War Zone

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

They stood undecided, a worried expression on his face; and then, as Armand said nothing, he stepped forward and put his hand on the horse's bridle.

"I myself will take Monsieur's horse to the stables. Enter, Monsieur, and go straight along the passage. You will find Madame in the Purple Salon overlooking the lake. You must excuse us, Monsieur, but we were not expecting visitors and we are short-handed-very short

handed." The old man led the horse away, muttering to him self as he went, and Armand with a faint smile on his face entered the Château.

He laid his hat down on the hall table. The furniture was good, he noticed. But the passage was uncarpeted and unbrushed and his feet echoed noisily as he passed through a high marble hall out of which an elaborate staircase ascended.

There was no one to be seen. He hesitated a mo ment for there were a number of doors opening out of the hall. It was difficult to guess which might be the Purple Salon, but at last, making his choice, he turned the handle of a door and found himself in a huge room with tapestry covered walls but otherwise completely unfurnished.

He was about to retreat when he heard voices and saw that a door was open in the far corner of the room.

He crossed the floor and saw through the half-open

doorway that the room beyond was furnished with chairs

and hangings of purple silk. The voices came from the window, and he saw that seated in the sunshine from an open casement in a high-backed chair of purple velvet was an elderly wom an. This Armand guessed was the Duchess.

She was very small but excessively formidable. Her skin was withered and creased into a thousand wrinkles from which her high-bridged aristocratic nose emerged like a bridge of discoloured ivory. Her eyes small, shrewd and penetrating, were perpetually moving as if she were afraid she might miss something.

She wore the clothes of a bygone generation, a vast hooped skirt, a low cut, ornately decorated bodice, and on her head a monstrous red wig bedecked with jewels.

She would have been a laughable figure save for an inbred dignity, which made anyone who spoke to her instantly forget her appearance, and a sense of humour, which to herself and for all who knew her was an endless joy and amusement.

On a stool beside the Duchess, a piece of embroidery on her lap, was Rêve, wearing a gown of white muslin trimmed with blue ribbon. "Do you think he will come today?" Armand heard

her ask.

The old lady made an expressive gesture with her thin hands, the sunlight glittering on her rings as they moved. "Who can anticipate what a young man will do?" she

said in a dry, cackling voice. "Besides, he has a weari

some way to come."

"That is true!" Rêve replied, "and there are so many dangers on the way which might have delayed him. I wonder-"

Her voice broke off and her eyes widened in aston

ishment, for she had suddenly caught sight of Armand

standing in the doorway.

For a moment she stared at him as if she could hard ly believe her eyes, then she rose slowly to her feet, her cheeks crimsoning as she did so.

She was even more beautiful in the sunlight, Armand decided. The moon had not been strong enough to re veal the exquisite purity of her white skin or the fact that her eyes, fringed with their dark lashes, were an unusual shade of green flecked with amber. But as Armand advanced into the room, he looked

not at Rêve but at the older woman who, at his ap proach, raised a gold-framed lorgnette to her eyes. Armand walked with the utmost composure up to the Duchess's chair; then he bowed and said:

"Your Grace must pardon my arriving unannounced, but your servant, who has taken my horse to the stables, told me I should find you here."

"And your name, young man?" the Duchess in

quired. "I am Armand de Ségury," Armand replied, "my father, Maurice de Ségury, told me to call on you and pay my respects."

"Maurice de Ségury," the Duchess repeated as if she strove to remember the name. "It is many years, Ma'am, since you met my father,"

Armand said, "but he has often spoken of your wit and beauty, and I can well understand, now that I have seen you, that it would be easier for him to remember you than you him."

The Duchess chuckled.

"Your father has at least taught you to be a skilful flatterer, young man. For the moment I cannot recall your father, but when one is my age one's memory plays strange tricks."

She chuckled again and glanced at Rêve.

"Let me present you to my great-niece, the Countess

Rêve de Valmont."

Armand bowed. Rêve put out her hand as she curt sied and he touched it for a moment with his lips. Her fingers were very cold.

"And what are you doing in this part of the world?" the Duchess asked, "En route for Paris, I'll be bound." "You are quite right, Ma'am. I journey towards Paris."

"In search of excitement, adventure and, of course -beautiful women," the Duchess said. "Again, Madame, your supposition is entirely right,

though it seems there is no need for me to go to Paris

in search of the latter." He glanced at Rêve as he spoke, but her eyes were veiled by her lashes and she would not look at him.

"Your father is well?" the Duchess asked. "Your

estates in Normandy unimpaired?" There was no need to ask what she meant by the

last part of her question.

"We are very fortunate," Armand replied. "We live in a very isolated part of the country and the peasants there were not unduly infected by the fever which swept over much of France."

"And now?" the Duchess asked.

"Like the rest of France our men are serving the Emperor," Armand replied.

The Duchess nodded.