embonpoint, certainly, but that is nothing. Why, the Marquise de Laon weighs ninety kilos and she has had eight—all boys. One must not be discouraged, and if there is something a little wrong, some
petite maladie,
why, that is easily fixed; you have good doctors here, I think— 'He broke off, astounded at the expression that came and went so quickly on the other's face that almost he doubted that it was not a trick of the candlelight.
'Johanna will bear no more children,' said Nicholas, and rose at the same time, adding casually, 'You seemed interested in my Persian oleanders. I have a fine crimson specimen in the conservatory. Would you like to look at it on our way to join the ladies?'
While he dutifully admired the oleander, the Count was engaged in renewed conjecture, piecing together this last peculiar conversation. Did the man then find his wife so repugnant that he did not sleep with her? Was this his meaning? The fat one was unappetizing certainly, but when one wanted legitimate sons one must overlook such matters and do one's best. One can always find an outlet for romance elsewhere, after one has done one's duty. Perhaps as an older and more experienced man he would find an opportunity to point out this view to Monsieur Van Ryn. He would seize a chance tomorrow.
But the chance never came. Nicholas had allowed himself to be more personal with the Count than he had with anyone in years, and he was now annoyed at this momentary weakness.
The Countess having exhausted her repertoire, the ladies had retired to the Green Drawing-Room, where the men joined them, and after sitting down beside the Countess and while chatting with her in French, Nicholas did what he always avoided. He turned his eyes on his wife and deliberately looked at her.
He watched her attempt to respond to the little Frenchman's persiflage while she stifled the yawns which always assailed her after the evening meal. He noted how her scanty hair lay lank despite Magda's efforts with the curling iron, and how the pink scalp showed beneath die strands. He noted, too, the clumsy coquetry of her glaring rouge and that she had tried to darken her eyebrows with an unskillfully applied pencil.
His eyes descended to the pendulous bosom stuffed into the straining blue satin. It supported tonight the Van Ryn diamonds, a delicate necklace of the rose-cut gems which had been bought for Azilde by Pieter Van Ryn. They were fine stones, but they seemed lusterless, as everything, thought Nicholas, which touched Johanna, became by some malevolent alchemy tarnished and unkempt.
He no longer remembered or wished to remember that he had not always viewed her with this pitiless disgust.
She had been plump seven years ago at the time of their marriage, but passably pretty. Though she was two years older than he and of a stolid temperament, she had not been unattractive. She was placid and well bred, from Dutch stock as proud and long established as his own.
Upon his return from the Grand Tour to find himself an orphan, for his mother had died when he was twelve, Nicholas had discovered amongst his father's papers a letter designating Johanna Van Tappen as a suitable choice for Lady of the Manor. He had accordingly wooed her, without passion but without reluctance either. The change had come after the birth of Katrine. The child's sex had been a bitter blow then, but with the eventual certainty that Johanna was henceforth barren he had withdrawn into a cold and remote endurance which gradually crystallized into physical repulsion. For three years he had not shared her bed, and during those years she had become as she was now.
But she was his wife and the Mistress of Dragonwyck; to that position he had always given and would continue to give outward respect and punctilious courtesy.
He replied to the Countess, who had happily embarked on a long account of her children's beauty and
sagesse,
and seeing that for this fascinating topic she wanted only a listener,
petite maladie,
why, that is easily fixed; you have good doctors here, I think— 'He broke off, astounded at the expression that came and went so quickly on the other's face that almost he doubted that it was not a trick of the candlelight.
'Johanna will bear no more children,' said Nicholas, and rose at the same time, adding casually, 'You seemed interested in my Persian oleanders. I have a fine crimson specimen in the conservatory. Would you like to look at it on our way to join the ladies?'
While he dutifully admired the oleander, the Count was engaged in renewed conjecture, piecing together this last peculiar conversation. Did the man then find his wife so repugnant that he did not sleep with her? Was this his meaning? The fat one was unappetizing certainly, but when one wanted legitimate sons one must overlook such matters and do one's best. One can always find an outlet for romance elsewhere, after one has done one's duty. Perhaps as an older and more experienced man he would find an opportunity to point out this view to Monsieur Van Ryn. He would seize a chance tomorrow.
But the chance never came. Nicholas had allowed himself to be more personal with the Count than he had with anyone in years, and he was now annoyed at this momentary weakness.
The Countess having exhausted her repertoire, the ladies had retired to the Green Drawing-Room, where the men joined them, and after sitting down beside the Countess and while chatting with her in French, Nicholas did what he always avoided. He turned his eyes on his wife and deliberately looked at her.
He watched her attempt to respond to the little Frenchman's persiflage while she stifled the yawns which always assailed her after the evening meal. He noted how her scanty hair lay lank despite Magda's efforts with the curling iron, and how the pink scalp showed beneath die strands. He noted, too, the clumsy coquetry of her glaring rouge and that she had tried to darken her eyebrows with an unskillfully applied pencil.
His eyes descended to the pendulous bosom stuffed into the straining blue satin. It supported tonight the Van Ryn diamonds, a delicate necklace of the rose-cut gems which had been bought for Azilde by Pieter Van Ryn. They were fine stones, but they seemed lusterless, as everything, thought Nicholas, which touched Johanna, became by some malevolent alchemy tarnished and unkempt.
He no longer remembered or wished to remember that he had not always viewed her with this pitiless disgust.
She had been plump seven years ago at the time of their marriage, but passably pretty. Though she was two years older than he and of a stolid temperament, she had not been unattractive. She was placid and well bred, from Dutch stock as proud and long established as his own.
Upon his return from the Grand Tour to find himself an orphan, for his mother had died when he was twelve, Nicholas had discovered amongst his father's papers a letter designating Johanna Van Tappen as a suitable choice for Lady of the Manor. He had accordingly wooed her, without passion but without reluctance either. The change had come after the birth of Katrine. The child's sex had been a bitter blow then, but with the eventual certainty that Johanna was henceforth barren he had withdrawn into a cold and remote endurance which gradually crystallized into physical repulsion. For three years he had not shared her bed, and during those years she had become as she was now.
But she was his wife and the Mistress of Dragonwyck; to that position he had always given and would continue to give outward respect and punctilious courtesy.
He replied to the Countess, who had happily embarked on a long account of her children's beauty and
sagesse,
and seeing that for this fascinating topic she wanted only a listener,
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