Drifting Apart. A story

Prologue

It was a bright and crisp October morning. The shining drops of water seemed to shiver as they fell into the little fountain basin in the middle of the courtyard, as if they felt a warning of coming frost ; the blossoms on the tall fuchsias hung their heads, knowing that their time was nearly over, and missing, per haps, the company of the butterflies which all the summer long had kept up a merry chase in the sunshine that so often filled the courtyard of the Golden Bear. There were times when the canaries in their cages hung among the vine arbours, and the brilliant -winged butterflies, hovering round the flowers, seemed to be the only tenants of the old courtyard. To-day three persons stood on the round stones at the entrance of the arched passage that led from the court yard into the Place outside the Golden Bear.

One of these persons was a slender, fragile looking woman, with sweet, dark eyes, and a tender mouth. Her eyes rested with affection ate interest on the handsome face of a fine young fellow who stood beside her. He wore the uniform of a lieutenant in the French army ; the dark-eyed, fragile woman, Madame de Vos, was speaking to him in French. ' The two years will pass more quickly with you than they will with us, my friend.' She turned from him to look at the oirl o beside her — a girl so like her, that it was evident the two were mother and dauo-hter ■ it was also evident that Madame de Vos must have married very young. Clemence smiled at her mother's words, and then she looked at her lover. ' To me it seems worse for Louis, mother,'

PROLOGUE.

5 she said ; ' he will be alone, you know ; I have you and my father ; he will have no one to care for him in Algeria.' The young soldier's eyes had not left the girl's face ; he took her hand in both of his. ' You are right, my best beloved ' ; his voice was singularly sweet and winning. ' The days will be sadly long, and the time will pass drearily without my Clemence. Ah, if your father had only consented to our marriage, I could have got my discharge in three months ! ' He turned to Madame de Vos. ' There is no hope that my Uncle Jules will recover, Madame,' he said, ' and he has told my father that he has left everything to me in his will.' Madame de Vos looked grave. ' My husband is not anxious about your future prospects, dear Louis,' she said kindly ; ' he thinks that our Clemence is still very young ; he thinks, too, that in these two years of separation you will write often to one another, and will learn to understand one another ; you will both be happier afterwards, he says, for the delay.' Louis Scherer shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. ' Good-bye,' Madame de Vos said ; ' you will be constantly in our thoughts, my dear son.' He kissed her on both cheeks, and then the tender-hearted woman turned away and bent over the fountain, so as to leave the lovers alone.

Louis drew Clemence within one of the vine arbours, and put his arm round her. ' My darling, it breaks my heart to leave you ' ; he kissed her again and again, and she did not shrink away from him. ' We will write very often,' she whispered, and he heard the sob in her voice. He whispered in answer, as he clasped her yet more fondly, ' And when I come back, we will never part again.' They stood silent, looking into one another's eyes ; they could not summon courage to

PROLOGUE.

7 part ; the carillon in the belfry tower rang out ten o'clock, and Louis Scherer started. There was only time to say adieu in a hurry, and then he ran off to the railway station to join his invalid captain, the friend who had first introduced him to Madame de Vos and her daughter. Louis Scherer was an Alsatian, and his parents lived on the frontier ; at that time the province belonged to France, and when he left college the young fellow had entered the French army ; the regiment to which he now belonged was already on its way to Algiers. Her mother came into the vine arbour where Clemence stood, still and tearless : Madame de Vos put her arm round her child, and fondly kissed her flushed face. ' Courage, dearest child,' she said ; ' we will look forward from month to month, and they will soon go.' Clemence hid her face on her mother's shoulder. ' I believe I am silly,' she said ; ' I felt just now as if I should never see him again.' She raised her head as she heard her mother cough, and she looked anxiously at the delicate face now turned aw7ay from her. ' But, mother, you have tired yourself for us this morning ; come in and rest.'

Chapter I At The Golden Bear

On a hot August morning the sun shone brightly into the courtyard of the Golden Bear. Earlier in the morning the sunshine had tried to creep in through the low-browed arch that gave entrance to the courtyard from the little Place outside it; but the golden light had not succeeded in reaching farther than to the middle of this broad passage-way ; it gleamed on the step of the kitchen door on the right, but the three doors on the left of the passage remained in shadow ; the first of these three doors led into the landlord's bureau, the second was the entrance to the inn, and the third — the nearest to the courtyard — led to Clemence's parlour. The sunshine had not been long baffled by the old gray archway; it had soon climbed high enough to peep over the quaint roof of the large rambling building above the entrance-passage, and was now pouring down an intense glow of golden warmth into the courtyard behind it.

The plash -plash of the little fountain tinkled merrily, and its drops shone hke diamonds in the sudden brilliance ; the gold fish darted to the surface of the water, and the leaves of the fuchsias round about the basin were prismatic-hued under the sparkling water-drops. After all it was only a small court, but it was planted like a garden, and was carefully tended ; it w7as on three sides overlooked by the inn windows ; rustic arbours bordered it, and these had vines clambering over them, which hung out graceful sprays here and AT THE GOLDEN BEAR 11 there, bright with green leaves and curling tendrils and the promise of purple grapes. In the afternoon round-faced Belgians sat in these arbours smoking pipes, drinking beer or coffee, and sometimes playing dominoes. There was no one in the arbours this morning.

Everything looked as fresh and as well-ordered as if the gardener alone had access there. It was not, however, given up to silence ; the yellow canaries in the arbours sang out loudly as the sun gilded their cages ; but this was all the life of the place ; but for the noisy birds and a few peacock-butterflies flashing in and out between the tall fuchsias, the courtyard basked in the sunshine in its own still fashion. The small round paving stones became hotter and hotter, so that the spray of the fountain dried as soon as it splashed on to them. The quiet scene seemed to be waiting for an actor to move across it. There was a glass door between two arbours that faced the entrance-passage ; presently this door opened and Madame de Vos came forward into the courtyard. This was not the fragile, dark eyed woman who had tried to comfort Clemence ; this was a stout, pink-faced dame. who seemed oppressed with her own import ance ; she was the mother of the landlord, Auguste de Vos. 'Pouf — she shook her head — 'this heat will stifle me ; it is detestable.' She pulled the hood of her long black cloak over her cap till she left only the muslin strings in sight, and then waddled across the courtyard as fast as she could to the welcome shade of the passage. 'Elodie, Elodie,' she cried loudly, 'where then is Mademoiselle Clemence ? ' No answer coming, Madame de Vos went on to the kitchen door ; it stood open, and through the doorway came a dull, stifling heat, hotter even than the sunshine in the court yard, for this heat was reflected again and AT THE GOLDEN BEAR 13 again from the copper pans and pots of all shapes and sizes that hung glittering on the wralls.

Everything within the kitchen show-ed hotly except the cook's face, and that was pale and thin, a fitting match for her small erect body. Elodie wore the same sort of primly - quilled snowy cap that Madame de Vos did, but here all likeness ended between the two women. The bulky, pink-faced dame who stood filling up the kitchen doorway would have made three such women as the slight, active cook of the Golden Bear. It was curious to contrast Elodie's peaked chin, showing above the large, carefullytied bows of her capstrings, with the triple row of pink fat which seemed to rest on Madame's snowy puffs of muslin. ' Heavens ! was there ever such heat ? Pouf The old lady turned up her pale blue eyes as if they also suffered. 'Why, then, does Madame come into it? There is no need for her to be here.' Elodie spoke very gravely over her shoulder; she was busy trussing fowls for the table d'hote. ' Where is Mademoiselle Clemence, Elodie ?

I want her.' ' Here I am, grandmother ; what do you want ? ' Clemence's soft, fresh voice came from the doorway of her parlour. ' Come here, child ; come to me, and then Elodie can hear the news at the same time. Ah, what have I done that all the affairs of the family should be thus thrust on my shoulders ? Yes, my child, this is indeed trying news.' She heaved her fat shoulders, which certainly looked broad enough to carry a goodly store of anything. Elodie turned sharply round ; her withered face was full of interest, while Clemence came A T THE GOLDEN BEAR 15 across the passage with a glad, dancing light in her eyes, and a soft flush on her face. A minute ago Clemence would not have been called pretty; she had looked so pale, and her large, thoughtful eyes had wanted colour till the flush on her cheeks made them glow ; now she looked lovely. ' Well, child, your aunt, Sister Marie, is ill in her convent at Bruges, and the Superior has written to me to say that one of us must go to her directly.

What is to be done ? It would kill me to go, Clemence ; you know it would ; you know I could not travel in such heat ; besides, how could I leave home while your father is away ? You must go, Clemence ; you only can obey this summons ; there, read the letter, child.' The soft, warm flush faded out of the girl's face ; her liquid eyes drooped, and she stood silent, her lips parted, her hands clasped together. ' Well ? ' her grandmother said impatiently. 'Grandmother,' — the warm blood came rushing into Clemence's face, and she spoke very quickly, — ' I cannot go to Aunt Marie ; you know why I cannot leave home. Louis says in his letter that he may arrive at any moment either to-day or to-morrow ; I must be here to receive him. I — I have not seen him for two years. Where is Rosalie ? Whv cannot she go to Bruges ? ' Madame de Vos shrugged her broad shoulders. ' Bah, Rosalie is a child ; what does she know about illness ?

It is useless to send Rosalie to Sister Marie. Be reasonable, Clemence; you must go.' ' But, grandmother, we are not asked to help nurse her,' Clemence pleaded, while she kept her large, tender eyes fixed on the un yielding face ; ' the kind sisters love my aunt too well to give her up to any nursing but their own. They would not let me nurse her if I went to the convent. The letter says, AT THE GOLDEN BEAR 17 'We wish her to see one of her own people again." Dear grandmother, I have not seen Aunt Marie for so — so long ; if she saw me she would not easily recognise me. Rosalie has been with her these last five years. She has only just left her ; and Aunt Marie loves Rosalie dearly. Send her to Bruges, grandmother ; how can I be absent when Louis arrives ? ' The sweet, imploring voice might have touched the grandmother's heart if Madame de Vos had been less impatient of contradic tion, and if it had not seemed to her, while Clemence spoke, that the girl looked more than ever like her dead mother.

Clemence had the slender, graceful figure, the trans parent skin and dark hair, and, above all, the earnest eyes and the resolute, fervent spirit which had in days gone by so bewildered Madame de Vos when she saw her son's wife. Madame de Vos senior came of a pure Flemish stock ; her body and mind were alike c solid and stolid. No member of her family had been slender or poor or dark-haired, nor had they shown their feelings in their faces ; she had, therefore, felt herself aggrieved when Auguste de Vos, her eldest son, landlord too of that flourishing inn, the Golden Bear, had married Clemence Trudin, the orphan daughter of a poor French gentleman ; it had been a love marriage too on both sides ; a perfect folly, Madame had told herself, and of course what could be expected but that which had already happened ?

What could her son ex pect of such a transparent, unusual -looking creature ? Only a year ago the younger Madame de Vos had died of decline — a disease caused, her mother-in-law said, by a dislike of eating and drinking, and by a fondness for reading. Well, the sweet woman was dead, and her sorrowing husband was left with his four children to mourn the blank that had come into his life. Clemence was then twenty-one, A T THE GOLDEN BEAR 19 and Monsieur de Vos thought she could take her mother's place in caring for her school boy brothers ; but before he could rouse him self to settle anything, he received an impera tive summons to visit his mother, then laid up with gout, in her house at Louvain. On his arrival Monsieur de Vos spoke of his plans for the future. ' What are you thinking of, Auguste ? ' his mother said sharply. ' Of what use can Cle mence be, I should like to know?

Is she not be trothed to Lieutenant Scherer ? Who can say how soon that young man may purchase his discharge, and come home and marry her ? I hear that he has come into his uncle's money. And then I should like you to tell me, my son, what will happen ? ' She laughed as she saw a look of consternation in his eyes. ' Aha, my son, it is indeed fortunate that you have a mother who can think for you ; yes, yes.' She paused and rubbed her soft, pink hands. ' That child Rosalie is already beautiful, and she is not yet sixteen years old ; by the time she leaves the convent she will be as lovely as a picture. Seriously, my son, do you think that when Clemence is married, it w7ill be fitting to bring up a beauty like that at the Golden Bear, with no better mentor than your cook, Elodie ? Bah — that is w-hat it is to be a man.

When a man has dearly loved his wife, so clearly that life and everything belonging to it have lost all flavour after she has left him, he is easily managed ; and Auguste de Vos, being a dutiful son, began to see, after a few more maternal exhortations, that it might be well for both his girls if their grandmother took up her abode at the Ours d'Or. He naturally did not call to mind his mother's disposition ; he had not seen much of her since his marriage ; and his wife had rarely grieved him by complaining of the petty snubs and slights she had to suffer during the old lady's visits. A T THE GOLDEN BEAR 21 Madame de Vos had never forgiven the dark-eyed wife's want of fortune, and to the end she had persisted in reminding her daughter-in-law that she was the only wife of a De Vos who had not enriched her husband.

While the grandmother stood looking at Clemence, the old dislike revived, — a dislike which had been intensified by her son's devo tion to his wife. ' She is just like her mother — quiet and self willed,' the old woman thought ; then aloud and severely — ' Clemence, you are talking folly ; you are the eldest, and you must go to Bruges.' ' Why need any one go to-day ? ' Elodie had left her fowl and was standing at the door, her hands behind her back, while she looked hard at Madame de Vos. ' The master will be at home to-night ; he will go over to Bruges to-morrow, and he will take Mademoi selle Rosalie with him, and she can stay with Sister Marie till the poor soul recovers — or dies ' ; she said this to herself. ' There, Madame ; it is settled.' The pink colour deepened on the old lady's face, but she spoke as slowly as ever — ' Chut.

You are not a mother, Elodie ; it is not possible for you to guess at a mother's feelings. My beloved daughter Marie must not be kept waiting to humour the feelings of a love-sick girl. Fie, then, Clemence, I am ashamed of you. When I was young my lovers came after me ; they waited my pleasure. I did not neglect my duties, so that I might wait for them. It is not proper ; I thought better of you, Clemence.' Madame de Vos w-alked away to the parlour without waiting for an answer ; Clemence's eyes sparkled. ' It is too unjust, too hard ; if only my father was at home ! ' She said this to herself, but Elodie was studying her face. A T THE GOLDEN BEAR 23 The old servant put her lean, brown hand on the girl's shoulder. ' Go to Bruges, dear child ; it is better,' she said. ' The grandmother is well able to go herself, and we could do without her ; but then, if Sister Marie becomes worse, you will grieve that you did not at once go to her.

Go then, Mademoiselle ; who knows but that you may be able to come back this evening, or early to-morrow. Monsieur Scherer may not come after all.' At this point the savour from the various stewpans on the charcoal stoves within the kitchen gave warning to the cook to return to her duties ; and it must be owned that Elodie thought her young mistress over-anxious about her lover's arrival. Clemence did not answer, but Elodie saw that she hesitated. ' Well, well, Monsieur Scherer will not arrive to - day ; I am sure of it, Mademoiselle. The sooner you go the sooner you will be home again.' And Elodie went back cheerfully to her stewpans. She was, however, still sore with Madame de Vos, and, by way of salve to her wounded feelings, she gave a sharp scolding to the young man and to the maid who served under her, and who had been idling during her short absence.

Chapter II Rosalie De Vos

Plash, plash, went the diamond drops of the fountain ; the canaries sang louder than ever, and the goldfish seemed to be listening, for they swam to the top of the water, and opened their wide mouths as if to say, ' Bravo.' The glass door opened again, but this time it was not old Madame de Vos who came out into the sunshine. It was a fair, plump, and well-grown maiden, with golden hair in abund ant waves and plaits round her pretty little head. A very sweet and blooming creature, with the bloom and sweetness of seventeen ; full of that indescribable and sparkling charm of youth which so quickly fades, which a little extra sunshine burns out of the loveliest spring flowers. The soft, yet bright blue eyes ; the delicate, peach-tinted cheeks; the smooth, white texture of the round throat, with its exquisite creases ; the firm, rosy lips — all these told of youth in its first freshness, and, in Rosalie de Vos, of youth conscious of its own beauty, and anxious to try its power.

She looked about her, gathered a sprig of fuchsia, and fastened it at her throat, and then, with a soft sigh of content, she seated herself in a corner of one of the old arbours. ' It is nice to be at home again,' she said to herself. ' Why, I was only twelve years old when I went to Bruges ; what a baby I was ! ' She sat smiling, prettier than ever, now that a roguish dimple showed in her cheek. ' Home is certainly not so dull as our convent was ; but, dear me, it might be ever so much livelier than it is. Why need our rooms be shut off from the rest of the house, so that we never get a chance of seeing the people who stay here ? and why does Clemence say that I must not come out here after one o'clock? She is a tyrant, and as fussy as an old hen.' She stretched out her arms and yawned. ' It is provoking to be so near new people and new faces, and never to see them.

Grandmother and Clemence are very nice ; but I am tired of being shut up alone with them.' Rosalie yawned again ; it was too hot to stir out of the arbour, or she would have crossed the courtyard to the arched passage, so as to look into the Place outside. ' Oh dear ! ' — she gave a heavy sigh — ' it is duller than I thought it would be ; at the convent my lessons filled up the time ; there was embroidery too that had to be done, but here I need not do anything ; now that the boys are gone back to school, there is not a soul to speak to. Oh clear ! it is all very well for Clemence, — she has a lover, and she is twenty-two. How old she is ! I wonder what sort of a man Louis Scherer can be to want to marry such an old fiancee. He must be either ugly or stupid.' The dining-room was beyond the kitchen; it was detached from the rest of the house, and it could only be entered from the courtyard itself.

The clock struck one, and a sound of voices came up the arched passage. Rosalie went on thinking — ' Here are the people coming in to dinner. What can it matter if I stay ? Clemence and my father are both away; there is no one to mount guard over me. I shall stay ; I mean to amuse myself She smiled brightly. ' Grandmamma won't scold ; I notice she never scolds me. The trellis makes a famous screen ; here they all come. I can see them, and they cannot see me. Oh, what fun ! ' but she shrank into her corner behind the vine leaves. The dinner-bell was ringing loudly, and from thirty to forty guests came trooping across the courtyard; some from the hotel, and others from the town. They all had hungry and expectant faces ; the table d'hote of the Golden Bear had a reputation in the old Flemish city.

Alphonse, the stout headwaiter, asked the oldest of the guests to preside in his master's absence, and then, when the soup was served, he proceeded with calm dignity to compound the salad-dressing. The windows of the dining-room looked into the courtyard, and Alphonse stood facing them. He was just putting the finishing stroke, the vinegar, when he started, and at least a double quantity of acid flowed into the thick yellow cream of which he was so proud. No wonder Alphonse started. With such a dinner in progress as no other inn in the town could boast of, he saw a man — a military man too, by his walk — who, instead of hurrying in as fast as possible, for the first course was almost over, was deliberately crossing the courtyard in an opposite direction from the salle ; he was making for one of the arbours.

Alphonse shook his head — such behaviour was incredible ; and meantime the flavour of the salad was ruined. Rosalie saw the stranger as he came out of the arched passage ; it was pleasant to see that he was coming straight towards her ; she felt that this visitor must see her in spite of the vine leaves, and evidently he considered her more attractive than the savoury fumes escaping from the open windows of the dining room. The visitor came up to her, then he bowed and stepped back. ' I beg pardon, Mademoiselle '; his voice was singularly pleasant, but very formal, she thought. ' I could not see plainly through the leaves, and I mistook you for Mademoiselle de Vos.' He bowed again before Rosalie could answer. 'A thousand pardons, Mademoiselle,' he said, as he went away. Rosalie felt angry and mortified. ' Fancy any one mistaking me for Clemence ! ' She paused and knitted her pretty eyebrows. ' How comes he to know Clemence, I wonder ?

Did he come just now to see our father on business, and not finding him in the bureau, did he come out here to look for Clemence ? No, that cannot be ; Elodie would have seen him if he had stopped at the bureau, and she would have told him that my sister has gone to Bruges. I must go and find grandmother. I want to know who the man is ; he is so handsome.' She was not daring enough to cross the courtyard, — that would have brought her in full view of the dining-room windows, — she slipped quietly out of the arbour and into the house by the glass door, then up the back staircase which led to the family sleeping rooms, and then down another staircase which took her into Clemence's parlour. . Rosalie began to speak as she opened the door, ' I say, grandmother ' ; she stopped, the glow on her cheeks deepened, and her sparkling eyes drooped.

There sat the hand some stranger talking to her grandmother ; he seemed to be quite at home. ' Come in, my treasure,' her grandmother said in a caressing tone. ' This is our Rosalie, Monsieur Louis ; you have never, I think, seen the flower of our flock. Eh, Rosalie, dear child, this is Monsieur Scherer.' The old woman looked from the blushing maiden to the handsome soldier. ' Heavens ! ' she said to herself, ' what a beautiful couple they would make ! ' Louis Scherer thought his future sister-in law very pretty, and his looks said so while he shook hands with her. Madame de Vos smiled approvingly, and she pinched Rosalie's hot cheek as the girl stood beside her, overwhelmed with surprise and confusion. ' You are thinking, Monsieur, that the two sisters are not alike, and you are rierht Clemence is in every way a Trudin, but this child is a true De Vos ; I should rather say a Van Rooms, for she takes after my family absolutely.

She reproduces my mother to the very life — yes ; we have always been fair and blue-eyed, and I may say beautiful. Ah, yes, yes ! we were always pink and white and plump ; it is sad when a race degenerates.' She sighed deeply. Louis Scherer did not answer ; he kept his eyes fixed on Rosalie, as if he could never tire of looking at her face. ' Grandmother,' the girl said softly, ' have you told Monsieur Scherer where Clemence is?' ' Yes, yes, sweet child ; I have told Monsieur Scherer all about it. When your father returns, he will settle what had best be done ; and now we will eat, that is, if dinner is ready.' The dinner was presently served in a room behind the parlour, and while Madame de Vos did full justice to every dish, and drank several glasses of wine, Louis Scherer began to talk to Rosalie.

D ' How is it, Mademoiselle, that I never saw you before ? ' he said. ' I have been at the convent at Bruges for five years, and I only came here in my winter holidays ; you had gone away before they began. Were you here all that summer ? ' She looked up at him, and his full admiring gaze made her blush again. ' I was here six weeks or so.' He spoke carelessly. Since he had seen Rosalie, that time seemed to have become very far off indeed. ' Do you write to my sister very often ? ' She spoke to him saucily. To herself she said, ' Clemence will come home to-morrow, and then he will have no time to talk to me ; I shall make hay while I can.' ' Do I write often ? Oh yes, I think so. His tone sounded indifferent ; he sat pulling his fair moustache, while he kept his eyes fixed on Rosalie. The young girl glanced at her grandmother; the heat and the good dinner had together proved overpowering- — Madame de Vos nodded in her chair.