Upon the following day was published a General Order, directing officers in future to make their reports to the Duke of Wellington. Upon the same day, a noble-browed gentleman with a suave address and treat tact, was sent from Brussels to the Prussian Headquarters, there to assume the somewhat arduous duties of military commissioner to the Prussian Army. Sir Henry Hardinge had lately been employed by the Duke in watching Napoleon's movements in France. He accepted his new role with his usual equanimity, and commiserated with by his friends on the particularly trying nature of his commission, merely smiled, and said that General von Gneisenau was not likely to be as tiresome as he was painted.
The Moniteur of this 11th day of April published loomy tidings. In the south of France, the Duc D'Angouleme's enterprise had failed. Angouleme had led his mixed force on Lyons, but the arrival from Paris of a competent person of the name of Grouchy had ennded Royalist hopes in the south. Angouleme and his masterful wife had both set sail from France, and his army was fast dwindling away.
It was not known what King Louis, in Ghent, made of these tidings, but those who were acquainted with his character doubted whether his nephew's failure would much perturb him. Never was there so lethargic a monarch: one could hardly blame France for welcoming Napoleon back.
The news disturbed others, however. It seemed as though it were all going to start again: victory upon victory for Napoleon; France overrunning Europe. Shocking to think of the Emperor's progress through France, of the men who flocked to join his little force, of the crowds who welcomed him, hysterical with joy! Shocking to think of Marshal Ney, with his oath to King Louis on his conscience, deserting with his whole force to the Emperor's side! There must be some wizardry in the man, for in all France there had not been found sufficient loyal men to stand by the King and make it possible for him to hold his capital in Napoleon's teeth. He had fled, with his little Court, and his few troops, and if ever he found himself on his throne again it would be once more because foreign soldiers had placed him there.
But how unlikely it seemed that he would find himself there! With Napoleon at large, summoning his Champ de Mai assemblies, issuing his dramatic proclamations, gathering together his colossal armies, only the very optimistic could feel that there was any hope for King Louis.
Even Wellington doubted the ability of the Allies to put King Louis back on the throne, but this doubt sprang more from a just appreciation of the King's character than from any fear of Napoleon. Sceptical people might ascribe the Duke's attitude to the fact of his never having met Napoleon in the field, but the fact remained that his lordship was one of the few generals in Europe who did not prepare to meet Napoleon in a mood of spiritual defeat.
He accorded the news of Angouleme's failure a sardonic laugh, and laid the Moniteur aside. He was too busy to waste time over that.
He kept his staff busy too, a circumstance which displeased Barbara Childe. To be loved by a man who sent her brief notes announcing his inability to accompany her on expeditions of her planning was a new experience. When she saw him at the end of a :firing day, she rallied him on his choice of profession. "For the future I shall be betrothed only to civilians."
He laughed. He had been all the way to Oudenarde and back, with a message for General Colville, commanding the 4th Division, but he had found time to buy a ring of emeralds and diamonds for Barbara, end although there was a suggestion of weariness about his eyelids, he seemed to desire nothing as much as to dance with her the night through.
Waltzing with him, she said abruptly: "Are you tired?"
"Tired! Do I dance as though I were tired?"
"No, but you've been in the saddle nearly all day."
"Oh, that's nothing! In Spain I have been used to ride fifteen or twenty miles to a ball, and be at work again by ten o'clock the next day."
"Wellington trains admirable suitors," she remarked. "How fortunate it is that you dance so well, Charles!"
"I know. You would not otherwise have accepted me."
"Yes, I think perhaps I should. But I should not dance with you so much. I wish you need not leave Brussels just now."
"So do I. What will you do while I am away? Flirt with your Belgian admirer?"
She looked up at him. "Don't go!" He smiled, but shook his head.
"Apply to the Duke for leave, Charles!"
He looked started. As his imagination played with the scene her words evoked, his eyes began to dance.
"Unthinkable!"
"Why? You might well ask the Duke!"
"Believe me, I might not!"
She jerked up a shoulder. "Perhaps you don't wish for leave?"
"I don't," he said frankly. "Why, what a fellow I should be if I did!"
"Don't I come first with you?"
He glanced down at her. "You don't understand, Bab."
"Oh, you mean to talk to me of your duty!" she said impatiently. "Tedious stuff!"
"Very. Tell me what you will do while I am away."
"Flirt with Etienne. You have already said so. Have I your permission?"
"If you need it. It's very lucky: I leave Brussels on the 16th, and Lavisse will surely arrive on the 15th for the dinner in honour of the Prince of Orange. I daresay he'll remain a day or two, and so be at your disposal."
"Not jealous, Charles?"
"How should I be? You wear my ring, not his."
His guess was correct. The Comte de Lavisse appeared in Brussels four days later to attend the Belgian dinner at the Hotel d'Angleterre. He lost no time in calling in the Rue Ducale, and on learning that Lady Barbara was out, betook himself to the Park, and very soon came upon her ladyship, in company with Colonel Audley, Lady Worth and her offspring, Sir Peregrine Taverner, and Miss Devenish.
The party seemed to be a merry one, Judith being in spirits and Barbara in a melting mood. It was she who held Lord Temperley's leading strings, and directed his attention to a bed of flowers. "Pretty lady!" Lord Temperley called her, with weighty approval.
"Famous!" she said. She glanced up at Judith, and said with a touch of archness: "I count your son one of my admirers, you see!"
"You are so kind to him I am sure it is no wonder," Judith responded, liking her in this humour.
"Thank you! Charles, set him on your shoulder, and let us take him to see the swans on the water. Lady worth, you permit?"
"Yes indeed, but I don't wish you to be teased by him!"
"No such thing!" She swooped upon the child, and lifted him up in her arms. "There! I declare I could carry you myself!"
"He's too heavy for you!"
"He will crush your pelisse!"
She shrugged as these objections were uttered, and relinquished the child. Colonel Audley tossed him up on to his shoulder, and the whole party was about to walk in the direction of the pavilion when Lavisse, who had been watching from a little distance, came forward, and clicked his heels together in one of his flourishing salutes.
Lady Worth bowed with distant civility; Barbara looked as though she did not care to be discovered in such a situation; only the Colonel said with easy good humour: "Hallo! You know my sister, I believe. And Miss Devenish - Sir Peregrine Taverner?"
"Ah, I have not previously had the honour! Mademoiselle! Monsieur!" Two bows were executed; the Count looked slyly towards Barbara, and waved a hand to include the whole group. "You must permit me to compliment you upon the pretty tableau you make; I am perhaps de trop, but shall beg leave to join the party."
"By all means," said the Colonel. "We are taking my nephew to see the swans."
"You cannot want to carry him, Charles," said Judith in a low voice.
"Fiddle!" he replied. "Why should I not want to carry him?"
She thought that the picture he made with the child on his shoulder was too domestic to be romantic, but could scarcely say so. He set off towards the pavilion with Miss Devenish beside him; Barbara imperiously demanded Sir Peregrine's arm; and as the path was not broad enough to allow of four persons walking abreast, Judith was left to bring up the rear with Lavisse.
This arrangement was accepted by the Count with all the outward complaisance of good manners. Though his eyes might follow Barbara, his tongue uttered every civil inanity required of him. He was ready to discuss the political situation, the weather, or mutual acquaintances, and, in fact, touched upon all these topics with the easy address of a fashionable man.
Upon their arrival at the sheet of water by the pavilion his air of fashion left him. Judith was convinced that nothing could have been further from nis inclination than to throw bread to a pair of swans, gut he clapped his hands together, declaring that the swans must and should be fed, and ran off to the pavilion to procure crumbs for the purpose.
He came back presently with some cakes, a circumstance which shocked Miss Devenish into exclaiming against such extravagance.
"Oh, such delicious little cakes, and all for the swans! The stale bread would have been better!"
The Count said gaily: "They have no stale bread, Mademoiselle; they were offended at the very question. So what would you?"
"I am sure the swans will much prefer your cakes Etienne," said Barbara, smiling at him for the first time. "If only you may not corrupt their tastes!" remarked Audley, holding on to his nephew's skirts.
"Ah, true! A swan with an unalterable penchant for cake . I fear he would inevitably starve!"
"He might certainly despair of finding another patron with your lavish notions of largess," observed Barbara.
She stepped away from the group, in the endeavour to coax one of the swans to feed from her hand; after a few moments the Count joined her, while Colonel Audley still knelt, holding his nephew on the brink of the lake, and directing his erratic aim in crumb throwing.
Judith made haste to relieve him of his charge, saying in an undervoice as she bent over her son: "Pray, let me take Julian. You do not want to be engaged with him."
"Don't disturb yourself, my dear sister. Julian and I are doing very well, I assure you."
She replied with some tartness: "I hope you will not be stupid enough to allow that man to take your place beside Barbara! There, get up! I have Julian fast."
He rose, but said with a smile: "Do you think me a great fool? Now I was preening myself on being a wise man!"
He moved away before she could answer him, and joined Miss Devenish, who was sitting on a rustic bench, drawing diagrams in the gravel with the ferrule of her sunshade. In repose her face had a wistful look, but at the Colonel's approach she raised her eyes, and smiled, making room for him to sit beside her.
"Of all the questions in the world I believe.What are you thinking about? to be the most impertinent," he said lightly.
She laughed, but with a touch of constraint. "Oh - I don't know what I was thinking about! The swans - the dear little boy - Lady Worth - how I envy her!"
These last words were uttered almost involuntarily. The Colonel said: "Envy her? Why should you do so?"
She coloured, and looked down. "I don't know how I came to say that. Pray do not regard it!" She added in a stumbling way: "One does take such fancies! It is only that she is so happy, and good…"
"Are you not happy?" he asked. "I am sure you are food."
She gave her head a quick shake. "Oh no! At least, I mean, of course I am happy. Please do not heed me! I am in a nonsensical mood today. How beautiful Lady Barbara looks in her bronze bonnet and pelisse." She glanced shyly at him. "You must be very proud. I hope you will be very happy too."
"Thank you. I wonder how long it will be before I shall be wishing you happy in the same style?" he said, with a quizzical smile.
She looked started. A blush suffused her cheeks, and her eyes brightened all at once with a spring of tears. "Oh no! Impossible! Please do not speak of it!"
He said in a tone of concern: "My dear Miss Devenish, forgive me! I had no notion of distressing you, upon my honour!"
"You must think me very foolish!"
"Well," he said, in a rallying tone, "do you know, I do think you a little foolish to speak of your marriage as impossible! Now you will write me down a very saucy fellow!"
"Oh no! But you don't understand! Here is Lady Barbara coming towards you: please forget this folly!"
She got up, still in some agitation of spirit, and walked quickly away to Judith's side.
"Good God! did my approach frighten the heiress away?" asked Barbara, in a tone of lively amusement. "Or was it your gallantry, Charles? Confess! You have been trifling with her!"
"What, in such a public place as this?" protested the Colonel. "You wrong me, Bab!"
She said with a gleam of fun: "I thought you liked public places, indeed I did! Parks - or Allees!"
"Allees!" ejaculated Lavisse. "Do not mention that word, I beg! I shall not easily forgive Colonel Audley for discovering, with the guile of all staff officers (an accursed race!), that you ride there every morning."
The Colonel laughed. Barbara took his arm saying: "I have made such a delightful plan, Charles. I am quite tired of the Allee Verte. I am going further afield, with Etienne."
"Are you?" said the Colonel. "A picnic? I don't advise it in this changeable weather, but you won't care for that. Where do you go?"
It was Lavisse who answered. "Do you know the Chateau de Hougoumont, Colonel? Ah, no! How should you, in effect? It is a little country seat which belongs to a relative of mine, a M. de Luneville."
"I know the Chateau," interrupted the Colonel. "It is near the village of Merbe Braine, is it not, on the Nivelles road?"
The Count's brows rose. "You are exact! One would say you knew it well."
"I had occasion to travel over that country last year," the Colonel responded briefly. "Do you mean to make your expedition there? It must be quite twelve or thirteen miles away."
"What of that?" said Barbara. "You don't know me if you think I am so soon tired. We shall ride through the Forest, and take luncheon at the Chateau. It will be capital sport!"
"Of whom is this party to consist?" he enquired. "Of Etienne and myself, to be sure."
He returned no answer, but she saw a grave look in his face, which provoked her into saying: "I assure you Etienne is very well able to take care of me."
"I don't doubt it," he replied.
Lady Worth had joined them by this time, and was listening to the interchange in silence, but with a puckered brow. The whole party began to walk away from the lake, and Judith, resigning her son into Peregrine's charge, caught up with Barbara, and said in a low voice: "Forgive me, but you are not in earnest?"
"Very seldom, I believe."
"This expedition with the Count: you cannot have considered what a singular appearance it will give you!"
"On the contrary: I delight in singularity."
Judith felt her temper rising; she managed to control it, and to say in a quiet tone: "You will think me impertinent, I daresay, but I do most earnestly counsel you to give up the scheme. I can have no expectation of my words weighing with you, but I cannot suppose you to be equally indifferent to my brother's wishes. He must dislike this scheme excessively."
"Indeed! Are you his envoy, Lady Worth?"
Judith was obliged to deny it. She was spared having to listen to the mocking rejoinder, which, she was sure, hovered on the tip of Barbara's tongue, by Colonel Audley's coming up to them at that moment. He stepped between them, offering each an arm, and having glanced at both their faces, said: "I conclude that I have interrupted a duel. My guess is that Judith has been preaching propriety, and Bab announcing herself a confirmed rake."
"I have certainly been preaching propriety," replied Judith. "It sounds odious, and I fear Lady Barbara has found it so."
"No! Confoundedly boring!" said Barbara. "I am informed, Charles, that you will dislike my picnic scheme excessively. Shall you?"
"Good God no! Go, by all means, if you wish to and can stand the gossip."
"I am quite accustomed to it," she said indifferently.
Judith felt so much indignation at the lack of feeling shown by this remark that she drew her hand away from the Colonel's arm, and dropped behind to walk with her brother. This left Miss Devenish to the Count's escort, an arrangement which continued until Barbara left the party. The Count then requested the honour of being allowed to conduct her home; Colonel Audley, who was obliged to call at Headquarters, made no objection, and Miss Devenish found herself once more in the company of Sir Peregrine, Lady Worth and Colonel Audley walking ahead of them.
After a few moments, Judith said in a vexed tone: "You will surely not permit her to behave with such impropriety!"
"I see no impropriety," he replied.
"To be alone with that man the whole day!"
"An indiscretion, certainly."
She walked on beside him in silence for some way, but presently said: "Why do you permit it?"
"I have no power to stop her even if I would."
"Even if you would? What can you mean?"
"She must be the only judge of her own actions. I won't become a mentor."
"Charles, how nonsensical! Do you mean to let yourself be ridden over roughshod?"
" Neither to be ridden over nor to ride roughshod," he answered. "To manage my own affairs in my own way, however."
" I beg your pardon," she said, in a mortified voice.
He pressed her hand, but after a slight pause began to talk of something else. She attempted no further discussion with him on the subject of the picnic, but to Worth, later, spoke her mind with great freedom. He listened calmly to all she had to say, but when she demanded to know his opinion, replied that he thought the intervention to have been ill-judged.
"I had no notion of vexing her! I tried only to advise her."
"You made a great mistake in doing so. Advice is seldom palatable."
"I think she is perfectly heartless!"
"I hope you may be found to be wrong."
"And, what is more, she is a flirt. I am sure there can be nothing more odious!" She paused, but as Worth showed no sign of wishing to avail himself of the opportunity of answering her, continued: "Nothing could be more unfortunate than such an entanglement! I wonder you can sit there so placidly while Charles goes the quickest way to work to ruin his life! She has nothing to recommend her. She has not even the advantages of fortune; she is wild to a fault; indulges every extravagant folly; and in general shows such a want of delicacy that it quite sinks my spirits to think of Charles forming such a connection!" She again paused, and as Worth remained silent, said: "Well? Can you find anything to admire in her, beyond a beautiful face and a well-turned ankle?"
"Certainly," he replied. "She has a great deal of natural quickness, and although her vivacity often betrays her into unbecoming behaviour, I believe she wants neither sense nor feeling."
"You will tell me next that you are pleased with the engagement!"
"On the contrary, I am sorry for it. But depend upon it, a man of thirty-five is capable of judging for himself what will best suit him."
"Oh, Julian, I know she will make him unhappy!"
"I think it extremely probable," he replied. "But as neither of us has the power to prevent such a contingency we should be extremely foolish to interfere in the matter."
She sighed, and picked up her embroidery. After a period of reflection, she said in a mollified tone: "I don't wish to be censorious, and I must say she is extremely kind to little Julian."
The entrance of the Colonel put an end to the conversation. He had been dining at the Duke's table, and seemed to be more concerned with the difficulties of the military situation than with Barbara's volatility. He sat down with a sigh of relief before the fire, and said: "Well! we depart (I need hardly say) at daybreak. It will be a relief to leave these Headquarters behind us. If his temper is to survive this campaign Old Hookey must have a respite from the letters they keep sending from the Horse Guards."
"Crusty, is he?" said Worth.
"Damned crusty. I don't blame him: I wouldn't be in his shoes for a thousand pounds. What is needed is good troops, and all we hear of is general officers. Added to that, the staff which has been employed here :s preposterous. One is for ever tumbling over deputy-assistants who are nothing more than subaltern officers, and no more fit for staff duty than your son would be. They are all being turned off, of course, but even so we shall have too many novices still left on the staff."
"If I know anything of the matter, you will have more - if Wellington pays any heed to the recommendations he will receive," remarked Worth.
"He don't, thank the lord! Though, between ourselves, some of those recommendations come from vcry exalted quarters." He stood up. "I am off to bed. Have you made up your mind whether you come along with us, or not, Worth?"
"Yes, as far as to Ghent. Where do you go from. there?"
"Oh, Tournay - Mons! All the fortifications. I shall be away for about a week, I suppose."
Both men had left the house when Judith came down to breakfast next morning. She sat down at the table. with only The British and Continental Herald to bear her company, and was engaged in perusing the columns of Births, Marriages, and Deaths, when the butler came in to announce the Lady Barbara Childe.
Judith looked up in surprise; she supposed Lade Barbara to be in the salon, but before she could speak - that tempestuous beauty had brushed past the butler into the room.
She was dressed in a walking costume, and carried a huge chinchilla muff. She looked pale, and her eyes seemed overbright to Judith. She glanced round the room, and said abruptly: "Charles! I want to see him!"
Judith rose, and came forward. "How do you do?" she said. "I am sorry, but my brother has already left for Ghent. I hope it is nothing urgent?"
Barbara exclaimed: "Oh, confound it! I wanted to see him! I overslept - it's those curst drops!"
Her petulance, the violence of the language she used, did nothing to advance her claims to Judith's kindness. "I am sorry. Pray will you not be seated?"
"Oh no! There's no use in my staying!" Barbara replied dejectedly. Her mouth drooped; her eyes were emptied of light; she stood swinging her muff, apparently lost in her own brooding thoughts. Suddenly she looked at Judith, and laughed. "Oh, heavens! what did I say? You are certainly offended!"
Judith at once disclaimed. Barbara said, with her air of disarming candour: "I am sorry! Only I did wish to see Charles before he left, and I am always cross when I don't get what I want."
"I hope it was not a matter of great importance."
"No. That is, I behaved odiously to him yesterday - oh, to you, too, but I don't care for that! Oh, the devil, now what have I said?"
She looked so rueful, yet had such an imp of mischief dancing behind her solemnity that Judith was obliged to laugh. "I wish you will sit down! Have you breakfasted?"
Barbara dropped into a chair. "No. I don't, you know." She sighed. "Life is using me very hardly today. You will say that is my own fault, but it is nevertheless monstrous that when I do mean to be good, to make amends, I must needs oversleep."
After a moment's hesitation, Judith said: "You refer, I recollect, to your picnic scheme?"
"Of course. I wanted to tell Charles I was only funning."
"You do not mean to go, then!"
"No."
"I am so glad! I was completely taken in, I confess."
"Oh no! I did mean to go - yesterday! But Gussie -" She broke off, grinding her teeth together.
"Your sister-in-law advised you against the scheme?"
"On the contrary!" said Barbara, with an angry little laugh.
"I don't think I quite understand?"
"I daresay you might not. She had the infernal impudence to approve of it. She will be a famous matchmaking mama for her daughters one of these days."
"Can you mean that she wishes you to marry the Comte de Lavisse?" gasped Judith.
"Most earnestly. Ah, you are astonished. You are not acquainted with my family."
"But your engagement to my brother! She could not wish to see that broken!"
"Why not?"
"A solemn promise - the scandal!"
Barbara burst out laughing. "Oh, you're enchanting when you're shocked! An outraged goddess, no less! But you must learn to know my family better. We don't care for scandal."
"Then why do you forgo your picnic?" demanded Judith.
"I don't know. To spite Gussie - to please Charles! Both, perhaps."
This answer was not encouraging. Judith was silent for a moment. She stole a glance at Barbara's face, and of impulse said: "Do you love him?" The words were no sooner uttered than regretted. Such a question was an impertinence; she was not on terms of sufficient intimacy with Barbara to allow of its having been asked.
Flushing, she awaited the snub she felt herself to have earned. But Barbara replied merely: "Yes."
"I should not have asked you," Judith apologised.
"It's of no consequence. I daresay you wish that Charles had never met me. I should, in your place. I'm horrid, you know. I told him so, but he wouldn't listen to me. I never loved anyone before, I think."
This remark accorded so ill with her reputation that Judith looked rather taken aback.
Barbara gave a gurgle of irrepressible amusement. "Are you recalling my flirtations? They don't signify, vou know. I flirt to amuse myself, but the truth is that I never fancied myself in love with anyone but Charles."
"I beg your pardon, but to fancy yourself in love could surely be the only justification for flirting!"
"Oh, stuffl" Barbara said. "Flirtation is delightful; being in love, quite disagreeable."
"I never found it so!"
"Truly?"
Judith considered for a moment. "No. At least - yes, I suppose sometimes it can be disagreeable. There is a certain pain - for foolish causes."
"Ah, you are not so stupid after all! I hate pain. Yes, and I hate to submit, as I am doing now, over this tiresome picnic!"
"That I understand perfectly!" Judith said. "But you do not submit to Charles; he made no such demand! Your submission is to your own judgment."
"Oh no! I don't go because Charles does not wish it. How tame! Don't talk of it! It makes me cross! I want _o go. I am bored to death!"
"Well, why should you not?" Judith said, as an idea presented itself to her. "A party of pleasure - there could be no objection! If you will accept of my company, I will go with you."
"Go with me?" said Barbara. "In Lavisse's place?"
"No such thing! You may ride with the Count; I shall drive with my sister, Lady Taverner. I am persuaded she would delight in the expedition. I daresay my brother will join us as well."
The green eyes looked blankly for a moment, then grew vivid with laughter. "Thus turning a tete-a-tete into the most sedate of family parties! Oh, I must do it, if only for the fun of seeing Etienne's dismay!"
"Would you not care for it?" said Judith, a little dashed.
"Of all things!" Barbara sprang up. "It's for tomorrow. We start early, and lunch at this Chateau Etienne talks of. It will be charming! Thank you a thousand times!"