IV
In those long days spent in her room, Olivia had come slowly to be aware of the presence of the newcomer at Brook Cottage. It had begun on the night of JackвАЩs death with the sound of his music drifting across the marshes, and after the funeral Sabine had talked of him to Olivia with an enthusiasm curiously foreign to her. Once or twice she had caught a glimpse of him crossing the meadows toward OвАЩHaraвАЩs shining chimneys or going down the road that led through the marshes to the seaвБ†вАФa tall, red-haired young man who walked with a slight limp. Sybil, she found, was strangely silent about him, but when she questioned the girl about her plans for the day she found, more often than not, that they had to do with him. When she spoke of him, Sybil had a way of blushing and saying, вАЬHeвАЩs very nice, Mother. IвАЩll bring him over when you want to see people.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I used to know him in Paris.вАЭ
And Olivia, wisely, did not press her questions. Besides, Sabine had told her almost all there was to knowвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ perhaps more than Sybil herself knew.
Sabine said, вАЬHe belongs to a rather remarkable familyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ wilful, reckless and full of spirit. His mother is probably the most remarkable of them all. SheвАЩs a charming woman who has lived luxuriously in Paris most of her lifeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not one of the American colony. She doesnвАЩt ape anyone and sheвАЩs incapable of pretense of any sort. SheвАЩs lived, rather alone, over there on moneyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ quite a lot of moneyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ which seems to come out of steel-mills in some dirty town of the Middle West. SheвАЩs one of my great friendsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a woman of no intellect, but very beautiful and blessed with a devastating charm. She is one of the women who was born for men.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ SheвАЩs irresistible to them, and I imagine there have been men in her life always. She was made for men, but her taste is perfect, so her morals donвАЩt matter.вАЭ
The womanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ indeed all Jean de CyonвАЩs familyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ seemed to fascinate Sabine as she sat having tea with Olivia, for she went on and on, talking far more than usual, describing the house of JeanвАЩs mother, her friends, the people whom one met at her dinners, all there was to tell about her.
вАЬSheвАЩs the sort of woman who has existed since the beginning of time. ThereвАЩs some mystery about her early life. It has something to do with JeanвАЩs father. I donвАЩt think she was happy with him. HeвАЩs never mentioned. Of course, sheвАЩs married again now to a FrenchmanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ much older than herselfвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a man, very distinguished, who has been in three cabinets. ThatвАЩs where the boy gets his French name. The old man has adopted him and treats him like his own son. De Cyon is a good name in France, one of the best; but of course Jean hasnвАЩt any French blood. HeвАЩs pure American, but heвАЩs never seen his own country until now.вАЭ
Sabine finished her tea and putting her cup back on the Regence table (which had come from OliviaвАЩs mother and so found its graceful way into a house filled with stiff early American things), she added, вАЬItвАЩs a remarkable familyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ wild and restless. Jean had an aunt who died in the Carmelite convent at Lisieux, and his cousin is Lilli BarrвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a really great musician.вАЭ She looked out of the window and after a moment said in a low voice, вАЬLilli Barr is the woman whom my husband marriedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but she divorced him, too, and now we are friendsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ she and I.вАЭ The familiar hard, metallic laugh returned and she added, вАЬI imagine our experience with him made us sympathetic.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You see, I know the family very well. ItвАЩs the sort of blood which produces people with a genius for lifeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for living in the moment.вАЭ
She did not say that Jean and his mother and the ruthless cousin Lilli Barr fascinated her because they stood in a way for the freedom toward which she had been struggling through all the years since she escaped from Durham. They were free in a way from countries, from towns, from laws, from prejudices, even in a way from nationality. She had hoped once that Jean might interest himself in her own sullen, independent, clever Th√©r√®se, but in her knowledge of the world she had long ago abandoned that hope, knowing that a boy so violent and romantic, so influenced by an upbringing among Frenchmen, a youth so completely masculine, was certain to seek a girl more soft and gentle and feminine than Th√©r√®se. She knew it was inevitable that he should fall in love with a girl like Sybil, and in a way she was content because it fell in admirably with her own indolent plans. The Pentlands were certain to look upon Jean de Cyon as a sort of gipsy, and when they knew the whole truth.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
The speculation fascinated her. The summer in Durham, even with the shadow of JackвАЩs death flung across it, was not proving as dreadful as she had feared; and this new development interested her as something she had never before observedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ an idyllic love affair between two young people who each seemed to her a perfect, charming creature.