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Updated: May 17, 2025
Renine did not make the attempt; but, at daybreak, he came with his chauffeur and hunted through the park all the morning. Though the park, which covered the side of a hill and was bounded below by the river, was not very large, he found no clue which gave him any reason to suppose that Rose Andree was imprisoned there.
He looked at it, then at the sketches again and again. "There's a resemblance," he said. "But no, it's not possible. Andree- Mademoiselle Victorine! That would be amusing. I'd go to-morrow and see, if I weren't off to Fontainebleau. But there's no hurry: when I come back will do." At Ridley Court and Peppingham all was serene to the eye.
His father had brought this sorrowful life into the world and he had made it more sorrowful poor little thing poor girl! "What are you going to do?" asked Andree. "Do you go back with Delia?" He winced. Yet why should he expect of her too great refinement? She had not had a chance, she had not the stuff for it in her veins; she had never been taught.
"It was rough on you, Andree; but you were hard to please, and I am constant to but one. Yet, begad, you had solid virtues; and I wish, for your sake, I had been a different kind of fellow. Well, well, we'll meet again some time, and then we'll be good friends, no doubt." He turned away from the sketches and picked up some illustrated newspapers. In one was a portrait.
Meyerbeer, who had not yet discovered his man, though he had a pretty scandal well-nigh brewed. Count Ploare was no more, Gaston Belward was. Zoug-Zoug was in the country at Fontainebleau, working at his picture. He had left on the morning after Gaston discovered Andree. He had written, asking his nephew to come for some final sittings.
Well, one of our farmers had a son, a good-looking young fellow of two and twenty who had studied for a priest, but had left the seminary in disgust. Well, I took him as footman!" "Oh!... And then?... What afterwards?" "Then ... then, my dear, I treated him very haughtily, and showed him a good deal of my person. I did not entice this rustic on, I simply inflamed him!..." "Oh! Andrée!"
But behind it all was her passion her love for him. "You know that's altogether impossible!" he answered. "She would not take you back." "Probably not. She has pride." "Pride-chat! She'd jump at the chance!" "That sounds rude, Andree; and it is contradictory." "Rude! Well, I'm only a gipsy and a dompteuse!" "Is that all, my girl?" "That's all, now."
He opened Le Petit Journal, Coil Blas, Galignani, and the New York Tom-Tom, one by one. Yes, it was there, with pictures of himself and Andree. A screaming sensation. Extracts, too, from the English papers by telegram. He read them all unflinchingly. There was one paragraph which he did not understand: There was a previous friend of the lady, unknown to the public, called Zoug-Zoug.
If those fellows take a hand, they will spoil everything." "Why? On the contrary, I should have thought...." "Yes, they will. They will put Dalbreque out of the way ... and then? Will that give us Rose Andree?" Dalbreque had finished his preparations. Just as he was mounting his bicycle, the detectives rose in a body, ready to make a dash for him.
The fatal wrangle of the pumas there below, the sound of it, would be in his ears for ever, but he had come above it; the searching vigour of the sun entered into his bones. He knew that he was going back to England to ample work and strong days, but he did not know that he was going alone. He did not know that Andree was gone forever; that she had found her true place: in his undying memory.
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