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diff --git a/26593-8.txt b/26593-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..74cdb9f --- /dev/null +++ b/26593-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7458 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath + +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 Place of Honeymoons + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Illustrator: Arthur I. Keller + +Release Date: September 11, 2008 [EBook #26593] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: "Your address!" bawled the Duke.] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS + +By +HAROLD MACGRATH + +Author of +THE MAN ON THE BOX, THE GOOSE GIRL, +THE CARPET FROM BAGDAD, ETC. + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY +ARTHUR I. KELLER + +INDIANAPOLIS +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY +PUBLISHERS + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Copyright 1912 +The Bobbs-Merrill Company + +PRESS OF +BRAUNWORTH & CO. +BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS +BROOKLYN, N. Y. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + To B. O'G. + + Horace calls no more to me, + Homer in the dust-heap lies: + I have found my Odyssey + In the lightness of her glee, + In the laughter of her eyes. + + Ovid's page is thumbed no more, + E'en Catullus has no choice! + There is endless, precious lore, + Such as I ne'er knew before, + In the music of her voice. + + Breath of hyssop steeped in wine, + Breath of violets and furze, + Wild-wood roses, Grecian myrrhs, + All these perfumes do combine + In that maiden breath of hers. + + Nay, I look not at the skies, + Nor the sun that hillward slips, + For the day lives or it dies + In the laughter of her eyes, + In the music of her lips! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + I. At the Stage Door 1 + II. There Is a Woman? 19 + III. The Beautiful Tigress 36 + IV. The Joke of Monsieur 53 + V. Captive or Runaway 74 + VI. The Bird Behind Bars 103 + VII. Battling Jimmie 126 + VIII. Moonlight and a Prince 146 + IX. Colonel Caxley-Webster 166 + X. Marguerites and Emeralds 185 + XI. At the Crater's Edge 202 + XII. Dick Courtlandt's Boy 214 + XIII. Everything But the Truth 232 + XIV. A Comedy with Music 249 + XV. Herr Rosen's Regrets 265 + XVI. The Apple of Discord 282 + XVII. The Ball at the Villa 303 + XVIII. Pistols for Two 326 + XIX. Courtlandt Tells a Story 345 + XX. Journey's End 363 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + +CHAPTER I + +AT THE STAGE DOOR + + +Courtlandt sat perfectly straight; his ample shoulders did not touch the +back of his chair; and his arms were folded tightly across his chest. The +characteristic of his attitude was tenseness. The nostrils were well +defined, as in one who sets the upper jaw hard upon the nether. His brown +eyes--their gaze directed toward the stage whence came the voice of the +prima donna--epitomized the tension, expressed the whole as in a word. + +Just now the voice was pathetically subdued, yet reached every part of the +auditorium, kindling the ear with its singularly mellowing sweetness. To +Courtlandt it resembled, as no other sound, the note of a muffled Burmese +gong, struck in the dim incensed cavern of a temple. A Burmese gong: +briefly and magically the stage, the audience, the amazing gleam and +scintillation of the Opera, faded. He heard only the voice and saw only +the purple shadows in the temple at Rangoon, the oriental sunset splashing +the golden dome, the wavering lights of the dripping candles, the dead +flowers, the kneeling devoteés, the yellow-robed priests, the tatters of +gold-leaf, fresh and old, upon the rows of placid grinning Buddhas. The +vision was of short duration. The sigh, which had been so long repressed, +escaped; his shoulders sank a little, and the angle of his chin became +less resolute; but only for a moment. Tension gave place to an ironical +grimness. The brows relaxed, but the lips became firmer. He listened, with +this new expression unchanging, to the high note that soared above all +others. The French horns blared and the timpani crashed. The curtain sank +slowly. The audience rustled, stood up, sought its wraps, and pressed +toward the exits and the grand staircase. It was all over. + +Courtlandt took his leave in leisure. Here and there he saw familiar +faces, but these, after the finding glance, he studiously avoided. He +wanted to be alone. For while the music was still echoing in his ears, in +a subtone, his brain was afire with keen activity; but unfortunately for +the going forward of things, this mental state was divided into so many +battalions, led by so many generals, indirectly and indecisively, nowhere. +This plan had no beginning, that one had no ending, and the other neither +beginning nor ending. Outside he lighted a cigar, not because at that +moment he possessed a craving for nicotine, but because like all +inveterate smokers he believed that tobacco conduced to clarity of +thought. And mayhap it did. At least, there presently followed a mental +calm that expelled all this confusion. The goal waxed and waned as he +gazed down the great avenue with its precise rows of lamps. Far away he +could discern the outline of the brooding Louvre. + +There was not the least hope in the world for him to proceed toward his +goal this night. He realized this clearly, now that he was face to face +with actualities. It required more than the chaotic impulses that had +brought him back from the jungles of the Orient. He must reason out a plan +that should be like a straight line, the shortest distance between two +given points. How then should he pass the night, since none of his schemes +could possibly be put into operation? Return to his hotel and smoke +himself headachy? Try to become interested in a novel? Go to bed, to turn +and roll till dawn? A wild desire seized him to make a night of +it,--Maxim's, the cabarets; riot and wine. Who cared? But the desire burnt +itself out between two puffs of his cigar. Ten years ago, perhaps, this +particular brand of amusement might have urged him successfully. But not +now; he was done with tomfool nights. Indeed, his dissipations had been +whimsical rather than banal; and retrospection never aroused a furtive +sense of shame. + +He was young, but not so young as an idle glance might conjecture in +passing. To such casual reckoning he appeared to be in the early twenties; +but scrutiny, more or less infallible, noting a line here or an angle +there, was disposed to add ten years to the score. There was in the nose +and chin a certain decisiveness which in true youth is rarely developed. +This characteristic arrives only with manhood, manhood that has been tried +and perhaps buffeted and perchance a little disillusioned. To state that +one is young does not necessarily imply youth; for youth is something that +is truly green and tender, not rounded out, aimless, light-hearted and +desultory, charming and inconsequent. If man regrets his youth it is not +for the passing of these pleasing, though tangled attributes, but rather +because there exists between the two periods of progression a series of +irremediable mistakes. And the subject of this brief commentary could look +back on many a grievous one brought about by pride or carelessness rather +than by intent. + +But what was one to do who had both money and leisure linked to an +irresistible desire to leave behind one place or thing in pursuit of +another, indeterminately? At one time he wanted to be an artist, but his +evenly balanced self-criticism had forced him to fling his daubs into the +ash-heap. They were good daubs in a way, but were laid on without fire; +such work as any respectable schoolmarm might have equaled if not +surpassed. Then he had gone in for engineering; but precise and intricate +mathematics required patience of a quality not at his command. + +The inherent ambition was to make money; but recognizing the absurdity of +adding to his income, which even in his extravagance he could not spend, +he gave himself over into the hands of grasping railroad and steamship +companies, or their agencies, and became for a time the slave of guide and +dragoman and carrier. And then the wanderlust, descended to him from the +blood of his roving Dutch ancestors, which had lain dormant in the several +generations following, sprang into active life again. He became known in +every port of call. He became known also in the wildernesses. He had +climbed almost inaccessible mountains, in Europe, in Asia; he had fished +and hunted north, east, south and west; he had fitted out polar +expeditions; he had raided the pearl markets; he had made astonishing +gifts to women who had pleased his fancy, but whom he did not know or seek +to know; he had kept some of his intimate friends out of bankruptcy; he +had given the most extravagant dinners at one season and, unknown, had +supported a bread-line at another; he had even financed a musical comedy. + +Whatever had for the moment appealed to his fancy, that he had done. That +the world--his world--threw up its hands in wonder and despair neither +disturbed him nor swerved him in the least. He was alone, absolute master +of his millions. Mamas with marriageable daughters declared that he was +impossible; the marriageable daughters never had a chance to decide one +way or the other; and men called him a fool. He had promoted elephant +fights which had stirred the Indian princes out of their melancholy +indifference, and tiger hunts which had, by their duration and +magnificence, threatened to disrupt the efficiency of the British military +service,--whimsical excesses, not understandable by his intimate +acquaintances who cynically arraigned him as the fool and his money. + +But, like the villain in the play, his income still pursued him. Certain +scandals inevitably followed, scandals he was the last to hear about and +the last to deny when he heard them. Many persons, not being able to take +into the mind and analyze a character like Courtlandt's, sought the line +of least resistance for their understanding, and built some precious +exploits which included dusky island-princesses, diaphanous dancers, and +comic-opera stars. + +Simply, he was without direction; a thousand goals surrounded him and none +burned with that brightness which draws a man toward his destiny: until +one day. Personally, he possessed graces of form and feature, and was +keener mentally than most young men who inherit great fortunes and +distinguished names. + + * * * * * + +Automobiles of all kinds panted hither and thither. An occasional smart +coupé went by as if to prove that prancing horses were still necessary to +the dignity of the old aristocracy. Courtlandt made up his mind suddenly. +He laughed with bitterness. He knew now that to loiter near the stage +entrance had been his real purpose all along, and persistent lying to +himself had not prevailed. In due time he took his stand among the gilded +youth who were not privileged (like their more prosperous elders) to wait +outside the dressing-rooms for their particular ballerina. By and by there +was a little respectful commotion. Courtlandt's hand went instinctively to +his collar, not to ascertain if it were properly adjusted, but rather to +relieve the sudden pressure. He was enraged at his weakness. He wanted to +turn away, but he could not. + +A woman issued forth, muffled in silks and light furs. She was followed by +another, quite possibly her maid. One may observe very well at times from +the corner of the eye; that is, objects at which one is not looking come +within the range of vision. The woman paused, her foot upon the step of +the modest limousine. She whispered something hurriedly into her +companion's ear, something evidently to the puzzlement of the latter, who +looked around irresolutely. She obeyed, however, and retreated to the +stage entrance. A man, quite as tall as Courtlandt, his face shaded +carefully, intentionally perhaps, by one of those soft Bavarian hats that +are worn successfully only by Germans, stepped out of the gathering to +proffer his assistance. Courtlandt pushed him aside calmly, lifted his +hat, and smiling ironically, closed the door behind the singer. The step +which the other man made toward Courtlandt was unequivocal in its meaning. +But even as Courtlandt squared himself to meet the coming outburst, the +stranger paused, shrugged his shoulders, turned and made off. + +The lady in the limousine--very pale could any have looked closely into +her face--was whirled away into the night. Courtlandt did not stir from +the curb. The limousine dwindled, once it flashed under a light, and then +vanished. + +"It is the American," said one of the waiting dandies. + +"The icicle!" + +"The volcano, rather, which fools believe extinct." + +"Probably sent back her maid for her Bible. Ah, these Americans; they are +very amusing." + +"She was in magnificent voice to-night. I wonder why she never sings +_Carmen_?" + +"Have I not said that she is too cold? What! would you see frost grow upon +the toreador's mustache? And what a name, what a name! Eleonora da +Toscana!" + +Courtlandt was not in the most amiable condition of mind, and a hint of +the ribald would have instantly transformed a passive anger into a blind +fury. Thus, a scene hung precariously; but its potentialities became as +nothing on the appearance of another woman. + +This woman was richly dressed, too richly. Apparently she had trusted her +modiste not wisely but too well: there was the strange and unaccountable +inherent love of fine feathers and warm colors which is invariably the +mute utterance of peasant blood. She was followed by a Russian, huge of +body, Jovian of countenance. An expensive car rolled up to the curb. A +liveried footman jumped down from beside the chauffeur and opened the +door. The diva turned her head this way and that, a thin smile of +satisfaction stirring her lips. For Flora Desimone loved the human eye +whenever it stared admiration into her own; and she spent half her days +setting traps and lures, rather successfully. She and her formidable +escort got into the car which immediately went away with a soft purring +sound. There was breeding in the engine, anyhow, thought Courtlandt, who +longed to put his strong fingers around that luxurious throat which had, +but a second gone, passed him so closely. + +"We shall never have war with Russia," said some one; "her dukes love +Paris too well." + +Light careless laughter followed this cynical observation. Another time +Courtlandt might have smiled. He pushed his way into the passage leading +to the dressing-rooms, and followed its windings until he met a human +barrier. To his inquiry the answer was abrupt and perfectly clear in its +meaning: La Signorina da Toscana had given most emphatic orders not to +disclose her address to any one. Monsieur might, if he pleased, make +further inquiries of the directors; the answer there would be the same. +Presently he found himself gazing down the avenue once more. There were a +thousand places to go to, a thousand pleasant things to do; yet he +doddered, full of ill-temper, dissatisfaction, and self-contempt. He was +weak, damnably weak; and for years he had admired himself, detachedly, as +a man of pride. He started forward, neither sensing his direction nor the +perfected flavor of his Habana. + +Opera singers were truly a race apart. They lived in the world but were +not a part of it, and when they died, left only a memory which faded in +one generation and became totally forgotten in another. What jealousies, +what petty bickerings, what extravagances! With fancy and desire +unchecked, what ingenious tricks they used to keep themselves in the +public mind,--tricks begot of fickleness and fickleness begetting. And +yet, it was a curious phase: their influence was generally found when +history untangled for posterity some Gordian knot. In old times they had +sung the _Marseillaise_ and danced the _carmagnole_ and indirectly plied +the guillotine. And to-day they smashed prime ministers, petty kings, and +bankers, and created fashions for the ruin of husbands and fathers of +modest means. Devil take them! And Courtlandt flung his cigar into the +street. + +He halted. The Madeleine was not exactly the goal for a man who had, half +an hour before, contemplated a rout at Maxim's. His glance described a +half-circle. There was Durand's; but Durand's on opera nights entertained +many Americans, and he did not care to meet any of his compatriots +to-night. So he turned down the Rue Royale, on the opposite side, and went +into the Taverne Royale, where the patrons were not over particular in +regard to the laws of fashion, and where certain ladies with light +histories sought further adventures to add to their heptamerons. Now, +Courtlandt thought neither of the one nor of the other. He desired +isolation, safety from intrusion; and here, did he so signify, he could +find it. Women gazed up at him and smiled, with interest as much as with +invitation. He was brown from long exposure to the wind and the sun, that +golden brown which is the gift of the sun-glitter on rocking seas. A +traveler is generally indicated by this artistry of the sun, and once +noted instantly creates a speculative interest. Even his light brown hair +had faded at the temples, and straw-colored was the slender mustache, the +ends of which had a cavalier twist. He ignored the lips which smiled and +the eyes which invited, and nothing more was necessary. One is not +importuned at the Taverne Royale. He sat down at a vacant table and +ordered a pint of champagne, drinking hastily rather than thirstily. + +Would Monsieur like anything to eat? + +No, the wine was sufficient. + +Courtlandt poured out a second glass slowly. The wine bubbled up to the +brim and overflowed. He had been looking at the glass with unseeing eyes. +He set the bottle down impatiently. Fool! To have gone to Burma, simply to +stand in the golden temple once more, in vain, to recall that other time: +the starving kitten held tenderly in a woman's arms, his own scurry among +the booths to find the milk so peremptorily ordered, and the smile of +thanks that had been his reward! He had run away when he should have hung +on. He should have fought every inch of the way.... + +"Monsieur is lonely?" + +A pretty young woman sat down before him in the vacant chair. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THERE IS A WOMAN? + + +Anger, curiosity, interest; these sensations blanketed one another +quickly, leaving only interest, which was Courtlandt's normal state of +mind when he saw a pretty woman. It did not require very keen scrutiny on +his part to arrive swiftly at the conclusion that this one was not quite +in the picture. Her cheeks were not red with that redness which has a +permanency of tone, neither waxing nor waning, abashed in daylight. Nor +had her lips found their scarlet moisture from out the depths of certain +little porcelain boxes. Decidedly she was out of place here, yet she +evinced no embarrassment; she was cool, at ease. Courtlandt's interest +strengthened. + +"Why do you think I am lonely, Mademoiselle?" he asked, without smiling. + +"Oh, when one talks to one's self, strikes the table, wastes good wine, +the inference is but natural. So, Monsieur is lonely." + +Her lips and eyes, as grave and smileless as his own, puzzled him. An +adventure? He looked at some of the other women. Those he could +understand, but this one, no. At all times he was willing to smile, yet to +draw her out he realized that he must preserve his gravity unbroken. The +situation was not usual. His gaze came back to her. + +"Is the comparison favorable to me?" she asked. + +"It is. What is loneliness?" he demanded cynically. + +"Ah, I could tell you," she answered. "It is the longing to be with the +one we love; it is the hate of the wicked things we have done; it is +remorse." + +"That echoes of the Ambigu-Comique." He leaned upon his arms. "What are +you doing here?" + +"I?" + +"Yes. You do not talk like the other girls who come here." + +"Monsieur comes here frequently, then?" + +"This is the first time in five years. I came here to-night because I +wanted to be alone, because I did not wish to meet any one I knew. I have +scowled at every girl in the room, and they have wisely left me alone. I +haven't scowled at you because I do not know what to make of you. That's +frankness. Now, you answer my question." + +"Would you spare me a glass of wine? I am thirsty." + +He struck his hands together, a bit of orientalism he had brought back +with him. The observant waiter instantly came forward with a glass. + +The young woman sipped the wine, gazing into the glass as she did so. +"Perhaps a whim brought me here. But I repeat, Monsieur is lonely." + +"So lonely that I am almost tempted to put you into a taxicab and run away +with you." + +She set down the glass. + +"But I sha'n't," he added. + +The spark of eagerness in her eyes was instantly curtained. "There is a +woman?" tentatively. + +"Is there not always a woman?" + +"And she has disappointed Monsieur?" There was no marked sympathy in the +tone. + +"Since Eve, has that not been woman's part in the human comedy?" He was +almost certain that her lips became firmer. "Smile, if you wish. It is not +prohibitory here." + +It was evident that the smile had been struggling for existence, for it +endured to the fulness of half a minute. She had fine teeth. He +scrutinized her more closely, and she bore it well. The forehead did not +make for beauty; it was too broad and high, intellectual. Her eyes were +splendid. There was nothing at all ordinary about her. His sense of +puzzlement renewed itself and deepened. What did she want of him? There +were other men, other vacant chairs. + +"Monsieur is certain about the taxicab?" + +"Absolutely." + +"Ah, it is to emulate Saint Anthony!" + +"There are several saints of that name. To which do you refer?" + +"Positively not to him of Padua." + +Courtlandt laughed. "No, I can not fancy myself being particularly +concerned about bambini. No, my model is Noah." + +"Noah?" dubiously. + +"Yes. At the time of the flood there was only one woman in the world." + +"I am afraid that your knowledge of that event is somewhat obscured. +Still, I understand." + +She lifted the wine-glass again, and then he noticed her hand. It was +large, white and strong; it was not the hand of a woman who dallied, who +idled in primrose paths. + +"Tell me, what is it you wish? You interest me, at a moment, too, when I +do not want to be interested. Are you really in trouble? Is there anything +I can do ... barring the taxicab?" + +She twirled the glass, uneasily. "I am not in actual need of assistance." + +"But you spoke peculiarly regarding loneliness." + +"Perhaps I like the melodrama. You spoke of the Ambigu-Comique." + +"You are on the stage?" + +"Perhaps." + +"The Opera?" + +"Again perhaps." + +He laughed once more, and drew his chair closer to the table. + +"Monsieur in other moods must have a pleasant laughter." + +"I haven't laughed from the heart in a very long time," he said, returning +to his former gravity, this time unassumed. + +"And I have accomplished this amazing thing?" + +"No. You followed me here. But from where?" + +"Followed you?" The effort to give a mocking accent to her voice was a +failure. + +"Yes. The idea just occurred to me. There were other vacant chairs, and +there was nothing inviting in my facial expression. Come, let me have the +truth." + +"I have a friend who knows Flora Desimone." + +"Ah!" As if this information was a direct visitation of kindness from the +gods. "Then you know where the Calabrian lives? Give me her address." + +There was a minute wrinkle above the unknown's nose; the shadow of a +frown. "She is very beautiful." + +"Bah! Did she send you after me? Give me her address. I have come all the +way from Burma to see Flora Desimone." + +"To see her?" She unguardedly clothed the question with contempt, but she +instantly forced a smile to neutralize the effect. Concerned with her own +defined conclusions, she lost the fine ironic bitterness that was in the +man's voice. + +"Aye, indeed, to see her! Beautiful as Venus, as alluring as Phryne, I +want nothing so much as to see her, to look into her eyes, to hear her +voice!" + +"Is it jealousy? I hear the tragic note." The certainty of her ground +became as morass again. In his turn he was puzzling her. + +"Tragedy? I am an American. We do not kill opera singers. We turn them +over to the critics. I wish to see the beautiful Flora, to ask her a few +questions. If she has sent you after me, her address, my dear young lady, +her address." His eyes burned. + +"I am afraid." And she was so. This wasn't the tone of a man madly in +love. It was wild anger. + +"Afraid of what?" + +"You." + +"I will give you a hundred francs." He watched her closely and shrewdly. + +Came the little wrinkle again, but this time urged in perplexity. "A +hundred francs, for something I was sent to tell you?" + +"And now refuse." + +"It is very generous. She has a heart of flint, Monsieur." + +"Well I know it. Perhaps now I have one of steel." + +"Many sparks do not make a fire. Do you know that your French is very +good?" + +"I spent my boyhood in Paris; some of it. Her address, if you please." He +produced a crisp note for a hundred francs. "Do you want it?" + +She did not answer at once. Presently she opened her purse, found a stubby +pencil and a slip of paper, and wrote. "There it is, Monsieur." She held +out her hand for the bank-note which, with a sense of bafflement, he gave +her. She folded the note and stowed it away with the pencil. + +"Thank you," said Courtlandt. "Odd paper, though." He turned it over. "Ah, +I understand. You copy music." + +"Yes, Monsieur." + +This time the nervous flicker of her eyes did not escape him. "You are +studying for the opera, perhaps?" + +"Yes, that is it." + +The eagerness of the admission convinced him that she was not. Who she was +or whence she had come no longer excited his interest. He had the +Calabrian's address and he was impatient to be off. + +"Good night." He rose. + +"Monsieur is not gallant." + +"I was in my youth," he replied, putting on his hat. + +The bald rudeness of his departure did not disturb her. She laughed softly +and relievedly. Indeed, there was in the laughter an essence of mischief. +However, if he carried away a mystery, he left one behind. + +As he was hunting for a taxicab, the waiter ran out and told him that he +had forgotten to settle for the wine. The lady had refused to do so. +Courtlandt chuckled and gave him a ten-franc piece. In other days, in +other circumstances, he would have liked to know more about the unknown +who scribbled notes on composition paper. She was not an idler in the Rue +Royale, and it did not require that indefinable intuition which comes of +worldly-wiseness to discover this fact. She might be a friend of the +Desimone woman, but she had stepped out of another sphere to become so. He +recognized the quality that could adjust itself to any environment and +come out scatheless. This was undeniably an American accomplishment; and +yet she was distinctly a Frenchwoman. He dismissed the problem from his +mind and bade the driver go as fast as the police would permit. + +Meanwhile the young woman waited five or ten minutes, and, making sure +that Courtlandt had been driven off, left the restaurant. Round the corner +she engaged a carriage. So that was Edward Courtlandt? She liked his face; +there was not a weak line in it, unless stubbornness could be called such. +But to stay away for two years! To hide himself in jungles, to be heard of +only by his harebrained exploits! "Follow him; see where he goes," had +been the command. For a moment she had rebelled, but her curiosity was not +to be denied. Besides, of what use was friendship if not to be tried? She +knew nothing of the riddle, she had never asked a question openly. She had +accidentally seen a photograph one day, in a trunk tray, with this man's +name scrawled across it, and upon this flimsy base she had builded a dozen +romances, each of which she had ruthlessly torn down to make room for +another; but still the riddle lay unsolved. She had thrown the name into +the conversation many a time, as one might throw a bomb into a crowd which +had no chance to escape. Fizzles! The man had been calmly discussed and +calmly dismissed. At odd times an article in the newspapers gave her an +opportunity; still the frank discussion, still the calm dismissal. She had +learned that the man was rich, irresponsible, vacillating, a picturesque +sort of fool. But two years? What had kept him away that long? A weak man, +in love, would not have made so tame a surrender. Perhaps he had not +surrendered; perhaps neither of them had. + +And yet, he sought the Calabrian. Here was another blind alley out of +which she had to retrace her steps. Bother! That Puck of Shakespeare was +right: What fools these mortals be! She was very glad that she possessed a +true sense of humor, spiced with harmless audacity. What a dreary world it +must be to those who did not know how and when to laugh! They talked of +the daring of the American woman: who but a Frenchwoman would have dared +what she had this night? The taxicab! She laughed. And this man was wax in +the hands of any pretty woman who came along! So rumor had it. But she +knew that rumor was only the attenuated ghost of Ananias, doomed forever +to remain on earth for the propagation of inaccurate whispers. Wax! Why, +she would have trusted herself in any situation with a man with those eyes +and that angle of jaw. It was all very mystifying. "Follow him; see where +he goes." The frank discussion, then, and the calm dismissal were but a +woman's dissimulation. And he had gone to Flora Desimone's. + +The carriage stopped before a handsome apartment-house in the Avenue de +Wagram. The unknown got out, gave the driver his fare, and rang the +concierge's bell. The sleepy guardian opened the door, touched his +gold-braided cap in recognition, and led the way to the small electric +lift. The young woman entered and familiarly pushed the button. The +apartment in which she lived was on the second floor; and there was luxury +everywhere, but luxury subdued and charmed by taste. There were fine old +Persian rugs on the floors, exquisite oils and water-colors on the walls; +and rare Japanese silk tapestries hung between the doors. In one corner of +the living-room was a bronze jar filled with artificial cherry blossoms; +in another corner near the door, hung a flat bell-shaped piece of brass--a +Burmese gong. There were many photographs ranged along the mantel-top; +celebrities, musical, artistic and literary, each accompanied by a liberal +expanse of autographic ink. + +She threw aside her hat and wraps with that manner of inconsequence which +distinguishes the artistic temperament from the thrifty one, and passed on +into the cozy dining-room. The maid had arranged some sandwiches and a +bottle of light wine. She ate and drank, while intermittent smiles played +across her merry face. Having satisfied her hunger, she opened her purse +and extracted the bank-note. She smoothed it out and laughed aloud. + +"Oh, if only he had taken me for a ride in the taxicab!" She bubbled again +with merriment. + +Suddenly she sprang up, as if inspired, and dashed into another room, a +study. She came back with pen and ink, and with a celerity that came of +long practise, drew five straight lines across the faint violet face of +the bank-note. Within these lines she made little dots at the top and +bottom of stubby perpendicular strokes, and strange interlineal +hieroglyphics, and sweeping curves, all of which would have puzzled an +Egyptologist if he were unused to the ways of musicians. Carefully she +dried the composition, and then put the note away. Some day she would +confound him by returning it. + +A little later her fingers were moving softly over the piano keys; +melodies in minor, sad and haunting and elusive, melodies that had never +been put on paper and would always be her own: in them she might leap from +comedy to tragedy, from laughter to tears, and only she would know. The +midnight adventure was forgotten, and the hero of it, too. With her eyes +closed and her lithe body swaying gently, she let the old weary pain in +her heart take hold again. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE BEAUTIFUL TIGRESS + + +Flora Desimone had been born in a Calabrian peasant's hut, and she had +rolled in the dust outside, yelling vigorously at all times. Specialists +declare that the reason for all great singers coming from lowly origin is +found in this early development of the muscles of the throat. Parents of +means employ nurses or sedatives to suppress or at least to smother these +infantile protests against being thrust inconsiderately into the turmoil +of human beings. Flora yelled or slept, as the case might be; her parents +were equally indifferent. They were too busily concerned with the getting +of bread and wine. Moreover, Flora was one among many. The gods are always +playing with the Calabrian peninsula, heaving it up here or throwing it +down there: _il terremoto_, the earthquake, the terror. Here nature +tinkers vicariously with souls; and she seldom has time to complete her +work. Constant communion with death makes for callosity of feeling; and +the Calabrians and the Sicilians are the cruellest among the civilized +peoples. Flora was ruthless. + +She lived amazingly well in the premier of an apartment-hotel in the +Champs-Elysées. In England and America she had amassed a fortune. Given +the warm beauty of the Southern Italian, the passion, the temperament, the +love of mischief, the natural cruelty, the inordinate craving for +attention and flattery, she enlivened the nations with her affairs. And +she never put a single beat of her heart into any of them. That is why her +voice is still splendid and her beauty unchanging. She did not dissipate; +calculation always barred her inclination; rather, she loitered about the +Forbidden Tree and played that she had plucked the Apple. She had an +example to follow; Eve had none. + +Men scattered fortunes at her feet as foolish Greeks scattered floral +offerings at the feet of their marble gods--without provoking the sense of +reciprocity or generosity or mercy. She had worked; ah, no one would ever +know how hard. She had been crushed, beaten, cursed, starved. That she had +risen to the heights in spite of these bruising verbs in no manner +enlarged her pity, but dulled and vitiated the little there was of it. Her +mental attitude toward humanity was childish: as, when the parent strikes, +the child blindly strikes back. She was determined to play, to enjoy life, +to give back blow for blow, nor caring where she struck. She was going to +press the juice from every grape. A thousand odd years gone, she would +have led the cry in Rome--"Bread and the circus!" or "To the lions!" She +would have disturbed Nero's complacency, and he would have played an +obbligato instead of a solo at the burning. And she was malice incarnate. +They came from all climes--her lovers--with roubles and lire and francs +and shillings and dollars; and those who finally escaped her enchantment +did so involuntarily, for lack of further funds. They called her villas +Circe's isles. She hated but two things in the world; the man she could +have loved and the woman she could not surpass. + +Arrayed in a kimono which would have evoked the envy of the empress of +Japan, supposing such a gorgeous raiment--peacocks and pine-trees, +brilliant greens and olives and blues and purples--fell under the gaze of +that lady's slanting eyes, she sat opposite the Slavonic Jove and smoked +her cigarette between sips of coffee. Frequently she smiled. The short +powerful hand of the man stroked his beard and he beamed out of his +cunning eyes, eyes a trifle too porcine to suggest a keen intellect above +them. + +"I am like a gorilla," he said; "but you are like a sleek tigress. I am +stronger, more powerful than you; but I am always in fear of your claws. +Especially when you smile like that. What mischief are you plotting now?" + +She drew in a cloud of smoke, held it in her puffed cheeks as she glided +round the table and leaned over his shoulders. She let the smoke drift +over his head and down his beard. In that moment he was truly Jovian. + +"Would you like me if I were a tame cat?" she purred. + +"I have never seen you in that rôle. Perhaps I might. You told me that you +would give up everything but the Paris season." + +"I have changed my mind." She ran one hand through his hair and the other +she entangled in his beard. "You'd change your mind, too, if you were a +woman." + +"I don't have to change my mind; you are always doing it for me. But I do +not want to go to America next winter." He drew her down so that he might +look into her face. It was something to see. + +"Bah!" She released herself and returned to her chair. "When the season is +over I want to go to Capri." + +"Capri! Too hot." + +"I want to go." + +"My dear, a dozen exiles are there, waiting to blow me up." He spoke +Italian well. "You do not wish to see me spattered over the beautiful +isle?" + +"Tch! tch! That is merely your usual excuse. You never had anything to do +with the police." + +"No?" He eyed the end of his cigarette gravely. "One does not have to be +affiliated with the police. There is class prejudice. We Russians are very +fond of Egypt in the winter. Capri seems to be the half-way place. They +wait for us, going and coming. Poor fools!" + +"I shall go alone, then." + +"All right." In his dull way he had learned that to pull the diva, one +must agree with her. In agreeing with her one adroitly dissuaded her. "You +go to Capri, and I'll go to the pavilion on the Neva." + +She snuffed the cigarette in the coffee-cup and frowned. "Some day you +will make me horribly angry." + +"Beautiful tigress! If a man knew what you wanted, you would not want it. +I can't hop about with the agility of those dancers at the Théâtre du +Palais Royale. The best I can do is to imitate the bear. What is wrong?" + +"They keep giving her the premier parts. She has no more fire in her than +a dead grate. The English-speaking singers, they are having everything +their own way. And none of them can act." + +"My dear Flora, this Eleonora is an actress, first of all. That she can +sing is a matter of good fortune, no more. Be reasonable. The consensus of +critical opinion is generally infallible; and all over the continent they +agree that she can act. Come, come; what do you care? She will never +approach your Carmen...." + +"You praise her to me?" tempest in her glowing eyes. + +"I do not praise her. I am quoting facts. If you throw that cup, my +tigress...." + +"Well?" dangerously. + +"It will spoil the set. Listen. Some one is at the speaking-tube." + +The singer crossed the room impatiently. Ordinarily she would have +continued the dispute, whether the bell rang or not. But she was getting +the worst of the argument and the bell was a timely diversion. The duke +followed her leisurely to the wall. + +"What is it?" asked Flora in French. + +The voice below answered with a query in English. "Is this the Signorina +Desimone?" + +"It is the duchess." + +"The duchess?" + +"Yes." + +"The devil!" + +She turned and stared at the duke, who shrugged. "No, no," she said; "the +duchess, not the devil." + +"Pardon me; I was astonished. But on the stage you are still Flora +Desimone?" + +"Yes. And now that my identity is established, who are you and what do you +want at this time of night?" + +The duke touched her arm to convey that this was not the moment in which +to betray her temper. + +"I am Edward Courtlandt." + +"The devil!" mimicked the diva. + +She and the duke heard a chuckle. + +"I beg your pardon again, Madame." + +"Well, what is it you wish?" amiably. + +The duke looked at her perplexedly. It seemed to him that she was always +leaving him in the middle of things. Preparing himself for rough roads, he +would suddenly find the going smooth. He was never swift enough mentally +to follow these flying transitions from enmity to amity. In the present +instance, how was he to know that his tigress had found in the man below +something to play with? + +"You once did me an ill turn," came up the tube. "I desire that you make +some reparation." + +"Sainted Mother! but it has taken you a long time to find out that I have +injured you," she mocked. + +There was no reply to this; so she was determined to stir the fire a +little. + +"And I advise you to be careful what you say; the duke is a very jealous +man." + +That gentleman fingered his beard thoughtfully. + +"I do not care a hang if he is." + +The duke coughed loudly close to the tube. + +Silence. + +"The least you can do, Madame, is to give me her address." + +"Her address!" repeated the duke relievedly. He had had certain grave +doubts, but these now took wing. Old flames were not in the habit of +asking, nay, demanding, other women's addresses. + +"I am speaking to Madame, your Highness," came sharply. + +"We do not speak off the stage," said the singer, pushing the duke aside. + +"I should like to make that young man's acquaintance," whispered the +duke. + +She warned him to be silent. + +Came the voice again: "Will you give me her address, please? Your +messenger gave me your address, inferring that you wished to see me." + +"I?" There was no impeaching her astonishment. + +"Yes, Madame." + +"My dear Mr. Courtlandt, you are the last man in all the wide world I wish +to see. And I do not quite like the way you are making your request. His +highness does not either." + +"Send him down!" + +"That is true." + +"What is?" + +"I remember. You are very strong and much given to fighting." + +The duke opened and shut his hands, pleasurably. Here was something he +could understand. He was a fighting man himself. Where was this going to +end, and what was it all about? + +"Do you not think, Madame, that you owe me something?" + +"No. What I owe I pay. Think, Mr. Courtlandt; think well." + +"I do not understand," impatiently. + +"_Ebbene_, I owe you nothing. Once I heard you say--'I do not like to see +you with the Calabrian; she is--Well, you know.' I stood behind you at +another time when you said that I was a fool." + +"Madame, I do not forget that, that is pure invention. You are mistaken." + +"No. You were. I am no fool." A light laugh drifted down the tube. + +"Madame, I begin to see." + +"Ah!" + +"You believe what you wish to believe." + +"I think not." + +"I never even noticed you," carelessly. + +"Take care!" whispered the duke, who noted the sudden dilation of her +nostrils. + +"It is easy to forget," cried the diva, furiously. "It is easy for you to +forget, but not for me." + +"Madame, I do not forget that you entered my room that night ..." + +"Your address!" bawled the duke. "That statement demands an explanation." + +"I should explain at once, your Highness," said the man down below calmly, +"only I prefer to leave that part in Madame's hands. I should not care to +rob her of anything so interesting and dramatic. Madame the duchess can +explain, if she wishes. I am stopping at the Grand, if you find her +explanations are not up to your requirements." + +"I shall give you her address," interrupted the diva, hastily. The duke's +bristling beard for one thing and the ice in the other man's tones for +another, disquieted her. The play had gone far enough, much as she would +have liked to continue it. This was going deeper than she cared to go. She +gave the address and added: "To-night she sings at the Austrian +ambassador's. I give you this information gladly because I know that it +will be of no use to you." + +"Then I shall dispense with the formality of thanking you. I add that I +wish you twofold the misery you have carelessly and gratuitously cost me. +Good night!" Click! went the little covering of the tube. + +"Now," said the duke, whose knowledge of the English tongue was not so +indifferent that he did not gather the substance, if not all the shadings, +of this peculiar conversation; "now, what the devil is all this about?" + +"I hate him!" + +"Refused to singe his wings?" + +"He has insulted me!" + +"I am curious to learn about that night you went to his room." + +Her bear had a ring in his nose, but she could not always lead him by it. +So, without more ado, she spun the tale, laughing at intervals. The story +evidently impressed the duke, for his face remained sober all through the +recital. + +"Did he say that you were a fool?" + +"Of course not!" + +"Shall I challenge him?" + +"Oh, my Russian bear, he fences like a Chicot; he is a dead shot; and is +afraid of nothing ... but a woman. No, no; I have something better. It +will be like one of those old comedies. I hate her!" with a burst of fury. +"She always does everything just so much better than I do. As for him, he +was nothing. It was she; I hurt her, wrung her heart." + +"Why?" mildly. + +"Is not that enough?" + +"I am slow; it takes a long time for anything to get into my head; but +when it arrives, it takes a longer time to get it out." + +"Well, go on." Her calm was ominous. + +"Love or vanity. This American singer got what you could not get. You have +had your way too long. Perhaps you did not love him. I do not believe you +can really love any one but Flora. Doubtless he possessed millions; but on +the other hand, I am a grand duke; I offered marriage, openly and legally, +in spite of all the opposition brought to bear." + +Flora was undeniably clever. She did the one thing that could successfully +cope with this perilous condition of the ducal mind. She laughed, and +flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. + +"I have named you well. You are a tigress. But this comedy of which you +speak: it might pass in Russia, but not in Paris." + +"I shall not be in the least concerned. My part was suggestion." + +"You suggested it to some one else?" + +"To be sure!" + +"My objections ..." + +"I will have my way in this affair. Besides, it is too late." + +Her gesture was explicit. He sighed. He knew quite well that she was +capable of leaving the apartment that night, in her kimono. + +"I'll go to Capri," resignedly. Dynamite bombs were not the worst things +in the world. + +"I don't want to go now." + +The duke picked up a fresh cigarette. "How the devil must have laughed +when the Lord made Eve!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE JOKE OF MONSIEUR + + +With the same inward bitterness that attends the mental processes of a +performing tiger on being sent back to its cage, Courtlandt returned to +his taxicab. He wanted to roar and lash and devour something. Instead, he +could only twist the ends of his mustache savagely. So she was a grand +duchess, or at least the morganatic wife of a grand duke! It did not seem +possible that any woman could be so full of malice. He simply could not +understand. It was essentially the Italian spirit; doubtless, till she +heard his voice, she had forgotten all about the episode that had +foundered his ship of happiness. + +Her statement as to the primal cause was purely inventive. There was not a +grain of truth in it. He could not possibly have been so rude. He had been +too indifferent. Too indifferent! The repetition of the phrase made him +sit straighter. Pshaw! It could not be that. He possessed a little vanity; +if he had not, his history would not have been worth a scrawl. But he +denied the possession vehemently, as men are wont to do. Strange, a man +will admit smashing those ten articles of advisement known as the +decalogue and yet deny the inherent quality which surrenders the +admission--vanity. However you may look at it, man's vanity is a complex +thing. The vanity of a woman has a definite and commendable purpose: the +conquest of man, his purse, and half of his time. Too indifferent! Was it +possible that he had roused her enmity simply because he had made it +evident that her charms did not interest him? Beyond lifting his hat to +her, perhaps exchanging a comment on the weather, his courtesies had not +been extended. Courtlandt was peculiar in some respects. A woman attracted +him, or she did not. In the one case he was affable, winning, pleasant, +full of those agreeable little surprises that in turn attract a woman. In +the other case, he passed on, for his impressions were instant and did not +require the usual skirmishing. + +A grand duchess! The straw-colored mustache now described two aggressive +points. What an impossible old world it was! The ambition of the English +nobility was on a far lower scale than that of their continental cousins. +On the little isle they were satisfied to marry soubrettes and chorus +girls. Here, the lady must be no less a personage than a grand-opera +singer or a _première danseuse_. The continental noble at least showed +some discernment; he did not choose haphazard; he desired the finished +product and was not to be satisfied with the material in the raw. + +Oh, stubborn Dutchman that he had been! Blind fool! To have run away +instead of fighting to the last ditch for his happiness! The Desimone +woman was right: it had taken him a long time to come to the conclusion +that she had done him an ill turn. And during all these weary months he +had drawn a melancholy picture of himself as a wounded lion, creeping into +the jungle to hide its hurts, when, truth be known, he had taken the ways +of the jackass for a model. He saw plainly enough now. More than this, +where there had been mere obstacles to overcome there were now steep +mountains, perhaps inaccessible for all he knew. His jaw set, and the +pressure of his lips broke the sweep of his mustache, converting it into +bristling tufts, warlike and resolute. + +As he was leaving, a square of light attracted his attention. He looked up +to see the outline of the bearded Russ in the window. Poor devil! He was +going to have a merry time of it. Well, that was his affair. Besides, +Russians, half the year chilled by their bitter snows, were susceptible to +volcanoes; they courted them as a counterbalance. Perhaps he had spoken +roughly, but his temper had not been under control. One thing he recalled +with grim satisfaction. He had sent a barbed arrow up the tube to disturb +the felicity of the dove-cote. The duke would be rather curious to know +what was meant in referring to the night she had come to his, +Courtlandt's, room. He laughed. It would be a fitting climax indeed if the +duke called him out. + +But what of the pretty woman in the Taverne Royale? What about her? At +whose bidding had she followed him? One or the other of them had not told +the truth, and he was inclined to believe that the prevarication had its +source in the pomegranate lips of the Calabrian. To give the old barb one +more twist, to learn if its venomous point still held and hurt; nothing +would have afforded the diva more delight. Courtlandt glared at the window +as the shade rolled down. + +When the taxicab joined the long line of carriages and automobiles +opposite the Austrian ambassador's, Courtlandt awoke to the dismal and +disquieting fact that he had formulated no plan of action. He had done no +more than to give the driver his directions; and now that he had arrived, +he had the choice of two alternatives. He could wait to see her come out +or return at once to his hotel, which, as subsequent events affirmed, +would have been the more sensible course. He would have been confronted +with small difficulty in gaining admission to the house. He knew enough of +these general receptions; the announcing of his name would have conveyed +nothing to the host, who knew perhaps a third of his guests, and many of +these but slightly. But such an adventure was distasteful to Courtlandt. +He could not overstep certain recognized boundaries of convention, and to +enter a man's house unasked was colossal impudence. Beyond this, he +realized that he could have accomplished nothing; the advantage would have +been hers. Nor could he meet her as she came out, for again the odds would +have been largely in her favor. No, the encounter must be when they two +were alone. She must be surprised. She must have no time to use her ready +wit. He had thought to wait until some reasonable plan offered itself for +trial; yet, here he was, with nothing definite or recognizable but the +fact that the craving to see her was not to be withstood. The blood began +to thunder in his ears. An idea presented itself. It appealed to him at +that moment as quite clever and feasible. + +"Wait!" he called to the driver. + +He dived among the carriages and cars, and presently he found what he +sought,--her limousine. He had taken the number into his mind too keenly +to be mistaken. He saw the end of his difficulties; and he went about the +affair with his usual directness. It was only at rare times that he ran +his head into a cul-de-sac. If her chauffeur was regularly employed in her +service, he would have to return to the hotel; but if he came from the +garage, there was hope. Every man is said to have his price, and a French +chauffeur might prove no notable exception to the rule. + +"Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?" Courtlandt asked of the man +lounging in the forward seat. + +The chauffeur looked hard at his questioner, and on finding that he +satisfied the requirements of a gentleman, grumbled an affirmative. The +limousine was well known in Paris, and he was growing weary of these +endless inquiries. + +"Are you in her employ directly, or do you come from the garage?" + +"I am from the garage, but I drive mademoiselle's car most of the time, +especially at night. It is not madame but mademoiselle, Monsieur." + +"My mistake." A slight pause. It was rather a difficult moment for +Courtlandt. The chauffeur waited wonderingly. "Would you like to make five +hundred francs?" + +"How, Monsieur?" + +Courtlandt should have been warned by the tone, which contained no unusual +interest or eagerness. + +"Permit me to remain in mademoiselle's car till she comes. I wish to ride +with her to her apartment." + +The chauffeur laughed. He stretched his legs. "Thanks, Monsieur. It is +very dull waiting. Monsieur knows a good joke." + +And to Courtlandt's dismay he realized that his proposal had truly been +accepted as a jest. + +"I am not joking. I am in earnest. Five hundred francs. On the word of a +gentleman I mean mademoiselle no harm. I am known to her. All she has to +do is to appeal to you, and you can stop the car and summon the police." + +The chauffeur drew in his legs and leaned toward his tempter. "Monsieur, +if you are not jesting, then you are a madman. Who are you? What do I know +about you? I never saw you before, and for two seasons I have driven +mademoiselle in Paris. She wears beautiful jewels to-night. How do I know +that you are not a gentlemanly thief? Ride home with mademoiselle! You are +crazy. Make yourself scarce, Monsieur; in one minute I shall call the +police." + +"Blockhead!" + +English of this order the Frenchman perfectly understood. "_Là, là!_" he +cried, rising to execute his threat. + +Courtlandt was furious, but his fury was directed at himself as much as at +the trustworthy young man getting down from the limousine. His eagerness +had led him to mistake stupidity for cleverness. He had gone about the +affair with all the clumsiness of a boy who was making his first +appearance at the stage entrance. It was mightily disconcerting, too, to +have found an honest man when he was in desperate need of a dishonest one. +He had faced with fine courage all sorts of dangerous wild animals; but at +this moment he hadn't the courage to face a policeman and endeavor to +explain, in a foreign tongue, a situation at once so delicate and so +singularly open to misconstruction. So, for the second time in his life he +took to his heels. Of the first time, more anon. He scrambled back to his +own car, slammed the door, and told the driver to drop him at the Grand. +His undignified retreat caused his face to burn; but discretion would not +be denied. However, he did not return to the hotel. + +Mademoiselle da Toscana's chauffeur scratched his chin in perplexity. In +frightening off his tempter he recognized that now he would never be able +to find out who he was. He should have played with him until mademoiselle +came out. She would have known instantly. That would have been the time +for the police. To hide in the car! What the devil! Only a madman would +have offered such a proposition. The man had been either an American or an +Englishman, for all his accuracy in the tongue. Bah! Perhaps he had heard +her sing that night, and had come away from the Opera, moonstruck. It was +not an isolated case. The fools were always pestering him, but no one had +ever offered so uncommon a bribe: five hundred francs. Mademoiselle might +not believe that part of the tale. Mademoiselle was clever. There was a +standing agreement between them that she would always give him half of +whatever was offered him in the way of bribes. It paid. It was easier to +sell his loyalty to her for two hundred and fifty francs than to betray +her for five hundred. She had yet to find him untruthful, and to-night he +would be as frank as he had always been. + +But who was this fellow in the Bavarian hat, who patrolled the sidewalk? +He had been watching him when the madman approached. For an hour or more +he had walked up and down, never going twenty feet beyond the limousine. +He couldn't see the face. The long dark coat had a military cut about the +hips and shoulders. From time to time he saw him glance up at the lighted +windows. Eh, well; there were other women in the world besides +mademoiselle, several others. + +He had to wait only half an hour for her appearance. He opened the door +and saw to it that she was comfortably seated; then he paused by the +window, touching his cap. + +"What is it, François?" + +"A gentleman offered me five hundred francs, Mademoiselle, if I would +permit him to hide in the car." + +"Five hundred francs? To hide in the car? Why didn't you call the +police?" + +"I started to, Mademoiselle, but he ran away." + +"Oh! What was he like?" The prima donna dropped the bunch of roses on the +seat beside her. + +"Oh, he looked well enough. He had the air of a gentleman. He was tall, +with light hair and mustache. But as I had never seen him before, and as +Mademoiselle wore some fine jewels, I bade him be off." + +"Would you know him again?" + +"Surely, Mademoiselle." + +"The next time any one bothers you, call the police. You have done well, +and I shall remember it. Home." + +The man in the Bavarian hat hurried back to the third car from the +limousine, and followed at a reasonably safe distance. + +The singer leaned back against the cushions. She was very tired. The opera +that night had taxed her strength, and but for her promise she would not +have sung to the ambassador's guests for double the fee. There was an +electric bulb in the car. She rarely turned it on, but she did to-night. +She gazed into the little mirror; and utter weariness looked back from out +the most beautiful, blue, Irish eyes in the world. She rubbed her fingers +carefully up and down the faint perpendicular wrinkle above her nose. It +was always there on nights like this. How she longed for the season to +end! She would fly away to the lakes, the beautiful, heavenly tinted +lakes, the bare restful mountains, and the clover lawns spreading under +brave old trees; she would walk along the vineyard paths, and loiter under +the fig-trees, far, far away from the world, its clamor, its fickleness, +its rasping jealousies. Some day she would have enough; and then, good-by +to all the clatter, the evil-smelling stages, the impossible people with +whom she was associated. She would sing only to those she loved. + +The glamour of the life had long ago passed; she sang on because she had +acquired costly habits, because she was fond of beautiful things, and +above all, because she loved to sing. She had as many moods as a bird, as +many sides as nature. A flash of sunshine called to her voice; the beads +of water, trembling upon the blades of grass after a summer shower, +brought a song to her lips. Hers was a God-given voice, and training had +added to it nothing but confidence. True, she could act; she had been told +by many a great impressario that histrionically she had no peer in grand +opera. But the knowledge gave her no thrill of delight. To her it was the +sum of a tremendous physical struggle. + +She shut off the light and closed her eyes. She reclined against the +cushion once more, striving not to think. Once, her hands shut tightly. +Never, never, never! She pressed down the burning thoughts by recalling +the bright scenes at the ambassador's, the real generous applause that had +followed her two songs. Ah, how that man Paderewski played! They two had +cost the ambassador eight thousand francs. Fame and fortune! Fortune she +could understand; but fame! What was it? Upon a time she believed she had +known what fame was; but that had been when she was striving for it. A +glowing article in a newspaper, a portrait in a magazine, rows upon rows +of curious eyes and a patter of hands upon hands; that was all; and for +this she had given the best of her life, and she was only twenty-five. + +The limousine stopped at last. The man in the Bavarian hat saw her alight. +His car turned and disappeared. It had taken him a week to discover where +she lived. His lodgings were on the other side of the Seine. After +reaching them he gave crisp orders to the driver, who set his machine off +at top speed. The man in the Bavarian hat entered his room and lighted the +gas. The room was bare and cheaply furnished. He took off his coat but +retained his hat, pulling it down still farther over his eyes. His face +was always in shadow. A round chin, two full red lips, scantily covered by +a blond mustache were all that could be seen. He began to walk the floor +impatiently, stopping and listening whenever he heard a sound. He waited +less than an hour for the return of the car. It brought two men. They were +well-dressed, smoothly-shaven, with keen eyes and intelligent faces. Their +host, who had never seen either of his guests before, carelessly waved his +hand toward the table where there were two chairs. He himself took his +stand by the window and looked out as he talked. In another hour the room +was dark and the street deserted. + +In the meantime the prima donna gave a sigh of relief. She was home. It +was nearly two o'clock. She would sleep till noon, and Saturday and Sunday +would be hers. She went up the stairs instead of taking the lift, and +though the hall was dark, she knew her way. She unlocked the door of the +apartment and entered, swinging the door behind her. As the act was +mechanical, her thoughts being otherwise engaged, she did not notice that +the lock failed to click. The ferrule of a cane had prevented that. + +She flung her wraps on the divan and put the roses in an empty bowl. The +door opened softly, without noise. Next, she stopped before the mirror +over the mantel, touched her hair lightly, detached the tiara of emeralds +... and became as inanimate as marble. She saw another face. She never +knew how long the interval of silence was. She turned slowly. + +"Yes, it is I!" said the man. + +Instantly she turned again to the mantel and picked up a +magazine-revolver. She leveled it at him. + +"Leave this room, or I will shoot." + +Courtlandt advanced toward her slowly. "Do so," he said. "I should much +prefer a bullet to that look." + +"I am in earnest." She was very white, but her hand was steady. + +He continued to advance. There followed a crash. The smell of burning +powder filled the room. The Burmese gong clanged shrilly and whirled +wildly. Courtlandt felt his hair stir in terror. + +"You must hate me indeed," he said quietly, as the sense of terror died +away. He folded his arms. "Try again; there ought to be half a dozen +bullets left. No? Then, good-by!" He left the apartment without another +word or look, and as the door closed behind him there was a kind of +finality in the clicking of the latch. + +The revolver clattered to the floor, and the woman who had fired it leaned +heavily against the mantel, covering her eyes. + +"Nora, Nora!" cried a startled voice from a bedroom adjoining. "What has +happened? _Mon Dieu_, what is it?" A pretty, sleepy-eyed young woman, in a +night-dress, rushed into the room. She flung her arms about the singer. +"Nora, my dear, my dear!" + +"He forced his way in. I thought to frighten him. It went off +accidentally. Oh, Celeste, Celeste, I might have killed him!" + +The other drew her head down on her shoulder, and listened. She could hear +voices in the lower hall, a shout of warning, a patter of steps; then the +hall door slammed. After that, silence, save for the faint mellowing +vibrations of the Burmese gong. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +CAPTIVE OR RUNAWAY + + +At the age of twenty-six Donald Abbott had become a prosperous and +distinguished painter in water-colors. His work was individual, and at the +same time it was delicate and charming. One saw his Italian landscapes as +through a filmy gauze: the almond blossoms of Sicily, the rose-laden walls +of Florence, the vineyards of Chianti, the poppy-glowing Campagna out of +Rome. His Italian lakes had brought him fame. He knew very little of the +grind and hunger that attended the careers of his whilom associates. His +father had left him some valuable patents--wash-tubs, carpet-cleaners, and +other labor-saving devices--and the royalties from these were quite +sufficient to keep him pleasantly housed. When he referred to his father +(of whom he had been very fond) it was as an inventor. Of what, he rarely +told. In America it was all right; but over here, where these inventions +were unknown, a wash-tub had a peculiar significance: that a man should be +found in his money through its services left persons in doubt as to his +genealogical tree, which, as a matter of fact, was a very good one. As a +boy his schoolmates had dubbed him "The Sweep" and "Suds," and it was only +human that he should wish to forget. + +His earnings (not inconsiderable, for tourists found much to admire in +both the pictures and the artist) he spent in gratifying his mild +extravagances. So there were no lines in his handsome, boyish, beardless +face; and his eyes were unusually clear and happy. Perhaps once or twice, +since his majority, he had returned to America to prove that he was not an +expatriate, though certainly he was one, the only tie existing between him +and his native land being the bankers who regularly honored his drafts. +And who shall condemn him for preferring Italy to the desolate center of +New York state, where good servants and good weather are as rare as are +flawless emeralds? + +Half after three, on Wednesday afternoon, Abbott stared moodily at the +weather-tarnished group by Dalou in the Luxembourg gardens--the _Triumph +of Silenus_. His gaze was deceptive, for the rollicking old bibulous +scoundrel had not stirred his critical sense nor impressed the delicate +films of thought. He was looking through the bronze, into the far-away +things. He sat on his own folding stool, which he had brought along from +his winter studio hard by in the old Boul' Miche'. He had arrived early +that morning, all the way from Como, to find a thunderbolt driven in at +his feet. Across his knees fluttered an open newspaper, the Paris edition +of the New York _Herald_. All that kept it from blowing away was the tense +if sprawling fingers of his right hand; his left hung limply at his side. + +It was not possible. Such things did not happen these unromantic days to +musical celebrities. She had written that on Monday night she would sing +in _La Bohème_ and on Wednesday, _Faust_. She had since vanished, vanished +as completely as though she had taken wings and flown away. It was unreal. +She had left the apartment in the Avenue de Wagram on Saturday afternoon, +and nothing had been seen or heard of her since. At the last moment they +had had to find a substitute for her part in the Puccini opera. The maid +testified that her mistress had gone on an errand of mercy. She had not +mentioned where, but she had said that she would return in time to dress +for dinner, which proved conclusively that something out of the ordinary +had befallen her. + +The automobile that had carried her away had not been her own, and the +chauffeur was unknown. None of the directors at the Opera had been +notified of any change in the singer's plans. She had disappeared, and +they were deeply concerned. Singers were generally erratic, full of sudden +indispositions, unaccountable whims; but the Signorina da Toscana was one +in a thousand. She never broke an engagement. If she was ill she said so +at once; she never left them in doubt until the last moment. Indecision +was not one of her characteristics. She was as reliable as the sun. If the +directors did not hear definitely from her by noon to-day, they would have +to find another Marguerite. + +The police began to move, and they stirred up some curious bits of +information. A man had tried to bribe the singer's chauffeur, while she +was singing at the Austrian ambassador's. The chauffeur was able to +describe the stranger with some accuracy. Then came the bewildering +episode in the apartment: the pistol-shot, the flight of the man, the +astonished concierge to whom the beautiful American would offer no +explanations. The man (who tallied with the description given by the +chauffeur) had obtained entrance under false representations. He claimed +to be an emissary with important instructions from the Opera. There was +nothing unusual in this; messengers came at all hours, and seldom the same +one twice; so the concierge's suspicions had not been aroused. Another +item. A tall handsome Italian had called at eleven o'clock Saturday +morning, but the signorina had sent down word that she could not see him. +The maid recalled that her mistress had intended to dine that night with +the Italian gentleman. His name she did not know, having been with the +signorina but two weeks. + +Celeste Fournier, the celebrated young pianist and composer, who shared +the apartment with the missing prima donna, stated that she hadn't the +slightest idea where her friend was. She was certain that misfortune had +overtaken her in some inexplicable manner. To implicate the Italian was +out of the question. He was well-known to them both. He had arrived again +at seven, Saturday, and was very much surprised that the signorina had not +yet returned. He had waited till nine, when he left, greatly disappointed. +He was the Barone di Monte-Verdi in Calabria, formerly military attaché at +the Italian embassy in Berlin. Sunday noon Mademoiselle Fournier had +notified the authorities. She did not know, but she felt sure that the +blond stranger knew more than any one else. And here was the end of +things. The police found themselves at a standstill. They searched the +hotels but without success; the blond stranger could not be found. + +Abbott's eyes were not happy and pleasant just now. They were dull and +blank with the reaction of the stunning blow. He, too, was certain of the +Barone. Much as he secretly hated the Italian, he knew him to be a +fearless and an honorable man. But who could this blond stranger be who +appeared so sinisterly in the two scenes? From where had he come? Why had +Nora refused to explain about the pistol-shot? Any woman had a perfect +right to shoot a man who forced his way into her apartment. Was he one of +those mad fools who had fallen in love with her, and had become desperate? +Or was it some one she knew and against whom she did not wish to bring any +charges? Abducted! And she might be, at this very moment, suffering all +sorts of indignities. It was horrible to be so helpless. + +The sparkle of the sunlight upon the ferrule of a cane, extending over his +shoulder, broke in on his agonizing thoughts. He turned, an angry word on +the tip of his tongue. He expected to see some tourist who wanted to be +informed. + +"Ted Courtlandt!" He jumped up, overturning the stool. "And where the +dickens did you come from? I thought you were in the Orient?" + +"Just got back, Abby." + +The two shook hands and eyed each other with the appraising scrutiny of +friends of long standing. + +"You don't change any," said Abbott. + +"Nor do you. I've been standing behind you fully two minutes. What were +you glooming about? Old Silenus offend you?" + +"Have you read the _Herald_ this morning?" + +"I never read it nowadays. They are always giving me a roast of some kind. +Whatever I do they are bound to misconstrue it." Courtlandt stooped and +righted the stool, but sat down on the grass, his feet in the path. +"What's the trouble? Have they been after you?" + +Abbott rescued the offending paper and shaking it under his friend's nose, +said: "Read that." + +Courtlandt's eyes widened considerably as they absorbed the significance +of the heading--"Eleonora da Toscana missing." + +"Bah!" he exclaimed. + +"You say bah?" + +"It looks like one of their advertising dodges. I know something about +singers," Courtlandt added. "I engineered a musical comedy once." + +"You do not know anything about her," cried Abbott hotly. + +"That's true enough." Courtlandt finished the article, folded the paper +and returned it, and began digging in the path with his cane. + +"But what I want to know is, who the devil is this mysterious blond +stranger?" Abbott flourished the paper again. "I tell you, it's no +advertising dodge. She's been abducted. The hound!" + +Courtlandt ceased boring into the earth. "The story says that she refused +to explain this blond chap's presence in her room. What do you make of +that?" + +"Perhaps you think the fellow was her press-agent?" was the retort. + +"Lord, no! But it proves that she knew him, that she did not want the +police to find him. At least, not at that moment. Who's the Italian?" +suddenly. + +"I can vouch for him. He is a gentleman, honorable as the day is long, +even if he is hot-headed at times. Count him out of it. It's this unknown, +I tell you. Revenge for some imagined slight. It's as plain as the nose on +your face." + +"How long have you known her?" asked Courtlandt presently. + +"About two years. She's the gem of the whole lot. Gentle, kindly, +untouched by flattery.... Why, you must have seen and heard her!" + +"I have." Courtlandt stared into the hole he had dug. "Voice like an +angel's, with a face like Bellini's donna; and Irish all over. But for all +that, you will find that her disappearance will turn out to be a diva's +whim. Hang it, Suds, I've had some experience with singers." + +"You are a blockhead!" exploded the younger man. + +"All right, I am." Courtlandt laughed. + +"Man, she wrote me that she would sing Monday and to-night, and wanted me +to hear her. I couldn't get here in time for _La Bohème_, but I was +building on _Faust_. And when she says a thing, she means it. As you said, +she's Irish." + +"And I'm Dutch." + +"And the stubbornest Dutchman I ever met. Why don't you go home and settle +down and marry?--and keep that phiz of yours out of the newspapers? +Sometimes I think you're as crazy as a bug." + +"An opinion shared by many. Maybe I am. I dash in where lunatics fear to +tread. Come on over to the Soufflet and have a drink with me." + +"I'm not drinking to-day," tersely. "There's too much ahead for me to +do." + +"Going to start out to find her? Oh, Sir Galahad!" ironically. "Abby, you +used to be a sport. I'll wager a hundred against a bottle of pop that +to-morrow or next day she'll turn up serenely, with the statement that she +was indisposed, sorry not to have notified the directors, and all that. +They do it repeatedly every season." + +"But an errand of mercy, the strange automobile which can not be found? +The engagement to dine with the Barone? Celeste Fournier's statement? You +can't get around these things. I tell you, Nora isn't that kind. She's too +big in heart and mind to stoop to any such devices," vehemently. + +"Nora! That looks pretty serious, Abby. You haven't gone and made a fool +of yourself, have you?" + +"What do you call making a fool of myself?" truculently. + +"You aren't a suitor, are you? An accepted suitor?" unruffled, rather +kindly. + +"No, but I would to heaven that I were!" Abbott jammed the newspaper into +his pocket and slung the stool over his arm. "Come on over to the studio +until I get some money." + +"You are really going to start a search?" + +"I really am. I'd start one just as quickly for you, if I heard that you +had vanished under mysterious circumstances." + +"I believe you honestly would." + +"You are an old misanthrope. I hope some woman puts the hook into you some +day. Where did you pick up the grouch? Some of your dusky princesses give +you the go-by?" + +"You, too, Abby?" + +"Oh, rot! Of course I never believed any of that twaddle. Only, I've got a +sore head to-day. If you knew Nora as well as I do, you'd understand." + +Courtlandt walked on a little ahead of the artist, who looked up and down +the athletic form, admiringly. Sometimes he loved the man, sometimes he +hated him. He marched through tragedy and comedy and thrilling adventure +with no more concern that he evinced in striding through these gardens. +Nearly every one had heard of his exploits; but who among them knew +anything of the real man, so adroitly hidden under unruffled externals? +That there was a man he did not know, hiding deep down within those +powerful shoulders, he had not the least doubt. He himself possessed the +quick mobile temperament of the artist, and he could penetrate but not +understand the poise assumed with such careless ease by his friend. Dutch +blood had something to do with it, and there was breeding, but there was +something more than these: he was a reversion, perhaps, to the type of man +which had made the rovers of the Lowlands feared on land and sea, now +hemmed in by convention, hampered by the barriers of progress, and +striving futilely to find an outlet for his peculiar energies. One bit of +knowledge gratified him; he stood nearer to Courtlandt than any other man. +He had known the adventurer as a boy, and long separations had in nowise +impaired the foundations of this friendship. + +Courtlandt continued toward the exit, his head forward, his gaze bent on +the path. He had the air of a man deep in thought, philosophic thought, +which leaves the brows unmarred by those corrugations known as frowns. Yet +his thoughts were far from philosophic. Indeed, his soul was in mad +turmoil. He could have thrown his arms toward the blue sky and cursed +aloud the fates that had set this new tangle at his feet. He longed for +the jungles and some mad beast to vent his wrath upon. But he gave no +sign. He had returned with a purpose as hard and grim as iron; and no +obstacle, less powerful than death, should divert or control him. +Abduction? Let the public believe what it might; he held the key to the +mystery. She was afraid, and had taken flight. So be it. + +"I say, Ted," called out the artist, "what did you mean by saying that you +were a Dutchman?" + +Courtlandt paused so that Abbott might catch up to him. "I said that I was +a Dutchman?" + +"Yes. And it has just occurred to me that you meant something." + +"Oh, yes. You were talking of Da Toscana? Let's call her Harrigan. It will +save time, and no one will know to whom we refer. You said she was Irish, +and that when she said a thing she meant it. My boy, the Irish are +notorious for claiming that. They often say it before they see clearly. +Now, we Dutchmen,--it takes a long time for us to make up our minds, but +when we do, something has got to bend or break." + +"You don't mean to say that you are going to settle down and get +married?" + +"I'm not going to settle down and get married, if that will ease your mind +any." + +"Man, I was hoping!" + +"Three meals a day in the same house, with the same woman, never appealed +to me." + +"What do you want, one for each meal?" + +"There's the dusky princess peeking out again. The truth is, Abby, if I +could hide myself for three or four years, long enough for people to +forget me, I might reconsider. But it should be under another name. They +envy us millionaires. Why, we are the lonesomest duffers going. We +distrust every one; we fly when a woman approaches; we become monomaniacs; +one thing obsesses us, everybody is after our money. We want friends, we +want wives, but we want them to be attracted to us and not to our +money-bags. Oh, pshaw! What plans have you made in regard to the search?" + +Gloom settled upon the artist's face. "I've got to find out what's +happened to her, Ted. This isn't any play. Why, she loves the part of +Marguerite as she loves nothing else. She's been kidnaped, and only God +knows for what reason. It has knocked me silly. I just came up from Como, +where she spends the summers now. I was going to take her and Fournier out +to dinner." + +"Who's Fournier?" + +"Mademoiselle Fournier, the composer. She goes with Nora on the yearly +concert tours." + +"Pretty?" + +"Charming." + +"I see," thoughtfully. "What part of the lake; the Villa d'Este, +Cadenabbia?" + +"Bellaggio. Oh, it was ripping last summer. She's always singing when +she's happy. When she sings out on the terrace, suddenly, without giving +any one warning, her voice is wonderful. No audience ever heard anything +like it." + +"I heard her Friday night. I dropped in at the Opera without knowing what +they were singing. I admit all you say in regard to her voice and looks; +but I stick to the whim." + +"But you can't fake that chap with the blond mustache," retorted Abbott +grimly. "Lord, I wish I had run into you any day but to-day. I'm all in. I +can telephone to the Opera from the studio, and then we shall know for a +certainty whether or not she will return for the performance to-night. If +not, then I'm going in for a little detective work." + +"Abby, it will turn out to be the sheep of Little Bo-Peep." + +"Have your own way about it." + +When they arrived at the studio Abbott telephoned promptly. Nothing had +been heard. They were substituting another singer. + +"Call up the _Herald_," suggested Courtlandt. + +Abbott did so. And he had to answer innumerable questions, questions which +worked him into a fine rage: who was he, where did he live, what did he +know, how long had he been in Paris, and could he prove that he had +arrived that morning? Abbott wanted to fling the receiver into the mouth +of the transmitter, but his patience was presently rewarded. The singer +had not yet been found, but the chauffeur of the mysterious car had turned +up ... in a hospital, and perhaps by night they would know everything. The +chauffeur had had a bad accident; the car itself was a total wreck, in a +ditch, not far from Versailles. + +"There!" cried Abbott, slamming the receiver on the hook. "What do you say +to that?" + +"The chauffeur may have left her somewhere, got drunk afterward, and +plunged into the ditch. Things have happened like that. Abby, don't make a +camel's-hair shirt out of your paint-brushes. What a pother about a +singer! If it had been a great inventor, a poet, an artist, there would +have been nothing more than a two-line paragraph. But an opera-singer, one +who entertains us during our idle evenings--ha! that's a different matter. +Set instantly that great municipal machinery called the police in action; +sell extra editions on the streets. What ado!" + +"What the devil makes _you_ so bitter?" + +"Was I bitter? I thought I was philosophizing." Courtlandt consulted his +watch. Half after four. "Come over to the Maurice and dine with me +to-morrow night, that is, if you do not find your prima donna. I've an +engagement at five-thirty, and must be off." + +"I was about to ask you to dine with me to-night," disappointedly. + +"Can't; awfully sorry, Abby. It was only luck that I met you in the +Luxembourg. Be over about seven. I was very glad to see you again." + +Abbott kicked a broken easel into a corner. "All right. If anything turns +up I'll let you know. You're at the Grand?" + +"Yes. By-by." + +"I know what's the matter with him," mused the artist, alone. "Some woman +has chucked him. Silly little fool, probably." + +Courtlandt went down-stairs and out into the boulevard. Frankly, he was +beginning to feel concerned. He still held to his original opinion that +the diva had disappeared of her own free will; but if the machinery of the +police had been started, he realized that his own safety would eventually +become involved. By this time, he reasoned, there would not be a hotel in +Paris free of surveillance. Naturally, blond strangers would be in demand. +The complications that would follow his own arrest were not to be ignored. +He agreed with his conscience that he had not acted with dignity in +forcing his way into her apartment. But that night he had been at odds +with convention; his spirit had been that of the marauding old Dutchman of +the seventeenth century. He perfectly well knew that she was in the right +as far as the pistol-shot was concerned. Further, he knew that he could +quash any charge she might make in that direction by the simplest of +declarations; and to avoid this simplest of declarations she would prefer +silence above all things. They knew each other tolerably well. + +It was extremely fortunate that he had not been to the hotel since +Saturday. He went directly to the war-office. The great and powerful man +there was the only hope left. They had met some years before in Algiers, +where Courtlandt had rendered him a very real service. + +"I did not expect you to the minute," the great man said pleasantly. "You +will not mind waiting for a few minutes." + +"Not in the least. Only, I'm in a deuce of a mess," frankly and directly. +"Innocently enough, I've stuck my head into the police net." + +"Is it possible that now I can pay my debt to you?" + +"Such as it is. Have you read the article in the newspapers regarding the +disappearance of Signorina da Toscana, the singer?" + +"Yes." + +"I am the unknown blond. To-morrow morning I want you to go with me to the +prefecture and state that I was with you all of Saturday and Sunday; that +on Monday you and your wife dined with me, that yesterday we went to the +aviation meet, and later to the Odéon." + +"In brief, an alibi?" smiling now. + +"Exactly. I shall need one." + +"And a perfectly good alibi. But I have your word that you are in nowise +concerned? Pardon the question, but between us it is really necessary if I +am to be of service to you." + +"On my word as a gentleman." + +"That is sufficient." + +"In fact, I do not believe that she has been abducted at all. Will you let +me use your pad and pen for a minute?" + +The other pushed over the required articles. Courtlandt scrawled a few +words and passed back the pad. + +"For me to read?" + +"Yes," moodily. + +The Frenchman read. Courtlandt watched him anxiously. There was not even a +flicker of surprise in the official eye. Calmly he ripped off the sheet +and tore it into bits, distributing the pieces into the various +waste-baskets yawning about his long flat desk. Next, still avoiding the +younger man's eye, he arranged his papers neatly and locked them up in a +huge safe which only the artillery of the German army could have forced. +He then called for his hat and stick. He beckoned to Courtlandt to follow. +Not a word was said until the car was humming on the road to Vincennes. + +"Well?" said Courtlandt, finally. It was not possible for him to hold back +the question any longer. + +"My dear friend, I am taking you out to the villa for the night." + +"But I have nothing...." + +"And I have everything, even foresight. If you were arrested to-night it +would cause you some inconvenience. I am fifty-six, some twenty years your +senior. Under this hat of mine I carry a thousand secrets, and every one +of these thousand must go to the grave with me, yours along with them. I +have met you a dozen times since those Algerian days, and never have you +failed to afford me some amusement or excitement. You are the most +interesting and entertaining young man I know. Try one of these cigars." + +Precisely at the time Courtlandt stepped into the automobile outside the +war-office, a scene, peculiar in character, but inconspicuous in that it +did not attract attention, was enacted in the Gare de l'Est. Two +sober-visaged men stood respectfully aside to permit a tall young man in a +Bavarian hat to enter a compartment of the second-class. What could be +seen of the young man's face was full of smothered wrath and +disappointment. How he hated himself, for his weakness, for his cowardice! +He was not all bad. Knowing that he was being watched and followed, he +could not go to Versailles and compromise her, uselessly. And devil take +the sleek demon of a woman who had prompted him to commit so base an act! + +"You will at least," he said, "deliver that message which I have intrusted +to your care." + +"It shall reach Versailles to-night, your Highness." + +The young man reread the telegram which one of the two men had given him a +moment since. It was a command which even he, wilful and disobedient as he +was, dared not ignore. He ripped it into shreds and flung them out of the +window. He did not apologize to the man into whose face the pieces flew. +That gentleman reddened perceptibly, but he held his tongue. The blare of +a horn announced the time of departure. The train moved. The two men on +the platform saluted, but the young man ignored the salutation. Not until +the rear car disappeared in the hazy distance did the watchers stir. Then +they left the station and got into the tonneau of a touring-car, which +shot away and did not stop until it drew up before that imposing embassy +upon which the French will always look with more or less suspicion. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE BIRD BEHIND BARS + + +The most beautiful blue Irish eyes in the world gazed out at the dawn +which turned night-blue into day-blue and paled the stars. Rosal lay the +undulating horizon, presently to burst into living flame, transmuting the +dull steel bars of the window into fairy gold, that trick of alchemy so +futilely sought by man. There was a window at the north and another at the +south, likewise barred; but the Irish eyes never sought these two. It was +from the east window only that they could see the long white road that led +to Paris. + +The nightingale was truly caged. But the wild heart of the eagle beat in +this nightingale's breast, and the eyes burned as fiercely toward the east +as the east burned toward the west. Sunday and Monday, Tuesday and +Wednesday and Thursday, to-day; and that the five dawns were singular in +beauty and that she had never in her life before witnessed the creation of +five days, one after another, made no impression upon her sense of the +beautiful, so delicate and receptive in ordinary times. She was conscious +that within her the cup of wrath was overflowing. Of other things, such as +eating and sleeping and moving about in her cage (more like an eagle +indeed than a nightingale), recurrence had blunted her perception. + +Her clothes were soiled and crumpled, sundrily torn; her hair was in +disorder, and tendrils hung about her temples and forehead--thick black +hair, full of purple tones in the sunlight--for she had not surrendered +peacefully to this incarceration. Dignity, that phase of philosophy which +accepts quietly the inevitable, she had thrown to the winds. She had +fought desperately, primordially, when she had learned that her errand of +mercy was nothing more than a cruel hoax. + +"Oh, but he shall pay, he shall pay!" she murmured, striving to loosen the +bars with her small, white, helpless hands. The cry seemed to be an +arietta, for through all these four maddening days she had voiced it,--now +low and deadly with hate, now full-toned in burning anger, now broken by +sobs of despair. "Will you never come, so that I may tell you how base and +vile you are?" she further addressed the east. + +She had waited for his appearance on Sunday. Late in the day one of the +jailers had informed her that it was impossible for the gentleman to come +before Monday. So she marshaled her army of phrases, of accusations, of +denunciations, ready to smother him with them the moment he came. But he +came not Monday, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday. The suspense was to her mind +diabolical. She began to understand: he intended to keep her there till he +was sure that her spirit was broken, then he would come. Break her spirit? +She laughed wildly. He could break her spirit no more easily than she +could break these bars. To bring her to Versailles upon an errand of +mercy! Well, he was capable of anything. + +The room was large and fairly comfortable, but contained nothing +breakable, having been tenanted at one time by a strenuous lunatic, who +had considerately died after his immediate family and relations had worn +themselves into their several graves, taking care of him. But Eleonora +Harrigan knew nothing of the history of the room while she occupied it. +So, no ghost disturbed her restless slumberless nights, consumed in +watching and listening. + +She was not particularly distressed because she knew that it would not be +possible for her to sing again until the following winter in New York. She +had sobbed too much, with her face buried in the pillow. Had these sobs +been born of weakness, all might have been well; but rage had mothered +them, and thus her voice was in a very bad way. This morning she was +noticeably hoarse, and there was a break in the arietta. No, she did not +fret over this side of the calamity. The sting of it all lay in the fact +that she had been outraged in the matter of personal liberty, with no act +of reprisal to ease her immediate longing to be avenged. + +Nora, as she stood in the full morning sunlight, was like to gladden the +eyes of all mankind. She was beautiful, and all adjectives applicable +would but serve to confuse rather than to embellish her physical +excellence. She was as beautiful as a garden rose is, needing no defense, +no ramparts of cloying phrases. The day of poets is gone, otherwise she +would have been sung in cantos. She was tall, shapely, deep-bosomed, +fine-skinned. Critics, in praising her charms, delved into mythology and +folk-lore for comparisons, until there wasn't a goddess left on Olympus or +on Northland's icy capes; and when these images became a little shop-worn, +referred to certain masterpieces of the old fellows who had left nothing +more to be said in oils. Nora enjoyed it all. + +She had not been happy in the selection of her stage name; but she had +chosen Eleonora da Toscana because she believed there was good luck in it. +Once, long before the world knew of her, she had returned home from Italy +unexpectedly. "Molly, here's Nora, from Tuscany!" her delighted father had +cried: who at that time had a nebulous idea that Tuscany was somewhere in +Ireland because it had a Celtic ring to it. Being filled with love of +Italy, its tongue, its history, its physical beauty, she naïvely +translated "Nora from Tuscany" into Italian, and declared that when she +went upon the stage she would be known by that name. There had been some +smiling over the pseudonym; but Nora was Irish enough to cling to it. By +and by the great music-loving public ceased to concern itself about her +name; it was her fresh beauty and her wonderful voice they craved to see +and hear. Kings and queens, emperors and empresses, princes and +princesses,--what is called royalty and nobility in the newspapers freely +gave her homage. Quite a rise in the world for a little girl who had once +lived in a shabby apartment in New York and run barefooted on the wet +asphalts, summer nights! + +But Nora was not recalling the happy scenes of her childhood; indeed, no; +she was still threatening Paris. Once there, she would not lack for +reprisals. To have played on her pity! To have made a lure of her tender +concern for the unfortunate! Never would she forgive such baseness. And +only a little while ago she had been as happy as the nightingale to which +they compared her. Never had she wronged any one; she had been kindness +and thoughtfulness to all with whom she had come in contact. But from now +on!... Her fingers tightened round the bars. She might have posed as Dido +when she learned that the noble Æneas was dead. War, war; woe to the moths +who fluttered about her head hereafter! + +Ah, but had she been happy? Her hands slid down the bars. Her expression +changed. The mouth drooped, the eagle-light in her eyes dimmed. From out +the bright morning, somewhere, had come weariness, and with this came +weakness, and finally, tears. + +She heard the key turn in the lock. They had never come so early before. +She was astonished to see that her jailer did not close the door as usual. +He put down the breakfast tray on the table. There was tea and toast and +fruit. + +"Mademoiselle, there has been a terrible mistake," said the man humbly. + +"Ah! So you have found that out?" she cried. + +"Yes. You are not the person for whom this room was intended." Which was +half a truth and perfectly true, paradoxical as it may seem. "Eat your +breakfast in peace. You are free, Mademoiselle." + +"Free? You will not hinder me if I walk through that door?" + +"No, Mademoiselle. On the contrary, I shall be very glad, and so will my +brother, who guards you at night. I repeat, there has been a frightful +mistake. Monsieur Champeaux ..." + +"Monsieur Champeaux!" Nora was bewildered. She had never heard this name +before. + +"He calls himself that," was the diplomatic answer. + +All Nora's suspicions took firm ground again. "Will you describe this +Monsieur Champeaux to me?" asked the actress coming into life. + +"He is short, dark, and old, Mademoiselle." + +"Rather is he not tall, blond, and young?" ironically. + +The jailer concealed what annoyance he felt. In his way he was just as +capable an actor as she was. The accuracy of her description startled him; +for the affair had been carried out so adroitly that he had been positive +that until her real captor appeared she would be totally in the dark +regarding his identity. And here she had hit it off in less than a dozen +words. Oh, well; it did not matter now. She might try to make it +unpleasant for his employer, but he doubted the ultimate success of her +attempts. However, the matter was at an end as far as he was concerned. + +"Have you thought what this means? It is abduction. It is a crime you have +committed, punishable by long imprisonment." + +"I have been Mademoiselle's jailer, not her abductor. And when one is poor +and in need of money!" He shrugged. + +"I will give you a thousand francs for the name and address of the man who +instigated this outrage." + +Ah, he thought: then she wasn't so sure? "I told you the name, +Mademoiselle. As for his address, I dare not give it, not for ten thousand +francs. Besides, I have said that there has been a mistake." + +"For whom have I been mistaken?" + +"Who but Monsieur Champeaux's wife, Mademoiselle, who is not in her right +mind?" with inimitable sadness. + +"Very well," said Nora. "You say that I am free. That is all I want, +freedom." + +"In twenty minutes the electric tram leaves for Paris. You will recall, +Mademoiselle," humbly, "that we have taken nothing belonging to you. You +have your purse and hat and cloak. The struggle was most unfortunate. But, +think, Mademoiselle, think; we thought you to be insane!" + +"Permit me to doubt that! And you are not afraid to let me go?" + +"Not in the least, Mademoiselle. A mistake has been made, and in telling +you to go at once, we do our best to rectify this mistake. It is only five +minutes to the tram. A carriage is at the door. Will Mademoiselle be +pleased to remember that we have treated her with the utmost courtesy?" + +"I shall remember everything," ominously. + +"Very good, Mademoiselle. You will be in Paris before nine." With this he +bowed and backed out of the room as though Nora had suddenly made a +distinct ascension in the scale of importance. + +"Wait!" she called. + +His face appeared in the doorway again. + +"Do you know who I am?" + +"Since this morning, Mademoiselle." + +"That is all." + +Free! Her veins tingled with strange exultation. He had lost his courage +and had become afraid of the consequences. Free! Monsieur Champeaux +indeed! Cowardice was a new development in his character. He had been +afraid to come. She drank the tea, but did not touch the toast or fruit. +There would be time enough for breakfast when she arrived in Paris. Her +hands trembled violently as she pinned on her hat, and she was not greatly +concerned as to the angle. She snatched up her purse and cloak, and sped +out into the street. A phaeton awaited her. + +"The tram," she said. + +"Yes, Mademoiselle." + +"And go quickly." She would not feel safe until she was in the tram. + +A face appeared at one of the windows. As the vehicle turned the corner, +the face vanished; and perhaps that particular visage disappeared forever. +A gray wig came off, the little gray side-whiskers, the bushy grey +eyebrows, revealing a clever face, not more than thirty, cunning, but +humorously cunning and anything but scoundrelly. The painted scar aslant +the nose was also obliterated. With haste the man thrust the evidences of +disguise into a traveling-bag, ran here and there through the rooms, all +bare and unfurnished save the one with the bars and the kitchen, which +contained two cots and some cooking utensils. Nothing of importance had +been left behind. He locked the door and ran all the way to the Place +d'Armes, catching the tram to Paris by a fraction of a minute. + +All very well done. She would be in Paris before the police made any +definite move. The one thing that disturbed him was the thought of the +blockhead of a chauffeur, who had got drunk before his return from +Versailles. If he talked; well, he could say nothing beyond the fact that +he had deposited the singer at the house as directed. He knew positively +nothing. + +The man laughed softly. A thousand francs apiece for him and Antoine, and +no possible chance of being discovered. Let the police find the house in +Versailles; let them trace whatever paths they found; the agent would tell +them, and honestly, that an aged man had rented the house for a month and +had paid him in advance. What more could the agent say? Only one bit of +puzzlement: why hadn't the blond stranger appeared? Who was he, in truth, +and what had been his game? All this waiting and wondering, and then a +curt telegram of the night before, saying, "Release her." So much the +better. What his employer's motives were did not interest him half so much +as the fact that he had a thousand francs in his pocket, and that all +element of danger had been done away with. True, the singer herself would +move heaven and earth to find out who had been back of the abduction. Let +her make her accusations. He was out of it. + +He glanced toward the forward part of the tram. There she sat, staring at +the white road ahead. A young Frenchman sat near her, curling his mustache +desperately. So beautiful and all alone! At length he spoke to her. She +whirled upon him so suddenly that his hat fell off his head and rolled at +the feet of the onlooker. + +"Your hat, Monsieur?" he said gravely, returning it. + +Nora laughed maliciously. The author of the abortive flirtation fled down +to the body of the tram. + +And now there was no one on top but Nora and her erstwhile jailer, whom +she did not recognize in the least. + + * * * * * + +"Mademoiselle," said the great policeman soberly, "this is a grave +accusation to make." + +"I make it, nevertheless," replied Nora. She sat stiffly in her chair, her +face colorless, dark circles under her eyes. She never looked toward +Courtlandt. + +"But Monsieur Courtlandt has offered an alibi such as we can not ignore. +More than that, his integrity is vouched for by the gentleman at his side, +whom doubtless Mademoiselle recognizes." + +Nora eyed the great man doubtfully. + +"What is the gentleman to you?" she was interrogated. + +"Absolutely nothing," contemptuously. + +The minister inspected his rings. + +"He has annoyed me at various times," continued Nora; "that is all. And +his actions on Friday night warrant every suspicion I have entertained +against him." + +The chief of police turned toward the bandaged chauffeur. "You recognize +the gentleman?" + +"No, Monsieur, I never saw him before. It was an old man who engaged me." + +"Go on." + +"He said that Mademoiselle's old teacher was very ill and asked for +assistance. I left Mademoiselle at the house and drove away. I was hired +from the garage. That is the truth, Monsieur." + +Nora smiled disbelievingly. Doubtless he had been paid well for that lie. + +"And you?" asked the chief of Nora's chauffeur. + +"He is certainly the gentleman, Monsieur, who attempted to bribe me." + +"That is true," said Courtlandt with utmost calmness. + +"Mademoiselle, if Monsieur Courtlandt wished, he could accuse you of +attempting to shoot him." + +"It was an accident. His sudden appearance in my apartment frightened me. +Besides, I believe a woman who lives comparatively alone has a legal and +moral right to protect herself from such unwarrantable intrusions. I wish +him no physical injury, but I am determined to be annoyed by him no +longer." + +The minister's eyes sought Courtlandt's face obliquely. Strange young man, +he thought. From the expression of his face he might have been a spectator +rather than the person most vitally concerned in this little scene. And +what a pair they made! + +"Monsieur Courtlandt, you will give me your word of honor not to annoy +Mademoiselle again?" + +"I promise never to annoy her again." + +For the briefest moment the blazing blue eyes clashed with the calm brown +ones. The latter were first to deviate from the line. It was not agreeable +to look into a pair of eyes burning with the hate of one's self. Perhaps +this conflagration was intensified by the placidity of his gaze. If only +there had been some sign of anger, of contempt, anything but this +incredible tranquillity against which she longed to cry out! She was too +wrathful to notice the quickening throb of the veins on his temples. + +"Mademoiselle, I find no case against Monsieur Courtlandt, unless you wish +to appear against him for his forcible entrance to your apartment." Nora +shook her head. The chief of police stroked his mustache to hide the +fleeting smile. A peculiar case, the like of which had never before come +under his scrutiny! "Circumstantial evidence, we know, points to him; but +we have also an alibi which is incontestable. We must look elsewhere for +your abductors. Think; have you not some enemy? Is there no one who might +wish you worry and inconvenience? Are your associates all loyal to you? Is +there any jealousy?" + +"No, none at all, Monsieur," quickly and decidedly. + +"In my opinion, then, the whole affair is a hoax, perpetrated to vex and +annoy you. The old man who employed this chauffeur may not have been old. +I have looked upon all sides of the affair, and it begins to look like a +practical joke, Mademoiselle." + +"Ah!" angrily. "And am I to have no redress? Think of the misery I have +gone through, the suspense! My voice is gone. I shall not be able to sing +again for months. Is it your suggestion that I drop the investigation?" + +"Yes, Mademoiselle, for it does not look as if we could get anywhere with +it. If you insist, I will hold Monsieur Courtlandt; but I warn you the +magistrate would not hesitate to dismiss the case instantly. Monsieur +Courtlandt arrived in Marseilles Thursday morning; he reached Paris Friday +morning. Since arriving in Paris he has fully accounted for his time. It +is impossible that he could have arranged for the abduction. Still, if you +say, I can hold him for entering your apartment." + +"That would be but a farce." Nora rose. "Monsieur, permit me to wish you +good day. For my part, I shall pursue this matter to the end. I believe +this gentleman guilty, and I shall do my best to prove it. I am a woman, +and all alone. When a man has powerful friends, it is not difficult to +build an alibi." + +"That is a reflection upon my word, Mademoiselle," quietly interposed the +minister. + +"Monsieur has been imposed upon." Nora walked to the door. + +"Wait a moment, Mademoiselle," said the prefect. "Why do you insist upon +prosecuting him for something of which he is guiltless, when you could +have him held for something of which he is really guilty?" + +"The one is trivial; the other is a serious outrage. Good morning." The +attendant closed the door behind her. + +"A very determined young woman," mused the chief of police. + +"Exceedingly," agreed the minister. + +Courtlandt got up wearily. But the chief motioned him to be reseated. + +"I do not say that I dare not pursue my investigations; but now that +mademoiselle is safely returned, I prefer not to." + +"May I ask who made this request?" asked Courtlandt. + +"Request? Yes, Monsieur, it was a request not to proceed further." + +"From where?" + +"As to that, you will have to consult the head of the state. I am not at +liberty to make the disclosure." + +The minister leaned forward eagerly. "Then there is a political side to +it?" + +"There would be if everything had not turned out so fortunately." + +"I believe that I understand now," said Courtlandt, his face hardening. +Strange, he had not thought of it before. His skepticism had blinded him +to all but one angle. "Your advice to drop the matter is excellent." + +The chief of police elevated his brows interrogatively. + +"For I presume," continued Courtlandt, rising, "that Mademoiselle's +abductor is by this time safely across the frontier." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +BATTLING JIMMIE + + +There is a heavenly terrace, flanked by marvelous trees. To the left, far +down below, is a curving, dark-shaded, turquoise body of water called +Lecco; to the right there lies the queen of lakes, the crown of Italy, a +corn-flower sapphire known as Como. Over and about it--this terrace--poets +have raved and tousled their neglected locks in vain to find the perfect +phrasing; novelists have come and gone and have carried away peace and +inspiration; and painters have painted it from a thousand points of view, +and perhaps are painting it from another thousand this very minute. It is +the Place of Honeymoons. Rich lovers come and idle there; and lovers of +modest means rush up to it and down from it to catch the next steamer to +Menaggio. Eros was not born in Greece: of all barren mountains, +unstirring, Hymettus, or Olympus, or whatever they called it in the days +of the junketing gods, is completest. No; Venus went a-touring and abode a +while upon this same gracious spot, once dear to Pliny the younger. + +Between the blessed ledge and the towering mountains over the way, rolls a +small valley, caressed on either side by the lakes. There are flower +gardens, from which in summer rises the spicy perfume of lavender; there +are rows upon rows of grape-vines, terraced downward; there are purple +figs and white and ruby mulberries. Around and about, rising sheer from +the waters, wherever the eye may rove, heaven-touching, salmon-tinted +mountains abound, with scarfs of filmy cloud aslant their rugged profiles, +and beauty-patches of snow. And everywhere the dark and brooding cypress, +the copper beech, the green pine accentuate the pink and blue and white +stucco of the villas, the rich and the humble. + +Behind the terrace is a promontory, three or four hundred feet above the +waters. Upon the crest is a cultivated forest of all known evergreens. +There are ten miles of cool and fragrant paths, well trodden by the +devoteés of Eros. The call of love is heard here; the echoes to-day +reverberate with the impassioned declarations of yesterday. The +Englishman's reserve melts, the American forgets his coupons, the German +puts his arm around the robust waist of his frau or fräulein. (This is +nothing for him; he does it unconcernedly up and down the great urban +highways of the world.) + +Again, between the terrace ledge and the forest lies a square of velvet +green, abounding in four-leaf clover. _Buona fortuna!_ In the center there +is a fountain. The water tinkles in drops. One hears its soft music at all +times. Along the terrace parapet are tea-tables; a monster oak protects +one from the sun. If one (or two) lingers over tea and cakes, one may +witness the fiery lances of the setting sun burn across one arm of water +while the silver spars of the rising moon shimmer across the other. Nature +is whole-souled here; she gives often and freely and all she has. + +Seated on one of the rustic benches, his white tennis shoes resting +against the lower iron of the railing, a Bavarian dachel snoozing +comfortably across his knees, was a man of fifty. He was broad of +shoulder, deep of chest, and clean-shaven. He had laid aside his Panama +hat, and his hair was clipped closely, and was pleasantly and honorably +sprinkled with gray. His face was broad and tanned; the nose was tilted, +and the wide mouth was both kindly and humorous. One knew, from the tint +of his blue eyes and the quirk of his lips, that when he spoke there would +be a bit of brogue. He was James Harrigan, one time celebrated in the ring +for his gameness, his squareness, his endurance; "Battling Jimmie" +Harrigan, who, when he encountered his first knock-out, retired from the +ring. He had to his credit sixty-one battles, of which he had easily won +forty. He had been outpointed in some and had broken even in others; but +only once had he been "railroaded into dreamland," to use the parlance of +the game. That was enough. He understood. Youth would be served, and he +was no longer young. He had, unlike the many in his peculiar service, +lived cleanly and with wisdom and foresight: he had saved both his money +and his health. To-day he was at peace with the world, with three sound +appetites the day and the wherewithal to gratify them. + +True, he often dreamed of the old days, the roped square, the lights, the +haze of tobacco smoke, the white patches surrounding, all of a certain +expectant tilt, the reporters scribbling on the deal tables under the very +posts, the cheers as he took his corner and scraped his shoes in the +powdered resin, the padded gloves thrown down in the center of the canvas +which was already scarred and soiled by the preliminaries. But never, +never again; if only for the little woman's sake. Only when the game was +done did he learn with what terror and dread she had waited for his return +on fighting nights. + +To-day "Battling Jimmie" was forgotten by the public, and he was happy in +the seclusion of this forgetfulness. A new and strange career had opened +up before him: he was the father of the most beautiful prima donna in the +operatic world, and, difficult as the task was, he did his best to live up +to it. It was hard not to offer to shake hands when he was presented to a +princess or a duchess; it was hard to remember when to change the studs in +his shirt; and a white cravat was the terror of his nights, for his +fingers, broad and stubby and powerful, had not been trained to the +delicate task of tying a bow-knot. By a judicious blow in that spot where +the ribs divaricate he could right well tie his adversary into a bow-knot, +but this string of white lawn was a most damnable thing. Still, the +puttering of the two women, their daily concern over his deportment, was +bringing him into conformity with social usages. That he naturally +despised the articles of such a soulless faith was evident in his constant +inclination to play hooky. One thing he rebelled against openly, and with +such firmness that the women did not press him too strongly for fear of a +general revolt. On no occasion, however impressive, would he wear a silk +hat. Christmas and birthdays invariably called forth the gift of a silk +hat, for the women trusted that they could overcome resistance by +persistence. He never said anything, but it was noticed that the hotel +porter, or the gardener, or whatever masculine head (save his own) was +available, came forth resplendent on feast-days and Sundays. + +Leaning back in an iron chair, with his shoulders resting against the oak, +was another man, altogether a different type. He was frowning over the +pages of Bagot's _Italian Lakes_, and he wasn't making much headway. He +was Italian to the core, for all that he aped the English style and +manner. He could speak the tongue with fluency, but he stumbled and +faltered miserably over the soundless type. His clothes had the Piccadilly +cut, and his mustache, erstwhile waxed and militant, was cropped at the +corners, thoroughly insular. He was thirty, and undeniably handsome. + +Near the fountain, on the green, was a third man. He was in the act of +folding up an easel and a camp-stool. + +The tea-drinkers had gone. It was time for the first bell for dinner. The +villa's omnibus was toiling up the winding road among the grape-vines. +Suddenly Harrigan tilted his head sidewise, and the long silken ears of +the dachel stirred. The Italian slowly closed his book and permitted his +chair to settle on its four legs. The artist stood up from his paintbox. +From a window in the villa came a voice; only a lilt of a melody, no +words,--half a dozen bars from _Martha_; but every delightful note went +deep into the three masculine hearts. Harrigan smiled and patted the dog. +The Italian scowled at the vegetable garden directly below. The artist +scowled at the Italian. + +"Fritz, Fritz; here, Fritz!" + +The dog struggled in Harrigan's hands and tore himself loose. He went +clattering over the path toward the villa and disappeared into the +doorway. Nothing could keep him when that voice called. He was as ardent a +lover as any, and far more favored. + +"Oh, you funny little dog! You merry little dachel! Fritz, mustn't; let +go!" Silence. + +The artist knew that she was cuddling the puppy to her heart, and his own +grew twisted. He stooped over his materials again and tied the box to the +easel and the stool, and shifted them under his arm. + +"I'll be up after dinner, Mr. Harrigan," he said. + +"All right, Abbott." Harrigan waved his hand pleasantly. He was becoming +so used to the unvarying statement that Abbott would be up after dinner, +that his reply was by now purely mechanical. "She's getting her voice back +all right; eh?" + +"Beautifully! But I really don't think she ought to sing at the Haines' +villa Sunday." + +"One song won't hurt her. She's made up her mind to sing. There's nothing +for us to do but to sit tight. No news from Paris?" + +"No." + +"Say, do you know what I think?" + +"What?" + +"Some one has come across to the police." + +"Paris is not New York, Mr. Harrigan." + +"Oh, I don't know. There's a hundred cents to the dollar, my boy, Paris or +New York. Why haven't they moved? They can't tell me that tow-headed +chap's alibi was on the level. I wish I'd been in Paris. There'd been +something doing. And who was he? They refuse to give his name. And I can't +get a word out of Nora. Shuts me up with a bang when I mention it. Throws +her nerves all out, she says. I'd like to get my hands on the +blackguard." + +"So would I. It's a puzzle. If he had molested her while she was a +captive, you could understand. But he never came near her." + +"Busted his nerve, that's what." + +"I have my doubts about that. A man who will go that far isn't subject to +any derangement of his nerves. Want me to bring up the checkers?" + +"Sure. I've got two rubbers hanging over you." + +The artist took the path that led around the villa and thence down by many +steps to the village by the waterside, to the cream-tinted cluster of +shops and enormous hotels. + +The Italian was more fortunate. He was staying at the villa. He rose and +sauntered over to Harrigan, who was always a source of interest to him. +Study the man as he might, there always remained a profound mystery to his +keen Italian mind. Every now and then nature--to prove that while she +provided laws for humanity she obeyed none herself--nature produced the +prodigy. Ancestry was nothing; habits, intelligence, physical appearance +counted for naught. Harrigan was a fine specimen of the physical man, yes; +but to be the father of a woman who was as beautiful as the legendary +goddesses and who possessed a voice incomparable in the living history of +music, here logic, the cold and accurate intruder, found an unlockable +door. He liked the ex-prizefighter, so kindly and wholesome; but he also +pitied him. Harrigan reminded him of a seal he had once seen in an +aquarium tank: out of his element, but merry-eyed and swimming round and +round as if determined to please everybody. + +"It will be a fine night," said the Italian, pausing at Harrigan's bench. + +"Every night is fine here, Barone," replied Harrigan. "Why, they had me up +in Marienbad a few weeks ago, and I'm not over it yet. It's no place for a +sick man; only a well man could come out of it alive." + +The Barone laughed. Harrigan had told this tale half a dozen times, but +each time the Barone felt called on to laugh. The man was her father. + +"Do you know, Mr. Harrigan, Miss Harrigan is not herself? She is--what do +you call?--bitter. She laughs, but--ah, I do not know!--it sounds not +real." + +"Well, she isn't over that rumpus in Paris yet." + +"Rumpus?" + +"The abduction." + +"Ah, yes! Rumpus is another word for abduction? Yes, yes, I see." + +"No, no! Rumpus is just a mix-up, a row, anything that makes a noise, +calls in the police. You can make a rumpus on the piano, over a game of +cards, anything." + +The Barone spread his hands. "I comprehend," hurriedly. He comprehended +nothing, but he was too proud to admit it. + +"So Nora is not herself; a case of nerves. And to think that you called +there at the apartment the very day!" + +"Ah, if I had been there the right time!" + +"But what puts me down for the count is the action of the fellow. Never +showed up; just made her miss two performances." + +"He was afraid. Men who do cowardly things are always afraid." The Barone +spoke with decided accent, but he seldom made a grammatical error. "But +sometimes, too, men grow mad at once, and they do things in their madness. +Ah, she is so beautiful! She is a nightingale." The Italian looked down on +Como whose broad expanse was crisscrossed by rippled paths made by +arriving and departing steamers. "It is not a wonder that some man might +want to run away with her." + +Harrigan looked curiously at the other. "Well, it won't be healthy for any +man to try it again." The father held out his powerful hands for the +Barone's inspection. They called mutely but expressively for the throat of +the man who dared. "It'll never happen again. Her mother and I are not +going away from her any more. When she sings in Berlin, I'm going to trail +along; when she hits the high note in Paris, I'm lingering near; when she +trills in London, I'm hiding in the shadow. And you may put that in your +pipe and smoke it." + +"I smoke only cigarettes," replied the Barone gravely. It had been +difficult to follow, this English. + +Harrigan said nothing in return. He had given up trying to explain to the +Italian the idiomatic style of old Broadway. He got up and brushed his +flannels perfunctorily. "Well, I suppose I've got to dress for supper," +resentfully. He still called it supper; and, as in the matter of the silk +hat, his wife no longer strove to correct him. The evening meal had always +been supper, and so it would remain until that time when he would cease to +look forward to it. + +"Do you go to the dancing at Cadenabbia to-night?" + +"Me? I should say not!" Harrigan laughed. "I'd look like a bull in a +china-shop. Abbott is coming up to play checkers with me. I'll leave the +honors to you." + +The Barone's face lighted considerably. He hated the artist only when he +was visible. He was rather confused, however. Abbott had been invited to +the dance. Why wasn't he going? Could it be true? Had the artist tried his +luck and lost? Ah, if fate were as kind as that! He let Harrigan depart +alone. + +Why not? What did he care? What if the father had been a fighter for +prizes? What if the mother was possessed with a misguided desire to shine +socially? What mattered it if they had once resided in an obscure tenement +in a great city, and that grandfathers were as far back as they could go +with any certainty? Was he not his own master? What titled woman of his +acquaintance whose forebears had been powerful in the days of the Borgias, +was not dimmed in the presence of this wonderful maid to whom all things +had been given unreservedly? Her brow was fit for a royal crown, let alone +a simple baronial tiara such as he could provide. The mother favored him a +little; of this he was reasonably certain; but the moods of the daughter +were difficult to discover or to follow. + +To-night! The round moon was rising palely over Lecco; the moon, mistress +of love and tides, toward whom all men and maids must look, though only +Eros knows why! Evidently there was no answer to the Italian's question, +for he faced about and walked moodily toward the entrance. Here he paused, +looking up at the empty window. Again a snatch of song-- + +_O solo mio_ ... _che bella cosa_...! + +What a beautiful thing indeed! Passionately he longed for the old days, +when by his physical prowess alone oft a man won his lady. Diplomacy, +torrents of words, sly little tricks, subterfuges, adroitness, stolen +glances, careless touches of the hand; by these must a maid be won to-day. +When she was happy she sang, when she was sad, when she was only +mischievous. She was just as likely to sing _O terra addio_ when she was +happy as _O sole mio_ when she was sad. So, how was a man to know the +right approach to her variant moods? Sighing deeply, he went on to his +room, to change his Piccadilly suit for another which was supposed to be +the last word in the matter of evening dress. + +Below, in the village, a man entered the Grand Hotel. He was tall, blond, +rosy-cheeked. He carried himself like one used to military service; also, +like one used to giving peremptory orders. The porter bowed, the director +bowed, and the proprietor himself became a living carpenter's square, +hinged. The porter and the director recognized a personage; the proprietor +recognized the man. It was of no consequence that the new arrival called +himself Herr Rosen. He was assigned to a suite of rooms, and on returning +to the bureau, the proprietor squinted his eyes abstractedly. He knew +every woman of importance at that time residing on the Point. Certainly it +could be none of these. _Himmel!_ He struck his hands together. So that +was it: the singer. He recalled the hints in certain newspaper paragraphs, +the little tales with the names left to the imagination. So that was it? + +What a woman! Men looked at her and went mad. And not so long ago one had +abducted her in Paris. The proprietor threw up his hands in despair. What +was going to happen to the peace of this bucolic spot? The youth permitted +nothing to stand in his way, and the singer's father was a retired fighter +with boxing-gloves! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +MOONLIGHT AND A PRINCE + + +When he had fought what he considered two rattling rounds, Harrigan +conceded that his cravat had once more got the decision over him on +points. And the cravat was only a second-rater, too, a black-silk affair. +He tossed up the sponge and went down to the dining-room, the ends of the +conqueror straggling like the four points of a battered weather-vane. His +wife and daughter and Mademoiselle Fournier were already at their table by +the casement window, from which they could see the changing granite mask +of Napoleon across Lecco. + +At the villa there were seldom more than ten or twelve guests, this being +quite the capacity of the little hotel. These generally took refuge here +in order to escape the noise and confusion of a large hotel, to avoid the +necessity of dining in state every night. Few of the men wore evening +dress, save on occasions when they were entertaining. The villa wasn't at +all fashionable, and the run of American tourists fought shy of it, +preferring the music and dancing and card-playing of the famous hostelries +along the water-front. Of course, everybody came up for the view, just as +everybody went up the Corner Grat (by cable) at Zermatt to see the +Matterhorn. But for all its apparent dulness, there, was always an English +duchess, a Russian princess, or a lady from the Faubourg St.-Germain +somewhere about, resting after a strenuous winter along the Riviera. Nora +Harrigan sought it not only because she loved the spot, but because it +sheltered her from idle curiosity. It was almost as if the villa were +hers, and the other people her guests. + +Harrigan crossed the room briskly, urged by an appetite as sound as his +views on life. The chef here was a king; there was always something to +look forward to at the dinner hour; some new way of serving spinach, or +lentils, or some irresistible salad. He smiled at every one and pulled out +his chair. + +"Sorry to keep you folks waiting." + +"James!" + +"What's the matter now?" he asked good-naturedly. Never that tone but +something was out of kilter. + +His wife glanced wrathfully at his feet. Wonderingly he looked down. In +the heat of the battle with his cravat he had forgotten all about his +tennis shoes. + +"I see. No soup for mine." He went back to his room, philosophically. +There was always something wrong when he got into these infernal clothes. + +"Mother," said Nora, "why can't you let him be?" + +"But white shoes!" in horror. + +"Who cares? He's the patientest man I know. We're always nagging him, and +I for one am going to stop. Look about! So few men and women dress for +dinner. You do as you please here, and that is why I like it." + +"I shall never be able to do anything with him as long as he sees that his +mistakes are being condoned by you," bitterly responded the mother. "Some +day he will humiliate us all by his carelessness." + +"Oh, bother!" Nora's elbow slyly dug into Celeste's side. + +The pianist's pretty face was bent over her soup. She had grown accustomed +to these little daily rifts. For the great, patient, clumsy, +happy-go-lucky man she entertained an intense pity. But it was not the +kind that humiliates; on the contrary, it was of a mothering disposition; +and the ex-gladiator dimly recognized it, and felt more comfortable with +her than with any other woman excepting Nora. She understood him perhaps +better than either mother or daughter; he was too late: he belonged to a +distant time, the beginning of the Christian era; and often she pictured +him braving the net and the trident in the saffroned arena. + +Mrs. Harrigan broke her bread vexatiously. Her husband refused to think +for himself, and it was wearing on her nerves to watch him day and night. +Deep down under the surface of new adjustments and social ambitions, deep +in the primitive heart, he was still her man. But it was only when he +limped with an occasional twinge of rheumatism, or a tooth ached, or he +dallied with his meals, that the old love-instinct broke up through these +artificial crustations. True, she never knew how often he invented these +trivial ailments, for he soon came into the knowledge that she was less +concerned about him when he was hale and hearty. She still retained +evidences of a blossomy beauty. Abbott had once said truly that nature had +experimented on her; it was in the reproduction that perfection had been +reached. To see the father, the mother, and the daughter together it was +not difficult to fashion a theory as to the latter's splendid health and +physical superiority. Arriving at this point, however, theory began to +fray at the ends. No one could account for the genius and the voice. The +mother often stood lost in wonder that out of an ordinary childhood, a +barelegged, romping, hoydenish childhood, this marvel should emerge: +her's! + +She was very ambitious for her daughter. She wanted to see nothing less +than a ducal coronet upon the child's brow, British preferred. If ordinary +chorus girls and vaudeville stars, possessing only passable beauty and no +intelligence whatever, could bring earls into their nets, there was no +reason why Nora could not be a princess or a duchess. So she planned +accordingly. But the child puzzled and eluded her; and from time to time +she discovered a disquieting strength of character behind a disarming +amiability. Ever since Nora had returned home by way of the Orient, the +mother had recognized a subtle change, so subtle that she never had an +opportunity of alluding to it verbally. Perhaps the fault lay at her own +door. She should never have permitted Nora to come abroad alone to fill +her engagements. + +But that Nora was to marry a duke was, to her mind, a settled fact. It is +a peculiar phase, this of the humble who find themselves, without effort +of their own, thrust up among the great and the so-called, who forget +whence they came in the fierce contest for supremacy upon that tottering +ledge called society. The cad and the snob are only infrequently +well-born. Mrs. Harrigan was as yet far from being a snob, but it required +some tact upon Nora's part to prevent this dubious accomplishment. + +"Is Mr. Abbott going with us?" she inquired. + +"Donald is sulking," Nora answered. "For once the Barone got ahead of him +in engaging the motor-boat." + +"I wish you would not call him by his first name." + +"And why not? I like him, and he is a very good comrade." + +"You do not call the Barone by his given name." + +"Heavens, no! If I did he would kiss me. These Italians will never +understand western customs, mother. I shall never marry an Italian, much +as I love Italy." + +"Nor a Frenchman?" asked Celeste. + +"Nor a Frenchman." + +"I wish I knew if you meant it," sighed the mother. + +"My dear, I have given myself to the stage. You will never see me being +led to the altar." + +"No, you will do the leading when the time comes," retorted the mother. + +"Mother, the men I like you may count upon the fingers of one hand. Three +of them are old. For the rest, I despise men." + +"I suppose some day you will marry some poverty-stricken artist," said the +mother, filled with dark foreboding. + +"You would not call Donald poverty-stricken." + +"No. But you will never marry him." + +"No. I never shall." + +Celeste smoothed her hands, a little trick she had acquired from long +hours spent at the piano. "He will make some woman a good husband." + +"That he will." + +"And he is most desperately in love with you." + +"That's nonsense!" scoffed Nora. "He thinks he is. He ought to fall in +love with you, Celeste. Every time you play the fourth _ballade_ he looks +as if he was ready to throw himself at your feet." + +"_Pouf!_ For ten minutes?" Celeste laughed bravely. "He leaves me quickly +enough when you begin to sing." + +"Glamour, glamour!" + +"Well, I should not care for the article second-hand." + +The arrival of Harrigan put an end to this dangerous trend of +conversation. He walked in tight proper pumps, and sat down. He was only +hungry now; the zest for dining was gone. + +"Don't go sitting out in the night air, Nora," he warned. + +"I sha'n't." + +"And don't dance more than you ought to. Your mother would let you wear +the soles off your shoes if she thought you were attracting attention. +Don't do it." + +"James, that is not true," the mother protested. + +"Well, Molly, you do like to hear 'em talk. I wish they knew how to cook a +good club steak." + +"I brought up a book from the village for you to-day," said Mrs. Harrigan, +sternly. + +"I'll bet a dollar it's on how to keep the creases in a fellow's pants." + +"Trousers." + +"Pants," helping himself to the last of the romaine. "What time do you go +over?" + +"At nine. We must be getting ready now," said Nora. "Don't wait up for +us." + +"And only one cigar," added the mother. + +"Say, Molly, you keep closing in on me. Tobacco won't hurt me any, and I +get a good deal of comfort out of it these days." + +"Two," smiled Nora. + +"But his heart!" + +"And what in mercy's name is the matter with his heart? The doctor at +Marienbad said that father was the soundest man of his age he had ever +met." Nora looked quizzically at her father. + +He grinned. Out of his own mouth he had been nicely trapped. That morning +he had complained of a little twinge in his heart, a childish subterfuge +to take Mrs. Harrigan's attention away from the eternal society page of +the _Herald_. It had succeeded. He had even been cuddled. + +"James, you told me..." + +"Oh, Molly, I only wanted to talk to you." + +"To do so it isn't necessary to frighten me to death," reproachfully. "One +cigar, and no more." + +"Molly, what ails you?" as they left the dining-room. "Nora's right. That +sawbones said I was made of iron. I'm only smoking native cigars, and it +takes a bunch of 'em to get the taste of tobacco. All right; in a few +months you'll have me with the stuffed canary under the glass top. What's +the name of that book?" diplomatically. + +"_Social Usages._" + +"Break away!" + +Nora laughed. "But, dad, you really must read it carefully. It will tell +you how to talk to a duchess, if you chance to meet one when I am not +around. It has all the names of the forks and knives and spoons, and it +tells you never to use sugar on your lettuce." And then she threw her arm +around her mother's waist. "Honey, when you buy books for father, be sure +they are by Dumas or Haggard or Doyle. Otherwise he will never read a +line." + +"And I try so hard!" Tears came into Mrs. Harrigan's eyes. + +"There, there, Molly, old girl!" soothed the outlaw. "I'll read the book. +I know I'm a stupid old stumbling-block, but it's hard to teach an old dog +new tricks, that is, at the ring of the gong. Run along to your party. And +don't break any more hearts than you need, Nora." + +Nora promised in good faith. But once in the ballroom, that little son of +Satan called malice-aforethought took possession of her; and there was +havoc. If a certain American countess had not patronized her; if certain +lorgnettes (implements of torture used by said son of Satan) had not been +leveled in her direction; if certain fans had not been suggestively spread +between pairs of feminine heads,--Nora would have been as harmless as a +playful kitten. + +From door to door of the ballroom her mother fluttered like a hen with a +duckling. Even Celeste was disturbed, for she saw that Nora's conduct was +not due to any light-hearted fun. There was something bitter and ironic +cloaked by those smiles, that tinkle of laughter. In fact, Nora from +Tuscany flirted outrageously. The Barone sulked and tore at his mustache. +He committed any number of murders, by eye and by wish. When his time came +to dance with the mischief-maker, he whirled her around savagely, and +never said a word; and once done with, he sternly returned her to her +mother, which he deemed the wisest course to pursue. + +"Nora, you are behaving abominably!" whispered her mother, pale with +indignation. + +"Well, I am having a good time ... Your dance? Thank you." + +And a tender young American led her through the mazes of the waltz, as +some poet who knew what he was about phrased it. + +It is not an exaggeration to say that there was not a woman in the +ballroom to compare with her, and some of them were marvelously gowned and +complexioned, too. She overshadowed them not only by sheer beauty, but by +exuberance of spirit. And they followed her with hating eyes and whispered +scandalous things behind their fans and wondered what had possessed the +Marchesa to invite the bold thing: so does mediocrity pay homage to beauty +and genius. As for the men, though madness lay that way, eagerly as of old +they sought it. + +By way of parenthesis: Herr Rosen marched up the hill and down again, +something after the manner of a certain warrior king celebrated in verse. +The object of his visit had gone to the ball at Cadenabbia. At the hotel +he demanded a motor-boat. There was none to be had. In a furious state of +mind he engaged two oarsmen to row him across the lake. + +And so it came to pass that when Nora, suddenly grown weary of the play, +full of bitterness and distaste, hating herself and every one else in the +world, stole out to the quay to commune with the moon, she saw him jump +from the boat to the landing, scorning the steps. Instantly she drew her +lace mantle closely about her face. It was useless. In the man the +hunter's instinct was much too keen. + +"So I have found you!" + +"One would say that I had been in hiding?" coldly. + +"From me, always. I have left everything--duty, obligations--to seek +you." + +"From any other man that might be a compliment." + +"I am a prince," he said proudly. + +She faced him with that quick resolution, that swift forming of purpose, +which has made the Irish so difficult in argument and persuasion. "Will +you marry me? Will you make me your wife legally? Before all the world? +Will you surrender, for the sake of this love you profess, your right to a +great inheritance? Will you risk the anger and the iron hand of your +father for my sake?" + +"_Herr Gott!_ I am mad!" He covered his eyes. + +"That expression proves that your Highness is sane again. Have you +realized the annoyances, the embarrassments, you have thrust upon me by +your pursuit? Have you not read the scandalous innuendoes in the +newspapers? Your Highness, I was not born on the Continent, so I look upon +my work from a point of view not common to those of your caste. I am proud +of it, and I look upon it with honor, honor. I am a woman, but I am not +wholly defenseless. There was a time when I thought I might number among +my friends a prince; but you have made that impossible." + +"Come," he said hoarsely; "let us go and find a priest. You are right. I +love you; I will give up everything, everything!" + +For a moment she was dumb. This absolute surrender appalled her. But that +good fortune which had ever been at her side stepped into the breach. And +as she saw the tall form of the Barone approach, she could have thrown her +arms around his neck in pure gladness. + +"Oh, Barone!" she called. "Am I making you miss this dance?" + +"It does not matter, Signorina." The Barone stared keenly at the erect and +tense figure at the prima donna's side. + +"You will excuse me, Herr Rosen," said Nora, as she laid her hand upon the +Barone's arm. + +Herr Rosen bowed stiffly; and the two left him standing uncovered in the +moonlight. + +"What is he doing here? What has he been saying to you?" the Barone +demanded. Nora withdrew her hand from his arm. "Pardon me," said he +contritely. "I have no right to ask you such questions." + +It was not long after midnight when the motor-boat returned to its abiding +place. On the way over conversation lagged, and finally died altogether. +Mrs. Harrigan fell asleep against Celeste's shoulder, and the musician +never deviated her gaze from the silver ripples which flowed out +diagonally and magically from the prow of the boat. Nora watched the stars +slowly ascend over the eastern range of mountains; and across the fire of +his innumerable cigarettes the Barone watched her. + +As the boat was made fast to the landing in front of the Grand Hotel, +Celeste observed a man in evening dress, lounging against the rail of the +quay. The search-light from the customs-boat, hunting for tobacco +smugglers, flashed over his face. She could not repress the little gasp, +and her hand tightened upon Nora's arm. + +"What is it?" asked Nora. + +"Nothing. I thought I was slipping." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +COLONEL CAXLEY-WEBSTER + + +Abbott's studio was under the roof of one of the little hotels that stand +timorously and humbly, yet expectantly, between the imposing cream-stucco +of the Grand Hotel at one end and the elaborate pink-stucco of the Grande +Bretegne at the other. The hobnailed shoes of the Teuton (who wears his +mountain kit all the way from Hamburg to Palermo) wore up and down the +stairs all day; and the racket from the hucksters' carts and hotel +omnibuses, arriving and departing from the steamboat landing, the shouts +of the begging boatmen, the quarreling of the children and the barking of +unpedigreed dogs,--these noises were incessant from dawn until sunset. + +The artist glared down from his square window at the ruffled waters, or +scowled at the fleeting snows on the mountains over the way. He passed +some ten or twelve minutes in this useless occupation, but he could not +get away from the bald fact that he had acted like a petulant child. To +have shown his hand so openly, simply because the Barone had beaten him in +the race for the motor-boat! And Nora would understand that he was weak +and without backbone. Harrigan himself must have reasoned out the cause +for such asinine plays as he had executed in the game of checkers. How +many times had the old man called out to him to wake up and move? In +spirit he had been across the lake, a spirit in Hades. He was not only a +fool, but a coward likewise. He had not dared to + + "... put it to the touch + To gain or lose it all." + +He saw it coming: before long he and that Italian would be at each other's +throats. + +"Come in!" he called, in response to a sudden thunder on the door. + +The door opened and a short, energetic old man, purple-visaged and +hawk-eyed, came in. "Why the devil don't you join the Trappist monks, +Abbott? If I wasn't tough I should have died of apoplexy on the second +landing." + +"Good morning, Colonel!" Abbott laughed and rolled out the patent rocker +for his guest. "What's on your mind this morning? I can give you one +without ice." + +"I'll take it neat, my boy. I'm not thirsty, I'm faint. These Italian +architects; they call three ladders flights of stairs! ... Ha! That's +Irish whisky, and jolly fine. Want you to come over and take tea this +afternoon. I'm going up presently to see the Harrigans. Thought I'd go +around and do the thing informally. Taken a fancy to the old chap. He's a +little bit of all right. I'm no older than he is, but look at the +difference! Whisky and soda, that's the racket. Not by the tubful; just an +ordinary half dozen a day, and a dem climate thrown in." + +"Difference in training." + +"Rot! It's the sized hat a man wears. I'd give fifty guineas to see the +old fellow in action. But, I say; recall the argument we had before you +went to Paris?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I win. Saw him bang across the street this morning." + +Abbott muttered something. + +"What was that?" + +"Nothing." + +"Sounded like 'dem it' to me." + +"Maybe it did." + +"Heard about him in Paris?" + +"No." + +"The old boy had transferred his regiment to a lonesome post in the North +to cool his blood. The youngster took the next train to Paris. He was +there incognito for two weeks before they found him and bundled him back. +Of course, every one knows that he is but a crazy lad who's had too much +freedom." The colonel emptied his glass. "I feel dem sorry for Nora. She's +the right sort. But a woman can't take a man by the scruff of his neck and +chuck him." + +"But I can," declared Abbott savagely. + +"Tut, tut! He'd eat you alive. Besides, you will find him too clever to +give you an opening. But he'll bear watching. He's capable of putting her +on a train and running away with her. Between you and me, I don't blame +him. What's the matter with sicking the Barone on him? He's the best man +in Southern Italy with foils and broadswords. Sic 'em, Towser; sic 'em!" +The old fire-eater chuckled. + +The subject was extremely distasteful to the artist. The colonel, a rough +soldier, whose diplomacy had never risen above the heights of clubbing a +recalcitrant Hill man into submission, baldly inferred that he understood +the artist's interest in the rose of the Harrigan family. He would have +liked to talk more in regard to the interloper, but it would have been +sheer folly. The colonel, in his blundering way, would have brought up the +subject again at tea-time and put everybody on edge. He had, unfortunately +for his friends, a reputation other than that of a soldier: he posed as a +peacemaker. He saw trouble where none existed, and the way he patched up +imaginary quarrels would have strained the patience of Job. Still, every +one loved him, though they lived in mortal fear of him. So Abbott came +about quickly and sailed against the wind. + +"By the way," he said, "I wish you would let me sketch that servant of +yours. He's got a profile like a medallion. Where did you pick him up?" + +"In the Hills. He's a Sikh, and a first-class fighting man. Didn't know +that you went for faces." + +"Not as a usual thing. Just want it for my own use. How does he keep his +beard combed that way?" + +"I've never bothered myself about the curl of his whiskers. Are my clothes +laid out? Luggage attended to? Guns shipshape? That's enough for me. Some +day you have got to go out there with me." + +"Never shot a gun in all my life. I don't know which end to hold at my +shoulder." + +"Teach you quick enough. Every man's a born hunter. Rao will have tigers +eating out of your hand. He's a marvel; saved my hide more than once. +Funny thing; you can't show 'em that you're grateful. Lose caste if you +do. I rather miss it. Get the East in your blood and you'll never get it +out. Fascinating! But my liver turned over once too many times. Ha! Some +one coming up to buy a picture." + +The step outside was firm and unwearied by the climb. The door opened +unceremoniously, and Courtlandt came in. He stared at the colonel and the +colonel returned the stare. + +"Caxley-Webster! Well, I say, this globe goes on shrinking every day!" +cried Courtlandt. + +The two pumped hands energetically, sizing each other up critically. Then +they sat down and shot questions, while Abbott looked on bewildered. +Elephants and tigers and chittahs and wild boar and quail-running and +strange guttural names; weltering nights in the jungles, freezing mornings +in the Hills; stupendous card games; and what had become of so-and-so, who +always drank his whisky neat; and what's-his-name, who invented cures for +snake bites! + +Abbott deliberately pushed over an oak bench. "Am I host here or not?" + +"Abby, old man, how are you?" said Courtlandt, smiling warmly and holding +out his hand. "My apologies; but the colonel and I never expected to see +each other again. And I find him talking with you up here under this roof. +It's marvelous." + +"It's a wonder you wouldn't drop a fellow a line," said Abbott, in a +faultfinding tone, as he righted the bench. "When did you come?" + +"Last night. Came up from Como." + +"Going to stay long?" + +"That depends. I am really on my way to Zermatt. I've a hankering to have +another try at the Matterhorn." + +"Think of that!" exclaimed the colonel. "He says another try." + +"You came a roundabout way," was the artist's comment. + +"Oh, that's because I left Paris for Brescia. They had some good flights +there. Wonderful year! They cross the Channel in an airship and discover +the North Pole." + +"Pah! Neither will be of any use to humanity; merely a fine sporting +proposition." The colonel dug into his pocket for his pipe. "But what do +you think of Germany?" + +"Fine country," answered Courtlandt, rising and going to a window; "fine +people, too. Why?" + +"Do you--er--think they could whip us?" + +"On land, yes." + +"The devil!" + +"On water, no." + +"Thanks. In other words, you believe our chances equal?" + +"So equal that all this war-scare is piffle. But I rather like to see you +English get up in the air occasionally. It will do you good. You've an +idea because you walloped Napoleon that you're the same race you were +then, and you are not. The English-speaking races, as the first soldiers, +have ceased to be." + +"Well, I be dem!" gasped the colonel. + +"It's the truth. Take the American: he thinks there is nothing in the +world but money. Take the Britisher: to him caste is everything. Take the +money out of one man's mind and the importance of being well-born out of +the other...." He turned from the window and smiled at the artist and the +empurpling Anglo-Indian. + +"Abbott," growled the soldier, "that man will some day drive me amuck. +What do you think? One night, on a tiger hunt, he got me into an argument +like this. A brute of a beast jumped into the middle of it. Courtlandt +shot him on the second bound, and turned to me with--'Well, as I was +saying!' I don't know to this day whether it was nerve or what you +Americans call gall." + +"Divided by two," grinned Abbott. + +"Ha, I see; half nerve and half gall. I'll remember that. But we were +talking of airships." + +"I was," retorted Courtlandt. "You were the man who started the powwow." +He looked down into the street with sudden interest. "Who is that?" + +The colonel and Abbott hurried across the room. + +"What did I say, Abbott? I told you I saw him. He's crazy; fact. Thinks he +can travel around incognito when there isn't a magazine on earth that +hasn't printed his picture." + +"Well, why shouldn't he travel around if he wants to?" asked Courtlandt +coolly. + +The colonel nudged the artist. + +"There happens to be an attraction in Bellaggio," said Abbott irritably. + +"The moth and the candle," supplemented the colonel, peering over +Courtlandt's shoulder. "He's well set up," grudgingly admitted the old +fellow. + +"The moth and the candle," mused Courtlandt. "That will be Nora Harrigan. +How long has this infatuation been going on?" + +"Year and a half." + +"And the other side?" + +"There isn't any other side," exploded the artist. "She's worried to +death. Not a day passes but some scurrilous penny-a-liner springs some +yarn, some beastly innuendo. She's been dodging the fellow for months. In +Paris last year she couldn't move without running into him. This year she +changed her apartment, and gave orders at the Opera to refuse her address +to all who asked for it. Consequently she had some peace. I don't know why +it is, but a woman in public life seems to be a target." + +"The penalty of beauty, Abby. Homely women seldom are annoyed, unless they +become suffragists." The colonel poured forth a dense cloud of smoke. + +"What brand is that, Colonel?" asked Courtlandt, choking. + +The colonel generously produced his pouch. + +"No, no! I was about to observe that it isn't ambrosia." + +"Rotter!" The soldier dug the offender in the ribs. "I am going to have +the Harrigans over for tea this afternoon. Come over! You'll like the +family. The girl is charming; and the father is a sportsman to the +backbone. Some silly fools laugh behind his back, but never before his +face. And my word, I know rafts of gentlemen who are not fit to stand in +his shoes." + +"I should like to meet Mr. Harrigan." Courtlandt returned his gaze to the +window once more. + +"And his daughter?" said Abbott, curiously. + +"Oh, surely!" + +"I may count on you, then?" The colonel stowed away the offending brier. +"And you can stay to dinner." + +"I'll take the dinner end of the invitation," was the reply. "I've got to +go over to Menaggio to see about some papers to be signed. If I can make +the three o'clock boat in returning, you'll see me at tea. Dinner at all +events. I'm off." + +"Do you mean to stand there and tell me that you have important business?" +jeered Abbott. + +"My boy, the reason I'm on trains and boats, year in and year out, is in +the vain endeavor to escape important business. Now and then I am rounded +up. Were you ever hunted by money?" humorously. + +"No," answered the Englishman sadly. "But I know one thing: I'd throw the +race at the starting-post. Millions, Abbott, and to be obliged to run away +from them! If the deserts hadn't dried up all my tears, I should weep. Why +don't you hire a private secretary to handle your affairs?" + +"And have him following at my heels?" Courtlandt gazed at his lean brown +hands. "When these begin to shake, I'll do so. Well, I shall see you both +at dinner, whatever happens." + +"That's Courtlandt," said Abbott, when his friend was gone. "You think +he's in Singapore, the door opens and in he walks; never any letter or +announcement. He arrives, that's all." + +"Strikes me," returned the other, polishing his glass, holding it up to +the light, and then screwing it into his eye; "strikes me, he wasn't +overanxious to have that dish of tea. Afraid of women?" + +"Afraid of women! Why, man, he backed two musical shows in the States a +few years ago." + +"Musical comedies?" The glass dropped from the colonel's eye. "That's +going tigers one better. Forty women, all waiting to be stars, and solemn +Courtlandt wandering among them as the god of amity! Afraid of them! Of +course he is. Who wouldn't be, after such an experience?" The colonel +laughed. "Never had any serious affair?" + +"Never heard of one. There was some tommy-rot about a Mahommedan princess +in the newspapers; but I knew there was no truth in that. Queer fellow! He +wouldn't take the trouble to deny it." + +"Never showed any signs of being a woman-hater?" + +"No, not the least in the world. But to shy at meeting Nora Harrigan...." + +"There you have it; the privilege of the gods. Perhaps he really has +business in Menaggio. What'll we do with the other beggar?" + +"Knock his head off, if he bothers her." + +"Better turn the job over to Courtlandt, then. You're in the light-weight +class, and Courtlandt is the best amateur for his weight I ever saw." + +"What, boxes?" + +"A tough 'un. I had a corporal who beat any one in Northern India. +Courtlandt put on the gloves with him and had him begging in the third +round." + +"I never knew that before. He's as full of surprises as a rummage bag." + +Courtlandt walked up the street leisurely, idly pausing now and then +before the shop-windows. Apparently he had neither object nor destination; +yet his mind was busy, so busy in fact that he looked at the various +curios without truly seeing them at all. A delicate situation, which +needed the lightest handling, confronted him. He must wait for an overt +act, then he might proceed as he pleased. How really helpless he was! He +could not force her hand because she held all the cards and he none. Yet +he was determined this time to play the game to the end, even if the task +was equal to all those of Hercules rolled into one, and none of the gods +on his side. + +At the hotel he asked for his mail, and was given a formidable packet +which, with a sigh of discontent, he slipped into a pocket, strolled out +into the garden by the water, and sat down to read. To his surprise there +was a note, without stamp or postmark. He opened it, mildly curious to +learn who it was that had discovered his presence in Bellaggio so quickly. +The envelope contained nothing more than a neatly folded bank-note for one +hundred francs. He eyed it stupidly. What might this mean? He unfolded it +and smoothed it out across his knee, and the haze of puzzlement drifted +away. Three bars from _La Bohème_. He laughed. So the little lady of the +Taverne Royale was in Bellaggio! + + + + +CHAPTER X + +MARGUERITES AND EMERALDS + + +From where he sat Courtlandt could see down the main thoroughfare of the +pretty village. There were other streets, to be sure, but courtesy and +good nature alone permitted this misapplication of title: they were merely +a series of torturous enervating stairways of stone, up and down which +noisy wooden sandals clattered all the day long. Over the entrances to the +shops the proprietors were dropping the white and brown awnings for the +day. Very few people shopped after luncheon. There were pleasanter +pastimes, even for the women, contradictory as this may seem. By eleven +o'clock Courtlandt had finished the reading of his mail, and was now ready +to hunt for the little lady of the Taverne Royale. It was necessary to +find her. The whereabouts of Flora Desimone was of vital importance. If +she had not yet arrived, the presence of her friend presaged her ultimate +arrival. The duke was a negligible quantity. It would have surprised +Courtlandt could he have foreseen the drawing together of the ends of the +circle and the relative concernment of the duke in knotting those ends. +The labors of Hercules had never entailed the subjugation of two +temperamental women. + +He rose and proceeded on his quest. Before the photographer's shop he saw +a dachel wrathfully challenging a cat on the balcony of the adjoining +building. The cat knew, and so did the puppy, that it was all buncombe on +the puppy's part: the usual European war-scare, in which one of the +belligerent parties refused to come down because it wouldn't have been +worth while, there being the usual Powers ready to intervene. Courtlandt +did not bother about the cat; the puppy claimed his attention. He was very +fond of dogs. So he reached down suddenly and put an end to the sharp +challenge. The dachel struggled valiantly, for this breed of dog does not +make friends easily. + +"I say, you little Dutchman, what's the row? I'm not going to hurt you. +Funny little codger! To whom do you belong?" He turned the collar around, +read the inscription, and gently put the puppy on the ground. + +Nora Harrigan! + +His immediate impulse was to walk on, but somehow this impulse refused to +act on his sense of locomotion. He waited, dully wondering what was going +to happen when she came out. He had left her room that night in Paris, +vowing that he would never intrude on her again. With the recollection of +that bullet whizzing past his ear, he had been convinced that the play was +done. True, she had testified that it had been accidental, but never would +he forget the look in her eyes. It was not pleasant to remember. And +still, as the needle is drawn by the magnet, here he was, in Bellaggio. He +cursed his weakness. From Brescia he had made up his mind to go directly +to Berlin. Before he realized how useless it was to battle against these +invisible forces, he was in Milan, booking for Como. At Como he had +remained a week (the dullest week he had ever known); at the Villa d'Este +three days; at Cadenabbia one day. It had all the characteristics of a +tug-of-war, and irresistibly he was drawn over the line. The night before +he had taken the evening boat across the lake. And Herr Rosen had been his +fellow-passenger! The goddess of chance threw whimsical coils around her +victims. To find himself shoulder to shoulder, as it were, with this man +who, perhaps more than all other incentives, had urged him to return again +to civilization; this man who had aroused in his heart a sentiment that +hitherto he had not believed existed,--jealousy.... Ah, voices! He stepped +aside quickly. + +"Fritz, Fritz; where are you?" + +And a moment later she came out, followed by her mother ... and the little +lady of the Taverne Royale. Did Nora see him? It was impossible to tell. +She simply stooped and gathered up the puppy, who struggled determinedly +to lick her face. Courtlandt lifted his hat. It was in nowise offered as +an act of recognition; it was merely the mechanical courtesy that a man +generally pays to any woman in whose path he chances to be for the breath +of a second. The three women in immaculate white, hatless, but with +sunshades, passed on down the street. + +Courtlandt went into the shop, rather blindly. He stared at the shelves of +paper-covered novels and post-cards, and when the polite proprietor +offered him a dozen of the latter, he accepted them without comment. +Indeed, he put them into a pocket and turned to go out. + +"Pardon, sir; those are one franc the dozen." + +"Ah, yes." Courtlandt pulled out some silver. It was going to be terribly +difficult, and his heart was heavy with evil presages. He had seen +Celeste. He understood the amusing if mysterious comedy now. Nora had +recognized him and had sent her friend to follow him and learn where he +went. And he, poor fool of a blunderer, with the best intentions in the +world, he had gone at once to the Calabrian's apartment! It was damnable +of fate. He had righted nothing. In truth, he was deeper than ever in the +quicksands of misunderstanding. He shut his teeth with a click. How neatly +she had waylaid and trapped him! + +"Those are from Lucerne, sir." + +"What?" bewildered. + +"Those wood-carvings which you are touching with your cane, sir." + +"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt, apologetically, and gained the open. +He threw a quick glance down the street. There they were. He proceeded in +the opposite direction, toward his hotel. Tea at the colonel's? Scarcely. +He would go to Menaggio with the hotel motor-boat and return so late that +he would arrive only in time for dinner. He was not going to meet the +enemy over tea-cups, at least, not under the soldier's tactless +supervision. He must find a smoother way, calculated, under the rose, but +seemingly accidental. It was something to ponder over. + +"Nora, who was that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan. + +"Who was who?" countered Nora, snuggling the wriggling dachel under her +arm and throwing the sunshade across her shoulder. + +"That fine-looking young man who stood by the door as we passed out. He +raised his hat." + +"Oh, bother! I was looking at Fritz." + +Celeste searched her face keenly, but Nora looked on ahead serenely; not a +quiver of an eyelid, not the slightest change in color or expression. + +"She did not see him!" thought the musician, curiously stirred. She knew +her friend tolerably well. It would have been impossible for her to have +seen that man and not to have given evidence of the fact. + +In short, Nora had spoken truthfully. She had seen a man dressed in white +flannels and canvas shoes, but her eyes had not traveled so far as his +face. + +"Mother, we must have some of those silk blankets. They're so comfy to lie +on." + +"You never see anything except when you want to," complained Mrs. +Harrigan. + +"It saves a deal of trouble. I don't want to go to the colonel's this +afternoon. He always has some frump to pour tea and ask fool questions." + +"The frump, as you call her, is usually a countess or a duchess," with +asperity. + +"Fiddlesticks! Nobility makes a specialty of frumps; it is one of the +species of the caste. That's why I shall never marry a title. I wish +neither to visit nor to entertain frumps. Frump,--the word calls up the +exact picture; frump and fatuity. Oh, I'll go, but I'd rather stay on my +balcony and read a good book." + +"My dear," patiently, "the colonel is one of the social laws on Como. His +sister is the wife of an earl. You must not offend him. His Sundays are +the most exclusive on the lake." + +"The word exclusive should be properly applied to those in jail. The +social ladder, the social ladder! Don't you know, mother mine, that every +rung is sawn by envy and greed, and that those who climb highest fall +farthest?" + +"You are quoting the padre." + +"The padre could give lessons in kindness and shrewdness to any other man +I know. If he hadn't chosen the gown he would have been a poet. I love the +padre, with his snow-white hair and his withered leathery face. He was +with the old king all through the freeing of Italy." + +"And had a fine time explaining to the Vatican," sniffed the mother. + +"Some day I am going to confess to him." + +"Confess what?" asked Celeste. + +"That I have wished the Calabrian's voice would fail her some night in +_Carmen_; that I am wearing shoes a size too small for me; that I should +like to be rich without labor; that I am sometimes ashamed of my calling; +that I should have liked to see father win a prizefight; oh, and a +thousand other horrid, hateful things." + +"I wish to gracious that you would fall violently in love." + +"Spiteful! There are those lovely lace collars; come on." + +"You are hopeless," was the mother's conviction. + +"In some things, yes," gravely. + +"Some day," said Celeste, who was a privileged person in the Harrigan +family, "some day I am going to teach you two how to play at foils. It +would be splendid. And then you could always settle your differences with +bouts." + +"Better than that," retorted Nora. "I'll ask father to lend us his old set +of gloves. He carries them around as if they were a fetish. I believe +they're in the bottom of one of my steamer trunks." + +"Nora!" Mrs. Harrigan was not pleased with this jest. Any reference to the +past was distasteful to her ears. She, too, went regularly to confession, +but up to the present time had omitted the sin of being ashamed of her +former poverty and environment. She had taken it for granted that upon her +shoulders rested the future good fortune of the Harrigans. They had money; +all that was required was social recognition. She found it a battle within +a battle. The good-natured reluctance of her husband and the careless +indifference of her daughter were as hard to combat as the icy aloofness +of those stars into whose orbit she was pluckily striving to steer the +family bark. It never entered her scheming head that the reluctance of the +father and the indifference of the daughter were the very conditions that +drew society nearward, for the simple novelty of finding two persons who +did not care in the least whether they were recognized or not. + +The trio invaded the lace shop, and Nora and her mother agreed to bury the +war-hatchet in their mutual love of Venetian and Florentine fineries. +Celeste pretended to be interested, but in truth she was endeavoring to +piece together the few facts she had been able to extract from the rubbish +of conjecture. Courtlandt and Nora had met somewhere before the beginning +of her own intimacy with the singer. They certainly must have formed an +extraordinary friendship, for Nora's subsequent vindictiveness could not +possibly have arisen out of the ruins of an indifferent acquaintance. Nora +could not be moved from the belief that Courtlandt had abducted her; but +Celeste was now positive that he had had nothing to do with it. He did not +impress her as a man who would abduct a woman, hold her prisoner for five +days, and then liberate her without coming near her to press his vantage, +rightly or wrongly. He was too strong a personage. He was here in +Bellaggio, and attached to that could be but one significance. + +Why, then, had he not spoken at the photographer's? Perhaps she herself +had been sufficient reason for his dumbness. He had recognized her, and +the espionage of the night in Paris was no longer a mystery. Nora had sent +her to follow him; why then all this bitterness, since she had not been +told where he had gone? Had Nora forgotten to inquire? It was possible +that, in view of the startling events which had followed, the matter had +slipped entirely from Nora's mind. Many a time she had resorted to that +subtle guile known only of woman to trap the singer. But Nora never +stumbled, and her smile was as firm a barrier to her thoughts, her +secrets, as a stone wall would have been. + +Celeste had known about Herr Rosen's infatuation. Aside from that which +concerned this stranger, Nora had withheld no real secret from her. Herr +Rosen had been given his congé, but that did not prevent him from sending +fabulous baskets of flowers and gems, all of which were calmly returned +without comment. Whenever a jewel found its way into a bouquet of flowers +from an unknown, Nora would promptly convert it into money and give the +proceeds to some charity. It afforded the singer no small amusement to +show her scorn in this fashion. Yes, there was one other little mystery +which she did not confide to her friends. Once a month, wherever she +chanced to be singing, there arrived a simple bouquet of marguerites, in +the heart of which they would invariably find an uncut emerald. Nora never +disposed of these emeralds. The flowers she would leave in her +dressing-room; the emerald would disappear. Was there some one else? + +Mrs. Harrigan took the omnibus up to the villa. It was generally too much +of a climb for her. Nora and Celeste preferred to walk. + +"What am I going to do, Celeste? He is here, and over at Cadenabbia last +night I had a terrible scene with him. In heaven's name, why can't they +let me be?" + +"Herr Rosen?" + +"Yes." + +"Why not speak to your father?" + +"And have a fisticuff which would appear in every newspaper in the world? +No, thank you. There is enough scandalous stuff being printed as it is, +and I am helpless to prevent it." + +As the climb starts off stiffly, there wasn't much inclination in either +to talk. Celeste had come to one decision, and that was that Nora should +find out Courtlandt's presence here in Bellaggio herself. When they +arrived at the villa gates, Celeste offered a suggestion. + +"You could easily stop all this rumor and annoyance." + +"And, pray, how?" + +"Marry." + +"I prefer the rumor and annoyance. I hate men. Most of them are beasts." + +"You are prejudiced." + +If Celeste expected Nora to reply that she had reason, she was +disappointed, Nora quickened her pace, that was all. + +At luncheon Harrigan innocently threw a bomb into camp by inquiring: "Say, +Nora, who's this chump Herr Rosen? He was up here last night and again +this morning. I was going to offer him the cot on the balcony, but I +thought I'd consult you first." + +"Herr Rosen!" exclaimed Mrs. Harrigan, a flutter in her throat. "Why, +that's...." + +"A charming young man who wishes me to sign a contract to sing to him in +perpetuity," interrupted Nora, pressing her mother's foot warningly. + +"Well, why don't you marry him?" laughed Harrigan. "There's worse things +than frankfurters and sauerkraut." + +"Not that I can think of just now," returned Nora. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AT THE CRATER'S EDGE + + +Harrigan declared that he would not go over to Caxley-Webster's to tea. + +"But I've promised for you!" expostulated his wife. "And he admires you +so." + +"Bosh! You women can gad about as much as you please, but I'm in wrong +when it comes to eating sponge-cake and knuckling my knees under a dinky +willow table. And then he always has some frump...." + +"Frump!" repeated Nora, delighted. + +"Frump inspecting me through a pair of eye-glasses as if I was a new kind +of an animal. It's all right, Molly, when there's a big push. They don't +notice me much then. But these six by eight parties have me covering." + +"Very well, dad," agreed Nora, who saw the storm gathering in her mother's +eyes. "You can stay home and read the book mother got you yesterday. Where +are you now?" + +"Page one," grinning. + +Mrs. Harrigan wisely refrained from continuing the debate. James had made +up his mind not to go. If the colonel repeated his invitation to dinner, +where there would be only the men folk, why, he'd gladly enough go to +that. + +The women departed at three, for there was to be tennis until five +o'clock. When Harrigan was reasonably sure that they were half the +distance to the colonel's villa, he put on his hat, whistled to the +dachel, and together they took the path to the village. + +"We'd look fine drinking tea, wouldn't we, old scout?" reaching down and +tweaking the dog's velvet ears. "They don't understand, and it's no use +trying to make 'em. Nora gets as near as possible. Herr Rosen! Now, where +have I seen his phiz before? I wish I had a real man to talk to. Abbott +sulks half the time, and the Barone can't get a joke unless it's driven in +with a mallet. On your way, old scout, or I'll step on you. Let's see if +we can hoof it down to the village at a trot without taking the count." + +He had but two errands to execute. The first was accomplished expeditely +in the little tobacconist's shop under the arcade, where the purchase of a +box of Minghetti cigars promised later solace. These cigars were cheap, +but Harrigan had a novel way of adding to their strength if not to their +aroma. He possessed a meerschaum cigar-holder, in which he had smoked +perfectos for some years. The smoke of an ordinary cigar became that of a +regalia by the time it passed through the nicotine-soaked clay into the +amber mouthpiece. He had kept secret the result of this trifling +scientific research. It wouldn't have been politic to disclose it to +Molly. The second errand took time and deliberation. He studied the long +shelves of Tauchnitz. Having red corpuscles in superabundance, he +naturally preferred them in his literature, in the same quantity. + +"Ever read this?" asked a pleasant voice from behind, indicating _Rodney +Stone_ with the ferrule of a cane. + +Harrigan looked up. "No. What's it about?" + +"Best story of the London prize-ring ever written. You're Mr. Harrigan, +aren't you?" + +"Yes," diffidently. + +"My name is Edward Courtlandt. If I am not mistaken, you were a great +friend of my father's." + +"Are you Dick Courtlandt's boy?" + +"I am." + +"Well, say!" Harrigan held out his hand and was gratified to encounter a +man's grasp. "So you're Edward Courtlandt? Now, what do you think of that! +Why, your father was the best sportsman I ever met. Square as they make +'em. Not a kink anywhere in his make-up. He used to come to the bouts in +his plug hat and dress suit; always had a seat by the ring. I could hear +him tap with his cane when there happened to be a bit of pretty sparring. +He was no slouch himself when it came to putting on the mitts. Many's the +time I've had a round or two with him in my old gymnasium. Well, well! +It's good to see a man again. I've seen your name in the papers, but I +never knew you was Dick's boy. You've got an old grizzly's head in your +dining-room at home. Some day I'll tell you how it got there, when you're +not in a hurry. I went out to Montana for a scrap, and your dad went +along. After the mill was over, we went hunting. Come up to the villa and +meet the folks.... Hang it, I forgot. They're up to Caxley-Webster's to +tea; piffle water and sticky sponge-cake. I want you to meet my wife and +daughter." + +"I should be very pleased to meet them." So this was Nora's father? "Won't +you come along with me to the colonel's?" with sudden inspiration. Here +was an opportunity not to be thrust aside lightly. + +"Why, I just begged off. They won't be expecting me now." + +"All the better. I'd rather have you introduce me to your family than to +have the colonel. As a matter of fact, I told him I couldn't get up. But I +changed my mind. Come along." The first rift in the storm-packed clouds; +and to meet her through the kindly offices of this amiable man who was her +father! + +"But the pup and the cigar box?" + +"Send them up." + +Harrigan eyed his own spotless flannels and compared them with the +other's. What was good enough for the son of a millionaire was certainly +good enough for him. Besides, it would be a bully good joke on Nora and +Molly. + +"You're on!" he cried. Here was a lark. He turned the dog and the +purchases over to the proprietor, who promised that they should arrive +instantly at the villa. + +Then the two men sought the quay to engage a boat. They walked shoulder to +shoulder, flat-backed, with supple swinging limbs, tanned faces and clear +animated eyes. Perhaps Harrigan was ten or fifteen pounds heavier, but the +difference would have been noticeable only upon the scales. + + * * * * * + +"Padre, my shoe pinches," said Nora with a pucker between her eyes. + +"My child," replied the padre, "never carry your vanity into a shoemaker's +shop. The happiest man is he who walks in loose shoes." + +"If they are his own, and not inherited," quickly. + +The padre laughed quietly. He was very fond of this new-found daughter of +his. Her spontaneity, her blooming beauty, her careless observation of +convention, her independence, had captivated him. Sometimes he believed +that he thoroughly understood her, when all at once he would find himself +mentally peering into some dark corner into which the penetrating light of +his usually swift deduction could throw no glimmer. She possessed the sins +of the butterfly and the latent possibilities of a Judith. She was the +most interesting feminine problem he had in his long years encountered. +The mother mildly amused him, for he could discern the character that she +was sedulously striving to batten down beneath inane social usages and +formalities. Some day she would revert to the original type, and then he +would be glad to renew the acquaintance. In rather a shamefaced way (a +sensation he could not quite analyze) he loved the father. The pugilist +will always embarrass the scholar and excite a negligible envy; for +physical perfection is the most envied of all nature's gifts. The padre +was short, thickset, and inclined toward stoutness in the region of the +middle button of his cassock. But he was active enough for all purposes. + +"I have had many wicked thoughts lately," resumed Nora, turning her gaze +away from the tennis players. She and the padre were sitting on the lower +steps of the veranda. The others were loitering by the nets. + +"The old plaint disturbs you?" + +"Yes." + +"Can you not cast it out wholly?" + +"Hate has many tentacles." + +"What produces that condition of mind?" meditatively. "Is it because we +have wronged somebody?" + +"Or because somebody has wronged us?" + +"Or misjudged us, by us have been misjudged?" softly. + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Nora, springing up. + +"What is it?" + +"Father is coming up the path!" + +"I am glad to see him. But I do not recollect having seen the face of the +man with him." + +The lithe eagerness went out of Nora's body instantly. Everything seemed +to grow cold, as if she had become enveloped in one of those fogs that +suddenly blow down menacingly from hidden icebergs. Fortunately the +inquiring eyes of the padre were not directed at her. He was here, not a +dozen yards away, coming toward her, her father's arm in his! After what +had passed he had dared! It was not often that Nora Harrigan was subjected +to a touch of vertigo, but at this moment she felt that if she stirred +ever so little she must fall. The stock whence she had sprung, however, +was aggressive and fearless; and by the time Courtlandt had reached the +outer markings of the courts, Nora was physically herself again. The +advantage of the meeting would be his. That was indubitable. Any mistake +on her part would be playing into his hands. If only she had known! + +"Let us go and meet them, Padre," she said quietly. With her father, her +mother and the others, the inevitable introduction would be shorn of its +danger. What Celeste might think was of no great importance; Celeste had +been tried and her loyalty proven. Where had her father met him, and what +diabolical stroke of fate had made him bring this man up here? + +"Nora!" It was her mother calling. + +She put her arm through the padre's, and they went forward leisurely. + +"Why, father, I thought you weren't coming," said Nora. Her voice was +without a tremor. + +The padre hadn't the least idea that a volcano might at any moment open up +at his side. He smiled benignly. + +"Changed my mind," said Harrigan. "Nora, Molly, I want you to meet Mr. +Courtlandt. I don't know that I ever said anything about it, but his +father was one of the best friends I ever had. He was on his way up here, +so I came along with him." Then Harrigan paused and looked about him +embarrassedly. There were half a dozen unfamiliar faces. + +The colonel quickly stepped into the breach, and the introduction of +Courtlandt became general. Nora bowed, and became at once engaged in an +animated conversation with the Barone, who had just finished his set +victoriously. + +The padre's benign smile slowly faded. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +DICK COURTLANDT'S BOY + + +Presently the servants brought out the tea-service. The silent +dark-skinned Sikh, with his fierce curling whiskers, his flashing eyes, +the semi-military, semi-oriental garb, topped by an enormous brown turban, +claimed Courtlandt's attention; and it may be added that he was glad to +have something to look at unembarrassedly. He wanted to catch the Indian's +eye, but Rao had no glances to waste; he was concerned with the immediate +business of superintending the service. + +Courtlandt had never been a man to surrender to impulse. It had been his +habit to form a purpose and then to go about the fulfilling of it. During +the last four or five months, however, he had swung about like a +weather-cock in April, the victim of a thousand and one impulses. That +morning he would have laughed had any one prophesied his presence here. He +had fought against the inclination strongly enough at first, but as hour +after hour went by his resolution weakened. His meeting Harrigan had been +a stroke of luck. Still, he would have come anyhow. + +"Oh, yes; I am very fond of Como," he found himself replying mechanically +to Mrs. Harrigan. He gave up Rao as hopeless so far as coming to his +rescue was concerned. He began, despite his repugnance, to watch Nora. + +"It is always a little cold in the higher Alps." + +"I am very fond of climbing myself." Nora was laughing and jesting with +one of the English tennis players. Not for nothing had she been called a +great actress, he thought. It was not humanly possible that her heart was +under better control than his own; and yet his was pounding against his +ribs in a manner extremely disquieting. Never must he be left alone with +her; always must it be under circumstances like this, with people about, +and the more closely about the better. A game like this was far more +exciting than tiger-hunting. It was going to assume the characteristics of +a duel in which he, being the more advantageously placed, would succeed +eventually in wearing down her guard. Hereafter, wherever she went, there +must he also go: St. Petersburg or New York or London. And by and by the +reporters would hear of it, and there would be rumors which he would +neither deny nor affirm. Sport! He smiled, and the blood seemed to recede +from his throat and his heart-beats to grow normal. + +And all the while Mrs. Harrigan was talking and he was replying; and she +thought him charming, whereas he had not formed any opinion of her at all, +nor later could remember a word of the conversation. + +"Tea!" bawled the colonel. The verb had its distinct uses, and one +generally applied it to the colonel's outbursts without being depressed by +the feeling of inelegance. + +There is invariably some slight hesitation in the selection of chairs +around a tea-table in the open. Nora scored the first point of this +singular battle by seizing the padre on one side and her father on the +other and pulling them down on the bench. It was adroit in two ways: it +put Courtlandt at a safe distance and in nowise offended the younger men, +who could find no cause for alarm in the close proximity of her two +fathers, the spiritual and the physical. A few moments later Courtlandt +saw a smile of malice part her lips, for he found himself between Celeste +and the inevitable frump. + +"Touched!" he murmured, for he was a thorough sportsman and appreciated a +good point even when taken by his opponent. + +"I never saw anything like it," whispered Mrs. Harrigan into the colonel's +ear. + +"Saw what?" he asked. + +"Mr. Courtlandt can't keep his eyes off of Nora." + +"I say!" The colonel adjusted his eye-glass, not that he expected to see +more clearly by doing so, but because habit had long since turned an +affectation into a movement wholly mechanical. "Well, who can blame him? +Gad! if I were only twenty-five or thereabouts." + +Mrs. Harrigan did not encourage this regret. The colonel had never been a +rich man. On the other hand, this Edward Courtlandt was very rich; he was +young; and he had the entrée to the best families in Europe, which was +greater in her eyes than either youth or riches. Between sips of tea she +builded a fine castle in Spain. + +Abbott and the Barone carried their cups and cakes over to the bench and +sat down on the grass, Turkish-wise. Both simultaneously offered their +cakes, and Nora took a ladyfinger from each. Abbott laughed and the Barone +smiled. + +"Oh, daddy mine!" sighed Nora drolly. + +"Huh?" + +"Don't let mother see those shoes." + +"What's the matter with 'em? Everybody's wearing the same." + +"Yes. But I don't see how you manage to do it. One shoe-string is virgin +white and the other is pagan brown." + +"I've got nine pairs of shoes, and yet there's always something the +matter," ruefully. "I never noticed when I put them on. Besides, I wasn't +coming." + +"That's no defense. But rest easy. I'll be as secret as the grave." + +"Now, I for one would never have noticed if you hadn't called my +attention," said the padre, stealing a glance at his own immaculate +patent-leathers. + +"Ah, Padre, that wife of mine has eyes like a pilot-fish. I'm in for it." + +"Borrow one from the colonel before you go home," suggested Abbott. + +"That's not half bad," gratefully. + +Harrigan began to recount the trials of forgetfulness. + +Slyly from the corner of her eye Nora looked at Courtlandt, who was at +that moment staring thoughtfully into his tea-cup and stirring the +contents industriously. His face was a little thinner, but aside from that +he had changed scarcely at all; and then, because these two years had left +so little mark upon his face, a tinge of unreasonable anger ran over her. +"Men have died and worms have eaten them," she thought cynically. Perhaps +the air between them was sufficiently charged with electricity to convey +the impression across the intervening space; for his eyes came up quickly, +but not quickly enough to catch her. She dropped her glance to Abbott, +transferred it to the Barone, and finally let it rest on her father's +face. Four handsomer men she had never seen. + +"You never told me you knew Courtlandt," said Harrigan, speaking to +Abbott. + +"Just happened that way. We went to school together. When I was little +they used to make me wear curls and wide collars. Many's the time +Courtlandt walloped the school bullies for mussing me up. I don't see him +much these days. Once in a while he walks in. That's all. Always seems to +know where his friends are, but none ever knows where he is." + +Abbott proceeded to elaborate some of his friend's exploits. Nora heard, +as if from afar. Vaguely she caught a glimmer of what the contest was +going to be. She could see only a little way; still, she was +optimistically confident of the result. She was ready. Indeed, now that +the shock of the meeting was past, she found herself not at all averse to +a conflict. It would be something to let go the pent-up wrath of two +years. Never would she speak to him directly; never would she permit him +to be alone with her; never would she miss a chance to twist his heart, to +humiliate him, to snub him. From her point of view, whatever game he chose +to play would be a losing one. She was genuinely surprised to learn how +eager she was for the game to begin so that she might gage his strength. + +"So I have heard," she was dimly conscious of saying. + +"Didn't know you knew," said Abbott. + +"Knew what?" rousing herself. + +"That Courtlandt nearly lost his life in the eighties." + +"In the eighties!" dismayed at her slip. + +"Latitudes. Polar expedition." + +"Heavens! I was miles away." + +The padre took her hand in his own and began to pat it softly. It was the +nearest he dared approach in the way of suggesting caution. He alone of +them all knew. + +"Oh, I believe I read something about it in the newspapers." + +"Five years ago." Abbott set down his tea-cup. "He's the bravest man I +know. He's rather a friendless man, besides. Horror of money. Thinks every +one is after him for that. Tries to throw it away; but the income piles up +too quickly. See that Indian, passing the cakes? Wouldn't think it, would +you, that Courtlandt carried him on his back for five miles! The Indian +had fallen afoul a wounded tiger, and the beaters were miles off. I've +been watching. They haven't even spoken to each other. Courtlandt's +probably forgotten all about the incident, and the Indian would die rather +than embarrass his savior before strangers." + +"Your friend, then, is quite a hero?" + +What was the matter with Nora's voice? Abbott looked at her wonderingly. +The tone was hard and unmusical. + +"He couldn't be anything else, being Dick Courtlandt's boy," volunteered +Harrigan, with enthusiasm. "It runs in the family." + +"It seems strange," observed Nora, "that I never heard you mention that +you knew a Mr. Courtlandt." + +"Why, Nora, there's a lot of things nobody mentions unless chance brings +them up. Courtlandt--the one I knew--has been dead these sixteen years. If +I knew he had had a son, I'd forgotten all about it. The only graveyard +isn't on the hillside; there's one under everybody's thatch." + +The padre nodded approvingly. + +Nora was not particularly pleased with this phase in the play. Courtlandt +would find a valiant champion in her father, who would blunder in when +some fine passes were being exchanged. And she could not tell him; she +would have cut out her tongue rather. It was true that she held the +principal cards in the game, but she could not table them and claim the +tricks as in bridge. She must patiently wait for him to lead, and he, as +she very well knew, would lead a card at a time, and then only after +mature deliberation. From the exhilaration which attended the prospect of +battle she passed into a state of depression, which lasted the rest of the +afternoon. + +"Will you forgive me?" asked Celeste of Courtlandt. Never had she felt +more ill at ease. For a full ten minutes he chatted pleasantly, with never +the slightest hint regarding the episode in Paris. She could stand it no +longer. "Will you forgive me?" + +"For what?" + +"That night in Paris." + +"Do not permit that to bother you in the least. I was never going to +recall it." + +"Was it so unpleasant?" + +"On the contrary, I was much amused." + +"I did not tell you the truth." + +"So I have found out." + +"I do not believe that it was you," impulsively. + +"Thanks. I had nothing to do with Miss Harrigan's imprisonment." + +"Do you feel that you could make a confidant of me?" + +He smiled. "My dear Miss Fournier, I have come to the place where I +distrust even myself." + +"Forgive my curiosity!" + +Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. "I am glad to see you again." + +"Ah, Sahib!" + +The little Frenchwoman was torn with curiosity and repression. She wanted +to know what causes had produced this unusual drama which was unfolding +before her eyes. To be presented with effects which had no apparent causes +was maddening. It was not dissimilar to being taken to the second act of a +modern problem play and being forced to leave before the curtain rose upon +the third act. She had laid all the traps her intelligent mind could +invent; and Nora had calmly walked over them or around. Nora's mind was +Celtic: French in its adroitness and Irish in its watchfulness and +tenacity. And now she had set her arts of persuasion in motion (aided by a +piquant beauty) to lift a corner of the veil from this man's heart. +Checkmate! + +"I should like to help you," she said, truthfully. + +"In what way?" + +It was useless, but she continued: "She does not know that you went to +Flora Desimone's that night." + +"And yet she sent you to watch me." + +"But so many things happened afterward that she evidently forgot." + +"That is possible." + +"I was asleep when the pistol went off. Oh, you must believe that it was +purely accidental! She was in a terrible state until morning. What if she +had killed you, what if she had killed you! She seemed to hark upon that +phrase." + +Courtlandt turned a sober face toward her. She might be sincere, and then +again she might be playing the first game over again, in a different +guise. "It would have been embarrassing if the bullet had found its mark." +He met her eyes squarely, and she saw that his were totally free from +surprise or agitation or interest. + +"Do you play chess?" she asked, divertingly. + +"Chess? I am very fond of that game." + +"So I should judge," dryly. "I suppose you look upon me as a meddler. +Perhaps I am; but I have nothing but good will toward you; and Nora would +be very angry if she knew that I was discussing her affairs with you. But +I love her and want to make her happy." + +"That seems to be the ambition of all the young men, at any rate." + +Jealousy? But the smile baffled her. "Will you be here long?" + +"It depends." + +"Upon Nora?" persistently. + +"The weather." + +"You are hopeless." + +"No; on the contrary, I am the most optimistic man in the world." + +She looked into this reply very carefully. If he had hopes of winning Nora +Harrigan, optimistic he certainly must be. Perhaps it was not optimism. +Rather might it not be a purpose made of steel, bendable but not +breakable, reinforced by a knowledge of conditions which she would have +given worlds to learn? + +"Is she not beautiful?" + +"I am not a poet." + +"Wait a moment," her eyes widening. "I believe you know who did commit +that outrage." + +For the first time he frowned. + +"Very well; I promise not to ask any more questions." + +"That would be very agreeable to me." Then, as if he realized the rudeness +of his reply, he added: "Before I leave I will tell you all you wish to +know, upon one condition." + +"Tell it!" + +"You will say nothing to any one, you will question neither Miss Harrigan +nor myself, nor permit yourself to be questioned." + +"I agree." + +"And now, will you not take me over to your friends?" + +"Over there?" aghast. + +"Why, yes. We can sit upon the grass. They seem to be having a good +time." + +What a man! Take him over, into the enemy's camp? Nothing would be more +agreeable to her. Who would be the stronger, Nora or this provoking man? + +So they crossed over and joined the group. The padre smiled. It was a +situation such as he loved to study: a strong man and a strong woman, at +war. But nothing happened; not a ripple anywhere to disclose the agitation +beneath. The man laughed and the woman laughed, but they spoke not to each +other, nor looked once into each other's eyes. + +The sun was dropping toward the western tops. The guests were leaving by +twos and threes. The colonel had prevailed upon his dinner-guests not to +bother about going back to the village to dress, but to dine in the +clothes they wore. Finally, none remained but Harrigan, Abbott, the +Barone, the padre and Courtlandt. And they talked noisily and agreeably +concerning man-affairs until Rao gravely announced that dinner was +served. + +It was only then, during the lull which followed, that light was shed upon +the puzzle which had been subconsciously stirring Harrigan's mind: Nora +had not once spoken to the son of his old friend. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +EVERYTHING BUT THE TRUTH + + +"I don't see why the colonel didn't invite some of the ladies," Mrs. +Harrigan complained. + +"It's a man-party. He's giving it to please himself. And I do not blame +him. The women about here treat him abominably. They come at all times of +the day and night, use his card-room, order his servants about, drink his +whisky and smoke his cigarettes, and generally invite themselves to +luncheon and tea and dinner. And then, when they are ready to go back to +their villas or hotel, take his motor-boat without a thank-you. The +colonel has about three thousand pounds outside his half-pay, and they are +all crazy to marry him because his sister is a countess. As a bachelor he +can live like a prince, but as a married man he would have to dig. He told +me that if he had been born Adam, he'd have climbed over Eden's walls long +before the Angel of the Flaming Sword paddled him out. Says he's always +going to be a bachelor, unless I take pity on him," mischievously. + +"Has he...?" in horrified tones. + +"About three times a visit," Nora admitted; "but I told him that I'd be a +daughter, a cousin, or a niece to him, or even a grandchild. The latter +presented too many complications, so we compromised on niece." + +"I wish I knew when you were serious and when you were fooling." + +"I am often as serious when I am fooling as I am foolish when I am +serious...." + +"Nora, you will have me shrieking in a minute!" despaired the mother. "Did +the colonel really propose to you?" + +"Only in fun." + +Celeste laughed and threw her arm around the mother's waist, less ample +than substantial. "Don't you care! Nora is being pursued by little devils +and is venting her spite on us." + +"There'll be too much Burgundy and tobacco, to say nothing of the awful +stories." + +"With the good old padre there? Hardly," said Nora. + +Celeste was a French woman. "I confess that I like a good story that isn't +vulgar. And none of them look like men who would stoop to vulgarity." + +"That's about all you know of men," declared Mrs. Harrigan. + +"I am willing to give them the benefit of a doubt." + +"Celeste," cried Nora, gaily, "I've an idea. Supposing you and I run back +after dinner and hide in the card-room, which is right across from the +dining-room? Then we can judge for ourselves." + +"Nora Harrigan!" + +"Molly Harrigan!" mimicked the incorrigible. "Mother mine, you must learn +to recognize a jest." + +"Ah, but yours!" + +"Fine!" cried Celeste. + +As if to put a final period to the discussion, Nora began to hum audibly +an aria from _Aïda_. + +They engaged a carriage in the village and were driven up to the villa. On +the way Mrs. Harrigan discussed the stranger, Edward Courtlandt. What a +fine-looking young man he was, and how adventurous, how well-connected, +how enormously rich, and what an excellent catch! She and Celeste--the one +innocently and the other provocatively--continued the subject to the very +doors of the villa. All the while Nora hummed softly. + +"What do you think of him, Nora?" the mother inquired. + +"Think of whom?" + +"This Mr. Courtlandt." + +"Oh, I didn't pay much attention to him," carelessly. But once alone with +Celeste, she seized her by the arm, a little roughly. "Celeste, I love you +better than any outsider I know. But if you ever discuss that man in my +presence again, I shall cease to regard you even as an acquaintance. He +has come here for the purpose of annoying me, though he promised the +prefect in Paris never to annoy me again." + +"The prefect!" + +"Yes. The morning I left Versailles I met him in the private office of the +prefect. He had powerful friends who aided him in establishing an alibi. I +was only a woman, so I didn't count." + +"Nora, if I have meddled in any way," proudly, "it has been because I love +you, and I see you unhappy. You have nearly killed me with your +sphinx-like actions. You have never asked me the result of my spying for +you that night. Spying is not one of my usual vocations, but I did it +gladly for you." + +"You gave him my address?" coldly. + +"I did not. I convinced him that I had come at the behest of Flora +Desimone. He demanded her address, which I gave him. If ever there was a +man in a fine rage, it was he as he left me to go there. If he found out +where we lived, the Calabrian assisted him, I spoke to him rather plainly +at tea. He said that he had had nothing whatever to do with the abduction, +and I believe him. I am positive that he is not the kind of man to go that +far and not proceed to the end. And now, will you please tell Carlos to +bring my dinner to my room?" + +The impulsive Irish heart was not to be resisted. Nora wanted to remain +firm, but instead she swept Celeste into her arms. "Celeste, don't be +angry! I am very, very unhappy." + +If the Irish heart was impulsive, the French one was no less so. Celeste +wanted to cry out that she was unhappy, too. + +"Don't bother to dress! Just give your hair a pat or two. We'll all three +dine on the balcony." + +Celeste flew to her room. Nora went over to the casement window and stared +at the darkening mountains. When she turned toward the dresser she was +astonished to find two bouquets. One was an enormous bunch of violets. The +other was of simple marguerites. She picked up the violets. There was a +card without a name; but the phrase scribbled across the face of it was +sufficient. She flung the violets far down into the grape-vines below. The +action was without anger, excited rather by a contemptuous indifference. +As for the simple marguerites, she took them up gingerly. The arc these +described through the air was even greater than that performed by the +violets. + +"I'm a silly fool, I suppose," she murmured, turning back into the room +again. + +It was ten o'clock when the colonel bade his guests good night as they +tumbled out of his motor-boat. They were in more or less exuberant +spirits; for the colonel knew how to do two things particularly well: +order a dinner, and avoid the many traps set for him by scheming mamas and +eligible widows. Abbott, the Barone and Harrigan, arm in arm, marched on +ahead, whistling one tune in three different keys, while Courtlandt set +the pace for the padre. + +All through the dinner the padre had watched and listened. Faces were +generally books to him, and he read in this young man's face many things +that pleased him. This was no night rover, a fool over wine and women, a +spendthrift. He straightened out the lines and angles in a man's face as a +skilled mathematician elucidates an intricate geometrical problem. He had +arrived at the basic knowledge that men who live mostly out of doors are +not volatile and irresponsible, but are more inclined to reserve, to +reticence, to a philosophy which is broad and comprehensive and generous. +They are generally men who are accomplishing things, and who let other +people tell about it. Thus, the padre liked Courtlandt's voice, his +engaging smile, his frank unwavering eyes; and he liked the leanness about +the jaws, which was indicative of strength of character. In fact, he +experienced a singular jubilation as he walked beside this silent man. + +"There has been a grave mistake somewhere," he mused aloud, thoughtfully. + +"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt. + +"I beg yours. I was thinking aloud. How long have you known the +Harrigans?" + +"The father and mother I never saw before to-day." + +"Then you have met Miss Harrigan?" + +"I have seen her on the stage." + +"I have the happiness of being her confessor." + +They proceeded quite as far as a hundred yards before Courtlandt +volunteered: "That must be interesting." + +"She is a good Catholic." + +"Ah, yes; I recollect now." + +"And you?" + +"Oh, I haven't any religion such as requires my presence in churches. +Don't misunderstand me! As a boy I was bred in the Episcopal Church; but I +have traveled so much that I have drifted out of the circle. I find that +when I am out in the open, in the heart of some great waste, such as a +desert, a sea, the top of a mountain, I can see the greatness of the +Omnipotent far more clearly and humbly than within the walls of a +cathedral." + +"But God imposes obligations upon mankind. We have ceased to look upon the +hermit as a holy man, but rather as one devoid of courage. It is not the +stone and the stained windows; it is the text of our daily work, that the +physical being of the Church represents." + +"I have not avoided any of my obligations." Courtlandt shifted his stick +behind his back. "I was speaking of the church and the open field, as they +impressed me." + +"You believe in the tenets of Christianity?" + +"Surely! A man must pin his faith and hope to something more stable than +humanity." + +"I should like to convert you to my way of thinking," simply. + +"Nothing is impossible. Who knows?" + +The padre, as they continued onward, offered many openings, but the young +man at his side refused to be drawn into any confidence. So the padre gave +up, for the futility of his efforts became irksome. His own lips were +sealed, so he could not ask point-blank the question that clamored at the +tip of his tongue. + +"So you are Miss Harrigan's confessor?" + +"Does it strike you strangely?" + +"Merely the coincidence." + +"If I were not her confessor I should take the liberty of asking you some +questions." + +"It is quite possible that I should decline to answer them." + +The padre shrugged. "It is patent to me that you will go about this affair +in your own way. I wish you well." + +"Thank you. As Miss Harrigan's confessor you doubtless know everything but +the truth." + +The padre laughed this time. The shops were closed. The open restaurants +by the water-front held but few idlers. The padre admired the young man's +independence. Most men would have hesitated not a second to pour the tale +into his ears in hope of material assistance. The padre's admiration was +equally proportioned with respect. + +"I leave you here," he said. "You will see me frequently at the villa." + +"I certainly shall be there frequently. Good night." + +Courtlandt quickened his pace which soon brought him alongside the others. +They stopped in front of Abbott's pension, and he tried to persuade them +to come up for a nightcap. + +"Nothing to it, my boy," said Harrigan. "I need no nightcap on top of +cognac forty-eight years old. For me that's a whole suit of pajamas." + +"You come, Ted." + +"Abbey, I wouldn't climb those stairs for a bottle of Horace's Falernian, +served on Seneca's famous citron table." + +"Not a friend in the world," Abbott lamented. + +Laughingly they hustled him into the hallway and fled. Then Courtlandt +went his way alone. He slept with the dubious satisfaction that the first +day had not gone badly. The wedge had been entered. It remained to be seen +if it could be dislodged. + +Harrigan was in a happy temper. He kissed his wife and chucked Nora under +the chin. And then Mrs. Harrigan launched the thunderbolt which, having +been held on the leash for several hours, had, for all of that, lost none +of its ability to blight and scorch. + +"James, you are about as hopeless a man as ever was born. You all but +disgraced us this afternoon." + +"Mother!" + +"Me?" cried the bewildered Harrigan. + +"Look at those tennis shoes; one white string and one brown one. It's +enough to drive a woman mad. What in heaven's name made you come?" + +Perhaps it was the after effect of a good dinner, that dwindling away of +pleasant emotions; perhaps it was the very triviality of the offense for +which he was thus suddenly arraigned; at any rate, he lost his temper, and +he was rather formidable when that occurred. + +"Damn it, Molly, I wasn't going, but Courtlandt asked me to go with him, +and I never thought of my shoes. You are always finding fault with me +these days. I don't drink, I don't gamble, I don't run around after other +women; I never did. But since you've got this social bug in your bonnet, +you keep me on hooks all the while. Nobody noticed the shoe-strings; and +they would have looked upon it as a joke if they had. After all, I'm the +boss of this ranch. If I want to wear a white string and a black one, I'll +do it. Here!" He caught up the book on social usages and threw it out of +the window. "Don't ever shove a thing like that under my nose again. If +you do, I'll hike back to little old New York and start the gym again." + +He rammed one of the colonel's perfectos (which he had been saving for the +morrow) between his teeth, and stalked into the garden. + +Nora was heartless enough to laugh. + +"He hasn't talked like that to me in years!" Mrs. Harrigan did not know +what to do,--follow him or weep. She took the middle course, and went to +bed. + +Nora turned out the lights and sat out on the little balcony. The +moonshine was glorious. So dense was the earth-blackness that the few +lights twinkling here and there were more like fallen stars. Presently she +heard a sound. It was her father, returning as silently as he could. She +heard him fumble among the knickknacks on the mantel, and then go away +again. By and by she saw a spot of white light move hither and thither +among the grape arbors. For five or six minutes she watched it dance. +Suddenly all became dark again. She laid her head upon the railing and +conned over the day's events. These were not at all satisfactory to her. +Then her thoughts traveled many miles away. Six months of happiness, of +romance, of play, and then misery and blackness. + +"Nora, are you there?" + +"Yes. Over here on the balcony. What were you doing down there?" + +"Oh, Nora, I'm sorry I lost my temper. But Molly's begun to nag me lately, +and I can't stand it. I went after that book. Did you throw some flowers +out of the window?" + +"Yes." + +"A bunch of daisies?" + +"Marguerites," she corrected. + +"All the same to me. I picked up the bunch, and look at what I found +inside." + +He extended his palm, flooding it with the light of his pocket-lamp. +Nora's heart tightened. What she saw was a beautiful uncut emerald. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A COMEDY WITH MUSIC + + +The Harrigans occupied the suite in the east wing of the villa. This +consisted of a large drawing-room and two ample bedchambers, with +window-balconies and a private veranda in the rear, looking off toward the +green of the pines and the metal-like luster of the copper beeches. Always +the suite was referred to by the management as having once been tenanted +by the empress of Germany. Indeed, tourists were generally and +respectively and impressively shown the suite (provided it was not at the +moment inhabited), and were permitted to peer eagerly about for some sign +of the vanished august presence. But royalty in passing, as with the most +humble of us, leaves nothing behind save the memory of a tip, generous or +otherwise. + +It was raining, a fine, soft, blurring Alpine rain, and a blue-grey +monotone prevailed upon the face of the waters and defied all save the +keenest scrutiny to discern where the mountain tops ended and the sky +began. It was a day for indoors, for dreams, good books, and good +fellows. + +The old-fashioned photographer would have admired and striven to +perpetuate the group in the drawing-room. In the old days it was quite the +proper thing to snap the family group while they were engaged in some +pleasant pastime, such as spinning, or painting china, or playing the +piano, or reading a volume of poems. No one ever seemed to bother about +the incongruence of the eyes, which were invariably focused at the camera +lens. Here they all were. Mrs. Harrigan was deep in the intricate maze of +the Amelia Ars of Bologna, which, as the initiated know, is a wonderful +lace. By one of the windows sat Nora, winding interminable yards of +lace-hemming from off the willing if aching digits of the Barone, who was +speculating as to what his Neapolitan club friends would say could they +see, by some trick of crystal-gazing, his present occupation. Celeste was +at the piano, playing (_pianissimo_) snatches from the operas, while +Abbott looked on, his elbows propped upon his knees, his chin in his +palms, and a quality of ecstatic content in his eyes. He was in his +working clothes, picturesque if paint-daubed. The morning had been +pleasant enough, but just before luncheon the rain clouds had gathered and +settled down with that suddenness known only in high altitudes. + +The ex-gladiator sat on one of those slender mockeries, composed of +gold-leaf and parabolic curves and faded brocade, such as one sees at the +Trianon or upon the stage or in the new home of a new millionaire, and +which, if the true facts be known, the ingenious Louis invented for the +discomfort of his favorites and the folly of future collectors. It creaked +whenever Harrigan sighed, which was often, for he was deeply immersed (and +no better word could be selected to fit his mental condition) in the +baneful book which he had hurled out of the window the night before, only +to retrieve like the good dog that he was. To-day his shoes offered no +loophole to criticism; he had very well attended to that. His tie +harmonized with his shirt and stockings; his suit was of grey tweed; in +fact, he was the glass of fashion and the mold of form, at least for the +present. + +"Say, Molly, I don't see what difference it makes." + +"Difference what makes, James?" Mrs. Harrigan raised her eyes from her +work. James had been so well-behaved that morning it was only logical for +her to anticipate that he was about to abolish at one fell stroke all his +hard-earned merits. + +"About eating salads. We never used to put oil on our tomatoes. Sugar and +vinegar were good enough." + +"Sugar and vinegar are not nourishing; olive-oil is." + +"We seemed to hike along all right before we learned that." His guardian +angel was alert this time, and he returned to his delving without further +comment. By and by he got up. "Pshaw!" He dropped the wearisome volume on +the reading-table, took up a paper-covered novel, and turned to the last +fight of the blacksmith in _Rodney Stone_. Here was something that made +the invention of type excusable, even commendable. + +"Play the fourth _ballade_," urged Abbott. + +Celeste was really a great artist. As an interpreter of Chopin she had no +rival among women, and only one man was her equal. She had fire, +tenderness, passion, strength; she had beyond all these, soul, which is +worth more in true expression than the most marvelous technique. She had +chosen Chopin for his brilliance, as some will chose Turner in preference +to Corot: riots of color, barbaric and tingling. She was as great a genius +in her way as Nora was in hers. There was something of the elfin child in +her spirit. Whenever she played to Abbott, there was a quality in the +expression that awakened a wonderment in Nora's heart. + +As Celeste began the _andante_, Nora signified to the Barone to drop his +work. She let her own hands fall. Harrigan gently closed his book, for in +that rough kindly soul of his lay a mighty love of music. He himself was +without expression of any sort, and somehow music seemed to stir the dim +and not quite understandable longing for utterance. Mrs. Harrigan alone +went on with her work; she could work and listen at the same time. After +the magnificent finale, nothing in the room stirred but her needle. + +"Bravo!" cried the Barone, breaking the spell. + +"You never played that better," declared Nora. + +Celeste, to escape the keen inquiry of her friend and to cover up her +embarrassment, dashed into one of the lighter compositions, a waltz. It +was a favorite of Nora's. She rose and went over to the piano and rested a +hand upon Celeste's shoulder. And presently her voice took up the melody. +Mrs. Harrigan dropped her needle. It was not that she was particularly +fond of music, but there was something in Nora's singing that cast a +temporary spell of enchantment over her, rendering her speechless and +motionless. She was not of an analytical turn of mind; thus, the truth +escaped her. She was really lost in admiration of herself: she had +produced this marvelous being! + +"That's some!" Harrigan beat his hands together thunderously. "Great +stuff; eh, Barone?" + +The Barone raised his hands as if to express his utter inability to +describe his sensations. His elation was that ascribed to those fortunate +mortals whom the gods lifted to Olympus. At his feet lay the lace-hemming, +hopelessly snarled. + +"Father, father!" remonstrated Nora; "you will wake up all the old ladies +who are having their siesta." + +"Bah! I'll bet a doughnut their ears are glued to their doors. What ho! +Somebody's at the portcullis. Probably the padre, come up for tea." + +He was at the door instantly. He flung it open heartily. It was +characteristic of the man to open everything widely, his heart, his mind, +his hate or his affection. + +"Come in, come in! Just in time for the matinée concert." + +The padre was not alone. Courtlandt followed him in. + +[Illustration: Courtlandt followed him in.] + +"We have been standing in the corridor for ten minutes," affirmed the +padre, sending a winning smile around the room. "Mr. Courtlandt was for +going down to the bureau and sending up our cards. But I would not hear of +such formality. I am a privileged person." + +"Sure yes! Molly, ring for tea, and tell 'em to make it hot. How about a +little peg, as the colonel says?" + +The two men declined. + +How easily and nonchalantly the man stood there by the door as Harrigan +took his hat! Celeste was aquiver with excitement. She was thoroughly a +woman: she wanted something to happen, dramatically, romantically. + +But her want was a vain one. The man smiled quizzically at Nora, who +acknowledged the salutation by a curtsy which would have frightened away +the banshees of her childhood. Nora hated scenes, and Courtlandt had the +advantage of her in his knowledge of this. Celeste remained at the piano, +but Nora turned as if to move away. + +"No, no!" cried the padre, his palms extended in protest. "If you stop the +music I shall leave instantly." + +"But we are all through, Padre," replied Nora, pinching Celeste's arm, +which action the latter readily understood as a command to leave the +piano. + +Celeste, however, had a perverse streak in her to-day. Instead of rising +as Nora expected she would, she wheeled on the stool and began _Morning +Mood_ from Peer Gynt, because the padre preferred Grieg or Beethoven to +Chopin. Nora frowned at the pretty head below her. She stooped. + +"I sha'n't forgive you for this trick," she whispered. + +Celeste shrugged, and her fingers did not falter. So Nora moved away this +time in earnest. + +"No, you must sing. That is what I came up for," insisted the padre. If +there was any malice in the churchman, it was of a negative quality. But +it was in his Latin blood that drama should appeal to him strongly, and +here was an unusual phase in The Great Play. He had urged Courtlandt, much +against the latter's will this day, to come up with him, simply that he +might set a little scene such as this promised to be and study it from the +vantage of the prompter. He knew that the principal theme of all great +books, of all great dramas, was antagonism, antagonism between man and +woman, though by a thousand other names has it been called. He had often +said, in a spirit of raillery, that this antagonism was principally due to +the fact that Eve had been constructed (and very well) out of a rib from +Adam. Naturally she resented this, that she had not been fashioned +independently, and would hold it against man until the true secret of the +parable was made clear to her. + +"Sing that, Padre?" said Nora. "Why, there are no words to it that I +know." + +"Words? _Peste!_ Who cares for words no one really ever understands? It is +the voice, my child. Go on, or I shall make you do some frightful +penance." + +Nora saw that further opposition would be useless. After all, it would be +better to sing. She would not be compelled to look at this man she so +despised. For a moment her tones were not quite clear; but Celeste +increased the volume of sound warningly, and as this required more force +on Nora's part, the little cross-current was passed without mishap. It was +mere pastime for her to follow these wonderful melodies. She had no words +to recall so that her voice was free to do with as she elected. There were +bars absolutely impossible to follow, note for note, but she got around +this difficulty by taking the key and holding it strongly and evenly. In +ordinary times Nora never refused to sing for her guests, if she happened +to be in voice. There was none of that conceited arrogance behind which +most of the vocal celebrities hide themselves. At the beginning she had +intended to sing badly; but as the music proceeded, she sang as she had +not sung in weeks. To fill this man's soul with a hunger for the sound of +her voice, to pour into his heart a fresh knowledge of what he had lost +forever and forever! + +Courtlandt sat on the divan beside Harrigan who, with that friendly spirit +which he observed toward all whom he liked, whether of long or short +acquaintance, had thrown his arm across Courtlandt's shoulder. The younger +man understood all that lay behind the simple gesture, and he was secretly +pleased. + +But Mrs. Harrigan was not. She was openly displeased, and in vain she +tried to catch the eye of her wayward lord. A man he had known but +twenty-four hours, and to greet him with such coarse familiarity! + +Celeste was not wholly unmerciful. She did not finish the suite, but +turned from the keys after the final chords of _Morning Mood_. + +"Thank you!" said Nora. + +"Do not stop," begged Courtlandt. + +Nora looked directly into his eyes as she replied: "One's voice can not go +on forever, and mine is not at all strong." + +And thus, without having originally the least intent to do so, they broke +the mutual contract on which they had separately and secretly agreed: +never to speak directly to each other. Nora was first to realize what she +had done, and she was furiously angry with herself. She left the piano. + +As if her mind had opened suddenly like a book, Courtlandt sprang from the +divan and reached for the fat ball of lace-hemming. He sat down in Nora's +chair and nodded significantly to the Barone, who blushed. To hold the +delicate material for Nora's unwinding was a privilege of the gods, but to +hold it for this man for whom he held a dim feeling of antagonism was +altogether a different matter. + +"It is horribly tangled," he admitted, hoping thus to escape. + +"No matter. You hold the ball. I'll untangle it. I never saw a fish-line I +could not straighten out." + +Nora laughed. It was not possible for her to repress the sound. Her sense +of humor was too strong in this case to be denied its release in laughter. +It was free of the subtler emotions; frank merriment, no more, no less. +And possessing the hunter's extraordinarily keen ear, Courtlandt +recognized the quality; and the weight of a thousand worlds lightened its +pressure upon his heart. And the Barone laughed, too. So there they were, +the three of them. But Nora's ineffectual battle for repression had driven +her near to hysteria. To escape this dire calamity, she flung open a +casement window and stood within it, breathing in the heavy fragrance of +the rain-laden air. + +This little comedy had the effect of relaxing them all; and the laughter +became general. Abbott's smile faded soonest. He stared at his friend in +wonder not wholly free from a sense of evil fortune. Never had he known +Courtlandt to aspire to be a squire of dames. To see the Barone hold the +ball as if it were hot shot was amusing; but the cool imperturbable manner +with which Courtlandt proceeded to untangle the snarl was disturbing. Why +the deuce wasn't he himself big and strong, silent and purposeful, instead +of being a dawdling fool of an artist? + +No answer came to his inquiry, but there was a knock at the door. The +managing director handed Harrigan a card. + +"Herr Rosen," he read aloud. "Send him up. Some friend of yours, Nora; +Herr Rosen. I told Mr. Jilli to send him up." + +The padre drew his feet under his cassock, a sign of perturbation; +Courtlandt continued to unwind; the Barone glanced fiercely at Nora, who +smiled enigmatically. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +HERR ROSEN'S REGRETS + + +Herr Rosen! There was no outward reason why the name should have set a +chill on them all, turned them into expectant statues. Yet, all semblance +of good-fellowship was instantly gone. To Mrs. Harrigan alone did the name +convey a sense of responsibility, a flutter of apprehension not unmixed +with delight. She put her own work behind the piano lid, swooped down upon +the two men and snatched away the lace-hemming, to the infinite relief of +the one and the surprise of the other. Courtlandt would have liked nothing +better than to hold the lace in his lap, for it was possible that Herr +Rosen might wish to shake hands, however disinclined he might be within to +perform such greeting. The lace disappeared. Mrs. Harrigan smoothed out +the wrinkles in her dress. From the others there had been little movement +and no sound to speak of. Harrigan still waited by the door, seriously +contemplating the bit of pasteboard in his hand. + +Nora did not want to look, but curiosity drew her eyes imperiously toward +Courtlandt. He had not risen. Did he know? Did he understand? Was his +attitude pretense or innocence? Ah, if she could but look behind that +impenetrable mask! How she hated him! The effrontery of it all! And she +could do nothing, say nothing: dared not tell them then and there what he +truly was, a despicable scoundrel! The son of her father's dearest friend; +what mockery! A friend of the family! It was maddening. + +Herr Rosen brushed past Harrigan unceremoniously, without pausing, and +went straight over to Nora, who was thereupon seized by an uncontrollable +spirit of devilment. She hated Herr Rosen, but she was going to be as +pleasant and as engaging as she knew how to be. She did not care if he +misinterpreted her mood. She welcomed him with a hand. He went on to Mrs. +Harrigan, who colored pleasurably. He was then introduced, and he +acknowledged each introduction with a careless nod. He was there to see +Nora, and he did not propose to put himself to any inconvenience on +account of the others. + +The temporary restraint which had settled upon the others at the +announcement of Herr Rosen's arrival passed away. Courtlandt, who had +remained seated during the initial formalities (a fact which bewildered +Abbott, who knew how punctilious his friend was in matters of this kind) +got up and took a third of the divan. + +Harrigan dropped down beside him. It was his habit to watch his daughter's +face when any guest arrived. He formed his impression on what he believed +to be hers. That she was a consummate actress never entered into his +calculations. The welcoming smile dissipated any doubts. + +"No matter where we are, they keep coming. She has as many friends as T. +R. I never bother to keep track of 'em." + +"It would be rather difficult," assented Courtlandt. + +"You ought to see the flowers. Loads of 'em. And say, what do you think? +Every jewel that comes she turns into money and gives to charity. Can you +beat it? Fine joke on the Johnnies. Of course, I mean stones that turn up +anonymously. Those that have cards go back by fast-mail. It's a good thing +I don't chance across the senders. Now, boy, I want you to feel at home +here in this family; I want you to come up when you want to and at any old +time of day. I kind of want to pay back to you all the kind things your +dad did for me. And I don't want any Oh-pshawing. Get me?" + +"Whatever you say. If my dad did you any favors it was because he liked +and admired you; not with any idea of having you discharge the debt in the +future by way of inconveniencing yourself on my account. Just let me be a +friend of the family, like Abbott here. That would be quite enough honor +for me." + +"You're on! Say, that blacksmith yarn was a corker. He was a game old +codger. That was scrapping; no hall full of tobacco-smoke, no palm-fans, +lemonade, peanuts and pop-corn; just right out on the turf, and may the +best man win. I know. I went through that. No frame-ups, all square and on +the level. A fellow had to fight those days, no sparring, no pretty +footwork. Sometimes I've a hankering to get back and exchange a wallop or +two. Nothing to it, though. My wife won't let me, as the song goes." + +Courtlandt chuckled. "I suppose it's the monotony. A man who has been +active hates to sit down and twiddle his thumbs. You exercise?" + +"Walk a lot." + +"Climb any?" + +"Don't know that game." + +"It's great sport. I'll break you in some day, if you say. You'll like it. +The mountains around here are not dangerous. We can go up and down in a +day." + +"I'll go you. But, say, last night Nora chucked a bunch of daisies out of +the window, and as I was nosing around in the vineyard, I came across it. +You know how a chap will absently pick a bunch of flowers apart. What do +you think I found?" + +"A note?" + +"This." Harrigan exhibited the emerald. "Who sent it? Where the dickens +did it come from?" + +Courtlandt took the stone and examined it carefully. "That's not a bad +stone. Uncut but polished; oriental." + +"Oriental, eh? What would you say it was worth?" + +"Oh, somewhere between six and seven hundred." + +"Suffering shamrocks! A little green pebble like this?" + +"Cut and flawless, at that size, it would be worth pounds instead of +dollars." + +"Well, what do you think of that? Nora told me to keep it, so I guess I +will." + +"Why, yes. If a man sends a thing like this anonymously, he can't possibly +complain. Have it made into a stick pin." Courtlandt returned the stone +which Harrigan pocketed. + +"Sometimes I wish Nora'd marry and settle down." + +"She is young. You wouldn't have quit the game at her age!" + +"I should say not! But that's different. A man's business is to fight for +his grub, whether in an office or in the ring. That's a part of the game. +But a woman ought to have a home, live in it three-fourths of the year, +and bring up good citizens. That's what we are all here for. Molly used to +stay at home, but now it's the social bug, gadding from morning until +night. Ah, here's Carlos with the tea." + +Herr Rosen instantly usurped the chair next to Nora, who began to pour the +tea. He had come up from the village prepared for a disagreeable +half-hour. Instead of being greeted with icy glances from stormy eyes, he +encountered such smiles as this adorable creature had never before +bestowed upon him. He was in the clouds. That night at Cadenabbia had +apparently knocked the bottom out of his dream. Women were riddles which +only they themselves could solve for others. For this one woman he was +perfectly ready to throw everything aside. A man lived but once; and he +was a fool who would hold to tinsel in preference to such happiness as he +thought he saw opening out before him. Nora saw, but she did not care. +That in order to reach another she was practising infinite cruelty on this +man (whose one fault lay in that he loved her) did not appeal to her pity. +But her arrow flew wide of the target; at least, there appeared no result +to her archery in malice. Not once had the intended victim looked over to +where she sat. And yet she knew that he must be watching; he could not +possibly avoid it and be human. And when he finally came forward to take +his cup, she leaned toward Herr Rosen. + +"You take two lumps?" she asked sweetly. It was only a chance shot, but +she hit on the truth. + +"And you remember?" excitedly. + +"One lump for mine, please," said Courtlandt, smiling. + +She picked up a cube of sugar and dropped it into his cup. She had the air +of one wishing it were poison. The recipient of this good will, with +perfect understanding, returned to the divan, where the padre and Harrigan +were gravely toasting each other with Benedictine. + +Nora made no mistake with either Abbott's cup or the Barone's; but the two +men were filled with but one desire, to throw Herr Rosen out of the +window. What had begun as a beautiful day was now becoming black and +uncertain. + +The Barone could control every feature save his eyes, and these openly +admitted deep anger. He recollected Herr Rosen well enough. The encounter +over at Cadenabbia was not the first by many. Herr Rosen! His presence in +this room under that name was an insult, and he intended to call the +interloper to account the very first opportunity he found. + +Perhaps Celeste, sitting as quiet as a mouse upon the piano-stool, was the +only one who saw these strange currents drifting dangerously about. That +her own heart ached miserably did not prevent her from observing things +with all her usual keenness. Ah, Nora, Nora, who have everything to give +and yet give nothing, why do you play so heartless a game? Why hurt those +who can no more help loving you than the earth can help whirling around +the calm dispassionate sun? Always they turn to you, while I, who have so +much to give, am given nothing! She set down her tea-cup and began the +aria from _La Bohème_. + +Nora, without relaxing the false smile, suddenly found emptiness in +everything. + +"Sing!" said Herr Rosen. + +"I am too tired. Some other time." + +He did not press her. Instead, he whispered in his own tongue: "You are +the most adorable woman in the world!" + +And Nora turned upon him a pair of eyes blank with astonishment. It was as +though she had been asleep and he had rudely awakened her. His infatuation +blinded him to the truth; he saw in the look a feminine desire to throw +the others off the track as to the sentiment expressed in his whispered +words. + +The hour passed tolerably well. Herr Rosen then observed the time, rose +and excused himself. He took the steps leading abruptly down the terrace +to the carriage road. He had come by the other way, the rambling stone +stairs which began at the porter's lodge, back of the villa. + +"Padre," whispered Courtlandt, "I am going. Do not follow. I shall explain +to you when we meet again." + +The padre signified that he understood. Harrigan protested vigorously, but +smiling and shaking his head, Courtlandt went away. + +Nora ran to the window. She could see Herr Rosen striding along, down the +winding road, his head in the air. Presently, from behind a cluster of +mulberries, the figure of another man came into view. He was going at a +dog-trot, his hat settled at an angle that permitted the rain to beat +squarely into his face. The next turn in the road shut them both from +sight. But Nora did not stir. + +Herr Rosen stopped and turned. + +"You called?" + +"Yes." Courtlandt had caught up with him just as Herr Rosen was about to +open the gates. "Just a moment, Herr Rosen," with a hand upon the bars. "I +shall not detain you long." + +There was studied insolence in the tones and the gestures which +accompanied them. + +"Be brief, if you please." + +"My name is Edward Courtlandt, as doubtless you have heard." + +"In a large room it is difficult to remember all the introductions." + +"Precisely. That is why I take the liberty of recalling it to you, so that +you will not forget it," urbanely. + +A pause. Dark patches of water were spreading across their shoulders. +Little rivulets ran down Courtlandt's arm, raised as it was against the +bars. + +"I do not see how it may concern me," replied Herr Rosen finally with an +insolence more marked than Courtlandt's. + +"In Paris we met one night, at the stage entrance of the Opera, I pushed +you aside, not knowing who you were. You had offered your services; the +door of Miss Harrigan's limousine." + +"It was you?" scowling. + +"I apologize for that. To-morrow morning you will leave Bellaggio for +Varenna. Somewhere between nine and ten the fast train leaves for Milan." + +"Varenna! Milan!" + +"Exactly. You speak English as naturally and fluently as if you were born +to the tongue. Thus, you will leave for Milan. What becomes of you after +that is of no consequence to me. Am I making myself clear?" + +"_Verdampt!_ Do I believe my ears?" furiously. "Are you telling me to +leave Bellaggio to-morrow morning?" + +"As directly as I can." + +Herr Rosen's face became as red as his name. He was a brave young man, but +there was danger of an active kind in the blue eyes boring into his own. +If it came to a physical contest, he realized that he would get the worst +of it. He put his hand to his throat; his very impotence was choking him. + +"Your Highness...." + +"Highness!" Herr Rosen stepped back. + +"Yes. Your Highness will readily see the wisdom of my concern for your +hasty departure when I add that I know all about the little house in +Versailles, that my knowledge is shared by the chief of the Parisian +police and the minister of war. If you annoy Miss Harrigan with your +equivocal attentions...." + +"_Gott!_ This is too much!" + +"Wait! I am stronger than you are. Do not make me force you to hear me to +the end. You have gone about this intrigue like a blackguard, and that I +know your Highness not to be. The matter is, you are young, you have +always had your way, you have not learnt restraint. Your presence here is +an insult to Miss Harrigan, and if she was pleasant to you this afternoon +it was for my benefit. If you do not go, I shall expose you." Courtlandt +opened the gate. + +"And if I refuse?" + +"Why, in that case, being the American that I am, without any particular +reverence for royalty or nobility, as it is known, I promise to thrash you +soundly to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, in the dining-room, in the +bureau, the drawing-room, wherever I may happen to find you." + +Courtlandt turned on his heel and hurried back to the villa. He did not +look over his shoulder. If he had, he might have felt pity for the young +man who leaned heavily against the gate, his burning face pressed upon his +rain-soaked sleeve. + +When Courtlandt knocked at the door and was admitted, he apologized. "I +came back for my umbrella." + +"Umbrella!" exclaimed the padre. "Why, we had no umbrellas. We came up in +a carriage which is probably waiting for us this very minute by the +porter's lodge." + +"Well, I am certainly absent-minded!" + +"Absent-minded!" scoffed Abbott. "You never forgot anything in all your +life, unless it was to go to bed. You wanted an excuse to come back." + +"Any excuse would be a good one in that case. I think we'd better be +going, Padre. And by the way, Herr Rosen begged me to present his regrets. +He is leaving Bellaggio in the morning." + +Nora turned her face once more to the window. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE APPLE OF DISCORD + + +"It is all very petty, my child," said the padre. "Life is made up of +bigger things; the little ones should be ignored." + +To which Nora replied: "To a woman, the little things are everything; they +are the daily routine, the expected, the necessary things. What you call +the big things in life are accidents. And, oh! I have pride." She folded +her arms across her heaving bosom; for the padre's directness this morning +had stirred her deeply. + +"Wilfulness is called pride by some; and stubbornness. But you know, as +well as I do, that yours is resentment, anger, indignation. Yes, you have +pride, but it has not been brought into this affair. Pride is that within +which prevents us from doing mean or sordid acts; and you could not do one +or the other if you tried. The sentiment in you which should be +developed...." + +"Is mercy?" + +"No; justice, the patience to weigh the right or wrong of a thing." + +"Padre, I have eyes, eyes; I _saw_." + +He twirled the middle button of his cassock. "The eyes see and the ears +hear, but these are only witnesses, laying the matter before the court of +the last resort, which is the mind. It is there we sift the evidence." + +"He had the insufferable insolence to order Herr Rosen to leave," going +around the barrier of his well-ordered logic. + +"Ah! Now, how could he send away Herr Rosen if that gentleman had really +preferred to stay?" + +Nora looked confused. + +"Shall I tell you? I suspected; so I questioned him last night. Had I been +in his place, I should have chastised Herr Rosen instead of bidding him be +gone. It was he." + +Nora, sat down. + +"Positively. The men who guarded you were two actors from one of the +theaters. He did not come to Versailles because he was being watched. He +was found and sent home the night before your release." + +"I am sorry. But it was so like _him_." + +The padre spread his hands. "What a way women have of modifying either +good or bad impulses! It would have been fine of you to have stopped when +you said you were sorry." + +"Padre, one would believe that you had taken up his defense!" + +"If I had I should have to leave it after to-day. I return to Rome +to-morrow and shall not see you again before you go to America. I have +bidden good-by to all save you. My child, my last admonition is, be +patient; observe; guard against that impulse born in your blood to move +hastily, to form opinions without solid foundations. Be happy while you +are young, for old age is happy only in that reflected happiness of +recollection. Write to me, here. I return in November. _Benedicite?_" +smiling. + +Nora bowed her head and he put a hand upon it. + + * * * * * + +"And listen to this," began Harrigan, turning over a page. "'It is +considered bad form to call the butler to your side when you are a guest. +Catch his eye. He will understand that something is wanted.' How's that?" + +"That's the way to live." Courtlandt grinned, and tilted back his chair +until it rested against the oak. + +The morning was clear and mild. Fresh snow lay upon the mountain tops; +later it would disappear. The fountain tinkled, and swallows darted hither +and thither under the sparkling spray. The gardeners below in the +vegetable patch were singing. By the door of the villa sat two old ladies, +breakfasting in the sunshine. There was a hint of lavender in the lazy +drifting air. A dozen yards away sat Abbott, two or three brushes between +his teeth and one in his hand. A little behind was Celeste, sewing posies +upon one of those squares of linen toward which all women in their idle +moments are inclined, and which, on finishing, they immediately stow away +in the bottom of some trunk against the day when they have a home of their +own, or marry, or find some one ignorant enough to accept it as a gift. + +"'And when in doubt,'" continued Harrigan, "'watch how other persons use +their forks.' Can you beat it? And say, honest, Molly bought that for me +to read and study. And I never piped the subtitle until this morning. +'Advice to young ladies upon going into society.' Huh?" Harrigan slapped +his knee with the book and roared out his keen enjoyment. Somehow he +seemed to be more at ease with this young fellow than with any other man +he had met in years. "But for the love of Mike, don't say anything to +Molly," fearfully. "Oh, she means the best in the world," contritely. "I'm +always embarrassing her; shoe-strings that don't match, a busted stud in +my shirt-front, and there isn't a pair of white-kids made that'll stay +whole more than five minutes on these paws. I suppose it's because I don't +think. After all, I'm only a retired pug." The old fellow's eyes sparkled +suspiciously. "The best two women in all the world, and I don't want them +to be ashamed of me." + +"Why, Mr. Harrigan," said Courtlandt, letting his chair fall into place so +that he could lay a hand affectionately upon the other's knee, "neither of +them would be worth their salt if they ever felt ashamed of you. What do +you care what strangers think or say? You know. You've seen life. You've +stepped off the stage and carried with you the recollection of decent +living, of playing square, of doing the best you could. The worst +scoundrels I ever met never made any mistake with their forks. Perhaps you +don't know it, but my father became rich because he could judge a man's +worth almost at sight. And he kept this fortune and added to it because he +chose half a dozen friends and refused to enlarge the list. If you became +his friend, he had good reason for making you such." + +"Well, we did have some good times together," Harrigan admitted, with a +glow in his heart. "And I guess after all that I'll go to the ball with +Molly. I don't mind teas like we had at the colonel's, but dinners and +balls I have drawn the line at. I'll take the plunge to-night. There's +always some place for a chap to smoke." + +"At the Villa Rosa? I'll be there myself; and any time you are in doubt, +don't be afraid to question me." + +"You're in class A," heartily. "But there's one thing that worries +me,--Nora. She's gone up so high, and she's such a wonderful girl, that +all the men in Christendom are hiking after her. And some of 'em.... Well, +Molly says it isn't good form to wallop a man over here. Why, she went on +her lonesome to India and Japan, with nobody but her maid; and never put +us hep until she landed in Bombay. The men out that way aren't the best. +East of Suez, you know. And that chap yesterday, Herr Rosen. Did you see +the way he hiked by me when I let him in? He took me to be the round +number before one. And he didn't speak a dozen words to any but Nora. Not +that I mind that; but it was something in the way he did it that scratched +me the wrong way. The man who thinks he's going to get Nora by walking +over me, has got a guess coming. Of course, it's meat and drink to Molly +to have sons of grand dukes and kings trailing around. She says it gives +tone." + +"Isn't she afraid sometimes?" + +"Afraid? I should say not! There's only three things that Molly's afraid +of these days: a spool of thread, a needle, and a button." + +Courtlandt laughed frankly. "I really don't think you need worry about +Herr Rosen. He has gone, and he will not come back." + +"Say! I'll bet a dollar it was you who shoo'd him off." + +"Yes. But it was undoubtedly an impertinence on my part, and I'd rather +you would not disclose my officiousness to Miss Harrigan." + +"Piffle! If you knew him you had a perfect right to pass him back his +ticket. Who was he?" + +Courtlandt poked at the gravel with his cane. + +"One of the big guns?" + +Courtlandt nodded. + +"So big that he couldn't have married my girl even if he loved her?" + +"Yes. As big as that." + +Harrigan riffled the leaves of his book. "What do you say to going down to +the hotel and having a game of _bazzica_, as they call billiards here?" + +"Nothing would please me better," said Courtlandt, relieved that Harrigan +did not press him for further revelations. + +"Nora is studying a new opera, and Molly-O is ragging the village +dressmaker. It's only half after ten, and we can whack 'em around until +noon. I warn you, I'm something of a shark." + +"I'll lay you the cigars that I beat you." + +"You're on!" + +Harrigan put the book in his pocket, and the two of them made for the +upper path, not, however, without waving a friendly adieu to Celeste, who +was watching them with much curiosity. + +For a moment Nora became visible in the window. Her expression did not +signify that the sight of the men together pleased her. On the contrary, +her eyes burned and her brow was ruffled by several wrinkles which +threatened to become permanent if the condition of affairs continued to +remain as it was. To her the calm placidity of the man was nothing less +than monumental impudence. How she hated him; how bitterly, how intensely +she hated him! She withdrew from the window without having been seen. + +"Did you ever see two finer specimens of man?" Celeste asked of Abbott. + +"What? Who?" mumbled Abbott, whose forehead was puckered with impatience. +"Oh, those two? They _are_ well set up. But what the deuce _is_ the matter +with this foreground?" taking the brushes from his teeth. "I've been +hammering away at it for a week, and it does not get there yet." + +Celeste rose and laid aside her work. She stood behind him and studied the +picture through half-closed critical eyes. "You have painted it over too +many times." Then she looked down at the shapely head. Ah, the longing to +put her hands upon it, to run her fingers through the tousled hair, to +touch it with her lips! But no! "Perhaps you are tired; perhaps you have +worked too hard. Why not put aside your brushes for a week?" + +"I've a good mind to chuck it into the lake. I simply can't paint any +more." He flung down the brushes. "I'm a fool, Celeste, a fool. I'm crying +for the moon, that's what the matter is. What's the use of beating about +the bush? You know as well as I do that it's Nora." + +Her heart contracted, and for a little while she could not see him +clearly. + +"But what earthly chance have I?" he went on, innocently but ruthlessly. +"No one can help loving Nora." + +"No," in a small voice. + +"It's all rot, this talk about affinities. There's always some poor devil +left outside. But who can help loving Nora?" he repeated. + +"Who indeed!" + +"And there's not the least chance in the world for me." + +"You never can tell until you put it to the test." + +"Do you think I have a chance? Is it possible that Nora may care a little +for me?" He turned his head toward her eagerly. + +"Who knows?" She wanted him to have it over with, to learn the truth that +to Nora Harrigan he would never be more than an amiable comrade. He would +then have none to turn to but her. What mattered it if her own heart ached +so she might soothe the hurt in his? She laid a hand upon his shoulder, so +lightly that he was only dimly conscious of the contact. + +"It's a rummy old world. Here I've gone alone all these years...." + +"Twenty-six!" smiling. + +"Well, that's a long time. Never bothered my head about a woman. Selfish, +perhaps. Had a good time, came and went as I pleased. And then I met +Nora." + +"Yes." + +"If only she'd been stand-offish, like these other singers, why, I'd have +been all right to-day. But she's such a brick! She's such a good fellow! +She treats us all alike; sings when we ask her to; always ready for a +romp. Think of her making us all take the _Kneip_-cure the other night! +And we marched around the fountain singing 'Mary had a little lamb.' +Barefooted in the grass! When a man marries he doesn't want a wife half so +much as a good comrade; somebody to slap him on the back in the morning to +hearten him up for the day's work; and to cuddle him up when he comes home +tired, or disappointed, or unsuccessful. No matter what mood he's in. Is +my English getting away from you?" + +"No; I understand all you say." Her hand rested a trifle heavier upon his +shoulder, that was all. + +"Nora would be that kind of a wife. 'Honor, anger, valor, fire,' as +Stevenson says. Hang the picture; what am I going to do with it?" + +"'Honor, anger, valor, fire,'" Celeste repeated slowly. "Yes, that is +Nora." A bitter little smile moved her lips as she recalled the happenings +of the last two days. But no; he must find out for himself; he must meet +the hurt from Nora, not from her. "How long, Abbott, have you known your +friend Mr. Courtlandt?" + +"Boys together," playing a light tattoo with his mahl-stick. + +"How old is he?" + +"About thirty-two or three." + +"He is very rich?" + +"Oceans of money; throws it away, but not fast enough to get rid of it." + +"He is what you say in English ... wild?" + +"Well," with mock gravity, "I shouldn't like to be the tiger that crossed +his path. Wild; that's the word for it." + +"You are laughing. Ah, I know! I should say dissipated." + +"Courtlandt? Come, now, Celeste; does he look dissipated?" + +"No-o." + +"He drinks when he chooses, he flirts with a pretty woman when he chooses, +he smokes the finest tobacco there is when he chooses; and he gives them +all up when he chooses. He is like the seasons; he comes and goes, and +nobody can change his habits." + +"He has had no affair?" + +"Why, Courtlandt hasn't any heart. It's a mechanical device to keep his +blood in circulation; that's all. I am the most intimate friend he has, +and yet I know no more than you how he lives and where he goes." + +She let her hand fall from his shoulder. She was glad that he did not +know. + +"But look!" she cried in warning. + +Abbott looked. + +A woman was coming serenely down the path from the wooded promontory, a +woman undeniably handsome in a cedar-tinted linen dress, exquisitely +fashioned, with a touch of vivid scarlet on her hat and a most tantalizing +flash of scarlet ankle. It was Flora Desimone, fresh from her morning bath +and a substantial breakfast. The errand that had brought her from +Aix-les-Bains was confessedly a merciful one. But she possessed the +dramatist's instinct to prolong a situation. Thus, to make her act of +mercy seem infinitely larger than it was, she was determined first to cast +the Apple of Discord into this charming corner of Eden. The Apple of +Discord, as every man knows, is the only thing a woman can throw with any +accuracy. + +The artist snatched up his brushes, and ruined the painting forthwith, for +all time. The foreground was, in his opinion, beyond redemption; so, with +a savage humor, he rapidly limned in a score of impossible trees, turned +midday into sunset, with a riot of colors which would have made the +Chinese New-year in Canton a drab and sober event in comparison. He hated +Flora Desimone, as all Nora's adherents most properly did, but with a +hatred wholly reflective and adapted to Nora's moods. + +"You have spoiled it!" cried Celeste. She had watched the picture grow, +and to see it ruthlessly destroyed this way hurt her. "How could you!" + +"Worst I ever did." He began to change the whole effect, chuckling audibly +as he worked. Sunset divided honors with moonlight. It was no longer +incongruous; it was ridiculous. He leaned back and laughed. "I'm going to +send it to L'Asino, and call it an afterthought." + +"Give it to me." + +"What?" + +"Yes." + +"Nonsense! I'm going to touch a match to it. I'll give you that picture +with the lavender in bloom." + +"I want this." + +"But you can not hang it." + +"I want it." + +"Well!" The more he learned about women the farther out of mental reach +they seemed to go. Why on earth did she want this execrable daub? "You may +have it; but all the same, I'm going to call an oculist and have him +examine your eyes." + +"Why, it is the Signorina Fournier!" + +In preparing studiously to ignore Flora Desimone's presence they had +forgotten all about her. + +"Good morning, Signora," said Celeste in Italian. + +"And the Signore Abbott, the painter, also!" The Calabrian raised what she +considered her most deadly weapon, her lorgnette. + +Celeste had her fancy-work instantly in her two hands; Abbott's were +occupied; Flora's hands were likewise engaged; thus, the insipid mockery +of hand-shaking was nicely and excusably avoided. + +"What is it?" asked Flora, squinting. + +"It is a new style of the impressionist which I began this morning," +soberly. + +"It looks very natural," observed Flora. + +"Natural!" Abbott dropped his mahl-stick. + +"It is Vesuv', is it not, on a cloudy day?" + +This was too much for Abbott's gravity, and he laughed. + +"It was not necessary to spoil a good picture ... on my account," said +Flora, closing the lorgnette with a snap. Her great dark eyes were dreamy +and contemplative like a cat's, and, as every one knows, a cat's eye is +the most observing of all eyes. It is quite in the order of things, since +a cat's attitude toward the world is by need and experience wholly +defensive. + +"The Signora is wrong. I did not spoil it on her account. It was past +helping yesterday. But I shall, however, rechristen it Vesuvius, since it +represents an eruption of temper." + +Flora tapped the handle of her parasol with the lorgnette. It was +distinctly a sign of approval. These Americans were never slow-witted. She +swung the parasol to and fro, slowly, like a pendulum. + +"It is too bad," she said, her glance roving over the white walls of the +villa. + +"It was irrevocably lost," Abbott declared. + +"No, no; I do not mean the picture. I am thinking of La Toscana. Her voice +was really superb; and to lose it entirely...!" She waved a sympathetic +hand. + +Abbott was about to rise up in vigorous protest. But fate itself chose to +rebuke Flora. From the window came--"_Sai cos' ebbe cuore!_"--sung as only +Nora could sing it. + +The ferrule of Flora Desimone's parasol bit deeply into the clover-turf. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE BALL AT THE VILLA + + +"Do you know the Duchessa?" asked Flora Desimone. + +"Yes." It was three o'clock the same afternoon. The duke sat with his wife +under the vine-clad trattoria on the quay. Between his knees he held his +Panama hat, which was filled with ripe hazelnuts. He cracked them +vigorously with his strong white teeth and filliped the broken shells into +the lake, where a frantic little fish called _agoni_ darted in and about +the slowly sinking particles. "Why?" The duke was not any grayer than he +had been four or five months previous, but the characteristic expression +of his features had undergone a change. He looked less Jovian than +Job-like. + +"I want you to get an invitation to her ball at the Villa Rosa to-night." + +"We haven't been here twenty-four hours!" in mild protest. + +"What has that to do with it? It doesn't make any difference." + +"I suppose not." He cracked and ate a nut. "Where is he?" + +"He has gone to Milan. He left hurriedly. He's a fool," impatiently. + +"Not necessarily. Foolishness is one thing and discretion is another. Oh, +well; his presence here was not absolutely essential. Presently he will +marry and settle down and be a good boy." The next nut was withered, and +he tossed it aside. "Is her voice really gone?" + +"No." Flora leaned with her arms upon the railing and glared at the +wimpling water. She had carried the Apple of Discord up the hill and down +again. Nora had been indisposed. + +"I am glad of that." + +She turned the glare upon him. + +"I am very glad of that, considering your part in the affair." + +"Michael...!" + +"Be careful. Michael is always a prelude to a temper. Have one of these," +offering a nut. + +She struck it rudely from his hand. + +"Sometimes I am tempted to put my two hands around that exquisite neck of +yours." + +"Try it." + +"No, I do not believe it would be wise. But if ever I find out that you +have lied to me, that you loved the fellow and married me out of +spite...." He completed the sentence by suggestively crunching a nut. + +The sullen expression on her face gave place to a smile. "I should like to +see you in a rage." + +"No, my heart; you would like nothing of the sort. I understand you better +than you know; that accounts for my patience. You are Italian. You are +caprice and mood. I come from a cold land. If ever I do get angry, run, +run as fast as ever you can." + +Flora was not, among other things, frivolous or light-headed. There was an +earthquake hidden somewhere in this quiet docile man, and the innate +deviltry of the woman was always trying to dig down to it. But she never +deceived herself. Some day this earthquake would open up and devour her. + +"I hate him. He snubbed me. I have told you that a thousand times." + +He laughed and rattled the nuts in his hat. + +"I want you to get that invitation." + +"And if I do not?" + +"I shall return immediately to Paris." + +"And break your word to me?" + +"As easily as you break one of these nuts." + +"And if I get the invitation?" + +"I shall fulfil my promise to the letter. I will tell her as I promised." + +"Out of love for me?" + +"Out of love for you, and because the play no longer interests me." + +"I wonder what new devilment is at work in your mind?" + +"Michael, I do not want to get into a temper. It makes lines in my face. I +hate this place. It is dead. I want life, and color, and music. I want the +rest of September in Ostend." + +"Paris, Capri, Taormina, Ostend; I marvel if ever you will be content to +stay in one place long enough for me to get my breath?" + +"My dear, I am young. One of these days I shall be content to sit by your +great Russian fireplace and hold your hand." + +"Hold it now." + +She laughed and pressed his hand between her own. "Michael, look me +straight in the eyes." He did so willingly enough. "There is no other man. +And if you ever look at another woman ... Well!" + +"I'll send over for the invitation." He stuffed his pockets with nuts and +put on his hat. + +Flora then proceeded secretly to polish once more the Apple of Discord +which, a deal tarnished for lack of use, she had been compelled to bring +down from the promontory. + + * * * * * + +"Am I all right?" asked Harrigan. + +Courtlandt nodded. "You look like a soldier in mufti, and more than that, +like the gentleman that you naturally are," quite sincerely. + +The ex-gladiator blushed. "This is the reception-room. There's the +ballroom right out there. The smoking-room is on the other side. Now, how +in the old Harry am I going to get across without killing some one?" + +Courtlandt resisted the desire to laugh. "Supposing you let me pilot you +over?" + +"You're the referee. Ring the gong." + +"Come on, then." + +"What! while they are dancing?" backing away in dismay. + +The other caught him by the arm. "Come on." + +And in and out they went, hither and thither, now dodging, now pausing to +let the swirl pass, until at length Harrigan found himself safe on shore, +in the dim cool smoking-room. + +"I don't see how you did it," admiringly. + +"I'll drop in every little while to see how you are getting on," +volunteered Courtlandt. "You can sit by the door if you care to see them +dance. I'm off to see Mrs. Harrigan and tell her where you are. Here's a +cigar." + +Harrigan turned the cigar over and over in his fingers, all the while +gazing at the young man's diminishing back. He sighed. _That_ would make +him the happiest man in the world. He examined the carnelian band +encircling the six-inches of evanescent happiness. "What do you think of +that!" he murmured. "Same brand the old boy used to smoke. And if he pays +anything less than sixty apiece for 'em at wholesale, I'll eat this one." +Then he directed his attention to the casual inspection of the room. A few +elderly men were lounging about. His sympathy was at once mutely extended; +it was plain that they too had been dragged out. At the little smoker's +tabouret by the door he espied two chairs, one of which was unoccupied; +and he at once appropriated it. The other chair was totally obscured by +the bulk of the man who sat in it; a man, bearded, blunt-nosed, passive, +but whose eyes were bright and twinkling. Hanging from his cravat was a +medal of some kind. Harrigan lighted his cigar, and gave himself up to the +delights of it. + +"They should leave us old fellows at home," he ventured. + +"Perhaps, in most cases, the women would much prefer that." + +"Foreigner," thought Harrigan. "Well, it does seem that the older we get +the greater obstruction we become." + +"What is old age?" asked the thick but not unpleasant voice of the +stranger. + +"It's standing aside. Years don't count at all. A man is as young as he +feels." + +"And a woman as old as she looks!" laughed the other. + +"Now, I don't feel old, and I am fifty-one." + +The man with the beard shot an admiring glance across the tabouret. "You +are extraordinarily well preserved, sir. You do not seem older than I, and +I am but forty." + +"The trouble is, over here you play cards all night in stuffy rooms and +eat too many sauces." Harrigan had read this somewhere, and he was pleased +to think that he could recall it so fittingly. + +"Agreed. You Americans are getting out in the open more than any other +white people." + +"Wonder how he guessed I was from the States?" Aloud, Harrigan said: "You +don't look as though you'd grow any older in the next ten years." + +"That depends." The bearded man sighed and lighted a fresh cigarette. +"There's a beautiful young woman," with an indicative gesture toward the +ballroom. + +Harrigan expanded. It was Nora, dancing with the Barone. + +"She's the most beautiful young woman in the world," enthusiastically. + +"Ah, you know her?" interestedly. + +"I am her father!"--as Louis XIV might have said, "I am the State." + +The bearded man smiled. "Sir, I congratulate you both." + +Courtlandt loomed in the doorway. "Comfortable?" + +"Perfectly. Good cigar, comfortable chair, fine view." + +The duke eyed Courtlandt through the pall of smoke which he had +purposefully blown forth. He questioned, rather amusedly, what would have +happened had he gone down to the main hall that night in Paris? Among the +few things he admired was a well-built handsome man. Courtlandt on his +part pretended that he did not see. + +"You'll find the claret and champagne punches in the hall," suggested +Courtlandt. + +"Not for mine! Run away and dance." + +"Good-by, then." Courtlandt vanished. + +"There's a fine chap. Edward Courtlandt, the American millionaire." It was +not possible for Harrigan to omit this awe-compelling elaboration. + +"Edward Courtlandt." The stranger stretched his legs. "I have heard of +him. Something of a hunter." + +"One of the keenest." + +"There is no half-way with your rich American: either his money ruins him +or he runs away from it." + +"There's a stunner," exclaimed Harrigan. "Wonder how she got here?" + +"To which lady do you refer?" + +"The one in scarlet. She is Flora Desimone. She and my daughter sing +together sometimes. Of course you have heard of Eleonora da Toscana; +that's my daughter's stage name. The two are not on very good terms, +naturally." + +"Quite naturally," dryly. + +"But you can't get away from the Calabrian's beauty," generously. + +"No." The bearded man extinguished his cigarette and rose, laying a +_carte-de-visite_ on the tabouret. "More, I should not care to get away +from it. Good evening," pleasantly. The music stopped. He passed on into +the crowd. + +Harrigan reached over and picked up the card. "Suffering shamrocks! if +Molly could only see me now," he murmured. "I wonder if I made any breaks? +The grand duke, and me hobnobbing with him like a waiter! James, this is +all under your hat. We'll keep the card where Molly won't find it." + +Young men began to drift in and out. The air became heavy with smoke, the +prevailing aroma being that of Turkish tobacco of which Harrigan was not +at all fond. But his cigar was so good that he was determined not to stir +until the coal began to tickle the end of his nose. Since Molly knew where +he was there was no occasion to worry. + +Abbott came in, pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket, and impatiently +struck a match. His hands shook a little, and the flare of the match +revealed a pale and angry countenance. + +"Hey, Abbott, here's a seat. Get your second wind." + +"Thanks." Abbott dropped into the chair and smoked quickly. "Very stuffy +out there. Too many." + +"You look it. Having a good time?" + +"Oh, fine!" There was a catch in the laugh which followed, but Harrigan's +ear was not trained for these subtleties of sound, "How are you making +out?" + +"I'm getting acclimated. Where's the colonel to-night? He ought to be +around here somewhere." + +"I left him a few moments ago." + +"When you see him again, send him in. He's a live one, and I like to hear +him talk." + +"I'll go at once," crushing his cigarette in the Jeypore bowl. + +"What's your hurry? You look like a man who has just lost his job." + +"Been steering a German countess. She was wound up to turn only one way, +and I am groggy. I'll send the colonel over. By-by." + +"Now, what's stung the boy?" + +Nora was enjoying herself famously. The men hummed around her like bees +around the sweetest rose. From time to time she saw Courtlandt hovering +about the outskirts. She was glad he had come: the lepidopterist is latent +or active in most women; to impale the butterfly, the moth falls easily +into the daily routine. She was laughing and jesting with the men. Her +mother stood by, admiringly. This time Courtlandt gently pushed his way to +Nora's side. + +"May I have a dance?" he asked. + +"You are too late," evenly. She was becoming used to the sight of him, +much to her amazement. + +"I am sorry." + +"Why, Nora, I didn't know that your card was filled!" said Mrs. Harrigan. +She had the maternal eye upon Courtlandt. + +"Nevertheless," said Nora sweetly, "it is a fact." + +"I am disconsolate," replied Courtlandt, who had approached for form's +sake only, being fully prepared for a refusal. "I have the unfortunate +habit of turning up late," with a significance which only Nora +understood. + +"So, those who are late must suffer the consequences." + +"Supper?" + +"The Barone rather than you." + +The music began again, and Abbott whirled her away. She was dressed in +Burmese taffeta, a rich orange. In the dark of her beautiful black hair +there was the green luster of emeralds; an Indian-princess necklace of +emeralds and pearls was looped around her dazzling white throat. +Unconsciously Courtlandt sighed audibly, and Mrs. Harrigan heard this note +of unrest. + +"Who is that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan. + +"Flora Desimone's husband, the duke. He and Mr. Harrigan were having quite +a conversation in the smoke-room." + +"What!" in consternation. + +"They were getting along finely when I left them." + +Mrs. Harrigan felt her heart sink. The duke and James together meant +nothing short of a catastrophe; for James would not know whom he was +addressing, and would make all manner of confidences. She knew something +would happen if she let him out of her sight. He was eternally talking to +strangers. + +"Would you mind telling Mr. Harrigan that I wish to see him?" + +"Not at all." + +Nora stopped at the end of the ballroom. "Donald, let us go out into the +garden. I want a breath of air. Did you see her?" + +"Couldn't help seeing her. It was the duke, I suppose. It appears that he +is an old friend of the duchess. We'll go through the conservatory. It's a +short-cut." + +The night was full of moonshine; it danced upon the water; it fired the +filigree tops of the solemn cypress; it laced the lawn with quivering +shadows; and heavy hung the cloying perfume of the box-wood hedges. + +"_O bellissima notta!_" she sang. "Is it not glorious?" + +"Nora," said Abbott, leaning suddenly toward her. + +"Don't say it. Donald; please don't. Don't waste your love on me. You are +a good man, and I should not be worthy the name of woman if I did not feel +proud and sad. I want you always as a friend; and if you decide that can +not be, I shall lose faith in everything. I have never had a brother, and +in these two short years I have grown to look on you as one. I am sorry. +But if you will look back you will see that I never gave you any +encouragement. I was never more than your comrade. I have many faults, but +I am not naturally a coquette. I know my heart; I know it well." + +"Is there another?" in despair. + +"Once upon a time, Donald, there was. There is nothing now but ashes. I am +telling you this so that it will not be so hard for you to return to the +old friendly footing. You are a brave man. Any man is who takes his heart +in his hand and offers it to a woman. You are going to take my hand and +promise to be my friend always." + +"Ah, Nora!" + +"You mustn't, Donald. I can't return to the ballroom with my eyes red. You +will never know how a woman on the stage has to fight to earn her bread. +And that part is only a skirmish compared to the ceaseless war men wage +against her. She has only the fortifications of her wit and her presence +of mind. Was I not abducted in the heart of Paris? And but for the +cowardice of the man, who knows what might have happened? If I have +beauty, God gave it to me to wear, and wear it I will. My father, the +padre, you and the Barone; I would not trust any other men living. I am +often unhappy, but I do not inflict this unhappiness on others. Be you the +same. Be my friend; be brave and fight it out of your heart." Quickly she +drew his head toward her and lightly kissed the forehead. "There! Ah, +Donald, I very much need a friend." + +"All right, Nora," bravely indeed, for the pain in his young heart cried +out for the ends of the earth in which to hide. "All right! I'm young; +maybe I'll get over it in time. Always count on me. You wouldn't mind +going back to the ballroom alone, would you? I've got an idea I'd like to +smoke over it. No, I'll take you to the end of the conservatory and come +back. I can't face the rest of them just now." + +Nora had hoped against hope that it was only infatuation, but in the last +few days she could not ignore the truth that he really loved her. She had +thrown him and Celeste together in vain. Poor Celeste, poor lovely +Celeste, who wore her heart upon her sleeve, patent to all eyes save +Donald's! Thus, it was with defined purpose that she had lured him this +night into the garden. She wanted to disillusion him. + +The Barone, glooming in an obscure corner of the conservatory, saw them +come in. Abbott's brave young face deceived him. At the door Abbott smiled +and bowed and returned to the garden. The Barone rose to follow him. He +had committed a theft of which he was genuinely sorry; and he was man +enough to seek his rival and apologize. But fate had chosen for him the +worst possible time. He had taken but a step forward, when a tableau +formed by the door, causing him to pause irresolutely. + +Nora was face to face at last with Flora Desimone. + +"I wish to speak to you," said the Italian abruptly. + +"Nothing you could possibly say would interest me," declared Nora, +haughtily and made as if to pass. + +"Do not be too sure," insolently. + +Their voices were low, but they reached the ears of the Barone, who wished +he was anywhere but here. He moved silently behind the palms toward the +exit. + +"Let me be frank. I hate you and detest you with all my heart," continued +Flora. "I have always hated you, with your supercilious airs, you, whose +father...." + +"Don't you dare to say an ill word of him!" cried Nora, her Irish blood +throwing hauteur to the winds. "He is kind and brave and loyal, and I am +proud of him. Say what you will about me; it will not bother me in the +least." + +The Barone heard no more. By degrees he had reached the exit, and he was +mightily relieved to get outside. The Calabrian had chosen her time well, +for the conservatory was practically empty. The Barone's eyes searched the +shadows and at length discerned Abbott leaning over the parapet. + +[Illustration: "I hate you and detest you with all my heart."] + +"Ah!" said Abbott, facing about. "So it is you. You deliberately scratched +off my name and substituted your own. It was the act of a contemptible +cad. And I tell you here and now. A cad!" + +The Barone was Italian. He had sought Abbott with the best intentions; to +apologize abjectly, distasteful though it might be to his hot blood. +Instead, he struck Abbott across the mouth, and the latter promptly +knocked him down. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +PISTOLS FOR TWO + + +Courtlandt knocked on the studio door. + +"Come in." + +He discovered Abbott, stretched out upon the lounge, idly picking at the +loose plaster in the wall. + +"Hello!" said Abbott carelessly. "Help yourself to a chair." + +Instead, Courtlandt walked about the room, aimlessly. He paused at the +window; he picked up a sketch and studied it at various angles; he kicked +the footstool across the floor, not with any sign of anger but with a +seriousness that would have caused Abbott to laugh, had he been looking at +his friend. He continued, however, to pluck at the plaster. He had always +hated and loved Courtlandt, alternately. He never sought to analyze this +peculiar cardiac condition. He only knew that at one time he hated the +man, and that at another he would have laid down his life for him. Perhaps +it was rather a passive jealousy which he mistook for hatred. Abbott had +never envied Courtlandt his riches; but often the sight of Courtlandt's +physical superiority, his adaptability, his knowledge of men and affairs, +the way he had of anticipating the unspoken wishes of women, his +unembarrassed gallantry, these attributes stirred the envy of which he was +always manly enough to be ashamed. Courtlandt's unexpected appearance in +Bellaggio had also created a suspicion which he could not minutely define. +The truth was, when a man loved, every other man became his enemy, not +excepting her father: the primordial instinct has survived all the +applications of veneer. So, Abbott was not at all pleased to see his +friend that morning. + +At length Courtlandt returned to the lounge. "The Barone called upon me +this morning." + +"Oh, he did?" + +"I think you had better write him an apology." + +Abbott sat up. He flung the piece of plaster violently to the floor. +"Apologize? Well, I like your nerve to come here with that kind of wabble. +Look at these lips! Man, he struck me across the mouth, and I knocked him +down." + +"It was a pretty good wallop, considering that you couldn't see his face +very well in the dark. I always said that you had more spunk to the square +inch than any other chap I know. But over here, Suds, as you know, it's +different. You can't knock down an officer and get away with it. So, you +just sit down at your desk and write a little note, saying that you regret +your hastiness. I'll see that it goes through all right. Fortunately, no +one heard of the row." + +"I'll see you both farther!" wrathfully. "Look at these lips, I say!" + +"Before he struck you, you must have given provocation." + +"Sha'n't discuss what took place. Nor will I apologize." + +"That's final?" + +"You have my word for it." + +"Well, I'm sorry. The Barone is a decent sort. He gives you the +preference, and suggests that you select pistols, since you would be no +match for him with rapiers." + +"Pistols!" shouted Abbott. "For the love of glory, what are you driving +at?" + +"The Barone has asked me to be his second. And I have despatched a note to +the colonel, advising him to attend to your side. I accepted the Barone's +proposition solely that I might get here first and convince you that an +apology will save you a heap of discomfort. The Barone is a first-rate +shot, and doubtless he will only wing you. But that will mean scandal and +several weeks in the hospital, to say nothing of a devil of a row with the +civil authorities. In the army the Italian still fights his _duello_, but +these affairs never get into the newspapers, as in France. Seldom, +however, is any one seriously hurt. They are excitable, and consequently a +good shot is likely to shoot wildly at a pinch. So there you are, my +boy." + +"Are you in your right mind? Do you mean to tell me that you have come +here to arrange a duel?" asked Abbott, his voice low and a bit shaky. + +"To prevent one. So, write your apology. Don't worry about the moral side +of the question. It's only a fool who will offer himself as a target to a +man who knows how to shoot. You couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with +a shot-gun." + +Abbott brushed the dust from his coat and got up. "A duel!" He laughed a +bit hysterically. Well, why not? Since Nora could never be his, there was +no future for him. He might far better serve as a target than to go on +living with the pain and bitterness in his heart. "Very well. Tell the +Barone my choice is pistols. He may set the time and place himself." + +"Go over to that desk and write that apology. If you don't, I promise on +my part to tell Nora Harrigan, who, I dare say, is at the bottom of this, +innocently or otherwise." + +"Courtlandt!" + +"I mean just what I say. Take your choice. Stop this nonsense yourself +like a reasonable human being, or let Nora Harrigan stop it for you. There +will be no duel, not if I can help it." + +Abbott saw instantly what would happen. Nora would go to the Barone and +beg off for him. "All right! I'll write that apology. But listen: you will +knock hereafter when you enter any of my studios. You've kicked out the +bottom from the old footing. You are not the friend you profess to be. You +are making me a coward in the eyes of that damned Italian. He will never +understand this phase of it." Thereupon Abbott ran over to his desk and +scribbled the note, sealing it with a bang. "Here you are. Perhaps you had +best go at once." + +"Abby, I'm sorry that you take this view." + +"I don't care to hear any platitudes, thank you." + +"I'll look you up to-morrow, and on my part I sha'n't ask for any apology. +In a little while you'll thank me. You will even laugh with me." + +"Permit me to doubt that," angrily. He threw open the door. + +Courtlandt was too wise to argue further. He had obtained the object of +his errand, and that was enough for the present. "Sorry you are not open +to reason. Good morning." + +When the door closed, Abbott tramped the floor and vented his temper on +the much abused footstool, which he kicked whenever it came in the line of +his march. In his soul he knew that Courtlandt was right. More than that, +he knew that presently he would seek him and apologize. + +Unfortunately, neither of them counted on the colonel. + +Without being quite conscious of the act, Abbott took down from the wall +an ancient dueling-pistol, cocked it, snapped it, and looked it over with +an interest that he had never before bestowed on it. And the colonel, +bursting into the studio, found him absorbed in the contemplation of this +old death-dealing instrument. + +"Ha!" roared the old war dog. "Had an idea that something like this was +going to happen. Put that up. You couldn't kill anything with that unless +you hit 'em on the head with it. Leave the matter to me. I've a pair of +pistols, sighted to hit a shilling at twenty yards. Of course, you can't +fight him with swords. He's one of the best in all Italy. But you've just +as good a chance as he has with pistols. Nine times out of ten the tyro +hits the bull's-eye, while the crack goes wild. Just you sit jolly tight. +Who's his second; Courtlandt?" + +"Yes." Abbott was truly and completely bewildered. + +"He struck you first, I understand, and you knocked him down. Good! My +tennis-courts are out of the way. We can settle this matter to-morrow +morning at dawn. Ellicott will come over from Cadenabbia with his saws. +He's close-mouthed. All you need to do is to keep quiet. You can spend the +night at the villa with me, and I'll give you a few ideas about shooting a +pistol. Here; write what I dictate." He pushed Abbott over to the desk and +forced him into the chair. Abbott wrote mechanically, as one hypnotized. +The colonel seized the letter. "No flowery sentences; a few words bang at +the mark. Come up to the villa as soon as you can. We'll jolly well cool +this Italian's blood." + +And out he went, banging the door. There was something of the directness +of a bullet in the old fellow's methods. + +Literally, Abbott had been rushed off his feet. The moment his confusion +cleared he saw the predicament into which his own stupidity and the +amiable colonel's impetuous good offices had plunged him. He was +horrified. Here was Courtlandt carrying the apology, and hot on his heels +was the colonel, with the final arrangements for the meeting. He ran to +the door, bareheaded, took the stairs three and four at a bound. But the +energetic Anglo-Indian had gone down in bounds also; and when the +distracted artist reached the street, the other was nowhere to be seen. +Apparently there was nothing left but to send another apology. Rather than +perform so shameful and cowardly an act he would have cut off his hand. + +The Barone, pale and determined, passed the second note to Courtlandt who +was congratulating himself (prematurely as will be seen) on the peaceful +dispersion of the war-clouds. He was dumfounded. + +"You will excuse me," he said meekly. He must see Abbott. + +"A moment," interposed the Barone coldly. "If it is to seek another +apology, it will be useless. I refuse to accept. Mr. Abbott will fight, or +I will publicly brand him, the first opportunity, as a coward." + +Courtlandt bit his mustache. "In that case, I shall go at once to Colonel +Caxley-Webster." + +"Thank you. I shall be in my room at the villa the greater part of the +day." The Barone bowed. + +Courtlandt caught the colonel as he was entering his motor-boat. + +"Come over to tiffin." + +"Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere else." + +When the motor began its racket, Courtlandt pulled the colonel over to +him. + +"Do you know what you have done?" + +"Done?" dropping his eye-glass. + +"Yes. Knowing that Abbott would have no earthly chance against the +Italian, I went to him and forced him to write an apology. And you have +blown the whole thing higher than a kite." + +The colonel's eyes bulged. "Dem it, why didn't the young fool tell me?" + +"Your hurry probably rattled him. But what are we going to do? I'm not +going to have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother; though, just now, he +regards me as a mortal enemy. Perhaps I am," moodily. "I have deceived +him, and somehow--blindly it is true--he knows it. I am as full of deceit +as a pomegranate is of seeds." + +"Have him send another apology." + +"The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He would refuse to accept it, and said +so." + +"Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!" + +"With pleasure, but that will not stop the row. There is a way out, but it +appeals to me as damnably low." + +"Oh, Abbott will not run. He isn't that kind." + +"No, he'll not run. But if you will agree with me, honor may be satisfied +without either of them getting hurt." + +"Women beat the devil, don't they? What's your plan?" + +Courtlandt outlined it. + +The colonel frowned. "That doesn't sound like you. Beastly trick." + +"I know it." + +"We'll lunch first. It will take a few pegs to get that idea through this +bally head of mine." + +When Abbott came over later that day, he was subdued in manner. He laughed +occasionally, smoked a few cigars, but declined stimulants. He even played +a game of tennis creditably. And after dinner he shot a hundred billiards. +The colonel watched his hands keenly. There was not the slightest +indication of nerves. + +"Hang the boy!" he muttered. "I ought to be ashamed of myself. There isn't +a bit of funk in his whole make-up." + +At nine Abbott retired. He did not sleep very well. He was irked by the +morbid idea that the Barone was going to send the bullet through his +throat. He was up at five. He strolled about the garden. He realized that +it was very good to be alive. Once he gazed somberly at the little white +villa, away to the north. How crisply it stood out against the dark +foliage! How blue the water was! And far, far away the serene snowcaps! +Nora Harrigan ... Well, he was going to stand up like a man. She should +never be ashamed of her memory of him. If he went out, all worry would be +at an end, and that would be something. What a mess he had made of things! +He did not blame the Italian. A duel! he, the son of a man who had +invented wash-tubs, was going to fight a duel! He wanted to laugh; he +wanted to cry. Wasn't he just dreaming? Wasn't it all a nightmare out of +which he would presently awake? + +"Breakfast, Sahib," said Rao, deferentially touching his arm. + +He was awake; it was all true. + +"You'll want coffee," began the colonel. "Drink as much as you like. And +you'll find the eggs good, too." The colonel wanted to see if Abbott ate +well. + +The artist helped himself twice and drank three cups of coffee. "You know, +I suppose all men in a hole like this have funny ideas. I was just +thinking that I should like a partridge and a bottle of champagne." + +"We'll have that for tiffin," said the colonel, confidentially. In fact, +he summoned the butler and gave the order. + +"It's mighty kind of you, Colonel, to buck me up this way." + +"Rot!" The colonel experienced a slight heat in his leathery cheeks. "All +you've got to do is to hold your arm out straight, pull the trigger, and +squint afterward." + +"I sha'n't hurt the Barone," smiling faintly. + +"Are you going to be ass enough to pop your gun in the air?" indignantly. + +Abbott shrugged; and the colonel cursed himself for the guiltiest +scoundrel unhung. + +Half an hour later the opponents stood at each end of the tennis-court. +Ellicott, the surgeon, had laid open his medical case. He was the most +agitated of the five men. His fingers shook as he spread out the lints and +bandages. The colonel and Courtlandt had solemnly gone through the +formality of loading the weapons. The sun had not climbed over the eastern +summits, but the snow on the western tops was rosy. + +"At the word three, gentlemen, you will fire," said the colonel. + +The two shots came simultaneously. Abbott had deliberately pointed his +into the air. For a moment he stood perfectly still; then, his knees +sagged, and he toppled forward on his face. + +"Great God!" whispered the colonel; "you must have forgotten the ramrod!" + +He, Courtlandt, and the surgeon rushed over to the fallen man. The Barone +stood like stone. Suddenly, with a gesture of horror, he flung aside his +smoking pistol and ran across the court. + +"Gentlemen," he cried, "on my honor, I aimed three feet above his head." +He wrung his hands together in anxiety. "It is impossible! It is only that +I wished to see if he were a brave man. I shoot well. It is impossible!" +he reiterated. + +[Illustration: Suddenly he flung aside his smoking pistol.] + +Rapidly the cunning hand of the surgeon ran over Abbott's body. He finally +shook his head. "Nothing has touched him. His heart gave under. Fainted." + +When Abbott came to his senses, he smiled weakly. The Barone was one of +the two who helped him to his feet. + +"I feel like a fool," he said. + +"Ah, let me apologize now," said the Barone. "What I did at the ball was +wrong, and I should not have lost my temper. I had come to you to +apologize then. But I am Italian. It is natural that I should lose my +temper," naïvely. + +"We're both of us a pair of fools, Barone. There was always some one else. +A couple of fools." + +"Yes," admitted the Barone eagerly. + +"Considering," whispered the colonel in Courtlandt's ear; "considering +that neither of them knew they were shooting nothing more dangerous than +wads, they're pretty good specimens. Eh, what?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +COURTLANDT TELLS A STORY + + +The Colonel and his guests at luncheon had listened to Courtlandt without +sound or movement beyond the occasional rasp of feet shifting under the +table. He had begun with the old familiar phrase--"I've got a story." + +"Tell it," had been the instant request. + +At the beginning the men had been leaning at various negligent +angles,--some with their elbows upon the table, some with their arms +thrown across the backs of their chairs. The partridge had been excellent, +the wine delicious, the tobacco irreproachable. Burma, the tinkle of bells +in the temples, the strange pictures in the bazaars, long journeys over +smooth and stormy seas; romance, moving and colorful, which began at +Rangoon, had zigzagged around the world, and ended in Berlin. + +"And so," concluded the teller of the tale, "that is the story. This man +was perfectly innocent of any wrong, a victim of malice on the one hand +and of injustice on the other." + +"Is that the end of the yarn?" asked the colonel. + +"Who in life knows what the end of anything is? This is not a story out of +a book." Courtlandt accepted a fresh cigar from the box which Rao passed +to him, and dropped his dead weed into the ash-bowl. + +"Has he given up?" asked Abbott, his voice strangely unfamiliar in his own +ears. + +"A man can struggle just so long against odds, then he wins or becomes +broken. Women are not logical; generally they permit themselves to be +guided by impulse rather than by reason. This man I am telling you about +was proud; perhaps too proud. It is a shameful fact, but he ran away. +True, he wrote letter after letter, but all these were returned unopened. +Then he stopped." + +"A woman would a good deal rather believe circumstantial evidence than +not. Humph!" The colonel primed his pipe and relighted it. "She couldn't +have been worth much." + +"Worth much!" cried Abbott. "What do you imply by that?" + +"No man will really give up a woman who is really worth while, that is, of +course, admitting that your man, Courtlandt, _is_ a man. Perhaps, though, +it was his fault. He was not persistent enough, maybe a bit spineless. The +fact that he gave up so quickly possibly convinced her that her +impressions were correct. Why, I'd have followed her day in and day out, +year after year; never would I have let up until I had proved to her that +she had been wrong." + +"The colonel is right," Abbott approved, never taking his eyes off +Courtlandt, who was apparently absorbed in the contemplation of the bread +crumbs under his fingers. + +"And more, by hook or crook, I'd have dragged in the other woman by the +hair and made her confess." + +"I do not doubt it, Colonel," responded Courtlandt, with a dry laugh. "And +that would really have been the end of the story. The heroine of this +rambling tale would then have been absolutely certain of collusion between +the two." + +"That is like a woman," the Barone agreed, and he knew something about +them. "And where is this man now?" + +"Here," said Courtlandt, pushing back his chair and rising. "I am he." He +turned his back upon them and sought the garden. + +Tableau! + +"Dash me!" cried the colonel, who, being the least interested personally, +was first to recover his speech. + +The Barone drew in his breath sharply. Then he looked at Abbott. + +"I suspected it," replied Abbott to the mute question. Since the episode +of that morning his philosophical outlook had broadened. He had fought a +duel and had come out of it with flying colors. As long as he lived he was +certain that the petty affairs of the day were never again going to +disturb him. + +"Let him be," was the colonel's suggestion, adding a gesture in the +direction of the casement door through which Courtlandt had gone. "He's as +big a man as Nora is a woman. If he has returned with the determination of +winning her, he will." + +They did not see Courtlandt again. After a few minutes of restless +to-and-froing, he proceeded down to the landing, helped himself to the +colonel's motor-boat, and returned to Bellaggio. At the hotel he asked for +the duke, only to be told that the duke and madame had left that morning +for Paris. Courtlandt saw that he had permitted one great opportunity to +slip past. He gave up the battle. One more good look at her, and he would +go away. The odds had been too strong for him, and he knew that he was +broken. + +When the motor-boat came back, Abbott and the Barone made use of it also. +They crossed in silence, heavy-hearted. + +On landing Abbott said: "It is probable that I shall not see you again +this year. I am leaving to-morrow for Paris. It's a great world, isn't it, +where they toss us around like dice? Some throw sixes and others deuces. +And in this game you and I have lost two out of three." + +"I shall return to Rome," replied the Barone. "My long leave of absence is +near its end." + +"What in the world can have happened?" demanded Nora, showing the two +notes to Celeste. "Here's Donald going to Paris to-morrow and the Barone +to Rome. They will bid us good-by at tea. I don't understand. Donald was +to remain until we left for America, and the Barone's leave does not end +until October." + +"To-morrow?" Dim-eyed, Celeste returned the notes. + +"Yes. You play the fourth _ballade_ and I'll sing from _Madame_. It will +be very lonesome without them." Nora gazed into the wall mirror and gave a +pat or two to her hair. + +When the men arrived, it was impressed on Nora's mind that never had she +seen them so amiable toward each other. They were positively friendly. And +why not? The test of the morning had proved each of them to his own +individual satisfaction, and had done away with those stilted mannerisms +that generally make rivals ridiculous in all eyes save their own. The +revelation at luncheon had convinced them of the futility of things in +general and of woman in particular. They were, without being aware of the +fact, each a consolation to the other. The old adage that misery loves +company was never more nicely typified. + +If Celeste expected Nora to exhibit any signs of distress over the +approaching departure, she was disappointed. In truth, Nora was secretly +pleased to be rid of these two suitors, much as she liked them. The Barone +had not yet proposed, and his sudden determination to return to Rome +eliminated this disagreeable possibility. She was glad Abbott was going +because she had hurt him without intention, and the sight of him was, in +spite of her innocence, a constant reproach. Presently she would have her +work, and there would be no time for loneliness. + +The person who suffered keenest was Celeste. She was awake; the tender +little dream was gone; and bravely she accepted the fact. Never her agile +fingers stumbled, and she played remarkably well, from Beethoven, Chopin, +Grieg, Rubinstein, MacDowell. And Nora, perversely enough, sang from old +light opera. + +When the two men departed, Celeste went to her room and Nora out upon the +terrace. It was after five. No one was about, so far as she could see. She +stood enchanted over the transformation that was affecting the mountains +and the lakes. How she loved the spot! How she would have liked to spend +the rest of her days here! And how beautiful all the world was to-day! + +She gave a frightened little scream. A strong pair of arms had encircled +her. She started to cry out again, but the sound was muffled and blotted +out by the pressure of a man's lips upon her own. She struggled violently, +and suddenly was freed. + +"If I were a man," she said, "you should die for that!" + +"It was an opportunity not to be ignored," returned Courtlandt. "It is +true that I was a fool to run away as I did, but my return has convinced +me that I should have been as much a fool had I remained to tag you about, +begging for an interview. I wrote you letters. You returned them unopened. +You have condemned me without a hearing. So be it. You may consider that +kiss the farewell appearance so dear to the operatic heart," bitterly. + +He addressed most of this to the back of her head, for she was already +walking toward the villa into which she disappeared with the proud air of +some queen of tragedy. She was a capital actress. + +A heavy hand fell upon Courtlandt's shoulder. He was irresistibly drawn +right about face. + +"Now, then, Mr. Courtlandt," said Harrigan, his eyes blue and cold as ice, +"perhaps you will explain?" + +With rage and despair in his heart, Courtlandt flung off the hand and +answered: "I refuse!" + +"Ah!" Harrigan stood off a few steps and ran his glance critically up and +down this man of whom he had thought to make a friend. "You're a husky +lad. There's one way out of this for you." + +"So long as it does not necessitate any explanations," indifferently. + +"In the bottom of one of Nora's trunks is a set of my old gloves. There +will not be any one up at the tennis-court this time of day. If you are +not a mean cuss, if you are not an ordinary low-down imitation of a man, +you'll meet me up there inside of five minutes. If you can stand up in +front of me for ten minutes, you need not make any explanations. On the +other hand, you'll hike out of here as fast as boats and trains can take +you. And never come back." + +"I am nearly twenty years younger than you, Mr. Harrigan." + +"Oh, don't let that worry you any," with a truculent laugh. + +"Very well. You will find me there. After all, you are her father." + +"You bet I am!" + +Harrigan stole into his daughter's room and soundlessly bored into the +bottom of the trunk that contained the relics of past glory. As he pulled +them forth, a folded oblong strip of parchment came out with them and +fluttered to the floor; but he was too busily engaged to notice it, nor +would he have bothered if he had. The bottom of the trunk was littered +with old letters and programs and operatic scores. He wrapped the gloves +in a newspaper and got away without being seen. He was as happy as a boy +who had discovered an opening in the fence between him and the apple +orchard. He was rather astonished to see Courtlandt kneeling in the +clover-patch, hunting for a four-leaf clover. It was patent that the young +man was not troubled with nerves. + +"Here!" he cried, bruskly, tossing over a pair of gloves. "If this method +of settling the dispute isn't satisfactory, I'll accept your +explanations." + +For reply Courtlandt stood up and stripped to his undershirt. He drew on +the gloves and laced them with the aid of his teeth. Then he kneaded them +carefully. The two men eyed each other a little more respectfully than +they had ever done before. + +"This single court is about as near as we can make it. The man who steps +outside is whipped." + +"I agree," said Courtlandt. + +"No rounds with rests; until one or the other is outside. Clean breaks. +That's about all. Now, put up your dukes and take a man's licking. I +thought you were your father's son, but I guess you are like the rest of +'em, hunters of women." + +Courtlandt laughed and stepped to the middle of the court. Harrigan did +not waste any time. He sent in a straight jab to the jaw, but Courtlandt +blocked it neatly and countered with a hard one on Harrigan's ear, which +began to swell. + +"Fine!" growled Harrigan. "You know something about the game. It won't be +as if I was walloping a baby." He sent a left to the body, but the right +failed to reach his man. + +For some time Harrigan jabbed and swung and upper-cut; often he reached +his opponent's body, but never his face. It worried him a little to find +that he could not stir Courtlandt more than two or three feet. Courtlandt +never followed up any advantage, thus making Harrigan force the fighting, +which was rather to his liking. But presently it began to enter his mind +convincingly that apart from the initial blow, the younger man was working +wholly on the defensive. As if he were afraid he might hurt him! This +served to make the old fellow furious. He bored in right and left, left +and right, and Courtlandt gave way, step by step until he was so close to +the line that he could see it from the corner of his eye. This glance, +swift as it was, came near to being his undoing. Harrigan caught him with +a terrible right on the jaw. It was a glancing blow, otherwise the fight +would have ended then and there. Instantly he lurched forward and clenched +before the other could add the finishing touch. + +The two pushed about, Harrigan fiercely striving to break the younger +man's hold. He was beginning to breathe hard besides. A little longer, and +his blows would lack the proper steam. Finally Courtlandt broke away of +his own accord. His head buzzed a little, but aside from that he had +recovered. Harrigan pursued his tactics and rushed. But this time there +was an offensive return. Courtlandt became the aggressor. There was no +withstanding him. And Harrigan fairly saw the end; but with that +indomitable pluck which had made him famous in the annals of the ring, he +kept banging away. The swift cruel jabs here and there upon his body began +to tell. Oh, for a minute's rest and a piece of lemon on his parched +tongue! Suddenly Courtlandt rushed him tigerishly, landing a jab which +closed Harrigan's right eye. Courtlandt dropped his hands, and stepped +back. His glance traveled suggestively to Harrigan's feet. He was outside +the "ropes." + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Harrigan, for losing my temper." + +"What's the odds? I lost mine. You win." Harrigan was a true sportsman. He +had no excuses to offer. He had dug the pit of humiliation with his own +hands. He recognized this as one of two facts. The other was, that had +Courtlandt extended himself, the battle would have lasted about one +minute. It was gall and wormwood, but there you were. + +"And now, you ask for explanations. Ask your daughter to make them." +Courtlandt pulled off the gloves and got into his clothes. "You may add, +sir, that I shall never trouble her again with my unwelcome attentions. I +leave for Milan in the morning." Courtlandt left the field of victory +without further comment. + +"Well, what do you think of that?" mused Harrigan, as he stooped over to +gather up the gloves. "Any one would say that he was the injured party. +I'm in wrong on this deal somewhere. I'll ask Miss Nora a question or +two." + +It was not so easy returning. He ran into his wife. He tried to dodge her, +but without success. + +"James, where did you get that black eye?" tragically. + +"It's a daisy, ain't it, Molly?" pushing past her into Nora's room and +closing the door after him. + +"Father!" + +"That you, Nora?" blinking. + +"Father, if you have been fighting with _him_, I'll never forgive you." + +"Forget it, Nora. I wasn't fighting. I only thought I was." + +He raised the lid of the trunk and cast in the gloves haphazard. And then +he saw the paper which had fallen out. He picked it up and squinted at it, +for he could not see very well. Nora was leaving the room in a temper. + +"Going, Nora?" + +"I am. And I advise you to have your dinner in your room." + +Alone, he turned on the light. It never occurred to him that he might be +prying into some of Nora's private correspondence. He unfolded the +parchment and held it under the light. For a long time he stared at the +writing, which was in English, at the date, at the names. Then he quietly +refolded it and put it away for future use, immediate future use. + +"This is a great world," he murmured, rubbing his ear tenderly. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +JOURNEY'S END + + +Harrigan dined alone. He was in disgrace; he was sore, mentally as well as +physically; and he ate his dinner without relish, in simple obedience to +those well regulated periods of hunger that assailed him three times a +day, in spring, summer, autumn and winter. By the time the waiter had +cleared away the dishes, Harrigan had a perfecto between his teeth (along +with a certain matrimonial bit), and smoked as if he had wagered to finish +the cigar in half the usual stretch. He then began to walk the floor, much +after the fashion of a man who has the toothache, or the earache, which +would be more to the point. To his direct mind no diplomacy was needed; +all that was necessary was a few blunt questions. Nora could answer them +as she chose. Nora, his baby, his little girl that used to run around +barefooted and laugh when he applied the needed birch! How children grew +up! And they never grew too old for the birch; they certainly never did. + +They heard him from the drawing-room; tramp, tramp, tramp. + +"Let him be, Nora," said Mrs. Harrigan, wisely. "He is in a rage about +something. And your father is not the easiest man to approach when he's +mad. If he fought Mr. Courtlandt, he believed he had some good reason for +doing so." + +"Mother, there are times when I believe you are afraid of father." + +"I am always afraid of him. It is only because I make believe I'm not that +I can get him to do anything. It was dreadful. And Mr. Courtlandt was such +a gentleman. I could cry. But let your father be until to-morrow." + +"And have him wandering about with that black eye? Something must be done +for it. I'm not afraid of him." + +"Sometimes I wish you were." + +So Nora entered the lion's den fearlessly. "Is there anything I can do for +you, dad?" + +"You can get the witch-hazel and bathe this lamp of mine," grimly. + +She ran into her own room and returned with the simpler devices for +reducing a swollen eye. She did not notice, or pretended that she didn't, +that he locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He sat down in a +chair, under the light; and she went to work deftly. + +"I've got some make-up, and to-morrow morning I'll paint it for you." + +"You don't ask any questions," he said, with grimness. + +"Would it relieve your eye any?" lightly. + +He laughed. "No; but it might relieve my mind." + +"Well, then, why did you do so foolish a thing? At your age! Don't you +know that you can't go on whipping every man you take a dislike to?" + +"I haven't taken any dislike to Courtlandt. But I saw him kiss you." + +"I can take care of myself." + +"Perhaps. I asked him to explain. He refused. One thing puzzled me, though +I didn't know what it was at the time. Now, when a fellow steals a kiss +from a beautiful woman like you, Nora, I don't see why he should feel mad +about it. When he had all but knocked your daddy to by-by, he said that +you could explain.... Don't press so hard," warningly. "Well, can you?" + +"Since you saw what he did, I do not see where explanations on my part are +necessary." + +"Nora, I've never caught you in a lie. I never want to. When you were +little you were the truthfullest thing I ever saw. No matter what kind of +a licking was in store for you, you weren't afraid; you told the truth.... +There, that'll do. Put some cotton over it and bind it with a +handkerchief. It'll be black all right, but the swelling will go down. I +can tell 'em a tennis-ball hit me. It was more like a cannon-ball, though. +Say, Nora, you know I've always pooh-poohed these amateurs. People used to +say that there were dozens of men in New York in my prime who could have +laid me cold. I used to laugh. Well, I guess they were right. Courtlandt's +got the stiffest kick I ever ran into. A pile-driver, and if he had landed +on my jaw, it would have been _dormi bene_, as you say when you bid me +good night in dago. That's all right now until to-morrow. I want to talk +to you. Draw up a chair. There! As I said, I've never caught you in a lie, +but I find that you've been living a lie for two years. You haven't been +square to me, nor to your mother, nor to the chaps that came around and +made love to you. You probably didn't look at it that way, but there's the +fact. I'm not Paul Pry; but accidentally I came across this," taking the +document from his pocket and handing it to her. "Read it. What's the +answer?" + +Nora's hands trembled. + +"Takes you a long time to read it. Is it true?" + +"Yes." + +"And I went up to the tennis-court with the intention of knocking his head +off; and now I'm wondering why he didn't knock off mine. Nora, he's a man; +and when you get through with this, I'm going down to the hotel and +apologize." + +"You will do nothing of the sort; not with that eye." + +"All right. I was always worried for fear you'd hook up with some duke +you'd have to support. Now, I want to know how this chap happens to be my +son-in-law. Make it brief, for I don't want to get tangled up more than is +necessary." + +Nora crackled the certificate in her fingers and stared unseeingly at it +for some time. "I met him first in Rangoon," she began slowly, without +raising her eyes. + +"When you went around the world on your own?" + +"Yes. Oh, don't worry. I was always able to take care of myself." + +"An Irish idea," answered Harrigan complacently. + +"I loved him, father, with all my heart and soul. He was not only big and +strong and handsome, but he was kindly and tender and thoughtful. Why, I +never knew that he was rich until after I had promised to be his wife. +When I learned that he was the Edward Courtlandt who was always getting +into the newspapers, I laughed. There were stories about his escapades. +There were innuendoes regarding certain women, but I put them out of my +mind as twaddle. Ah, never had I been so happy! In Berlin we went about +like two children. It was play. He brought me to the Opera and took me +away; and we had the most charming little suppers. I never wrote you or +mother because I wished to surprise you." + +"You have. Go on." + +"I had never paid much attention to Flora Desimone, though I knew that she +was jealous of my success. Several times I caught her looking at Edward in +a way I did not like." + +"She looked at him, huh?" + +"It was the last performance of the season. We were married that +afternoon. We did not want any one to know about it. I was not to leave +the stage until the end of the following season. We were staying at the +same hotel, with rooms across the corridor. This was much against his +wishes, but I prevailed." + +"I see." + +"Our rooms were opposite, as I said. After the performance that night I +went to mine to complete the final packing. We were to leave at one for +the Tyrol. Father, I saw Flora Desimone come out of his room." + +Harrigan shut and opened his hands. + +"Do you understand? I saw her. She was laughing. I did not see him. My +wedding night! She came from his room. My heart stopped, the world +stopped, everything went black. All the stories that I had read and heard +came back. When he knocked at my door I refused to see him. I never saw +him again until that night in Paris when he forced his way into my +apartment." + +"Hang it, Nora, this doesn't sound like him!" + +"I saw her." + +"He wrote you?" + +"I returned the letters, unopened." + +"That wasn't square. You might have been wrong." + +"He wrote five letters. After that he went to India, to Africa and back to +India, where he seemed to find consolation enough." + +Harrigan laid it to his lack of normal vision, but to his single optic +there was anything but misery in her beautiful blue eyes. True, they +sparkled with tears; but that signified nothing: he hadn't been married +these thirty-odd years without learning that a woman weeps for any of a +thousand and one reasons. + +"Do you care for him still?" + +"Not a day passed during these many months that I did not vow I hated +him." + +"Any one else know?" + +"The padre. I had to tell some one or go mad. But I didn't hate him. I +could no more put him out of my life than I could stop breathing. Ah, I +have been so miserable and unhappy!" She laid her head upon his knees and +clumsily he stroked it. His girl! + +"That's the trouble with us Irish, Nora. We jump without looking, without +finding whether we're right or wrong. Well, your daddy's opinion is that +you should have read his first letter. If it didn't ring right, why, you +could have jumped the traces. I don't believe he did anything wrong at +all. It isn't in the man's blood to do anything underboard." + +"But I _saw_ her," a queer look in her eyes as she glanced up at him. + +"I don't care a kioodle if you did. Take it from me, it was a put-up job +by that Calabrian woman. She might have gone to his room for any number of +harmless things. But I think she was curious." + +"Why didn't she come to me, if she wanted to ask questions?" + +"I can see you answering 'em. She probably just wanted to know if you were +married or not. She might have been in love with him, and then she might +not. These Italians don't know half the time what they're about, anyhow. +But I don't believe it of Courtlandt. He doesn't line up that way. +Besides, he's got eyes. You're a thousand times more attractive. He's no +fool. Know what I think? As she was coming out she saw _you_ at your door; +and the devil in her got busy." + +Nora rose, flung her arms around him and kissed him. + +"Look out for that tin ear!" + +"Oh, you great big, loyal, true-hearted man! Open that door and let me get +out to the terrace. I want to sing, sing!" + +"He said he was going to Milan in the morning." + +She danced to the door and was gone. + +"Nora!" he called, impatiently. He listened in vain for the sound of her +return. "Well, I'll take the count when it comes to guessing what a +woman's going to do. I'll go out and square up with the old girl. Wonder +how this news will harness up with her social bug?" + +Courtlandt got into his compartment at Varenna. He had tipped the guard +liberally not to open the door for any one else, unless the train was +crowded. As the shrill blast of the conductor's horn sounded the warning +of "all aboard," the door opened and a heavily veiled woman got in +hurriedly. The train began to move instantly. The guard slammed the door +and latched it. Courtlandt sighed: the futility of trusting these +Italians, of trying to buy their loyalty! The woman was without any +luggage whatever, not even the usual magazine. She was dressed in brown, +her hat was brown, her veil, her gloves, her shoes. But whether she was +young or old was beyond his deduction. He opened his _Corriere_ and held +it before his eyes; but he found reading impossible. The newspaper finally +slipped from his hands to the floor where it swayed and rustled unnoticed. +He was staring at the promontory across Lecco, the green and restful hill, +the little earthly paradise out of which he had been unjustly cast. He +couldn't understand. He had lived cleanly and decently; he had wronged no +man or woman, nor himself. And yet, through some evil twist of fate, he +had lost all there was in life worth having. The train lurched around a +shoulder of the mountain. He leaned against the window. In a moment more +the villa was gone. + +What was it? He felt irresistibly drawn. Without intending to do so, he +turned and stared at the woman in brown. Her hand went to the veil and +swept it aside. Nora was as full of romance as a child. She could have +stopped him before he made the boat, but she wanted to be alone with him. + +"Nora!" + +She flung herself on her knees in front of him. "I am a wretch!" she +said. + +He could only repeat her name. + +"I am not worth my salt. Ah, why did you run away? Why did you not pursue +me, importune me until I wearied? ... perhaps gladly? There were times +when I would have opened my arms had you been the worst scoundrel in the +world instead of the dearest lover, the patientest! Ah, can you forgive +me?" + +"Forgive you, Nora?" He was numb. + +"I am a miserable wretch! I doubted you, I! When all I had to do was to +recall the way people misrepresented things I had done! I sent back your +letters ... and read and reread the old blue ones. Don't you remember how +you used to write them on blue paper? ... Flora told me everything. It was +only because she hated me, not that she cared anything about you. She told +me that night at the ball. I believe the duke forced her to do it. She was +at the bottom of the abduction. When you kissed me ... didn't you know +that I kissed you back? Edward, I am a miserable wretch, but I shall +follow you wherever you go, and I haven't even a vanity-box in my +hand-bag!" There were tears in her eyes. "Say that I am a wretch!" + +He drew her up beside him. His arms closed around her so hungrily, so +strongly, that she gasped a little. He looked into her eyes; his glance +traveled here and there over her face, searching for the familiar dimple +at one corner of her mouth. + +"Nora!" he whispered. + +"Kiss me!" + +And then the train came to a stand, jerkily. They fell back against the +cushions. + +"Lecco!" cried the guard through the window. + +They laughed like children. + +"I bribed him," she said gaily. "And now...." + +"Yes, and now?" eagerly, if still bewilderedly. + +"Let's go back!" + +THE END + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS *** + +***** This file should be named 26593-8.txt or 26593-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/5/9/26593/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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