The End of Her Honeymoon by Marie Belloc Lowndes (literature books to read .TXT) 📖

the French were certainly a curiously casual people.

How strange that the Prefect should have asked him to break the news of what was to happen at eleven o’clock the next morning to the Poulains! In America—and he supposed in England also—the hotel-keeper would have received a formal notification of the fact that his house was about to be searched, or, in the case that foul play was suspected, no warning at all. But here, in Paris, it was thought enough to entrust a stranger with a message concerning so serious a matter.

Of everything that had happened in connection with this extraordinary Dampier affair, perhaps this having to tell the Poulains that their hotel was to be searched was the most disagreeable and painful thing of all to their American friend and kindly client.

The Senator was now very sorry, that, in deference to his son’s wish, he had made such a suggestion.

On his return to the hotel he was surprised to find a woman he had never seen before installed in Madame Poulain’s kitchen. Still, the presence of the stranger brought a sense of reprieve.

He, Senator Angus Burton, the distinguished politician whom most of those of his fellow-countrymen whose opinion mattered would have said to be a particularly fearless man, dreaded the task of telling Madame Poulain that a Perquisition was about to take place in her house.

He lifted his hat. “Is Madame Poulain out?”

“She won’t be long, monsieur; she and her husband have had to absent themselves for a little hour.”

“Are they both out?” asked the Senator. He had never in his long knowledge of the Hôtel Saint Ange known such a thing to happen—that both the Poulains should be out together.

“Yes, monsieur. They have had to take that nephew of theirs, young Jules, off to the station. They are sending him to the country. He’s in a sad state—he does nothing but cry, poor lad! I suppose he’s in love—I’ve known it take young men that way.” The woman smiled, smiled as a certain type of person usually does smile when giving disagreeable or unpleasant news. “It is very awkward for the Poulains to lose the lad just now, for they are very busy. I have no doubt—” she tossed her head—“that Jules has been working too hard; the Poulains are foolish not to have more help from outside. I came in just to oblige Madame Poulain while she and her husband accompanied Jules to the station. But I also am busy. I have my own work to attend to just as much as anybody else; and my three children are all working at the Exhibition.”

The Senator left the eager gossip, and began walking round the courtyard. He felt quite wretched. Jules, at no time a very intelligent lad, had evidently been terrified out of his wits by the questionings and the cross-questionings to which he had been subjected.

And then—and then—no doubt Gerald was in a measure also responsible for the lad’s state! Senator Burton had been very much annoyed when his son had told him of what had happened the night before—of how he had accused the Poulains’ nephew of lying—of knowing something of the Dampier affair….

He was just about to go upstairs when he saw Monsieur and Madame Poulain emerging from the porte cochère. They both looked tired, hot, and dispirited.

He walked forward to meet them.

“I am very sorry to hear this news about Jules,” he began quickly. “I hope you are not really anxious about him?”

Madame Poulain stared at him fixedly, reproachfully. “It is all this affair,” she said with a heavy sigh. “If it had only been the police, our own police, we should not have minded, Monsieur le Sénateur—we are honest people—we have nothing to fear from the police,” she lifted her head proudly. “But when it came to that impudent young man—”

For a moment the Senator was at a loss—then he suddenly remembered:—“You mean the gentleman attached to the British Consulate?” he said uncomfortably. And as she nodded her head, “But surely it was quite reasonable that he should come and ask those questions. You must remember that both Mr. and Mrs. Dampier are English people. They have a right to the protection and help of their Consulate.”

“I do not say to the contrary, monsieur. I am only telling you the truth, namely that that English lawyer—for lawyer I suppose he was—terrified Jules. And had it not been that I and my husband are conscious of—of our innocence, Monsieur le Sénateur, he would have terrified us also. Then your son attacked Jules too. Surely the matter might have been left to the police—our own excellent police.”

“I am glad you feel as you do about the police,” said the Senator earnestly, “for as a matter of fact the Prefect of Police, whom I have just been consulting about Mr. Dampier’s disappearance, suggests that the Hôtel Saint Ange be searched.”

“Searched?” exclaimed Monsieur Poulain, staring at the Senator.

“Searched?” shrieked Madame Poulain indignantly.

“Yes,” said Senator Burton quietly, and trying to speak as if a police Perquisition of a respectable hotel was the most ordinary thing in the world. “They are sending their men at eleven to-morrow morning. Let me add that they and Mrs. Dampier are most eager to study your convenience in every way. They would doubtless choose another time should eleven o’clock be inconvenient to you.”

Madame Poulain was now speechless with indignation, and yes, with surprise. When at last she did speak, her voice trembled with pain and anger.

“To think,” she said, turning to her husband, and taking for the moment no notice of her American client—“to think that you and I, Poulain, after having lived here for twenty-one years and a half, should have our hotel searched by the police—as if it were the resort of brigands!” She turned to the Senator, and quietly, not without a measure of dignity, went on:—“And to think that it is you, Monsieur le Sénateur, who we have always thought one of our best patrons, who have brought this indignity upon us!”

“I am very, very sorry for all the trouble you are having about this affair,” said Senator Burton earnestly. “And Madame Poulain? I want to assure you how entirely I have always believed your statement concerning this strange business.”

“If that is so then why all this—this trouble, Monsieur le Sénateur?” Husband and wife spoke simultaneously.

“I wonder,” exclaimed the Senator, “that you can ask me such a question! I quite admit that the first twenty-four hours I knew nothing of this unfortunate young woman whose cause I championed. But now, Madame Poulain, I have learnt that all she told me of herself is true. Remember she has never faltered in the statement that she came here accompanied by her husband. I, as you know,” he lowered his voice, “suppose that in so thinking she is suffering from a delusion. But you cannot expect my view to be shared by those who know her well and who are strangers to you. As I told you only this morning, we hope that towards the end of this week Mrs. Dampier’s lawyer will arrive from England.”

“But what will happen then?” cried Madame Poulain, throwing up her hands with an excited, passionate gesture. “When will this persecution come to an end? We have done everything we could; we have submitted to odious interrogatories, first from one and then from the other—and now our hotel is to be searched! None of our other clients, and remember the hotel is full, Monsieur le Sénateur, have a suspicion of what is going on, but any moment the affair may become public, and then—then our hotel might empty in a day! Oh, Monsieur le Sénateur”—she clasped her hands together—“If you refuse to think of us, think of our child, think of poor little Virginie!”

“Come, come, Madame Poulain!”

The Senator turned to the good woman’s husband, but Poulain’s usually placid face bore a look of lowering rage. The mention of his idolised daughter had roused his distress as well as anger.

“Now, Poulain, do tell your wife that there is really nothing to worry about. The police speak of you both in the very highest terms! As to the search that will take place to-morrow, it is the merest formality.”

“I hope, monsieur, that you will do us the honour of being present,” said Madame Poulain quickly. “We have nothing to hide, and we should far prefer you to be there.”

“If such is your wish I will certainly be present,” said Senator Burton gravely.

And then, as he walked away to the escalier d’honneur, he told himself that on the whole the poor Poulains had taken his disagreeable piece of news very well. Gerald was not showing his usual sense over this business: he had let his sympathies run away with him. But the Senator loved his son all the better for his chivalrous interest in poor Mrs. Dampier. It wasn’t every young man who would have put everything aside in the way of interest, of amusement, and of pleasure in such a city as Paris, for the sake of an entire stranger.

As to Gerald’s view of the Poulains, that again was natural. He didn’t know these people with the same kindly knowledge the Senator and Daisy had of them. Gerald had been at college, and later working hard in the office of America’s greatest living architect, at the time the Senator and his daughter had spent a whole winter at the Hôtel Saint Ange.

It was natural that the young man should take Mrs. Dampier’s word instead of the hotel-keepers’. But even so, how extraordinary was the utter divergence between the two accounts of what had happened!

For the hundredth time Senator Burton asked himself where the truth lay.

A sad change had come over Nancy Dampier in the three long days. She could not sleep, and they had to force her to eat. The interrogatories to which she had had to submit, first from one and then from another, had worn her out. When going over her story with the Consular official, she had suddenly faltered, and putting her hand to her head with a bewildered gesture, “I can’t remember,” she had said, looking round piteously at the Senator, “I can’t remember!”

And he asked himself now whether those three words did not embody more of the truth than the poor girl would admit. Had she ever really remembered what had happened on that first evening of her arrival in Paris?

Such were Senator Burton’s disconnected and troubled thoughts as, leaving the perturbed hotel-keepers, he slowly went to join his children and their guest.

To his relief, neither Daisy nor Nancy were in the salon, and his thoughts were pleasantly forced into another channel, for on the table lay a cable from some people called Hamworth, Mr. Hamworth was one of the Senator’s oldest friends: also there was a pretty clever daughter who had always shown a rather special liking for Gerald….

The Hamworths were arriving in Paris at ten the next morning, and they asked the Senator and his children to join them at lunch at Bignon’s.

Mingling with a natural pleasure at the thought of seeing old friends, and of getting away from all this painful business for a short time, was added a secret satisfaction at the thought that he would thus escape being present at the search of the Hôtel Saint Ange.