These Old Shades by Georgette Heyer Page B

beyond all words. She could not drag her eyes from Léon’s face. A day later I receive an offer from one of Saint-Vire’s satellites to buy Léon. You see? Saint-Vire dare not show his hand in the matter. He sends a friend to work for him. Why? If Léon is a base-born child of his what is simpler—if he wants to rescue her from my clutches—than to approach me, telling me all? He does not do that. Léonie is his legitimate daughter, and he is afraid. For aught he knows I may have proof of that fact. I should tell you, mon père , that he and I are not the closest of friends. He fears me, and he dare not move one way or the other lest I should suddenly disclose some proof of which he knows nothing. It may also be that he is not sure that I know, or even suspect, the truth. I do not quite think that. I have something of a reputation, my father, for—uncanny omniscience. Whence, in part, my sobriquet.” He smiled. “It is my business to know everything, father. I am thus a personality in polite circles. An amusing pose. To return: You perceive that M. le Comte de Saint-Vire finds himself in something of a quandary?”
    The Curé came slowly to his chair, and sat down.
    “But, m’sieur—what you suggest is infamous!”
    “Of course it is. Now I had hoped, mon père , that you would know of some document to prove the truth of my conviction.”
    De Beaupré shook his head.
    “There was none. I went through all the papers with Jean, after the plague.”
    “Saint-Vire is more clever than I had imagined, then. Nothing, you say? It seems that this game must be carefully played.”
    De Beaupré was hardly listening.
    “Then—at her death, when Madame Bonnard tried so hard to speak to me, it must have been that!”
    “What did she say, mon pére?”
    “So little! ‘ Mon pere—écoutez donc—Léonie n’est pas—je ne peux plus ——!’ No more. She died with those words on her lips.”
    “A pity. But Saint-Vire shall think that she made confession—in writing. I wonder if he knows that the Bonnards are dead? M. de Beaupré, if he should come here, on this same errand, allow him to think that I bore away with me—a document. I do not think he will come. It is probable that he purposely lost trace of the Bonnards.” Justin rose, and bowed. “My apologies for wasting your time in this fashion, my father.”
    The Curé laid a hand on his arm.
    “What are you going to do, my son?”
    “If she is indeed what I think her I am going to restore Léonie to her family. How grateful they will be! If not——” He paused. “Well, I have not considered that possibility. Rest assured that I shall provide for her. For the present she must learn to be a girl again. After that we shall see.”
    The Curé looked full into his eyes for a moment.
    “My son, I trust you.”
    “You overwhelm me, father. As it chances, I am to be trusted this time. One day I will bring Léonie to see you.”
    The Curé walked with him to the door, and together they passed out into the little hall.
    “Does she know, m’sieur?”
    Justin smiled.
    “My dear father, I am far too old to place my secrets in a woman’s keeping. She knows nothing.”
    “The poor little one! Of what like is she now?”
    Avon’s eyes gleamed.
    “She is something of an imp, mon pére , with all the Saint-Vire spirit, and much impudence of which she is unaware. She has seen much, as I judge, and at times I espy a cynicism in her that is most entertaining. For the rest she is wise and innocent by turn. An hundred years old one minute, a babe the next. As are all women!”
    They had come to the garden gate now, and Avon beckoned to the boy who held his horse.
    Some of the anxious lines were smoothed from De Beaupré’s face.
    “My son, you have described the little one with feeling. You speak as one who understands her.”
    “I have reason to know her sex, my father.”
    “That may be. But have you ever felt towards a woman as you feel towards