of the woman’s hospitality because you told her a story that had no truth in it?”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” the Countess spoke quickly, eagerly. “If you want me to, I shall explain to her that there was a mistake—that you really do not know her son. But it makes no difference, anyway. She would want you to come just the same.—You see,” she spoke carefully, and for a moment there was a gleam of furtive, cunning understanding in her eye—the wisdom of fox for fox—“I don’t think it’s exactly for that reason she is inviting you.”
“What other reason could there be? The woman does not know me. What other interest could she have in me?”
“Well, my boy—” the Countess hesitated, and spoke carefully—“you see, it’s this way. I think she wants to speak to you,” she paused carefully again before she spoke—“about a certain matter—about something she’s interested in—When she heard that you were connected with The New York Times—”
“What!” He stared at her again, and suddenly exploded in a short angry laugh of resignation and defeat—“Are the whole crowd of you alike? Is there a single one of you who doesn’t have some scheme, some axe to grind—who doesn’t hope to get something out of Americans—”
“Then you’ll go?” she said eagerly.
“Yes, I’ll go!” he shouted. “Tell her anything you like. It’ll serve both of you right! I’ll go just to see what new trick or scheme you and this other woman are framing up. All right, I’ll go!”
“Good!” she nodded briskly, satisfied. “I knew you would, my boy. La Marquise will tell you all about it when she sees you.”
This final grotesque episode had suddenly determined his decision to leave Orléans. For a short time his chance meeting with this strange old woman, his instant inclusion in the curious schemes, designs and stratagems of her life, with all that it evoked of the strange and the familiar, its haunting glimpse of the million-noted web and weaving of dark chance and destiny, had struck bright sparks of interest from his mind, had fused his spirit to a brief forgetfulness and wonder.
Now, as suddenly as it had begun, that wonder died: the life of the town, the people, the old Countess and her friends, which had for a few days seemed so new, strange, and interesting, now filled him with weariness and distaste. He was suddenly fed up with the provincial tedium of
