War Zone

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The years when Christianity had been persecuted, laughed at and reviled had taken their toll. All that remained of a glorious, whole-hearted faith was the flickering uncertainty of those who had grown to believe that God Himself had forsaken them. The Duchess's funeral would therefore be a shabby, threadbare service without pomp or many mourners. Rêve would have minded it much more, and indeed it would have hurt her almost unbearably had she not known how indifferent her Great-Aunt would be to such things. The Duchess had always had a complacent regard

for death; indeed she had often joked about it, saying

in her inimitable way: "Death's embrace is the last every woman knows pray Heaven he proves a charming lover! He is at least an experienced one!"

No, the Duchess would never have trouble herself as to the poorness of the funeral cortège or the desolate appearance of the building in which the burial service would be read.

Indeed it was not the Duchess or her funeral that worried Rêve now. As she moved across the green lawns and took the path which went round the lake, she was aware of an emotion within herself which was not con nected with sorrow, grief or regret.

It was an aching, empty feeling which she recog nised all too clearly, having known it before it was loneliness.

Never in all the years when she had moved about

the country penniless and disguised with Antoinette her only protector had she felt so lonely as she did now. As a child it had been easy for her to cling to An toinette, to know that she took the place of both mother and nurse, family and home. But as Rêve grew older she had realised that Antoinette had her limitations.

It was not that she loved her any the less; that would have been impossible, for her love for her old nurse was perhaps the strongest and most unassailable thing in the whole of her life. But she had understood, as she grew to maturity, that there were many parts Antoinette could not play in her life and that she needed the counsel and guidance of someone both of her own blood and of her own social standing.

When her Great-Aunt came to chaperon her at Val mont, Rêve knew that part at any rate of what she I had sensed instinctively had been missing in her life would be supplied.

Acutely sensitive, she was well aware how sadly her education had been neglected in the years when she had been to all intents and purposes nothing but a gypsy child. But she was equally sure that the Duchess could teach her more than she could have learnt from a doz en governesses or teachers, and she had set herself to learn as quickly as possible all that should have been hers by right of birth.

The Duchess was a hard task-mistress. She expected perfection in deportment, good manners and the tradi tional behaviour of a débutante.

When she was young she had caused a sensation on her presentation at Court; married, her salon in Paris had been the most distinguished and cultured of that time. She had not only been a great beauty, she had also been extremely intelligent, and men of brains-states men, writers, poets and diplomats-had thronged her drawing-rooms and listened respectfully while she aired her views on everything and everybody.

Rêve had no idea until her Great-Aunt came to live with her what a wide field of knowledge there was for her to discover or how fascinating such discovery could be.

She often thought to herself that with Antoinette she had learned the fundamental decencies of living-kind ness of heart, generosity, sympathy, courage and most important of all-faith in the ultimate purpose of Life. But with her Great-Aunt she learned the things which matter in the world of fashion.

She discovered how to be sparklingly witty, to be exquisitely graceful, to use one's brain to outwit or to conquer another as swordsman might fence with an adversary, to be knowledgeable of the correct behaviour of a person of breeding in all possible circumstances, and finally to understand and appreciate all that was worth while in art, literature and music. It was a vast curriculum for any girl to absorb in a short space of time, and yet like the ground which has been parched for want of water Rêve soaked up greed ily and thirstily into her mind all that the Duchess tried to teach her.

And now the lessons were at an end. The curtain had fallen and the play was over. Somehow Rêve could hardly believe that it could be so, that the old lady who had given her so much had gone from her without a word of farewell, without a last close embrace. For the first time since the shock of dicovery early

that morning Rêve felt the tears well up into her eyes,

a sudden constriction in her throat.

And yet she would not let herself cry. Instead, she thought of Armand who would be coming to her in a short while.

It was indeed, whether she realised it or not, the thought of him which had restrained her all day, numbed her sense of loss, mitigated a little the tragedy of her loneliness and her fear of what lay in the future. Her knowledge of her love for him and his for her

was like a sustaining arm which upheld her against her own weakness. More than once she found herself lost in a kind of ecstasy at the thought of him, and then she would chide herself for daring to think of a man in the very hour of her bereavement.

And yet she knew that above all people her Great Aunt would have understood, and she wished now that she had had the courage to tell her about Armand when he had called at the Château.

As she walked towards the wood, Rêve thought that apart from the joy of seeing Armand there were serious things to be considered tonight.

First she must tell him of her Great-Aunt's death, although it was more than likely he would know of this already if he were lodging in the village. Secondly she must discuss with him the Emperor's proposed visit to Valmont. There had been no opportunity as yet to re veal this to anyone else.

Already she was turning to Armand for help and guidance, knowing with an unshakable conviction that ied

had

he would not fail her and that she could trust him com pletely and absolutely. Thirdly, and most important-there was the ques tion of her marriage.