Her sallow skin was somewhat heavily powdered.
She had fine eyes, Robert’s delicate, straight nose, and the same thin lips, but in her, age had given them a certain hardness.
She was in her way and for her time of life a good-looking woman, and she evidently took pains over her appearance, but there was in her expression nothing of the charm that made Robert so attractive.
Her eyes, so bright and dark, were cool and watchful.
Lydia felt the sharp, scrutinizing look with which Madame Berger took her in from head to foot as she entered the room, but it was immediately superseded by a cordial and welcoming smile.
She thanked Lydia effusively for coming so long a distance to see her.
“You must understand how much I wanted to see a young girl of whom my son has talked to me so much.
I was prepared for a disagreeable surprise.
I have, to tell you the truth, no great confidence in my son’s judgement.
It is a relief to me to see that you are as nice as he told me you were.”
All this she said with a good deal of facial expression, with smiles and little nods of the head, flatteringly, in the manner of a hostess accustomed to society trying to set a stranger at her ease.
Lydia, watchful too, answered with becoming diffidence.
Madame Berger gave an emphatic, slightly forced laugh and made an enthusiastic little gesture.
“But you are charming.
I’m not surprised that this son of mine should neglect his old mother for your sake.”
Tea was brought in by a stolid-looking young maid whom Madame Berger, while continuing her gesticulative, complimentary remarks, watched with sharp, anxious eyes, so that Lydia guessed that a tea-party was an unusual event in the house and the hostess was not quite sure that the servant knew how to set about things.
They went into the dining-room and sat down.
There was a small grand piano in it.
“It takes up room,” said Madame Berger, “but my son is passionately devoted to music.
He plays for hours at a time.
He tells me that you are a musician of the first class.”
“He exaggerates.
I’m very fond of it, but very ignorant.”
“You are too modest, mademoiselle.”
There was a dish of little cakes from the confectioner’s and a dish of sandwiches.
Under each plate was a doyley and on each a tiny napkin.
Madame Berger had evidently taken pains to do things in a modish way.
With a smile in her cold eyes she asked Lydia how she would like her tea.
“You Russians always take lemon, I know, and I got a lemon for you specially.
Will you begin with a sandwich?”
The tea tasted of straw.
“I know you Russians smoke all through your meals.
Please do not stand on any ceremony with me.
Robert, where are the cigarettes?”
Madame Berger pressed sandwiches on Lydia, she pressed cakes; she was one of those hostesses who look upon it as a mark of hospitality to make their guests eat however unwilling they may be.
She talked without ceasing, well, in a high-pitched, metallic voice, smiling a great deal, and her politeness was effusive.
She asked Lydia a great many questions, which had a casual air so that on the face of it they looked like the civil inquiries a woman of the world would put out of sympathy for a friendless girl, but Lydia realized that they were cleverly designed to find out everything she could about her.
Lydia’s heart sank; this was not the sort of woman who for love of her son would allow him to do an imprudent thing; but the certainty of this gave her back her own assurance.
It was obvious that she had nothing to lose; she certainly had nothing to hide; and she answered the questions with frankness.
She told Madame Berger, as she had already told Robert, about her father and mother, and what her life had been in London and how she had lived since her mother’s death.
It even amused her to see behind Madame Berger’s warm sympathy, through her shocked commiserating answers, the shrewdness that weighed every word she heard and drew conclusions upon it.
After two or three unavailing attempts to go, which Madame Berger would not hear of, Lydia managed to tear herself away from so much friendliness.
Robert was to see her home.
Madame Berger seized both her hands when she said good-bye to her and her fine dark eyes glittered with cordiality.
“You are delicious,” she said.
“You know your way now, you must come and see me often, often; you will be always sure of a hearty welcome.”
When they were walking along to the car Robert took her arm with an affectionate gesture which seemed to ask for protection rather than to offer it and which charmed her.
“Well, my dear one, it went off very well.
My mother liked you.
You made a conquest of her at once.