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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23415-0.txt b/23415-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a35a7c4 --- /dev/null +++ b/23415-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2778 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne, by Robert Hichens + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne + 1905 + +Author: Robert Hichens + +Release Date: November 8, 2007 [EBook #23415] +Last Updated: December 17, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE + +By Robert Hichens + +Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers + +Copyright, 1905 + + + + +I + +Mrs. Eustace Greyne (pronounced Green) wrinkled her forehead--that +noble, that startling forehead which had been written about in the +newspapers of two hemispheres--laid down her American Squeezer pen, and +sighed. It was an autumn day, nipping and melancholy, full of the rustle +of dying leaves and the faint sound of muffin bells, and Belgrave Square +looked sad even to the great female novelist who had written her way +into a mansion there. Fog hung about with the policeman on the pavement. +The passing motor cars were like shadows. Their stertorous pantings +sounded to Mrs. Greyne’s ears like the asthma of dying monsters. She +sighed again, and murmured in a deep contralto voice: “It must be so.” + Then she got up, crossed the heavy Persian carpet which had been bought +with the proceeds of a short story in her earlier days, and placed her +forefinger upon an electric bell. + +Like lightning a powdered giant came. + +“Has Mr. Greyne gone out?” + +“No, ma’am.” + +“Where is he?” + +“In his study, ma’am, pasting the last of the cuttings into the new +album.” + +Mrs. Greyne smiled. It was a pretty picture the unconscious six-footer +had conjured up. + +“I am sorry to disturb Mr. Greyne,” she answered, with that gracious, +and even curling suavity which won all hearts; “but I wish to see him. +Will you ask him to come to me for a moment?” + +The giant flew, silk-stockinged, to obey the mandate, while Mrs. Greyne +sat down on a carved oaken chair of ecclesiastical aspect to await her +husband. + +She was a famous woman, a personage, this simply-attired lady. With +an American Squeezer pen she had won fame, fortune, and a mansion +in Belgrave Square, and all without the sacrifice of principle. +Respectability incarnate, she had so dealt with the sorrows and evils of +the world that she had rendered them utterly acceptable to Mrs. Grundy, +Mr. Grundy, and all the Misses Grundy. People said she dived into the +depths of human nature, and brought up nothing that need scandalise a +curate’s grandmother, or the whole-aunt of an archdeacon; and this +was so true that she had made a really prodigious amount of money. Her +large, her solid, her unrelenting books lay upon every table. Even the +smart set kept them, uncut--like pretty sinners who have never been +“found out”--to give an air of haphazard intellectuality to frisky +boudoirs, All the clergy, however unable to get their tithes, bought +them. All bishops alluded to them in “pulpit utterances.” Fabulous +prices were paid for them by magazine editors. They ran as serials +through all the tale of months. The suburbs battened on them. The +provinces adored them. Country people talked of no other literature. In +fact, Mrs. Eustace Greyne was a really fabulous success. + +Why, then, should she heave these heavy sighs in Belgrave Square? Why +should she lift an intellectual hand as though to tousle the glossy +chestnut bandeaux which swept back from her forcible forehead, and screw +her reassuring features into these wrinkles of perplexity and distress? + +The door opened, and Mr. Eustace Greyne appeared, “What is it, +Eugenia?” upon his lips. + +Mr. Greyne was a number of years younger than his celebrated wife, +and looked even younger than his years. He was a very smart man, with +smooth, jet-black hair, which he wore parted in the middle; pleasant, +dark eyes that could twinkle gently; a clear, pale complexion; and a +nice, tall figure. One felt, in glancing at him, that he had been an +Eton boy, and had at least thought of going into the militia at some +period of his life. His history can be briefly told. + +Scarcely had he emerged into the world before he met and was married to +Mrs. Eustace Greyne, then Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker. He had had no +time to sow a single oat, wild or otherwise; no time to adore a barmaid, +or wish to have his name linked with that of an actress; no time to do +anything wrong, or even to know, with the complete accuracy desired +by all persevering young men, what was really wrong. Miss Eugenia +Hannibal-Barker sailed upon his horizon, and he struck his flag to +matrimony. Ever since then he had been her husband, and had never, even +for one second, emerged beyond the boundaries of the most intellectual +respectability. He was the most innocent of men, although he knew all +the important editors in London. Swaddled in money by his successful +wife, he considered her a goddess. She poured the thousands into Coutts’ +Bank, and with the arrival of each fresh thousand he was more firmly +convinced that she was a goddess. To say he looked up to her would be +too mild. As the Cockney tourist in Chamounix peers at the summit of +Mont Blanc, he peered at Mrs. Greyne. And when, finally, she bought the +lease of the mansion in Belgrave Square, he knew her Delphic. + +So now he appeared in the oracle’s retreat respectfully, “What is it, +Eugenia?” upon his admiring lips. + +“Sit down, my husband,” she murmured. + +Mr. Greyne subsided by the fire, placing his pointed patent-leather toes +upon the burnished fender. Without the fog grew deeper, and the chorus +of the muffin bells more plaintive. The fire-light, flickering over Mrs. +Greyne’s majestic features, made them look Rembrandtesque. Her large, +oxlike eyes were fixed and thoughtful. After a pause, she said: + +“Eustace, I shall have to send you upon a mission.” + +“A mission, Eugenia!” said Mr. Greyne in great surprise. + +“A mission of the utmost importance, the utmost delicacy.” + +“Has it anything to do with Romeike & Curtice?” + +“No.” + +“Will it take me far?” + +“That is my trouble. It will take you very far.” + +“Out of London?” + +“Oh, yes.” + +“Out of--not out of England?” + +“Yes; it will take you to Algeria.” + +“Good gracious!” cried Mr. Greyne. + +Mrs. Greyne sighed. + +“Good gracious!” Mr. Greyne repeated after a short interval. “Am I to +go alone?” “Of course you must take Darrell.” Darrell was Mr. Greyne’s +valet. + +“And what am I to do at Algiers?” + +“You must obtain for me there the whole of the material for book six +of ‘Catherine’s Repentance,’” “Catherine’s Repentance” was the gigantic +novel upon which Mrs. Greyne was at that moment engaged. + +“I will not disguise from you, Eustace,” continued Mrs. Greyne, looking +increasingly Rembrandtesque, “that, in my present work, I am taking a +somewhat new departure.” + +“Well, but we are very comfortable here,” said Mr. Greyne. + +With each new book they had changed their abode. “Harriet” took them +from Phillimore Gardens to Queensgate Terrace; “Jane’s Desire” moved +them on to a corner house in Sloane Street; with “Isobel’s Fortune” they +passed to Curzon Street; “Susan’s Vanity” landed them in Coburg Place; +and, finally, “Margaret’s Involution” had planted them in Belgrave +Square. Now, with each of these works of genius Mrs. Greyne had taken +what she called “a new departure.” Mr. Greyne’s remark is, therefore, +explicable. + +“True. Still, there is always Park Lane.” + +She mused for a moment. Then, leaning more heavily upon the carved lions +of her chair, she continued: + +“Hitherto, although I have sometimes dealt with human frailty, I have +treated it gently. I have never betrayed a Zola-spirit.” + +“Zola! My darling!” cried Mr. Eustace Greyne. “You are surely not going +to betray anything of that sort now!” + +“If she does we shall soon have to move off to West Kensington,” was his +secret thought. + +“No. But in book six of ‘Catherine’ I have to deal with sin, with +tumult, with African frailty. It is inevitable.” + +She sighed once more. The burden of the new book was very heavy upon +her. + +“African frailty!” murmured the astonished Eustace Greyne. + +“Now, neither you nor I, my husband, know anything about this.” + +“Certainly not, my darling. How should we? We have never explored beyond +Lucerne.” + +“We must, therefore, get to know about it--at least you must. For I +cannot leave London. The continuity of the brain’s travelling must not +be imperiled by any violent bodily activity. In the present stage of my +book a sea journey might be disastrous.” + +“Certainly you should keep quiet, my love. But then---” + +“You must go for me to Algiers. There you must get me what I want. I +fear you will have to poke about in the native quarters a good deal for +it, so you had better buy two revolvers, one for yourself and one for +Darrell.” + +Mr. Greyne gasped. The calmness of his wife amazed him. He was not +intellectual enough to comprehend fully the deep imaginings of a mighty +brain, the obsession work is in the worker. + +“African frailty is what I want,” pursued Mrs. Greyne. “One hundred +closely-printed pages of African frailty. You will collect for me the +raw material, and I shall so manipulate it that it will fall discreetly, +even elevatingly, into the artistic whole. Do you understand me, +Eustace?” + +“I am to travel to Algiers, and see all the wickedness to be seen there, +take notes of it, and bring them back to you.” + +“Precisely.” + +“And how long am I to stay?” + +“Until you have made yourself acquainted with the depths.” + +“A fortnight?” + +“I should think that would be enough. Take Brush’s remedy for +seasickness and plenty of antipyrin, your fur coat for the crossing, and +a white helmet and umbrella for the arrival. You have lead pencils?” + +“Plenty.” + +“A couple of Merrin’s exercise-books should be enough to contain your +notes.” + +“When am I to go?” + +“The sooner the better. I am at a standstill for want of the material. +You might catch the express to Paris to-morrow; no, say the day after +to-morrow.” She looked at him tenderly. “The parting will be bitter.” + +“Very bitter,” Mr. Eustace Greyne replied. + +He felt really upset. Mrs. Greyne laid the hand which had brought them +from Phillimore Gardens to Belgrave Square gently upon his. + +“Think of the result,” she said. “The greatest book I have done yet. A +book that will last. A book that will----” + +“Take us to Park Lane,” he murmured. + +The Rembrandtesque head nodded. The noble features, as of a strictly +respectable Roman emperor, relaxed. + +“A book that will take us to Park Lane.” + +At this moment the door opened, and the footman inquired: + +“Could Mademoiselle Verbena see you for a minute, ma’am?” + +Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of the two little Greynes. +The great novelist had consented to become a mother. + +“Certainly.” + +In another moment Mademoiselle Verbena was added to the group beside the +fire. + + + + +II + +We have said that Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of +little Adolphus and Olivia Greyne, and so she was to this extent--that +she taught them French, and that Mr. and Mrs. Greyne supposed her to be +a Parisian. But life has its little ironies. Mademoiselle Verbena in the +house of this great and respectable novelist was one of them; for she +was a Levantine, born at Port Said of a Suez Canal father and a Suez +Canal mother. Now, nobody can desire to say anything against Port Said. +At the same time, few mothers would inevitably pick it out as the ideal +spot from which a beneficent influence for childhood’s happy hour would +be certain to emanate. Nor, it must be allowed, is a Suez Canal ancestry +specially necessary to a trainer of young souls. It may not be a +drawback, but it can hardly be described as an advantage. This, +Mademoiselle Verbena was intelligent enough to know. She, therefore, +concealed the fact that her father had been a dredger of Monsieur de +Lesseps’ triumph, her mother a bar-lady of the historic coal wharf where +the ships are fed, and preferred to suppose--and to permit others to +suppose--that she had first seen the light in the Rue St. Honoré, her +parents being a count and countess of some old régime. + +This supposition, retained from her earliest years, had affected her +appearance and her manner. She was a very neat, very trim, even a very +attractive little person, with dark brown, roguish eyes, blue-black +hair, a fairy-like figure, and the prettiest hands and feet imaginable. +She had first attracted Mrs. Greyne’s attention by her devotion to St. +Paul’s Cathedral, and this devotion she still kept up. Whenever she had +an hour or two free she always--so she herself said--spent it in “_ce +charmant_ St. Paul.” + +As she entered the oracle’s retreat she cast down her eyes, and trembled +visibly. + +“What is it, Miss Verbena?” inquired Mrs. Greyne, with a kindly English +accent, calculated to set any poor French creature quite at ease. + +Mademoiselle Verbena trembled more. + +“I have received bad news, madame.” + +“I grieve to hear it. Of what nature?” + +“Mamma has _une bronchite très grave_.” + +“A what, Miss Verbena?” + +“Pardon, madame. A very grave bronchitis. She cries for me.” + +“Indeed!” + +“The doctors say she will die.” + +“This is very sad.” + +The Levantine wept. Even Suez Canal folk are not proof against all human +sympathy. Mr. Greyne blew his nose beside the fire, and Mrs. Greyne said +again: + +“I repeat that this is very sad.” + +“Madame, if I do not go to mamma tomorrow I shall not see her more.” + +Mrs. Greyne looked very grave. + +“Oh!” she remarked. She thought profoundly for a moment, and then added: +“Indeed!” + +“It is true, madame.” + +Suddenly Mademoiselle Verbena flung herself down on the Persian carpet +at Mrs. Greyne’s large but well-proportioned feet, and, bathing them +with her tears, cried in a heartrending manner: + +“Madame will let me go! madame will permit me to fly to poor mamma--to +close her dying eyes--to kiss once again----” + +Mr. Greyne was visibly affected, and even Mrs. Greyne seemed somewhat +put about, for she moved her feet rather hastily out of reach of the +dependant’s emotion, and made her scramble up. + +“Where is your poor mother?” + +“In Paris, madame. In the Rue St. Honoré, where I was born. Oh, if she +should die there! If she should----” + +Mrs. Greyne raised her hand, commanding silence. + +“You wish to go there?” + +“If madame permits.” + +“When?” + +“To-morrow, madame.” + +“To-morrow? This is decidedly abrupt.” + +“_Mais la bronchite, madame_, she is abrupt, and death, she may be +abrupt.” + +“True. One moment!” + +There was an instant’s silence for Mrs. Greyne to let loose her brain +in. She did so, then said: + +“You have my permission. Go to-morrow, but return as soon as possible. +I do not wish Adolphus to lose his still uncertain grasp upon the +irregular verbs.” + +In a flood of grateful tears Mademoiselle Verbena retired to make her +preparations. On the morrow she was gone. + +The morrow was a day of much perplexity, much bustle and excitement for +Mr. Greyne and the valet, Darrell. They were preparing for Algiers. In +the morning, at an early hour, Mr. Greyne set forth in the barouche with +Mrs. Greyne to purchase African necessaries: a small but well-supplied +medicine chest, a pith helmet, a white-and-green umbrella, a Baedeker, +a couple of Smith & Wesson Springfield revolvers with a due amount of +cartridges, a dozen of Merrin’s exercise-books--on mature reflection +Mrs. Creyne thought that two would hardly contain a sufficient amount of +African frailty for her present purpose--a packet of lead pencils, some +bottles of a remedy for seasickness, a silver flask for cognac, and +various other trifles such as travellers in distant continents require. + +Meanwhile Darrell was learning French for the journey, and packing his +own and his master’s trunks. The worthy fellow, a man of twenty-five +summers, had never been across the Channel--the Greynes being by no +means prone to foreign travel--and it may, therefore, be imagined that +he was in a state of considerable expectation as he laid the trousers, +coats, and waistcoats in their respective places, selected such boots +as seemed likely to wear well in a tropical climate, and dropped those +shirts which are so contrived as to admit plenty of ventilation to the +heated body into the case reserved for them. + +When Mr. Greyne returned from his shopping excursion the barouche, +loaded almost to the gunwale--if one may be permitted a nautical +expression in this connection--had to be disburdened, and its contents +conveyed upstairs to Mr. Greyne’s bedroom, into which Mrs. Greyne +herself presently entered to give directions for their disposing. Nor +was it till the hour of sunset that everything was in due order, the +straps set fast, the keys duly turned in the locks--the labels--“Mr. +Eustace Greyne: Passenger to Algiers: via Marseilles”--carefully written +out in a full, round hand. Rook’s tickets had been bought; so now +everything was ready, and the last evening in England might be spent +by Mr. Greyne in the drawing-room and by Darrell in the servants’ hall +quietly, socially, perhaps pathetically. + +The pathos of the situation, it must be confessed, appealed more to +the master than to the servant. Darrell was very gay, and inclined to be +boastful, full of information as to how he would comport himself with +“them there Frenchies,” and how he would make “them pore, godless Arabs +sit up.” But Mr. Greyne’s attitude of mind was very different. As +the night drew on, and Mrs. Greyne and he sat by the wood fire in the +magnificent drawing-room, to which they always adjourned after dinner, a +keen sense of the sorrow of departure swept over them both. + +“How lonely you will feel without me, Eugenia,” said Mr. Greyne. “I +have been thinking of that all day.” + +“And you, Eustace, how desolate will be your tale of days! My mind runs +much on that. You will miss me at every hour.” + +“You are so accustomed to have me within call, to depend upon me for +encouragement in your life-work. I scarcely know how you will get on +when I am far across the sea.” + +“And you, for whom I have labored, for whom I have planned and +calculated, what will be your sensations when you realize that a +gulf--the Gulf of Lyons--is fixed irrevocably between us?” + +So their thoughts ran. Each one was full of tender pity for the other. +Towards bedtime, however, conscious that the time for colloquy was +running short, they fell into more practical discourse. + +“I wonder,” said Mr. Greyne, “whether I shall find any difficulty in +gaining the information you require, my darling. I suppose these +places”--he spoke vaguely, for his thoughts were vague--“are somewhat +awkward to come at. Naturally they would avoid the eye of day.” + +Mrs. Greyne looked profound. + +“Yes. Evil ever seeks the darkness. You will have to do the same.” + +“You think my investigations must take place at night?” + +“I should certainly suppose so.” + +“And where shall I find a cicerone?” + +“Apply to Rook.” + +“In what terms? You see, dearest, this is rather a special matter, isn’t +it?” + +“Very special. But on no account hint that you are in Algiers for +‘Catherine’s’ sake. It would get into the papers. It would be cabled to +America. The whole reading world would be agog, and the future interest +of the book discounted.” + +Mr. Greyne looked at his wife with reverence. In such moments he +realized, almost too poignantly, her great position. + +“I will be careful,” he said. “What would you recommend me to say?” + +“Well”--Mrs. Greyne knit her superb forehead--“I should suggest that +you present yourself as an ordinary traveler, but with a +specially inquiring bent of mind and a slight tendency towards +the--the--er--hidden things of life.” + +“I suppose you wish me to visit the public houses?” + +“I wish you to see everything that has part or lot in African frailty. +Go everywhere, see everything. Bring your notes to me, and I will select +such fragments of the broken commandments as suit my purpose, which +is, as always, the edifying of the human race. Only this time I mean to +purge it as by fire.” + +“That corner house in Park Lane, next to the Duke of Ebury’s, would suit +us very well,” said Mr. Greyne reflectively. + +“We could sell our lease here at an advance,” his wife rejoined. “You +will not waste your journey, Eustace?” + +“My love,” returned Mr. Greyne with decision, “I will apply to Rook on +arrival, and, if I find his man unsatisfactory, if I have any reason +to suspect that I am not being shown everything--more especially in the +Kasbah region, which, from the guide-books we bought to-day, is, I +take it, the most abandoned portion of the city--I will seek another +cicerone.” + +“Do so. And now to bed. You must sleep well to-night in preparation for +the journey.” + +It was their invariable habit before retiring to drink each a tumbler +of barley water, which was set out by the butler in Mrs. Greyne’s study. +After this nightcap Mrs. Greyne wrote up her anticipatory diary, while +Mr. Greyne smoked a mild cigar, and then they went to bed. To-night, +as usual, they repaired to the sanctum, and drank their barley water. +Having done so, Mr. Greyne drew forth his cigar-case, while Mrs. Greyne +went to her writing-table, and prepared to unlock the drawer in which +her diary reposed, safe from all prying eyes. + +The match was struck, the key was inserted in the lock, and turned. As +the cigar end glowed the drawer was opened. Mr. Greyne heard a contralto +cry. He turned from the arm-chair in which he was just about to seat +himself. + +“My love, is anything the matter?” + +His wife was bending forward with both hands in the drawer, telling over +its contents. + +“My diary is not here!” + +“Your diary!” + +“It is gone.” + +“But”--he came over to her--“this is very serious. I presume, like all +diaries, it is full of----” Instinctively he had been about to say +“damning”; he remembered his dear one’s irreproachable character and +substituted “precious secrets.” + +“It is full of matter which must never be given to the world--my secret +thoughts, my aspirations. The whole history of my soul is there.” + +“Heavens! It must be found.” + +They searched the writing-table. They searched the room. No diary. + +“Could you have taken it to my room, and left it there?” asked Mr. +Greyne. + +They hastened thither, and looked--in vain. By this time the servants +were gone to bed, and the two searchers were quite alone on the ground +floor of their magnificent mansion. Mrs. Greyne began to look seriously +perturbed. Her Roman features worked. + +“This is appalling,” she exclaimed. “Some thief, knowing it priceless, +must have stolen the diary. It will be published in America. It will +bring in thousands--but to others, not to us.” + +She began to wring her hands. It was near midnight. + +“Think, my love, think!” cried Mr. Greyne. “Where could you have taken +it? You had it last night?” + +“Certainly. I remember writing in it that you would be sailing to +Algiers on the _Général Bertrand_ on Thursday of this week, and that on +the night I should be feeling widowed here. The previous night I wrote +that yesterday I should have to tell you of your mission. You know I +always put down beforehand what I shall do, what I shall even think +on each succeeding day. It is a practice that regulates the mind and +conduct, that helps to uniformity.” + +“How true! Who can have taken it? Do you ever leave it about?” + +“Never. Am I a madwoman?” + +“My darling, compose yourself! We must search the house.” + +They proceeded to do so, and, on coming into the schoolroom, Mrs. +Greyne, who was in front, uttered a sudden cry. + +Upon the table of Mademoiselle Verbena lay the diary, open at the +following entry:-- + +On Thursday next poor Eustace will be on board the _Général Bertrand_, +sailing for Algiers. I shall be here thinking of myself, and of him in +relation to myself. God help us both. Duty is sometimes stern. Mem. The +corner house in Park Lane, next the Duke of Ebury’s, has sixty years +still to run; the lease, that is. Thursday--poor Eustace! + +“What does this portend?” cried Mrs. Greyne. + +“My darling, it passes my wit to imagine,” replied her husband. + + + + +III + +The parting of Mr. and Mrs. Greyne on the following morning was very +affecting. It took place at Victoria Station, in the midst of a small +crowd of admiring strangers, who had recognised the commanding +presence of the great novelist, and had gathered round to observe her +manifestations. + +Mrs. Greyne was considerably shaken by the event of the previous night. +Although, on the discovery of the diary, the house had been roused, and +all the servants closely questioned, no light had been thrown upon its +migration from the locked drawer to the schoolroom table. Adolphus and +Olivia, jerked from sleep by the hasty hands of a maid, could only weep +and wan. The powdered footmen, one and all, declared they had never +heard of a diary. The butler gave warning on the spot, keeping on his +nightcap to give greater effect to his pronunciamento. It was all most +unsatisfactory, and for one wild moment Mrs. Greyne seriously thought +of retaining her husband by her as a protection against the mysterious +thief who had been at work in their midst. Could it be Mademoiselle +Verbena? The dread surmise occurred, but Mr. Greyne rejected it. + +“Her father was a count,” he said. “Besides, my darling, I don’t +believe she can read English; certainly not unless it is printed.” + +So there the matter rested, and the moment of parting came. + +There was a murmur of respectful sympathy as Mrs. Greyne clasped +her husband tenderly in her arms, and pressed his head against her +prune-coloured bonnet strings. The whistle sounded. The train moved on. +Leaning from a reserved first-class compartment, Mr. Greyne waved a silk +pocket-handkerchief so long as his wife’s Roman profile stood out clear +against the fog and smoke of London. But at last it faded, grew remote, +took on the appearance of a feebly-executed crayon drawing, vanished. He +sank back upon the cushions--alone. Darrell was travelling second with +the dressing-case. + +It was a strange sensation, to be alone, and _en route_ to Algiers. Mr. +Greyne scarcely knew what to make of it. A schoolboy suddenly despatched +to Timbuctoo could hardly have felt more terribly emancipated than he +did. He was so absolutely unaccustomed to freedom, he had been for so +long without the faintest desire for it, that to have it thrust upon +him so suddenly was almost alarming. He felt lonely, anxious, horribly +unmarried. To divert his thoughts he drew forth a Merrin’s exercise-book +and a pencil, and wrote on the first page, in large letters, “_African +Frailty, Notes for_” Then he sat gazing at the title of his first +literary work, and wondering what on earth he was going to see in +Algiers. + +Vague visions of himself in the bars of African public-houses, in +mosques, in the two-pair-backs of dervishes, in bazaars--which he +pictured to himself like those opened by royalties at the Queen’s +Hall--in Moorish interiors surrounded by voluptuous ladies with large +oval eyes, black tresses, and Turkish trousers of spangled muslin, +flitted before his mental gaze. When the train ran upon Dover Pier, and +the white horses of the turbulent Channel foamed at his feet, he started +as one roused from a Rip Van Winkle sleep. Severe illness occupied his +whole attention for a time, and then recovery. + +In Paris he dined at the buffet like one in a dream, and, at the +appointed hour, came forth to take the _rapide_ for Marseilles. He +looked for Darrell and the dressing-case. They were not to be seen. +There stood the train. Passengers were mounting into it. Old ladies +with agitated faces were buying pillows and nibbling biscuits. Elderly +gentlemen with yellow countenances and red ribands in their coats were +purchasing the _Figaro_ and the _Gil Blas_. Children with bare legs were +being hauled into compartments. Rook’s agent was explaining to a muddled +tourist in a tam-o’-shanter the exact difference between the words “Oui” + and “Non” The bustle of departure was in the air, but Darrell was not +to be seen. Mr. Greyne had left him upon the platform with minute +directions as to the point from which the train would start and the hour +of its going. Yet he had vanished. The most frantic search, the most +frenzied inquiries of officials and total strangers, failed to elicit +his whereabouts, and, finally, Mr. Greyne was flung forcibly upward +into the _wagonlit_, and caught by the _contrôleur_ when the train was +actually moving out of the station. + +A moment later he fell exhausted upon the pink-plush seat of his +compartment, realising his terrible position. He was now utterly alone; +without servant, hair-brushes, toothbrushes, razors, sponges, pajamas, +shoes. It was a solitude that might be felt. He thought of the sea +journey with no kindly hand to minister to him, the arrival in Africa +with no humble companion at his side, to wonder with him at the black +inhabitants and help him through the customs--to say nothing of the +manners. He thought of the dread homes of iniquity into which he +must penetrate by night in search of the material for the voracious +“Catherine.” He had meant to take Darrell with him to them all--Darrell, +whose joyful delight in the prospect of exploring the Eastern fastnesses +of crime had been so boyish, so truly English in its frank, its even +boisterous sincerity. + +And now he was utterly alone, almost like Robinson Crusoe. + +The _contrôleur_ came in to make the bed. Mr. Greyne told him the +dreadful story. + +“No doubt he has been lured away, monsieur. The dressing-case was of +value?” + +“Crocodile, gold fittings.” + +“Probably monsieur will never see him again. As likely as not he will +sleep in the Seine to-night, and at the morgue to-morrow.” + +Mr. Greyne shuddered. This was an ill omen for his expedition. He drank +a stiff whisky-and-soda instead of the usual barley water, and went to +bed to dream of bloody murders in which he was the victim. + +When the train ran into Marseilles next morning he was an unshaven, +miserable man. + +“Have I time to buy a tooth-brush,” he inquired anxiously at the +station, “before the boat sails for Algiers?” + +The _chef de gare_ thought so. Monsieur had four hours, if that was +sufficient. Mr. Greyne hastened forth, had a Turkish bath, purchased a +new dressing-case, ate a hasty _déjeuner_, and took a cab to the wharf. +It was a long drive over the stony streets. He glanced from side to +side, watching the bustling traffic, the hurry of the nations going to +and from the ships. His eyes rested upon two Arabs who were striding +along in his direction. Doubtless they were also bound for Algiers. He +thought they looked most wicked, and hastily took a note of them for +“African Frailty.” Beside his sense of loss and loneliness marched the +sense of duty. The great woman at home in Belgrave Square, founder of +his fortunes, mother of his children, she depended upon him. Even in his +own hour of need he would not fail her. He took a lead pencil, and wrote +down: + +Saw two Arab ruffians. Bare legs. Look capable of anything. Should not +be surprised to hear that they had---- + +There he paused. That they had what? Done things. Of course, but what +things? That was the question. He exerted his imagination, but failed to +arrive at any conclusion as to their probable crimes. His knowledge +of wickedness was really absurdly limited. For the first time he felt +slightly ashamed of it, and began to wish he had gone into the militia. +He comforted himself with the thought that in a fortnight he would +probably be fit for the regular army. This thought cheered him slightly, +and it was with a slight smile upon his face that he welcomed the first +glimpse of the _Général Bertrand_, which was lying against the quay +ready to cast off at the stroke of noon. Most of the passengers were +aboard, but, as Mr. Greyne stepped out of his cab, and prepared to pay +the Maltese driver, a trim little lady, plainly dressed in black, and +carrying a tiny and rather coquettish hand-bag, was tripping lightly +across the gangway. Mr. Greyne glanced at her as he turned to follow, +glanced, and then started. That back was surely familiar to him. Where +could he have seen it before? He searched his memory as the little lady +vanished. It was a smart, even a _chic_ back, a back that knew how to +take care of itself, a back that need not go through the world alone, +a back, in fine, that was most distinctly attractive, if not absolutely +alluring. Where had he seen it before, or had he ever seen it at all? +He thought of his wife’s back, flat, powerful, uncompromising. This was +very different, more--how should he put it to himself?--more Algerian, +perhaps. He could vaguely conceive it a back such as one might meet with +while engaged in adding to one’s stock of knowledge of--well--African +frailty. + +At this moment the steward appeared to show him to his cabin, and his +further reflections were mainly connected with the Gulf of Lyons. + +Twilight was beginning to fall when, so far as he was capable of +thinking, he thought he would like a breath of air. For some moments he +lay quite still, dwelling on this idea which had so mysteriously come to +him. Then he got up, and thought again, seated upon the cabin floor. +He knew there was a deck. He remembered having seen one when he came +aboard. He put on his fur coat, still sitting on the cabin floor. The +process took some time--he fancied about a couple of years. At last, +however, it was completed, and he rose to his feet with the assistance +of the washstand and the berth. + +The ship seemed very busy, full of almost American activity. He thought +a greater calm would have been more decent, and waited in the hope +that the floor would presently cease to forget itself. As it showed no +symptoms of complying with his desire he endeavoured to spurn it, and, +in the fulness of time, gained the companion. + +It was very strange, as he remembered afterwards, that only when he had +gained the companion did the sense of his utter loneliness rush upon +him with overwhelming force: one of the ironies of life, he supposed. +Eventually he shook the companion off with a good deal of difficulty, +and found himself installed upon planks under a grey sky, and holding +fast to a railing, which was all that interposed between him and +eternity. + +At first he was only conscious of greyness and the noise of winds +and waters, but presently a black daub seemed to hover for a second +somewhere on the verge of his world, to hover and disappear. He wondered +what it was. A smut, perhaps. He rubbed his face. The daub returned. +It was very large for a smut. He strove to locate it, and found that it +must be somewhere on his left cheek. With a great effort he took out his +pocket-handkerchief. Suddenly the daub assumed monstrous proportions. +He turned his head, and perceived the lady in black whom he had seen +tripping over the gangway on his arrival. + +She was a few steps from him, leaning upon the rail in an attitude of +the deepest dejection, with her face averted; yet it struck him that her +right shoulder was oddly familiar, as her back had surely been. The turn +of her head, too--he coughed despairingly. The lady took no notice. He +coughed again. Interest was quickening in him. He was determined to see +the lady’s face. + +This time she looked around, showing a pale countenance bedewed with +tears, and totally devoid of any expression which he could connect with +a consciousness of his presence. For a moment she stared vacantly at +him, while he, with almost equal vacancy, regarded her. Then a thrill of +surprise shook him. A sudden light of knowledge leaped up in him, and he +exclaimed: + +“Mademoiselle Verbena!” “Monsieur?” murmured the lady, with an accent +of surprise. + +“Mademoiselle Verbena! Surely it is--it must be!” + +He had staggered sideways, nearing her. + +“Mademoiselle Verbena, do you not know me? It is I, Eustace Greyne, the +father of your pupils, the husband of Mrs. Eustace Greyne?” + +An expression of stark amazement came into the lady’s face at these +words. She leaned forward till her eyes were close to Mr. Greyne’s then +gave a little cry. + +“_Mon Dieu!_ It is true! You are so altered that I could not recognise. +And then--what are you doing here, on the wide sea, far from madame?” + +“I was just about to ask you the very same question!” cried Mr. Greyne. + + + + +IV + +“Alas, monsieur!” said Mademoiselle Verbena in her silvery voice, “I go +to see my poor mother.” + +“But I understood that she was dying in Paris.” + +“Even so. But, when I reached the Rue St. Honoré, I found that they +had removed to Algiers. It was the only chance, the doctor said--a warm +climate, the sun of Africa. There was no time to let me know. They took +her away at once. And now I follow--perhaps to find her dead.” + +Large tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Greyne was deeply affected. + +“Let us hope for the best,” he exclaimed, seized by a happy inspiration. + +The Levantine strove to smile. + +“But you, monsieur, why are you here? Ah! perhaps madame is with you! +Let me go to her! Let me kiss her dear hands once more----” + +Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond excitement. + +“I am quite alone,” he said. + +A tragic expression came into the Levantine’s face. + +“But, then----” she began. + +It was impossible for him to tell her about “Catherine.” He was, +therefore, constrained to subterfuge. + +“I--I was suddenly overtaken by--by influenza,” he said, in some +confusion. “The doctor recommended 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 of Louis +XVI., the poverty of her mother the countess, her own resolve to put +aside all aristocratic prejudices and earn her own living. He, in +return, had related his Eton days, his momentary bias towards the +militia, his marriage--as an innocent youth--with Miss Eugenia +Hannibal-Barker. Coming to later times, he was led to confide to the +tenderhearted Levantine the fact that he hoped to increase his stock of +knowledge while in Africa. Without alluding to “Catherine,” he hinted +that the cure of influenza was not his only reason for foreign travel. + +“I wish to learn something of men and--and women,” he murmured in the +shell-like ear presented to him. “Of their passions, their desires, +their--their follies.” + +“Ah!” cried Mademoiselle Verbena. “Would that I could assist monsieur! +But I am only an ignorant little creature, and know nothing of the +world! And I shall be ever at the bedside of mamma.” + +“You will give me your address? You will let me inquire for the +countess?” + +“Willingly; but I do not know where I shall be. There will be a message +at the wharf. To what hotel goes monsieur?” + +“The Grand Hotel.” + +“I will write there when I have seen mamma. And meanwhile----” + +They were coming into harbour. The heights of Mustapha were visible, the +woods of the Bois de Boulogne, the towers of the Hotel Splendid. + +“Meanwhile, may I beg monsieur not to----” She hesitated. + +“Not to what?” asked Mr. Greyne most softly. + +“Not to let anyone in England know that I am here?” + +She paused. Mr. Greyne was silent, wondering. Mademoiselle Verbena +drooped her head. + +“The world is so censorious. It might seem strange that I--that +monsieur--a man young, handsome, fascinating--the same ship--I have no +chaperon--enfin----” + +She could get out no more. Her delicacy, her forethought touched Mr. +Greyne to tears. + +“Not a word,” he said. “You are right. The world is evil, and, as you +say, I am a--not a word!” + +He ventured to press her hand, as an elder brother might have pressed +it. For the first time he realised that even to the husband of Mrs. +Eustace Greyne the world might attribute--Goodness gracious! What might +not the militia think, for instance? + +He felt himself, for one moment, potentially a dog. + +They parted in a whirl of Arabs on the quay. Mr. Greyne would have +stayed to assist Mademoiselle Verbena, but she bade him go. + +She whispered that she thought it “better” that they should not seem +to--_enfin!_ + +“I will write to-morrow,” she murmured. “_Au revoir!_” + +On the last word she was gone. Mr. Greyne saw nothing but Arabs and +hotel porters. Loneliness seemed to close in on him once more. + +That very evening, after a cup of tea, he presented himself at the +office of Rook near the Place du Gouvernement. As he came in he felt a +little nervous. There were no tourists in the office, and a courteous +clerk with a bright and searching eye at once took him in hand. + +“What can we do for you, sir?” + +“I am a stranger here,” began Mr. Greyne. + +“Quite so, sir, quite so.” + +The clerk twiddled his business-like thumbs, and looked inquiring. + +“And being so,” Mr. Greyne went on, “it is naturally my wish to see as +much of the town as possible; as much as possible, you understand.” + +“You want a guide? Alphonso!” + +Turning, he shouted to an inner room, from which in a moment emerged a +short, stout, swarthy personage with a Jewish nose, a French head, an +Arab eye with a squint in it, and a markedly Maltese expression. + +“This is an excellent guide, sir,” said the clerk. “He speaks +twenty-five languages.” + +The stout man, who--as Mr Greyne now perceived--had on a Swiss suit +of clothes, a panama hat, and a pair of German elastic-sided boots, +confessed in pigeon English, interspersed occasionally with a word or +two of something which Mr. Greyne took to be Chinese, that such was +undoubtedly the case. + +“What do you wish to see? The mosque, the bazaars, St. Eugène, La +Trappe, Mustapha, the baths of the Etat-Major, the Jardin d’Essai, +the Villa-Anti-Juif, the----” + +“One moment!” said Mr. Greyne. + +He turned to the clerk. + +“May I take a chair?” + +“Be seated, sir, pray be seated, and confer with Alphonso.” + +So saying, he gave himself to an enormous ledger, while Mr. Greyne took +a chair opposite to Alphonso, who stood in a Moorish attitude looking +apparently in the direction of Marseilles. + +“I have come here,” said Mr. Greyne, lowering his voice, “with a +purpose.”. + +“You wish to see the Belle Fatma. I will arrange it. She receives every +evening in her house in the Rue ------” + +“One minute! One minute! You said the something ‘Fatma’?” + +“The Belle Fatma, the most beautiful woman of Africa. She receives +every----” + +“Pardon me! One moment! Is this lady----” + +Mr. Greyne paused. + +“Sir?” said Alphonso, settling his Spanish neck-tie, and gazing steadily +towards Marseilles. + +“Is this lady--well, sinful?” + +Alphonso threw up his hands with a wild Asiatic gesture. + +“Sinful! La Belle Fatma! She is a lady of the utmost respectability +known to all the town. You go to her house at eight, you take coffee +upon the red sofas, you talk with La Belle, you see the dances and hear +the music. Do not fear, sir; it is good, it is respectable as England, +your country----” + +“If it is respectable I don’t want to see it,” interposed Mr. Greyne. +“It would be a waste of time.” + +The clerk lifted his head from the ledger, and Alphonso, by means of +standing with his back almost square to Mr. Greyne, and looking over his +right shoulder, succeeded at length in fixing his eye upon him. + +“I have not travelled here to see respectable things,” continued Mr. +Greyne, with a slight blush. “Quite the contrary.” + +“Sir?” + +The voice of Alphonso seemed to have changed, to have taken on a hard, +almost a menacing tone. Mr. Greyne thought of his beloved wife, of +Merrin’s exercise-books, and clenched his hands, endeavouring to feel, +and to go on, like a militiaman. + +“Quite the contrary,” he repeated firmly; “my object in coming to Africa +is to--to search about in the Kasbah, and the disrep----” + +He choked, recovered himself, and continued: “Disreputable quarters of +Algiers--hem------” + +“What for, sir?” + +The voice of Alphonso was certainly changed. + +“What for?” said Mr. Greyne, growing purple. “For frailty.” + +“Sir?” + +“For frailty--for wickedness.” + +A slight cackle emanated from the ledger, but immediately died away. A +dead silence reigned in the office, broken only by the distant sound of +the sea, and by the hard breathing of Alphonso, who had suddenly begun +to pant. + +“I wish to go to all the wicked places--_all!_” + +The ledger cackled again more audibly. Mr. Greyne felt a prickling +sensation run over him, but the thought of “Catherine” nerved him to +his awful task. + +“It is my wife’s express desire that I should do so,” he added +desperately, quite forgetting Mrs. Greyne’s injunction to keep her dark +in his desire to stand well with Rook’s. + +The ledger went off into a hyena imitation, and Alphonso, turning +still more away from Mr. Greyne, so as to get the eye fuller upon him, +exclaimed, in a mixture of Aryan and Eurasian languages: + +“Sir, I am a respectable, unmarried man. I was born in Buenos Ayres, +educated in Smyrna, came of age in Constantinople, and have practised as +guide in Bagdad and other particular cities. I refuse to have anything +to do with you and your wife.” + +So saying, he bounced into the inner room, and banged the door, while +the ledger gave itself up to peals of merriment, and Mr. Greyne tottered +forth upon the sea-front, bathed in a cold perspiration, and feeling +more guilty than a murderer. + +It was a staggering blow. He leaned over the stone parapet of the low +wall, and let the soft breezes from the bay flit through his hair, and +thought of Mrs. Greyne spurned by Alphonso. What was he to do? Kicked +out of Rook’s, to whom could he apply? There must be wickedness in +Algiers, but where? He saw none, though night was falling and stout +Frenchmen were already intent upon their absinthe. + +“Does monsieur wish to see the Kasbah to-night?” + +Was it a voice from heaven? He turned, and saw standing beside him a +tall, thin, audacious-looking young man, with coal-black moustaches, +magnificent eyes, and an air that was half-languid, half-serpentine. + +“Who are you?” + +“I am a guide, monsieur. Here are my certificates.” + +He produced from the inner pocket of his coat a large bundle of dirty +papers. + +“If monsieur will deign to look them over.” + +But Mr. Greyne waved them away. What did he care for Certificates? +Here was a guide to African frailty. That was sufficient. He was in a +desperate mood, and uttered desperate words. + +“Look here,” he said rapidly, “are you wicked?” + +“Very wicked, monsieur.” + +“Good!” + +“Wicked, monsieur.” + +“Right!” + +“Wrong, monsieur.” + +“I mean that it is good for me that you are wicked.” + +“Monsieur is very good.” + +“Yes; but I wish to be--that is, to see the other thing. Can you +undertake to show me everything shocking in Algiers?” + +“But certainly, monsieur. For a consideration.” + +“Name your price.” + +“Two hundred pounds, monsieur.” + +Mr. Greyne started. It seemed a high figure. + +“Monsieur thought it would be more? I make a special price, because +I have taken a fancy to monsieur. I remove fifty pounds. Monsieur, of +course, will pay all expenses.” + +“Of course, of course.” + +It was no time to draw back. + +“How long will it take?” + +“To see all the shocking--?” + +“Precisely.” + +“There is a good deal. A fortnight, three weeks. It depends on monsieur. +If he is strong, and can do without sleep----” + +“We shall have to be up at night?” + +“Naturally.” + +“I shall go to bed during the day, and get through it in a fortnight.” + +“Perfectly.” + +“Be at the Grand Hotel to-night at ten o’clock precisely.” + +“At ten o’clock I will be there. Monsieur will pay a little in advance?” + +“Here are twenty pounds,” cried Mr. Greyne recklessly. + +The audacious-looking young man took the notes with decision, made a +graceful salute, and disappeared in the direction of the quay, while Mr. +Greyne walked to his hotel, flushed with excitement, and feeling like +the most desperate criminal in Africa. If the militia could see him now! + +At dinner he drank a bottle of champagne, and afterwards smoked a strong +cigar over his coffee and liqueur. As he was finishing these frantic +enjoyments the head waiter--a personage bearing a strong resemblance +to an enlarged edition of Napoleon the First--approached him rather +furtively, and, bending down, whispered in his ear: + +“A gentleman has called to take monsieur to the Kasbah.” + +Mr. Greyne started, and flushed a guilty red. + +“I will come in a moment,” he answered, trying to assume a nonchalant +voice, such as that in which a hardened major of dragoons announces that +in his time he was a devil of a fellow. + +The head waiter retired, looking painfully intelligent, and Mr. Greyne +sprang upstairs, seized a Merrin’s exercise-book and a lead pencil, put +on a dark overcoat, popped one of the Springfield revolvers into the +pocket of it, and hastened down into the hall of the hotel, where the +audacious-looking young man was standing, surrounded by saucy +chasseurs in gay liveries and peaked caps, by Algerian waiters, and by +German-Swiss porters, all of whom were smiling and looking choke-full of +sympathetic comprehension. + +“Ha!” said Mr. Greyne, still in the major’s, voice. “There you are!” + +“Behold me, monsieur.” + +“That’s good.” + +“Wicked, monsieur.” + +“Well, let’s be off to the mosque.” + +One of the chasseurs--a child of eight who was thankful that he knew no +better--burst into a piping laugh. The waiters turned hastily away, and +the German-Swiss porters retreated to the bureau with some activity. + +“To the mosque--precisely, monsieur,” returned the guide, with complete +self-possession. + +They stepped out at once upon the pavement, where a carriage was in +waiting. + +“Where are we going?” inquired Mr. Greyne in an anxious voice. + +“We are going to the heights to see the Ouled,” replied the guide. “_En +avant!_” + +He bounded in beside Mr. Greyne, the coachman cracked his whip, the +horses trotted. They were off upon their terrible pilgrimage. + + + + +V + +On the following afternoon, at a quarter to three, when Mr. Greyne +came down to breakfast, he found, lying beside the boiled eggs, a +note directed to him in a feminine handwriting. He tote it open with +trembling fingers, and read as follows:-- + + 1 Rue du Petit Neore. + + Dear Monsieur,--I am here. Poor mamma is in the hospital. I + am allowed to see her twice a day. At all other times I + remain alone, praying and weeping. I trust that monsieur has + passed a good night. For me, I was sleepless, thinking of + mamma. I go now to church. + + Adele Verbena. + +He laid this missive down, and sighed deeply. How strangely innocent it +was, how simple, how sincere! There were white souls in Algiers--yes, +even in Algiers. Strange that he should know one! Strange that he, who +had filled a Merrin’s exercise-book with tiny writing, and had even +overflowed on to the cover after “crossing” many pages, should receive +the child-like confidences of one! “I go now to the church.” Tears came +into his eyes as he laid the letter down beside a pile of buttered toast +over which the burning afternoon sun of Africa was shining. + +“Monsieur will take milk and sugar?” + +It was the head waiter’s Napoleonic voice. Mr. Greyne controlled +himself. The man was smiling intelligently. All the staff of the hotel +smiled intelligently at Mr. Greyne to-day--the waiters, the porters, the +chasseurs. The child of eight who was thankful that he knew no better +had greeted him with a merry laugh as he came down to breakfast, and an +“_Oh, là, là!_” which had elicited a rebuke from the proprietor. Indeed, +a wave of human sympathy flowed upon Mr. Greyne, whose ashy face and +dull, washed-out eyes betrayed the severity of his night-watch. + +“Monsieur will feel better after a little food.” + +The head waiter handed the buttered toast with bland majesty, at the +same time shooting a reproving glance at the little chasseur, who was +peeping from behind the door at the afternoon breakfaster. + +“I feel perfectly well,” replied Mr. Greyne, with an attempt at +cheerfulness. + +“Still, monsieur will feel much better after a little food.” + +Mr. Greyne began to toy with an egg. + +“You know Algiers?” he asked. + +“I was born here, monsieur. If monsieur wishes to explore to-night again +the Kasbah I can----” + +But Mr. Greyne stopped him with a gesture that was almost fierce. + +“Where is the Rue du Petit Nègre?” + +“Monsieur wishes to go there to-night?” + +“I wish to go there now, directly I have finished break--lunch.” + +The head waiter’s face was wreathed with humorous surprise. + +“But monsieur is wonderful--superb! Never have I seen a traveller like +monsieur!” + +He gazed at Mr. Greyne with tropical appreciation. + +“Monsieur had better have a carriage. The street is difficult to find.” + +“Order me one. I shall start at once.” + +Mr. Greyne pushed away the sunlit buttered toast, and got up. + +“Monsieur is superb. Never have I seen a traveller like monsieur!” + Napoleon’s voice was almost reverent. He hastened out, followed slowly +by Mr. Greyne. + +“A carriage for monsieur! Monsieur desires to go to the Rue du Petit +Nègre!” + +The staff of the hotel gathered about the door as if to speed a royal +personage, and Mr. Greyne noticed that their faces too were touched +with an almost startled reverence. He stepped into the carriage, signed +feebly, but with determination, to the Arab coachman, and was driven +away, followed by a parting “_Oh, là là!_” from the chasseur, uttered in +a voice that sounded shrill with sheer amazement. + +Through winding, crowded streets he went, by bazaars and Moorish +bath-houses, mosques and Catholic churches, barracks and cafés, till at +length the carriage turned into an alley that crept up a steep hill. It +moved on a little way, and then stopped. + +“Monsieur must descend here,” said the coachman. “Mount the steps, go +to the right and then to the left. Near the summit of the hill he will +find the Rue du Petit Nègre. Shall I wait for monsieur?” + +“Yes.” + +The coachman began to make a cigarette, while Mr. Greyne set forth +to follow his directions, and, at length, stood before an arch, which +opened into a courtyard adorned with orange-trees in tubs, and paved +with blue and white tiles. Around this courtyard was a three-storey +house with a flat roof, and from a bureau near a little fountain a stout +Frenchwoman called to demand his business. He asked for Mademoiselle +Verbena, and was at once shown into a saloon lined with chairs covered +with yellow rep, and begged to take a seat. In two minutes Mademoiselle +Verbena appeared, drying her eyes with a tiny pocket-handkerchief, and +forcing a little pathetic smile of welcome. Mr. Greyne clasped her hand +in silence. She sat down in a rep chair at his right, and they looked at +each other. + +“_Mais, mon Dieu!_ How monsieur is changed!” cried the Levantine. “If +madame could see him! What has happened to monsieur?” + +“Miss Verbena,” replied Mr. Greyne, “I have seen the Ouled on the +heights.” + +A spasm crossed the Levantine’s face. She put her handkerchief to it for +a moment. “What is an Ouled?” she inquired, withdrawing it. + +“I dare not tell you,” he replied solemnly. + +“But indeed I wish to know, so that I may sympathise with monsieur.” + +Mr. Greyne hesitated, but his heart was full; he felt the need of +sympathy. He looked at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a great longing to +unburden himself overcame him. + +“An Ouled,” he replied, “is a dancing-girl from the desert of Sahara.” + +“_Mon Dieu!_ How does she dance? Is it a valse, a polka, a quadrille?” + “No. Would that it were!” And Mr. Greyne, unable further to govern +his desire for full expression, gave Mademoiselle Verbena a slightly +Bowdlerised description of the dances of the desert. She heard him with +amazement. + +“How terrible!” she exclaimed when he had finished. “And does one pay +much to see such steps of the Evil One?” + +“I gave her twenty pounds. Abdallah Jack----” + +“Abdallah Jack?” + +“My guide informed me that was the price. He tells me it is against +the law, and that each time an Ouled dances she risks being thrown into +prison.” + +“Poor lady! How sad to have to earn one’s bread by such devices, instead +of by teaching to the sweet little ones of monsieur the sympathetic +grammar of one’s native country.” + +Mr. Greyne was touched to the quick by this allusion, which brought, as +in a vision, the happy home in Belgrave Square before him. + +“You are an angel!” he exclaimed. + +Mademoiselle Verbena shook her head. + +“And this poor Ouled, you will go to her again? + +“Yes. It seems that she is in communication with all the--the--well, +all the odd people of Algiers, and that one can only get at them through +her.” + +“Indeed?” + +“Abdallah Jack tells me that while I am here I should pay her a weekly +salary, and that, in return, I shall see all the terrible ceremonies of +the Arabs. I have decided to do so------ + +“Ah, you have decided!” + +For a moment Mr. Greyne started. There seemed a new sound in +Mademoiselle Verbena’s voice, a gleam in her dark brown eyes. + +“Yes,” he said, looking at her in wonder. “But I have not yet told +Abdallah Jack.” + +The Levantine looked gently sad again. + +“Ah,” she said in her usual pathetic voice, “how my heart bleeds for +this poor Ouled. By the way, what is her name?” + +“Aishoush.” + +“She is beautiful?” + +“I hardly know. She was so painted, so tattooed, so very--so very +different from Mrs. Eustace Greyne.” + +“How sad! How terrible! Ah, but you must long for the dear bonnet +strings of madame?” + +Did he? As she spoke Mr. Greyne asked himself the question. Shocked as +he was, fatigued by his researches, did he wish that he were back again +in Belgrave Square, drinking barley water, pasting notices of his wife’s +achievements into the new album, listening while she read aloud from +the manuscript of her latest novel? He wondered, and--how strange, how +almost terrible--he was not sure. + +“Is it not so?” murmured Mademoiselle Verbena. + +“Naturally I miss my beloved wife,” said Mr. Greyne with a certain +awkwardness. “How is your poor, dear mother?” + +Tears came at once into the Levantine’s eyes. + +“Very, very ill, monsieur. Still there is a chance--just a chance that +she may not die. Ah, when I sit here all alone in this strange place, I +feel that she will perish, that soon I shall be quite deserted in this +cruel, cruel world!” + +The tears began to flow down her cheeks with determination. Mr. Greyne +was terribly upset. + +“You must cheer up,” he exclaimed. “You must hope for the best.” + +“Sitting here alone, how can I?” + +She sobbed. + +“Sitting here alone--very true!” + +A sudden thought, a number of sudden thoughts, struck him. + +“You must not sit here alone.” + +“Monsieur!” + +“You must come out. You must drive. You must see the town, distract +yourself.” + +“But how? Can a--a girl go about alone in Algiers?” + +“Heaven forbid! No; I will escort you.” + +“Monsieur!” + +A smile of innocent, girlish joy transformed her face, but suddenly she +was grave again. + +“Would it be right, _convenable?_” + +Mr. Greyne was reckless. The dog potential rose up in him again. + +“Why not? And, besides, who knows us here? Not a soul.” + +“That is true.” + +“Put on your bonnet. Let us start at once!” + +“But I do not wear the bonnet. I am not like madame.” + +“To be sure. Your hat.” + +And as she flew to obey him, Mr. Eustace Greyne found himself impiously +thanking the powers that be for this strange chance of going on the +spree with a toque. When Mademoiselle Verbena returned he was looking +almost rakish. He eyed her neat black hat and close-fitting black jacket +with a glance not wholly unlike that of a militiaman. In her hand she +held a vivid scarlet parasol. + +“Monsieur,” she said, “it is terrible, this _ombrelle_, when mamma lies +at death’s door. But what can I do? I have no other, and cannot afford +to buy one. The sun is fierce. I dare not expose myself to it without a +shelter.” + +She seemed really distressed as she opened the parasol, and spread the +vivid silk above her pretty black-clothed figure; but Mr. Greyne thought +the effect was brilliant, and ventured to say so. As they passed the +bureau by the fountain on their way out the stout Frenchwoman cast an +approving glance at Mademoiselle Verbena. + +“The little rat will not see much more of the little negro now,” she +murmured to herself. “After all the English have their uses.” + + + + +VI + +In Belgrave Square Mrs. Eustace Greyne was beginning to get slightly +uneasy. Several things combined to make her so. In the first place, +Mademoiselle Verbena had never returned from her mother’s Parisian +bedside, and had not even written a line to say how the dear parent was, +and when the daughter’s nursing occupation was likely to be over. In the +second place, Adolphus, in consequence of the Levantine’s absence, had +totally lost his grasp, always uncertain, upon the irregular verbs. +In the third place, Darrell, the valet, had returned to London the day +after his departure from it, minus not only his master’s dressing-case, +but minus everything he possessed. His story was that, while waiting at +the station in Paris for his master’s appearance, he had entered into +conversation with an agreeable stranger, and been beguiled into the +acceptance of an absinthe at a café just outside. After swallowing +the absinthe he remembered nothing more till he came to himself in a +deserted waiting-room at the Gare du Nord, back to which he had been +mysteriously conveyed. In his pocket was no money, no watch, only +the return half of a second-class ticket from London to Paris. He, +therefore, wandered about the streets till morning broke, and then came +back to London a crestfallen and miserable man, bemoaning his untoward +fate, and cursing “them blasted Frenchies” from the bottom of his +British heart. + +Mrs. Greyne’s anxiety on her husband’s behalf, now that he was thrown +absolutely unattended upon the inhospitable shores of Africa, was not +lessened by a fourth circumstance, which, indeed, worried her far +more than all the others put together. This was Mr. Greyne’s prolonged +absence from her side. Precisely one calendar month had now elapsed +since he had buried his face in her prune bonnet strings at Victoria +Station, and there seemed no prospect of his return. He wrote to her, +indeed, frequently, and his letters were full of wistful regret and +longing to be once more safe in the old homestead in Belgrave Square, +drinking barley water, and pasting Romeike & Curtice notices into the +new album which lay, gaping for him, upon the table of his sanctum. But +he did not come; nay, more, he wrote plainly that there was no prospect +of his coming for the present. It seemed that the wickedness of Africa +was very difficult to come at. It did not lie upon the surface, but was +hidden far down in depths to which the ordinary tourist found it almost +impossible to penetrate. In his numerous letters Mr. Greyne described +his heroic and unremitting exertions to fill the Merrin’s note-books +with matter that would be suitable for the purging of humanity. He set +out in full his interview with Alphonso at the office of Rook, and +his definite rejection by that cosmopolitan official. According to +the letters, after this event he had spent no less than a fortnight +searching in vain for any sign of wickedness in the Algerian capital. He +had frequented the cafés, the public bars, the theatres, the churches. +He had been to the Velodrome. He had sat by the hour in the Jardin +d’Essai. At night he had strolled in the fairs and hung about the +circus. Yet nowhere had he been able to perceive anything but the +most innocent pleasure, the simple merriment of a gay and guileless +population to whom the idea of crime seemed as foreign as the idea of +singing the English national anthem. + +During the third week it was true that matters--always according to Mr. +Greyne’s letters home--slightly improved. While walking near the quay, +in active search for nautical outrage, he saw an Arab dock labourer, +who had been over-smoking kief, run amuck, and knock down a couple of +respectable snake-charmers who were on the point of embarkation for +Tunis with their reptiles. This incident had filed up a half-score of +pages in exercise-book number one, and had flooded Mr. Greyne with hope +and aspiration. But it was followed by a stagnant lull which had lasted +for days and had only been disturbed by the trifling incident of +a gentleman in the Jewish quarter of the town setting fire to a +neighbour’s bazaar, in the very natural endeavour to find a French +half-penny which he had chanced to drop among a bale of carpets while +looking in to drive a soft bargain. As Mrs. Greyne wired to Algiers, +such incidents were of no value to “Catherine.” + +A very active interchange of views had gone on between the husband and +wife as time went by, and the book was at a standstill. At first Mrs. +Greyne contented herself with daily letters, but latterly she had +resorted to wires, explanatory, condemnatory, hortatory, and even +comminatory. She began bitterly to regret her husband’s well-proven +innocence, and wished she had despatched an uncle of hers by marriage, +an ex-captain in the Royal Navy, who, she began to feel certain, would +have been able to find far more frailty in Algiers than poor Eustace, in +his simplicity, would ever come at. She even began to wish that she had +crossed the sea in person, and herself boldly set about the ingathering +of the material for which she was so impatiently waiting. + +Her uneasiness was brought to a head by a letter from a house agent, +stating that the corner mansion in Park Lane next to the Duke of +Ebury’s was being nibbled at by a Venezuelan millionaire. She wired this +terrible fact at once to Africa, adding, at an enormous expenditure of +cash: + + This will never do. You are too innocent, and cannot see + what lies before you. Obtain assistance. Go to the British + consul. + +Mr. Greyne at once cabled back: + + Am following your advice. Will wire result. Regret my + innocence, but am distressed that you should so utterly + condemn it. + +Upon receiving this telegram at night, before a lonely dinner, Mrs. +Eustace Greyne was deeply moved. She felt she had been hasty. She knew +that to very few women was it given to have a husband so free from +all masculine infirmities as Mr. Greyne. At the same time there was +“Catherine,” there was the mansion in Park Lane, there was the Venezuelan +millionaire. She began to feel distracted, and, for the first time in +her life, refused to partake of sweetbreads fried in mushroom ketchup, +a dish which she had greatly affected from the time when she wrote her +first short story. While she was in the very act of waving away this +delicacy a footman came in with a foreign telegram. She opened it +quickly, and read as follows:-- + + British consul horrified; was ignominiously expelled from + consulate; great scandal; am much upset, but will never give + in, for your sake. Eustace. + +As the dread meaning of these words penetrated at length to Mrs. +Greyne’s voluminous brain a deep flush overspread her noble features. +She rose from the table with a determination that struck awe to the +hearts of the powdered underlings, and, drawing herself up to her full +height, exclaimed: + +“Send Mrs. Forbes at once to my study, if you please--at once, do you +understand?” + +In a moment Mrs. Forbes, who was the great novelist’s maid, appeared on +the threshold of the oracle’s lair. She was a sober-looking, black-silk +personage, who always wore a pork-pie cap in the house, and a Mother +Hubbard bonnet out of it. Having been in service with Mrs. Greyne ever +since the latter penned her last minor poetry--Mrs. Greyne had been a +minor poet for three years soon after she put her hair up--Mrs. Forbes +had acquired a certain literary expression of countenance and a manner +that was decidedly prosy. She read a good deal after her supper of an +evening, and was wont to be the arbiter when any literary matter was +discussed in the servants’ hall. + +“Madam?” she said, respectfully entering the room, and bending the +pork-pie cap forward in an attentive attitude. + +Mrs. Greyne was silent for a moment. She appeared to be thinking deeply. +Mrs. Forbes gently closed the door, and sighed. It was nearly her +supper-time, and she felt pensive. + +“Madam?” she said again. + +Mrs. Greyne looked up. A strange fire burned in her large eyes. + +“Mrs. Forbes,” she said at length, with weighty deliberation, “the +mission of woman in the world is a great one.” + +“Very true, madam. My own words to Butler Phillips no longer ago than +dinner this midday.” + +“It is the protecting of man--neither more nor less.” + +“My own statement, madam, to Second Footman Archibald this self-same day +at the tea-board.” + +“Man needs guidance, and looks for it to us--or rather to me.” + +At the last word Mrs. Forbes pinched her lips together, and appeared +older than her years and sourer than her normal temper. + +“At this moment, Mrs. Forbes,” continued Mrs. Greyne, with rising +fervour, “he looks for it to me from Africa. From that dark continent +he stretches forth his hands to me in humble supplication.” + +“Mr. Greyne has not been taken with another of his bilious attacks, I +hope, madam?” said Mrs. Forbes. + +Mrs. Greyne smiled. The ignorance of the humbly born entertained her. It +was so simple, so transparent. + +“You fail to understand me,” she answered. “But never mind; others have +done the same.” + +She thought of her reviewers. Mrs. Forbes smiled. She also could be +entertained. + +“Madam?” she inquired once more after a pause. + +“I shall leave for Africa to-morrow morning,” said Mrs. Greyne. “You +will accompany me.” + +There was a dead silence. + +“You will accompany me. Do you understand? Obtain assistance from +the housemaids in the packing. Select my quietest gowns, my least +conspicuous bonnets. I have my reasons for wishing, while journeying to +Africa and remaining there, to pass, if possible, unnoticed.” + +Again there was a pause. Mrs. Greyne looked up at Mrs. Forbes, and +observed a dogged expression upon her countenance. + +“What is the matter?” she asked the maid. + +“Do we go by Paris, madam?” said Mrs. Forbes. + +“Certainly.” + +“Then, madam, I’m very sorry, but I couldn’t risk it, not if it was ever +so----” + +“Why not? Why this fear of Lutetia?” + +“Madam, I’m not afraid of any Lutetia as ever wore apron, but to go +to Paris to be drugged with absint, and put away in a third-class +waiting-room like a package--I couldn’t madam, not even if I have to +leave your service.” + +Mrs. Greyne recognised that the episode of the valet had struck home to +the lady’s maid. + +“But you will not leave my side.” + +“They will absint you, madam.” + +“But you will travel first in a sleeping-car.” + +Mrs. Forbes put up her hand to her pork-pie cap, as if considering. + +“Very well, madam, to oblige you I will undergo it,” she said at length. +“But I would not do the like for another living lady.” + +“I will raise your wages. You are a faithful creature.” + +“Does master expect us, madam?” asked Mrs. Forbes as she prepared to +retire. + +A bright and tender look stole into Mrs. Greyne’s intellectual face. + +“No,” she replied. + +She turned her large and beaming eyes full upon the maid. + +“Mrs. Forbes,” she said, with an amount of emotion that was very rare in +her, “I am going to tell you a great truth.” + +“Madam?” said Mrs. Forbes respectfully. + +“The sweetest moments of life, those which lift man nearest heaven, and +make him thankful for the great gift of existence, are sometimes those +which are unforeseen.” + +She was thinking of Mr. Greyne’s ecstasy when, upon the inhospitable +African shore where he was now enduring such tragic misfortunes, he +perceived the majestic form of his loved one--his loved one whom he +believed to be in Belgrave Square--coming towards him to soothe, to +comfort, to direct. She brushed away a tear. + +“Go, Mrs. Forbes,” she said. + +And Mrs. Forbes retired, smiling. + +An epic might well be written on the great novelist’s journey to Africa, +upon her departure from Charing Cross, shrouded in a black gauze veil, +her silent thought as the good ship _Empress_ rode cork-like upon the +Channel waves, her ascetic lunch--a captain’s biscuit and a glass of +water--at the buffet at Calais, her arrival in Paris when the shades +of night had fallen. An epic might well be written. Perhaps some day it +will be, by herself. + +In Paris she suffered a good deal on account of Mrs. Forbes, who, in her +fear of “ab-sint,” became hysterical, and caused not a little annoyance +by accusing various inoffensive French travellers of nefarious designs +upon her property and person. In the Gulf of Lyons she suffered even +more, and as, unluckily, the wind was contrary and the sea prodigious +during the whole of the passage across the Mediterranean, both she and +Mrs. Forbes arrived at Algiers four hours late, in a condition which may +be more easily imagined than properly described. + +Genius in thrall to the body, and absolutely dependent upon green +chartreuse for its flickering existence, is no subject for even a +sympathetic pen. Sufficient to say that, when the ship came in under the +lights of Algiers, the crowd of shouting Arabs was struck to silence by +the spectacle of Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes endeavouring to disembark, +in bonnets that were placed seaward upon the head instead of landward, +unbuttoned boots, and gowns soaked with the attentions of the waves. + +After being gently and permanently relieved of their light hand-baggage, +the mistress and maid, who seemed greatly overwhelmed by the sight +of Africa, and who moved--or rather were carried--as in a dream, were +placed reverently in the nearest omnibus, and conveyed to the farthest +hotel, which was situated upon a lofty hill above the town. Here a +slightly painful scene took place. + +Having been assisted by the staff into a Moorish hall, Mrs. Greyne +inquired in a reticent voice for her husband, and was politely informed +that there was no person of the name of Greyne in the hotel. For a +moment she seemed threatened with dissolution, but with a supreme effort +calling upon her mighty brain she surmised that her husband was possibly +passing under a pseudonym in order to throw America off the scent. She, +therefore, demanded to have the guests then present in the hotel at once +paraded before her. As there was some difficulty about this--the guests +being then at dinner--she whispered for the visitors’ book, thinking +that, perchance, Mr. Greyne had inscribed his name there, and that the +staff, being foreign, did not recognise it as murmured by herself. The +book was brought, upon its cover in golden letters the words: “Hôtel +Loubet et Majestic.” Then explanations of a somewhat disagreeable nature +occurred, and Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, after a heavy payment had +been exacted for their conveyance to a place they had desired not to +go to, were carried forth, and consigned to another vehicle, which at +length brought them, on the stroke of nine, to the Grand Hotel. + +Having been placed reverently in the brilliantly-lighted hall, they were +surrounded by the proprietor, the _maître d’hôtel_ and his assistants, +the porters, and the chasseurs, with all of whom Mr. Greyne was +now familiar. Brandy and water having been supplied, together with +smelling-salts and burnt feathers, Mrs. Greyne roused herself from an +acute attack of lethargy, and asked for Mr. Greyne. A joyous smile ran +round the circle. + +“Monsieur Greyne,” said the proprietor, “who is living here for the +winter?” 4 + +“Mr. Eustace Greyne,” murmured the great novelist, grasping her bonnet +with both hands. + +The _maître d’hôtel_ drew nearer. + +“Madame wishes to see Monsieur Greyne?” he asked. + +“I do--at once.” + +A blessed consciousness of Mother Earth was gradually beginning to steal +over her. She even strove feebly to sit up on her chair, a German-Swiss +porter of enormous size assisting her. + +“But Monsieur Greyne is out.” + +“Out?” + +“Yes, madame. Monsieur Greyne is always out at night.” + +The eyes of the little chasseur who knew no better began to twinkle. +Mrs. Forbes gave a slight cough. Tears filled the novelist’s eyes. + +“God bless my Eustace!” she murmured, deeply touched by this evidence of +his devotion to her interests. + +“Madame says----” asked the proprietor. + +“Where does Mr. Greyne go?” inquired the novelist. + +“To the Kasbah, madame.” + +“I knew it!” cried Mrs. Greyne, with returning animation. “I knew it +would be so!” + +“Madame is acquainted with Monsieur Greyne?” said the _maître d’hôtel_, +while the little crowd gathered more closely about the wave-worn group. + +“I am Mrs. Eustace Greyne,” returned the great novelist recklessly. “I +am the wife of Mr. Eustace Greyne.” + +There was a moment of supreme silence. Then a loud, an even piercing +“_Oh, là, là,_ broke upon the air, succeeded instantaneously by a burst +of laughter that seemed to thrill with all the wild blessedness of +boyhood. It came, of course, from the little chasseur; it came, and +stayed. Nothing could stop it, and eventually the happy child had to be +carried forth upon the sea-front to enjoy his innocent mirth at leisure +and in solitude beneath the African stars. Mrs. Greyne did not notice +his disappearance. She was intent upon important matters. + +“At what time does Mr. Greyne usually set forth?” she asked of the +proprietor, whose face now bore a strangely twisted appearance, as if +afflicted by a toothache. + +“Immediately after dinner, madame, if not before. Of late it has +generally been before.” + +“And he stays out late?” + +“Very late, madame.” + +The twisted appearance began to seem infectious. It was visible upon the +faces of most of those surrounding Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes. Indeed, +even the latter showed some signs of it, although the large shadow cast +over her features by the hind side of her Mother Hubbard bonnet to some +extent disguised them from the public view. + +“Till what hour?” pursued Mrs. Greyne in a voice of almost yearning +tenderness and pity. + +“Well, madame”--the proprietor displayed some slight confusion--“I +really can hardly say. The _maître d’hôtel_ can perhaps inform you.” + +Mrs. Greyne turned her ox-like eyes upon the enlarged edition of +Napoleon the First. + +“Monsieur Greyne seldom returns before seven or eight o’clock in the +morning, madame. He then retires to bed, and comes down to breakfast at +about four o’clock in the afternoon.” + +Mrs. Greyne was touched to the very quick. Her husband was sacrificing +his rest, his health--nay, perhaps even his very life--in her service. +It was well she had come, well that a period was to be put to these +terrible researches. They should be stopped at once, even this very +night. Better a thousand literary failures than that her husband’s +existence should be placed in jeopardy. She rose suddenly from her +chair, tottered, gasped, recovered herself, and spoke. + +“Prepare dinner for me at once,” she said, “and order a carriage and a +competent guide to be before the door in half-an-hour.” + +“Madame is going out? But madame is ill, tired!” + +“It matters not.” + +“Where does madame wish to go?” + +“I am going to the Kasbah to find my husband.” + +“I will escort madame.” + +The proprietor, the _maître d’hôtel_, the waiters, the porters, the +chasseurs, Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, all turned about to face the +determined speaker. + +And there before them, his dark eyes gleaming, his long moustaches +bristling fiercely--here stood Abdallah Jack. + + + + +VII + +Man is a self-deceiver. It must, therefore, ever be a doubtful point +whether Mr. Eustace Greyne, during his residence in Africa, absolutely +lost sight of his sense of duty; whether, beguiled by the lively +attentions of a fiercely foreign town, he deliberately resolved to +take his pleasure regardless of consequences and of the sacred ties of +Belgrave Square. We prefer to think that some vague idea of combining +two duties--that which he owed to himself and that which he owed to Mrs. +Greyne--moved him in all he did, and that the subterfuge into which +he was undoubtedly led was not wholly selfish, not wholly criminal. +Nevertheless, that he had lied to his beloved wife is certain. Even +while she sat over a cutlet and a glass of claret in the white-and-gold +dining-room of the Grand Hotel, preparatory to her departure to the +Kasbah with Abdallah Jack, the dozen of Merrin’s exercise-books lay +upstairs in Mr. Greyne’s apartments filled to the brim with African +frailty. Already there was material enough in their pages to furnish +forth a library of “Catherines.” Yet Mr. Greyne still lingered far from +his home, and wired to that home fabricated accounts of the singular +innocence of Algiers. He even allowed it to be supposed that his +own innocence stood in the way of his fulfilment of Mrs. Greyne’s +behests--he who could now have given points in knowledge of the world to +whole regiments of militiamen! + +It was not right, and, doubtless, he must stand condemned by every +moralist. But let it not be forgotten that he had fallen under the +influence of a Levantine. + +Mademoiselle Verbena’s mother, hidden in some unnamed hospital of +Algiers, appeared to be one of those ingenious elderly ladies who can +hover indefinitely upon the brink of death without actually dying. +During the whole time that Mr. Greyne had been in Africa her state had +been desperate, yet she still clung to life. As her daughter said, she +possessed extraordinary vitality, and this vitality seemed to have been +inherited by her child. Despite her grave anxieties Mademoiselle Verbena +succeeded in sustaining a remarkable cheeriness, and even a fascinating +vivacity, when in the company of others. As she said to Mr. Greyne, +she did not think it right to lay her burdens upon the shoulders of her +neighbours. She, therefore, forced herself to appear contented, even at +various moments gay, when she and Mr. Greyne were lunching, dining, or +supping together, were driving upon the front, sailing upon the azure +waters of the bay, riding upon the heights beyond El-Biar, or, ensconced +in a sumptuous private box, listening to the latest French farce at one +or another of the theatres. Only one day, when they had driven out to +the monastery at La Trappe de Staouëli, did a momentary cloud descend +upon her piquant features, and she explained this by the frank +confession that she had always wished to become a nun, but had been +hindered from following her vocation by the necessity of earning money +to support her aged parents. Mr. Greyne had never seen the Ouled since +his first evening in Algiers, but he still paid her a weekly salary, +through Abdallah Jack, who explained to him that the interesting lady, +in a discreet retirement, was perpetually occupied in arranging the +exhibitions of African frailty at which he so frequently assisted. +She was, in fact, earning her liberal salary. Mademoiselle Verbena +and Abdallah Jack had met on several occasions, and Mr. Greyne had +introduced the latter to the former as his guide, and had generously +praised his abilities; but in Mademoiselle Verbena took very little +notice of him, and, as time went on, Abdallah Jack seemed to conceive +a most distressing dislike of her. On several occasions he advised Mr. +Greyne not to frequent her company so assiduously, and when Mr. Greyne +asked him to explain the meaning of his monitions he took refuge in +vague generalities and Eastern imagery. He had a profound contempt +for women as companions, which grieved Mr. Greyne’s Western ideas, +and evidently thought that Mademoiselle Verbena ought to be clapped +forthwith into a long veil, and put away in a harem behind an iron +grille. When Mr. Greyne explained the English point of view Abdallah +Jack took refuge in a sulky silence; but during the week immediately +preceding the arrival of Mrs. Greyne his temper had become actively +bad, and Mr. Greyne began seriously to consider whether it would not +be better to pay him a last _douceur_, and tell him to go about his +business. + +Before doing this, however, Mr. Greyne desired to have one more +interview with the mysterious Ouled on the heights, to whom he owed the +knowledge which would henceforth enable him to cut out the militia. He +said so to Abdallah Jack. The latter agreed sulkily to arrange it; +and matters so fell out that on the night of Mrs. Greyne’s arrival +her husband was seated in a room in one of the remotest houses of the +Kasbah, watching the Ouled’s mysterious evolutions, while Mademoiselle +Verbena--as she herself had informed Mr.4 Greyne--sat in the hospital by +the bedside of her still dying mother. Abdallah Jack had apparently been +most anxious to assist at Mr. Greyne’s interview with the Ouled, but +Mr. Greyne had declined to allow this. The evil temper of the guide was +beginning to get thoroughly upon his employer’s nerves, and even the +natural desire to have an interpreter at hand was overborne by the +dislike of Abdallah Jack’s morose eyes and sarcastic speeches about +women. Moreover, the Ouled spoke a word or two of uncertain French. + +Thus, therefore, things fell out, and such was the precise situation +when Mrs. Greyne flicked a crumb from her chocolate brocade gown, tied +her bonnet strings, and rose from table to set forth to the Kasbah with +Abdallah Jack. + +It was a radiant night. In the clear sky the stars shone brilliantly, +looking down upon the persistent convulsions of the little chasseur, who +had not yet recovered from his attack of merriment on learning who +Mrs. Greyne was. The sea, quite calm now that the great novelist was no +longer upon it, lapped softly along the curving shores of the bay. The +palm-trees of the town garden where the band plays on warm evenings +waved lazily in the soft and scented breeze. The hooded figures of the +Arabs lounged against the stone wall that girdles the sea-front. In the +brilliantly-illuminated restaurants the rich French population gathered +about the little tables, while the withered beggars stared in upon the +oyster shells, the champagne bottles, and the feathers in the women’s +audacious hats. + +When Mrs. Greyne emerged upon the pavement before the Grand Hotel, +attended by Mrs. Forbes and the guide, she paused for a moment, and cast +a searching glance upon the fairy scene. In this voluptuous evening and +strange environment life seemed oddly dreamlike. She scarcely felt like +Mrs. Greyne. Possibly Mrs. Forbes also felt unlike herself, for she +suddenly placed one hand upon her left side, and tottered. Abdallah Jack +supported her. She screamed aloud. + +“Madam!” she said. “It is the vertigo. I am overtook!” + +She was really ill; her face, indeed, became the colour of a plover’s +egg. + +“Let me go to bed, madam,” she implored. “It is the vertigo, madam. I +am overtook!” + +Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Greyne would have prescribed a dose of +Kasbah air, but to-night she felt strange, and she wanted strangeness. +Mrs. Forbes with the vertigo, in a small carriage, would be +inappropriate. She, therefore, bade her retire, mounted into the vehicle +with Abdallah Jack, and was quickly driven away, her bonnet strings +floating upon the winsome wind. + +“You know my husband?” she asked softly of the guide. + +Abdallah Jack replied in French that he rather thought he did. + +“How is he looking?” continued Mrs. Greyne in a slightly yearning voice. +“My Eustace!” she added to herself, “my devoted one!” + +“Monsieur Greyne is pale as washed linen upon the Kasbah wall,” replied +Abdallah Jack, lighting a cigarette, and wreathing the great novelist in +its grey-blue smoke. “He is thin as the Spahi’s lance, he is nervous as +the leaves of the eucalyptus-tree when the winds blow from the north.” + +Mrs. Greyne was seriously perturbed. + +“Would I had come before!” she murmured, with serious self-reproach. + +“Monsieur Greyne is worse than all the English,” pursued Abdallah Jack +in a voice that sounded to Mrs. Greyne decidedly sinister. “He is worse +than the tourists of Rook, who laugh in the doorways of the mosques and +twine in their hair the dried lizards of the Sahara. Even the guide +of Rook rejected him. I only would undertake him because I am full of +evil.” + +Mrs. Greyne began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, and to wish she +had not been so ready to pander to Mrs. Forbes’ vertigo. She stole a +sidelong glance at her strange companion. The carriage was small. The +end of his bristling black moustache was very near. What he said of +Mr. Greyne did not disturb her, because she knew that her Eustace had +sacrificed his reputation to do her service; but what he said about +himself was not reassuring. + +“I think you must be doing yourself an injustice,” she said in a rather +agitated voice. + +“Madame?” + +“I do not believe you are so bad as you imply,” she continued. + +The carriage turned with a jerk out of the brilliantly-lighted +thoroughfare that runs along the sea into a narrow side street, crowded +with native Jews, and dark with shadows. + +“Madame does not know me.” + +The exact truth of this observation struck home, like a dagger, to the +mind of Mrs. Greyne. + +“I am a wicked person,” added Abdallah Jack, with a profound conviction. +“That is why Monsieur Greyne chose me as his guide.” + +The novelist began to quake. Her chocolate brocade fluttered. Was she +herself to learn at first hand, and on her first evening in Africa, +enough about African frailty to last her for the rest of her life? And +how much more of life would remain to her after her stock of knowledge +had been thus increased? The carriage turned into a second side street, +narrower and darker than the last. + +“Are we going right?” she said apprehensively. + +“No, madame; we are going wrong--we are going to the wicked part of the +city.” + +“But--but--you are sure Mr. Greyne will be there?” + +Abdallah Jack laughed sardonically. + +“Monsieur Greyne is never anywhere else. Monsieur Greyne is wicked as is +a mad Touareg of the desert.” + +“I don’t think you quite understand my husband,” said Mrs. Greyne, +feeling in duty bound to stand up for her poor, maligned Eustace. +“Whatever he may have done he has done at my special request.” + +“Madame says?” + +“I say that in all his proceedings while in Algiers Mr. Greyne has been +acting under my directions.” + +Abdallah Jack fixed his enormous eyes steadily upon her. + +“You are his wife, and told him to come here, and to do as he has done?” + +“Ye-yes,” faltered Mrs. Greyne, for the first time in her life feeling +as if she were being escorted towards the criminal dock by a jailer with +Puritan tendencies. + +“Then it is true what they say on the shores of the great canal,” he +remarked composedly. + +“What do they say?” inquired Mrs. Greyne. + +“That England is a land of female devils,” returned the guide as the +carriage plunged into a filthy alley, between two rows of blind houses, +and began to ascend a steep hill. + +Mrs. Greyne gasped. She opened her lips to protest vigorously, but her +head swam--either from indignation or from fatigue--and she could +not utter a word. The horses mounted like cats upward into the dense +blackness, from which dropped down the faint sounds of squealing music +and of hoarse cries and laughter. The wheels bounded over the stones, +sank into the deep ruts, scraped against the sides of the unlighted +houses. And Abdallah Jack sat staring at Mrs. Greyne as an English +clergyman’s wife might stare at the appalling rites of some deadly +cannibal encountered in a far-off land, with a stony wonder, a sort of +paralysed curiosity. + +Suddenly the carriage stopped on a piece of waste land covered with +small pebbles. Abdallah Jack sprang out. + +“Why do we stop?” said Mrs. Greyne, turning as pale as ashes. + +“The carriage can go no farther. Madame must walk.” + +Mrs. Greyne began to tremble. + +“We are to leave the coachman?” + +“I shall escort madame, alone.” + +The great novelist’s tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She felt +like a Merrin’s exercise-book, every leaf of which was covered with +African frailty. However, there was no help for it. She had to descend, +and stand among the pebbles. + +“Where are we going?” + +Abdallah Jack waved his hand towards a stone rampart dimly seen in the +faint light that emanated from the starry sky. + +“Down there into the alley of the Dead Dervishes.” + +Mrs. Greyne could not repress a cry of horror. At that moment she would +have given a thousand pounds to have Mrs. Forbes at her side. + +Abdallah Jack grasped her by the hand, and led her ruthlessly forward. +Gazing with terror-stricken eyes over the crumbling rampart of the +Kasbah, she saw the city far below her, the lights of the streets, the +lights of the ships in harbour. She heard the music of a bugle, and +wished she were a Zouave safe in barracks. She wished she were a +German-Swiss porter, a merry chasseur--anything but Mrs. Eustace Greyne. +One thing alone supported her in this hour of trial, the thought of her +husband’s ecstasy when she appeared upon the dread scene of his awful +labours, to tell him that he was released, that he need visit them no +more. + +The alley of the Dead Dervishes is long and winding. To Mrs. Greyne it +seemed endless. As she threaded it with faltering step, gripped by the +feverish hand of Abdallah Jack, who now began to display a strange and +terrible excitement, she became a centre of curiosity. Unwashed Arabs, +rakish Zouaves in blue and red, wandering Jews of various nationalities, +unveiled dancing-girls covered with jewels, stared in wonder upon the +chocolate brocade and the floating bonnet strings, followed upon her +footsteps, pointing with painted fingers, and making remarks of a +personal nature in French, Arabic, and other unknown tongues. She moved +in the midst of a crowd, on and on before lighted interiors from which +wild music flowed. + +“Shall we never be there?” she panted to Abdallah Jack. “My limbs refuse +their office.” She jogged against a Tunisian Jewess in a pointed hat, +and rebounded upon an enormous Riff in a tattered sheep-skin. “I can go +no farther.” + +“We are there! Behold the house of the Ouled!” + +As he uttered the last word he burst into a bitter laugh, and drew Mrs. +Greyne, now gasping for breath, through an open doorway into a little +hall of imitation marble, with fluted pillars adorned with oilcloth, and +walls hung with imported oleographs. From a chamber on the right, near +a winding staircase covered with blue-and-white tiles, came the sound of +laughter, of song, and of a hideous music conveyed to the astonied ear +by pipes and drums. + +“They are in there!” exclaimed Abdallah Jack, folding his arms, and +looking at Mrs. Greyne. “Go to your husband!” + +Mrs. Greyne put her hands to her magnificent forehead, and tottered +forward. She reached the door, she pushed it, she entered. There upon a +wooden dais, surrounded by gilt mirrors and artificial roses, she beheld +her husband, in a check suit and a white Homburg hat, performing the +wildest evolutions, while opposite him a lady, smothered in coloured +silks and coins, tattooed and painted, dyed and scented, covered with +kohl and crowned with ostrich feathers, screamed a nasal chant of the +East, and bounded like an electrified monkey. + +“Eustace!” cried Mrs. Greyne, leaning for support against an oleograph. + +Her husband turned. + +“Eustace!” she cried again. “It is I!” + +He stood as if turned to stone. Mrs. Greyne hesitated, started, moved +forward to the dais, and stared upon the Ouled, who had also ceased from +dancing, and looked strangely surprised, even confused, by the great +novelist’s intrusion. + +“Miss Verbena!” she exclaimed. “Miss Verbena in Algiers!” + +“Eugenia!” said Mr. Greyne in a husky voice, “what is this you say? +This lady is the Ouled.” + +A sardonic laugh came from the doorway. They turned. There stood +Abdallah Jack. He advanced roughly to the Ouled. + +“Come,” he said angrily. “Have we not earned the money of the stranger? +Have we not earned enough? To-morrow you shall marry me as you have +promised, and we will return to our own land, to the canal where you and +I were born. And nevermore shall the Levantine instruct the babes of +the English devils, but dwell veiled and guarded in the harem of her +master.” + +“Mademoiselle Verbena!” said Mr. Greyne in a more husky voice. +“But--but--your dying mother?” + +“She sleeps, monsieur, in the white sands of Ismailia, beside the +bitter lake. I trust that madame can now go on with the respectable +‘Catherine.’” + +And with an ironic reverence to Mrs. Eustace Greyne she placed her hand +in Abdallah Jack’s and vanished from the room. + +“Catherine’s Repentance,” published in a gigantic volume not many weeks +ago, was preceded by Mr. Eustace Greyne’s. When last heard of he was +seated in the magnificent library of the corner house in Park Lane next +to the Duke of Ebury’s, busily engaged in pasting the newspaper notices +of Mrs. Greyne’s greatest work into a superb new album. + +The Abdallah Jacks have returned to the Suez Canal, bearing with them +a snug little fortune to be invested in the purchase of a coal wharf +at Port Said, and a remarkably handsome crocodile dressing-case, fitted +with gold, and monogrammed with the initials “E. G.” + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne, by +Robert Hichens + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/23415-0.zip b/23415-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6a39c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/23415-0.zip diff --git a/23415-8.txt b/23415-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6542821 --- /dev/null +++ b/23415-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2777 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne, by Robert Hichens + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne + 1905 + +Author: Robert Hichens + +Release Date: November 8, 2007 [EBook #23415] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE + +By Robert Hichens + +Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers + +Copyright, 1905 + + + + +I + +Mrs. Eustace Greyne (pronounced Green) wrinkled her forehead--that +noble, that startling forehead which had been written about in the +newspapers of two hemispheres--laid down her American Squeezer pen, and +sighed. It was an autumn day, nipping and melancholy, full of the rustle +of dying leaves and the faint sound of muffin bells, and Belgrave Square +looked sad even to the great female novelist who had written her way +into a mansion there. Fog hung about with the policeman on the pavement. +The passing motor cars were like shadows. Their stertorous pantings +sounded to Mrs. Greyne's ears like the asthma of dying monsters. She +sighed again, and murmured in a deep contralto voice: "It must be so." +Then she got up, crossed the heavy Persian carpet which had been bought +with the proceeds of a short story in her earlier days, and placed her +forefinger upon an electric bell. + +Like lightning a powdered giant came. + +"Has Mr. Greyne gone out?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"Where is he?" + +"In his study, ma'am, pasting the last of the cuttings into the new +album." + +Mrs. Greyne smiled. It was a pretty picture the unconscious six-footer +had conjured up. + +"I am sorry to disturb Mr. Greyne," she answered, with that gracious, +and even curling suavity which won all hearts; "but I wish to see him. +Will you ask him to come to me for a moment?" + +The giant flew, silk-stockinged, to obey the mandate, while Mrs. Greyne +sat down on a carved oaken chair of ecclesiastical aspect to await her +husband. + +She was a famous woman, a personage, this simply-attired lady. With +an American Squeezer pen she had won fame, fortune, and a mansion +in Belgrave Square, and all without the sacrifice of principle. +Respectability incarnate, she had so dealt with the sorrows and evils of +the world that she had rendered them utterly acceptable to Mrs. Grundy, +Mr. Grundy, and all the Misses Grundy. People said she dived into the +depths of human nature, and brought up nothing that need scandalise a +curate's grandmother, or the whole-aunt of an archdeacon; and this +was so true that she had made a really prodigious amount of money. Her +large, her solid, her unrelenting books lay upon every table. Even the +smart set kept them, uncut--like pretty sinners who have never been +"found out"--to give an air of haphazard intellectuality to frisky +boudoirs, All the clergy, however unable to get their tithes, bought +them. All bishops alluded to them in "pulpit utterances." Fabulous +prices were paid for them by magazine editors. They ran as serials +through all the tale of months. The suburbs battened on them. The +provinces adored them. Country people talked of no other literature. In +fact, Mrs. Eustace Greyne was a really fabulous success. + +Why, then, should she heave these heavy sighs in Belgrave Square? Why +should she lift an intellectual hand as though to tousle the glossy +chestnut bandeaux which swept back from her forcible forehead, and screw +her reassuring features into these wrinkles of perplexity and distress? + +The door opened, and Mr. Eustace Greyne appeared, "What is it, +Eugenia?" upon his lips. + +Mr. Greyne was a number of years younger than his celebrated wife, +and looked even younger than his years. He was a very smart man, with +smooth, jet-black hair, which he wore parted in the middle; pleasant, +dark eyes that could twinkle gently; a clear, pale complexion; and a +nice, tall figure. One felt, in glancing at him, that he had been an +Eton boy, and had at least thought of going into the militia at some +period of his life. His history can be briefly told. + +Scarcely had he emerged into the world before he met and was married to +Mrs. Eustace Greyne, then Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker. He had had no +time to sow a single oat, wild or otherwise; no time to adore a barmaid, +or wish to have his name linked with that of an actress; no time to do +anything wrong, or even to know, with the complete accuracy desired +by all persevering young men, what was really wrong. Miss Eugenia +Hannibal-Barker sailed upon his horizon, and he struck his flag to +matrimony. Ever since then he had been her husband, and had never, even +for one second, emerged beyond the boundaries of the most intellectual +respectability. He was the most innocent of men, although he knew all +the important editors in London. Swaddled in money by his successful +wife, he considered her a goddess. She poured the thousands into Coutts' +Bank, and with the arrival of each fresh thousand he was more firmly +convinced that she was a goddess. To say he looked up to her would be +too mild. As the Cockney tourist in Chamounix peers at the summit of +Mont Blanc, he peered at Mrs. Greyne. And when, finally, she bought the +lease of the mansion in Belgrave Square, he knew her Delphic. + +So now he appeared in the oracle's retreat respectfully, "What is it, +Eugenia?" upon his admiring lips. + +"Sit down, my husband," she murmured. + +Mr. Greyne subsided by the fire, placing his pointed patent-leather toes +upon the burnished fender. Without the fog grew deeper, and the chorus +of the muffin bells more plaintive. The fire-light, flickering over Mrs. +Greyne's majestic features, made them look Rembrandtesque. Her large, +oxlike eyes were fixed and thoughtful. After a pause, she said: + +"Eustace, I shall have to send you upon a mission." + +"A mission, Eugenia!" said Mr. Greyne in great surprise. + +"A mission of the utmost importance, the utmost delicacy." + +"Has it anything to do with Romeike & Curtice?" + +"No." + +"Will it take me far?" + +"That is my trouble. It will take you very far." + +"Out of London?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"Out of--not out of England?" + +"Yes; it will take you to Algeria." + +"Good gracious!" cried Mr. Greyne. + +Mrs. Greyne sighed. + +"Good gracious!" Mr. Greyne repeated after a short interval. "Am I to +go alone?" "Of course you must take Darrell." Darrell was Mr. Greyne's +valet. + +"And what am I to do at Algiers?" + +"You must obtain for me there the whole of the material for book six +of 'Catherine's Repentance,'" "Catherine's Repentance" was the gigantic +novel upon which Mrs. Greyne was at that moment engaged. + +"I will not disguise from you, Eustace," continued Mrs. Greyne, looking +increasingly Rembrandtesque, "that, in my present work, I am taking a +somewhat new departure." + +"Well, but we are very comfortable here," said Mr. Greyne. + +With each new book they had changed their abode. "Harriet" took them +from Phillimore Gardens to Queensgate Terrace; "Jane's Desire" moved +them on to a corner house in Sloane Street; with "Isobel's Fortune" they +passed to Curzon Street; "Susan's Vanity" landed them in Coburg Place; +and, finally, "Margaret's Involution" had planted them in Belgrave +Square. Now, with each of these works of genius Mrs. Greyne had taken +what she called "a new departure." Mr. Greyne's remark is, therefore, +explicable. + +"True. Still, there is always Park Lane." + +She mused for a moment. Then, leaning more heavily upon the carved lions +of her chair, she continued: + +"Hitherto, although I have sometimes dealt with human frailty, I have +treated it gently. I have never betrayed a Zola-spirit." + +"Zola! My darling!" cried Mr. Eustace Greyne. "You are surely not going +to betray anything of that sort now!" + +"If she does we shall soon have to move off to West Kensington," was his +secret thought. + +"No. But in book six of 'Catherine' I have to deal with sin, with +tumult, with African frailty. It is inevitable." + +She sighed once more. The burden of the new book was very heavy upon +her. + +"African frailty!" murmured the astonished Eustace Greyne. + +"Now, neither you nor I, my husband, know anything about this." + +"Certainly not, my darling. How should we? We have never explored beyond +Lucerne." + +"We must, therefore, get to know about it--at least you must. For I +cannot leave London. The continuity of the brain's travelling must not +be imperiled by any violent bodily activity. In the present stage of my +book a sea journey might be disastrous." + +"Certainly you should keep quiet, my love. But then---" + +"You must go for me to Algiers. There you must get me what I want. I +fear you will have to poke about in the native quarters a good deal for +it, so you had better buy two revolvers, one for yourself and one for +Darrell." + +Mr. Greyne gasped. The calmness of his wife amazed him. He was not +intellectual enough to comprehend fully the deep imaginings of a mighty +brain, the obsession work is in the worker. + +"African frailty is what I want," pursued Mrs. Greyne. "One hundred +closely-printed pages of African frailty. You will collect for me the +raw material, and I shall so manipulate it that it will fall discreetly, +even elevatingly, into the artistic whole. Do you understand me, +Eustace?" + +"I am to travel to Algiers, and see all the wickedness to be seen there, +take notes of it, and bring them back to you." + +"Precisely." + +"And how long am I to stay?" + +"Until you have made yourself acquainted with the depths." + +"A fortnight?" + +"I should think that would be enough. Take Brush's remedy for +seasickness and plenty of antipyrin, your fur coat for the crossing, and +a white helmet and umbrella for the arrival. You have lead pencils?" + +"Plenty." + +"A couple of Merrin's exercise-books should be enough to contain your +notes." + +"When am I to go?" + +"The sooner the better. I am at a standstill for want of the material. +You might catch the express to Paris to-morrow; no, say the day after +to-morrow." She looked at him tenderly. "The parting will be bitter." + +"Very bitter," Mr. Eustace Greyne replied. + +He felt really upset. Mrs. Greyne laid the hand which had brought them +from Phillimore Gardens to Belgrave Square gently upon his. + +"Think of the result," she said. "The greatest book I have done yet. A +book that will last. A book that will----" + +"Take us to Park Lane," he murmured. + +The Rembrandtesque head nodded. The noble features, as of a strictly +respectable Roman emperor, relaxed. + +"A book that will take us to Park Lane." + +At this moment the door opened, and the footman inquired: + +"Could Mademoiselle Verbena see you for a minute, ma'am?" + +Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of the two little Greynes. +The great novelist had consented to become a mother. + +"Certainly." + +In another moment Mademoiselle Verbena was added to the group beside the +fire. + + + + +II + +We have said that Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of +little Adolphus and Olivia Greyne, and so she was to this extent--that +she taught them French, and that Mr. and Mrs. Greyne supposed her to be +a Parisian. But life has its little ironies. Mademoiselle Verbena in the +house of this great and respectable novelist was one of them; for she +was a Levantine, born at Port Said of a Suez Canal father and a Suez +Canal mother. Now, nobody can desire to say anything against Port Said. +At the same time, few mothers would inevitably pick it out as the ideal +spot from which a beneficent influence for childhood's happy hour would +be certain to emanate. Nor, it must be allowed, is a Suez Canal ancestry +specially necessary to a trainer of young souls. It may not be a +drawback, but it can hardly be described as an advantage. This, +Mademoiselle Verbena was intelligent enough to know. She, therefore, +concealed the fact that her father had been a dredger of Monsieur de +Lesseps' triumph, her mother a bar-lady of the historic coal wharf where +the ships are fed, and preferred to suppose--and to permit others to +suppose--that she had first seen the light in the Rue St. Honor, her +parents being a count and countess of some old rgime. + +This supposition, retained from her earliest years, had affected her +appearance and her manner. She was a very neat, very trim, even a very +attractive little person, with dark brown, roguish eyes, blue-black +hair, a fairy-like figure, and the prettiest hands and feet imaginable. +She had first attracted Mrs. Greyne's attention by her devotion to St. +Paul's Cathedral, and this devotion she still kept up. Whenever she had +an hour or two free she always--so she herself said--spent it in "_ce +charmant_ St. Paul." + +As she entered the oracle's retreat she cast down her eyes, and trembled +visibly. + +"What is it, Miss Verbena?" inquired Mrs. Greyne, with a kindly English +accent, calculated to set any poor French creature quite at ease. + +Mademoiselle Verbena trembled more. + +"I have received bad news, madame." + +"I grieve to hear it. Of what nature?" + +"Mamma has _une bronchite trs grave_." + +"A what, Miss Verbena?" + +"Pardon, madame. A very grave bronchitis. She cries for me." + +"Indeed!" + +"The doctors say she will die." + +"This is very sad." + +The Levantine wept. Even Suez Canal folk are not proof against all human +sympathy. Mr. Greyne blew his nose beside the fire, and Mrs. Greyne said +again: + +"I repeat that this is very sad." + +"Madame, if I do not go to mamma tomorrow I shall not see her more." + +Mrs. Greyne looked very grave. + +"Oh!" she remarked. She thought profoundly for a moment, and then added: +"Indeed!" + +"It is true, madame." + +Suddenly Mademoiselle Verbena flung herself down on the Persian carpet +at Mrs. Greyne's large but well-proportioned feet, and, bathing them +with her tears, cried in a heartrending manner: + +"Madame will let me go! madame will permit me to fly to poor mamma--to +close her dying eyes--to kiss once again----" + +Mr. Greyne was visibly affected, and even Mrs. Greyne seemed somewhat +put about, for she moved her feet rather hastily out of reach of the +dependant's emotion, and made her scramble up. + +"Where is your poor mother?" + +"In Paris, madame. In the Rue St. Honor, where I was born. Oh, if she +should die there! If she should----" + +Mrs. Greyne raised her hand, commanding silence. + +"You wish to go there?" + +"If madame permits." + +"When?" + +"To-morrow, madame." + +"To-morrow? This is decidedly abrupt." + +"_Mais la bronchite, madame_, she is abrupt, and death, she may be +abrupt." + +"True. One moment!" + +There was an instant's silence for Mrs. Greyne to let loose her brain +in. She did so, then said: + +"You have my permission. Go to-morrow, but return as soon as possible. +I do not wish Adolphus to lose his still uncertain grasp upon the +irregular verbs." + +In a flood of grateful tears Mademoiselle Verbena retired to make her +preparations. On the morrow she was gone. + +The morrow was a day of much perplexity, much bustle and excitement for +Mr. Greyne and the valet, Darrell. They were preparing for Algiers. In +the morning, at an early hour, Mr. Greyne set forth in the barouche with +Mrs. Greyne to purchase African necessaries: a small but well-supplied +medicine chest, a pith helmet, a white-and-green umbrella, a Baedeker, +a couple of Smith & Wesson Springfield revolvers with a due amount of +cartridges, a dozen of Merrin's exercise-books--on mature reflection +Mrs. Creyne thought that two would hardly contain a sufficient amount of +African frailty for her present purpose--a packet of lead pencils, some +bottles of a remedy for seasickness, a silver flask for cognac, and +various other trifles such as travellers in distant continents require. + +Meanwhile Darrell was learning French for the journey, and packing his +own and his master's trunks. The worthy fellow, a man of twenty-five +summers, had never been across the Channel--the Greynes being by no +means prone to foreign travel--and it may, therefore, be imagined that +he was in a state of considerable expectation as he laid the trousers, +coats, and waistcoats in their respective places, selected such boots +as seemed likely to wear well in a tropical climate, and dropped those +shirts which are so contrived as to admit plenty of ventilation to the +heated body into the case reserved for them. + +When Mr. Greyne returned from his shopping excursion the barouche, +loaded almost to the gunwale--if one may be permitted a nautical +expression in this connection--had to be disburdened, and its contents +conveyed upstairs to Mr. Greyne's bedroom, into which Mrs. Greyne +herself presently entered to give directions for their disposing. Nor +was it till the hour of sunset that everything was in due order, the +straps set fast, the keys duly turned in the locks--the labels--"Mr. +Eustace Greyne: Passenger to Algiers: via Marseilles"--carefully written +out in a full, round hand. Rook's tickets had been bought; so now +everything was ready, and the last evening in England might be spent +by Mr. Greyne in the drawing-room and by Darrell in the servants' hall +quietly, socially, perhaps pathetically. + +The pathos of the situation, it must be confessed, appealed more to +the master than to the servant. Darrell was very gay, and inclined to be +boastful, full of information as to how he would comport himself with +"them there Frenchies," and how he would make "them pore, godless Arabs +sit up." But Mr. Greyne's attitude of mind was very different. As +the night drew on, and Mrs. Greyne and he sat by the wood fire in the +magnificent drawing-room, to which they always adjourned after dinner, a +keen sense of the sorrow of departure swept over them both. + +"How lonely you will feel without me, Eugenia," said Mr. Greyne. "I +have been thinking of that all day." + +"And you, Eustace, how desolate will be your tale of days! My mind runs +much on that. You will miss me at every hour." + +"You are so accustomed to have me within call, to depend upon me for +encouragement in your life-work. I scarcely know how you will get on +when I am far across the sea." + +"And you, for whom I have labored, for whom I have planned and +calculated, what will be your sensations when you realize that a +gulf--the Gulf of Lyons--is fixed irrevocably between us?" + +So their thoughts ran. Each one was full of tender pity for the other. +Towards bedtime, however, conscious that the time for colloquy was +running short, they fell into more practical discourse. + +"I wonder," said Mr. Greyne, "whether I shall find any difficulty in +gaining the information you require, my darling. I suppose these +places"--he spoke vaguely, for his thoughts were vague--"are somewhat +awkward to come at. Naturally they would avoid the eye of day." + +Mrs. Greyne looked profound. + +"Yes. Evil ever seeks the darkness. You will have to do the same." + +"You think my investigations must take place at night?" + +"I should certainly suppose so." + +"And where shall I find a cicerone?" + +"Apply to Rook." + +"In what terms? You see, dearest, this is rather a special matter, isn't +it?" + +"Very special. But on no account hint that you are in Algiers for +'Catherine's' sake. It would get into the papers. It would be cabled to +America. The whole reading world would be agog, and the future interest +of the book discounted." + +Mr. Greyne looked at his wife with reverence. In such moments he +realized, almost too poignantly, her great position. + +"I will be careful," he said. "What would you recommend me to say?" + +"Well"--Mrs. Greyne knit her superb forehead--"I should suggest that +you present yourself as an ordinary traveler, but with a +specially inquiring bent of mind and a slight tendency towards +the--the--er--hidden things of life." + +"I suppose you wish me to visit the public houses?" + +"I wish you to see everything that has part or lot in African frailty. +Go everywhere, see everything. Bring your notes to me, and I will select +such fragments of the broken commandments as suit my purpose, which +is, as always, the edifying of the human race. Only this time I mean to +purge it as by fire." + +"That corner house in Park Lane, next to the Duke of Ebury's, would suit +us very well," said Mr. Greyne reflectively. + +"We could sell our lease here at an advance," his wife rejoined. "You +will not waste your journey, Eustace?" + +"My love," returned Mr. Greyne with decision, "I will apply to Rook on +arrival, and, if I find his man unsatisfactory, if I have any reason +to suspect that I am not being shown everything--more especially in the +Kasbah region, which, from the guide-books we bought to-day, is, I +take it, the most abandoned portion of the city--I will seek another +cicerone." + +"Do so. And now to bed. You must sleep well to-night in preparation for +the journey." + +It was their invariable habit before retiring to drink each a tumbler +of barley water, which was set out by the butler in Mrs. Greyne's study. +After this nightcap Mrs. Greyne wrote up her anticipatory diary, while +Mr. Greyne smoked a mild cigar, and then they went to bed. To-night, +as usual, they repaired to the sanctum, and drank their barley water. +Having done so, Mr. Greyne drew forth his cigar-case, while Mrs. Greyne +went to her writing-table, and prepared to unlock the drawer in which +her diary reposed, safe from all prying eyes. + +The match was struck, the key was inserted in the lock, and turned. As +the cigar end glowed the drawer was opened. Mr. Greyne heard a contralto +cry. He turned from the arm-chair in which he was just about to seat +himself. + +"My love, is anything the matter?" + +His wife was bending forward with both hands in the drawer, telling over +its contents. + +"My diary is not here!" + +"Your diary!" + +"It is gone." + +"But"--he came over to her--"this is very serious. I presume, like all +diaries, it is full of----" Instinctively he had been about to say +"damning"; he remembered his dear one's irreproachable character and +substituted "precious secrets." + +"It is full of matter which must never be given to the world--my secret +thoughts, my aspirations. The whole history of my soul is there." + +"Heavens! It must be found." + +They searched the writing-table. They searched the room. No diary. + +"Could you have taken it to my room, and left it there?" asked Mr. +Greyne. + +They hastened thither, and looked--in vain. By this time the servants +were gone to bed, and the two searchers were quite alone on the ground +floor of their magnificent mansion. Mrs. Greyne began to look seriously +perturbed. Her Roman features worked. + +"This is appalling," she exclaimed. "Some thief, knowing it priceless, +must have stolen the diary. It will be published in America. It will +bring in thousands--but to others, not to us." + +She began to wring her hands. It was near midnight. + +"Think, my love, think!" cried Mr. Greyne. "Where could you have taken +it? You had it last night?" + +"Certainly. I remember writing in it that you would be sailing to +Algiers on the _Gnral Bertrand_ on Thursday of this week, and that on +the night I should be feeling widowed here. The previous night I wrote +that yesterday I should have to tell you of your mission. You know I +always put down beforehand what I shall do, what I shall even think +on each succeeding day. It is a practice that regulates the mind and +conduct, that helps to uniformity." + +"How true! Who can have taken it? Do you ever leave it about?" + +"Never. Am I a madwoman?" + +"My darling, compose yourself! We must search the house." + +They proceeded to do so, and, on coming into the schoolroom, Mrs. +Greyne, who was in front, uttered a sudden cry. + +Upon the table of Mademoiselle Verbena lay the diary, open at the +following entry:-- + +On Thursday next poor Eustace will be on board the _Gnral Bertrand_, +sailing for Algiers. I shall be here thinking of myself, and of him in +relation to myself. God help us both. Duty is sometimes stern. Mem. The +corner house in Park Lane, next the Duke of Ebury's, has sixty years +still to run; the lease, that is. Thursday--poor Eustace! + +"What does this portend?" cried Mrs. Greyne. + +"My darling, it passes my wit to imagine," replied her husband. + + + + +III + +The parting of Mr. and Mrs. Greyne on the following morning was very +affecting. It took place at Victoria Station, in the midst of a small +crowd of admiring strangers, who had recognised the commanding +presence of the great novelist, and had gathered round to observe her +manifestations. + +Mrs. Greyne was considerably shaken by the event of the previous night. +Although, on the discovery of the diary, the house had been roused, and +all the servants closely questioned, no light had been thrown upon its +migration from the locked drawer to the schoolroom table. Adolphus and +Olivia, jerked from sleep by the hasty hands of a maid, could only weep +and wan. The powdered footmen, one and all, declared they had never +heard of a diary. The butler gave warning on the spot, keeping on his +nightcap to give greater effect to his pronunciamento. It was all most +unsatisfactory, and for one wild moment Mrs. Greyne seriously thought +of retaining her husband by her as a protection against the mysterious +thief who had been at work in their midst. Could it be Mademoiselle +Verbena? The dread surmise occurred, but Mr. Greyne rejected it. + +"Her father was a count," he said. "Besides, my darling, I don't +believe she can read English; certainly not unless it is printed." + +So there the matter rested, and the moment of parting came. + +There was a murmur of respectful sympathy as Mrs. Greyne clasped +her husband tenderly in her arms, and pressed his head against her +prune-coloured bonnet strings. The whistle sounded. The train moved on. +Leaning from a reserved first-class compartment, Mr. Greyne waved a silk +pocket-handkerchief so long as his wife's Roman profile stood out clear +against the fog and smoke of London. But at last it faded, grew remote, +took on the appearance of a feebly-executed crayon drawing, vanished. He +sank back upon the cushions--alone. Darrell was travelling second with +the dressing-case. + +It was a strange sensation, to be alone, and _en route_ to Algiers. Mr. +Greyne scarcely knew what to make of it. A schoolboy suddenly despatched +to Timbuctoo could hardly have felt more terribly emancipated than he +did. He was so absolutely unaccustomed to freedom, he had been for so +long without the faintest desire for it, that to have it thrust upon +him so suddenly was almost alarming. He felt lonely, anxious, horribly +unmarried. To divert his thoughts he drew forth a Merrin's exercise-book +and a pencil, and wrote on the first page, in large letters, "_African +Frailty, Notes for_" Then he sat gazing at the title of his first +literary work, and wondering what on earth he was going to see in +Algiers. + +Vague visions of himself in the bars of African public-houses, in +mosques, in the two-pair-backs of dervishes, in bazaars--which he +pictured to himself like those opened by royalties at the Queen's +Hall--in Moorish interiors surrounded by voluptuous ladies with large +oval eyes, black tresses, and Turkish trousers of spangled muslin, +flitted before his mental gaze. When the train ran upon Dover Pier, and +the white horses of the turbulent Channel foamed at his feet, he started +as one roused from a Rip Van Winkle sleep. Severe illness occupied his +whole attention for a time, and then recovery. + +In Paris he dined at the buffet like one in a dream, and, at the +appointed hour, came forth to take the _rapide_ for Marseilles. He +looked for Darrell and the dressing-case. They were not to be seen. +There stood the train. Passengers were mounting into it. Old ladies +with agitated faces were buying pillows and nibbling biscuits. Elderly +gentlemen with yellow countenances and red ribands in their coats were +purchasing the _Figaro_ and the _Gil Blas_. Children with bare legs were +being hauled into compartments. Rook's agent was explaining to a muddled +tourist in a tam-o'-shanter the exact difference between the words "Oui" +and "Non" The bustle of departure was in the air, but Darrell was not +to be seen. Mr. Greyne had left him upon the platform with minute +directions as to the point from which the train would start and the hour +of its going. Yet he had vanished. The most frantic search, the most +frenzied inquiries of officials and total strangers, failed to elicit +his whereabouts, and, finally, Mr. Greyne was flung forcibly upward +into the _wagonlit_, and caught by the _contrleur_ when the train was +actually moving out of the station. + +A moment later he fell exhausted upon the pink-plush seat of his +compartment, realising his terrible position. He was now utterly alone; +without servant, hair-brushes, toothbrushes, razors, sponges, pajamas, +shoes. It was a solitude that might be felt. He thought of the sea +journey with no kindly hand to minister to him, the arrival in Africa +with no humble companion at his side, to wonder with him at the black +inhabitants and help him through the customs--to say nothing of the +manners. He thought of the dread homes of iniquity into which he +must penetrate by night in search of the material for the voracious +"Catherine." He had meant to take Darrell with him to them all--Darrell, +whose joyful delight in the prospect of exploring the Eastern fastnesses +of crime had been so boyish, so truly English in its frank, its even +boisterous sincerity. + +And now he was utterly alone, almost like Robinson Crusoe. + +The _contrleur_ came in to make the bed. Mr. Greyne told him the +dreadful story. + +"No doubt he has been lured away, monsieur. The dressing-case was of +value?" + +"Crocodile, gold fittings." + +"Probably monsieur will never see him again. As likely as not he will +sleep in the Seine to-night, and at the morgue to-morrow." + +Mr. Greyne shuddered. This was an ill omen for his expedition. He drank +a stiff whisky-and-soda instead of the usual barley water, and went to +bed to dream of bloody murders in which he was the victim. + +When the train ran into Marseilles next morning he was an unshaven, +miserable man. + +"Have I time to buy a tooth-brush," he inquired anxiously at the +station, "before the boat sails for Algiers?" + +The _chef de gare_ thought so. Monsieur had four hours, if that was +sufficient. Mr. Greyne hastened forth, had a Turkish bath, purchased a +new dressing-case, ate a hasty _djeuner_, and took a cab to the wharf. +It was a long drive over the stony streets. He glanced from side to +side, watching the bustling traffic, the hurry of the nations going to +and from the ships. His eyes rested upon two Arabs who were striding +along in his direction. Doubtless they were also bound for Algiers. He +thought they looked most wicked, and hastily took a note of them for +"African Frailty." Beside his sense of loss and loneliness marched the +sense of duty. The great woman at home in Belgrave Square, founder of +his fortunes, mother of his children, she depended upon him. Even in his +own hour of need he would not fail her. He took a lead pencil, and wrote +down: + +Saw two Arab ruffians. Bare legs. Look capable of anything. Should not +be surprised to hear that they had---- + +There he paused. That they had what? Done things. Of course, but what +things? That was the question. He exerted his imagination, but failed to +arrive at any conclusion as to their probable crimes. His knowledge +of wickedness was really absurdly limited. For the first time he felt +slightly ashamed of it, and began to wish he had gone into the militia. +He comforted himself with the thought that in a fortnight he would +probably be fit for the regular army. This thought cheered him slightly, +and it was with a slight smile upon his face that he welcomed the first +glimpse of the _Gnral Bertrand_, which was lying against the quay +ready to cast off at the stroke of noon. Most of the passengers were +aboard, but, as Mr. Greyne stepped out of his cab, and prepared to pay +the Maltese driver, a trim little lady, plainly dressed in black, and +carrying a tiny and rather coquettish hand-bag, was tripping lightly +across the gangway. Mr. Greyne glanced at her as he turned to follow, +glanced, and then started. That back was surely familiar to him. Where +could he have seen it before? He searched his memory as the little lady +vanished. It was a smart, even a _chic_ back, a back that knew how to +take care of itself, a back that need not go through the world alone, +a back, in fine, that was most distinctly attractive, if not absolutely +alluring. Where had he seen it before, or had he ever seen it at all? +He thought of his wife's back, flat, powerful, uncompromising. This was +very different, more--how should he put it to himself?--more Algerian, +perhaps. He could vaguely conceive it a back such as one might meet with +while engaged in adding to one's stock of knowledge of--well--African +frailty. + +At this moment the steward appeared to show him to his cabin, and his +further reflections were mainly connected with the Gulf of Lyons. + +Twilight was beginning to fall when, so far as he was capable of +thinking, he thought he would like a breath of air. For some moments he +lay quite still, dwelling on this idea which had so mysteriously come to +him. Then he got up, and thought again, seated upon the cabin floor. +He knew there was a deck. He remembered having seen one when he came +aboard. He put on his fur coat, still sitting on the cabin floor. The +process took some time--he fancied about a couple of years. At last, +however, it was completed, and he rose to his feet with the assistance +of the washstand and the berth. + +The ship seemed very busy, full of almost American activity. He thought +a greater calm would have been more decent, and waited in the hope +that the floor would presently cease to forget itself. As it showed no +symptoms of complying with his desire he endeavoured to spurn it, and, +in the fulness of time, gained the companion. + +It was very strange, as he remembered afterwards, that only when he had +gained the companion did the sense of his utter loneliness rush upon +him with overwhelming force: one of the ironies of life, he supposed. +Eventually he shook the companion off with a good deal of difficulty, +and found himself installed upon planks under a grey sky, and holding +fast to a railing, which was all that interposed between him and +eternity. + +At first he was only conscious of greyness and the noise of winds +and waters, but presently a black daub seemed to hover for a second +somewhere on the verge of his world, to hover and disappear. He wondered +what it was. A smut, perhaps. He rubbed his face. The daub returned. +It was very large for a smut. He strove to locate it, and found that it +must be somewhere on his left cheek. With a great effort he took out his +pocket-handkerchief. Suddenly the daub assumed monstrous proportions. +He turned his head, and perceived the lady in black whom he had seen +tripping over the gangway on his arrival. + +She was a few steps from him, leaning upon the rail in an attitude of +the deepest dejection, with her face averted; yet it struck him that her +right shoulder was oddly familiar, as her back had surely been. The turn +of her head, too--he coughed despairingly. The lady took no notice. He +coughed again. Interest was quickening in him. He was determined to see +the lady's face. + +This time she looked around, showing a pale countenance bedewed with +tears, and totally devoid of any expression which he could connect with +a consciousness of his presence. For a moment she stared vacantly at +him, while he, with almost equal vacancy, regarded her. Then a thrill of +surprise shook him. A sudden light of knowledge leaped up in him, and he +exclaimed: + +"Mademoiselle Verbena!" "Monsieur?" murmured the lady, with an accent +of surprise. + +"Mademoiselle Verbena! Surely it is--it must be!" + +He had staggered sideways, nearing her. + +"Mademoiselle Verbena, do you not know me? It is I, Eustace Greyne, the +father of your pupils, the husband of Mrs. Eustace Greyne?" + +An expression of stark amazement came into the lady's face at these +words. She leaned forward till her eyes were close to Mr. Greyne's then +gave a little cry. + +"_Mon Dieu!_ It is true! You are so altered that I could not recognise. +And then--what are you doing here, on the wide sea, far from madame?" + +"I was just about to ask you the very same question!" cried Mr. Greyne. + + + + +IV + +"Alas, monsieur!" said Mademoiselle Verbena in her silvery voice, "I go +to see my poor mother." + +"But I understood that she was dying in Paris." + +"Even so. But, when I reached the Rue St. Honor, I found that they +had removed to Algiers. It was the only chance, the doctor said--a warm +climate, the sun of Africa. There was no time to let me know. They took +her away at once. And now I follow--perhaps to find her dead." + +Large tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Greyne was deeply affected. + +"Let us hope for the best," he exclaimed, seized by a happy inspiration. + +The Levantine strove to smile. + +"But you, monsieur, why are you here? Ah! perhaps madame is with you! +Let me go to her! Let me kiss her dear hands once more----" + +Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond excitement. + +"I am quite alone," he said. + +A tragic expression came into the Levantine's face. + +"But, then----" she began. + +It was impossible for him to tell her about "Catherine." He was, +therefore, constrained to subterfuge. + +"I--I was suddenly overtaken by--by influenza," he said, in some +confusion. "The doctor recommended 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 of Louis +XVI., the poverty of her mother the countess, her own resolve to put +aside all aristocratic prejudices and earn her own living. He, in +return, had related his Eton days, his momentary bias towards the +militia, his marriage--as an innocent youth--with Miss Eugenia +Hannibal-Barker. Coming to later times, he was led to confide to the +tenderhearted Levantine the fact that he hoped to increase his stock of +knowledge while in Africa. Without alluding to "Catherine," he hinted +that the cure of influenza was not his only reason for foreign travel. + +"I wish to learn something of men and--and women," he murmured in the +shell-like ear presented to him. "Of their passions, their desires, +their--their follies." + +"Ah!" cried Mademoiselle Verbena. "Would that I could assist monsieur! +But I am only an ignorant little creature, and know nothing of the +world! And I shall be ever at the bedside of mamma." + +"You will give me your address? You will let me inquire for the +countess?" + +"Willingly; but I do not know where I shall be. There will be a message +at the wharf. To what hotel goes monsieur?" + +"The Grand Hotel." + +"I will write there when I have seen mamma. And meanwhile----" + +They were coming into harbour. The heights of Mustapha were visible, the +woods of the Bois de Boulogne, the towers of the Hotel Splendid. + +"Meanwhile, may I beg monsieur not to----" She hesitated. + +"Not to what?" asked Mr. Greyne most softly. + +"Not to let anyone in England know that I am here?" + +She paused. Mr. Greyne was silent, wondering. Mademoiselle Verbena +drooped her head. + +"The world is so censorious. It might seem strange that I--that +monsieur--a man young, handsome, fascinating--the same ship--I have no +chaperon--enfin----" + +She could get out no more. Her delicacy, her forethought touched Mr. +Greyne to tears. + +"Not a word," he said. "You are right. The world is evil, and, as you +say, I am a--not a word!" + +He ventured to press her hand, as an elder brother might have pressed +it. For the first time he realised that even to the husband of Mrs. +Eustace Greyne the world might attribute--Goodness gracious! What might +not the militia think, for instance? + +He felt himself, for one moment, potentially a dog. + +They parted in a whirl of Arabs on the quay. Mr. Greyne would have +stayed to assist Mademoiselle Verbena, but she bade him go. + +She whispered that she thought it "better" that they should not seem +to--_enfin!_ + +"I will write to-morrow," she murmured. "_Au revoir!_" + +On the last word she was gone. Mr. Greyne saw nothing but Arabs and +hotel porters. Loneliness seemed to close in on him once more. + +That very evening, after a cup of tea, he presented himself at the +office of Rook near the Place du Gouvernement. As he came in he felt a +little nervous. There were no tourists in the office, and a courteous +clerk with a bright and searching eye at once took him in hand. + +"What can we do for you, sir?" + +"I am a stranger here," began Mr. Greyne. + +"Quite so, sir, quite so." + +The clerk twiddled his business-like thumbs, and looked inquiring. + +"And being so," Mr. Greyne went on, "it is naturally my wish to see as +much of the town as possible; as much as possible, you understand." + +"You want a guide? Alphonso!" + +Turning, he shouted to an inner room, from which in a moment emerged a +short, stout, swarthy personage with a Jewish nose, a French head, an +Arab eye with a squint in it, and a markedly Maltese expression. + +"This is an excellent guide, sir," said the clerk. "He speaks +twenty-five languages." + +The stout man, who--as Mr Greyne now perceived--had on a Swiss suit +of clothes, a panama hat, and a pair of German elastic-sided boots, +confessed in pigeon English, interspersed occasionally with a word or +two of something which Mr. Greyne took to be Chinese, that such was +undoubtedly the case. + +"What do you wish to see? The mosque, the bazaars, St. Eugne, La +Trappe, Mustapha, the baths of the Etat-Major, the Jardin d'Essai, +the Villa-Anti-Juif, the----" + +"One moment!" said Mr. Greyne. + +He turned to the clerk. + +"May I take a chair?" + +"Be seated, sir, pray be seated, and confer with Alphonso." + +So saying, he gave himself to an enormous ledger, while Mr. Greyne took +a chair opposite to Alphonso, who stood in a Moorish attitude looking +apparently in the direction of Marseilles. + +"I have come here," said Mr. Greyne, lowering his voice, "with a +purpose.". + +"You wish to see the Belle Fatma. I will arrange it. She receives every +evening in her house in the Rue ------" + +"One minute! One minute! You said the something 'Fatma'?" + +"The Belle Fatma, the most beautiful woman of Africa. She receives +every----" + +"Pardon me! One moment! Is this lady----" + +Mr. Greyne paused. + +"Sir?" said Alphonso, settling his Spanish neck-tie, and gazing steadily +towards Marseilles. + +"Is this lady--well, sinful?" + +Alphonso threw up his hands with a wild Asiatic gesture. + +"Sinful! La Belle Fatma! She is a lady of the utmost respectability +known to all the town. You go to her house at eight, you take coffee +upon the red sofas, you talk with La Belle, you see the dances and hear +the music. Do not fear, sir; it is good, it is respectable as England, +your country----" + +"If it is respectable I don't want to see it," interposed Mr. Greyne. +"It would be a waste of time." + +The clerk lifted his head from the ledger, and Alphonso, by means of +standing with his back almost square to Mr. Greyne, and looking over his +right shoulder, succeeded at length in fixing his eye upon him. + +"I have not travelled here to see respectable things," continued Mr. +Greyne, with a slight blush. "Quite the contrary." + +"Sir?" + +The voice of Alphonso seemed to have changed, to have taken on a hard, +almost a menacing tone. Mr. Greyne thought of his beloved wife, of +Merrin's exercise-books, and clenched his hands, endeavouring to feel, +and to go on, like a militiaman. + +"Quite the contrary," he repeated firmly; "my object in coming to Africa +is to--to search about in the Kasbah, and the disrep----" + +He choked, recovered himself, and continued: "Disreputable quarters of +Algiers--hem------" + +"What for, sir?" + +The voice of Alphonso was certainly changed. + +"What for?" said Mr. Greyne, growing purple. "For frailty." + +"Sir?" + +"For frailty--for wickedness." + +A slight cackle emanated from the ledger, but immediately died away. A +dead silence reigned in the office, broken only by the distant sound of +the sea, and by the hard breathing of Alphonso, who had suddenly begun +to pant. + +"I wish to go to all the wicked places--_all!_" + +The ledger cackled again more audibly. Mr. Greyne felt a prickling +sensation run over him, but the thought of "Catherine" nerved him to +his awful task. + +"It is my wife's express desire that I should do so," he added +desperately, quite forgetting Mrs. Greyne's injunction to keep her dark +in his desire to stand well with Rook's. + +The ledger went off into a hyena imitation, and Alphonso, turning +still more away from Mr. Greyne, so as to get the eye fuller upon him, +exclaimed, in a mixture of Aryan and Eurasian languages: + +"Sir, I am a respectable, unmarried man. I was born in Buenos Ayres, +educated in Smyrna, came of age in Constantinople, and have practised as +guide in Bagdad and other particular cities. I refuse to have anything +to do with you and your wife." + +So saying, he bounced into the inner room, and banged the door, while +the ledger gave itself up to peals of merriment, and Mr. Greyne tottered +forth upon the sea-front, bathed in a cold perspiration, and feeling +more guilty than a murderer. + +It was a staggering blow. He leaned over the stone parapet of the low +wall, and let the soft breezes from the bay flit through his hair, and +thought of Mrs. Greyne spurned by Alphonso. What was he to do? Kicked +out of Rook's, to whom could he apply? There must be wickedness in +Algiers, but where? He saw none, though night was falling and stout +Frenchmen were already intent upon their absinthe. + +"Does monsieur wish to see the Kasbah to-night?" + +Was it a voice from heaven? He turned, and saw standing beside him a +tall, thin, audacious-looking young man, with coal-black moustaches, +magnificent eyes, and an air that was half-languid, half-serpentine. + +"Who are you?" + +"I am a guide, monsieur. Here are my certificates." + +He produced from the inner pocket of his coat a large bundle of dirty +papers. + +"If monsieur will deign to look them over." + +But Mr. Greyne waved them away. What did he care for Certificates? +Here was a guide to African frailty. That was sufficient. He was in a +desperate mood, and uttered desperate words. + +"Look here," he said rapidly, "are you wicked?" + +"Very wicked, monsieur." + +"Good!" + +"Wicked, monsieur." + +"Right!" + +"Wrong, monsieur." + +"I mean that it is good for me that you are wicked." + +"Monsieur is very good." + +"Yes; but I wish to be--that is, to see the other thing. Can you +undertake to show me everything shocking in Algiers?" + +"But certainly, monsieur. For a consideration." + +"Name your price." + +"Two hundred pounds, monsieur." + +Mr. Greyne started. It seemed a high figure. + +"Monsieur thought it would be more? I make a special price, because +I have taken a fancy to monsieur. I remove fifty pounds. Monsieur, of +course, will pay all expenses." + +"Of course, of course." + +It was no time to draw back. + +"How long will it take?" + +"To see all the shocking--?" + +"Precisely." + +"There is a good deal. A fortnight, three weeks. It depends on monsieur. +If he is strong, and can do without sleep----" + +"We shall have to be up at night?" + +"Naturally." + +"I shall go to bed during the day, and get through it in a fortnight." + +"Perfectly." + +"Be at the Grand Hotel to-night at ten o'clock precisely." + +"At ten o'clock I will be there. Monsieur will pay a little in advance?" + +"Here are twenty pounds," cried Mr. Greyne recklessly. + +The audacious-looking young man took the notes with decision, made a +graceful salute, and disappeared in the direction of the quay, while Mr. +Greyne walked to his hotel, flushed with excitement, and feeling like +the most desperate criminal in Africa. If the militia could see him now! + +At dinner he drank a bottle of champagne, and afterwards smoked a strong +cigar over his coffee and liqueur. As he was finishing these frantic +enjoyments the head waiter--a personage bearing a strong resemblance +to an enlarged edition of Napoleon the First--approached him rather +furtively, and, bending down, whispered in his ear: + +"A gentleman has called to take monsieur to the Kasbah." + +Mr. Greyne started, and flushed a guilty red. + +"I will come in a moment," he answered, trying to assume a nonchalant +voice, such as that in which a hardened major of dragoons announces that +in his time he was a devil of a fellow. + +The head waiter retired, looking painfully intelligent, and Mr. Greyne +sprang upstairs, seized a Merrin's exercise-book and a lead pencil, put +on a dark overcoat, popped one of the Springfield revolvers into the +pocket of it, and hastened down into the hall of the hotel, where the +audacious-looking young man was standing, surrounded by saucy +chasseurs in gay liveries and peaked caps, by Algerian waiters, and by +German-Swiss porters, all of whom were smiling and looking choke-full of +sympathetic comprehension. + +"Ha!" said Mr. Greyne, still in the major's, voice. "There you are!" + +"Behold me, monsieur." + +"That's good." + +"Wicked, monsieur." + +"Well, let's be off to the mosque." + +One of the chasseurs--a child of eight who was thankful that he knew no +better--burst into a piping laugh. The waiters turned hastily away, and +the German-Swiss porters retreated to the bureau with some activity. + +"To the mosque--precisely, monsieur," returned the guide, with complete +self-possession. + +They stepped out at once upon the pavement, where a carriage was in +waiting. + +"Where are we going?" inquired Mr. Greyne in an anxious voice. + +"We are going to the heights to see the Ouled," replied the guide. "_En +avant!_" + +He bounded in beside Mr. Greyne, the coachman cracked his whip, the +horses trotted. They were off upon their terrible pilgrimage. + + + + +V + +On the following afternoon, at a quarter to three, when Mr. Greyne +came down to breakfast, he found, lying beside the boiled eggs, a +note directed to him in a feminine handwriting. He tote it open with +trembling fingers, and read as follows:-- + + 1 Rue du Petit Neore. + + Dear Monsieur,--I am here. Poor mamma is in the hospital. I + am allowed to see her twice a day. At all other times I + remain alone, praying and weeping. I trust that monsieur has + passed a good night. For me, I was sleepless, thinking of + mamma. I go now to church. + + Adele Verbena. + +He laid this missive down, and sighed deeply. How strangely innocent it +was, how simple, how sincere! There were white souls in Algiers--yes, +even in Algiers. Strange that he should know one! Strange that he, who +had filled a Merrin's exercise-book with tiny writing, and had even +overflowed on to the cover after "crossing" many pages, should receive +the child-like confidences of one! "I go now to the church." Tears came +into his eyes as he laid the letter down beside a pile of buttered toast +over which the burning afternoon sun of Africa was shining. + +"Monsieur will take milk and sugar?" + +It was the head waiter's Napoleonic voice. Mr. Greyne controlled +himself. The man was smiling intelligently. All the staff of the hotel +smiled intelligently at Mr. Greyne to-day--the waiters, the porters, the +chasseurs. The child of eight who was thankful that he knew no better +had greeted him with a merry laugh as he came down to breakfast, and an +"_Oh, l, l!_" which had elicited a rebuke from the proprietor. Indeed, +a wave of human sympathy flowed upon Mr. Greyne, whose ashy face and +dull, washed-out eyes betrayed the severity of his night-watch. + +"Monsieur will feel better after a little food." + +The head waiter handed the buttered toast with bland majesty, at the +same time shooting a reproving glance at the little chasseur, who was +peeping from behind the door at the afternoon breakfaster. + +"I feel perfectly well," replied Mr. Greyne, with an attempt at +cheerfulness. + +"Still, monsieur will feel much better after a little food." + +Mr. Greyne began to toy with an egg. + +"You know Algiers?" he asked. + +"I was born here, monsieur. If monsieur wishes to explore to-night again +the Kasbah I can----" + +But Mr. Greyne stopped him with a gesture that was almost fierce. + +"Where is the Rue du Petit Ngre?" + +"Monsieur wishes to go there to-night?" + +"I wish to go there now, directly I have finished break--lunch." + +The head waiter's face was wreathed with humorous surprise. + +"But monsieur is wonderful--superb! Never have I seen a traveller like +monsieur!" + +He gazed at Mr. Greyne with tropical appreciation. + +"Monsieur had better have a carriage. The street is difficult to find." + +"Order me one. I shall start at once." + +Mr. Greyne pushed away the sunlit buttered toast, and got up. + +"Monsieur is superb. Never have I seen a traveller like monsieur!" +Napoleon's voice was almost reverent. He hastened out, followed slowly +by Mr. Greyne. + +"A carriage for monsieur! Monsieur desires to go to the Rue du Petit +Ngre!" + +The staff of the hotel gathered about the door as if to speed a royal +personage, and Mr. Greyne noticed that their faces too were touched +with an almost startled reverence. He stepped into the carriage, signed +feebly, but with determination, to the Arab coachman, and was driven +away, followed by a parting "_Oh, l l!_" from the chasseur, uttered in +a voice that sounded shrill with sheer amazement. + +Through winding, crowded streets he went, by bazaars and Moorish +bath-houses, mosques and Catholic churches, barracks and cafs, till at +length the carriage turned into an alley that crept up a steep hill. It +moved on a little way, and then stopped. + +"Monsieur must descend here," said the coachman. "Mount the steps, go +to the right and then to the left. Near the summit of the hill he will +find the Rue du Petit Ngre. Shall I wait for monsieur?" + +"Yes." + +The coachman began to make a cigarette, while Mr. Greyne set forth +to follow his directions, and, at length, stood before an arch, which +opened into a courtyard adorned with orange-trees in tubs, and paved +with blue and white tiles. Around this courtyard was a three-storey +house with a flat roof, and from a bureau near a little fountain a stout +Frenchwoman called to demand his business. He asked for Mademoiselle +Verbena, and was at once shown into a saloon lined with chairs covered +with yellow rep, and begged to take a seat. In two minutes Mademoiselle +Verbena appeared, drying her eyes with a tiny pocket-handkerchief, and +forcing a little pathetic smile of welcome. Mr. Greyne clasped her hand +in silence. She sat down in a rep chair at his right, and they looked at +each other. + +"_Mais, mon Dieu!_ How monsieur is changed!" cried the Levantine. "If +madame could see him! What has happened to monsieur?" + +"Miss Verbena," replied Mr. Greyne, "I have seen the Ouled on the +heights." + +A spasm crossed the Levantine's face. She put her handkerchief to it for +a moment. "What is an Ouled?" she inquired, withdrawing it. + +"I dare not tell you," he replied solemnly. + +"But indeed I wish to know, so that I may sympathise with monsieur." + +Mr. Greyne hesitated, but his heart was full; he felt the need of +sympathy. He looked at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a great longing to +unburden himself overcame him. + +"An Ouled," he replied, "is a dancing-girl from the desert of Sahara." + +"_Mon Dieu!_ How does she dance? Is it a valse, a polka, a quadrille?" +"No. Would that it were!" And Mr. Greyne, unable further to govern +his desire for full expression, gave Mademoiselle Verbena a slightly +Bowdlerised description of the dances of the desert. She heard him with +amazement. + +"How terrible!" she exclaimed when he had finished. "And does one pay +much to see such steps of the Evil One?" + +"I gave her twenty pounds. Abdallah Jack----" + +"Abdallah Jack?" + +"My guide informed me that was the price. He tells me it is against +the law, and that each time an Ouled dances she risks being thrown into +prison." + +"Poor lady! How sad to have to earn one's bread by such devices, instead +of by teaching to the sweet little ones of monsieur the sympathetic +grammar of one's native country." + +Mr. Greyne was touched to the quick by this allusion, which brought, as +in a vision, the happy home in Belgrave Square before him. + +"You are an angel!" he exclaimed. + +Mademoiselle Verbena shook her head. + +"And this poor Ouled, you will go to her again? + +"Yes. It seems that she is in communication with all the--the--well, +all the odd people of Algiers, and that one can only get at them through +her." + +"Indeed?" + +"Abdallah Jack tells me that while I am here I should pay her a weekly +salary, and that, in return, I shall see all the terrible ceremonies of +the Arabs. I have decided to do so------ + +"Ah, you have decided!" + +For a moment Mr. Greyne started. There seemed a new sound in +Mademoiselle Verbena's voice, a gleam in her dark brown eyes. + +"Yes," he said, looking at her in wonder. "But I have not yet told +Abdallah Jack." + +The Levantine looked gently sad again. + +"Ah," she said in her usual pathetic voice, "how my heart bleeds for +this poor Ouled. By the way, what is her name?" + +"Aishoush." + +"She is beautiful?" + +"I hardly know. She was so painted, so tattooed, so very--so very +different from Mrs. Eustace Greyne." + +"How sad! How terrible! Ah, but you must long for the dear bonnet +strings of madame?" + +Did he? As she spoke Mr. Greyne asked himself the question. Shocked as +he was, fatigued by his researches, did he wish that he were back again +in Belgrave Square, drinking barley water, pasting notices of his wife's +achievements into the new album, listening while she read aloud from +the manuscript of her latest novel? He wondered, and--how strange, how +almost terrible--he was not sure. + +"Is it not so?" murmured Mademoiselle Verbena. + +"Naturally I miss my beloved wife," said Mr. Greyne with a certain +awkwardness. "How is your poor, dear mother?" + +Tears came at once into the Levantine's eyes. + +"Very, very ill, monsieur. Still there is a chance--just a chance that +she may not die. Ah, when I sit here all alone in this strange place, I +feel that she will perish, that soon I shall be quite deserted in this +cruel, cruel world!" + +The tears began to flow down her cheeks with determination. Mr. Greyne +was terribly upset. + +"You must cheer up," he exclaimed. "You must hope for the best." + +"Sitting here alone, how can I?" + +She sobbed. + +"Sitting here alone--very true!" + +A sudden thought, a number of sudden thoughts, struck him. + +"You must not sit here alone." + +"Monsieur!" + +"You must come out. You must drive. You must see the town, distract +yourself." + +"But how? Can a--a girl go about alone in Algiers?" + +"Heaven forbid! No; I will escort you." + +"Monsieur!" + +A smile of innocent, girlish joy transformed her face, but suddenly she +was grave again. + +"Would it be right, _convenable?_" + +Mr. Greyne was reckless. The dog potential rose up in him again. + +"Why not? And, besides, who knows us here? Not a soul." + +"That is true." + +"Put on your bonnet. Let us start at once!" + +"But I do not wear the bonnet. I am not like madame." + +"To be sure. Your hat." + +And as she flew to obey him, Mr. Eustace Greyne found himself impiously +thanking the powers that be for this strange chance of going on the +spree with a toque. When Mademoiselle Verbena returned he was looking +almost rakish. He eyed her neat black hat and close-fitting black jacket +with a glance not wholly unlike that of a militiaman. In her hand she +held a vivid scarlet parasol. + +"Monsieur," she said, "it is terrible, this _ombrelle_, when mamma lies +at death's door. But what can I do? I have no other, and cannot afford +to buy one. The sun is fierce. I dare not expose myself to it without a +shelter." + +She seemed really distressed as she opened the parasol, and spread the +vivid silk above her pretty black-clothed figure; but Mr. Greyne thought +the effect was brilliant, and ventured to say so. As they passed the +bureau by the fountain on their way out the stout Frenchwoman cast an +approving glance at Mademoiselle Verbena. + +"The little rat will not see much more of the little negro now," she +murmured to herself. "After all the English have their uses." + + + + +VI + +In Belgrave Square Mrs. Eustace Greyne was beginning to get slightly +uneasy. Several things combined to make her so. In the first place, +Mademoiselle Verbena had never returned from her mother's Parisian +bedside, and had not even written a line to say how the dear parent was, +and when the daughter's nursing occupation was likely to be over. In the +second place, Adolphus, in consequence of the Levantine's absence, had +totally lost his grasp, always uncertain, upon the irregular verbs. +In the third place, Darrell, the valet, had returned to London the day +after his departure from it, minus not only his master's dressing-case, +but minus everything he possessed. His story was that, while waiting at +the station in Paris for his master's appearance, he had entered into +conversation with an agreeable stranger, and been beguiled into the +acceptance of an absinthe at a caf just outside. After swallowing +the absinthe he remembered nothing more till he came to himself in a +deserted waiting-room at the Gare du Nord, back to which he had been +mysteriously conveyed. In his pocket was no money, no watch, only +the return half of a second-class ticket from London to Paris. He, +therefore, wandered about the streets till morning broke, and then came +back to London a crestfallen and miserable man, bemoaning his untoward +fate, and cursing "them blasted Frenchies" from the bottom of his +British heart. + +Mrs. Greyne's anxiety on her husband's behalf, now that he was thrown +absolutely unattended upon the inhospitable shores of Africa, was not +lessened by a fourth circumstance, which, indeed, worried her far +more than all the others put together. This was Mr. Greyne's prolonged +absence from her side. Precisely one calendar month had now elapsed +since he had buried his face in her prune bonnet strings at Victoria +Station, and there seemed no prospect of his return. He wrote to her, +indeed, frequently, and his letters were full of wistful regret and +longing to be once more safe in the old homestead in Belgrave Square, +drinking barley water, and pasting Romeike & Curtice notices into the +new album which lay, gaping for him, upon the table of his sanctum. But +he did not come; nay, more, he wrote plainly that there was no prospect +of his coming for the present. It seemed that the wickedness of Africa +was very difficult to come at. It did not lie upon the surface, but was +hidden far down in depths to which the ordinary tourist found it almost +impossible to penetrate. In his numerous letters Mr. Greyne described +his heroic and unremitting exertions to fill the Merrin's note-books +with matter that would be suitable for the purging of humanity. He set +out in full his interview with Alphonso at the office of Rook, and +his definite rejection by that cosmopolitan official. According to +the letters, after this event he had spent no less than a fortnight +searching in vain for any sign of wickedness in the Algerian capital. He +had frequented the cafs, the public bars, the theatres, the churches. +He had been to the Velodrome. He had sat by the hour in the Jardin +d'Essai. At night he had strolled in the fairs and hung about the +circus. Yet nowhere had he been able to perceive anything but the +most innocent pleasure, the simple merriment of a gay and guileless +population to whom the idea of crime seemed as foreign as the idea of +singing the English national anthem. + +During the third week it was true that matters--always according to Mr. +Greyne's letters home--slightly improved. While walking near the quay, +in active search for nautical outrage, he saw an Arab dock labourer, +who had been over-smoking kief, run amuck, and knock down a couple of +respectable snake-charmers who were on the point of embarkation for +Tunis with their reptiles. This incident had filed up a half-score of +pages in exercise-book number one, and had flooded Mr. Greyne with hope +and aspiration. But it was followed by a stagnant lull which had lasted +for days and had only been disturbed by the trifling incident of +a gentleman in the Jewish quarter of the town setting fire to a +neighbour's bazaar, in the very natural endeavour to find a French +half-penny which he had chanced to drop among a bale of carpets while +looking in to drive a soft bargain. As Mrs. Greyne wired to Algiers, +such incidents were of no value to "Catherine." + +A very active interchange of views had gone on between the husband and +wife as time went by, and the book was at a standstill. At first Mrs. +Greyne contented herself with daily letters, but latterly she had +resorted to wires, explanatory, condemnatory, hortatory, and even +comminatory. She began bitterly to regret her husband's well-proven +innocence, and wished she had despatched an uncle of hers by marriage, +an ex-captain in the Royal Navy, who, she began to feel certain, would +have been able to find far more frailty in Algiers than poor Eustace, in +his simplicity, would ever come at. She even began to wish that she had +crossed the sea in person, and herself boldly set about the ingathering +of the material for which she was so impatiently waiting. + +Her uneasiness was brought to a head by a letter from a house agent, +stating that the corner mansion in Park Lane next to the Duke of +Ebury's was being nibbled at by a Venezuelan millionaire. She wired this +terrible fact at once to Africa, adding, at an enormous expenditure of +cash: + + This will never do. You are too innocent, and cannot see + what lies before you. Obtain assistance. Go to the British + consul. + +Mr. Greyne at once cabled back: + + Am following your advice. Will wire result. Regret my + innocence, but am distressed that you should so utterly + condemn it. + +Upon receiving this telegram at night, before a lonely dinner, Mrs. +Eustace Greyne was deeply moved. She felt she had been hasty. She knew +that to very few women was it given to have a husband so free from +all masculine infirmities as Mr. Greyne. At the same time there was +"Catherine," there was the mansion in Park Lane, there was the Venezuelan +millionaire. She began to feel distracted, and, for the first time in +her life, refused to partake of sweetbreads fried in mushroom ketchup, +a dish which she had greatly affected from the time when she wrote her +first short story. While she was in the very act of waving away this +delicacy a footman came in with a foreign telegram. She opened it +quickly, and read as follows:-- + + British consul horrified; was ignominiously expelled from + consulate; great scandal; am much upset, but will never give + in, for your sake. Eustace. + +As the dread meaning of these words penetrated at length to Mrs. +Greyne's voluminous brain a deep flush overspread her noble features. +She rose from the table with a determination that struck awe to the +hearts of the powdered underlings, and, drawing herself up to her full +height, exclaimed: + +"Send Mrs. Forbes at once to my study, if you please--at once, do you +understand?" + +In a moment Mrs. Forbes, who was the great novelist's maid, appeared on +the threshold of the oracle's lair. She was a sober-looking, black-silk +personage, who always wore a pork-pie cap in the house, and a Mother +Hubbard bonnet out of it. Having been in service with Mrs. Greyne ever +since the latter penned her last minor poetry--Mrs. Greyne had been a +minor poet for three years soon after she put her hair up--Mrs. Forbes +had acquired a certain literary expression of countenance and a manner +that was decidedly prosy. She read a good deal after her supper of an +evening, and was wont to be the arbiter when any literary matter was +discussed in the servants' hall. + +"Madam?" she said, respectfully entering the room, and bending the +pork-pie cap forward in an attentive attitude. + +Mrs. Greyne was silent for a moment. She appeared to be thinking deeply. +Mrs. Forbes gently closed the door, and sighed. It was nearly her +supper-time, and she felt pensive. + +"Madam?" she said again. + +Mrs. Greyne looked up. A strange fire burned in her large eyes. + +"Mrs. Forbes," she said at length, with weighty deliberation, "the +mission of woman in the world is a great one." + +"Very true, madam. My own words to Butler Phillips no longer ago than +dinner this midday." + +"It is the protecting of man--neither more nor less." + +"My own statement, madam, to Second Footman Archibald this self-same day +at the tea-board." + +"Man needs guidance, and looks for it to us--or rather to me." + +At the last word Mrs. Forbes pinched her lips together, and appeared +older than her years and sourer than her normal temper. + +"At this moment, Mrs. Forbes," continued Mrs. Greyne, with rising +fervour, "he looks for it to me from Africa. From that dark continent +he stretches forth his hands to me in humble supplication." + +"Mr. Greyne has not been taken with another of his bilious attacks, I +hope, madam?" said Mrs. Forbes. + +Mrs. Greyne smiled. The ignorance of the humbly born entertained her. It +was so simple, so transparent. + +"You fail to understand me," she answered. "But never mind; others have +done the same." + +She thought of her reviewers. Mrs. Forbes smiled. She also could be +entertained. + +"Madam?" she inquired once more after a pause. + +"I shall leave for Africa to-morrow morning," said Mrs. Greyne. "You +will accompany me." + +There was a dead silence. + +"You will accompany me. Do you understand? Obtain assistance from +the housemaids in the packing. Select my quietest gowns, my least +conspicuous bonnets. I have my reasons for wishing, while journeying to +Africa and remaining there, to pass, if possible, unnoticed." + +Again there was a pause. Mrs. Greyne looked up at Mrs. Forbes, and +observed a dogged expression upon her countenance. + +"What is the matter?" she asked the maid. + +"Do we go by Paris, madam?" said Mrs. Forbes. + +"Certainly." + +"Then, madam, I'm very sorry, but I couldn't risk it, not if it was ever +so----" + +"Why not? Why this fear of Lutetia?" + +"Madam, I'm not afraid of any Lutetia as ever wore apron, but to go +to Paris to be drugged with absint, and put away in a third-class +waiting-room like a package--I couldn't madam, not even if I have to +leave your service." + +Mrs. Greyne recognised that the episode of the valet had struck home to +the lady's maid. + +"But you will not leave my side." + +"They will absint you, madam." + +"But you will travel first in a sleeping-car." + +Mrs. Forbes put up her hand to her pork-pie cap, as if considering. + +"Very well, madam, to oblige you I will undergo it," she said at length. +"But I would not do the like for another living lady." + +"I will raise your wages. You are a faithful creature." + +"Does master expect us, madam?" asked Mrs. Forbes as she prepared to +retire. + +A bright and tender look stole into Mrs. Greyne's intellectual face. + +"No," she replied. + +She turned her large and beaming eyes full upon the maid. + +"Mrs. Forbes," she said, with an amount of emotion that was very rare in +her, "I am going to tell you a great truth." + +"Madam?" said Mrs. Forbes respectfully. + +"The sweetest moments of life, those which lift man nearest heaven, and +make him thankful for the great gift of existence, are sometimes those +which are unforeseen." + +She was thinking of Mr. Greyne's ecstasy when, upon the inhospitable +African shore where he was now enduring such tragic misfortunes, he +perceived the majestic form of his loved one--his loved one whom he +believed to be in Belgrave Square--coming towards him to soothe, to +comfort, to direct. She brushed away a tear. + +"Go, Mrs. Forbes," she said. + +And Mrs. Forbes retired, smiling. + +An epic might well be written on the great novelist's journey to Africa, +upon her departure from Charing Cross, shrouded in a black gauze veil, +her silent thought as the good ship _Empress_ rode cork-like upon the +Channel waves, her ascetic lunch--a captain's biscuit and a glass of +water--at the buffet at Calais, her arrival in Paris when the shades +of night had fallen. An epic might well be written. Perhaps some day it +will be, by herself. + +In Paris she suffered a good deal on account of Mrs. Forbes, who, in her +fear of "ab-sint," became hysterical, and caused not a little annoyance +by accusing various inoffensive French travellers of nefarious designs +upon her property and person. In the Gulf of Lyons she suffered even +more, and as, unluckily, the wind was contrary and the sea prodigious +during the whole of the passage across the Mediterranean, both she and +Mrs. Forbes arrived at Algiers four hours late, in a condition which may +be more easily imagined than properly described. + +Genius in thrall to the body, and absolutely dependent upon green +chartreuse for its flickering existence, is no subject for even a +sympathetic pen. Sufficient to say that, when the ship came in under the +lights of Algiers, the crowd of shouting Arabs was struck to silence by +the spectacle of Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes endeavouring to disembark, +in bonnets that were placed seaward upon the head instead of landward, +unbuttoned boots, and gowns soaked with the attentions of the waves. + +After being gently and permanently relieved of their light hand-baggage, +the mistress and maid, who seemed greatly overwhelmed by the sight +of Africa, and who moved--or rather were carried--as in a dream, were +placed reverently in the nearest omnibus, and conveyed to the farthest +hotel, which was situated upon a lofty hill above the town. Here a +slightly painful scene took place. + +Having been assisted by the staff into a Moorish hall, Mrs. Greyne +inquired in a reticent voice for her husband, and was politely informed +that there was no person of the name of Greyne in the hotel. For a +moment she seemed threatened with dissolution, but with a supreme effort +calling upon her mighty brain she surmised that her husband was possibly +passing under a pseudonym in order to throw America off the scent. She, +therefore, demanded to have the guests then present in the hotel at once +paraded before her. As there was some difficulty about this--the guests +being then at dinner--she whispered for the visitors' book, thinking +that, perchance, Mr. Greyne had inscribed his name there, and that the +staff, being foreign, did not recognise it as murmured by herself. The +book was brought, upon its cover in golden letters the words: "Htel +Loubet et Majestic." Then explanations of a somewhat disagreeable nature +occurred, and Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, after a heavy payment had +been exacted for their conveyance to a place they had desired not to +go to, were carried forth, and consigned to another vehicle, which at +length brought them, on the stroke of nine, to the Grand Hotel. + +Having been placed reverently in the brilliantly-lighted hall, they were +surrounded by the proprietor, the _matre d'htel_ and his assistants, +the porters, and the chasseurs, with all of whom Mr. Greyne was +now familiar. Brandy and water having been supplied, together with +smelling-salts and burnt feathers, Mrs. Greyne roused herself from an +acute attack of lethargy, and asked for Mr. Greyne. A joyous smile ran +round the circle. + +"Monsieur Greyne," said the proprietor, "who is living here for the +winter?" 4 + +"Mr. Eustace Greyne," murmured the great novelist, grasping her bonnet +with both hands. + +The _matre d'htel_ drew nearer. + +"Madame wishes to see Monsieur Greyne?" he asked. + +"I do--at once." + +A blessed consciousness of Mother Earth was gradually beginning to steal +over her. She even strove feebly to sit up on her chair, a German-Swiss +porter of enormous size assisting her. + +"But Monsieur Greyne is out." + +"Out?" + +"Yes, madame. Monsieur Greyne is always out at night." + +The eyes of the little chasseur who knew no better began to twinkle. +Mrs. Forbes gave a slight cough. Tears filled the novelist's eyes. + +"God bless my Eustace!" she murmured, deeply touched by this evidence of +his devotion to her interests. + +"Madame says----" asked the proprietor. + +"Where does Mr. Greyne go?" inquired the novelist. + +"To the Kasbah, madame." + +"I knew it!" cried Mrs. Greyne, with returning animation. "I knew it +would be so!" + +"Madame is acquainted with Monsieur Greyne?" said the _matre d'htel_, +while the little crowd gathered more closely about the wave-worn group. + +"I am Mrs. Eustace Greyne," returned the great novelist recklessly. "I +am the wife of Mr. Eustace Greyne." + +There was a moment of supreme silence. Then a loud, an even piercing +"_Oh, l, l,_ broke upon the air, succeeded instantaneously by a burst +of laughter that seemed to thrill with all the wild blessedness of +boyhood. It came, of course, from the little chasseur; it came, and +stayed. Nothing could stop it, and eventually the happy child had to be +carried forth upon the sea-front to enjoy his innocent mirth at leisure +and in solitude beneath the African stars. Mrs. Greyne did not notice +his disappearance. She was intent upon important matters. + +"At what time does Mr. Greyne usually set forth?" she asked of the +proprietor, whose face now bore a strangely twisted appearance, as if +afflicted by a toothache. + +"Immediately after dinner, madame, if not before. Of late it has +generally been before." + +"And he stays out late?" + +"Very late, madame." + +The twisted appearance began to seem infectious. It was visible upon the +faces of most of those surrounding Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes. Indeed, +even the latter showed some signs of it, although the large shadow cast +over her features by the hind side of her Mother Hubbard bonnet to some +extent disguised them from the public view. + +"Till what hour?" pursued Mrs. Greyne in a voice of almost yearning +tenderness and pity. + +"Well, madame"--the proprietor displayed some slight confusion--"I +really can hardly say. The _matre d'htel_ can perhaps inform you." + +Mrs. Greyne turned her ox-like eyes upon the enlarged edition of +Napoleon the First. + +"Monsieur Greyne seldom returns before seven or eight o'clock in the +morning, madame. He then retires to bed, and comes down to breakfast at +about four o'clock in the afternoon." + +Mrs. Greyne was touched to the very quick. Her husband was sacrificing +his rest, his health--nay, perhaps even his very life--in her service. +It was well she had come, well that a period was to be put to these +terrible researches. They should be stopped at once, even this very +night. Better a thousand literary failures than that her husband's +existence should be placed in jeopardy. She rose suddenly from her +chair, tottered, gasped, recovered herself, and spoke. + +"Prepare dinner for me at once," she said, "and order a carriage and a +competent guide to be before the door in half-an-hour." + +"Madame is going out? But madame is ill, tired!" + +"It matters not." + +"Where does madame wish to go?" + +"I am going to the Kasbah to find my husband." + +"I will escort madame." + +The proprietor, the _matre d'htel_, the waiters, the porters, the +chasseurs, Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, all turned about to face the +determined speaker. + +And there before them, his dark eyes gleaming, his long moustaches +bristling fiercely--here stood Abdallah Jack. + + + + +VII + +Man is a self-deceiver. It must, therefore, ever be a doubtful point +whether Mr. Eustace Greyne, during his residence in Africa, absolutely +lost sight of his sense of duty; whether, beguiled by the lively +attentions of a fiercely foreign town, he deliberately resolved to +take his pleasure regardless of consequences and of the sacred ties of +Belgrave Square. We prefer to think that some vague idea of combining +two duties--that which he owed to himself and that which he owed to Mrs. +Greyne--moved him in all he did, and that the subterfuge into which +he was undoubtedly led was not wholly selfish, not wholly criminal. +Nevertheless, that he had lied to his beloved wife is certain. Even +while she sat over a cutlet and a glass of claret in the white-and-gold +dining-room of the Grand Hotel, preparatory to her departure to the +Kasbah with Abdallah Jack, the dozen of Merrin's exercise-books lay +upstairs in Mr. Greyne's apartments filled to the brim with African +frailty. Already there was material enough in their pages to furnish +forth a library of "Catherines." Yet Mr. Greyne still lingered far from +his home, and wired to that home fabricated accounts of the singular +innocence of Algiers. He even allowed it to be supposed that his +own innocence stood in the way of his fulfilment of Mrs. Greyne's +behests--he who could now have given points in knowledge of the world to +whole regiments of militiamen! + +It was not right, and, doubtless, he must stand condemned by every +moralist. But let it not be forgotten that he had fallen under the +influence of a Levantine. + +Mademoiselle Verbena's mother, hidden in some unnamed hospital of +Algiers, appeared to be one of those ingenious elderly ladies who can +hover indefinitely upon the brink of death without actually dying. +During the whole time that Mr. Greyne had been in Africa her state had +been desperate, yet she still clung to life. As her daughter said, she +possessed extraordinary vitality, and this vitality seemed to have been +inherited by her child. Despite her grave anxieties Mademoiselle Verbena +succeeded in sustaining a remarkable cheeriness, and even a fascinating +vivacity, when in the company of others. As she said to Mr. Greyne, +she did not think it right to lay her burdens upon the shoulders of her +neighbours. She, therefore, forced herself to appear contented, even at +various moments gay, when she and Mr. Greyne were lunching, dining, or +supping together, were driving upon the front, sailing upon the azure +waters of the bay, riding upon the heights beyond El-Biar, or, ensconced +in a sumptuous private box, listening to the latest French farce at one +or another of the theatres. Only one day, when they had driven out to +the monastery at La Trappe de Staouli, did a momentary cloud descend +upon her piquant features, and she explained this by the frank +confession that she had always wished to become a nun, but had been +hindered from following her vocation by the necessity of earning money +to support her aged parents. Mr. Greyne had never seen the Ouled since +his first evening in Algiers, but he still paid her a weekly salary, +through Abdallah Jack, who explained to him that the interesting lady, +in a discreet retirement, was perpetually occupied in arranging the +exhibitions of African frailty at which he so frequently assisted. +She was, in fact, earning her liberal salary. Mademoiselle Verbena +and Abdallah Jack had met on several occasions, and Mr. Greyne had +introduced the latter to the former as his guide, and had generously +praised his abilities; but in Mademoiselle Verbena took very little +notice of him, and, as time went on, Abdallah Jack seemed to conceive +a most distressing dislike of her. On several occasions he advised Mr. +Greyne not to frequent her company so assiduously, and when Mr. Greyne +asked him to explain the meaning of his monitions he took refuge in +vague generalities and Eastern imagery. He had a profound contempt +for women as companions, which grieved Mr. Greyne's Western ideas, +and evidently thought that Mademoiselle Verbena ought to be clapped +forthwith into a long veil, and put away in a harem behind an iron +grille. When Mr. Greyne explained the English point of view Abdallah +Jack took refuge in a sulky silence; but during the week immediately +preceding the arrival of Mrs. Greyne his temper had become actively +bad, and Mr. Greyne began seriously to consider whether it would not +be better to pay him a last _douceur_, and tell him to go about his +business. + +Before doing this, however, Mr. Greyne desired to have one more +interview with the mysterious Ouled on the heights, to whom he owed the +knowledge which would henceforth enable him to cut out the militia. He +said so to Abdallah Jack. The latter agreed sulkily to arrange it; +and matters so fell out that on the night of Mrs. Greyne's arrival +her husband was seated in a room in one of the remotest houses of the +Kasbah, watching the Ouled's mysterious evolutions, while Mademoiselle +Verbena--as she herself had informed Mr.4 Greyne--sat in the hospital by +the bedside of her still dying mother. Abdallah Jack had apparently been +most anxious to assist at Mr. Greyne's interview with the Ouled, but +Mr. Greyne had declined to allow this. The evil temper of the guide was +beginning to get thoroughly upon his employer's nerves, and even the +natural desire to have an interpreter at hand was overborne by the +dislike of Abdallah Jack's morose eyes and sarcastic speeches about +women. Moreover, the Ouled spoke a word or two of uncertain French. + +Thus, therefore, things fell out, and such was the precise situation +when Mrs. Greyne flicked a crumb from her chocolate brocade gown, tied +her bonnet strings, and rose from table to set forth to the Kasbah with +Abdallah Jack. + +It was a radiant night. In the clear sky the stars shone brilliantly, +looking down upon the persistent convulsions of the little chasseur, who +had not yet recovered from his attack of merriment on learning who +Mrs. Greyne was. The sea, quite calm now that the great novelist was no +longer upon it, lapped softly along the curving shores of the bay. The +palm-trees of the town garden where the band plays on warm evenings +waved lazily in the soft and scented breeze. The hooded figures of the +Arabs lounged against the stone wall that girdles the sea-front. In the +brilliantly-illuminated restaurants the rich French population gathered +about the little tables, while the withered beggars stared in upon the +oyster shells, the champagne bottles, and the feathers in the women's +audacious hats. + +When Mrs. Greyne emerged upon the pavement before the Grand Hotel, +attended by Mrs. Forbes and the guide, she paused for a moment, and cast +a searching glance upon the fairy scene. In this voluptuous evening and +strange environment life seemed oddly dreamlike. She scarcely felt like +Mrs. Greyne. Possibly Mrs. Forbes also felt unlike herself, for she +suddenly placed one hand upon her left side, and tottered. Abdallah Jack +supported her. She screamed aloud. + +"Madam!" she said. "It is the vertigo. I am overtook!" + +She was really ill; her face, indeed, became the colour of a plover's +egg. + +"Let me go to bed, madam," she implored. "It is the vertigo, madam. I +am overtook!" + +Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Greyne would have prescribed a dose of +Kasbah air, but to-night she felt strange, and she wanted strangeness. +Mrs. Forbes with the vertigo, in a small carriage, would be +inappropriate. She, therefore, bade her retire, mounted into the vehicle +with Abdallah Jack, and was quickly driven away, her bonnet strings +floating upon the winsome wind. + +"You know my husband?" she asked softly of the guide. + +Abdallah Jack replied in French that he rather thought he did. + +"How is he looking?" continued Mrs. Greyne in a slightly yearning voice. +"My Eustace!" she added to herself, "my devoted one!" + +"Monsieur Greyne is pale as washed linen upon the Kasbah wall," replied +Abdallah Jack, lighting a cigarette, and wreathing the great novelist in +its grey-blue smoke. "He is thin as the Spahi's lance, he is nervous as +the leaves of the eucalyptus-tree when the winds blow from the north." + +Mrs. Greyne was seriously perturbed. + +"Would I had come before!" she murmured, with serious self-reproach. + +"Monsieur Greyne is worse than all the English," pursued Abdallah Jack +in a voice that sounded to Mrs. Greyne decidedly sinister. "He is worse +than the tourists of Rook, who laugh in the doorways of the mosques and +twine in their hair the dried lizards of the Sahara. Even the guide +of Rook rejected him. I only would undertake him because I am full of +evil." + +Mrs. Greyne began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, and to wish she +had not been so ready to pander to Mrs. Forbes' vertigo. She stole a +sidelong glance at her strange companion. The carriage was small. The +end of his bristling black moustache was very near. What he said of +Mr. Greyne did not disturb her, because she knew that her Eustace had +sacrificed his reputation to do her service; but what he said about +himself was not reassuring. + +"I think you must be doing yourself an injustice," she said in a rather +agitated voice. + +"Madame?" + +"I do not believe you are so bad as you imply," she continued. + +The carriage turned with a jerk out of the brilliantly-lighted +thoroughfare that runs along the sea into a narrow side street, crowded +with native Jews, and dark with shadows. + +"Madame does not know me." + +The exact truth of this observation struck home, like a dagger, to the +mind of Mrs. Greyne. + +"I am a wicked person," added Abdallah Jack, with a profound conviction. +"That is why Monsieur Greyne chose me as his guide." + +The novelist began to quake. Her chocolate brocade fluttered. Was she +herself to learn at first hand, and on her first evening in Africa, +enough about African frailty to last her for the rest of her life? And +how much more of life would remain to her after her stock of knowledge +had been thus increased? The carriage turned into a second side street, +narrower and darker than the last. + +"Are we going right?" she said apprehensively. + +"No, madame; we are going wrong--we are going to the wicked part of the +city." + +"But--but--you are sure Mr. Greyne will be there?" + +Abdallah Jack laughed sardonically. + +"Monsieur Greyne is never anywhere else. Monsieur Greyne is wicked as is +a mad Touareg of the desert." + +"I don't think you quite understand my husband," said Mrs. Greyne, +feeling in duty bound to stand up for her poor, maligned Eustace. +"Whatever he may have done he has done at my special request." + +"Madame says?" + +"I say that in all his proceedings while in Algiers Mr. Greyne has been +acting under my directions." + +Abdallah Jack fixed his enormous eyes steadily upon her. + +"You are his wife, and told him to come here, and to do as he has done?" + +"Ye-yes," faltered Mrs. Greyne, for the first time in her life feeling +as if she were being escorted towards the criminal dock by a jailer with +Puritan tendencies. + +"Then it is true what they say on the shores of the great canal," he +remarked composedly. + +"What do they say?" inquired Mrs. Greyne. + +"That England is a land of female devils," returned the guide as the +carriage plunged into a filthy alley, between two rows of blind houses, +and began to ascend a steep hill. + +Mrs. Greyne gasped. She opened her lips to protest vigorously, but her +head swam--either from indignation or from fatigue--and she could +not utter a word. The horses mounted like cats upward into the dense +blackness, from which dropped down the faint sounds of squealing music +and of hoarse cries and laughter. The wheels bounded over the stones, +sank into the deep ruts, scraped against the sides of the unlighted +houses. And Abdallah Jack sat staring at Mrs. Greyne as an English +clergyman's wife might stare at the appalling rites of some deadly +cannibal encountered in a far-off land, with a stony wonder, a sort of +paralysed curiosity. + +Suddenly the carriage stopped on a piece of waste land covered with +small pebbles. Abdallah Jack sprang out. + +"Why do we stop?" said Mrs. Greyne, turning as pale as ashes. + +"The carriage can go no farther. Madame must walk." + +Mrs. Greyne began to tremble. + +"We are to leave the coachman?" + +"I shall escort madame, alone." + +The great novelist's tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She felt +like a Merrin's exercise-book, every leaf of which was covered with +African frailty. However, there was no help for it. She had to descend, +and stand among the pebbles. + +"Where are we going?" + +Abdallah Jack waved his hand towards a stone rampart dimly seen in the +faint light that emanated from the starry sky. + +"Down there into the alley of the Dead Dervishes." + +Mrs. Greyne could not repress a cry of horror. At that moment she would +have given a thousand pounds to have Mrs. Forbes at her side. + +Abdallah Jack grasped her by the hand, and led her ruthlessly forward. +Gazing with terror-stricken eyes over the crumbling rampart of the +Kasbah, she saw the city far below her, the lights of the streets, the +lights of the ships in harbour. She heard the music of a bugle, and +wished she were a Zouave safe in barracks. She wished she were a +German-Swiss porter, a merry chasseur--anything but Mrs. Eustace Greyne. +One thing alone supported her in this hour of trial, the thought of her +husband's ecstasy when she appeared upon the dread scene of his awful +labours, to tell him that he was released, that he need visit them no +more. + +The alley of the Dead Dervishes is long and winding. To Mrs. Greyne it +seemed endless. As she threaded it with faltering step, gripped by the +feverish hand of Abdallah Jack, who now began to display a strange and +terrible excitement, she became a centre of curiosity. Unwashed Arabs, +rakish Zouaves in blue and red, wandering Jews of various nationalities, +unveiled dancing-girls covered with jewels, stared in wonder upon the +chocolate brocade and the floating bonnet strings, followed upon her +footsteps, pointing with painted fingers, and making remarks of a +personal nature in French, Arabic, and other unknown tongues. She moved +in the midst of a crowd, on and on before lighted interiors from which +wild music flowed. + +"Shall we never be there?" she panted to Abdallah Jack. "My limbs refuse +their office." She jogged against a Tunisian Jewess in a pointed hat, +and rebounded upon an enormous Riff in a tattered sheep-skin. "I can go +no farther." + +"We are there! Behold the house of the Ouled!" + +As he uttered the last word he burst into a bitter laugh, and drew Mrs. +Greyne, now gasping for breath, through an open doorway into a little +hall of imitation marble, with fluted pillars adorned with oilcloth, and +walls hung with imported oleographs. From a chamber on the right, near +a winding staircase covered with blue-and-white tiles, came the sound of +laughter, of song, and of a hideous music conveyed to the astonied ear +by pipes and drums. + +"They are in there!" exclaimed Abdallah Jack, folding his arms, and +looking at Mrs. Greyne. "Go to your husband!" + +Mrs. Greyne put her hands to her magnificent forehead, and tottered +forward. She reached the door, she pushed it, she entered. There upon a +wooden dais, surrounded by gilt mirrors and artificial roses, she beheld +her husband, in a check suit and a white Homburg hat, performing the +wildest evolutions, while opposite him a lady, smothered in coloured +silks and coins, tattooed and painted, dyed and scented, covered with +kohl and crowned with ostrich feathers, screamed a nasal chant of the +East, and bounded like an electrified monkey. + +"Eustace!" cried Mrs. Greyne, leaning for support against an oleograph. + +Her husband turned. + +"Eustace!" she cried again. "It is I!" + +He stood as if turned to stone. Mrs. Greyne hesitated, started, moved +forward to the dais, and stared upon the Ouled, who had also ceased from +dancing, and looked strangely surprised, even confused, by the great +novelist's intrusion. + +"Miss Verbena!" she exclaimed. "Miss Verbena in Algiers!" + +"Eugenia!" said Mr. Greyne in a husky voice, "what is this you say? +This lady is the Ouled." + +A sardonic laugh came from the doorway. They turned. There stood +Abdallah Jack. He advanced roughly to the Ouled. + +"Come," he said angrily. "Have we not earned the money of the stranger? +Have we not earned enough? To-morrow you shall marry me as you have +promised, and we will return to our own land, to the canal where you and +I were born. And nevermore shall the Levantine instruct the babes of +the English devils, but dwell veiled and guarded in the harem of her +master." + +"Mademoiselle Verbena!" said Mr. Greyne in a more husky voice. +"But--but--your dying mother?" + +"She sleeps, monsieur, in the white sands of Ismailia, beside the +bitter lake. I trust that madame can now go on with the respectable +'Catherine.'" + +And with an ironic reverence to Mrs. Eustace Greyne she placed her hand +in Abdallah Jack's and vanished from the room. + +"Catherine's Repentance," published in a gigantic volume not many weeks +ago, was preceded by Mr. Eustace Greyne's. When last heard of he was +seated in the magnificent library of the corner house in Park Lane next +to the Duke of Ebury's, busily engaged in pasting the newspaper notices +of Mrs. Greyne's greatest work into a superb new album. + +The Abdallah Jacks have returned to the Suez Canal, bearing with them +a snug little fortune to be invested in the purchase of a coal wharf +at Port Said, and a remarkably handsome crocodile dressing-case, fitted +with gold, and monogrammed with the initials "E. G." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne, by +Robert Hichens + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne + 1905 + +Author: Robert Hichens + +Release Date: November 8, 2007 [EBook #23415] +Last Updated: December 17, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE + </h1> + <h2> + By Robert Hichens + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers + </h3> + <h4> + Copyright, 1905 + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Eustace Greyne (pronounced Green) wrinkled her forehead—that + noble, that startling forehead which had been written about in the + newspapers of two hemispheres—laid down her American Squeezer pen, + and sighed. It was an autumn day, nipping and melancholy, full of the + rustle of dying leaves and the faint sound of muffin bells, and Belgrave + Square looked sad even to the great female novelist who had written her + way into a mansion there. Fog hung about with the policeman on the + pavement. The passing motor cars were like shadows. Their stertorous + pantings sounded to Mrs. Greyne’s ears like the asthma of dying monsters. + She sighed again, and murmured in a deep contralto voice: “It must be so.” + Then she got up, crossed the heavy Persian carpet which had been bought + with the proceeds of a short story in her earlier days, and placed her + forefinger upon an electric bell. + </p> + <p> + Like lightning a powdered giant came. + </p> + <p> + “Has Mr. Greyne gone out?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “In his study, ma’am, pasting the last of the cuttings into the new + album.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne smiled. It was a pretty picture the unconscious six-footer had + conjured up. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to disturb Mr. Greyne,” she answered, with that gracious, and + even curling suavity which won all hearts; “but I wish to see him. Will + you ask him to come to me for a moment?” + </p> + <p> + The giant flew, silk-stockinged, to obey the mandate, while Mrs. Greyne + sat down on a carved oaken chair of ecclesiastical aspect to await her + husband. + </p> + <p> + She was a famous woman, a personage, this simply-attired lady. With an + American Squeezer pen she had won fame, fortune, and a mansion in Belgrave + Square, and all without the sacrifice of principle. Respectability + incarnate, she had so dealt with the sorrows and evils of the world that + she had rendered them utterly acceptable to Mrs. Grundy, Mr. Grundy, and + all the Misses Grundy. People said she dived into the depths of human + nature, and brought up nothing that need scandalise a curate’s + grandmother, or the whole-aunt of an archdeacon; and this was so true that + she had made a really prodigious amount of money. Her large, her solid, + her unrelenting books lay upon every table. Even the smart set kept them, + uncut—like pretty sinners who have never been “found out”—to + give an air of haphazard intellectuality to frisky boudoirs, All the + clergy, however unable to get their tithes, bought them. All bishops + alluded to them in “pulpit utterances.” Fabulous prices were paid for them + by magazine editors. They ran as serials through all the tale of months. + The suburbs battened on them. The provinces adored them. Country people + talked of no other literature. In fact, Mrs. Eustace Greyne was a really + fabulous success. + </p> + <p> + Why, then, should she heave these heavy sighs in Belgrave Square? Why + should she lift an intellectual hand as though to tousle the glossy + chestnut bandeaux which swept back from her forcible forehead, and screw + her reassuring features into these wrinkles of perplexity and distress? + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and Mr. Eustace Greyne appeared, “What is it, Eugenia?” + upon his lips. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was a number of years younger than his celebrated wife, and + looked even younger than his years. He was a very smart man, with smooth, + jet-black hair, which he wore parted in the middle; pleasant, dark eyes + that could twinkle gently; a clear, pale complexion; and a nice, tall + figure. One felt, in glancing at him, that he had been an Eton boy, and + had at least thought of going into the militia at some period of his life. + His history can be briefly told. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had he emerged into the world before he met and was married to + Mrs. Eustace Greyne, then Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker. He had had no time + to sow a single oat, wild or otherwise; no time to adore a barmaid, or + wish to have his name linked with that of an actress; no time to do + anything wrong, or even to know, with the complete accuracy desired by all + persevering young men, what was really wrong. Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker + sailed upon his horizon, and he struck his flag to matrimony. Ever since + then he had been her husband, and had never, even for one second, emerged + beyond the boundaries of the most intellectual respectability. He was the + most innocent of men, although he knew all the important editors in + London. Swaddled in money by his successful wife, he considered her a + goddess. She poured the thousands into Coutts’ Bank, and with the arrival + of each fresh thousand he was more firmly convinced that she was a + goddess. To say he looked up to her would be too mild. As the Cockney + tourist in Chamounix peers at the summit of Mont Blanc, he peered at Mrs. + Greyne. And when, finally, she bought the lease of the mansion in Belgrave + Square, he knew her Delphic. + </p> + <p> + So now he appeared in the oracle’s retreat respectfully, “What is it, + Eugenia?” upon his admiring lips. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, my husband,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne subsided by the fire, placing his pointed patent-leather toes + upon the burnished fender. Without the fog grew deeper, and the chorus of + the muffin bells more plaintive. The fire-light, flickering over Mrs. + Greyne’s majestic features, made them look Rembrandtesque. Her large, + oxlike eyes were fixed and thoughtful. After a pause, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Eustace, I shall have to send you upon a mission.” + </p> + <p> + “A mission, Eugenia!” said Mr. Greyne in great surprise. + </p> + <p> + “A mission of the utmost importance, the utmost delicacy.” + </p> + <p> + “Has it anything to do with Romeike & Curtice?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Will it take me far?” + </p> + <p> + “That is my trouble. It will take you very far.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of London?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of—not out of England?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it will take you to Algeria.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” cried Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” Mr. Greyne repeated after a short interval. “Am I to go + alone?” “Of course you must take Darrell.” Darrell was Mr. Greyne’s valet. + </p> + <p> + “And what am I to do at Algiers?” + </p> + <p> + “You must obtain for me there the whole of the material for book six of + ‘Catherine’s Repentance,’” “Catherine’s Repentance” was the gigantic novel + upon which Mrs. Greyne was at that moment engaged. + </p> + <p> + “I will not disguise from you, Eustace,” continued Mrs. Greyne, looking + increasingly Rembrandtesque, “that, in my present work, I am taking a + somewhat new departure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but we are very comfortable here,” said Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + With each new book they had changed their abode. “Harriet” took them from + Phillimore Gardens to Queensgate Terrace; “Jane’s Desire” moved them on to + a corner house in Sloane Street; with “Isobel’s Fortune” they passed to + Curzon Street; “Susan’s Vanity” landed them in Coburg Place; and, finally, + “Margaret’s Involution” had planted them in Belgrave Square. Now, with + each of these works of genius Mrs. Greyne had taken what she called “a new + departure.” Mr. Greyne’s remark is, therefore, explicable. + </p> + <p> + “True. Still, there is always Park Lane.” + </p> + <p> + She mused for a moment. Then, leaning more heavily upon the carved lions + of her chair, she continued: + </p> + <p> + “Hitherto, although I have sometimes dealt with human frailty, I have + treated it gently. I have never betrayed a Zola-spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “Zola! My darling!” cried Mr. Eustace Greyne. “You are surely not going to + betray anything of that sort now!” + </p> + <p> + “If she does we shall soon have to move off to West Kensington,” was his + secret thought. + </p> + <p> + “No. But in book six of ‘Catherine’ I have to deal with sin, with tumult, + with African frailty. It is inevitable.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed once more. The burden of the new book was very heavy upon her. + </p> + <p> + “African frailty!” murmured the astonished Eustace Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “Now, neither you nor I, my husband, know anything about this.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, my darling. How should we? We have never explored beyond + Lucerne.” + </p> + <p> + “We must, therefore, get to know about it—at least you must. For I + cannot leave London. The continuity of the brain’s travelling must not be + imperiled by any violent bodily activity. In the present stage of my book + a sea journey might be disastrous.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly you should keep quiet, my love. But then—-” + </p> + <p> + “You must go for me to Algiers. There you must get me what I want. I fear + you will have to poke about in the native quarters a good deal for it, so + you had better buy two revolvers, one for yourself and one for Darrell.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne gasped. The calmness of his wife amazed him. He was not + intellectual enough to comprehend fully the deep imaginings of a mighty + brain, the obsession work is in the worker. + </p> + <p> + “African frailty is what I want,” pursued Mrs. Greyne. “One hundred + closely-printed pages of African frailty. You will collect for me the raw + material, and I shall so manipulate it that it will fall discreetly, even + elevatingly, into the artistic whole. Do you understand me, Eustace?” + </p> + <p> + “I am to travel to Algiers, and see all the wickedness to be seen there, + take notes of it, and bring them back to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “And how long am I to stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Until you have made yourself acquainted with the depths.” + </p> + <p> + “A fortnight?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think that would be enough. Take Brush’s remedy for seasickness + and plenty of antipyrin, your fur coat for the crossing, and a white + helmet and umbrella for the arrival. You have lead pencils?” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty.” + </p> + <p> + “A couple of Merrin’s exercise-books should be enough to contain your + notes.” + </p> + <p> + “When am I to go?” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better. I am at a standstill for want of the material. You + might catch the express to Paris to-morrow; no, say the day after + to-morrow.” She looked at him tenderly. “The parting will be bitter.” + </p> + <p> + “Very bitter,” Mr. Eustace Greyne replied. + </p> + <p> + He felt really upset. Mrs. Greyne laid the hand which had brought them + from Phillimore Gardens to Belgrave Square gently upon his. + </p> + <p> + “Think of the result,” she said. “The greatest book I have done yet. A + book that will last. A book that will——” + </p> + <p> + “Take us to Park Lane,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + The Rembrandtesque head nodded. The noble features, as of a strictly + respectable Roman emperor, relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “A book that will take us to Park Lane.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened, and the footman inquired: + </p> + <p> + “Could Mademoiselle Verbena see you for a minute, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of the two little Greynes. + The great novelist had consented to become a mother. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + In another moment Mademoiselle Verbena was added to the group beside the + fire. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + We have said that Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of little + Adolphus and Olivia Greyne, and so she was to this extent—that she + taught them French, and that Mr. and Mrs. Greyne supposed her to be a + Parisian. But life has its little ironies. Mademoiselle Verbena in the + house of this great and respectable novelist was one of them; for she was + a Levantine, born at Port Said of a Suez Canal father and a Suez Canal + mother. Now, nobody can desire to say anything against Port Said. At the + same time, few mothers would inevitably pick it out as the ideal spot from + which a beneficent influence for childhood’s happy hour would be certain + to emanate. Nor, it must be allowed, is a Suez Canal ancestry specially + necessary to a trainer of young souls. It may not be a drawback, but it + can hardly be described as an advantage. This, Mademoiselle Verbena was + intelligent enough to know. She, therefore, concealed the fact that her + father had been a dredger of Monsieur de Lesseps’ triumph, her mother a + bar-lady of the historic coal wharf where the ships are fed, and preferred + to suppose—and to permit others to suppose—that she had first + seen the light in the Rue St. Honoré, her parents being a count and + countess of some old régime. + </p> + <p> + This supposition, retained from her earliest years, had affected her + appearance and her manner. She was a very neat, very trim, even a very + attractive little person, with dark brown, roguish eyes, blue-black hair, + a fairy-like figure, and the prettiest hands and feet imaginable. She had + first attracted Mrs. Greyne’s attention by her devotion to St. Paul’s + Cathedral, and this devotion she still kept up. Whenever she had an hour + or two free she always—so she herself said—spent it in “<i>ce + charmant</i> St. Paul.” + </p> + <p> + As she entered the oracle’s retreat she cast down her eyes, and trembled + visibly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Miss Verbena?” inquired Mrs. Greyne, with a kindly English + accent, calculated to set any poor French creature quite at ease. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena trembled more. + </p> + <p> + “I have received bad news, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “I grieve to hear it. Of what nature?” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma has <i>une bronchite très grave</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “A what, Miss Verbena?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, madame. A very grave bronchitis. She cries for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “The doctors say she will die.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very sad.” + </p> + <p> + The Levantine wept. Even Suez Canal folk are not proof against all human + sympathy. Mr. Greyne blew his nose beside the fire, and Mrs. Greyne said + again: + </p> + <p> + “I repeat that this is very sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, if I do not go to mamma tomorrow I shall not see her more.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne looked very grave. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she remarked. She thought profoundly for a moment, and then added: + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Mademoiselle Verbena flung herself down on the Persian carpet at + Mrs. Greyne’s large but well-proportioned feet, and, bathing them with her + tears, cried in a heartrending manner: + </p> + <p> + “Madame will let me go! madame will permit me to fly to poor mamma—to + close her dying eyes—to kiss once again——” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was visibly affected, and even Mrs. Greyne seemed somewhat put + about, for she moved her feet rather hastily out of reach of the + dependant’s emotion, and made her scramble up. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your poor mother?” + </p> + <p> + “In Paris, madame. In the Rue St. Honoré, where I was born. Oh, if she + should die there! If she should——” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne raised her hand, commanding silence. + </p> + <p> + “You wish to go there?” + </p> + <p> + “If madame permits.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow? This is decidedly abrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais la bronchite, madame</i>, she is abrupt, and death, she may be + abrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “True. One moment!” + </p> + <p> + There was an instant’s silence for Mrs. Greyne to let loose her brain in. + She did so, then said: + </p> + <p> + “You have my permission. Go to-morrow, but return as soon as possible. I + do not wish Adolphus to lose his still uncertain grasp upon the irregular + verbs.” + </p> + <p> + In a flood of grateful tears Mademoiselle Verbena retired to make her + preparations. On the morrow she was gone. + </p> + <p> + The morrow was a day of much perplexity, much bustle and excitement for + Mr. Greyne and the valet, Darrell. They were preparing for Algiers. In the + morning, at an early hour, Mr. Greyne set forth in the barouche with Mrs. + Greyne to purchase African necessaries: a small but well-supplied medicine + chest, a pith helmet, a white-and-green umbrella, a Baedeker, a couple of + Smith & Wesson Springfield revolvers with a due amount of cartridges, + a dozen of Merrin’s exercise-books—on mature reflection Mrs. Creyne + thought that two would hardly contain a sufficient amount of African + frailty for her present purpose—a packet of lead pencils, some + bottles of a remedy for seasickness, a silver flask for cognac, and + various other trifles such as travellers in distant continents require. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Darrell was learning French for the journey, and packing his own + and his master’s trunks. The worthy fellow, a man of twenty-five summers, + had never been across the Channel—the Greynes being by no means + prone to foreign travel—and it may, therefore, be imagined that he + was in a state of considerable expectation as he laid the trousers, coats, + and waistcoats in their respective places, selected such boots as seemed + likely to wear well in a tropical climate, and dropped those shirts which + are so contrived as to admit plenty of ventilation to the heated body into + the case reserved for them. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Greyne returned from his shopping excursion the barouche, loaded + almost to the gunwale—if one may be permitted a nautical expression + in this connection—had to be disburdened, and its contents conveyed + upstairs to Mr. Greyne’s bedroom, into which Mrs. Greyne herself presently + entered to give directions for their disposing. Nor was it till the hour + of sunset that everything was in due order, the straps set fast, the keys + duly turned in the locks—the labels—“Mr. Eustace Greyne: + Passenger to Algiers: via Marseilles”—carefully written out in a + full, round hand. Rook’s tickets had been bought; so now everything was + ready, and the last evening in England might be spent by Mr. Greyne in the + drawing-room and by Darrell in the servants’ hall quietly, socially, + perhaps pathetically. + </p> + <p> + The pathos of the situation, it must be confessed, appealed more to the + master than to the servant. Darrell was very gay, and inclined to be + boastful, full of information as to how he would comport himself with + “them there Frenchies,” and how he would make “them pore, godless Arabs + sit up.” But Mr. Greyne’s attitude of mind was very different. As the + night drew on, and Mrs. Greyne and he sat by the wood fire in the + magnificent drawing-room, to which they always adjourned after dinner, a + keen sense of the sorrow of departure swept over them both. + </p> + <p> + “How lonely you will feel without me, Eugenia,” said Mr. Greyne. “I have + been thinking of that all day.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Eustace, how desolate will be your tale of days! My mind runs + much on that. You will miss me at every hour.” + </p> + <p> + “You are so accustomed to have me within call, to depend upon me for + encouragement in your life-work. I scarcely know how you will get on when + I am far across the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, for whom I have labored, for whom I have planned and calculated, + what will be your sensations when you realize that a gulf—the Gulf + of Lyons—is fixed irrevocably between us?” + </p> + <p> + So their thoughts ran. Each one was full of tender pity for the other. + Towards bedtime, however, conscious that the time for colloquy was running + short, they fell into more practical discourse. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Mr. Greyne, “whether I shall find any difficulty in + gaining the information you require, my darling. I suppose these places”—he + spoke vaguely, for his thoughts were vague—“are somewhat awkward to + come at. Naturally they would avoid the eye of day.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne looked profound. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Evil ever seeks the darkness. You will have to do the same.” + </p> + <p> + “You think my investigations must take place at night?” + </p> + <p> + “I should certainly suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “And where shall I find a cicerone?” + </p> + <p> + “Apply to Rook.” + </p> + <p> + “In what terms? You see, dearest, this is rather a special matter, isn’t + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very special. But on no account hint that you are in Algiers for + ‘Catherine’s’ sake. It would get into the papers. It would be cabled to + America. The whole reading world would be agog, and the future interest of + the book discounted.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne looked at his wife with reverence. In such moments he realized, + almost too poignantly, her great position. + </p> + <p> + “I will be careful,” he said. “What would you recommend me to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Well”—Mrs. Greyne knit her superb forehead—“I should suggest + that you present yourself as an ordinary traveler, but with a specially + inquiring bent of mind and a slight tendency towards the—the—er—hidden + things of life.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you wish me to visit the public houses?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you to see everything that has part or lot in African frailty. Go + everywhere, see everything. Bring your notes to me, and I will select such + fragments of the broken commandments as suit my purpose, which is, as + always, the edifying of the human race. Only this time I mean to purge it + as by fire.” + </p> + <p> + “That corner house in Park Lane, next to the Duke of Ebury’s, would suit + us very well,” said Mr. Greyne reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “We could sell our lease here at an advance,” his wife rejoined. “You will + not waste your journey, Eustace?” + </p> + <p> + “My love,” returned Mr. Greyne with decision, “I will apply to Rook on + arrival, and, if I find his man unsatisfactory, if I have any reason to + suspect that I am not being shown everything—more especially in the + Kasbah region, which, from the guide-books we bought to-day, is, I take + it, the most abandoned portion of the city—I will seek another + cicerone.” + </p> + <p> + “Do so. And now to bed. You must sleep well to-night in preparation for + the journey.” + </p> + <p> + It was their invariable habit before retiring to drink each a tumbler of + barley water, which was set out by the butler in Mrs. Greyne’s study. + After this nightcap Mrs. Greyne wrote up her anticipatory diary, while Mr. + Greyne smoked a mild cigar, and then they went to bed. To-night, as usual, + they repaired to the sanctum, and drank their barley water. Having done + so, Mr. Greyne drew forth his cigar-case, while Mrs. Greyne went to her + writing-table, and prepared to unlock the drawer in which her diary + reposed, safe from all prying eyes. + </p> + <p> + The match was struck, the key was inserted in the lock, and turned. As the + cigar end glowed the drawer was opened. Mr. Greyne heard a contralto cry. + He turned from the arm-chair in which he was just about to seat himself. + </p> + <p> + “My love, is anything the matter?” + </p> + <p> + His wife was bending forward with both hands in the drawer, telling over + its contents. + </p> + <p> + “My diary is not here!” + </p> + <p> + “Your diary!” + </p> + <p> + “It is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “But”—he came over to her—“this is very serious. I presume, + like all diaries, it is full of——” Instinctively he had been + about to say “damning”; he remembered his dear one’s irreproachable + character and substituted “precious secrets.” + </p> + <p> + “It is full of matter which must never be given to the world—my + secret thoughts, my aspirations. The whole history of my soul is there.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! It must be found.” + </p> + <p> + They searched the writing-table. They searched the room. No diary. + </p> + <p> + “Could you have taken it to my room, and left it there?” asked Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + They hastened thither, and looked—in vain. By this time the servants + were gone to bed, and the two searchers were quite alone on the ground + floor of their magnificent mansion. Mrs. Greyne began to look seriously + perturbed. Her Roman features worked. + </p> + <p> + “This is appalling,” she exclaimed. “Some thief, knowing it priceless, + must have stolen the diary. It will be published in America. It will bring + in thousands—but to others, not to us.” + </p> + <p> + She began to wring her hands. It was near midnight. + </p> + <p> + “Think, my love, think!” cried Mr. Greyne. “Where could you have taken it? + You had it last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. I remember writing in it that you would be sailing to Algiers + on the <i>Général Bertrand</i> on Thursday of this week, and that on the + night I should be feeling widowed here. The previous night I wrote that + yesterday I should have to tell you of your mission. You know I always put + down beforehand what I shall do, what I shall even think on each + succeeding day. It is a practice that regulates the mind and conduct, that + helps to uniformity.” + </p> + <p> + “How true! Who can have taken it? Do you ever leave it about?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. Am I a madwoman?” + </p> + <p> + “My darling, compose yourself! We must search the house.” + </p> + <p> + They proceeded to do so, and, on coming into the schoolroom, Mrs. Greyne, + who was in front, uttered a sudden cry. + </p> + <p> + Upon the table of Mademoiselle Verbena lay the diary, open at the + following entry:— + </p> + <p> + On Thursday next poor Eustace will be on board the <i>Général Bertrand</i>, + sailing for Algiers. I shall be here thinking of myself, and of him in + relation to myself. God help us both. Duty is sometimes stern. Mem. The + corner house in Park Lane, next the Duke of Ebury’s, has sixty years still + to run; the lease, that is. Thursday—poor Eustace! + </p> + <p> + “What does this portend?” cried Mrs. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “My darling, it passes my wit to imagine,” replied her husband. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + The parting of Mr. and Mrs. Greyne on the following morning was very + affecting. It took place at Victoria Station, in the midst of a small + crowd of admiring strangers, who had recognised the commanding presence of + the great novelist, and had gathered round to observe her manifestations. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne was considerably shaken by the event of the previous night. + Although, on the discovery of the diary, the house had been roused, and + all the servants closely questioned, no light had been thrown upon its + migration from the locked drawer to the schoolroom table. Adolphus and + Olivia, jerked from sleep by the hasty hands of a maid, could only weep + and wan. The powdered footmen, one and all, declared they had never heard + of a diary. The butler gave warning on the spot, keeping on his nightcap + to give greater effect to his pronunciamento. It was all most + unsatisfactory, and for one wild moment Mrs. Greyne seriously thought of + retaining her husband by her as a protection against the mysterious thief + who had been at work in their midst. Could it be Mademoiselle Verbena? The + dread surmise occurred, but Mr. Greyne rejected it. + </p> + <p> + “Her father was a count,” he said. “Besides, my darling, I don’t believe + she can read English; certainly not unless it is printed.” + </p> + <p> + So there the matter rested, and the moment of parting came. + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of respectful sympathy as Mrs. Greyne clasped her + husband tenderly in her arms, and pressed his head against her + prune-coloured bonnet strings. The whistle sounded. The train moved on. + Leaning from a reserved first-class compartment, Mr. Greyne waved a silk + pocket-handkerchief so long as his wife’s Roman profile stood out clear + against the fog and smoke of London. But at last it faded, grew remote, + took on the appearance of a feebly-executed crayon drawing, vanished. He + sank back upon the cushions—alone. Darrell was travelling second + with the dressing-case. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange sensation, to be alone, and <i>en route</i> to Algiers. + Mr. Greyne scarcely knew what to make of it. A schoolboy suddenly + despatched to Timbuctoo could hardly have felt more terribly emancipated + than he did. He was so absolutely unaccustomed to freedom, he had been for + so long without the faintest desire for it, that to have it thrust upon + him so suddenly was almost alarming. He felt lonely, anxious, horribly + unmarried. To divert his thoughts he drew forth a Merrin’s exercise-book + and a pencil, and wrote on the first page, in large letters, “<i>African + Frailty, Notes for</i>” Then he sat gazing at the title of his first + literary work, and wondering what on earth he was going to see in Algiers. + </p> + <p> + Vague visions of himself in the bars of African public-houses, in mosques, + in the two-pair-backs of dervishes, in bazaars—which he pictured to + himself like those opened by royalties at the Queen’s Hall—in + Moorish interiors surrounded by voluptuous ladies with large oval eyes, + black tresses, and Turkish trousers of spangled muslin, flitted before his + mental gaze. When the train ran upon Dover Pier, and the white horses of + the turbulent Channel foamed at his feet, he started as one roused from a + Rip Van Winkle sleep. Severe illness occupied his whole attention for a + time, and then recovery. + </p> + <p> + In Paris he dined at the buffet like one in a dream, and, at the appointed + hour, came forth to take the <i>rapide</i> for Marseilles. He looked for + Darrell and the dressing-case. They were not to be seen. There stood the + train. Passengers were mounting into it. Old ladies with agitated faces + were buying pillows and nibbling biscuits. Elderly gentlemen with yellow + countenances and red ribands in their coats were purchasing the <i>Figaro</i> + and the <i>Gil Blas</i>. Children with bare legs were being hauled into + compartments. Rook’s agent was explaining to a muddled tourist in a + tam-o’-shanter the exact difference between the words “Oui” and “Non” The + bustle of departure was in the air, but Darrell was not to be seen. Mr. + Greyne had left him upon the platform with minute directions as to the + point from which the train would start and the hour of its going. Yet he + had vanished. The most frantic search, the most frenzied inquiries of + officials and total strangers, failed to elicit his whereabouts, and, + finally, Mr. Greyne was flung forcibly upward into the <i>wagonlit</i>, + and caught by the <i>contrôleur</i> when the train was actually moving out + of the station. + </p> + <p> + A moment later he fell exhausted upon the pink-plush seat of his + compartment, realising his terrible position. He was now utterly alone; + without servant, hair-brushes, toothbrushes, razors, sponges, pajamas, + shoes. It was a solitude that might be felt. He thought of the sea journey + with no kindly hand to minister to him, the arrival in Africa with no + humble companion at his side, to wonder with him at the black inhabitants + and help him through the customs—to say nothing of the manners. He + thought of the dread homes of iniquity into which he must penetrate by + night in search of the material for the voracious “Catherine.” He had + meant to take Darrell with him to them all—Darrell, whose joyful + delight in the prospect of exploring the Eastern fastnesses of crime had + been so boyish, so truly English in its frank, its even boisterous + sincerity. + </p> + <p> + And now he was utterly alone, almost like Robinson Crusoe. + </p> + <p> + The <i>contrôleur</i> came in to make the bed. Mr. Greyne told him the + dreadful story. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt he has been lured away, monsieur. The dressing-case was of + value?” + </p> + <p> + “Crocodile, gold fittings.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably monsieur will never see him again. As likely as not he will + sleep in the Seine to-night, and at the morgue to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne shuddered. This was an ill omen for his expedition. He drank a + stiff whisky-and-soda instead of the usual barley water, and went to bed + to dream of bloody murders in which he was the victim. + </p> + <p> + When the train ran into Marseilles next morning he was an unshaven, + miserable man. + </p> + <p> + “Have I time to buy a tooth-brush,” he inquired anxiously at the station, + “before the boat sails for Algiers?” + </p> + <p> + The <i>chef de gare</i> thought so. Monsieur had four hours, if that was + sufficient. Mr. Greyne hastened forth, had a Turkish bath, purchased a new + dressing-case, ate a hasty <i>déjeuner</i>, and took a cab to the wharf. + It was a long drive over the stony streets. He glanced from side to side, + watching the bustling traffic, the hurry of the nations going to and from + the ships. His eyes rested upon two Arabs who were striding along in his + direction. Doubtless they were also bound for Algiers. He thought they + looked most wicked, and hastily took a note of them for “African Frailty.” + Beside his sense of loss and loneliness marched the sense of duty. The + great woman at home in Belgrave Square, founder of his fortunes, mother of + his children, she depended upon him. Even in his own hour of need he would + not fail her. He took a lead pencil, and wrote down: + </p> + <p> + Saw two Arab ruffians. Bare legs. Look capable of anything. Should not be + surprised to hear that they had—— + </p> + <p> + There he paused. That they had what? Done things. Of course, but what + things? That was the question. He exerted his imagination, but failed to + arrive at any conclusion as to their probable crimes. His knowledge of + wickedness was really absurdly limited. For the first time he felt + slightly ashamed of it, and began to wish he had gone into the militia. He + comforted himself with the thought that in a fortnight he would probably + be fit for the regular army. This thought cheered him slightly, and it was + with a slight smile upon his face that he welcomed the first glimpse of + the <i>Général Bertrand</i>, which was lying against the quay ready to + cast off at the stroke of noon. Most of the passengers were aboard, but, + as Mr. Greyne stepped out of his cab, and prepared to pay the Maltese + driver, a trim little lady, plainly dressed in black, and carrying a tiny + and rather coquettish hand-bag, was tripping lightly across the gangway. + Mr. Greyne glanced at her as he turned to follow, glanced, and then + started. That back was surely familiar to him. Where could he have seen it + before? He searched his memory as the little lady vanished. It was a + smart, even a <i>chic</i> back, a back that knew how to take care of + itself, a back that need not go through the world alone, a back, in fine, + that was most distinctly attractive, if not absolutely alluring. Where had + he seen it before, or had he ever seen it at all? He thought of his wife’s + back, flat, powerful, uncompromising. This was very different, more—how + should he put it to himself?—more Algerian, perhaps. He could + vaguely conceive it a back such as one might meet with while engaged in + adding to one’s stock of knowledge of—well—African frailty. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the steward appeared to show him to his cabin, and his + further reflections were mainly connected with the Gulf of Lyons. + </p> + <p> + Twilight was beginning to fall when, so far as he was capable of thinking, + he thought he would like a breath of air. For some moments he lay quite + still, dwelling on this idea which had so mysteriously come to him. Then + he got up, and thought again, seated upon the cabin floor. He knew there + was a deck. He remembered having seen one when he came aboard. He put on + his fur coat, still sitting on the cabin floor. The process took some time—he + fancied about a couple of years. At last, however, it was completed, and + he rose to his feet with the assistance of the washstand and the berth. + </p> + <p> + The ship seemed very busy, full of almost American activity. He thought a + greater calm would have been more decent, and waited in the hope that the + floor would presently cease to forget itself. As it showed no symptoms of + complying with his desire he endeavoured to spurn it, and, in the fulness + of time, gained the companion. + </p> + <p> + It was very strange, as he remembered afterwards, that only when he had + gained the companion did the sense of his utter loneliness rush upon him + with overwhelming force: one of the ironies of life, he supposed. + Eventually he shook the companion off with a good deal of difficulty, and + found himself installed upon planks under a grey sky, and holding fast to + a railing, which was all that interposed between him and eternity. + </p> + <p> + At first he was only conscious of greyness and the noise of winds and + waters, but presently a black daub seemed to hover for a second somewhere + on the verge of his world, to hover and disappear. He wondered what it + was. A smut, perhaps. He rubbed his face. The daub returned. It was very + large for a smut. He strove to locate it, and found that it must be + somewhere on his left cheek. With a great effort he took out his + pocket-handkerchief. Suddenly the daub assumed monstrous proportions. He + turned his head, and perceived the lady in black whom he had seen tripping + over the gangway on his arrival. + </p> + <p> + She was a few steps from him, leaning upon the rail in an attitude of the + deepest dejection, with her face averted; yet it struck him that her right + shoulder was oddly familiar, as her back had surely been. The turn of her + head, too—he coughed despairingly. The lady took no notice. He + coughed again. Interest was quickening in him. He was determined to see + the lady’s face. + </p> + <p> + This time she looked around, showing a pale countenance bedewed with + tears, and totally devoid of any expression which he could connect with a + consciousness of his presence. For a moment she stared vacantly at him, + while he, with almost equal vacancy, regarded her. Then a thrill of + surprise shook him. A sudden light of knowledge leaped up in him, and he + exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Verbena!” “Monsieur?” murmured the lady, with an accent of + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Verbena! Surely it is—it must be!” + </p> + <p> + He had staggered sideways, nearing her. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Verbena, do you not know me? It is I, Eustace Greyne, the + father of your pupils, the husband of Mrs. Eustace Greyne?” + </p> + <p> + An expression of stark amazement came into the lady’s face at these words. + She leaned forward till her eyes were close to Mr. Greyne’s then gave a + little cry. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> It is true! You are so altered that I could not + recognise. And then—what are you doing here, on the wide sea, far + from madame?” + </p> + <p> + “I was just about to ask you the very same question!” cried Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + “Alas, monsieur!” said Mademoiselle Verbena in her silvery voice, “I go to + see my poor mother.” + </p> + <p> + “But I understood that she was dying in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Even so. But, when I reached the Rue St. Honoré, I found that they had + removed to Algiers. It was the only chance, the doctor said—a warm + climate, the sun of Africa. There was no time to let me know. They took + her away at once. And now I follow—perhaps to find her dead.” + </p> + <p> + Large tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Greyne was deeply affected. + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope for the best,” he exclaimed, seized by a happy inspiration. + </p> + <p> + The Levantine strove to smile. + </p> + <p> + “But you, monsieur, why are you here? Ah! perhaps madame is with you! Let + me go to her! Let me kiss her dear hands once more——” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond excitement. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite alone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + A tragic expression came into the Levantine’s face. + </p> + <p> + “But, then——” she began. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible for him to tell her about “Catherine.” He was, + therefore, constrained to subterfuge. + </p> + <p> + “I—I was suddenly overtaken by—by influenza,” he said, in some + confusion. “The doctor recommended change of air, of scene.” + </p> + <p> + “He suggested Algiers——” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> It is like poor mamma!” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. Our constitutions are—are doubtless similar. I shall + take this opportunity also of improving my knowledge of African manners + and—and customs.” + </p> + <p> + A strange smile seemed to dawn for a second on Mademoiselle Verbena’s + face, but it died instantaneously in a grimace of pain. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Better stay!” he said. “The air will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, if I die, what matter? Unless mamma lives there is no one in the + world who cares for me, for whom I care.” + </p> + <p> + “There—there is Mrs. Greyne,” said her husband. “And then St. Paul’s—remember + St. Paul’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah <i>ce charmant</i> St. Paul’s! Shall I ever see him more?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at Mr. Greyne, and suddenly—he knew not why—Mr. + Greyne remembered the incident of the diary, and blushed. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur has fever!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne shook his head. The Levantine eyed him curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur wishes to say something to me, and does not like to speak.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But you have fever now!” cried Mr. Greyne anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Who can have taken the diary?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne blushed again. + </p> + <p> + “We think it was Thomas,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena looked at him steadily for a moment, then she cried: + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was startled by the abruptness of this pious ejaculation. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good man. You, at least, would not condescend to insult a + friendless woman by unworthy suspicions. And madame?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Greyne”—stammered Mr. Greyne—“is convinced that it was + Thomas. In fact—in fact, she was the first to say so.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena tenderly pressed his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Madame is an angel. God bless you both!” + </p> + <p> + She tottered into her cabin, and, as she shut the door, Mr. Greyne heard + the terrible, laughing hysterics beginning again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 of Louis + XVI., the poverty of her mother the countess, her own resolve to put aside + all aristocratic prejudices and earn her own living. He, in return, had + related his Eton days, his momentary bias towards the militia, his + marriage—as an innocent youth—with Miss Eugenia + Hannibal-Barker. Coming to later times, he was led to confide to the + tenderhearted Levantine the fact that he hoped to increase his stock of + knowledge while in Africa. Without alluding to “Catherine,” he hinted that + the cure of influenza was not his only reason for foreign travel. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to learn something of men and—and women,” he murmured in the + shell-like ear presented to him. “Of their passions, their desires, their—their + follies.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Mademoiselle Verbena. “Would that I could assist monsieur! But + I am only an ignorant little creature, and know nothing of the world! And + I shall be ever at the bedside of mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “You will give me your address? You will let me inquire for the countess?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly; but I do not know where I shall be. There will be a message at + the wharf. To what hotel goes monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “The Grand Hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “I will write there when I have seen mamma. And meanwhile——” + </p> + <p> + They were coming into harbour. The heights of Mustapha were visible, the + woods of the Bois de Boulogne, the towers of the Hotel Splendid. + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile, may I beg monsieur not to——” She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Not to what?” asked Mr. Greyne most softly. + </p> + <p> + “Not to let anyone in England know that I am here?” + </p> + <p> + She paused. Mr. Greyne was silent, wondering. Mademoiselle Verbena drooped + her head. + </p> + <p> + “The world is so censorious. It might seem strange that I—that + monsieur—a man young, handsome, fascinating—the same ship—I + have no chaperon—enfin——” + </p> + <p> + She could get out no more. Her delicacy, her forethought touched Mr. + Greyne to tears. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word,” he said. “You are right. The world is evil, and, as you say, + I am a—not a word!” + </p> + <p> + He ventured to press her hand, as an elder brother might have pressed it. + For the first time he realised that even to the husband of Mrs. Eustace + Greyne the world might attribute—Goodness gracious! What might not + the militia think, for instance? + </p> + <p> + He felt himself, for one moment, potentially a dog. + </p> + <p> + They parted in a whirl of Arabs on the quay. Mr. Greyne would have stayed + to assist Mademoiselle Verbena, but she bade him go. + </p> + <p> + She whispered that she thought it “better” that they should not seem to—<i>enfin!</i> + </p> + <p> + “I will write to-morrow,” she murmured. “<i>Au revoir!</i>” + </p> + <p> + On the last word she was gone. Mr. Greyne saw nothing but Arabs and hotel + porters. Loneliness seemed to close in on him once more. + </p> + <p> + That very evening, after a cup of tea, he presented himself at the office + of Rook near the Place du Gouvernement. As he came in he felt a little + nervous. There were no tourists in the office, and a courteous clerk with + a bright and searching eye at once took him in hand. + </p> + <p> + “What can we do for you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a stranger here,” began Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, sir, quite so.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk twiddled his business-like thumbs, and looked inquiring. + </p> + <p> + “And being so,” Mr. Greyne went on, “it is naturally my wish to see as + much of the town as possible; as much as possible, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You want a guide? Alphonso!” + </p> + <p> + Turning, he shouted to an inner room, from which in a moment emerged a + short, stout, swarthy personage with a Jewish nose, a French head, an Arab + eye with a squint in it, and a markedly Maltese expression. + </p> + <p> + “This is an excellent guide, sir,” said the clerk. “He speaks twenty-five + languages.” + </p> + <p> + The stout man, who—as Mr Greyne now perceived—had on a Swiss + suit of clothes, a panama hat, and a pair of German elastic-sided boots, + confessed in pigeon English, interspersed occasionally with a word or two + of something which Mr. Greyne took to be Chinese, that such was + undoubtedly the case. + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish to see? The mosque, the bazaars, St. Eugène, La Trappe, + Mustapha, the baths of the Etat-Major, the Jardin d’Essai, the + Villa-Anti-Juif, the——” + </p> + <p> + “One moment!” said Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “May I take a chair?” + </p> + <p> + “Be seated, sir, pray be seated, and confer with Alphonso.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he gave himself to an enormous ledger, while Mr. Greyne took a + chair opposite to Alphonso, who stood in a Moorish attitude looking + apparently in the direction of Marseilles. + </p> + <p> + “I have come here,” said Mr. Greyne, lowering his voice, “with a + purpose.”. + </p> + <p> + “You wish to see the Belle Fatma. I will arrange it. She receives every + evening in her house in the Rue ———” + </p> + <p> + “One minute! One minute! You said the something ‘Fatma’?” + </p> + <p> + “The Belle Fatma, the most beautiful woman of Africa. She receives every——” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me! One moment! Is this lady——” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne paused. + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” said Alphonso, settling his Spanish neck-tie, and gazing steadily + towards Marseilles. + </p> + <p> + “Is this lady—well, sinful?” + </p> + <p> + Alphonso threw up his hands with a wild Asiatic gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Sinful! La Belle Fatma! She is a lady of the utmost respectability known + to all the town. You go to her house at eight, you take coffee upon the + red sofas, you talk with La Belle, you see the dances and hear the music. + Do not fear, sir; it is good, it is respectable as England, your country——” + </p> + <p> + “If it is respectable I don’t want to see it,” interposed Mr. Greyne. “It + would be a waste of time.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk lifted his head from the ledger, and Alphonso, by means of + standing with his back almost square to Mr. Greyne, and looking over his + right shoulder, succeeded at length in fixing his eye upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I have not travelled here to see respectable things,” continued Mr. + Greyne, with a slight blush. “Quite the contrary.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” + </p> + <p> + The voice of Alphonso seemed to have changed, to have taken on a hard, + almost a menacing tone. Mr. Greyne thought of his beloved wife, of + Merrin’s exercise-books, and clenched his hands, endeavouring to feel, and + to go on, like a militiaman. + </p> + <p> + “Quite the contrary,” he repeated firmly; “my object in coming to Africa + is to—to search about in the Kasbah, and the disrep——” + </p> + <p> + He choked, recovered himself, and continued: “Disreputable quarters of + Algiers—hem———” + </p> + <p> + “What for, sir?” + </p> + <p> + The voice of Alphonso was certainly changed. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” said Mr. Greyne, growing purple. “For frailty.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “For frailty—for wickedness.” + </p> + <p> + A slight cackle emanated from the ledger, but immediately died away. A + dead silence reigned in the office, broken only by the distant sound of + the sea, and by the hard breathing of Alphonso, who had suddenly begun to + pant. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to go to all the wicked places—<i>all!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The ledger cackled again more audibly. Mr. Greyne felt a prickling + sensation run over him, but the thought of “Catherine” nerved him to his + awful task. + </p> + <p> + “It is my wife’s express desire that I should do so,” he added + desperately, quite forgetting Mrs. Greyne’s injunction to keep her dark in + his desire to stand well with Rook’s. + </p> + <p> + The ledger went off into a hyena imitation, and Alphonso, turning still + more away from Mr. Greyne, so as to get the eye fuller upon him, + exclaimed, in a mixture of Aryan and Eurasian languages: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I am a respectable, unmarried man. I was born in Buenos Ayres, + educated in Smyrna, came of age in Constantinople, and have practised as + guide in Bagdad and other particular cities. I refuse to have anything to + do with you and your wife.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he bounced into the inner room, and banged the door, while the + ledger gave itself up to peals of merriment, and Mr. Greyne tottered forth + upon the sea-front, bathed in a cold perspiration, and feeling more guilty + than a murderer. + </p> + <p> + It was a staggering blow. He leaned over the stone parapet of the low + wall, and let the soft breezes from the bay flit through his hair, and + thought of Mrs. Greyne spurned by Alphonso. What was he to do? Kicked out + of Rook’s, to whom could he apply? There must be wickedness in Algiers, + but where? He saw none, though night was falling and stout Frenchmen were + already intent upon their absinthe. + </p> + <p> + “Does monsieur wish to see the Kasbah to-night?” + </p> + <p> + Was it a voice from heaven? He turned, and saw standing beside him a tall, + thin, audacious-looking young man, with coal-black moustaches, magnificent + eyes, and an air that was half-languid, half-serpentine. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a guide, monsieur. Here are my certificates.” + </p> + <p> + He produced from the inner pocket of his coat a large bundle of dirty + papers. + </p> + <p> + “If monsieur will deign to look them over.” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Greyne waved them away. What did he care for Certificates? Here + was a guide to African frailty. That was sufficient. He was in a desperate + mood, and uttered desperate words. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said rapidly, “are you wicked?” + </p> + <p> + “Very wicked, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” + </p> + <p> + “Wicked, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Right!” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that it is good for me that you are wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is very good.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I wish to be—that is, to see the other thing. Can you + undertake to show me everything shocking in Algiers?” + </p> + <p> + “But certainly, monsieur. For a consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Name your price.” + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred pounds, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne started. It seemed a high figure. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur thought it would be more? I make a special price, because I have + taken a fancy to monsieur. I remove fifty pounds. Monsieur, of course, + will pay all expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course.” + </p> + <p> + It was no time to draw back. + </p> + <p> + “How long will it take?” + </p> + <p> + “To see all the shocking—?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a good deal. A fortnight, three weeks. It depends on monsieur. + If he is strong, and can do without sleep——” + </p> + <p> + “We shall have to be up at night?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go to bed during the day, and get through it in a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Be at the Grand Hotel to-night at ten o’clock precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “At ten o’clock I will be there. Monsieur will pay a little in advance?” + </p> + <p> + “Here are twenty pounds,” cried Mr. Greyne recklessly. + </p> + <p> + The audacious-looking young man took the notes with decision, made a + graceful salute, and disappeared in the direction of the quay, while Mr. + Greyne walked to his hotel, flushed with excitement, and feeling like the + most desperate criminal in Africa. If the militia could see him now! + </p> + <p> + At dinner he drank a bottle of champagne, and afterwards smoked a strong + cigar over his coffee and liqueur. As he was finishing these frantic + enjoyments the head waiter—a personage bearing a strong resemblance + to an enlarged edition of Napoleon the First—approached him rather + furtively, and, bending down, whispered in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “A gentleman has called to take monsieur to the Kasbah.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne started, and flushed a guilty red. + </p> + <p> + “I will come in a moment,” he answered, trying to assume a nonchalant + voice, such as that in which a hardened major of dragoons announces that + in his time he was a devil of a fellow. + </p> + <p> + The head waiter retired, looking painfully intelligent, and Mr. Greyne + sprang upstairs, seized a Merrin’s exercise-book and a lead pencil, put on + a dark overcoat, popped one of the Springfield revolvers into the pocket + of it, and hastened down into the hall of the hotel, where the + audacious-looking young man was standing, surrounded by saucy chasseurs in + gay liveries and peaked caps, by Algerian waiters, and by German-Swiss + porters, all of whom were smiling and looking choke-full of sympathetic + comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” said Mr. Greyne, still in the major’s, voice. “There you are!” + </p> + <p> + “Behold me, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s good.” + </p> + <p> + “Wicked, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s be off to the mosque.” + </p> + <p> + One of the chasseurs—a child of eight who was thankful that he knew + no better—burst into a piping laugh. The waiters turned hastily + away, and the German-Swiss porters retreated to the bureau with some + activity. + </p> + <p> + “To the mosque—precisely, monsieur,” returned the guide, with + complete self-possession. + </p> + <p> + They stepped out at once upon the pavement, where a carriage was in + waiting. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” inquired Mr. Greyne in an anxious voice. + </p> + <p> + “We are going to the heights to see the Ouled,” replied the guide. “<i>En + avant!</i>” + </p> + <p> + He bounded in beside Mr. Greyne, the coachman cracked his whip, the horses + trotted. They were off upon their terrible pilgrimage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + On the following afternoon, at a quarter to three, when Mr. Greyne came + down to breakfast, he found, lying beside the boiled eggs, a note directed + to him in a feminine handwriting. He tote it open with trembling fingers, + and read as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Rue du Petit Neore. + + Dear Monsieur,—I am here. Poor mamma is in the hospital. I + am allowed to see her twice a day. At all other times I + remain alone, praying and weeping. I trust that monsieur has + passed a good night. For me, I was sleepless, thinking of + mamma. I go now to church. + + Adele Verbena. +</pre> + <p> + He laid this missive down, and sighed deeply. How strangely innocent it + was, how simple, how sincere! There were white souls in Algiers—yes, + even in Algiers. Strange that he should know one! Strange that he, who had + filled a Merrin’s exercise-book with tiny writing, and had even overflowed + on to the cover after “crossing” many pages, should receive the child-like + confidences of one! “I go now to the church.” Tears came into his eyes as + he laid the letter down beside a pile of buttered toast over which the + burning afternoon sun of Africa was shining. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur will take milk and sugar?” + </p> + <p> + It was the head waiter’s Napoleonic voice. Mr. Greyne controlled himself. + The man was smiling intelligently. All the staff of the hotel smiled + intelligently at Mr. Greyne to-day—the waiters, the porters, the + chasseurs. The child of eight who was thankful that he knew no better had + greeted him with a merry laugh as he came down to breakfast, and an “<i>Oh, + là, là!</i>” which had elicited a rebuke from the proprietor. Indeed, a + wave of human sympathy flowed upon Mr. Greyne, whose ashy face and dull, + washed-out eyes betrayed the severity of his night-watch. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur will feel better after a little food.” + </p> + <p> + The head waiter handed the buttered toast with bland majesty, at the same + time shooting a reproving glance at the little chasseur, who was peeping + from behind the door at the afternoon breakfaster. + </p> + <p> + “I feel perfectly well,” replied Mr. Greyne, with an attempt at + cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + “Still, monsieur will feel much better after a little food.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne began to toy with an egg. + </p> + <p> + “You know Algiers?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I was born here, monsieur. If monsieur wishes to explore to-night again + the Kasbah I can——” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Greyne stopped him with a gesture that was almost fierce. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the Rue du Petit Nègre?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur wishes to go there to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to go there now, directly I have finished break—lunch.” + </p> + <p> + The head waiter’s face was wreathed with humorous surprise. + </p> + <p> + “But monsieur is wonderful—superb! Never have I seen a traveller + like monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + He gazed at Mr. Greyne with tropical appreciation. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur had better have a carriage. The street is difficult to find.” + </p> + <p> + “Order me one. I shall start at once.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne pushed away the sunlit buttered toast, and got up. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is superb. Never have I seen a traveller like monsieur!” + Napoleon’s voice was almost reverent. He hastened out, followed slowly by + Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “A carriage for monsieur! Monsieur desires to go to the Rue du Petit + Nègre!” + </p> + <p> + The staff of the hotel gathered about the door as if to speed a royal + personage, and Mr. Greyne noticed that their faces too were touched with + an almost startled reverence. He stepped into the carriage, signed feebly, + but with determination, to the Arab coachman, and was driven away, + followed by a parting “<i>Oh, là là!</i>” from the chasseur, uttered in a + voice that sounded shrill with sheer amazement. + </p> + <p> + Through winding, crowded streets he went, by bazaars and Moorish + bath-houses, mosques and Catholic churches, barracks and cafés, till at + length the carriage turned into an alley that crept up a steep hill. It + moved on a little way, and then stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur must descend here,” said the coachman. “Mount the steps, go to + the right and then to the left. Near the summit of the hill he will find + the Rue du Petit Nègre. Shall I wait for monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The coachman began to make a cigarette, while Mr. Greyne set forth to + follow his directions, and, at length, stood before an arch, which opened + into a courtyard adorned with orange-trees in tubs, and paved with blue + and white tiles. Around this courtyard was a three-storey house with a + flat roof, and from a bureau near a little fountain a stout Frenchwoman + called to demand his business. He asked for Mademoiselle Verbena, and was + at once shown into a saloon lined with chairs covered with yellow rep, and + begged to take a seat. In two minutes Mademoiselle Verbena appeared, + drying her eyes with a tiny pocket-handkerchief, and forcing a little + pathetic smile of welcome. Mr. Greyne clasped her hand in silence. She sat + down in a rep chair at his right, and they looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais, mon Dieu!</i> How monsieur is changed!” cried the Levantine. “If + madame could see him! What has happened to monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Verbena,” replied Mr. Greyne, “I have seen the Ouled on the + heights.” + </p> + <p> + A spasm crossed the Levantine’s face. She put her handkerchief to it for a + moment. “What is an Ouled?” she inquired, withdrawing it. + </p> + <p> + “I dare not tell you,” he replied solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “But indeed I wish to know, so that I may sympathise with monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne hesitated, but his heart was full; he felt the need of + sympathy. He looked at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a great longing to + unburden himself overcame him. + </p> + <p> + “An Ouled,” he replied, “is a dancing-girl from the desert of Sahara.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> How does she dance? Is it a valse, a polka, a + quadrille?” “No. Would that it were!” And Mr. Greyne, unable further to + govern his desire for full expression, gave Mademoiselle Verbena a + slightly Bowdlerised description of the dances of the desert. She heard + him with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “How terrible!” she exclaimed when he had finished. “And does one pay much + to see such steps of the Evil One?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave her twenty pounds. Abdallah Jack——” + </p> + <p> + “Abdallah Jack?” + </p> + <p> + “My guide informed me that was the price. He tells me it is against the + law, and that each time an Ouled dances she risks being thrown into + prison.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor lady! How sad to have to earn one’s bread by such devices, instead + of by teaching to the sweet little ones of monsieur the sympathetic + grammar of one’s native country.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was touched to the quick by this allusion, which brought, as in + a vision, the happy home in Belgrave Square before him. + </p> + <p> + “You are an angel!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “And this poor Ouled, you will go to her again? + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It seems that she is in communication with all the—the—well, + all the odd people of Algiers, and that one can only get at them through + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “Abdallah Jack tells me that while I am here I should pay her a weekly + salary, and that, in return, I shall see all the terrible ceremonies of + the Arabs. I have decided to do so——— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have decided!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Mr. Greyne started. There seemed a new sound in Mademoiselle + Verbena’s voice, a gleam in her dark brown eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, looking at her in wonder. “But I have not yet told + Abdallah Jack.” + </p> + <p> + The Levantine looked gently sad again. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said in her usual pathetic voice, “how my heart bleeds for this + poor Ouled. By the way, what is her name?” + </p> + <p> + “Aishoush.” + </p> + <p> + “She is beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know. She was so painted, so tattooed, so very—so very + different from Mrs. Eustace Greyne.” + </p> + <p> + “How sad! How terrible! Ah, but you must long for the dear bonnet strings + of madame?” + </p> + <p> + Did he? As she spoke Mr. Greyne asked himself the question. Shocked as he + was, fatigued by his researches, did he wish that he were back again in + Belgrave Square, drinking barley water, pasting notices of his wife’s + achievements into the new album, listening while she read aloud from the + manuscript of her latest novel? He wondered, and—how strange, how + almost terrible—he was not sure. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not so?” murmured Mademoiselle Verbena. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally I miss my beloved wife,” said Mr. Greyne with a certain + awkwardness. “How is your poor, dear mother?” + </p> + <p> + Tears came at once into the Levantine’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Very, very ill, monsieur. Still there is a chance—just a chance + that she may not die. Ah, when I sit here all alone in this strange place, + I feel that she will perish, that soon I shall be quite deserted in this + cruel, cruel world!” + </p> + <p> + The tears began to flow down her cheeks with determination. Mr. Greyne was + terribly upset. + </p> + <p> + “You must cheer up,” he exclaimed. “You must hope for the best.” + </p> + <p> + “Sitting here alone, how can I?” + </p> + <p> + She sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “Sitting here alone—very true!” + </p> + <p> + A sudden thought, a number of sudden thoughts, struck him. + </p> + <p> + “You must not sit here alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “You must come out. You must drive. You must see the town, distract + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But how? Can a—a girl go about alone in Algiers?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid! No; I will escort you.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + A smile of innocent, girlish joy transformed her face, but suddenly she + was grave again. + </p> + <p> + “Would it be right, <i>convenable?</i>” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was reckless. The dog potential rose up in him again. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? And, besides, who knows us here? Not a soul.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Put on your bonnet. Let us start at once!” + </p> + <p> + “But I do not wear the bonnet. I am not like madame.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure. Your hat.” + </p> + <p> + And as she flew to obey him, Mr. Eustace Greyne found himself impiously + thanking the powers that be for this strange chance of going on the spree + with a toque. When Mademoiselle Verbena returned he was looking almost + rakish. He eyed her neat black hat and close-fitting black jacket with a + glance not wholly unlike that of a militiaman. In her hand she held a + vivid scarlet parasol. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, “it is terrible, this <i>ombrelle</i>, when mamma + lies at death’s door. But what can I do? I have no other, and cannot + afford to buy one. The sun is fierce. I dare not expose myself to it + without a shelter.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed really distressed as she opened the parasol, and spread the + vivid silk above her pretty black-clothed figure; but Mr. Greyne thought + the effect was brilliant, and ventured to say so. As they passed the + bureau by the fountain on their way out the stout Frenchwoman cast an + approving glance at Mademoiselle Verbena. + </p> + <p> + “The little rat will not see much more of the little negro now,” she + murmured to herself. “After all the English have their uses.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + In Belgrave Square Mrs. Eustace Greyne was beginning to get slightly + uneasy. Several things combined to make her so. In the first place, + Mademoiselle Verbena had never returned from her mother’s Parisian + bedside, and had not even written a line to say how the dear parent was, + and when the daughter’s nursing occupation was likely to be over. In the + second place, Adolphus, in consequence of the Levantine’s absence, had + totally lost his grasp, always uncertain, upon the irregular verbs. In the + third place, Darrell, the valet, had returned to London the day after his + departure from it, minus not only his master’s dressing-case, but minus + everything he possessed. His story was that, while waiting at the station + in Paris for his master’s appearance, he had entered into conversation + with an agreeable stranger, and been beguiled into the acceptance of an + absinthe at a café just outside. After swallowing the absinthe he + remembered nothing more till he came to himself in a deserted waiting-room + at the Gare du Nord, back to which he had been mysteriously conveyed. In + his pocket was no money, no watch, only the return half of a second-class + ticket from London to Paris. He, therefore, wandered about the streets + till morning broke, and then came back to London a crestfallen and + miserable man, bemoaning his untoward fate, and cursing “them blasted + Frenchies” from the bottom of his British heart. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne’s anxiety on her husband’s behalf, now that he was thrown + absolutely unattended upon the inhospitable shores of Africa, was not + lessened by a fourth circumstance, which, indeed, worried her far more + than all the others put together. This was Mr. Greyne’s prolonged absence + from her side. Precisely one calendar month had now elapsed since he had + buried his face in her prune bonnet strings at Victoria Station, and there + seemed no prospect of his return. He wrote to her, indeed, frequently, and + his letters were full of wistful regret and longing to be once more safe + in the old homestead in Belgrave Square, drinking barley water, and + pasting Romeike & Curtice notices into the new album which lay, gaping + for him, upon the table of his sanctum. But he did not come; nay, more, he + wrote plainly that there was no prospect of his coming for the present. It + seemed that the wickedness of Africa was very difficult to come at. It did + not lie upon the surface, but was hidden far down in depths to which the + ordinary tourist found it almost impossible to penetrate. In his numerous + letters Mr. Greyne described his heroic and unremitting exertions to fill + the Merrin’s note-books with matter that would be suitable for the purging + of humanity. He set out in full his interview with Alphonso at the office + of Rook, and his definite rejection by that cosmopolitan official. + According to the letters, after this event he had spent no less than a + fortnight searching in vain for any sign of wickedness in the Algerian + capital. He had frequented the cafés, the public bars, the theatres, the + churches. He had been to the Velodrome. He had sat by the hour in the + Jardin d’Essai. At night he had strolled in the fairs and hung about the + circus. Yet nowhere had he been able to perceive anything but the most + innocent pleasure, the simple merriment of a gay and guileless population + to whom the idea of crime seemed as foreign as the idea of singing the + English national anthem. + </p> + <p> + During the third week it was true that matters—always according to + Mr. Greyne’s letters home—slightly improved. While walking near the + quay, in active search for nautical outrage, he saw an Arab dock labourer, + who had been over-smoking kief, run amuck, and knock down a couple of + respectable snake-charmers who were on the point of embarkation for Tunis + with their reptiles. This incident had filed up a half-score of pages in + exercise-book number one, and had flooded Mr. Greyne with hope and + aspiration. But it was followed by a stagnant lull which had lasted for + days and had only been disturbed by the trifling incident of a gentleman + in the Jewish quarter of the town setting fire to a neighbour’s bazaar, in + the very natural endeavour to find a French half-penny which he had + chanced to drop among a bale of carpets while looking in to drive a soft + bargain. As Mrs. Greyne wired to Algiers, such incidents were of no value + to “Catherine.” + </p> + <p> + A very active interchange of views had gone on between the husband and + wife as time went by, and the book was at a standstill. At first Mrs. + Greyne contented herself with daily letters, but latterly she had resorted + to wires, explanatory, condemnatory, hortatory, and even comminatory. She + began bitterly to regret her husband’s well-proven innocence, and wished + she had despatched an uncle of hers by marriage, an ex-captain in the + Royal Navy, who, she began to feel certain, would have been able to find + far more frailty in Algiers than poor Eustace, in his simplicity, would + ever come at. She even began to wish that she had crossed the sea in + person, and herself boldly set about the ingathering of the material for + which she was so impatiently waiting. + </p> + <p> + Her uneasiness was brought to a head by a letter from a house agent, + stating that the corner mansion in Park Lane next to the Duke of Ebury’s + was being nibbled at by a Venezuelan millionaire. She wired this terrible + fact at once to Africa, adding, at an enormous expenditure of cash: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This will never do. You are too innocent, and cannot see + what lies before you. Obtain assistance. Go to the British + consul. +</pre> + <p> + Mr. Greyne at once cabled back: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Am following your advice. Will wire result. Regret my + innocence, but am distressed that you should so utterly + condemn it. +</pre> + <p> + Upon receiving this telegram at night, before a lonely dinner, Mrs. + Eustace Greyne was deeply moved. She felt she had been hasty. She knew + that to very few women was it given to have a husband so free from all + masculine infirmities as Mr. Greyne. At the same time there was + “Catherine,” there was the mansion in Park Lane, there was the Venezuelan + millionaire. She began to feel distracted, and, for the first time in her + life, refused to partake of sweetbreads fried in mushroom ketchup, a dish + which she had greatly affected from the time when she wrote her first + short story. While she was in the very act of waving away this delicacy a + footman came in with a foreign telegram. She opened it quickly, and read + as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + British consul horrified; was ignominiously expelled from + consulate; great scandal; am much upset, but will never give + in, for your sake. Eustace. +</pre> + <p> + As the dread meaning of these words penetrated at length to Mrs. Greyne’s + voluminous brain a deep flush overspread her noble features. She rose from + the table with a determination that struck awe to the hearts of the + powdered underlings, and, drawing herself up to her full height, + exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Send Mrs. Forbes at once to my study, if you please—at once, do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + In a moment Mrs. Forbes, who was the great novelist’s maid, appeared on + the threshold of the oracle’s lair. She was a sober-looking, black-silk + personage, who always wore a pork-pie cap in the house, and a Mother + Hubbard bonnet out of it. Having been in service with Mrs. Greyne ever + since the latter penned her last minor poetry—Mrs. Greyne had been a + minor poet for three years soon after she put her hair up—Mrs. + Forbes had acquired a certain literary expression of countenance and a + manner that was decidedly prosy. She read a good deal after her supper of + an evening, and was wont to be the arbiter when any literary matter was + discussed in the servants’ hall. + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” she said, respectfully entering the room, and bending the + pork-pie cap forward in an attentive attitude. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne was silent for a moment. She appeared to be thinking deeply. + Mrs. Forbes gently closed the door, and sighed. It was nearly her + supper-time, and she felt pensive. + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” she said again. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne looked up. A strange fire burned in her large eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Forbes,” she said at length, with weighty deliberation, “the mission + of woman in the world is a great one.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true, madam. My own words to Butler Phillips no longer ago than + dinner this midday.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the protecting of man—neither more nor less.” + </p> + <p> + “My own statement, madam, to Second Footman Archibald this self-same day + at the tea-board.” + </p> + <p> + “Man needs guidance, and looks for it to us—or rather to me.” + </p> + <p> + At the last word Mrs. Forbes pinched her lips together, and appeared older + than her years and sourer than her normal temper. + </p> + <p> + “At this moment, Mrs. Forbes,” continued Mrs. Greyne, with rising fervour, + “he looks for it to me from Africa. From that dark continent he stretches + forth his hands to me in humble supplication.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Greyne has not been taken with another of his bilious attacks, I + hope, madam?” said Mrs. Forbes. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne smiled. The ignorance of the humbly born entertained her. It + was so simple, so transparent. + </p> + <p> + “You fail to understand me,” she answered. “But never mind; others have + done the same.” + </p> + <p> + She thought of her reviewers. Mrs. Forbes smiled. She also could be + entertained. + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” she inquired once more after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “I shall leave for Africa to-morrow morning,” said Mrs. Greyne. “You will + accompany me.” + </p> + <p> + There was a dead silence. + </p> + <p> + “You will accompany me. Do you understand? Obtain assistance from the + housemaids in the packing. Select my quietest gowns, my least conspicuous + bonnets. I have my reasons for wishing, while journeying to Africa and + remaining there, to pass, if possible, unnoticed.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a pause. Mrs. Greyne looked up at Mrs. Forbes, and + observed a dogged expression upon her countenance. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked the maid. + </p> + <p> + “Do we go by Paris, madam?” said Mrs. Forbes. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, madam, I’m very sorry, but I couldn’t risk it, not if it was ever + so——” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Why this fear of Lutetia?” + </p> + <p> + “Madam, I’m not afraid of any Lutetia as ever wore apron, but to go to + Paris to be drugged with absint, and put away in a third-class + waiting-room like a package—I couldn’t madam, not even if I have to + leave your service.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne recognised that the episode of the valet had struck home to + the lady’s maid. + </p> + <p> + “But you will not leave my side.” + </p> + <p> + “They will absint you, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will travel first in a sleeping-car.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Forbes put up her hand to her pork-pie cap, as if considering. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, madam, to oblige you I will undergo it,” she said at length. + “But I would not do the like for another living lady.” + </p> + <p> + “I will raise your wages. You are a faithful creature.” + </p> + <p> + “Does master expect us, madam?” asked Mrs. Forbes as she prepared to + retire. + </p> + <p> + A bright and tender look stole into Mrs. Greyne’s intellectual face. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + She turned her large and beaming eyes full upon the maid. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Forbes,” she said, with an amount of emotion that was very rare in + her, “I am going to tell you a great truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” said Mrs. Forbes respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “The sweetest moments of life, those which lift man nearest heaven, and + make him thankful for the great gift of existence, are sometimes those + which are unforeseen.” + </p> + <p> + She was thinking of Mr. Greyne’s ecstasy when, upon the inhospitable + African shore where he was now enduring such tragic misfortunes, he + perceived the majestic form of his loved one—his loved one whom he + believed to be in Belgrave Square—coming towards him to soothe, to + comfort, to direct. She brushed away a tear. + </p> + <p> + “Go, Mrs. Forbes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And Mrs. Forbes retired, smiling. + </p> + <p> + An epic might well be written on the great novelist’s journey to Africa, + upon her departure from Charing Cross, shrouded in a black gauze veil, her + silent thought as the good ship <i>Empress</i> rode cork-like upon the + Channel waves, her ascetic lunch—a captain’s biscuit and a glass of + water—at the buffet at Calais, her arrival in Paris when the shades + of night had fallen. An epic might well be written. Perhaps some day it + will be, by herself. + </p> + <p> + In Paris she suffered a good deal on account of Mrs. Forbes, who, in her + fear of “ab-sint,” became hysterical, and caused not a little annoyance by + accusing various inoffensive French travellers of nefarious designs upon + her property and person. In the Gulf of Lyons she suffered even more, and + as, unluckily, the wind was contrary and the sea prodigious during the + whole of the passage across the Mediterranean, both she and Mrs. Forbes + arrived at Algiers four hours late, in a condition which may be more + easily imagined than properly described. + </p> + <p> + Genius in thrall to the body, and absolutely dependent upon green + chartreuse for its flickering existence, is no subject for even a + sympathetic pen. Sufficient to say that, when the ship came in under the + lights of Algiers, the crowd of shouting Arabs was struck to silence by + the spectacle of Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes endeavouring to disembark, in + bonnets that were placed seaward upon the head instead of landward, + unbuttoned boots, and gowns soaked with the attentions of the waves. + </p> + <p> + After being gently and permanently relieved of their light hand-baggage, + the mistress and maid, who seemed greatly overwhelmed by the sight of + Africa, and who moved—or rather were carried—as in a dream, + were placed reverently in the nearest omnibus, and conveyed to the + farthest hotel, which was situated upon a lofty hill above the town. Here + a slightly painful scene took place. + </p> + <p> + Having been assisted by the staff into a Moorish hall, Mrs. Greyne + inquired in a reticent voice for her husband, and was politely informed + that there was no person of the name of Greyne in the hotel. For a moment + she seemed threatened with dissolution, but with a supreme effort calling + upon her mighty brain she surmised that her husband was possibly passing + under a pseudonym in order to throw America off the scent. She, therefore, + demanded to have the guests then present in the hotel at once paraded + before her. As there was some difficulty about this—the guests being + then at dinner—she whispered for the visitors’ book, thinking that, + perchance, Mr. Greyne had inscribed his name there, and that the staff, + being foreign, did not recognise it as murmured by herself. The book was + brought, upon its cover in golden letters the words: “Hôtel Loubet et + Majestic.” Then explanations of a somewhat disagreeable nature occurred, + and Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, after a heavy payment had been exacted + for their conveyance to a place they had desired not to go to, were + carried forth, and consigned to another vehicle, which at length brought + them, on the stroke of nine, to the Grand Hotel. + </p> + <p> + Having been placed reverently in the brilliantly-lighted hall, they were + surrounded by the proprietor, the <i>maître d’hôtel</i> and his + assistants, the porters, and the chasseurs, with all of whom Mr. Greyne + was now familiar. Brandy and water having been supplied, together with + smelling-salts and burnt feathers, Mrs. Greyne roused herself from an + acute attack of lethargy, and asked for Mr. Greyne. A joyous smile ran + round the circle. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne,” said the proprietor, “who is living here for the + winter?” 4 + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Eustace Greyne,” murmured the great novelist, grasping her bonnet + with both hands. + </p> + <p> + The <i>maître d’hôtel</i> drew nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Madame wishes to see Monsieur Greyne?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I do—at once.” + </p> + <p> + A blessed consciousness of Mother Earth was gradually beginning to steal + over her. She even strove feebly to sit up on her chair, a German-Swiss + porter of enormous size assisting her. + </p> + <p> + “But Monsieur Greyne is out.” + </p> + <p> + “Out?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame. Monsieur Greyne is always out at night.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the little chasseur who knew no better began to twinkle. Mrs. + Forbes gave a slight cough. Tears filled the novelist’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “God bless my Eustace!” she murmured, deeply touched by this evidence of + his devotion to her interests. + </p> + <p> + “Madame says——” asked the proprietor. + </p> + <p> + “Where does Mr. Greyne go?” inquired the novelist. + </p> + <p> + “To the Kasbah, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it!” cried Mrs. Greyne, with returning animation. “I knew it would + be so!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame is acquainted with Monsieur Greyne?” said the <i>maître d’hôtel</i>, + while the little crowd gathered more closely about the wave-worn group. + </p> + <p> + “I am Mrs. Eustace Greyne,” returned the great novelist recklessly. “I am + the wife of Mr. Eustace Greyne.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment of supreme silence. Then a loud, an even piercing “<i>Oh, + là, là,</i> broke upon the air, succeeded instantaneously by a burst of + laughter that seemed to thrill with all the wild blessedness of boyhood. + It came, of course, from the little chasseur; it came, and stayed. Nothing + could stop it, and eventually the happy child had to be carried forth upon + the sea-front to enjoy his innocent mirth at leisure and in solitude + beneath the African stars. Mrs. Greyne did not notice his disappearance. + She was intent upon important matters. + </p> + <p> + “At what time does Mr. Greyne usually set forth?” she asked of the + proprietor, whose face now bore a strangely twisted appearance, as if + afflicted by a toothache. + </p> + <p> + “Immediately after dinner, madame, if not before. Of late it has generally + been before.” + </p> + <p> + “And he stays out late?” + </p> + <p> + “Very late, madame.” + </p> + <p> + The twisted appearance began to seem infectious. It was visible upon the + faces of most of those surrounding Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes. Indeed, + even the latter showed some signs of it, although the large shadow cast + over her features by the hind side of her Mother Hubbard bonnet to some + extent disguised them from the public view. + </p> + <p> + “Till what hour?” pursued Mrs. Greyne in a voice of almost yearning + tenderness and pity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, madame”—the proprietor displayed some slight confusion—“I + really can hardly say. The <i>maître d’hôtel</i> can perhaps inform you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne turned her ox-like eyes upon the enlarged edition of Napoleon + the First. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne seldom returns before seven or eight o’clock in the + morning, madame. He then retires to bed, and comes down to breakfast at + about four o’clock in the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne was touched to the very quick. Her husband was sacrificing his + rest, his health—nay, perhaps even his very life—in her + service. It was well she had come, well that a period was to be put to + these terrible researches. They should be stopped at once, even this very + night. Better a thousand literary failures than that her husband’s + existence should be placed in jeopardy. She rose suddenly from her chair, + tottered, gasped, recovered herself, and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Prepare dinner for me at once,” she said, “and order a carriage and a + competent guide to be before the door in half-an-hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame is going out? But madame is ill, tired!” + </p> + <p> + “It matters not.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does madame wish to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to the Kasbah to find my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “I will escort madame.” + </p> + <p> + The proprietor, the <i>maître d’hôtel</i>, the waiters, the porters, the + chasseurs, Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, all turned about to face the + determined speaker. + </p> + <p> + And there before them, his dark eyes gleaming, his long moustaches + bristling fiercely—here stood Abdallah Jack. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Man is a self-deceiver. It must, therefore, ever be a doubtful point + whether Mr. Eustace Greyne, during his residence in Africa, absolutely + lost sight of his sense of duty; whether, beguiled by the lively + attentions of a fiercely foreign town, he deliberately resolved to take + his pleasure regardless of consequences and of the sacred ties of Belgrave + Square. We prefer to think that some vague idea of combining two duties—that + which he owed to himself and that which he owed to Mrs. Greyne—moved + him in all he did, and that the subterfuge into which he was undoubtedly + led was not wholly selfish, not wholly criminal. Nevertheless, that he had + lied to his beloved wife is certain. Even while she sat over a cutlet and + a glass of claret in the white-and-gold dining-room of the Grand Hotel, + preparatory to her departure to the Kasbah with Abdallah Jack, the dozen + of Merrin’s exercise-books lay upstairs in Mr. Greyne’s apartments filled + to the brim with African frailty. Already there was material enough in + their pages to furnish forth a library of “Catherines.” Yet Mr. Greyne + still lingered far from his home, and wired to that home fabricated + accounts of the singular innocence of Algiers. He even allowed it to be + supposed that his own innocence stood in the way of his fulfilment of Mrs. + Greyne’s behests—he who could now have given points in knowledge of + the world to whole regiments of militiamen! + </p> + <p> + It was not right, and, doubtless, he must stand condemned by every + moralist. But let it not be forgotten that he had fallen under the + influence of a Levantine. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena’s mother, hidden in some unnamed hospital of Algiers, + appeared to be one of those ingenious elderly ladies who can hover + indefinitely upon the brink of death without actually dying. During the + whole time that Mr. Greyne had been in Africa her state had been + desperate, yet she still clung to life. As her daughter said, she + possessed extraordinary vitality, and this vitality seemed to have been + inherited by her child. Despite her grave anxieties Mademoiselle Verbena + succeeded in sustaining a remarkable cheeriness, and even a fascinating + vivacity, when in the company of others. As she said to Mr. Greyne, she + did not think it right to lay her burdens upon the shoulders of her + neighbours. She, therefore, forced herself to appear contented, even at + various moments gay, when she and Mr. Greyne were lunching, dining, or + supping together, were driving upon the front, sailing upon the azure + waters of the bay, riding upon the heights beyond El-Biar, or, ensconced + in a sumptuous private box, listening to the latest French farce at one or + another of the theatres. Only one day, when they had driven out to the + monastery at La Trappe de Staouëli, did a momentary cloud descend upon her + piquant features, and she explained this by the frank confession that she + had always wished to become a nun, but had been hindered from following + her vocation by the necessity of earning money to support her aged + parents. Mr. Greyne had never seen the Ouled since his first evening in + Algiers, but he still paid her a weekly salary, through Abdallah Jack, who + explained to him that the interesting lady, in a discreet retirement, was + perpetually occupied in arranging the exhibitions of African frailty at + which he so frequently assisted. She was, in fact, earning her liberal + salary. Mademoiselle Verbena and Abdallah Jack had met on several + occasions, and Mr. Greyne had introduced the latter to the former as his + guide, and had generously praised his abilities; but in Mademoiselle + Verbena took very little notice of him, and, as time went on, Abdallah + Jack seemed to conceive a most distressing dislike of her. On several + occasions he advised Mr. Greyne not to frequent her company so + assiduously, and when Mr. Greyne asked him to explain the meaning of his + monitions he took refuge in vague generalities and Eastern imagery. He had + a profound contempt for women as companions, which grieved Mr. Greyne’s + Western ideas, and evidently thought that Mademoiselle Verbena ought to be + clapped forthwith into a long veil, and put away in a harem behind an iron + grille. When Mr. Greyne explained the English point of view Abdallah Jack + took refuge in a sulky silence; but during the week immediately preceding + the arrival of Mrs. Greyne his temper had become actively bad, and Mr. + Greyne began seriously to consider whether it would not be better to pay + him a last <i>douceur</i>, and tell him to go about his business. + </p> + <p> + Before doing this, however, Mr. Greyne desired to have one more interview + with the mysterious Ouled on the heights, to whom he owed the knowledge + which would henceforth enable him to cut out the militia. He said so to + Abdallah Jack. The latter agreed sulkily to arrange it; and matters so + fell out that on the night of Mrs. Greyne’s arrival her husband was seated + in a room in one of the remotest houses of the Kasbah, watching the + Ouled’s mysterious evolutions, while Mademoiselle Verbena—as she + herself had informed Mr.4 Greyne—sat in the hospital by the bedside + of her still dying mother. Abdallah Jack had apparently been most anxious + to assist at Mr. Greyne’s interview with the Ouled, but Mr. Greyne had + declined to allow this. The evil temper of the guide was beginning to get + thoroughly upon his employer’s nerves, and even the natural desire to have + an interpreter at hand was overborne by the dislike of Abdallah Jack’s + morose eyes and sarcastic speeches about women. Moreover, the Ouled spoke + a word or two of uncertain French. + </p> + <p> + Thus, therefore, things fell out, and such was the precise situation when + Mrs. Greyne flicked a crumb from her chocolate brocade gown, tied her + bonnet strings, and rose from table to set forth to the Kasbah with + Abdallah Jack. + </p> + <p> + It was a radiant night. In the clear sky the stars shone brilliantly, + looking down upon the persistent convulsions of the little chasseur, who + had not yet recovered from his attack of merriment on learning who Mrs. + Greyne was. The sea, quite calm now that the great novelist was no longer + upon it, lapped softly along the curving shores of the bay. The palm-trees + of the town garden where the band plays on warm evenings waved lazily in + the soft and scented breeze. The hooded figures of the Arabs lounged + against the stone wall that girdles the sea-front. In the + brilliantly-illuminated restaurants the rich French population gathered + about the little tables, while the withered beggars stared in upon the + oyster shells, the champagne bottles, and the feathers in the women’s + audacious hats. + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Greyne emerged upon the pavement before the Grand Hotel, + attended by Mrs. Forbes and the guide, she paused for a moment, and cast a + searching glance upon the fairy scene. In this voluptuous evening and + strange environment life seemed oddly dreamlike. She scarcely felt like + Mrs. Greyne. Possibly Mrs. Forbes also felt unlike herself, for she + suddenly placed one hand upon her left side, and tottered. Abdallah Jack + supported her. She screamed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Madam!” she said. “It is the vertigo. I am overtook!” + </p> + <p> + She was really ill; her face, indeed, became the colour of a plover’s egg. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go to bed, madam,” she implored. “It is the vertigo, madam. I am + overtook!” + </p> + <p> + Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Greyne would have prescribed a dose of + Kasbah air, but to-night she felt strange, and she wanted strangeness. + Mrs. Forbes with the vertigo, in a small carriage, would be inappropriate. + She, therefore, bade her retire, mounted into the vehicle with Abdallah + Jack, and was quickly driven away, her bonnet strings floating upon the + winsome wind. + </p> + <p> + “You know my husband?” she asked softly of the guide. + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack replied in French that he rather thought he did. + </p> + <p> + “How is he looking?” continued Mrs. Greyne in a slightly yearning voice. + “My Eustace!” she added to herself, “my devoted one!” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne is pale as washed linen upon the Kasbah wall,” replied + Abdallah Jack, lighting a cigarette, and wreathing the great novelist in + its grey-blue smoke. “He is thin as the Spahi’s lance, he is nervous as + the leaves of the eucalyptus-tree when the winds blow from the north.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne was seriously perturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Would I had come before!” she murmured, with serious self-reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne is worse than all the English,” pursued Abdallah Jack in + a voice that sounded to Mrs. Greyne decidedly sinister. “He is worse than + the tourists of Rook, who laugh in the doorways of the mosques and twine + in their hair the dried lizards of the Sahara. Even the guide of Rook + rejected him. I only would undertake him because I am full of evil.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, and to wish she had + not been so ready to pander to Mrs. Forbes’ vertigo. She stole a sidelong + glance at her strange companion. The carriage was small. The end of his + bristling black moustache was very near. What he said of Mr. Greyne did + not disturb her, because she knew that her Eustace had sacrificed his + reputation to do her service; but what he said about himself was not + reassuring. + </p> + <p> + “I think you must be doing yourself an injustice,” she said in a rather + agitated voice. + </p> + <p> + “Madame?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe you are so bad as you imply,” she continued. + </p> + <p> + The carriage turned with a jerk out of the brilliantly-lighted + thoroughfare that runs along the sea into a narrow side street, crowded + with native Jews, and dark with shadows. + </p> + <p> + “Madame does not know me.” + </p> + <p> + The exact truth of this observation struck home, like a dagger, to the + mind of Mrs. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “I am a wicked person,” added Abdallah Jack, with a profound conviction. + “That is why Monsieur Greyne chose me as his guide.” + </p> + <p> + The novelist began to quake. Her chocolate brocade fluttered. Was she + herself to learn at first hand, and on her first evening in Africa, enough + about African frailty to last her for the rest of her life? And how much + more of life would remain to her after her stock of knowledge had been + thus increased? The carriage turned into a second side street, narrower + and darker than the last. + </p> + <p> + “Are we going right?” she said apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “No, madame; we are going wrong—we are going to the wicked part of + the city.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but—you are sure Mr. Greyne will be there?” + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack laughed sardonically. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne is never anywhere else. Monsieur Greyne is wicked as is a + mad Touareg of the desert.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you quite understand my husband,” said Mrs. Greyne, feeling + in duty bound to stand up for her poor, maligned Eustace. “Whatever he may + have done he has done at my special request.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame says?” + </p> + <p> + “I say that in all his proceedings while in Algiers Mr. Greyne has been + acting under my directions.” + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack fixed his enormous eyes steadily upon her. + </p> + <p> + “You are his wife, and told him to come here, and to do as he has done?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-yes,” faltered Mrs. Greyne, for the first time in her life feeling as + if she were being escorted towards the criminal dock by a jailer with + Puritan tendencies. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is true what they say on the shores of the great canal,” he + remarked composedly. + </p> + <p> + “What do they say?” inquired Mrs. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “That England is a land of female devils,” returned the guide as the + carriage plunged into a filthy alley, between two rows of blind houses, + and began to ascend a steep hill. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne gasped. She opened her lips to protest vigorously, but her + head swam—either from indignation or from fatigue—and she + could not utter a word. The horses mounted like cats upward into the dense + blackness, from which dropped down the faint sounds of squealing music and + of hoarse cries and laughter. The wheels bounded over the stones, sank + into the deep ruts, scraped against the sides of the unlighted houses. And + Abdallah Jack sat staring at Mrs. Greyne as an English clergyman’s wife + might stare at the appalling rites of some deadly cannibal encountered in + a far-off land, with a stony wonder, a sort of paralysed curiosity. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the carriage stopped on a piece of waste land covered with small + pebbles. Abdallah Jack sprang out. + </p> + <p> + “Why do we stop?” said Mrs. Greyne, turning as pale as ashes. + </p> + <p> + “The carriage can go no farther. Madame must walk.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne began to tremble. + </p> + <p> + “We are to leave the coachman?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall escort madame, alone.” + </p> + <p> + The great novelist’s tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She felt + like a Merrin’s exercise-book, every leaf of which was covered with + African frailty. However, there was no help for it. She had to descend, + and stand among the pebbles. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack waved his hand towards a stone rampart dimly seen in the + faint light that emanated from the starry sky. + </p> + <p> + “Down there into the alley of the Dead Dervishes.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne could not repress a cry of horror. At that moment she would + have given a thousand pounds to have Mrs. Forbes at her side. + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack grasped her by the hand, and led her ruthlessly forward. + Gazing with terror-stricken eyes over the crumbling rampart of the Kasbah, + she saw the city far below her, the lights of the streets, the lights of + the ships in harbour. She heard the music of a bugle, and wished she were + a Zouave safe in barracks. She wished she were a German-Swiss porter, a + merry chasseur—anything but Mrs. Eustace Greyne. One thing alone + supported her in this hour of trial, the thought of her husband’s ecstasy + when she appeared upon the dread scene of his awful labours, to tell him + that he was released, that he need visit them no more. + </p> + <p> + The alley of the Dead Dervishes is long and winding. To Mrs. Greyne it + seemed endless. As she threaded it with faltering step, gripped by the + feverish hand of Abdallah Jack, who now began to display a strange and + terrible excitement, she became a centre of curiosity. Unwashed Arabs, + rakish Zouaves in blue and red, wandering Jews of various nationalities, + unveiled dancing-girls covered with jewels, stared in wonder upon the + chocolate brocade and the floating bonnet strings, followed upon her + footsteps, pointing with painted fingers, and making remarks of a personal + nature in French, Arabic, and other unknown tongues. She moved in the + midst of a crowd, on and on before lighted interiors from which wild music + flowed. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we never be there?” she panted to Abdallah Jack. “My limbs refuse + their office.” She jogged against a Tunisian Jewess in a pointed hat, and + rebounded upon an enormous Riff in a tattered sheep-skin. “I can go no + farther.” + </p> + <p> + “We are there! Behold the house of the Ouled!” + </p> + <p> + As he uttered the last word he burst into a bitter laugh, and drew Mrs. + Greyne, now gasping for breath, through an open doorway into a little hall + of imitation marble, with fluted pillars adorned with oilcloth, and walls + hung with imported oleographs. From a chamber on the right, near a winding + staircase covered with blue-and-white tiles, came the sound of laughter, + of song, and of a hideous music conveyed to the astonied ear by pipes and + drums. + </p> + <p> + “They are in there!” exclaimed Abdallah Jack, folding his arms, and + looking at Mrs. Greyne. “Go to your husband!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne put her hands to her magnificent forehead, and tottered + forward. She reached the door, she pushed it, she entered. There upon a + wooden dais, surrounded by gilt mirrors and artificial roses, she beheld + her husband, in a check suit and a white Homburg hat, performing the + wildest evolutions, while opposite him a lady, smothered in coloured silks + and coins, tattooed and painted, dyed and scented, covered with kohl and + crowned with ostrich feathers, screamed a nasal chant of the East, and + bounded like an electrified monkey. + </p> + <p> + “Eustace!” cried Mrs. Greyne, leaning for support against an oleograph. + </p> + <p> + Her husband turned. + </p> + <p> + “Eustace!” she cried again. “It is I!” + </p> + <p> + He stood as if turned to stone. Mrs. Greyne hesitated, started, moved + forward to the dais, and stared upon the Ouled, who had also ceased from + dancing, and looked strangely surprised, even confused, by the great + novelist’s intrusion. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Verbena!” she exclaimed. “Miss Verbena in Algiers!” + </p> + <p> + “Eugenia!” said Mr. Greyne in a husky voice, “what is this you say? This + lady is the Ouled.” + </p> + <p> + A sardonic laugh came from the doorway. They turned. There stood Abdallah + Jack. He advanced roughly to the Ouled. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said angrily. “Have we not earned the money of the stranger? + Have we not earned enough? To-morrow you shall marry me as you have + promised, and we will return to our own land, to the canal where you and I + were born. And nevermore shall the Levantine instruct the babes of the + English devils, but dwell veiled and guarded in the harem of her master.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Verbena!” said Mr. Greyne in a more husky voice. “But—but—your + dying mother?” + </p> + <p> + “She sleeps, monsieur, in the white sands of Ismailia, beside the bitter + lake. I trust that madame can now go on with the respectable ‘Catherine.’” + </p> + <p> + And with an ironic reverence to Mrs. Eustace Greyne she placed her hand in + Abdallah Jack’s and vanished from the room. + </p> + <p> + “Catherine’s Repentance,” published in a gigantic volume not many weeks + ago, was preceded by Mr. Eustace Greyne’s. When last heard of he was + seated in the magnificent library of the corner house in Park Lane next to + the Duke of Ebury’s, busily engaged in pasting the newspaper notices of + Mrs. Greyne’s greatest work into a superb new album. + </p> + <p> + The Abdallah Jacks have returned to the Suez Canal, bearing with them a + snug little fortune to be invested in the purchase of a coal wharf at Port + Said, and a remarkably handsome crocodile dressing-case, fitted with gold, + and monogrammed with the initials “E. G.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne, by +Robert Hichens + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne + 1905 + +Author: Robert Hichens + +Release Date: November 8, 2007 [EBook #23415] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE + +By Robert Hichens + +Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers + +Copyright, 1905 + + + + +I + +Mrs. Eustace Greyne (pronounced Green) wrinkled her forehead--that +noble, that startling forehead which had been written about in the +newspapers of two hemispheres--laid down her American Squeezer pen, and +sighed. It was an autumn day, nipping and melancholy, full of the rustle +of dying leaves and the faint sound of muffin bells, and Belgrave Square +looked sad even to the great female novelist who had written her way +into a mansion there. Fog hung about with the policeman on the pavement. +The passing motor cars were like shadows. Their stertorous pantings +sounded to Mrs. Greyne's ears like the asthma of dying monsters. She +sighed again, and murmured in a deep contralto voice: "It must be so." +Then she got up, crossed the heavy Persian carpet which had been bought +with the proceeds of a short story in her earlier days, and placed her +forefinger upon an electric bell. + +Like lightning a powdered giant came. + +"Has Mr. Greyne gone out?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"Where is he?" + +"In his study, ma'am, pasting the last of the cuttings into the new +album." + +Mrs. Greyne smiled. It was a pretty picture the unconscious six-footer +had conjured up. + +"I am sorry to disturb Mr. Greyne," she answered, with that gracious, +and even curling suavity which won all hearts; "but I wish to see him. +Will you ask him to come to me for a moment?" + +The giant flew, silk-stockinged, to obey the mandate, while Mrs. Greyne +sat down on a carved oaken chair of ecclesiastical aspect to await her +husband. + +She was a famous woman, a personage, this simply-attired lady. With +an American Squeezer pen she had won fame, fortune, and a mansion +in Belgrave Square, and all without the sacrifice of principle. +Respectability incarnate, she had so dealt with the sorrows and evils of +the world that she had rendered them utterly acceptable to Mrs. Grundy, +Mr. Grundy, and all the Misses Grundy. People said she dived into the +depths of human nature, and brought up nothing that need scandalise a +curate's grandmother, or the whole-aunt of an archdeacon; and this +was so true that she had made a really prodigious amount of money. Her +large, her solid, her unrelenting books lay upon every table. Even the +smart set kept them, uncut--like pretty sinners who have never been +"found out"--to give an air of haphazard intellectuality to frisky +boudoirs, All the clergy, however unable to get their tithes, bought +them. All bishops alluded to them in "pulpit utterances." Fabulous +prices were paid for them by magazine editors. They ran as serials +through all the tale of months. The suburbs battened on them. The +provinces adored them. Country people talked of no other literature. In +fact, Mrs. Eustace Greyne was a really fabulous success. + +Why, then, should she heave these heavy sighs in Belgrave Square? Why +should she lift an intellectual hand as though to tousle the glossy +chestnut bandeaux which swept back from her forcible forehead, and screw +her reassuring features into these wrinkles of perplexity and distress? + +The door opened, and Mr. Eustace Greyne appeared, "What is it, +Eugenia?" upon his lips. + +Mr. Greyne was a number of years younger than his celebrated wife, +and looked even younger than his years. He was a very smart man, with +smooth, jet-black hair, which he wore parted in the middle; pleasant, +dark eyes that could twinkle gently; a clear, pale complexion; and a +nice, tall figure. One felt, in glancing at him, that he had been an +Eton boy, and had at least thought of going into the militia at some +period of his life. His history can be briefly told. + +Scarcely had he emerged into the world before he met and was married to +Mrs. Eustace Greyne, then Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker. He had had no +time to sow a single oat, wild or otherwise; no time to adore a barmaid, +or wish to have his name linked with that of an actress; no time to do +anything wrong, or even to know, with the complete accuracy desired +by all persevering young men, what was really wrong. Miss Eugenia +Hannibal-Barker sailed upon his horizon, and he struck his flag to +matrimony. Ever since then he had been her husband, and had never, even +for one second, emerged beyond the boundaries of the most intellectual +respectability. He was the most innocent of men, although he knew all +the important editors in London. Swaddled in money by his successful +wife, he considered her a goddess. She poured the thousands into Coutts' +Bank, and with the arrival of each fresh thousand he was more firmly +convinced that she was a goddess. To say he looked up to her would be +too mild. As the Cockney tourist in Chamounix peers at the summit of +Mont Blanc, he peered at Mrs. Greyne. And when, finally, she bought the +lease of the mansion in Belgrave Square, he knew her Delphic. + +So now he appeared in the oracle's retreat respectfully, "What is it, +Eugenia?" upon his admiring lips. + +"Sit down, my husband," she murmured. + +Mr. Greyne subsided by the fire, placing his pointed patent-leather toes +upon the burnished fender. Without the fog grew deeper, and the chorus +of the muffin bells more plaintive. The fire-light, flickering over Mrs. +Greyne's majestic features, made them look Rembrandtesque. Her large, +oxlike eyes were fixed and thoughtful. After a pause, she said: + +"Eustace, I shall have to send you upon a mission." + +"A mission, Eugenia!" said Mr. Greyne in great surprise. + +"A mission of the utmost importance, the utmost delicacy." + +"Has it anything to do with Romeike & Curtice?" + +"No." + +"Will it take me far?" + +"That is my trouble. It will take you very far." + +"Out of London?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"Out of--not out of England?" + +"Yes; it will take you to Algeria." + +"Good gracious!" cried Mr. Greyne. + +Mrs. Greyne sighed. + +"Good gracious!" Mr. Greyne repeated after a short interval. "Am I to +go alone?" "Of course you must take Darrell." Darrell was Mr. Greyne's +valet. + +"And what am I to do at Algiers?" + +"You must obtain for me there the whole of the material for book six +of 'Catherine's Repentance,'" "Catherine's Repentance" was the gigantic +novel upon which Mrs. Greyne was at that moment engaged. + +"I will not disguise from you, Eustace," continued Mrs. Greyne, looking +increasingly Rembrandtesque, "that, in my present work, I am taking a +somewhat new departure." + +"Well, but we are very comfortable here," said Mr. Greyne. + +With each new book they had changed their abode. "Harriet" took them +from Phillimore Gardens to Queensgate Terrace; "Jane's Desire" moved +them on to a corner house in Sloane Street; with "Isobel's Fortune" they +passed to Curzon Street; "Susan's Vanity" landed them in Coburg Place; +and, finally, "Margaret's Involution" had planted them in Belgrave +Square. Now, with each of these works of genius Mrs. Greyne had taken +what she called "a new departure." Mr. Greyne's remark is, therefore, +explicable. + +"True. Still, there is always Park Lane." + +She mused for a moment. Then, leaning more heavily upon the carved lions +of her chair, she continued: + +"Hitherto, although I have sometimes dealt with human frailty, I have +treated it gently. I have never betrayed a Zola-spirit." + +"Zola! My darling!" cried Mr. Eustace Greyne. "You are surely not going +to betray anything of that sort now!" + +"If she does we shall soon have to move off to West Kensington," was his +secret thought. + +"No. But in book six of 'Catherine' I have to deal with sin, with +tumult, with African frailty. It is inevitable." + +She sighed once more. The burden of the new book was very heavy upon +her. + +"African frailty!" murmured the astonished Eustace Greyne. + +"Now, neither you nor I, my husband, know anything about this." + +"Certainly not, my darling. How should we? We have never explored beyond +Lucerne." + +"We must, therefore, get to know about it--at least you must. For I +cannot leave London. The continuity of the brain's travelling must not +be imperiled by any violent bodily activity. In the present stage of my +book a sea journey might be disastrous." + +"Certainly you should keep quiet, my love. But then---" + +"You must go for me to Algiers. There you must get me what I want. I +fear you will have to poke about in the native quarters a good deal for +it, so you had better buy two revolvers, one for yourself and one for +Darrell." + +Mr. Greyne gasped. The calmness of his wife amazed him. He was not +intellectual enough to comprehend fully the deep imaginings of a mighty +brain, the obsession work is in the worker. + +"African frailty is what I want," pursued Mrs. Greyne. "One hundred +closely-printed pages of African frailty. You will collect for me the +raw material, and I shall so manipulate it that it will fall discreetly, +even elevatingly, into the artistic whole. Do you understand me, +Eustace?" + +"I am to travel to Algiers, and see all the wickedness to be seen there, +take notes of it, and bring them back to you." + +"Precisely." + +"And how long am I to stay?" + +"Until you have made yourself acquainted with the depths." + +"A fortnight?" + +"I should think that would be enough. Take Brush's remedy for +seasickness and plenty of antipyrin, your fur coat for the crossing, and +a white helmet and umbrella for the arrival. You have lead pencils?" + +"Plenty." + +"A couple of Merrin's exercise-books should be enough to contain your +notes." + +"When am I to go?" + +"The sooner the better. I am at a standstill for want of the material. +You might catch the express to Paris to-morrow; no, say the day after +to-morrow." She looked at him tenderly. "The parting will be bitter." + +"Very bitter," Mr. Eustace Greyne replied. + +He felt really upset. Mrs. Greyne laid the hand which had brought them +from Phillimore Gardens to Belgrave Square gently upon his. + +"Think of the result," she said. "The greatest book I have done yet. A +book that will last. A book that will----" + +"Take us to Park Lane," he murmured. + +The Rembrandtesque head nodded. The noble features, as of a strictly +respectable Roman emperor, relaxed. + +"A book that will take us to Park Lane." + +At this moment the door opened, and the footman inquired: + +"Could Mademoiselle Verbena see you for a minute, ma'am?" + +Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of the two little Greynes. +The great novelist had consented to become a mother. + +"Certainly." + +In another moment Mademoiselle Verbena was added to the group beside the +fire. + + + + +II + +We have said that Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of +little Adolphus and Olivia Greyne, and so she was to this extent--that +she taught them French, and that Mr. and Mrs. Greyne supposed her to be +a Parisian. But life has its little ironies. Mademoiselle Verbena in the +house of this great and respectable novelist was one of them; for she +was a Levantine, born at Port Said of a Suez Canal father and a Suez +Canal mother. Now, nobody can desire to say anything against Port Said. +At the same time, few mothers would inevitably pick it out as the ideal +spot from which a beneficent influence for childhood's happy hour would +be certain to emanate. Nor, it must be allowed, is a Suez Canal ancestry +specially necessary to a trainer of young souls. It may not be a +drawback, but it can hardly be described as an advantage. This, +Mademoiselle Verbena was intelligent enough to know. She, therefore, +concealed the fact that her father had been a dredger of Monsieur de +Lesseps' triumph, her mother a bar-lady of the historic coal wharf where +the ships are fed, and preferred to suppose--and to permit others to +suppose--that she had first seen the light in the Rue St. Honore, her +parents being a count and countess of some old regime. + +This supposition, retained from her earliest years, had affected her +appearance and her manner. She was a very neat, very trim, even a very +attractive little person, with dark brown, roguish eyes, blue-black +hair, a fairy-like figure, and the prettiest hands and feet imaginable. +She had first attracted Mrs. Greyne's attention by her devotion to St. +Paul's Cathedral, and this devotion she still kept up. Whenever she had +an hour or two free she always--so she herself said--spent it in "_ce +charmant_ St. Paul." + +As she entered the oracle's retreat she cast down her eyes, and trembled +visibly. + +"What is it, Miss Verbena?" inquired Mrs. Greyne, with a kindly English +accent, calculated to set any poor French creature quite at ease. + +Mademoiselle Verbena trembled more. + +"I have received bad news, madame." + +"I grieve to hear it. Of what nature?" + +"Mamma has _une bronchite tres grave_." + +"A what, Miss Verbena?" + +"Pardon, madame. A very grave bronchitis. She cries for me." + +"Indeed!" + +"The doctors say she will die." + +"This is very sad." + +The Levantine wept. Even Suez Canal folk are not proof against all human +sympathy. Mr. Greyne blew his nose beside the fire, and Mrs. Greyne said +again: + +"I repeat that this is very sad." + +"Madame, if I do not go to mamma tomorrow I shall not see her more." + +Mrs. Greyne looked very grave. + +"Oh!" she remarked. She thought profoundly for a moment, and then added: +"Indeed!" + +"It is true, madame." + +Suddenly Mademoiselle Verbena flung herself down on the Persian carpet +at Mrs. Greyne's large but well-proportioned feet, and, bathing them +with her tears, cried in a heartrending manner: + +"Madame will let me go! madame will permit me to fly to poor mamma--to +close her dying eyes--to kiss once again----" + +Mr. Greyne was visibly affected, and even Mrs. Greyne seemed somewhat +put about, for she moved her feet rather hastily out of reach of the +dependant's emotion, and made her scramble up. + +"Where is your poor mother?" + +"In Paris, madame. In the Rue St. Honore, where I was born. Oh, if she +should die there! If she should----" + +Mrs. Greyne raised her hand, commanding silence. + +"You wish to go there?" + +"If madame permits." + +"When?" + +"To-morrow, madame." + +"To-morrow? This is decidedly abrupt." + +"_Mais la bronchite, madame_, she is abrupt, and death, she may be +abrupt." + +"True. One moment!" + +There was an instant's silence for Mrs. Greyne to let loose her brain +in. She did so, then said: + +"You have my permission. Go to-morrow, but return as soon as possible. +I do not wish Adolphus to lose his still uncertain grasp upon the +irregular verbs." + +In a flood of grateful tears Mademoiselle Verbena retired to make her +preparations. On the morrow she was gone. + +The morrow was a day of much perplexity, much bustle and excitement for +Mr. Greyne and the valet, Darrell. They were preparing for Algiers. In +the morning, at an early hour, Mr. Greyne set forth in the barouche with +Mrs. Greyne to purchase African necessaries: a small but well-supplied +medicine chest, a pith helmet, a white-and-green umbrella, a Baedeker, +a couple of Smith & Wesson Springfield revolvers with a due amount of +cartridges, a dozen of Merrin's exercise-books--on mature reflection +Mrs. Creyne thought that two would hardly contain a sufficient amount of +African frailty for her present purpose--a packet of lead pencils, some +bottles of a remedy for seasickness, a silver flask for cognac, and +various other trifles such as travellers in distant continents require. + +Meanwhile Darrell was learning French for the journey, and packing his +own and his master's trunks. The worthy fellow, a man of twenty-five +summers, had never been across the Channel--the Greynes being by no +means prone to foreign travel--and it may, therefore, be imagined that +he was in a state of considerable expectation as he laid the trousers, +coats, and waistcoats in their respective places, selected such boots +as seemed likely to wear well in a tropical climate, and dropped those +shirts which are so contrived as to admit plenty of ventilation to the +heated body into the case reserved for them. + +When Mr. Greyne returned from his shopping excursion the barouche, +loaded almost to the gunwale--if one may be permitted a nautical +expression in this connection--had to be disburdened, and its contents +conveyed upstairs to Mr. Greyne's bedroom, into which Mrs. Greyne +herself presently entered to give directions for their disposing. Nor +was it till the hour of sunset that everything was in due order, the +straps set fast, the keys duly turned in the locks--the labels--"Mr. +Eustace Greyne: Passenger to Algiers: via Marseilles"--carefully written +out in a full, round hand. Rook's tickets had been bought; so now +everything was ready, and the last evening in England might be spent +by Mr. Greyne in the drawing-room and by Darrell in the servants' hall +quietly, socially, perhaps pathetically. + +The pathos of the situation, it must be confessed, appealed more to +the master than to the servant. Darrell was very gay, and inclined to be +boastful, full of information as to how he would comport himself with +"them there Frenchies," and how he would make "them pore, godless Arabs +sit up." But Mr. Greyne's attitude of mind was very different. As +the night drew on, and Mrs. Greyne and he sat by the wood fire in the +magnificent drawing-room, to which they always adjourned after dinner, a +keen sense of the sorrow of departure swept over them both. + +"How lonely you will feel without me, Eugenia," said Mr. Greyne. "I +have been thinking of that all day." + +"And you, Eustace, how desolate will be your tale of days! My mind runs +much on that. You will miss me at every hour." + +"You are so accustomed to have me within call, to depend upon me for +encouragement in your life-work. I scarcely know how you will get on +when I am far across the sea." + +"And you, for whom I have labored, for whom I have planned and +calculated, what will be your sensations when you realize that a +gulf--the Gulf of Lyons--is fixed irrevocably between us?" + +So their thoughts ran. Each one was full of tender pity for the other. +Towards bedtime, however, conscious that the time for colloquy was +running short, they fell into more practical discourse. + +"I wonder," said Mr. Greyne, "whether I shall find any difficulty in +gaining the information you require, my darling. I suppose these +places"--he spoke vaguely, for his thoughts were vague--"are somewhat +awkward to come at. Naturally they would avoid the eye of day." + +Mrs. Greyne looked profound. + +"Yes. Evil ever seeks the darkness. You will have to do the same." + +"You think my investigations must take place at night?" + +"I should certainly suppose so." + +"And where shall I find a cicerone?" + +"Apply to Rook." + +"In what terms? You see, dearest, this is rather a special matter, isn't +it?" + +"Very special. But on no account hint that you are in Algiers for +'Catherine's' sake. It would get into the papers. It would be cabled to +America. The whole reading world would be agog, and the future interest +of the book discounted." + +Mr. Greyne looked at his wife with reverence. In such moments he +realized, almost too poignantly, her great position. + +"I will be careful," he said. "What would you recommend me to say?" + +"Well"--Mrs. Greyne knit her superb forehead--"I should suggest that +you present yourself as an ordinary traveler, but with a +specially inquiring bent of mind and a slight tendency towards +the--the--er--hidden things of life." + +"I suppose you wish me to visit the public houses?" + +"I wish you to see everything that has part or lot in African frailty. +Go everywhere, see everything. Bring your notes to me, and I will select +such fragments of the broken commandments as suit my purpose, which +is, as always, the edifying of the human race. Only this time I mean to +purge it as by fire." + +"That corner house in Park Lane, next to the Duke of Ebury's, would suit +us very well," said Mr. Greyne reflectively. + +"We could sell our lease here at an advance," his wife rejoined. "You +will not waste your journey, Eustace?" + +"My love," returned Mr. Greyne with decision, "I will apply to Rook on +arrival, and, if I find his man unsatisfactory, if I have any reason +to suspect that I am not being shown everything--more especially in the +Kasbah region, which, from the guide-books we bought to-day, is, I +take it, the most abandoned portion of the city--I will seek another +cicerone." + +"Do so. And now to bed. You must sleep well to-night in preparation for +the journey." + +It was their invariable habit before retiring to drink each a tumbler +of barley water, which was set out by the butler in Mrs. Greyne's study. +After this nightcap Mrs. Greyne wrote up her anticipatory diary, while +Mr. Greyne smoked a mild cigar, and then they went to bed. To-night, +as usual, they repaired to the sanctum, and drank their barley water. +Having done so, Mr. Greyne drew forth his cigar-case, while Mrs. Greyne +went to her writing-table, and prepared to unlock the drawer in which +her diary reposed, safe from all prying eyes. + +The match was struck, the key was inserted in the lock, and turned. As +the cigar end glowed the drawer was opened. Mr. Greyne heard a contralto +cry. He turned from the arm-chair in which he was just about to seat +himself. + +"My love, is anything the matter?" + +His wife was bending forward with both hands in the drawer, telling over +its contents. + +"My diary is not here!" + +"Your diary!" + +"It is gone." + +"But"--he came over to her--"this is very serious. I presume, like all +diaries, it is full of----" Instinctively he had been about to say +"damning"; he remembered his dear one's irreproachable character and +substituted "precious secrets." + +"It is full of matter which must never be given to the world--my secret +thoughts, my aspirations. The whole history of my soul is there." + +"Heavens! It must be found." + +They searched the writing-table. They searched the room. No diary. + +"Could you have taken it to my room, and left it there?" asked Mr. +Greyne. + +They hastened thither, and looked--in vain. By this time the servants +were gone to bed, and the two searchers were quite alone on the ground +floor of their magnificent mansion. Mrs. Greyne began to look seriously +perturbed. Her Roman features worked. + +"This is appalling," she exclaimed. "Some thief, knowing it priceless, +must have stolen the diary. It will be published in America. It will +bring in thousands--but to others, not to us." + +She began to wring her hands. It was near midnight. + +"Think, my love, think!" cried Mr. Greyne. "Where could you have taken +it? You had it last night?" + +"Certainly. I remember writing in it that you would be sailing to +Algiers on the _General Bertrand_ on Thursday of this week, and that on +the night I should be feeling widowed here. The previous night I wrote +that yesterday I should have to tell you of your mission. You know I +always put down beforehand what I shall do, what I shall even think +on each succeeding day. It is a practice that regulates the mind and +conduct, that helps to uniformity." + +"How true! Who can have taken it? Do you ever leave it about?" + +"Never. Am I a madwoman?" + +"My darling, compose yourself! We must search the house." + +They proceeded to do so, and, on coming into the schoolroom, Mrs. +Greyne, who was in front, uttered a sudden cry. + +Upon the table of Mademoiselle Verbena lay the diary, open at the +following entry:-- + +On Thursday next poor Eustace will be on board the _General Bertrand_, +sailing for Algiers. I shall be here thinking of myself, and of him in +relation to myself. God help us both. Duty is sometimes stern. Mem. The +corner house in Park Lane, next the Duke of Ebury's, has sixty years +still to run; the lease, that is. Thursday--poor Eustace! + +"What does this portend?" cried Mrs. Greyne. + +"My darling, it passes my wit to imagine," replied her husband. + + + + +III + +The parting of Mr. and Mrs. Greyne on the following morning was very +affecting. It took place at Victoria Station, in the midst of a small +crowd of admiring strangers, who had recognised the commanding +presence of the great novelist, and had gathered round to observe her +manifestations. + +Mrs. Greyne was considerably shaken by the event of the previous night. +Although, on the discovery of the diary, the house had been roused, and +all the servants closely questioned, no light had been thrown upon its +migration from the locked drawer to the schoolroom table. Adolphus and +Olivia, jerked from sleep by the hasty hands of a maid, could only weep +and wan. The powdered footmen, one and all, declared they had never +heard of a diary. The butler gave warning on the spot, keeping on his +nightcap to give greater effect to his pronunciamento. It was all most +unsatisfactory, and for one wild moment Mrs. Greyne seriously thought +of retaining her husband by her as a protection against the mysterious +thief who had been at work in their midst. Could it be Mademoiselle +Verbena? The dread surmise occurred, but Mr. Greyne rejected it. + +"Her father was a count," he said. "Besides, my darling, I don't +believe she can read English; certainly not unless it is printed." + +So there the matter rested, and the moment of parting came. + +There was a murmur of respectful sympathy as Mrs. Greyne clasped +her husband tenderly in her arms, and pressed his head against her +prune-coloured bonnet strings. The whistle sounded. The train moved on. +Leaning from a reserved first-class compartment, Mr. Greyne waved a silk +pocket-handkerchief so long as his wife's Roman profile stood out clear +against the fog and smoke of London. But at last it faded, grew remote, +took on the appearance of a feebly-executed crayon drawing, vanished. He +sank back upon the cushions--alone. Darrell was travelling second with +the dressing-case. + +It was a strange sensation, to be alone, and _en route_ to Algiers. Mr. +Greyne scarcely knew what to make of it. A schoolboy suddenly despatched +to Timbuctoo could hardly have felt more terribly emancipated than he +did. He was so absolutely unaccustomed to freedom, he had been for so +long without the faintest desire for it, that to have it thrust upon +him so suddenly was almost alarming. He felt lonely, anxious, horribly +unmarried. To divert his thoughts he drew forth a Merrin's exercise-book +and a pencil, and wrote on the first page, in large letters, "_African +Frailty, Notes for_" Then he sat gazing at the title of his first +literary work, and wondering what on earth he was going to see in +Algiers. + +Vague visions of himself in the bars of African public-houses, in +mosques, in the two-pair-backs of dervishes, in bazaars--which he +pictured to himself like those opened by royalties at the Queen's +Hall--in Moorish interiors surrounded by voluptuous ladies with large +oval eyes, black tresses, and Turkish trousers of spangled muslin, +flitted before his mental gaze. When the train ran upon Dover Pier, and +the white horses of the turbulent Channel foamed at his feet, he started +as one roused from a Rip Van Winkle sleep. Severe illness occupied his +whole attention for a time, and then recovery. + +In Paris he dined at the buffet like one in a dream, and, at the +appointed hour, came forth to take the _rapide_ for Marseilles. He +looked for Darrell and the dressing-case. They were not to be seen. +There stood the train. Passengers were mounting into it. Old ladies +with agitated faces were buying pillows and nibbling biscuits. Elderly +gentlemen with yellow countenances and red ribands in their coats were +purchasing the _Figaro_ and the _Gil Blas_. Children with bare legs were +being hauled into compartments. Rook's agent was explaining to a muddled +tourist in a tam-o'-shanter the exact difference between the words "Oui" +and "Non" The bustle of departure was in the air, but Darrell was not +to be seen. Mr. Greyne had left him upon the platform with minute +directions as to the point from which the train would start and the hour +of its going. Yet he had vanished. The most frantic search, the most +frenzied inquiries of officials and total strangers, failed to elicit +his whereabouts, and, finally, Mr. Greyne was flung forcibly upward +into the _wagonlit_, and caught by the _controleur_ when the train was +actually moving out of the station. + +A moment later he fell exhausted upon the pink-plush seat of his +compartment, realising his terrible position. He was now utterly alone; +without servant, hair-brushes, toothbrushes, razors, sponges, pajamas, +shoes. It was a solitude that might be felt. He thought of the sea +journey with no kindly hand to minister to him, the arrival in Africa +with no humble companion at his side, to wonder with him at the black +inhabitants and help him through the customs--to say nothing of the +manners. He thought of the dread homes of iniquity into which he +must penetrate by night in search of the material for the voracious +"Catherine." He had meant to take Darrell with him to them all--Darrell, +whose joyful delight in the prospect of exploring the Eastern fastnesses +of crime had been so boyish, so truly English in its frank, its even +boisterous sincerity. + +And now he was utterly alone, almost like Robinson Crusoe. + +The _controleur_ came in to make the bed. Mr. Greyne told him the +dreadful story. + +"No doubt he has been lured away, monsieur. The dressing-case was of +value?" + +"Crocodile, gold fittings." + +"Probably monsieur will never see him again. As likely as not he will +sleep in the Seine to-night, and at the morgue to-morrow." + +Mr. Greyne shuddered. This was an ill omen for his expedition. He drank +a stiff whisky-and-soda instead of the usual barley water, and went to +bed to dream of bloody murders in which he was the victim. + +When the train ran into Marseilles next morning he was an unshaven, +miserable man. + +"Have I time to buy a tooth-brush," he inquired anxiously at the +station, "before the boat sails for Algiers?" + +The _chef de gare_ thought so. Monsieur had four hours, if that was +sufficient. Mr. Greyne hastened forth, had a Turkish bath, purchased a +new dressing-case, ate a hasty _dejeuner_, and took a cab to the wharf. +It was a long drive over the stony streets. He glanced from side to +side, watching the bustling traffic, the hurry of the nations going to +and from the ships. His eyes rested upon two Arabs who were striding +along in his direction. Doubtless they were also bound for Algiers. He +thought they looked most wicked, and hastily took a note of them for +"African Frailty." Beside his sense of loss and loneliness marched the +sense of duty. The great woman at home in Belgrave Square, founder of +his fortunes, mother of his children, she depended upon him. Even in his +own hour of need he would not fail her. He took a lead pencil, and wrote +down: + +Saw two Arab ruffians. Bare legs. Look capable of anything. Should not +be surprised to hear that they had---- + +There he paused. That they had what? Done things. Of course, but what +things? That was the question. He exerted his imagination, but failed to +arrive at any conclusion as to their probable crimes. His knowledge +of wickedness was really absurdly limited. For the first time he felt +slightly ashamed of it, and began to wish he had gone into the militia. +He comforted himself with the thought that in a fortnight he would +probably be fit for the regular army. This thought cheered him slightly, +and it was with a slight smile upon his face that he welcomed the first +glimpse of the _General Bertrand_, which was lying against the quay +ready to cast off at the stroke of noon. Most of the passengers were +aboard, but, as Mr. Greyne stepped out of his cab, and prepared to pay +the Maltese driver, a trim little lady, plainly dressed in black, and +carrying a tiny and rather coquettish hand-bag, was tripping lightly +across the gangway. Mr. Greyne glanced at her as he turned to follow, +glanced, and then started. That back was surely familiar to him. Where +could he have seen it before? He searched his memory as the little lady +vanished. It was a smart, even a _chic_ back, a back that knew how to +take care of itself, a back that need not go through the world alone, +a back, in fine, that was most distinctly attractive, if not absolutely +alluring. Where had he seen it before, or had he ever seen it at all? +He thought of his wife's back, flat, powerful, uncompromising. This was +very different, more--how should he put it to himself?--more Algerian, +perhaps. He could vaguely conceive it a back such as one might meet with +while engaged in adding to one's stock of knowledge of--well--African +frailty. + +At this moment the steward appeared to show him to his cabin, and his +further reflections were mainly connected with the Gulf of Lyons. + +Twilight was beginning to fall when, so far as he was capable of +thinking, he thought he would like a breath of air. For some moments he +lay quite still, dwelling on this idea which had so mysteriously come to +him. Then he got up, and thought again, seated upon the cabin floor. +He knew there was a deck. He remembered having seen one when he came +aboard. He put on his fur coat, still sitting on the cabin floor. The +process took some time--he fancied about a couple of years. At last, +however, it was completed, and he rose to his feet with the assistance +of the washstand and the berth. + +The ship seemed very busy, full of almost American activity. He thought +a greater calm would have been more decent, and waited in the hope +that the floor would presently cease to forget itself. As it showed no +symptoms of complying with his desire he endeavoured to spurn it, and, +in the fulness of time, gained the companion. + +It was very strange, as he remembered afterwards, that only when he had +gained the companion did the sense of his utter loneliness rush upon +him with overwhelming force: one of the ironies of life, he supposed. +Eventually he shook the companion off with a good deal of difficulty, +and found himself installed upon planks under a grey sky, and holding +fast to a railing, which was all that interposed between him and +eternity. + +At first he was only conscious of greyness and the noise of winds +and waters, but presently a black daub seemed to hover for a second +somewhere on the verge of his world, to hover and disappear. He wondered +what it was. A smut, perhaps. He rubbed his face. The daub returned. +It was very large for a smut. He strove to locate it, and found that it +must be somewhere on his left cheek. With a great effort he took out his +pocket-handkerchief. Suddenly the daub assumed monstrous proportions. +He turned his head, and perceived the lady in black whom he had seen +tripping over the gangway on his arrival. + +She was a few steps from him, leaning upon the rail in an attitude of +the deepest dejection, with her face averted; yet it struck him that her +right shoulder was oddly familiar, as her back had surely been. The turn +of her head, too--he coughed despairingly. The lady took no notice. He +coughed again. Interest was quickening in him. He was determined to see +the lady's face. + +This time she looked around, showing a pale countenance bedewed with +tears, and totally devoid of any expression which he could connect with +a consciousness of his presence. For a moment she stared vacantly at +him, while he, with almost equal vacancy, regarded her. Then a thrill of +surprise shook him. A sudden light of knowledge leaped up in him, and he +exclaimed: + +"Mademoiselle Verbena!" "Monsieur?" murmured the lady, with an accent +of surprise. + +"Mademoiselle Verbena! Surely it is--it must be!" + +He had staggered sideways, nearing her. + +"Mademoiselle Verbena, do you not know me? It is I, Eustace Greyne, the +father of your pupils, the husband of Mrs. Eustace Greyne?" + +An expression of stark amazement came into the lady's face at these +words. She leaned forward till her eyes were close to Mr. Greyne's then +gave a little cry. + +"_Mon Dieu!_ It is true! You are so altered that I could not recognise. +And then--what are you doing here, on the wide sea, far from madame?" + +"I was just about to ask you the very same question!" cried Mr. Greyne. + + + + +IV + +"Alas, monsieur!" said Mademoiselle Verbena in her silvery voice, "I go +to see my poor mother." + +"But I understood that she was dying in Paris." + +"Even so. But, when I reached the Rue St. Honore, I found that they +had removed to Algiers. It was the only chance, the doctor said--a warm +climate, the sun of Africa. There was no time to let me know. They took +her away at once. And now I follow--perhaps to find her dead." + +Large tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Greyne was deeply affected. + +"Let us hope for the best," he exclaimed, seized by a happy inspiration. + +The Levantine strove to smile. + +"But you, monsieur, why are you here? Ah! perhaps madame is with you! +Let me go to her! Let me kiss her dear hands once more----" + +Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond excitement. + +"I am quite alone," he said. + +A tragic expression came into the Levantine's face. + +"But, then----" she began. + +It was impossible for him to tell her about "Catherine." He was, +therefore, constrained to subterfuge. + +"I--I was suddenly overtaken by--by influenza," he said, in some +confusion. "The doctor recommended 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 of Louis +XVI., the poverty of her mother the countess, her own resolve to put +aside all aristocratic prejudices and earn her own living. He, in +return, had related his Eton days, his momentary bias towards the +militia, his marriage--as an innocent youth--with Miss Eugenia +Hannibal-Barker. Coming to later times, he was led to confide to the +tenderhearted Levantine the fact that he hoped to increase his stock of +knowledge while in Africa. Without alluding to "Catherine," he hinted +that the cure of influenza was not his only reason for foreign travel. + +"I wish to learn something of men and--and women," he murmured in the +shell-like ear presented to him. "Of their passions, their desires, +their--their follies." + +"Ah!" cried Mademoiselle Verbena. "Would that I could assist monsieur! +But I am only an ignorant little creature, and know nothing of the +world! And I shall be ever at the bedside of mamma." + +"You will give me your address? You will let me inquire for the +countess?" + +"Willingly; but I do not know where I shall be. There will be a message +at the wharf. To what hotel goes monsieur?" + +"The Grand Hotel." + +"I will write there when I have seen mamma. And meanwhile----" + +They were coming into harbour. The heights of Mustapha were visible, the +woods of the Bois de Boulogne, the towers of the Hotel Splendid. + +"Meanwhile, may I beg monsieur not to----" She hesitated. + +"Not to what?" asked Mr. Greyne most softly. + +"Not to let anyone in England know that I am here?" + +She paused. Mr. Greyne was silent, wondering. Mademoiselle Verbena +drooped her head. + +"The world is so censorious. It might seem strange that I--that +monsieur--a man young, handsome, fascinating--the same ship--I have no +chaperon--enfin----" + +She could get out no more. Her delicacy, her forethought touched Mr. +Greyne to tears. + +"Not a word," he said. "You are right. The world is evil, and, as you +say, I am a--not a word!" + +He ventured to press her hand, as an elder brother might have pressed +it. For the first time he realised that even to the husband of Mrs. +Eustace Greyne the world might attribute--Goodness gracious! What might +not the militia think, for instance? + +He felt himself, for one moment, potentially a dog. + +They parted in a whirl of Arabs on the quay. Mr. Greyne would have +stayed to assist Mademoiselle Verbena, but she bade him go. + +She whispered that she thought it "better" that they should not seem +to--_enfin!_ + +"I will write to-morrow," she murmured. "_Au revoir!_" + +On the last word she was gone. Mr. Greyne saw nothing but Arabs and +hotel porters. Loneliness seemed to close in on him once more. + +That very evening, after a cup of tea, he presented himself at the +office of Rook near the Place du Gouvernement. As he came in he felt a +little nervous. There were no tourists in the office, and a courteous +clerk with a bright and searching eye at once took him in hand. + +"What can we do for you, sir?" + +"I am a stranger here," began Mr. Greyne. + +"Quite so, sir, quite so." + +The clerk twiddled his business-like thumbs, and looked inquiring. + +"And being so," Mr. Greyne went on, "it is naturally my wish to see as +much of the town as possible; as much as possible, you understand." + +"You want a guide? Alphonso!" + +Turning, he shouted to an inner room, from which in a moment emerged a +short, stout, swarthy personage with a Jewish nose, a French head, an +Arab eye with a squint in it, and a markedly Maltese expression. + +"This is an excellent guide, sir," said the clerk. "He speaks +twenty-five languages." + +The stout man, who--as Mr Greyne now perceived--had on a Swiss suit +of clothes, a panama hat, and a pair of German elastic-sided boots, +confessed in pigeon English, interspersed occasionally with a word or +two of something which Mr. Greyne took to be Chinese, that such was +undoubtedly the case. + +"What do you wish to see? The mosque, the bazaars, St. Eugene, La +Trappe, Mustapha, the baths of the Etat-Major, the Jardin d'Essai, +the Villa-Anti-Juif, the----" + +"One moment!" said Mr. Greyne. + +He turned to the clerk. + +"May I take a chair?" + +"Be seated, sir, pray be seated, and confer with Alphonso." + +So saying, he gave himself to an enormous ledger, while Mr. Greyne took +a chair opposite to Alphonso, who stood in a Moorish attitude looking +apparently in the direction of Marseilles. + +"I have come here," said Mr. Greyne, lowering his voice, "with a +purpose.". + +"You wish to see the Belle Fatma. I will arrange it. She receives every +evening in her house in the Rue ------" + +"One minute! One minute! You said the something 'Fatma'?" + +"The Belle Fatma, the most beautiful woman of Africa. She receives +every----" + +"Pardon me! One moment! Is this lady----" + +Mr. Greyne paused. + +"Sir?" said Alphonso, settling his Spanish neck-tie, and gazing steadily +towards Marseilles. + +"Is this lady--well, sinful?" + +Alphonso threw up his hands with a wild Asiatic gesture. + +"Sinful! La Belle Fatma! She is a lady of the utmost respectability +known to all the town. You go to her house at eight, you take coffee +upon the red sofas, you talk with La Belle, you see the dances and hear +the music. Do not fear, sir; it is good, it is respectable as England, +your country----" + +"If it is respectable I don't want to see it," interposed Mr. Greyne. +"It would be a waste of time." + +The clerk lifted his head from the ledger, and Alphonso, by means of +standing with his back almost square to Mr. Greyne, and looking over his +right shoulder, succeeded at length in fixing his eye upon him. + +"I have not travelled here to see respectable things," continued Mr. +Greyne, with a slight blush. "Quite the contrary." + +"Sir?" + +The voice of Alphonso seemed to have changed, to have taken on a hard, +almost a menacing tone. Mr. Greyne thought of his beloved wife, of +Merrin's exercise-books, and clenched his hands, endeavouring to feel, +and to go on, like a militiaman. + +"Quite the contrary," he repeated firmly; "my object in coming to Africa +is to--to search about in the Kasbah, and the disrep----" + +He choked, recovered himself, and continued: "Disreputable quarters of +Algiers--hem------" + +"What for, sir?" + +The voice of Alphonso was certainly changed. + +"What for?" said Mr. Greyne, growing purple. "For frailty." + +"Sir?" + +"For frailty--for wickedness." + +A slight cackle emanated from the ledger, but immediately died away. A +dead silence reigned in the office, broken only by the distant sound of +the sea, and by the hard breathing of Alphonso, who had suddenly begun +to pant. + +"I wish to go to all the wicked places--_all!_" + +The ledger cackled again more audibly. Mr. Greyne felt a prickling +sensation run over him, but the thought of "Catherine" nerved him to +his awful task. + +"It is my wife's express desire that I should do so," he added +desperately, quite forgetting Mrs. Greyne's injunction to keep her dark +in his desire to stand well with Rook's. + +The ledger went off into a hyena imitation, and Alphonso, turning +still more away from Mr. Greyne, so as to get the eye fuller upon him, +exclaimed, in a mixture of Aryan and Eurasian languages: + +"Sir, I am a respectable, unmarried man. I was born in Buenos Ayres, +educated in Smyrna, came of age in Constantinople, and have practised as +guide in Bagdad and other particular cities. I refuse to have anything +to do with you and your wife." + +So saying, he bounced into the inner room, and banged the door, while +the ledger gave itself up to peals of merriment, and Mr. Greyne tottered +forth upon the sea-front, bathed in a cold perspiration, and feeling +more guilty than a murderer. + +It was a staggering blow. He leaned over the stone parapet of the low +wall, and let the soft breezes from the bay flit through his hair, and +thought of Mrs. Greyne spurned by Alphonso. What was he to do? Kicked +out of Rook's, to whom could he apply? There must be wickedness in +Algiers, but where? He saw none, though night was falling and stout +Frenchmen were already intent upon their absinthe. + +"Does monsieur wish to see the Kasbah to-night?" + +Was it a voice from heaven? He turned, and saw standing beside him a +tall, thin, audacious-looking young man, with coal-black moustaches, +magnificent eyes, and an air that was half-languid, half-serpentine. + +"Who are you?" + +"I am a guide, monsieur. Here are my certificates." + +He produced from the inner pocket of his coat a large bundle of dirty +papers. + +"If monsieur will deign to look them over." + +But Mr. Greyne waved them away. What did he care for Certificates? +Here was a guide to African frailty. That was sufficient. He was in a +desperate mood, and uttered desperate words. + +"Look here," he said rapidly, "are you wicked?" + +"Very wicked, monsieur." + +"Good!" + +"Wicked, monsieur." + +"Right!" + +"Wrong, monsieur." + +"I mean that it is good for me that you are wicked." + +"Monsieur is very good." + +"Yes; but I wish to be--that is, to see the other thing. Can you +undertake to show me everything shocking in Algiers?" + +"But certainly, monsieur. For a consideration." + +"Name your price." + +"Two hundred pounds, monsieur." + +Mr. Greyne started. It seemed a high figure. + +"Monsieur thought it would be more? I make a special price, because +I have taken a fancy to monsieur. I remove fifty pounds. Monsieur, of +course, will pay all expenses." + +"Of course, of course." + +It was no time to draw back. + +"How long will it take?" + +"To see all the shocking--?" + +"Precisely." + +"There is a good deal. A fortnight, three weeks. It depends on monsieur. +If he is strong, and can do without sleep----" + +"We shall have to be up at night?" + +"Naturally." + +"I shall go to bed during the day, and get through it in a fortnight." + +"Perfectly." + +"Be at the Grand Hotel to-night at ten o'clock precisely." + +"At ten o'clock I will be there. Monsieur will pay a little in advance?" + +"Here are twenty pounds," cried Mr. Greyne recklessly. + +The audacious-looking young man took the notes with decision, made a +graceful salute, and disappeared in the direction of the quay, while Mr. +Greyne walked to his hotel, flushed with excitement, and feeling like +the most desperate criminal in Africa. If the militia could see him now! + +At dinner he drank a bottle of champagne, and afterwards smoked a strong +cigar over his coffee and liqueur. As he was finishing these frantic +enjoyments the head waiter--a personage bearing a strong resemblance +to an enlarged edition of Napoleon the First--approached him rather +furtively, and, bending down, whispered in his ear: + +"A gentleman has called to take monsieur to the Kasbah." + +Mr. Greyne started, and flushed a guilty red. + +"I will come in a moment," he answered, trying to assume a nonchalant +voice, such as that in which a hardened major of dragoons announces that +in his time he was a devil of a fellow. + +The head waiter retired, looking painfully intelligent, and Mr. Greyne +sprang upstairs, seized a Merrin's exercise-book and a lead pencil, put +on a dark overcoat, popped one of the Springfield revolvers into the +pocket of it, and hastened down into the hall of the hotel, where the +audacious-looking young man was standing, surrounded by saucy +chasseurs in gay liveries and peaked caps, by Algerian waiters, and by +German-Swiss porters, all of whom were smiling and looking choke-full of +sympathetic comprehension. + +"Ha!" said Mr. Greyne, still in the major's, voice. "There you are!" + +"Behold me, monsieur." + +"That's good." + +"Wicked, monsieur." + +"Well, let's be off to the mosque." + +One of the chasseurs--a child of eight who was thankful that he knew no +better--burst into a piping laugh. The waiters turned hastily away, and +the German-Swiss porters retreated to the bureau with some activity. + +"To the mosque--precisely, monsieur," returned the guide, with complete +self-possession. + +They stepped out at once upon the pavement, where a carriage was in +waiting. + +"Where are we going?" inquired Mr. Greyne in an anxious voice. + +"We are going to the heights to see the Ouled," replied the guide. "_En +avant!_" + +He bounded in beside Mr. Greyne, the coachman cracked his whip, the +horses trotted. They were off upon their terrible pilgrimage. + + + + +V + +On the following afternoon, at a quarter to three, when Mr. Greyne +came down to breakfast, he found, lying beside the boiled eggs, a +note directed to him in a feminine handwriting. He tote it open with +trembling fingers, and read as follows:-- + + 1 Rue du Petit Neore. + + Dear Monsieur,--I am here. Poor mamma is in the hospital. I + am allowed to see her twice a day. At all other times I + remain alone, praying and weeping. I trust that monsieur has + passed a good night. For me, I was sleepless, thinking of + mamma. I go now to church. + + Adele Verbena. + +He laid this missive down, and sighed deeply. How strangely innocent it +was, how simple, how sincere! There were white souls in Algiers--yes, +even in Algiers. Strange that he should know one! Strange that he, who +had filled a Merrin's exercise-book with tiny writing, and had even +overflowed on to the cover after "crossing" many pages, should receive +the child-like confidences of one! "I go now to the church." Tears came +into his eyes as he laid the letter down beside a pile of buttered toast +over which the burning afternoon sun of Africa was shining. + +"Monsieur will take milk and sugar?" + +It was the head waiter's Napoleonic voice. Mr. Greyne controlled +himself. The man was smiling intelligently. All the staff of the hotel +smiled intelligently at Mr. Greyne to-day--the waiters, the porters, the +chasseurs. The child of eight who was thankful that he knew no better +had greeted him with a merry laugh as he came down to breakfast, and an +"_Oh, la, la!_" which had elicited a rebuke from the proprietor. Indeed, +a wave of human sympathy flowed upon Mr. Greyne, whose ashy face and +dull, washed-out eyes betrayed the severity of his night-watch. + +"Monsieur will feel better after a little food." + +The head waiter handed the buttered toast with bland majesty, at the +same time shooting a reproving glance at the little chasseur, who was +peeping from behind the door at the afternoon breakfaster. + +"I feel perfectly well," replied Mr. Greyne, with an attempt at +cheerfulness. + +"Still, monsieur will feel much better after a little food." + +Mr. Greyne began to toy with an egg. + +"You know Algiers?" he asked. + +"I was born here, monsieur. If monsieur wishes to explore to-night again +the Kasbah I can----" + +But Mr. Greyne stopped him with a gesture that was almost fierce. + +"Where is the Rue du Petit Negre?" + +"Monsieur wishes to go there to-night?" + +"I wish to go there now, directly I have finished break--lunch." + +The head waiter's face was wreathed with humorous surprise. + +"But monsieur is wonderful--superb! Never have I seen a traveller like +monsieur!" + +He gazed at Mr. Greyne with tropical appreciation. + +"Monsieur had better have a carriage. The street is difficult to find." + +"Order me one. I shall start at once." + +Mr. Greyne pushed away the sunlit buttered toast, and got up. + +"Monsieur is superb. Never have I seen a traveller like monsieur!" +Napoleon's voice was almost reverent. He hastened out, followed slowly +by Mr. Greyne. + +"A carriage for monsieur! Monsieur desires to go to the Rue du Petit +Negre!" + +The staff of the hotel gathered about the door as if to speed a royal +personage, and Mr. Greyne noticed that their faces too were touched +with an almost startled reverence. He stepped into the carriage, signed +feebly, but with determination, to the Arab coachman, and was driven +away, followed by a parting "_Oh, la la!_" from the chasseur, uttered in +a voice that sounded shrill with sheer amazement. + +Through winding, crowded streets he went, by bazaars and Moorish +bath-houses, mosques and Catholic churches, barracks and cafes, till at +length the carriage turned into an alley that crept up a steep hill. It +moved on a little way, and then stopped. + +"Monsieur must descend here," said the coachman. "Mount the steps, go +to the right and then to the left. Near the summit of the hill he will +find the Rue du Petit Negre. Shall I wait for monsieur?" + +"Yes." + +The coachman began to make a cigarette, while Mr. Greyne set forth +to follow his directions, and, at length, stood before an arch, which +opened into a courtyard adorned with orange-trees in tubs, and paved +with blue and white tiles. Around this courtyard was a three-storey +house with a flat roof, and from a bureau near a little fountain a stout +Frenchwoman called to demand his business. He asked for Mademoiselle +Verbena, and was at once shown into a saloon lined with chairs covered +with yellow rep, and begged to take a seat. In two minutes Mademoiselle +Verbena appeared, drying her eyes with a tiny pocket-handkerchief, and +forcing a little pathetic smile of welcome. Mr. Greyne clasped her hand +in silence. She sat down in a rep chair at his right, and they looked at +each other. + +"_Mais, mon Dieu!_ How monsieur is changed!" cried the Levantine. "If +madame could see him! What has happened to monsieur?" + +"Miss Verbena," replied Mr. Greyne, "I have seen the Ouled on the +heights." + +A spasm crossed the Levantine's face. She put her handkerchief to it for +a moment. "What is an Ouled?" she inquired, withdrawing it. + +"I dare not tell you," he replied solemnly. + +"But indeed I wish to know, so that I may sympathise with monsieur." + +Mr. Greyne hesitated, but his heart was full; he felt the need of +sympathy. He looked at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a great longing to +unburden himself overcame him. + +"An Ouled," he replied, "is a dancing-girl from the desert of Sahara." + +"_Mon Dieu!_ How does she dance? Is it a valse, a polka, a quadrille?" +"No. Would that it were!" And Mr. Greyne, unable further to govern +his desire for full expression, gave Mademoiselle Verbena a slightly +Bowdlerised description of the dances of the desert. She heard him with +amazement. + +"How terrible!" she exclaimed when he had finished. "And does one pay +much to see such steps of the Evil One?" + +"I gave her twenty pounds. Abdallah Jack----" + +"Abdallah Jack?" + +"My guide informed me that was the price. He tells me it is against +the law, and that each time an Ouled dances she risks being thrown into +prison." + +"Poor lady! How sad to have to earn one's bread by such devices, instead +of by teaching to the sweet little ones of monsieur the sympathetic +grammar of one's native country." + +Mr. Greyne was touched to the quick by this allusion, which brought, as +in a vision, the happy home in Belgrave Square before him. + +"You are an angel!" he exclaimed. + +Mademoiselle Verbena shook her head. + +"And this poor Ouled, you will go to her again? + +"Yes. It seems that she is in communication with all the--the--well, +all the odd people of Algiers, and that one can only get at them through +her." + +"Indeed?" + +"Abdallah Jack tells me that while I am here I should pay her a weekly +salary, and that, in return, I shall see all the terrible ceremonies of +the Arabs. I have decided to do so------ + +"Ah, you have decided!" + +For a moment Mr. Greyne started. There seemed a new sound in +Mademoiselle Verbena's voice, a gleam in her dark brown eyes. + +"Yes," he said, looking at her in wonder. "But I have not yet told +Abdallah Jack." + +The Levantine looked gently sad again. + +"Ah," she said in her usual pathetic voice, "how my heart bleeds for +this poor Ouled. By the way, what is her name?" + +"Aishoush." + +"She is beautiful?" + +"I hardly know. She was so painted, so tattooed, so very--so very +different from Mrs. Eustace Greyne." + +"How sad! How terrible! Ah, but you must long for the dear bonnet +strings of madame?" + +Did he? As she spoke Mr. Greyne asked himself the question. Shocked as +he was, fatigued by his researches, did he wish that he were back again +in Belgrave Square, drinking barley water, pasting notices of his wife's +achievements into the new album, listening while she read aloud from +the manuscript of her latest novel? He wondered, and--how strange, how +almost terrible--he was not sure. + +"Is it not so?" murmured Mademoiselle Verbena. + +"Naturally I miss my beloved wife," said Mr. Greyne with a certain +awkwardness. "How is your poor, dear mother?" + +Tears came at once into the Levantine's eyes. + +"Very, very ill, monsieur. Still there is a chance--just a chance that +she may not die. Ah, when I sit here all alone in this strange place, I +feel that she will perish, that soon I shall be quite deserted in this +cruel, cruel world!" + +The tears began to flow down her cheeks with determination. Mr. Greyne +was terribly upset. + +"You must cheer up," he exclaimed. "You must hope for the best." + +"Sitting here alone, how can I?" + +She sobbed. + +"Sitting here alone--very true!" + +A sudden thought, a number of sudden thoughts, struck him. + +"You must not sit here alone." + +"Monsieur!" + +"You must come out. You must drive. You must see the town, distract +yourself." + +"But how? Can a--a girl go about alone in Algiers?" + +"Heaven forbid! No; I will escort you." + +"Monsieur!" + +A smile of innocent, girlish joy transformed her face, but suddenly she +was grave again. + +"Would it be right, _convenable?_" + +Mr. Greyne was reckless. The dog potential rose up in him again. + +"Why not? And, besides, who knows us here? Not a soul." + +"That is true." + +"Put on your bonnet. Let us start at once!" + +"But I do not wear the bonnet. I am not like madame." + +"To be sure. Your hat." + +And as she flew to obey him, Mr. Eustace Greyne found himself impiously +thanking the powers that be for this strange chance of going on the +spree with a toque. When Mademoiselle Verbena returned he was looking +almost rakish. He eyed her neat black hat and close-fitting black jacket +with a glance not wholly unlike that of a militiaman. In her hand she +held a vivid scarlet parasol. + +"Monsieur," she said, "it is terrible, this _ombrelle_, when mamma lies +at death's door. But what can I do? I have no other, and cannot afford +to buy one. The sun is fierce. I dare not expose myself to it without a +shelter." + +She seemed really distressed as she opened the parasol, and spread the +vivid silk above her pretty black-clothed figure; but Mr. Greyne thought +the effect was brilliant, and ventured to say so. As they passed the +bureau by the fountain on their way out the stout Frenchwoman cast an +approving glance at Mademoiselle Verbena. + +"The little rat will not see much more of the little negro now," she +murmured to herself. "After all the English have their uses." + + + + +VI + +In Belgrave Square Mrs. Eustace Greyne was beginning to get slightly +uneasy. Several things combined to make her so. In the first place, +Mademoiselle Verbena had never returned from her mother's Parisian +bedside, and had not even written a line to say how the dear parent was, +and when the daughter's nursing occupation was likely to be over. In the +second place, Adolphus, in consequence of the Levantine's absence, had +totally lost his grasp, always uncertain, upon the irregular verbs. +In the third place, Darrell, the valet, had returned to London the day +after his departure from it, minus not only his master's dressing-case, +but minus everything he possessed. His story was that, while waiting at +the station in Paris for his master's appearance, he had entered into +conversation with an agreeable stranger, and been beguiled into the +acceptance of an absinthe at a cafe just outside. After swallowing +the absinthe he remembered nothing more till he came to himself in a +deserted waiting-room at the Gare du Nord, back to which he had been +mysteriously conveyed. In his pocket was no money, no watch, only +the return half of a second-class ticket from London to Paris. He, +therefore, wandered about the streets till morning broke, and then came +back to London a crestfallen and miserable man, bemoaning his untoward +fate, and cursing "them blasted Frenchies" from the bottom of his +British heart. + +Mrs. Greyne's anxiety on her husband's behalf, now that he was thrown +absolutely unattended upon the inhospitable shores of Africa, was not +lessened by a fourth circumstance, which, indeed, worried her far +more than all the others put together. This was Mr. Greyne's prolonged +absence from her side. Precisely one calendar month had now elapsed +since he had buried his face in her prune bonnet strings at Victoria +Station, and there seemed no prospect of his return. He wrote to her, +indeed, frequently, and his letters were full of wistful regret and +longing to be once more safe in the old homestead in Belgrave Square, +drinking barley water, and pasting Romeike & Curtice notices into the +new album which lay, gaping for him, upon the table of his sanctum. But +he did not come; nay, more, he wrote plainly that there was no prospect +of his coming for the present. It seemed that the wickedness of Africa +was very difficult to come at. It did not lie upon the surface, but was +hidden far down in depths to which the ordinary tourist found it almost +impossible to penetrate. In his numerous letters Mr. Greyne described +his heroic and unremitting exertions to fill the Merrin's note-books +with matter that would be suitable for the purging of humanity. He set +out in full his interview with Alphonso at the office of Rook, and +his definite rejection by that cosmopolitan official. According to +the letters, after this event he had spent no less than a fortnight +searching in vain for any sign of wickedness in the Algerian capital. He +had frequented the cafes, the public bars, the theatres, the churches. +He had been to the Velodrome. He had sat by the hour in the Jardin +d'Essai. At night he had strolled in the fairs and hung about the +circus. Yet nowhere had he been able to perceive anything but the +most innocent pleasure, the simple merriment of a gay and guileless +population to whom the idea of crime seemed as foreign as the idea of +singing the English national anthem. + +During the third week it was true that matters--always according to Mr. +Greyne's letters home--slightly improved. While walking near the quay, +in active search for nautical outrage, he saw an Arab dock labourer, +who had been over-smoking kief, run amuck, and knock down a couple of +respectable snake-charmers who were on the point of embarkation for +Tunis with their reptiles. This incident had filed up a half-score of +pages in exercise-book number one, and had flooded Mr. Greyne with hope +and aspiration. But it was followed by a stagnant lull which had lasted +for days and had only been disturbed by the trifling incident of +a gentleman in the Jewish quarter of the town setting fire to a +neighbour's bazaar, in the very natural endeavour to find a French +half-penny which he had chanced to drop among a bale of carpets while +looking in to drive a soft bargain. As Mrs. Greyne wired to Algiers, +such incidents were of no value to "Catherine." + +A very active interchange of views had gone on between the husband and +wife as time went by, and the book was at a standstill. At first Mrs. +Greyne contented herself with daily letters, but latterly she had +resorted to wires, explanatory, condemnatory, hortatory, and even +comminatory. She began bitterly to regret her husband's well-proven +innocence, and wished she had despatched an uncle of hers by marriage, +an ex-captain in the Royal Navy, who, she began to feel certain, would +have been able to find far more frailty in Algiers than poor Eustace, in +his simplicity, would ever come at. She even began to wish that she had +crossed the sea in person, and herself boldly set about the ingathering +of the material for which she was so impatiently waiting. + +Her uneasiness was brought to a head by a letter from a house agent, +stating that the corner mansion in Park Lane next to the Duke of +Ebury's was being nibbled at by a Venezuelan millionaire. She wired this +terrible fact at once to Africa, adding, at an enormous expenditure of +cash: + + This will never do. You are too innocent, and cannot see + what lies before you. Obtain assistance. Go to the British + consul. + +Mr. Greyne at once cabled back: + + Am following your advice. Will wire result. Regret my + innocence, but am distressed that you should so utterly + condemn it. + +Upon receiving this telegram at night, before a lonely dinner, Mrs. +Eustace Greyne was deeply moved. She felt she had been hasty. She knew +that to very few women was it given to have a husband so free from +all masculine infirmities as Mr. Greyne. At the same time there was +"Catherine," there was the mansion in Park Lane, there was the Venezuelan +millionaire. She began to feel distracted, and, for the first time in +her life, refused to partake of sweetbreads fried in mushroom ketchup, +a dish which she had greatly affected from the time when she wrote her +first short story. While she was in the very act of waving away this +delicacy a footman came in with a foreign telegram. She opened it +quickly, and read as follows:-- + + British consul horrified; was ignominiously expelled from + consulate; great scandal; am much upset, but will never give + in, for your sake. Eustace. + +As the dread meaning of these words penetrated at length to Mrs. +Greyne's voluminous brain a deep flush overspread her noble features. +She rose from the table with a determination that struck awe to the +hearts of the powdered underlings, and, drawing herself up to her full +height, exclaimed: + +"Send Mrs. Forbes at once to my study, if you please--at once, do you +understand?" + +In a moment Mrs. Forbes, who was the great novelist's maid, appeared on +the threshold of the oracle's lair. She was a sober-looking, black-silk +personage, who always wore a pork-pie cap in the house, and a Mother +Hubbard bonnet out of it. Having been in service with Mrs. Greyne ever +since the latter penned her last minor poetry--Mrs. Greyne had been a +minor poet for three years soon after she put her hair up--Mrs. Forbes +had acquired a certain literary expression of countenance and a manner +that was decidedly prosy. She read a good deal after her supper of an +evening, and was wont to be the arbiter when any literary matter was +discussed in the servants' hall. + +"Madam?" she said, respectfully entering the room, and bending the +pork-pie cap forward in an attentive attitude. + +Mrs. Greyne was silent for a moment. She appeared to be thinking deeply. +Mrs. Forbes gently closed the door, and sighed. It was nearly her +supper-time, and she felt pensive. + +"Madam?" she said again. + +Mrs. Greyne looked up. A strange fire burned in her large eyes. + +"Mrs. Forbes," she said at length, with weighty deliberation, "the +mission of woman in the world is a great one." + +"Very true, madam. My own words to Butler Phillips no longer ago than +dinner this midday." + +"It is the protecting of man--neither more nor less." + +"My own statement, madam, to Second Footman Archibald this self-same day +at the tea-board." + +"Man needs guidance, and looks for it to us--or rather to me." + +At the last word Mrs. Forbes pinched her lips together, and appeared +older than her years and sourer than her normal temper. + +"At this moment, Mrs. Forbes," continued Mrs. Greyne, with rising +fervour, "he looks for it to me from Africa. From that dark continent +he stretches forth his hands to me in humble supplication." + +"Mr. Greyne has not been taken with another of his bilious attacks, I +hope, madam?" said Mrs. Forbes. + +Mrs. Greyne smiled. The ignorance of the humbly born entertained her. It +was so simple, so transparent. + +"You fail to understand me," she answered. "But never mind; others have +done the same." + +She thought of her reviewers. Mrs. Forbes smiled. She also could be +entertained. + +"Madam?" she inquired once more after a pause. + +"I shall leave for Africa to-morrow morning," said Mrs. Greyne. "You +will accompany me." + +There was a dead silence. + +"You will accompany me. Do you understand? Obtain assistance from +the housemaids in the packing. Select my quietest gowns, my least +conspicuous bonnets. I have my reasons for wishing, while journeying to +Africa and remaining there, to pass, if possible, unnoticed." + +Again there was a pause. Mrs. Greyne looked up at Mrs. Forbes, and +observed a dogged expression upon her countenance. + +"What is the matter?" she asked the maid. + +"Do we go by Paris, madam?" said Mrs. Forbes. + +"Certainly." + +"Then, madam, I'm very sorry, but I couldn't risk it, not if it was ever +so----" + +"Why not? Why this fear of Lutetia?" + +"Madam, I'm not afraid of any Lutetia as ever wore apron, but to go +to Paris to be drugged with absint, and put away in a third-class +waiting-room like a package--I couldn't madam, not even if I have to +leave your service." + +Mrs. Greyne recognised that the episode of the valet had struck home to +the lady's maid. + +"But you will not leave my side." + +"They will absint you, madam." + +"But you will travel first in a sleeping-car." + +Mrs. Forbes put up her hand to her pork-pie cap, as if considering. + +"Very well, madam, to oblige you I will undergo it," she said at length. +"But I would not do the like for another living lady." + +"I will raise your wages. You are a faithful creature." + +"Does master expect us, madam?" asked Mrs. Forbes as she prepared to +retire. + +A bright and tender look stole into Mrs. Greyne's intellectual face. + +"No," she replied. + +She turned her large and beaming eyes full upon the maid. + +"Mrs. Forbes," she said, with an amount of emotion that was very rare in +her, "I am going to tell you a great truth." + +"Madam?" said Mrs. Forbes respectfully. + +"The sweetest moments of life, those which lift man nearest heaven, and +make him thankful for the great gift of existence, are sometimes those +which are unforeseen." + +She was thinking of Mr. Greyne's ecstasy when, upon the inhospitable +African shore where he was now enduring such tragic misfortunes, he +perceived the majestic form of his loved one--his loved one whom he +believed to be in Belgrave Square--coming towards him to soothe, to +comfort, to direct. She brushed away a tear. + +"Go, Mrs. Forbes," she said. + +And Mrs. Forbes retired, smiling. + +An epic might well be written on the great novelist's journey to Africa, +upon her departure from Charing Cross, shrouded in a black gauze veil, +her silent thought as the good ship _Empress_ rode cork-like upon the +Channel waves, her ascetic lunch--a captain's biscuit and a glass of +water--at the buffet at Calais, her arrival in Paris when the shades +of night had fallen. An epic might well be written. Perhaps some day it +will be, by herself. + +In Paris she suffered a good deal on account of Mrs. Forbes, who, in her +fear of "ab-sint," became hysterical, and caused not a little annoyance +by accusing various inoffensive French travellers of nefarious designs +upon her property and person. In the Gulf of Lyons she suffered even +more, and as, unluckily, the wind was contrary and the sea prodigious +during the whole of the passage across the Mediterranean, both she and +Mrs. Forbes arrived at Algiers four hours late, in a condition which may +be more easily imagined than properly described. + +Genius in thrall to the body, and absolutely dependent upon green +chartreuse for its flickering existence, is no subject for even a +sympathetic pen. Sufficient to say that, when the ship came in under the +lights of Algiers, the crowd of shouting Arabs was struck to silence by +the spectacle of Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes endeavouring to disembark, +in bonnets that were placed seaward upon the head instead of landward, +unbuttoned boots, and gowns soaked with the attentions of the waves. + +After being gently and permanently relieved of their light hand-baggage, +the mistress and maid, who seemed greatly overwhelmed by the sight +of Africa, and who moved--or rather were carried--as in a dream, were +placed reverently in the nearest omnibus, and conveyed to the farthest +hotel, which was situated upon a lofty hill above the town. Here a +slightly painful scene took place. + +Having been assisted by the staff into a Moorish hall, Mrs. Greyne +inquired in a reticent voice for her husband, and was politely informed +that there was no person of the name of Greyne in the hotel. For a +moment she seemed threatened with dissolution, but with a supreme effort +calling upon her mighty brain she surmised that her husband was possibly +passing under a pseudonym in order to throw America off the scent. She, +therefore, demanded to have the guests then present in the hotel at once +paraded before her. As there was some difficulty about this--the guests +being then at dinner--she whispered for the visitors' book, thinking +that, perchance, Mr. Greyne had inscribed his name there, and that the +staff, being foreign, did not recognise it as murmured by herself. The +book was brought, upon its cover in golden letters the words: "Hotel +Loubet et Majestic." Then explanations of a somewhat disagreeable nature +occurred, and Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, after a heavy payment had +been exacted for their conveyance to a place they had desired not to +go to, were carried forth, and consigned to another vehicle, which at +length brought them, on the stroke of nine, to the Grand Hotel. + +Having been placed reverently in the brilliantly-lighted hall, they were +surrounded by the proprietor, the _maitre d'hotel_ and his assistants, +the porters, and the chasseurs, with all of whom Mr. Greyne was +now familiar. Brandy and water having been supplied, together with +smelling-salts and burnt feathers, Mrs. Greyne roused herself from an +acute attack of lethargy, and asked for Mr. Greyne. A joyous smile ran +round the circle. + +"Monsieur Greyne," said the proprietor, "who is living here for the +winter?" 4 + +"Mr. Eustace Greyne," murmured the great novelist, grasping her bonnet +with both hands. + +The _maitre d'hotel_ drew nearer. + +"Madame wishes to see Monsieur Greyne?" he asked. + +"I do--at once." + +A blessed consciousness of Mother Earth was gradually beginning to steal +over her. She even strove feebly to sit up on her chair, a German-Swiss +porter of enormous size assisting her. + +"But Monsieur Greyne is out." + +"Out?" + +"Yes, madame. Monsieur Greyne is always out at night." + +The eyes of the little chasseur who knew no better began to twinkle. +Mrs. Forbes gave a slight cough. Tears filled the novelist's eyes. + +"God bless my Eustace!" she murmured, deeply touched by this evidence of +his devotion to her interests. + +"Madame says----" asked the proprietor. + +"Where does Mr. Greyne go?" inquired the novelist. + +"To the Kasbah, madame." + +"I knew it!" cried Mrs. Greyne, with returning animation. "I knew it +would be so!" + +"Madame is acquainted with Monsieur Greyne?" said the _maitre d'hotel_, +while the little crowd gathered more closely about the wave-worn group. + +"I am Mrs. Eustace Greyne," returned the great novelist recklessly. "I +am the wife of Mr. Eustace Greyne." + +There was a moment of supreme silence. Then a loud, an even piercing +"_Oh, la, la,_ broke upon the air, succeeded instantaneously by a burst +of laughter that seemed to thrill with all the wild blessedness of +boyhood. It came, of course, from the little chasseur; it came, and +stayed. Nothing could stop it, and eventually the happy child had to be +carried forth upon the sea-front to enjoy his innocent mirth at leisure +and in solitude beneath the African stars. Mrs. Greyne did not notice +his disappearance. She was intent upon important matters. + +"At what time does Mr. Greyne usually set forth?" she asked of the +proprietor, whose face now bore a strangely twisted appearance, as if +afflicted by a toothache. + +"Immediately after dinner, madame, if not before. Of late it has +generally been before." + +"And he stays out late?" + +"Very late, madame." + +The twisted appearance began to seem infectious. It was visible upon the +faces of most of those surrounding Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes. Indeed, +even the latter showed some signs of it, although the large shadow cast +over her features by the hind side of her Mother Hubbard bonnet to some +extent disguised them from the public view. + +"Till what hour?" pursued Mrs. Greyne in a voice of almost yearning +tenderness and pity. + +"Well, madame"--the proprietor displayed some slight confusion--"I +really can hardly say. The _maitre d'hotel_ can perhaps inform you." + +Mrs. Greyne turned her ox-like eyes upon the enlarged edition of +Napoleon the First. + +"Monsieur Greyne seldom returns before seven or eight o'clock in the +morning, madame. He then retires to bed, and comes down to breakfast at +about four o'clock in the afternoon." + +Mrs. Greyne was touched to the very quick. Her husband was sacrificing +his rest, his health--nay, perhaps even his very life--in her service. +It was well she had come, well that a period was to be put to these +terrible researches. They should be stopped at once, even this very +night. Better a thousand literary failures than that her husband's +existence should be placed in jeopardy. She rose suddenly from her +chair, tottered, gasped, recovered herself, and spoke. + +"Prepare dinner for me at once," she said, "and order a carriage and a +competent guide to be before the door in half-an-hour." + +"Madame is going out? But madame is ill, tired!" + +"It matters not." + +"Where does madame wish to go?" + +"I am going to the Kasbah to find my husband." + +"I will escort madame." + +The proprietor, the _maitre d'hotel_, the waiters, the porters, the +chasseurs, Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, all turned about to face the +determined speaker. + +And there before them, his dark eyes gleaming, his long moustaches +bristling fiercely--here stood Abdallah Jack. + + + + +VII + +Man is a self-deceiver. It must, therefore, ever be a doubtful point +whether Mr. Eustace Greyne, during his residence in Africa, absolutely +lost sight of his sense of duty; whether, beguiled by the lively +attentions of a fiercely foreign town, he deliberately resolved to +take his pleasure regardless of consequences and of the sacred ties of +Belgrave Square. We prefer to think that some vague idea of combining +two duties--that which he owed to himself and that which he owed to Mrs. +Greyne--moved him in all he did, and that the subterfuge into which +he was undoubtedly led was not wholly selfish, not wholly criminal. +Nevertheless, that he had lied to his beloved wife is certain. Even +while she sat over a cutlet and a glass of claret in the white-and-gold +dining-room of the Grand Hotel, preparatory to her departure to the +Kasbah with Abdallah Jack, the dozen of Merrin's exercise-books lay +upstairs in Mr. Greyne's apartments filled to the brim with African +frailty. Already there was material enough in their pages to furnish +forth a library of "Catherines." Yet Mr. Greyne still lingered far from +his home, and wired to that home fabricated accounts of the singular +innocence of Algiers. He even allowed it to be supposed that his +own innocence stood in the way of his fulfilment of Mrs. Greyne's +behests--he who could now have given points in knowledge of the world to +whole regiments of militiamen! + +It was not right, and, doubtless, he must stand condemned by every +moralist. But let it not be forgotten that he had fallen under the +influence of a Levantine. + +Mademoiselle Verbena's mother, hidden in some unnamed hospital of +Algiers, appeared to be one of those ingenious elderly ladies who can +hover indefinitely upon the brink of death without actually dying. +During the whole time that Mr. Greyne had been in Africa her state had +been desperate, yet she still clung to life. As her daughter said, she +possessed extraordinary vitality, and this vitality seemed to have been +inherited by her child. Despite her grave anxieties Mademoiselle Verbena +succeeded in sustaining a remarkable cheeriness, and even a fascinating +vivacity, when in the company of others. As she said to Mr. Greyne, +she did not think it right to lay her burdens upon the shoulders of her +neighbours. She, therefore, forced herself to appear contented, even at +various moments gay, when she and Mr. Greyne were lunching, dining, or +supping together, were driving upon the front, sailing upon the azure +waters of the bay, riding upon the heights beyond El-Biar, or, ensconced +in a sumptuous private box, listening to the latest French farce at one +or another of the theatres. Only one day, when they had driven out to +the monastery at La Trappe de Staoueli, did a momentary cloud descend +upon her piquant features, and she explained this by the frank +confession that she had always wished to become a nun, but had been +hindered from following her vocation by the necessity of earning money +to support her aged parents. Mr. Greyne had never seen the Ouled since +his first evening in Algiers, but he still paid her a weekly salary, +through Abdallah Jack, who explained to him that the interesting lady, +in a discreet retirement, was perpetually occupied in arranging the +exhibitions of African frailty at which he so frequently assisted. +She was, in fact, earning her liberal salary. Mademoiselle Verbena +and Abdallah Jack had met on several occasions, and Mr. Greyne had +introduced the latter to the former as his guide, and had generously +praised his abilities; but in Mademoiselle Verbena took very little +notice of him, and, as time went on, Abdallah Jack seemed to conceive +a most distressing dislike of her. On several occasions he advised Mr. +Greyne not to frequent her company so assiduously, and when Mr. Greyne +asked him to explain the meaning of his monitions he took refuge in +vague generalities and Eastern imagery. He had a profound contempt +for women as companions, which grieved Mr. Greyne's Western ideas, +and evidently thought that Mademoiselle Verbena ought to be clapped +forthwith into a long veil, and put away in a harem behind an iron +grille. When Mr. Greyne explained the English point of view Abdallah +Jack took refuge in a sulky silence; but during the week immediately +preceding the arrival of Mrs. Greyne his temper had become actively +bad, and Mr. Greyne began seriously to consider whether it would not +be better to pay him a last _douceur_, and tell him to go about his +business. + +Before doing this, however, Mr. Greyne desired to have one more +interview with the mysterious Ouled on the heights, to whom he owed the +knowledge which would henceforth enable him to cut out the militia. He +said so to Abdallah Jack. The latter agreed sulkily to arrange it; +and matters so fell out that on the night of Mrs. Greyne's arrival +her husband was seated in a room in one of the remotest houses of the +Kasbah, watching the Ouled's mysterious evolutions, while Mademoiselle +Verbena--as she herself had informed Mr.4 Greyne--sat in the hospital by +the bedside of her still dying mother. Abdallah Jack had apparently been +most anxious to assist at Mr. Greyne's interview with the Ouled, but +Mr. Greyne had declined to allow this. The evil temper of the guide was +beginning to get thoroughly upon his employer's nerves, and even the +natural desire to have an interpreter at hand was overborne by the +dislike of Abdallah Jack's morose eyes and sarcastic speeches about +women. Moreover, the Ouled spoke a word or two of uncertain French. + +Thus, therefore, things fell out, and such was the precise situation +when Mrs. Greyne flicked a crumb from her chocolate brocade gown, tied +her bonnet strings, and rose from table to set forth to the Kasbah with +Abdallah Jack. + +It was a radiant night. In the clear sky the stars shone brilliantly, +looking down upon the persistent convulsions of the little chasseur, who +had not yet recovered from his attack of merriment on learning who +Mrs. Greyne was. The sea, quite calm now that the great novelist was no +longer upon it, lapped softly along the curving shores of the bay. The +palm-trees of the town garden where the band plays on warm evenings +waved lazily in the soft and scented breeze. The hooded figures of the +Arabs lounged against the stone wall that girdles the sea-front. In the +brilliantly-illuminated restaurants the rich French population gathered +about the little tables, while the withered beggars stared in upon the +oyster shells, the champagne bottles, and the feathers in the women's +audacious hats. + +When Mrs. Greyne emerged upon the pavement before the Grand Hotel, +attended by Mrs. Forbes and the guide, she paused for a moment, and cast +a searching glance upon the fairy scene. In this voluptuous evening and +strange environment life seemed oddly dreamlike. She scarcely felt like +Mrs. Greyne. Possibly Mrs. Forbes also felt unlike herself, for she +suddenly placed one hand upon her left side, and tottered. Abdallah Jack +supported her. She screamed aloud. + +"Madam!" she said. "It is the vertigo. I am overtook!" + +She was really ill; her face, indeed, became the colour of a plover's +egg. + +"Let me go to bed, madam," she implored. "It is the vertigo, madam. I +am overtook!" + +Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Greyne would have prescribed a dose of +Kasbah air, but to-night she felt strange, and she wanted strangeness. +Mrs. Forbes with the vertigo, in a small carriage, would be +inappropriate. She, therefore, bade her retire, mounted into the vehicle +with Abdallah Jack, and was quickly driven away, her bonnet strings +floating upon the winsome wind. + +"You know my husband?" she asked softly of the guide. + +Abdallah Jack replied in French that he rather thought he did. + +"How is he looking?" continued Mrs. Greyne in a slightly yearning voice. +"My Eustace!" she added to herself, "my devoted one!" + +"Monsieur Greyne is pale as washed linen upon the Kasbah wall," replied +Abdallah Jack, lighting a cigarette, and wreathing the great novelist in +its grey-blue smoke. "He is thin as the Spahi's lance, he is nervous as +the leaves of the eucalyptus-tree when the winds blow from the north." + +Mrs. Greyne was seriously perturbed. + +"Would I had come before!" she murmured, with serious self-reproach. + +"Monsieur Greyne is worse than all the English," pursued Abdallah Jack +in a voice that sounded to Mrs. Greyne decidedly sinister. "He is worse +than the tourists of Rook, who laugh in the doorways of the mosques and +twine in their hair the dried lizards of the Sahara. Even the guide +of Rook rejected him. I only would undertake him because I am full of +evil." + +Mrs. Greyne began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, and to wish she +had not been so ready to pander to Mrs. Forbes' vertigo. She stole a +sidelong glance at her strange companion. The carriage was small. The +end of his bristling black moustache was very near. What he said of +Mr. Greyne did not disturb her, because she knew that her Eustace had +sacrificed his reputation to do her service; but what he said about +himself was not reassuring. + +"I think you must be doing yourself an injustice," she said in a rather +agitated voice. + +"Madame?" + +"I do not believe you are so bad as you imply," she continued. + +The carriage turned with a jerk out of the brilliantly-lighted +thoroughfare that runs along the sea into a narrow side street, crowded +with native Jews, and dark with shadows. + +"Madame does not know me." + +The exact truth of this observation struck home, like a dagger, to the +mind of Mrs. Greyne. + +"I am a wicked person," added Abdallah Jack, with a profound conviction. +"That is why Monsieur Greyne chose me as his guide." + +The novelist began to quake. Her chocolate brocade fluttered. Was she +herself to learn at first hand, and on her first evening in Africa, +enough about African frailty to last her for the rest of her life? And +how much more of life would remain to her after her stock of knowledge +had been thus increased? The carriage turned into a second side street, +narrower and darker than the last. + +"Are we going right?" she said apprehensively. + +"No, madame; we are going wrong--we are going to the wicked part of the +city." + +"But--but--you are sure Mr. Greyne will be there?" + +Abdallah Jack laughed sardonically. + +"Monsieur Greyne is never anywhere else. Monsieur Greyne is wicked as is +a mad Touareg of the desert." + +"I don't think you quite understand my husband," said Mrs. Greyne, +feeling in duty bound to stand up for her poor, maligned Eustace. +"Whatever he may have done he has done at my special request." + +"Madame says?" + +"I say that in all his proceedings while in Algiers Mr. Greyne has been +acting under my directions." + +Abdallah Jack fixed his enormous eyes steadily upon her. + +"You are his wife, and told him to come here, and to do as he has done?" + +"Ye-yes," faltered Mrs. Greyne, for the first time in her life feeling +as if she were being escorted towards the criminal dock by a jailer with +Puritan tendencies. + +"Then it is true what they say on the shores of the great canal," he +remarked composedly. + +"What do they say?" inquired Mrs. Greyne. + +"That England is a land of female devils," returned the guide as the +carriage plunged into a filthy alley, between two rows of blind houses, +and began to ascend a steep hill. + +Mrs. Greyne gasped. She opened her lips to protest vigorously, but her +head swam--either from indignation or from fatigue--and she could +not utter a word. The horses mounted like cats upward into the dense +blackness, from which dropped down the faint sounds of squealing music +and of hoarse cries and laughter. The wheels bounded over the stones, +sank into the deep ruts, scraped against the sides of the unlighted +houses. And Abdallah Jack sat staring at Mrs. Greyne as an English +clergyman's wife might stare at the appalling rites of some deadly +cannibal encountered in a far-off land, with a stony wonder, a sort of +paralysed curiosity. + +Suddenly the carriage stopped on a piece of waste land covered with +small pebbles. Abdallah Jack sprang out. + +"Why do we stop?" said Mrs. Greyne, turning as pale as ashes. + +"The carriage can go no farther. Madame must walk." + +Mrs. Greyne began to tremble. + +"We are to leave the coachman?" + +"I shall escort madame, alone." + +The great novelist's tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She felt +like a Merrin's exercise-book, every leaf of which was covered with +African frailty. However, there was no help for it. She had to descend, +and stand among the pebbles. + +"Where are we going?" + +Abdallah Jack waved his hand towards a stone rampart dimly seen in the +faint light that emanated from the starry sky. + +"Down there into the alley of the Dead Dervishes." + +Mrs. Greyne could not repress a cry of horror. At that moment she would +have given a thousand pounds to have Mrs. Forbes at her side. + +Abdallah Jack grasped her by the hand, and led her ruthlessly forward. +Gazing with terror-stricken eyes over the crumbling rampart of the +Kasbah, she saw the city far below her, the lights of the streets, the +lights of the ships in harbour. She heard the music of a bugle, and +wished she were a Zouave safe in barracks. She wished she were a +German-Swiss porter, a merry chasseur--anything but Mrs. Eustace Greyne. +One thing alone supported her in this hour of trial, the thought of her +husband's ecstasy when she appeared upon the dread scene of his awful +labours, to tell him that he was released, that he need visit them no +more. + +The alley of the Dead Dervishes is long and winding. To Mrs. Greyne it +seemed endless. As she threaded it with faltering step, gripped by the +feverish hand of Abdallah Jack, who now began to display a strange and +terrible excitement, she became a centre of curiosity. Unwashed Arabs, +rakish Zouaves in blue and red, wandering Jews of various nationalities, +unveiled dancing-girls covered with jewels, stared in wonder upon the +chocolate brocade and the floating bonnet strings, followed upon her +footsteps, pointing with painted fingers, and making remarks of a +personal nature in French, Arabic, and other unknown tongues. She moved +in the midst of a crowd, on and on before lighted interiors from which +wild music flowed. + +"Shall we never be there?" she panted to Abdallah Jack. "My limbs refuse +their office." She jogged against a Tunisian Jewess in a pointed hat, +and rebounded upon an enormous Riff in a tattered sheep-skin. "I can go +no farther." + +"We are there! Behold the house of the Ouled!" + +As he uttered the last word he burst into a bitter laugh, and drew Mrs. +Greyne, now gasping for breath, through an open doorway into a little +hall of imitation marble, with fluted pillars adorned with oilcloth, and +walls hung with imported oleographs. From a chamber on the right, near +a winding staircase covered with blue-and-white tiles, came the sound of +laughter, of song, and of a hideous music conveyed to the astonied ear +by pipes and drums. + +"They are in there!" exclaimed Abdallah Jack, folding his arms, and +looking at Mrs. Greyne. "Go to your husband!" + +Mrs. Greyne put her hands to her magnificent forehead, and tottered +forward. She reached the door, she pushed it, she entered. There upon a +wooden dais, surrounded by gilt mirrors and artificial roses, she beheld +her husband, in a check suit and a white Homburg hat, performing the +wildest evolutions, while opposite him a lady, smothered in coloured +silks and coins, tattooed and painted, dyed and scented, covered with +kohl and crowned with ostrich feathers, screamed a nasal chant of the +East, and bounded like an electrified monkey. + +"Eustace!" cried Mrs. Greyne, leaning for support against an oleograph. + +Her husband turned. + +"Eustace!" she cried again. "It is I!" + +He stood as if turned to stone. Mrs. Greyne hesitated, started, moved +forward to the dais, and stared upon the Ouled, who had also ceased from +dancing, and looked strangely surprised, even confused, by the great +novelist's intrusion. + +"Miss Verbena!" she exclaimed. "Miss Verbena in Algiers!" + +"Eugenia!" said Mr. Greyne in a husky voice, "what is this you say? +This lady is the Ouled." + +A sardonic laugh came from the doorway. They turned. There stood +Abdallah Jack. He advanced roughly to the Ouled. + +"Come," he said angrily. "Have we not earned the money of the stranger? +Have we not earned enough? To-morrow you shall marry me as you have +promised, and we will return to our own land, to the canal where you and +I were born. And nevermore shall the Levantine instruct the babes of +the English devils, but dwell veiled and guarded in the harem of her +master." + +"Mademoiselle Verbena!" said Mr. Greyne in a more husky voice. +"But--but--your dying mother?" + +"She sleeps, monsieur, in the white sands of Ismailia, beside the +bitter lake. I trust that madame can now go on with the respectable +'Catherine.'" + +And with an ironic reverence to Mrs. Eustace Greyne she placed her hand +in Abdallah Jack's and vanished from the room. + +"Catherine's Repentance," published in a gigantic volume not many weeks +ago, was preceded by Mr. Eustace Greyne's. When last heard of he was +seated in the magnificent library of the corner house in Park Lane next +to the Duke of Ebury's, busily engaged in pasting the newspaper notices +of Mrs. Greyne's greatest work into a superb new album. + +The Abdallah Jacks have returned to the Suez Canal, bearing with them +a snug little fortune to be invested in the purchase of a coal wharf +at Port Said, and a remarkably handsome crocodile dressing-case, fitted +with gold, and monogrammed with the initials "E. G." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne, by +Robert Hichens + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne + 1905 + +Author: Robert Hichens + +Release Date: November 8, 2007 [EBook #23415] +Last Updated: December 17, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE MISSION OF MR. EUSTACE GREYNE + </h1> + <h2> + By Robert Hichens + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers + </h3> + <h4> + Copyright, 1905 + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Eustace Greyne (pronounced Green) wrinkled her forehead—that + noble, that startling forehead which had been written about in the + newspapers of two hemispheres—laid down her American Squeezer pen, + and sighed. It was an autumn day, nipping and melancholy, full of the + rustle of dying leaves and the faint sound of muffin bells, and Belgrave + Square looked sad even to the great female novelist who had written her + way into a mansion there. Fog hung about with the policeman on the + pavement. The passing motor cars were like shadows. Their stertorous + pantings sounded to Mrs. Greyne’s ears like the asthma of dying monsters. + She sighed again, and murmured in a deep contralto voice: “It must be so.” + Then she got up, crossed the heavy Persian carpet which had been bought + with the proceeds of a short story in her earlier days, and placed her + forefinger upon an electric bell. + </p> + <p> + Like lightning a powdered giant came. + </p> + <p> + “Has Mr. Greyne gone out?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “In his study, ma’am, pasting the last of the cuttings into the new + album.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne smiled. It was a pretty picture the unconscious six-footer had + conjured up. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to disturb Mr. Greyne,” she answered, with that gracious, and + even curling suavity which won all hearts; “but I wish to see him. Will + you ask him to come to me for a moment?” + </p> + <p> + The giant flew, silk-stockinged, to obey the mandate, while Mrs. Greyne + sat down on a carved oaken chair of ecclesiastical aspect to await her + husband. + </p> + <p> + She was a famous woman, a personage, this simply-attired lady. With an + American Squeezer pen she had won fame, fortune, and a mansion in Belgrave + Square, and all without the sacrifice of principle. Respectability + incarnate, she had so dealt with the sorrows and evils of the world that + she had rendered them utterly acceptable to Mrs. Grundy, Mr. Grundy, and + all the Misses Grundy. People said she dived into the depths of human + nature, and brought up nothing that need scandalise a curate’s + grandmother, or the whole-aunt of an archdeacon; and this was so true that + she had made a really prodigious amount of money. Her large, her solid, + her unrelenting books lay upon every table. Even the smart set kept them, + uncut—like pretty sinners who have never been “found out”—to + give an air of haphazard intellectuality to frisky boudoirs, All the + clergy, however unable to get their tithes, bought them. All bishops + alluded to them in “pulpit utterances.” Fabulous prices were paid for them + by magazine editors. They ran as serials through all the tale of months. + The suburbs battened on them. The provinces adored them. Country people + talked of no other literature. In fact, Mrs. Eustace Greyne was a really + fabulous success. + </p> + <p> + Why, then, should she heave these heavy sighs in Belgrave Square? Why + should she lift an intellectual hand as though to tousle the glossy + chestnut bandeaux which swept back from her forcible forehead, and screw + her reassuring features into these wrinkles of perplexity and distress? + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and Mr. Eustace Greyne appeared, “What is it, Eugenia?” + upon his lips. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was a number of years younger than his celebrated wife, and + looked even younger than his years. He was a very smart man, with smooth, + jet-black hair, which he wore parted in the middle; pleasant, dark eyes + that could twinkle gently; a clear, pale complexion; and a nice, tall + figure. One felt, in glancing at him, that he had been an Eton boy, and + had at least thought of going into the militia at some period of his life. + His history can be briefly told. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had he emerged into the world before he met and was married to + Mrs. Eustace Greyne, then Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker. He had had no time + to sow a single oat, wild or otherwise; no time to adore a barmaid, or + wish to have his name linked with that of an actress; no time to do + anything wrong, or even to know, with the complete accuracy desired by all + persevering young men, what was really wrong. Miss Eugenia Hannibal-Barker + sailed upon his horizon, and he struck his flag to matrimony. Ever since + then he had been her husband, and had never, even for one second, emerged + beyond the boundaries of the most intellectual respectability. He was the + most innocent of men, although he knew all the important editors in + London. Swaddled in money by his successful wife, he considered her a + goddess. She poured the thousands into Coutts’ Bank, and with the arrival + of each fresh thousand he was more firmly convinced that she was a + goddess. To say he looked up to her would be too mild. As the Cockney + tourist in Chamounix peers at the summit of Mont Blanc, he peered at Mrs. + Greyne. And when, finally, she bought the lease of the mansion in Belgrave + Square, he knew her Delphic. + </p> + <p> + So now he appeared in the oracle’s retreat respectfully, “What is it, + Eugenia?” upon his admiring lips. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, my husband,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne subsided by the fire, placing his pointed patent-leather toes + upon the burnished fender. Without the fog grew deeper, and the chorus of + the muffin bells more plaintive. The fire-light, flickering over Mrs. + Greyne’s majestic features, made them look Rembrandtesque. Her large, + oxlike eyes were fixed and thoughtful. After a pause, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Eustace, I shall have to send you upon a mission.” + </p> + <p> + “A mission, Eugenia!” said Mr. Greyne in great surprise. + </p> + <p> + “A mission of the utmost importance, the utmost delicacy.” + </p> + <p> + “Has it anything to do with Romeike & Curtice?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Will it take me far?” + </p> + <p> + “That is my trouble. It will take you very far.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of London?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of—not out of England?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it will take you to Algeria.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” cried Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” Mr. Greyne repeated after a short interval. “Am I to go + alone?” “Of course you must take Darrell.” Darrell was Mr. Greyne’s valet. + </p> + <p> + “And what am I to do at Algiers?” + </p> + <p> + “You must obtain for me there the whole of the material for book six of + ‘Catherine’s Repentance,’” “Catherine’s Repentance” was the gigantic novel + upon which Mrs. Greyne was at that moment engaged. + </p> + <p> + “I will not disguise from you, Eustace,” continued Mrs. Greyne, looking + increasingly Rembrandtesque, “that, in my present work, I am taking a + somewhat new departure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but we are very comfortable here,” said Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + With each new book they had changed their abode. “Harriet” took them from + Phillimore Gardens to Queensgate Terrace; “Jane’s Desire” moved them on to + a corner house in Sloane Street; with “Isobel’s Fortune” they passed to + Curzon Street; “Susan’s Vanity” landed them in Coburg Place; and, finally, + “Margaret’s Involution” had planted them in Belgrave Square. Now, with + each of these works of genius Mrs. Greyne had taken what she called “a new + departure.” Mr. Greyne’s remark is, therefore, explicable. + </p> + <p> + “True. Still, there is always Park Lane.” + </p> + <p> + She mused for a moment. Then, leaning more heavily upon the carved lions + of her chair, she continued: + </p> + <p> + “Hitherto, although I have sometimes dealt with human frailty, I have + treated it gently. I have never betrayed a Zola-spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “Zola! My darling!” cried Mr. Eustace Greyne. “You are surely not going to + betray anything of that sort now!” + </p> + <p> + “If she does we shall soon have to move off to West Kensington,” was his + secret thought. + </p> + <p> + “No. But in book six of ‘Catherine’ I have to deal with sin, with tumult, + with African frailty. It is inevitable.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed once more. The burden of the new book was very heavy upon her. + </p> + <p> + “African frailty!” murmured the astonished Eustace Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “Now, neither you nor I, my husband, know anything about this.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, my darling. How should we? We have never explored beyond + Lucerne.” + </p> + <p> + “We must, therefore, get to know about it—at least you must. For I + cannot leave London. The continuity of the brain’s travelling must not be + imperiled by any violent bodily activity. In the present stage of my book + a sea journey might be disastrous.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly you should keep quiet, my love. But then—-” + </p> + <p> + “You must go for me to Algiers. There you must get me what I want. I fear + you will have to poke about in the native quarters a good deal for it, so + you had better buy two revolvers, one for yourself and one for Darrell.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne gasped. The calmness of his wife amazed him. He was not + intellectual enough to comprehend fully the deep imaginings of a mighty + brain, the obsession work is in the worker. + </p> + <p> + “African frailty is what I want,” pursued Mrs. Greyne. “One hundred + closely-printed pages of African frailty. You will collect for me the raw + material, and I shall so manipulate it that it will fall discreetly, even + elevatingly, into the artistic whole. Do you understand me, Eustace?” + </p> + <p> + “I am to travel to Algiers, and see all the wickedness to be seen there, + take notes of it, and bring them back to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “And how long am I to stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Until you have made yourself acquainted with the depths.” + </p> + <p> + “A fortnight?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think that would be enough. Take Brush’s remedy for seasickness + and plenty of antipyrin, your fur coat for the crossing, and a white + helmet and umbrella for the arrival. You have lead pencils?” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty.” + </p> + <p> + “A couple of Merrin’s exercise-books should be enough to contain your + notes.” + </p> + <p> + “When am I to go?” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better. I am at a standstill for want of the material. You + might catch the express to Paris to-morrow; no, say the day after + to-morrow.” She looked at him tenderly. “The parting will be bitter.” + </p> + <p> + “Very bitter,” Mr. Eustace Greyne replied. + </p> + <p> + He felt really upset. Mrs. Greyne laid the hand which had brought them + from Phillimore Gardens to Belgrave Square gently upon his. + </p> + <p> + “Think of the result,” she said. “The greatest book I have done yet. A + book that will last. A book that will——” + </p> + <p> + “Take us to Park Lane,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + The Rembrandtesque head nodded. The noble features, as of a strictly + respectable Roman emperor, relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “A book that will take us to Park Lane.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened, and the footman inquired: + </p> + <p> + “Could Mademoiselle Verbena see you for a minute, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of the two little Greynes. + The great novelist had consented to become a mother. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + In another moment Mademoiselle Verbena was added to the group beside the + fire. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + We have said that Mademoiselle Verbena was the French governess of little + Adolphus and Olivia Greyne, and so she was to this extent—that she + taught them French, and that Mr. and Mrs. Greyne supposed her to be a + Parisian. But life has its little ironies. Mademoiselle Verbena in the + house of this great and respectable novelist was one of them; for she was + a Levantine, born at Port Said of a Suez Canal father and a Suez Canal + mother. Now, nobody can desire to say anything against Port Said. At the + same time, few mothers would inevitably pick it out as the ideal spot from + which a beneficent influence for childhood’s happy hour would be certain + to emanate. Nor, it must be allowed, is a Suez Canal ancestry specially + necessary to a trainer of young souls. It may not be a drawback, but it + can hardly be described as an advantage. This, Mademoiselle Verbena was + intelligent enough to know. She, therefore, concealed the fact that her + father had been a dredger of Monsieur de Lesseps’ triumph, her mother a + bar-lady of the historic coal wharf where the ships are fed, and preferred + to suppose—and to permit others to suppose—that she had first + seen the light in the Rue St. Honoré, her parents being a count and + countess of some old régime. + </p> + <p> + This supposition, retained from her earliest years, had affected her + appearance and her manner. She was a very neat, very trim, even a very + attractive little person, with dark brown, roguish eyes, blue-black hair, + a fairy-like figure, and the prettiest hands and feet imaginable. She had + first attracted Mrs. Greyne’s attention by her devotion to St. Paul’s + Cathedral, and this devotion she still kept up. Whenever she had an hour + or two free she always—so she herself said—spent it in “<i>ce + charmant</i> St. Paul.” + </p> + <p> + As she entered the oracle’s retreat she cast down her eyes, and trembled + visibly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Miss Verbena?” inquired Mrs. Greyne, with a kindly English + accent, calculated to set any poor French creature quite at ease. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena trembled more. + </p> + <p> + “I have received bad news, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “I grieve to hear it. Of what nature?” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma has <i>une bronchite très grave</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “A what, Miss Verbena?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, madame. A very grave bronchitis. She cries for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “The doctors say she will die.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very sad.” + </p> + <p> + The Levantine wept. Even Suez Canal folk are not proof against all human + sympathy. Mr. Greyne blew his nose beside the fire, and Mrs. Greyne said + again: + </p> + <p> + “I repeat that this is very sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, if I do not go to mamma tomorrow I shall not see her more.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne looked very grave. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she remarked. She thought profoundly for a moment, and then added: + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Mademoiselle Verbena flung herself down on the Persian carpet at + Mrs. Greyne’s large but well-proportioned feet, and, bathing them with her + tears, cried in a heartrending manner: + </p> + <p> + “Madame will let me go! madame will permit me to fly to poor mamma—to + close her dying eyes—to kiss once again——” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was visibly affected, and even Mrs. Greyne seemed somewhat put + about, for she moved her feet rather hastily out of reach of the + dependant’s emotion, and made her scramble up. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your poor mother?” + </p> + <p> + “In Paris, madame. In the Rue St. Honoré, where I was born. Oh, if she + should die there! If she should——” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne raised her hand, commanding silence. + </p> + <p> + “You wish to go there?” + </p> + <p> + “If madame permits.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow? This is decidedly abrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais la bronchite, madame</i>, she is abrupt, and death, she may be + abrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “True. One moment!” + </p> + <p> + There was an instant’s silence for Mrs. Greyne to let loose her brain in. + She did so, then said: + </p> + <p> + “You have my permission. Go to-morrow, but return as soon as possible. I + do not wish Adolphus to lose his still uncertain grasp upon the irregular + verbs.” + </p> + <p> + In a flood of grateful tears Mademoiselle Verbena retired to make her + preparations. On the morrow she was gone. + </p> + <p> + The morrow was a day of much perplexity, much bustle and excitement for + Mr. Greyne and the valet, Darrell. They were preparing for Algiers. In the + morning, at an early hour, Mr. Greyne set forth in the barouche with Mrs. + Greyne to purchase African necessaries: a small but well-supplied medicine + chest, a pith helmet, a white-and-green umbrella, a Baedeker, a couple of + Smith & Wesson Springfield revolvers with a due amount of cartridges, + a dozen of Merrin’s exercise-books—on mature reflection Mrs. Creyne + thought that two would hardly contain a sufficient amount of African + frailty for her present purpose—a packet of lead pencils, some + bottles of a remedy for seasickness, a silver flask for cognac, and + various other trifles such as travellers in distant continents require. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Darrell was learning French for the journey, and packing his own + and his master’s trunks. The worthy fellow, a man of twenty-five summers, + had never been across the Channel—the Greynes being by no means + prone to foreign travel—and it may, therefore, be imagined that he + was in a state of considerable expectation as he laid the trousers, coats, + and waistcoats in their respective places, selected such boots as seemed + likely to wear well in a tropical climate, and dropped those shirts which + are so contrived as to admit plenty of ventilation to the heated body into + the case reserved for them. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Greyne returned from his shopping excursion the barouche, loaded + almost to the gunwale—if one may be permitted a nautical expression + in this connection—had to be disburdened, and its contents conveyed + upstairs to Mr. Greyne’s bedroom, into which Mrs. Greyne herself presently + entered to give directions for their disposing. Nor was it till the hour + of sunset that everything was in due order, the straps set fast, the keys + duly turned in the locks—the labels—“Mr. Eustace Greyne: + Passenger to Algiers: via Marseilles”—carefully written out in a + full, round hand. Rook’s tickets had been bought; so now everything was + ready, and the last evening in England might be spent by Mr. Greyne in the + drawing-room and by Darrell in the servants’ hall quietly, socially, + perhaps pathetically. + </p> + <p> + The pathos of the situation, it must be confessed, appealed more to the + master than to the servant. Darrell was very gay, and inclined to be + boastful, full of information as to how he would comport himself with + “them there Frenchies,” and how he would make “them pore, godless Arabs + sit up.” But Mr. Greyne’s attitude of mind was very different. As the + night drew on, and Mrs. Greyne and he sat by the wood fire in the + magnificent drawing-room, to which they always adjourned after dinner, a + keen sense of the sorrow of departure swept over them both. + </p> + <p> + “How lonely you will feel without me, Eugenia,” said Mr. Greyne. “I have + been thinking of that all day.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Eustace, how desolate will be your tale of days! My mind runs + much on that. You will miss me at every hour.” + </p> + <p> + “You are so accustomed to have me within call, to depend upon me for + encouragement in your life-work. I scarcely know how you will get on when + I am far across the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, for whom I have labored, for whom I have planned and calculated, + what will be your sensations when you realize that a gulf—the Gulf + of Lyons—is fixed irrevocably between us?” + </p> + <p> + So their thoughts ran. Each one was full of tender pity for the other. + Towards bedtime, however, conscious that the time for colloquy was running + short, they fell into more practical discourse. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Mr. Greyne, “whether I shall find any difficulty in + gaining the information you require, my darling. I suppose these places”—he + spoke vaguely, for his thoughts were vague—“are somewhat awkward to + come at. Naturally they would avoid the eye of day.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne looked profound. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Evil ever seeks the darkness. You will have to do the same.” + </p> + <p> + “You think my investigations must take place at night?” + </p> + <p> + “I should certainly suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “And where shall I find a cicerone?” + </p> + <p> + “Apply to Rook.” + </p> + <p> + “In what terms? You see, dearest, this is rather a special matter, isn’t + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very special. But on no account hint that you are in Algiers for + ‘Catherine’s’ sake. It would get into the papers. It would be cabled to + America. The whole reading world would be agog, and the future interest of + the book discounted.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne looked at his wife with reverence. In such moments he realized, + almost too poignantly, her great position. + </p> + <p> + “I will be careful,” he said. “What would you recommend me to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Well”—Mrs. Greyne knit her superb forehead—“I should suggest + that you present yourself as an ordinary traveler, but with a specially + inquiring bent of mind and a slight tendency towards the—the—er—hidden + things of life.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you wish me to visit the public houses?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you to see everything that has part or lot in African frailty. Go + everywhere, see everything. Bring your notes to me, and I will select such + fragments of the broken commandments as suit my purpose, which is, as + always, the edifying of the human race. Only this time I mean to purge it + as by fire.” + </p> + <p> + “That corner house in Park Lane, next to the Duke of Ebury’s, would suit + us very well,” said Mr. Greyne reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “We could sell our lease here at an advance,” his wife rejoined. “You will + not waste your journey, Eustace?” + </p> + <p> + “My love,” returned Mr. Greyne with decision, “I will apply to Rook on + arrival, and, if I find his man unsatisfactory, if I have any reason to + suspect that I am not being shown everything—more especially in the + Kasbah region, which, from the guide-books we bought to-day, is, I take + it, the most abandoned portion of the city—I will seek another + cicerone.” + </p> + <p> + “Do so. And now to bed. You must sleep well to-night in preparation for + the journey.” + </p> + <p> + It was their invariable habit before retiring to drink each a tumbler of + barley water, which was set out by the butler in Mrs. Greyne’s study. + After this nightcap Mrs. Greyne wrote up her anticipatory diary, while Mr. + Greyne smoked a mild cigar, and then they went to bed. To-night, as usual, + they repaired to the sanctum, and drank their barley water. Having done + so, Mr. Greyne drew forth his cigar-case, while Mrs. Greyne went to her + writing-table, and prepared to unlock the drawer in which her diary + reposed, safe from all prying eyes. + </p> + <p> + The match was struck, the key was inserted in the lock, and turned. As the + cigar end glowed the drawer was opened. Mr. Greyne heard a contralto cry. + He turned from the arm-chair in which he was just about to seat himself. + </p> + <p> + “My love, is anything the matter?” + </p> + <p> + His wife was bending forward with both hands in the drawer, telling over + its contents. + </p> + <p> + “My diary is not here!” + </p> + <p> + “Your diary!” + </p> + <p> + “It is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “But”—he came over to her—“this is very serious. I presume, + like all diaries, it is full of——” Instinctively he had been + about to say “damning”; he remembered his dear one’s irreproachable + character and substituted “precious secrets.” + </p> + <p> + “It is full of matter which must never be given to the world—my + secret thoughts, my aspirations. The whole history of my soul is there.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! It must be found.” + </p> + <p> + They searched the writing-table. They searched the room. No diary. + </p> + <p> + “Could you have taken it to my room, and left it there?” asked Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + They hastened thither, and looked—in vain. By this time the servants + were gone to bed, and the two searchers were quite alone on the ground + floor of their magnificent mansion. Mrs. Greyne began to look seriously + perturbed. Her Roman features worked. + </p> + <p> + “This is appalling,” she exclaimed. “Some thief, knowing it priceless, + must have stolen the diary. It will be published in America. It will bring + in thousands—but to others, not to us.” + </p> + <p> + She began to wring her hands. It was near midnight. + </p> + <p> + “Think, my love, think!” cried Mr. Greyne. “Where could you have taken it? + You had it last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. I remember writing in it that you would be sailing to Algiers + on the <i>Général Bertrand</i> on Thursday of this week, and that on the + night I should be feeling widowed here. The previous night I wrote that + yesterday I should have to tell you of your mission. You know I always put + down beforehand what I shall do, what I shall even think on each + succeeding day. It is a practice that regulates the mind and conduct, that + helps to uniformity.” + </p> + <p> + “How true! Who can have taken it? Do you ever leave it about?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. Am I a madwoman?” + </p> + <p> + “My darling, compose yourself! We must search the house.” + </p> + <p> + They proceeded to do so, and, on coming into the schoolroom, Mrs. Greyne, + who was in front, uttered a sudden cry. + </p> + <p> + Upon the table of Mademoiselle Verbena lay the diary, open at the + following entry:— + </p> + <p> + On Thursday next poor Eustace will be on board the <i>Général Bertrand</i>, + sailing for Algiers. I shall be here thinking of myself, and of him in + relation to myself. God help us both. Duty is sometimes stern. Mem. The + corner house in Park Lane, next the Duke of Ebury’s, has sixty years still + to run; the lease, that is. Thursday—poor Eustace! + </p> + <p> + “What does this portend?” cried Mrs. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “My darling, it passes my wit to imagine,” replied her husband. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + The parting of Mr. and Mrs. Greyne on the following morning was very + affecting. It took place at Victoria Station, in the midst of a small + crowd of admiring strangers, who had recognised the commanding presence of + the great novelist, and had gathered round to observe her manifestations. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne was considerably shaken by the event of the previous night. + Although, on the discovery of the diary, the house had been roused, and + all the servants closely questioned, no light had been thrown upon its + migration from the locked drawer to the schoolroom table. Adolphus and + Olivia, jerked from sleep by the hasty hands of a maid, could only weep + and wan. The powdered footmen, one and all, declared they had never heard + of a diary. The butler gave warning on the spot, keeping on his nightcap + to give greater effect to his pronunciamento. It was all most + unsatisfactory, and for one wild moment Mrs. Greyne seriously thought of + retaining her husband by her as a protection against the mysterious thief + who had been at work in their midst. Could it be Mademoiselle Verbena? The + dread surmise occurred, but Mr. Greyne rejected it. + </p> + <p> + “Her father was a count,” he said. “Besides, my darling, I don’t believe + she can read English; certainly not unless it is printed.” + </p> + <p> + So there the matter rested, and the moment of parting came. + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of respectful sympathy as Mrs. Greyne clasped her + husband tenderly in her arms, and pressed his head against her + prune-coloured bonnet strings. The whistle sounded. The train moved on. + Leaning from a reserved first-class compartment, Mr. Greyne waved a silk + pocket-handkerchief so long as his wife’s Roman profile stood out clear + against the fog and smoke of London. But at last it faded, grew remote, + took on the appearance of a feebly-executed crayon drawing, vanished. He + sank back upon the cushions—alone. Darrell was travelling second + with the dressing-case. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange sensation, to be alone, and <i>en route</i> to Algiers. + Mr. Greyne scarcely knew what to make of it. A schoolboy suddenly + despatched to Timbuctoo could hardly have felt more terribly emancipated + than he did. He was so absolutely unaccustomed to freedom, he had been for + so long without the faintest desire for it, that to have it thrust upon + him so suddenly was almost alarming. He felt lonely, anxious, horribly + unmarried. To divert his thoughts he drew forth a Merrin’s exercise-book + and a pencil, and wrote on the first page, in large letters, “<i>African + Frailty, Notes for</i>” Then he sat gazing at the title of his first + literary work, and wondering what on earth he was going to see in Algiers. + </p> + <p> + Vague visions of himself in the bars of African public-houses, in mosques, + in the two-pair-backs of dervishes, in bazaars—which he pictured to + himself like those opened by royalties at the Queen’s Hall—in + Moorish interiors surrounded by voluptuous ladies with large oval eyes, + black tresses, and Turkish trousers of spangled muslin, flitted before his + mental gaze. When the train ran upon Dover Pier, and the white horses of + the turbulent Channel foamed at his feet, he started as one roused from a + Rip Van Winkle sleep. Severe illness occupied his whole attention for a + time, and then recovery. + </p> + <p> + In Paris he dined at the buffet like one in a dream, and, at the appointed + hour, came forth to take the <i>rapide</i> for Marseilles. He looked for + Darrell and the dressing-case. They were not to be seen. There stood the + train. Passengers were mounting into it. Old ladies with agitated faces + were buying pillows and nibbling biscuits. Elderly gentlemen with yellow + countenances and red ribands in their coats were purchasing the <i>Figaro</i> + and the <i>Gil Blas</i>. Children with bare legs were being hauled into + compartments. Rook’s agent was explaining to a muddled tourist in a + tam-o’-shanter the exact difference between the words “Oui” and “Non” The + bustle of departure was in the air, but Darrell was not to be seen. Mr. + Greyne had left him upon the platform with minute directions as to the + point from which the train would start and the hour of its going. Yet he + had vanished. The most frantic search, the most frenzied inquiries of + officials and total strangers, failed to elicit his whereabouts, and, + finally, Mr. Greyne was flung forcibly upward into the <i>wagonlit</i>, + and caught by the <i>contrôleur</i> when the train was actually moving out + of the station. + </p> + <p> + A moment later he fell exhausted upon the pink-plush seat of his + compartment, realising his terrible position. He was now utterly alone; + without servant, hair-brushes, toothbrushes, razors, sponges, pajamas, + shoes. It was a solitude that might be felt. He thought of the sea journey + with no kindly hand to minister to him, the arrival in Africa with no + humble companion at his side, to wonder with him at the black inhabitants + and help him through the customs—to say nothing of the manners. He + thought of the dread homes of iniquity into which he must penetrate by + night in search of the material for the voracious “Catherine.” He had + meant to take Darrell with him to them all—Darrell, whose joyful + delight in the prospect of exploring the Eastern fastnesses of crime had + been so boyish, so truly English in its frank, its even boisterous + sincerity. + </p> + <p> + And now he was utterly alone, almost like Robinson Crusoe. + </p> + <p> + The <i>contrôleur</i> came in to make the bed. Mr. Greyne told him the + dreadful story. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt he has been lured away, monsieur. The dressing-case was of + value?” + </p> + <p> + “Crocodile, gold fittings.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably monsieur will never see him again. As likely as not he will + sleep in the Seine to-night, and at the morgue to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne shuddered. This was an ill omen for his expedition. He drank a + stiff whisky-and-soda instead of the usual barley water, and went to bed + to dream of bloody murders in which he was the victim. + </p> + <p> + When the train ran into Marseilles next morning he was an unshaven, + miserable man. + </p> + <p> + “Have I time to buy a tooth-brush,” he inquired anxiously at the station, + “before the boat sails for Algiers?” + </p> + <p> + The <i>chef de gare</i> thought so. Monsieur had four hours, if that was + sufficient. Mr. Greyne hastened forth, had a Turkish bath, purchased a new + dressing-case, ate a hasty <i>déjeuner</i>, and took a cab to the wharf. + It was a long drive over the stony streets. He glanced from side to side, + watching the bustling traffic, the hurry of the nations going to and from + the ships. His eyes rested upon two Arabs who were striding along in his + direction. Doubtless they were also bound for Algiers. He thought they + looked most wicked, and hastily took a note of them for “African Frailty.” + Beside his sense of loss and loneliness marched the sense of duty. The + great woman at home in Belgrave Square, founder of his fortunes, mother of + his children, she depended upon him. Even in his own hour of need he would + not fail her. He took a lead pencil, and wrote down: + </p> + <p> + Saw two Arab ruffians. Bare legs. Look capable of anything. Should not be + surprised to hear that they had—— + </p> + <p> + There he paused. That they had what? Done things. Of course, but what + things? That was the question. He exerted his imagination, but failed to + arrive at any conclusion as to their probable crimes. His knowledge of + wickedness was really absurdly limited. For the first time he felt + slightly ashamed of it, and began to wish he had gone into the militia. He + comforted himself with the thought that in a fortnight he would probably + be fit for the regular army. This thought cheered him slightly, and it was + with a slight smile upon his face that he welcomed the first glimpse of + the <i>Général Bertrand</i>, which was lying against the quay ready to + cast off at the stroke of noon. Most of the passengers were aboard, but, + as Mr. Greyne stepped out of his cab, and prepared to pay the Maltese + driver, a trim little lady, plainly dressed in black, and carrying a tiny + and rather coquettish hand-bag, was tripping lightly across the gangway. + Mr. Greyne glanced at her as he turned to follow, glanced, and then + started. That back was surely familiar to him. Where could he have seen it + before? He searched his memory as the little lady vanished. It was a + smart, even a <i>chic</i> back, a back that knew how to take care of + itself, a back that need not go through the world alone, a back, in fine, + that was most distinctly attractive, if not absolutely alluring. Where had + he seen it before, or had he ever seen it at all? He thought of his wife’s + back, flat, powerful, uncompromising. This was very different, more—how + should he put it to himself?—more Algerian, perhaps. He could + vaguely conceive it a back such as one might meet with while engaged in + adding to one’s stock of knowledge of—well—African frailty. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the steward appeared to show him to his cabin, and his + further reflections were mainly connected with the Gulf of Lyons. + </p> + <p> + Twilight was beginning to fall when, so far as he was capable of thinking, + he thought he would like a breath of air. For some moments he lay quite + still, dwelling on this idea which had so mysteriously come to him. Then + he got up, and thought again, seated upon the cabin floor. He knew there + was a deck. He remembered having seen one when he came aboard. He put on + his fur coat, still sitting on the cabin floor. The process took some time—he + fancied about a couple of years. At last, however, it was completed, and + he rose to his feet with the assistance of the washstand and the berth. + </p> + <p> + The ship seemed very busy, full of almost American activity. He thought a + greater calm would have been more decent, and waited in the hope that the + floor would presently cease to forget itself. As it showed no symptoms of + complying with his desire he endeavoured to spurn it, and, in the fulness + of time, gained the companion. + </p> + <p> + It was very strange, as he remembered afterwards, that only when he had + gained the companion did the sense of his utter loneliness rush upon him + with overwhelming force: one of the ironies of life, he supposed. + Eventually he shook the companion off with a good deal of difficulty, and + found himself installed upon planks under a grey sky, and holding fast to + a railing, which was all that interposed between him and eternity. + </p> + <p> + At first he was only conscious of greyness and the noise of winds and + waters, but presently a black daub seemed to hover for a second somewhere + on the verge of his world, to hover and disappear. He wondered what it + was. A smut, perhaps. He rubbed his face. The daub returned. It was very + large for a smut. He strove to locate it, and found that it must be + somewhere on his left cheek. With a great effort he took out his + pocket-handkerchief. Suddenly the daub assumed monstrous proportions. He + turned his head, and perceived the lady in black whom he had seen tripping + over the gangway on his arrival. + </p> + <p> + She was a few steps from him, leaning upon the rail in an attitude of the + deepest dejection, with her face averted; yet it struck him that her right + shoulder was oddly familiar, as her back had surely been. The turn of her + head, too—he coughed despairingly. The lady took no notice. He + coughed again. Interest was quickening in him. He was determined to see + the lady’s face. + </p> + <p> + This time she looked around, showing a pale countenance bedewed with + tears, and totally devoid of any expression which he could connect with a + consciousness of his presence. For a moment she stared vacantly at him, + while he, with almost equal vacancy, regarded her. Then a thrill of + surprise shook him. A sudden light of knowledge leaped up in him, and he + exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Verbena!” “Monsieur?” murmured the lady, with an accent of + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Verbena! Surely it is—it must be!” + </p> + <p> + He had staggered sideways, nearing her. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Verbena, do you not know me? It is I, Eustace Greyne, the + father of your pupils, the husband of Mrs. Eustace Greyne?” + </p> + <p> + An expression of stark amazement came into the lady’s face at these words. + She leaned forward till her eyes were close to Mr. Greyne’s then gave a + little cry. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> It is true! You are so altered that I could not + recognise. And then—what are you doing here, on the wide sea, far + from madame?” + </p> + <p> + “I was just about to ask you the very same question!” cried Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + “Alas, monsieur!” said Mademoiselle Verbena in her silvery voice, “I go to + see my poor mother.” + </p> + <p> + “But I understood that she was dying in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Even so. But, when I reached the Rue St. Honoré, I found that they had + removed to Algiers. It was the only chance, the doctor said—a warm + climate, the sun of Africa. There was no time to let me know. They took + her away at once. And now I follow—perhaps to find her dead.” + </p> + <p> + Large tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Greyne was deeply affected. + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope for the best,” he exclaimed, seized by a happy inspiration. + </p> + <p> + The Levantine strove to smile. + </p> + <p> + “But you, monsieur, why are you here? Ah! perhaps madame is with you! Let + me go to her! Let me kiss her dear hands once more——” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond excitement. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite alone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + A tragic expression came into the Levantine’s face. + </p> + <p> + “But, then——” she began. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible for him to tell her about “Catherine.” He was, + therefore, constrained to subterfuge. + </p> + <p> + “I—I was suddenly overtaken by—by influenza,” he said, in some + confusion. “The doctor recommended change of air, of scene.” + </p> + <p> + “He suggested Algiers——” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> It is like poor mamma!” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. Our constitutions are—are doubtless similar. I shall + take this opportunity also of improving my knowledge of African manners + and—and customs.” + </p> + <p> + A strange smile seemed to dawn for a second on Mademoiselle Verbena’s + face, but it died instantaneously in a grimace of pain. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Better stay!” he said. “The air will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, if I die, what matter? Unless mamma lives there is no one in the + world who cares for me, for whom I care.” + </p> + <p> + “There—there is Mrs. Greyne,” said her husband. “And then St. Paul’s—remember + St. Paul’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah <i>ce charmant</i> St. Paul’s! Shall I ever see him more?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at Mr. Greyne, and suddenly—he knew not why—Mr. + Greyne remembered the incident of the diary, and blushed. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur has fever!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne shook his head. The Levantine eyed him curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur wishes to say something to me, and does not like to speak.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But you have fever now!” cried Mr. Greyne anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Who can have taken the diary?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne blushed again. + </p> + <p> + “We think it was Thomas,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena looked at him steadily for a moment, then she cried: + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was startled by the abruptness of this pious ejaculation. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good man. You, at least, would not condescend to insult a + friendless woman by unworthy suspicions. And madame?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Greyne”—stammered Mr. Greyne—“is convinced that it was + Thomas. In fact—in fact, she was the first to say so.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena tenderly pressed his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Madame is an angel. God bless you both!” + </p> + <p> + She tottered into her cabin, and, as she shut the door, Mr. Greyne heard + the terrible, laughing hysterics beginning again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 of Louis + XVI., the poverty of her mother the countess, her own resolve to put aside + all aristocratic prejudices and earn her own living. He, in return, had + related his Eton days, his momentary bias towards the militia, his + marriage—as an innocent youth—with Miss Eugenia + Hannibal-Barker. Coming to later times, he was led to confide to the + tenderhearted Levantine the fact that he hoped to increase his stock of + knowledge while in Africa. Without alluding to “Catherine,” he hinted that + the cure of influenza was not his only reason for foreign travel. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to learn something of men and—and women,” he murmured in the + shell-like ear presented to him. “Of their passions, their desires, their—their + follies.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Mademoiselle Verbena. “Would that I could assist monsieur! But + I am only an ignorant little creature, and know nothing of the world! And + I shall be ever at the bedside of mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “You will give me your address? You will let me inquire for the countess?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly; but I do not know where I shall be. There will be a message at + the wharf. To what hotel goes monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “The Grand Hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “I will write there when I have seen mamma. And meanwhile——” + </p> + <p> + They were coming into harbour. The heights of Mustapha were visible, the + woods of the Bois de Boulogne, the towers of the Hotel Splendid. + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile, may I beg monsieur not to——” She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Not to what?” asked Mr. Greyne most softly. + </p> + <p> + “Not to let anyone in England know that I am here?” + </p> + <p> + She paused. Mr. Greyne was silent, wondering. Mademoiselle Verbena drooped + her head. + </p> + <p> + “The world is so censorious. It might seem strange that I—that + monsieur—a man young, handsome, fascinating—the same ship—I + have no chaperon—enfin——” + </p> + <p> + She could get out no more. Her delicacy, her forethought touched Mr. + Greyne to tears. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word,” he said. “You are right. The world is evil, and, as you say, + I am a—not a word!” + </p> + <p> + He ventured to press her hand, as an elder brother might have pressed it. + For the first time he realised that even to the husband of Mrs. Eustace + Greyne the world might attribute—Goodness gracious! What might not + the militia think, for instance? + </p> + <p> + He felt himself, for one moment, potentially a dog. + </p> + <p> + They parted in a whirl of Arabs on the quay. Mr. Greyne would have stayed + to assist Mademoiselle Verbena, but she bade him go. + </p> + <p> + She whispered that she thought it “better” that they should not seem to—<i>enfin!</i> + </p> + <p> + “I will write to-morrow,” she murmured. “<i>Au revoir!</i>” + </p> + <p> + On the last word she was gone. Mr. Greyne saw nothing but Arabs and hotel + porters. Loneliness seemed to close in on him once more. + </p> + <p> + That very evening, after a cup of tea, he presented himself at the office + of Rook near the Place du Gouvernement. As he came in he felt a little + nervous. There were no tourists in the office, and a courteous clerk with + a bright and searching eye at once took him in hand. + </p> + <p> + “What can we do for you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a stranger here,” began Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, sir, quite so.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk twiddled his business-like thumbs, and looked inquiring. + </p> + <p> + “And being so,” Mr. Greyne went on, “it is naturally my wish to see as + much of the town as possible; as much as possible, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You want a guide? Alphonso!” + </p> + <p> + Turning, he shouted to an inner room, from which in a moment emerged a + short, stout, swarthy personage with a Jewish nose, a French head, an Arab + eye with a squint in it, and a markedly Maltese expression. + </p> + <p> + “This is an excellent guide, sir,” said the clerk. “He speaks twenty-five + languages.” + </p> + <p> + The stout man, who—as Mr Greyne now perceived—had on a Swiss + suit of clothes, a panama hat, and a pair of German elastic-sided boots, + confessed in pigeon English, interspersed occasionally with a word or two + of something which Mr. Greyne took to be Chinese, that such was + undoubtedly the case. + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish to see? The mosque, the bazaars, St. Eugène, La Trappe, + Mustapha, the baths of the Etat-Major, the Jardin d’Essai, the + Villa-Anti-Juif, the——” + </p> + <p> + “One moment!” said Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “May I take a chair?” + </p> + <p> + “Be seated, sir, pray be seated, and confer with Alphonso.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he gave himself to an enormous ledger, while Mr. Greyne took a + chair opposite to Alphonso, who stood in a Moorish attitude looking + apparently in the direction of Marseilles. + </p> + <p> + “I have come here,” said Mr. Greyne, lowering his voice, “with a + purpose.”. + </p> + <p> + “You wish to see the Belle Fatma. I will arrange it. She receives every + evening in her house in the Rue ———” + </p> + <p> + “One minute! One minute! You said the something ‘Fatma’?” + </p> + <p> + “The Belle Fatma, the most beautiful woman of Africa. She receives every——” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me! One moment! Is this lady——” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne paused. + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” said Alphonso, settling his Spanish neck-tie, and gazing steadily + towards Marseilles. + </p> + <p> + “Is this lady—well, sinful?” + </p> + <p> + Alphonso threw up his hands with a wild Asiatic gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Sinful! La Belle Fatma! She is a lady of the utmost respectability known + to all the town. You go to her house at eight, you take coffee upon the + red sofas, you talk with La Belle, you see the dances and hear the music. + Do not fear, sir; it is good, it is respectable as England, your country——” + </p> + <p> + “If it is respectable I don’t want to see it,” interposed Mr. Greyne. “It + would be a waste of time.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk lifted his head from the ledger, and Alphonso, by means of + standing with his back almost square to Mr. Greyne, and looking over his + right shoulder, succeeded at length in fixing his eye upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I have not travelled here to see respectable things,” continued Mr. + Greyne, with a slight blush. “Quite the contrary.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” + </p> + <p> + The voice of Alphonso seemed to have changed, to have taken on a hard, + almost a menacing tone. Mr. Greyne thought of his beloved wife, of + Merrin’s exercise-books, and clenched his hands, endeavouring to feel, and + to go on, like a militiaman. + </p> + <p> + “Quite the contrary,” he repeated firmly; “my object in coming to Africa + is to—to search about in the Kasbah, and the disrep——” + </p> + <p> + He choked, recovered himself, and continued: “Disreputable quarters of + Algiers—hem———” + </p> + <p> + “What for, sir?” + </p> + <p> + The voice of Alphonso was certainly changed. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” said Mr. Greyne, growing purple. “For frailty.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “For frailty—for wickedness.” + </p> + <p> + A slight cackle emanated from the ledger, but immediately died away. A + dead silence reigned in the office, broken only by the distant sound of + the sea, and by the hard breathing of Alphonso, who had suddenly begun to + pant. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to go to all the wicked places—<i>all!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The ledger cackled again more audibly. Mr. Greyne felt a prickling + sensation run over him, but the thought of “Catherine” nerved him to his + awful task. + </p> + <p> + “It is my wife’s express desire that I should do so,” he added + desperately, quite forgetting Mrs. Greyne’s injunction to keep her dark in + his desire to stand well with Rook’s. + </p> + <p> + The ledger went off into a hyena imitation, and Alphonso, turning still + more away from Mr. Greyne, so as to get the eye fuller upon him, + exclaimed, in a mixture of Aryan and Eurasian languages: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I am a respectable, unmarried man. I was born in Buenos Ayres, + educated in Smyrna, came of age in Constantinople, and have practised as + guide in Bagdad and other particular cities. I refuse to have anything to + do with you and your wife.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he bounced into the inner room, and banged the door, while the + ledger gave itself up to peals of merriment, and Mr. Greyne tottered forth + upon the sea-front, bathed in a cold perspiration, and feeling more guilty + than a murderer. + </p> + <p> + It was a staggering blow. He leaned over the stone parapet of the low + wall, and let the soft breezes from the bay flit through his hair, and + thought of Mrs. Greyne spurned by Alphonso. What was he to do? Kicked out + of Rook’s, to whom could he apply? There must be wickedness in Algiers, + but where? He saw none, though night was falling and stout Frenchmen were + already intent upon their absinthe. + </p> + <p> + “Does monsieur wish to see the Kasbah to-night?” + </p> + <p> + Was it a voice from heaven? He turned, and saw standing beside him a tall, + thin, audacious-looking young man, with coal-black moustaches, magnificent + eyes, and an air that was half-languid, half-serpentine. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a guide, monsieur. Here are my certificates.” + </p> + <p> + He produced from the inner pocket of his coat a large bundle of dirty + papers. + </p> + <p> + “If monsieur will deign to look them over.” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Greyne waved them away. What did he care for Certificates? Here + was a guide to African frailty. That was sufficient. He was in a desperate + mood, and uttered desperate words. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said rapidly, “are you wicked?” + </p> + <p> + “Very wicked, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” + </p> + <p> + “Wicked, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Right!” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that it is good for me that you are wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is very good.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I wish to be—that is, to see the other thing. Can you + undertake to show me everything shocking in Algiers?” + </p> + <p> + “But certainly, monsieur. For a consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Name your price.” + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred pounds, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne started. It seemed a high figure. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur thought it would be more? I make a special price, because I have + taken a fancy to monsieur. I remove fifty pounds. Monsieur, of course, + will pay all expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course.” + </p> + <p> + It was no time to draw back. + </p> + <p> + “How long will it take?” + </p> + <p> + “To see all the shocking—?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a good deal. A fortnight, three weeks. It depends on monsieur. + If he is strong, and can do without sleep——” + </p> + <p> + “We shall have to be up at night?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go to bed during the day, and get through it in a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Be at the Grand Hotel to-night at ten o’clock precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “At ten o’clock I will be there. Monsieur will pay a little in advance?” + </p> + <p> + “Here are twenty pounds,” cried Mr. Greyne recklessly. + </p> + <p> + The audacious-looking young man took the notes with decision, made a + graceful salute, and disappeared in the direction of the quay, while Mr. + Greyne walked to his hotel, flushed with excitement, and feeling like the + most desperate criminal in Africa. If the militia could see him now! + </p> + <p> + At dinner he drank a bottle of champagne, and afterwards smoked a strong + cigar over his coffee and liqueur. As he was finishing these frantic + enjoyments the head waiter—a personage bearing a strong resemblance + to an enlarged edition of Napoleon the First—approached him rather + furtively, and, bending down, whispered in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “A gentleman has called to take monsieur to the Kasbah.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne started, and flushed a guilty red. + </p> + <p> + “I will come in a moment,” he answered, trying to assume a nonchalant + voice, such as that in which a hardened major of dragoons announces that + in his time he was a devil of a fellow. + </p> + <p> + The head waiter retired, looking painfully intelligent, and Mr. Greyne + sprang upstairs, seized a Merrin’s exercise-book and a lead pencil, put on + a dark overcoat, popped one of the Springfield revolvers into the pocket + of it, and hastened down into the hall of the hotel, where the + audacious-looking young man was standing, surrounded by saucy chasseurs in + gay liveries and peaked caps, by Algerian waiters, and by German-Swiss + porters, all of whom were smiling and looking choke-full of sympathetic + comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” said Mr. Greyne, still in the major’s, voice. “There you are!” + </p> + <p> + “Behold me, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s good.” + </p> + <p> + “Wicked, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s be off to the mosque.” + </p> + <p> + One of the chasseurs—a child of eight who was thankful that he knew + no better—burst into a piping laugh. The waiters turned hastily + away, and the German-Swiss porters retreated to the bureau with some + activity. + </p> + <p> + “To the mosque—precisely, monsieur,” returned the guide, with + complete self-possession. + </p> + <p> + They stepped out at once upon the pavement, where a carriage was in + waiting. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” inquired Mr. Greyne in an anxious voice. + </p> + <p> + “We are going to the heights to see the Ouled,” replied the guide. “<i>En + avant!</i>” + </p> + <p> + He bounded in beside Mr. Greyne, the coachman cracked his whip, the horses + trotted. They were off upon their terrible pilgrimage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + On the following afternoon, at a quarter to three, when Mr. Greyne came + down to breakfast, he found, lying beside the boiled eggs, a note directed + to him in a feminine handwriting. He tote it open with trembling fingers, + and read as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 Rue du Petit Neore. + + Dear Monsieur,—I am here. Poor mamma is in the hospital. I + am allowed to see her twice a day. At all other times I + remain alone, praying and weeping. I trust that monsieur has + passed a good night. For me, I was sleepless, thinking of + mamma. I go now to church. + + Adele Verbena. +</pre> + <p> + He laid this missive down, and sighed deeply. How strangely innocent it + was, how simple, how sincere! There were white souls in Algiers—yes, + even in Algiers. Strange that he should know one! Strange that he, who had + filled a Merrin’s exercise-book with tiny writing, and had even overflowed + on to the cover after “crossing” many pages, should receive the child-like + confidences of one! “I go now to the church.” Tears came into his eyes as + he laid the letter down beside a pile of buttered toast over which the + burning afternoon sun of Africa was shining. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur will take milk and sugar?” + </p> + <p> + It was the head waiter’s Napoleonic voice. Mr. Greyne controlled himself. + The man was smiling intelligently. All the staff of the hotel smiled + intelligently at Mr. Greyne to-day—the waiters, the porters, the + chasseurs. The child of eight who was thankful that he knew no better had + greeted him with a merry laugh as he came down to breakfast, and an “<i>Oh, + là, là!</i>” which had elicited a rebuke from the proprietor. Indeed, a + wave of human sympathy flowed upon Mr. Greyne, whose ashy face and dull, + washed-out eyes betrayed the severity of his night-watch. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur will feel better after a little food.” + </p> + <p> + The head waiter handed the buttered toast with bland majesty, at the same + time shooting a reproving glance at the little chasseur, who was peeping + from behind the door at the afternoon breakfaster. + </p> + <p> + “I feel perfectly well,” replied Mr. Greyne, with an attempt at + cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + “Still, monsieur will feel much better after a little food.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne began to toy with an egg. + </p> + <p> + “You know Algiers?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I was born here, monsieur. If monsieur wishes to explore to-night again + the Kasbah I can——” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Greyne stopped him with a gesture that was almost fierce. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the Rue du Petit Nègre?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur wishes to go there to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to go there now, directly I have finished break—lunch.” + </p> + <p> + The head waiter’s face was wreathed with humorous surprise. + </p> + <p> + “But monsieur is wonderful—superb! Never have I seen a traveller + like monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + He gazed at Mr. Greyne with tropical appreciation. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur had better have a carriage. The street is difficult to find.” + </p> + <p> + “Order me one. I shall start at once.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne pushed away the sunlit buttered toast, and got up. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is superb. Never have I seen a traveller like monsieur!” + Napoleon’s voice was almost reverent. He hastened out, followed slowly by + Mr. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “A carriage for monsieur! Monsieur desires to go to the Rue du Petit + Nègre!” + </p> + <p> + The staff of the hotel gathered about the door as if to speed a royal + personage, and Mr. Greyne noticed that their faces too were touched with + an almost startled reverence. He stepped into the carriage, signed feebly, + but with determination, to the Arab coachman, and was driven away, + followed by a parting “<i>Oh, là là!</i>” from the chasseur, uttered in a + voice that sounded shrill with sheer amazement. + </p> + <p> + Through winding, crowded streets he went, by bazaars and Moorish + bath-houses, mosques and Catholic churches, barracks and cafés, till at + length the carriage turned into an alley that crept up a steep hill. It + moved on a little way, and then stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur must descend here,” said the coachman. “Mount the steps, go to + the right and then to the left. Near the summit of the hill he will find + the Rue du Petit Nègre. Shall I wait for monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The coachman began to make a cigarette, while Mr. Greyne set forth to + follow his directions, and, at length, stood before an arch, which opened + into a courtyard adorned with orange-trees in tubs, and paved with blue + and white tiles. Around this courtyard was a three-storey house with a + flat roof, and from a bureau near a little fountain a stout Frenchwoman + called to demand his business. He asked for Mademoiselle Verbena, and was + at once shown into a saloon lined with chairs covered with yellow rep, and + begged to take a seat. In two minutes Mademoiselle Verbena appeared, + drying her eyes with a tiny pocket-handkerchief, and forcing a little + pathetic smile of welcome. Mr. Greyne clasped her hand in silence. She sat + down in a rep chair at his right, and they looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais, mon Dieu!</i> How monsieur is changed!” cried the Levantine. “If + madame could see him! What has happened to monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Verbena,” replied Mr. Greyne, “I have seen the Ouled on the + heights.” + </p> + <p> + A spasm crossed the Levantine’s face. She put her handkerchief to it for a + moment. “What is an Ouled?” she inquired, withdrawing it. + </p> + <p> + “I dare not tell you,” he replied solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “But indeed I wish to know, so that I may sympathise with monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne hesitated, but his heart was full; he felt the need of + sympathy. He looked at Mademoiselle Verbena, and a great longing to + unburden himself overcame him. + </p> + <p> + “An Ouled,” he replied, “is a dancing-girl from the desert of Sahara.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> How does she dance? Is it a valse, a polka, a + quadrille?” “No. Would that it were!” And Mr. Greyne, unable further to + govern his desire for full expression, gave Mademoiselle Verbena a + slightly Bowdlerised description of the dances of the desert. She heard + him with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “How terrible!” she exclaimed when he had finished. “And does one pay much + to see such steps of the Evil One?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave her twenty pounds. Abdallah Jack——” + </p> + <p> + “Abdallah Jack?” + </p> + <p> + “My guide informed me that was the price. He tells me it is against the + law, and that each time an Ouled dances she risks being thrown into + prison.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor lady! How sad to have to earn one’s bread by such devices, instead + of by teaching to the sweet little ones of monsieur the sympathetic + grammar of one’s native country.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was touched to the quick by this allusion, which brought, as in + a vision, the happy home in Belgrave Square before him. + </p> + <p> + “You are an angel!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “And this poor Ouled, you will go to her again? + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It seems that she is in communication with all the—the—well, + all the odd people of Algiers, and that one can only get at them through + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “Abdallah Jack tells me that while I am here I should pay her a weekly + salary, and that, in return, I shall see all the terrible ceremonies of + the Arabs. I have decided to do so——— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have decided!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Mr. Greyne started. There seemed a new sound in Mademoiselle + Verbena’s voice, a gleam in her dark brown eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, looking at her in wonder. “But I have not yet told + Abdallah Jack.” + </p> + <p> + The Levantine looked gently sad again. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said in her usual pathetic voice, “how my heart bleeds for this + poor Ouled. By the way, what is her name?” + </p> + <p> + “Aishoush.” + </p> + <p> + “She is beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know. She was so painted, so tattooed, so very—so very + different from Mrs. Eustace Greyne.” + </p> + <p> + “How sad! How terrible! Ah, but you must long for the dear bonnet strings + of madame?” + </p> + <p> + Did he? As she spoke Mr. Greyne asked himself the question. Shocked as he + was, fatigued by his researches, did he wish that he were back again in + Belgrave Square, drinking barley water, pasting notices of his wife’s + achievements into the new album, listening while she read aloud from the + manuscript of her latest novel? He wondered, and—how strange, how + almost terrible—he was not sure. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not so?” murmured Mademoiselle Verbena. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally I miss my beloved wife,” said Mr. Greyne with a certain + awkwardness. “How is your poor, dear mother?” + </p> + <p> + Tears came at once into the Levantine’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Very, very ill, monsieur. Still there is a chance—just a chance + that she may not die. Ah, when I sit here all alone in this strange place, + I feel that she will perish, that soon I shall be quite deserted in this + cruel, cruel world!” + </p> + <p> + The tears began to flow down her cheeks with determination. Mr. Greyne was + terribly upset. + </p> + <p> + “You must cheer up,” he exclaimed. “You must hope for the best.” + </p> + <p> + “Sitting here alone, how can I?” + </p> + <p> + She sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “Sitting here alone—very true!” + </p> + <p> + A sudden thought, a number of sudden thoughts, struck him. + </p> + <p> + “You must not sit here alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “You must come out. You must drive. You must see the town, distract + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But how? Can a—a girl go about alone in Algiers?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid! No; I will escort you.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + A smile of innocent, girlish joy transformed her face, but suddenly she + was grave again. + </p> + <p> + “Would it be right, <i>convenable?</i>” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Greyne was reckless. The dog potential rose up in him again. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? And, besides, who knows us here? Not a soul.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Put on your bonnet. Let us start at once!” + </p> + <p> + “But I do not wear the bonnet. I am not like madame.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure. Your hat.” + </p> + <p> + And as she flew to obey him, Mr. Eustace Greyne found himself impiously + thanking the powers that be for this strange chance of going on the spree + with a toque. When Mademoiselle Verbena returned he was looking almost + rakish. He eyed her neat black hat and close-fitting black jacket with a + glance not wholly unlike that of a militiaman. In her hand she held a + vivid scarlet parasol. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, “it is terrible, this <i>ombrelle</i>, when mamma + lies at death’s door. But what can I do? I have no other, and cannot + afford to buy one. The sun is fierce. I dare not expose myself to it + without a shelter.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed really distressed as she opened the parasol, and spread the + vivid silk above her pretty black-clothed figure; but Mr. Greyne thought + the effect was brilliant, and ventured to say so. As they passed the + bureau by the fountain on their way out the stout Frenchwoman cast an + approving glance at Mademoiselle Verbena. + </p> + <p> + “The little rat will not see much more of the little negro now,” she + murmured to herself. “After all the English have their uses.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + In Belgrave Square Mrs. Eustace Greyne was beginning to get slightly + uneasy. Several things combined to make her so. In the first place, + Mademoiselle Verbena had never returned from her mother’s Parisian + bedside, and had not even written a line to say how the dear parent was, + and when the daughter’s nursing occupation was likely to be over. In the + second place, Adolphus, in consequence of the Levantine’s absence, had + totally lost his grasp, always uncertain, upon the irregular verbs. In the + third place, Darrell, the valet, had returned to London the day after his + departure from it, minus not only his master’s dressing-case, but minus + everything he possessed. His story was that, while waiting at the station + in Paris for his master’s appearance, he had entered into conversation + with an agreeable stranger, and been beguiled into the acceptance of an + absinthe at a café just outside. After swallowing the absinthe he + remembered nothing more till he came to himself in a deserted waiting-room + at the Gare du Nord, back to which he had been mysteriously conveyed. In + his pocket was no money, no watch, only the return half of a second-class + ticket from London to Paris. He, therefore, wandered about the streets + till morning broke, and then came back to London a crestfallen and + miserable man, bemoaning his untoward fate, and cursing “them blasted + Frenchies” from the bottom of his British heart. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne’s anxiety on her husband’s behalf, now that he was thrown + absolutely unattended upon the inhospitable shores of Africa, was not + lessened by a fourth circumstance, which, indeed, worried her far more + than all the others put together. This was Mr. Greyne’s prolonged absence + from her side. Precisely one calendar month had now elapsed since he had + buried his face in her prune bonnet strings at Victoria Station, and there + seemed no prospect of his return. He wrote to her, indeed, frequently, and + his letters were full of wistful regret and longing to be once more safe + in the old homestead in Belgrave Square, drinking barley water, and + pasting Romeike & Curtice notices into the new album which lay, gaping + for him, upon the table of his sanctum. But he did not come; nay, more, he + wrote plainly that there was no prospect of his coming for the present. It + seemed that the wickedness of Africa was very difficult to come at. It did + not lie upon the surface, but was hidden far down in depths to which the + ordinary tourist found it almost impossible to penetrate. In his numerous + letters Mr. Greyne described his heroic and unremitting exertions to fill + the Merrin’s note-books with matter that would be suitable for the purging + of humanity. He set out in full his interview with Alphonso at the office + of Rook, and his definite rejection by that cosmopolitan official. + According to the letters, after this event he had spent no less than a + fortnight searching in vain for any sign of wickedness in the Algerian + capital. He had frequented the cafés, the public bars, the theatres, the + churches. He had been to the Velodrome. He had sat by the hour in the + Jardin d’Essai. At night he had strolled in the fairs and hung about the + circus. Yet nowhere had he been able to perceive anything but the most + innocent pleasure, the simple merriment of a gay and guileless population + to whom the idea of crime seemed as foreign as the idea of singing the + English national anthem. + </p> + <p> + During the third week it was true that matters—always according to + Mr. Greyne’s letters home—slightly improved. While walking near the + quay, in active search for nautical outrage, he saw an Arab dock labourer, + who had been over-smoking kief, run amuck, and knock down a couple of + respectable snake-charmers who were on the point of embarkation for Tunis + with their reptiles. This incident had filed up a half-score of pages in + exercise-book number one, and had flooded Mr. Greyne with hope and + aspiration. But it was followed by a stagnant lull which had lasted for + days and had only been disturbed by the trifling incident of a gentleman + in the Jewish quarter of the town setting fire to a neighbour’s bazaar, in + the very natural endeavour to find a French half-penny which he had + chanced to drop among a bale of carpets while looking in to drive a soft + bargain. As Mrs. Greyne wired to Algiers, such incidents were of no value + to “Catherine.” + </p> + <p> + A very active interchange of views had gone on between the husband and + wife as time went by, and the book was at a standstill. At first Mrs. + Greyne contented herself with daily letters, but latterly she had resorted + to wires, explanatory, condemnatory, hortatory, and even comminatory. She + began bitterly to regret her husband’s well-proven innocence, and wished + she had despatched an uncle of hers by marriage, an ex-captain in the + Royal Navy, who, she began to feel certain, would have been able to find + far more frailty in Algiers than poor Eustace, in his simplicity, would + ever come at. She even began to wish that she had crossed the sea in + person, and herself boldly set about the ingathering of the material for + which she was so impatiently waiting. + </p> + <p> + Her uneasiness was brought to a head by a letter from a house agent, + stating that the corner mansion in Park Lane next to the Duke of Ebury’s + was being nibbled at by a Venezuelan millionaire. She wired this terrible + fact at once to Africa, adding, at an enormous expenditure of cash: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This will never do. You are too innocent, and cannot see + what lies before you. Obtain assistance. Go to the British + consul. +</pre> + <p> + Mr. Greyne at once cabled back: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Am following your advice. Will wire result. Regret my + innocence, but am distressed that you should so utterly + condemn it. +</pre> + <p> + Upon receiving this telegram at night, before a lonely dinner, Mrs. + Eustace Greyne was deeply moved. She felt she had been hasty. She knew + that to very few women was it given to have a husband so free from all + masculine infirmities as Mr. Greyne. At the same time there was + “Catherine,” there was the mansion in Park Lane, there was the Venezuelan + millionaire. She began to feel distracted, and, for the first time in her + life, refused to partake of sweetbreads fried in mushroom ketchup, a dish + which she had greatly affected from the time when she wrote her first + short story. While she was in the very act of waving away this delicacy a + footman came in with a foreign telegram. She opened it quickly, and read + as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + British consul horrified; was ignominiously expelled from + consulate; great scandal; am much upset, but will never give + in, for your sake. Eustace. +</pre> + <p> + As the dread meaning of these words penetrated at length to Mrs. Greyne’s + voluminous brain a deep flush overspread her noble features. She rose from + the table with a determination that struck awe to the hearts of the + powdered underlings, and, drawing herself up to her full height, + exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Send Mrs. Forbes at once to my study, if you please—at once, do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + In a moment Mrs. Forbes, who was the great novelist’s maid, appeared on + the threshold of the oracle’s lair. She was a sober-looking, black-silk + personage, who always wore a pork-pie cap in the house, and a Mother + Hubbard bonnet out of it. Having been in service with Mrs. Greyne ever + since the latter penned her last minor poetry—Mrs. Greyne had been a + minor poet for three years soon after she put her hair up—Mrs. + Forbes had acquired a certain literary expression of countenance and a + manner that was decidedly prosy. She read a good deal after her supper of + an evening, and was wont to be the arbiter when any literary matter was + discussed in the servants’ hall. + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” she said, respectfully entering the room, and bending the + pork-pie cap forward in an attentive attitude. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne was silent for a moment. She appeared to be thinking deeply. + Mrs. Forbes gently closed the door, and sighed. It was nearly her + supper-time, and she felt pensive. + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” she said again. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne looked up. A strange fire burned in her large eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Forbes,” she said at length, with weighty deliberation, “the mission + of woman in the world is a great one.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true, madam. My own words to Butler Phillips no longer ago than + dinner this midday.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the protecting of man—neither more nor less.” + </p> + <p> + “My own statement, madam, to Second Footman Archibald this self-same day + at the tea-board.” + </p> + <p> + “Man needs guidance, and looks for it to us—or rather to me.” + </p> + <p> + At the last word Mrs. Forbes pinched her lips together, and appeared older + than her years and sourer than her normal temper. + </p> + <p> + “At this moment, Mrs. Forbes,” continued Mrs. Greyne, with rising fervour, + “he looks for it to me from Africa. From that dark continent he stretches + forth his hands to me in humble supplication.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Greyne has not been taken with another of his bilious attacks, I + hope, madam?” said Mrs. Forbes. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne smiled. The ignorance of the humbly born entertained her. It + was so simple, so transparent. + </p> + <p> + “You fail to understand me,” she answered. “But never mind; others have + done the same.” + </p> + <p> + She thought of her reviewers. Mrs. Forbes smiled. She also could be + entertained. + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” she inquired once more after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “I shall leave for Africa to-morrow morning,” said Mrs. Greyne. “You will + accompany me.” + </p> + <p> + There was a dead silence. + </p> + <p> + “You will accompany me. Do you understand? Obtain assistance from the + housemaids in the packing. Select my quietest gowns, my least conspicuous + bonnets. I have my reasons for wishing, while journeying to Africa and + remaining there, to pass, if possible, unnoticed.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a pause. Mrs. Greyne looked up at Mrs. Forbes, and + observed a dogged expression upon her countenance. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked the maid. + </p> + <p> + “Do we go by Paris, madam?” said Mrs. Forbes. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, madam, I’m very sorry, but I couldn’t risk it, not if it was ever + so——” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Why this fear of Lutetia?” + </p> + <p> + “Madam, I’m not afraid of any Lutetia as ever wore apron, but to go to + Paris to be drugged with absint, and put away in a third-class + waiting-room like a package—I couldn’t madam, not even if I have to + leave your service.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne recognised that the episode of the valet had struck home to + the lady’s maid. + </p> + <p> + “But you will not leave my side.” + </p> + <p> + “They will absint you, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will travel first in a sleeping-car.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Forbes put up her hand to her pork-pie cap, as if considering. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, madam, to oblige you I will undergo it,” she said at length. + “But I would not do the like for another living lady.” + </p> + <p> + “I will raise your wages. You are a faithful creature.” + </p> + <p> + “Does master expect us, madam?” asked Mrs. Forbes as she prepared to + retire. + </p> + <p> + A bright and tender look stole into Mrs. Greyne’s intellectual face. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + She turned her large and beaming eyes full upon the maid. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Forbes,” she said, with an amount of emotion that was very rare in + her, “I am going to tell you a great truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” said Mrs. Forbes respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “The sweetest moments of life, those which lift man nearest heaven, and + make him thankful for the great gift of existence, are sometimes those + which are unforeseen.” + </p> + <p> + She was thinking of Mr. Greyne’s ecstasy when, upon the inhospitable + African shore where he was now enduring such tragic misfortunes, he + perceived the majestic form of his loved one—his loved one whom he + believed to be in Belgrave Square—coming towards him to soothe, to + comfort, to direct. She brushed away a tear. + </p> + <p> + “Go, Mrs. Forbes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And Mrs. Forbes retired, smiling. + </p> + <p> + An epic might well be written on the great novelist’s journey to Africa, + upon her departure from Charing Cross, shrouded in a black gauze veil, her + silent thought as the good ship <i>Empress</i> rode cork-like upon the + Channel waves, her ascetic lunch—a captain’s biscuit and a glass of + water—at the buffet at Calais, her arrival in Paris when the shades + of night had fallen. An epic might well be written. Perhaps some day it + will be, by herself. + </p> + <p> + In Paris she suffered a good deal on account of Mrs. Forbes, who, in her + fear of “ab-sint,” became hysterical, and caused not a little annoyance by + accusing various inoffensive French travellers of nefarious designs upon + her property and person. In the Gulf of Lyons she suffered even more, and + as, unluckily, the wind was contrary and the sea prodigious during the + whole of the passage across the Mediterranean, both she and Mrs. Forbes + arrived at Algiers four hours late, in a condition which may be more + easily imagined than properly described. + </p> + <p> + Genius in thrall to the body, and absolutely dependent upon green + chartreuse for its flickering existence, is no subject for even a + sympathetic pen. Sufficient to say that, when the ship came in under the + lights of Algiers, the crowd of shouting Arabs was struck to silence by + the spectacle of Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes endeavouring to disembark, in + bonnets that were placed seaward upon the head instead of landward, + unbuttoned boots, and gowns soaked with the attentions of the waves. + </p> + <p> + After being gently and permanently relieved of their light hand-baggage, + the mistress and maid, who seemed greatly overwhelmed by the sight of + Africa, and who moved—or rather were carried—as in a dream, + were placed reverently in the nearest omnibus, and conveyed to the + farthest hotel, which was situated upon a lofty hill above the town. Here + a slightly painful scene took place. + </p> + <p> + Having been assisted by the staff into a Moorish hall, Mrs. Greyne + inquired in a reticent voice for her husband, and was politely informed + that there was no person of the name of Greyne in the hotel. For a moment + she seemed threatened with dissolution, but with a supreme effort calling + upon her mighty brain she surmised that her husband was possibly passing + under a pseudonym in order to throw America off the scent. She, therefore, + demanded to have the guests then present in the hotel at once paraded + before her. As there was some difficulty about this—the guests being + then at dinner—she whispered for the visitors’ book, thinking that, + perchance, Mr. Greyne had inscribed his name there, and that the staff, + being foreign, did not recognise it as murmured by herself. The book was + brought, upon its cover in golden letters the words: “Hôtel Loubet et + Majestic.” Then explanations of a somewhat disagreeable nature occurred, + and Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, after a heavy payment had been exacted + for their conveyance to a place they had desired not to go to, were + carried forth, and consigned to another vehicle, which at length brought + them, on the stroke of nine, to the Grand Hotel. + </p> + <p> + Having been placed reverently in the brilliantly-lighted hall, they were + surrounded by the proprietor, the <i>maître d’hôtel</i> and his + assistants, the porters, and the chasseurs, with all of whom Mr. Greyne + was now familiar. Brandy and water having been supplied, together with + smelling-salts and burnt feathers, Mrs. Greyne roused herself from an + acute attack of lethargy, and asked for Mr. Greyne. A joyous smile ran + round the circle. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne,” said the proprietor, “who is living here for the + winter?” 4 + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Eustace Greyne,” murmured the great novelist, grasping her bonnet + with both hands. + </p> + <p> + The <i>maître d’hôtel</i> drew nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Madame wishes to see Monsieur Greyne?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I do—at once.” + </p> + <p> + A blessed consciousness of Mother Earth was gradually beginning to steal + over her. She even strove feebly to sit up on her chair, a German-Swiss + porter of enormous size assisting her. + </p> + <p> + “But Monsieur Greyne is out.” + </p> + <p> + “Out?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame. Monsieur Greyne is always out at night.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the little chasseur who knew no better began to twinkle. Mrs. + Forbes gave a slight cough. Tears filled the novelist’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “God bless my Eustace!” she murmured, deeply touched by this evidence of + his devotion to her interests. + </p> + <p> + “Madame says——” asked the proprietor. + </p> + <p> + “Where does Mr. Greyne go?” inquired the novelist. + </p> + <p> + “To the Kasbah, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it!” cried Mrs. Greyne, with returning animation. “I knew it would + be so!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame is acquainted with Monsieur Greyne?” said the <i>maître d’hôtel</i>, + while the little crowd gathered more closely about the wave-worn group. + </p> + <p> + “I am Mrs. Eustace Greyne,” returned the great novelist recklessly. “I am + the wife of Mr. Eustace Greyne.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment of supreme silence. Then a loud, an even piercing “<i>Oh, + là, là,</i> broke upon the air, succeeded instantaneously by a burst of + laughter that seemed to thrill with all the wild blessedness of boyhood. + It came, of course, from the little chasseur; it came, and stayed. Nothing + could stop it, and eventually the happy child had to be carried forth upon + the sea-front to enjoy his innocent mirth at leisure and in solitude + beneath the African stars. Mrs. Greyne did not notice his disappearance. + She was intent upon important matters. + </p> + <p> + “At what time does Mr. Greyne usually set forth?” she asked of the + proprietor, whose face now bore a strangely twisted appearance, as if + afflicted by a toothache. + </p> + <p> + “Immediately after dinner, madame, if not before. Of late it has generally + been before.” + </p> + <p> + “And he stays out late?” + </p> + <p> + “Very late, madame.” + </p> + <p> + The twisted appearance began to seem infectious. It was visible upon the + faces of most of those surrounding Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes. Indeed, + even the latter showed some signs of it, although the large shadow cast + over her features by the hind side of her Mother Hubbard bonnet to some + extent disguised them from the public view. + </p> + <p> + “Till what hour?” pursued Mrs. Greyne in a voice of almost yearning + tenderness and pity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, madame”—the proprietor displayed some slight confusion—“I + really can hardly say. The <i>maître d’hôtel</i> can perhaps inform you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne turned her ox-like eyes upon the enlarged edition of Napoleon + the First. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne seldom returns before seven or eight o’clock in the + morning, madame. He then retires to bed, and comes down to breakfast at + about four o’clock in the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne was touched to the very quick. Her husband was sacrificing his + rest, his health—nay, perhaps even his very life—in her + service. It was well she had come, well that a period was to be put to + these terrible researches. They should be stopped at once, even this very + night. Better a thousand literary failures than that her husband’s + existence should be placed in jeopardy. She rose suddenly from her chair, + tottered, gasped, recovered herself, and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Prepare dinner for me at once,” she said, “and order a carriage and a + competent guide to be before the door in half-an-hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame is going out? But madame is ill, tired!” + </p> + <p> + “It matters not.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does madame wish to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to the Kasbah to find my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “I will escort madame.” + </p> + <p> + The proprietor, the <i>maître d’hôtel</i>, the waiters, the porters, the + chasseurs, Mrs. Greyne and Mrs. Forbes, all turned about to face the + determined speaker. + </p> + <p> + And there before them, his dark eyes gleaming, his long moustaches + bristling fiercely—here stood Abdallah Jack. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Man is a self-deceiver. It must, therefore, ever be a doubtful point + whether Mr. Eustace Greyne, during his residence in Africa, absolutely + lost sight of his sense of duty; whether, beguiled by the lively + attentions of a fiercely foreign town, he deliberately resolved to take + his pleasure regardless of consequences and of the sacred ties of Belgrave + Square. We prefer to think that some vague idea of combining two duties—that + which he owed to himself and that which he owed to Mrs. Greyne—moved + him in all he did, and that the subterfuge into which he was undoubtedly + led was not wholly selfish, not wholly criminal. Nevertheless, that he had + lied to his beloved wife is certain. Even while she sat over a cutlet and + a glass of claret in the white-and-gold dining-room of the Grand Hotel, + preparatory to her departure to the Kasbah with Abdallah Jack, the dozen + of Merrin’s exercise-books lay upstairs in Mr. Greyne’s apartments filled + to the brim with African frailty. Already there was material enough in + their pages to furnish forth a library of “Catherines.” Yet Mr. Greyne + still lingered far from his home, and wired to that home fabricated + accounts of the singular innocence of Algiers. He even allowed it to be + supposed that his own innocence stood in the way of his fulfilment of Mrs. + Greyne’s behests—he who could now have given points in knowledge of + the world to whole regiments of militiamen! + </p> + <p> + It was not right, and, doubtless, he must stand condemned by every + moralist. But let it not be forgotten that he had fallen under the + influence of a Levantine. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Verbena’s mother, hidden in some unnamed hospital of Algiers, + appeared to be one of those ingenious elderly ladies who can hover + indefinitely upon the brink of death without actually dying. During the + whole time that Mr. Greyne had been in Africa her state had been + desperate, yet she still clung to life. As her daughter said, she + possessed extraordinary vitality, and this vitality seemed to have been + inherited by her child. Despite her grave anxieties Mademoiselle Verbena + succeeded in sustaining a remarkable cheeriness, and even a fascinating + vivacity, when in the company of others. As she said to Mr. Greyne, she + did not think it right to lay her burdens upon the shoulders of her + neighbours. She, therefore, forced herself to appear contented, even at + various moments gay, when she and Mr. Greyne were lunching, dining, or + supping together, were driving upon the front, sailing upon the azure + waters of the bay, riding upon the heights beyond El-Biar, or, ensconced + in a sumptuous private box, listening to the latest French farce at one or + another of the theatres. Only one day, when they had driven out to the + monastery at La Trappe de Staouëli, did a momentary cloud descend upon her + piquant features, and she explained this by the frank confession that she + had always wished to become a nun, but had been hindered from following + her vocation by the necessity of earning money to support her aged + parents. Mr. Greyne had never seen the Ouled since his first evening in + Algiers, but he still paid her a weekly salary, through Abdallah Jack, who + explained to him that the interesting lady, in a discreet retirement, was + perpetually occupied in arranging the exhibitions of African frailty at + which he so frequently assisted. She was, in fact, earning her liberal + salary. Mademoiselle Verbena and Abdallah Jack had met on several + occasions, and Mr. Greyne had introduced the latter to the former as his + guide, and had generously praised his abilities; but in Mademoiselle + Verbena took very little notice of him, and, as time went on, Abdallah + Jack seemed to conceive a most distressing dislike of her. On several + occasions he advised Mr. Greyne not to frequent her company so + assiduously, and when Mr. Greyne asked him to explain the meaning of his + monitions he took refuge in vague generalities and Eastern imagery. He had + a profound contempt for women as companions, which grieved Mr. Greyne’s + Western ideas, and evidently thought that Mademoiselle Verbena ought to be + clapped forthwith into a long veil, and put away in a harem behind an iron + grille. When Mr. Greyne explained the English point of view Abdallah Jack + took refuge in a sulky silence; but during the week immediately preceding + the arrival of Mrs. Greyne his temper had become actively bad, and Mr. + Greyne began seriously to consider whether it would not be better to pay + him a last <i>douceur</i>, and tell him to go about his business. + </p> + <p> + Before doing this, however, Mr. Greyne desired to have one more interview + with the mysterious Ouled on the heights, to whom he owed the knowledge + which would henceforth enable him to cut out the militia. He said so to + Abdallah Jack. The latter agreed sulkily to arrange it; and matters so + fell out that on the night of Mrs. Greyne’s arrival her husband was seated + in a room in one of the remotest houses of the Kasbah, watching the + Ouled’s mysterious evolutions, while Mademoiselle Verbena—as she + herself had informed Mr.4 Greyne—sat in the hospital by the bedside + of her still dying mother. Abdallah Jack had apparently been most anxious + to assist at Mr. Greyne’s interview with the Ouled, but Mr. Greyne had + declined to allow this. The evil temper of the guide was beginning to get + thoroughly upon his employer’s nerves, and even the natural desire to have + an interpreter at hand was overborne by the dislike of Abdallah Jack’s + morose eyes and sarcastic speeches about women. Moreover, the Ouled spoke + a word or two of uncertain French. + </p> + <p> + Thus, therefore, things fell out, and such was the precise situation when + Mrs. Greyne flicked a crumb from her chocolate brocade gown, tied her + bonnet strings, and rose from table to set forth to the Kasbah with + Abdallah Jack. + </p> + <p> + It was a radiant night. In the clear sky the stars shone brilliantly, + looking down upon the persistent convulsions of the little chasseur, who + had not yet recovered from his attack of merriment on learning who Mrs. + Greyne was. The sea, quite calm now that the great novelist was no longer + upon it, lapped softly along the curving shores of the bay. The palm-trees + of the town garden where the band plays on warm evenings waved lazily in + the soft and scented breeze. The hooded figures of the Arabs lounged + against the stone wall that girdles the sea-front. In the + brilliantly-illuminated restaurants the rich French population gathered + about the little tables, while the withered beggars stared in upon the + oyster shells, the champagne bottles, and the feathers in the women’s + audacious hats. + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Greyne emerged upon the pavement before the Grand Hotel, + attended by Mrs. Forbes and the guide, she paused for a moment, and cast a + searching glance upon the fairy scene. In this voluptuous evening and + strange environment life seemed oddly dreamlike. She scarcely felt like + Mrs. Greyne. Possibly Mrs. Forbes also felt unlike herself, for she + suddenly placed one hand upon her left side, and tottered. Abdallah Jack + supported her. She screamed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Madam!” she said. “It is the vertigo. I am overtook!” + </p> + <p> + She was really ill; her face, indeed, became the colour of a plover’s egg. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go to bed, madam,” she implored. “It is the vertigo, madam. I am + overtook!” + </p> + <p> + Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Greyne would have prescribed a dose of + Kasbah air, but to-night she felt strange, and she wanted strangeness. + Mrs. Forbes with the vertigo, in a small carriage, would be inappropriate. + She, therefore, bade her retire, mounted into the vehicle with Abdallah + Jack, and was quickly driven away, her bonnet strings floating upon the + winsome wind. + </p> + <p> + “You know my husband?” she asked softly of the guide. + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack replied in French that he rather thought he did. + </p> + <p> + “How is he looking?” continued Mrs. Greyne in a slightly yearning voice. + “My Eustace!” she added to herself, “my devoted one!” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne is pale as washed linen upon the Kasbah wall,” replied + Abdallah Jack, lighting a cigarette, and wreathing the great novelist in + its grey-blue smoke. “He is thin as the Spahi’s lance, he is nervous as + the leaves of the eucalyptus-tree when the winds blow from the north.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne was seriously perturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Would I had come before!” she murmured, with serious self-reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne is worse than all the English,” pursued Abdallah Jack in + a voice that sounded to Mrs. Greyne decidedly sinister. “He is worse than + the tourists of Rook, who laugh in the doorways of the mosques and twine + in their hair the dried lizards of the Sahara. Even the guide of Rook + rejected him. I only would undertake him because I am full of evil.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, and to wish she had + not been so ready to pander to Mrs. Forbes’ vertigo. She stole a sidelong + glance at her strange companion. The carriage was small. The end of his + bristling black moustache was very near. What he said of Mr. Greyne did + not disturb her, because she knew that her Eustace had sacrificed his + reputation to do her service; but what he said about himself was not + reassuring. + </p> + <p> + “I think you must be doing yourself an injustice,” she said in a rather + agitated voice. + </p> + <p> + “Madame?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe you are so bad as you imply,” she continued. + </p> + <p> + The carriage turned with a jerk out of the brilliantly-lighted + thoroughfare that runs along the sea into a narrow side street, crowded + with native Jews, and dark with shadows. + </p> + <p> + “Madame does not know me.” + </p> + <p> + The exact truth of this observation struck home, like a dagger, to the + mind of Mrs. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “I am a wicked person,” added Abdallah Jack, with a profound conviction. + “That is why Monsieur Greyne chose me as his guide.” + </p> + <p> + The novelist began to quake. Her chocolate brocade fluttered. Was she + herself to learn at first hand, and on her first evening in Africa, enough + about African frailty to last her for the rest of her life? And how much + more of life would remain to her after her stock of knowledge had been + thus increased? The carriage turned into a second side street, narrower + and darker than the last. + </p> + <p> + “Are we going right?” she said apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “No, madame; we are going wrong—we are going to the wicked part of + the city.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but—you are sure Mr. Greyne will be there?” + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack laughed sardonically. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Greyne is never anywhere else. Monsieur Greyne is wicked as is a + mad Touareg of the desert.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you quite understand my husband,” said Mrs. Greyne, feeling + in duty bound to stand up for her poor, maligned Eustace. “Whatever he may + have done he has done at my special request.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame says?” + </p> + <p> + “I say that in all his proceedings while in Algiers Mr. Greyne has been + acting under my directions.” + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack fixed his enormous eyes steadily upon her. + </p> + <p> + “You are his wife, and told him to come here, and to do as he has done?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-yes,” faltered Mrs. Greyne, for the first time in her life feeling as + if she were being escorted towards the criminal dock by a jailer with + Puritan tendencies. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is true what they say on the shores of the great canal,” he + remarked composedly. + </p> + <p> + “What do they say?” inquired Mrs. Greyne. + </p> + <p> + “That England is a land of female devils,” returned the guide as the + carriage plunged into a filthy alley, between two rows of blind houses, + and began to ascend a steep hill. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne gasped. She opened her lips to protest vigorously, but her + head swam—either from indignation or from fatigue—and she + could not utter a word. The horses mounted like cats upward into the dense + blackness, from which dropped down the faint sounds of squealing music and + of hoarse cries and laughter. The wheels bounded over the stones, sank + into the deep ruts, scraped against the sides of the unlighted houses. And + Abdallah Jack sat staring at Mrs. Greyne as an English clergyman’s wife + might stare at the appalling rites of some deadly cannibal encountered in + a far-off land, with a stony wonder, a sort of paralysed curiosity. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the carriage stopped on a piece of waste land covered with small + pebbles. Abdallah Jack sprang out. + </p> + <p> + “Why do we stop?” said Mrs. Greyne, turning as pale as ashes. + </p> + <p> + “The carriage can go no farther. Madame must walk.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne began to tremble. + </p> + <p> + “We are to leave the coachman?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall escort madame, alone.” + </p> + <p> + The great novelist’s tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She felt + like a Merrin’s exercise-book, every leaf of which was covered with + African frailty. However, there was no help for it. She had to descend, + and stand among the pebbles. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack waved his hand towards a stone rampart dimly seen in the + faint light that emanated from the starry sky. + </p> + <p> + “Down there into the alley of the Dead Dervishes.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne could not repress a cry of horror. At that moment she would + have given a thousand pounds to have Mrs. Forbes at her side. + </p> + <p> + Abdallah Jack grasped her by the hand, and led her ruthlessly forward. + Gazing with terror-stricken eyes over the crumbling rampart of the Kasbah, + she saw the city far below her, the lights of the streets, the lights of + the ships in harbour. She heard the music of a bugle, and wished she were + a Zouave safe in barracks. She wished she were a German-Swiss porter, a + merry chasseur—anything but Mrs. Eustace Greyne. One thing alone + supported her in this hour of trial, the thought of her husband’s ecstasy + when she appeared upon the dread scene of his awful labours, to tell him + that he was released, that he need visit them no more. + </p> + <p> + The alley of the Dead Dervishes is long and winding. To Mrs. Greyne it + seemed endless. As she threaded it with faltering step, gripped by the + feverish hand of Abdallah Jack, who now began to display a strange and + terrible excitement, she became a centre of curiosity. Unwashed Arabs, + rakish Zouaves in blue and red, wandering Jews of various nationalities, + unveiled dancing-girls covered with jewels, stared in wonder upon the + chocolate brocade and the floating bonnet strings, followed upon her + footsteps, pointing with painted fingers, and making remarks of a personal + nature in French, Arabic, and other unknown tongues. She moved in the + midst of a crowd, on and on before lighted interiors from which wild music + flowed. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we never be there?” she panted to Abdallah Jack. “My limbs refuse + their office.” She jogged against a Tunisian Jewess in a pointed hat, and + rebounded upon an enormous Riff in a tattered sheep-skin. “I can go no + farther.” + </p> + <p> + “We are there! Behold the house of the Ouled!” + </p> + <p> + As he uttered the last word he burst into a bitter laugh, and drew Mrs. + Greyne, now gasping for breath, through an open doorway into a little hall + of imitation marble, with fluted pillars adorned with oilcloth, and walls + hung with imported oleographs. From a chamber on the right, near a winding + staircase covered with blue-and-white tiles, came the sound of laughter, + of song, and of a hideous music conveyed to the astonied ear by pipes and + drums. + </p> + <p> + “They are in there!” exclaimed Abdallah Jack, folding his arms, and + looking at Mrs. Greyne. “Go to your husband!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Greyne put her hands to her magnificent forehead, and tottered + forward. She reached the door, she pushed it, she entered. There upon a + wooden dais, surrounded by gilt mirrors and artificial roses, she beheld + her husband, in a check suit and a white Homburg hat, performing the + wildest evolutions, while opposite him a lady, smothered in coloured silks + and coins, tattooed and painted, dyed and scented, covered with kohl and + crowned with ostrich feathers, screamed a nasal chant of the East, and + bounded like an electrified monkey. + </p> + <p> + “Eustace!” cried Mrs. Greyne, leaning for support against an oleograph. + </p> + <p> + Her husband turned. + </p> + <p> + “Eustace!” she cried again. “It is I!” + </p> + <p> + He stood as if turned to stone. Mrs. Greyne hesitated, started, moved + forward to the dais, and stared upon the Ouled, who had also ceased from + dancing, and looked strangely surprised, even confused, by the great + novelist’s intrusion. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Verbena!” she exclaimed. “Miss Verbena in Algiers!” + </p> + <p> + “Eugenia!” said Mr. Greyne in a husky voice, “what is this you say? This + lady is the Ouled.” + </p> + <p> + A sardonic laugh came from the doorway. They turned. There stood Abdallah + Jack. He advanced roughly to the Ouled. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said angrily. “Have we not earned the money of the stranger? + Have we not earned enough? To-morrow you shall marry me as you have + promised, and we will return to our own land, to the canal where you and I + were born. And nevermore shall the Levantine instruct the babes of the + English devils, but dwell veiled and guarded in the harem of her master.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Verbena!” said Mr. Greyne in a more husky voice. “But—but—your + dying mother?” + </p> + <p> + “She sleeps, monsieur, in the white sands of Ismailia, beside the bitter + lake. I trust that madame can now go on with the respectable ‘Catherine.’” + </p> + <p> + And with an ironic reverence to Mrs. Eustace Greyne she placed her hand in + Abdallah Jack’s and vanished from the room. + </p> + <p> + “Catherine’s Repentance,” published in a gigantic volume not many weeks + ago, was preceded by Mr. Eustace Greyne’s. When last heard of he was + seated in the magnificent library of the corner house in Park Lane next to + the Duke of Ebury’s, busily engaged in pasting the newspaper notices of + Mrs. Greyne’s greatest work into a superb new album. + </p> + <p> + The Abdallah Jacks have returned to the Suez Canal, bearing with them a + snug little fortune to be invested in the purchase of a coal wharf at Port + Said, and a remarkably handsome crocodile dressing-case, fitted with gold, + and monogrammed with the initials “E. G.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mission Of Mr. Eustace Greyne, by +Robert Hichens + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSION OF MR. 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