp pang, not of resentment but of sorrow, to observe in him a yearning for his father, for she knew that whatever she was able to do for her son, she could never a.s.suage that longing, never give him the masculine companionship and influence of which he had been robbed.

It grieved her terribly to think that in her son's life those lovely pliable years, when bonds between father and son are so simply but strongly fashioned from the one's weakness and the other's strength, were pa.s.sing week by week, month by month. Glad enough then was she that he had at least the friendly brotherly affection and influence of so clear-hearted a boy as Rupert.

With Valdana she never allowed Bran to come into contact. Indeed, Valdana from the first was practically oblivious to those about him. His race was very nearly run. He had come to Val in the last lap of it, upheld by G.o.d knew what strange resolution to make her share to the bitter end their disastrous partnership. Having found her he seemed content to let life wreak her pitiless worst on him before he was allowed to depart to that death which he had once ign.o.bly shirked, but whose embrace he now longed for with the ardour of a lover. His sufferings, indeed, were terrible. In the centre of the great lofty room he lay and wrestled with an agony that was almost unceasing. But he was well aware of being surrounded and enfolded by every comfort.

Softened light, flowers, music, good nursing, everything that money and kindness could supply to alleviate pain was at hand, and he knew he had Val to thank, and vaguely wondered how she achieved it, but did not care much as long as she was by his bedside, in the pale blue linen overall she always a.s.sumed as soon as she entered. Cancer may or may not be infectious--that is one of the problems science has not yet solved--but with Bran so near she took no risks, changing even her clothes on entering and leaving the sick-room, which was an entirely self-contained _appartement_ and _atelier_. She had been so fortunate as to obtain in the newly-finished building the whole of the immense floor of three studios. It rejoiced her to be able to give her Brannie one entirely to himself and his governess. That was one of the joys the seventy-five thousand pounds had brought her. She had already spent some hundreds of it on furnishing and the heavy expenses entailed by Valdana's needs.

But the rest she had been wise enough to allow the kindly Bernstein to invest for her, and her mind was at rest at last and for the first time in her life from the gnawing tooth of poverty. She was doing no writing.

Not only was her life, divided between Bran and the sick man, too full for such a thing, but at last she could permit herself the luxury of refraining from writing when she had nothing to say. That forced work in Mascaret had sickened her soul. Now she could let her creative faculty rest for a while at least and give undivided attention to this duty of hers to Valdana.