faithful Chon Chon He was devoted to my dear Pierre,” she said.
“Who would have thought that one day Chon-Chon would be the cause of my darling’s death.”
Then she would talk of how tragic it was that Pierre would never see his child. I wondered whether she was thinking of James Wedder then.
The journey had indeed been exhausting and it was good that we had taken it when we did. A few weeks later and it would have been very trying for Margot.
Madame Gremond turned out to be the most discreet of women and I was to wonder, during the next few months, whether she was aware of the truth. She was a handsome woman and in her youth must have been extremely attractive. She must now be in her mid-forties and the thought occurred to me that she might be doing what she was for an old friend the Comte, of course. K I was right, she was a woman whom he would trust; and of course the thought had occurred to me that she might well have been one of the numerous mistresses I was sure he had had.
The house was pleasant not large, but set in a garden and approached by a drive. Although it was in the town it seemed isolated because of the trees which surrounded it.
Margot and I were given rooms side by side at the back of the house overlooking the gardens. These rooms, though not luxurious, were adequately furnished. There were two maids in the house Jeanne and Emilie Dupont, whose duty it was to wait on us. Jeanne was inclined to be talkative, while Emilie was almost morose and scarcely said a word unless she was spoken to. Jeanne was very interested in us; her little dark eyes were like a monkey’s, I thought alive with curiosity. She hovered about Margot, fussing over her, so eager was she for her comfort. Margot, who loved to be the centre of attention,
soon grew quite fond of her. I would often find them chattering together.
“Be careful,” I warned.
“You could easily betray something.”
“I shall betray nothing,” she protested.
“Do you know, sometimes I awake in the night and almost weep for poor Pierre, which shows you how deep I am in my part. It really does seem that he was my husband.”
“I expect he looks rather like James Wedder.”
“Exactly. I thought that was the best way to play it … as near to the truth as possible. After all, James is the baby’s father and I did lose him suddenly-only by a different method.”
“Quite a different kind of exit,” I commented wryly. But I was pleased to see how she was recovering from the first shock of her experience.
Now she was gay, actually revelling in the situation, which would have been difficult to understand if one had not been aware of Margot’s temperament.
She had one characteristic which was a help to her. She could live completely in the present, no matter how threatening the future might seem. I confess there were times when I was influenced by her and when what was happening seemed like a merry adventure instead of the serious matter it was.
The weather was perfect. All through June we enjoyed the sunshine. We would sit under the sycamore tree and talk as we sewed. We took a great delight in making baby garments though neither of us, I must admit, were exactly geniuses with our needles; and Margot would often tire of a garment before she had finished it. Emilie, it seemed, was an expert needle-woman and more than once she came to the rescue and finished off some little thing, decorating it with the most exquisite feather-stitching, at which she excelled. She would take the garment away and we would find it finished and neatly folded in one of our rooms. When we thanked her she would seem quite embarrassed. I found communication with her very difficult. ;
“It’s due to Jeanne’s being so much prettier,” Margot toldf me.
“Poor Emilie, she’s scarcely a beauty, is she?” I “She’s a good worker.” S “Maybe, but will that get her a husband? Jeanne plans tol marry Gaston the gardener in due course. She told me allj about it.
“Who would have thought that one day Chon-Chon would be the cause of my darling’s death.”
Then she would talk of how tragic it was that Pierre would never see his child. I wondered whether she was thinking of James Wedder then.
The journey had indeed been exhausting and it was good that we had taken it when we did. A few weeks later and it would have been very trying for Margot.
Madame Gremond turned out to be the most discreet of women and I was to wonder, during the next few months, whether she was aware of the truth. She was a handsome woman and in her youth must have been extremely attractive. She must now be in her mid-forties and the thought occurred to me that she might be doing what she was for an old friend the Comte, of course. K I was right, she was a woman whom he would trust; and of course the thought had occurred to me that she might well have been one of the numerous mistresses I was sure he had had.
The house was pleasant not large, but set in a garden and approached by a drive. Although it was in the town it seemed isolated because of the trees which surrounded it.
Margot and I were given rooms side by side at the back of the house overlooking the gardens. These rooms, though not luxurious, were adequately furnished. There were two maids in the house Jeanne and Emilie Dupont, whose duty it was to wait on us. Jeanne was inclined to be talkative, while Emilie was almost morose and scarcely said a word unless she was spoken to. Jeanne was very interested in us; her little dark eyes were like a monkey’s, I thought alive with curiosity. She hovered about Margot, fussing over her, so eager was she for her comfort. Margot, who loved to be the centre of attention,
soon grew quite fond of her. I would often find them chattering together.
“Be careful,” I warned.
“You could easily betray something.”
“I shall betray nothing,” she protested.
“Do you know, sometimes I awake in the night and almost weep for poor Pierre, which shows you how deep I am in my part. It really does seem that he was my husband.”
“I expect he looks rather like James Wedder.”
“Exactly. I thought that was the best way to play it … as near to the truth as possible. After all, James is the baby’s father and I did lose him suddenly-only by a different method.”
“Quite a different kind of exit,” I commented wryly. But I was pleased to see how she was recovering from the first shock of her experience.
Now she was gay, actually revelling in the situation, which would have been difficult to understand if one had not been aware of Margot’s temperament.
She had one characteristic which was a help to her. She could live completely in the present, no matter how threatening the future might seem. I confess there were times when I was influenced by her and when what was happening seemed like a merry adventure instead of the serious matter it was.
The weather was perfect. All through June we enjoyed the sunshine. We would sit under the sycamore tree and talk as we sewed. We took a great delight in making baby garments though neither of us, I must admit, were exactly geniuses with our needles; and Margot would often tire of a garment before she had finished it. Emilie, it seemed, was an expert needle-woman and more than once she came to the rescue and finished off some little thing, decorating it with the most exquisite feather-stitching, at which she excelled. She would take the garment away and we would find it finished and neatly folded in one of our rooms. When we thanked her she would seem quite embarrassed. I found communication with her very difficult. ;
“It’s due to Jeanne’s being so much prettier,” Margot toldf me.
“Poor Emilie, she’s scarcely a beauty, is she?” I “She’s a good worker.” S “Maybe, but will that get her a husband? Jeanne plans tol marry Gaston the gardener in due course. She told me allj about it.
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