After a long time she went out to the vestibule, where she found Frances, and said, with an effort to be cheerful and matter-of-fact, "Come, now, let us talk like reasonable people. A thing is coming to me which comes to every-body. I'm not one to whine. But it's the child--I don't think any baby ever was as much to a woman as Jacques is to me. I suppose God does not think I am fit to bring him up. Sit down and let me tell you all about it."They sat on the steps, talking in a low tone. Frances cried, but Lisa's eyes were quite dry and bright. She rose at last.
"You see, there will be no woman to care for him, if you do not. There he is with Colette." She ran down, took the baby from the bonne, and laid him in Frances's arms.
Mrs. Waldeaux looked down at him. "George's son," she whispered, "George's boy!""He is very like George and you," Lisa answered. "He is a Waldeaux.""Yes, I see."
She held him close to her breast as they drove back to Vannes. George whistled and sang on the box. He was very light of heart to have her with him again.
He looked impatiently at an ancient village through which they passed, with its towers, and peasants in strange garbs, like the pictures in some crusading tale.
"Now that we have mother, Lisa," he said, "we'll go straight back home. I am tired of mediaeval times.
I must get to work for this youngster."
Lisa did not speak for a moment. "I should like to stay in Vannes a little longer," she said. "I did not tell you, but--my mother is buried there. That was why Icame; I should like to be with her."
"Why, of course, dear. As long as you like," he said affectionately.
"I will not detain you long. Perhaps only a week or two," she said.
He nodded, and began to whistle cheerfully again.
Frances looked at Lisa, and her eyes filled with tears.
It was a pitiful tragedy!
But the poor girl was quite right not to worry George until the last moment. She was blocking his way--ruining his life, and God was taking her away so that she could no longer harm him.
And yet--poor Lisa!
They drove on. The sun warmed the crimson fields, and the birds chirped, and this was George's child creeping close to her breast. It stirred there a keen pang of joy.
Surely He had forgiven her.
A month later a group of passengers in deep mourning stood apart on the deck of the Paris as she left the dock at Liverpool. It was George Waldeaux, his mother, and little Jacques with his nurse. Mrs. Waldeaux was looking at Clara and her girls, who were watching her from the dock. They had come to Vannes when Lisa died, and had taken care of her and the baby until now.
Frances had cried at leaving them, but George stood with his back to them moodily, looking down into the black water.
"It seems but a few days since we sailed from New York on the Kaiser Wilhelm," he said, "and yet I have lived out all my life in that time.""All? Is there nothing left, George?" his mother said gently.
"Oh, of course, you are always a good companion, and there is the child----" He paused. The fierce passions, the storms of delight and pain of his life with Lisa rushed back on him. "I will work for others, and wear out the days as I can," he said. "But life is over for me. The story is told. There are only blank pages now to the end."He turned his dim eyes toward the French coast. She knew that they saw the little bare grave on the hill in Vannes. "I wish I could have seen something green growing on it before I left her there alone!" he muttered.
"Her mother's grave was covered with roses----" Frances answered quickly. "They will creep over to her.
She is not alone, George. I am glad she was laid by her mother. She loved her dearly.""Yes. Better than any thing on earth," he responded gloomily.
A few moments later the ship swung heavily around.
"We are going! Mrs. Waldeaux cried, waving her hand.
"Won't you look at Clara and Lucy, George? They have been so good to us. If Lucy had been my own child, she could not have been kinder to me."Mr. Waldeaux turned and raised his crepe-bound hat, looking at Lucy in her soft gray gown vaguely, as he might at a white gull dropped on the shore.
"I suppose I never shall see her again," said his mother.
"Clara tells me she is besieged by lovers. She is going to marry a German prince, probably.""That would be a pity," George said, with a startled glance back at the girl.
"Good-by, my dear!" Mrs. Waldeaux leaned over the bulwark. "She is beautiful as an angel! Good-by, Lucy!
God bless you! she sobbed, kissing her hand.
Mr. Waldeaux looked steadily at Lucy. "How clean she is!" he said.
When the shore was gone he walked down the deck, conscious of a sudden change in himself. He was wakening out of an ugly dream. The sight of the healthy little girl, with her dewy freshness and blue eyes, full of affection and common sense, cheered and heartened him.
He did not know what was doing it, but he threw up his head and walked vigorously. The sun shone and the cold wind swept him out into a dim future to begin a new life.
