“It’s a nice custom.”
“Cake and chocolate are brought for the children while the grownups drink wine and eat wine cakes. Then the children play the piano or the violin to show how they are getting on. Sometimes they have to recite.”
“Are you going to do this?”
“No, I shall have to say my catechism, though. My grandfather likes prayers better than the piano or the violin.”
I wondered how she felt about the visits to that strange house, and couldn’t resist asking: “You like going?”
She frowned and looked puzzled.
“I don’t know. I want to go, and then . when I’m there, sometimes I feel as though I can’t bear it any more. I want to run out… right away and never go there again. My mother used to talk of it so much that I sometimes feel I’ve lived there myself. I don’t know whether I want to go or not, miss.”
When we reached the house Maurice let us in and took us to the old man, who looked more feeble than when I had last seen him.
“You know what day it is. Grandfather?” asked Genevieve.
And when he did not answer, she put her lips to his ear and said: “New Year’s Day! So I’ve come to see you. Mademoiselle Lawson is here, too.”
He caught my name and nodded.
“Good of you to come. You will excuse my not rising.”
We sat down near him. Yes, he had changed. There was a complete lack of serenity in his eyes; they looked like those of a lost man who is trying hard to find his way through a jungle. I guessed what he was searching for was memory.
“Shall I ring the bell?” asked Genevieve.
“We are rather hungry. I should like my cakes and chocolate, and I’m sure Mademoiselle Lawson is thirsty.”
He did not answer so she rang the bell. Maurice appeared and she ordered what she wanted.
“Grandfather is not so well today,” she said to Maurice.
“He has his bad days. Mademoiselle Genevieve.”
“I don’t think he knows what today is.” Genevieve sighed and sat down.
“Grandfather,” she went on, ‘we had a treasure hunt on Christmas night at the chateau and Ma demoiselle Lawson won. “
“The only treasure is in Heaven,” he said.
“Oh, yes. Grandfather, but while you’re waiting for that it’s nice to find some on earth.”
He looked puzzled.
“You say your prayers?”
“Night and morning,” she answered.
“It is not enough. You, my child, must pray more earnestly than most.
You have need of help. You were born in sin. “
“Yes, Grandfather, I know we all are but I do say my prayers. Nounou makes me.”
“Ah, the good Nounou! Always be kind to Nounou; she is a good soul.”
“She wouldn’t let me forget my prayers, Grandfather.”
Maurice returned with wine, cakes and chocolate.
“Thank you, Maurice,” said Genevieve.
“I will serve them.
Grandfather,” she continued, ‘on Christmas Day Mademoiselle Lawson and I went to a party and they had a creche and a cake with a crown in it.
I wish you had had lots of sons and daughters, then their children would have been my cousins. They would all be here today and we could have had a cake with a crown in it. “
He didn’t follow what she was saying; and had turned his gaze on me. I tried to make some sort of conversation but I could only think of that cell-like room and the chest which contained the whip and hair shirt.
He was a fanatic-that much was obvious. But why had he become so?
And what sort of life had Francoise led here? Why had she died when he had had a stroke? Was it because she could not endure to live without him? Without this man this wide-eyed cadaverous fanatic in this gloomy house with its cell and chest. when she was married to the Comte and the chateau was her home!
Everyone may not think that such a glorious fate as you do. I checked my thoughts. What had made me think such a thing? A glorious fate . when one who had suffered it yes, suffered was the word had killed herself.
But why . why? What had started as idle curiosity was becoming a burning desire to know. Yet, I quickly told myself, there is nothing unusual in this. This passionate interest in the affairs of others was inherent. I had this curiosity to know how people’s minds worked just as I cared deeply why a painter had used such a subject, why he had portrayed it in such a way, what had been behind his interpretation, his use of colour and mood.
The old man could not take his eyes from me.
“I can’t see you very well,” he said.
“Could you come closer?”
I drew my chair close to him.
“It was wrong,” he whispered, ‘quite wrong. “
He was talking to himself and I glanced at Genevieve, who was busily selecting a piece of chocolate from the dish Maurice had brought.
“Francoise must not know,” he said.
I knew his mind was wandering then and that I had been right when I had thought he was not so well as when we had last seen him.
He peered at me.
“Yes, you do look well today. Quiet.”
“Thank you, I feel well.”
“It was a mistake…. It was my cross and I was not strong enough to carry it.”
I was silent, wondering whether we ought to call Maurice.
He did not take his eyes from my face, and drew himself back in his chair as though he were afraid of me; as he moved, the rug about him slipped and I caught it and wrapped it about him. He recoiled and shouted: “Go away. Leave me. You know my burden, Honorine.”
I said: “Call Maurice.” And Genevieve ran from the room.
The old man had gripped my wrist; I felt his nails in my skin.
“You are not to blame,” he said.
“The sin is mine. It is my burden. I carry it to my grave…. Why are you not… ? Why did I… ? Oh, the tragedy … Francoise … little Francoise. Go away. Keep away from me. Honorine, why do you tempt me?”
Maurice came hurrying into the room. He took the rug and wrapped it round the old man and said over his shoulder: “Slip outside. It would be better.”
So Genevieve and I went out of the room while Maurice took the crucifix which was hanging about the old man’s neck and put it into his hands.
“That was frightening,” I said.
“Were you frightened, miss?” asked Genevieve, almost pleased.
“He was wandering in his mind.”
“He often does. After all he’s very old.”
“We shouldn’t have come.”
“That’s what Papa says.”
“You mean he forbids it?”
“Not exactly, because he isn’t told when I’m coming. But if he knew, he would have.”
“Then …”
“Grandfather was my mother’s father. Papa doesn’t like him for that reason. After all he didn’t like my mother, did he?”
As we rode back to the chateau, I said to Genevieve:
“He thought I was someone else. Once or twice he called me Honorine.”
“She was my mother’s mother.”
“He seemed … afraid of her.”
Genevieve was thoughtful.
“It’s odd that my grandfather should be afraid of anyone.”
I couldn’t resist talking to Nounou about our visit to Carrefour.
She shook her head.
“Genevieve shouldn’t,” she said.
“It’s better not.”
“She wanted to go because of the New Year custom of visiting grandparents.”
“Customs are good in some families not in others.”
“They are not observed much in this family,” I suggested.
“Oh, customs are for the poor. They make something to live for.”
“I think rich and poor enjoy them. But I wish we hadn’t gone.
Genevieve’s grandfather was wandering in his mind and it was not pleasant. “
“Mademoiselle Genevieve should wait until he sends for her. She shouldn’t pay these surprise calls.”