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I'm quite safe as a confidante. Hermia has treated you very badly, I think. I'd like to tell her so No? Well, good-bye. Do come in again. I want you to know Pierre better. He really is all that a walking-gentleman should be." He laughed and kissed her fingers, and in a moment had gone. Olga Tcherny stood immovable where he had left her, one foot upon the fender, her gaze upon the fire.
And so amid the farewells of their latest friends, the cries of children and the barking of dogs they took to the road again. Olga Tcherny sat at a long window in the villa of the Duchesse d'Orsay and looked out over the sparkling sands upon the gleaming sea. Trouville was gay.
But as they emerged from beneath the trees their eyes became accustomed to the darkness and they followed the road cheerfully enough, determined to put as many kilometers as possible between themselves and the threatening white plume of Olga Tcherny which seemed in the last few hours to have achieved an appalling significance. At first Markham had been disposed to laugh at Hermia's fears.
The tennis courts seemed to be the center of interest and in a corner of the terrace which faced the bay were some people taking tea and watching a match of singles between Reggie Armistead and their hostess. The chauffeur took the suit case to the butler and Olga Tcherny led the way to the tea table where Phyllis Van Vorst was pouring tea.
The Olga Tcherny which looked at Hermia from the canvas was the one that Hermia had glimpsed in the brief moments between bitterness and frivolity, a woman with a soul which in spite of her still dreamed of the things it had been denied.
It was a kind of reaction which frequently followed moments of intense activity and, realizing its significance, she yielded to it sulkily, her gaze on the face of the clock which was ticking off purposeless minutes with maddening precision. She glanced over her shoulder in relief as her maid appeared in the doorway. "Will Mademoiselle see the Countess Tcherny and Mees Ashhurst?"
"You're worried about me." He nodded. "The sooner we're far away from the high road between Paris and Trouville, the better I'll be pleased." She smiled down at her costume. "No one will possibly know me in this. That's why I got it." "Don't be too sure. There are people " he paused, his thoughts flying, curiously enough, to Olga Tcherny, "people who wouldn't understand," he finished. She laughed.
“They’re two gentlemen from the town.... They’ve come back from Tcherny, and are putting up here. One’s quite a young gentleman, a relative of Mr. Miüsov, he must be, but I’ve forgotten his name ... and I expect you know the other, too, a gentleman called Maximov. He’s been on a pilgrimage, so he says, to the monastery in the town. He’s traveling with this young relation of Mr. Miüsov.”
I thought it best that you should know and sent for you to assure you that I had no knowledge about the play and its possible reference to any one." "The play," he asked quietly, "was written by Madame Tcherny?" She nodded, her eyes regarding him soberly. "What shall I do, Mr. Markham?
"Oh," said Hermia, enjoying herself immensely. "I didn't mean to discourage you." "I don't really think that you have," put in Markham. Olga Tcherny laughed from her chair in a bored amusement. "Hermia, dear," she said dryly, "I hardly brought you here to deflect the orbit of genius. Poor Mr. Markham! I shudder to think of his disastrous career if it depended upon your approval."
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