The Mission of Mr. Eustace Greyne | Page 9

change of air, of scene."
"He suggested Algiers----"

"Mon Dieu! It is like poor mamma!"
"Precisely. Our constitutions are--are doubtless similar. I shall take this
opportunity also of improving my knowledge of African manners
and--and customs."
A strange smile seemed to dawn for a second on Mademoiselle
Verbena's face, but it died instantaneously in a grimace of pain.
"My teeth make me bad," she said. "Ah, monsieur, I must go below, to
pray for poor mamma--" she paused, then softly added, "and for
monsieur."
She made a movement as if to depart, but Mr. Greyne begged her to
remain. In his loneliness the sight even of a Levantine whom he knew
solaced his yearning heart. He felt quite friendly towards this poor,
unhappy girl, for whom, perhaps, such a shock was preparing upon the
distant shore.
"Better stay!" he said. "The air will do you good."
"Ah, if I die, what matter? Unless mamma lives there is no one in the
world who cares for me, for whom I care."
"There--there is Mrs. Greyne," said her husband. "And then St.
Paul's--remember St. Paul's."
"Ah ce charmant St. Paul's! Shall I ever see him more?"
She looked at Mr. Greyne, and suddenly--he knew not why--Mr.
Greyne remembered the incident of the diary, and blushed.
"Monsieur has fever!"
Mr. Greyne shook his head. The Levantine eyed him curiously.
"Monsieur wishes to say something to me, and does not like to speak."
Mr. Greyne made an effort. Now that he was with this gentle lady, with

her white face, her weeping eyes, her plain black dress, the mere
suspicion that she could have opened a locked drawer with a secret key,
and filched therefrom a private record, seemed to him unpardonable.
Yet, for a brief instant, it had occurred to him, and Mrs. Greyne had
seriously held it. He looked at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a sudden
impulse to tell her the truth overcame him.
"Yes," he said.
"Tell me, monsieur."
In broken words--the ship was still very busy--Mr. Greyne related the
incident of the loss and finding of the diary. As he spoke a slight
change stole over the Levantine's face. It certainly became less pale.
"But you have fever now!" cried Mr. Greyne anxiously.
"I! No; I flush with horror, not with fever! The diary, the sacred diary
of madame, exposed to view, read by the children, perhaps the servants!
That footman, Thomas, with the nose of curiosity! Ah! I behold that
nose penetrating into the holy secrets of the existence of madame! I
behold it--ah!"
She burst into a fit of hysterics, the laughing species, which is so much
more terrible than the other sort. Mr. Greyne was greatly concerned. He
lurched to her, and implored her to be calm; but she only laughed the
more, while tears streamed down her cheeks. The vision of Thomas
gloating over Mrs. Greyne's diary seemed utterly to unnerve her, and
Mr. Greyne was able to measure, by this ebullition of horror, the depth
of the respect and affection entertained by her for his beloved wife.
When, at length, she grew calmer he escorted her towards her cabin,
offering her his arm, on which she leaned heavily. As soon as they were
in the narrow and heaving passage she turned to him, and said:
"Who can have taken the diary?"
Mr. Greyne blushed again.

"We think it was Thomas," he said.
Mademoiselle Verbena looked at him steadily for a moment, then she
cried:
"God bless you, monsieur!"
Mr. Greyne was startled by the abruptness of this pious ejaculation.
"Why?" he inquired.
"You are a good man. You, at least, would not condescend to insult a
friendless woman by unworthy suspicions. And madame?"
"Mrs. Greyne"--stammered Mr. Greyne--"is convinced that it was
Thomas. In fact--in fact, she was the first to say so."
Mademoiselle Verbena tenderly pressed his hand.
"Madame is an angel. God bless you both!"
She tottered into her cabin, and, as she shut the door, Mr. Greyne heard
the terrible, laughing hysterics beginning again.
The next day an influence from Africa seemed spread upon the sea.
Calm were the waters, calm and blue. No cloud appeared in the sky.
The fierce activities of the ship had ceased, and Mademoiselle Verbena
tripped upon the deck at an early hour, to find Mr. Greyne already
installed there, and looking positively cheerful. He started up as he
perceived her, and chivalrously escorted her to a chair.
Everyone who has made a voyage knows that the sea breeds intimacies.
By the time the white houses of Algiers rose on their hill out of the
bosom of the waves Mademoiselle Verbena and Mr. Greyne
were--shall we say like sister and brother? She had told him all about
her childhood in dear Paris, the death of her father the count,
murmuring the name