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Updated: May 27, 2025
The sort of talk she would have heard during that first springtime in Paris would have put an impress on a much less receptive personality; for of course Allègre didn’t close his doors to his friends and this new apparition was not of the sort to make them keep away. After that first morning she always had somebody to ride at her bridle hand.
Valentinois, taken utterly by surprise, and without the force at hand to resist the Bailie and his Swiss, was compelled to submit and to allow the latter to carry the countess off to his own lodging; but he dispatched a messenger to Forlimpopoli with orders for the immediate return of Allegre and his horse, and in the morning, after Mass, he had the army drawn up in the market-place; and so, backed by his Spanish, French, and Italian troops, he faced the threatening Swiss.
All these statements about the seduction and then this final doubt expressed after only two visits which could not have included more than six hours altogether and this some three years ago! But it is Henry Allègre that you should ask this question, Mr. Mills.” “I haven’t the secret of raising the dead,” answered Mills good humouredly. “And if I had I would hesitate.
It would seem such a liberty to take with a person one had known so slightly in life.” “And yet Henry Allègre is the only person to ask about her, after all this uninterrupted companionship of years, ever since he discovered her; all the time, every breathing moment of it, till, literally, his very last breath. I don’t mean to say she nursed him. He had his confidential man for that.
Allègre, however, looked on it as a colossal impertinence; but he answered in his silkiest tones: “‘Perhaps it is because I saw in that woman something of the women of all time.’ “My mother might have guessed that she was on thin ice there. She is extremely intelligent. Moreover, she ought to have known. But women can be miraculously dense sometimes.
But perhaps what affected her was the shadow, the still living shadow of a great passion in the man’s heart. “Allègre remarked to her calmly: ‘He has been a little mad all his life.’” Mills lowered the hands holding the extinct and even cold pipe before his big face. “H’m, shoot an arrow into that old man’s heart like this? But was there anything done?” “A terra-cotta bust, I believe. Good?
But I wanted a woman to manage it for me. And where was I to find a trustworthy woman? How was I to know one when I saw her? I don’t know how to talk to women. Of course my Rose would have done for me that or anything else; but what could I have done myself without her? She has looked after me from the first. It was Henry Allègre who got her for me eight years ago.
Having ascertained that his assistance was not required Monsieur George, in his own words, “managed to sneak out of the town without being seen by a single soul that mattered.” The second occasion was very prosaic and shockingly incongruous with the super-mundane colouring of these days. He had neither the fortune of Henry Allègre nor a man of affairs of his own.
“Well, speaking with all possible respect, it seems to have affected my mother’s brain. I was already with the royal army and of course there could be no question of regular postal communications with France. My mother hears or overhears somewhere that the heiress of Mr. Allègre is contemplating a secret journey. All the noble Salons were full of chatter about that secret naturally.
He looked at them all; and each reminded him of Doña Rita, either by some profound resemblance or by the startling force of contrast. The faithful austerity of the sea protected him from the rumours that fly on the tongues of men. He never heard of her. Even the echoes of the sale of the great Allègre collection failed to reach him. And that event must have made noise enough in the world.
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