<h2><span>CHAPTER XVII.</span> <span class="smaller">IF IT MUST BE IT MUST.</span></h2>
<p>When one is young and when one is happy time goes fast; nay, more, time
goes like lightning. There is the beautiful joy of existence, there is
the exquisite feeling of love. There is the happiness in which each
hour is occupied, fully, entirely, completely, for the use of others.
Such was the case with little Margot St. Juste. She played with the
sunshiny passing hours, she sat on The Desmond's knee and brought back
such superb and astounding accounts of her rides on Starlight that
something stirred in the old man's breast and he felt that he himself
must, forsooth, go a-riding with this fascinating little colleen.</p>
<p>Accordingly the <i>King of the Desmonds</i> was brought out and Malachi rode
at one side of little Margot and The Desmond himself at the other. The
old horse knew quite well who was on his back and in some remarkable
measure got back some of his lost youth, and noble were the exercises
which the three riders took over hills and dales, across country,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</SPAN></span> over
different stiles and various impediments, and each day The Desmond felt
younger and laughed and talked more cheerily.</p>
<p>The pushkeen had not only brought him back joy, but she had brought him
back his lost youth. Ah, but those were happy days and neither child
nor old man thought of the inevitable return to Arles which was coming
nearer, like a black cloud, day by day.</p>
<p>When Raynes returned to his large and vulgar house on Clapham Common,
he spoke to his daughter in a way which she was never likely to forget.
He was, in short, furiously angry. He told her she was a bad, bad girl
and that the High School at Clapham was far too good for her. Tilly
had always known that the said High School was good, in fact, a great
deal too good, but she wanted, if possible, to punish Margot. Although
it was now finally settled that she was not to return to the school
of la Princesse de Fleury, she could, nevertheless, work mischief,
as far as Margot was concerned. She knew the exact date on which the
little shopkeeper would return to Arles, when she would be petted by
her doting and ignorant grandfather and when morning after morning
she would enter the great <i>établissement</i> and sell chapeaux and robes
innumerable to the <i>élite</i> of Arles, the <i>élite</i> of England, the
<i>élite</i> of America. Oh, yes, she had a friend who would help<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</SPAN></span> her. She
would write to this friend. The friend's name was Louise Grognan.</p>
<p>Louise Grognan was a considerable character on her own account, was
liked at the school of la Princesse, and was always very friendly with
Tilly. Tilly wrote to her now as follows:</p>
<p>"Oh, Louise," she began, "I am not coming back any more to your
beautiful school. I regret this for many reasons, but my French by the
ignorant people here is considered perfect and I am in consequence to
be taught the tongue of England in all its branches. Think not that
I will forget you, Louise, and sometime, perhaps, your good <i>père</i>
will allow you to come to visit me in my father's grand house. It is
rich and very grand and nobly furnished. Your père Grognan can make
the <i>filet de sole</i>, the <i>sauce Hollandaise</i>, the <i>entrée bouche
à la reine</i>, but my father—ah, wait until you behold him, sweet
Louise! Now then, to business. You know that little Comtesse who sells
chapeaux of all sorts and descriptions and robes of all sorts and
makes, at the <i>établissement</i> of Madame Marcelle. We call her here the
little shopkeeper and she likes it not. I went to stay with her at
Desmondstown, a ramshackle old place, where they played a very cruel
trick on me, and when I told them that <i>la petite</i> Comtesse was only
a little shopkeeper, they would<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</SPAN></span> not believe me. Now, I want you to
help me, and if you do, and do the thing well, I will invite you to
my gorgeous home in Angleterre next summer or perhaps even at Easter.
We live close to the greatest city in the world, Londres, so big, so
mighty, so powerful. It is not as graceful as Paris, but it will ravish
your eyes and I will take you there day by day and you will have a
glorious time. But what I want you to do now is this. The grandpère of
the little Comtesse, M. le Comte St. Juste, does not know at all that
his granddaughter helps at a shop. He is a very old and feeble man and
he ought to be enlightened. Now, I put this into your hands, my best
beloved Louise, to tell him the truth. You must call at the Château St.
Juste and ask to see him. Go, I beseech of you, when the weather is
cold and the bees do not hum so much and do not trouble themselves to
sting. If you convey the news, thoroughly and perfectly, to the ears of
the old, old man, I have in my possession forty francs, no less, which
I will send you, and afterwards you shall come to see me for long weeks
at Clapham Common, which is thought the <i>most</i> aristocratic part of all
London. Now listen to me, Louise, and as you listen, Louise Grognan,
obey! I will promise to you a glorious time and although the food is
English, not French, it is of the best and the daintiest." </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>This letter was addressed to Mlle. Louise Grognan at her father's
large restaurant and Tilda received an answer in due course. Louise
could be sure of nothing, but she would do her best. As it happened,
she owed forty francs to Madame Marcelle and she knew that her father,
whose restaurant was so famous, would be furious if he knew that she
had gone into debt. She did not really care for Matilda Raynes, nor
was she very keen to go to Clapham Common, nor to see the cold wonders
of London. She preferred <i>la belle</i> France—with its lovely Arles and
its gay Paris. She did not care for pictures nor monuments nor ancient
cathedrals. She liked dress better than anything else in the world. If
she paid off her forty francs she might run up a further little bill at
the <i>établissement</i> of Madame Marcelle.</p>
<p>Then it occurred to her as she replied to her friend, or rather her
so-called friend, that she might raise the price for this rather nasty
little job. Accordingly, she said that she would do what Matilda
Raynes desired for sixty francs but not a penny under. Tilly, wild
with delight, felt certain that she could secure this really small sum
of money, and while Margot rode with all the happiness of her joyous
little heart on Starlight and The Desmond rode by her side on the <i>King
of the Desmonds</i> and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</SPAN></span> Malachi rode a horse which he called <i>The Pet
Lamb</i> on the other side, these miserable things were being arranged for
the future unhappiness of the little Comtesse.</p>
<p>The day and the hour arrived. There came an afternoon when, true to his
word, Uncle Jacko, beloved Uncle Jacko, appeared on the scene. Margot
clasped her arms round his neck, kissed him several times and said,
"Has it indeed come?"</p>
<p>Uncle Jacko replied with that saint-like look on his beautiful face,
"It is the will of the Almighty."</p>
<p>Fergus suddenly appeared and said to Margot, "Keep silence for a time,
my child; go and nestle into the arms of your grandfather."</p>
<p>Little Margot went very softly and sadly away. Uncle Jacko and Uncle
Fergus went out into the yard. They found a lonely spot and began to
talk very earnestly together.</p>
<p>"Yes, I've known all about it from the first," said Fergus Desmond.
"It was not our pushkeen's fault. The Comte St. Juste married beneath
him and behold the result, but it must come to an end. When you start
to-morrow morning for Arles with little Margot, I will go with you,
Jack Mansfield, for I have a word to say to Madame la Comtesse. It is
she who is doing the mischief. She is using our<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</SPAN></span> little one, our dear
little one, for her own worldly purposes."</p>
<p>"I have known it also all along," said Uncle Jacko, "but if we can keep
the fact from the two old grandfathers, surely no harm can be done."</p>
<p>"I don't wish it," said Fergus. "I, too, have my pride. Some day,
I hope a far distant day, she will be the niece of <i>The</i> Desmond.
Understand, I choose not to have a shopkeeper as a niece."</p>
<p>"Ah, but that matters so very, very little," said Uncle Jacko.</p>
<p>Fergus gave him a queer smile of non-comprehension.</p>
<p>"I have made up my mind and I go with you," he said after a long pause,
and thus it was arranged.</p>
<p>Early the next morning the pushkeen appeared in her grandfather's room,
where he was seated in his high grandfather's chair by a huge fire of
turf.</p>
<p>"See, see, grand-dad!" said Margot. "See, behold, listen!" She looked
wildly excited and wildly pleased. She was keeping back the sorrow that
was breaking her very heart.</p>
<p>"See, my own, own, <i>own</i> grandfather," she said, seizing his fingers.
"First, finger one; next, finger two; third, finger three—I go away
for three of these fingers. I come back at the end of that time to my
own darlingest grand-dad. I go at once, at once!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</SPAN></span> Oh, grand-dad, kiss
me, love me, love me! Oh, grand-dad, I love you too much to cry. Kiss
me, my best of all grand-dads, kiss me at once."</p>
<p>The poor astonished Desmond took the child of his heart into his strong
arms. He pressed her close to his heart, he solemnly counted out the
months.</p>
<p>"You will come back," he said.</p>
<p>"I will come back, my own, own grand-dad."</p>
<p>"Three months," he said. "You came to me on the 6th of September,
you will return on the 6th of March. Ah, but surely it is less than
nothing. I do not grieve, The Desmond never grieves. It would be
contrary to his high dignity."</p>
<p>Then he kissed Margot, although his lips trembled and she ran out into
the great hall, so bare, so empty, so desolate, where all the family,
including Malachi and Madam, were assembled.</p>
<p>"Don't make a fuss," said the pushkeen. "If you do, perhaps a tear
might force itself out and I'm like The Desmond, I <i>don't</i> cry. Now
then, Malachi, go straight in and talk to grand-dad. Make him laugh
about the horses and keep Starlight quite safe for me and—and darling
grandmother, Madam, do your lovely crochet in the corner where you
always sit and talk about pushkeen and say that I'm so happy and say
that I'm coming back again in a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</SPAN></span> twink. Now don't kiss me and sob over
me, anyone, for I belong to The Desmond and he <i>never</i> cries."</p>
<p>All the party assembled in the hall were a little astonished at the
pushkeen's manner, but they let her go without a word, and Malachi went
into the special room provided for The Desmond.</p>
<p>The old man was cowering over the great turf fire and shivering not a
little. His face was very white. He seemed to show his years. Madam did
not dare to speak to him, but crept to her accustomed corner. Malachi
came close and spoke in a determined voice.</p>
<p>"Sir, I've been thinking it out."</p>
<p>"I'm in no mood for your thinking," said The Desmond.</p>
<p>"But, listen, father, it is very important," said Malachi. "It's about
her little self, the pushkeen that's gone."</p>
<p>"Don't talk of her or I'll let out on ye," said The Desmond. "I keep my
shillelagh within reach. I'm old, but I can let the shillelagh fly."</p>
<p>"Ye wouldn't let it fly on your son," replied the young man. "I'm
thinking that you and me will be very busy the next three months
getting ready for her little self."</p>
<p>"Getting ready, how and what do ye mean?"</p>
<p>"I thought we might begin to rear a stud of horses for her and sell 'em
and put away the money<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</SPAN></span> so as to have a bit of a pile ready for her
worthy of her name, and of your name, and when the pile is big enough,
she can take your name Desmond, not the whole of it of course because
that goes to Fergus, but she can be the little pushkeen Desmond. Only
we must set to work at once, you and me, father, a secret all to
ourselves."</p>
<p>The old man raised his very bright blue eyes.</p>
<p>"Malachi," he said. "I never heard ye speak a word of sense before, but
there's sense in what ye are talking about now. We must prepare for
the little one's future, and ye are wonderful with the young beasts,
Malachi. We'll go out to the stables at once and talk it over."</p>
<p>"Yes, father, to be sure," said Malachi.</p>
<p>Meanwhile the other old grandfather, <i>mon</i> grandpère, was waiting in
raptures for the return of <i>la petite</i> Comtesse. He spoke about her
every moment to <i>la</i> Comtesse, <i>la belle</i> grand'mère. He was feeling
very feeble and weak but the thought of his Henri's child returning
to him brought him peace and strength. Meanwhile, during the journey,
Fergus acquainted Uncle Jacko with what he meant to do. The shop must
be put a stop to. They could provide for the little one themselves. She
must not earn money in the shop. Little Margot pretended not to listen,
but in reality she listened very hard. </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>As they approached the town of Arles, they found that they were in an
empty compartment. All the other passengers had got out at different
stations. Then little Margot turned and spoke. She went straight up to
Uncle Fergus and put her hand on his knee.</p>
<p>"That time when you thought I was asleep, I was not asleep. I had my
eyes shut, but my ears were open and I heard."</p>
<p>"Well, what did you hear, pushkeen?" said Fergus, speaking as calmly as
he could.</p>
<p>"I heard you say to Uncle Jacko that I was not to help <i>ma belle</i>
grand'mère any more in the <i>établissement</i>. But how do you think she
will get on without me? Has she not to take care of <i>mon bon</i> grandpère
and is she not providing a <i>dot</i> for me? And <i>mon</i> grandpère does
not know anything, and he will not know. Listen! I mean to help <i>ma
belle</i> grand'mère. She shall not work for nothing at all—no, she shall
not. Uncle Fergus, The Desmond must never, never know and <i>mon bon</i>
grandpère of Arles must never know. But why should I not help a little?"</p>
<p>"You are a foolish colleen," replied Fergus, patting the little hand
which rested on his knee.</p>
<p>That was all Margot could get him to say and she went back to her seat
at the other side of the carriage<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</SPAN></span> feeling terribly disconsolate. Why
should she not help people? She liked helping people. It was wrong
to oppose her when she was doing right. She felt certain, sure, that
it was wrong. Then she gave a quick side glance at Fergus's face and
noticed the expression on it—the determination, the quiet resolution
to have his own way in spite of <i>la petite</i> Comtesse, or the little
pushkeen as she was called in Ireland.</p>
<p>At last they arrived. The motor-car met them. They drove to the
Château St. Juste. Ah, but was not M. le Comte glad to see his little
Margot! His black eyes shone, his cheeks grew pink with emotion. Time
seemed not to have stirred since he saw her last. He was lying in his
beautiful cool <i>salon</i> with his pillows of down and his thick soft,
crimson rug of plush.</p>
<p>The good clergyman sat down and began to talk to him. He took Margot
on his knee and pressed her close to him. During these precious few
minutes he felt that he could indulge in the love and the joy of his
heart. But Fergus was determined to have his way.</p>
<p>Fergus asked Madame to walk with him in the garden, which was sunny
and bright, but which only held some apples, some pears, and such like
fruits on the old trees. The peaches had vanished, the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</SPAN></span> bees had gone
into their winter quarters. It was never cold at Arles, but the people
there thought it cold. Anyhow the bees felt that they might rest from
their labours.</p>
<p>Madame la Comtesse thought Fergus Desmond very handsome. She adored
<i>mon</i> Alphonse, but she enjoyed talking to any handsome man.</p>
<p>"Thou hast brought <i>la petite</i> back with you, Monsieur," she said.</p>
<p>"I have," he replied. "It is her French grandfather's turn to have her
for three months. These partings are sore blows. Madame, I would speak
with you."</p>
<p>"Ah, but I did think so," replied Madame. "Is not life assuredly of the
most miserable unless we speak out our innermost thoughts? Thou hast a
weight on thy mind, Monsieur le Desmond."</p>
<p>"I have; it is a bad subject, it must be got through. I have learnt
from the lips of John Mansfield, Madame, and also from the lips of a
very nasty girl who goes to the school of a certain princess, that our
little Margot assists you in a shop. It is kept by a certain Madame
Marcelle. But it is in reality your shop. Her grandfather does not
know, neither her French grandfather nor her Irish grandfather. Such
news would kill either of them. Madame, it must cease. The child goes
to her grandfather, she<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</SPAN></span> does not go to you. You must assure me now and
here on your word as an honourable woman that you will never allow the
little Margot to enter the shop of Madame Marcelle, which is in reality
your shop, any more."</p>
<p>"But listen! Understand, monsieur. May not <i>la petite</i> enter the
apartment where the chapeaux are sold, may not <i>la pauvre chérie</i> buy
a chapeau for herself? Ah, but <i>non, non</i>, you can not say against it,
monsieur. <i>La chère petite</i> must be dressed according to the wishes
of her grandfather and me, and, behold! I am making her <i>dot</i> and it
will be solid—oh a pile, a pile; francs by the thousand, by the tens
of thousands, by the hundreds of thousands! Your little niece will be
<i>très riche</i>, monsieur, but she must be dressed, ah, <i>oui</i>, in the
proper way, monsieur. She wears not now the correct garments for <i>la
petite</i> Comtesse St. Juste, but I was ready for that, and I have a
fresh set of little garments all waiting for her in her <i>chambre de
nuit</i>. You will agree with me, monsieur, <i>n'est-ce pas</i>?"</p>
<p>"I do not mind what clothes you buy for the child," said Fergus, "if
you promise that she does not sell things herself in the shop."</p>
<p>"Ah, but you are cruel, and she likes it. One little hour per day,
monsieur. She has the manners, ah, of the <i>grande noblesse</i>, and
behold, the people<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</SPAN></span> flock to her and she is making her own little
<i>dot</i>, by her own clever speeches, and her own wonderful taste. Permit
it, monsieur, I entreat!"</p>
<p>"I refuse to permit it," said Fergus. "It must not be. I would rather
she had no <i>dot</i> and was a lady."</p>
<p>Tears filled the eyes of little Madame.</p>
<p>"Ah, but indeed, she is a lady the most perfect," was her remark.
"Think, monsieur, consider what I have suffered. I married <i>mon</i>
Alphonse because of the love, oh, so mighty, and because I did so pity
him. He was so beautiful, so desolate, so poor. He was nearly on the
brink of starving, monsieur. Then I come along and I make the wicked
lie. He thinks that I have given up the <i>établissement</i>, I make out
to him that it is so, but I could not give it up, monsieur, and give
him the comforts that he needs, the frail, frail old man. Then there
came as a ray of sunshine to his heart <i>la petite</i> Comtesse, the only
child of his only son, and behold he revived! And I took <i>la petite</i>
Comtesse into my <i>établissement</i> and behold! She had the taste superb.
The chapeaux they went like the wind, the fans like the whirlwinds,
the robes they vanished as you looked, and all because of <i>la petite</i>
Margot and her immaculate taste. She is well taught, monsieur, also.
She has masters for French and dancing and the piano and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</SPAN></span> singing. Only
a little of the singing, she is too young at present. She spends but
two hours a day in the <i>établissement</i>, and behold it flourishes as
it never did before, and neither of the grandpères know. Where is the
harm, Monsieur Desmond? Why conceal a talent so great? Madame Marcelle
cannot attempt to dispose of my goods as <i>la petite</i> Comtesse does. You
see the thing is honourable, <i>n'est-ce pas</i>, Monsieur Desmond?"</p>
<p>"I do not. I forbid it," said Fergus. "We care not for fine clothes in
Ireland and a little money goes a long way. What we want is to keep up
our great, great nobility. You understand, Madame, have I your word
that it shall cease?"</p>
<p>"Ah, <i>oui, oui</i>, if it must be, it must," said Madame. She spoke in
a gay, light sort of voice and picked a luscious pear, which she
presented to Monsieur Desmond as a token of her unfailing esteem.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</SPAN></span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />