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"Now?" "Yes. Here he comes, at your ladyship's service." Desiree Candeille's almond-shaped eyes were fixed upon a distant part of the tent, behind Lady Blakeney in the direction of the main entrance to the booth.
She stretched out her hand and took Desiree Candeille's in her own; she forced herself to feel nothing but admiration for this young woman, whose whole attitude spoke of sorrows nobly borne, of misfortunes proudly endured. "I don't know why I should sadden you with my story," rejoined Desiree Candeille after a slight pause, during which she seemed to be waging war against her own emotion.
The challenge was clever, the acceptance of it by the bold adventurer a forgone conclusion, but the master stroke of the whole plan was done, when she, the wife, was enticed over too with the story of Candeille's remorse and the offer of the passport. Fool! fool that she was! And how well did Chauvelin know feminine nature!
"I need no warning." "Or are too proud to take one.... Do you know, Lady Blakeney, that Citizen Chauvelin has a personal hatred against your husband?" "How do you know that?" asked Marguerite, with her suspicions once more on the qui-vive. She could not understand Candeille's attitude.
She did not interrupt Candeille's long and voluble explanation: vaguely she wondered what it was all about, and even now when the Frenchwoman paused, Marguerite said nothing, but watched her quietly as she took a folded paper from the capacious pocked of her cloak and then held it out with a look of timidity towards Lady Blakeney. "My maid need not come with me," said Desiree Candeille humbly.
She still did not feel really frightened, only puzzled and perturbed; but all the blood had rushed away from her face, leaving her cheeks ashen white, and pressing against her heart, until it almost choked her. "You are making a mistake, Citizen," she said very quietly. "I am Citizeness Candeille's maid.
One by one, Desiree Candeille's comrades, male and female, who had accompanied her to England, returned to their own country. When war was declared, some of them were actually sent back under the provisions of the Aliens Bill. But Desiree had stayed on. Her old friends in Paris had managed to advise her that she would not be very welcome there just now.
The feeling against France and all her doings was far too keen in that very set, which Demoiselle Candeille had desired to captivate with her talents, to allow of the English jeunesse doree to flock and see Moliere played in French, by a French troupe, whilst Candeille's own compatriots resident in England had given her but scant support.
This had pleased Candeille's vanity, and all day, whilst arranging the finery which she meant to wear for the occasion, she had ceased to think of England and of Lady Blakeney.
"What need to bruit our pleasant quarrel abroad? You will like the weapons, sir, and you shall have your own choice from the pair.... You are a fine fencer, I feel sure... and you shall decide if a scratch or two or a more serious wound shall be sufficient to avenge Mademoiselle Candeille's wounded vanity." Whilst he prattled so gaily on, there was dead silence among all those present.
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