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Updated: May 17, 2025
The distance from which the fortunate couple radiated warmth on us was not too great for friendship to traverse; and our conception of a glorified leisure took the form of Sundays spent in the Grancys' library, with its sedative rural outlook, and the portrait of Mrs. Grancy illuminating its studious walls. The picture was at its best in that setting; and we used to accuse Claydon of visiting Mrs.
He married Antoinette de Pons, Marquise de Guercheville, the widow of Henri de Silly, Comte de la Rocheguyon, a lady of extraordinary beauty who had been reared in the Court of Henri III. Guillaume de Hautemer, Comte de Grancy, Seigneur de Fervaques, knight of the King's Orders, and Marshal of France.
I had to wait for some time in the deserted library before the medical men appeared. They had the baffled manner of empirics who have been superseded by the great Healer; and I lingered only long enough to hear that Grancy was not suffering and that my presence could do him no harm. I found him seated in his arm-chair in the little study. He held out his hand with a smile.
Then, all in a moment, as Grancy opened the door, the feeling vanished and a kind of resistance met me on the threshold. I looked about me. Was the room changed? Had some desecrating hand effaced the traces of her presence? No; here too the setting was undisturbed.
Grancy only by falling in love with his picture of her; and it was noticeable that he, to whom his finished work was no more than the shed husk of future effort, showed a perennial tenderness for this one achievement. We smiled afterward to think how often, when Mrs.
Grancy laid his hand on my arm. "You don't like it?" he said sadly. "Like it? I I've lost her!" I burst out. "And I've found her," he answered. "In that?" I cried with a reproachful gesture. "Yes; in that." He swung round on me almost defiantly. "The other had become a sham, a lie! This is the way she would have looked does look, I mean. Claydon ought to know, oughtn't he?" I turned suddenly.
"Ah, how could you?" I cried, turning on him. "How could I?" he retorted. "How could I not? Doesn't she belong to me now?" I moved away impatiently. "Wait a moment," he said with a detaining gesture. "The others have gone and I want to say a word to you. Oh, I know what you've thought of me I can guess! You think I killed Grancy, I suppose?" I was startled by his sudden vehemence.
"It's too late," he said. "I might have known that she knew." "But, Grancy, listen to me," I began; and then I stopped. What could I say that would convince him? There was no common ground of argument on which we could meet; and after all it would be easier for him to die feeling that she had known. Strangely enough, I saw that Claydon had missed his mark....
Grancy acquired the charm which makes some women's faces like a book of which the last page is never turned. There was always something new to read in her eyes. What Claydon read there or at least such scattered hints of the ritual as reached him through the sanctuary doors his portrait in due course declared to us.
After one such calcining most men would have kept out of the fire; but we agreed that he was predestined to sentimental blunders, and we awaited with resignation the embodiment of his latest mistake. Then Mrs. Grancy came and we understood. She was the most beautiful and the most complete of explanations.
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