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Updated: June 23, 2025
Her face was radiant. It became lighted up magically. I knew in that grim hour what a beautiful woman Madame de Staemer must have been. She rested her hand upon Val Beverley's head, and looked at me with her strange, still eyes. "Be good to her, my friend," she whispered. "She is English, but not cold like some. She, too, can love."
"It is not so incredible in a big house like this. Besides, what other explanation can there be?" "There must be one," I said, reassuringly. "Have you spoken of this to Madame de Staemer?" "Yes." Val Beverley's expression grew troubled. "Had she any explanation to offer?" "None. Her attitude mystified me very much.
A strikingly handsome, arrogant figure he made, uncannily like the Velasquez in the library. At the face of Madame de Staemer I looked long and searchingly. She had not neglected the art of the toilette. Blinds tempered the sunlight which flooded her room; but that, failing the service of rouge, Madame had been pale this morning, I perceived immediately.
Camber is anathema in Cray's Folly." "Colonel Menendez told me last night that he had never met Mr. Camber." Val Beverley shrugged her shoulders, a habit which it was easy to see she had acquired from Madame de Staemer. "Perhaps not," she replied, "but I am certain he hates him." "Hates Mr. Camber?" "Yes." Her expression grew troubled.
Knox, and men, especially men who write, know more of women than they know of themselves, is it not so? You will understand that I must see him again?" "Madame de Staemer," I said, "your courage is almost terrible." She shrugged her shoulders. "I am not proud to be brave, my friend. The animals are brave, but many cowards are proud. Listen again. He suffered no pain, you think?"
Her fingers were very delicate and tactile, and such is the character which resides in the human hand, that whereas the gestures of Madame de Staemer were curiously stimulating, there was something in the movement of Val Beverley's pretty fingers amidst the blooms which I found most soothing. "I passed the Guest House on my return," I continued. "Do you know Mr. Camber?"
The disease, to which he gave some name which I have forgotten, was untraceable, he declared, by any means thus far known to science. As we had anticipated, the bulk of Colonel Don Juan's wealth he had bequeathed to Madame de Staemer, and she in turn had provided that all of which she might die possessed should be divided between certain charities and Val Beverley.
You can see that Madame de Staemer and Colonel Menendez are deliberately concealing something from Paul Harley, and you don't know where your duty lies. Am I right?" She met my glance for a moment in a startled way, then: "Yes," she said, softly; "you are quite right. How have you guessed?" "I have tried very hard to understand you," I replied, "and so perhaps up to a point I have succeeded."
Faintly perfumed, and decorated with many bowls of roses, it reflected, in its ornaments, its pictures, its slender-legged furniture, the personality of the occupant. In a large, high bed, reclining amidst a number of silken pillows, lay Madame de Staemer. The theme of the room was violet and silver, and to this everything conformed. The toilet service was of dull silver and violet enamel.
Once, when I had been studying Madame de Staemer, and again, as I removed my glance from the dark face of Colonel Menendez, I detected the girl watching me; and her eyes said, "You understand; so do I." Some things perhaps I did understand, but how few the near future was to show. The signal for our departure from table was given by Madame de Staemer.
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