Chapter XXXI: Conclusion

It was summer again in the beautiful Forêt de Grammont when a gleaming, re-painted Bentley car drew up at the lodge of the château, and drew old Pierre from his after-_déjeuner_ siesta. He rubbed his eyes as he beheld the ringer of the bell.

“Hullo, Pierre. _Il fait beau temps!_”

“Monsieur Wallace! And mademoiselle!”

Yolande came from behind, and shook Pierre’s large, flabby hand with a smile on her beautiful face.

“Not mademoiselle any longer--Madame Wallace!”

“_Hélas!_ And you have come to see the old home?”

“Of course we have. I hope the Government is treating you well, Pierre, since they took the château off my hands.”

“Excellently. I am to have a pension in ten years. We have lots of visitors--English, Americans, all sorts. I show them the rooms where the Monster walked, and some are generous--some are not. But the tunnel has been bricked up.”

“Perhaps that is as well.”

“Mademoiselle--pardon--madame would like the key?”

“Yes.”

“And shall I----”

“No. Finish your sleep, Pierre. We should be able to find our way about.”

She and her husband of three months’ standing walked arm in arm towards the well-remembered entrance. Nothing was changed, and Wallace found himself reviving every little incident that had taken place there a year before.

“Look, that is where I first saw the Monster, Yolande,” he said, pointing to the ivy-clad tower.

“What wonderful things have happened since then!”

“Yes. Do you regret them?”

“No. It was a wrench giving up the château to a Government department, but, after all, it is a thing that should be enjoyed by the many and not reserved to the few.”

They entered the château and wandered through the rooms, which were excellently kept. There was a visitors’ book in the hall, containing many names, from all parts of the world.

“Why, look at that!” exclaimed Wallace suddenly.

It was the signature of Baroness von Kauffman, in the firm handwriting of Bertha, and dated but a few days before.

“So she has been lured back--like us.”

“A fine woman.”

“Yes. I always liked her. I often wonder whether she was not just a little bit in love with Conrad.”

Wallace laughed mysteriously.

“What is the matter?”

“Shall I tell you a secret?”

“If you can trust me.”

“Well, Connie is spending his holiday at Baden-Baden next month.”

“I don’t see----”

“The Baroness lives there.”

“Ralph--you don’t mean----”

“I know nothing much. But I happen to have seen various envelopes bearing the Baden-Baden postmark, and Connie seems to treat the rest of the correspondence as negligible when those letters arrive.”

“Oh, I hope something----”

“Yolande! You wish to see the confirmed bachelor beaten and done for?”

“Why not? He needs someone to look after him. Someone with a will, like Bertha has, to compel him to buy warmer vests when the winter comes.”

He laughed in his complete happiness, and they ultimately left the château and entered the garden. It was here that Yolande found her childhood again. All the bright, sweet friends of her youth were still there, even to the pair of robins, now growing old.

“If you hadn’t already given me a beautiful garden, Ralph, I should sit down and cry,” she said. “Many times I have sat here as a girl and wondered whether there was anyone who would come out of the big, busy world and--and take me-- Then came terror and heartache, and, when everything seemed smashed in ruin, the miracle happened. But I’ve had enough happiness in six months to make up for all the horror of the past.”

He caught her hand and kissed her, while she pinned a fresh young rose to his coat.

“And there is another thing you have to remember,” she said. “When you retire from business--which is, of course, only another name for playing about with turbines--we are coming to France to enjoy our second childhood.”

“That is a promise.”

“_La belle France!_”

“You are incurably French. I’ve given you an English name, an English house, English everything, and you still remain as completely French as if you had never left Grammont.”

“_La, la!_ And I have given you French coffee, French vermouth, French caresses, and you are just as English as when I met you in the Forêt de Grammont. But I shall convert you yet.”

“No, you won’t. And I shan’t convert you. Besides, I don’t want to. I’m satisfied.”

“So am I.”

“Then what are we quarrelling about?”

“Just nothing.”

They laughed together--ringing laughter that went echoing all over the garden. It was in strange contrast to the gloom that had once pervaded that place, and it was proof enough that Yolande had climbed out of the pit of horror where he had first found her. But when she visited her father’s grave the vivacious eyes became wet with tears.

“I can’t help it,” she said. “It was a terrible end.”

“It makes no difference to death. It is rest and peace.”

“And the château is preserved for ever. He would be glad to know that. Look, the roses that I planted are blooming--the sort he loved most.”

They went back via the terrace, and lingered there for a few moments to enjoy the scene which it commanded. The furniture had been removed, but on one of the stone slabs there was something scratched. Wallace went to look at it, but she held him back.

“Don’t. I’m ashamed.”

“What do you mean?”

He craned his neck forward, and saw his name in small letters, faintly engraved.

“So that’s the secret!”

“I did it a week after you came here. Isn’t it shameful?”

“That’s nothing,” he replied. “I carved yours on an old tree in the garden on the second day. Can you beat that?”

“Yes,” she retorted. “I can. I knew all about it on the following night, for you had the next room to mine, and you talk in your sleep--not only talk, but shout.”

“Yolande! Well!”

“Now come,” she begged. “I want to be moving--south. I want to smell the sea--the real blue, sunlit southern sea. Get me there as quickly as you can.”

They bade farewell to old Pierre, and left him blinking his eyes at a thousand-franc note--the first he had ever seen. Through the tree-lined roads of France the Bentley slipped, bringing nearer the magic Côte d’Azur, with all its beauty. The road was good, the sun was high, and the driver crazy with happiness. Yolande suddenly had an inspiration, and put her head close to him.

“Ralph!”

“Eh?”

“If there’s anything in pre-natal influence, I should say that Clementina Esmeralda Ralph Augustus Wallace will most certainly be a racing motorist. Can you beat that?”

He gasped for a moment, and then nodded.

“I can.”

“Ralph!”

“I knew it.”

“But I haven’t said a word----”

“No, but you talk in your sleep.”

She sat pretending to be peeved, but his left hand moved across and gripped hers firmly. With a sigh of inexpressible happiness she raised it to her lips.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. debris/débris, finger nails/finger-nails, etc.) have been preserved.

Alterations to the text:

Add chapter numbering.

Punctuation: fix a few quotation mark pairings.

[Chapter IV]

Change (“If this _strang_ thing is to be brought to bay) to _strange_.

[Chapter VIII]

(letter signature) change _Neils_ to _Niels_.

[Chapter IX]

“If I could help you I would, but I am _pledegd_ to secrecy” to _pledged_.

[Chapter XI]

“She would have offered you a rose if I hadn’t been _persent_” to _present_.

“never failed to tingle whenever Bertha _loomd_ in sight” to _loomed_.

[Chapter XII]

“I’d have no difficulty in convicting _Hienrich_ and Niels” to _Heinrich_.

“the people at _Arveys_ have been busy in that direction” to _Arveyes_.

[Chapter XIII]

(“But _Mademoisele_ Fallières!” ejaculated Bertha) to _Mademoiselle_.

[Chapter XXI]

“was not the type of man to take any _unnecassary_ risk” to _unnecessary_.

[Chapter XXIII]

(“Do you know a village _callet_ Basset?”) to _called_.

“_The_ reached the kitchen and heard Walther dealing” to _They_.

[Chapter XXV]

(“Why was _Fallière’s_ body found here--and Severin’s?” to _Fallières’s_.

[Chapter XXIX]

“The warning cry came from _Hienrich_, and Niels” to _Heinrich_.

[Chapter XXX]

“All the while he was _appoaching_ closer” to _approaching_.

[End of text]