The Black Swan

Madame Carleon was very attractive. She had abundant blond hair which was beautifully dressed and she wore a riding habit of light navy which accentuated her fairness; her eyes were deep blue and she had a short nose and a rather long upper lip; this gave her a kittenish look, which was appealing. She was animated in conversation, now and then breaking into French, but making a great effort to speak our language. She asked me how I liked the chateau.

“It’s a wonderful place,” she said. “I know it well. And you are a friend of Mademoiselle Bourdon... the new daughter, I believe.”

“Yes. We were brought up together... until we were about ten years old. Then Belinda went to Australia and she has been back only a short time.”

“Very interessante. And she is a very attractive girl, this Miss Belinda.”

“Oh yes. She has become engaged ...”

“Here?”

“Well. He was not exactly a friend of Monsieur Bourdon. He is English and was visiting friends here. They brought him along to dine... and it was love at first sight.”

“But that is charming,” said Madame Carleon.

“And there is family approval on both sides?” asked Roland.

“Well, certainly on this side. I think Sir Robert does not have much family.”

“How very exciting,” put in Phillida.

And we went on to talk about the various places of interest in the neighborhood. Madame Carleon lived in Bordeaux and had already taught the Fitzgeralds a great deal about the town.

“I was always interested in Bordeaux,” said Roland, “because it belonged to England once. It came to us with the marriage of Eleanor of Aquitaine to Henry II, and Richard II was born there.”

“So we became enormously interested in the history of the place,” went on Phillida. “We really have had a wonderful time in France. Roland and I were wondering whether we would go along the old pilgrims’ way to St. Jacques de la Compostela.”

“A very daunting journey, I’m afraid,” said Roland. “It takes you right through the Medoc to the Dordogne valley.”

Madame Carleon lifted her shoulders and spread out her hands. “Oh, but you are the adventurous ones.”

“Perhaps we’ll do it one day,” said Roland.

And so we talked until tea was served.

“Angelique does not approve,” said Phillida. “But she humors our English custom of afternoon tea.”

“I think it is a very charming custom,” said Madame Carleon. I found it interesting but I had wanted to talk to the Fitzgeralds about the journey home, and I felt I could not speak of this in the presence of Madame Carleon. I thought, I will come here tomorrow perhaps for I must get away soon. When we were leaving, Madame Carleon said, “I will go part of the way with you. There is someone I have to see before going home and it is on my way.” We left together and before we had gone very far it occurred to me that our meeting had been contrived for almost immediately she began to talk of Jean Pascal. She said, “I hope you are comfortable at the chateau.”

“But... yes.”

“I hope you will not be angry with me ... for what I say.”

“Angry? Why should I be?”

“It could seem perhaps... how do you say in English? ... a little impertinent.

Is that the right word?”

“I can’t tell you that until I hear what it is you are going to say.”

“I must tell you that I know Jean Pascal very well indeed.”

“Oh?”

“Yes ... as well as two people can know each other. You understand?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“He is a man not to trust... particulierement a young girl.”

“I understand what you mean.”

“He can be ... dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“I feel I must tell you... must warn.... Is that what I mean?”

“I believe it is.”

“There have been so many. This girl, your Belinda, she is not the only child ... there are many of them in the country here. He thinks because he owns the chateau he has the right....”

“Le droit de seigneur, you mean?”

“Exactement.”

“I understand fully what you are trying to tell me. I have guessed something of this.”

“He and I ... we were lovers ... for a long time. My husband ... oh, I am a wicked woman ... I deceive him. I did not mean to. I love him ... in a way... but I was fascinated... you understand?”

“Yes.”

“My husband ... he find us. It break his heart. He die soon. He was very sick. I think we kill him. And Jean Pascal ... he does not care. He snap his fingers. He has promised marriage... but no. Not now. He is tired of me. He look round for new people.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“To warn.”

“I don’t need warning.”

“You are so young... and believe me, Mademoiselle Lansdon... youth is very attractive to one so ... jaded? ... is it?”

“Yes,” I assured her. “Jaded. I know all this and I am not in the least tempted.”

“Then I am happy for you. I need not have spoke.”

“I appreciate it very much. It was kind of you... but, because of my feelings, quite unnecessary.”

“Then I am glad. He would be no good. He makes no woman happy. Oh, he is very charming ... in the beginning... but after ...”

“It was good of you to want to warn me.”

“I see you so young ... so fresh ... so innocent.”