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Jeanne of the Marshes By: Edward Phillips Oppenheim (1866-1946) |
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BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM AUTHOR OF "A MAKER OF HISTORY," "THE MISSIONER," "THE GOVERNORS," ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY J. V. McFALL AND C. E. BROCK
BOOK I CHAPTER I
The Princess opened her eyes at the sound of her maid's approach. She
turned her head impatiently toward the door. "Annette," she said coldly, "did you misunderstand me? Did I not say
that I was on no account to be disturbed this afternoon?" Annette was the picture of despair. Eyebrows and hands betrayed alike
both her agitation of mind and her nationality. "Madame," she said, "did I not say so to monsieur? I begged him to call
again. I told him that madame was lying down with a bad headache, and
that it was as much as my place was worth to disturb her. What did he
answer? Only this. That it would be as much as my place was worth if I
did not come up and tell you that he was here to see you on a very
urgent matter. Indeed, madame, he was very, very impatient with me." "Of whom are you talking?" the Princess asked. "But of Major Forrest, madame," Annette declared. "It is he who waits
below." The Princess closed her eyes for a moment and then slowly opened them.
She stretched out her hand, and from a table by her side took up a
small gilt mirror. "Turn on the lights, Annette," she commanded. The maid illuminated the darkened room. The Princess gazed at herself
in the mirror, and reaching out again took a small powder puff from its
case and gently dabbed her face. Then she laid both mirror and
powder puff back in their places. "You will tell monsieur," she said, "that I am very unwell indeed, but
that since he is here and his business is urgent I will see him. Turn
out the lights, Annette. I am not fit to be seen. And move my couch a
little, so." "Madame is only a little pale," the maid said reassuringly. "That makes
nothing. These Englishwomen have all too much colour. I go to tell
monsieur." She disappeared, and the Princess lay still upon her couch, thinking.
Soon she heard steps outside, and with a little sigh she turned her
head toward the door. The man who entered was tall, and of the ordinary
type of well born Englishmen. He was carefully dressed, and his
somewhat scanty hair was arranged to the best advantage. His features
were hard and lifeless. His eyes were just a shade too close together.
The maid ushered him in and withdrew at once. "Come and sit by my side, Nigel, if you want to talk to me," the
Princess said. "Walk softly, please. I really have a headache." "No wonder, in this close room," the man muttered, a little
ungraciously. "It smells as though you had been burning incense here." "It suits me," the Princess answered calmly, "and it happens to be my
room. Bring that chair up here and say what you have to say." The man obeyed in silence. When he had made himself quite comfortable,
he raised her hand, the one which was nearest to him, to his lips, and
afterwards retained it in his own. "Forgive me if I seem unsympathetic, Ena," he said. "The fact is,
everything has been getting on my nerves for the last few days, and my
luck seems dead out." She looked at him curiously. She was past middle age, and her face
showed signs of the wear and tear of life. But she still had fine eyes,
and the rejuvenating arts of Bond Street had done their best for her. "What is the matter, Nigel?" she asked. "Have the cards been going
against you?" He frowned and hesitated for a moment before replying. "Ena," he said, "between us two there is an ancient bargain, and that
is that we should tell the truth to one another. I will tell you what
it is that is worrying me most. I have suspected it for some time, but
this afternoon it was absolutely obvious. There is a sort of feeling at
the club. I can't exactly describe it, but I am conscious of it
directly I come into the room. For several days I have scarcely been
able to get a rubber. This afternoon, when I cut in with Harewood and
Mildmay and another fellow, two of them made some sort of an excuse and
went off... Continue reading book >>
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Genres for this book |
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Fiction |
Literature |
Mystery |
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