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diff --git a/28295-h/28295-h.htm b/28295-h/28295-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..29572b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/28295-h/28295-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14273 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Maids of Paradise, by Robert W. (Robert William) Chambers</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + h1.pg {text-align:center; } + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.2em;} + h3.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 100%;} + hr.fn {width: 10%; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both; margin: 2em auto 1em 0;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + hr.mini {width:3em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + hr.tb {width: 30%; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both; margin: 1em auto;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + td.title {text-align: center; font-style: italic} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Maids of Paradise, by Robert W. (Robert +William) Chambers</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Maids of Paradise</p> +<p>Author: Robert W. (Robert William) Chambers</p> +<p>Release Date: March 9, 2009 [eBook #28295]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAIDS OF PARADISE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdpcanada.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 529px; height: 358px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 529px;'> +“‘LOOK THERE!’ SHE CRIED, IN TERROR” [See p. 81]<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> + +<table width="380" cellpadding="5" summary="" style='border:1px solid black;'> +<tr><td> +<table width="370" summary="" style='border:1px solid black'> +<tr><td align="center"> + +<table width="350" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" summary="" style='border:1px solid black; margin: 10px auto'> +<tr><td class='title'><span style='font-size:2em'>THE MAIDS OF<br />PARADISE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class='title'><span style='font-style:normal'>A Novel</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<table width="350" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" summary="" style='border:1px solid black; margin: 10px auto'> +<tr><td class='title'>By</td></tr> +<tr><td class='title'><span style='font-size:1.4em'>Robert W. Chambers</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class='title'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>Author of "Cardigan" "The Conspirators"<br />"Maid-at-Arms" etc.</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<table width="350" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" summary="" style='border:1px solid black; margin: 10px auto'> +<tr><td class='title'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>Illustrated</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class='title'> </td></tr> +</table> + +<table width="350" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" summary="" style='border:1px solid black; margin: 10px auto'> +<tr><td class='title'>New York and London</td></tr> +<tr><td class='title'><span style='font-size:1.2em;'>Harper & Brothers</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class='title'>Publishers 1903</td></tr> +</table> + +</td></tr> +</table> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center'>Copyright, 1902, by <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Robert W. Chambers</span>.</p> +<hr class='mini' /> +<p style='text-align:center'><i>All rights reserved.</i><br /> +Published September, 1903.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_v' name='page_v'></a>v</span></div> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p>As far as the writer knows, no treasure-trains were +actually sent to the port of Lorient from the +arsenal at Brest. The treasures remained at Brest.</p> +<p>Concerning the German armored cruiser <i>Augusta</i>, the +following are the facts: About the middle of December +she forced the blockade at Wilhelmshafen and ran for +Ireland, where, owing to the complaisance of the British +authorities, she was permitted to coal.</p> +<p>From there she steamed towards Brest, capturing +a French merchant craft off that port, another near +Rochefort, and finally a third. That ended her active +career during the war; a French frigate chased her +into the port of Vigo and kept her there.</p> +<p>To conclude, certain localities and certain characters +have been sufficiently disguised to render recognition +improbable. This is proper because “The Lizard” +is possibly alive to-day, as are also the mayor of Paradise, +Sylvia Elven, Jacqueline, and Speed, the latter +having barely escaped death in the <i>Virginius</i> expedition. +The original of Buckhurst now lives in New York, +and remains a type whose rarity is its only recommendation.</p> +<p>Those who believe they recognize the Countess de +Vassart are doubtless in error. Mornac, long dead, +is safe in his disguise; Tric-Trac was executed on the +Place de la Roquette, and celebrated in doggerel by +an unspeakable ballad writer. There remains Scarlett; +dead or alive, I wish him well.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Robert W. Chambers.</span><br /></p> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Ormond, Florida</span>, <i>Feb. 7, 1902</i>.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-hrt.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 152px; height: 159px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' width='400' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>At the Telegraph</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_AT_THE_TELEGRAPH'>3</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Government Interferes</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_THE_GOVERNMENT_INTERFERES'>21</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>La Trappe</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_LA_TRAPPE'>34</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Prisoners</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_PRISONERS'>50</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Immortals</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_THE_IMMORTALS'>65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Game Begins</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_THE_GAME_BEGINS'>87</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Struggle Foreshadowed</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_A_STRUGGLE_FORESHADOWED'>110</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Man to Let</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_A_MAN_TO_LET'>136</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Road to Paradise</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_THE_ROAD_TO_PARADISE'>159</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Town-Crier</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_THE_TOWNCRIER'>171</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>In Camp</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_IN_CAMP'>180</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Jacqueline</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_JACQUELINE'>195</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Friends</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_FRIENDS'>207</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Path of the Lizard</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_THE_PATH_OF_THE_LIZARD'>229</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Forewarned</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_FOREWARNED'>253</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Restless Man</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_A_RESTLESS_MAN'>265</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Circus</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_THE_CIRCUS'>280</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Guest-Chamber</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_A_GUESTCHAMBER'>303</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Trécourt Garden</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_TRCOURT_GARDEN'>318</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Semaphore</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_THE_SEMAPHORE'>339</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Like Her Ancestors</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_LIKE_HER_ANCESTORS'>353</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Secret</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_THE_SECRET'>381</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto'> +<col style='width:80%;' /> +<col style='width:20%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“‘LOOK THERE!' SHE CRIED, IN TERROR”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“‘ACROSS THAT MEADOW,' SAID THE YOUNG GIRL”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'><i>Facing p.</i> 22</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“TO RIGHT AND LEFT, PRUSSIAN LANCERS WERE RIDING”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'><i>Facing p.</i> 62</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“A COMPANY OF TURCOS CAME UP”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'><i>Facing p.</i> 74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“‘HALT! HALT!' HE SHOUTED”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'><i>Facing p.</i> 84</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“EVERY BRIDGE WAS GUARDED”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_6'><i>Facing p.</i> 124</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“SISTERS OF CHARITY WERE GIVING FIRST AID”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_7'><i>Facing p.</i> 132</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“I WAS ON MY KNEES”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_8'><i>Facing p.</i> 298</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>PART FIRST</h3> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span></div> +<h2>THE MAIDS OF PARADISE</h2> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='I_AT_THE_TELEGRAPH' id='I_AT_THE_TELEGRAPH'></a> +<h2>I</h2> +<h3>AT THE TELEGRAPH</h3> +</div> +<p>On the third day of August, 1870, I left Paris in +search of John Buckhurst.</p> +<p>On the 4th of August I lost all traces of Mr. Buckhurst +near the frontier, in the village of Morsbronn. +The remainder of the day I spent in acquiring that +“general information” so dear to the officials in Paris +whose flimsy systems of intelligence had already begun +to break down.</p> +<p>On August 5th, about eight o’clock in the morning, +the military telegraph instrument in the operator’s +room over the temporary barracks of the Third Hussars +clicked out the call for urgency, not the usual +military signal, but a secret sequence understood only +by certain officers of the Imperial Military Police. The +operator on duty therefore stepped into my room and +waited while I took his place at the wire.</p> +<p>I had been using the code-book that morning, preparing +despatches for Paris, and now, at the first +series of significant clicks, I dropped my left middle +finger on the key and repeated the signal to Paris, +using the required variations. Then I rose, locked the +door, and returned to the table. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span></p> +<p>“Who is this?” came over the wire in the secret +code; and I answered at once: “Inspector of Foreign +Division, Imperial Military Police, on duty at Morsbronn, +Alsace.”</p> +<p>After considerable delay the next message arrived +in the Morse code: “Is that you, Scarlett?”</p> +<p>And I replied: “Yes. Who are you? Why do +you not use the code? Repeat the code signal and +your number.”</p> +<p>The signal was repeated, then came the message: +“This is the Tuileries. You have my authority to +use the Morse code for the sake of brevity. Do you +understand? I am Jarras. The Empress is here.” +Instantly reassured by the message from Colonel +Jarras, head of the bureau to which I was attached, +I answered that I understood. Then the telegrams began +to fly, all in the Morse code:</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “Have you caught Buckhurst?”</p> +<p><i>I.</i> “No.”</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “How did he get away?”</p> +<p><i>I.</i> “There’s confusion enough on the frontier to cover +the escape of a hundred thieves.”</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “Your reply alarms the Empress. State +briefly the present position of the First Corps.”</p> +<p><i>I.</i> “The First Corps still occupies the heights in a +straight line about seven kilometres long; the plateau +is covered with vineyards. Two small rivers are in +front of us; the Vosges are behind us; the right flank +pivots on Morsbronn, the left on Neehwiller; the centre +covers Wörth. We have had forty-eight hours’ heavy +rain.”</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “Where are the Germans?”</p> +<p><i>I.</i> “Precise information not obtainable at headquarters +of the First Corps.”</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “Does the Marshal not know where the Germans +are?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></p> +<p><i>I.</i> “Marshal MacMahon does not know definitely.”</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “Does the Marshal not employ his cavalry? +Where are they?”</p> +<p><i>I.</i> “Septeuil’s cavalry of the second division lie between +Elsasshausen and the Grosserwald; Michel’s +brigade of heavy cavalry camps at Eberbach; the +second division of cavalry of the reserve, General Vicomte +de Bonnemain, should arrive to-night and go +into bivouac between Reichshofen and the Grosserwald.”</p> +<p>There was a long pause; I lighted a cigar and waited. +After a while the instrument began again:</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “The Empress desires to know where the +château called La Trappe is.”</p> +<p><i>I.</i> “La Trappe is about four kilometres from Morsbronn, +near the hamlet of Trois-Feuilles.”</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “It is understood that Madame de Vassart’s +group of socialists are about to leave La Trappe for +Paradise, in Morbihan. It is possible that Buckhurst +has taken refuge among them. Therefore you will +proceed to La Trappe. Do you understand?”</p> +<p><i>I.</i> “Perfectly.”</p> +<p><i>Jarras.</i> “If Buckhurst is found you will bring him +to Paris at once. Shoot him if he resists arrest. If +the community at La Trappe has not been warned of +a possible visit from us, you will find and arrest the +following individuals:</p> +<p>“Claude Tavernier, late professor of law, Paris +School of Law;</p> +<p>“Achille Bazard, ex-instructor in mathematics, Fontainebleau +Artillery School;</p> +<p>“Dr. Leo Delmont, ex-interne, Charity Hospital, +Paris;</p> +<p>“Mlle. Sylvia Elven, lately of the Odéon;</p> +<p>“The Countess de Vassart, well known for her +eccentricities. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span></p> +<p>“You will affix the government seals to the house +as usual; you will then escort the people named to +the nearest point on the Belgian frontier. The Countess +de Vassart usually dresses like a common peasant. +Look out that she does not slip through your fingers. +Repeat your instructions.” I repeated them from my +memoranda.</p> +<p>There was a pause, then click! click! the instrument +gave the code signal that the matter was ended, and +I repeated the signal, opened my code-book, and began +to translate the instructions into cipher for safety’s +sake.</p> +<p>When I had finished and had carefully destroyed +my first pencilled memoranda, the steady bumping +of artillery passing through the street under the windows +drew my attention.</p> +<p>It proved to be the expected batteries of the reserve +going into park, between the two brigades of Raoult’s +division of infantry. I telegraphed the news to the +observatory on the Col du Pigeonnier, then walked +back to the window and looked out.</p> +<p>It had begun to rain again; down the solitary street +of Morsbronn the artillery rolled, jolting; cannoneers, +wrapped in their wet, gray overcoats, limbers, caissons, +and horses plastered with mud. The slim cannon, +with canvas-wrapped breeches uptilted, dripped from +their depressed muzzles, like lank monsters slavering +and discouraged.</p> +<p>A battery of Montigny mitrailleuses passed, grotesque, +hump-backed little engines of destruction. +To me there was always something repulsive in the +shape of these stunted cannon, these malicious metal +cripples with their heavy bodies and sinister, filthy +mouths.</p> +<p>Before the drenched artillery had rattled out of +Morsbronn the rain once more fell in floods, pouring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +a perpendicular torrent from the transparent, gray +heavens, and the roar of the downpour on slate roofs +and ancient gables drowned the pounding of the passing +cannon.</p> +<p>Where the Vosges mountains towered in obscurity a +curtain of rain joined earth and sky. The rivers ran +yellow, brimful, foaming at the fords. The semaphore +on the mountain of the Pigeonnier was not visible; +but across the bridge, where the Gunstett highway +spanned the Sauer, gray masses of the Niederwald +loomed through the rain.</p> +<p>Somewhere in that spectral forest Prussian cavalry +were hidden, watching the heights where our drenched +divisions lay. Behind that forest a German army was +massing, fresh from the combat in the north, where +the tragedy of Wissembourg had been enacted only +the day before, in the presence of the entire French +army—the awful spectacle of a single division of seven +thousand men suddenly enveloped and crushed by +seventy thousand Germans.</p> +<p>The rain fell steadily but less heavily. I went back +to my instrument and called up the station on the +Col du Pigeonnier, asking for information, but got no +reply, the storm doubtless interfering.</p> +<p>Officers of the Third Hussars were continually tramping +up and down the muddy stairway, laughing, joking, +swearing at the rain, or shouting for their horses, +when the trumpets sounded in the street below.</p> +<p>I watched the departing squadron, splashing away +down the street, which was now running water like a +river; then I changed my civilian clothes for a hussar +uniform, sent a trooper to find me a horse, and sat +down by the window to stare at the downpour and +think how best I might carry out my instructions to +a successful finish.</p> +<p>The colony at La Trappe was, as far as I could judge, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +a product of conditions which had, a hundred years +before, culminated in the French Revolution. Now, +in 1870, but under different circumstances, all France +was once more disintegrating socially. Opposition to +the Empire, to the dynasty, to the government, had +been seething for years; now the separate crystals +which formed on the edges of the boiling under-currents +began to grow into masses which, adhering to +other masses, interfered with the healthy functions of +national life.</p> +<p>Until recently, however, while among the dissatisfied +there existed a certain tendency towards cohesion, +and while, moreover, adhesive forces mutually impelled +separate groups of malcontents to closer union, +the government found nothing alarming in the menaces +of individuals or of isolated groups. The Emperor +always counted on such opposition in Paris; the palace +of the Tuileries was practically a besieged place, +menaced always by the faubourgs—a castle before +which lay eternally the sullen, unorganized multitude +over which the municipal police kept watch.</p> +<p>That opposition, hatred, and treason existed never +worried the government, but that this opposition +should remain unorganized occupied the authorities +constantly.</p> +<p>Groups of individuals who proclaimed themselves +devotees of social theories interested us only when +the groups grew large or exhibited tendencies to unite +with similar groups.</p> +<p>Clubs formed to discuss social questions were usually +watched by the police; violent organizations were +not observed very closely, but clubs founded upon moderate +principles were always closely surveyed.</p> +<p>In the faubourgs, where every street had its bawling +orator, and where the red flag was waved when the +community had become sufficiently drunk, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +government was quietly content to ignore proceedings, +wisely understanding that the mouths of street orators +were the safety-valves of the faubourgs, and that +through them the ebullitions of the under-world escaped +with nothing more serious than a few vinous shrieks. +There were, however, certain secret and semi-secret +organizations which caused the government concern. +First among these came the International Society of +Workingmen, with all its affiliations—the “Internationale,” +as it was called. In its wake trailed minor societies, +some mild and harmless, some dangerous and +secret, some violent, advocating openly the destruction +of all existing conditions. Small groups of anarchists +had already attracted groups of moderate socialistic +tendencies to them, and had absorbed them or tainted +them with doctrines dangerous to the state.</p> +<p>In time these groups began to adhere even more +closely to the large bodies of the people; a party was +born, small at first, embodying conflicting communistic +principles.</p> +<p>The government watched it. Presently it split, as +do all parties; yet here the paradox was revealed of +a small party splitting into two larger halves. To +one of these halves adhered the Red Republicans, +the government opposition of the Extreme Left, the +Opportunists, the Anarchists, certain Socialists, the +so-called Communards, and finally the vast mass +of the sullen, teeming faubourgs. It became a party +closely affiliated with the Internationale, a colossal, +restless, unorganized menace, harmless only because +unorganized.</p> +<p>And the police were expected to keep it harmless. +The other remaining half of the original party began +to dwindle almost immediately, until it became only +a group. <i>With one exception</i>, all those whom the +police and the government regarded as inclined to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +violence left the group. There remained, <i>with this +one exception</i>, a nucleus of earnest, thoughtful people +whose creed was in part the creed of the Internationale, +the creed of universal brotherhood, equality before +the law, purity of individual living as an example +and an incentive to a national purity.</p> +<p>To this inoffensive group came one day a young +widow, the Countess de Vassart, placing at their disposal +her great wealth, asking only to be received +among them as a comrade.</p> +<p>Her history, as known to the police, was peculiar +and rather sad: at sixteen she had been betrothed +to an elderly, bull-necked colonel of cavalry, the notorious +Count de Vassart, who needed what money +she might bring him to maintain his reputation as +the most brilliantly dissolute old rake in Paris.</p> +<p>At sixteen, Éline de Trécourt was a thin, red-haired +girl, with rather large, grayish eyes. Speed and I saw +her once, sitting in her carriage before the Ministry +of War a year after her marriage. There had been +bad news from Mexico, and there were many handsome +equipages standing at the gates of the war office, where +lists of killed and wounded were posted every day.</p> +<p>I noticed her particularly because of her reputed +wealth and the evil reputation of her husband, who, +it was said, was so open in his contempt for her that +the very afternoon of their marriage he was seen publicly +driving on the Champs-Élysées with a pretty and +popular actress of the Odéon.</p> +<p>As I passed, glancing up at her, the sadness of her +face impressed me, and I remember wondering how +much the death of her husband had to do with it—for +his name had appeared in the evening papers under +the heading, “Killed in Action.”</p> +<p>It was several years later before the police began +to take an interest in the Comtesse Éline de Vassart. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +She had withdrawn entirely from society, had founded +a non-sectarian free school in Passy, was interested +in certain charities and refuges for young working-girls, +when on a visit to England, she met Karl Marx, +then a fugitive and under sentence of death.</p> +<p>From that moment social questions occupied her, +and her doings interested the police, especially when +she returned to Paris and took her place once more +in Royalist circles, where every baby was bred from +the cradle to renounce the Tuileries, the Emperor, +and all his works.</p> +<p>Serious, tender-hearted, charitable, and intensely +interested in all social reforms, she shocked the conservative +society of the noble faubourg, aroused the +distrust of the government, offended the Tuileries, and +finally committed the mistake of receiving at her own +house that notorious group of malcontents headed by +Henri Rochefort, whose revolutionary newspaper, <i>La +Marseillaise</i>, doubtless needed pecuniary support.</p> +<p>Her dossier—for, alas! the young girl already had a +dossier—was interesting, particularly in its summing-up +of her personal character:</p> +<p>“To the naive ignorance of a convent pensionnaire, +she adds an innocence of mind, a purity of conduct, +and a credulity which render her an easy prey to the +adroit, who play upon her sympathies. She is dangerous +only as a source of revenue for dangerous men.”</p> +<p>It was from her salon that young Victor Noir went +to his death at Auteuil on the 10th of January; and +possibly the shock of the murder and the almost universal +conviction that justice under the Empire was +hopeless drove the young Countess to seek a refuge +in the country where, at her house of La Trappe, she +could quietly devote her life to helping the desperately +wretched, and where she could, in security, hold council +with those who also had chosen to give their lives to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +the noblest of all works—charity and the propaganda +of universal brotherhood.</p> +<p>And here, at La Trappe, the young aristocrat first +donned the robe of democracy, dedicated her life and +fortune to the cause, and worked with her own delicate +hands for every morsel of bread that passed her lips.</p> +<p>Now this was all very well while it lasted, for her +father, the choleric old Comte de Trécourt, had died +rich, and the young girl’s charities were doubled, +and there was nobody to stay her hand or draw the +generous purse-strings; nobody to advise her or to stop +her. On the contrary, there were plenty of people +standing around with outstretched, itching, and sometimes +dirty hands, ready to snatch at the last centime.</p> +<p>Who was there to administer her affairs, who among +the generous, impetuous, ill-balanced friends that +surrounded her? Not the noble-minded geographer, +Elisée Réclus; not the fiery citizen-count, Rochefort; +not the handsome, cultivated Gustave Flourens, already +“fey” with the doom to which he had been born; +not that kindly visionary, the Vicomte de Coursay-Delmont, +now discarding his ancient title to be known +only among his grateful, penniless patients as Doctor +Delmont; and surely not Professor Tavernier, nor yet +that militant hermit, the young Chevalier de Gray, +calling himself plain Monsieur Bazard, who chose democracy +instead of the brilliant career to which Grammont +had destined him, and whose sensitive and perhaps +diseased mind had never recovered from the +shock of the murder of his comrade, Victor Noir.</p> +<p>But the simple life at La Trappe, the negative protest +against the Empire and all existing social conditions, +the purity of motive, the serene and inspired +self-abnegation, could not save the colony at La Trappe +nor the young châtelaine from the claws of those who +prey upon the innocence of the generous. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></p> +<p>And so came to this ideal community one John +Buckhurst, a stranger, quiet, suave, deadly pale, a +finely moulded man, with delicately fashioned hands +and feet, and two eyes so colorless that in some lights +they appeared to be almost sightless.</p> +<p>In a month from that time he was the power that +moved that community even in its most insignificant +machinery. With marvellous skill he constructed out +of that simple republic of protestants an absolute despotism. +And he was the despot.</p> +<p>The avowed object of the society was the advancement +of universal brotherhood, of liberty and equality, +the annihilation of those arbitrary barriers called national +frontiers—in short, a society for the encouragement +of the millennium, which, however, appeared to +be coy.</p> +<p>And before the eyes of his brother dreamers John +Buckhurst quietly cancelled the entire programme at +one stroke, and nobody understood that it was cancelled +when, in a community founded upon equality +and fraternity, he raised another edifice to crown it, +a sort of working model as an example to the world, +but <i>limited</i>. And down went democracy without a +sound.</p> +<p>This working model was a superior community +which was established at the Breton home of the Countess +de Vassart, a large stone house in the hamlet of +Paradise, in Morbihan.</p> +<p>An intimation from the Tuileries interrupted a meeting +of the council at the house in Paradise; an arrest +was threatened—that of Professor Réclus—and the +indignant young Countess was requested to retire to +her château of La Trappe. She obeyed, but invited +her guests to accompany her. Among those who accepted +was Buckhurst.</p> +<p>About this time the government began to take a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +serious interest in John Buckhurst. On the secret +staff of the Imperial Military Police were always certain +foreigners—among others, myself and a young +man named James Speed; and Colonel Jarras had +already decided to employ us in watching Buckhurst, +when war came on France like a bolt from the blue, +giving the men of the Secret Service all they could attend +to.</p> +<p>In the shameful indecision and confusion attending +the first few days after the declaration of war against +Prussia, Buckhurst slipped through our fingers, and +I, for one, did not expect to hear of him again. But +I did not begin to know John Buckhurst, for, within +three days after he had avoided an encounter with +us, Buckhurst was believed to have committed one +of the most celebrated crimes of the century.</p> +<p>The secret history of that unhappy war will never +be fully written. Prince Bismarck has let the only +remaining cat out of the bag; the other cats are dead. +Nor will all the strange secrets of the Tuileries ever +be brought to light, fortunately.</p> +<p>Still, at this time, there is no reason why it should +not be generally known that the crown jewels of France +were menaced from the very first by a conspiracy so +alarming and apparently so irresistible that the Emperor +himself believed, even in the beginning of the +fatal campaign, that it might be necessary to send +the crown jewels of France to the Bank of England +for safety.</p> +<p>On the 19th of July, the day that war was declared, +certain of the crown jewels, kept temporarily at the +palace of the Tuileries, were sent under heavy guards +to the Bank of France. Every precaution was taken; +yet the great diamond crucifix of Louis XI. was missing +when the guard under Captain Siebert turned over the +treasures to the governor of the Bank of France. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></p> +<p>Instantly absolute secrecy was ordered, which I, for +one, believed to be a great mistake. Yet the Emperor +desired it, doubtless for the same reasons which always +led him to suppress any affair which might give +the public an idea that the opposition to the government +was worthy of the government’s attention.</p> +<p>So the news of the robbery never became public +property, but from one end of France to the other the +gendarmerie, the police, local, municipal, and secret, +were stirred up to activity.</p> +<p>Within forty-eight hours, an individual answering +Buckhurst’s description had sold a single enormous +diamond for two hundred and fifty thousand francs +to a dealer in Strasbourg, a Jew named Fishel Cohen, +who, counting on the excitement produced by the +war and the topsy-turvy condition of the city, supposed +that such a transaction would create no interest.</p> +<p>Mr. Cohen was wrong; an hour after he had recorded +the transaction at the Strasbourg Diamond Exchange +he and the diamond were on their way to Paris, in +charge of a detective. A few hours later the stone +was identified at the Tuileries as having been taken +from the famous crucifix of Louis XI.</p> +<p>From Fishel Cohen’s agonized description of the +man who had sold him the diamond, Colonel Jarras +believed he recognized John Buckhurst. But how on +earth Buckhurst had obtained access to the jewels, +or how he had managed to spirit away the cross from +the very centre of the Tuileries, could only be explained +through the theory of accomplices among the trusted +intimates of the imperial entourage. And if there existed +such a conspiracy, who was involved?</p> +<p>It is violating no secret now to admit that every soul +in the Tuileries, from highest to lowest, was watched. +Even the governor of the Bank of France did not escape +the attentions of the secret police. For it was certain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +that somebody in the imperial confidence had betrayed +that confidence in a shocking manner, and nobody +could know how far the conspiracy had spread, or who +was involved in the most daring and shameless robbery +that had been perpetrated in France since Cardinal +de Rohan and his gang stole the celebrated necklace +of Marie Antoinette.</p> +<p>Nor was it at all certain that the remaining jewels +of the French crown were safe in Paris. The precautions +taken to insure their safety, and the result +of those precautions, are matters of history, but nobody +outside of a small, strangely assorted company +of people could know what actually happened to the +crown jewels of France in 1870, or what pieces, if any, +are still missing.</p> +<p>My chase after Buckhurst began as soon as Colonel +Jarras could summon me; and as Buckhurst had last +been heard of in Strasbourg, I went after him on a +train loaded with red-legged, uproarious soldiers, who +sang all day:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“Have you seen Bismarck<br /> + Drinking in the gay café,<br /> +With that other brother spark—<br /> + Monsieur Badinguet?”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>and had drunk themselves into a shameful frenzy +long before the train thundered into Avricourt.</p> +<p>I tracked Buckhurst to Morsbronn, where I lost all +traces of him; and now here I was with my orders +concerning the unfortunate people at La Trappe, staring +out at the dismal weather and wondering where +my wild-goose chase would end.</p> +<p>I went to the door and called for the military telegraph +operator, whose instrument I had been permitted to +monopolize. He came, a pleasant, jaunty young fellow, +munching a crust of dry bread and brushing the +crumbs from his scarlet trousers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></p> +<p>“In case I want to communicate with you I’ll signal +the tower on the Col du Pigeonnier,” I said. “Come +up to the loft overhead.”</p> +<p>The loft in the house which had now been turned +into a cavalry barracks was just above my room, a +large attic under the dripping gables, black with the +stains of centuries, littered with broken furniture, +discarded clothing, and the odds and ends cherished +by the thrifty Alsatian peasant, who never throws +away anything from the day of his birth to the day +of his death. And, given a long line of forefathers +equally thrifty, and an ancient high-gabled house +where his ancestors first began collecting discarded +refuse, the attic of necessity was a marvel of litter +and decay, among which generations of pigeons had +built nests and raised countless broods of squealing +squabs.</p> +<p>Into this attic we climbed, edged our way toward +a high window out of which the leaded panes had +long since tumbled earthward, and finally stood together, +looking out over the mountains of the Alsatian +frontier.</p> +<p>The rain had ceased; behind the Col du Pigeonnier +sunshine fell through a rift in the watery clouds. It +touched the rushing river, shining on foaming fords +where our cavalry pickets were riding in the valley +mist.</p> +<p>Somewhere up in the vineyards behind us an infantry +band was playing; away among the wet hills +to the left the strumming vibrations of wet drums +marked the arrival of a regiment from goodness knows +where; and presently we saw them, their gray overcoats +and red trousers soaked almost black with rain, +rifles en bandoulière, trudging patiently up the muddy +slope above the town. Something in the plodding +steps of those wet little soldiers touched me. Bravely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +their soaked drums battered away, bravely they dragged +their clumsy feet after them, brightly and gayly the +breaking sun touched their crimson forage-caps and +bayonets and the swords of mounted officers; but to +me they were only a pathetic troop of perplexed peasants, +dragged out of the bosom of France to be huddled +and herded in a strange pasture, where death watched +them from the forest yonder, marking them for slaughter +with near-sighted Teutonic eyes.</p> +<p>A column of white cloud suddenly capped the rocks +on the vineyard above. Bang! and something came +whistling with a curious, bird-like cry over the village +of Morsbronn, flying far out across the valley: and +among the pines of the Prussian forest a point of flame +flashed, a distant explosion echoed.</p> +<p>Down in the street below us an old man came tottering +from his little shop, peering sideways up into the sky.</p> +<p>“Il pleut, berger,” called out the operator beside me, +in a bantering voice.</p> +<p>“It will rain—bullets,” said the old man, simply, and +returned to his shop to drag out a chair on the doorsill +and sit and listen to the shots which our cavalry +outposts were exchanging with the Prussian scouts.</p> +<p>“Poor old chap,” said the operator; “it will be hard +for him. He was with the Grand Emperor at Jena.”</p> +<p>“You speak as though our army was already on +the run,” I said.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied, indifferently, “we’ll soon be on +the run.”</p> +<p>After a moment I said: “I’m going to ride to La +Trappe. I wish you would send those messages to +Paris.”</p> +<p>“All right,” he said.</p> +<p>Half an hour later I rode out of Morsbronn, clad +in the uniform of the Third Hussars, a disguise supposed +to convey the idea to those at La Trappe that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +the army and not the police were responsible for their +expulsion.</p> +<p>The warm August sunshine slanted in my face as I +galloped away up the vineyard road and out on to the +long plateau where, on every hillock, a hussar picket +sat his wiry horse, carbine poised, gazing steadily +toward the east.</p> +<p>Over the sombre Prussian forests mist hung; away +to the north the sun glittered on the steel helmets +and armor of the heavy cavalry, just arriving. And +on the Col du Pigeonnier I saw tiny specks move, +flags signalling the arrival of the Vicomte de Bonnemain +with the “grosse cavalerie,” the splendid cuirassier +regiments destined in a few hours to join the cuirassiers +of Waterloo, riding into that bright Valhalla +where all good soldiers shall hear the last trumpet +call, “Dismount!”</p> +<p>With a lingering glance at the rivers which separated +us from German soil, I turned my horse and galloped +away into the hills.</p> +<p>A moist, fern-bordered wood road attracted me; I +reasoned that it must lead, by a short cut, across the +hills to the military highway which passed between +Trois-Feuilles and La Trappe. So I took it, and presently +came into four cross-roads unknown to me.</p> +<p>This grassy carrefour was occupied by a flock of +turkeys, busily engaged in catching grasshoppers; +their keeper, a prettily shaped peasant girl, looked +up at me as I drew bridle, then quietly resumed the +book she had been reading.</p> +<p>“My child,” said I, “if you are as intelligent as you +are beautiful, you will not be tending other people’s +turkeys this time next year.”</p> +<p>“Merci, beau sabreur!” said the turkey-girl, raising +her blue eyes. Then the lashes veiled them; she +bent her head a little, turning it so that the curve of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +her cheeks gave to her profile that delicate contour +which is so suggestive of innocence when the ears +are small and the neck white.</p> +<p>“My child,” said I, “will you kindly direct me, +with appropriate gestures, to the military highway +which passes the Château de la Trappe?”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +<a name='II_THE_GOVERNMENT_INTERFERES' id='II_THE_GOVERNMENT_INTERFERES'></a> +<h2>II</h2> +<h3>THE GOVERNMENT INTERFERES</h3> +</div> +<p>“There is a short cut across that meadow,” said +the young girl, raising a rounded, sun-tinted arm, +bare to the shoulder.</p> +<p>“You are very kind,” said I, looking at her steadily.</p> +<p>“And, after that, you will come to a thicket of white +birches.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“And after that,” she said, idly following with her +blue eyes the contour of her own lovely arm, “you +must turn to the left, and there you will cross a hill. +You can see it from where we stand—”</p> +<p>She glanced at me over her outstretched arm. “You +are not listening,” she said.</p> +<p>I shifted a troubled gaze to the meadow which stretched +out all glittering with moist grasses and tufts of +rain-drenched wild flowers.</p> +<p>The girl’s arm slowly fell to her side, she looked up +at me again, I felt her eyes on me for a moment, then +she turned her head toward the meadow.</p> +<p>A deadened report shook the summer air—the +sound of a cannon fired very far away, perhaps on +the citadel of Strasbourg. It was so distant, so indistinct, +that here in this peaceful country it lingered +only as a vibration; the humming of the clover bees +was louder.</p> +<p>Without turning my head I said: “It is difficult to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +believe that there is war anywhere in the world—is it +not, mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>“Not if one knows the world,” she said, indifferently.</p> +<p>“Do you know it, my child?”</p> +<p>“Sufficiently,” she said.</p> +<p>She had opened again the book which she had been +reading when I first noticed her. From my saddle +I saw that it was Molière. I examined her, in detail, +from the tips of her small wooden shoes to the scarlet +velvet-banded skirt, then slowly upward, noting the +laced bodice of velvet, the bright hair under the butterfly +coiffe of Alsace, the delicate outline of nose and +brow and throat. The ensemble was theatrical.</p> +<p>“Why do you tend turkeys?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Because it pleases me,” she replied, raising her +eyebrows in faint displeasure.</p> +<p>“For that same reason you read Monsieur Molière?” +I suggested.</p> +<p>“Doubtless, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Who are you?”</p> +<p>“Is a passport required in France?” she replied, +languidly.</p> +<p>“Are you what you pretend to be, an Alsatian turkey +tender?”</p> +<p>“Parbleu! There are my turkeys, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Of course, and there is your peasant dress and +there are your wooden shoes, and there also, mademoiselle, +are your soft hands and your accented speech +and your plays of Molière.”</p> +<p>“You are very wise for a hussar,” she said.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” said I, “but I have asked you a question +which remains parried.”</p> +<p>She balanced the hazel rod across her shoulders +with a faintly malicious smile.</p> +<p>“One might almost believe that you are not a hussar, +but an officer of the Imperial Police,” she said.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/illus-022.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 483px; height: 362px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 483px;'> +“‘ACROSS THAT MEADOW,’ SAID THE YOUNG GIRL”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></div> +<p>“If you think that,” said I, “you should answer +my question the sooner—unless you come from La +Trappe. Do you?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Oh! And what do you do at the Château de la +Trappe?”</p> +<p>“I tend poultry—sometimes,” she replied.</p> +<p>“And at other times?”</p> +<p>“I do other things, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“What things?”</p> +<p>“What things? Mon Dieu, I read a little, as you +perceive, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Who are you?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Oh, a mere nobody in such learned company,” +she said, shaking her head with a mock humility +that annoyed me intensely.</p> +<p>“Very well,” said I, conscious every moment of +her pleasure in my discomfiture; “under the circumstances +I am going to ask you to accept my escort to +La Trappe; for I think you are Mademoiselle Elven, +recently of the Odéon theatre.”</p> +<p>At this her eyes widened and the smile on her face +became less genuine. “Indeed, I shall not go with +you,” she said.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” said I.</p> +<p>She still balanced her hazel rod across her shoulders, +a smile curving her mouth.</p> +<p>“Monsieur,” she said, “do you ride through the +world pressing every peasant girl you meet with such +ardent entreaties? Truly, your fashion of wooing is +not slow, but everybody knows that hussars are headlong +gentlemen—‘Nothing is sacred from a hussar,’” +she hummed, deliberately, in a parody which made me +writhe in my saddle.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” said I, taking off my forage-cap, +“your ridicule is not the most disagreeable incident +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +that I expect to meet with to-day. I am attempting +to do my duty, and I must ask you to do yours.”</p> +<p>“By taking a walk with you, beau monsieur?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid so.”</p> +<p>“And if I refuse?”</p> +<p>“Then,” said I, amiably, “I shall be obliged to +set you on my horse.” And I dismounted and went +toward her.</p> +<p>“Set me on—on that horse?” she repeated, with a +disturbed smile.</p> +<p>“Will you come on foot, then?”</p> +<p>“No, I will not!” she said, with a click of her teeth.</p> +<p>I looked at my watch—it lacked five minutes to one.</p> +<p>“In five minutes we are going to start,” said I, cheerfully, +and stood waiting, twisting the gilt hilt-tassels +of my sabre with nervous fingers.</p> +<p>After a silence she said, very seriously, “Monsieur, +would you dare use violence toward me?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I shall not be very violent,” I replied, laughing. +I held the opened watch in my hand so that she +could see the dial if she chose.</p> +<p>“It is one o’clock,” I said, closing the hunting-case +with a snap.</p> +<p>She looked me steadily in the eyes.</p> +<p>“Will you come with me to La Trappe?”</p> +<p>She did not stir.</p> +<p>I stepped toward her; she gave me a breathless, +defiant stare; then in an instant I caught her up and +swung her high into my saddle, before either she or +I knew exactly what had happened.</p> +<p>Fury flashed up in her eyes and was gone, leaving +them almost blank blue. As for me, amazed at what +I had done, I stood at her stirrup, breathing very fast, +with jaws set and chin squared.</p> +<p>She was clever enough not to try to dismount, woman +enough not to make an awkward struggle or do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +anything ungraceful. In her face I read an immense +astonishment; fascination seemed to rivet her eyes +on me, following my every movement as I shortened +one stirrup for her, tightened the girths, and laid the +bridle in her half-opened hand.</p> +<p>Then, in silence, I led the horse forward through +the open gate out into the wet meadow.</p> +<p>Wading knee-deep through soaking foliage, I piloted +my horse with its mute burden across the fields; and, +after a few minutes a violent desire to laugh seized +me and persisted, but I bit my lip and called up a few +remaining sentiments of decency.</p> +<p>As for my turkey-girl, she sat stiffly in the saddle, +with a firmness and determination that proved her +to be a stranger to horses. I scarcely dared look at +her, so fearful was I of laughing.</p> +<p>As we emerged from the meadow I heard the cannon +sounding again at a great distance, and this perhaps +sobered me, for presently all desire of laughter left +me, and I turned into the road which led through the +birch thicket, anxious to accomplish my mission and +have done with it as soon as might be.</p> +<p>“Are we near La Trappe?” I asked, respectfully.</p> +<p>Had she pouted, or sulked, or burst into reproaches, +I should have cared little—in fact, an outburst might +have relieved me.</p> +<p>But she answered me so sweetly, and, too, with +such composure, that my heart smote me for what I +had done to her and what I was still to do.</p> +<p>“Would you rather walk?” I asked, looking up at +her.</p> +<p>“No, thank you,” she said, serenely.</p> +<p>So we went on. The spectacle of a cavalryman +in full uniform leading a cavalry horse on which was +seated an Alsatian girl in bright peasant costume +appeared to astonish the few people we passed. One +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +of these foot-farers, a priest who was travelling in +our direction, raised his pallid visage to meet my eyes. +Then he stole a glance at the girl in the saddle, and +I saw a tint of faded color settle under his transparent +skin.</p> +<p>The turkey-girl saluted the priest with a bright +smile.</p> +<p>“Fortune of war, father,” she said, gayly. “Behold! +Alsace in chains.”</p> +<p>“Is she a prisoner?” said the priest, turning directly +on me. Of all the masks called faces, never had I +set eyes on such a deathly one, nor on such pale eyes, +all silvery surface without depth enough for a spark +of light to make them seem alive.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by a prisoner, father?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I mean a prisoner,” he said, doggedly.</p> +<p>“When the church cross-examines the government, +the towers of Notre Dame shake,” I said, pleasantly. +“I mean no discourtesy, father; it is a proverb in Paris.”</p> +<p>“There is another proverb,” observed the turkey-girl, +placidly. “Once a little inhabitant of hell stole +the key to paradise. His punishment was dreadful. +They locked him in.”</p> +<p>I looked up at her, perplexed and irritated, conscious +that she was ridiculing me, but unable to comprehend +just how. And my irritation increased when the priest +said, calmly, “Can I aid you, my child?”</p> +<p>She shook her head with a cool smile.</p> +<p>“I am quite safe under the escort of an officer of the +Imperial—”</p> +<p>“Wait!” I said, hastily, but she continued, “of the +Imperial Military Police.”</p> +<p>Above all things I had not wanted it known that +the Imperial Police were moving in this affair at La +Trappe, and now this little fool had babbled to a strange +priest—of all people in the world! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p> +<p>“What have the police to do with this harmless +child?” demanded the priest, turning on me so suddenly +that I involuntarily took a step backward.</p> +<p>“Is this the confessional, father?” I replied, sharply. +“Go your way in peace, and leave to the police what +alone concerns the police.”</p> +<p>“Render unto Cæsar,” said the girl, quietly. “Good-bye, +father.”</p> +<p>Turning to look again at the priest, I was amazed +to find him close to me, too close for a man with such +eyes in his head, for a man who moved so swiftly and +softly, and, in spite of me, a nervous movement of +my hand left me with my fingers on the butt of my +pistol.</p> +<p>“What the devil is all this?” I blurted out. “Stand +aside, father. Do you think the Holy Inquisition is +back in France? Stand aside then! I salute your +cloth!”</p> +<p>And I passed on ahead, one hand on the horse’s +neck, the other touching the visor of my scarlet forage-cap. +Once I looked back. The priest was standing +where I had passed him.</p> +<p>We met a dozen people in all, I think, some of them +peasants, one or two of the better class—a country +doctor and a notary among them. None appeared to +know my turkey-girl, nor did she even glance at them; +moreover, all answered my inquiries civilly enough, +directing me to La Trappe, and professing ignorance +as to its inhabitants.</p> +<p>“Why do all the people I meet carry bundles?” I +demanded of the notary.</p> +<p>“Mon Dieu, monsieur, they are too near the frontier +to take risks,” he replied, blinking through his silver-rimmed +spectacles at my turkey-girl.</p> +<p>“You mean to say they are running away from +their village of Trois-Feuilles?” I asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></p> +<p>“Exactly,” he said. “War is a rude guest for +poor folk.”</p> +<p>Disgusted with the cowardice of the hamlet of Trois-Feuilles, +I passed on without noticing the man’s sneer. +In a moment, however, he repassed me swiftly, going +in the same direction as were we, toward La +Trappe.</p> +<p>“Wait a bit!” I called out. “What is your business +in that direction, monsieur the notary?”</p> +<p>He looked around, muttered indistinctly about having +forgotten something, and started on ahead of us, +but at a sharp “Stop!” from me he halted quickly +enough.</p> +<p>“Your road lies the other way,” I observed, and, as +he began to protest, I cut him short.</p> +<p>“You change your direction too quickly to suit me,” +I said. “Come, my friend the weather-cock, turn your +nose east and follow it or I may ask you some questions +that might frighten you.”</p> +<p>And so I left him also staring after us, and I had +half a mind to go back and examine his portfolio to +see what a snipe-faced notary might be carrying about +with him.</p> +<p>When I looked up at my turkey-girl, she was sitting +more easily in the saddle, head bent thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“You see, mademoiselle, I take no chances of not +finding my friends at home,” I said.</p> +<p>“What friends, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“My friends at La Trappe.”</p> +<p>“Oh! And ... you think that the notary we +passed might have desired to prepare them for your +visit, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“Possibly. The notary of Trois-Feuilles and the +Château de la Trappe may not be unknown to each +other. Perhaps even mademoiselle the turkey-girl +may number the learned Trappists among her friends.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></p> +<p>“Perhaps,” she said.</p> +<p>Walking on along the muddy road beside her, arm +resting on my horse’s neck, I thought over again of +the chances of catching Buckhurst, and they seemed +slim, especially as after my visit the house at La +Trappe would be vacant and the colony scattered, or +at least out of French jurisdiction, and probably settled +across the Belgian frontier.</p> +<p>Of course, if the government ordered the expulsion +of these people, the people must go; but I for one found +the order a foolish one, because it removed a bait that +might attract Buckhurst back where we stood a chance +of trapping him.</p> +<p>But in a foreign country he could visit his friends +freely, and whatever movement he might ultimately +contemplate against the French government could +easily be directed from that paradise of anarchists, +Belgium, without the necessity of his exposing himself +to any considerable danger.</p> +<p>I was sorry that affairs had taken this turn.</p> +<p>A little breeze began blowing; the scarlet skirt of +my turkey-girl fluttered above her wooden shoes, and +on her head the silk bow quivered like a butterfly on +a golden blossom.</p> +<p>“They say when the Lord fashioned the first maid +of Alsace half the angels cried themselves ill with +jealousy,” said I, looking up at her.</p> +<p>“And the other half, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“The sterner half started for Alsace in a body. They +were controlled with difficulty, mademoiselle. That +is why St. Peter was given a key to lock them in, not +to lock us poor devils out.”</p> +<p>After a silence she said, musing: “It is a curious +thing, but you speak as though you had seen better +days.”</p> +<p>“No,” I said, “I have never seen better days. I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +am slowly rising in the world. Last year I was a +lieutenant; I am now inspector.”</p> +<p>“I meant,” she said, scornfully, “that you had been +well-born—a gentleman.”</p> +<p>“Are gentlemen scarce in the Imperial Military +Police?”</p> +<p>“It is not a profession that honors a man.”</p> +<p>“Of all people in the world,” said I, “the police would +be the most gratified to believe that this violent world +needs no police.”</p> +<p>“Monsieur, there is another remedy for violence.”</p> +<p>“And what may that remedy be, mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>“Non-resistance—absolute non-resistance,” said the +girl, earnestly, bending her pretty head toward me.</p> +<p>“That is not human nature,” I said, laughing.</p> +<p>“Is the justification of human nature our aim in +this world?”</p> +<p>“Nor is it possible for mankind to submit to violence,” +I added.</p> +<p>“I believe otherwise,” she said, gravely.</p> +<p>As we mounted the hill along a sandy road, bordered +with pines and with cool, green thickets of broom and +gorse, I looked up at her and said: “In spite of your +theories, mademoiselle, you yourself refused to accompany +me.”</p> +<p>“But I did not resist your violence,” she replied, +smiling.</p> +<p>After a moment’s silence I said: “For a disciple of +a stern and colorless creed, you are very human. I am +sorry that you believe it necessary to reform the world.”</p> +<p>She said, thoughtfully: “There is nothing joyless +in my creed—above all, nothing stern. If it be fanaticism +to desire for all the world that liberty of thought +and speech and deed which I, for one, have assumed, +then I am, perhaps, a fanatic. If it be fanaticism to +detest violence and to deplore all resistance to violence, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +I am a very guilty woman, monsieur, and deserve ill +of the Emperor’s Military Police.”</p> +<p>This she said with that faintly ironical smile hovering +sometimes in her eyes, sometimes on her lips, so +that it was hard to face her and feel quite comfortable.</p> +<p>I began, finally, an elaborate and logical argument, +forgetting that women reason only with their hearts, +and she listened courteously. To meet her eyes when +I was speaking interrupted my train of thought, and +often I was constrained to look out across the hills at +the heavy, solid flanks of the mountains, which seemed +to steady my logic and bring rebellious thought and +wandering wisdom to obedience.</p> +<p>I explained my theory of the acceptance of three +things—human nature, the past, and the present. +Given these, the solution of future problems must be +a different solution from that which she proposed.</p> +<p>At moments the solemn absurdity of it all came +over me—the turkey-girl, with her golden head bent, +her butterfly coiffe a-flutter, discussing ethics with an +irresponsible fly-by-night, who happened at that period +of his career to carry a commission in the Imperial +Police.</p> +<p>The lazy roadside butterflies flew up in clouds before +the slow-stepping horse; the hill rabbits, rising +to their hindquarters, wrinkled their whiskered noses +at us; from every thicket speckled hedge-birds peered +at us as we went our way solemnly deciding those +eternal questions already ancient when the Talmud +branded woman with the name of Lilith.</p> +<p>At length, as we reached the summit of the sandy +hill, “There is La Trappe, monsieur,” said my turkey-girl, +and once more stretched out her lovely arm.</p> +<p>There appeared to be nothing mysterious about the +house or its surroundings; indeed, a sunnier and more +peaceful spot would be hard to find in that land of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +hills, ravines, and rocky woodlands, outposts of those +cloudy summits soaring skyward in the south.</p> +<p>The house itself was visible through gates of wrought +iron, swinging wide between pillars of stone, where +an avenue stretched away under trees to a granite +terrace, glittering in the sun. And under the terrace +a quiet pool lay reflecting tier on tier of stone steps +which mounted to the bright esplanade above.</p> +<p>There was no porter at the gate to welcome me or +to warn me back; the wet road lay straight in front, +barred only by sunbeams.</p> +<p>“May we enter?” I asked, politely.</p> +<p>She did not answer, and I led the horse down that +silent avenue of trees towards the terrace and the +glassy pool which mirrored the steps of stone.</p> +<p>Masses of scarlet geraniums, beds of living coals, +glowed above the terrace. As we drew nearer, the +water caught the blaze of color, reflecting the splendor +in subdued tints of smothered flame. And always, +in the pool, I saw the terrace steps, reversed, leading +down into depths of sombre fire.</p> +<p>“And here we dismount,” said I, and offered my +aid.</p> +<p>She laid her hands on my shoulders; I swung her +to the ground, where her sabots clicked and her silver +neck-chains jingled in the silence.</p> +<p>I looked around. How intensely still was everything—the +leaves, the water! The silent blue peaks on the +horizon seemed to be watching me; the trees around +me were so motionless that they also appeared to be +listening with every leaf.</p> +<p>This quarter of the world was too noiseless for me; +there might have been a bird-note, a breeze to whisper, +a minute stirring of unseen life—but there was not.</p> +<p>“Is that house empty?” I asked, turning brusquely +on my companion. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></p> +<p>“The Countess de Vassart will give you your answer,” +she replied.</p> +<p>“Kindly announce me, then,” I said, grimly, and +together we mounted the broad flight of steps to the +esplanade, above which rose the gray mansion of +La Trappe.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +<a name='III_LA_TRAPPE' id='III_LA_TRAPPE'></a> +<h2>III</h2> +<h3>LA TRAPPE</h3> +</div> +<p>There was a small company of people gathered +at a table which stood in the cool shadows of the +château’s eastern wing. Towards these people my +companion directed her steps; I saw her bend close +to the ear of a young girl who had already turned to +look at me. At the same instant a heavily built, handsome +man pushed back his chair and stood up, regarding +me steadily through his spectacles, one hand +grasping the back of the seat from which he had +risen.</p> +<p>Presently the young girl to whom my companion of +the morning had whispered rose gracefully and came +toward me.</p> +<p>Slender, yet with that charming outline of body +which youth wears as a promise, she moved across +the terrace in her flowing robe of crape, and welcomed +me with a gesture and a pleasant word, which I scarcely +heard, so stupidly I stood, silenced by the absolute +loveliness of the girl. Did I say loveliness? No, +not that, but something newer, something far more +fresh, far sweeter, that made mere physical beauty +a thing less vital than the colorless shadow of a crystal.</p> +<p>She was not only beautiful, she was Beauty itself, +incarnate, alive, soul and body. Later I noticed that +she was badly sun-burned under the eyes, that her delicate +nose was adorned by an adorable freckle, and that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +she had red hair.... Could this be the Countess de +Vassart? What a change!</p> +<p>I stepped forward to meet her, and took off my forage-cap.</p> +<p>“Is it true, monsieur, that you have come to arrest +us?” she asked, in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Yes, madame,” I replied, already knowing that she +was the Countess. She hesitated; then:</p> +<p>“Will you tell me your name? I am Madame de +Vassart.”</p> +<p>Cap in hand I followed her to the table, where the +company had already risen. The young Countess +presented me with undisturbed simplicity; I bowed to +my turkey-girl, who proved, after all, to be the actress +from the Odéon, Sylvia Elven; then I solemnly shook +hands with Dr. Leo Delmont, Professor Claude Tavernier, +and Monsieur Bazard, ex-instructor at the Fontainebleau +Artillery School, whom I immediately recognized +as the snipe-faced notary I had met on the +road.</p> +<p>“Well, sir,” exclaimed Dr. Delmont, in his deep, +hearty voice, “if this peaceful little community is +come under your government’s suspicion, I can only +say, Heaven help France!”</p> +<p>“Is not that what we all say in these times, doctor?” +I asked.</p> +<p>“When I say ‘Heaven help France!’ I do not mean +Vive l’Empereur!’” retorted the big doctor, dryly.</p> +<p>Professor Tavernier, a little, gray-headed savant +with used-up eyes, asked me mildly if he might know +why they all were to be expelled from France. I did +not reply.</p> +<p>“Is thought no longer free in France?” asked Dr. +Delmont, in his heavy voice.</p> +<p>“Thought is free in France,” I replied, “but its +expression is sometimes inadvisable, doctor.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></p> +<p>“And the Emperor is to be the judge of when it is +advisable to express one’s thoughts?” inquired Professor +Tavernier.</p> +<p>“The Emperor,” I said, “is generous, broad-minded, +and wonderfully tolerant. Only those whose attitude +incites to disorder are held in check.”</p> +<p>“According to the holy Code Napoléon,” observed +Professor Tavernier, with a shrug.</p> +<p>“The code kills the body, Napoleon the soul,” said +Dr. Delmont, gravely.</p> +<p>“It was otherwise with Victor Noir,” suggested +Mademoiselle Elven.</p> +<p>“Yes,” added Delmont, “he asked for justice and +they gave him ... Pierre!”</p> +<p>“I think we are becoming discourteous to our guest, +gentlemen,” said the young Countess, gently.</p> +<p>I bowed to her. After a moment I said: “Doctor, +if you do truly believe in that universal brotherhood +which apparently even tolerates within its boundaries +a poor devil of the Imperial Police, if your creed really +means peace and not violence, suffering and patience, +not provocation and revolt, demonstrate to the government +by the example of your submission to its decrees +that the theories you entertain are not the chimeras +of generous but unbalanced minds.”</p> +<p>“We never had the faintest idea of resisting,” said +Monsieur Bazard, the notary, otherwise the Chevalier +de Grey, a lank, hollow-eyed young fellow, already +marked heavily with the ravages of pulmonary disease. +But the fierce glitter in his eyes gave the lie to his words.</p> +<p>“Yesterday, Madame la Comtesse,” I said, turning +to the Countess de Vassart, “the Emperor could easily +afford to regard with equanimity the movement in +which you are associated. To-day that is no longer +possible.”</p> +<p>The young Countess gave me a bewildered look. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></p> +<p>“Is it true,” she asked, “that the Emperor does +not know we have severed all connection with the +Internationale?”</p> +<p>“If that is so,” said I, “why does Monsieur Bazard +return across the fields to warn you of my coming? +And why do you harbor John Buckhurst at La Trappe? +Do you not know he is wanted by the police?”</p> +<p>“But we do not know why,” said Dr. Delmont, bending +forward and pouring himself a glass of red wine. +This he drank slowly, eating a bit of black bread with it.</p> +<p>“Monsieur Scarlett,” said Mademoiselle Elven, suddenly, +“why does the government want John Buckhurst?”</p> +<p>“That, mademoiselle, is the affair of the government +and of John Buckhurst,” I said.</p> +<p>“Pardon,” interrupted Delmont, heavily, “it is the +affair of every honest man and woman—where a Bonaparte +is concerned.”</p> +<p>“I do not understand you, doctor,” I said.</p> +<p>“Then I will put it brutally,” he replied. “We +free people fear a family a prince of which is a common +murderer.”</p> +<p>I did not answer; the world has long since judged +the slayer of Victor Noir.</p> +<p>After a troubled silence the Countess asked me if +I would not share their repast, and I thanked her and +took some bread and grapes and a glass of red wine.</p> +<p>The sun had stolen into the corner where we had +been sitting, and the Countess suggested that we +move down to the lawn under the trees; so Dr. Delmont +and Professor Tavernier lifted the table and bore it +down the terrace steps, while I carried the chairs to +the lawn.</p> +<p>It made me uncomfortable to play the rôle I was +playing among these misguided but harmless people; +that I showed it in my face is certain, for the Countess +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +looked up at me and said, smilingly: “You must +not look at us so sorrowfully, Monsieur Scarlett. It +is we who pity you.”</p> +<p>And I replied, “Madame, you are generous,” and +took my place among them and ate and drank with +them in silence, listening to the breeze in the elms.</p> +<p>Mademoiselle Elven, in her peasant’s dress, rested +her pretty arm across her chair and sighed.</p> +<p>“It is all very well not to resist violence,” she said, +“but it seems to me that the world is going to run over +us some day. Is there any harm in stepping out of +the way, Dr. Delmont?”</p> +<p>The Countess laughed outright.</p> +<p>“Not at all,” she said. “But we must not attempt +to box the world’s ears as we run. Must we, doctor?”</p> +<p>Turning her lovely, sun-burned face to me, she continued: +“Is it not charming here? The quiet is +absolute. It is always still. We are absurdly contented +here; we have no servants, you see, and we all +plough and harrow and sow and reap—not many +acres, because we need little. It is one kind of life, +quite harmless and passionless, monsieur. I have +been raking hay this morning. It is so strange that +the Emperor should be troubled by the silence of these +quiet fields—”</p> +<p>The distress in her eyes lasted only a moment; she +turned and looked out across the green meadows, +smiling to herself.</p> +<p>“At first when I came here from Paris,” she said, +“I was at a loss to know what to do with all this land. +I owe much happiness to Dr. Delmont, who suggested +that the estate, except what we needed, might be loaned +free to the people around us. It was an admirable +thought; we have no longer any poor among us—”</p> +<p>She stopped short and gave me a quick glance. +“Please understand me, Monsieur Scarlett. I make +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +no merit of giving what I cannot use. That would +be absurd.”</p> +<p>“The world knows, madame, that you have given +all you have,” I said.</p> +<p>“Then why is your miserable government sending +her into exile?” broke in Monsieur Bazard, harshly.</p> +<p>“I will tell you,” I said, surprised at his tone and +manner. “The colony at La Trappe is the head and +centre of a party which abhors war, which refuses +resistance, which aims, peacefully perhaps, at political +and social annihilation. In time of peace this colony +is not a menace; in time of war it is worse than a +menace, monsieur.”</p> +<p>I turned to Dr. Delmont.</p> +<p>“With the German armies massing behind the forest +borders yonder, it is unsafe for the government to leave +you here at La Trappe, doctor. You are <i>too neutral</i>.”</p> +<p>“You mean that the government fears treason?” demanded +the doctor, growing red.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said, “if you insist.”</p> +<p>The Countess had turned to me in amazement.</p> +<p>“Treason!” she repeated, in an unsteady voice. +“Is it treason for a small community to live quietly +here in the Alsatian hills, harming nobody, asking +nothing save freedom of thought? Is it treason for +a woman of the world to renounce the world? Is it +treason for her to live an unostentatious life and use +her fortune to aid others to live? Treason! Monsieur, +the word has an ugly ring to me. I am a soldier’s +daughter!”</p> +<p>There was something touchingly illogical in the +last words—this young apostle of peace naïvely displaying +her credentials as though the mere word +“soldier” covered everything.</p> +<p>“Your government insults us all,” said Bazard, between +his teeth. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>Mademoiselle Elven leaned forward, her blue eyes +shining angrily.</p> +<p>“Because I have learned that the boundaries of nations +are not the frontiers of human hearts, am I a +traitor? Because I know no country but the world, +no speech but the universal speech that one reads in +a brother’s eyes, because I know no barriers, no boundaries, +no limits to human brotherhood, am I a traitor?”</p> +<p>She made an exquisite gesture with half-open arms; +all the poetry of the Théâtre Français was in it.</p> +<p>“Look at me! I had all that life could give, save +freedom, and that I have now—freedom in thought, +in speech, in action, freedom to love as friends love, +freedom to love as lovers love. Ah, more! freedom +from caste, from hate and envy and all suspicion, +freedom to give, freedom to receive, freedom in life +and in death! Am I a traitor? What do I betray? +Shame on your Emperor!”</p> +<p>The young Countess, too, had risen in her earnestness +and had laid one slender, sun-tanned hand upon +the table.</p> +<p>“War?” she said. “What is this war to us? The +Emperor? What is he to us? We who have set a +watch on the world’s outer ramparts, guarding the +white banner of universal brotherhood! What is +this war to us!”</p> +<p>“Are you not a native of France?” I asked, bluntly.</p> +<p>“I am a native of the world, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that you care nothing for +your own birthland?” I demanded, sharply.</p> +<p>“I love the world—all of it—every inch—and if +France is part of the world, so is this Prussia that we +are teaching our poor peasants to hate.”</p> +<p>“Madame,” said I, “the women of France to-day +think differently. Our Creator did not make love +of country a trite virtue, but a passion, and set it in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +our bodies along with our other passions. If in you +it is absent, that concerns pathology, not the police!”</p> +<p>I did not mean to wound her—I was intensely in +earnest; I wanted her to show just a single glimmer +of sympathy for her own country. It seemed as though +I could not endure to look at such a woman and know +that the primal passion, born with those who had at +least wept for their natal Eden, was meaningless to her.</p> +<p>She had turned a trifle pale; now she sank back +into her chair, looking at me with those troubled gray +eyes in which Heaven itself had set truth and loyalty.</p> +<p>I said: “I do not believe that you care nothing +for France. Train and curb and crush your own +heart as you will, you cannot drive out that splendid +earth-born humanity which is part of us—else we had +all been born in heaven!”</p> +<p>“Come,” said Bazard, in a rage-choked voice, “let it +end here, Monsieur Scarlett. If the government sends +you here as a spy and an official, pray remember that +you are not also sent as a missionary.”</p> +<p>My ears began to burn. “That is true,” I said, looking +at the Countess, whose face had become expressionless. +“I ask your pardon for what I have said +and ... for what I am about to do.”</p> +<p>There was a silence. Then, in a low voice, I placed +them under formal arrest, one by one, touching each +lightly on the shoulder as prescribed by the code. +And when I came to the Countess, she rose, without +embarrassment. I moved my lips and stretched out +my arm, barely touching her. I heard Bazard draw +a deep breath. She was my prisoner.</p> +<p>“I must ask you to prepare for a journey,” I said. +“You have your own horses, of course?”</p> +<p>Without answering, Dr. Delmont walked away towards +the stables; Professor Tavernier followed him, +head bent. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p> +<p>“We shall want very little,” said the Countess, +calmly, to Mademoiselle Elven. “Will you pack up +what we need? And you, Monsieur Bazard, will +you be good enough to go to Trois-Feuilles and hire +old Brauer’s carriage?” Turning to me she said: “I +must ask for a little delay; I have no longer a carriage +of my own. We keep two horses to plough and +draw grain; they can be harnessed to the farm-wagon +for our effects.”</p> +<p>Monsieur Bazard’s hectic visage flushed, he gave +me a crazy stare, and, for a moment, I fancied there +was murder in his bright eyes. Doubtless, however, +devotion to his creed of non-resistance conquered the +impulse, and he walked quickly away across the +meadows, his skeleton hands clinched under his loose +sleeves.</p> +<p>Mademoiselle Elven also departed tip-tap! up the +terrace in her coquettish wooden shoes, leaving me +alone with the Countess under the trees.</p> +<p>“Madame,” said I, “before I affix the government +seals to the doors of your house I must ask you to +conduct me to the roof of the east wing.”</p> +<p>She bent her head in acquiescence; I followed her +up the terrace into a stone hall where the dark Flemish +pictures stared back at me and my spurred heels jingled +in the silence. Up, up, and still up, winding around a +Gothic spiral, then through a passage under the battlements +and out across the slates, with wind and setting +sun in my face and the sighing tree-tops far below.</p> +<p>Without glancing at me the Countess walked to +the edge of the leads and looked down along the sheer +declivity of the stone facade. Slender, exquisite, she +stood there, a lonely shape against the sky, and I saw +the sun glowing on her burnished red-gold hair, and +her sun-burned hands, half unclosed, hanging at her +side. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p> +<p>South, north, and west the mountains towered, +purple as the bloom on October grapes; the white arm +of the semaphore on the Pigeonnier was tinted with +rose color; green velvet clothed the world, under a +silver veil.</p> +<p>In the north a spark of white fire began to flicker +on the crest of Mount Tonnerre. It was the mirror +of a heliograph flashing out across leagues of gray-green +hills to the rocky pulpit of the Pigeonnier.</p> +<p>I unslung my glasses and levelled them. The +shining arm of the semaphore fell to a horizontal position +and remained rigid; down came the signal flags, +up went a red globe and two cones. Another string of +flags blossomed along the bellying halliards; the white +star flashed twice on Mount Tonnerre and went out.</p> +<p>Instantly I drew a flag from my pouch, tied it to +the point of my sabre, and stepped out along the projecting +snout of a gargoyle. Below, under my feet, +the tree-tops rustled in the wind.</p> +<p>I had been flagging the Pigeonnier vigorously for +ten minutes without result, when suddenly a dark +dot appeared on the tower beneath the semaphore, +then another. My glasses brought out two officers, +one with a flag; and, still watching them through the +binoculars, I signalled slowly, using my free hand: +“This is La Trappe. Telegraph to Morsbronn that +the inspector of Imperial Police requires a peloton of +mounted gendarmes at once.”</p> +<p>Then I sat down on the sun-warmed slates and +waited, amusing myself by watching the ever-changing +display of signal flags on the distant observatory.</p> +<p>It may have been half a minute before I saw two +officers advance to the railing of the tower and signal: +“Attention, La Trappe!”</p> +<p>Pencil and pad on my knee, I managed to use my +field-glasses and jot down the message: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p> +<p>“Peloton of mounted gendarmes goes to you as +soon as possible. Repeat.”</p> +<p>I repeated, then raised my glasses. Another message +came by flag: “Attention, La Trappe. Uhlans +reported near the village of Trois-Feuilles; have you +seen them?”</p> +<p>Prussian Uhlans! Here in the rear of our entire +army! Nonsense! And I signalled a vigorous:</p> +<p>“No. Have you?”</p> +<p>To which came the disturbing reply: “Be on your +guard. We are ordered to display the semaphore at +danger. Report is credited at headquarters. Repeat.”</p> +<p>I repeated. Raising my glasses again, I could +plainly see a young officer, an unlighted cigar between +his teeth, jotting down our correspondence, +while the other officer who had flagged me furled up +his flags and laid them aside, yawning and stretching +himself to his full height.</p> +<p>So distinctly did my powerful binoculars bring the +station into range that I could even see the younger +officer light a match, which the wind extinguished, +light another, and presently blow a tiny cloud of smoke +from his cigar.</p> +<p>The Countess de Vassart had come up to where I +was standing on the gargoyle, balanced over the gulf +below. Very cautiously I began to step backward, +for there was not room to turn around.</p> +<p>“Would you care to look at the Pigeonnier, madame?” +I asked, glancing at her over my shoulder.</p> +<p>“I beg you will be careful,” she said. “It is a useless +risk to stand out there.”</p> +<p>I had never known the dread of great heights which +many people feel, and I laughed and stepped backward, +expecting to land on the parapet behind me. +But the point of my scabbard struck against the battlements, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +forcing me outward; I stumbled, staggered, +and swayed a moment, striving desperately to recover +my balance; I felt my gloved fingers slipping along +the smooth face of the parapet, my knees gave way +with horror; then my fingers clutched something—an +arm—and I swung back, slap against the parapet, +hanging to that arm with all my weight. A terrible +effort and I planted my boots on the leads and looked +up with sick eyes into the eyes of the Countess.</p> +<p>“Can you stand it?” I groaned, clutching her arm +with my other hand.</p> +<p>“Yes—don’t be afraid,” she said, calmly. “Draw +me toward you; I cannot draw you over.”</p> +<p>“Press your knees against the battlements,” I +gasped.</p> +<p>She bent one knee and wedged it into a niche.</p> +<p>“Don’t be afraid; you are not hurting me,” she +said, with a ghastly smile.</p> +<p>I raised one hand and caught her shoulder, then, +drawn forward, I seized the parapet in both arms, and +vaulted to the slate roof.</p> +<p>A fog seemed to blot my eyes; I shook from hair to +heel and laid my head against the solid stone, while +the blank, throbbing seconds past. The Countess +stood there, shocked and breathless. I saw her sleeve +in rags, and the snowy skin all bruised beneath.</p> +<p>I tried to thank her; we both were badly shaken, and +I do not know that she even heard me. Her burnished +hair had sagged to her white neck; she twisted it up +with unsteady fingers and turned away. I followed +slowly, back through the dim galleries, and presently +she seemed to remember my presence and waited for +me as I felt my way along the passage.</p> +<p>“Every little shadow is a yawning gulf,” I said. +“My nerve is gone, madame. The banging of my +own sabre scares me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></p> +<p>I strove to speak lightly, but my voice trembled, +and so did hers when she said: “High places always +terrify me; something below seems to draw me. Did +you ever have that dreadful impulse to sway forward +into a precipice?”</p> +<p>There was a subtle change in her voice and manner, +something almost friendly in her gray eyes as she +looked curiously at me when we came into the half-light +of an inner gallery.</p> +<p>What irony lurks in blind chance that I should owe +this woman my life—this woman whose home I had +come to confiscate, whose friends I had arrested, who +herself was now my prisoner, destined to the shame of +exile!</p> +<p>Perhaps she divined my thoughts—I do not know—but +she turned her troubled eyes to the arched window, +where a painted saint imbedded in golden glass +knelt and beat his breast with two heavy stones.</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, slowly, “your courage and your +goodness to me have made my task a heavy one. Can +I lighten it for you in any manner?”</p> +<p>She turned towards me, almost timidly. “Could +I go to Morsbronn before—before I cross the frontier? +I have a house there; there are a few things I would +like to take—”</p> +<p>She stopped short, seeing, doubtless, the pain of refusal +in my face. “But, after all, it does not matter. +I suppose your orders are formal?”</p> +<p>“Yes, madame.”</p> +<p>“Then it is a matter of honor?”</p> +<p>“A soldier is always on his honor; a soldier’s +daughter will understand that.”</p> +<p>“I understand,” she said.</p> +<p>After a moment she smiled and moved forward, +saying:</p> +<p>“How the world tosses us—flinging strangers into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +each other’s arms, parting brothers, leading enemies +across each other’s paths! One has a glimpse of kindly +eyes—and never meets them again. Often and often +I have seen a good face in the lamp-lit street that I +could call out to, ‘Be friends with me!’ Then it is +gone—and I am gone—Oh, it is curiously sad, Monsieur +Scarlett!”</p> +<p>“Does your creed teach you to care for everybody, +madame?”</p> +<p>“Yes—I try to. Some attract me so strongly—some +I pity so. I think that if people only knew that there +was no such thing as a stranger in the world, the world +might be a paradise in time.”</p> +<p>“It might be, some day, if all the world were as +good as you, madame.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I am only a perplexed woman,” she said, laughing. +“I do so long for the freedom of all the world, +absolute individual liberty and no law but that best +of all laws—the law of the unselfish.”</p> +<p>We had stopped, by a mutual impulse, at the head +of the stone stairway.</p> +<p>“Why do you shelter such a man as John Buckhurst?” +I asked, abruptly.</p> +<p>She raised her eyes to me with perfect composure.</p> +<p>“Why do you ask?”</p> +<p>“Because I have come here from Paris to arrest +him.”</p> +<p>She bent her head thoughtfully and laid the tips of +her fingers on the sculptured balustrade.</p> +<p>“To me,” she said, “there’s no such thing as a +political crime.”</p> +<p>“It is not for a political crime that we want John +Buckhurst,” I said, watching her. “It is for a civil +outrage.”</p> +<p>Her face was like marble; her hands tightened on +the fretted carving. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></p> +<p>“What crime is he charged with?” she asked, without +moving.</p> +<p>“He is charged with being a common thief,” I said.</p> +<p>Now there was color enough in her face, and to +spare, for the blood-stained neck and cheek, and even +the bare shoulder under the torn crape burned pink.</p> +<p>“It is brutal to make such a charge!” she said. +“It is shameful!—” her voice quivered. “It is not +true! Monsieur, give me your word of honor that the +government means what it says and nothing more!”</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, “I give my word of honor that +no political crime is charged against that man.”</p> +<p>“Will you pledge me your honor that if he answers +satisfactorily to that false charge of theft, the government +will let him go free?”</p> +<p>“I will take it upon myself to do so,” said I. “But +what in Heaven’s name is this man to you, madame? +He is a militant anarchist, whose creed is not yours, +whose propaganda teaches merciless violence, whose +programme is terror. He is well known in the faubourgs; +Belleville is his, and in the Château Rouge he +has pointed across the river to the rich quarters, calling +it the promised land! Yet here, at La Trappe, where +your creed is peace and non-resistance, he is welcomed +and harbored, he is deferred to, he is made executive +head of a free commune which he has turned into a +despotism ... for his own ends!”</p> +<p>She was gazing at me with dilated eyes, hands +holding tight to the balustrade.</p> +<p>“Did you not know that?” I asked, astonished.</p> +<p>“No,” she said.</p> +<p>“You are not aware that John Buckhurst is the +soul and centre of the Belleville Reds?”</p> +<p>“It is—it is false!” she stammered.</p> +<p>“No, madame, it is true. He wears a smug mask +here; he has deceived you all.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></p> +<p>She stood there, breathing rapidly, her head high.</p> +<p>“John Buckhurst will answer for himself,” she said, +steadily.</p> +<p>“When, madame?”</p> +<p>For answer she stepped across the hall and laid one +hand against the blank stone wall. Then, reaching +upward, she drew from between the ponderous blocks +little strips of steel, colored like mortar, dropping them +to the stone floor, where they rang out. When she had +flung away the last one, she stepped back and set her +frail shoulder to the wall; instantly a mass of stone +swung silently on an unseen pivot, a yellow light +streamed out, and there was a tiny chamber, illuminated +by a lamp, and a man just rising from his chair.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +<a name='IV_PRISONERS' id='IV_PRISONERS'></a> +<h2>IV</h2> +<h3>PRISONERS</h3> +</div> +<p>Instantly I recognized in him the insolent priest +who had confronted me on my way to La Trappe that +morning. I knew him, although now he was wearing +neither robe nor shovel-hat, nor those square shoes too +large to buckle closely over his flat insteps.</p> +<p>And he knew me.</p> +<p>He appeared admirably cool and composed, glancing +at the Countess for an instant with an interrogative +expression; then he acknowledged my presence by +bowing almost humorously.</p> +<p>“This is Monsieur Scarlett, of the Imperial Military +Police,” said the Countess, in a clear voice, ending +with that slightly rising inflection which demands an +answer.</p> +<p>“Mr. Buckhurst,” I said, “I am an Inspector of +Military Police, and I cannot begin to tell you what a +pleasure this meeting is to me.”</p> +<p>“I have no doubt of that, monsieur,” said Buckhurst, +in his smooth, almost caressing tones. “It, +however, inconveniences me a great deal to cross the +frontier to-day, even in your company, otherwise I +should have surrendered with my confrères.”</p> +<p>“But there is no question of <i>your</i> crossing the frontier, +Mr. Buckhurst,” I said.</p> +<p>His colorless eyes sought mine, then dropped. They +were almost stone white in the lamp-light—white as +his delicately chiselled face and hands. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p> +<p>“Are we not to be exiled?” he asked.</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> are not,” I said.</p> +<p>“Am I not under arrest?”</p> +<p>I stepped forward and placed him formally under +arrest, touching him slightly on the shoulder. He +did not move a muscle, yet, beneath the thin cloth of +his coat I could divine a frame of iron.</p> +<p>“Your creed is one of non-resistance to violence,” +I said—“is it not?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied. I saw that gray ring around +the pale pupil of his eyes contracting, little by little.</p> +<p>“You have not asked me why I arrest you,” I suggested, +“and, monsieur, I must ask you to step back +from that table—quick!—don’t move!—not one finger!”</p> +<p>For a second he looked into the barrel of my pistol +with concentrated composure, then glanced at the +table-drawer which he had jerked open. A revolver +lay shining among the litter of glass tubes and papers +in the drawer.</p> +<p>The Countess, too, saw the revolver and turned an +astonished face to my prisoner.</p> +<p>“Who brought you here?” asked Buckhurst, quietly +of me.</p> +<p>“I did,” said the Countess, her voice almost breaking. +“Tell this man and his government that you are +ready to face every charge against your honor! There +is a dreadful mistake; they—they think you are—”</p> +<p>“A thief,” I interposed, with a smile. “The government +only asks you to prove that you are not.”</p> +<p>Slowly Buckhurst turned his eyes on the Countess; +the faintest glimmer of white teeth showed for an instant +between the gray lines that were his lips.</p> +<p>“So <i>you</i> brought this man here?” he said. “Oh, +I am glad to know it.”</p> +<p>“Then you cannot be that same John Buckhurst +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +who stands in the tribune of the Château Rouge and +promises all Paris to his chosen people,” I remarked, +smiling.</p> +<p>“No,” he said, slowly, “I cannot be that man, nor +can I—”</p> +<p>“Stop! Stand back from that table!” I cried.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said, coolly.</p> +<p>“Madame,” said I, without taking my eyes from +him, “in a community dedicated to peace, a revolver +is an anachronism. So I think—if you move I will +shoot you, Mr. Buckhurst!—so I think I had better +take it, table-drawer and all—”</p> +<p>“Stop!” said Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“Oh no, I can’t stop now,” said I, cheerfully, “and +if you attempt to upset that lamp you will make a sad +mistake. Now walk to the door! Turn your back! +Go slowly!—halt!”</p> +<p>With the table-drawer under one arm and my pistol-hand +swinging, I followed Buckhurst out into the hall.</p> +<p>Daylight dazzled me; it must have affected Buckhurst, +too, for he reached out to the stone balustrade +and guided himself down the steps, five paces in front +of me.</p> +<p>Under the trees on the lawn, beside the driveway, +I saw Dr. Delmont standing, big, bushy head bent +thoughtfully, hands clasped behind his back.</p> +<p>Near him, Tavernier and Bazard were lifting a few +boxes into a farm-wagon. The carriage from Trois-Feuilles +was also there, a stumpy Alsatian peasant +on the box. But there were yet no signs of the escort +of gendarmes which had been promised me.</p> +<p>As Buckhurst appeared, walking all alone ahead +of me, Dr. Delmont looked up with a bitter laugh. +“So they found you, too? Well, Buckhurst, this is +too bad. They might have given you one more day +on your experiments.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span></p> +<p>“What experiments?” I asked, glancing at the bottles +and retorts in the table-drawer.</p> +<p>“Nitrogen for exhausted soil,” said the Countess, +quietly.</p> +<p>I set the table-drawer on the grass, rested my pistol +on my hip, and looked around at my prisoners, who +now were looking intently at me.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” said I, “let me warn you not to claim +comradeship with Mr. Buckhurst. And I will show you +one reason why.”</p> +<p>I picked up from the table-drawer a little stick about +five inches long and held it up.</p> +<p>“What is that, doctor? You don’t know? Oh, you +think it might be some sample of fertilizer containing +concentrated nitrogen? You are mistaken, it is not +nitrogen, but nitro-glycerine.”</p> +<p>Buckhurst’s face changed slightly.</p> +<p>“Is it not, Mr. Buckhurst?” I asked.</p> +<p>He was silent.</p> +<p>“Would you permit me to throw this bit of stuff at +your feet?” And I made a gesture.</p> +<p>The superb nerve of the man was something to +remember. He did not move, but over his face there +crept a dreadful pallor, which even the others noticed, +and they shrank away from him, shocked and amazed.</p> +<p>“Here, gentlemen,” I continued, “is a box with +a German label—‘Oberlohe, Hanover.’ The silicious +earth with which nitro-glycerine is mixed to make +dynamite comes from Oberlohe, in Hanover.”</p> +<p>I laid my pistol on the table, struck a match, and +deliberately lighted my stick of dynamite. It burned +quietly with a brilliant flame, and I laid it on the grass +and let it burn out like a lump of Greek fire.</p> +<p>“Messieurs,” I said, cocking and uncocking my +pistol, “it is not because this man is a dangerous, +political criminal and a maker of explosives that the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +government has sent me here to arrest him ... or +kill him. It is because he is a common thief,... a +thief who steals crucifixes,... like this one—”</p> +<p>I brushed aside a pile of papers in the drawer and +drew out a big gold crucifix, marvellously chiselled +from a lump of the solid metal.... “A thief,” I continued, +“who strips the diamonds from crucifixes,... as +this has been stripped,... and who sells +a single stone to a Jew in Strasbourg, named Fishel +Cohen,... now in prison to confront our friend Buckhurst.”</p> +<p>In the dead silence I heard Dr. Delmont’s heavy +breathing. Tavernier gave a dry sob and covered +his face with his thin hands. The young Countess +stood motionless, frightfully white, staring at Buckhurst, +who had folded his arms.</p> +<p>Sylvia Elven touched her, but the Countess shook +her off and walked straight to Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“Look at me,” she said. “I have promised you +my friendship, my faith and trust and support. And +now I say to you, I believe in you. Tell them where +that crucifix came from.”</p> +<p>Buckhurst looked at me, long enough to see that +the end of his rope had come. Then he slowly turned +his deadly eyes on the girl before him.</p> +<p>Scarlet to the roots of her hair, she stood there, utterly +stunned. The white edges of Buckhurst’s teeth began +to show again; for an instant I thought he meant to +strike her. Then the sudden double beat of horses’ +hoofs broke out along the avenue below, and, through +the red sunset I saw a dozen horsemen come scampering +up the drive toward us.</p> +<p>“They’ve sent me lancers instead of gendarmes +for your escort,” I remarked to Dr. Delmont; at the +same moment I stepped out into the driveway to signal +the riders, raising my hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></p> +<p>Instantly a pistol flashed—then another and another, +and a dozen harsh voices shouted: “Hourra! +Hourra! Preussen!”</p> +<p>“Mille tonnerre!” roared Delmont; “the Prussians +are here!”</p> +<p>“Look out! Stand back there! Get the women +back!” I cried, as an Uhlan wheeled his horse straight +through a bed of geraniums and fired his horse-pistol +at me.</p> +<p>Delmont dragged the young Countess to the shelter +of an elm; Sylvia Elven and Tavernier followed; Buckhurst +ran to the carriage and leaped in.</p> +<p>“No resistance!” bellowed Delmont, as Bazard +snatched up the pistol I had taken from Buckhurst. +But the invalid had already fired at a horseman, and +had gone down under the merciless hoofs with a lance +through his face.</p> +<p>My first impulse was to shoot Buckhurst, and I +started for him.</p> +<p>Then, in front of me, a horse galloped into the table +and fell with a crash, hurling his rider at my feet. I +can see him yet sprawling there on the lawn, a lank, +red-faced fellow, his helmet smashed in, and his spurred +boots sticking fast in the sod.</p> +<p>Helter-skelter through the trees came the rest of +the Uhlans, shouting their hoarse “Hourra! Hourra! +Preussen!”—white-and-black pennons streaming from +their lance-heads, pistols flashing in the early dusk.</p> +<p>I ran past Bazard’s trampled body and fired at an +Uhlan who had seized the horses which were attached +to the carriage where Buckhurst sat. The Uhlan’s +horse reared and plunged, carrying him away at a +frightful pace, and I do not know whether I hit him +or not, but he dropped his pistol, and I picked it up and +fired at another cavalryman who shouted and put +his horse straight at me. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></p> +<p>Again I ran around the wagon, through a clump of +syringa bushes, and up the stone steps to the terrace, +and after me galloped one of those incomparable cossack +riders—an Uhlan, lance in rest, setting his wiry +little horse to the stone steps with a loud “Hourra!”</p> +<p>It was too steep a grade for the gallant horse. I flung +my pistol in the animal’s face and the poor brute reared +straight up and fell backward, rolling over and over +with his unfortunate rider, and falling with a tremendous +splash into the pool below.</p> +<p>“In God’s name stop that!” roared Delmont, from +below. “Give up, Scarlett! They mean us no harm!”</p> +<p>I could see the good doctor on the lawn, waving his +handkerchief frantically at me; in a group behind +stood the Countess and Sylvia; Tavernier was kneeling +beside Bazard’s body; two Uhlans were raising their +stunned comrade from the wreck of the table; other +Uhlans cantered toward the foot of the terrace above +which I stood.</p> +<p>“Come down, hussar!” called an officer. “We respect +your uniform.”</p> +<p>“Will you parley?” I asked, listening intently for +the gallop of my promised gendarmes. If I could +only gain time and save Buckhurst. He was there +in the carriage; I had seen him spring into it when +the Germans burst in among the trees.</p> +<p>“Foulez-fous fous rendre? Oui ou non?” shouted +the officer, in his terrible French.</p> +<p>“Eh bien,... non!” I cried, and ran for the château.</p> +<p>I heard the Uhlans dismount and run clattering and +jingling up the stone steps. As I gained the doorway +they shot at me, but I only fled the faster, springing +up the stairway. Here I stood, sabre in hand, ready +to stop the first man.</p> +<p>Up the stairs rushed three Uhlans, sabres shining +in the dim light from the window behind me; I laid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +my forefinger flat on the blade of my sabre and +shortened my arm for a thrust—then there came a +blinding flash, a roar, and I was down, trying to rise, +until a clinched fist struck me in the face and I fell +flat on my back.</p> +<p>Without any emotion whatever I saw an Uhlan +raise his sabre to finish me; also I saw a yellow-and-black +sleeve interposed between death and myself.</p> +<p>“No butchery!” growled the big officer who had +summoned me from the lawn. “Cursed pig, you’d +sabre your own grandmother! Lift him, Sepp! You, +there, Loisel!—lift him up. Is he gone?”</p> +<p>“He is alive, Herr Rittmeister,” said a soldier, “but +his back is broken.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t,” I said.</p> +<p>“Herr Je!” muttered the Rittmeister; “an eel, and a +Frenchman, and nine long lives! Here, you hussar, +what’s the matter with you?”</p> +<p>“One of them shot me; I thought it was to be sabres,” +said I, weakly.</p> +<p>“And why the devil wasn’t it sabres!” roared the +officer, turning on his men. “One to three—and +six more below! Sepp, you disgust me. Carry him +out!”</p> +<p>I groaned as they lifted me. “Easy there!” growled +the officer, “don’t pull him that way. Now, young +hell-cat, set your teeth; you have eight more lives +yet.”</p> +<p>They got me out to the terrace, and carried me to +the lawn. One of the men brought a cup of water +from the pool.</p> +<p>“Herr Rittmeister,” I said, faintly, “I had a prisoner +here; he should be in the carriage. Is he?”</p> +<p>The officer walked briskly over to the carriage. +“Nobody here but two women and a scared peasant!” +he called out. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></p> +<p>As I lay still staring up into the sky, I heard the +Rittmeister addressing Dr. Delmont in angry tones. +“By every law of civilized war I ought to hang you +and your friend there! Civilians who fire on troops +are treated that way. But I won’t. Your foolish +companion lies yonder with a lance through his mouth. +He’s dead; I say nothing. For you, I have no respect. +But I have for that hell-cat who did his duty. +You civilians—you go to the devil!”</p> +<p>“Are not your prisoners sacred from insult?” asked +the doctor, angrily.</p> +<p>“Prisoners! <i>My</i> prisoners! You compliment yourself! +Loisel! Send those impudent civilians into the +house! I won’t look at them! They make me sick!”</p> +<p>The astonished doctor attempted to take his stand +by me, offering his services, but the troopers hustled +him and poor Tavernier off up the terrace steps.</p> +<p>“The two ladies in the carriage, Herr Rittmeister?” +said a cavalryman, coming up at salute.</p> +<p>“What? Ladies? Oh yes.” Then he muttered +in his mustache: “Always around—always everywhere. +They can’t stay there. I want that carriage. +Sepp!”</p> +<p>“At orders, Herr Rittmeister!”</p> +<p>“Carry that gentleman to the carriage. Place +Schwartz and Ruppert in the wagon yonder. Get +straw—you, Brauer, bring straw—and toss in those +boxes, if there is room. Where’s Hofman?”</p> +<p>“In the pool, Herr Rittmeister.”</p> +<p>“Take him out,” said the officer, soberly. “Uhlans +don’t abandon their dead.”</p> +<p>Two soldiers lifted me again and bore me away in +the darkness. I was perfectly conscious.</p> +<p>And all the while I was listening for the gallop of +my gendarmes, not that I cared very much, now that +Buckhurst was gone. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></p> +<p>“Herr Rittmeister,” I said, as they laid me in the +carriage, “ask the Countess de Vassart if she will +let me say good-bye to her.”</p> +<p>“With pleasure,” said the officer, promptly. +“Madame, here is a polite young gentleman who +desires to make his adieux. Permit me, madame—he +is here in the dark. Sepp! fall back! Loisel, advance +ten paces! Halt!”</p> +<p>“Is it you, Monsieur Scarlett?” came an unsteady +voice, from the darkness.</p> +<p>“Yes, madame. Can you forgive me?”</p> +<p>“Forgive you? My poor friend, I have nothing to +forgive. Are you badly hurt, Monsieur Scarlett?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” I muttered.</p> +<p>Suddenly the chapel bell of La Trappe rang out a +startling peal; the Prussian captain shouted: “Stop +that bell! Shoot every civilian in the house!” But +the Uhlans, who rushed up the terrace, found the +great doors bolted and the lower windows screened +with steel shutters.</p> +<p>On the battlements of the south wing a red radiance +grew brighter; somebody had thrown wood into the +iron basket of the ancient beacon, and set fire to it.</p> +<p>“That teaches me a lesson!” bawled the enraged +Rittmeister, shaking his fist up at the brightening +alarm signal.</p> +<p>He vaulted into his saddle, wheeled his horse and +rode up to the peasant, Brauer, who, frightened to the +verge of stupidity, sat on the carriage-box.</p> +<p>“Do you know the wood-road that leads to Gunstett +through the foot-hills?” he demanded, controlling +his fury with a strong effort.</p> +<p>The blank face of the peasant was answer enough; +the Rittmeister glared around; his eyes fell on the +Countess.</p> +<p>“You know this country, madame?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></p> +<p>“Yes, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Will you set us on our way through the Gunstett +hill-road?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>The chapel bell was clanging wildly; the beacon +shot up in a whirling column of sparks and red smoke.</p> +<p>“Put that woman into the carriage!” bellowed the +officer. “I’m cursed if I leave her to set the whole +country yapping at our heels! Loisel, put her in +beside the prisoner! Madame, it is useless to resist. +Hark! What’s that sound of galloping?”</p> +<p>I listened. I heard nothing save the clamor of the +chapel bell.</p> +<p>An Uhlan laid a heavy hand on the shoulder of +the listening Countess; she tried to draw back, but he +pushed her brutally into the carriage, and she stumbled +and fell into the cushions beside me.</p> +<p>“Uhlans, into your saddles!” cried the Rittmeister, +sharply. “Two men to the wagon!—a man on the box +there! Here you, Jacques Bonhomme, drive carefully +or I’ll hang you higher than the Strasbourg clock. +Are the wounded in the straw? Sepp, take the riderless +horses. Peloton, attention! Draw sabres! March! +Trot!”</p> +<p>Fever had already begun to turn my head; the jolting +of the carriage brought me to my senses at times; +at times, too, I could hear the two wounded Uhlans +groaning in the wagon behind me, the tramping of +the cavalry ahead, the dull rattle of lance butts in the +leather stirrup-boots.</p> +<p>If I could only have fainted, but I could not, and +the agony grew so intense that I bit my lip through +to choke the scream that strained my throat.</p> +<p>Once the carriage stopped; in the darkness I heard +somebody whisper: “There go the French riders!” +And I fancied I heard a far echo of hoof-strokes along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +the road to La Trappe. It might have been the fancy +of an intermittent delirium; it may have been my +delayed gendarmes—I never knew. And the carriage +presently moved on more smoothly, as though we +were now on one of those even military high-roads +which traverse France from Luxembourg to the sea.</p> +<p>Which way we were going I did not know, I did +not care. Absurdly mingled with sick fancies came +flashes of reason, when I could see the sky frosted with +silver, and little, bluish stars peeping down. At times +I recognized the mounted men around me as Prussian +Uhlans, and weakly wondered by what deviltry they +had got into France, and what malignant spell they +cast over the land that the very stones did not rise up +and smite them from their yellow-and-black saddles.</p> +<p>Once—it was, I think, very near daybreak—I came +out of a dream in which I was swimming through +oceans of water, drinking as I swam. The carriage +had stopped; I could not see the lancers, but presently +I heard them all talking in loud, angry voices. There +appeared to be some houses near by; I heard a dog +barking, a great outcry of pigs and feathered fowls, +the noise of a scuffle, a trampling of heavy boots, a +shot!</p> +<p>Then the terrible voice of the Rittmeister: “Hang +that man to his barn gate! Pig of an assassin, I’ll +teach you to murder German soldiers!”</p> +<p>A woman began to scream without ceasing.</p> +<p>“Burn that house!” bellowed the Rittmeister.</p> +<p>Through the prolonged screaming I heard the crash +of window-glass; presently a dull red light grew out +of the gloom, brighter and brighter. The screaming +never ceased.</p> +<p>“Uhlans! Mount!” came the steady voice of the +Rittmeister; the carriage started. Almost at the word +the darkness turned to flame; against the raging +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +furnace of a house on fire I saw the figure of a man, +inky black, hanging from the high cross-bar of the +cow-yard gate, and past him filed the shadowy horsemen, +lances slanting backward from their stirrups.</p> +<p>The last I remember was seeing the dead man’s +naked feet—for they hanged him in his night-shirt—and +the last I heard was that awful screaming from +the red shadows that flickered across the fields of uncut +wheat.</p> +<p>For presently my madness began again, and again +I was bathed to the mouth in cold, sweet waters, and +I drank as I swam lazily in the sunshine.</p> +<p>My next lucid interval came from pain almost unendurable. +We were fording a river in bright starlight; +the carriage bumped across the stones, water +washed and slopped over the carriage floor. To right +and left, Prussian lancers were riding, and I saw the +water boiling under their horses and their long lances +aslant the stars.</p> +<p>But there were more horsemen now, scores and +scores of them, trampling through the shallow river. +And beyond I could see a line of cannon, wallowing +through the water, shadowy artillerymen clinging +to forge and caisson, mounted men astride straining +teams, tall officers on either flank, sitting their horses +motionless in mid-stream.</p> +<p>The carriage stopped.</p> +<p>“Are you suffering?” came a low voice, close to my +ear.</p> +<p>“Madame, could I have a little of that water?” I +muttered.</p> +<p>Very gently she laid me back. I was entirely without +power to move below my waist, or to support my +body.</p> +<p>She filled my cap with river water and held it while +I drank. After I had my fill she bathed my face, +passing her wet hands through my hair and over my +eyes. The carriage moved on.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/illus-062.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 550px; height: 375px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 550px;'> +“TO RIGHT AND LEFT, PRUSSIAN LANCERS WERE RIDING”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></div> +<p>After a while she whispered.</p> +<p>“Are you awake?”</p> +<p>“Yes, madame.”</p> +<p>“See the dawn—how red it is on the hills! There +are vineyards there on the heights,... and a castle,... and +soldiers moving out across the river meadows.”</p> +<p>The rising sun was shining in my eyes as we came +to a halt before a small stone bridge over which a column +of cavalry was passing—Prussian hussars, by +their crimson dolmans and little, flat busbies.</p> +<p>Our Uhlan escort grouped themselves about us to +watch the hussars defile at a trot, and I saw the Rittmeister +rigidly saluting their standards as they bobbed +past above a thicket of sabres.</p> +<p>“What are these Uhlans doing?” broke in a nasal +voice behind us; an officer, followed by two orderlies +and a trumpeter, came galloping up through the mud.</p> +<p>“Who’s that—a dead Frenchman?” demanded the +officer, leaning over the edge of the carriage to give +me a near-sighted stare. Then he saw the Countess, +stared at her, and touched the golden peak of his helmet.</p> +<p>“At your service, madame,” he said. “Is this officer +dead?”</p> +<p>“Dying, general,” said the Rittmeister, at salute.</p> +<p>“Then he will not require these men. Herr Rittmeister, +I take your Uhlans for my escort. Madame, +you have my sympathy; can I be of service?”</p> +<p>He spoke perfect French. The Countess looked up +at him in a bewildered way. “You cannot mean to +abandon this dying man here?” she asked.</p> +<p>There was a silence, broken brusquely by the Rittmeister. +“That Frenchman did his duty!”</p> +<p>“Did he?” said the general, staring at the Countess. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></p> +<p>“Very well; I want that carriage, but I won’t take it. +Give the driver a white flag, and have him drive into +the French lines. Herr Rittmeister, give your orders! +Madame, your most devoted!” And he wheeled his +beautiful horse and trotted off down the road, while +the Rittmeister hastily tied a handkerchief to a stick +and tossed it up to the speechless peasant on the box.</p> +<p>“Morsbronn is the nearest French post!” he said, +in French. Then he bent from his horse and looked +down at me.</p> +<p>“You did your duty!” he snapped, and, barely saluting +the Countess, touched spurs to his mount and disappeared, +followed at a gallop by his mud-splashed +Uhlans.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +<a name='V_THE_IMMORTALS' id='V_THE_IMMORTALS'></a> +<h2>V</h2> +<h3>THE IMMORTALS</h3> +</div> +<p>When I became conscious again I was lying on +a table. Two men were leaning over me; a third +came up, holding a basin. There was an odor of carbolic +in the air.</p> +<p>The man with the basin made a horrid grimace +when he caught my eye; his face was a curious golden +yellow, his eyes jet black, and at first I took him for +a fever phantom.</p> +<p>Then my bewildered eyes fastened on his scarlet +fez, pulled down over his left ear, the sky-blue Zouave +jacket, with its bright-yellow arabesques, the canvas +breeches, leggings laced close over the thin shins and +ankles of an Arab. And I knew him for a soldier of +African riflemen, one of those brave children of the +desert whom we called “Turcos,” and whose faith +in the greatness of France has never faltered since +the first blue battalion of Africa was formed under +the eagles of the First Empire.</p> +<p>“Hallo, Mustapha!” I said, faintly; “what are they +doing to me now?”</p> +<p>The Turco’s golden-bronze visage relaxed; he saluted +me.</p> +<p>“Macache sabir,” he said; “they picked a bullet +from your spine, my inspector.”</p> +<p>An officer in the uniform of a staff-surgeon came +around the table where I was lying. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p> +<p>“Bon!” he exclaimed, eying me sharply through his +gold-rimmed glasses. “Can you feel your hind-legs +now, young man?”</p> +<p>I could feel them all too intensely, and I said so.</p> +<p>The surgeon began to turn down his shirt-sleeves +and button his cuffs, saying, “You’re lucky to have +a pain in your legs.” Turning to the Turco, he added, +“Lift him!” And the giant rifleman picked me up and +laid me in a long chair by the window.</p> +<p>“Your case is one of those amusing cases,” continued +the surgeon, buckling on his sword and revolver; “very +amusing, I assure you. As for the bullet, I +could have turned it out with a straw, only it rested +there <i>exactly</i> where it stopped the use of those long +legs of yours!—a fine example of temporary reflex +paralysis, and no hemorrhage to speak of—nothing +to swear about, young man. By-the-way, you ought +to go to bed for a few days.”</p> +<p>He clasped his short baldric over his smartly buttoned +tunic. The room was shaking with the discharges of +cannon.</p> +<p>“A millimetre farther and that bullet would have +cracked your spine. Remember that and keep off +your feet. Ouf! The cannon are tuning up!” as a +terrible discharge shattered the glass in the window-panes +beside me.</p> +<p>“Where am I, doctor?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Parbleu, in Morsbronn! Can’t you hear the orchestra, +zim-bam-zim! The Prussians are playing +their Wagner music for us. Here, swallow this. How +do you feel now?”</p> +<p>“Sleepy. Did you say a day or two, doctor?”</p> +<p>“I said a week or two—perhaps longer. I’ll look +in this evening if I’m not up to my chin in amputations. +Take these every hour if in pain. Go to sleep, my son.”</p> +<p>With a paternal tap on my head, he drew on his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +scarlet, gold-banded cap, tightened the check strap, +and walked out of the room. Down-stairs I heard +him cursing because his horse had been shot. I never +saw him again.</p> +<p>Dozing feverishly, hearing the cannon through +troubled slumber, I awoke toward noon quite free +from any considerable pain, but thirsty and restless, +and numbed to the hips. Alarmed, I strove to move +my feet, and succeeded. Then, freed from the haunting +terror of paralysis, I fell to pinching my legs with +satisfaction, my eyes roving about in search of water.</p> +<p>The room where I lay was in disorder; it appeared +to be completely furnished with well-made old pieces, +long out of date, but not old enough to be desirable. +Chairs, sofas, tables were all fashioned in that poor +design which marked the early period of the Consulate; +the mirror was a fine sheet of glass imbedded in +Pompeian and Egyptian designs; the clock, which had +stopped, was a meaningless lump of gilt and marble, +supported on gilt sphinxes. Over the bed hung a +tarnished canopy broidered with a coronet, which, from +the strawberry leaves and the pearls raised above them, +I took to be the coronet of a count of English origin.</p> +<p>The room appeared to be very old, and I knew the +house must have stood for centuries somewhere along +the single street of Morsbronn, though I could not +remember seeing any building in the village which, +judging from the exterior, seemed likely to contain +such a room as this.</p> +<p>The nearer and heavier cannon-shots had ceased, but +the window-sashes hummed with the steady thunder +of a battle going on somewhere among the mountains. +Knowing the Alsatian frontier fairly well, I understood +that a battle among the mountains must mean that +our First Corps had been attacked, and that we were +on the defensive on French soil. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></p> +<p>The booming of the guns was unbroken, as steady +and sustained as the eternal roar of a cataract. At +moments I believed that I could distinguish the staccato +crashes of platoon firing, but could not be certain in +the swelling din.</p> +<p>As I lay there on my long, cushioned chair, burning +with that insatiable thirst which, to thoroughly appreciate, +one must be wounded, the door opened and a +Turco soldier came into the room and advanced toward +me on tip-toe.</p> +<p>He wore full uniform, was fully equipped, crimson +chechia, snowy gaiters, and terrible sabre-bayonet.</p> +<p>I beckoned him, and the tall, bronzed fellow came +up, smiling, showing his snowy, pointed teeth under +a crisp beard.</p> +<p>“Water, Mustapha,” I motioned with stiffened lips, +and the good fellow unslung his blue water-bottle and +set it to my burning mouth.</p> +<p>“Merci, mon brave!” I said. “May you dwell in +Paradise with Ali, the fourth Caliph, the Lion of God!”</p> +<p>The Turco stared, muttered the Tekbir in a low voice, +bent and kissed my hands.</p> +<p>“Were you once an officer of our African battalions?” +he asked, in the Arab tongue.</p> +<p>“Sous-officier of spahi cavalry,” I said, smiling. +“And you are a Kabyle mountaineer from Constantine, +I see.”</p> +<p>“It is true as I recite the fatha,” cried the great fellow, +beaming on me. “We Kabyles love our officers and +bear witness to the unity of God, too. I am a marabout, +my inspector, Third Turcos, and I am anxious to have +a Prussian ask me who were my seven ancestors.”</p> +<p>The music of his long-forgotten tongue refreshed +me; old scenes and memories of the camp at Oran, the +never-to-be-forgotten cavalry with the scarlet cloaks, +rushed on me thick and fast; incidents, trivial matters +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +of the bazaars, faces of comrades dead, came to me +in flashes. My eyes grew moist, my throat swelled, I +whimpered:</p> +<p>“It is all very well, mon enfant, but I’m here with +a hole in me stuffed full of lint, and you have your +two good arms and as many legs with which to explain +to the Prussians who your seven ancestors may +be. Give me a drink, in God’s name!”</p> +<p>Again he held up the blue water-bottle, saying, +gravely: “We both worship the same God, my inspector, +call Him what we will.”</p> +<p>After a moment I said: “Is it a battle or a bousculade? +But I need not ask; the cannon tell me enough. +Are they storming the heights, Mustapha?”</p> +<p>“Macache comprendir,” said the soldier, dropping +into patois. “There is much noise, but we Turcos are +here in Morsbronn, and we have seen nothing but +sparrows.”</p> +<p>I listened for a moment; the sound of the cannonade +appeared to be steadily receding westward.</p> +<p>“It seems to me like retreat!” I said, sharply.</p> +<p>“Ritrite? Quis qui ci, ritrite?”</p> +<p>I looked at the simple fellow with tears in my +eyes.</p> +<p>“You would not understand if I told you,” said I. +“Are you detailed to look after me?”</p> +<p>He said he was, and I informed him that I needed +nobody; that it was much more important for everybody +that he should rejoin his battalion in the street +below, where even now I could hear the Algerian bugles +blowing a silvery sonnerie—“Garde à vous!”</p> +<p>“I am Salah Ben-Ahmed, a marabout of the Third +Turcos,” he said, proudly, “and I have yet to explain +to these Prussians who my seven ancestors were. +Have I my inspector’s permission to go?”</p> +<p>He was fairly trembling as the imperative clangor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +of the bugles rang through the street; his fine nostrils +quivered, his eyes glittered like a cobra’s.</p> +<p>“Go, Salah Ben-Ahmed, the marabout,” said I, +laughing.</p> +<p>The soldier stiffened to attention; his bronzed hand +flew to his scarlet fez, and, “Salute! O my inspector!” +he cried, sonorously, and was gone at a bound.</p> +<p>That breathless unrest which always seizes me when +men are at one another’s throats set me wriggling +and twitching, and peering from the window, through +which I could not see because of the blinds. Command +after command was ringing out in the street below. +“Forward!” shouted a resonant voice, and “Forward! +forward! forward!” echoed the voices of the captains, +distant and more distant, then drowned in the rolling of +kettle-drums and the silvery clang of Moorish cymbals.</p> +<p>The band music of the Algerian infantry died away +in the distant tumult of the guns; faintly, at moments, +I could still hear the shrill whistle of their flutes, the +tinkle of the silver chimes on their <i>toug</i>; then a blank, +filled with the hollow roar of battle, then a clear note +from their reeds, a tinkle, an echoing chime—and nothing, +save the immense monotone of the cannonade.</p> +<p>I had been lying there motionless for an hour, my +head on my hand, snivelling, when there came a knock +at the door, and I hastily buttoned my blood-stained +shirt to the throat, threw a tunic over my shoulders, +and cried, “Come in!”</p> +<p>A trick of memory and perhaps of physical weakness +had driven from my mind all recollection of the +Countess de Vassart since I had come to my senses +under the surgeon’s probe. But at the touch of her +fingers on the door outside, I knew her—I was certain +that it could be nobody but my Countess, who +had turned aside in her gentle pilgrimage to lift this +Lazarus from the waysides of a hostile world. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></p> +<p>She entered noiselessly, bearing a bowl of broth and +some bread; but when she saw me sitting there with +eyes and nose all red and swollen from snivelling she +set the bowl on a table and hurried to my side.</p> +<p>“What is it? Is the pain so dreadful?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“No—oh no. I’m only a fool, and quite hungry, +madame.”</p> +<p>She brought the broth and bread and a glass of the +most exquisite wine I ever tasted—a wine that seemed +to brighten the whole room with its liquid sunshine.</p> +<p>“Do you know where you are?” she asked, gravely.</p> +<p>“Oh yes—in Morsbronn.”</p> +<p>“And in whose house, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know—” I glanced instinctively at the +tarnished coronet on the canopy above the bed. “Do +you know, Madame la Comtesse?”</p> +<p>“I ought to,” she said, faintly amused. “I was +born in this room. It was to this house that I desired +to come before—my exile.”</p> +<p>Her eyes softened as they rested first on one familiar +object, then on another.</p> +<p>“The house has always been in our family,” she +said. “It was once one of those fortified farms in the +times when every hamlet was a petty kingdom—like +the King of Yvetôt’s domain. Doubtless the ancient +Trécourts also wore cotton night-caps for their coronets.”</p> +<p>“I remember now,” said I, “a stone turret wedged +in between two houses. Is this it?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it is all that is left of the farm. My ancestors +built this crazy old row of houses for their tenants.”</p> +<p>After a silence I said, “I wish I could look out of +the window.”</p> +<p>She hesitated. “I don’t suppose it could harm you?”</p> +<p>“It will harm me if I don’t,” said I. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span></p> +<p>She went to the window and folded up the varnished +blinds.</p> +<p>“How dreadful the cannonade is growing,” she said. +“Wait! don’t think of moving! I will push you close +to the window, where you can see.”</p> +<p>The tower in which my room was built projected +from the rambling row of houses, so that my narrow +window commanded a view of almost the entire length +of the street. This street comprised all there was of +Morsbronn; it lay between a double rank of houses +constructed of plaster and beams, and surmounted by +high-pointed gables and slated or tiled roofs, so fantastic +that they resembled steeples.</p> +<p>Down the street I could see the house that I had left +twenty-four hours before, never dreaming what my +journey to La Trappe held in store for me. One or +two dismounted soldiers of the Third Hussars sat in +the doorway, listening to the cannon; but, except for +these listless troopers, a few nervous sparrows, and +here and there a skulking peasant, slinking off with a +load of household furniture on his back, the street +was deserted.</p> +<p>Everywhere shutters had been put up, blinds closed, +curtains drawn. Not a shred of smoke curled from +the chimneys of these deserted houses; the heavy +gables cast sinister shadows over closed doors and +gates barred and locked, and it made me think of an +unseaworthy ship, prepared for a storm, so bare and +battened down was this long, dreary commune, lying +there in the August sun.</p> +<p>Beside the window, close to my face, was a small, +square loop-hole, doubtless once used for arquebus +fire. It tired me to lean on the window, so I contented +myself with lying back and turning my head, and I +could see quite as well through the loop-hole as from +the window. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></p> +<p>Lying there, watching the slow shadows crawling +out over the sidewalk, I had been for some minutes +thinking of my friend Mr. Buckhurst, when I heard +the young Countess stirring in the room behind me.</p> +<p>“You are not going to be a cripple?” she said, as I +turned my head.</p> +<p>“Oh no, indeed!” said I.</p> +<p>“Nor die?” she added, seriously.</p> +<p>“How could a man die with an angel straight from +heaven to guard him! Pardon, I am only grateful, +not impertinent.” I looked at her humbly, and she +looked at me without the slightest expression. +Oh, it was all very well for the Countess de Vassart +to tuck up her skirts and rake hay, and live with a +lot of half-crazy apostles, and throw her fortune to +the proletariat and her reputation to the dogs. She +could do it; she was Éline Cyprienne de Trécourt, +Countess de Vassart; and if her relatives didn’t like +her views, that was their affair; and if the Faubourg +Saint-Germain emitted moans, that concerned the +noble faubourg and not James Scarlett, a policeman +attached to a division of paid mercenaries.</p> +<p>Oh yes, it was all very well for the Countess de +Vassart to play at democracy with her unbalanced +friends, but it was also well for Americans to remember +that she was French, and that this was France, and +that in France a countess was a countess until she was +buried in the family vault, whether she had chosen to +live as a countess or as Doll Dairymaid.</p> +<p>The young girl looked at me curiously, studying +me with those exquisite gray eyes of hers. Pensive, +distraite, she sat there, the delicate contour of her head +outlined against the sunny window, which quivered +with the slow boom! boom! of the cannonade.</p> +<p>“Are you English, Monsieur Scarlett?” she asked, +quietly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>“American, madame.”</p> +<p>“And yet you take service under an emperor.”</p> +<p>“I have taken harder service than that.”</p> +<p>“Of necessity?”</p> +<p>“Yes, madame.”</p> +<p>She was silent.</p> +<p>“Would it amuse you to hear what I have been?” +I said, smiling.</p> +<p>“That is not the word,” she said, quietly. “To hear +of hardship helps one to understand the world.”</p> +<p>The cannonade had been growing so loud again +that it was with difficulty that we could make ourselves +audible to each other. The jar of the discharges +began to dislodge bits of glass and little triangular +pieces of plaster, and the solid walls of the tower shook +till even the mirror began to sway and the tarnished +gilt sconces to quiver in their sockets.</p> +<p>“I wish you were not in Morsbronn,” I said.</p> +<p>“I feel safer here in my own house than I should at +La Trappe,” she replied.</p> +<p>She was probably thinking of the dead Uhlan and +of poor Bazard; perhaps of the wretched exposure of +Buckhurst—the man she had trusted and who had +proved to be a swindler, and a murderous one at that.</p> +<p>Suddenly a shell fell into the court-yard opposite, +bursting immediately in a cloud of gravel which rained +against our turret like hail.</p> +<p>Stunned for an instant, the Countess stood there +motionless, her face turned towards the window. I +struggled to sit upright.</p> +<p>She looked calmly at me; the color came back into +her face, and in spite of my remonstrance she walked +to the window, closed the heavy outside shutters and +the blinds. As she was fastening them I heard the +whizzing quaver of another shell, the racket of its +explosion, the crash of plaster.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +<img src='images/illus-074.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 369px; height: 562px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 369px;'> +“A COMPANY OF TURCOS CAME UP”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div> +<p>“Where is the safest place for us to stay?” she asked. +Her voice was perfectly steady.</p> +<p>“In the cellar. I beg you to go at once.”</p> +<p>Bang! a shell blew up in a shower of slates and +knocked a chimney into a heap of bricks.</p> +<p>“Do you insist on staying by that loop-hole?” she +asked, without a quiver in her voice.</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” said I. “Will you go to the cellar?”</p> +<p>“No,” she said, shortly.</p> +<p>I saw her walk toward the rear of the room, hesitate, +sink down by the edge of the bed and lay her face in +the pillow.</p> +<p>Two shells burst with deafening reports in the street; +the young Countess covered her face with both hands. +Shell after shell came howling, whistling, whizzing into +the village; the two hussars had disappeared, but a +company of Turcos came up on a run and began to dig +a trench across the street a hundred yards west of our +turret.</p> +<p>How they made the picks and shovels fly! Shells +tore through the air over them, bursting on impact +with roof and chimney; the Turcos tucked up their +blue sleeves, spat on their hands, and dug away like +terriers, while their officers, smoking the eternal cigarette, +coolly examined the distant landscape through +their field-glasses.</p> +<p>Shells rained fast on Morsbronn; nearer and nearer +bellowed the guns; the plaster ceiling above my head +cracked and fell in thin flakes, filling the room with +an acrid, smarting dust. Again and again metal +fragments from shells rang out on the heavy walls of +our turret; a roof opposite sank in; flames flickered +up through clouds of dust; a heavy yellow smoke, +swarming with sparks, rolled past my window.</p> +<p>Down the street a dull sound grew into a steady roar; +the Turcos dropped pick and shovel and seized their rifles. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span></p> +<p>“Garde! Garde à vous!” rang their startled bugles; +the tumult increased to a swelling uproar, shouting, +cheering, the crash of shutters and of glass, and—</p> +<p>“The Prussians!” bellowed the captain. “Turcos—charge!”</p> +<p>His voice was lost; a yelling mass of soldiery burst +into view; spiked helmets and bayonets glittering +through the smoke, the Turcos were whirled about +like brilliant butterflies in a tornado; the fusillade +swelled to a stupefying din, exploding in one terrible +crash; and, wrapped in lightning, the Prussian onset +passed.</p> +<p>From the stairs below came the sound of a voiceless +struggle, the trample and panting and clicking of +steel, till of a sudden a voice burst out into a dreadful +screaming. A shot followed—silence—another shot—then +the stairs outside shook under the rush of mounting +men.</p> +<p>As the door burst open I felt a touch on my arm; +the Countess de Vassart stood erect and pale, one +slender, protecting hand resting lightly on my shoulder; +a lieutenant of Prussian infantry confronted us; +straight, heavy sword drawn, rigid, uncompromising, +in his faultless gray-and-black uniform, with its tight, +silver waist-sash.</p> +<p>“I do not have you thrown into the street,” he said +to me, in excellent French, “because there has been +no firing from the windows in this village. Otherwise—other +measures. Be at ease, madame, I shall +not harm your invalid.”</p> +<p>He glanced at me out of his near-sighted eyes, dropped +the point of his sword to the stone floor, and slowly +caressed his small, blond mustache.</p> +<p>“How many troops passed through here yesterday +morning?” he asked.</p> +<p>I was silent. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></p> +<p>“There was artillery, was there not?”</p> +<p>I only looked at him.</p> +<p>“Do you hear?” he repeated, sharply. “You are a +prisoner, and I am questioning you.”</p> +<p>“You have that useless privilege,” I observed.</p> +<p>“If you are insolent I will have you shot!” he retorted, +staring haughtily at me.</p> +<p>I glanced out of the window.</p> +<p>There was a pause; the hand of the Countess de +Vassart trembled on my shoulder.</p> +<p>Under the window strident Prussian bugles were +blowing a harsh summons; the young officer stepped +to the loop-hole and looked out, then hastily removed +his helmet and thrust his blond head through the +smoky aperture. “March those prisoners in below!” +he shouted down.</p> +<p>Then he withdrew his head, put on his polished +helmet of black leather, faced with the glittering Prussian +eagle, and tightened the gold-scaled cheek-guard.</p> +<p>A moment later came a trample of feet on the landing +outside, the door was flung open, and three prisoners +were brutally pushed into the room.</p> +<p>I tried to turn and look at them; they stood in the +dusk near the bed, but I could only make out that +one was a Turco, his jacket in rags, his canvas breeches +covered with mud.</p> +<p>Again the lieutenant came to the loop-hole and +glanced out, then shook his head, motioning the soldiers +back.</p> +<p>“It is too high and the arc of fire too limited,” he +said, shortly. “Detail four men to hold the stairs, +ten men and a sergeant in the room below, and you’d +better take your prisoners down there. Bayonet that +Turco tiger if he shows his teeth again. March!”</p> +<p>As the prisoners filed out I turned once more and +thought I recognized Salah Ben-Ahmed in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +dishevelled Turco, but could not be certain, so disfigured +and tattered the soldier appeared.</p> +<p>“Here, you hussar prisoner!” cried the lieutenant, +pointing at me with his white-gloved finger, “turn +your head and busy yourself with what concerns you. +And you, madame,” he added, pompously, “see that +you give us no trouble and stay in this room until +you have permission to leave.”</p> +<p>“Are—are you speaking to me, monsieur?” asked +the Countess, amazed. Then she rose, exasperated.</p> +<p>“Your insolence disgraces your uniform,” she said. +“Go to your French prisoners and learn the rudiments +of courtesy!”</p> +<p>The officer reddened to his colorless eyebrows; his +little, near-sighted eyes became stupid and fixed; he +smoothed the blond down on his upper lip with hesitating +fingers.</p> +<p>Suddenly he turned and marched out, slamming the +door violently behind him.</p> +<p>At this impudence the eyes of the Countess began +to sparkle, and an angry flush mounted to her cheeks.</p> +<p>“Madame,” said I, “he is only a German boy, unbalanced +by his own importance and his first battle. +But he will never forget this lesson; let him digest it +in his own manner.”</p> +<p>And he did, for presently there came a polite knock +at the door, and the lieutenant reappeared, bowing +rigidly, one hand on his sword-hilt, the other holding +his helmet by the gilt spike.</p> +<p>“Lieutenant von Eberbach present to apologize,” +he said, jerkily, red as a beet. “Begs permission to +take a half-dozen of wine; men very thirsty.”</p> +<p>“Lieutenant von Eberbach may take the wine,” +said the Countess, calmly.</p> +<p>“Rudeness without excuse!” muttered the boy; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +“beg the graciously well-born lady not to judge my +regiment or my country by it. Can Lieutenant von +Eberbach make amends?”</p> +<p>“The Lieutenant has made them,” said the Countess. +“The merciful treatment of French prisoners will +prove his sincerity.”</p> +<p>The lad made another rigid bow and got himself +out of the door with more or less dignity, and the Countess +drew a chair beside my sofa-chair and sat down, +eyes still bright with the cinders of a wrath I had never +suspected in her.</p> +<p>Together we looked down into the street.</p> +<p>Under the window the flat, high-pitched drums began +to rattle; deep voices shouted; the whole street undulated +with masses of gray-and-black uniforms, +moving forward through the smoke. A superb regimental +band began to play; the troops broke out into +heavy cheering.</p> +<p>“Vorwärts! Vorwärts!” came the steady commands. +The band passed with a dull flash of instruments; a +thousand brass helmet-spikes pricked the smoke; the +tread of the Prussian infantry shook the earth.</p> +<p>“The invasion has begun,” I said.</p> +<p>Her face was expressionless, save for the brightness +of her eyes.</p> +<p>And now another band sounded, playing “I Had +a Comrade!” and the whole street began to ring with +the noble marching-song of the coming regiment.</p> +<p>“Bavarian infantry,” I whispered, as the light-blue +columns wheeled around the curve and came swinging +up the street; for I could see the yellow crown on the +collars of their tunics, and the heavy leather helmets, +surmounted by chenille rolls.</p> +<p>Behind them trotted a squadron of Uhlans on their +dainty horses, under a canopy of little black-and-white +flags fluttering from the points of their lances. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></p> +<p>“Uhlans,” I murmured. I heard the faint click of +her teeth closing tightly.</p> +<p>Hussars in crimson tunics, armed with curious +weapons, half carbine, half pistol, followed the Uhlans, +filling the smoky street with a flood of gorgeous +color.</p> +<p>Suddenly a company of Saxon pioneers arrived on +the double-quick, halted, fell out, and began to break +down the locked doors of the houses on either side of +the street. At the same time Prussian infantry came +hurrying past, dragging behind them dozens of vehicles, +long hay-wagons, gardeners’ carts, heavy wheelbarrows, +even a dingy private carriage, with tarnished +lamps, rocking crazily on rusty springs.</p> +<p>The soldiers wheeled these wagons into a double line, +forming a complete chain across the street, where the +Turcos had commenced to dig their ditch and breastworks—a +barricade high enough to check a charge, +and cunningly arranged, too, for the wooden abatis +could not be seen from the eastern end of the street, +where a charge of French infantry or cavalry must +enter Morsbronn if it entered at all.</p> +<p>We watched the building of the barricade, fascinated. +Soldiers entered the houses on either side of the street, +only to reappear at the windows and thrust out helmeted +heads. More soldiers came, running heavily—the +road swarmed with them; some threw themselves flat +under the wagons, some knelt, thrusting their needle-guns +through the wheel-spokes; others remained standing, +rifles resting over the rails of the long, skeleton +hay-wagons.</p> +<p>“Something is going to happen,” I said, as a group +of smartly uniformed officers appeared on the roof of +the opposite house and hastily scrambled to the ridge-pole.</p> +<p>Something was surely going to happen; the officers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +were using their field-glasses and pointing excitedly +across the roof-tops; the windows of every house as +far as I could see were black with helmets; a regiment +in column came up on the double, halted, disintegrated, +melting away behind walls, into yards, doorways, gardens.</p> +<p>A colonel of infantry, splendidly mounted, drew bridle +under our loop-hole and looked up at the officers on +the roof across the way.</p> +<p>“Attention, you up there!” he shouted. “Is it infantry?”</p> +<p>“No!” bawled an officer, hollowed hand to his cheek. +“It’s their brigade of heavy cavalry coming like an +earthquake!”</p> +<p>“The cuirassiers!” I cried, electrified. “It’s Michel’s +cuirassiers, madame! And—oh, the barricade!” +I groaned, twisting my fingers in helpless rage. +“They’ll be caught in a trap; they’ll die like flies in +that street.”</p> +<p>“This is horrible!” muttered the girl. “Don’t they +know the street is blocked? Can’t they find out before +they ride into this ravine below us? Will they all be +killed here under our windows?”</p> +<p>She sprang to her feet, stood a moment, then stepped +swiftly forward into the angle of the tower.</p> +<p>“Look there!” she cried, in terror.</p> +<p>“Push my chair—quick!” I said. She dragged it +forward.</p> +<p>An old house across the street, which had been on +fire, had collapsed into a mere mound of slate, charred +beams, and plaster. Through the brown heat which +quivered above the ruins I could see out into the country. +And what I saw was a line of hills, crowned +with smoke, a rolling stretch of meadow below, set +here and there with shot-torn trees and hop-poles; and +over this uneven ground two regiments of French +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +cuirassiers and two squadrons of lancers moving slowly +forward as though on parade.</p> +<p>Above them, around them, clouds of smoke puffed +up suddenly and floated away—the shells from Prussian +batteries on the heights. Long, rippling crashes +broke out, belting the fields with smoky breastworks, +where a Prussian infantry regiment, knee-deep in +smoke, was firing on the advancing cavalry.</p> +<p>The cuirassiers moved on slowly, the sun a blinding +sheet of fire on their armor; now and then a horse +tossed his beautiful head, now and then a steel helmet +turned, flashing.</p> +<p>Grief-stricken, I groaned aloud: “Madame, there +rides the finest cavalry in the world!—to annihilation.”</p> +<p>How could I know that they were coming deliberately +to sacrifice themselves?—that they rode with death +heavy on their souls, knowing well there was no hope, +understanding that they were to die to save the fragments +of a beaten army?</p> +<p>Yet something of this I suspected, for already I +saw the long, dark Prussian lines overlapping the +French flank; I heard the French mitrailleuses rattling +through the cannon’s thunder, and I saw an entire +French division, which I did not then know to be +Lartigue’s, falling back across the hills.</p> +<p>And straight into the entire Prussian army rode +the “grosse cavallerie” and the lancers.</p> +<p>“They are doomed, like their fathers,” I muttered—“sons +of the cuirassiers of Waterloo. See what men +can do for France!”</p> +<p>The young Countess started and stood up very +straight.</p> +<p>“Look, madame!” I said, harshly—“look on the +men of France! You say you do not understand +the narrow love of country! Look!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span></p> +<p>“It is too pitiful, too horrible,” she said, hoarsely. +“How the horses fall in that meadow!”</p> +<p>“They will fall thicker than that in this street!”</p> +<p>“See!” she cried; “they have begun to gallop! +They are coming! Oh, I cannot look!—I—I cannot!”</p> +<p>Far away, a thin cry sounded above the cannon +din; the doomed cuirassiers were cheering. It was +the first charge they had ever made; nobody had ever +seen cavalry of their arm on any battle-field of Europe +since Waterloo.</p> +<p>Suddenly their long, straight blades shot into the +air, the cuirassiers broke into a furious gallop, and +that mass of steel-clad men burst straight down the +first slope of the plateau, through the Prussian infantry, +then wheeled and descended like a torrent on +Morsbronn.</p> +<p>In the first ranks galloped the giants of the Eighth +Cuirassiers, Colonel Guiot de la Rochere at their head; +the Ninth Cuirassiers thundered behind them; then +came the lancers under a torrent of red-and-white +pennons. Nothing stopped them, neither hedges nor +ditches nor fallen trees.</p> +<p>Their huge horses bounded forward, manes in the +wind, tails streaming, iron hoofs battering the shaking +earth; the steel-clad riders, sabres pointed to the front, +leaned forward in their saddles.</p> +<p>Now among the thicket of hop-vines long lines of +black arose; there was a flash, a belt of smoke, another +flash—then the metallic rattle of bullets on steel breastplates. +Entire ranks of cuirassiers went down in +the smoke of the Prussian rifles, the sinister clash +and crash of falling armor filled the air. Sheets of +lead poured into them; the rattle of empty scabbards +on stirrups, the metallic ringing of bullets on helmet +and cuirass, the rifle-shots, the roar of the shells +exploding swelled into a very hell of sound. And, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +above the infernal fracas rose the heavy cheering of +the doomed riders.</p> +<p>Into the deep, narrow street wheeled the horsemen, +choking road and sidewalk with their galloping squadrons, +a solid cataract of impetuous horses, a flashing +torrent of armored men—and then! Crash! the first +squadron dashed headlong against the barricade of +wagons and went down.</p> +<p>Into them tore the squadron behind, unable to stop +their maddened horses, and into these thundered squadron +after squadron, unconscious of the dead wall ahead.</p> +<p>In the terrible tumult and confusion, screaming +horses and shrieking men were piled in heaps, a human +whirlpool formed at the barricade, hurling bodily +from its centre horses and riders. Men galloped headlong +into each other, riders struggled knee to knee, +pushing, shouting, colliding.</p> +<p>Posted behind the upper and lower windows of the +houses, the Prussians shot into them, so close that +the flames from the rifles set the jackets of the cuirassiers +on fire: a German captain opened the shutters +of a window and fired his pistol at a cuirassier, who +replied with a sabre thrust through the window, transfixing +the German’s throat.</p> +<p>Then a horrible butchery of men and horses began; +the fusillade became so violent and the scene so sickening +that a Prussian lieutenant went crazy in the +house opposite, and flung himself from the window +into the mass of writhing horsemen. Tall cuirassiers, +in impotent fury, began slashing at the walls of the +houses, breaking their heavy sabres to splinters against +the stones; their powerful horses, white with foam, +reared, fell back, crushing their riders beneath them.</p> +<p>In front of the barricade a huge fellow reined in +his horse and turned, white-gloved hand raised, red +epaulets tossing.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +<img src='images/illus-084.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 537px; height: 382px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 537px;'> +“‘HALT! HALT!’ HE SHOUTED”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></div> +<p>“Halt! Halt!” he shouted. “Stop the lancers!” +And a trumpeter, disengaging himself from the frantic +chaos, set his long, silver trumpet to his lips and blew +the “Halt!”</p> +<p>A bullet rolled the trumpeter under his horse’s feet; +a volley riddled the other’s horse, and the agonized +animal reared and cleared the bristling abatis with a +single bound, his rider dropping dead among the hay-wagons.</p> +<p>Then into this awful struggle galloped the two +squadrons of the lancers. For a moment the street +swam under their fluttering red-and-white lance-pennons, +then a volley swept them—another—another—and +down they went.</p> +<p>Herds of riderless horses tore through the street; +the road undulated with crushed, quivering creatures +crawling about. Against the doorway of a house +opposite a noble horse in agony leaned with shaking +knees, head raised, lips shrinking back over his teeth.</p> +<p>Bewildered, stupefied, exhausted, the cuirassiers sat +in their saddles, staring up at the windows where +the Prussians stood and fired. Now and then one +would start as from a nightmare, turn his jaded horse, +and go limping away down the street. The road was +filled with horsemen, wandering helplessly about under +the rain of bullets. One, a mere boy, rode up to a +door, leaned from his horse and began to knock for +admittance; another dismounted and sat down on a +doorstep, head buried in his hands, regardless of the +bullets which tore the woodwork around him.</p> +<p>The street was still crowded with entrapped cuirassiers, +huddled in groups or riding up and down the +walls mechanically seeking shelter. A few of these, +dismounted, were wearily attempting to drag a heavy +cart away from the barricade; the Prussians shot +them, one at a time, but others came to help, and a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +few lancers aided them, and at length they managed +to drag a hay-wagon aside, giving a narrow passage +to the open country beyond. Instantly the Prussian +infantry swarmed out of the houses and into the street, +shouting, “Prisoners!” pushing, striking, and dragging +the exhausted cuirassiers from their saddles. +But contact with the enemy, hand to hand, seemed +to revive the fury of the armored riders. The débris +of the regiments closed up, long, straight sabres glittered, +trembling horses plunged forward, broke into a +stiff gallop, and passed through the infantry, through +the rent in the barricade, and staggered away across +the fields, buried in the smoke of a thousand rifles.</p> +<p>So rode the “Cuirassiers of Morsbronn,” the flower +of an empire’s chivalry, the elect of France. So rode +the gentlemen of the Sixth Lancers to shiver their +slender spears against stone walls—for the honor of +France.</p> +<p>Death led them. Death rode with them knee to knee. +Death alone halted them. But their shining souls +galloped on into that vast Valhalla where their ancestors +of Waterloo stood waiting, and the celestial trumpets +pealed a last “Dismount!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<a name='VI_THE_GAME_BEGINS' id='VI_THE_GAME_BEGINS'></a> +<h2>VI</h2> +<h3>THE GAME BEGINS</h3> +</div> +<p>The room in the turret was now swimming in +smoke and lime dust; I could scarcely see the +gray figure of the Countess through the powder-mist +which drifted in through shutters and loop-hole, dimming +the fading daylight.</p> +<p>In the street a dense pall of pungent vapor hung +over roof and pavement, motionless in the calm August +air; two houses were burning slowly, smothered in +smoke; through a ruddy fog I saw the dead lying +in mounds, the wounded moving feebly, the Prussian +soldiery tossing straw into the hay-carts that had +served their deadly purpose.</p> +<p>But oh, the dreadful murmur that filled the heavy +air, the tremulous, ceaseless plaint which comes from +strong, muscular creatures, tenacious of life, who are +dying and who die hard.</p> +<p>Helmeted figures swarmed through the smoke; +wagon after wagon, loaded deep with dead cavalrymen, +was drawn away by heavy teams of horses now +arriving from the regimental transport train, which +had come up and halted just at the entrance to the +village.</p> +<p>And now wagon-loads of French wounded began to +pass, jolting over crushed helmets, rifles, cuirasses, +and the carcasses of dead horses.</p> +<p>A covey of Uhlans entered the shambles, picking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +their way across the wreckage of the battle, a slim, +wiry, fastidious company, dainty as spurred gamecocks, +with their helmet-cords swinging like wattles +and their schapskas tilted rakishly.</p> +<p>Then the sad cortège of prisoners formed in the +smoke, the wounded leaning on their silent comrades, +bandaged heads hanging, the others erect, defiant, +supporting the crippled or standing with arms folded +and helmeted heads held high.</p> +<p>And at last they started, between two files of mounted +Uhlans—Turcos, line infantrymen, gendarmes, lancers, +and, towering head and shoulders above the +others, the superb cuirassiers.</p> +<p>A German general and his smartly uniformed staff +came clattering up the slippery street and halted to +watch the prisoners defile. And, as the first of the +captive cuirassiers came abreast of the staff, the general +stiffened in his saddle and raised his hand to his +helmet, saying to his officers, loud enough for me to +hear:</p> +<p>“Salute the brave, gentlemen!”</p> +<p>And the silent, calm-eyed cuirassiers passed on, +heads erect, uniforms in shreds, their battered armor +foul with smoke and mud, spurs broken, scabbards +empty.</p> +<p>Troops of captured horses, conducted by Uhlans, +followed the prisoners, then wagons piled high with +rifles, sabres, and saddles, then a company of Uhlans +cantering away with the shot-torn guidons of the +cuirassiers.</p> +<p>Last of all came the wounded in their straw-wadded +wagons, escorted by infantry; I heard them coming +before I saw them, and, sickened, I closed my ears with +my hands; yet even then the deep, monotonous groaning +seemed to fill the room and vibrate through the +falling shadows long after the last cart had creaked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +out of sight and hearing into the gathering haze of +evening.</p> +<p>The deadened booming of cannon still came steadily +from the west, and it needed no messenger to tell me +that the First Corps had been hurled back into Alsace, +and that MacMahon’s army was in full retreat; that +now the Rhine was open and the passage of the Vosges +was clear, and Strasbourg must stand siege and Belfort +and Toul must man their battlements for a struggle +that meant victory, or an Alsace doomed and a Lorraine +lost to France forever.</p> +<p>The room had grown very dark, the loop-hole admitting +but little of the smoky evening sunset. Some +soldiers in the hallway outside finally lighted torches; +red reflections danced over the torn ceiling and plaster-covered +floor, illuminating a corner where the Countess +was sitting by the bedside, her head lying on the +covers. How long she had been there I did not know, +but when I spoke she raised her head and answered +quietly.</p> +<p>In the torch-light her face was ghastly, her eyes red +and dim as she came over to me and looked out into +the darkness.</p> +<p>The woman was shaken terribly, shaken to the +very soul. She had not seen all that I had seen; she +had flinched before the spectacle of a butchery too +awful to look upon, but she had seen enough, and +she had heard enough to support or to confound theories +formed through a young girl’s brief, passionless, +eventless life.</p> +<p>Under the window soldiers began shooting the +crippled horses; the heavy flash and bang of rifles +set her trembling again.</p> +<p>Until the firing ceased she stood as though stupefied, +scarcely breathing, her splendid hair glistening like +molten copper in the red torches’ glare. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span></p> +<p>A soldier came into the room and dragged the bedclothes +from the bed, trailing them across the floor behind +him as he departed. An officer holding a lantern +peered through the door, his eye-glasses shining, his +boots in his hand.</p> +<p>He evidently had intended to get into the bed, but +when his gaze fell upon us he withdrew in his stockinged +feet.</p> +<p>On the stairs soldiers were eating hunches of stale +bread and knocking the necks from wine bottles with +their bayonets. One lumpish fellow came to the door +and offered me part of a sausage which he was devouring, +a kindly act that touched me, and I wondered +whether the other prisoners might find among their +Uhlan guards the same humanity that moved this +half-famished yokel to offer me the food he was gnawing.</p> +<p>Soldiers began to come and go in the room; some +carried off chairs for officers below some took the +pillows from the bed, one bore away a desk on his +broad shoulders.</p> +<p>The Countess never moved or spoke.</p> +<p>The evening had grown chilly; I was cold to my +knees.</p> +<p>A soldier offered to build me a fire in the great stone +fireplace behind me, and when I assented he calmly +smashed a chair to kindling-wood, wrenched off the +heavy posts of the bed, and started a fire which lit +up the wrecked room with its crimson glare.</p> +<p>The Countess rose and looked around. The soldier +pushed my long chair to the blaze, tore down the canopy +over the bed and flung it over me, stolidly ignoring my +protests. Then he clumped out with his muddy boots +and shut the door behind him.</p> +<p>For a long while I lay there, full in the heat of the +fire, half dozing, then sleeping, then suddenly alert, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +only to look about me to see the Countess with eyes +closed, motionless in her arm-chair, only to hear the +muffled thunder of the guns in the dark.</p> +<p>Once again, having slept, I roused, listening. The +crackle of the flames was all I heard; the cannon were +silent. A few moments later a clock in the hallway +struck nine times. At the same instant a deadened +cannon-shot echoed the clamor of the clock. It +was the last shot of the battle. And when the dull +reverberations had died away Alsace was a lost province, +MacMahon’s army was in full retreat, leaving +on the three battle-fields of Wörth, Reichshoffen, and +Fröschweiler sixteen thousand dead, wounded, and +missing soldiers of France.</p> +<p>All night long I heard cavalry traversing Morsbronn +in an unbroken column, the steady trample of their +horses never ceasing for an instant. At moments, +from the outskirts of the village, the sinister sound +of cheering came from the vanguard of the German +Sixth Corps, just arriving to learn of the awful disaster +to France. Too late to take any part in the battle, +these tired soldiers stood cheering by regiments as +the cavalry rode past in pursuit of the shattered army, +and their cheering swelled to a terrific roar toward +morning, when the Prince Royal of Prussia appeared +with his staff, and the soldiers in Morsbronn rushed +out into the street bellowing, “Hoch soll er leben! +Er soll leben—Hoch!”</p> +<p>About seven o’clock that morning a gaunt, leather-faced +Prussian officer, immaculate in his sombre uniform, +entered the room without knocking. The young +Countess turned in the depths of her chair; he bowed +to her slightly, unfolded a printed sheet of paper which +bore the arms of Prussia, hesitated, then said, looking +directly at me:</p> +<p>“Morsbronn is now German territory and will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +continue to be governed by military law, proclaimed under +the state of siege, until the country is properly pacified.</p> +<p>“Honest inhabitants will not be disturbed. Citizens +are invited to return to their homes and peacefully +continue their legitimate avocations, subject to and +under the guarantee of the Prussian military government.</p> +<p>“Monsieur, I have the honor to hand you a copy of +regulations. I am the provost marshal; all complaints +should be brought to me.”</p> +<p>I took the printed sheet and looked at the Prussian +coat of arms.</p> +<p>“A list of the inhabitants of Morsbronn will be made +to-day. You will have the goodness to declare yourself—and +you also, madame. There being other buildings +better fitted, no soldiers will be quartered in this +house.”</p> +<p>The officer evidently mistook me for the owner of +the house and not a prisoner. A blanket hid my hussar +trousers and boots; he could only see my ragged shirt.</p> +<p>“And now, madame,” he continued, “as monsieur +appears to need the services of a physician, I shall +send him a French doctor, brought in this morning +from the Château de la Trappe. I wish him to get +well; I wish the inhabitants of my district to return +to their homes and resume the interrupted régimes +which have made this province of Alsace so valuable +to France. I wish Morsbronn to prosper; I wish it +well. This is the German policy.</p> +<p>“But, monsieur, let me speak plainly. I tolerate +no treachery. The law is iron and will be applied +with rigor. An inhabitant of my district who deceives +me, or who commits an offence against the troops +under my command, or who in any manner holds, +or attempts to hold, communication with the enemy, +will be shot without court-martial.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></p> +<p>He turned his grim, inflexible face to the Countess +and bowed, then he bowed to me, swung squarely on +his heel, and walked to the door.</p> +<p>“Admit the French doctor,” he said to the soldier +on guard, and marched out, his curved sabre banging +behind his spurred heels.</p> +<p>“It must be Dr. Delmont!” I said, looking at the +Countess as there came a low knock at the door.</p> +<p>“I am very thankful!” she said, her voice almost +breaking. She rose unsteadily from her chair; somebody +entered the room behind me and I turned, calling +out, “Welcome, doctor!”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” replied the calm voice of John Buckhurst +at my elbow.</p> +<p>The Countess shrank aside as Buckhurst coolly +passed before her, turned his slim back to the embers +of the fire, and fixed his eyes on me—those pale, slow +eyes, passionless as death.</p> +<p>Here was a type of criminal I had never until recently +known. Small of hand and foot—too small +even for such a slender man—clean shaven, colorless +in hair, skin, lips, he challenged instant attention +by the very monotony of his bloodless symmetry. +There was nothing of positive evil in his face, nothing +of impulse, good or bad, nothing even superficially +human. His spotless linen, his neat sack-coat and +trousers of gray seemed part of him—like a loose outer +skin. There was in his ensemble nothing to disturb +the negative harmony, save perhaps an abnormal +flatness of the instep and hands.</p> +<p>“My friend,” he observed, in English, “do you think +you will know me again when you have finished your +scrutiny?”</p> +<p>The Countess, face averted, passed behind my chair.</p> +<p>“Wait,” said Buckhurst; and turning directly to +me, he added: “You were mistaken for a hussar at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +La Trappe; you were mistaken here for a hussar as +long as the squad holding this house remained in +Morsbronn. A few moments ago the provost mistook +you for a civilian.” He looked across at the Countess, +who already stood with her hand on the door-knob.</p> +<p>“If you disturb me,” he said, “I have only to tell +the provost the truth. Members of the Imperial Police +caught without proper uniform inside German lines +are shot, séance tenante.”</p> +<p>The Countess stood perfectly still a moment, then +came straight to me.</p> +<p>“Is that true?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said.</p> +<p>She still leaned forward, looking down into my +face. Then she turned to Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“Do you want money?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I want a chair—and your attention for the present,” +he replied, and seated himself.</p> +<p>The printed copy of the rules handed me by the +provost marshal lay on the floor. Buckhurst picked +up the sheet, glanced at the Prussian eagle, and +thoughtfully began rolling the paper into a grotesque +shape.</p> +<p>“Sit down, madame,” he said, without raising his +eyes from the bit of paper which he had now fashioned +into a cocked hat.</p> +<p>After a moment’s silent hesitation the Countess +drew a small gilt chair beside my sofa-chair and sat +down, and again that brave, unconscious gesture of +protection left her steady hand lying lightly on my arm.</p> +<p>Buckhurst noted the gesture. And all at once I +divined that whatever plan he had come to execute +had been suddenly changed. He looked down at the +paper in his hands, gave it a thoughtful twist, and, +drawing the ends out, produced a miniature paper +boat. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></p> +<p>“We are all in one like that,” he observed, holding +it up without apparent interest. He glanced at the +young Countess; her face was expressionless.</p> +<p>“Madame,” said Buckhurst, in his peculiarly soft +and persuasive voice, “I am not here to betray this +gentleman; I am not here even to justify myself. I +came here to make reparation, to ask your forgiveness, +madame, for the wrong I have done you, and to +deliver myself, if necessary, into the hands of the +proper French authorities in expiation of my misguided +zeal.”</p> +<p>The Countess was looking at him now; he fumbled +with the paper boat, gave it an unconscious twist, +and produced a tiny paper box.</p> +<p>“The cause,” he said, gently, “to which I have +devoted my life must not suffer through the mistake +of a fanatic; for in the cause of universal brotherhood +I am, perhaps, a fanatic, and to aid that cause I have +gravely compromised myself. I came here to expiate +that folly and to throw myself upon your mercy, +madame.”</p> +<p>“I do not exactly understand,” said I, “how you +can expiate a crime here.”</p> +<p>“I can at least make restitution,” he said, turning +the paper box over and over between his flat fingers.</p> +<p>“Have you brought me the diamonds which belong +to the state?” I inquired, amused.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, and to my astonishment he drew a +small leather pouch from his pocket and laid it on my +blanket-covered knees. “How many diamonds were +there?” he asked.</p> +<p>“One hundred and three,” I replied, incredulously, +and opened the leather pouch. Inside was a bag of +chamois-skin. This I stretched wide and emptied.</p> +<p>Scores of little balls of tissue-paper rolled out on the +blanket over my knees; I opened one; it contained a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +diamond; I opened another, another, and another; +diamonds lay blazing on my blanket, a whole handful, +glittering in undimmed splendor.</p> +<p>“Count them,” murmured Buckhurst, fashioning +the paper box into a fly-trap with a lid.</p> +<p>With a quick movement I swept them into my hands, +then one by one dropped the stones while I counted +aloud one hundred and two diamonds. The one hundred +and third jewel was, of course, safely in Paris.</p> +<p>When I had a second time finished the enumeration +I leaned back in my chair, utterly at a loss to account +for this man or for what he had done. As far as I +could see there was no logic in it, nothing demonstrated, +nothing proven. To me—and I am not either suspicious +or obstinate by nature—Buckhurst was still +an unrepentant thief and a dangerous one.</p> +<p>I could see in him absolutely nothing of the fanatic, +of the generous, feather-headed devotee, nothing of +the hasty disciple or the impulsive martyr. In my +eyes he continued to be the passionless master-criminal, +the cold, slow-eyed source of hidden evil, the designer +of an intricate and viewless intrigue against the state.</p> +<p>His head remained bent over the paper toy in his +hands. Was his hair gray with age or excesses, or +was it only colorless like the rest of his exterior?</p> +<p>“Restitution is not expiation,” he said, sadly, without +looking up. “I loved the cause; I love it still; +I practised deception, and I am here to ask this gentle +lady to forgive me for an unworthy yet unselfish use +of her money and her hospitality. If she can pardon +me I welcome whatever punishment may be meted +out.”</p> +<p>The Countess dropped her elbow on the arm of my +chair and rested her face in her hand.</p> +<p>“Swept away by my passion for the cause of universal +brotherhood,” said Buckhurst, in his low, caressing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +voice, “I ventured to spend this generous lady’s +money to carry the propaganda into the more violent +centres of socialism—into the clubs in Montmartre +and Belleville. There I urged non-resistance; I pleaded +moderation and patience. What I said helped a little, +I think—”</p> +<p>He hesitated, twisting his fly-box into a paper creature +with four legs.</p> +<p>“I was eager; people listened. I thought that if +I had a little more money I might carry on this work.... I could not come to you, madame—”</p> +<p>“Why not?” said the Countess, looking at him quickly. +“I have never refused you money!”</p> +<p>“No,” he said, “you never refused me. But I knew +that La Trappe was mortgaged, that even this house +in Morsbronn was loaded with debt. I knew, madame, +that in all the world you had left but one small roof +to cover you—the house in Morbihan, on Point Paradise. +I knew that if I asked for money you would sell Paradise,... and I could not ask so much,... I could +not bring myself to ask that sacrifice.”</p> +<p>“And so you stole the crucifix of Louis XI.,” I suggested, +pleasantly.</p> +<p>He did not look at me, but the Countess did.</p> +<p>“Bon,” I thought, watching Buckhurst’s deft fingers; +“he means to be taken back into grace. I wonder +exactly why? And ... is it worth this fortune in +diamonds to him to be pardoned by a penniless girl +whom he and his gang have already stripped?”</p> +<p>“Could you forgive me, madame?” murmured Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“Would you explain that stick of dynamite first?” +I interposed.</p> +<p>The Countess turned and looked directly at Buckhurst. +He sat with humble head bowed, nimbly constructing +a paper bird. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span></p> +<p>“That was not dynamite; it was concentrated phosphorus,” +he said, without resentment. “Naturally it +burned when you lighted it, but if you had not burned +it I could easily have shown Madame la Comtesse what +it really was.”</p> +<p>“I also,” said I, “if I had thrown it at your feet, +Mr. Buckhurst.”</p> +<p>“Do you not believe me?” he asked, meekly, looking +up at the Countess.</p> +<p>“Mr. Buckhurst,” said the young Countess, turning +to me, “has aided me for a long time in experiments. +We hoped to find some cheap method of restoring +nitrogen and phosphorus to the worn-out soil which +our poor peasants till. Why should you doubt that +he speaks the truth? At least he is guiltless of any +connection with the party which advocated violence.”</p> +<p>I looked at Buckhurst. He was engaged in constructing +a multi-pointed paper star. What else was +he busy with? Perhaps I might learn if I ceased to +manifest distrust.</p> +<p>“Does concentrated phosphorus burn like dynamite?” +I asked, as if with newly aroused interest.</p> +<p>“Did you not know it?” he said, warily.</p> +<p>But was he deceived by my manner? Was that +the way for me to learn anything?</p> +<p>There was perhaps another way. Clearly this extraordinary +man depended upon his persuasive eloquence +for his living, for the very shoes on his little, +flat feet, as do all such chevaliers of industry. If he +would only begin to argue, if I could only induce him +to try his eloquence on me, and if I could convince him +that I myself was but an ignorant, self-centred, bullet-headed +gendarme, doing my duty only because of perspective +advancement, ready perhaps to take bribes—perhaps +even weakly, covetously, credulous—well, +perhaps I might possibly learn why he desired to cling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +to this poor young lady, whose life had evidently gone +dreadfully to smash, to land her among such a coterie +of thieves and lunatics.</p> +<p>“Mr. Buckhurst,” I said, pompously, “in bringing +these diamonds to me you have certainly done all +in your power to repair an injury which concerned all +France.</p> +<p>“As I am situated, of course I cannot now ask you +to accompany me to Paris, where doubtless the proper +authorities would gladly admit extenuating circumstances, +and credit you with a sincere repentance. +But I put you on your honor to surrender at the first +opportunity.”</p> +<p>It was as stupidly trite a speech as I could think of.</p> +<p>Buckhurst glanced up at me. Was he taking my +measure anew, judging me from my bray?</p> +<p>“I could easily aid you to leave Morsbronn,” he +said, stealthily.</p> +<p>“O-ho,” thought I, “so you’re a German agent, too, +as I suspected.” But I said, aloud, simulating astonishment: +“Do you mean to say, Mr. Buckhurst, that +you would deliberately risk death to aid a police officer +to bring you before a military tribunal in Paris?”</p> +<p>“I do not desire to pose as a hero or a martyr,” he +said, quietly, “but I regret what I have done, and I +will do what an honest man can do to make the fullest +reparation—even if it means my death.”</p> +<p>I gazed at him in admiration—real admiration—because +the gross bathos he had just uttered betrayed a +weakness—vanity. Now I began to understand him; +vanity must also lead him to undervalue men. True, +with the faintest approach to eloquence he could no +doubt hold the “Clubs” of Belleville spellbound; with +self-effacing adroitness to cover stealthy persuasion, +he had probably found little difficulty in dominating +this inexperienced girl, who, touched to the soul with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +pity for human woe, had flung herself and her fortune +to the howling proletariat.</p> +<p>But that he should so serenely undervalue me at my +first bray was more than I hoped for. So I brayed +again, the good, old, sentimental bray, for which all +Gallic lungs are so marvellously fashioned:</p> +<p>“Monsieur, such sentiments honor you. I am +only a rough soldier of the Imperial Police, but I am +profoundly moved to find among the leaders of the +proletariat such delicate and chivalrous emotions—” I +hesitated. Was I buttering the sop too thickly?</p> +<p>Buckhurst, eyes bent on the floor, began picking +to pieces his paper toy. Presently he looked up, not +at me, but at the Countess, who sat with hands clasped +earnestly watching him.</p> +<p>“If—if the state pardons me, can ... you?” he +murmured.</p> +<p>She looked at him with intense earnestness. I saw +he was sailing on the wrong tack.</p> +<p>“I have nothing to pardon,” she said, gravely. +“But I must tell you the truth, Mr. Buckhurst, I cannot +forget what you have done. It was something—the +one thing that I cannot understand—that I can +never understand—something so absolutely alien to me +that it—somehow—leaves me stunned. Don’t ask me +to forget it.... I cannot. I do not mean to be harsh +and cruel, or to condemn you. Even if you had taken +the jewels from me, and had asked my forgiveness, +I would have given it freely. But I could not be as I +was, a comrade to you.”</p> +<p>There was a silence. The Countess, looking perfectly +miserable, still gazed at Buckhurst. He dropped +his gray, symmetrical head, yet I felt that he was listening +to every minute sound in the room.</p> +<p>“You must not care what I say,” she said. “I am +only an unhappy woman, unused to the liberty I have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +given myself, not yet habituated to the charity of those +blameless hearts which forgive everything! I am a +novice, groping my way into a new and vast world, a +limitless, generous, forgiving commune, where love +alone dominates.... And if I had lived among my +brothers long enough to be purged of those traditions +which I have drawn from generations, I might now be +noble enough and wise enough to say I do forgive and +forget that you—”</p> +<p>“That you were once a thief,” I ended, with the +genial officiousness of the hopelessly fat-minded.</p> +<p>In the stillness I heard Buckhurst draw in his breath—once. +Some day he would try to kill me for that; in +the mean time my crass stupidity was no longer a +question in his mind. I had hurt the Countess, too, +with what she must have believed a fool’s needless +brutality. But it had to be so if I played at Jaques +Bonhomme.</p> +<p>So I put the finishing whine to it—“Our Lord died +between two thieves”—and relapsed into virtuous contemplation +of my finger-tips.</p> +<p>“Madame,” said Buckhurst, in a low voice, “your +contempt of me is part of my penalty. I must endure +it. I shall not complain. But I shall try to live a life +that will at least show you my deep sincerity.”</p> +<p>“I do not doubt it,” said the Countess, earnestly. +“Don’t think that I mean to turn away from you or +to push you away. There is nothing of the Pharisee +in me. I would gladly trust you with what I have. +I will consult you and advise with you, Mr. Buckhurst—”</p> +<p>“And ... despise me.”</p> +<p>The unhappy Countess looked at me. It goes hard +with a woman when her guide and mentor falls.</p> +<p>“If you return to Paradise, in Morbihan,... as we +had planned, may I go,” he asked, humbly, “only as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +an obscure worker in the cause? I beg, madame, that +you will not cast me off.”</p> +<p>So he wanted to go to Morbihan—to the village of +Paradise? Why?</p> +<p>The Countess said: “I welcome all who care for the +cause. You will never hear an unkind word from me +if you desire to resume the work in Paradise. Dr. +Delmont will be there; Monsieur Tavernier also, I +hope; and they are older and wiser than I, and they +have reached that lofty serenity which is far above +my troubled mind. Ask them what you have asked +of me; they are equipped to answer you.”</p> +<p>It was time for another discord from me, so I said: +“Madame, you have seen a thousand men lay down +their lives for France. Has it not shaken your allegiance +to that ghost of patriotism which you call the +’Internationale’?”</p> +<p>Here was food for thought, or rather fodder for +asses—the Police Oracle turned missionary under the +nose of the most cunning criminal in France and the +vainest. Of course Buckhurst’s contempt for me at +once passed all bounds, and, secure in that contempt, +he felt it scarcely worth while to use his favorite +weapon—persuasion. Still, if the occasion should require +it, he was quite ready, I knew, to loose his eloquence +on the Countess, and on me too.</p> +<p>The Countess turned her troubled eyes to me.</p> +<p>“What I have seen, what I have thought since yesterday +has distressed me dreadfully,” she said. “I +have tried to include all the world in a broader pity, a +broader, higher, and less selfish love than the jealous, +single-minded love for one country—”</p> +<p>“The mother-land,” I said, and Buckhurst looked +up, adding, “The world is the true mother-land.”</p> +<p>Whereupon I appeared profoundly impressed at such +a novel and epigrammatic view. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></p> +<p>“There is much to be argued on both sides,” said +the young Countess, “but I am utterly unfitted to +struggle with this new code of ethics. If it had been +different—if I had been born among the poor, in +misery!—But you see I come a pilgrim among the +proletariat, clothed in conservatism, cloaked with tradition, +and if at heart I burn with sorrow for the miserable, +and if I gladly give what I have to help, I +cannot with a single gesture throw off those inherited +garments, though they tortured my body like the garment +of Nessus.”</p> +<p>I did not smile or respect her less for the stilted +phrases, the pathetic poverty of metaphor. Profoundly +troubled, struggling with a reserve the borders +of which she strove so bravely to cross, her distress +touched me the more because I knew it aroused the +uneasy contempt of Buckhurst. Yet I could not spare +her.</p> +<p>“You saw the cuirassiers die in the street below,” +I repeated, with the obstinacy of a limited intellect.</p> +<p>“Yes—and my heart went out to them,” she replied, +with an emphasis that pleased me and startled Buckhurst.</p> +<p>Buckhurst began to speak, but I cut him short.</p> +<p>“Then, madame, if your heart went out to the soldiers +of France, it went out to France, too!”</p> +<p>“Yes—to France,” she repeated, and I saw her lip +begin to quiver.</p> +<p>“Wherein does love for France conflict with our +creed, madame?” asked Buckhurst, gently. “It is +only hate that we abjure.”</p> +<p>She turned her gray eyes on him. “I will tell you: +in that dreadful moment when the cavalry of France +cheered Death in his own awful presence, I loved them +and their country—<i>my</i> country!—as I had never loved +in all my life.... And I hated, too! I hated the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +men who butchered them—more!—I hated the country +where the men came from; I hated race and country +and the blows they dealt, and the evil they wrought +on France—<i>my France</i>! That is the truth; and I +realize it!”</p> +<p>There was a silence; Buckhurst slowly unrolled the +wrinkled paper he had been fingering.</p> +<p>“And now?” he asked, simply.</p> +<p>“Now?” she repeated. “I don’t know—truly, I do +not know.” She turned to me sorrowfully. “I had +long since thought that my heart was clean of hate, +and now I don’t know.” And, to Buckhurst, again: +“Our creed teaches us that war is vile—a savage betrayal +of humanity by a few dominant minds; a dishonorable +ingratitude to God and country. But from +that window I saw men die for honor of France with +God’s name on their lips. I saw one superb cuirassier, +trapped down there in the street, sit still on his +horse, while they shot at him from every window, and +I heard him call up to a Prussian officer who had just +fired at him: ‘My friend, you waste powder; the heart +of France is cuirassed by a million more like me!’” +A rich flush touched her face; her gray eyes grew +brighter.</p> +<p>“Is there a Frenchwoman alive whose blood would +not stir at such a scene?” she said. “They shot him +through his armor, his breastplate was riddled, he +clung to his horse, always looking up at the riflemen, +and I heard the bullets drumming on his helmet and +his cuirass like hailstones on a tin roof, and I could +not look away. And all the while he was saying, quietly: +‘It is quite useless, friends; France lives! You +waste your powder!’ and I could not look away or +close my eyes—”</p> +<p>She bent her head, shivering, and her interlocked +fingers whitened. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></p> +<p>“I only know this,” she said: “I will give all I have—I +will give my poor self to help the advent of that +world-wide brotherhood which must efface national +frontiers and end all war in this sad world. But if +you ask me, in the presence of war, to look on with +impartiality, to watch my own country battling for +breath, to stop my ears when a wounded mother-land +is calling, to answer the supreme cry of France with +a passionless cry, ‘Repent!’ I cannot do it—I will not! +I was not born to!”</p> +<p>Deeply moved, she had risen, confronting Buckhurst, +whose stone-cold eyes were fixed on her.</p> +<p>“You say I hold you unworthy,” she said. “Others +may hold me, too, unworthy because I have not reached +that impartial equipoise whence, impassive, I can balance +my native land against its sins and watch blind +justice deal with it all unconcerned.</p> +<p>“In theory I have done it—oh, it is simple to teach +one’s soul in theory! But when my eyes saw my +own land blacken and shrivel like a green leaf in the +fire, and when with my own eyes I saw the best, the +noblest, the crown of my country’s chivalry fall rolling +in the mud of Morsbronn under the feet of Prussia, +every drop of blood in my body was French—hot and +red and French! And it is now; and it will always +be—as it has always been, though I did not understand.”</p> +<p>After a silence Buckhurst said: “All that may be, +madame, yet not impair your creed.”</p> +<p>“What!” she said, “does not hatred of the stranger +impair my creed?”</p> +<p>“It will die out and give place to reason.”</p> +<p>“When? When I attain the lofty, dispassionate +level I have never attained? That will not be while +this war endures.”</p> +<p>“Who knows?” said Buckhurst, gently. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span></p> +<p>“I know!” replied the Countess, the pale flames in +her cheeks deepening again.</p> +<p>“And yet,” observed Buckhurst, patiently, “you are +going to Paradise to work for the Internationale.”</p> +<p>“I shall try to do my work and love France,” she +said, steadily. “I cannot believe that one renders the +other impossible.”</p> +<p>“Yet,” said I, “if you teach the nation non-resistance, +what would become of the armies of France?”</p> +<p>“I shall not teach non-resistance until we are at +peace,” she said—“until there is not a German soldier +left in France. After that I shall teach acquiescence +and personal liberty.”</p> +<p>I looked at her very seriously; logic had no dwelling-place +within her tender and unhappy heart.</p> +<p>And what a hunting-ground was that heart for men +like Buckhurst! I could begin to read that mouse-colored +gentleman now, to follow, after a fashion, the +intricate policy which his insolent mind was shaping—shaping +in stealthy contempt for me and for this +young girl. Thus far I could divine the thoughts of +Mr. Buckhurst, but there were other matters to account +for. Why did he choose to spare my life when a word +would have sent me before the peloton of execution? +Why had he brought to me the fortune in diamonds +which he had stolen? Why did he eat humble-pie +before a young girl from whom he and his companions +had wrung the last penny? Why did he desire to go +to Morbihan and be received among the elect in the +Breton village of Paradise?</p> +<p>I said, abruptly: “So you are not going to denounce +me to the Prussian provost?”</p> +<p>He lifted his well-shaped head and gazed at the +Countess with an admirable pathos which seemed a +mute appeal for protection from brutality.</p> +<p>“That question is a needless one,” said the Countess, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +quietly. “It was a cruel one, also, Monsieur Scarlett.”</p> +<p>“I did not mean it as an offensive question,” said I. +“I was merely reciting a fact, most creditable to Mr. +Buckhurst. Mon Dieu, madame, I am an officer of +Imperial Police, and I have lived to hear blunt questions +and blunter answers. And if it be true that +Monsieur Buckhurst desires to atone for—for what +has happened, then it is perfectly proper for me, even +as a prisoner myself, to speak plainly.”</p> +<p>I meant this time to thoroughly convince Buckhurst +of my ability to gabble platitude. My desire that he +should view me as a typical gendarme was intense.</p> +<p>So I coughed solemnly behind my hand, knit my +eyebrows, and laid one finger alongside of my nose.</p> +<p>“Is it not my duty, as a guardian of national interests, +to point out to Mr. Buckhurst his honest errors? +Certainly it is, madame, and this is the proper time.”</p> +<p>Turning pompously to Buckhurst, I fancied I could +almost detect a sneer on that inexpressive mask he +wore—at least I hoped I could, and I said, heavily:</p> +<p>“Monsieur, for a number of years there has passed +under our eyes here in France certain strange phenomena. +Thousands of Frenchmen have, so to speak, +separated themselves from the rest of the nation.</p> +<p>“All the sentiments that the nation honors itself +by professing these other Frenchmen rebuke—the love +of country, public spirit, accord between citizens, social +repose, and respect for communal law and order—these +other Frenchmen regard as the hallucinations +of a nation of dupes.</p> +<p>“Separated by such unfortunate ideas from the nation +within whose boundaries they live, they continue +to abuse, even to threaten, the society and the country +which gives them shelter.</p> +<p>“France is only a name to them; they were born there, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +they live there, they derive their nourishment from her +without gratitude. But France is nothing to them; +<i>their mother-land is the Internationale</i>!”</p> +<p>I was certain now that the shadow of a sneer had +settled in the corners of Buckhurst’s thin lips.</p> +<p>“I do not speak of anarchists or of terrorists,” I +continued, nodding as though profoundly impressed +by my own sagacity. “I speak of socialists—that +dangerous society to which the cry of Karl Marx was +addressed with the warning, ‘Socialists! Unite!’</p> +<p>“The government has reason to fear socialism, not +anarchy, for it will never happen in France, where the +passion for individual property is so general, that a +doctrine of brutal destruction could have the slightest +chance of success.</p> +<p>“But wait, here is the point, Monsieur Buckhurst. +Formerly the name of ’terrorist’ was a shock to the +entire civilized world; it evoked the spectres of a year +that the world can never forget. And so our modern +reformers, modestly desiring to evade the inconveniences +of such memories among the people, call themselves +the ’Internationale.’ Listen to them; they are +adroit, they blame and rebuke violence, they condemn +anarchy, they would not lay their hands on public or +individual property—no, indeed!</p> +<p>“Ah, madame, but you should hear them in their +own clubs, where the ladies and gentlemen of the gutters, +the barriers, and the abattoirs discuss ‘individual +property,’ ’the tyranny of capital,’ and similar subjects +which no doubt they are peculiarly fitted to discuss.</p> +<p>“Believe me, madame, the little coterie which you +represent is already the dupe and victim of this +terrible Internationale. Their leaders work their will +through you; a vast conspiracy against all social +peace is spread through your honest works of mercy. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +The time is coming when the whole world will rise to +combat this Internationale; and when the mask is +dragged from its benignant visage, there, grinning behind, +will appear the same old ’Spectre Rouge,’ torch +in one hand, gun in the other, squatting behind a +barricade of paving-blocks.”</p> +<p>I wagged my head dolefully.</p> +<p>“I could not have rested had I not warned Mr. Buckhurst +of this,” I said, sentimentally.</p> +<p>Which was fairly well done, considering that I was +figuratively lamenting over the innocence of the most +accomplished scoundrel that ever sat in the supreme +council of the Internationale.</p> +<p>Buckhurst looked thoughtfully at the floor.</p> +<p>“If I thought,” he murmured—“if I believed for one +instant—”</p> +<p>“Believe me, my dear sir,” I said, “that you are +playing into the hands of the wickedest villains on +earth!”</p> +<p>“Your earnestness almost converts me,” he said, +lifting his stealthy eyes.</p> +<p>The Countess appeared weary and perplexed.</p> +<p>“At all events,” she said, “we must do nothing to +embarrass France now; we must do nothing until this +frightful war is ended.”</p> +<p>After a silence Buckhurst said, “But you will go to +Paradise, madame?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied the Countess, listlessly.</p> +<p>Now, what in Heaven’s name attracted that rogue +to Paradise?</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +<a name='VII_A_STRUGGLE_FORESHADOWED' id='VII_A_STRUGGLE_FORESHADOWED'></a> +<h2>VII</h2> +<h3>A STRUGGLE FORESHADOWED</h3> +</div> +<p>I took my breakfast by the window, watching the +German soldiery cleaning up Morsbronn. For that +wonderful Teutonic administrative mania was already +manifesting itself while ruined houses still smoked; +method replaced chaos, order marched on the heels of +the Prussian rear-guard, which enveloped Morsbronn in +a whirlwind of Uhlans, and left it a silent, blackened +landmark in the August sunshine.</p> +<p>Soldiers in canvas fatigue-dress, wearing soft, round, +visorless caps, were removing the débris of the fatal +barricade; soldiers with shovel and hoe filled in the +trenches and raked the long, winding street clean of +all litter; soldiers with trowel and mortar were perched +on shot-torn houses, mending chimneys and slated +roofs so that their officers might enjoy immunity from +rain and wind and defective flues.</p> +<p>In the court-yards and stables I could see cavalrymen +in stable-jackets, whitewashing walls and out-buildings +and ill-smelling stalls, while others dug shovelfuls +of slaked lime from wheelbarrows and spread +it through stable-yards and dirty alleys. Everywhere +quiet, method, order, prompt precision reigned; +I even noticed a big, red-fisted artilleryman tying up +tall, blue larkspurs, dahlias, and phlox in a trampled +garden, and he touched the ragged masses of bloom +with a tenderness peculiar to a flower-loving and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +sentimental people, whose ultimate ambition is a quart of +beer, a radish, and a green leaf overhead.</p> +<p>At the corners of the walls and blind alleys, placards +in French and German were posted, embodying +regulations governing the village under Prussian +military rule. The few inhabitants of Morsbronn +who had remained in cellars during the bombardment +shuffled up to read these notices, or to loiter stupidly, +gaping at the Prussian eagles surmounting the +posters.</p> +<p>A soldier came in and started the fire in my fireplace. +When he went out I drew my code-book from +my breeches-pocket and tossed it into the fire. After +it followed my commission, my memoranda, and every +scrap of writing. The diamonds I placed in the bosom +of my flannel shirt.</p> +<p>Toward one o’clock I heard the shrill piping of a +goat-herd, and I saw him, a pallid boy, clumping along +in his wooden shoes behind his two nanny-goats, while +the German soldiers, peasants themselves, looked after +him with curious sympathy.</p> +<p>A little later a small herd of cattle passed, driven to +pasture by a stolid Alsatian, who replied to the soldiers’ +questions in German patois and shrugged his heavy +shoulders like a Frenchman.</p> +<p>A cock crowed occasionally from some near dunghill; +once I saw a cat serenely following the course of +a stucco wall, calm, perfectly self-composed, ignoring +the blandishments of the German soldiers, who called, +“Komm mitz! mitz!” and held out bits of sausage +and black bread.</p> +<p>A German ambulance surgeon arrived to see me in +the afternoon. The Countess was busy somewhere +with Buckhurst, who had come with news for her, and +the German surgeon’s sharp double rap at the door +did not bring her, so I called out, “Entrez donc!” and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +he stalked in, removing his fatigue-cap, which action +distinguished him from his brother officers.</p> +<p>He was a tall, well-built man, perfectly uniformed +in his double-breasted frocked tunic, blue-eyed, blond-bearded, +and immaculate of hand and face, a fine type +of man and a credit to any army.</p> +<p>After a brief examination he sat down and resumed +a very bad cigar, which had been smouldering between +his carefully kept fingers.</p> +<p>“Do you know,” he said, admiringly, “that I have +never before seen just such a wound. The spinal column +is not even grazed, and if, as I understand from +you, you suffered temporarily from complete paralysis +of the body below your waist, the case is not only interesting +but even remarkable.”</p> +<p>“Is the superficial lesion at all serious?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Not at all. As far as I can see the blow from the +bullet temporarily paralyzed the spinal cord. There +is no fracture, no depression. I do not see why you +should not walk if you desire to.”</p> +<p>“When? Now?”</p> +<p>“Try it,” he said, briefly.</p> +<p>I tried. Apart from a certain muscular weakness +and a great fatigue, I found it quite possible to stand, +even to move a few steps. Then I sat down again, +and was glad to do so.</p> +<p>The doctor was looking at my legs rather grimly, +and it suddenly flashed on me that I had dropped my +blanket and he had noticed my hussar’s trousers.</p> +<p>“So,” he said, “you are a military prisoner? I understood +from the provost marshal that you were a +civilian.”</p> +<p>As he spoke Buckhurst appeared at the door, and +then sauntered in, quietly greeting the surgeon, who +looked around at the sound of his footsteps on the stone +floor. There was no longer a vestige of doubt in my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +mind that Buckhurst was a German agent, or at least +that the Germans <i>believed</i> him to be in their pay. And +doubtless he was in their pay, but to whom he was +faithful nobody could know with any certainty.</p> +<p>“How is our patient, doctor?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Convalescent,” replied the doctor, shortly, as though +not exactly relishing the easy familiarity of this pale-eyed +gentleman in gray.</p> +<p>“Can he travel to-day?” inquired Buckhurst, without +apparent interest.</p> +<p>“Before he travels,” said the officer, “it might be +well to find out why he wears part of a hussar uniform.”</p> +<p>“I’ve explained that to the provost,” observed Buckhurst, +examining his well-kept finger-nails. “And I +have a pass for him also—if he is in a fit condition to +travel.”</p> +<p>The officer gave him a glance full of frank dislike, +adjusted his sabre, pulled on his white gloves, and, +bowing very slightly to me, marched straight out of +the room and down the stairs without taking any notice +of Buckhurst. The latter looked after the officer, then +his indifferent eyes returned to me. Presently he sat +down and produced a small slip of paper, which he very +carefully twisted into a cocked hat.</p> +<p>“I suppose you doubt my loyalty to France,” he +said, intent on his bit of paper.</p> +<p>Then, logically continuing my rôle of the morning, +I began to upbraid him for a traitor and swear that I +would not owe my salvation to him, and all the while +he was calmly transforming his paper from one toy +into another between deft, flat fingers.</p> +<p>“You are unjust and a trifle stupid,” he said. “I +am paid by Prussia for information which I never give. +But I have the entre of their lines. I do it for the sake +of the Internationale. The Internationale has a few +people in its service ... <i>And it pays them well</i>.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>He looked squarely at me as he said this. I almost +trembled with delight: the man undervalued me, he +had taken me at my own figure, and now, holding me +in absolute contempt, he was going to begin on me.</p> +<p>“Scarlett,” he said, “what does the government pay +you?”</p> +<p>I began to protest in a torrent of patriotism and sentimentality. +He watched me impassively while I called +Heaven to witness and proclaimed my loyalty to France, +ending through sheer breathlessness in a maundering, +tearful apotheosis where mixed metaphors jostled each +other—the government, the Emperor, and the French +flag, consecrated in blood—and finally, calling his attention +to the fact that twenty centuries had once looked +down on this same banner, I collapsed in my chair and +gave him his chance.</p> +<p>He took it. With subtle flattery he recognized in me +a powerful arm of a corrupt Empire, which Empire he +likened to the old man who rode Sindbad the Sailor. +He admitted my noble loyalty to France, pointing out, +however, that devotion to the Empire was not devotion +to France, but the contrary. Skilfully he pictured the +unprepared armies of the Empire, huddled along the +frontier, seized and rent to fragments, one by one; +adroitly he painted the inevitable ending, the armies +that remained cut off and beaten in detail.</p> +<p>And as I listened I freely admitted to myself that I +had undervalued him; that he was no crude Belleville +orator, no sentimental bathos-peddling reformer, no +sansculotte with brains ablaze, squalling for indiscriminate +slaughter and pillage; he was a cool student +in crime, taking no chances that he was not forced to +take, a calm, adroit, methodical observer, who had established +a theory and was carefully engaged in proving +it.</p> +<p>“Scarlett,” he said, in English, “let us come to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +point. I am a mercenary American; you are an American +mercenary, paid by the French government. You +care nothing for that government or for the country; +you would drop both to-day if your pay ceased. You +and I are outsiders; we are in the world to watch our +chances. And our chance is here.”</p> +<p>He unfolded the creased bit of paper and spread it +out on his knees, smoothing it thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“What do I care for the Internationale?” he asked, +blandly. “I am high in its councils; Karl Marx knows +less about the Internationale than do I. As for Prussia +and France—bah!—it’s a dog-fight to me, and I lack +even the interest to bet on the German bull-dog.</p> +<p>“You will know me better some day, and when you +do you will know that I am a man who has determined +to get rich if I have to set half of France against the +other half and sack every bank in the Empire.</p> +<p>“And now the time is coming when the richest city +in Europe will be put to the sack. You don’t believe +it? Yet you shall live to see Paris besieged, and you +shall live to see Paris surrender, and you shall live to +see the Internationale rise up from nowhere, seize the +government by the throat, and choke it to death under +the red flag of universal—ahem!... license”—the +faintest sneer came into his pallid face—“and every +city of France shall be a commune, and we shall pass +from city to city, leisurely, under the law—<i>our</i> laws, +which we will make—and I pity the man among us +who cannot place his millions in the banks of England +and America!”</p> +<p>He began to worry the creased bit of paper again, +stealthy eyes on the floor.</p> +<p>“The revolt is as certain as death itself,” he said. +“The Society of the Internationale honeycombs Europe—your +police archives show you that—and I tell you +that, of the two hundred thousand soldiers of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +national guard in Paris to-day, ninety per cent. are ours—<i>ours</i>, +soul and body. You don’t believe it? Wait!</p> +<p>“Yet, for a moment, suppose I am right? Where +are the government forces? Who can stop us from +working our will? Not the fragments of beaten and +exhausted armies! Not the thousands of prisoners +which you will see sent into captivity across the Rhine! +What has the government to lean on—a government +discredited, impotent, beaten! What in the world can +prevent a change, an uprising, a revolution? Why, +even if there were no such thing as the Internationale +and its secret Central Committee—to which I have the +honor to belong”—and here his sneer was frightful—“I +tell you that before a conquering German army +had recrossed the Rhine this land of chattering apes +would be tearing one another for very want of a universal +scape-goat.</p> +<p>“But that is exactly where we come into the affair. +We find the popular scape-goat and point him out—the +government, my friend. And all we have to do is +to let the mob loose, stand back, and count profits.”</p> +<p>He leaned forward in his chair, idly twisting his +crumpled bit of paper in one hand.</p> +<p>“I am not fool enough to believe that our reign will +last,” he said. “It may last a month, two months, +perhaps three. Then we leaders will be at one another’s +throats—and the game is up! It’s always so—mob +rule can’t last—it never has lasted and never will. But +the prudent man will make hay before the brief sunshine +is ended; I expect to economize a little, and set +aside enough—well, enough to make it pay, you see.”</p> +<p>He looked up at me quietly.</p> +<p>“I am perfectly willing to tell you this, even if you +used your approaching liberty to alarm the entire country, +from the Emperor to the most obscure scullion in +the Tuileries. Nothing can stop us now, nothing in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +the world can prevent our brief reign. Because these +things are certain, the armies of France will be beaten—they +are already beaten. Paris will hold out; Paris +will fall; and with Paris down goes France! And as +sure as the sun shall rise on a conquered people, so +sure shall rise that red spectre we call the Internationale.”</p> +<p>The man astonished me. He put into words a +prophecy which had haunted me from the day that +war was declared—a prophetic fear which had haunted +men higher up in the service of the Empire—thinking +men who knew what war meant to a country whose +government was as rotten as its army was unprepared, +whose political chiefs were as vain, incompetent, ignorant, +and weak as were the chiefs of its brave army—an +army riddled with politics, weakened by intrigue +and neglect—an army used ignobly, perverted, cheated, +lied to, betrayed, abandoned.</p> +<p>That, for once, Buckhurst spoke the truth as he +foresaw it, I did not question. That he was right in +his infernal calculations, I was fearsomely persuaded. +And now the game had advanced, and I must display +what cards I had, or pretended to have.</p> +<p>“Are you trying to bribe me?” I blurted out, weakly.</p> +<p>“Bribe you,” he repeated, in contempt. “No. If +the prospect does not please you, I have only to say +a word to the provost marshal.”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t that injure your prospects with the Countess?” +I said, with fat-brained cunning. “You cannot +betray me and hope for her friendship.”</p> +<p>He glanced up at me, measured my mental capacity, +then nodded.</p> +<p>“I can’t force you that way,” he admitted.</p> +<p>“He’s bound to get to Paradise. Why?” I wondered, +and said, aloud:</p> +<p>“What do you want of me?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>“I want immunity from the secret police, Mr. Scarlett.”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“Wherever I may be.”</p> +<p>“In Morbihan?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“In Paradise?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>I was silent for a moment, then, looking him in the +eye, “What do I gain?”</p> +<p>Ah, the cat was out now. Buckhurst did not move, +but I saw the muscles of his face relax, and he drew a +deep, noiseless breath.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, coolly, “you may keep those diamonds, +for one thing.”</p> +<p>Presently I said, “And for the next thing?”</p> +<p>“You are high-priced, Mr. Scarlett,” he observed.</p> +<p>“Oh, very,” I said, with that offensive, swaggering +menace in my voice which is peculiar to the weak +criminal the world over.</p> +<p>So I asserted myself and scowled at him and told +him I was no fool and taunted him with my importance +to his schemes and said I was not born yesterday, +and that if Paris was to be divided I knew what part +I wanted and meant to stand no nonsense from him +or anybody.</p> +<p>All of which justified the opinion he had already +formed of me, and justified something else, too—his +faith in his own eloquence, logic, and powers of persuasion. +Not that I meant to make his mistake and +undervalue him; he was an intelligent, capable, remarkable +criminal—with the one failing—an overconfident +contempt of <i>all</i> men.</p> +<p>“There is one thing I want to ask you,” said I. +“Why do you desire to go to Paradise?”</p> +<p>He did not answer me at once, and I studied his +passionless profile as he gazed out of the window. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></p> +<p>“Well,” he said, slowly, “I shall not tell you.”</p> +<p>“Why not?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“—But I’ll say this,” he continued. “I want you to +come to Paradise with me and that fool of a woman. +I want you to report to your government that you are +watching the house in Paradise, and that you are +hoping to catch me there.”</p> +<p>“How can I do that?” I asked. “As soon as the +government catches the Countess de Vassart she will +be sent across the frontier.”</p> +<p>“Not if you inform your government that you desire +to use her and the others as a bait to draw me to Paradise.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s it, is it?” I asked, thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Buckhurst, “that’s it.”</p> +<p>“And you do not desire to inform me why you are +going to stay in Paradise?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you think you’ll be clever enough to find +out?” he asked, with a sneer.</p> +<p>I did think so; more than that, I let him see that +I thought so, and he was contented with my conceit.</p> +<p>“One thing more,” I said, blustering a little, “I want +to know whether you mean any harm to that innocent +girl?”</p> +<p>“Who? The Countess? What do you mean? Harm +her? Do you think I waste my thoughts on that little +fool? She is not a factor in anything—except that +just now I’m using her and mean to use her house in +Paradise.”</p> +<p>“Haven’t you stripped her of every cent she has?” +I asked. “What do you want of her now?” And I +added something about respect due to women.</p> +<p>“Oh yes, of course,” he said, with a vague glance at +the street below. “You need not worry; nobody’s +going to hurt her—” He suddenly shifted his eyes to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +me. “You haven’t taken a fancy to her, have you?” +he asked, in faint disgust.</p> +<p>I saw that he thought me weak enough for any sentiment, +even a noble one.</p> +<p>“If you think it pays,” he muttered, “marry her and +beat her, for all I care; but don’t play loose with me, my +friend; as a plain matter of business it won’t pay you.”</p> +<p>“Is that a threat?” I asked, in the bullying tone of a +born coward.</p> +<p>“No, not a threat, a plain matter of profit and loss, +a simple business proposition. For, suppose you betray +me—and, by a miracle, live to boast of it? What +is your reward? A colonelcy in the Military Police +with a few thousand francs salary, and, in your old +age, a pension which might permit you to eat meat +twice a week. Against that, balance what I offer—free +play in a helpless city, and no one to hinder you +from salting away as many millions as you can carry +off!”</p> +<p>Presently I said, weakly, “And what, once more, is +the service you ask of me?”</p> +<p>“I ask you to notify the government that you are +watching Paradise, that you do not arrest the Countess +and Dr. Delmont because you desire to use them as a +bait to catch me.”</p> +<p>“Is that all?”</p> +<p>“That is all. We will start for Paris together; I +shall leave you before we get there. But I’ll see you +later in Paradise.”</p> +<p>“You refuse to tell me why you wish to stay at the +house in Paradise?”</p> +<p>“Yes,... I refuse. And, by-the-way, the Countess +is to think that I have presented myself in Paris and +that the government has pardoned me.”</p> +<p>“You are willing to believe that I will not have you +arrested?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span></p> +<p>“I don’t ask you to promise. If you are fool enough +to try it—try it! But I’m not going to give you the +chance in Paris—only in Paradise.”</p> +<p>“You don’t require my word of honor?”</p> +<p>“Word of—what? Well—no;... it’s a form I can +dispense with.”</p> +<p>“But how can you protect yourself?”</p> +<p>“If all the protection I had was a ’word of honor,’ +I’d be in a different business, my friend.”</p> +<p>“And you are willing to risk me, and you are perfectly +capable of taking care of yourself?”</p> +<p>“I think so,” he said, quietly.</p> +<p>“Trusting to my common-sense as a business man +not to be fool enough to cut my own throat by cutting +yours?” I persisted.</p> +<p>“Exactly, and trusting to a few other circumstances, +the details of which I beg permission to keep to myself,” +he said, with a faint sneer.</p> +<p>He rose and walked to the window; at the same moment +I heard the sound of wheels below.</p> +<p>“I believe that is our carriage,” he said. “Are you +ready to start, Mr. Scarlett?”</p> +<p>“Now?” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Why not? I’m not in the habit of dawdling over +anything. Come, sir, there is nothing very serious +the matter with you, is there?”</p> +<p>I said nothing; he knew, of course, the exact state of +the wound I had received, that the superficial injury +was of no account, that the shock had left me sound +as a silver franc though a trifle weak in the hips and +knees.</p> +<p>“Is the Countess de Vassart to go with us?” I asked, +trying to find a reason for these events which were +succeeding one another too quickly to suit me.</p> +<p>He gave me an absent-minded nod; a moment later +the Countess entered. She had mended her black +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +crêpe gown where I tore it when I hung in the shadow +of death under the battlements of La Trappe. She +wore black gloves, a trifle shabby, and carried a worn +satchel in her hands.</p> +<p>Buckhurst aided me to rise, the Countess threw my +hussar jacket over my shoulders and buttoned it; I +felt the touch of her cool, little fingers on my hot, unshaved +throat.</p> +<p>“I congratulate you on your convalescence,” she +said, in a low voice. “Lean on me, monsieur.”</p> +<p>My head swam; hips and knees were without +strength; she aided me down the stairway and out +into the pale sunshine, where stood the same mud-splashed, +rusty vehicle which had brought us hither +from La Trappe.</p> +<p>The Countess had only a satchel and a valise; Buckhurst’s +luggage comprised a long, flat, steel-bound box, +a satchel, and a parcel. I had nothing. My baggage, +which I had left in Morsbronn, had without doubt +been confiscated long since; my field-glasses, sabre, +and revolver were gone; I had only what clothes I +was wearing—a dirty, ragged, gray-blue flannel shirt, +my muddy jacket, scarlet riding-breeches, and officer’s +boots. But in one of the hip-pockets of my breeches +I carried a fortune in diamonds.</p> +<p>As I stood beside the carriage, wondering how I +was going to get in, I felt an arm slip under my neck +and another slide gently under my knees, and Buckhurst +lifted me. Beneath the loose, gray coat-sleeves +his bent arms were rigid as steel; his supple frame +straightened; he moved a step forward and laid me +on the shabby cushions.</p> +<p>The Countess looked at me, turned and glanced up +at her smoke-blackened house, where a dozen Prussian +soldiers leaned from the lower windows smoking their +long porcelain pipes and the provost marshal stood in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +the doorway, helmeted, spurred, immaculate from golden +cheek-guard to the glittering tip of his silver scabbard. +An Uhlan, dismounted, stood on guard below the steps, +his lance at a “present,” the black-and-white swallow-tailed +pennon drooping from the steel point.</p> +<p>The Countess bent her pretty head under its small +black hat; the provost’s white-gloved hand flew to his +helmet peak.</p> +<p>“Fear nothing, madame,” he said, pompously. +“Your house and its contents are safe until you return. +This village is now German soil.”</p> +<p>The Countess looked at him steadily, gravely.</p> +<p>“I thank you, monsieur, but frontiers are not changed +in a day.”</p> +<p>But she was mistaken. Alsace henceforth must +be written Elsass, and the devastated province called +Lothringen was never again to be written Lorraine.</p> +<p>The Countess stepped into the carriage and took her +place beside me; Buckhurst followed, seating himself +opposite us, and the Alsatian driver mounted to the +box.</p> +<p>“Your safe-conduct carries you to the French outposts +at Saverne,” said the provost, dryly. “If there +are no longer French outposts at Saverne, you may +demand a visé for your pass and continue south to +Strasbourg.”</p> +<p>Buckhurst half turned towards the driver. “Allez,” +he said, quietly, and the two gaunt horses moved on.</p> +<p>There was a chill in the white sunshine—the first +touch of autumn. Not a trace of the summer’s balm +remained in the air; every tree on the mountain outlines +stood out sharp-cut in the crystalline light; the +swift little streams that followed the road ran clear +above autumn-brown pebbles and golden sands.</p> +<p>Distant beachwoods were turning yellow; yellow +gorse lay like patches of sunshine on the foot-hills; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +oceans of yellow grain belted the terraced vineyards. +Here and there long, velvety, black strips cut the green +and gold, the trail of fire which had scarred the grain +belts; here and there pillars of smoke floated, dominating +blue woodlands, where the flames of exploding +shells had set the forest afire.</p> +<p>Already from the plateau I could see a streak of +silver reflecting the intense blue sky—the Rhine, upon +whose westward cliffs France had mounted guard but +yesterday.</p> +<p>And now the Rhine was lost, and the vast granite +bastions of the Vosges looked out upon a sea of German +forests. Above the Col du Pigeonnier the semaphore +still glistened, but its signals now travelled eastward, +and strange flags fluttered on its invisible halliards. +And every bridge was guarded by helmeted men who +halted us, and every tunnel was barred by mounted +Uhlans who crossed their lances to the ominous shout: +“Wer da? On ne basse bas!” The Vosges were literally +crawling with armed men!</p> +<p>Driving slowly along the base of the hills, I had +glimpses of rocky defiles which pierced the mountain +wall; and through every defile poured infantry +and artillery in unbroken columns, and over every +mountain pass streamed endless files of horsemen. +Railroad tunnels were choked with slowly moving +trains piled high with artillery; viaducts glistened +with helmets all moving westward; every hillock, every +crag, every height had its group of tiny dark dots or +its solitary Uhlan.</p> +<p>Very far away I heard cannon—so far away that the +hum of the cannonade was no louder than the panting +of our horses on the white hill-road, and I could hear +it only when the carriage stopped at intervals.</p> +<p>“Do we take the railroad at Saverne?” I asked at +last. “Is there a railroad there?”</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a> +<img src='images/illus-124.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 543px; height: 379px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 543px;'> +“EVERY BRIDGE WAS GUARDED”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div> +<p>Buckhurst looked up at me. “It is rather strange +that a French officer should not know the railroads in +his own country,” he said.</p> +<p>I was silent. I was not the only officer whose shame +was his ignorance of the country he had sworn to defend. +Long before the war broke out, every German +regimental officer, commissioned and non-commissioned, +carried a better map of France than could be found in +France itself. And the French government had issued +to us a few wretched charts of Germany, badly printed, +full of gross errors, one or two maps to a regiment, +and a few scattered about among the corps headquarters—among +officers who did not even know the general +topography of their own side of the Rhine.</p> +<p>“Is there a railroad at Saverne?” I repeated, sullenly.</p> +<p>“You will take a train at Strasbourg,” replied Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“And then?”</p> +<p>“And then you go to Avricourt,” he said. “I suppose +at least you know where that is?”</p> +<p>“It is on the route to Paris,” said I, keeping my +temper. “Are we going direct to Paris?”</p> +<p>“Madame de Vassart desires to go there,” he said, +glancing at her with a sort of sneaking deference which +he now assumed in her presence.</p> +<p>“It is true,” said the Countess, turning to me. “I +wish to rest for a little while before I go to Point Paradise. +I am curiously tired of poverty, Monsieur Scarlett,” +she added, and held out her shabby gloves with +a gesture of despair; “I am reduced to very little—I +have scarcely anything left,... and I am weak +enough to long for the scent of the winter violets on +the boulevards.”</p> +<p>With a faint smile she touched the bright hair above +her brow, where the wind had flung a gleaming tendril +over her black veil. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></p> +<p>As I looked at her, I marvelled that she had found +it possible to forsake all that was fair and lovely in +life, to dare ignore caste, to deliberately face ridicule +and insult and the scornful anger of her own kind, +for the sake of the filthy scum festering in the sinkholes +of the world.</p> +<p>There are brave priests who go among lepers, there +are brave missionaries who dispute with the devil over +the souls of half-apes in the Dark Continent. Under +the Cross they do the duty they were bred to.</p> +<p>But she was bred to other things. Her lungs were +never made to breathe the polluted atmosphere of the +proletariat, yelping and slavering in their kennels; +her strait young soul was never born for communion +with the crooked souls of social pariahs, with the +stunted and warped intelligence of fanatics, with the +crippled but fierce minds which dominated the Internationale.</p> +<p>Not that such contact could ever taint her; but it +might break her heart one day.</p> +<p>“You will think me very weak and cowardly to +seek shelter and comfort at such a time,” she said, +raising her gray eyes to me. “But I feel as though all +my strength had slipped away from me. I mean to +go back to my work; I only need a few days of quiet +among familiar scenes—pleasant scenes that I knew +when I was young. I think that if I could only see +a single care-free face—only one among all those who—who +once seemed to love me—”</p> +<p>She turned her head quickly and stared out at the +tall pines which fringed the dusty road.</p> +<p>Buckhurst blinked at her.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was late in the afternoon when the last Prussian +outpost hailed us. I had been asleep for hours, but +was awakened by the clatter of horses, and I opened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +my eyes to see a dozen Uhlans come cantering up +and surround our carriage.</p> +<p>After a long discussion with Buckhurst and a rigid +scrutiny of our permit to pass the lines, the slim officer +in command viséd the order. One of the troopers tied +a white handkerchief to his lance-tip, wheeled his wiry +horse, and, followed by a trumpeter, trotted off ahead +of us. Our carriage creaked after them, slowly moving +to the summit of a hill over which the road rose.</p> +<p>Presently, very far away on the gray-green hill-side, +I saw a bit of white move. The Uhlan flourished his +lance from which the handkerchief fluttered; the trumpeter +set his trumpet to his lips and blew the parley.</p> +<p>One minute, two, three, ten passed. Then, distant +galloping sounded along the road, nearer, nearer; +three horsemen suddenly wheeled into view ahead—French +dragoons, advancing at a solid gallop. The +Uhlan with the flag spurred forward to meet them, +saluted, wheeled his horse, and came back.</p> +<p>Paid mercenary that I was, my heart began to beat +very fast at sight of those French troopers with their +steel helmets bound with leopard-hide and their horsehair +plumes whipping the breeze, and their sun-bronzed, +alert faces and pleasant eyes. I had had enough of +the supercilious, near-sighted eyes of the Teuton.</p> +<p>As for the young Countess, she sat there smiling, +while the clumsy dragoons came rattling up, beaming +at my red riding-breeches, and all saluting the Countess +with a cheerful yet respectful swagger that touched +me deeply as I noted the lines of hunger in their lean +jaws.</p> +<p>And now the brief ceremony was over and our rusty +vehicle moved off down the hill, while the Uhlans turned +bridle and clattered off, scattering showers of muddy +gravel in the rising wind.</p> +<p>The remains of our luncheon lay in a basket under +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +our seat—plenty of bread and beef, and nearly a quart +of red wine.</p> +<p>“Call the escort—they are starving,” I said to Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“I think not,” he said, coolly. “I may eat again.”</p> +<p>“Call the escort!” I repeated, sharply.</p> +<p>Buckhurst looked up at me in silence, then glanced +warily at the Countess.</p> +<p>A few moments later the gaunt dragoons were munching +dry bread as they rode, passing the bottle from +saddle to saddle.</p> +<p>We were ascending another hill; the Countess, anxious +to stretch her limbs, had descended to the road, +and now walked ahead, one hand holding her hat, +which the ever-freshening wind threatened.</p> +<p>Buckhurst bent towards me and said: “My friend, +your suggestion that we deprive ourselves to feed those +cavalrymen was a trifle peremptory in tone. I am +wondering how much your tone will change when we +reach Paris.”</p> +<p>“You will see,” said I.</p> +<p>“Oh, of course I’ll see,” he said,... “and so will +you.”</p> +<p>“I thought you had means to protect yourself,” I +observed.</p> +<p>“I have. Besides, I think you would rather keep +those diamonds than give them up for the pleasure of +playing me false.”</p> +<p>I laughed in a mean manner, which reassured him. +“Look here,” said I, “if I were to make trouble for +you in Paris I’d be the most besotted fool in France, +and you know it.”</p> +<p>He nodded.</p> +<p>And so I should have been. For there was something +vastly more important to do than to arrest John Buckhurst +for theft; and before I suffered a hair of his sleek, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +gray head to come to harm I’d have hung myself for a +hopeless idiot. Oh no; my friend John Buckhurst had +such colossal irons in the fire that I knew it would take +many more men as strong as he to lift them out again. +And I meant to know what those irons were for, and +who were the gentlemen to aid him lift them. So not +only must Buckhurst remain free as a lively black +cricket in a bog, but he must not be frightened if I could +help it.</p> +<p>And to that end I leered at him knowingly, and +presently bestowed a fatuous wink upon him.</p> +<p>It was unpleasant for me to do this, for it implied that +I was his creature; and, in spite of the remorseless requirements +of my profession, I have an inborn hatred +of falsehood in any shape. To lie in the line of duty +is one of the disagreeable necessities of certain professions; +and mine is not the only one nor the least +respectable. The art of war is to deceive; strategy +is the art of demonstrating falsehood plausibly; there +is nothing respectable in the military profession except +the manual—which is now losing importance in the +eyes of advanced theorists. All men are liars—a few +are unselfish ones.</p> +<p>“You have given me your word of honor,” said +Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“Have I?” I had not, and he knew it. I hoped I +might not be forced to.</p> +<p>“Haven’t you?” asked Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“You sneered at my word of honor,” I said, with all +the spite of a coward; “now you don’t get it.”</p> +<p>He no longer wanted it, but all he said was: “Don’t +take unnecessary offence; you’re smart enough to +know when you’re well off.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I dozed towards sunset, waking when the Countess +stepped back into the carriage and seated herself by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +my side. Then, after a little, I slept again. And it +was nearly dark when I was awakened by the startling +whistle of a locomotive. The carriage appeared to be +moving slowly between tall rows of poplars and telegraph-poles; +a battery of artillery was clanking along +just ahead. In the dark southern sky a luminous haze +hung.</p> +<p>“The lights of Strasbourg,” whispered the Countess, +as I sat up, rubbing my hot eyes.</p> +<p>I looked for Buckhurst; his place was empty.</p> +<p>“Mr. Buckhurst left us at the railroad crossing,” +she said.</p> +<p>“Left us!”</p> +<p>“Yes! He boarded a train loaded with wounded.... +He had business to transact in Colmar before +he presented himself to the authorities in Paris.... +And we are to go by way of Avricourt.”</p> +<p>So Buckhurst had already begun to execute his +programme. But the abrupt, infernal precision of the +man jarred me unpleasantly.</p> +<p>In the dark I felt cautiously for my diamonds; they +were safe in my left hip-pocket.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The wind had died out, and a fine rain began to filter +down through a mist which lay over the flat plain as +we entered the suburbs of Strasbourg.</p> +<p>Again and again we were halted by sentinels, then +permitted to proceed in the darkness, along deserted +avenues lighted by gas-jets burning in tall bronze +lamp-posts through a halo of iridescent fog.</p> +<p>We passed deserted suburban villas, blank stretches +of stucco walls enclosing gardens, patches of cabbages, +thickets of hop-poles to which the drenched vines clung +fantastically, and scores of abandoned houses, shutters +locked, blinds drawn.</p> +<p>High to the east the ramparts of the city loomed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +set at regular distances with electric lights; from the +invisible citadel rockets were rising, spraying the fog +with jewelled flakes, crumbling to golden powder in the +starless void above.</p> +<p>Presently our carriage stopped before a tremendous +mass of masonry pierced by an iron, arched gate, +through which double files of farm-wagons were rolling, +escorted by customs guards and marines.</p> +<p>“No room! no room!” shouted the soldiers. “This +is the Porte de Pierre. Go to the Porte de Saverne!”</p> +<p>So we passed on beneath the bastions, skirting the +ramparts to the Porte de Saverne, where, after a harangue, +the gate guards admitted us, and we entered +Strasbourg in the midst of a crush of vehicles. At the +railroad station hundreds of cars choked the tracks; +loaded freight trains stalled in the confusion, trains +piled with ammunition and provisions, trains crowded +with horses and cattle and sheep, filling the air +with melancholy plaints; locomotives backing and +whistling, locomotives blowing off deafening blasts of +steam; gongs sounding, bells ringing, station-masters’ +trumpets blowing; and, above all, the immense clamor +of human voices.</p> +<p>The Countess and our Alsatian driver helped me +to the platform, I looked around with dread at the +throng, being too weak to battle for a foothold; but the +brave Alsatian elbowed a path for me, and the Countess +warded off the plunging human cattle, and at length +I found myself beside the cars where line-soldiers stood +guard at every ten paces and gendarmes stalked about, +shoving the frantic people into double files.</p> +<p>“Last train for Paris!” bawled an official in gilt and +blue; and to the anxious question of the Countess +he shook his head, saying, “There is no room, madame; +it is utterly impossible—pardon, I cannot discuss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +anything now; the Prussians are signalled at Ostwald, +and their shells may fall here at any moment.”</p> +<p>“If that is so,” I said, “this lady cannot stay here!”</p> +<p>“I can’t help that!” he shouted, starting off down the +platform.</p> +<p>I caught the sleeve of a captain of gendarmerie who +was running to enter a first-class compartment.</p> +<p>“Eh—what do you want, monsieur?” he snapped, +in surprise. Then, as I made him a sign, he regarded +me with amazement. I had given the distress signal +of the secret police.</p> +<p>“Try to make room for this lady in your compartment,” +I said.</p> +<p>“Willingly, monsieur. Hasten, madame; the train is +already moving!” and he tore open the compartment +door and swung the Countess to the car platform.</p> +<p>I suppose she thought I was to follow, for when the +officer slammed the compartment door she stepped to +the window and tried to open it.</p> +<p>“Quick!” she cried to the guard, who had just locked +the door; “help that officer in! He is wounded—can’t +you see he is wounded?”</p> +<p>The train was gliding along the asphalt platform; +I hobbled beside the locked compartment, where she +stood at the window.</p> +<p>“Will you unlock that door?” said the Countess to +the guard. “I wish to leave the train!”</p> +<p>The cars were rolling a little faster than I could move +along.</p> +<p>The Countess leaned from the open window; through +the driving rain her face in the lamp-light was pitifully +white. I made a last effort and caught up with her car.</p> +<p>“A safe journey, madame,” I stammered, catching +at the hand she held out and brushing the shabby-gloved +fingers with my lips.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_7' id='linki_7'></a> +<img src='images/illus-132.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 365px; height: 543px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 365px;'> +“SISTERS OF CHARITY WERE GIVING FIRST AID”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span></div> +<p>“I shall never forgive this wanton self-sacrifice,” +she said, unsteadily. Then the car rolled silently past +me, swifter, swifter, and her white face faded from my +sight. Yet still I stood there, bareheaded, in the rain, +while the twin red lamps on the rear car grew smaller +and smaller, until they, too, were shut out in the closing +curtains of the fog.</p> +<p>As I turned away into the lighted station a hospital +train from the north glided into the yard and stopped. +Soldiers immediately started carrying out the wounded +and placing them in rows on mattresses ranged along +the walls of the passenger depot; sisters of charity, +hovering over the mutilated creatures, were already +giving first aid to the injured; policemen kept the crowd +from trampling the dead and dying; gendarmes began +to clear the platforms, calling out sharply, “No more +trains to-night! Move on! This platform is for government +officials only!”</p> +<p>Through the scrambling mob a file of wounded tottered, +escorted by police; women were forced back and +pushed out into the street, only to be again menaced by +galloping military ambulances arriving, accompanied +by hussars. The confusion grew into a tumult; men +struggled and elbowed for a passage to the platforms, +women sobbed and cried; through the uproar the treble +wail of terrified children broke out.</p> +<p>Jostled, shoved, pulled this way and that, I felt that +I was destined to go down under the people’s feet, and +I don’t know what would have become of me had not a +violent push sent me against the door of the telegraph +office. The door gave way, and I fell on my knees, +staggered to my feet, and crept out once more to the +platform.</p> +<p>The station-master passed, a haggard gentleman +in rumpled uniform and gilt cap; and as he left the +office by the outer door the heavy explosion of a rampart +cannon shook the station. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p> +<p>“Can you get me to Paris?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Quick, then,” he muttered; “this way—lean on me, +monsieur! I am trying to send another train out—but +Heaven alone knows! Quick, this way!”</p> +<p>The glare of a locomotive’s headlight dazzled me; +I made towards it, clinging to the arm of the station-master; +the ground under my feet rocked with the +shock of the siege-guns. Suddenly a shell fell and +burst in the yard outside; there was a cry, a rush of +trainmen, a gendarme shouting; then the piercing +alarm notes of locomotives, squealing like terrified +leviathans.</p> +<p>The train drawn up along the platform gave a jerk +and immediately moved out towards the open country, +compartment doors swinging wide, trainmen and +guards running alongside, followed by a mob of frenzied +passengers, who leaped into empty compartments, +flinging satchels and rugs to the four winds. Crash! +A shell fell through the sloping roof of the platform +and blew up. Through the white cloud and brilliant +glare I saw a porter, wheeling boxes and trunks, fall, +buried under an avalanche of baggage, and a sister of +charity throw up her arms as though to shield her face +from the fragments.</p> +<p>A car, doors swinging wide, glided past me; I caught +the rail and fell forward into a compartment. The +cushions of the seats were afire, and a policeman was +hammering out the sparks with naked fists.</p> +<p>I was too weak to aid him. Presently he hurled the +last burning cushion from the open door and leaped +out into the train-yard, where red and green lamps +glowed and the brilliant flare of bursting shells lighted +the fog. By this time the train was moving swiftly; +the car windows shook with the thunder from the ramparts +under which we were passing; then came inky +darkness—a tunnel—then a rush of mist and wind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +from the open door as we swept out into the country.</p> +<p>Passengers clinging to the platforms now made their +way into the compartment where I lay almost senseless, +and soon the little place was crowded, and somebody +slammed the door.</p> +<p>Then the flying locomotive, far ahead, shrieked, +and the train leaped, rushing forward into the unknown. +Blackness, stupefying blackness, outside; inside, unseen, +the huddled passengers, breathing heavily with +sudden stifled sobs, or the choked, indrawn breath of +terror; but not a word, not a quaver of human voices; +peril strangled speech as our black train flew onward +through the night.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +<a name='VIII_A_MAN_TO_LET' id='VIII_A_MAN_TO_LET'></a> +<h2>VIII</h2> +<h3>A MAN TO LET</h3> +</div> +<p>The train which bore me out of the arc of the +Prussian fire at Strasbourg passed in between the +fortifications of Paris the next morning about eleven +o’clock. Ten minutes later I was in a closed cab on +my way to the headquarters of the Imperial Military +Police, temporarily housed in the Luxembourg Palace.</p> +<p>The day was magnificent; sunshine flooded the +boulevards, and a few chestnut-trees in the squares +had already begun to blossom for the second time in +the season; there seemed to be no prophecy of autumn +in sky or sunlight.</p> +<p>The city, as I saw it from the open window of my cab, +appeared to be in a perfectly normal condition. There +were, perhaps, a few more national-guard soldiers on +the streets, a few more brightly colored posters, notices, +and placards on the dead walls, but the life of the city +itself had not changed at all; the usual crowds filled +the boulevards, the usual street cries sounded, the +same middle-aged gentlemen sat in front of the cafés +reading the same daily papers, the same waiters served +them the same drinks; rows of cabs were drawn up +where cabs are always to be found, and the same policemen +dawdled in gossip with the same flower-girls. +I caught the scent of early winter violets in the fresh +Parisian breeze.</p> +<p>Was this the city that Buckhurst looked upon as +already doomed? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span></p> +<p>On the marble bridge gardeners were closing up the +morning flower-market; blue-bloused men with jointed +hose sprinkled the asphalt in front of the Palais de Justice; +students strolled under the trees from the School +of Medicine to the Sorbonne; the Luxembourg fountain +tossed its sparkling sheets of spray among the lotus.</p> +<p>All this I saw, yet a sinister foreboding oppressed +me, and I could not shake it off even in this bright +city where September was promising only a new lease +of summer and the white spikes of chestnut blossoms +hummed with eager bees.</p> +<p>Physically I felt well enough; the cramped sleep in +the dark compartment, far from exhausting me, had +not only rested me, but had also brought me an appetite +which I meant to satisfy as soon as might be. As for +my back, it was simply uncomfortable, but all effects +of the shock had disappeared—unless this heavy mental +depression was due to it.</p> +<p>My cab was now entering the Palace of the Luxembourg +by the great arch facing the Rue de Tournon; +the line sentinels halted us; I left the cab, crossed the +parade in front of the guard-house, turned to the right, +and climbed the stairs straight to my own quarters, +which were in the west wing of the palace, and consisted +of a bedroom, a working cabinet, and a dressing-room.</p> +<p>But I did not enter my door or even glance at it; I +continued straight on, down the corridor to a door, +on the ground-glass panes of which was printed in +red lettering:</p> +<table summary='sign' style='padding: 0 15px; border:none; border:1px solid black'> +<tr><td><p style='text-align:center; color:black'> +HEADQUARTERS<br /> +IMPERIAL MILITARY POLICE<br /> +SAFE DEPOSIT</p> +</td></tr> +</table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></div> +<p>The sentinel interrogated me for form’s sake, although +he knew me; I entered, passed rapidly along the face +of the steel cage behind which some officers sat on high +stools, writing, and presented myself at the guichet +marked, “Foreign Division.”</p> +<p>There was no military clerk in attendance there, and, +to my surprise, the guichet was closed.</p> +<p>However, a very elegant officer strolled up to the +guichet as I laid my bag of diamonds on the glass shelf, +languidly unlocked the steel window-gate, and picked +up the bag of jewels.</p> +<p>The officer was Mornac, the Emperor’s alter ego, or +âme damnée, who had taken over the entire department +the very day I left Paris for the frontier. Officially, I +could not recognize him until I presented myself to +Colonel Jarras with my report; so I saluted his uniform, +standing at attention in my filthy clothes, awaiting +the usual question and receipt.</p> +<p>“Name and number?” inquired Mornac, indolently.</p> +<p>I gave both.</p> +<p>“You desire to declare?”</p> +<p>I enumerated the diamonds, and designated them as +those lately stolen from the crucifix of Louis XI.</p> +<p>Mornac handed me a printed certificate of deposit, +opened a compartment in the safe, and tossed in the +bag without sealing it. And, as I stood waiting, he +lighted a scented cigarette, glanced over at me, puffed +once or twice, and finally dismissed me with a discourteous +nod.</p> +<p>I went, because he was Mornac; I thought that I +was entitled to a bureau receipt, but could scarcely +demand one from the chief of the entire department +who had taken over the bureau solely in order to reform +it, root and branch. Doubtless his curt dismissal of +me without the customary receipt and his failure to +seal the bag were two of his reforms. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></p> +<p>I limped off past the glittering steel cage, thankful +that the jewels were safe, turned into the corridor, and +hastened back to my own rooms.</p> +<p>To tear off my rags, bathe, shave, and dress in a light +suit of civilian clothes took me longer than usual, for +I was a trifle lame.</p> +<p>Bath and clean clothes ought to have cheered me; +but the contrary was the case, and I sat down to a +breakfast brought by a palace servant, and ate it +gloomily, thinking of Buckhurst, and the Countess, +and of Morsbronn, and of the muddy dead lying under +the rifle smoke below my turret window.</p> +<p>I thought, too, of that astonishing conspiracy which +had formed under the very shadow of the imperial +throne, and through which already the crucifix and +diamonds of Louis XI. had been so nearly lost to France.</p> +<p>Who besides Buckhurst was involved? How far had +Colonel Jarras gone in the investigation during my +absence? How close to the imperial throne had the +conspiracy burrowed?</p> +<p>Pondering, I slowly retraced my steps through the +bedroom and dressing-room, and out into the tiled hallway, +where, at the end of the dim corridor, the door +of Colonel Jarras’s bureau stood partly open.</p> +<p>Jarras was sitting at his desk as I entered, and he +gave me a leaden-eyed stare as I closed the door behind +me and stood at attention.</p> +<p>For a moment he said nothing, but presently he partly +turned his ponderous body towards me and motioned +me to a chair.</p> +<p>As I sat down I glanced around and saw my old +comrade, Speed, sitting in a dark corner, chewing a +cigarette and watching me in alert silence.</p> +<p>“You are present to report?” suggested Colonel +Jarras, heavily.</p> +<p>I bowed, glancing across at Speed, who shrugged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +his shoulders and looked at the floor with an ominous +smile.</p> +<p>Mystified, I began my report, but was immediately +stopped by Jarras with a peevish gesture: “All right, +all right; keep all that for the Chief of Department. +Your report doesn’t concern me.”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t concern you!” I repeated; “are you not +chief of this bureau, Colonel Jarras?”</p> +<p>“No,” snapped Jarras; “and there’s no bureau +now—at least no bureau for the Foreign Division.”</p> +<p>Speed leaned forward and said: “Scarlett, my friend, +the Foreign Division of the Imperial Military Police +is not in favor just now. It appears the Foreign Division +is suspected.”</p> +<p>“Suspected? Of what?”</p> +<p>“Treason, I suppose,” said Speed, serenely.</p> +<p>I felt my face begin to burn, but the astonishing +news left me speechless.</p> +<p>“I said,” observed Speed, “that the Foreign Division +is suspected; that is not exactly the case; it is not suspected, +simply because it has been abolished.”</p> +<p>“Who the devil did that?” I asked, savagely.</p> +<p>“Mornac.”</p> +<p>Mornac! The Emperor’s shadow! Then truly +enough it was all up with the Foreign Division. But +the shame of it!—the disgrace of as faithful a body +of police, mercenaries though they were, as ever worked +for any cause, good or bad.</p> +<p>“So it’s the old whine of treason again, is it?” I said, +while the blood beat in my temples. “Oh, very well, +doubtless Monsieur Mornac knows his business. Are +we transferred, Speed, or just kicked out into the +street?”</p> +<p>“Kicked out,” replied Speed, rubbing his slim, bony +hands together.</p> +<p>“And you, sir?” I asked, turning to Jarras, who sat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +with his fat, round head buried in his shoulders, staring +at the discolored blotter on his desk.</p> +<p>The old Corsican straightened as though stung: +“Since when, monsieur, have subordinates assumed +the right to question their superiors?”</p> +<p>I asked his pardon in a low voice, although I was +no longer his subordinate. He had been a good and +loyal chief to us all; the least I could do now was to +show him respect in his bitter humiliation.</p> +<p>I think he felt our attitude and that it comforted him, +but all he said was: “It is a heavy blow. The Emperor +knows best.”</p> +<p>As we sat there in silence, a soldier came to summon +Colonel Jarras, and he went away, leaning on his ivory-headed +cane, head bowed over the string of medals on +his breast.</p> +<p>When he had gone, Speed came over and shut the +door, then shook hands with me.</p> +<p>“He’s gone to see Mornac; it will be our turn next. +Look out for Mornac, or he’ll catch you tripping in your +report. Did you find Buckhurst?”</p> +<p>“Look here,” I said, angrily, “how can Mornac +catch me tripping? I’m not under his orders.”</p> +<p>“You are until you’re discharged. You see, they’ve +taken it into their heads, since the crucifix robbery, to +suspect everybody and anybody short of the Emperor. +Mornac came smelling around here the day you left. +He’s at the bottom of all this—a nice business to cast +suspicion on our division because we’re foreigners. +Gad, he looks like a pickpocket himself—he’s got the +oblique trick of the eyes and the restless finger movement.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps he is,” I said.</p> +<p>Speed looked at me sharply.</p> +<p>“If I were in the service now I’d arrest Mornac—if +I dared.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></p> +<p>“You might as well arrest the Emperor,” I said, +wearily.</p> +<p>“That’s it,” observed Speed, throwing away his +chewed cigarette. “Nobody dare touch Mornac; nobody +dare even watch him. But if there’s a leak somewhere, +it’s far more probable that Mornac did the dirty +work than that there’s a traitor in our division.”</p> +<p>Presently he added: “Did you catch Buckhurst?”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, disgusted.</p> +<p>“—Because,” continued Speed, “if you’ve got him, +it may save us. Have you?”</p> +<p>How I wished that I had Buckhurst safely handcuffed +beside me!</p> +<p>“If you’ve got him,” persisted Speed, “we’ll shake +him like a rat until he squeals. And if he names +Mornac—”</p> +<p>“Do you think that Mornac would give him or us +the chance?” I said. “Rubbish! He’d do the shaking +<i>in camera</i>; and it would only be a hand-shaking +if Buckhurst is really his creature. And he’s rid himself +of our division, anyhow. Wait!” I added, sharply; +“perhaps that is the excuse! Perhaps that is the very +reason that he’s abolished the foreign division! We +may have been getting too close to the root of this +matter; I had already caught Buckhurst—”</p> +<p>“You had?” cried Speed, eagerly.</p> +<p>“But I’m not going to talk about it now,” I added, +sullenly. “My troubles are coming; I’ve a story to +tell that won’t please Mornac, and I have an idea that +he means mischief to me.”</p> +<p>Speed looked curiously at me, and I went on:</p> +<p>“I used my own judgment—supposing that Jarras +was my chief. I knew he’d let me take my own way—but +I don’t know what Mornac will say.”</p> +<p>However, I was soon to know what Mornac had to +say, for a soldier appeared to summon us both, and we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +followed to the temporary bureau which looked out to +the east over the lovely Luxembourg gardens.</p> +<p>Jarras passed us as we entered; his heavy head was +bent, and I do not suppose that he saw either us or our +salutes, for he shuffled off down the dark passage, +tapping his slow way like a blind man; and Speed and +I entered, saluting Mornac.</p> +<p>The personage whom we saluted was a symmetrical, +highly colored gentleman, with black mustache and +Oriental eyes. His skin was too smooth—there was +not a line or a wrinkle visible on hand or face, nothing +but plump flesh pressing the golden collar of his light-blue +tunic and the half-dozen gold rings on his carefully +kept, restless fingers. His light, curved sabre +hung by its silver chain from a nail on a wall behind +him; beside it, suspended by the neck cord, was his +astrakhan-trimmed dolman of palest turquoise-blue, +and over that hung his scarlet cap.</p> +<p>As he raised his heavy-lidded, insolent eyes to me, I +thought I had never before appreciated the utter falseness +of his visage as I did at that moment. Instantly +I decided that he meant evil to me; and I instinctively +glanced at Speed, standing beside me at attention, his +clear blue eyes alert, his lank limbs and lean head +fairly tremulous with comprehension.</p> +<p>At a careless nod from Mornac I muttered the formal +“I have to report, sir—” and began mumbling a perfunctory +account of my movements since leaving Paris. +He listened, idly contemplating a silver penknife which +he alternately snapped open and closed, the click of +the spring punctuating my remarks.</p> +<p>I told the truth as far as I went, which brought me to +my capture by Uhlans and the natural escape of my +prisoner, Buckhurst. I merely added that I had secured +the diamonds and had managed to reach Paris +via Strasbourg. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span></p> +<p>“Is that all?” inquired Mornac, listlessly.</p> +<p>“All I have to report, sir.”</p> +<p>“Permit me to be the judge of how much you have +to report,” said Mornac. “Continue.”</p> +<p>I was silent.</p> +<p>“Do you prefer that I draw out information by questions?” +asked Mornac, looking up at me.</p> +<p>I was already in his net; I ought not to have placed +myself in the position of concealing anything, yet I +distrusted him and wished to avoid giving him a chance +to misunderstand me. But now it was too late; if the +error could be wiped out at all, the only way to erase +it was by telling him everything and giving him his +chance to misinterpret me if he desired it.</p> +<p>He listened very quietly while I told of my encounter +with Buckhurst in Morsbronn, of our journey to +Saverne, to Strasbourg, and finally my own arrival in +Paris.</p> +<p>“Where is Buckhurst?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” I replied, doggedly.</p> +<p>“That is to say that you had him in your power +within the French lines yet did not secure him?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Your orders were to arrest him?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And shoot him if he resisted?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But you let him go?”</p> +<p>“There was something more important to do than +to arrest Buckhurst. I meant to find out what he had +on hand in Paradise.”</p> +<p>“So you disobeyed orders?”</p> +<p>“If you care to so interpret my action.”</p> +<p>“Why did you not arrest the Countess de Vassart?”</p> +<p>“I did; the Uhlans made me prisoner as I reported +to you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></p> +<p>“I mean, why did you not arrest her after you left +Morsbronn?”</p> +<p>“That would have prevented Buckhurst from going +to Paradise.”</p> +<p>“Your orders were to arrest the Countess?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Did you obey those orders?”</p> +<p>“No,” I said, between my teeth.</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“I had every reason to believe that an important +conspiracy was being ripened somewhere near Paradise. +I had every reason to believe that the robbery +of the crown jewels might furnish funds for the plotters.</p> +<p>“The arrest of one man could not break up the conspiracy; +I desired to trap the leaders; and to that end +I deliberately liberated this man Buckhurst as a stool-pigeon. +If my judgment has been at fault, I accept the +blame.”</p> +<p>Mornac’s silver penknife closed. Presently he opened +the blade again and tested the edge on his plump +forefinger.</p> +<p>“I beg to call your attention to the fact,” I continued, +“that a word from Buckhurst to the provost at Morsbronn +would have sent me before the squad of execution. +In a way, I bought my freedom. But,” I added, +slowly, “I should never have bought it if the bargain +by which I saved my own skin had been a betrayal +of France. Nobody wants to die; but in my profession +we discount that. No man in my division is a physical +coward. I purchased my freedom not only without +detriment to France, but, on the contrary, to the advantage +of France.”</p> +<p>“At the expense of your honor,” observed Mornac.</p> +<p>My ears were burning; I advanced a pace and looked +Mornac straight between the eyes; but his eyes did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +not meet mine—they were fixed on his silver penknife.</p> +<p>“I did the best I could do in the line of duty,” I said. +“You ask me why I did not break my word and arrest +Buckhurst after we left the German lines. And +I answer you that I had given my word not to arrest +him, in pursuance of my plan to use him further.”</p> +<p>Mornac examined his carefully kept finger-tips in +detail.</p> +<p>“You say he bribed you?”</p> +<p>“I said that he attempted to do so,” I replied, sharply.</p> +<p>“With the diamonds?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You have them?”</p> +<p>“I deposited them as usual.”</p> +<p>“Bring them.”</p> +<p>Angry as I was, I saluted, wheeled, and hastened off +to the safe deposit. The jewel-bag was delivered when +I presented my printed slip; I picked it up and marched +back, savagely biting my mustache and striving to +control my increasing exasperation. Never before had +I endured insolence from a superior officer.</p> +<p>Mornac was questioning Speed as I entered, and that +young man, who has much self-control to learn, was +already beginning to answer with disrespectful impatience, +but my advent suspended matters, and Mornac +took the bag of jewels from my hands and examined it. +He seemed to be in no hurry to empty it; he lolled in +his chair with an absent-minded expression like the +expression of a cat who pretends to forget the mouse +between her paws. Danger was written all over him; +I squared my shoulders and studied him, braced for a +shock.</p> +<p>The shock came almost immediately, for, without a +word, he suddenly emptied the jewel-bag on the desk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +before him. The bag contained little pebbles wrapped +in tissue-paper.</p> +<p>I heard Speed catch his breath sharply; I stared +stupidly at the pebbles. Mornac made a careless, sweeping +gesture, spreading the pebbles out before us with +his restless, ringed fingers.</p> +<p>“Suppose you explain this farce?” he suggested, +unmoved.</p> +<p>“Suppose <i>you</i> explain it!” I stammered.</p> +<p>He raised his delicately arched eyebrows. “What +do you mean?”</p> +<p>“I mean that an hour ago that bag contained the +diamonds from the crucifix of Louis XI! I mean that +I handed them over to you on my arrival at this bureau!”</p> +<p>“Doubtless you can prove what you say,” he observed, +and his silver penknife snapped shut like the +click of a trap, and he lay back in his padded chair +and slipped the knife into his pocket.</p> +<p>I looked at Speed; his sandy hair fairly bristled, but +his face was drawn and tense. I looked at Mornac; +his heavy, black eyes met mine steadily.</p> +<p>“It seems to me,” he said, “that it was high time +we abolished the Foreign Division, Imperial Military +Police.”</p> +<p>“I refuse to be discharged!” I said, hoarsely. “It +is your word against mine; I demand an investigation!”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he replied, almost wearily, and touched +a bell. “Bring that witness,” he added to the soldier +who appeared in answer to the silvery summons.</p> +<p>“I mean an official inquiry,” I said—“a court-martial. +It is my right where my honor is questioned.”</p> +<p>“It is my right, when you question my honor, to +throw you into Mont Valérien, neck and heels,” he +said, showing his teeth under his silky, black mustache.</p> +<p>Almost stunned by his change of tone, I stood like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +a stone. Somebody entered the room behind me, +passed me; there was an odor of violets in the air, a +faint rustle of silk, and I saw Mornac rise and bow +to his guest and conduct her to a chair.</p> +<p>His guest was the young Countess de Vassart.</p> +<p>She looked up at me brightly, gave me a pretty nod +of recognition, then turned expectantly to Mornac, who +was still standing at her elbow, saying, “Then it is no +longer a question of my exile, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“No, madame; there has been a mistake. The +government has no reason to suspect your loyalty.” +He turned directly on me. “Madame, do you know +this officer?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Countess, smiling.</p> +<p>“Did you see him receive a small sack of diamonds +in Morsbronn?”</p> +<p>The Countess gave me a quick glance of surprise. +“Yes,” she said, wonderingly.</p> +<p>“Thank you, madame; that is sufficient,” he replied; +and before I could understand what he was about he +had conducted the Countess to the next room and had +closed the door behind him.</p> +<p>“Quick!” muttered Speed at my elbow; “let’s back +out of this trap. There’s no use; he’s one of them, +and he means to ruin you.”</p> +<p>“I won’t go!” I said, in a cold fury; “I’ll choke the +truth out of him, I tell you.”</p> +<p>“Man! Man! He’s the Emperor’s shadow! You’re +done for; come on while there’s time. I tell you there’s +no hope for you here.”</p> +<p>“Hope! What do I care?” I said, harshly. “Why, +Speed, that man is a common thief.”</p> +<p>“What of it?” whispered Speed. “Doesn’t everybody +know that the conspiracy runs close to the +throne? What do you care? Come on, I tell you; +I’ve had enough of this rotten government. So have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +you. And we’ve both seen enough to ruin us. Come +on!”</p> +<p>“But he’s got those diamonds! Do you think I can +stand that?”</p> +<p>“I think you’ve got to,” muttered Speed, savagely. +“Do you want to rot in Cayenne? If you do, stay +here and bawl for a court-martial!”</p> +<p>“But the government—”</p> +<p>“Let the government go to the devil! It’s going +fast enough, anyhow. Come, don’t let Mornac find +us here when he returns. He may be coming now—quick, +Scarlett! We’ve got to cut for it!”</p> +<p>“Speed,” I said, unsteadily, “it’s enough to make +an honest man strike hands with Buckhurst in earnest.”</p> +<p>Speed took my arm with a cautious glance at the +door of the next room, and urged me toward the corridor.</p> +<p>“The government has kicked us out into the street,” +he muttered; “be satisfied that the government didn’t +kick us into Biribi. And it will yet if you don’t come.”</p> +<p>“Come? Where? I haven’t any money, and now +they’ve got my honor—”</p> +<p>“Rubbish!” he whispered, fairly dragging me into +the hallway. “Here! No—don’t go to your rooms. +Leave everything—get clear of this rat-pit, I tell you.”</p> +<p>He half pushed, half dragged me to the parade; then, +dropping my arm, he struck a jaunty pace through the +archway, not even glancing at the sentinels. I kept +pace with him, scarcely knowing what I did.</p> +<p>In the Rue de Seine I halted suddenly, crying out +that I must go back, but he seized me with a growl of +“Idiot! come on!” and fairly shoved me through the +colonnades of the Institute, along the quay, down the +river-wall, to a dock where presently a swift river-boat +swung in for passengers. And when the bateau mouche +shot out again into mid-stream, Speed and I stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +silently on deck, watching the silver-gray façades of +Paris fly past above us under the blue sky.</p> +<p>We sat far forward, quite alone, and separated from +the few passengers by the pilot-house and jointed funnel. +And there, carelessly lounging, with one of his +lank legs crossed over the other and a cigar between +his teeth, my comrade coolly recounted to me the infamous +history of the past week:</p> +<p>“Jarras put his honest, old, square-toed foot in it by +accident; I don’t know how he managed to do it, but +this is certain: he suddenly found himself on a perfectly +plain trail which could only end at Mornac’s +threshold.</p> +<p>“Then he did a stupid thing—he called Mornac in +and asked him, in perfect faith, to clear up the affair, +never for a moment suspecting that Mornac was the +man.</p> +<p>“That occurred the day you started to catch Buckhurst. +And on that day, too, I had found out something; +and like a fool I told Jarras.”</p> +<p>Speed chewed his cigar and laughed.</p> +<p>“In twenty-four hours Jarras was relieved of his +command; I was requested not to leave the Luxembourg—in +other words, I was under arrest, and Mornac +took over the entire department and abolished the +Foreign Division ’for the good of the service,’ as +the <i>Official</i> had it next day.</p> +<p>“Then somebody—Mornac probably—let loose a +swarm of those shadowy lies called rumors—you know +how that is done!—and people began to mutter, and the +cafés began to talk of treason among the foreign police. +Of course Rochefort took it up; of course the <i>Official</i> +printed a half-hearted denial which was far worse than +an avowal. Then the division was abolished, and the +illustrated papers made filthy caricatures of us, and +drew pictures of Mornac, sabre in hand, decapitating +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +a nest full of American rattlesnakes and British +cobras, and Rochefort printed a terrible elaboration +of the fable of the farmer and the frozen serpent.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s enough,” I said, sick with rage and +disgust. “Let them look out for their own country +now. I pity the Empress; I pity the Emperor. I don’t +know what Mornac means to do, but I know that the +Internationale boa-constrictor is big enough to swallow +government, dynasty, and Empire, and it is going to +try.”</p> +<p>“I am certain of one thing,” said Speed, staring out +over the sun-lit water with narrowing eyes. “I know +that Mornac is using Buckhurst.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps it is Buckhurst who is using Mornac,” +I suggested.</p> +<p>“I think both those gentlemen have the same view +in end—to feather their respective nests under cover +of a general smash,” said Speed. “It would not do +for Mornac to desert the Empire under any circumstances. +But he can employ Buckhurst to squeeze +it dry and then strike an attitude as its faithful defender +in adversity.”</p> +<p>“But why does Buckhurst desire to go to Paradise?” +I asked.</p> +<p>The boat swung into a dock near the Point du Jour; +a few passengers left, a few came aboard; the boat +darted on again under the high viaduct of masonry, +past bastions on which long siege cannon glistened in +the sunshine, past lines of fresh earthworks, past grassy +embankments on which soldiers moved to the rumble +of drums.</p> +<p>“I know something about Paradise,” said Speed, +in a low voice.</p> +<p>I waited; Speed chewed his cigar grimly.</p> +<p>“Look here, Scarlett,” he said. “Do you know what +has become of the crown jewels of France?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></p> +<p>“No,” I said.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll tell you. You know, of course, that the +government is anxious; you know that Paris is preparing +to stand siege if the Prussians double up Bazaine +and the army of Châlons in the north. But you don’t +know what a pitiable fright the authorities are in. Why, +Scarlett, they are scared almost to the verge of idiocy.”</p> +<p>“They’ve passed that verge,” I observed.</p> +<p>“Yes, they have. They have had a terrible panic +over the safety of the crown jewels—they were nervous +enough before the robbery. And this is what they’ve +done in secret:</p> +<p>“The crown jewels, the bars of gold of the reserve, +the great pictures from the Louvre, the antiques of +value, including the Venus of Milo, have been packed +in cases and loaded on trains under heavy guard.</p> +<p>“Twelve of these trains have already left Paris for +the war-port of Lorient. The others are to follow, one +every twenty-four hours at midnight.</p> +<p>“Whether these treasures are to be locked up in +Lorient, or whether they are to be buried in the sand-dunes +along the coast, I don’t know. But I know this: +a swift cruiser—the <i>Fer-de-Lance</i>—is lying off Paradise, +between the light-house and the Ile de Groix, +with steam up night and day, ready to receive the +treasures of the government at the first alarm and +run for the French possessions in Cochin-China.</p> +<p>“And now, perhaps, you may guess why Buckhurst +is so anxious to hang around Paradise.”</p> +<p>Of course I was startled. Speed’s muttered information +gave me the keys to many doors. And behind +each door were millions and millions and millions of +francs’ worth of plunder.</p> +<p>Our eyes met in mute interrogation; Speed smiled.</p> +<p>“Of course,” said I, with dry lips, “Buckhurst is +devil enough to attempt anything.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></p> +<p>“Especially if backed by Mornac,” said Speed.</p> +<p>Suddenly the professional aspect of the case burst +on me like a shower of glorious sunshine.</p> +<p>“Oh, for the chance!” I said, brokenly. “Speed! +Think of it! Think how completely we have the thing +in hand!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, with a shrug, “only we have just +been kicked out of the service in disgrace, and we are +now going to be fully occupied in running away from +the police.”</p> +<p>That was true enough; I had scarcely had time to +realize our position as escaped suspects of the department. +And with the recognition of my plight came a +rush of hopeless rage, of bitter regret, and soul-sickening +disappointment.</p> +<p>So this was the end of my career—a fugitive, disgraced, +probably already hunted. This was my reward +for faithful service—penniless, almost friendless, +liable to arrest and imprisonment with no hope of justice +from Emperor or court-martial—a banned, ruined, +proscribed outcast, in blind flight.</p> +<p>“I’ve thought of the possibility of this,” observed +Speed, quietly. “We’ve got to make a living somehow. +In fact, I’m to let—and so are you.”</p> +<p>I looked at him, too miserable to speak.</p> +<p>“I had an inkling of it,” he said. A shrewd twinkle +came into his clear, Yankee eyes; he chewed his wrecked +cigar and folded his lank arms.</p> +<p>“So,” he continued, tranquilly, blinking at the +sparkling river, “I drew out all my money—and +yours, too.”</p> +<p>“Mine!” I stammered. “How could you?”</p> +<p>“Forged an order,” he admitted. “Can you forgive +me, Scarlett?”</p> +<p>“Forgive you! Bless your generous heart!” I muttered, +as he handed me a sealed packet. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></p> +<p>“Not at all,” he said, laughing; “a crime in time +saves nine—eh, Scarlett? Pocket it; it’s all there. +Now listen. I have made arrangements of another +kind. Do you remember an application for license +from the manager of a travelling American show—a +Yankee circus?”</p> +<p>“Byram’s Imperial American Circus?” I said.</p> +<p>“That’s it. They went through Normandy last +summer. Well, Byram’s agent is going to meet us +at Saint-Cloud. We’re engaged; I’m to do ballooning—you +know I worked one of the military balloons +before Petersburg. You are to do sensational riding. +You were riding-master in the Spahis—were you +not?”</p> +<p>I looked at him, almost laughing. Suddenly the +instinct of my vagabond days returned like a sweet +wind from the wilds, smiting me full in the face.</p> +<p>“I tamed three lions for my regiment at Constantine,” +I said.</p> +<p>“Good lad! Then you can play with Byram’s lions, +too. Oh, what the devil!” he cried, recklessly; “it’s +all in a lifetime. Quand même, and who cares? We’ve +life before us and an honest living in view, and Byram +has packed two of his men back to England and I’ve +tinkered up their passports to suit us. So we’re reasonably +secure.”</p> +<p>“Will you tell me, Speed, why you were wise enough +to do all this while I was gone?” I asked, in astonishment.</p> +<p>“Because,” said Speed, deliberately, “I distrusted +Mornac from the hour he entered the department.”</p> +<p>A splendid officer of police was spoiled when Mornac +entered the department.</p> +<p>Presently the deck guard began to shout: “Saint-Cloud! +Saint-Cloud!” and the little boat glided up +alongside the floating pier. Speed rose; I followed him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +across the gang-plank; and, side by side, we climbed +the embankment.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that Byram is going travelling +about with his circus in spite of the war?” I whispered.</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed. We start south from Chartres to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Presently I said: “Do you suppose we will go to +Lorient or—Paradise?”</p> +<p>“We will if I have anything to say about it,” replied +Speed, throwing away his ragged cigar.</p> +<p>And I walked silently beside him, thinking of the +young Countess and of Buckhurst.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>PART SECOND</h3> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +<a name='IX_THE_ROAD_TO_PARADISE' id='IX_THE_ROAD_TO_PARADISE'></a> +<h2>IX</h2> +<h3>THE ROAD TO PARADISE</h3> +</div> +<p>On the 3d of November Byram’s American Circus, +travelling slowly overland toward the Spanish +frontier, drew up for an hour’s rest at Quimperlé. I, +however, as usual, prepared to ride forward to select a +proper place for our night encampment, and to procure +the necessary license.</p> +<p>The dusty procession halted in the town square, +which was crowded, and as I turned in my saddle I +saw Byram stand up on the red-and-gold band-wagon +and toss an armful of circulars and bills into the throng.</p> +<p>The white bits of paper fluttered wide and disappeared +in the sea of white Breton head-dresses; there was a +rhythmic clatter of wooden shoes, an undulation of +snowy coiffes, then a low murmur as the people slowly +read the circulars aloud, their musical monotone accompanying +the strident nasal voice of Byram, who +stood on the tarnished band-wagon shouting his crowd +around him.</p> +<p>“Mossoors et madams! Ecooty see voo play! J’ai +l’honnoor de vous presenter le ploo magnifique cirque—” +And the invariable réclame continued to the stereotyped +finis; the clown bobbed up behind Byram and made +his usual grimaces, and the band played “The Cork +Leg.”</p> +<p>The Bretons looked on in solemn astonishment: +my comrade, Speed, languidly stood up on the elephant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +and informed the people that our circus was travelling +to Lorient to fill a pressing engagement, and if we +disappointed the good people of Lorient a riot would +doubtless result, therefore it was not possible to give +any performance before we reached Lorient—and the +admission was only ten sous.</p> +<p>Our clown then picked up the tatters of his threadbare +comic speech. Speed, munching a stale sandwich, +came strolling over to where I stood sponging +out my horse’s mouth with cool water.</p> +<p>“We’ll ride into Paradise in full regalia, I suppose,” +he observed, munching away reflectively; “it’s the +cheapest réclame.”</p> +<p>I dashed a bucket of water over my horse’s legs. +“You’d better look out for your elephant; those drunken +Bretons are irritating him,” I said. “Mahouts are +born, not made.”</p> +<p>Speed turned; the elephant was squealing and thrusting +out a prehensile trunk among the people. There +would be trouble if any fool gave him tobacco.</p> +<p>“Hi!” cried Speed, “tobah! Let the mem-log alone! +Ai! he’s snatched a coiffe! Drop it, Djebe! C’hast +buhan! Don’t be afraid, mesdames; the elephant is +not ugly! Chomit oll en ho trankilite!”</p> +<p>The elephant appeared to understand the mixture +of Hindu, French, and Breton—or perhaps it was the +sight of the steel ankus that Speed flourished in his +quality of mahout. The crowd pressed forward again, +reassured by the “Chomit oll en ho trankilite!”</p> +<p>Speed swallowed the last crumb of his sandwich, +wiped his hands on his handkerchief, and shoved +them into his shabby pockets; the ankus dangled from +his wrist.</p> +<p>We were in seedy circumstances; an endless chain of +bad luck had followed us from Chartres—bad weather, +torrents of rain, flooded roads, damaging delays on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +railways already overcrowded with troops and war +material, and, above all, we encountered everywhere +that ominous apathy which burdened the whole land, +even those provinces most remote from the seat of war. +The blockade of Paris had paralyzed France.</p> +<p>The fortune that Byram had made in the previous +year was already gone; we no longer travelled by rail; +we no longer slept at inns; we could barely pay for +the food for our animals.</p> +<p>As for the employés, the list had been cut down below +the margin of safety, yet for a month no salaries had +been paid.</p> +<p>As I stood there in the public square of Quimperlé, +passing the cooling sponge over my horse’s nose, old +Byram came out of the hotel on the corner, edged his +way through the stolid crowd that surrounded us gaunt +mountebanks, and shuffled up to me.</p> +<p>“I guess we ain’t goin’ to push through to-night, +Scarlett,” he observed, wiping his sweating forehead +on the sleeve of his linen duster.</p> +<p>“No, governor, it’s too far,” I said.</p> +<p>“We’ll be all right, anyway,” added Speed; “there’s +a change in the moon and this warm weather ought +to hold, governor.”</p> +<p>“I dunno,” said Byram, with an abstracted glance +at the crowd around the elephant.</p> +<p>“Cheer up, governor,” I said, “we ought at least to +pay expenses to the Spanish frontier. Once out of +France we’ll find your luck again for you.”</p> +<p>“Mebbe,” he said, almost wearily.</p> +<p>I glanced at Speed. This was the closest approach +to a whine that we had heard from Byram. But the +man had changed within a few days; his thin hair, +brushed across his large, alert ears, was dusty and +unkempt; hollows had formed under his shrewd eyes; +his black broadcloth suit was as soiled as his linen, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +his boots shabby, his silk hat suitable only for the +stage property of our clown.</p> +<p>“Don’t ride too far,” said Byram, as I set foot to +stirrup, “them band-wagon teams is most done up, +an’ that there camuel gits meaner every minute.”</p> +<p>I wheeled my horse out into the road to Paradise, +cursing the “camuel,” the bane of our wearied caravan.</p> +<p>“Got enough cash for the license?” asked Byram, +uneasily.</p> +<p>“Plenty, governor; don’t worry. Speed, don’t let +him mope. We’ll be in Lorient this time to-morrow,” +I called back, with a swagger of assumed cheerfulness.</p> +<p>Speed stepped swiftly across the square and laid his +hand on my stirrup.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do if you see Buckhurst?”</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>“Or the Countess?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you will go out of your way to find her +if she’s in Paradise?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And tell her the truth about Buckhurst?”</p> +<p>“I expect to.”</p> +<p>After a moment’s silence he said: “Don’t do anything +until I see you to-night, will you?”</p> +<p>“All right,” I replied, and set my horse at a gallop +over the old stone bridge.</p> +<p>The highway to the sea which winds down through +acres of yellow gorse and waving broom to the cliffs +of Paradise is a breezy road, swept by the sweet winds +that blow across Brittany from the Côte d’Or to the +Pyrenees.</p> +<p>It is a land of sea-winds; and when in the still noontide +of midsummer the winds are at play far out at +sea, their traces remain in the furrowed wheat, in the +incline of solitary trees, in the breezy trend of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +cliff-clover and the blackthorn and the league-wide sweep +of the moorlands.</p> +<p>And through this land whose inland perfume always +savored the unseen sea I rode down to Paradise.</p> +<p>It was not until I had galloped through the golden +forest of Kerselec that I came in sight of the ocean, although +among the sunbeams and the dropping showers +of yellow beech-leaves I fancied I could hear the sound +of the surf.</p> +<p>And now I rode slowly, in full sight of the sea where +it lay, an immense gray band across the world, touching +a looming horizon, and in throat and nostril the +salt stung sweetly, and the whole world seemed younger +for the breath of the sea.</p> +<p>From the purple mystery of the horizon to the landward +cliffs the ocean appeared motionless; it was only +when I had advanced almost to the cliffs that I saw the +movement of waves—that I perceived the contrast between +inland inertia and the restless repose of the +sea, stirring ceaselessly since creation.</p> +<p>The same little sparkling river I had crossed in +Quimperlé I now saw again, spreading out a wide, +flat current which broke into waves where it tumbled +seaward across the bar; I heard the white-winged gulls +mewing, the thunderous monotone of the surf, and a +bell in some unseen chapel ringing sweetly.</p> +<p>I passed a stone house, another; then the white road +curved under the trees and I rode straight into the +heart of Paradise, my horse’s hoofs awaking echoes +in the silent, stone-paved square.</p> +<p>Never had I so suddenly entered a place so peaceful, +so quiet in the afternoon sun—yet the silence was not +absolute, it was thrilling with exquisite sound, lost +echoes of the river running along its quay of stone, +half-heard harmonies of the ocean where white surf +seethed over the sands beyond the headland. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></p> +<p>There was a fountain, too, dripping melodiously +under the trees; I heard the breathless humming of a +spinning-wheel from one of the low houses of gray +stone which enclosed the square, and a young girl +singing, and the drone of bees in a bed of resida.</p> +<p>So this was Paradise! Truly the name did not seem +amiss here, under the still vault of blue above; Paradise +means peace to so many of us—surcease of care and +sound and the brazen trample of nations—not the +quiet of palace corridors or the tremendous silence of +a cathedral, but the noiselessness of pleasant sounds, +moving shadows of trees, wordless quietude, simplicity.</p> +<p>A young girl with a face like the Madonna stole +across the square in her felt shoes.</p> +<p>“Can you tell me where the mayor lives?” I asked, +looking down at her from my horse.</p> +<p>She raised her white-coiffed head with an innocent +smile: “Eman’ barz ar sal o leina.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you speak French?” I asked, appalled.</p> +<p>“Ho! ia; oui, monsieur, s’il faut bien. The mayor +is at breakfast in his kitchen yonder.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, my child.”</p> +<p>I turned my horse across the shady square to a stone +house banked up with bed on bed of scarlet geraniums. +The windows were open; a fat man with very small +eyes sat inside eating an omelet.</p> +<p>He watched me dismount without apparent curiosity, +and when I had tied my horse and walked in at the +open door he looked at me over the rim of a glass of +cider, and slowly finished his draught without blinking. +Then he said, “Bonjour.”</p> +<p>I told him that I wanted a license for the circus to +camp for one night; that I also desired permission to +pitch camp somewhere in the vicinity. He made out +the license, stamped it, handed it to me, and I paid +him the usual fee. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></p> +<p>“I’ve heard of circuses,” he said; “they’re like +those shows at country fairs, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Yes—in a way. We have animals.”</p> +<p>“What kind?”</p> +<p>“Lions, tigers—”</p> +<p>“I’ve seen them.”</p> +<p>“—a camel, an elephant—”</p> +<p>“Alive?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“Ma doué!” he said, with slow emotion, “have you +a live elephant?”</p> +<p>I admitted that fact.</p> +<p>Presently I said, “I hope the people of Paradise will +come to the circus when we get to Lorient.”</p> +<p>“Eh? Not they,” said the mayor, wagging his +head. “Do you think we have any money here in +Paradise? And then,” he added, cunningly, “we +can all see your elephant when your company arrives. +Why should we pay to see him again? War does not +make millionaires out of the poor.”</p> +<p>I looked miserably around. It was quite true that +people like these had no money to spend on strolling +players. But we had to live somehow, and our animals +could not exist on air, even well-salted air.</p> +<p>“How much will it cost to have your town-crier announce +the coming of the circus?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“That will cost ten sous if he drums and reads the +announcement from here to the château.”</p> +<p>I gave the mayor ten copper pennies.</p> +<p>“What château?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Dame, the château, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said I, “where the Countess lives?”</p> +<p>“The Countess? Yes, of course. Who else?”</p> +<p>“Is the Countess there?”</p> +<p>“Oui, dame, and others not to my taste.”</p> +<p>I asked no more questions, but the mayor did, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +when he found it might take some time to pump me, +he invited me to share his omelet and cider and afterwards +to sit in the sun among his geraniums and +satisfy his curiosity concerning the life of a strolling +player.</p> +<p>I was glad of something to eat. After I had unsaddled +my horse and led him to the mayor’s stable +and had paid for hay and grain, I returned to sit in +the mayor’s garden and sniff longingly at his tobacco +smoke and answer his impertinent questions as good-naturedly +as they were intended.</p> +<p>But even the mayor of Paradise grew tired of asking +questions in time; the bees droned among the flowers, +the low murmur of the sea stole in on our ears, the +river softly lapped the quay. The mayor slept.</p> +<p>He was fat, very fat; his short, velvet jacket hung +heavy with six rows of enormous silver buttons, his +little, round hat was tilted over his nose. A silver +buckle decorated it in front; behind, two little velvet +ribbons fluttered in futile conflict with the rising sea-breeze.</p> +<p>Men in embroidered knee-breeches, with bare feet +thrust into straw-filled sabots, sat sunning on the quay +under the purple fig-trees; one ragged fellow in soiled +velvet bolero and embossed leggings lay in the sun, +chin on fists, wooden shoes crossed behind him, watching +the water with the eyes of a poacher.</p> +<p>This mild, balmy November weather, this afterglow +of summer which in my own country we call Indian +summer, had started new blossoms among the climbing +tea-roses, lovely orange-tinted blossoms, and some +of a clear lemon color, and their fragrance filled the air. +Nowhere do roses blow as they blow near the sea, nowhere +have I breathed such perfume as I breathed that +drowsy afternoon in Paradise, where in every door-yard +thickets of clove-scented pinks carpeted the ground +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +and tall spikes of snowy phlox glimmered silver-white +in the demi-light.</p> +<p>Where on earth could a more peaceful scene be found +than in this sea-lulled land, here in the subdued light +under aged, spreading oaks, where moss crept over the +pavements and covered the little fountain as though +it had been the stony brink of a limpid forest spring?</p> +<p>The mayor woke up toward five o’clock and stared +at me with owlish gravity as though daring me to say +that he had been asleep.</p> +<p>“Um—ah—ma fois oui!” he muttered, blowing his +nose loudly in a purple silk bandanna. Then he +shrugged his shoulders and added: “C’est la vie, +monsieur. Que voulez-vous?”</p> +<p>And it was one kind of life after all—a blessed release +from the fever of that fierce farandole which we +of the outer world call “life.”</p> +<p>The mayor scratched his ear, yawned, stretched one +leg, then the other, and glanced at me.</p> +<p>“Paris still holds out?” he asked, with another yawn.</p> +<p>“Oh yes,” I replied.</p> +<p>“And the war—is it still going badly for us?”</p> +<p>“There is always hope,” I answered.</p> +<p>“Hope,” he grumbled; “oh yes, we know what hope +is—we of the coast live on it when there’s no bread; +but hope never yet filled my belly for me.”</p> +<p>“Has the war touched you here in Paradise?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Touched us? Ho! Say it has crushed us and +I’ll strike palms with you. Why, not a keel has passed +out of the port since August. Where is the fishing-fleet? +Where are the sardine sloops that ought to have +sailed from Algiers? Where are the Icelanders?”</p> +<p>“Well, where are they?” I suggested.</p> +<p>“Where? Ask the semaphore yonder. Where are +our salt schooners for the Welsh coast? I don’t know. +They have not sailed, that’s all I know. You do well +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +to come with your circus and your elephant! You +can peddle diamonds in the poor-house, too, if it suits +your taste.”</p> +<p>“Have the German cruisers frightened all your craft +from the sea?” I asked, astonished.</p> +<p>“Yes, partly. Then there’s an ugly French cruiser +lying off Groix, yonder, and her black stacks are dribbling +smoke all day and all night. We have orders +to keep off and use Lorient when we want a port.”</p> +<p>“Do you know why the cruiser warns your fishing-boats +from this coast?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“No,” he said, shortly.</p> +<p>“Do you know the name of the cruiser?”</p> +<p>“She's a new one, the <i>Fer-de-Lance</i>. And if I were +not a patriot and a Breton I’d say: ‘May Sainte-Anne +rot her where she lies; she’s brought a curse on the +coast from Lorient to the Saint-Julien Light!—and the +ghosts of the Icelanders will work her evil yet.’”</p> +<p>The mayor’s round, hairless face was red; he thumped +the arm of his chair with pudgy fists and wagged his +head.</p> +<p>“We have not seen the end of this,” he said—“oh +no! There’s a curse coming on Paradise—the cruiser +brought it, and it’s coming. Hé! did a Bannalec man +not hear the were-wolf in Kerselec forest a week since? +Pst! Not a word, monsieur. But old Kloark, of Roscoff, +heard it too—oui dame!—and he knows the howl +of the Loup-Garou! Besides, did I not with my own +eyes see a black cormorant fly inland from the sea? +And, by Sainte-Éline of Paradise! the gulls squeal when +there’s no storm brewing and the lançons prick the dark +with flames along the coast till you’d swear the witches +of Ker-Is were lighting death-candles from Paradise +to Pont-Aven.”</p> +<p>“Do you believe in witches, monsieur the mayor?” +I asked, gravely. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></p> +<p>He gave me a shrewd glance. “Not at all—not even +in bed and the light out,” he said, with a fat swagger. +“<i>I</i> believe in magic? Ho! foi non! But many do. +Oui dame! Many do.”</p> +<p>“Here in Paradise?”</p> +<p>“Parbleu! Men of parts, too, monsieur. Now there’s +Terrec, who has the evil eye—not that I believe it, but, +damn him, he’d better not try any tricks on me!</p> +<p>“Others stick twigs of aubépine in their pastures; +the apothecary is a man of science, yet every year he +makes a bonfire of dried gorse and drives his cattle +through the smoke. It may keep off witches and lightning—or +it may not. I myself do not do such things.”</p> +<p>“Still you believe the cruiser out at sea yonder is +going to bring you evil?”</p> +<p>“She has brought it. But it’s all the same to me. +I am mayor, and exempt, and I have cider and tobacco +and boudin for a few months yet.”</p> +<p>He caressed his little, selfish chin, which hung between +his mottled jowls, peered cunningly at me, and opened +his mouth to say something, but at that moment we +both caught sight of a peasant running and waving a +packet of blue papers in the air. “Monsieur the mayor! +Monsieur the mayor!” he called, while still far away.</p> +<p>“Cré cochon de malheur!” muttered the mayor, turning +pale. “He’s got a telegram!”</p> +<p>The man came clattering across the square in his +wooden shoes.</p> +<p>“A telegram,” repeated the mayor, wiping the sudden +sweat from his forehead. “I never get telegrams. I +don’t want telegrams!”</p> +<p>He turned to me, almost bursting with suppressed +prophecy.</p> +<p>“It has come—the evil that the black cruiser brings +us! You laughed! Tenez, monsieur; there’s your +bad luck in these blue morsels of paper!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></p> +<p>And he snatched the telegram from the breathless +messenger, reading it with dilating eyes.</p> +<p>For a long while he sat there studying the telegram, +his fat forefinger following the scrawl, a crease deepening +above his eyebrows, and all the while his lips moved +in noiseless repetition of the words he spelled with difficulty +and his labored breathing grew louder.</p> +<p>When at length the magistrate had mastered the contents +of his telegram, he looked up with a stupid stare.</p> +<p>“I want my drummer. Where’s the town-crier?” +he demanded, as though dazed.</p> +<p>“He has gone to Lorient, m’sieu the mayor,” ventured +the messenger.</p> +<p>“To get drunk. I remember. Imbecile! Why did +he go to-day? Are there not six other days in this +cursed week? Who is there to drum? Nobody. Nobody +knows how in Paradise. Seigneur, Dieu! the +ignorance of this town!”</p> +<p>“M’sieu the mayor,” ventured the messenger, +“there’s Jacqueline.”</p> +<p>“Ho! Vrai. The Lizard’s young one! She can +drum, they say. She stole my drum once. Why did +she steal it but to drum upon it?”</p> +<p>“The little witch can drum them awake in Ker-Is,” +muttered the messenger.</p> +<p>The mayor rose, looked around the square, frowned. +Then he raised his voice in a bellow: “Jacqueline! +Jacqueline! <i>Thou</i> Jacqueline!”</p> +<p>A far voice answered, faintly breaking across the +square from the bridge: “She is on the rocks with her +sea-rake!”</p> +<p>The mayor thrust the blue telegram into his pocket +and waddled out of his garden, across the square, and +up the path to the cliffs.</p> +<p>Uninvited, I went with him.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +<a name='X_THE_TOWNCRIER' id='X_THE_TOWNCRIER'></a> +<h2>X</h2> +<h3>THE TOWN-CRIER</h3> +</div> +<p>The bell in the unseen chapel ceased ringing as +we came out on the cliffs of Paradise, where, on +the horizon, the sun hung low, belted with a single +ribbon of violet cloud.</p> +<p>Over acres of foaming shoals the crimson light flickered +and spread, painting the eastern cliffs with sombre +fire. The ebb-tide, red as blood, tumbled seaward +across the bar, leaving every ledge a glowing cinder +under the widening conflagration in the west.</p> +<p>The mayor carried his silver-buttoned jacket over +his arm; the air had grown sultry. As we walked our +gigantic shadows strode away before us across the +kindling stubble, seeming to lengthen at every stride.</p> +<p>Below the cliffs, on a crescent of flat sand, from which +sluggish, rosy rivulets crawled seaward, a man stood +looking out across the water. And the mayor stopped +and called down to him: “Ohé, the Lizard! What do +you see on the ocean—you below?”</p> +<p>“I see six war-ships speeding fast in column,” replied +the man, without looking up.</p> +<p>The mayor hastily shaded his eyes with one fat hand, +muttering: “All poachers have eyes like sea-hawks. +There is a smudge of smoke to the north. Holy Virgin, +what eyes the rascal has!”</p> +<p>As for me, strain my eyes as I would, I saw nothing +save the faintest stain of smoke on the horizon. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span></p> +<p>“Hé, Lizard! Are they German, your six war-ships?” +bawled the mayor. His voice had suddenly +become tremulous.</p> +<p>“They are French,” replied the poacher, tranquilly.</p> +<p>“Then Sainte-Éline keep them from the rocks!” +sang out the mayor. “Ohé, Lizard, I want somebody to +drum and read a proclamation. Where’s Jacqueline?”</p> +<p>At that instant a young girl, a mere child, appeared +on the beach, dragging a sea-rake over the ground +behind her. She was a lithe creature, bare-limbed +and ragged, with the sea-tan on throat and knee. The +blue tatters of her skirt hung heavy with brine; the +creamy skin on her arms glittered with wet spray, and +her hair was wet, too, clustering across her cheeks in +damp elf-locks.</p> +<p>The mayor glanced at her with that stolid contempt +which Finistère Bretons cherish toward those women +who show their hair—an immodesty unpardonable in +the eyes of most Bretons.</p> +<p>The girl caught sight of the mayor and gave him a +laughing greeting which he returned with a shrug.</p> +<p>“If you want a town-crier,” she called up, in a deliciously +fresh voice, scarcely tinged with the accent, +“I’ll cry your edicts and I’ll drum for you, too!”</p> +<p>“Can your daughter beat the drum?” asked the +mayor of the poacher, ignoring the girl’s eager face +upturned.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the poacher, indifferently, “and she can +also beat the devil with two sticks.”</p> +<p>The girl threw her rake into a boat and leaped upon +the rocks at the base of the cliff.</p> +<p>“Jacqueline! Don’t come up that way!” bawled +the mayor, horrified. “Hey! Robert! Ohé! Lizard! +Stop her or she’ll break her neck!”</p> +<p>The poacher looked up at his daughter then shrugged +his shoulders and squatted down on his ragged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +haunches, restless eyes searching the level ocean, as +sea-birds search.</p> +<p>Breathless, hot, and laughing, the girl pulled herself +up over the edge of the cliff. I held out my hand to aid +her, but she pushed it away, crying, “Thank you all +the same, but here I am!”</p> +<p>“Spawn of the Lizard,” I heard the mayor mutter +to himself, “like a snake you wriggle where honest +folk fall to destruction!” But he spoke condescendingly +to the bright-eyed, breathless child. “I’ll pay six +sous if you’ll drum for me.”</p> +<p>“I’ll do it for love,” she said, saucily—“for the love +of drumming, not for your beaux yeux, m’sieu le maire.”</p> +<p>The mayor looked at her angrily, but, probably remembering +he was at her mercy, suppressed his wrath +and held out the telegram. “Can you read that, my +child?”</p> +<p>The girl, still breathing rapidly from her scramble, +rested her hands on her hips and, head on one side, +studied the blue sheets of the telegram over the mayor’s +outstretched arm.</p> +<p>“Yes, I can read it. Why not? Can’t you?”</p> +<p>“Read? I the mayor of Paradise!” repeated the +outraged magistrate. “What do you mean, lizard of +lizards! gorse cat!”</p> +<p>“Now if you are going to say such things I won’t +drum for you,” said the child, glancing at me out of +her sea-blue eyes and giving a shake to her elf-locks.</p> +<p>“Yes, you will!” bawled the angry mayor. “Shame +on your manners, Jacqueline Garenne! Shame on your +hair hanging where all the world can see it! Shame on +your bare legs—”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” said the child, unabashed. “God made +my legs, m’sieu the mayor, and my hair, too. If my +coiffe does not cover my hair, neither does the small +Paris hat of the Countess de Vassart cover her hair. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +Complain of the Countess to m’sieu the curé, then I +will listen to you.”</p> +<p>The mayor glared at her, but she tossed her head and +laughed.</p> +<p>“Ho fois! Everybody knows what you are,” sniffed +the mayor—“and nobody cares, either,” he muttered, +waddling past me, telegram in hand.</p> +<p>The child, quite unconcerned, fell into step beside +me, saying, confidentially: “When I was little I used +to cry when they talked to me like that. But I don’t +now; I’ve made up my mind that they are no better +than I.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know why anybody should abuse you,” +I said, loudly enough for the mayor to hear. But that +functionary waddled on, puffing, muttering, stopping +every now and then in the narrow cliff-path to strike +flint to tinder or to refill the tiny bowl of his pipe, which +a dozen puffs always exhausted.</p> +<p>“Oh, they all abuse us,” said the child, serenely. +“You see, you are a stranger and don’t understand; +but you will if you live here.”</p> +<p>“Why is everybody unkind to you?” I asked, after +a moment.</p> +<p>“Why? Oh, because I am what I am and my father +is the Lizard.”</p> +<p>“A poacher?”</p> +<p>“Ah,” she said, looking up at me with delicious +malice, “what is a poacher, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes he’s a fine fellow gone wrong,” I said, +laughing. “So I don’t believe any ill of your father, +or of you, either. Will you drum for me, Jacqueline?”</p> +<p>“For you, monsieur? Why, yes. What am I to read +for you?”</p> +<p>I gave her a hand-bill; at the first glance her eyes +sparkled, the color deepened under her coat of amber +tan; she caught her breath and read rapidly to the end. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></p> +<p>“Oh, how beautiful,” she said, softly. “Am I to +read this in the square?”</p> +<p>“I will give you a franc to read it, Jacqueline.”</p> +<p>“No, no—only—oh, do let me come in and see the +heavenly wonders! Would you, monsieur? I—I cannot +pay—but would—<i>could</i> you let me come in? I +will read your notice, anyway,” she added, with a +quaver in her voice.</p> +<p>The flushed face, the eager, upturned eyes, deep blue +as the sea, the little hands clutching the show-bill, +which fairly quivered between the tanned fingers—all +these touched and amused me. The child was mad +with excitement.</p> +<p>What she anticipated, Heaven only knows. Shabby +and tarnished as we were, the language of our hand-bills +made up in gaudiness for the dingy reality.</p> +<p>“Come whenever you like, Jacqueline,” I said. +“Ask for me at the gate.”</p> +<p>“And who are you, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“My name is Scarlett.”</p> +<p>“Scarlett,” she whispered, as though naming a sacred +thing.</p> +<p>The mayor, who had toddled some distance ahead of +us, now halted in the square, looking back at us through +the red evening light.</p> +<p>“Jacqueline, the drum is in my house. I’ll lend you +a pair of sabots, too. Come, hasten little idler!”</p> +<p>We entered the mayor’s garden, where the flowers +were glowing in the lustre of the setting sun. I sat +down in a chair; Jacqueline waited, hands resting on +her hips, small, shapely toes restlessly brushing the +grass.</p> +<p>“Truly this coming wonder-show will be a peep into +paradise,” she murmured. “Can all be true—really +true as it is printed here in this bill—I wonder—”</p> +<p>Before she had time to speculate further, the mayor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +reappeared with drum and drum-sticks in one hand +and a pair of sabots in the other. He flung the sabots +on the grass, and Jacqueline, quite docile now, slipped +both bare feet into them.</p> +<p>“You may keep them,” said the mayor, puffing out +his mottled cheeks benevolently; “decency must be +maintained in Paradise, even if it beggars me.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Jacqueline, sweetly, slinging the +drum across her hip and tightening the cords. She +clicked the ebony sticks, touched the tightly drawn +parchment, sounding it with delicate fingers, then looked +up at the mayor for further orders.</p> +<p>“Go, my child,” said the mayor, amiably, and +Jacqueline marched through the garden out into the +square by the fountain, drum-sticks clutched in one +tanned fist, the scrolls of paper in the other.</p> +<p>In the centre of the square she stood a moment, looking +around, then raised the drum-sticks; there came +a click, a flash of metal, and the quiet square echoed +with the startling outcrash. Back from roof and +wall bounded the echoes; the stony pavement rang +with the racket. Already a knot of people had gathered +around her; others came swiftly to windows and doorsteps; +the loungers left their stone benches by the river, +the maids of Paradise flocked from the bridge. Even +Robert the Lizard drew in his dripping line to listen. +The drum-roll ceased.</p> +<p>“<i>Attention! Men of Finistère!</i> By order of the governor +of Lorient, all men between the ages of twenty +and forty, otherwise not exempt, are ordered to report +at the navy-yard barracks, war-port of Lorient, on the +5th of November of the present year, to join the army +of the Loire.</p> +<p>“Whosoever is absent at roll-call will be liable +to the punishment provided for such delinquents +under the laws governing the state of siege now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +declared in Morbihan and Finistère. <i>Citizens, to +arms!</i></p> +<p>“The enemy is on the march! Though Metz has +fallen through treachery, Paris holds firm! Let the +provinces rise and hurl the invader from the soil of the +mother-land!</p> +<p>“<i>Bretons!</i> France calls! Answer with your ancient +battle-cry, ‘Sainte-Anne! Sainte-Anne!’ The eyes of +the world are on Armorica! <i>To arms!</i>”</p> +<p>The girl’s voice ceased; a dead silence reigned in the +square. The men looked at one another stupidly; a +woman began to whimper.</p> +<p>“The curse is on Paradise!” cried a hoarse voice.</p> +<p>The drummer was already drawing another paper +from her ragged pocket, and again in the same clear, +emotionless voice, but slightly drawling her words, she +read:</p> +<p>“To the good people of Paradise! The manager of +the famous American travelling circus, lately returned +from a tour of the northern provinces, with camels, +elephants, lions, and a magnificent company of artists, +announces a stupendous exhibition to be held in Lorient +at greatly reduced prices, thus enabling the intelligent +and appreciative people of Paradise to honor the Republican +Circus, recently known as the Imperial Circus, with +their benevolent and discerning patronage! Long live +France! Long live the Republic! Long live the Circus!”</p> +<p>A resounding roll of the drum ended the announcements; +the girl slung the drum over her shoulder, turned +to the right, and passed over the stone bridge, sabots +clicking. Presently from the hamlet of Alincourt over +the stream came the dull roll of the drum again and +the faint, clear voice:</p> +<p>“Attention! Men of Finistère! By order of the +governor of Lorient, all men—” The wind changed +and her voice died away among the trees. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></p> +<p>The maids of Paradise were weeping now by the +fountain; the men gathered near, and their slow, +hushed voices scarcely rose above the ripple of the +stream where Robert the Lizard fished in silence.</p> +<p>It was after sunset before Jacqueline finished her +rounds. She had read her proclamation in Alincourt +hamlet, she had read it in Sainte-Ysole, her drum had +aroused the inert loungers on the breakwater at Trinité-on-Sea. +Now, with her drum on her shoulder and +her sabots swinging in her left hand, she came down +the cliffs beside the Chapel of Our Lady of Paradise, +excited and expectant.</p> +<p>Of the first proclamation which she had read she +apparently understood little. When she announced +the great disaster at Metz in the north, and when her +passionless young voice proclaimed the levée en masse—the +call to arms for the men of the coast from Sainte-Ysole +to Trinité Beacon—she scarcely seemed to realize +what it meant, although all around her women turned +away sobbing, or clung, deathly white, to sons and +husbands.</p> +<p>But there was certainly something in the other proclamation +which thrilled her and set her heart galloping +as she loitered on the cliff.</p> +<p>I walked across to the Quimperlé road and met +her, dancing along with her drum; and she promptly +confided her longings and desires to me as we stood +together for an instant on the high-road. The circus! +Once, it appeared, she had seen—very far off—a glittering +creature turning on a trapeze. It was at the +fair near Bannalec, and it was so long ago that she +scarcely remembered anything except that somebody +had pulled her away while she stood enchanted, and +the flashing light of fairyland had been forever shut +from her eyes.</p> +<p>At times, when the maids of Paradise were sociable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +at the well in the square, she had listened to stories of +the splendid circus which came once to Lorient. And +now it was coming again!</p> +<p>We stood in the middle of the high-road looking +through the dust haze, she doubtless dreaming of the +splendors to come, I very, very tired. The curtain of +golden dust reddened in the west; the afterglow lit up +the sky once more with brilliant little clouds suspended +from mid-zenith. The moorland wind rose and tossed +her elf-locks in her eyes and whipped her skirt till the +rags fluttered above her smooth, bare knees.</p> +<p>Suddenly, straight out of the flaming gates of the +sunset, the miracle was wrought. Celestial shapes in +gold and purple rose up in the gilded dust, chariots of +silver, milk-white horses plumed with fire.</p> +<p>Breathless, she shrank back among the weeds, one +hand pressed to her throbbing throat. But the vision +grew as she stared; there was heavenly music, too, and +the clank of metal chains, and the smothered pounding +of hoofs. Then she caught sight of something through +the dust that filled her with a delicious terror, and she +cried out. For there, uptowering in the haze, came +trudging a great, gray creature, a fearsome, swaying +thing in crimson trappings, flapping huge ears. It +shuffled past, swinging a dusty trunk; the sparkling +horsemen cantered by, tin armor blazing in the fading +glory; the chariots dragged after, and the closed dens +of beasts rolled behind in single file, followed by the +band-wagon, where Heaven-inspired musicians played +frantically and a white-faced clown balanced his hat +on a stick and shrieked.</p> +<p>So the circus passed into Paradise; and I turned and +followed in the wake of dust, stale odors, and clamorous +discord, sick at heart of wandering over a world +I had not found too kind.</p> +<p>And at my heels stole Jacqueline.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +<a name='XI_IN_CAMP' id='XI_IN_CAMP'></a> +<h2>XI</h2> +<h3>IN CAMP</h3> +</div> +<p>We went into camp under the landward glacis of +the cliffs, in a field of clover which was to be +ploughed under in a few days. We all were there except +Kelly Eyre, who had gone to telegraph the governor +of Lorient for permission to enter the port with +the circus. Another messenger also left camp on private +business for me.</p> +<p>It was part of my duty to ration the hay for the elephant +and the thrice-accursed camel. The latter had +just bitten Mr. Grigg, our clown—not severely—and +Speed and Horan the “Strong Man” were hobbling the +brute as I finished feeding my lions and came up to +assist the others.</p> +<p>“Watch that darn elephant, too, Mr. Grigg,” said +Byram, looking up from a plate of fried ham that Miss +Crystal, our “Trapeze Lady,” had just cooked for him +over our gypsy fires of driftwood.</p> +<p>“Look at that elephant! Look at him!” continued +Byram, with a trace of animation lighting up his careworn +face—“look at him now chuckin’ hay over his +back. Scrape it up, Mr. Scarlett; hay’s thirty a ton +in this war-starved country.”</p> +<p>As I started to clean up the precious hay, the elephant +gave a curious grunt and swung his trunk toward +me.</p> +<p>“There’s somethin’ paltry about that elephant,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +Byram, in a complaining voice, rising, with plate of +ham in one hand, fork in the other. “He’s gittin’ as +mean as that crafty camuel. Make him move, Mr. +Speed, or he’ll put his foot on the trombone.”</p> +<p>“Hô Djebe! Mâil!” said Speed, sharply.</p> +<p>The elephant obediently shuffled forward; Byram +sat down again, and wearily cut himself a bit of fried +ham; and presently we were all sitting around the long +camp-table in the glare of two smoky petroleum torches, +eating our bread and ham and potatoes and drinking +Breton cider, a jug of which Mr. Horan had purchased +for a few coppers.</p> +<p>Some among us were too tired to eat, many too tired +for conversation, yet, from habit we fell into small talk +concerning the circus, the animals, the prospects of better +days.</p> +<p>The ladies of the company, whatever quarrels they +indulged in among themselves, stood loyally by Byram +in his anxiety and need. Miss Crystal and Miss Delany +displayed edifying optimism; Mrs. Horan refrained +from nagging; Mrs. Grigg, a pretty little creature, who +was one of the best equestriennes I ever saw, declared +that we were living too well and that a little dieting +wouldn’t hurt anybody.</p> +<p>McCadger, our band-master, came over from the other +fire to say that the men had finished grooming the +horses, and would I inspect the picket-line, as Kelly +Eyre was still absent.</p> +<p>When I returned, the ladies had retired to their +blankets under their shelter-tent; poor little Grigg lay +asleep at the table, his tired, ugly head resting among +the unwashed tin plates; Speed sprawled in his chair, +smoking a short pipe; Byram sat all hunched up, his +head sunk, eyes vacantly following the movements +of two men who were washing dishes in the flickering +torch-light. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></p> +<p>He looked up at me, saying: “I guess Mr. Speed is +right. Them lions o’ yourn is fed too much horse-meat. +Overeatin’ is overheatin’; we’ve got to give ’em +beef or they’ll be clawin’ you. Yes, sir, they’re all het +up. Hear ’em growl!”</p> +<p>“That’s a fable, governor,” I said, smiling and dropping +into a chair. “I’ve heard that theory before, but +it isn’t true.”</p> +<p>“The trouble with your lions is that you play with +them too much and they’re losing respect for you,” +said Speed, drowsily.</p> +<p>“The trouble with my lions,” said I, “is that they +were born in captivity. Give me a wild lion, caught +on his native heath, and I’ll know what to expect from +him when I tame him. But no man on earth can tell +what a lion born in captivity will do.”</p> +<p>The hard cider had cheered Byram a little; he drew +a cherished cigar from his vest-pocket, offered it to me, +and when I considerately refused, he carefully set it +alight with a splinter from the fire. Its odor was indescribable.</p> +<p>“Luck’s a curious phenomena, ain’t it, Mr. Scarlett?” +he said.</p> +<p>I agreed with him.</p> +<p>“Luck,” continued Byram, waving his cigar toward +the four quarters of the globe, “is the rich man’s slave +an’ the poor man’s tyrant. It’s also a see-saw. When +the devil plays in luck the cherubim git spanked—or +words to that effec’—not meanin’ no profanity.”</p> +<p>“It’s about like that, governor,” admitted Speed, +lazily.</p> +<p>Byram leaned back and sucked meditatively at his +cigar. The new moon was just rising over the elephant’s +hindquarters, and the poetry of the incident +appeared to move the manager profoundly. He turned +and surveyed the dim bivouac, the two silent tents, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +monstrous, shadowy bulk of the elephant, rocking +monotonously against the sky. “Kind of Silurian +an’ solemn, ain’t it,” he murmured, “the moon shinin’ +onto the rump of that primeval pachyderm. It’s like +the dark ages of the behemoth an’ the cony. I tell +you, gentlemen, when them fearsome an’ gigantic +mamuels was aboundin’ in the dawn of creation, the +public missed the greatest show on earth—by a few +million years!”</p> +<p>We nodded sleepily but gravely.</p> +<p>Byram appeared to have recovered something of his +buoyancy and native optimism.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” he said, “let’s kinder saunter over to +the inn and have a night-cap with Kelly Eyre.”</p> +<p>This unusual and expensive suggestion startled us +wide awake, but we were only too glad to acquiesce in +anything which tended to raise his spirits or ours. +Dog tired but smiling we rose; Byram, in his shirt-sleeves +and suspenders, wearing his silk hat on the +back of his head, led the way, fanning his perspiring +face with a red-and-yellow bandanna.</p> +<p>“Luck,” said Byram, waving his cigar toward the +new moon, “is bound to turn one way or t’other—like +my camuel. Sometimes, resemblin’ the camuel, luck +will turn on you. Look out it don’t bite you. I once +made up a piece about luck:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“‘Don’t buck<br /> + Bad luck<br /> + Or you’ll get stuck—’</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>I disremember the rest, but it went on to say a few +other words to that effec’.”</p> +<p>The lighted door of the inn hung ajar as we crossed +the star-lit square; Byram entered and stood a moment +in the doorway, stroking his chin. “Bong joor the +company!” he said, lifting his battered hat. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span></p> +<p>The few Bretons in the wine-room returned his +civility; he glanced about and his eye fell on Kelly +Eyre, Speed’s assistant balloonist, seated by the window +with Horan.</p> +<p>“Well, gents,” said Byram, hopefully, “an’ what aire +the prospects of smilin’ fortune when rosy-fingered +dawn has came again to kiss us back to life?”</p> +<p>“Rotten,” said Eyre, pushing a telegram across the +oak table.</p> +<p>Byram’s face fell; he picked up the telegram and +fumbled in his coat for his spectacles with unsteady +hand.</p> +<p>“Let me read it, governor,” said Speed, and took the +blue paper from Byram’s unresisting, stubby fingers.</p> +<p>“O-ho!” he muttered, scanning the message; “well—well, +it’s not so bad as all that—” He turned abruptly +on Kelly Eyre—“What the devil are you scaring the +governor for?”</p> +<p>“Well, he’s got to be told—I didn’t mean to worry +him,” said Eyre, stammering, ashamed of his thoughtlessness.</p> +<p>“Now see here, governor,” said Speed, “let’s all +have a drink first. Hé ma belle!”—to the big Breton +girl knitting in the corner—“four little swallows of +eau-de-vie, if you please! Ah, thank you, I knew you +were from Bannalec, where all the girls are as clever +as they are pretty! Come, governor, touch glasses! +There is no circus but the circus, and Byram is it’s +prophet! Drink, gentlemen!”</p> +<p>But his forced gayety was ominous; we scarcely +tasted the liqueur. Byram wiped his brow and squared +his bent shoulders. Speed, elbows on the table, sat +musing and twirling his half-empty glass.</p> +<p>“Well, sir?” said Byram, in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Well, governor? Oh—er—the telegram?” asked +Speed, like a man fighting for time. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></p> +<p>“Yes, the telegram,” said Byram, patiently.</p> +<p>“Well, you see they have just heard of the terrible +smash-up in the north, governor. Metz has surrendered +with Bazaine’s entire army. And they’re naturally +frightened at Lorient.... And I rather fear that +the Germans are on their way toward the coast.... And ... well ... they +won’t let us pass the Lorient +fortifications.”</p> +<p>“Won’t let us in?” cried Byram, hoarsely.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid not, governor.”</p> +<p>Byram stared at us. We had counted on Lorient to +pull us through as far as the frontier.</p> +<p>“Now don’t take it so hard, governor,” said Kelly +Eyre; “I was frightened myself, at first, but I’m +ashamed of it now. We’ll pull through, anyhow.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said Speed, cheerily, “we’ll just lay up +here for a few days and economize. Why can’t we try +one performance here, Scarlett?”</p> +<p>“We can,” said I. “We’ll drum up the whole district +from Pontivy to Auray and from Penmarch Point to +Plouharnel! Why should the Breton peasantry not +come? Don’t they walk miles to the Pardons?”</p> +<p>A gray pallor settled on Byram’s sunken face; with +it came a certain dignity which sorrow sometimes +brings even to men like him.</p> +<p>“Young gentlemen,” he said, “I’m obliged to you. +These here reverses come to everybody, I guess. The +Lord knows best; but if He’ll just lemme run my show +a leetle longer, I’ll pay my debts an’ say, ‘Thy will be +done, amen!’”</p> +<p>“We all must learn to say that, anyway,” said +Speed.</p> +<p>“Mebbe,” muttered Byram, “but I must pay my +debts.”</p> +<p>After a painful silence he rose, steadying himself +with his hand on Eyre’s broad shoulder, and shambled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +out across the square, muttering something about his +elephant and his camuel.</p> +<p>Speed paid the insignificant bill, emptied his glass, +and nodded at me.</p> +<p>“It’s all up,” he said, soberly.</p> +<p>“Let’s come back to camp and talk it over,” I said.</p> +<p>Together we traversed the square under the stars, +and entered the field of clover. In the dim, smoky +camp all lights were out except one oil-drenched torch +stuck in the ground between the two tents. Byram +had gone to rest, so had Kelly Eyre. But my lions +were awake, moving noiselessly to and fro, eyes shining +in the dusk; and the elephant, a shapeless pile of +shadow against the sky, stood watching us with little, +evil eyes.</p> +<p>Speed had some cigarettes, and he laid the pink +package on the table. I lighted one when he did.</p> +<p>“Do you really think there’s a chance?” he asked, +presently.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” I said.</p> +<p>“Well, we can try.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes.”</p> +<p>Speed dropped his elbows on the table. “Poor old +governor,” he said.</p> +<p>Then he began to talk of our own prospects, which +were certainly obscure if not alarming; but he soon +gave up speculation as futile, and grew reminiscent, +recalling our first acquaintance as discharged soldiers +from the African battalions, our hand-to-mouth existence +as gentlemen farmers in Algiers, our bankruptcy +and desperate struggle in Marseilles, first as dock-workmen, +then as government horse-buyers for the +cavalry, then as employés of the Hippodrome in Paris, +where I finally settled down as bareback rider, lion-tamer, +and instructor in the haute-école; and he accepted +a salary as aid to Monsieur Gaston Tissandier, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +scientist, who was experimenting with balloons at Saint-Cloud.</p> +<p>He spoke, too, of our enlistment in the Imperial Police, +and the hopes we had of advancement, which not +only brought no response from me, but left us both +brooding sullenly on our wrongs, crouched there over +the rough camp-table under the stars.</p> +<p>“Oh, hell!” muttered Speed, “I’m going to bed.”</p> +<p>But he did not move. Presently he said, “How did +you ever come to handle wild animals?”</p> +<p>“I’ve always been fond of animals; I broke colts +at home; I had bear cubs and other things. Then, in +Algiers, the regiment caught a couple of lions and kept +them in a cage, and—well, I found I could do what I +liked with them.”</p> +<p>“They’re afraid of your eyes, aren’t they?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know—perhaps it’s that; I can’t explain it—or, +rather, I could partly explain it by saying that I +am not afraid of them. But I never trust them.”</p> +<p>“You drag them all around the cage! You shove +them about like sacks of meal!”</p> +<p>“Yes,... but I don’t trust them.”</p> +<p>“It seems to me,” said Speed, “that your lions are +getting rather impudent these days. They’re not very +much afraid of you now.”</p> +<p>“Nor I of them,” I said, wearily; “I’m much more +anxious about you when you go sailing about in that +patched balloon of yours. Are you never nervous?”</p> +<p>“Nervous? When?”</p> +<p>“When you’re up there?”</p> +<p>“Rubbish.”</p> +<p>“Suppose the patches give way?”</p> +<p>“I never think of that,” he said, leaning on the table +with a yawn. “Oh, Lord, how tired I am!... but I +shall not be able to sleep. I’m actually too tired to +sleep. Have you got a pack of cards, Scarlett? or a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +decent cigar, or a glass of anything, or anything to +show me more amusing than that nightmare of an +elephant? Oh, I’m sick of the whole business—sick! +sick! The stench of the tan-bark never leaves my +nostrils except when the odor of fried ham or of that +devilish camel replaces it.</p> +<p>“I’m too old to enjoy a gypsy drama when it’s acted +by myself; I’m tired of trudging through the world +with my entire estate in my pocket. I want a home, +Scarlett. Lord, how I envy people with homes!”</p> +<p>He had been indulging in this outburst with his back +partly turned toward me. I did not say anything, and, +after a moment, he looked at me over his shoulder to +see how I took it.</p> +<p>“I’d like to have a home, too,” I said.</p> +<p>“I suppose homes are not meant for men like you and +me,” he said. “Lord, how I would appreciate one, +though—anything with a bit of grass in the yard +and a shovelful of dirt—enough to grow some damn +flower, you know.... Did you smell the posies in +the square to-night?... Something of that kind,... anything, +Scarlett—anything that can be called +a home!... But you can’t understand.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, I can,” I said.</p> +<p>He went on muttering, half to himself: “We’re of +the same breed—pariahs; fortunately, pariahs don’t +last long,... like the wild creatures who never die +natural deaths,... old age is one of the curses they +can safely discount,... and so can we, Scarlett, so +can we.... For you’ll be mauled by a lion or kicked +into glory by a horse or an ox or an ass,... and I’ll +fall off a balloon,... or the camel will give me tetanus, +or the elephant will get me in one way or another,... or +something....”</p> +<p>Again he twisted around to look at me. “Funny, +isn’t it?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></p> +<p>“Rather funny,” I said, listlessly.</p> +<p>He leaned over, pulled another cigarette from the +pink packet, broke a match from the card, and lighted +it.</p> +<p>“I feel better,” he observed.</p> +<p>I expressed sleepy gratification.</p> +<p>“Oh yes, I’m much better. This isn’t a bad life, is +it?”</p> +<p>“Oh no!” I said, sarcastically.</p> +<p>“No, it’s all right, and we’ve got to pull the poor old +governor through and give a jolly good show here and +start the whole country toward the tent door! Eh?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. Don’t let me detain you.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “if we only had that +poor little girl, Miss Claridge, we’d catch these Bretons. +That’s what took the coast-folk all over Europe, so +Grigg says.”</p> +<p>Miss Claridge had performed in a large glass tank +as the “Leaping Mermaid.” It took like wildfire according +to our fellow-performers. We had never seen +her; she was killed by diving into her tank when the +circus was at Antwerp in April.</p> +<p>“Can’t we get up something like that?” I suggested, +hopelessly.</p> +<p>“Who would do it? Miss Claridge’s fish-tights are +in the prop-box; who’s to wear them?”</p> +<p>He began to say something else, but stopped suddenly, +eyes fixed. We were seated nearly opposite each +other, and I turned around, following the direction of +his eyes.</p> +<p>Jacqueline stood behind me in the smoky light of the +torch—Jacqueline, bare of arm and knee, with her sea-blue +eyes very wide and the witch-locks clustering +around the dim oval of her face. After a moment’s +absolute silence she said: “I came from Paradise. +Don’t you remember?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span></p> +<p>“From Paradise?” said Speed, smiling; “I thought +it might be from elf-land.”</p> +<p>And I said: “Of course I remember you, Jacqueline. +And I have an idea you ought to be in bed.”</p> +<p>There was another silence.</p> +<p>“Won’t you sit down?” asked Speed.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Jacqueline, gravely.</p> +<p>She seated herself on a sack of sawdust, clasping +her slender hands between her knees, and looked +earnestly at the elephant.</p> +<p>“He won’t harm you,” I assured her.</p> +<p>“If you think I am afraid of <i>that</i>,” she said, “you are +mistaken, Monsieur Scarlett.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think you are afraid of anything,” observed +Speed, smiling; “but I know you are capable of astonishment.”</p> +<p>“How do you know that?” demanded the girl.</p> +<p>“Because I saw you with your drum on the high-road +when we came past Paradise. Your eyes were similar +to saucers, and your mouth was not closed, Mademoiselle +Jacqueline.”</p> +<p>“Oh—pour ça—yes, I was astonished,” she said. +Then, with a quick, upward glance: “Were you riding, +in armor, on a horse?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Speed; “I was on that elephant’s head.”</p> +<p>This appeared to make a certain impression on Jacqueline. +She became shyer of speech for a while, until he +asked her, jestingly, why she did not join the circus.</p> +<p>“It is what I wish,” she said, under her breath.</p> +<p>“And ride white horses?”</p> +<p>“Will you take me?” she cried, passionately, springing +to her feet.</p> +<p>Amazed at her earnestness, I tried to explain that +such an idea was out of the question. She listened +anxiously at first, then her eyes fell and she stood +there in the torch-light, head hanging. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></p> +<p>“Don’t you know,” said Speed, kindly, “that it takes +years of practice to do what circus people do? And the +life is not gay, Jacqueline; it is hard for all of us. We +know what hunger means; we know sickness and want +and cold. Believe me, you are happier in Paradise than +we are in the circus.”</p> +<p>“It may be,” she said, quietly.</p> +<p>“Of course it is,” he insisted.</p> +<p>“But,” she flashed out, “I would rather be unhappy +in the circus than happy in Paradise!”</p> +<p>He protested, smiling, but she would have her +way.</p> +<p>“I once saw a man, in spangles, turning, turning, +and ever turning upon a rod. He was very far away, +and that was very long ago—at the fair in Bannalec. +But I have not forgotten! No, monsieur! In our net-shed +I also have fixed a bar of wood, and on it I turn, +turn continually. I am not ignorant of twisting. I +can place my legs over my neck and cross my feet under +my chin. Also I can stand on both hands, and I can +throw scores of handsprings—which I do every morning +upon the beach—I, Jacqueline!”</p> +<p>She was excited; she stretched out both bare arms +as though preparing to demonstrate her ability then +and there.</p> +<p>“I should like to see a circus,” she said. “Then I +should know what to do. That I can swing higher +than any girl in Paradise has been demonstrated often,” +she went on, earnestly. “I can swim farther, I can +dive deeper, I can run faster, with bare feet or with +sabots, than anybody, man or woman, from the Beacon +to Our Lady’s Chapel! At bowls the men will not allow +me because I have beaten them all, monsieur, even the +mayor, which he never forgave. As for the farandole, +I tire last of all—and it is the biniou who cries out for +mercy!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></p> +<p>She laughed and pushed back her hair, standing +straight up in the yellow radiance like a moor-sprite. +There was something almost unearthly in her lithe +young body and fearless sea-blue eyes, sparkling from +the shock of curls.</p> +<p>“So you can dive and swim?” asked Speed, with a +glance at me.</p> +<p>“Like the salmon in the Läita, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Under water?”</p> +<p>“Parbleu!”</p> +<p>After a pause I asked her age.</p> +<p>“Fifteen, M’sieu Scarlett.”</p> +<p>“You don’t look thirteen, Jacqueline.”</p> +<p>“I think I should grow faster if we were not so poor,” +she said, innocently.</p> +<p>“You mean that you don’t get enough to eat?”</p> +<p>“Not always, m’sieu. But that is so with everybody +except the wealthy.”</p> +<p>“Suppose we try her,” said Speed, after a silence. +“You and I can scrape up a little money for her if +worst comes to worst.”</p> +<p>“How about her father?”</p> +<p>“You can see him. What is he?”</p> +<p>“A poacher, I understand.”</p> +<p>“Oh, then it’s easy enough. Give him a few francs. +He’ll take the child’s salary, anyway, if this thing +turns out well.”</p> +<p>“Jacqueline,” I said, “we can’t afford to pay you +much money, you know.”</p> +<p>“Money?” repeated the child, vacantly. “<i>Money!</i> +If I had my arms full—so!—I would throw it into +the world—so!”—she glanced at Speed—“reserving +enough for a new skirt, monsieur, of which I stand +in some necessity.”</p> +<p>The quaint seriousness, the resolute fearlessness of +this little maid of Paradise touched us both, I think, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +as she stood there restlessly, balancing on her slim +bare feet, finger-tips poised on her hips.</p> +<p>“Won’t you take me?” she asked, sweetly.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Jacqueline,” said I. “Very +early in the morning I’ll go down to your house and +see your father. Then, if he makes no objection, I’ll +get you to put on a pretty swimming-suit, all made out +of silver scales, and you can show me, there in the sea, +how you can dive and swim and play at mermaid. +Does that please you?”</p> +<p>She looked earnestly at me, then at Speed.</p> +<p>“Is it a promise?” she asked, in a quivering voice.</p> +<p>“Yes, Jacqueline.”</p> +<p>“Then I thank you, M’sieu Scarlett,... and you, +m’sieur, who ride the elephant so splendidly.... And +I will be waiting for you when you come.... We +live in the house below the Saint-Julien Light.... My +father is pilot of the port.... Anybody will tell +you.” ...</p> +<p>“I will not forget,” said I.</p> +<p>She bade us good-night very prettily, stepped back +out of the circle of torch-light, and vanished—there +is no other word for it.</p> +<p>“Gracious,” said Speed, “wasn’t that rather sudden? +Or is that the child yonder? No, it’s a bush. Well, +Scarlett, there’s an uncanny young one for you—no, +not uncanny, but a spirit in its most delicate sense. +I’ve an idea she’s going to find poor Byram’s lost luck +for him.”</p> +<p>“Or break her neck,” I observed.</p> +<p>Speed was quiet for a long while.</p> +<p>“By-the-way,” he said, at last, “are you going to +tell the Countess about that fellow Buckhurst?”</p> +<p>“I sent a note to her before I fed my lions,” I replied.</p> +<p>“Are you going to see her?”</p> +<p>“If she desires it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>“Who took the note, Scarlett?”</p> +<p>“Jacqueline’s father,... that Lizard fellow.”</p> +<p>“Well, don’t let’s stir up Buckhurst now,” said Speed. +“Let’s do what we can for the governor first.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” said I. “And I’m going to bed. Good-night.”</p> +<p>“Good-night,” said Speed, thoughtfully. “I’ll join +you in a moment.”</p> +<p>When I was ready for bed and stood at the tent door, +peering out into the darkness, I saw Speed curled up on +a blanket between the elephant’s forefeet, sound asleep.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +<a name='XII_JACQUELINE' id='XII_JACQUELINE'></a> +<h2>XII</h2> +<h3>JACQUELINE</h3> +</div> +<p>The stars were still shining when I awoke in my +blanket, lighted a candle, and stepped into the +wooden tub of salt-water outside the tent.</p> +<p>I shaved by candle-light, dressed in my worn riding-breeches +and jacket, then, candle in hand, began groping +about among the faded bits of finery and tarnished +properties until I found the silver-scaled swimming-tights +once worn by the girl of whom we had heard so +much.</p> +<p>She was very young when she leaped to her death +in Antwerp—a slim slip of a creature, they said—so I +thought it likely that her suit might fit Jacqueline.</p> +<p>The stars had begun to fade when I stepped out +through the dew-soaked clover, carrying in one hand a +satchel containing the swimming-suit, in the other +a gun-case, in which, carefully oiled and doubly cased +in flannel, reposed my only luxury—my breech-loading +shot-gun.</p> +<p>The silence, intensified by the double thunder of the +breakers on the sands, was suddenly pierced by a far +cock-crow; vague gray figures passed across the square +as I traversed it; a cow-bell tinkled near by, and I +smelt the fresh-blown wind from the downs.</p> +<p>Presently, as I turned into the cliff-path, I saw a +sober little Breton cow plodding patiently along ahead; +beside her moved a fresh-faced maid of Paradise in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +snowy collarette and white-winged head-dress, knitting +as she walked, fair head bent.</p> +<p>As I passed her she glanced up with tear-dimmed +eyes, murmuring the customary salutation: “Bonjour +d’ac’h, m’sieu!” And I replied in the best patois +I could command: “Bonjour d’ec’h a laran, na œled +Ket! Why do you cry, mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>“Cry, m’sieu? They are taking the men of Paradise +to the war. France must know how cruel she is to +take our men from us.”</p> +<p>We had reached the green crest of the plateau; the +girl tethered her diminutive cow, sat down on a half-imbedded +stone, and continued her knitting, crying +softly all the while.</p> +<p>I asked her to direct me to the house where Robert, +the Lizard, lived; she pointed with her needles to a large +stone house looming up in the gray light, built on the +rocks just under the beacon. It was white with sea-slime +and crusted salt, yet heavily and solidly built as +a fort, and doubtless very old, judging from the traces +of sculptured work over portal and windows.</p> +<p>I had scarcely expected to find the ragged Lizard and +more ragged Jacqueline housed in such an anciently +respectable structure, and I said so to the girl beside me.</p> +<p>“The house is bare as the bones of Sainte-Anne,” +she said. “There is nothing within—not even crumbs +enough for the cliff-rats, they say.”</p> +<p>So I went away across the foggy, soaking moorland, +carrying my gun and satchel in their cases, descended +the grassy cleft, entered a cattle-path, and picked my +way across the wet, black rocks toward the abode of +the poacher.</p> +<p>The Lizard was standing on his doorsill when I +came up; he returned my greeting sullenly, his keen +eyes of a sea-bird roving over me from head to foot. +A rumpled and sulky yellow cat, evidently just awake, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +sat on the doorstep beside him and yawned at intervals. +The pair looked as though they had made a night of it.</p> +<p>“You took my letter last night?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Was there an answer for me?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you have come to the camp and told me?”</p> +<p>“I could, but I had other matters to concern me,” +he replied. “Here’s your letter,” and he fished it out +of his tattered pocket.</p> +<p>I was angry enough, but I did not wish to anger +him at that moment. So I took the letter and read it—a +formal line saying the Countess de Vassart would +expect me at five that afternoon.</p> +<p>“You are not noted for your courtesy, are you?” +I inquired, smiling.</p> +<p>Something resembling a grin touched his sea-scarred +visage.</p> +<p>“Oh, I knew you’d come for your answer,” he said, +coolly.</p> +<p>“Look here, Lizard,” I said, “I intend to be friends +with you, and I mean to make you look on me as a +friend. It’s to my advantage and to yours.”</p> +<p>“To mine?” he inquired, sneeringly, amused.</p> +<p>“And this is the first thing I want,” I continued; +and without further preface I unfolded our plans concerning +Jacqueline.</p> +<p>“Entendu,” he said, drawling the word, “is that +all?”</p> +<p>“Do you consent?”</p> +<p>“Is that all?” he repeated, with Breton obstinacy.</p> +<p>“No, not all. I want you to be my messenger in +time of need. I want you to be absolutely faithful to +me.”</p> +<p>“Is that all?” he drawled again.</p> +<p>“Yes, that is all.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></p> +<p>“And what is there in this, to my advantage, +m’sieu?”</p> +<p>“This, for one thing,” I said, carelessly, picking +up my gun-case. I slowly drew out the barrels of +Damascus, then the rose-wood stock and fore-end, +assembling them lovingly; for it was the finest weapon +I had ever seen, and it was breaking my heart to give +it away.</p> +<p>The poacher’s eyes began to glitter as I fitted the +double bolts and locked breech and barrel with the +extension rib. Then I snapped on the fore-end; and +there lay the gun in my hands, a fowling-piece fit for +an emperor.</p> +<p>“Give it?” muttered the poacher, huskily.</p> +<p>“Take it, my friend the Lizard,” I replied, smiling +down the wrench in my heart.</p> +<p>There was a silence; then the poacher stepped +forward, and, looking me square in the eye, flung out +his hand. I struck my open palm smartly against his, +in the Breton fashion; then we clasped hands.</p> +<p>“You mean honestly by the little one?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said; “strike palms by Sainte Thekla of +Ycône!”</p> +<p>We struck palms heavily.</p> +<p>“She is a child,” he said; “there is no vice in her; +yet I’ve seen them nearly finished at her age in Paris.” +And he swore terribly as he said it.</p> +<p>We dropped hands in silence; then, “Is this gun +mine?” he demanded, hoarsely.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Strike!” he cried; “take my friendship if you want +it, on this condition—what I am is my own concern, +not yours. Don’t interfere, m’sieu; it would be useless. +I should never betray you, but I might kill you. +Don’t interfere. But if you care for the good-will of a +man like me, take it; and when you desire a service +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +from me, tell me, and I’ll not fail you, by Sainte-Éline +of Paradise!”</p> +<p>“Strike palms,” said I, gravely; and we struck palms +thrice.</p> +<p>He turned on his heel, kicking off his sabots on the +doorsill. “Break bread with me; I ask it,” he said, +gruffly, and stalked before me into the house.</p> +<p>The room was massive and of noble proportion, but +there was scarcely anything in it—a stained table, a +settle, a little pile of rags on the stone floor—no, not +rags, but Jacqueline’s clothes!—and there at the end +of the great chamber, built into the wall, was the ancient +Breton bed with its Gothic carving and sliding panels +of black oak, carved like the lattice-work in a chapel +screen.</p> +<p>Outside dawn was breaking through a silver shoal +of clouds; already its slender tentacles of light were +probing the shadows behind the lattice where Jacqueline +lay sleeping.</p> +<p>From the ashes on the hearth a spiral of smoke +curled. The yellow cat walked in and sat down, contemplating +the ashes.</p> +<p>Slowly a saffron light filled the room; Jacqueline +awoke in the dim bed.</p> +<p>She pushed the panels aside and peered out, her +sea-blue eyes heavy with slumber.</p> +<p>“Ma doué!” she murmured; “it is M’sieu Scarlett! +Aie! Aie! Am I a countess to sleep so late? Bonjour, +m’sieu! Bonjour, pa-pa!” She caught sight of +the yellow cat, “Et bien le bonjour, Ange Pitou!”</p> +<p>She swathed herself in a blanket and sat up, looking +at me sleepily.</p> +<p>“You came to see me swim,” she said.</p> +<p>“And I’ve brought you a fish’s silver skin to swim +in,” I replied, pointing at the satchel.</p> +<p>She cast a swift glance at her father, who, with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +gun on his knees, sat as though hypnotized by the +beauty of its workmanship. Her bright eyes fell on +the gun; she understood in a flash.</p> +<p>“Then you’ll take me?”</p> +<p>“If you swim as well as I hope you can.”</p> +<p>“Turn your back!” she cried.</p> +<p>I wheeled about and sat down on the settle beside the +poacher. There came a light thud of small, bare feet +on the stone floor, then silence. The poacher looked up.</p> +<p>“She’s gone to the ocean,” he said; “she has the +mania for baths—like you English.” And he fell to +rubbing the gunstock with dirty thumb.</p> +<p>The saffron light in the room was turning pink when +Jacqueline reappeared on the threshold in her ragged +skirt and stained velvet bodice half laced, with the +broken points hanging, carrying an armful of driftwood.</p> +<p>Without a word she went to work; the driftwood +caught fire from the ashes, flaming up in exquisite +colors, now rosy, now delicate green, now violet; the +copper pot, swinging from the crane, began to steam, +then to simmer.</p> +<p>“Papa!”</p> +<p>“De quoi!” growled the poacher.</p> +<p>“Were you out last night?”</p> +<p>“Dame, I’ve just come in.”</p> +<p>“Is there anything?”</p> +<p>The poacher gave me an oblique and evil glance, +then coolly answered: “Three pheasant, two partridges, +and a sea-trout in the net-shed. All are drawn.”</p> +<p>So swiftly she worked that the pink light had scarcely +deepened to crimson when the poacher, laying the gun +tenderly in the blankets of Jacqueline’s tumbled bed, +came striding back to the table where a sea-trout smoked +on a cracked platter, and a bowl of bread and milk stood +before each place. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></p> +<p>We ate silently. Ange Pitou, the yellow cat, came +around with tail inflated. There were fishbones enough +to gratify any cat, and Ange Pitou made short work of +them.</p> +<p>The poacher bolted his food, sombre eyes brooding +or stealing across the room to the bed where his gun +lay. Jacqueline, to my amazement, ate as daintily +as a linnet, yet with a fresh, hearty unconsciousness +that left nothing in her bowl or wooden spoon.</p> +<p>“Schist?” inquired the poacher, lifting his tired eyes +to me. I nodded. So he brought a jug of cold, sweet +cider, and we all drank long and deeply, each in turn +slinging the jug over the crooked elbow.</p> +<p>The poacher rose, wiped his mouth with the back of +his hand, and made straight for his new gun.</p> +<p>“You two,” he said, with a wave of his arm, “you +settle it among yourselves. Jacqueline, is it true that +Le Bihan saw woodcock dropping into the fen last +night?”</p> +<p>“He says so.”</p> +<p>“He is not a liar—usually,” observed the poacher. +He touched his beret to me, flung the fowling-piece over +his shoulder, picked up a canvas bag in which I heard +cartridges rattling, stepped into his sabots, and walked +away. In a few moments the hysterical yelps of a dog, +pleased at the prospect of a hunt, broke out from the +net-shed.</p> +<p>Jacqueline placed the few dishes in a pan of hot +water, wiped her fingers, daintily, and picked up Ange +Pitou, who promptly acknowledged the courtesy by +bursting into a crackling purring.</p> +<p>“Show me the swimming-suit,” she said, shyly.</p> +<p>I drew it out of the satchel and laid it across my knees.</p> +<p>“Oh, it has a little tail behind—like a fish!” she cried, +enchanted. “I shall look like the silver grilse of +Quimperlé!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></p> +<p>“Do you think you can swim in those scales?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“Swim? I—Jacqueline? Attendez un peu—you +shall see!”</p> +<p>She laughed an excited, confident little laugh and +hugged Ange Pitou, who closed his eyes in ecstasy +sheathing and unsheathing his sharp claws.</p> +<p>“It is almost sunrise,” I said.</p> +<p>“It lacks many minutes to sunrise,” she replied. +“Ask Ange Pitou. At sunrise he leaves me; nothing +can hold him; he does not bite or scratch, he just pushes +and pulls until my arms are tired. Then he goes. +It is always so.”</p> +<p>“Why does he do that?”</p> +<p>“Ask him. I have often asked, but he never tells +me—do you, my friend? I think he’s a moor-sprite—perhaps +a devil. Do devils hate all kinds of +water?”</p> +<p>“No, only holy water,” I replied.</p> +<p>“Well, then, he’s something else. Look! Look! He +is beginning! See him push to get free, see him drive +his furry head into my hands. The sun is coming +up out of the sea! It will soon be here.”</p> +<p>She opened her arms; the cat sprang to the doorstep +and vanished.</p> +<p>Jacqueline looked at the swimming-suit, then at me. +“Will you go down to the beach, M’sieu Scarlett?”</p> +<p>But I had not traversed half the strip of rock and +hard sand before something flew past—a slim, glittering +shape which suddenly doubled up, straightened +again, and fell headlong into the thundering surf.</p> +<p>The waves hurled her from crest to crest, clothing +her limbs in froth; the singing foam rolled her over +and over, stranding her on bubbling sands, until the +swell found her again, lifted her, and tossed her seaward +into the wide, white arms of the breakers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></p> +<p>Back to land she drifted and scrambled up on the +beach, a slender, drenched figure, glistening and flashing +with every movement.</p> +<p>Dainty of limb as a cat in wet grass, she shook the +spray from her fingers and scrubbed each palm with +sand, then sprang again headlong into the surf; there +was a flash, a spatter, and she vanished.</p> +<p>After a long, long while, far out on the water she +rose, floating.</p> +<p>Now the red sun, pushing above the ocean’s leaden +rim, flung its crimson net across the water. String +after string of white-breasted sea-ducks beat to windward +from the cove, whirling out to sea; the gray gulls +flapped low above the shoal and settled in rows along +the outer bar, tossing their sun-tipped wings; the black +cormorant on the cliff craned its hideous neck, scanning +the ocean with restless, brilliant eyes.</p> +<p>Tossed back once more upon the beach like an opalescent +shell, Jacqueline, ankle-deep in foam, looked out +across the flaming waters, her drenched hair dripping.</p> +<p>From the gorse on cliff and headland, one by one the +larks shot skyward like amber rockets, trailing a shower +of melody till the whole sky rained song. The crested +vanneaux, passing out to sea, responded plaintively, +flapping their bronze-green wings.</p> +<p>The girl twisted her hair and wrung it till the last +salt drop had fallen. Sitting there in the sands, idle +fingers cracking the pods of gilded sea-weed, she +glanced up at me and laughed contentedly. Presently +she rose and walked out to a high ledge, motioning +me to follow. Far below, the sun-lit water +shimmered in a shallow basin of silver sand.</p> +<p>“Look!” she cried, flinging her arms above her head, +and dropped into space, falling like a star, down, down +into the shallow sea. Far below I saw a streak of living +light shoot through the water—on, on, closer to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +surface now, and at last she fairly sprang into the air, +quivering like a gaffed salmon, then fell back to float +and clear her blue eyes from her tangled hair.</p> +<p>She gave me a glance full of malice as she landed, +knowing quite well that she had not only won, but had +given me a shock with her long dive into scarce three +feet of water.</p> +<p>Presently she climbed to the sun-warmed hillock of +sand and sat down beside me to dry her hair.</p> +<p>A langouste, in his flaming scarlet coat of mail, +passed through a glassy pool among the rocks, treading +sedately on pointed claws; the lançons tunnelled +the oozing beach under her pink feet, like streams +of living quicksilver; the big, blue sea-crabs sidled +off the reef, sheering down sideways into limpid +depths. Landward the curlew walked in twos and +threes, swinging their long sickle bills; the sea-swallows +drove by like gray snow-squalls, melting away +against the sky; a vitreous living creature, blazing +with purest sapphire light, floated past under water.</p> +<p>Ange Pitou, coveting a warm sun-bath in the sand, +came wandering along pretending not to see us; but +Jacqueline dragged him into her arms for a hug, which +lasted until Ange Pitou broke loose, tail hoisted but +ears deaf to further flattery.</p> +<p>So Jacqueline chased Ange Pitou back across the +sand and up the rocky path, pursuing her pet from +pillar to post with flying feet that fell as noiselessly +as the velvet pads of Ange Pitou.</p> +<p>“Come to the net-shed, if you please!” she called +back to me, pointing to a crazy wooden structure built +above the house.</p> +<p>As I entered the net-shed the child was dragging a +pile of sea-nets to the middle of the floor.</p> +<p>“In case I fall,” she said, coolly.</p> +<p>“Better let me arrange them, then,” I said, glancing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +up at the improvised trapeze which dangled under the +roof-beams.</p> +<p>She thanked me, seized a long rope, and went up, +hand over hand. I piled the soft nets into a mattress, +but decided to stand near, not liking the arrangements.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Jacqueline was swinging, head downward, +from her trapeze. Her cheeks flamed as she +twisted and wriggled through a complicated manœuvre, +which ended by landing her seated on the bar of +the trapeze a trifle out of breath. With both hands +resting on the ropes, she started herself swinging, +faster, faster, then pretended to drop off backward, +only to catch herself with her heels, substitute heels +for hands, and hang. Doubling back on her own body, +she glided to her perch beneath the roof, shook her +damp hair back, set the trapeze flying, and curled up +on the bar, resting as fearlessly and securely as a +bullfinch in a tree-top.</p> +<p>Above her the red-and-black wasps buzzed and crawled +and explored the sun-scorched beams. Spiders +watched her from their silken hammocks, and the tiny +cliff-mice scuttled from beam to beam. Through the +open door the sunshine poured a flood of gold over the +floor where the bronzed nets were spread. Mending +was necessary; she mentioned it, and set herself swinging +again, crossing her feet.</p> +<p>“You think you could drop from there into a tank +of water?” I asked.</p> +<p>“How deep?”</p> +<p>“Say four feet.”</p> +<p>She nodded, swinging tranquilly.</p> +<p>“Have you any fear at all, Jacqueline?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“You would try whatever I asked you to try?”</p> +<p>“If I thought I could,” she replied, naïvely.</p> +<p>“But that is not it. I am to be your master. You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +must have absolute confidence in me and obey orders +instantly.”</p> +<p>“Like a soldier?”</p> +<p>“Exactly.”</p> +<p>“Bien.”</p> +<p>“Then hang by your hands!”</p> +<p>Quick as a flash she hung above me.</p> +<p>“You trust me, Jacqueline?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then drop!”</p> +<p>Down she flashed like a falling meteor. I caught her +with that quick trick known to all acrobats, which left +her standing on my knee.</p> +<p>“Jump!”</p> +<p>She sprang lightly to the heap of nets, lost her +balance, stumbled, and sat down very suddenly. Then +she threw back her head and laughed; peal on peal of +deliciously childish laughter rang through the ancient +net-shed, until, overhead, the passing gulls echoed her +mirth with querulous mewing, and the sea-hawk, towering +to the zenith, wheeled and squealed.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +<a name='XIII_FRIENDS' id='XIII_FRIENDS'></a> +<h2>XIII</h2> +<h3>FRIENDS</h3> +</div> +<p>At seven o’clock that morning the men in the circus +camp awoke, worried, fatigued, vaguely resentful, +unusually profane. Horan was openly mutinous, and +announced his instant departure.</p> +<p>By eight o’clock a miraculous change had taken +place; the camp was alive with scurrying people, galvanized +into hopeful activity by my possibly unwarranted +optimism and a few judiciously veiled threats.</p> +<p>Clothed with temporary authority by Byram, I took +the bit between my teeth and ordered the instant erection +of the main tents, the construction of the ring, +barriers, and benches, and the immediate renovating +of the portable tank in which poor little Miss Claridge +had met her doom.</p> +<p>I detailed Kelly Eyre to Quimperlé with orders for +ten thousand crimson hand-bills; I sent McCadger, +with Dawley, the bass-drummer, and Irwin, the cornettist, +to plaster our posters from Pont Aven to Belle Isle, +and I gave them three days to get back, and promised +them a hundred dollars apiece if they succeeded in +sticking our bills on the fortifications of Lorient and +Quimper, with or without permission.</p> +<p>I sent Grigg and three exempt Bretons to beat up +the country from Gestel and Rosporden to Pontivy, clear +across to Quiberon, and as far east as St. Gildas Point.</p> +<p>By the standing-stones of Carnac, I swore that I’d +have all Finistère in that tent. “Governor,” said I, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +“we are going to feature Jacqueline all over Brittany, +and, if the ladies object, it can’t be helped! By-the-way, +<i>do</i> they object?”</p> +<p>The ladies did object, otherwise they would not have +been human ladies; but the battle was sharp and decisive, +for I was desperate.</p> +<p>“It simply amounts to this,” I said: “Jacqueline +pulls us through or the governor and I land in jail. +As for you, Heaven knows what will happen to you! +Penal settlement, probably.”</p> +<p>And I called Speed and pointed at Jacqueline, sitting +on her satchel, watching the proceedings with amiable +curiosity.</p> +<p>“Speed, take that child and rehearse her. Begin as +soon as the tent is stretched and you can rig the flying +trapeze. Use the net, of course. Horan rehearsed Miss +Claridge; he’ll stand by. Miss Crystal, your good-will +and advice I depend upon. Will you help me?”</p> +<p>“With all my heart,” said Miss Crystal.</p> +<p>That impulsive reply broke the sullen deadlock.</p> +<p>Pretty little Mrs. Grigg went over and shook the +child’s hand very cordially and talked broken French +to her; Miss Delany volunteered to give her some +“Christian clothes”; Mrs. Horan burst into tears, complaining +that everybody was conspiring to injure her +and her husband, but a few moments later she brought +Jacqueline some toast, tea, and fried eggs, an attention +shyly appreciated by the puzzled child, who never before +had made such a stir in the world.</p> +<p>“Don’t stuff her,” said Speed, as Mrs. Horan enthusiastically +trotted past bearing more toast. “Here, +Scarlett, the ladies are spoiling her. Can I take her +for the first lesson?”</p> +<p>Byram, who had shambled up, nodded. I was glad +to see him reassert his authority. Speed took the +child by the hand, and together they entered the big +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +white tent, which now loomed up like a mammoth +mushroom against the blue sky.</p> +<p>“Governor,” I said, “we’re all a bit demoralized; +a few of us are mutinous. For Heaven’s sake, let the +men see you are game. This child has got to win out +for us. Don’t worry, don’t object; back me up and let +me put this thing through.”</p> +<p>The old man shoved his hands into his trousers-pockets +and looked at me with heavy, hopeless eyes.</p> +<p>“Now here’s the sketch for the hand-bill,” I said, +cheerfully, taking a pencilled memorandum from my +pocket. And I read:</p> +<p style='text-align:center'> +``THE PATRIOTIC ANTI-PRUSSIAN REPUBLICAN CIRCUS,<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller'>MORE STUPENDOUS, MORE GIGANTIC, MORE<br /> +OVERPOWERING THAN EVER!</span><br /> +GLITTERING, MARVELLOUS, SOUL-COMPELLING!''</p> +<p>“What’s ’soul-compelling’?” asked Byram.</p> +<p>“Anything you please, governor,” I said, and read +on rapidly until I came to the paragraph concerning +Jacqueline:</p> +<p style='text-align:center'> +``THE WONDER OF EARTH AND HEAVEN!<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE UNUTTERABLY BEAUTIFUL FLYING<br /> +MERMAID! CAUGHT ON THE<br /> +COAST OF BRITTANY!</span><br /> +WHAT IS SHE?<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller'>FISH? BIRD? HUMAN? DIVINE?</span><br /> +WHO KNOWS?<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE SCIENTISTS OF FRANCE DO NOT KNOW!!<br /> +THE SCIENTISTS OF THE WORLD<br /> +ARE CONFOUNDED!<br /> +IS SHE</span><br /> +A LOST SOUL<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller'>FROM THE SUNKEN CITY OF KER-YS?<br /> +50,000 FRANCS REWARD FOR THE BRETON WHO CAN<br /> +PROVE THAT SHE DID NOT COME STRAIGHT FROM</span><br /> +PARADISE!!!''</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span></div> +<p>“That’s a damn good bill,” said Byram, suddenly.</p> +<p>He was so seldom profane that I stared at him, worried +lest his misfortunes had unbalanced him. But +a faint, healthy color was already replacing the pallor +in his loose cheeks, a glint of animation came into his +sunken eyes. He lifted his battered silk hat, replaced +it at an angle almost defiant, and scowled at Horan, +who passed us sullenly, driving the camel tentwards +with awful profanity.</p> +<p>“Don’t talk such langwidge in my presence, Mr. +Horan,” he said, sharply; “a camuel is a camuel, but +remember: ’kind hearts is more than cornets,’ an’ it’s +easier for that there camuel to pass through the eye +of a needle than for a cussin’ cuss to cuss his way into +Kingdom Come!”</p> +<p>Horan, who had betrayed unmistakable symptoms +of insubordination that morning, quailed under the +flowing rebuke. He was a man of muscular strength +and meagre intellect; words hit him like trip-hammers.</p> +<p>“Certainly, governor,” he stammered, and spoke to +the camel politely, guiding that enraged and squealing +quadruped to his manger with a forced smile.</p> +<p>With mallet, hammer, saw, and screw-driver I worked +until noon, maturing my plans all the while. These +plans would take the last penny in the treasury and +leave us in debt several thousand francs. But it was +win or go to smash now, and personally I have always +preferred a tremendous smash to a slow and oozy fizzle.</p> +<p>A big pot of fragrant soup was served to the company +at luncheon; and it amused me to see Jacqueline troop +into the tent with the others and sit down with her bit +of bread and her bowl of broth.</p> +<p>She was flushed and excited, and she talked to her +instructor, Speed, all the while, chattering like a linnet +between mouthfuls of bread and broth.</p> +<p>“How is she getting on?” I called across to Speed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p> +<p>“The child is simply startling,” he said, in English. +“She is not afraid of anything. She and Miss Crystal +have been doing that hair-raising ’flying swing’ <i>without +rehearsal!</i>”</p> +<p>Jacqueline, hearing us talking in English, turned +and stared at me, then smiled and looked up sweetly +at Speed.</p> +<p>“You seem to be popular with your pupil,” I said, +laughing.</p> +<p>“She’s a fine girl—a fine, fearless, straight-up-and-down +girl,” he said, with enthusiasm.</p> +<p>Everybody appeared to like her, though how much +that liking might be modified if prosperity returned +I was unable to judge.</p> +<p>Now all our fortunes depended on her. She was not +a ballon d’essai; she was literally the whole show; +and if she duplicated the sensational success of poor +little Miss Claridge, we had nothing to fear. But her +troubles would then begin. At present, however, we +were waiting for her to pull us out of the hole before we +fell upon her and rent her professionally. And I use +that “we” not only professionally, but with an attempt +at chivalry.</p> +<p>Byram’s buoyancy had returned in a measure. He +sat in his shirt-sleeves at the head of the table, vigorously +sopping his tartine in his soup, and, mouth full, +leaned forward, chewing and listening to the conversation +around him.</p> +<p>Everybody knew it was life or death now, that each +one must drop petty jealousies and work for the common +salvation. An artificial and almost feverish animation +reigned, which I adroitly fed with alarming allusions +to the rigor of the French law toward foreigners +and other malefactors who ran into debt to French +subjects on the sacred soil of France. And, having +lived so long in France and in the French possessions, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +I was regarded as an oracle of authority by these ambulant +professional people who were already deadly +homesick, and who, in eighteen months of Europe, had +amassed scarcely a dozen French phrases among them +all.</p> +<p>“I’ll say one thing,” observed Byram, with dignity; +“if ever I git out of this darn continong with +my circus, I’ll recooperate in the undulatin’ medders +an’ j’yful vales of the United States. Hereafter that +country will continue to remain good enough for +me.”</p> +<p>All applauded—all except Jacqueline, who looked +around in astonishment at the proceedings, and only +smiled when Speed explained in French.</p> +<p>“Ask maddermoselle if she’ll go home with us?” +prompted Byram. “Tell her there’s millions in it.”</p> +<p>Speed put the question; Jacqueline listened gravely, +hesitated, then whispered to Speed, who reddened a +trifle and laughed.</p> +<p>Everybody waited for a moment. “What does she +say?” inquired Byram.</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing; she talked nonsense.”</p> +<p>But Jacqueline’s dignity and serene face certainly +contradicted Speed’s words.</p> +<p>Presently Byram arose, flourishing his napkin. +“Time’s up!” he said, with decision, and we all trooped +off to our appointed labors.</p> +<p>Now that I had stirred up this beehive and set it +swarming again, I had no inclination to turn drone. +Yet I remembered my note to the Countess de Vassart +and her reply. So about four o’clock I made the best +toilet I could in my only other suit of clothes, and +walked out of the bustling camp into the square, where +the mossy fountain splashed under the oaks and the +children of Paradise were playing. Hands joined, they +danced in a ring, singing: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“<i>Barzig ha barzig a Goneri<br /> +Ari e mab roue gand daou pe dri</i>”—<br /> + <br /> +“Little minstrel-bard of Conéri<br /> +The son of the King has come with two or three—<br /> +Nay, with a whole bright flock of paroquets,<br /> +Crimson, silver, and violet.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>And the children, in their white coiffes and tiny +wooden shoes, moved round and round the circle, in +the middle of which a little lad and a little lass of Paradise +stood motionless, hand clasping hand.</p> +<p>The couplet ended, the two children in the middle +sprang forward and dragged a third child out of the +circle. Then the song began again, the reduced circle +dancing around the three children in the middle.</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“—The son of the King has come with two or three—<br /> +Nay, with a whole bright flock of paroquets,<br /> +Crimson, silver, and violet.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>It was something like a game I had played long ago—in +the age of fable—and I lingered, touched with homesickness.</p> +<p>The three children in the middle took a fourth comrade +from the circle, crying, “Will you go to the moon +or will you go to the stars?”</p> +<p>“The moon,” lisped the little maid, and she was +led over to the fountain.</p> +<p>“The stars,” said the first prisoner, and was conducted +to the stone bridge.</p> +<p>Soon a small company was clustered on the bridge, +another band at the fountain. Then, as there were +no more to dance in a circle, the lad and lassie who had +stood in the middle to choose candidates for the moon +and stars clasped hands and danced gayly across the +square to the group of expectant children at the fountain, +crying: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“Baradoz! Baradoz!”<br /> +(Paradise! Paradise!)</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>and the whole band charged on the little group on the +bridge, shouting and laughing, while the unfortunate +tenants of the supposed infernal regions fled in every +direction, screaming:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“Pater noster<br /> +Dibi doub!<br /> +Dibi doub!<br /> +Dibi doub!”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Their shouts and laughter still came faintly from the +tree-shaded square as I crossed the bridge and walked +out into the moorland toward the sea, where I could +see the sun gilding the headland and the spouting-rocks +of Point Paradise.</p> +<p>Over the turning tide cormorants were flying, now +wheeling like hawks, now beating seaward in a duck-like +flight. I passed little, lonely pools on the moor, +from which snipe rose with a startling squak! squak! +and darted away inland as though tempest blown.</p> +<p>Presently a blue-gray mass in mid-ocean caught +my eye. It was the island of Groix, and between it +and Point Paradise lay an ugly, naked, black shape, +motionless, oozing smoke from two stubby funnels—the +cruiser <i>Fer-de-Lance</i>! So solidly inert lay the iron-clad +that it did not seem as if she had ever moved or +ever could move; she looked like an imbedded ledge +cropping up out of the sea.</p> +<p>Far across the hilly moorland the white semaphore +glistened like a gull’s wing—too far for me to see the +balls and cones hoisted or the bright signals glimmering +along the halyards as I followed a trodden path +winding south through the gorse. Then a dip in the +moorland hid the semaphore and at the same moment +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +brought a house into full view—a large, solid structure +of dark stone, heavily Romanesque, walled in by an +ancient buttressed barrier, above which I could see the +tree-tops of a fruit-garden.</p> +<p>The Château de Trécourt was a fine example of the +so called “fortified farm”; it had its moat, too, and +crumbling wing-walls, pierced by loop-holes and over-hung +with miniature battlements. A walled and loop-holed +passageway connected the house with another +stone enclosure in which stood stable, granary, cattle-house, +and sheepfold, all of stone, though the roofs +of these buildings were either turfed or thatched. And +over them the weather-vane, a golden Dorado, swam +in the sunshine.</p> +<p>One thing I noticed as I crossed the unused moat on +a permanent bridge: the youthful Countess no longer +denied herself the services of servants, for I saw a +cloaked shepherd and his two wolf-like and tailless +sheep-dogs watching the flock scattered over the +downs; and there were at least half a dozen farm servants +pottering about from stable to granary, and a +toothless porter to answer the gate-bell and pilot me +past the tiny loop-holed lodge-turret to the house. +There was also a man, lying belly down in the bracken, +watching me; and as I walked into the court I tried to +remember where I had seen his face before.</p> +<p>The entire front of the house was covered with those +splendid orange-tinted tea-roses that I had noticed in +Paradise; thicket on thicket of clove-scented pinks +choked the flower-beds; and a broad mat of deep-tinted +pansies lay on the lawn, spread out for all the +world like a glorious Eastern rug.</p> +<p>There was a soft whirring in the air like the sound of a +humming-bird close by; it came from a spinning-wheel, +and grew louder as a servant admitted me into the house +and guided me to a sunny room facing the fruit garden. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></p> +<p>The spinner at the wheel was singing in an undertone—singing +a Breton “gwerz,” centuries old, retained +in memory from generation to generation:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“Woe to the Maids of Paradise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne!</span><br /> +Twice have the Saxons landed; twice!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne!</span><br /> +Yet must Paradise see them thrice!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne! Yvonne! Marivonik.”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Old as were the words, the melody was older—so +old and quaint and sweet that it seemed a berceuse +fashioned to soothe the drowsing centuries, lest the +memories of ancient wrongs awake and rouse the very +dead from their Gothic tombs.</p> +<p>All the sad history of the Breton race was written in +every minor note; all the mystery, the gentleness, the +faith of the lost people of Armorica.</p> +<p>And now the singer was intoning the “Gwerz Ar +Baradoz”—the “Complaint of Paradise”—a slow, +thrilling miséréré, scarcely dominating the velvet whir +of the spinning-wheel.</p> +<p>Suddenly the melody ceased, and a young Bretonne +girl appeared in the doorway, courtesying to me and +saying in perfect English: “How do you do, Mr. +Scarlett; and how do you like my spinning songs, if +you please?”</p> +<p>The girl was Mademoiselle Sylvia Elven, the marvellously +clever actress from the Odéon, the same young +woman who had played the Alsacienne at La Trappe, +as perfectly in voice and costume as she now played +the Bretonne.</p> +<p>“You need not be astonished at all,” she said, calmly, +“if you will only reflect that my name is Elven, +which is also the name of a Breton town. Naturally, +I am a Bretonne from Elven, and my own name is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +Duhamel—Sylvenne Duhamel. I thought I ought to +tell you, so that you would not think me too clever +and try to carry me off on your horse again.”</p> +<p>I laughed uncertainly; clever women who talk cleverly +always disturb me. Besides, somehow, I felt she +was not speaking the truth, yet I could not imagine +why she should lie to me.</p> +<p>“You were more fluent to the helpless turkey-girl,” +she suggested, maliciously.</p> +<p>I had absolutely nothing to say, which appeared to +gratify her, for she dimpled and smiled under her +snowy-winged coiffe, from which a thick gold strand +of hair curled on her forehead—a sad bit of coquetry +in a Bretonne from Elven, if she told the truth.</p> +<p>“I only came to renew an old and deeply valued +friendship,” she said, with mock sentimentality; “I +am going back to my flax now.”</p> +<p>However, she did not move.</p> +<p>“And, by-the-way,” she said, languidly, “is there +in your intellectual circus company a young gentleman +whose name is Eyre?”</p> +<p>“Kelly Eyre? Yes,” I said, sulkily.</p> +<p>“Ah.”</p> +<p>She strolled out of the room, hesitated, then turned +in the doorway with a charming smile.</p> +<p>“The Countess will return from her gallop at five.”</p> +<p>She waited as though expecting an answer, but I +only bowed.</p> +<p>“Would you take a message to Mistaire Kelly Eyre +for me?” she asked, sweetly.</p> +<p>I said that I would.</p> +<p>“Then please say that: ‘<i>On Sunday the book-stores +are closed in Paris.</i>’”</p> +<p>“Is that what I am to say?”</p> +<p>“Exactly that.”</p> +<p>“Very well, mademoiselle.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></p> +<p>“Of course, if he asks who told you—you may say +that it was a Bretonne at Point Paradise.”</p> +<p>“Nothing else?”</p> +<p>“Nothing, monsieur.”</p> +<p>She courtesied and vanished.</p> +<p>“Little minx,” I thought, “what mischief are you +preparing now?” and I rested my elbow on the window-sill +and gazed out into the garden, where apricot-trees +and fig-trees lined the winding walks between beds of +old-fashioned herbs, anise, basil, caraway, mint, sage, +and saffron.</p> +<p>Sunlight lay warm on wall and gravel-path; scarlet +apples hung aloft on a few young trees; a pair of trim, +wary magpies explored the fig-trees, sometimes quarrelling, +sometimes making common cause against the +shy wild-birds that twittered everywhere among the +vines.</p> +<p>I fancied, after a few moments, that I heard the +distant thudding of a horse’s hoofs; soon I was sure of +it, and rose to my feet expectantly, just as a flushed +young girl in a riding-habit entered the room and gave +me her gloved hand.</p> +<p>Her fresh, breezy beauty astonished me; could this +laughing, gray-eyed girl with her silky, copper-tinted +hair be the same slender, grave young Countess whom +I had known in Alsace—this incarnation of all that is +wholesome and sweet and winning in woman? What +had become of her mission and the soiled brethren of +the proletariat? What had happened?</p> +<p>I looked at her earnestly, scarcely understanding +that she was saying she was glad I had come, that she +had waited for me, that she had wanted to see me, that +she had wished to tell me how deeply our tragic experience +at La Trappe and in Morsbronn had impressed +her. She said she had sent a letter to me in Paris +which was returned, <i>opened</i>, with a strange note from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +Monsieur Mornac. She had waited for some word +from me, here in Paradise, since September; “waited +impatiently,” she added, and a slight frown bent her +straight brows for a moment—a moment only.</p> +<p>“But come out to my garden,” she said, smiling, and +stripping off her little buff gauntlets. “There we will +have tea a l’Anglaise, and sunshine, and a long, long, +satisfying talk; at least I will,” she added, laughing +and coloring up; “for truly, Monsieur Scarlett, I do +not believe I have given you one second to open your +lips.”</p> +<p>Heaven knows I was perfectly content to watch her +lips and listen to the music of her happy, breathless +voice without breaking the spell with my own.</p> +<p>She led the way along a path under the apricots to +a seat against a sunny wall, a wall built of massive +granite, deeply thatched with fungus and lichens, +where, palpitating in the hot sun, the tiny lizards +lay glittering, and the scarlet-banded nettle-butterflies +flitted and hovered and settled to sun themselves, wings +a-droop.</p> +<p>Here in the sunshine the tea-rose perfume, mingling +with the incense of the sea, mounted to my head like +the first flush of wine to a man long fasting; or was it +the enchantment of her youth and loveliness—the +subtle influence of physical vigor and spiritual innocence +on a tired, unstrung man?</p> +<p>“First of all,” she said, impulsively, “I know your +life—all of it in minute particular. Are you astonished?”</p> +<p>“No, madame,” I replied; “Mornac showed you my +dossier.”</p> +<p>“That is true,” she said, with a troubled look of +surprise.</p> +<p>I smiled. “As for Mornac,” I began, but she interrupted +me. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></p> +<p>“Ah, Mornac! Do you suppose I believed him? Had +I not proof on proof of your loyalty, your honor, your +courtesy, your chivalry—”</p> +<p>“Madame, your generosity—and, I fear, your pity—overpraises.”</p> +<p>“No, it does not! I know what you are. Mornac +cannot make white black! I know what you have +been. Mornac could not read you into infamy, even +with your dossier under my own eyes!”</p> +<p>“In my dossier you read a sorry history, madame.”</p> +<p>“In your dossier I read the tragedy of a gentleman.”</p> +<p>“Do you know,” said I, “that I am now a performer +in a third-rate travelling circus?”</p> +<p>“I think that is very sad,” she said, sweetly.</p> +<p>“Sad? Oh no. It is better than the disciplinary +battalions of Africa.”</p> +<p>Which was simply acknowledging that I had served +a term in prison.</p> +<p>The color faded in her face. “I thought you were +pardoned.”</p> +<p>“I was—from prison, not from the battalion of +Biribi.”</p> +<p>“I only know,” she said, “that they say you were +not guilty; that they say you faced utter ruin, even +the possibility of death, for the sake of another man +whose name even the police—even Monsieur de Mornac—could +never learn. Was there such a man?”</p> +<p>I hesitated. “Madame, there is such a man; <i>I</i> am +the man who <i>was</i>.”</p> +<p>“With no hope?”</p> +<p>“Hope? With every hope,” I said, smiling. “My +name is not my own, but it must serve me to my end, +and I shall wear it threadbare and leave it to no +one.”</p> +<p>“Is there no hope?” she asked, quietly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span></p> +<p>“None for the man who <i>was</i>. Much for James +Scarlett, tamer of lions and general mountebank,” I +said, laughing down the rising tide of bitterness. Why +had she stirred those dark waters? I had drowned +myself in them long since. Under them lay the corpse +of a man I had forgotten—my dead self.</p> +<p>“No hope?” she repeated.</p> +<p>Suddenly the ghost of all I had lost rose before me +with her words—rose at last after all these years, towering, +terrible, free once more to fill the days with loathing +and my nights with hell eternal,... after all these +years!</p> +<p>Overwhelmed, I fought down the spectre in silence. +Kith and kin were not all in the world; love of woman +was not all; a chance for a home, a wife, children, were +not all; a name was not all. Raising my head, a trifle +faint with the struggle and the cost of the struggle, +I saw the distress in her eyes and strove to smile.</p> +<p>“There is every hope,” I said, “save the hopes of +youth—the hope of a woman’s love, and of that happiness +which comes through love. I am a man past +thirty, madame—thirty-five, I believe my dossier makes +it. It has taken me fifteen years to bury my youth. +Let us talk of Mornac.”</p> +<p>“Yes, we will talk of Mornac,” she said, gently.</p> +<p>So with infinite pains I went back and traced for +her the career of Buckhurst, sparing her nothing; I +led up to my own appearance on the scene, reviewed +briefly what we both knew, then disclosed to her in its +most trivial detail the conference between Buckhurst +and myself in which his cynical avowal was revealed +in all its native hideousness.</p> +<p>She sat motionless, her face like cold marble, as I +carefully gathered the threads of the plot and gently +twitched that one which galvanized the mask of Mornac.</p> +<p>“Mornac!” she stammered, aghast. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>I showed her why Buckhurst desired to come to +Paradise; I showed her why Mornac had initiated her +into the mysteries of my dossier, taking that infernal +precaution, although he had every reason to believe +he had me practically in prison, with the keys in his +own pocket.</p> +<p>“Had it not been for my comrade, Speed,” I said, +“I should be in one of Mornac’s fortress cells. He +overshot the mark when he left us together and stepped +into his cabinet to spread my dossier before you. He +counted on an innocent man going through hell itself +to prove his innocence; he counted on me, and left +Speed out of his calculations. He had your testimony, +he had my dossier, he had the order for my +arrest in his pocket.... And then I stepped out of +sight! I, the honest fool, with my knowledge of his +infamy, of Buckhurst’s complicity and purposes—I +was gone.</p> +<p>“And now mark the irony of the whole thing: he +had, criminally, destroyed the only bureau that could +ever have caught me. But he did his best during the +few weeks that were left him before the battle of Sedan. +After that it was too late; it was too late when the first +Uhlan appeared before the gates of Paris. And now +Mornac, shorn of authority, is shut up in a city +surrounded by a wall of German steel, through which +not one single living creature has penetrated for two +months.”</p> +<p>I looked at her steadily. “Eliminate Mornac as a +trapped rat; cancel him as a dead rat since the ship +of Empire went down at Sedan. I do not know what +has taken place in Paris—save what all now know +that the Empire is ended, the Republic proclaimed, and +the Imperial police a memory. Then let us strike out +Mornac and turn to Buckhurst. Madame, I am here +to serve you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></p> +<p>The dazed horror in her face which had marked my +revelations of Buckhurst’s villanies gave place to a +mantling flush of pure anger. Shame crimsoned her +neck, too; shame for her credulous innocence, her belief +in this rogue who had betrayed her, only to receive +pardon for the purpose of baser and more murderous +betrayal.</p> +<p>I said nothing for a long time, content to leave her +to her own thoughts. The bitter draught she was +draining could not harm her, could not but act as the +most wholesome of tonics.</p> +<p>Hers was not a weak character to sink, embittered, +under the weight of knowledge—knowledge of evil, +that all must learn to carry lightly through life; I had +once thought her weak, but I had revised that opinion +and substituted the words “pure in thought, inherently +loyal, essentially unsuspicious.”</p> +<p>“Tell me about Buckhurst,” I said, quietly. “I +can help you, I think.”</p> +<p>The quick tears of humiliation glimmered for a +second in her angry eyes; then pride fell from her, +like a stately mantle which a princess puts aside, tired +and content to rest.</p> +<p>This was a phase I had never before seen—a lovely, +natural young girl, perplexed, troubled, deeply wounded, +ready to be guided, ready for reproof, perhaps even for +that sympathy without which reproof is almost valueless.</p> +<p>She told me that Buckhurst came to her house here +in Paradise early in September; that while in Paris, +pondering on what I had said, she had determined to +withdraw herself absolutely from all organized socialistic +associations during the war; that she believed +she could do the greatest good by living a natural and +cheerful life, by maintaining the position that birth +and fortune had given her, and by using that position +and fortune for the benefit of those less fortunate. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span></p> +<p>This she had told Buckhurst, and the rascal appeared +to agree with her so thoroughly that, when Dr. Delmont +and Professor Tavernier arrived, they also applauded +the choice she made of Buckhurst as distributer of +money, food, and clothing to the provincial hospitals, +now crowded to suffocation with the wreck of battle.</p> +<p>Then a strange thing occurred. Dr. Delmont and +Professor Tavernier disappeared without any explanation. +They had started for St. Nazaire with a sum of +money—twenty thousand francs, locked in the private +strong-box of the Countess—to be distributed among +the soldiers of Chanzy; and they had never returned.</p> +<p>In the light of what she had learned from me, she +feared that Buckhurst had won them over; perhaps +not—she could not bear to suspect evil of such +men.</p> +<p>But she now believed that Buckhurst had used every +penny he had handled for his own purposes; that not +one hospital had received what she had sent.</p> +<p>“I am no longer wealthy,” she said, anxiously, +looking up at me. “I did find time in Paris to have +matters straightened; I sold La Trappe and paid +everything. It left me with this house in Paradise, +and with means to maintain it and still have a few +thousand francs to give every year. Now it is nearly +gone—I don’t know where. I am dreadfully unhappy; +I have such a horror of treachery that I cannot even +understand it, but this ignoble man, Buckhurst, is +assuredly a heartless rascal.”</p> +<p>“But,” I said, patiently, “you have not yet told me +where he is.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” she said. “A week ago a dreadful +creature came here to see Buckhurst; they went across +the moor toward the semaphore and stood for a long +while looking at the cruiser which is anchored off Groix. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +Then Buckhurst came back and prepared for a journey. +He said he was going to Tours to confer with +the Red Cross. I don’t know where he went. He took +all the money for the general Red Cross fund.”</p> +<p>“When did he say he would return?”</p> +<p>“He said in two weeks. He has another week +yet.”</p> +<p>“Is he usually prompt?”</p> +<p>“Always so—to the minute.”</p> +<p>“That is good news,” I said, gayly. “But tell me +one thing: do you trust Mademoiselle Elven?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed!—indeed!” she cried, horrified.</p> +<p>“Very well,” said I, smiling. “Only for the sake +of caution—extra, and even perhaps useless caution—say +nothing of this matter to her, nor to any living soul +save me.”</p> +<p>“I promise,” she said, faintly.</p> +<p>“One thing more: this conspiracy against the state +no longer concerns me—officially. Both Speed and +I did all we could to warn the Emperor and the Empress; +we sent letters through the police in London, we +used the English secret-service to get our letters into +the Emperor’s hand, we tried every known method of +denouncing Mornac. It was useless; every letter must +have gone through Mornac’s hands before it reached +the throne. We did all we dared do; we were in disguise +and in hiding under assumed names; we could not do +more.</p> +<p>“Now that Mornac is not even a pawn in the game—as, +indeed, I begin to believe he never really was, but +has been from the first a dupe of Buckhurst—it is the +duty of every honest man to watch Buckhurst and warn +the authorities that he possibly has designs on the +crown jewels of France, which that cruiser yonder is +all ready to bear away to Saïgon.</p> +<p>“How he proposes to attempt such a robbery I can’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +imagine. I don’t want to denounce him to General +Chanzy or Aurelles de Palladine, because the conspiracy +is too widely spread and too dangerous to be +defeated by the capture of one man, even though he +be the head of it.</p> +<p>“What I want is to entrap the entire band; and that +can only be done by watching Buckhurst, not arresting +him.</p> +<p>“Therefore, madame, I have written and despatched +a telegram to General Aurelles de Palladine, offering +my services and the services of Mr. Speed to the Republic +without compensation. In the event of acceptance, +I shall send to London for two men who will do +what is to be done, leaving me free to amuse the public +with my lions. Meanwhile, as long as we stay in +Paradise we both are your devoted servants, and we +beg the privilege of serving you.”</p> +<p>During all this time the young Countess had never +moved her eyes from my face—perhaps I was flattered—perhaps +for that reason I talked on and on, pouring +out wisdom from a somewhat attenuated supply.</p> +<p>And I now rose to take my leave, bowing my very +best bow; but she sat still, looking up quietly at +me.</p> +<p>“You ask the privilege of serving me,” she said. +“You could serve me best by giving me your friendship.”</p> +<p>“You have my devotion, madame,” I said.</p> +<p>“I did not ask it. I asked your friendship—in all +frankness and equality.”</p> +<p>“Do you desire the friendship of a circus performer?” +I asked, smiling.</p> +<p>“I desire it, not only for what you are, but for what you +have been—have always been, let them say what they +will!”</p> +<p>I was silent. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p> +<p>“Have you never given women your friendship?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“Not in fifteen years—nor asked theirs.”</p> +<p>“Will you not ask mine?”</p> +<p>I tried to speak steadily, but my voice was uncertain; +I sat down, crushed under a flood of memories, hopes +accursed, ambitions damned and consigned to oblivion.</p> +<p>“You are very kind,” I said. “You are the Countess +de Vassart. A man is what he makes himself. I have +made myself—with both eyes open; and I am now an +acrobat and a tamer of beasts. I understand your +goodness, your impulse to help those less fortunate +than yourself. I also understand that I have placed +myself where I am, and that, having done so deliberately, +I cannot meet as friends and equals those +who might have been my equals if not friends. Besides +that, I am a native of a paradox—a Republic +which, though caste-bound, knows no caste abroad. +I might, therefore, have been your friend if you had +chosen to waive the traditions of your continent and +accept the traditions of mine. But now, madame, I +must beg permission to make my adieux.”</p> +<p>She sprang up and caught both my hands in her ungloved +hands. “Won’t you take my friendship—and +give me yours—my friend?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said, slowly. The blood beat in my temples, +almost blinding me; my heart hammered in my +throat till I shivered.</p> +<p>As in a dream I bent forward; she abandoned her +hands to me; and I touched a woman’s hands with my +lips for the first time in fifteen years.</p> +<p>“In all devotion and loyalty—and gratitude,” I +said.</p> +<p>“And in friendship—say it!”</p> +<p>“In friendship.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></p> +<p>“Now you may go—if you desire to. When will you +come again?”</p> +<p>“When may I?”</p> +<p>“When you will.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +<a name='XIV_THE_PATH_OF_THE_LIZARD' id='XIV_THE_PATH_OF_THE_LIZARD'></a> +<h2>XIV</h2> +<h3>THE PATH OF THE LIZARD</h3> +</div> +<p>About nine o’clock the next morning an incident +occurred which might have terminated my career +in one way, and did, ultimately, end it in another.</p> +<p>I had been exercising my lions and putting them +through their paces, and had noticed no unusual insubordination +among them, when suddenly, Timour +Melek, a big Algerian lion, flew at me without the +slightest provocation or warning.</p> +<p>Fortunately I had a training-chair in my hand, on +which Timour had just been sitting, and I had time +to thrust it into his face. Thrice with incredible swiftness +he struck the iron-chair, right, left, and right, as +a cat strikes, then seized it in his teeth. At the same +moment I brought my loaded whip heavily across his +nose.</p> +<p>“Down, Timour Melek! Down! down! down!” I +said, steadily, accompanying each word with a blow +of the whip across the nose.</p> +<p>The brute had only hurt himself when he struck the +chair, and now, under the blows raining on his sensitive +nose, he doubtless remembered similar episodes in his +early training, and shrank back, nearly deafening me +with his roars. I followed, punishing him, and he +fled towards the low iron grating which separated the +training-cage from the night-quarters.</p> +<p>This I am now inclined to believe was a mistake of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +judgment on my part. I should have driven him into +a corner and thoroughly cowed him, using the training-chair +if necessary, and trusting to my two assistants +with their irons, who had already closed up on either +side of the cage.</p> +<p>I was not in perfect trim that morning. Not that I +felt nervous in the least, nor had I any lack of self-confidence, +but I was not myself. I had never in my life +entered a lion-cage feeling as I did that morning—an +indifference which almost amounted to laziness, +an apathy which came close to melancholy.</p> +<p>The lions knew I was not myself—they had been +aware of it as soon as I set foot in their cage; and I +knew it. But my strange apathy only increased as I +went about my business, perfectly aware all the time +that, with lions born in captivity, the unexpected is +always to be expected.</p> +<p>Timour Melek was now close to the low iron door between +the partitions; the other lions had become unusually +excited, bounding at a heavy gallop around +the cage, or clinging to the bars like enormous cats.</p> +<p>Then, as I faced Timour, ready to force him backward +through the door into the night-quarters, something +in the blank glare of his eyes seemed to fascinate +me. I had an absurd sensation that he was slipping +away from me—escaping; that I no longer dominated +him nor had authority. It was not panic, nor even +fear; it was a faint paralysis—temporary, fortunately; +for at that instant instinct saved me; I struck the lion +a terrific blow across the nose and whirled around, +chair uplifted, just in time to receive the charge of +Empress Khatoun, consort of Timour.</p> +<p>She struck the iron-bound chair, doubling it up +like crumpled paper, hurling me headlong, not to the +floor of the cage, but straight through the sliding-bars +which Speed had just flung open with a shout. As +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +for me, I landed violently on my back in the sawdust, +the breath knocked clean out of me.</p> +<p>When I could catch my breath again I realized that +there was no time to waste. Speed looked at me angrily, +but I jerked open the grating, flung another +chair into the cage, leaped in, and, singling out Empress +Khatoun, I sailed into her with passionless thoroughness, +punishing her to a stand-still, while the other +lions, Aicha, Marghouz, Timour, and Genghis Khan +snarled and watched me steadily.</p> +<p>As I emerged from the cage Speed asked me whether +I was hurt, and I gasped out that I was not.</p> +<p>“What went wrong?” he persisted.</p> +<p>“Timour and that young lioness—no, <i>I</i> went wrong; +the lions knew it at once; something failed me, I don’t +know what; upon my soul, Speed, I don’t know what +happened.”</p> +<p>“You lost your nerve?”</p> +<p>“No, not that. Timour began looking at me in a +peculiar way—he certainly dominated me for an instant—for +a tenth of a second; and then Khatoun +flew at me before I could control Timour—”</p> +<p>I hesitated.</p> +<p>“Speed, it was one of those seconds that come to us, +when the faintest shadow of indecision settles matters. +Engineers are subject to it at the throttle, pilots at the +helm, captains in battle—”</p> +<p>“Men in love,” added Speed.</p> +<p>I looked at him, not comprehending.</p> +<p>“By-the-way,” said Speed, “Leo Grammont, the +greatest lion-tamer who ever lived, once told me that +a man in love with a woman could not control lions; +that when a man falls in love he loses that intangible, +mysterious quality—call it mesmerism or whatever +you like—the occult force that dominates beasts. And +he said that the lions knew it, that they perceived it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +sometimes even before the man himself was aware that +he was in love.”</p> +<p>I looked him over in astonishment.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, amused.</p> +<p>“What's the matter with <i>you</i>?” I demanded. “If +you mean to intimate that I have fallen in love you are +certainly an astonishing ass!”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk that way,” he said, good-humoredly. +“I didn’t dream of such a thing, or of offending you, +Scarlett.”</p> +<p>It struck me at the same moment that my irritable +and unwarranted retort was utterly unlike me.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” I said. “I don’t know exactly +what is the matter with me to-day. First I quarrel +with poor old Timour Melek, then I insult you. I’ve +discovered that I have nerves; I never before knew +it.”</p> +<p>“Cold flap-jacks and cider would have destroyed +Hercules himself in time,” observed Speed, following +with his eyes the movements of a lithe young girl, +who was busy with the hoisting apparatus of the flying +trapeze. The girl was Jacqueline, dressed in a +mended gown of Miss Delany’s.</p> +<p>“At times,” muttered Speed, partly to himself, “that +little witch frightens me. There is no risk she +dares not take; even Horan gets nervous; and when +that bull-necked numbskull is scared there’s reason +for it.”</p> +<p>We walked out into the main tent, where simultaneous +rehearsals were everywhere in progress; and I +picked up the ring-master’s whip and sent it curling +after “Briza,” a harmless, fat, white mare on which +pretty Mrs. Grigg was sitting expectantly. Round and +round the ring she cantered, now astride two horses, +now guiding a “spike,” practising assiduously her +acrobatics. At intervals, far up in the rigging overhead, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +I caught glimpses of Miss Crystal swinging on +her trapeze, watching the ring below.</p> +<p>Byram came in to rehearse the opening processional +and to rebuke his dearest foe, the unspeakable +“camuel,” bestridden by Mrs. Horan as Fatima, Queen +of the Desert. Speed followed, squatted on the head of +the elephant, ankus on thigh, shouting, “Hôut! Mäil! +Djebé Noain! Mäil the hezar! Mäil!” he thundered, +triumphantly, saluting Byram with lifted ankus as the +elephant ambled past in a cloud of dust.</p> +<p>“Clear the ring!” cried Byram.</p> +<p>Miss Delany, who was outlining Jacqueline with +juggler’s knives, began to pull her stock of cutlery +from the soft pine backing; elephant, camel, horses +trampled out; Miss Crystal caught a dangling rope +and slid earthward, and I turned and walked towards +the outer door with Byram.</p> +<p>As I looked back for an instant I saw Jacqueline, in +her glittering diving-skin, calmly step out of her discarded +skirt and walk towards the sunken tank in the +middle of the ring, which three workmen were uncovering.</p> +<p>She was to rehearse her perilous leap for the first +time to-day, and I told Speed frankly that I was too +nervous to be present, and so left him staring across +the dusky tent at the slim child in spangles.</p> +<p>I had an appointment to meet Robert the Lizard at +noon, and I was rather curious to find out how much +his promises were worth when the novelty of his new +gun had grown stale. So I started towards the cliffs, +nibbling a crust of bread for luncheon, though the incident +of the morning had left me small appetite for +food.</p> +<p>The poacher was sunning himself on his doorsill +when I came into view over the black basalt rocks. +To my surprise, he touched his cap as I approached, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +and rose civilly, replying to my greeting with a brief, +“Salute, m’sieu!”</p> +<p>“You are prompt to the minute,” I said, pleasantly.</p> +<p>“You also,” he observed. “We are quits, m’sieu—so +far.”</p> +<p>I told him of the progress that Jacqueline was making; +he listened in silence, and whether or not he was +interested I could not determine.</p> +<p>There was a pause; I looked out across the sun-lit +ocean, taking time to arrange the order of the few +questions which I had to ask.</p> +<p>“Come to the point, m’sieu,” he said, dryly. “We +have struck palms.”</p> +<p>Spite of my training, spite of the caution which experience +brings to the most unsuspicious of us, I had +a curious confidence in this tattered rascal’s loyalty +to a promise. And apparently without reason, too, +for there was something wrong with his eyes—or else +with the way he used them. They were wonderful, +vivid blue eyes, well set and well shaped, but he never +looked at anybody directly except in moments of excitement +or fury. At such moments his eyes appeared to +be lighted up from behind.</p> +<p>“Lizard,” I said, “you are a poacher.”</p> +<p>His placid visage turned stormy.</p> +<p>“None of that, m’sieu,” he retorted; “remember the +bargain! Concern yourself with your own affairs!”</p> +<p>“Wait,” I said. “I’m not trying to reform you. +For my purposes it is a poacher I want—else I might +have gone to another.”</p> +<p>“That sounds more reasonable,” he admitted, guardedly.</p> +<p>“I want to ask this,” I continued: “are you a poacher +from necessity, or from that pure love of the chase +which is born in even worse men than you and I?”</p> +<p>“I poach because I love it. There are no poachers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +from necessity; there is always the sea, which furnishes +work for all who care to steer a sloop, or draw a seine, +or wield a sea-rake. I am a pilot.”</p> +<p>“But the war?”</p> +<p>“At least the war could not keep me from the sardine +grounds.”</p> +<p>“So you poach from choice?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It is in me. I am sorry, but what shall I do? +<i>It's in me</i>.”</p> +<p>“And you can’t resist?”</p> +<p>He laughed grimly. “Go and call in the hounds +from the stag’s throat!”</p> +<p>Presently I said:</p> +<p>“You have been in jail?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied, indifferently.</p> +<p>“For poaching?”</p> +<p>“Eur e’harvik rous,” he said in Breton, and I could +not make out whether he meant that he had been in +jail for the sake of a woman or of a “little red doe.” +The Breton language bristles with double meanings, +symbols, and allegories. The word for doe in Breton +is <i>karvez</i>; or for a doe which never had a fawn, it is +<i>heiez</i>; for a fawn the word is <i>karvik</i>.</p> +<p>I mentioned these facts to him, but he only looked +dangerous and remained silent.</p> +<p>“Lizard,” I said, “give me your confidence as I give +you mine. I will tell you now that I was once in the +police—”</p> +<p>He started.</p> +<p>“And that I expect to enter that corps again. And +I want your aid.”</p> +<p>“My aid? For the police?” His laugh was simply +horrible. “I? The Lizard? Continue, m’sieu.”</p> +<p>“I will tell you why. Yesterday, on a visit to Point +Paradise, I saw a man lying belly down in the bracken; +but I didn’t let him know I saw him. I have served +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +in the police; I think I recognize that man. He is +known in Belleville as Tric-Trac. He came here, I +believe, to see a man called Buckhurst. Can you +find this Tric-Trac for me? Do you, perhaps, know +him?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Lizard, “I knew him in prison.”</p> +<p>“You have seen him here?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but I will not betray him.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because he is a poor, hunted devil of a poacher like +me!” cried the Lizard, angrily. “He must live; there’s +enough land in Finistère for us both.”</p> +<p>“How long has he been here in Paradise?”</p> +<p>“For two months.”</p> +<p>“And he told you he lived by poaching?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“He lies.”</p> +<p>The Lizard looked at me intently.</p> +<p>“He has played you; he is a thief, and he has come +here to rob. He is a filou—a town rat. Can he bend +a hedge-snare? Can he line a string of dead-falls? +Can he even snare enough game to keep himself from +starving? He a woodsman? <i>He</i> a poacher of the +bracken? You are simple, my friend.”</p> +<p>The veins in the poacher’s neck began to swell and +a dull color flooded his face.</p> +<p>“Prove that he has played me,” he said.</p> +<p>“Prove it yourself.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“By watching him. He came here to meet a man +named Buckhurst.”</p> +<p>“I have seen that man Buckhurst, too. What is +he doing here?” asked the Lizard.</p> +<p>“That is what I want you to find out and help me to +find out!” I said. “Voilà! Now you know what I +want of you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></p> +<p>The sombre visage of the poacher twitched.</p> +<p>“I take it,” said I, “that you would not make a +comrade of a petty pickpocket.”</p> +<p>The poacher uttered an oath and shook his fist at +me. “Bon sang!” he snarled, “I am an honest man +if I am a poacher!”</p> +<p>“That’s the reason I trusted you,” said I, good-humoredly. +“Take your fists down, my friend, and +think out a plan which will permit me to observe this +Monsieur Tric-Trac at my leisure, without I myself +being observed.”</p> +<p>“That is easy,” he said. “I take him food to-day.”</p> +<p>“Then I was right,” said I, laughing. “He is a +Belleville rat, who cannot feed himself where there are +no pockets to pick. Does he know a languste from a +linnet? Not he, my friend!”</p> +<p>The Lizard sat still, head bent, knees drawn up, apparently +buried in thought. There is no injury one +can do a Breton of his class like the injury of deceiving +and mocking.</p> +<p>If Tric-Trac, a man of the city, had come here to +profit by the ignorance of a Breton—and perhaps +laugh at his stupidity!</p> +<p>But I let the ferment work in the dark blood of the +Lizard, leaving him to his own sombre logic, undisturbed.</p> +<p>Presently the Lizard raised his head and fixed his +bright, intelligent eyes on me.</p> +<p>“M’sieu,” he said, in a curiously gentle voice, “we +men of Paradise are called out for the army. I must +go, or go to jail. How can I remain here and help you +trap these filous?”</p> +<p>“I have telegraphed to General Chanzy,” I said, +frankly. “If he accepts—or if General Aurelles de +Palladine is favorable—I shall make you exempt under +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +authority from Tours. I mean to keep you in my +service, anyway,” I added.</p> +<p>“You mean that—that I need not go to Lorient—to +this war?”</p> +<p>“I hope so, my friend.”</p> +<p>He looked at me, astonished. “If you can do that, +m’sieu, you can do anything.”</p> +<p>“In the meanwhile,” I said, dryly, “I want another +look at Tric-Trac.”</p> +<p>“I could show you Tric-Trac in an hour—but to +go to him direct would excite his suspicion. Besides, +there are two gendarmes in Paradise to conduct the +conscripts to Lorient; there are also several gardes-champêtre. +But I can get you there, in the open +moorland, too, under everybody’s noses! Shall I?” +he said, with an eager ferocity that startled me.</p> +<p>“You are not to injure him, no matter what he does +or says,” I said, sharply. “I want to watch him, not +to frighten him away. I want to see what he and +Buckhurst are doing. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then strike palms!”</p> +<p>We struck vigorously.</p> +<p>“Now I am ready to start,” I said, pleasantly.</p> +<p>“And now I am ready to tell you something,” he +said, with the fierce light burning behind his blue +eyes. “If you were already in the police I would not +help you—no, not even to trap this filou who has mocked +me! If you again enter the police I will desert you!”</p> +<p>He licked his dry lips.</p> +<p>“Do you know what a blood-feud is?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said.</p> +<p>“Then understand that a man in a high place has +wronged me—and that he is of the police—the Imperial +Military police!”</p> +<p>“Who?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></p> +<p>“You will know when I pass my fagot-knife into his +throat,” he snarled—“not before.”</p> +<p>The Lizard picked up his fishing-rod, slung a canvas +bag over his stained velveteen jacket, gathered together +a few coils of hair-wire, a pot of twig-lime, and other +odds and ends, which he tucked into his broad-flapped +coat-pocket. “Allons,” he said, briefly, and we +started.</p> +<p>The canvas bag on his back bulged, perhaps with +provisions, although the steel point of a murderous +salmon-gaff protruded from the mouth of the sack and +curved over his shoulder.</p> +<p>The village square in Paradise was nearly deserted. +The children had raced away to follow the newly arrived +gendarmes as closely as they dared, and the women +were in-doors hanging about their men, whom the government +summoned to Lorient.</p> +<p>There were, however, a few people in the square, and +these the Lizard was very careful to greet. Thus we +passed the mayor, waddling across the bridge, puffing +with official importance over the arrival of the gendarmes. +He bowed to me; the Lizard saluted him +with, “Times are hard on the fat!” to which the mayor +replied morosely, and bade him go to the devil.</p> +<p>“Au revoir, donc,” retorted the Lizard, unabashed. +The mayor bawled after him a threat of arrest unless +he reported next day in the square.</p> +<p>At that the poacher halted. “Don’t you wish you +might get me!” he said, tauntingly, probably presuming +on my conditional promise.</p> +<p>“Do you refuse to report?” demanded the mayor, also +halting.</p> +<p>“Et ta sœur!” replied the poacher; “is she reporting +at the caserne?”</p> +<p>The mayor replied angrily, and a typical Breton +quarrel began, which ended in the mayor biting his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +thumb-nail at the Lizard and wishing him “St. Hubert’s +luck”—an insult tantamount to a curse.</p> +<p>Now St. Hubert was a mighty hunter, and his luck +was proverbially marvellous. But as everything goes +by contrary in Brittany, to wish a Breton hunter good +luck was the very worst thing you could do him. Bad +luck was certain to follow—if not that very day, certainly, +inexorably, <i>some</i> day.</p> +<p>With wrath in his eyes the Lizard exhausted his +profanity, stretching out his arm after the retreating +mayor, who waddled away, gesticulating, without turning +his head.</p> +<p>“Come back! Toad! Sourd! V-Snake! Bat of +the gorse!” shouted the Lizard. “Do you think I’m +afraid of your spells, fat owl of Faöuet? Evil-eyed eel! +The luck of Ker-Ys to you and yours! Ho fois! Do +you think I am frightened—I, Robert the Lizard? +Your wife is a camel and your daughter a cow!” The +mayor was unmarried, but it didn’t matter. And, +moreover, as that official was now out of ear-shot, the +Lizard turned anxiously to me.</p> +<p>“Don’t tell me you are superstitious enough to care +what the mayor said,” I laughed.</p> +<p>“Dame, m’sieu, we shall have no luck to-day. To-morrow +it doesn’t matter—but if we go to-day, bad luck +must come to us.”</p> +<p>“To-day? Nonsense!”</p> +<p>“If not, then another day.”</p> +<p>“Rubbish! Come on.”</p> +<p>“Do you think we could take precautions?” he asked, +furtively.</p> +<p>“Take all you like,” I said; “rack your brains for +an antidote to neutralize the bad luck, only come on, +you great gaby!”</p> +<p>I knew many of the Finistère legends; out of the +corner of my eye I watched this stalwart rascal, cowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +by gross superstition, peeping about for some favorable +sign to counteract the luck of St. Hubert.</p> +<p>First he looked up at the crows, and counted them +as they passed overhead cawing ominously—one—two—three—four—five! +Five is danger! But wait, more +were coming: one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—! +A loss! Well, that was not as bad as some +things. But hark! More crows coming: one—two—three! +Death!</p> +<p>“Jesû!” he faltered, ducking his head instinctively. +“I’ll look elsewhere for signs.”</p> +<p>The signs were all wrong that morning; first we met +an ancient crone with a great pack of fagots on her +bent back, and I was sure he could have strangled her +cheerfully, because there are few worse omens for a +hunter of game or of men. Then he examined the +first mushroom he found, but under the pink-and-pearl +cap we saw no insects crawling. The veil, too, was +rent, showing the poisonous, fluted gills; and the toadstool +blackened when he cut it with the blade of his +fagot-knife.</p> +<p>He tried once more, however, and searched through +the gorse until he found a heavy lizard, green as an +emerald. He teased it till it snapped at the silver franc +in my hand; its teeth should have vanished, but when +he held out his finger the creature bit into it till the +blood spurted.</p> +<p>Still I refused to turn back. What should he do? +Then into his mind crept a Pouldu superstition. It +was a charm against evil, including lightning, black-rot, +rheumatism, and “douleurs” of other varieties.</p> +<p>The charm was simple. We needed only to build +a little fire of gorse, and walk through the smoke once +or twice. So we built the fire and walked through the +smoke, the Lizard coughing and cursing until I feared +he might overdo it by smothering us both. Then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +stamping out the last spark—for he was a woodsman +always—we tramped on in better humor with +destiny.</p> +<p>“You think that turned the curse backward, m’sieu?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“There is not the faintest doubt of that,” I said.</p> +<p>Far away towards Sainte-Ysole we saw the blue woods +which were our goal. However, we had no intention +of going there as the bee flies, partly because Tric-Trac +might see us, partly because the Lizard wished any +prowling passer-by to observe that he was occupied +with his illegitimate profession. For my part, I very +much preferred a brush with a garde-champêtre or a +summons to explain why no shots were found in the +Lizard’s pheasants, rather than have anybody ask +us why we were walking so fast towards Sainte-Ysole +woods.</p> +<p>Therefore we promptly selected a hedge for operations, +choosing a high, thick one, which separated two +fields of wheat stubble.</p> +<p>Kneeling under the hedge, he broke a hole in it just +large enough for a partridge to worry through. Then +he bent his twig, fastened the hair-wire into a running +noose, adjusted it, and stood up. This manœuvre he +repeated at various hedges or in thickets where he +“lined” his trail with peeled twigs on every bush.</p> +<p>Once he paused to reset a hare-trap with a turnip, +picked up in a neighboring field; once he limed a young +sapling and fixed a bit of a mirror in the branches, but +not a bird alighted, although the blackthorns were +full of fluttering wings. And all the while we had been +twisting and doubling and edging nearer and nearer +to the Sainte-Ysole woods, until we were already within +their cool shadow, and I heard the tinkle of a stream +among leafy depths.</p> +<p>Now we had no fear; we were hidden from the eyes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +of the dry, staring plain, and the Lizard laughed to +himself as he fastened a grasshopper to his hook and +flung it into the broad, dark water of the pool at his +feet.</p> +<p>Slowly he fished up stream, but, although he seemed +to be intent on his sport, there was something in the +bend of his head that suggested he might be listening +for other sounds than the complex melodies of mossy +waterfalls.</p> +<p>His poacher’s eyes began to glisten and shimmer +in the forest dusk like the eyes of wild things that hunt +at night. As he noiselessly turned, his nostrils spread +with a tremor, as a good dog’s nose quivers at the point.</p> +<p>Presently he beckoned me, stepped into the moss, +and crawled without a sound straight through the +holly thicket.</p> +<p>“Watch here,” he whispered. “Count a hundred +when I disappear, then creep on your stomach to the +edge of that bank. In the bed of the stream, close under +you, you will see and hear your friend Tric-Trac.”</p> +<p>Before I had counted fifty I heard the Lizard cry out, +“Bonjour, Tric-Trac!” but I counted on, obeying the +Lizard’s orders as I should wish mine to be obeyed. +I heard a startled exclamation in reply to the Lizard’s +greeting, then a purely Parisian string of profanity, +which terminated as I counted one hundred and crept +forward to the mossy edge of the bank, under the yellow +beech leaves.</p> +<p>Below me stood the Lizard, intently watching a figure +crouched on hands and knees before a small, iron-bound +box.</p> +<p>The person addressed as Tric-Trac promptly tried +to hide the box by sitting down on it. He was a young +man, with wide ears and unhealthy spots on his face. +His hair, which was oily and thick, he wore neatly +plastered into two pointed love-locks. This not only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +adorned and distinguished him, but it lent a casual +and detached air to his ears, which stood at right angles +to the plane of his face. I knew that engaging countenance. +It was the same old Tric-Trac.</p> +<p>“Zut, alors!” repeated Tric-Trac, venomously, as +the poacher smiled again; “can’t you give the company +notice when you come in?”</p> +<p>“Did you expect me to ring the tocsin?” asked the +Lizard.</p> +<p>“Flute!” snarled Tric-Trac. “Like a mud-rat, you +creep with no sound—c’est pas polite, nom d’un +nom!”</p> +<p>He began nervously brushing the pine-needles from +his skin-tight trousers, with dirty hands.</p> +<p>“What’s that box?” asked the Lizard, abruptly.</p> +<p>“Box? Where?” A vacant expression came into +Tric-Trac’s face, and he looked all around him except +at the box upon which he was sitting.</p> +<p>“Box?” he repeated, with that hopeless effrontery +which never deserts criminals of his class, even under +the guillotine. “I don’t see any box.”</p> +<p>“You’re sitting on it,” observed the Lizard.</p> +<p>“<i>That</i> box? Oh! You mean <i>that</i> box? Oh!” He +peeped at it between his meagre legs, then turned a +nimble eye on the poacher.</p> +<p>“What’s in it?” demanded the poacher, sullenly.</p> +<p>“Don’t know,” replied Tric-Trac, with brisk interest. +“I found it.”</p> +<p>“<i>Found</i> it!” repeated the Lizard, scornfully.</p> +<p>“Certainly, my friend; how do you suppose I came +by it?”</p> +<p>“You stole it!”</p> +<p>They faced each other for a moment.</p> +<p>“Supposition that you are correct; what of it?” said +the young ruffian, calmly.</p> +<p>The Lizard was silent. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>“Did you bring me anything to chew on?” inquired +Tric-Trac, sniffing at the poacher’s sack.</p> +<p>“Bread, cheese, three pheasants, cider—more than +I eat in a week,” said the Lizard, quietly. “It will cost +forty sous.”</p> +<p>He opened his sack and slowly displayed the provisions.</p> +<p>I looked hard at the iron-bound box.</p> +<p><i>On one end was painted the Geneva cross.</i> Dr. Delmont +and Professor Tavernier had disappeared carrying +red-cross funds. Was that their box?</p> +<p>“I said it costs forty sous—two silver francs,” repeated +the Lizard, doggedly.</p> +<p>“Forty sous? That’s robbery!” sniffed the young +ruffian, now using that half-whining, half-sneering +form of discourse peculiar alike to the vicious chevalier +of Paris and his confrère of the provincial centres. +Accent and slang alone distinguish between them; the +argot, however, is practically the same.</p> +<p>Tric-Trac fished a few coins from his pocket, counted +carefully, and handed them, one by one, to the poacher.</p> +<p>The poacher coolly tossed the food on the ground, +and, as Tric-Trac rose to pick it up, seized the box.</p> +<p>“Drop that!” said Tric-Trac, quickly.</p> +<p>“What’s in it?”</p> +<p>“Nothing! Drop it, I tell you.”</p> +<p>“Where’s the key?”</p> +<p>“There’s no key—it’s a machine.”</p> +<p>“What’s in it?”</p> +<p>“Now I’ve been trying to find out for two weeks,” +sneered Tric-Trac, “and I don’t know yet. Drop it!”</p> +<p>“I’m going to open it all the same,” said the Lizard, +coolly, lifting the lid.</p> +<p>A sudden silence followed; then the Lizard swore +vigorously. There was another box within the light, +iron-edged casket, a keyless cube of shining steel, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +with a knob on the top, and a needle which revolved +around a dial on which were engraved the hours and +minutes. And emblazoned above the dial was the coat +of arms of the Countess de Vassart.</p> +<p>When Tric-Trac had satisfied himself concerning the +situation, he returned to devour his food.</p> +<p>“Flute! Zut! Mince!” he observed; “you and your +bad manners, they sicken me—tiens!”</p> +<p>The Lizard, flat on his stomach, lay with the massive +steel box under his chin, patiently turning the needle +from figure to figure.</p> +<p>“Wonderful! wonderful!” sneered Tric-Trac. “Continue, +my friend, to put out your eyes with your fingers!”</p> +<p>The Lizard continued to turn the needle backward +and forward around the face of the dial. Once, when +he twirled it impatiently, a tiny chime rang out from +within the box, but the steel lid did not open.</p> +<p>“It’s the Angelus,” said Tric-Trac, with a grimace. +“Let us pray, my friend, for a cold-chisel—when my +friend Buckhurst returns.”</p> +<p>Still the Lizard lay, unmoved, turning the needle +round and round.</p> +<p>Tric-Trac having devoured the cheese, bread, and an +entire pheasant, made a bundle of the remaining food, +emptied the cider-jug, wiped his beardless face with his +cap, and announced that he would be pleased to “broil” +a cigarette.</p> +<p>“Do you want the gendarmes to scent tobacco?” +said the Lizard.</p> +<p>“Are the ’Flics’ out already?” asked Tric-Trac, astonished.</p> +<p>“They’re in Paradise, setting the whole Department +by the ears. But they can’t look sideways at me; I’m +going to be exempt.”</p> +<p>“It strikes me,” observed Tric-Trac, “that you take +great precautions for your own skin.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span></p> +<p>“I do,” said the Lizard.</p> +<p>“What about me?”</p> +<p>The poacher looked around at the young ruffian. +Those muscles in the human face which draw back +the upper lip are not the muscles used for laughter. +Animals employ them when they snarl. And now the +Lizard laughed that way; his upper lip shrank from +the edge of his yellow teeth, and he regarded Tric-Trac +with oblique and burning eyes.</p> +<p>“What about me?” repeated Tric-Trac, in an offended +tone. “Am I to live in fear of the Flics?”</p> +<p>The Lizard laughed again, and Tric-Trac, disgusted, +stood up, settled his cap over his wide ears, humming +a song as he loosened his trousers-belt:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“Si vous t’nez à vot’ squelette<br /> +Ne fait’ pas comme Bibi!<br /> +Claquer plutôt dans vot’ lit<br /> +Que de claquer à la Roquette!”—</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Who are you gaping at?” he added, abruptly. +“Bon; c’est ma geule. Et après? Drop that box!”</p> +<p>“Come,” replied the Lizard, coldly, placing the +box on the moss, “you’d better not quarrel with +me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s a threat, is it?” sneered Tric-Trac. He +walked over to the steel box, lifted it, placed it in the +iron-edged case, and sat down on the case.</p> +<p>“I want you to comprehend,” he added, “that you +have pushed your nose into an affair that does not +concern you. The next time you come here to sell +your snared pheasants, come like a man, nom de Dieu! +and not like a cat of the Glacière!—or I’ll find a way to +stop your curiosity.”</p> +<p>The dull-red color surged into the poacher’s face and +heavy neck; for a moment he stood as though stunned. +Then he dragged out his knife. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></p> +<p>Tric-Trac sat looking at him insolently, one hand +thrust into the bosom of his greasy coat.</p> +<p>“I’ve got a toy under my cravate that says ‘Papa!’ +six times—pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! Papa!” he +continued, calmly; “so there’s no use in your turning +red and swelling the veins in your neck. Go to the +devil! Do you think I can’t live without you? Go to +the devil with your traps and partridges and fish-hooks—and +that fagot-knife in your fist—and if you try to +throw it at me you’ll make a sad mistake!”</p> +<p>The Lizard’s half-raised hand dropped as Tric-Trac, +with a movement like lightning, turned a revolver full +on him, talking all the while in his drawling whine.</p> +<p>“C’est çà! Now you are reasonable. Get out of this +forest, my friend—or stay and join us. Eh! That +astonishes you? Why? Idiot, we want men like you. +We want men who have nothing to lose and—millions +to gain! Ah, you are amazed! Yes, millions—I say +it. I, Tric-Trac of the Glacière, who have done my time +in Noumea, too! Yes, millions.”</p> +<p>The young ruffian laughed and slowly passed his +tongue over his thin lips. The Lizard slowly returned +his knife to its sheath, looked all around, then deliberately +sat down on the moss cross-legged. I could +have hugged him.</p> +<p>“A million? Where?” he asked, vacantly.</p> +<p>“Parbleu! Naturally you ask where,” chuckled +Tric-Trac. “Tiens! A supposition that it’s in this +box!”</p> +<p>“The box is too small,” said the Lizard, patiently.</p> +<p>Tric-Trac roared. “Listen to him! Listen to the +child!” he cried, delighted. “Too small to hold gold +enough for you? Very well—but is <i>a ship big enough</i>?”</p> +<p>“A big ship is.”</p> +<p>Tric-Trac wriggled in convulsions of laughter.</p> +<p>“Oh, listen! He wants a big ship! Well—say a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +ship as big as that ugly, black iron-clad sticking up +out of the sea yonder, like a Usine-de-gaz!”</p> +<p>“I think that ship would be big enough,” said the +poacher, seriously.</p> +<p>Tric-Trac did not laugh; his little eyes narrowed, and +he looked steadily at the poacher.</p> +<p>“Do you mean what I mean?” he asked, deliberately.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the Lizard, “what do you mean?”</p> +<p>“I mean that France is busy stitching on a new flag.”</p> +<p>“Black?”</p> +<p>“Red—<i>first</i>.”</p> +<p>“Oh-h!” mused the poacher. “When does France +hoist that new red flag?”</p> +<p>“When Paris falls.”</p> +<p>The poacher rested his chin on his doubled fist and +leaned forward across his gathered knees. “I see,” +he drawled.</p> +<p>“Under the commune there can be no more poverty,” +said Tric-Trac; “you comprehend that.”</p> +<p>“Exactly.”</p> +<p>“And no more aristocrats.”</p> +<p>“Exactly.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Tric-Trac, his head on one side, “how +does that programme strike you?”</p> +<p>“It is impossible, your programme,” said the poacher, +rising to his feet impatiently.</p> +<p>“You think so? Wait a few days! Wait, my friend,” +cried Tric-Trac, eagerly; “and say!—come back here +next Monday! There will be a few of us here—a few +friends. And keep your mouth shut tight. Here! +Wait. Look here, friend, don’t let a little pleasantry +stand between comrades. Your fagot-knife against +my little flute that sings pa-pa!—that leaves matters +balanced, eh?”</p> +<p>The young ruffian had followed the Lizard and caught +him by his stained velvet coat. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></p> +<p>“Voyons,” he persisted, “do you think the commune +is going to let a comrade starve for lack of Badinguet’s +lozenges? Here, take a few of these!” and the rascal +thrust out a dirty palm full of twenty-franc gold pieces.</p> +<p>“What are these for?” muttered the Lizard, sullenly.</p> +<p>“For your beaux yeux, imbecile!” cried Tric-Trac, +gayly. “Come back when you want more. My comrade, +Citizen Buckhurst, will be glad to see you next +Monday. Adieu, my friend. Don’t chatter to the Flics!”</p> +<p>He picked up his box and the packet of provisions, +dropped his revolver into the side-pocket of his jacket, +cocked his greasy cap, blew a kiss to the Lizard, and +started off straight into the forest. After a dozen steps +he hesitated, turned, and looked back at the poacher +for a moment in silence. Then he made a friendly +grimace.</p> +<p>“You are not a fool,” he said, “so you won’t follow +me. Come again Monday. It will really be worth +while, dear friend.” Then, as on an impulse, he came +all the way back, caught the Lizard by the sleeve, +raised his meagre body on tip-toe, and whispered.</p> +<p>The Lizard turned perfectly white; Tric-Trac trotted +away into the woods, hugging his box and smirking.</p> +<p>The Lizard and I walked back together. By the +time we reached Paradise bridge I understood him +better, and he understood me. And when we arrived +at the circus tent, and when Speed came up, handing +me a telegram from Chanzy refusing my services, the +Lizard turned to me like an obedient hound to take my +orders—now that I was not to re-enter the Military +Police.</p> +<p>I ordered him to disobey the orders from Lorient +and from the mayor of Paradise; to take to the woods +as though to avoid the conscription; to join Buckhurst’s +franc-company of ruffians, and to keep me +fully informed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></p> +<p>“And, Lizard,” I said, “you may be caught and +hanged for it by the police, or stabbed by Tric-Trac.”</p> +<p>“Bien,” he said, coolly.</p> +<p>“But it is a brave thing you do; a soldierly thing!”</p> +<p>He was silent.</p> +<p>“It is for France,” I said.</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“And we’ll catch this Tric-Trac red-handed,” I suggested.</p> +<p>“Ah—yes!” His eyes glowed as though lighted up +from behind. “And another who is high in the police, +and a friend of this Tric-Trac!”</p> +<p>“Was it that man’s name he whispered to you when +you turned so white?” I said, suddenly.</p> +<p>The Lizard turned his glowing eyes on me.</p> +<p>“Was the man’s name—Mornac?” I asked, at a hopeless +venture.</p> +<p>The Lizard shivered; I needed no reply, not even +his hoarse, “Are you the devil, that you know all +things?”</p> +<p>I looked at him wonderingly. What wrong could +Mornac have done a ragged outcast here on the Breton +coast? And where was Mornac? Had he left Paris +in time to avoid the Prussian trap? Was he here in +this country, rubbing elbows with Buckhurst?</p> +<p>“Did Tric-Trac tell you that Mornac was at the head +of that band?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Why do you ask me?” stammered the Lizard; +“you know everything—even when it is scarcely +whispered!”</p> +<p>The superstitious astonishment of the man, his utter +collapse and his evident fear of me, did not suit me. +Treachery comes through that kind of fear; I meant +to rule him in another and safer manner. I meant +to be absolutely honest with him.</p> +<p>It was difficult to persuade him that I had only guessed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +the name whispered; that, naturally, I should think of +Mornac as a high officer of police, and particularly so +since I knew him to be a villain, and had also divined +his relations with Buckhurst.</p> +<p>I drew from the poacher that Tric-Trac had named +Mornac as head of the communistic plot in Brittany; +that Mornac was coming to Paradise very soon, and that +then something gay might be looked for.</p> +<p>And that night I took Speed into my confidence and +finally Kelly Eyre, our balloonist.</p> +<p>And we talked the matter over until long after midnight.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +<a name='XV_FOREWARNED' id='XV_FOREWARNED'></a> +<h2>XV</h2> +<h3>FOREWARNED</h3> +</div> +<p>The lions had now begun to give me a great deal +of trouble. Timour Melek, the old villain, sat on +his chair, snarling and striking at me, but still going +through his paces; Empress Khatoun was a perfect +devil of viciousness, and refused to jump her hoops; +even poor little Aïcha, my pet, fed by me soon after +her foster-mother, a big Newfoundland, had weaned +her, turned sullen in the pyramid scene. I roped her +and trimmed her claws; it was high time.</p> +<p>Oh, they knew, and I knew, that matters had gone +wrong with me; that I had, for a time, at least, lost the +intangible something which I once possessed—that occult +right to dominate.</p> +<p>It worried me; it angered me. Anger in authority, +which is a weakness, is quickly discovered by beasts.</p> +<p>Speed’s absurd superstition continued to recur to me +at inopportune moments; in my brain his voice was +ceaselessly sounding—“A man in love, a man in love, +a man in love”—until a flash of temper sent my lions +scurrying and snarling into a pack, where they huddled +and growled, staring at me with yellow, mutinous eyes.</p> +<p>Yet, strangely, the greater the risk, and the plainer +to me that my lions were slipping out of my control, +the more my apathy increased, until even Byram began +to warn me.</p> +<p>Still I never felt the slightest physical fear; on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +contrary, as my irritation increased my disdain grew. +It seemed a monstrous bit of insolence on the part of +these overgrown cats to meditate an attack on me. +Even though I began to feel that it was only a question +of time when the moment must arrive, even though +I gradually became certain that the first false move +on my part would precipitate an attack, the knowledge +left me almost indifferent.</p> +<p>That morning, as I left the training-cage—where, +among others, Kelly Eyre stood looking on—I suddenly +remembered Sylvia Elven and her message to Eyre, +which I had never delivered.</p> +<p>We strolled towards the stables together; he was a +pleasant, clean-cut, fresh-faced young fellow, a man I +had never known very well, but one whom I was inclined +to respect and trust.</p> +<p>“My son,” said I, politely, “do you think you have +arrived at an age sufficiently mature to warrant my +delivering to you a message from a pretty girl?”</p> +<p>“There’s no harm in attempting it, my venerable +friend,” he replied, laughing.</p> +<p>“This is the message,'' I said: “<i>On Sunday the +book-stores are closed in Paris.</i>”</p> +<p>“Who gave you that message, Scarlett?” he stammered.</p> +<p>I looked at him curiously, brutally; a red, hot blush +had covered his face from neck to hair.</p> +<p>“In case you asked, I was to inform you,” said I, +“that a Bretonne at Point Paradise sent the message.”</p> +<p>“A Bretonne!” he repeated, as though scared.</p> +<p>“A Bretonne!”</p> +<p>“But I don’t know any!”</p> +<p>I shrugged my shoulders discreetly.</p> +<p>“Are you certain she was a Bretonne?” he asked. +His nervousness surprised me.</p> +<p>“Does she not say so?” I replied. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p> +<p>“I know—I know—but that message—there is only +one woman who could have sent it—” He hesitated, +red as a pippin.</p> +<p>He was so young, so manly, so unspoiled, and so red, +that on an impulse I said: “Kelly, it was Mademoiselle +Elven who sent you the message.”</p> +<p>His face expressed troubled astonishment.</p> +<p>“Is that her name?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Well—it’s one of them, anyway,” I replied, beginning +to feel troubled in my turn. “See here, Kelly, +it’s not my business, but you won’t mind if I speak +plainly, will you? The times are queer—you understand. +Everybody is suspicious; everybody is under +suspicion in these days. And I want to say that the +young lady who sent that curious message to you is +as clever as twenty men like you and me.”</p> +<p>He was silent.</p> +<p>“If it is a love affair, I’ll stop now—not a question, +you understand. If it is not—well, as an older and +more battered and world-worn man, I’m going to make +a suggestion to you—with your permission.”</p> +<p>“Make it,” he said, quietly.</p> +<p>“Then I will. Don’t talk to Mademoiselle Elven. +You, Speed, and I know something about a certain +conspiracy; we are going to know more before we inform +the captain of that cruiser out there beyond Point +Paradise. I know Mademoiselle Elven—slightly. I +am afraid of her—and I have not yet decided why. +Don’t talk to her.”</p> +<p>“But—I don’t know her,” he said; “or, at least I +don’t know her by that name.”</p> +<p>After a moment I said: “Is the person in question +the companion of the Countess de Vassart?”</p> +<p>“If she is I do not know it,” he replied.</p> +<p>“Was she once an actress?”</p> +<p>“It would astonish me to believe it!” he said. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></p> +<p>“Then who do you believe sent you that message, +Kelly?”</p> +<p>His cheeks began to burn again, and he gave me an +uncomfortable look. A silence, and he sat down in +my dressing-room, his boyish head buried in his hands. +After a glance at him I began changing my training-suit +for riding-clothes, whistling the while softly to +myself. As I buttoned a fresh collar he looked up.</p> +<p>“Mr. Scarlett, you are well-born and—you are here +in the circus with the rest of us. You know what we +are—you know that two or three of us have seen better +days,... that something has gone wrong with us to +bring us here,... but we never speak of it,... and +never ask questions.... But I should like to tell +you about myself;... you are a gentleman, you +know,... and I was not born to anything in particular.... I +was a clerk in the consul’s office in Paris +when Monsieur Tissandier took a fancy to me, and I +entered his balloon ateliers to learn to assist him.”</p> +<p>He hesitated. I tied my necktie very carefully before +a bit of broken mirror.</p> +<p>“Then the government began to make much of us,... you +remember? We started experiments for the +army.... I was intensely interested, and ... there +was not much talk about secrecy then,... and my +salary was large, and I was received at the Tuileries. +My head was turned;... life was easy, brilliant. I +made an invention—a little electric screw which steered +a balloon ... sometimes...” He laughed, a mirthless +laugh, and looked at me. All the color had gone +from his face.</p> +<p>“There was a woman—” I turned partly towards him.</p> +<p>“We met first at the British Embassy,... then +elsewhere,... everywhere.... We skated together +at the club in the Bois at that celebrated fête,... you +know?—the Emperor was there—” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></p> +<p>“I know,” I said.</p> +<p>He looked at me dreamily, passed his hand over his +face, and went on:</p> +<p>“Somehow we always talked about military balloons. +And that evening ... she was so interested in my +work ... I brought some little sketches I had made—”</p> +<p>“I understand,” I said.</p> +<p>He looked at me miserably. “She was to return +the sketches to me at Calman’s—the fashionable book-store,... next +day.... I never thought that the +next day was to be Sunday.... The book-stores +of Paris are not open on Sunday—<i>but the War Office +is</i>.”</p> +<p>I began to put on my coat.</p> +<p>“And the sketches were asked for?” I suggested—“and +you naturally told what had become of them?”</p> +<p>“I refused to name her.”</p> +<p>“Of course; men of our sort can’t do that.”</p> +<p>“I am not of your sort—you know it.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, you are, my friend—and the same kind of +fool, too. There’s only one kind of man in this world.”</p> +<p>He looked at me listlessly.</p> +<p>“So they sent you to a fortress?” I asked.</p> +<p>“To New Caledonia,... four years.... I was only +twenty, Scarlett,... and ruined.... I joined Byram +in Antwerp and risked the tour through France.”</p> +<p>After a moment’s thought I said: “In your opinion, +what nation profited by your sketches? Italy? +Spain? Prussia? Bavaria? England?... Perhaps +Russia?”</p> +<p>“Do you mean that this woman was a foreign spy?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps. Perhaps she was only careless, or capricious,... or inconstant.... You +never saw her +again?”</p> +<p>“I was under arrest on Sunday. I do not know.... I +like to believe that she went to the book-store on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +Monday,... that she made an innocent mistake,... but +I never knew, Scarlett,... I never knew.”</p> +<p>“Suppose you ask her?” I said.</p> +<p>He reddened furiously.</p> +<p>“I cannot.... If she did me a wrong, I cannot reproach +her; if she was innocent—look at me, Scarlett!—a +ragged, ruined mountebank in a travelling circus,... and +she is—”</p> +<p>“An honest woman that a man might care for?”</p> +<p>“That is ... my belief.”</p> +<p>“If she is,” I said, “go and ask her about those +drawings.”</p> +<p>“But if she is not,... I cannot tell <i>you</i>!” he flashed +out.</p> +<p>“Let us shake hands, Kelly,” I said,... “and be +very good friends. Will you?”</p> +<p>He gave me his hand rather shyly.</p> +<p>“We will never speak of her again,” I said,... “unless +you desire it. You have had a terrible lesson +in caution; I need say no more. Only remember that +I have trusted you with a secret concerning Buckhurst’s +conspiracy.”</p> +<p>His firm hand tightened on mine, then he walked +away, steadily, head high. And I went out to saddle +my horse for a canter across the moor to Point Paradise.</p> +<p>It was a gray day, with a hint of winter in the air, +and a wind that set the gorse rustling like tissue-paper. +Up aloft the sun glimmered, a white spot in a silvery +smother; pale lights lay on moorland and water; the +sea tumbled over the bar, boiling like a flood of liquid +lead from which the spindrift curled and blew into a +haze that buried the island of Groix and turned the +anchored iron-clad to a phantom.</p> +<p>A day for a gallop, if ever there was such a day!—a +day to wash out care from a troubled mind and cleanse +it in the whipping, reeking, wet east wind—a day for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +fox! And I rose in my saddle and shouted aloud as a +red fox shot out of the gorse and galloped away across +the endless moorland, with the feathers of a mallard +still sticking to his whiskers.</p> +<p>Oh, what a gallop, with risk enough, too; for I did +not know the coast moors; and the deep clefts from the +cliffs cut far inland, so that eye and ear and bridle-hand +were tense and ready to catch danger ere it ingulfed +us in some sea-churned crevice hidden by the +bracken. And how the gray gulls squealed, high +whirling over us, and the wild ducks in the sedge rose +with clapping wings, craning their necks, only to swing +overhead in circles, whimpering, and drop, with pendent +legs and wings aslant, back into the bog from +which we startled them.</p> +<p>A ride into an endless gray land, sweet with sea-scents, +rank with the perfume of salty green things; +a ride into a land of gushing winds, wet as spray, strong +and caressing, too, and full of mischief; winds that set +miles of sedge rippling; sudden winds, that turned still +pools to geysers and set the yellow gorse flowers flying; +winds that rushed up with a sea-roar like the +sound in shells, then, sudden, died away, to leave the +furrowed clover motionless and the tall reeds still as +death.</p> +<p>So, by strange ways and eccentric circles, like the +aërial paths of homing sea-birds, I came at last to +the spot I had set out for, consciously; yet it surprised +me to find I had come there.</p> +<p>Before I crossed the little bridge I scented the big +orange-tinted tea-roses and the pinks. Leaves on +apricots were falling; the fig-tree was bare of verdure, +and the wind chased the big, bronzed leaves across the +beds of herbs, piling them into heaps at the base of the +granite wall.</p> +<p>A boy took my horse; a servant in full Breton costume +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +admitted me; the velvet humming of Sylvia Elven’s +spinning-wheel filled the silence, like the whirring of a +great, soft moth imprisoned in a room:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“Woe to the Maids of Paradise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne!</span><br /> +Twice have the Saxons landed—twice!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne!</span><br /> +Yet shall Paradise see them thrice!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne! Yvonne! Marivonik!</span><br /> + <br /> +“Fair is their hair and blue their eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne!</span><br /> +Body o’ me! their words are lies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne!</span><br /> +Maids of Paradise, oh, be wise!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Yvonne! Yvonne! Marivonik!”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The door swung open noiselessly; the whir of the +wheel and the sound of the song filled the room for an +instant, then was shut out as the Countess de Vassart +closed the door and came forward to greet me.</p> +<p>In her pretty, soft gown, with a tint of blue ribbon at +the neck and shoulders, she seemed scarcely older than +a school-girl, so radiant, so sweet and fresh she stood +there, giving me her little hand to touch in friendship.</p> +<p>“It was so good of you to come,” she said; “I know +you made it a duty and gave up a glorious gallop to be +amiable to me. Did you?”</p> +<p>I tried to say something, but her loveliness confused +me.</p> +<p>Somebody brought tea—I don’t know who; all I +could see clearly was her gray eyes meeting mine—the +light from the leaded window touching her glorious, +ruddy hair.</p> +<p>As for the tea, I took whatever she offered; doubtless +I drank it, but I don’t remember. Nor do I remember +what she said at first, for somehow I began thinking +about my lions, and the thought obsessed me even while +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +striving to listen to her, even in the tingling maze of +other thoughts which kept me dumb under the exquisite +spell of this intimacy with her.</p> +<p>The delicate odor of ripened herbs stole into the room +from the garden; far away, through the whispering +whir of the spinning-wheel, I heard the sea.</p> +<p>“Do you like Sylvia’s song?” she asked, turning her +head to listen. “It is a very old song—a very, very +old one—centuries old. It’s all about the English, +how they came to harry our coasts in those days—and +it has almost a hundred verses!” Something of the +Bretonne came into her eyes for a moment, that shadow +of sadness, that patient fatalism in which, too, there +is something of distrust. The next instant her eyes +cleared and she smiled.</p> +<p>“The Trécourts suffered much from the English raiders. +I am a Trécourt, you know. That song was made +about us—about a young girl, Yvonne de Trécourt, who +was carried away by the English. She was foolish; she +had a lover among the Saxons,... and she set a signal +for him, and they came and sacked the town, and carried +her away, and that was what she got for her folly.”</p> +<p>She bent her head thoughtfully; the sound of the +sea grew louder in the room; a yellow light stole out +of the west and touched the window-panes, slowly +deepening to orange; against it the fruit trees stood, +a leafless tracery of fragile branches.</p> +<p>“It is the winter awaking, very far away,” she +said, under her breath.</p> +<p>Something in the hollow monotone of the sea made +me think again of the low grumble of restless lions. +The sound was hateful. Why should it steal in here—why +haunt me even in this one spot in all the world +where a world-tired man had found a moment’s peace +in a woman’s eyes.</p> +<p>“Are you troubled?” she asked, then colored at her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +own question, as though deeming the impulse to speak +unwarranted.</p> +<p>“No, not troubled. Happiness is often edged with +a shadow. I am content to be here.”</p> +<p>She bent her head and looked at the heavy rose +lying in solitary splendor on the table. The polished +wood reflected it in subdued tints of saffron.</p> +<p>“It is a strange friendship,” I said.</p> +<p>“Ours?... yes.”</p> +<p>I said, musing: “To me it is like magic. I scarce +dare speak, scarce breathe, lest the spell break.”</p> +<p>She was silent.</p> +<p>“—Lest the spell break—and this house, this room, +fade away, leaving me alone, staring at the world once +more.”</p> +<p>“If there is a spell, you have cast it,” she said, laughing +at my sober face. “A wizard ought to be able to +make his spells endure.”</p> +<p>Then her face grew graver. “You must forget the +past,” she said; “you must forget all that was cruel +and false and unhappy,... will you not?”</p> +<p>“Yes, madame.”</p> +<p>“I, too,” she said, “have much to forget and much +to hope for; and you taught me how to forget and how +to hope.”</p> +<p>“I, madame?”</p> +<p>“Yes,... at La Trappe, at Morsbronn, and here. +Look at me. Have I not changed?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said, fascinated.</p> +<p>“I know I have,” she said, as though speaking to +herself. “Life means more now. Somehow my childhood +seems to have returned, with all its hope of the +world and all its confidence in the world, and its certainty +that all will be right. Years have fallen from +my shoulders like a released burden that was crushing +me to my knees. I have awakened from a dream +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +that was not life at all,... a dream in which I, alone, +staggered through darkness, bearing the world on my +shoulders—the world doubly weighted with the sorrows +of mankind,... a dream that lasted years, but...<i>you</i> +awoke me.”</p> +<p>She leaned forward and lifted the rose, touching her +face with it.</p> +<p>“It was so simple, after all—this secret of the world’s +malady. You read it for me. I know now what is +written on the eternal tablets—to live one’s own life +as it is given, in honor, charity, without malice; to +seek happiness where it is offered; to share it when +possible; to uplift. But, most of all, to be happy and +accept happiness as a heavenly gift that is to be shared +with as many as possible. And this I have learned +since ... I knew you.”</p> +<p>The light in the room had grown dimmer; I leaned +forward to see her face.</p> +<p>“Am I not right?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I think so.... I am learning from you.”</p> +<p>“But you taught this creed to me!” she cried.</p> +<p>“No, you are teaching it to me. And the first lesson +was a gift,... your friendship.”</p> +<p>“Freely given, gladly given,” she said, quickly. +“And yours I have in return,... and will keep always—always—”</p> +<p>She crushed the rose against her mouth, looking at +me with inscrutable gray eyes, as I had seen her look +at me once at La Trappe, once in Morsbronn.</p> +<p>I picked up my gloves and riding-crop; as I rose she +stood up in the dusk, looking straight at me.</p> +<p>I said something about Sylvia Elven and my compliments +to her, something else about the happiness +I felt at coming to the château again, something about +her own goodness to me—Heaven knows what!—and +she gave me her hand and I held it a moment. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></p> +<p>“Will you come again?” she asked.</p> +<p>I stammered a promise and made my way blindly to +the door which a servant threw open, flung myself +astride my horse, and galloped out into the waste of +moorland, seeing nothing, hearing nothing save the +low roar of the sea, like the growl of restless lions.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +<a name='XVI_A_RESTLESS_MAN' id='XVI_A_RESTLESS_MAN'></a> +<h2>XVI</h2> +<h3>A RESTLESS MAN</h3> +</div> +<p>When I came into camp, late that afternoon, I +found Byram and Speed groping about among +a mass of newspapers and letters, the first mail we circus +people had received for nearly two months.</p> +<p>There were letters for all who were accustomed to +look for letters from families, relatives, or friends at +home. I never received letters—I had received none +of that kind in nearly a score of years, yet that curious +habit of expectancy had not perished in me, and I +found myself standing with the others while Byram +distributed the letters, one by one, until the last home-stamped +envelope had been given out, and all around +me the happy circus-folk were reading in homesick +contentment. I know of no lonelier man than he who +lingers empty-handed among those who pore over the +home mail.</p> +<p>But there were newspapers enough and to spare—French, +English, American; and I sat down by my +lion’s cage and attempted to form some opinion of the +state of affairs in France. And, as far as I could read +between the lines, this is what I gathered, partly from +my own knowledge of past events, partly from the +foreign papers, particularly the English:</p> +<p>When, on the 3d of September, the humiliating news +arrived that the Emperor was a prisoner and his army +annihilated, the government, for the first time in its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +existence, acted with promptness and decision in a matter +of importance. Secret orders were sent by couriers to +the Bank of France, to the Louvre, and to the Invalides; +and, that same night, train after train rushed out of +Paris loaded with the battle-flags from the Invalides, +the most important pictures and antique sculptures +from the Louvre, the greater part of the gold and silver +from the Bank of France, and, last but by no means +least, the crown and jewels of France.</p> +<p>This Speed and I already knew.</p> +<p>These trains were despatched to Brest, and at the +same time a telegram was directed to the admiral commanding +the French iron-clad fleet in the Baltic to send +an armored cruiser to Brest with all haste possible, +there to await further orders, but to be fully prepared +in any event to take on board certain goods designated +in cipher. This we knew in a general way, though +Speed understood that Lorient was to be the port of +departure.</p> +<p>The plan was a good one and apparently simple; +and there seemed to be no doubt that jewels, battle-flags, +pictures, and coin were already beyond danger +from the German armies, now plodding cautiously +southward toward the capital, which was slowly recovering +from its revolutionary convulsions and preparing +for a siege.</p> +<p>The plan, then, was simple; but, for an equally simple +reason, it miscarried in the following manner. Early +in August, while the French armies from the Rhine +to the Meuse were being punished with frightful +regularity and precision, the French Mediterranean +squadron had sailed up and down that interesting +expanse of water, apparently in patriotic imitation of +the historic</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“King of France and twenty thousand men.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></div> +<p>For, it now appeared, the French admiral was afraid +that the Spanish navy might aid the German ships in +harassing the French transports, which at that time +were frantically engaged in ferrying a sea-sick Algerian +army across the Mediterranean to the mother country.</p> +<p>Of course there was no ground for the admiral’s suspicions. +The German war-ships stayed in their own +harbors, the Spaniards made no offensive alliance with +Prussia, and at length the French admiral sailed triumphantly +away with his battleships and cruisers.</p> +<p>On the 7th of August the squadron of four battleships, +two armored corvettes, and a despatch-boat +steamed out of Brest, picking up on its way northward +three more iron-clad frigates, and several cruisers +and despatch-boats; and on the 11th of August, 1870, +the squadron anchored off Heligoland, from whence +Admiral Fourichon proclaimed the blockade of the +German coast.</p> +<p>It must have been an imposing sight! There lay +the great iron-clads, the <i>Magnanime</i>, the <i>Héroine</i>, the +<i>Provence</i>, the <i>Valeureuse</i>, the <i>Revanche</i>, the <i>Invincible</i>, +the <i>Couronne</i>! There lay the cruisers, the <i>Atalante</i>, +the <i>Renaud</i>, the <i>Cosmao</i>, the <i>Decrès</i>! There, too, lay +the single-screw despatch-boats <i>Reine-Hortense</i>, <i>Renard</i>, +and <i>Dayot</i>. And upon their armored decks, +three by three, stalked the French admirals. Yet, +without cynicism, it may be said that the admirals of +France fought better, in 1870, on dry land than they did +on the ocean.</p> +<p>However, the German ships stayed peacefully inside +their fortified ports, and the three French admirals +pranced peacefully up and down outside, until the God +of battles intervened and trouble naturally ensued.</p> +<p>On the 6th of September all the seas of Europe were +set clashing under a cyclone that rose to a howling +hurricane. The British iron-clad <i>Captain</i> foundered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +off Finistère; the French fleet in the Baltic was scattered +to the four winds.</p> +<p>In the midst of the tempest a French despatch-boat, +the <i>Hirondelle</i>, staggered into sight, signalling the +flag-ship. Then the French admiral for the first time +learned the heart-breaking news of Sedan, and as the +tempest-tortured battle-ship drove seaward the signals +went up: “Make for Brest!” The blockade of the +German coast was at an end.</p> +<p>On the 4th of September the treasure-laden trains +had left Paris for Brest. On the 5th the <i>Hirondelle</i> +steamed out towards the fleet with the news from Sedan +and the orders for the detachment of a cruiser to receive +the crown jewels. On the 6th the news and the orders +were signalled to the flag-ship; but the God of battles +unchained a tempest which countermanded the order +and hurled the iron-clads into outer darkness.</p> +<p>Some of the ships crept into English ports, burning +their last lumps of coal, some drifted into Dunkerque; +but the flag-ship disappeared for nine long days, at +last to reappear off Cherbourg, a stricken thing with a +stricken crew and an admiral broken-hearted.</p> +<p>So, for days and days, the treasure-laden trains must +have stood helpless in the station at Brest, awaiting the +cruiser that did not come.</p> +<p>On the 17th of September the French Channel +squadron, of seven heavy iron-clads, unexpectedly +steamed into Lorient harbor and dropped anchor amid +thundering salutes from the forts; and the next day +one of the treasure-trains came flying into Lorient, +to the unspeakable relief of the authorities in the beleaguered +capital.</p> +<p>Speed and I already knew the secret orders sent. +The treasures, including the crown diamonds, were to +be stored in the citadel, and an armored cruiser was +to lie off the arsenal with banked fires, ready to receive +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +the treasures at the first signal and steam to the French +fortified port of Saïgon in Cochin China, by a course +already determined.</p> +<p>Why on earth those orders had been changed so that +the cruiser was to lie off Groix I could not imagine, +unless some plot had been discovered in Lorient which +had made it advisable to shift the location of the treasures +for the third time.</p> +<p>Pondering there at the tent door, amid my heap of +musty newspapers, I looked out into the late, gray +afternoon and saw the maids of Paradise passing and +repassing across the bridge with a clicking of wooden +shoes and white head-dresses glimmering in the dusk +of the trees.</p> +<p>The town had filled within a day or two; the Paradise +coiffe was not the only coiffe to be seen in the square; +there was the delicate-winged head-dress of Faöuet, the +beautiful coiffes of Rosporden, Sainte-Anne d’Auray, +and Pont Aven; there, too, flashed the scarlet skirts of +Bannalec and the gorgeous embroidered bodices of the +interior; there were the men of Quimperlé in velvet, +the men of Penmarch, the men of Faöuet with their +dark, Spanish-like faces and their sombreros, and their +short yellow jackets and leggings. All in holiday costume, +too, for the maids were stiff in silver and lace, +and the men wore carved sabots and embroidered gilets.</p> +<p>“Governor,” I called out to Byram, “the town is +filling fast. It’s like a Pardon in Morbihan; we’ll +pack the old tent to the nigger’s-heaven!”</p> +<p>“It’s a fact,” he said, pushing his glasses up over +his forehead and fanning his face with his silk hat. +“We’re going to open to a lot of money, Mr. Scarlett, +and ... I ain’t goin’ to forgit them that stood by me, +neither.”</p> +<p>He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, and, stooping, +peered into my face. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></p> +<p>“Air you sick, m’ friend?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I, governor? Why, no.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t been bit by that there paltry camuel nor +nothin’, hev ye?”</p> +<p>“No; do I look ill?”</p> +<p>“Peaked—kind o’ peaked. White, with dark succles +under your eyes. Air you nervous?”</p> +<p>“About the lions? Oh no. Don’t worry about me, +governor.”</p> +<p>He sighed, adjusted his spectacles, and blew his +nose.</p> +<p>“Mr. Speed—he’s worriting, too; he says that Empress +Khatoun means to hev ye one o’ these days.”</p> +<p>“You tell Mr. Speed to worry over his own affairs—that +child, Jacqueline, for instance. I suppose she +made her jump without trouble to-day? I was too +nervous to stay and watch her.”</p> +<p>“M’ friend,” said Byram, in solemn ecstasy, “I +take off my hat to that there kid!” And he did so +with a flourish. “You orter seen her; she hung on +that flying trap, jest as easy an’ sassy! We was all +half crazy. Speed he grew blue around the gills; +Miss Crystal, a-swingin’ there in the riggin’ by her +knees, kept a swallerin’ an’ lickin’ her lips, she was +that scared.</p> +<p>“‘Ready?’ she calls out in a sort o’ quaver.</p> +<p>“‘Ready!’ sez little Jacqueline, cool as ice, swingin’ +by her knees. ‘Go!’ sez Miss Crystal, an’ the kid let +go, an’ Miss Crystal grabbed her by the ankles. +‘Ready?’ calls up Speed, beside the tank.</p> +<p>“‘Ready!’ sez the kid, smilin’. ‘Drop!’ cries Speed. +An’ Jacqueline shot down like a blazing star—whir! +swish! splash! All over! An’ that there nervy kid +a floatin’ an’ a sportin’ like a minnie-fish at t’other +end o’ the tank! Oh, gosh, but it was grand! It was +jest—” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p> +<p>Speech failed; he walked away, waving his arms, +his rusty silk hat on the back of his head.</p> +<p>A few moments later drums began to roll from the +square. Speed, passing, called out to me that the conscripts +were leaving for Lorient; so I walked down to +the bridge, where the crowd had gathered and where +a tall gendarme stood, his blue-and-white uniform +distinct in the early evening light. The mayor was +there, too, dressed in his best, waddling excitedly about, +and buttonholing at intervals a young lieutenant of +infantry, who appeared to be extremely bored.</p> +<p>There were the conscripts of the Garde Mobile, an +anxious peasant rabble, awkward, resigned, docile +as cattle. Here stood a farmer, reeking of his barnyard; +here two woodsmen from the forest, belted and +lean; but the majority were men of the sea, heavy-limbed, +sun-scorched fellows, with little, keen eyes always +half closed, and big, helpless fists hanging. Some +carried their packets slung from hip to shoulder, some +tied their parcels to the muzzles of their obsolete muskets. +A number wore the boatman’s smock, others +the farmer’s blouse of linen, but the greater number +were clad in the blue-wool jersey and cloth béret of the +sailor.</p> +<p>Husbands, sons, lovers, looked silently at the women. +The men uttered no protest, no reproach; the women +wept very quietly. In their hearts that strange mysticism +of the race predominated—the hopeless acceptance +of a destiny which has, for centuries, left its imprint +in the sad eyes of the Breton. Generations of +martyrdom leave a cowed and spiritually fatigued race +which breeds stoics.</p> +<p>Like great white blossoms, the spotless head-dresses +of the maids of Paradise swayed and bowed above +the crowd.</p> +<p>A little old woman stood beside a sailor, saying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +to anybody who would listen to her: “My son—they +are taking my son. Why should they take my +son?”</p> +<p>Another said: “They are taking mine, too, but +he cannot fight on land. He knows the sea; he is +not afraid at sea. Can nobody help us? He cannot +fight on land; he does not know how!”</p> +<p>A woman carrying a sleeping baby stood beside +the drummers at the fountain. Five children dragged +at her skirts and peered up at the mayor, who shrugged +his shoulders and shook his fat head.</p> +<p>“What can I do? He must march with the others, +your man,” said the mayor, again and again. But +the woman with the baby never ceased her eternal +question: “What can we live on if you take him? +I do not mean to complain too much, but we have nothing. +What can we live on, m’sieu the mayor?”</p> +<p>But now the drummers had stepped out into the +centre of the square and were drawing their drum-sticks +from the brass sockets in their baldricks.</p> +<p>“Good-bye! Good-bye!” sobbed the maids of Paradise, +giving both hands to their lovers. “We will +pray for you!”</p> +<p>“Pray for us,” said the men, holding their sweethearts’ +hands.</p> +<p>“Attention!” cried the officer, a slim, hectic lieutenant +from Lorient.</p> +<p>The mayor handed him the rolls, and the lieutenant, +facing the shuffling single rank, began to call off:</p> +<p>“Roux of Bannalec?”</p> +<p>“Here, monsieur—”</p> +<p>“Don’t say, ‘Here, monsieur!’ Say, ‘Present!’ +Now, Roux?”</p> +<p>“Present, monsieur—”</p> +<p>“Idiot! Kedrec?”</p> +<p>“Present!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></p> +<p>“That’s right! Penmarch?”</p> +<p>“Present!”</p> +<p>“Rhuis of Sainte-Yssel?”</p> +<p>“Present!”</p> +<p>“Hervé of Paradise Beacon?”</p> +<p>“Present!”</p> +<p>“Laenec?”</p> +<p>“Present!”</p> +<p>“Duhamel?”</p> +<p>“Present!”</p> +<p>The officer moistened his lips, turned the page, and +continued:</p> +<p>“Carnac of Alincourt?”</p> +<p>There was a silence, then a voice cried, “Crippled!”</p> +<p>“Mark him off, lieutenant,” said the mayor, pompously; +“he’s our little hunchback.”</p> +<p>“Shall I mark you in his place?” asked the lieutenant, +with a smile that turned the mayor’s blood to water. +“No? You would make a fine figure for a forlorn +hope.”</p> +<p>A man burst out laughing, but he was half crazed +with grief, and his acrid mirth found no response. +Then the roll-call was resumed:</p> +<p>“Gestel?”</p> +<p>“Present!”</p> +<p>“Garenne!”</p> +<p>There was another silence.</p> +<p>“Robert Garenne!” repeated the officer, sharply. +“Monsieur the mayor has informed me that you are +liable for military duty. If you are present, answer +to your name or take the consequences!”</p> +<p>The poacher, who had been lounging on the bridge, +slouched slowly forward and touched his cap.</p> +<p>“I am organizing a franc corps,” he said, with a +deadly sidelong glance at the mayor, who now stood +beside the lieutenant. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></p> +<p>“You can explain that at Lorient,” replied the lieutenant. +“Fall in there!”</p> +<p>“But I—”</p> +<p>“Fall in!” repeated the lieutenant.</p> +<p>The poacher’s visage became inflamed. He hesitated, +looking around for an avenue of escape. Then +he caught my disgusted eye.</p> +<p>“For the last time,” said the lieutenant, coolly drawing +his revolver, “I order you to fall in!”</p> +<p>The poacher backed into the straggling rank, glaring.</p> +<p>“Now,” said the lieutenant, “you may go to your +house and get your packet. If we have left when you +return, follow and report at the arsenal in Lorient. +Fall out! March!”</p> +<p>The poacher backed out to the rear of the rank, +turned on his heel, and strode away towards the coast, +clinched fists swinging by his side.</p> +<p>There were not many names on the roll, and the call +was quickly finished. And now the infantry drummers +raised their sticks high in the air, there was a +sharp click, a crash, and the square echoed.</p> +<p>“March!” cried the officer; and, drummers ahead, +the long single rank shuffled into fours, and the column +started, enveloped in a throng of women and children.</p> +<p>“Good-bye!” sobbed the women. “We will pray!”</p> +<p>“Good-bye! Pray!”</p> +<p>The crowd pressed on into the dusk. Far up the +darkening road the white coiffes of the women glimmered; +the drum-roll softened to a distant humming.</p> +<p>The children, who did not understand, had gathered +around a hunchback, the exempt cripple of the roll-call.</p> +<p>“Ho! Fois!” I heard him say to the crowd of wondering +little ones, “if I were not exempt I’d teach these +Prussians to dance the farandole to my biniou! +Oui, dame! And perhaps I’ll do it yet, spite of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +crooked back I was not born with—as everybody knows! +Oui, dame! Everybody knows I was born as straight +as the next man!”</p> +<p>The children gaped, listening to the distant drumming, +now almost inaudible.</p> +<p>The cripple rose, lighted a lantern, and walked slowly +out toward the cliffs, carrying himself with that uncanny +dignity peculiar to hunchbacks. And as he +walked he sang, in his thin, sharp voice, the air of +“The Three Captains”:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“J’ai eu dans son cœur la plac’ la plus belle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">La plac’ la plus belle.</span><br /> +J’ai passé trois ans, trois ans avec elle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Trois ans avec elle.</span><br /> +J’ai eu trois enfants qui sont capitaines,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Qui sont capitaines.</span><br /> +L’un est à Bordeaux, l’autre à la Rochelle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">L’autre à la Rochelle.</span><br /> +Le troisième ici, caressent les belles,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Caressent les belles.”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Far out across the shadowy cliffs I heard his lingering, +strident chant, and caught the spark of his lantern; +then silence and darkness fell over the deserted square; +the awed children, fingers interlocked, crept homeward +through the dusk; there was no sound save the +rippling wash of the river along the quay of stone.</p> +<p>Tired, a trifle sad, thinking perhaps of those home +letters which had come to all save me, I leaned against +the river wall, staring at the darkness; and over me +came creeping that apathy which I had already learned +to recognize and even welcome as a mental anæsthetic +which set that dark sentinel, care, a-drowsing.</p> +<p>What did I care, after all? Life had stopped for me +years before; there was left only a shell in which that +unseen little trickster, the heart, kept tap-tapping +away against a tired body. Was that what we call +life? The sorry parody! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span></p> +<p>A shape slunk near me through the dusk, furtive, +uncertain. “Lizard,” I said, indifferently. He came +up, my gun on his ragged shoulder.</p> +<p>“You go with your class?” I asked.</p> +<p>“No, I go to the forest,” he said, hoarsely. “You +shall hear from me.”</p> +<p>I nodded.</p> +<p>“Are you content?” he demanded, lingering.</p> +<p>The creature wanted sympathy, though he did not +know it. I gave him my hand and told him he was a +brave man; and he went away, noiselessly, leaving +me musing by the river wall.</p> +<p>After a long while—or it may only have been a few +minutes—the square began to fill again with the first +groups of women, children, and old men who had +escorted the departing conscripts a little way on their +march to Lorient. Back they came, the maids of +Paradise silent, tearful, pitifully acquiescent; the +women of Bannalec, Faöuet, Rosporden, Quimperlé +chattering excitedly about the scene they had witnessed. +The square began to fill; lanterns were +lighted around the fountain; the two big lamps with +their brass reflectors in front of the mayor’s house +illuminated the pavement and the thin tree-foliage +with a yellow radiance.</p> +<p>The chatter grew louder as new groups in all sorts +of gay head-dresses arrived; laughter began to be +heard; presently the squealing of the biniou pipes +broke out from the bowling-green, where, high on a +bench supported by a plank laid across two cider barrels, +the hunchback sat, skirling the farandole. Ah, +what a world entire was this lost little hamlet of Paradise, +where merrymakers trod on the mourners’ heels, +where the scream of the biniou drowned the floating +note of the passing bell, where Misery drew the curtains +of her bed and lay sleepless, listening to Gayety +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +dancing breathless to the patter of a coquette’s wooden +shoes!</p> +<p>Long tables were improvised in the square, piled +up with bread, sardines, puddings, hams, and cakes. +Casks of cider, propped on skids, dotted the outskirts +of the bowling-green, where the mayor, enthroned in +his own arm-chair, majestically gave his orders in a +voice thickened by pork, onions, and gravy.</p> +<p>Truly enough, half of Finistère and Morbihan was +gathering at Paradise for a fête. The slow Breton +imagination had been fired by our circus bills and +posters; ancient Armorica was stirring in her slumber, +roused to consciousness by the Yankee bill-poster.</p> +<p>At the inn all rooms were taken; every house had +become an inn; barns, stables, granaries had their +guests; fishermen’s huts on coast and cliff were bright +with coiffes and embroidered jerseys.</p> +<p>In their misfortune, the lonely women of Paradise +recognized in this influx a godsend—a few francs to +gain with which to face those coming wintry months +while their men were absent. And they opened their +tiny houses to those who asked a lodging.</p> +<p>The crowds which had earlier in the evening gathered +to gape at our big tent were now noisiest in the +square, where the endless drone of the pipes intoned +the farandole.</p> +<p>A few of our circus folk had come down to enjoy the +picturesque spectacle. Speed, standing with Jacqueline +beside me, began to laugh and beat time to the wild +music. A pretty maid of Bannalec, white coiffe and +scarlet skirts a-flutter, called out with the broad freedom +of the chastest of nations: “There is the lover I +could pray for—if he can dance the farandole!”</p> +<p>“I’ll show you whether I can dance the farandole, +ma belle!” cried Speed, and caught her hand, but she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +snatched her brown fingers away and danced off, laughing: +“He who loves must follow, follow, follow the +farandole!”</p> +<p>Speed started to follow, but Jacqueline laid a timid +hand on his arm.</p> +<p>“I dance, M’sieu Speed,” she said, her face flushing +under her elf-locks.</p> +<p>“You blessed child,” he cried, “you shall dance till +you drop to your knees on the bowling-green!” And, +hand clasping hand, they swung out into the farandole. +For an instant only I caught a glimpse of Jacqueline’s +blissful face, and her eyes like blue stars burning; +then they darkened into silhouettes against the yellow +glare of the lanterns and vanished.</p> +<p>Byram rambled up for a moment, to comment on +the quaint scene from a showman’s point of view. “It +would fill the tent in old Noo York, but it’s n. g. in this +here country, where everybody’s either a coryphee or a +clown or a pantaloon! Camuels ain’t no rara avises +in the Sairy, an’ no niggers go to burnt-cork shows. +Phylosophy is the thing, Mr. Scarlett! Ruminate! +Ruminate!”</p> +<p>I promised to do so, and the old man rambled away, +coat and vest on his arm, silk hat cocked over his left +eye, the lamp-light shining on the buckles of his suspenders. +Dear old governor!—dear, vulgar incarnation +of those fast vanishing pioneers who invented civilization, +finding none; who, self-taught, unashamed +taught their children the only truths they knew, that +the nation was worthy of all good, all devotion, and all +knowledge that her sons could bring her to her glory +that she might one day fulfil her destiny as greatest +among the great on earth.</p> +<p>The whining Breton bagpipe droned in my ears; the +dancers flew past; laughter and cries arose from the +tables in the square where the curate of St. Julien stood, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +forefinger wagging, soundly rating an intoxicated but +apologetic Breton in the costume of Faöuet.</p> +<p>I was tired—tired of it all; weary of costumes and +strange customs, weary of strange tongues, of tinsel +and mummers, and tarnished finery; sick of the sawdust +and the rank stench of beasts—and the vagabond +life—and the hopeless end of it all—the shabby end of +a useless life—a death at last amid strangers! Soldiers +in red breeches, peasants in embroidered jackets, +strolling mountebanks all tinselled and rouged—they +were all one to me.... I wanted my own land.... I +wanted my own people.... I wanted to go home ... home!—and +die, when my time came, under the skies +I knew as a child,... under that familiar moon which +once silvered my nursery windows....</p> +<p>I turned away across the bridge out into the dark +road. Long before I came to the smoky, silent camp I +heard the monotonous roaring of my lions, pacing +their shadowy dens.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +<a name='XVII_THE_CIRCUS' id='XVII_THE_CIRCUS'></a> +<h2>XVII</h2> +<h3>THE CIRCUS</h3> +</div> +<p>A little after sunrise on the day set for our first +performance, Speed sauntered into my dressing-room +in excellent humor, saying that not only had the +village of Paradise already filled up with the peasantry +of Finistère and Morbihan, but every outlying hamlet +from St. Julien to Pont Aven was overflowing; that +many had even camped last night along the roadside; +in short, that the country was unmistakably aroused to +the importance of the Anti-Prussian Republican circus +and the Flying Mermaid of Ker-Ys.</p> +<p>I listened to him almost indifferently, saying that I +was very glad for the governor’s sake, and continued +to wash a deep scratch on my left arm, using salt water +to allay the irritation left by Aïcha’s closely pared claws—the +vixen.</p> +<p>But the scratch had not poisoned me; I was in fine +physical condition; rehearsals had kept us all in trim; +our animals, too, were in good shape; and the machinery +started without a creak when, an hour later, Byram +himself opened the box-office at the tent-door and began +to sell tickets to an immense crowd for the first performance, +which was set for two o’clock that afternoon.</p> +<p>I had had an unpleasant hour’s work with the +lions, during which Marghouz, a beast hitherto lazy +and docile, had attempted to creep behind me. Again +I had betrayed irritation; again the lions saw it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +understood it, and remembered. Aïcha tore my sleeve; +when I dragged Timour Melek’s huge jaws apart he +endured the operation patiently, but as soon as I +gave the signal to retire he sprang snarling to the floor, +mane on end, and held his ground, just long enough to +defy me. Poor devils! Who but I knew that they were +right and I was wrong! Who but I understood what +lack of freedom meant to the strong—meant to caged +creatures, unrighteously deprived of liberty! Though +born in captivity, wild things change nothing; they +sleep by day, walk by night, follow as well as they can +the instincts which a caged life cannot crush in them, +nor a miserable, artificial existence obliterate.</p> +<p>They are right to resist.</p> +<p>I mentioned something of this to Speed as I was putting +on my coat to go out, but he only scowled at me, +saying: “Your usefulness as a lion-tamer is ended, +my friend; you are a fool to enter that cage again, and +I’m going to tell Byram.”</p> +<p>“Don’t spoil the governor’s pleasure now,” I said, +irritably; “the old man is out there selling tickets with +both hands, while little Griggs counts receipts in a +stage whisper. Let him alone, Speed; I’m going to +give it up soon, anyway—not now—not while the governor +has a chance to make a little money; but soon—very +soon. You are right; I can’t control anything +now—not even myself. I must give up my lions, after +all.”</p> +<p>“When?” said Speed.</p> +<p>“Soon—I don’t know. I’m tired—really tired. I +want to go home.”</p> +<p>“Home! Have you one?” he asked, with a faint +sneer of surprise.</p> +<p>“Yes; a rather extensive lodging, bounded east and +west by two oceans, north by the lakes, south by the +gulf. Landlord’s a relation—my Uncle Sam.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></p> +<p>“Are you really going home, Scarlett?” he asked, +curiously.</p> +<p>“I have nothing to keep me here, have I?”</p> +<p>“Not unless you choose to settle down and ... marry.”</p> +<p>I looked at him; presently my face began to redden; +and, “What do you mean?” I asked, angrily.</p> +<p>He replied, in a very mild voice, that he did not mean +anything that might irritate me.</p> +<p>I said, “Speed, don’t mind my temper; I can’t seem +to help it any more; something has changed me, something +has gone wrong.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps something has gone right,” he mused, +looking up at the flying trapeze, where Jacqueline +swung dangling above the tank, watching us with +sea-blue eyes.</p> +<p>After a moment’s thought I said: “Speed, what the +devil do you mean by that remark?”</p> +<p>“Now you’re angry again,” he said, wearily.</p> +<p>“No, I’m not. Tell me what you mean.”</p> +<p>“Oh, what do you imagine I mean?” he retorted. +“Do you think I’m blind? Do you suppose I’ve watched +you all these years and don’t know you? Am I an +ass, Scarlett? Be fair; am I?”</p> +<p>“No; not an ass,” I said.</p> +<p>“Then let me alone—unless you want plain speaking +instead of a bray.”</p> +<p>“I do want it.”</p> +<p>“Which?”</p> +<p>“You know; go on.”</p> +<p>“Am I to tell you the truth?”</p> +<p>“As you interpret it—yes.”</p> +<p>“Very well, my friend; then, at your respectful request, +I beg to inform you that you are in love with +Madame de Vassart—and have been for months.”</p> +<p>I did not pretend surprise; I knew he was going to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +say it. Yet it enraged me that he should think it and +say it.</p> +<p>“You are wrong,” I said, steadily.</p> +<p>“No, Scarlett; I am right.”</p> +<p>“You are wrong,” I repeated.</p> +<p>“Don’t say that again,” he retorted. “If you do +not know it, you ought to. Don’t be unfair; don’t be +cowardly. Face it, man! By Heaven, you’ve got to +face it some time—here, yonder, abroad, on the ocean, +at home—no matter where, you’ve got to face it some +day and tell yourself the truth!”</p> +<p>His words hurt me for a moment; then, as I listened, +that strange apathy once more began to creep over me. +Was it really the truth he had told me? Was it? Well—and +then? What meaning had it to me?... Of +what help was it?... of what portent?... of what +use?... What door did it unlock? Surely not the +door I had closed upon myself so many years ago!</p> +<p>Something of my thoughts he may have divined as I +stood brooding in the sunny tent, staring listlessly at +my own shadow on the floor, for he laid his hand on +my shoulder and said: “Surely, Scarlett, if happiness +can be reborn in Paradise, it can be reborn here. I +know you; I have known you for many years. And +in all that time you have never fallen below my ideal!”</p> +<p>“What are you saying, Speed?” I asked, rousing +from my lethargy to shake his hand from my shoulder.</p> +<p>“The truth. In all these years of intimacy, familiarity +has never bred contempt in me; I am not your +equal in anything; it does not hurt me to say so. I +have watched you as a younger brother watches, lovingly, +jealous yet proud of you, alert for a failing +or a weakness which I never found—or, if I thought +I found a flaw in you, knowing that it was but part +of a character too strong, too generous for me to +criticise.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></p> +<p>“Speed,” I said, astonished, “are you talking about +me—about <i>me</i>—a mountebank—and a failure at that? +You know I’m a failure—a nobody—” I hesitated, +touched by his kindness. “Your loyalty to me is all +I have. I wish it were true that I am such a man as you +believe me to be.”</p> +<p>“It is true,” he said, almost sullenly. “If it were +not, no man would say it of you—though a woman +might. Listen to me, Scarlett. I tell you that a man +shipwrecked on the world’s outer rocks—if he does not +perish—makes the better pilot afterwards.”</p> +<p>“But ... I perished, Speed.”</p> +<p>“It is not true,” he said, violently; “but you will if +you don’t steer a truer course than you have. Scarlett, +answer me!”</p> +<p>“Answer you? What?”</p> +<p>“Are you in love?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said.</p> +<p>He waited, looked up at me, then dropped his hands +in his pockets and turned away toward the interior of +the tent where Jacqueline, having descended from the +rigging, stood, drawing her slim fingers across the +surface of the water in the tank.</p> +<p>I walked out through the tent door, threading my +way among the curious crowds gathered not only at +the box-office, but even around the great tent as far as +I could see. Byram hailed me with jovial abandon, +perspiring in his shirt-sleeves, silk hat on the back of +his head; little Grigg made one of his most admired +grimaces and shook the heavy money-box at me; Horan +waved his hat above his head and pointed at the +throng with a huge thumb. I smiled at them all and +walked on.</p> +<p>Cloud and sunshine alternated on that capricious +November morning; the sea-wind was warm; the tincture +of winter had gone. On that day, however, I saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +wavering strings of wild ducks flying south; and the +little hedge-birds of different kinds were already flocking +amiably together in twittering bands that filled +the leafless blackthorns on the cliffs;—true prophets, +all, of that distant cold, gathering somewhere in the +violet north.</p> +<p>I walked fast across the moors, as though I had a +destination. And I had; yet when I understood it I +sheered off, only to turn again and stare fascinated +in the direction of the object that frightened me.</p> +<p>There it rose against the seaward cliffs, the little +tower of Trécourt farm, sea-smitten and crusted, wind-worn, +stained, gray as the lichened rocks scattered +across the moorland. Over it the white gulls pitched +and tossed in a windy sky; beyond crawled the ancient +and wrinkled sea.</p> +<p>“It is a strange thing,” I said aloud, “to find love at +the world’s edge.” I looked blindly across the gray +waste. “But I have found it too late.”</p> +<p>The wind blew furiously; I heard the gulls squealing +in the sky, the far thunder of the surf.</p> +<p>Then, looking seaward again, for the first time I noticed +that the black cruiser was gone, that nothing +now lay between the cliffs and the hazy headland of +Groix save a sheet of lonely water spreading league on +league to meet a flat, gray sky.</p> +<p>Why had the cruiser sailed? As I stood there, brooding, +to my numbed ears the moor-winds bore a sound +coming from a great distance—the sound of cannon—little, +soft reports, all but inaudible in the wind and the +humming undertone of the breakers. Yet I knew the +sound, and turned my unquiet eyes to the sea, where +nothing moved save the far crests of waves.</p> +<p>For a while I stood listening, searching the sea, until +a voice hailed me, and I turned to find Kelly Eyre almost +at my elbow. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span></p> +<p>“There is a man in the village haranguing the people,” +he said, abruptly. “We thought you ought to +know.”</p> +<p>“A man haranguing the people,” I repeated. “What +of it?”</p> +<p>“Speed thinks the man is Buckhurst.”</p> +<p>“What!” I cried.</p> +<p>“There’s something else, too,” he said, soberly, and +drew a telegram from his pocket.</p> +<p>I seized it, and studied the fluttering sheet:</p> +<div style='font-size:smaller'> +<p>“The governor of Lorient, on complaint of the mayor of Paradise, +forbids the American exhibition, and orders the individual +Byram to travel immediately to Lorient with his so-called circus, +where a British steamship will transport the personnel, baggage, +and animals to British territory. The mayor of Paradise will see +that this order of expulsion is promptly executed.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>“(Signed) <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Breteuil</span>.<br /> +“Chief of Police.”<br /></p> +</div> +<p>“Where did you get that telegram?” I asked.</p> +<p>“It’s a copy; the mayor came with it. Byram does +not know about it.”</p> +<p>“Don’t let him know it!” I said, quickly; “this thing +will kill him, I believe. Where is that fool of a mayor? +Come on, Kelly! Stay close beside me.” And I set +off at a swinging pace, down the hollow, out across +the left bank of the little river, straight to the bridge, +which we reached almost on a run.</p> +<p>“Look there!” cried my companion, as we came in +sight of the square.</p> +<p>The square was packed with Breton peasants; near +the fountain two cider barrels had been placed, a plank +thrown across them, and on this plank stood a man +holding a red flag.</p> +<p>The man was John Buckhurst.</p> +<p>When I came nearer I could see that he wore a red +scarf across his breast; a little nearer and I could hear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +his passionless voice sounding; nearer still, I could +distinguish every clear-cut word:</p> +<p>“Men of the sea, men of that ancient Armorica which, +for a thousand years, has suffered serfdom, I come to +you bearing no sword. You need none; you are free +under this red flag I raise above you.”</p> +<p>He lifted the banner, shaking out the red folds.</p> +<p>“Yet if I come to you bearing no sword, I come with +something better, something more powerful, something +so resistless that, using it as your battle-cry, the world +is yours!</p> +<p>“I come bearing the watchword of world-brotherhood—Peace, +Love, Equality! I bear it from your +battle-driven brothers, scourged to the battlements of +Paris by the demons of a wicked government! I bear +it from the devastated towns of the provinces, from +your homeless brothers of Alsace and Lorraine.</p> +<p>“Peace, Love, Equality! All this is yours for the +asking. The commune will be proclaimed throughout +France; Paris is aroused, Lyons is ready, Bordeaux +watches, Marseilles waits!</p> +<p>“You call your village Paradise—yet you starve here. +Let this little Breton village be a paradise in truth—a +shrine for future happy pilgrims who shall say: ‘Here +first were sewn the seeds of the world’s liberty! Here first +bloomed the perfect flower of universal brotherhood!”</p> +<p>He bent his sleek, gray head meekly, pausing as +though in profound meditation. Suddenly he raised +his head; his tone changed; a faint ring of defiance +sounded under the smooth flow of words.</p> +<p>He began with a blasphemous comparison, alluding +to the money-changers in the temple—a subtle appeal +to righteous violence.</p> +<p>“It rests with us to cleanse the broad temple of our +country and drive from it the thieves and traitors who +enslave us! How can we do it? They are strong; we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +are weak. Ah, but <i>are</i> they truly strong? You say +they have armies? Armies are composed of men. These +men are your brothers, whipped forth to die—for what? +For the pleasure of a few aristocrats. Who was it +dragged your husbands and sons away from your +arms, leaving you to starve? The governor of Lorient. +Who is he? An aristocrat, paid to scourge your husbands +and children to battle—paid, perhaps, by Prussia +to betray them, too!”</p> +<p>A low murmur rose from the people. Buckhurst +swept the throng with colorless eyes.</p> +<p>“Under the commune we will have peace. Why? +Because there can be no hunger, no distress, no homeless +ones where the wealth of all is distributed equally. +We will have no wars, because there will be nothing +to fight for. We will have no aristocrats where all +must labor for the common good; where all land is +equally divided; where love, equality, and brotherhood +are the only laws—”</p> +<p>“Where’s the mayor?” I whispered to Eyre.</p> +<p>“In his house; Speed is with him.”</p> +<p>“Come on, then,” I said, pushing my way around +the outskirts of the crowd to the mayor’s house.</p> +<p>The door was shut and the blinds drawn, but a knock +brought Speed to the door, revolver in hand.</p> +<p>“Oh,” he said, grimly, “it’s time you arrived. Come +in.”</p> +<p>The mayor was lying in his arm-chair, frightened, +sulky, obstinate, his fat form swathed in a red sash.</p> +<p>“O-ho!” I said, sharply, “so you already wear the +colors of the revolution, do you?”</p> +<p>“Dame, they tied it over my waistcoat,” he said, “and +there are no gendarmes to help me arrest them—”</p> +<p>“Never mind that just now,” I interrupted; “what +I want to know is why you wrote the governor of Lorient +to expel our circus.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span></p> +<p>“That’s my own affair,” he snapped; “besides, who +said I wrote?”</p> +<p>“Idiot,” I said, “somebody paid you to do it. Who +was it?”</p> +<p>The mayor, hunched up in his chair, shut his mouth +obstinately.</p> +<p>“Somebody paid you,” I repeated; “you would +never have complained of us unless somebody paid +you, because our circus is bringing money into your +village. Come, my friend, that was easy to guess. +Now let me guess again that Buckhurst paid you to +complain of us.”</p> +<p>The mayor looked slyly at me out of the corner of +his mottled eyes, but he remained mute.</p> +<p>“Very well,” said I; “when the troops from Lorient +hear of this revolution in Paradise, they’ll come and +chase these communards into the sea. And after that +they’ll stand you up against a convenient wall and +give you thirty seconds for absolution—”</p> +<p>“Stop!” burst out the mayor, struggling to his feet. +“What am I to do? This gentleman, Monsieur Buckhurst, +will slay me if I disobey him! Besides,” he added, +with cowardly cunning, “they are going to do the same +thing in Lorient, too—and everywhere—in Paris, in +Bordeaux, in Marseilles—even in Quimperlé! And +when all these cities are flying the red flag it won’t be +comfortable for cities that fly the tricolor.” He began +to bluster. “I’m mayor of Paradise, and I won’t be +bullied! You get out of here with your circus and your +foolish elephants! I haven’t any gendarmes just now +to drive you out, but you had better start, all the same—before +night.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” I said, “before night? Why before night?”</p> +<p>“Wait and see then,” he muttered. “Anyway, get +out of my house—d’ ye hear?”</p> +<p>“We are going to give that performance at two o’clock +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +this afternoon,” I said. “After that, another to-morrow +at the same hour, and on every day at the same hour, +as long as it pays. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly,” sneered the mayor.</p> +<p>“And,” I continued, “if the governor of Lorient sends +gendarmes to conduct us to the steamship in Lorient +harbor, they’ll take with them somebody besides the +circus folk.”</p> +<p>“You mean me?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“What do I care?” he bawled in a fury. “You had +better go to Lorient, I tell you. What do you know +about the commune? What do you know about universal +brotherhood? Everybody’s everybody’s brother, +whether you like it or not! I’m your brother, and if it +doesn’t suit you you may go to the devil!”</p> +<p>Watching the infuriated magistrate, I said in English +to Speed: “This is interesting. Buckhurst has learned +we are here, and has paid this fellow heavily to have us +expelled. What sense do you make of all this?—for I +can make none.”</p> +<p>“Nor can I,” muttered Speed; “there’s a link gone; +we’ll find it soon, I fancy. Without that link there’s +no logic in this matter.”</p> +<p>“Look here,” I said, sharply, to the mayor, who had +waddled toward the door, which was guarded by Kelly +Eyre.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m looking,” he snarled.</p> +<p>Then I patiently pointed out to him his folly, and he +listened with ill-grace, obstinate, mute, dull cunning +gleaming from his half-closed eyes.</p> +<p>Then I asked him what he would do if the cruiser +began dropping shells into Paradise; he deliberately +winked at me and thrust his tongue into his cheek.</p> +<p>“So you know that the cruiser has gone?” I asked.</p> +<p>He grinned. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></p> +<p>“Do you suppose Buckhurst’s men hold the semaphore? +If they do, they sent that cruiser on a fool’s +errand,” whispered Speed.</p> +<p>Here was a nice plot! I stepped to the window. Outside +in the square Buckhurst was still speaking to a +spellbound, gaping throng. A few men cheered him. +They were strangers in Paradise.</p> +<p>“What’s he doing it for?” I asked, utterly at a loss to +account for proceedings which seemed to me the acme +of folly. “He must know that the commune cannot +be started here in Brittany! Speed, what is that man +up to?”</p> +<p>Behind us the mayor was angrily demanding that +we leave his house; and after a while we did so, skirting +the crowd once more to where, in a cleared space +near the fountain, Buckhurst stood, red flag in hand, +ranging a dozen peasants in line. The peasants were +not Paradise men; they wore the costumes of the interior, +and somebody had already armed them with +scythes, rusty boarding-pikes, stable-forks, and one +or two flintlock muskets. An evil-looking crew, if +ever I saw one; wild-eyed, long-haired, bare of knee +and ankle, loutish faces turned toward the slim, gray, +pale-faced orator who confronted them, flag in hand. +They were the scum of Morbihan.</p> +<p>He told them that they were his guard of honor, the +glory of their race—a sacred battalion whose names +should shine high on the imperishable battlements of +freedom.</p> +<p>Around them the calm-eyed peasants stared at them +stupidly; women gazed fascinated when Buckhurst, +raising his flag, pointed in silence to the mayor’s house, +where that official stood in his doorway, observing the +scene:</p> +<p>“Forward!” said Buckhurst, and the grotesque escort +started with a clatter of heavy sabots and a rattle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +of scythes. The crowd fell back to give them way, +then closed in behind like a herd of sheep, following +to the mayor’s house, where Buckhurst set his sentinels +and then entered, closing the door behind him.</p> +<p>“Well!” muttered Speed, in amazement.</p> +<p>After a long silence, Kelly Eyre looked at his watch. +“It’s time we were in the tent,” he observed, dryly; and +we turned away without a word. At the bridge we +stopped and looked back. The red flag was flying +from the mayor’s house.</p> +<p>“Speed,” I said, “there’s one thing certain: Byram +can’t stay if there’s going to be fighting here. I heard +guns at sea this morning; I don’t know what that +may indicate. And here’s this idiotic revolution started +in Paradise! That means the troops from Lorient, +and a wretched lot of bushwhacking and guerrilla work. +Those Faöuet Bretons that Buckhurst has recruited +are a bad lot; there is going to be trouble, I tell +you.”</p> +<p>Eyre suggested that we arm our circus people, and +Speed promised to attend to it and to post them at the +tent doors, ready to resist any interference with the +performance on the part of Buckhurst’s recruits.</p> +<p>It was already nearly one o’clock as we threaded our +way through the crowds at the entrance, where our band +was playing gayly and thousands of white head-dresses +fluttered in the sparkling sunshine that poured intermittently +from a sky where great white clouds were +sailing seaward.</p> +<p>“Walk right up, messoors! Entry done, mesdames, +see voo play!” shouted Byram, waving a handful of +red and blue tickets. “Animals all on view before the +performance begins! Walk right into the corridor of +livin’ marvels and defunct curiosities! Bring the little +ones to see the elephant an’ the camuel—the fleet +ship of the Sairy! Don’t miss nothing! Don’t fail +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +to contemplate le ploo magnifique spectacle in all +Europe! Don’t let nobody say you died an’ never saw +the only Flyin’ Mermaid! An’ don’t forget the prize—ten +thousand francs to the man, woman, or che-ild +who can prove that this here Flyin’ Mermaid ain’t a +fictious bein’ straight from Paradise!”</p> +<p>Speed and I made our way slowly through the crush +to the stables, then around to the dressing-rooms, where +little Grigg, in his spotted clown’s costume, was putting +the last touches of vermilion to his white cheeks, and +Horan, draped in a mangy leopard-skin to imitate +Hercules, sat on his two-thousand-pound dumbbell, +curling his shiny black mustache with Mrs. Grigg’s +iron.</p> +<p>“Jacqueline’s dressed,” cried Miss Crystal, parting +the curtain of her dressing-room, just enough to show +her pretty, excited eyes and nose.</p> +<p>“All right; I won’t be long,” replied Speed, who was +to act as ring-master. And he turned and looked at +me as I raised the canvas flap which screened my +dressing-room.</p> +<p>“I think,” I said, “that we had better ride over to +Trécourt after the show—not that there’s any immediate +danger—”</p> +<p>“There is no immediate danger,” said Speed, “because +she is here.”</p> +<p>My face began to burn; I looked at him miserably. +“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“She is there in the tent. I saw her.”</p> +<p>He came up and held his hand on my shoulder. “I’m +sorry I told you,” he said.</p> +<p>“Why?” I asked. “She knows what I am. Is +there any reason why she should not be amused? I +promise you she shall be!”</p> +<p>“Then why do you speak so bitterly? Don’t misconstrue +her presence. Don’t be a contemptible fool. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +If I have read her face—and I have never spoken to her, +as you know—I tell you, Scarlett, that young girl is +going through an ordeal! Do women of that kind +come to shows like this to be amused?”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” I said, angrily.</p> +<p>“I mean that she <i>could</i> not keep away! And I tell +you to be careful with your lions, to spare her any recklessness +on your part, to finish as soon as you can, and +get out of that cursed cage. If you don’t you’re a +coward, and a selfish one at that!”</p> +<p>His words were like a blow in the face; I stared at +him, too confused even for anger.</p> +<p>“Oh, you fool, you fool!” he said, in a low voice. +“She cares for you; can’t you understand?”</p> +<p>And he turned on his heel, leaving me speechless.</p> +<p>I do not remember dressing. When I came out into +the passageway Byram beckoned me, and pointed at +a crack in the canvas through which one could see the +interior of the amphitheatre. A mellow light flooded +the great tent; spots of sunshine fell on the fresh tan-bark, +where long, luminous, dusty beams slanted from +the ridge-pole athwart the golden gloom.</p> +<p>Tier on tier the wooden benches rose, packed with +women in brilliant holiday dress, with men gorgeous +in silver and velvet, with children decked in lace and +gilt chains. The air was filled with the starched rustle +of white coiffes and stiff collarettes; a low, incessant +clatter of sabots sounded from gallery to arena; gusts +of breathless whispering passed like capricious breezes +blowing, then died out in the hush which fell as our +band-master, McCadger, raised his wand and the band +burst into “Dixie.”</p> +<p>At that the great canvas flaps over the stable entrance +slowly parted and the scarlet-draped head of Djebe, the +elephant, appeared. On he came, amid a rising roar +of approval, Speed in gorgeous robes perched on high, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +ankus raised. After him came the camel, all over tassels +and gold net, bestridden by Kelly Eyre, wearing +a costume seldom seen anywhere, and never in the +Sahara. White horses, piebald horses, and cream-colored +horses pranced in the camel’s wake, dragging +assorted chariots tenanted by gentlemen in togas; +pretty little Mrs. Grigg, in habit and scarlet jacket, +followed on Briza, the white mare; Horan came next, +driving more horses; the dens of ferocious beasts +creaked after, guarded by a phalanx of stalwart stablemen +in plumes and armor; then Miss Crystal, driving +zebras to a gilt chariot; then more men in togas, leading +monkeys mounted on ponies; and finally Mrs. Horan +seated on a huge egg drawn by ostriches.</p> +<p>Once only they circled the sawdust ring; then the +band stopped, the last of the procession disappeared, +the clown came shrieking and tumbling out into the +arena with his “Here we are again!”</p> +<p>And the show was on.</p> +<p>I stood in the shadow of the stable-tent, dressed in my +frock-coat, white stock, white cords, and hunting-boots, +sullen, imbittered, red with a false shame that better +men than I have weakened under, almost desperate in +my humiliation, almost ready to end it all there among +those tawny, restless brutes pacing behind the bars +at my elbow, watching me stealthily with luminous +eyes.</p> +<p>She knew what I was—but that she could come to +see with her own eyes I could not understand, I could +not forgive. Speed’s senseless words rang in my ears—“She +cares for you!” But I knew they were meaningless, +I knew she could not care for me. What fools’ +paradise would he have me enter? What did he know +of this woman whom I knew and understood—whom I +honored for her tenderness and pity to all who suffered—who +I knew counted me as one among a multitude +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +of unhappy failures whom her kindness and sympathy +might aid.</p> +<p>Because she had, in her gracious ignorance, given +me a young girl’s impulsive friendship, was I to mistake +her? What could Speed know of her—of her creed, +her ideals, her calm, passionless desire to help where +help was needed—anywhere—in the palace, in the faubourgs, +in the wretched chaumières, in the slums? It was +all one to her—to this young girl whose tender heart, +bruised by her own sad life, opened to all on whom the +evil days had dawned.</p> +<p>And yet she had come here—and that was cruel; +and she was not cruel. Could she know that I had +a shred of pride left—one little, ragged thread of pride +left in me—that she should come to see me do my mountebank +tricks to the applause of a greasy throng?</p> +<p>No, she had not thought of that, else she would have +stayed away; for she was kind, above all else—generous +and kind.</p> +<p>Speed passed me in ring-master’s dress; there came +the hollow thud of hoofs as Mrs. Grigg galloped into +the ring on her white mare, gauze skirts fluttering, +whip raised; and, “Hoop-la!” squealed the clown as +his pretty little wife went careering around and around +the tan-bark, leaping through paper-hoops, over hurdles, +while the band played frantically and the Bretons +shouted in an ecstasy of excitement.</p> +<p>Then Grigg mounted his little trick donkey; roars +of laughter greeted his discomfiture when Tim, the +donkey, pitched him headlong and cantered off with a +hee-haw of triumph.</p> +<p>Miss Delany tripped past me in her sky-blue tights +to hold the audience spellbound with her jugglery, +and spin plates and throw glittering knives until the +satiated people turned to welcome Horan and his +“cogged” dumbbells and clubs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></p> +<p>“Have you seen her?” whispered Speed, coming up +to me, long whip trailing.</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>He looked at me in disgust. “Here’s something for +you,” he said, shortly, and thrust an envelope into my +hand.</p> +<p>In the envelope was a little card on which was written: +“I ask you to be careful, for a friend’s sake.” +On the other side of the card was engraved her name.</p> +<p>I raised my head and looked at Speed, who began +to laugh nervously. “That’s better,” he said; “you +don’t look like a surly brute any more.”</p> +<p>“Where is she?” I said, steadying my voice, which +my leaping heart almost stifled.</p> +<p>He drew me by the elbow and looked toward the +right of the amphitheatre. Following the direction of +his eyes, I saw her leaning forward, pale-faced, grave, +small, gloved hands interlocked. Beside her sat Sylvia +Elven, apparently amused at the antics of the +clown.</p> +<p>Shame filled me. Not the false shame I had felt—that +vanished—but shame that I could have misunderstood +the presence of this brave friend of mine, this +brave, generous, tender-hearted girl, who had given +me her friendship, who was true enough to care what +might happen to me—and brave enough to say so.</p> +<p>“I will be careful,” I said to Speed, in a low voice. +“If it were not for Byram I would not go on to-day—but +that is a matter of honor. Oh, Speed,” I broke +out, “is she not worth dying for?”</p> +<p>“Why not live for her?” he observed, dryly.</p> +<p>“I will—don’t misunderstand me—I know she could +never even think of me—as I do—of her—yes, as I dare +to, Speed. I dare to love her with all this wretched heart +and soul of mine! It’s all right—I think I am crazy +to talk like this—but you are kind, Speed—you will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +forget what I said—you have forgotten it already—bless +your heart—”</p> +<p>“No, I haven’t,” he retorted, obstinately. “You +must win her—you must! Shame on you for a coward +if you do not speak that word which means life +to you both!”</p> +<p>“Speed!” I began, angrily.</p> +<p>“Oh, go to the devil!” he snapped, and walked off +to where Jacqueline stood glittering, her slim limbs +striking fire from every silver scale.</p> +<p>“All ready, little sweetheart!” he cried, reassuringly, +as she raised her blue eyes to his and shook her elf-locks +around her flushed face. “It’s our turn now; +they’re uncovering the tank, and Miss Crystal is on +her trapeze. Are you nervous?”</p> +<p>“Not when you are by me,” said Jacqueline.</p> +<p>“I’ll be there,” he said, smiling. “You will see me +when you are ready. Look! There’s the governor! +It’s your call! Quick, my child!”</p> +<p>“Good-bye,” said Jacqueline, catching his hand in +both of hers, and she was off and in the middle of +the ring before I could get to a place of vantage to +watch.</p> +<p>Up into the rigging she swung, higher, higher, hanging +like a brilliant fly in all that net-work of wire and +rope, turning, twisting, climbing, dropping to her +knees, until the people’s cheers rose to a sustained +shriek.</p> +<p>“Ready!” quavered Miss Crystal, hanging from her +own trapeze across the gulf.</p> +<p>It was the first signal. Jacqueline set her trapeze +swinging and hung by her knees, face downward.</p> +<p>“Ready!” called Miss Crystal again, as Jacqueline’s +trapeze swung higher and higher.</p> +<p>“Ready!” said Jacqueline, calmly.</p> +<p>“Go!”</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_8' id='linki_8'></a> +<img src='images/illus-298.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 566px; height: 378px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 566px;'> +“I WAS ON MY KNEES”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></div> +<p>Like a meteor the child flashed across the space +between the two trapezes; Miss Crystal caught her +by her ankles.</p> +<p>“Ready?” called Speed, from the ground below. +He had turned quite pale. I saw Jacqueline, hanging +head down, smile at him from her dizzy height.</p> +<p>“Ready,” she said, calmly.</p> +<p>“Go!”</p> +<p>Down, down, like a falling star, flashed Jacqueline +into the shallow pool, then shot to the surface, shimmering +like a leaping mullet, where she played and +dived and darted, while the people screamed themselves +hoarse, and Speed came out, ghastly and trembling, +colliding with me like a blind man.</p> +<p>“I wish I had never let her do it; I wish I had never +brought her here—never seen her,” he stammered. +“She’ll miss it some day—like Miss Claridge—and +it will be murder—and I’ll have done it! Anybody +but that child, Scarlett, anybody else—but I can’t +bear to have her die that way—the pretty little thing!”</p> +<p>He let go of my arm and stood back as my lion-cages +came rolling out, drawn by four horses.</p> +<p>“It’s your turn,” he said, in a dazed way. “Look +out for that lioness.”</p> +<p>As I walked out into the arena I saw only one face. +She tried to smile, and so did I; but a terrible, helpless +sensation was already creeping over me—the knowledge +that I was causing her distress—the knowledge +that I was no longer sure of myself—that, with my +love for her, my authority over these caged things had +gone, never to return. I knew it, I recognized it, and +admitted it now. Speed’s words rang true—horribly +true.</p> +<p>I entered the cage, afraid.</p> +<p>Almost instantly I was the centre of a snarling mass +of lions; I saw nothing; my whip rose and fell mechanically. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +I stood like one stunned, while the tawny forms +leaped right and left.</p> +<p>Suddenly I heard a keeper say, “Look out for Empress +Khatoun, sir!” And a moment later a cry, +“Look out, sir!”</p> +<p>Something went wrong with another lion, too, for +the people were standing up and shouting, and the +sleeve of my coat hung from the elbow, showing my +bare shoulder. I staggered up against the bars of +the sliding door as a lioness struck me heavily and I +returned the blow. I remember saying, aloud: “I +must keep my feet; I must not fall!” Then daylight +grew red, and I was on my knees, with the foul breath +of a lion in my face. A hot iron bar shot across the +cage. The roaring of beasts and people died out in +my ears; then, with a shock, my soul seemed to be +dashed out of me into a terrific darkness.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>PART THIRD</h3> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +<a name='XVIII_A_GUESTCHAMBER' id='XVIII_A_GUESTCHAMBER'></a> +<h2>XVIII</h2> +<h3>A GUEST-CHAMBER</h3> +</div> +<p>A light was shining in my eyes and I was talking +excitedly; that and the odor of brandy I remember—and +something else, a steady roaring in my ears; +then darkness, out of which came a voice, empty, meaningless, +finally soundless.</p> +<p>After a while I realized that I was in pain; that, at +intervals, somebody forced morsels of ice between my +lips; that the darkness around me had turned grayer.</p> +<p>Time played tricks on me; centuries passed steadily, +year following year—long years they were, too, with +endless spring-tides, summers, autumns, winters, each +with full complement of months, and every month +crowded with days. Space, illimitable space, surrounded +me—skyless, starless space. And through its terrific +silence I heard a clock ticking seconds of time.</p> +<p>Years and years later a yellow star rose and stood +still before my open eyes; and after a long while I saw +it was the flame of a candle: and somebody spoke my +name.</p> +<p>“I know you, Speed,” I said, drowsily.</p> +<p>“You are all right, Scarlett?”</p> +<p>“Yes,... all right.”</p> +<p>“Does the candle-light pain you?”</p> +<p>“No;... do they contract?”</p> +<p>“A little.... Yes, I am sure the pupils of your eyes +are contracting. Don’t talk.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span></p> +<p>“No;... then it was concussion of the brain?”</p> +<p>“Yes;... the shock is passing.... Don’t talk.”</p> +<p>Time moved on again; space slowly contracted into +a symmetrical shape, set with little points of light; +sleep and fatigue alternated with glimmers of reason, +which finally grew into a faint but steady intelligence. +And, very delicately, memory stirred in a slumbering +brain.</p> +<p>Reason and memory were mine again, frail toys +for a stricken man, so frail I dared not, for a time, +use them for my amusement—and one of them was +broken, too—memory!—broken short at the moment +when full in my face I had felt the hot, fetid breath +of a lion.</p> +<p>“Speed!”</p> +<p>“Yes; I am here.”</p> +<p>“What time is it?”</p> +<p>I heard the click of his hunting-case. “Eleven +o’clock.”</p> +<p>“What day?”</p> +<p>“Saturday.”</p> +<p>“When—” I hesitated. I was afraid.</p> +<p>“Well?” he asked, quietly.</p> +<p>“When was I hurt? Many days ago—many +weeks?”</p> +<p>“You were hurt at half-past three this afternoon.”</p> +<p>I tried to comprehend; I could not, and after a while +I gave up my feeble grasp on time.</p> +<p>“What is that roaring sound?” I asked. “Not +drums? Not my lions?”</p> +<p>“It is the sea.”</p> +<p>“So near?”</p> +<p>“Very near.”</p> +<p>I turned my head on the white pillow. “Where is +this bed? Where is this room?”</p> +<p>“Shall I tell you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></p> +<p>I was silent, struggling with memory.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” I said. “Whose bed is this?”</p> +<p>“It is hers.”</p> +<p>The candle-flame glimmered before my wide-open +eyes once more, and—</p> +<p>“Oh, you are all right,” he muttered, then leaned +heavily against the bedside, dropping his arms on +the coverlet.</p> +<p>“It was a close call—a close call!” he said, hoarsely. +“We thought it was ended.... They were all over you—Empress +dragged you; but they all crowded in too +close—they blocked each other, you see;... and we +used the irons.... Your left arm lay close to the cage +door and ... we got you away from them, and ... it’s +all right now—it’s all right—”</p> +<p>He broke down, head buried in his arms. I moved +my left hand across the sheets so that it rested on his +elbow. He lay there, gulping for a while; I could not +see him very clearly, for the muscles that controlled +my eyes were still slightly paralyzed from the shock +of the blow that Empress Khatoun had dealt me.</p> +<p>“It’s all very well,” he stammered, with a trace of +resentment in his quavering voice—“it’s all very well +for people who are used to the filthy beasts; but I tell +you, Scarlett, it sickened me. I’m no coward, as men +go, but I was afraid—I was terrified!”</p> +<p>“Yet you dragged me out,” I said.</p> +<p>“Who told you that? How could you know—”</p> +<p>“It was not necessary to tell me. You said, ‘<i>We</i> +got you away’; but I know it was you, Speed, because +it was like you. Look at me! Am I well enough to +dress?”</p> +<p>He raised a haggard face to mine. “You know +best,” he said. “They tore your coat off, and one of +them ripped your riding-boot from top to sole; but the +blow Empress struck you is your only hurt, and she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +all but missed you at that. Had she hit you fairly—but, +oh, hell! Do you want to get up?”</p> +<p>I said I would in a moment,... and that is all I remember +that night, all I remember clearly, though it +seems to me that once I heard drums beating in the +distance; and perhaps I did.</p> +<p>Dawn was breaking when I awoke. Speed, partly +dressed, lay beside me, sleeping heavily. I looked +around at the pretty boudoir where I lay, at the silken +curtains of the bed, at the clouds of cupids on the painted +ceiling, flying through a haze of vermilion flecked +with gold.</p> +<p>Raising one hand, I touched with tentative fingers +my tightly bandaged head, then turned over on my +side.</p> +<p>There were my torn clothes, filthy and smeared with +sawdust, flung over a delicate, gilded chair; there +sprawled my battered boots, soiling the polished, inlaid +floor; a candle lay in a pool of hardened wax on +a golden rococo table, and I saw where the smouldering +wick had blistered the glazed top. And this was +her room! Vandalism unspeakable! I turned on my +snoring comrade.</p> +<p>“Idiot, get up!” I cried, hitting him feebly.</p> +<p>He was very angry when he found out why I had +awakened him; perhaps the sight of my bandaged head +restrained him from violence.</p> +<p>“Look here,” he said, “I’ve been up all night, and +you might as well know it. If you hit me again—” +He hesitated, stared around, yawned, and rubbed his +eyes.</p> +<p>“You’re right,” he said, “I must get up.”</p> +<p>He stumbled to the floor, bathed, grumbling all the +while, and then, to my surprise, walked over to a flat +trunk which stood under the window and which I recognized +as mine. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p> +<p>“I’ll borrow some underwear,” he remarked, viciously.</p> +<p>“What’s my trunk doing here?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Madame de Vassart had them bring it.”</p> +<p>“Had <i>who</i> bring it?”</p> +<p>“Horan and McCadger—before they left.”</p> +<p>“Before they left? Have they gone?”</p> +<p>“I forgot,” he said, soberly; “you don’t know what’s +been going on.”</p> +<p>He began to dress, raising his head now and then +to gaze out across the ocean towards Groix, where the +cruiser once lay at anchor.</p> +<p>“Of course you don’t know that the circus has gone,” +he remarked.</p> +<p>“Gone!” I echoed, astonished.</p> +<p>“Gone to Lorient.”</p> +<p>He came and sat down on the edge of the gilded +bedstead, buttoning his collar thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Buckhurst is in town again with a raft of picturesque +ruffians,” he said. “They marched in last +night, drums beating, colors unfurled—the red rag, +you know—and the first thing they did was to order +Byram to decamp.”</p> +<p>He began to tie his cravat, with a meditative glance +at the gilded mirror.</p> +<p>“I was here with you. Kelly Eyre came for me—Madame +de Vassart took my place to watch you—”</p> +<p>A sudden heart-beat choked me.</p> +<p>“—So I,” he continued, “posted off to the tent, to +find a rabble of communist soldiers stealing my balloon-car, +ropes, bag, and all. I tell you I did what I +could, but they said the balloon was contraband of +war, and a military necessity; and they took it, the +thieving whelps! Then I saw how matters were going +to end, and I told the governor that he’d better go +to Lorient as fast as he could travel before they stole +the buttons off his shirt. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span></p> +<p>“Scarlett, it was a weird sight. I never saw tents +struck so quickly. Kelly Eyre, Horan, and I harnessed +up; Grigg stood guard over the props +with a horse-pistol. The ladies worked like Trojans, +loading the wagons; Byram raged up and down +under the bayonets of those bandits, cursing them +as only a man who never swears can curse, invoking +the Stars and Stripes, metaphorically placing +himself, his company, his money-box, and his camuel +under the shadow of the broad eagle of the United +States.</p> +<p>“Oh, those were gay times, Scarlett. And we frightened +them, too, because nobody attempted to touch +anything.”</p> +<p>Speed laughed grimly, and began to pace the floor, +casting sharp glances at me.</p> +<p>“Byram’s people, elephant and all, struck the road +a little after three o’clock this morning, in good order, +not a tent-peg nor a frying-pan missing. They ought +to be in Lorient by early afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Gone!” I repeated, blankly.</p> +<p>“Gone. Curious how it hurt me to say good-bye. +They’re good people—good, kindly folk. I’ve grown +to care for them in these few months ... I may go +back to them ... some day ... if they want a balloonist ... or +any kind of a thing.”</p> +<p>“You stayed to take care of me?” I said.</p> +<p>“Partly.... You need care, especially when you +don’t need it.” He began to laugh. “It’s only when +you’re well that I worry.”</p> +<p>I lay looking at him, striving to realize the change +that had occurred in so brief a time—trying to understand +the abrupt severing of ties and conditions to +which, already, I had become accustomed—perhaps +attached.</p> +<p>“They all sent their love to you,” he said. “They +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +knew you were out of danger—I told them there was +no fracture, only a slight concussion. Byram came +to look at you; he brought your back salary—all of +it. I’ve got it.”</p> +<p>“Byram came here?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He stood over there beside you, snivelling +into his red bandanna. And Miss Crystal and Jacqueline +stood here.... Jacqueline kissed you.”</p> +<p>After a moment I said: “Has Jacqueline gone with +them?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>There was another pause, longer this time.</p> +<p>“Of course,” I said, “Byram knows that my usefulness +as a lion-tamer is at an end.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” said Speed, simply.</p> +<p>I sighed.</p> +<p>“He wants you for the horses,” added Speed. “But +you can do better than that.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,... perhaps.”</p> +<p>“Besides, they sail to-day from Lorient. The governor +made money yesterday—enough to start again. +Poor Byram! He’s frantic to get back to America; +and, oh, Scarlett, how that good old man can swear!”</p> +<p>“Help me to sit up in bed,” I said; “there—that’s +it! Just wedge those pillows behind my shoulders.”</p> +<p>“All right?”</p> +<p>“Of course. I’m going to dress. Speed, did you +say that little Jacqueline went with Byram?”</p> +<p>He looked at me miserably.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said.</p> +<p>I was silent.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he repeated, “she went, lugging her pet cat +in her arms. She would go; the life has fascinated +her. I begged her not to—I felt I was disloyal to Byram, +too, but what could I do? I tell you, Scarlett, I +wish I had never seen her, never persuaded her to try +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +that foolish dive. She’ll miss some day—like the +other one.”</p> +<p>“It’s my fault more than yours,” I said. “Couldn’t +you persuade her to give it up?”</p> +<p>“I offered to educate her, to send her to school, to +work for her,” he said. “She only looked at me out +of those sea-blue eyes—you know how the little witch +can look you through and through—and then—and +then she walked away into the torch-glare, clasping +her cat to her breast, and I saw her strike a fool of a +soldier who pretended to stop her! Scarlett, she was +a strange child—proud and dainty, too, with all her +rags—you remember—a strange, sweet child—almost +a woman, at times, and—I thought her loyal—”</p> +<p>He walked to the window and stared moodily at the +sea.</p> +<p>“Meanwhile,” I said, quietly, “I am going to get +up.”</p> +<p>He gave me a look which I interpreted as, “Get up +and be damned!” I complied—in part.</p> +<p>“Oh, help me into these things, will you?” I said, +at length; and instantly he was at my side, gentle and +patient, lacing my shoes, because it made my head +ache to bend over, buttoning collar and cravat, and +slipping my coat on while I leaned against the tumbled +bed.</p> +<p>“Well!” I said, with a grimace, and stood up, shakily.</p> +<p>“Well,” he echoed, “here we are again, as poor little +Grigg says.”</p> +<p>“With our salaries in our pockets and our possessions +on our backs.”</p> +<p>“And no prospects,” he added, gayly.</p> +<p>“Not a blessed one, unless we count a prospect of +trouble with Buckhurst.”</p> +<p>“He won’t trouble us unless we interfere with him,” +observed Speed, drumming nervously on the window. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span></p> +<p>“But I’m going to,” I said, surprised.</p> +<p>“Going to interfere?” he asked, wheeling to scowl +at me.</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“Why? We’re not in government employ. What +do we care about this row? If these Frenchmen are +tired of battering the Germans they’ll batter each other, +and we can’t help it, can we?”</p> +<p>“We can help Buckhurst’s annoying Madame de +Vassart.”</p> +<p>“Only by getting her to leave the country,” said +Speed. “She will understand that, too.” He paused, +rubbing his nose reflectively. “Scarlett, what do you +suppose Buckhurst is up to?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t an idea,” I replied. “All I know is that, +in all probability, he came here to attempt to rob the +treasure-trains—and that was your theory, too, you +remember?”</p> +<p>And I continued, reminding Speed that Buckhurst +had collected his ruffianly franc company in the forest; +that the day the cruiser sailed he had appeared in Paradise +to proclaim the commune; that doubtless he had +signalled, from the semaphore, orders for the cruiser’s +departure; that a few hours later his red battalion had +marched into Paradise.</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s all logical,” said Speed, “but how +could Buckhurst know the secret-code signals which +the cruiser must have received before she sailed? To +hoist them on the semaphore, he must have had a +code-book.”</p> +<p>I thought a moment. “Suppose Mornac is with +him?”</p> +<p>Speed fairly jumped. “That’s it! That’s the link +we were hunting for! It’s Mornac—it must be Mornac! +He is the only man; he had access to everything. +And now that his Emperor is a prisoner and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +his Empress a fugitive, the miserable hound has nothing +to lose by the anarchy he once hoped to profit +by. Tell me, Scarlett, does the tail wag the dog, +after all? And which is the dog, Buckhurst or +Mornac?”</p> +<p>“I once thought it was Buckhurst,” I said.</p> +<p>“So did I, but—I don’t know now. I don’t know +what to do, either. I don’t know anything!”</p> +<p>I began to walk about the room, carefully, for my +knees were weak, though I had no headache.</p> +<p>“It’s a shame for a pair of hulking brutes like you +and me to desecrate this bedroom,” I muttered. “Mud +on the floor—look at it! Sawdust and candle-wax +over everything! What’s that—all that on the lounge? +Has a dog or a cat been rolling over it? It’s plastered +with tan-colored hairs!”</p> +<p>“Lion’s hairs from your coat,” he observed, grimly.</p> +<p>I looked at them for a moment rather soberly. They +glistened like gold in the early sunshine.</p> +<p>Speed opened his mouth to say something, but closed +it abruptly as a very faint tapping sounded on our +door.</p> +<p>I opened it; Sylvia Elven stood in the hallway.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she said, in ungracious astonishment, “then +you are not on the grave’s awful verge,... are +you?”</p> +<p>“I hope you didn’t expect to discover me there?” +I replied, laughing.</p> +<p>“Expect it? Indeed I did, monsieur,... or I +shouldn’t be here at sunrise, scratching at your door +for news of you. This,” she said, petulantly, “is +enough to vex any saint!”</p> +<p>“Any other saint,” I corrected, gravely. “I admit +it, mademoiselle, I am a nuisance; so is my comrade. +We have only to express our deep gratitude and go.”</p> +<p>“Go? Do you think we will let you go, with all those +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +bandits roaming the moors outside our windows? And +you call that gratitude?”</p> +<p>“Does Madame de Vassart desire us to stay?” I +asked, trying not to speak too eagerly.</p> +<p>Sylvia Elven gave me a scornful glance.</p> +<p>“Must we implore you, monsieur, to protect us? +We will, if you wish it. I know I’m ill-humored, but +it’s scarcely daybreak, and we’ve sat up all night on +your account—Madame de Vassart would not allow +me to go to bed—and if I am brusque with you, remember +I was obliged to sleep in a chair—and I hope +you feel that you have put me to very great inconvenience.”</p> +<p>“I feel that way ... about Madame de Vassart,” +I said, laughing at the pretty, pouting mouth and +sleepy eyes of this amusingly exasperated young +girl, who resembled a rumpled Dresden shepherdess +more than anything else. I added that we would be +glad to stay until the communist free-rifles took themselves +off. For which she thanked me with an exaggerated +courtesy and retired, furiously conscious +that she had not only slept in her clothes, but that +she looked it.</p> +<p>“That was Madame de Vassart’s companion, wasn’t +it?” asked Speed.</p> +<p>“Yes, Sylvia Elven ... I don’t know what she is—I +know what she was—no, I don’t, either. I only +know what Jarras says she was.”</p> +<p>Speed raised his eyebrows. “And what was that?”</p> +<p>“Actress, at the Odéon.”</p> +<p>“Never heard of her being at the Odéon,” he said.</p> +<p>“You heard of her as one of that group at La +Trappe?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, when I was looking for Buckhurst in Morsbronn, +Jarras telegraphed me descriptions of the people +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +I was to arrest at La Trappe, and he mentioned her as +Mademoiselle Sylvia Elven, lately of the Odéon.”</p> +<p>“That was a mistake,” said Speed. “What he +meant to say was that she was lately a resident of the +Odeonsplatz. He knew that. It must have been a +telegraphic error.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?” I asked, surprised.</p> +<p>“Because I furnished Jarras with the data. It’s in +her dossier.”</p> +<p>“Odeon—Odeonsplatz,” I muttered, trying to understand. +“What is the Odeonsplatz? A square in +some German city, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“It’s a square in the capital of Bavaria—Munich.”</p> +<p>“But—but she isn't a German, is she? <i>Is she</i>?” I +repeated, staring at Speed, who was looking keenly at +me, with eyes partly closed.</p> +<p>There was a long silence.</p> +<p>“Well, upon my soul!” I said, slowly, emphasizing +every word with a noiseless blow on the table.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you know it? Wait! Hold on,” he said, +“let’s go slowly—let’s go very slowly. She is partly +German by birth. That proves nothing. Granted +that Jarras suspected her, not as a social agitator, but +as a German agent. Granted he did not tell you what +he suspected, but merely ordered her arrest with the +others—perhaps under cover of Buckhurst’s arrest—you +know what a secret man, the Emperor was—how, +if he wanted a man, he’d never chase him, but run in +the opposite direction and head him off half-way around +the world. So, granted all this, I say, what’s to prove +Jarras was right?”</p> +<p>“Does her dossier prove it? You have read it.”</p> +<p>“Well, her dossier was rather incomplete. We knew +that she went about a good deal in Paris—went to the +Tuileries, too. She was married once. Didn’t you +know even <i>that</i>?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span></p> +<p>“Married!” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>“To a Russian brute—I’ve forgotten his name, but +I’ve seen him—one of the kind with high cheek-bones +and black eyes. She got her divorce in England; +that’s on record, and we have it in her dossier. Then, +going back still further, we know that her father was a +Bavarian, a petty noble of some sort—baron, I believe. +Her mother’s name was Elven, a Breton peasant; it +was a mésalliance—trouble of all sorts—I forget, but +I believe her uncle brought her up. Her uncle was +military attaché of the German embassy to Paris.... You +see how she slipped into society—and you know +what society under the Empire was.”</p> +<p>“Speed,” I said, “why on earth didn’t you tell me +all this before?”</p> +<p>“My dear fellow, I supposed Jarras had told you; +or that, if you didn’t know it, it did not concern us at +all.”</p> +<p>“But it does concern—a person I know,” I said, +quickly, thinking of poor Kelly Eyre. “And it explains +a lot of things—or, rather, places them under a +new light.”</p> +<p>“What light?”</p> +<p>“Well, for one thing, she has consistently lied to me. +For another, I believe her to be hand-in-glove with Karl +Marx and the French leaders—not Buckhurst, but the +real leaders of the social revolt; <i>not as a genuine disciple, +but as a German agent</i>, with orders to foment disorder +of any kind which might tend to embarrass and weaken +the French government in this crisis.”</p> +<p>“You’re inclined to believe that?” he asked, much +interested.</p> +<p>“Yes, I am. France is full of German agents; the +Tuileries was not exempt—you know it as well as I. +Paris swarmed with spies of every kind, high and low +in the social scale. The embassies were nests of spies; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +every salon a breeding spot of intrigue; the foreign +governments employed the grande dame as well as +the grisette. Do you remember the military-balloon +scandal?”</p> +<p>“Indistinctly.... Some poor devil gave a woman +government papers.”</p> +<p>“Technically they were government papers, but he +considered them his own. Well, the woman who received +those papers is down-stairs.”</p> +<p>He gave a short whistle of astonishment.</p> +<p>“You are sure, Scarlett?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly certain.”</p> +<p>“Then, if you are certain, that settles the question +of Mademoiselle Elven’s present occupation.”</p> +<p>I rose and began to move around the room restlessly.</p> +<p>“But, after all,” I said, “that concerns us no longer.”</p> +<p>“How can it concern two Americans out of a job?” +he observed, with a shrug. “The whole fabric of +French politics is rotten to the foundation. It’s tottering; +a shake will bring it down. Let it tumble. I +tell you this nation needs the purification of fire. Our +own country has just gone through it; France can do +it, too. She’s got to, or she’s lost!”</p> +<p>He looked at me earnestly. “I love the country,” +he said; “it’s fed me and harbored me. But I wouldn’t +lift a finger to put a single patch on this makeshift of +a government; I wouldn’t stave off the crash if I could. +And it’s coming! You and I have seen something of +the rottenness of the underpinning which props up +empires. You and I, Scarlett, have learned a few of +the shameful secrets which even an enemy to France +would not drag out into the daylight.”</p> +<p>I had never seen him so deeply moved.</p> +<p>“Is there hope—is there a glimmer of hope to incite +anybody while these conditions endure?” he continued, +bitterly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span></p> +<p>“No. France must suffer, France must stand alone +in terrible humiliation, France must offer the self-sacrifice +of fire and mount the altar herself!</p> +<p>“Then, and only then, shall the nation, purified, +reborn, rise and live, and build again, setting a beacon +of civilized freedom high as the beacon we Americans +are raising,... slowly yet surely raising, to the glory +of God, Scarlett—to the glory of God. No other dedication +can be justified in this world.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +<a name='XIX_TRCOURT_GARDEN' id='XIX_TRCOURT_GARDEN'></a> +<h2>XIX</h2> +<h3>TRÉCOURT GARDEN</h3> +</div> +<p>About nine o’clock we were summoned by a Breton +maid to the pretty breakfast-room below, and +I was ashamed to go with my shabby clothes, bandaged +head, and face the color of clay.</p> +<p>The young countess was not present; Sylvia Elven +offered us a supercilious welcome to a breakfast the +counterpart of which I had not seen in years—one of +those American breakfasts which even we, since the +Paris Exposition, are beginning to discard for the simpler +French breakfast of coffee and rolls.</p> +<p>“This is all in your honor,” observed Sylvia, turning +up her nose at the array of poached eggs, fragrant +sausages, crisp potatoes, piles of buttered toast, muffins, +marmalade, and fruit.</p> +<p>“It was very kind of you to think of it,” said Speed.</p> +<p>“It is Madame de Vassart’s idea, not mine,” she +observed, looking across the table at me. “Will the +gentleman with nine lives have coffee or chocolate?”</p> +<p>The fruit consisted of grapes and those winy Breton +cider-apples from Bannalec. We began with these in +decorous silence.</p> +<p>Speed ventured a few comments on the cultivation of +fruit, of which he knew nothing; neither he nor his +subject was encouraged.</p> +<p>Presently, however, Sylvia glanced up at him with +a malicious smile, saying: “I notice that you have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +been in the foreign division of the Imperial Military +Police, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Why do you think so?” asked Speed, calmly.</p> +<p>“When you seated yourself in your chair,” said +Sylvia, “you made a gesture with your left hand +as though to unhook the sabre—which was not +there.”</p> +<p>Speed laughed. “But why the police? I might +have been in the cavalry, mademoiselle; for that matter, +I might have been an officer in any arm of the service. +They all carry swords or sabres.”</p> +<p>“But only the military police and the gendarmerie +wear aiguilettes,” she replied. “When you bend +over your plate your fingers are ever unconsciously +searching for those swinging, gold-tipped cords—to +keep them out of your coffee-cup, monsieur.”</p> +<p>The muscles in Speed’s lean, bronzed cheeks tightened; +he looked at her keenly.</p> +<p>“Might I not have been in the gendarmerie?” he +asked. “How do you know I was not?”</p> +<p>“Does the gendarmerie wear the sabre-tache?”</p> +<p>“No, mademoiselle, but—”</p> +<p>“Do the military police?”</p> +<p>“No—that is, the foreign division did, when it existed.”</p> +<p>“You are sitting, monsieur,” she said, placidly, +“with your left foot so far under the table that it quite +inadvertently presses my shoe-tip.”</p> +<p>Speed withdrew his leg with a jerk, asking pardon.</p> +<p>“It is a habit perfectly pardonable in a man who is +careful that his spur shall not scratch or tear a patent-leather +sabre-tache,” she said.</p> +<p>I had absolutely nothing to say; we both laughed +feebly, I believe.</p> +<p>I saw temptation struggling with Speed’s caution; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +I, too, was almost willing to drop a hint that might +change her amusement to speculation, if not to alarm.</p> +<p>So this was the woman for whose caprice Kelly Eyre +had wrecked his prospects! Clever—oh, certainly +clever. But she had made the inevitable slip that such +clever people always make sooner or later. And in a +bantering message to her victim she had completed +the chain against herself—a chain of which I might +have been left in absolute ignorance. Impulse probably +did it—reasonless and perhaps malicious caprice—the +instinct of a pretty woman to stir up memory in +a discarded and long-forgotten victim—just to note +the effect—just to see if there still remains one nerve, +one pulse-beat to respond.</p> +<p>“Will the pensive gentleman with nine lives have a +little more nourishment to sustain him?” she asked.</p> +<p>Looking up from my empty plate, I declined politely; +and we followed her signal to rise.</p> +<p>“There is a Mr. Kelly Eyre,” she said to Speed, +“connected with your circus. Has he gone with the +others?”</p> +<p>“Yes, mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“Really?” she mused, amiably. “I knew him as a +student in Paris, when he was very young—and I was +younger. I should have liked to have seen him—once +more.”</p> +<p>“Did you not see him?” I asked, abruptly.</p> +<p>Her back was toward me; very deliberately she +turned her pretty head and looked at me over her shoulder, +studying my face a moment.</p> +<p>“Yes, I saw him. I should have liked to have seen +him—once more,” she said, as though she had first +calculated the effect on me of a different reply.</p> +<p>She led the way into that small room overlooking +the garden where I had been twice received by +Madame de Vassart. Here she took leave of us, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +abandoning us to our own designs. Mine was to +find a large arm-chair and sit down in it, and give +Speed a few instructions. Speed’s was to prowl +around Paradise for information, and, if possible, +telegraph to Lorient for troops to catch Buckhurst +red-handed.</p> +<p>He left me turning over the leaves of the “Chanson +de Roland,” saying that he would return in a little while +with any news he might pick up, and that he would do +his best to catch Buckhurst in the foolish trap which +that gentleman had set for others.</p> +<p>Tiring of the poem, I turned my eyes toward the +garden, where, in the sunshine, heaps of crisped leaves +lay drifted along the base of the wall or scattered between +the rows of herbs which were still ripely green. +The apricots had lost their leaves, so had the grapevines +and the fig-trees; but the peach-trees were in +foliage; pansies and perpetual roses bloomed amid +sere and seedy thickets of larkspurs, phlox, and dead +delphinium.</p> +<p>On the wall a cat sat, sunning her sleek flanks. +Something about the animal seemed familiar to me, +and after a while I made up my mind that this was +Ange Pitou, Jacqueline’s pet, abandoned by her mistress +and now a feline derelict. Speed must have been +mistaken when he told me that Jacqueline had taken +her cat; or possibly the home-haunting instinct had +brought the creature back, abandoning her mistress +to her fortunes.</p> +<p>If I had been in my own house I should have offered +Ange Pitou hospitality; as it was, I walked out into +the sunny garden and made courteous advances which +were ignored. I watched the cat for a few moments, +then sat down on the bench. The inertia which follows +recovery from a shock, however light, left me +with the lazy acquiescence of a convalescent, willing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +to let the world drift for an hour or two, contented to +relax, apathetic, comfortable.</p> +<p>Seaward the gulls sailed like white feathers floating; +the rocky ramparts of Groix rose clear-cut against +a horizon where no haze curtained the sea; the breakers +had receded from the coast on a heavy ebb-tide, +and I saw them in frothy outline, noiselessly churning +the shallows beyond the outer bar.</p> +<p>And then my reverie ended abruptly; a step on the +gravel walk brought me to my feet.... There she +stood, lovely in a fresh morning-gown deeply belted +with turquoise-shells, her ruddy hair glistening, coiled +low on a neck of snow.</p> +<p>For the first time she showed embarrassment in her +greeting, scarcely touching my hand, speaking with +a new constraint in a voice which grew colder as she +hesitated.</p> +<p>“We were frightened; we are so glad that you were +not badly hurt. I thought you might find it comfortable +here—of course I could not know that you were +not seriously injured.”</p> +<p>“That is fortunate for me,” I said, pleasantly, “for +I am afraid you would not have offered this shelter if +you had known how little injured I really was.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I should have offered it—had I reason to believe +you would have accepted. I have felt that perhaps +you might think what I have done was unwarranted.”</p> +<p>“I think you did the most graciously unselfish thing +a woman could do,” I said, quickly. “You offered +your best; and the man who took it cannot—dare not—express +his gratitude.”</p> +<p>The emotion in my voice warned me to cease; the +faintest color tinted her cheeks, and she looked at me +with beautiful, grave eyes that slowly grew inscrutable, +leaving me standing diffident and silent before her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span></p> +<p>The breeze shifted, bringing with it the hollow sea-thunder. +She turned her head and glanced out across +the ocean, hands behind her, fingers linked.</p> +<p>“I have come here into your garden uninvited,” I +said.</p> +<p>“Shall we sit here—a moment?” she suggested, +without turning.</p> +<p>Presently she seated herself in one corner of the +bench; her gaze wandered over the partly blighted +garden, then once more centred on the seaward skyline.</p> +<p>The color of her hands, her neck, fascinated me. +That flesh texture of snow and roses, firmly and delicately +modelled, which sometimes is seen with red +hair, I had seen once before in a picture by a Spanish +master, but never, until now, in real life.</p> +<p>And she was life incarnate in her wholesome beauty—a +beauty of which I had perceived only the sad shadow +at La Trappe—a sweet, healthy, exquisite woman, +moulded, fashioned, colored by a greater Master than +the Spanish painter dreaming of perfection centuries +ago.</p> +<p>In the sun a fragrance grew—the subtle incense +from her gown—perhaps from her hair.</p> +<p>“Autumn is already gone; we are close to winter,” +she said, under her breath. “See, there is nothing +left—scarcely a blossom—a rose or two; but the first +frost will scatter the petals. Look at the pinks; look +at the dead leaves. Ah, tristesse, tristesse! The life +of summer is too short; the life of flowers is too short; +so are our lives, Monsieur Scarlett. Do you believe it?”</p> +<p>“Yes—now.”</p> +<p>She was very still for a while, her head bent toward +the sea. Then, without turning: “Have you not always +believed it?”</p> +<p>“No, madame.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span></p> +<p>“Then ... why do you believe it ... now?”</p> +<p>“Because, since we have become friends, life seems +pitiably short for such a friendship.”</p> +<p>She smiled without moving.</p> +<p>“That is a ... very beautiful ... compliment, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“It owes its beauty to its truth, madame.”</p> +<p>“And that reply is illogical,” she said, turning to +look at me with brilliant eyes and a gay smile which +emphasized the sensitive mouth’s faint droop. “Illogical, +because truth is not always beautiful. As +example: you were very near to death yesterday. +That is the truth, but it is not beautiful at all.”</p> +<p>“Ah, madame, it is you who are illogical,” I said, +laughing.</p> +<p>“I?” she cried. “Prove it!”</p> +<p>But I would not, spite of her challenge and bright +mockery.</p> +<p>In that flash all of our comradeship returned, bringing +with it something new, which I dared not think was +intimacy.</p> +<p>Yet constraint fell away like a curtain between us, +and though she dominated, and I was afraid lest I +overstep limits which I myself had set, the charm of +her careless confidence, her pretty, undissembled caprices, +her pleasure in a delicately intimate badinage, +gave me something of a self-reliance, a freedom that I +had not known in a woman’s presence for many years.</p> +<p>“We brought you here because we thought it was +good for you,” she said, reverting maliciously to the +theme that had at first embarrassed her. “We were +perfectly certain that you have always been unfit to +take care of yourself. Now we have the proofs.”</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle Elven said that you harbored us only +because you were afraid of those bandits who have +arrived in Paradise,” I observed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span></p> +<p>“Afraid!” she said, scornfully. “Oh, you are making +fun of me now. Indeed, when Mr. Buckhurst +came last night I had my men conduct him to the +outer gate!”</p> +<p>“Did he come last night?” I asked, troubled.</p> +<p>“Yes.” She shrugged her pretty shoulders.</p> +<p>“Alone?”</p> +<p>“That unspeakable creature, Mornac, was with him. +I had no idea he was here; had you?”</p> +<p>I was silent. Did Mornac mean trouble for me? +Yet how could he, shorn now of all authority?</p> +<p>The thought seemed to occur to her, too, and she +looked up quickly, asking if I had anything to fear.</p> +<p>“Only for you,” I said.</p> +<p>“For me? Why? I am not afraid of such men. +I have servants on whom I can call to disembarrass +me of such people.” She hesitated; the memory of +her deception, of what she had suffered at Buckhurst’s +hands, brought a glint of anger into her beautiful eyes.</p> +<p>“My innocence shames me,” she said. “I merited +what I received in such company. It was you who +saved me from myself.”</p> +<p>“A noble mind thinks nobly,” I said. “Theirs is +the shame, not yours, that you could not understand +treachery—that you never can understand it. As for +me, I was an accident, which warned you in time that +all the world was not as good and true as you desired +to believe it.”</p> +<p>She sat looking at me curiously. “I wonder,” she +said, “why it is that you do not know your own +value?”</p> +<p>“My value—to whom?”</p> +<p>“To ... everybody—to the world—to people.”</p> +<p>“Am I of any value to you, madame?”</p> +<p>The pulsing moments passed and she did not answer, +and I bit my lip and waited. At last she said, coolly: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +“A man must appraise himself. If he chooses, he is +valuable. But values are comparative, and depend +on individual taste.... Yes, you are of some value +to me,... or I should not be here with you,... or I +should not find it my pleasure to be here—or I should +not trust you, come to you with my petty troubles, ask +your experience to help me, perhaps protect me.”</p> +<p>She bent her head with adorable diffidence. “Monsieur +Scarlett, I have never before had a friend who +thought first of me and last of himself.”</p> +<p>I leaned on the back of the bench, resting my bandaged +forehead on my hand.</p> +<p>She looked up after a moment, and her face grew +serious.</p> +<p>“Are you suffering?” she asked. “Your face is +white as my sleeve.”</p> +<p>“I feel curiously tired,” I said, smiling.</p> +<p>“Then you must have some tea, and I will brew it +myself. You shall not object! No—it is useless, because +I am determined. And you shall lie down in +the little tea-room, where I found you that day when +you first came to Trécourt.”</p> +<p>“I shall be very happy to do anything—if you are +there.”</p> +<p>“Even drink tea when you abhor it? Then I certainly +ought to reward you with my presence at the +rite.... Are you dizzy? You are terribly pale.... Would +you lean on my arm?”</p> +<p>I was not dizzy, but I did so; and if such deceit is +not pardonable, there is no justice in this world or in +the next.</p> +<p>The tea was hot and harmless; I lay thinking while +she sat in the sunny window-corner, nibbling biscuit +and marmalade, and watching me gravely.</p> +<p>“My appetite is dreadful in these days,” she said; +“age increases it; I have just had my chocolate, yet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +here am I, eating like a school-girl.... I have a strange +idea that I am exceedingly young,... that I am just +beginning to live. That tired, thin, shabby girl you +saw at La Trappe was certainly not I.... And long +before that, before I knew you, there was another impersonal, +half—awakened creature, who watched the +world surging and receding around her, who grew +tired even of violets and bonbons, tired of the companionship +of the indifferent, hurt by the intimacy of the +unfriendly; and I cannot believe that she was I.... Can +you?”</p> +<p>“I can believe it; I once saw you then,” I said.</p> +<p>She looked up quickly. “Where?”</p> +<p>“In Paris.”</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>“The day that they received the news from Mexico. +You sat in your carriage before the gates of the war +office.”</p> +<p>“I remember,” she said, staring at me. Then a +slight shudder passed over her.</p> +<p>Presently she said: “Did you recognize me afterward +at La Trappe?”</p> +<p>“Yes,... you had grown more beautiful.”</p> +<p>She colored and bent her head.</p> +<p>“You remembered me all that time?... But why +didn’t you—didn’t you—” She laughed nervously. +“Why didn’t we know each other in those years? +Truly, Monsieur Scarlett, I needed a friend then, if +ever;... a friend who thought first of me and last of +himself.”</p> +<p>I did not answer.</p> +<p>“Fancy,” she continued, “your passing me so long +ago,... and I totally unconscious, sitting there in my +carriage,... never dreaming of this friendship which +I ... care for so much!... Do you remember at La +Trappe what I told you, there on the staircase?—how +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +sometimes the impulse used to come to me when I saw +a kindly face in the street to cry out, ‘Be friends with +me!’ Do you remember?... It is strange that I did +not feel that impulse when you passed me that day in +Paris—feel it even though I did not see you—for I +sorely needed kindness then, kindness and wisdom; +and both passed by, at my elbow,... and I did not +know.” She bent her head, smiling with an effort. +“You should have thrown yourself astride the horse +and galloped away with me.... They did those things +once, Monsieur Scarlett—on this very spot, too, in the +days of the Saxon pirates.”</p> +<p>The whirring monotone of the spinning-wheel suddenly +filled the house; Sylvia was singing at her wheel:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“Woe to the maids of Paradise!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Yvonne!</span><br /> +Twice have the Saxons landed; twice!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Yvonne!</span><br /> +Yet shall Paradise see them thrice,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Yvonne! Yvonne! Marivonik!”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“The prophecy of that Breton spinning song is +being fulfilled,” I said. “For the third time we Saxons +have come to Paradise, you see.”</p> +<p>“But this time our Saxons are not very formidable,” +she said, raising her beautiful gray eyes; “and the +gwerz says, ‘Woe to the maids of Paradise!’ Do you +intend to bring woe upon us maids of Paradise—do you +come to carry us off, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“If you will go with—me,” I said, smiling.</p> +<p>“All of us?”</p> +<p>“Only one, madame.”</p> +<p>She started to speak, then her eyes fell. She laughed +uncertainly. “Which one among us, if you please—mizilour +skler ha brillant deuz ar fidelite?”</p> +<p>“Met na varwin Ket Kontant, ma na varwan fidel,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +I said, slowly, as the words of the song came back to +me. “I shall choose only the fairest and loveliest, +madame. You know it is always that way in the story.” +My voice was not perfectly steady, nor was hers when +she smiled and wished me happiness and a long life +with the maid of Paradise I had chosen, even though I +took her by force.</p> +<p>Then constraint crept in between us, and I was grimly +weighing the friendship this woman had given me—weighing +it in the balance against a single hope.</p> +<p>Once she looked across at me with questioning eyes +in which I thought I read dawning disappointment. +It almost terrified me.... I could not lose her confidence,... I +could not, and go through life without +it.... But I could live a hopeless life to its end with +that confidence.... And I must do so,... and be +content.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said I, thinking aloud, “that I had +better go to England.”</p> +<p>“When?” she asked, without raising her head.</p> +<p>“In a day or two. I can find employment there, I +think.”</p> +<p>“Is it necessary that you find employment ... so +soon?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I said, with a meaningless laugh, “I fear it +is.”</p> +<p>“What will you do?”</p> +<p>“Oh, the army—horses—something of that kind. +Riding-master, perhaps—perhaps Scotland Yard. I +may not be able to pick and choose.... If I ever save +enough money for the voyage, perhaps you would let +me come, once in a long while, to pay my respects, +madame?”</p> +<p>“Yes,... come, if you wish.”</p> +<p>She said no more, nor did I. Presently Sylvia appeared +with a peasant woman, and the young countess +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +went away, followed by the housekeeper with her keys +at her girdle.</p> +<p>I rose and walked to the window; then, nerveless +and depressed, I went out into the garden again to +smoke a cigar.</p> +<p>The cat had disappeared; I traversed the garden, +passed through the side wicket, and found myself on +the cliffs. Almost immediately I was aware of a young +girl, a child, seated on the rocks, her chin propped on +her hands, the sea-wind blowing her curly elf-locks +across her cheeks and eyes. A bundle tied in a handkerchief +lay beside her; a cat dozed in her lap, its sleek +fur stirring in the wind.</p> +<p>“Jacqueline!” I said, gently.</p> +<p>She raised her head; the movement awakened the +cat, who stood up in her lap, stretching and yawning +vigorously.</p> +<p>“I thought you were to sail from Lorient to-day?”</p> +<p>The cat stopped purring from her knees; the child +rose, pushing back her hair from her eyes with both +hands.</p> +<p>“Where is Speed?” she asked, drowsily.</p> +<p>“Did you want to see him, Jacqueline?”</p> +<p>“That is why I returned.”</p> +<p>“To see Speed?”</p> +<p>“Parbleu.”</p> +<p>“And you are going to let the others sail without +you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And give up the circus forever, Jacqueline?”</p> +<p>“Y-es.”</p> +<p>“Just because you want to see Speed?”</p> +<p>“Only for that.”</p> +<p>She stood rubbing her eyes with her small fists, as +though just awakened.</p> +<p>“Oui,” she said, without emotion, “c’est comme ça, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +m’sieu. Where the heart is, happiness lies. I left +the others at the city gate; I said, ‘Voyons, let us be +reasonable, gentlemen. I am happy in your circus; +I am happy with Speed; I can be contented without +your circus, but I cannot be contented without Speed. +Voilà!’... and then I went.”</p> +<p>“You walked back all the way from Lorient?”</p> +<p>“Bien sûr! I have no carriage—I, Jacqueline.” +She stretched her slim figure, raised her arms slowly, +and yawned. “Pardon,” she murmured, “I have +slept in the gorse—badly.”</p> +<p>“Come into the garden,” I said; “we can talk while +you rest.”</p> +<p>She thanked me tranquilly, picked up her bundle, +and followed me with a slight limp. The cat, tail up, +came behind.</p> +<p>The young countess was standing at the window +as we approached in solemn single file along the path, +and when she caught sight of us she opened the door +and stepped out on the tiny porch.</p> +<p>“Why, this is our little Jacqueline,” she said, quickly. +“They have taken your father for the conscription, +have they not, my child? And now you are homeless!”</p> +<p>“I think so, madame.”</p> +<p>“Then you will stay with me until he returns, won’t +you, little one?”</p> +<p>There was a moment’s pause; Jacqueline made a +grave gesture. “This is my cat, madame—Ange +Pitou.”</p> +<p>The countess stared at the cat, then broke out into +the prettiest peal of laughter. “Of course you must +bring your cat! My invitation is also for Ange Pitou, +you understand.”</p> +<p>“Then we thank you, and permit ourselves to accept, +madame,” said Jacqueline. “We are very glad +because we are quite hungry, and we have thorns +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +from the gorse in our feet—” She broke off with +a joyous little cry: “There is Speed!” And Speed, +entering the garden hurriedly, stopped short in his +tracks.</p> +<p>The child ran to him and threw both arms around +his neck. “Oh, Speed! Speed!” she stammered, over +and over again. “I was too lonely; I will do what +you wish; I will be instructed in the graces of education—truly +I will. I am glad to come back—and +I am so tired, Speed. I will never go away from you +again.... Oh, Speed, I am contented!... Do you +love me?”</p> +<p>“Dearly, little sweetheart,” he said, huskily, trying +to steady his voice. “There! Madame the countess +is waiting. All will be well now.” He turned, smiling, +toward the young countess, and lifted his hat, +then stepped back and fixed me with a blank look of +dismay, which said perfectly plainly that he had unpleasant +news to communicate. The countess, I think, +saw that look, too, for she gave me an almost imperceptible +nod and took Jacqueline’s hand in hers.</p> +<p>“If there are thorns in your feet we must find them,” +she said, sweetly. “Will you come, Jacqueline?”</p> +<p>“Yes, madame,” said the child, with an adoring +smile at Speed, who bent and kissed her upturned face +as she passed.</p> +<p>They went into the house, the countess holding +Jacqueline’s thorn-scratched hand, the cat following, +perfectly self-possessed, to the porch, where she halted +and sat down, surveying the landscape with dignified +indifference.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, turning to Speed, “what new deviltry +is going on in Paradise now?”</p> +<p>“Preparations for train-wrecking, I should say,” he +replied, bluntly. “They are tinkering with the trestle. +Buckhurst’s ragamuffins have just seized the railroad +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +station at Rose-Sainte-Anne, where the main line +crosses, you know, near the ravine at Lammerin. I +was sure there was something extraordinary going to +happen, so I went down to the river, hailed Jeanne +Rolland, the passeuse, and had her ferry me over to +Bois-Gilbert. Then I made for the telegraph, gave +the operator ten francs to let me work the keys, and +called up the arsenal at Lorient. But it was no use, +Scarlett, the governor of Lorient can’t spare a soldier—not +a single gendarme. It seems that Uhlans have +been signalled north of Quimper, and Lorient is frantic, +and the garrison is preparing to stand siege.”</p> +<p>“You mean,” I said, indignantly, “that they’re not +going to try to catch Buckhurst and Mornac?”</p> +<p>“That’s what I mean; they’re scared as rabbits +over these rumors of Uhlans in the west and north.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, disgusted, “it appears to me that +Buckhurst is going to get off scot-free this time—and +Mornac, too! Did you know that Mornac was here?”</p> +<p>“Know it? I saw him an hour ago, marshalling a +new company of malcontents in the square—a bad lot, +Scarlett—deserters from Chanzy’s army, from Bourbaki, +from Garibaldi—a hundred or more line soldiers, +dragoons without horses, francs-tireurs, Garibaldians, +even a Turco, from Heaven knows where—bad soldiers +who disgrace France—marauders, cowardly, skulking +mobiles—a sweet lot, Scarlett, to be let loose in Madame +de Vassart’s vicinity.”</p> +<p>“I think so, too,” I said, seriously.</p> +<p>“And I earnestly agree with you,” muttered Speed. +“That’s all <i>I</i> have to report, except that your friend, +Robert the Lizard, is out yonder flat on his belly under +a gorse-bush, and he wants to see you.”</p> +<p>“The Lizard!” I exclaimed. “Come on, Speed. +Where is he?”</p> +<p>“Yonder, clothed in somebody’s line uniform. He’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +one of them. Scarlett, do you trust him? He has a +rifle.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” I said, impatiently. “Come on, man! +It’s all right; the fellow is watching Buckhurst for me.” +And I gave Speed a nervous push toward the moors. +We started, Speed ostentatiously placing his revolver +in his side-pocket so that he could shoot through his +coat if necessary. I walked beside him, closely scanning +the stretch of open moor for a sign of life, knowing +all the while that it is easier to catch moon-beams in a +net than to find a poacher in the bracken. But Speed +had marked him down as he might mark a squatting +quail, and suddenly we flushed him, rifle clapped to +his shoulder.</p> +<p>“None of that, my friend,” growled Speed; but the +poacher at sight of me had already lowered the weapon.</p> +<p>I greeted him frankly, offering my hand; he took it, +then his hard fist fell away and he touched his cap.</p> +<p>“I have done what you wanted,” he said, sullenly. +“I have the company’s rolls—here they are.” He +dragged from his baggy trousers pockets a mass of +filthy papers, closely covered with smeared writing. +“Here is the money, too,” he said, fishing in the other +pocket; and, to my astonishment, he produced a flattened, +soiled mass of bank-notes. “Count it,” he +added, calmly.</p> +<p>“What money is that?” I asked, taking it reluctantly.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you warn me to get that box—the steel box +that Tric-Trac sat down on when he saw me?”</p> +<p>“Is that money from the box?” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Yes, m’sieu. I could not bring the box, and there +had been enough blood shed over it already. Besides, +when Buckhurst broke it open there was only a bit of +iron for the scrap-heap left.”</p> +<p>I touched Speed’s arm to call his attention; the poacher +shrugged his shoulders and continued: “Tric-Trac +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +made no ceremony with me; he told me that he and +Buckhurst had settled this Dr. Delmont, and the other—the +professor—Tavernier.”</p> +<p>“Murdered them?” muttered Speed.</p> +<p>“Dame!—the coup du Père François is murder, I +suppose.”</p> +<p>Speed turned to me. “That’s the argot for strangling,” +he said, grimly.</p> +<p>“Go on,” I motioned to the poacher. “How did +you get the money?”</p> +<p>“Oh, pour ça—in my turn I turned sonneur,” he +replied, with a savage smile.</p> +<p>A <i>sonneur</i>, in thieves’ slang, is a creature of the +footpad type who, tripping his victim flat, seizes him +by the shoulders and beats his head against the pavement +until he renders him unconscious—if he doesn’t +kill him.</p> +<p>“It was pay-day,” continued the Lizard. “Buckhurst +opened the box and I heard him—he hammered it +open with a cold chisel. I was standing guard on the +forest’s edge; I crept back, hearing the hammering +and the little bell ringing the Angelus of Tric-Trac. +It was close to dusk; by the time he got into the box +it was dark in the woods, and it was easy to jump on +his back and strike—not very hard, m’sieu—but, I +tell you, Buckhurst lay for two days with eyes like a +sick owl’s! He knew one of his own men had done it. +He never said a word, but I know he thinks it was +Tric-Trac.... And when he is ready—bon soir, Tric-Trac!”</p> +<p>He drew his right hand across his corded throat with +a horridly suggestive motion. Speed watched him +narrowly.</p> +<p>I asked the poacher why Buckhurst had come to +Paradise, and why his banditti had seized the railroad +at Rose-Sainte-Anne. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span></p> +<p>“Ah,” cried the Lizard, with a ferocious leer, “that +is the kernel under the limpet’s tent! And I have +uncovered it—I, Robert Garenne, bon sang de Jésu!”</p> +<p>He stretched out his powerful arm toward the sea. +“Where is that cruiser, m’sieu? Gone? Yes, but +who sent her off? Buckhurst, with his new signal-book! +Where? In chase of a sea-swallow, or a frigate +(bird). Who knows? Listen, messieurs! We are to +wreck the train for Brest to-night. Do you comprehend?”</p> +<p>“Where?” I asked, quietly.</p> +<p>“Just where the trestle at Lammerin crosses the +ravine below the house of Josephine Tanguy.”</p> +<p>Speed looked around at me. “It’s the treasure-train +from Lorient. They’re probably sending the crown +diamonds back to Brest in view of the Uhlans being +seen near Quimper.”</p> +<p>“On a false order?”</p> +<p>“I believe so. I believe that Buckhurst sent the +cruiser to Brest, and now he’s started the treasure-trains +back to Brest in a panic.”</p> +<p>“That is the truth,” said the Lizard; “Tric-Trac +told me. They have the code-book of Mornac.” His +eyes began to light up with that terrible anger as the +name of his blood enemy fell from his lips; his nose +twitched; his upper lip wrinkled into a snarl.</p> +<p>I thought quietly for a moment, then asked the +poacher whether there was a guard at the semaphore +of Saint-Yssel.</p> +<p>“Yes, the soldier Rolland, who says he understands +the telegraph—a sot from Morlaix.” He hesitated +and looked across the open moor toward Paradise. +“I must go,” he muttered; “I am on guard yonder.”</p> +<p>I offered him my hand again; he took it, looking me +sincerely in the eyes.</p> +<p>“Let your private wrongs wait a little longer,” I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +said. “I think we can catch Buckhurst and Mornac +alive. Do you promise?”</p> +<p>“Y-es,” he replied.</p> +<p>“Strike, then, like a Breton!”</p> +<p>We struck palms heavily. Then he turned to Speed +and motioned him to retire.</p> +<p>Speed walked slowly toward a half-buried bowlder +and sat down out of ear-shot.</p> +<p>“For your sake,” said the poacher, clutching my +hand in a tightening grip—“for your sake I have let +Mornac go—let him pass me at arm’s-length, and did +not strike. You have dealt openly by me—and justly. +No man can say I betrayed friendship. But I swear +to you that if you miss him this time, I shall not miss—I, +Robert the Lizard!”</p> +<p>“You mean to kill Mornac?” I asked.</p> +<p>His eyes blazed.</p> +<p>“Ami,” he said, “I once spoke of ‘<i>a little red deer</i>,’ +and you half understood me, for you are wise in strange +ways, as I am.”</p> +<p>“I remember,” I said.</p> +<p>His strong fingers closed tighter on my hand. +“Woman—or doe—it’s all one now; and I am out of +prison—the prison <i>he</i> sent me to! Do you understand +that he wronged me—me, the soldier Garenne, in garrison +at Vincennes; he, the officer, the aristocrat?”</p> +<p>He choked, crushing my hand in a spasmodic grip. +“Ami, the little red deer was beautiful—to me. He +took her—the doe—a silly maid of Paradise—and I +was in irons, m’sieu, for three years.”</p> +<p>He glared at vacancy, tears falling from his staring +eyes.</p> +<p>“Your wife?” I asked, quietly.</p> +<p>“Yes, ami.”</p> +<p>He dropped my numbed fingers and rubbed his eyes +with the back of his big hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span></p> +<p>“Then Jacqueline is not your little daughter?” I +asked, gravely.</p> +<p>“Hers—not mine. That has been the most terrible +of all for me—since she died—died so young, too, m’sieu—and +all alone—in Paris. If he had not done that—if +he had been kind to her. And she was only a child, +ami, yet he left her.”</p> +<p>All the ferocity in his eyes was gone; he raised a +vacant, grief-lined visage to meet mine, and stood +stupidly, heavy hands hanging.</p> +<p>Then, shoulders sloping, he shambled off into the +thicket, trailing his battered rifle.</p> +<p>When he was very far away I motioned to Speed.</p> +<p>“I think,” said I, “that we had better try to do something +at the semaphore if we are going to stop that +train in time.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +<a name='XX_THE_SEMAPHORE' id='XX_THE_SEMAPHORE'></a> +<h2>XX</h2> +<h3>THE SEMAPHORE</h3> +</div> +<p>The telegraph station at the semaphore was a +little, square, stone hut, roofed with slate, perched +high on the cliffs. A sun-scorched, wooden signal-tower +rose in front of it; behind it a line of telegraph +poles stretched away into perspective across the moors. +Beyond the horizon somewhere lay the war-port of +Lorient, with its arsenal, armed redoubts, and heavy +bastions; beyond that was war.</p> +<p>While we plodded on, hip deep, through gorse and +thorn and heath, we cautiously watched a spot of red +moving to and fro in front of the station; and as we +drew nearer we could see the sentry very distinctly, +rifle slung muzzle down, slouching his beat in the +sunshine.</p> +<p>He was a slovenly specimen, doubtless a deserter +from one of the three provincial armies now forming +for the hopeless dash at Belfort and the German eastern +communications.</p> +<p>When Speed and I emerged from the golden gorse +into plain view the sentinel stopped in his tracks, +shoved his big, red hands into his trousers pockets, +and regarded us sulkily.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do with this gentleman?” +whispered Speed.</p> +<p>“Reason with him, first,” I said; “a louis is worth +a dozen kicks.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span></p> +<p>The soldier left his post as we started toward him, +and advanced, blinking in the strong sunshine, meeting +us half-way.</p> +<p>“Now, bourgeois,” he said, shaking his unkempt +head, “this won’t do, you know. Orders are to keep +off. And,” he added, in a bantering tone, “I’m here +to enforce them. Allons! En route, mes amis!”</p> +<p>“Are you the soldier Rolland?” I asked.</p> +<p>He admitted that he was with prompt profanity, +adding that if we didn’t like his name we had only to +tell him so and he would arrange the matter.</p> +<p>I told him that we approved not only his name but +his personal appearance; indeed, so great was our admiration +for him that we had come clear across the +Saint-Yssel moor expressly to pay our compliments +to him in the shape of a hundred-franc note. I drew +it from the soiled roll the Lizard had intrusted to me, +and displayed it for the sentinel’s inspection.</p> +<p>“Is that for me?” he demanded, unconvinced, plainly +suspicious of being ridiculed.</p> +<p>“Under certain conditions,” I said, “these five louis +are for you.”</p> +<p>The soldier winked. “I know what you want; you +want to go in yonder and use the telegraph. What +the devil,” he burst out, “do all you bourgeois want +with that telegraph in there?”</p> +<p>“Has anybody else asked to use it?” I inquired, +disturbed.</p> +<p>“Anybody else?” he mimicked. “Well, I think so; +there’s somebody in there now—here, give your hundred +francs or I tell you nothing, you understand!”</p> +<p>I handed him the soiled note. He scanned it with +the inborn distrust of the true malefactor, turned it +over and over, and finally, pronouncing it “en règle,” +shoved it cheerfully into the lining of his red forage +cap. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span></p> +<p>“A hundred more if you answer my questions truthfully,” +I said, amiably.</p> +<p>“’Cré cochon!” he blurted out; “fire at will, comrade! +I’ll sell you the whole cursed semaphore for a +hundred more! What can I do for you, captain?”</p> +<p>“Who is in that hut?”</p> +<p>“A lady—she comes often—she gives ten francs +each time. Zut!—what is ten francs when a gentleman +gives a hundred! She pays me for my complaisance—bon! +Place aux dames! You pay me better—bon! +I’m yours, gentlemen. War is war, but money +pulls the trigger!”</p> +<p>The miserable creature cocked his forage-cap with a +toothless smirk and twisted his scant mustache.</p> +<p>“Who is this lady who pays you ten francs?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I do not know her name—but,” he added, with an +offensive leer, “she’s worth looking over by gentlemen +like you. Do you want to see her? She’s in there +click-clicking away on the key with her pretty little +fingers—bon sang! A morsel for a king, gentlemen.”</p> +<p>“Wait here,” I said, disgusted, and walked toward +the stone station. The treacherous cur came running +after me. “There’s a side door,” he whispered; “step +in there behind the partition and take a look at her. +She’ll be done directly: she never stays more than +fifteen minutes. Then you can use the telegraph at +your pleasure, captain.”</p> +<p>The side door was partly open; I stepped in noiselessly +and found myself in a small, dusky closet, partitioned +from the telegraph office. Immediately the +rapid clicking of the Morse instrument came to my +ears, and mechanically I read the message by the +sound as it rattled on under the fingers of an expert:</p> +<p>“—Must have already found out that the signals +were not authorized by the government. Before the +<i>Fer-de-Lance</i> returns to her station the German cruiser +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span> +ought to intercept her off Groix. Did you arrange for +this?”</p> +<p>There was a moment’s silence, then back came rattling +the reply in the Morse code, but in German:</p> +<p>“Yes, all is arranged. The <i>Augusta</i> took a French +merchant vessel off Pont Aven yesterday. The <i>Augusta</i> +ought to pass Groix this evening. You are to +burn three white lights from Point Paradise if a landing-party +is needed. It rests with you entirely.”</p> +<p>Another silence, then the operator in the next room +began:</p> +<p>“You say that Lorient is alarmed by rumors of Uhlans, +and therefore sends the treasure-train back to Brest. +The train, you assure me, carries the diamonds of the +crown, bar-silver, gold, the Venus of Milo, and ten battle-flags +from the Invalides. Am I correct?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“The insurgents here, under an individual in our pay, +one John Buckhurst, are preparing to wreck the train +at the Lammerin trestle.</p> +<p>“If the <i>Augusta</i> can reach Point Paradise to-night, +a landing-party could easily scatter these insurgents, +seize the treasures, and re-embark in safety.</p> +<p>“There is, you declare, nothing to fear from Lorient; +the only thing, then, to be dreaded is the appearance +of the <i>Fer-de-Lance</i> off Groix. She is not now in sight; +I will notify you if she appears. If she does not come +I will burn three white lights in triangle on Paradise +headland.”</p> +<p>A short pause, then:</p> +<p>“Are there any Prussian cavalry near enough to +help us?”</p> +<p>And the answer:</p> +<p>“Prussian dragoons are scouting toward Bannalec. +I will send a messenger to them if I can. This is all. +Be careful. Good-bye.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span></p> +<p>“Good-bye,” clicked the instrument in the next +room. There was a rustle of skirts, a tap of small +shoes on the stone floor. I leaned forward and looked +through the little partition window; Sylvia Elven stood +by the table, quietly drawing on her gloves. Her face +was flushed and thoughtful.</p> +<p>Slowly she walked toward the door, hesitated, turned, +hurried back to the instrument, and set the switch. +Then, without seating herself, she leaned over and gave +the station call, three <i>S's</i>.</p> +<p>“I forgot to say that the two Yankee officers of military +police, Scarlett and Speed, are a harmless pair. +You have nothing to fear from them. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>And the reply:</p> +<p>“Watch them all the same. Be careful, madame, +they are Yankees. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>When she had gone, closing the outer door behind +her, I sprang to the key, switched on, rattled out the +three S’s and got my man, probably before he had +taken three steps from his table.</p> +<p>“I forgot to say,” I telegraphed, using a light, rapid +touch to imitate Sylvia’s—“I forgot to say that, in +case the treasure-train is held back to-night, the Augusta +must run for the English Channel.”</p> +<p>“What’s that?” came back the jerky reply.</p> +<p>I repeated.</p> +<p>“Donnerwetter!” rattled the wires. “The entire +French iron-clad fleet is looking for her.”</p> +<p>“And I hope they catch her,” I telegraphed.</p> +<p>“Are you crazy?” came the frantic reply. “Who +are you?”</p> +<p>“A Yankee, idiot!” I replied. “Run for your life, +you hopeless ass!”</p> +<p>There was, of course, no reply, though I sent a few +jocular remarks flying after what must have been the +most horrified German spy south of Metz. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span></p> +<p>Then, at a venture, I set the switch on the arsenal +line, got a quick reply, and succeeded in alarming +them sufficiently, I think, for in a few moments I was +telegraphing directly to the governor of Lorient, and +the wires grew hot with an interchange of observations, +which resulted in my running to the locker, +tumbling out all the signal bunting, cones, and balls, +sorting five flags, two red cones, and a ball, and hastening +out to the semaphore.</p> +<p>Speed and the soldier Rolland saw me set the cones, +hoist away, break out the flags on the halyards, and +finally drop the white arm of the semaphore.</p> +<p>I had set the signal for the <i>Fer-de-Lance</i> to land in +force and wipe Buckhurst and his grotesque crew from +the face of the earth.</p> +<p>“Rolland,” I said, “here is another hundred francs. +Watch that halyard and guard it. To-night you will +string seven of those little lamps on this other halyard, +light them, hoist them, and then go up that tower and +light the three red lamps on the left.”</p> +<p>“’Tendu,” he said, promptly.</p> +<p>“If you do it I will give you two hundred francs +to-morrow. Is it a bargain?”</p> +<p>The soldier broke out into a torrent of promises which +I cut short.</p> +<p>“That lady will never come here again, I think. If +she does, she must not touch those halyards. Do +you hear? If she offers you money, remember I will +double it. But, Rolland, if you lie to <i>me</i> I will have +you killed as the Bretons kill pigs; you understand +how that is done?”</p> +<p>He said that he understood, and followed us, fawning +and whining his cowardly promises of fidelity +until we ordered the wretch back to the post which he +had already twice betrayed, and would certainly betray +again if the opportunity offered. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span></p> +<p>Walking fast over the springy heath, I told Speed +briefly what I had done—that the treasure-train would +not now leave Lorient, that as soon as the <i>Fer-de-Lance</i> +came in sight of the semaphore Buckhurst’s +game must come to an end.</p> +<p>Far ahead of us we saw the flutter of a light dress on +the moor; Sylvia Elven, the spy, was going home; +and from the distance, across the yellow-flowered +gorse, her gay song floated back to us:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p>“Those who die for a maid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Are paid;</span><br /> +Those who die for a creed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">God-speed;</span><br /> +Those who die for their own dear land<br /> +Shall stand forever on God’s right hand!—”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“A spy!” muttered Speed.</p> +<p>“I think,” said I, “that she had better leave Paradise +at once. Oh, the little fool, to risk all for a caprice—for +a word to the poor fellow she ruined! Vanity +does it every time, Speed.”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said.</p> +<p>“No, and I can’t explain,” I replied, thinking of +Kelly Eyre. “But Sylvia Elven is running a fearful +risk here. Mornac knows her record. Buckhurst +would betray her in a moment if he thought it might +save his own skin. She ought to leave before the +<i>Fer-de-Lance</i> sights the semaphore and reads the signal +to land in force.”</p> +<p>“Then you’ll have to tell her,” he said, gloomily.</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” I replied, not at all pleased. For +the prospect of humiliating her, of proving to this +woman that I was not as stupid as she believed me, gave +me no pleasure. Rather was I sorry for her, sorry +for the truly pitiable condition in which she must now +find herself. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span></p> +<p>As we reached the gates of Trécourt, dusty and +tired from our moorland tramp, I turned and looked +back. My signal was still set; the white arm of +the semaphore glistened like silver against a brilliant +sky of sapphire. Seaward I could see no sign of the +<i>Fer-de-Lance</i>.</p> +<p>“The guns I heard at sea must have been fired from +the German cruiser <i>Augusta</i>,” I suggested to Speed. +“She’s been hovering off the coast, catching French +merchant craft. I wish to goodness the <i>Fer-de-Lance</i> +would come in and give her a drubbing.”</p> +<p>“Oh, rubbish!” he said. “What the deuce do we +care?”</p> +<p>“It’s human to take sides in this war, isn’t it?” I +insisted.</p> +<p>“Considering the fashion in which France has treated +us individually, it seems to me that we may as well +take the German side,” he said.</p> +<p>“Are you going to?” I asked.</p> +<p>He hesitated. “Oh, hang it all, no! There’s something +about France that holds us poor devils—I don’t +know what. Barring England, she’s the only human +nation in the whole snarling pack. Here’s to her—damn +her impudence! If she wants me she can have +me—empire, kingdom, or republic. Vive anything—as +long as it’s French!”</p> +<p>I was laughing when we entered the court; Jacqueline, +her big, furry cat in her arms, came to the door +and greeted Speed with:</p> +<p>“You have been away a very long time, and the +thorns are all out of my arms and my legs, and I have +been desiring to see you. Come into the house and +read—shall we?”</p> +<p>Speed turned to me with an explanatory smile. “I’ve +been reading the ’Idyls’ aloud to her in English,” he +said, rather shyly. “She seems to like them; it’s the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +noble music that attracts her; she can’t understand +ten words.”</p> +<p>“I can understand nearly twenty,” she said, flushing +painfully.</p> +<p>Speed, who had no thought of hurting her, colored +up, too.</p> +<p>“You don’t comprehend, little one,” he said, quickly. +“It was in praise, not in blame, that I spoke.”</p> +<p>“I knew it—I am silly,” she said, with quick tears +trembling in her eyes. “You know I adore you, Speed. +Forgive me.”</p> +<p>She turned away into the house, saying that she +would get the book.</p> +<p>“Look here, Speed,” I said, troubled, “Jacqueline +is very much like the traditional maid of romance, +which I never believed existed—all unspoiled, frankly +human, innocently daring, utterly ignorant of convention. +She’s only a child now, but another year or +two will bring something else to her.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you suppose I’ve thought of that?” he said, +frowning.</p> +<p>“I hope you have.”</p> +<p>“Well, I have. When I find enough to do to keep +soul and body friendly I’m going to send her to school, +if that old ruffian, her father, allows it.”</p> +<p>“I think he will,” I said, gravely; “but after that?”</p> +<p>“After what?”</p> +<p>“After she’s educated and—unhappy?”</p> +<p>“She isn’t any too happy now,” he retorted.</p> +<p>“Granted. But after you have spent all your money +on her, what then?”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“I mean that you’ll have no child to deal with, but +a woman in full bloom, a woman fairly aquiver with +life and intelligence, a high-strung, sensitive, fine-grained +creature, whose educated ignorance will not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +be educated innocence, remember that! And I tell +you, Speed, it’s the heaviest responsibility a man can +assume.”</p> +<p>“I know it,” he replied.</p> +<p>“Then it’s all right, if you do know it,” I said, cheerfully. +“All I can say is, I am thankful she isn’t to +spend her life in the circus.”</p> +<p>“Or meet death there,” he added. “It’s not to our +credit that she escapes it.”</p> +<p>Jacqueline came dancing back to the porch, cat +under one arm, book under the other, so frankly happy, +so charmingly grateful for Speed’s society, that the +tragedy of the lonely child touched me very deeply. +I strove to discover any trace of the bar sinister in her, +but could not, though now I understood, from her parentage, +how it was possible for a poacher’s child to +have such finely sculptured hands and feet. Perhaps +her dark, silky lashes and hair were Mornac’s, but if this +was so, I trusted that there the aristocratic blood had +spent its force in the frail body of this child of chance.</p> +<p>I went into the house, leaving them seated on the +porch, heads together, while in a low monotone Speed +read the deathless “Morte d’Arthur.”</p> +<p>Daylight was waning.</p> +<p>Out of the west a clear, greenish sky, tinged with +saffron tints, promised a sea-wind. But the mild land-breeze +was still blowing and the ebb-tide flowing as I +entered the corridor and glanced at the corner where +the spinning-wheel stood. Sylvia sat beside it, reading +in the Lutheran Bible by the failing light.</p> +<p>She raised her dreamy eyes as I passed; I had never +seen her piquantly expressive face so grave.</p> +<p>“May I speak to you alone a moment, after dinner?” +I asked.</p> +<p>“If you wish,” she replied.</p> +<p>I bowed and started on, but she called me back. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span></p> +<p>“Did you know that Monsieur Eyre is here?”</p> +<p>“Kelly Eyre?”</p> +<p>“Oui, monsieur. He returns with an order from +the governor of Lorient for the balloon.”</p> +<p>I was astonished, and asked where Eyre had gone.</p> +<p>“He is in your room,” she said, “loading your revolver. +I hope you will not permit him to go alone to +Paradise.”</p> +<p>“I’ll see about that,” I muttered, and hurried up the +stairs and down the hallway to my bedchamber.</p> +<p>He sprang to the door as I entered, giving me both +hands in boyish greeting, saying how delighted they +all were to know that my injury had proved so +slight.</p> +<p>“That balloon robbery worried me,” he continued. +“I knew that Speed depended on his balloon for a living; +so as soon as we entered Lorient I went to our consul, +and he and I made such a row that the governor of +Lorient gave me an order for the balloon. Here it is, +Mr. Scarlett.”</p> +<p>His heightened color and excitement, his nervous +impetuosity, were not characteristic of this quiet and +rather indifferent young countryman of mine.</p> +<p>I looked at him keenly but pleasantly.</p> +<p>“You are going to load my revolver, and go over to +Paradise and take that balloon from these bandits?” +I asked, smiling.</p> +<p>“An order is all right, but it is the more formal when +backed by a bullet,” he said.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to tell me that you were preparing to +go over into that hornet’s nest alone?”</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders with a reckless laugh.</p> +<p>“Give me my revolver,” I said, coldly.</p> +<p>His face fell. “Let me take it, Mr. Scarlett,” he +pleaded; but I refused, and made him hand me the +weapon. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span></p> +<p>“Now,” I said, sternly, “I want to know what the +devil you mean by attempting suicide? Do you suppose +that those ruffians care a straw for you and your +order? Kelly, what’s the matter with you? Is life +as unattractive as all that?”</p> +<p>His flushed and sullen face darkened.</p> +<p>“If you want to risk your life,” I said, “you have +plenty of chances in your profession. Did you ever +hear of an aged aëronaut? Kelly, go back to America +and break your neck like a gentleman.”</p> +<p>He darted a menacing glance at me, but there was +nothing of irony in my sober visage.</p> +<p>“You appear here,” I said, “after the others have +sailed from Lorient. Why? To do Speed this generous +favor? Yes—and to do yourself the pleasure +of ending an embittered life under the eyes of the +woman who ruined you.”</p> +<p>The boy flinched as though I had struck him in the +face. For a moment I expected a blow; his hands +clinched convulsively, and he focussed me with blazing +eyes.</p> +<p>“Don’t,” I said, quietly. “I am trying to be your +friend; I am trying to save you from yourself, Kelly. +Don’t throw away your life—as I have done. Life is +a good thing, Kelly, a good thing. Can we not be +friends though I tell you the truth?”</p> +<p>The color throbbed and throbbed in his face. There +was a chair near him; he groped for it, and sat down +heavily.</p> +<p>“Life is a good thing,” I said again, “but, Kelly, +truth is better. And I must tell you the—well, something +of the truth—as much as you need know ... now. +My friend, <i>she is not worth it</i>.”</p> +<p>“Do you think that makes any difference?” he said, +harshly. “Let me alone, Scarlett. I know!... <i>I +know</i>, I tell you!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span></p> +<p>“Do you mean to tell me that you know she deliberately +betrayed you?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know it—I tell you I know it!”</p> +<p>“And ... you love her?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” He dropped his haggard face on his arms a +moment, then sat bolt upright. “Truth is better than +life,” he said, slowly. “I lied to you and to myself +when I came back. I did come to get Speed’s balloon, +but I came ... for her sake,... to be near her,... to +see her once more before I—”</p> +<p>“Yes, I understand, Kelly.”</p> +<p>He winced and leaned wearily back.</p> +<p>“You are right,” he said; “I wanted to end it,... I +am tired.”</p> +<p>I sat thinking for a moment; the light in the room +faded to a glimmer on the panes.</p> +<p>“Kelly,” I said, “there remains another way to risk +your neck, and, I think, a nobler way. There is in +this house a woman who is running a terrible risk—a +German spy whose operations have been discovered. +This woman believes that she has in her pay the communist +leader of the revolt, a man called Buckhurst. +She is in error. And she must leave this house to-night.”</p> +<p>Eyre’s face had paled. He bent forward, clasped +hands between his knees, eyes fastened on me.</p> +<p>“There will be trouble here to-night—or, in all probability, +within the next twenty-four hours. I expect +to see Buckhurst a prisoner. And when that happens +it will go hard with Mademoiselle Elven, for he will +turn on her to save himself.... And you know what +that means;... a blank wall, Kelly, and a firing-squad. +There is but one sex for spies.”</p> +<p>A deadly fear was stamped on his bloodless face. I +saw it, tense and quivering, in the gray light of the +window. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span></p> +<p>“She must leave to-night, Kelly. She must try to +cross into Spain. Will you help her?”</p> +<p>He nodded, striving to say “yes.”</p> +<p>“You know your own risk?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Her company is death for you both if you are +taken.”</p> +<p>He stood up very straight. In what strange forms +comes happiness to man!</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +<a name='XXI_LIKE_HER_ANCESTORS' id='XXI_LIKE_HER_ANCESTORS'></a> +<h2>XXI</h2> +<h3>LIKE HER ANCESTORS</h3> +</div> +<p>A sense of insecurity, of impending trouble, seemed +to weigh upon us all that evening—a physical +depression, which the sea-wind brought with its flying +scud, wetting the window-panes like fine rain.</p> +<p>At intervals from across the moors came the deadened +rolling of insurgent drums, and in the sky a +ruddy reflection of a fire brightened and waned as the +fog thickened or blew inland—an ominous sign of disorder, +possibly even a reflection from that unseen war +raging somewhere beyond the obscured horizon.</p> +<p>It may have been this indefinable foreboding that +drew our little company into a temporary intimacy; +it may have been the immense loneliness of the sea, +thundering in thickening darkness, that stilled our +voices to whispers.</p> +<p>Eyre, ill at ease, walked from window to window, +looking at the luminous tints on the ragged edges of +the clouds; Sylvia, over her heavy embroidery, lifted +her head gravely at moments, to glance after him when +he halted listless, preoccupied, staring at Speed and +Jacqueline, who were drawing pictures of Arthur and +his knights by the lamp-lit table.</p> +<p>I leaned in the embrasure of the southern window, +gazing at my lighted lanterns, which dangled from the +halyards at Saint-Yssel. The soldier Rolland had so +far kept his word—three red lamps glimmered through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span> +a driving mist; the white lanterns hung above, faintly +shining.</p> +<p>Full in the firelight of the room sat the young Countess, +lost in reverie, hands clasping the gilt arms of her +chair. At her feet dozed Ange Pitou.</p> +<p>The dignity of a parvenu cat admitted for the first +time to unknown luxury is a lesson. I said this to +the young Countess, who smiled dreamily, watching +the play of color over the drift-wood fire. A ship’s +plank was burning there, tufted with golden-green +flames. Presently a blaze of purest carmine threw a +deeper light into the room.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” she said, “what people sailed in that +ship—and when? Did they perish on this coast when +their ship perished? A drift-wood fire is beautiful, +but a little sad, too.” She looked up pensively over +her shoulder. “Will you bring a chair to the fire?” she +asked. “We are burning part of a great ship—for +our pleasure, monsieur. Tell me what ship it was; +tell me a story to amuse me—not a melancholy one, +if you please.”</p> +<p>I drew a chair to the blaze; the drift-wood burned +gold and violet, with scarcely a whisper of its velvet +flames.</p> +<p>“I am afraid my story is not going to be very cheerful,” +I said, “and I am also afraid that I must ask you +to listen to it.”</p> +<p>She met my eyes with composure, leaned a little +toward me, and waited.</p> +<p>And so, sitting there in the tinted glare, I told her +of the death of Delmont and of Tavernier, and of Buckhurst’s +share in the miserable work.</p> +<p>I spoke in a whisper scarcely louder than the rustle +of the flames, watching the horror growing in her +face.</p> +<p>I told her that the money she had intrusted to them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span> +for the Red Cross was in my possession, and would be +forwarded at the first chance; that I hoped to bring +Buckhurst to justice that very night.</p> +<p>“Madame, I am paining you,” I said; “but I am +going to cause you even greater unhappiness.”</p> +<p>“Tell me what is necessary,” she said, forming the +words with tightened lips.</p> +<p>“Then I must tell you that it is necessary for Mademoiselle +Elven to leave Trécourt to-night.”</p> +<p>She looked at me as though she had not heard.</p> +<p>“It is absolutely necessary,” I repeated. “She must +go secretly. She must leave her effects; she must go +in peasant’s dress, on foot.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“It is better that I do not tell you, madame.”</p> +<p>“Tell me. It is my right to know.”</p> +<p>“Not now; later, if you insist.”</p> +<p>The young Countess passed one hand over her eyes +as though dazed.</p> +<p>“Does Sylvia know this?” she asked, in a shocked +voice.</p> +<p>“Not yet.”</p> +<p>“And you are going to tell her?”</p> +<p>“Yes, madame.”</p> +<p>“This is dreadful,” she muttered.... “If I did +not know you,... if I did not trust you so perfectly,... trust +you with all my heart!... Oh, are +you certain she must go? It frightens me; it is so +strange! I have grown fond of her.... And now +you say that she must go. I cannot understand—I +cannot.”</p> +<p>“No, you cannot understand,” I repeated, gently; +“but she can. It is a serious matter for Mademoiselle +Elven; it could not easily be more serious. It is even +perhaps a question of life or death, madame.”</p> +<p>“In Heaven’s name, help her, then!” she said, scarcely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +controlling the alarm that brought a pitiful break in +her voice.</p> +<p>“I am trying to,” I said. “And now I must consult +Mademoiselle Elven. Will you help me?”</p> +<p>“What can I do?” she asked, piteously.</p> +<p>“Stand by that window. Look, madame, can you +see the lights on the semaphore?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Count them aloud.”</p> +<p>She counted the white lights for me, then the red +ones.</p> +<p>“Now,” I said, “if those lights change in number +or color or position, come instantly to me. I shall +be with Mademoiselle Elven in the little tea-room. +But,” I added, “I do not expect any change in the +lights; it is only a precaution.”</p> +<p>I left her in the shadow of the curtains, and passed +through the room to Sylvia’s side. She looked up +quietly from her embroidery frame, then, dropping +the tinted silks and needles on the cloth, rose and walked +beside me past Eyre, who stood up as we came abreast +of him.</p> +<p>Sylvia paused. “Monsieur Eyre,” she said, “I +have a question to ask you ... some day,” and +passed on with a smile and a slight inclination of her +head, leaving Eyre looking after her with heavy eyes.</p> +<p>When we entered the little tea-room she passed on +to the lounge and seated herself on the padded arm; +I turned, closed the door, and walked straight toward +her.</p> +<p>She glanced up at me curiously; something in my +face appeared to sober her, for the amused smile on her +lips faded before I spoke.</p> +<p>“What is it?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I am sorry to tell you,” I said—“sorry from my +heart. You are not very friendly to me, and that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span> +makes it harder for me to say what I have to +say.”</p> +<p>She was watching me intently out of her pretty, intelligent +eyes.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” she asked, guardedly.</p> +<p>“I mean that you cannot stay here,” I said. “And +you know why.”</p> +<p>The color flooded her face, and she stood up, confronting +me, exasperated, defiant.</p> +<p>“Will you explain this insult?” she asked, hotly.</p> +<p>“Yes. You are a German spy,” I said, under my +breath.</p> +<p>There was no color in her face now—nothing but +a glitter in her blue eyes and a glint from the small, +white teeth biting her lower lip.</p> +<p>“French troops will land here to-night or to-morrow,” +I went on, calmly. “You will see how dangerous your +situation is certain to become when Buckhurst is taken, +and when it is understood <i>what use you have made of +the semaphore</i>.”</p> +<p>She winced, then straightened and bent her steady +gaze on me. Her courage was admirable.</p> +<p>“I thank you for telling me,” she said, simply. “Have +I a chance to reach the Spanish frontier?”</p> +<p>“I think you have,” I replied. “Kelly Eyre is going +with you when—”</p> +<p>“He? No, no, he must not! Does he know what I +am?” she broke in, impetuously.</p> +<p>“Yes, mademoiselle; and he knows what happens +to spies.”</p> +<p>“Did he offer to go?” she asked, incredulously.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle, he insists.”</p> +<p>Her lip began to tremble. She turned toward the +window, where the sea-fog flew past in the rising wind, +and stared out across the immeasurable blackness of +the ocean. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span></p> +<p>Without turning her head she said: “Does he know +that it may mean his death?”</p> +<p>“He has suffered worse for your sake!” I said, bitterly.</p> +<p>“What?” she flashed out, confronting me in an +instant.</p> +<p>“You must know that,” I said—“three years of +hell—prison—utter ruin! Do you dare deny you have +been ignorant of this?”</p> +<p>For a space she stood there, struck speechless; then, +“Call him!” she cried. “Call him, I tell you! Bring +him here—I want him here—here before us both!” +She sprang to the door, but I blocked her way.</p> +<p>“I will not have Madame de Vassart know what you +did to him!” I said. “If you want Kelly Eyre, I will +call him.” And I stepped into the hallway.</p> +<p>Eyre, passing the long stone corridor, looked up as +I beckoned; and when he entered the tea-room, Sylvia, +white as a ghost, met him face to face.</p> +<p>“Monsieur,” she said, harshly, “why did you not +come to that book-store?”</p> +<p>He was silent. His face was answer enough—a terrible +answer.</p> +<p>“Monsieur Eyre, speak to me! Is it true? Did +they—did you not know that I made an error—that I +<i>did</i> go on Monday at the same hour?”</p> +<p>His haggard face lighted up; she saw it, and caught +his hands in hers.</p> +<p>“Did you think I knew?” she stammered. “Did you +think I could do that? They told me at the <i>usine</i> +that you had gone away—I thought you had forgotten—that +you did not care—”</p> +<p>“Care!” he groaned, and bowed his head, crushing +her hands over his face.</p> +<p>Then she broke down, breathless with terror and +grief. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span></p> +<p>“I was not a spy then—truly I was not, Kelly. +There was no harm in me—I only—only asked for the +sketches because—because—I cared for you. I have +them now; no soul save myself has ever seen them—even +afterward, when I drifted into intrigue at the +Embassy—when everybody knew that Bismarck meant +to force war—everybody except the French people—I +never showed those little sketches! They were—were +mine! Kelly, they were all I had left when you +went away—to a fortress!—and I did not know!—I did +not know!”</p> +<p>“Hush!” he groaned. “It is all right—it is all +right now.”</p> +<p>“Do you believe me?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes. Don’t cry—don’t be unhappy—now.”</p> +<p>She raised her head and fumbled in her corsage with +shaking fingers, and drew from her bosom a packet of +papers.</p> +<p>“Here are the sketches,” she sobbed; “they have +cost you dear! Now leave me—hate me! Let them +come and take me—I do not want to live any more. +Oh, what punishment on earth!”</p> +<p>Her suffering was unendurable to the man who had +suffered through her; he turned on me, quivering in +every limb.</p> +<p>“We must start,” he said, hoarsely. “Give me your +revolver.”</p> +<p>I drew it from my hip-pocket and passed it to him.</p> +<p>“Scarlett,” he began, “if we don’t reach—”</p> +<p>A quick rapping at the door silenced him; the young +Countess stood in the hallway, bright-eyed, but composed, +asking for me.</p> +<p>“The red and the white lights are gone,” she said. +“There are four green lights on the tower and four +blue lights on the halyards.”</p> +<p>I turned to Eyre. “This is interesting,” I said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span> +grimly. “I set signals for the <i>Fer-de-Lance</i> to land in +force. Somebody has changed them. You had better +get ready to go.”</p> +<p>Sylvia had shrunk away from Eyre. The Countess +looked at her blankly, then at me.</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, “there is little enough of happiness +in the world—so little that when it comes it +should be welcomed, even by those who may not share +in it.”</p> +<p>And I bent nearer and whispered the truth.</p> +<p>Then I went to Sylvia, who stood there tremulous, +pallid.</p> +<p>“You serve your country at a greater risk than do +the soldiers of your King,” I said. “There is no courage +like that which discounts a sordid, unhonored +death. You have my respect, mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“Sylvia!” murmured the young Countess, incredulously; +“you a spy?—here—under my roof?”</p> +<p>Sylvia unconsciously stretched out one hand toward +her.</p> +<p>Eyre stepped to her side, with an angry glance at +Madame de Vassart.</p> +<p>“I—I love you, madame,” whispered Sylvia. “I +only place my own country first. Can you forgive +me?”</p> +<p>The Countess stood as though stunned; Eyre passed +her slowly, supporting Sylvia to the door.</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, “will you speak to her? Your +countries, not your hearts, are at war. She did her +duty.”</p> +<p>“A spy!” repeated the Countess, in a dull voice. +“A spy! And she brings this—this shame on me!”</p> +<p>Sylvia turned, standing unsteadily. For a long +time they looked at each other in silence, their eyes +wet with tears. Then Eyre lifted Sylvia’s hand and +kissed it, and led her away, closing the door behind. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span></p> +<p>The Countess still stood in the centre of the room, +transfixed, rigid, staring through her tears at the +closed door. With a deep-drawn breath she straightened +her shoulders; her head drooped; she covered her +face with clasped hands.</p> +<p>Standing there, did she remember those who, one +by one, had betrayed her? Those who first whispered +to her that love of country was a narrow creed; those +who taught her to abhor violence, and then failed at +the test—Bazard, firing to kill, going down to death +under the merciless lance of an Uhlan; Buckhurst, +guilty of every crime that attracted him; and now +Sylvia, her friend, false to the salt she had eaten, false +to the roof above her, false, utterly false to all save +the land of her nativity.</p> +<p>And she, Éline de Trécourt, a soldier’s daughter and +a Frenchwoman, had been used as a shield by those who +were striking her own mother-land—the country she +once had denied; the country whose frontiers she knew +not in her zeal for limitless brotherhood; the blackened, +wasted country she had seen at Strasbourg; the +land for which the cuirassiers of Morsbronn had died!</p> +<p>“What have I done?” she cried, brokenly—“what +have I done that this shame should come upon me?”</p> +<p>“You have done nothing,” I said, “neither for good +nor evil in this crisis. But Sylvia has; Sylvia the +spy. That a man should give up his life for a friend +is good; that a woman offer hers for her country is +better. What has it cost her? The friendship of the +woman she worships—you, madame! It has cost her +that already, and the price may include her life and the +life of the man she loves. She has done her duty; the +sacrifice is still burning; I pray it may spare her and +spare him.”</p> +<p>I walked to the door and laid my hand on the brass +knob. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span></p> +<p>“The world is merciless to failures,” I said. “Yet +even a successful spy is scarcely tolerated among the +Philistines; a captured spy is a horror for friends to +forget and for enemies to destroy in righteous indignation. +Madame, I know, for I have served your +country in Algiers as a spy,... not from patriotism, +for I am an alien, but because I was fitted for it in my +line of duty. Had I been caught I should have looked +for nothing but contempt from France; from the Kabyle, +for neither admiration nor mercy. I tell you +this that you may understand my respect for this +woman, whose motives are worthy of it.”</p> +<p>The Countess looked at me scornfully. “It is well,” +she said, “for those who understand and tolerate +treachery to condone it. It is well that the accused +be judged by their peers. We of Trécourt know only +one tongue. But that is the language of truth, monsieur. +All else is foreign.”</p> +<p>“Where did the nobility learn this tongue—to our +exclusion?” I asked, bluntly.</p> +<p>“When our forefathers faced the tribunals!” she +flashed out. “Did you ever hear of a spy among us? +Did you ever hear of a lie among us?”</p> +<p>“You have been taught history by your peers, +madame,” I said, with a bow; “I have been taught +history by mine.”</p> +<p>“The sorry romance!” she said, bitterly. “It has +brought me to this!”</p> +<p>“It has brought others to their senses,” I said, +sharply.</p> +<p>“To their knees, you mean!”</p> +<p>“Yes—to their knees at last.”</p> +<p>“To the guillotine—yes!”</p> +<p>“No, madame, to pray for their native land—too late!”</p> +<p>“I think,” she said, “that we are not fitted to understand +each other.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span></p> +<p>“It remains,” I said, “for me to thank you for your +kindness to us all, and for your generosity to me in +my time of need.... It is quite useless for me to +dream of repaying it.... I shall never forget it.... I +ask leave to make my adieux, madame.”</p> +<p>She flushed to her temples, but did not answer.</p> +<p>As I stood looking at her, a vivid flare of light flashed +through the window behind me, crimsoning the walls, +playing over the ceiling with an infernal radiance. +At the same instant the gate outside crashed open, +a hubbub of voices swelled into a roar; then the outer +doors were flung back and a score of men sprang into +the hallway, soldiers with the red torch-light dancing +on rifle-barrels and bayonets.</p> +<p>And before them, revolver swinging in his slender +hand, strode Buckhurst, a red sash tied across his +breast, his colorless eyes like diamonds.</p> +<p>Speed and Jacqueline came hurrying through the +hall to where I stood; Buckhurst’s smile was awful as +his eyes flashed from Speed to me.</p> +<p>Behind him, close to his shoulder, the torch-light fell +on Mornac’s smooth, false face, stretched now into a +ferocious grimace; behind him crowded the soldiers +of the commune, rifles slung, craning their unshaven +faces to catch a glimpse of us.</p> +<p>“Demi-battalion, halt!” shouted an officer, and +flung up his naked sabre.</p> +<p>“Halt,” repeated Buckhurst, quietly.</p> +<p>Madame de Vassart’s servants had come running +from kitchen and stable at the first alarm, and now +stood huddled in the court-yard, bewildered, cowed by +the bayonets which had checked them.</p> +<p>“Buckhurst,” I said, “what the devil do you mean +by this foolery?” and I started for him, shouldering +my way among his grotesque escort.</p> +<p>For an instant I looked into his deadly eyes; then he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span> +silently motioned me back; a dozen bayonets were +levelled, forcing me to retire, inch by inch, until I felt +Speed’s grip on my arm.</p> +<p>“That fellow means mischief,” he whispered. +“Have you a pistol?”</p> +<p>“I gave mine to Eyre,” I said, under my breath. +“If he means us harm, don’t resist or they may take +revenge on the Countess. Speed, keep her in the room +there! Don’t let her come out.”</p> +<p>But the Countess de Vassart was already in the hall, +facing Buckhurst with perfect composure.</p> +<p>Twice she ordered him to leave; he looked up from +his whispered consultation with Mornac and coolly motioned +her to be silent.</p> +<p>Once she spoke to Mornac, quietly demanding a +reason for the outrage, and Mornac silenced her with a +brutal gesture.</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, “it is I they want. I beg you +to retire.”</p> +<p>“You are my guest,” she said. “My place is here.”</p> +<p>“Your place is where I please to put you!” broke +in Mornac; and to Buckhurst: “I tell you she’s as +guilty as the others. Let me attend to this and make +a clean sweep!”</p> +<p>“Citizen Mornac will endeavor to restrain his zeal,” +observed Buckhurst, with a sneer. And then, as I +looked at this slender, pallid man, I understood who +was the dominant power behind the curtain; and so +did Speed, for I felt him press my elbow significantly.</p> +<p>He turned and addressed us, suavely, bowing with a +horrid, mock deference to the Countess:</p> +<p>“In the name of the commune! The ci-devant +Countess de Vassart is accused of sheltering the individual +Scarlett, late inspector of Imperial Police; the +individual Speed, ex-inspector of Imperial Gendarmes; +the individual Eyre, under general suspicion; the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +woman called Sylvia Elven, a German spy. As war-delegate +of the commune, I am here to accuse!”</p> +<p>There was a silence, then a low, angry murmur from +the soldiers, which grew louder until Buckhurst turned +on them. He did not utter a word, but the sullen roar +died out, a bayonet rattled, then all was still in the +dancing torch-light.</p> +<p>“I accuse,” continued Buckhurst, in a passionless +voice, “the individual Scarlett of treachery to the commune; +of using the telegraph for treacherous ends; of +hoisting signals with the purpose of attracting government +troops to destroy us. I accuse the individual +Speed of aiding his companion in using the telegraph +to stop the government train, thus depriving the commune +of the funds which rightfully belong to it—the +treasures wrung from wretched peasants by the aristocrats +of an accursed monarchy and a thrice-accursed +empire!”</p> +<p>A roaring cheer burst from the excited soldiers, +drowning the voice of Buckhurst.</p> +<p>“Silence!” shouted Mornac, savagely. And as the +angry voices were stilled, one by one, above the banging +of rifle-stocks and the rattle of bayonets, Buckhurst’s +calm voice rose in a sinister monotone.</p> +<p>“I accuse the woman Sylvia Elven of communication +with Prussian agents; of attempted corruption of +soldiers under my command. I accuse the citoyenne +Éline Trécourt, lately known as the Countess de Vassart, +of aiding, encouraging, and abetting these enemies +of France!”</p> +<p>He waited until the short, fierce yell of approval had +died away. Then:</p> +<p>“Call the soldier Rolland!” he said.</p> +<p>My heart began to hammer in my throat. “I believe +it’s going hard with us,” I muttered to Speed.</p> +<p>“Listen,” he motioned. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span></p> +<p>I listened to the wretched creature Rolland while he +told what had happened at the semaphore. In his +eagerness he pushed close to where I stood, menacing +me with every gesture, cursing and lashing himself +into a rage, ignoring all pretence of respect and discipline +for his own superiors.</p> +<p>“What are you waiting for?” he shouted, insolently, +turning on Buckhurst. “I tell the truth; and +if this man can afford to pay hundreds of francs for +a telegram, he must be rich enough to pluck, I tell +you!”</p> +<p>“You say he bribed you?” asked Buckhurst, gently.</p> +<p>“Yes; I’ve said it twenty times, haven’t I?”</p> +<p>“And you took the bribes?”</p> +<p>“Parbleu!”</p> +<p>“And you thought if you admitted it and denounced +the man who bribed you that you would help divide a +few millions with us, you rogue?” suggested Buckhurst, +admiringly.</p> +<p>The wretch laughed outright.</p> +<p>“And you believe that you deserve well of the commune?” +smiled Buckhurst.</p> +<p>The soldier grinned and opened his mouth to answer, +and Buckhurst shot him through the face; and, +as he fell, shot him again, standing wreathed in the +smoke of his own weapon.</p> +<p>The deafening racket of the revolver, the smoke, the +spectacle of the dusty, inert thing on the floor over +which Buckhurst stood and shot, seemed to stun +us all.</p> +<p>“I think,” said Buckhurst, in a pleasantly persuasive +voice, “that there will be no more bribery in +this battalion.” He deliberately opened the smoking +weapon; the spent shells dropped one by one from +the cylinder, clinking on the stone floor.</p> +<p>“No—no more bribery,” he mused, touching the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +dead man with the carefully polished toe of his shoe. +“Because,” he added, reloading his revolver, “I do not +like it.”</p> +<p>He turned quietly to Mornac and ordered the corpse +to be buried, and Mornac, plainly unnerved at the +murderous act of his superior, repeated the order, cursing +his men to cover the quaver in his voice.</p> +<p>“As for you,” observed Buckhurst, glancing up at +us where we stood speechless together, “you will be +judged and sentenced when this drum-head court decides. +Go into that room!”</p> +<p>The Countess did not move.</p> +<p>Speed touched her arm; she looked up quietly, smiled, +and stepped across the threshold. Speed followed; +Jacqueline slipped in beside him, and then I turned on +Buckhurst, who had just ordered his soldiers to surround +the house outside.</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact,” I said, when the last armed +ruffian had departed, “I am the only person in this +house who has interfered with your affairs. The +others have done nothing to harm you.”</p> +<p>“The court will decide that,” he replied, balancing +his revolver in his palm.</p> +<p>I eyed him for an instant. “Do you mean harm to +this unfortunate woman?” I asked.</p> +<p>“My friend,” he replied, in a low voice, “you have +very stupidly upset plans that have cost me months +to perfect. You have, by stopping that train, robbed +me of something less than twenty millions of francs. +I have my labor for my pains; I have this mob of +fools on my hands; I may lose my life through this +whim of yours; and if I don’t, I have it all to begin +again. And you ask me what I am going to do!”</p> +<p>His eyes glittered.</p> +<p>“If I strike her I strike you. Ask yourself whether +or not I will strike.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span></p> +<p>All the blood seemed to leave my heart; I straightened +up with an effort.</p> +<p>“There are some murders,” I said, “that even you +must recoil at.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think you appreciate me,” he replied, with +a deathly smile.</p> +<p>He motioned toward the door with levelled weapon. +I turned and entered the tea-room, and he locked the +door from the outside.</p> +<p>The Countess, seated on the sofa, looked up as I +appeared. She was terribly pale, but she smiled as +my heavy eyes met hers.</p> +<p>“Is it to be farce or tragedy, monsieur?” she asked, +without a tremor in her clear voice.</p> +<p>I could not have uttered a word to save my life. Speed, +pacing the room, turned to read my face; and I think +he read it, for he stopped short in his tracks. Jacqueline, +watching him with blue, inscrutable eyes, turned sharply +toward the window and peered out into the darkness.</p> +<p>Beyond the wall of the garden the fog, made luminous +by the torches of the insurgents, surrounded the house +with a circle of bright, ruddy vapor.</p> +<p>Speed came slowly across the room with me.</p> +<p>“Do they mean to shoot us?” he asked, bluntly.</p> +<p>“Messieurs,” said the Countess, with a faint smile, +“your whispers are no compliment to my race. Pray +honor me by plain speaking. Are we to die?”</p> +<p>We stood absolutely speechless before her.</p> +<p>“Ah, Monsieur Scarlett,” she said, gravely, “do +you also fail me ... at the end?... You, too—even +you?... Must I tell you that we of Trécourt +fear nothing in this world?”</p> +<p>She made a little gesture, exquisitely imperious.</p> +<p>I stepped toward her; she waited for me to seat myself +beside her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span></p> +<p>“Are we to die?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, madame.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she said, softly.</p> +<p>I looked up. My head was swimming so that I could +scarcely see her, scarcely perceive the deep, steady +tenderness in her clear eyes.</p> +<p>“Do you not understand?” she asked. “You are +my friend. I wished to know my fate from you.”</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, hoarsely, “how can you call +me friend when you know to what I have brought +you?”</p> +<p>“You have brought me to know myself,” she said, +simply. “Why should I not be grateful? Why do you +look at me so sadly, Monsieur Scarlett? Truly, you +must know that my life has been long enough to +prove its uselessness.”</p> +<p>“It is not true!” I cried, stung by remorse for all +I had said. “Such women as you are the hope of +France! Such women as you are the hope of the +world! Ah, that you should consider the bitterness +and folly of such a man as I am—that you should +consider and listen to the sorry wisdom of a homeless +mountebank—a wandering fool—a preacher of empty +platitudes, who has brought you to this with his cursed +meddling!”</p> +<p>“You taught me truth,” she said, calmly; “you +make the last days of my life the only ones worth living. +I said to you but an hour since—when I was +angry—that we were unfitted to comprehend each other. +It is not true. We are fitted for that. I had rather +die with you than live without the friendship which I +believe—which I know—is mine. Monsieur Scarlett, +it is not love. If it were, I could not say this to you—even +in death’s presence. It is something better; +something untroubled, confident, serene.... You see +it is not love.... And perhaps it has no name.... For +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span> +I have never before known such happiness, such +peace, as I know now, here with you, talking of our +death. If we could live,... you would go away.... I +should be alone.... And I have been alone all my +life,... and I am tired. You see I have nothing to +regret in a death that brings me to you again.... Do +you regret life?”</p> +<p>“Not now,” I said.</p> +<p>“You are kind to say so. I do believe—yes, I know +that you truly care for me.... Do you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then it will not be hard.... Perhaps not even +very painful.”</p> +<p>The key turning in the door startled us. Buckhurst +entered, and through the hallway I saw his dishevelled +soldiers running, flinging open doors, tearing, trampling, +pillaging, wrecking everything in their path.</p> +<p>“Your business will be attended to in the garden at +dawn,” he observed, blinking about the room, for the +bright lamp-light dazzled him.</p> +<p>Speed, who had been standing by the window with +Jacqueline, wheeled sharply, took a few steps into the +room, then sank into a chair, clasping his lank hands +between his knees.</p> +<p>The Countess did not even glance up as the sentence +was pronounced; she looked at me and laid her left +hand on mine, smiling, as though waiting for the moment +to resume an interrupted conversation.</p> +<p>“Do you hear?” demanded Buckhurst, raising his +voice.</p> +<p>There was no answer for a moment; then Jacqueline +stepped from the window and said: “Am I free to go?”</p> +<p>“You!” said Buckhurst, contemptuously; “who in +hell are you?”</p> +<p>“I am Jacqueline.”</p> +<p>“Really,” sneered Buckhurst. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span></p> +<p>He went away, slamming and locking the door; and +I heard Mornac complaining that the signals had gone +out on the semaphore and that there was more treachery +abroad.</p> +<p>“Get me a horse!” said Buckhurst. “There are +plenty of them in the stables. Mornac, you stay here; +I’ll ride over to the semaphore. Gut this house and +fire it after you’ve finished that business in the garden +to-morrow morning.”</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” demanded Mornac’s angry +voice. “Do you expect me to stay here while you +start for Paris?”</p> +<p>“You have your orders,” said Buckhurst, menacingly.</p> +<p>“Oh, have I? What are they? To stay here when +the country is roused—stay here and perhaps be shelled +by that damned cruiser out there—”</p> +<p>His voice was stifled as though a hand had clutched +his throat; there came the swift sound of a struggle, the +banging of scabbards and spurs, the scuffle of heavy +boots.</p> +<p>“Are you mad?” burst out Mornac’s strangled voice.</p> +<p>“Are you?” breathed Buckhurst. “Silence, you +fool. Do you obey orders or not?”</p> +<p>Their voices receded. Speed sprang to the door to +listen, then ran back to the window.</p> +<p>“Scarlett,” he whispered, “there are the lights of a +vessel at anchor off Groix.”</p> +<p>I was beside him in an instant. “It’s the cruiser,” +I said. “Oh, Speed, for a chance to signal!”</p> +<p>We looked at each other desperately.</p> +<p>“We could set the room afire,” he said; “they might +land to see what had happened.”</p> +<p>“And find us all shot.”</p> +<p>Jacqueline, standing beside Speed, said, quietly: “I +could swim it. Wait. Raise the window a little.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372' name='page_372'></a>372</span></p> +<p>“You cannot dive from that cliff!” I said.</p> +<p>She cautiously unlocked the window and peered out +into the dark garden.</p> +<p>“The cliff falls sheer from the wall yonder,” she +whispered. “I shall try to drop. I learned much in +the circus. I am not afraid, Speed. I shall drop into +the sea.”</p> +<p>“To your death,” I said.</p> +<p>“Possibly, m’sieu. It is a good death, however. +I am not afraid.”</p> +<p>“Close the window,” muttered Speed. “They’d +shoot her from the wall, anyway.”</p> +<p>Again the child gravely asked permission to try.</p> +<p>“No,” said Speed, harshly, and turned away. But +in that instant Jacqueline flung open the window and +vaulted into the garden. Before I could realize what +had happened she was only a glimmering spot in the +darkness. Then Speed and I followed her, running +swiftly toward the foot of the garden, but we were too +late; a slim, white shape rose from the top of the wall +and leaped blindly out through the ruddy torch glare +into the blackness beyond.</p> +<p>We heard a soldier’s startled cry, a commotion, +curses, and astonished exclamations from the other +side of the wall.</p> +<p>“It was something, I tell you!” roared a soldier. +“Something that jumped over the cliff!”</p> +<p>“It was an owl, idiot!” retorted his comrade.</p> +<p>“I tell you I saw it!” protested the other, in a shaking +voice.</p> +<p>“Then you saw a witch of Ker-Ys,” bawled another. +“Look out for your skin in the first battle. It’s death +to see such things.”</p> +<p>I looked at Speed. He stood wide-eyed, staring at +vacancy.</p> +<p>“Could she do it?” I asked, horrified. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span></p> +<p>“God knows,” he whispered.</p> +<p>Soldiers were beginning to clamber up the garden +wall from the outside; torches were raised to investigate. +As we shrank back into the shadow of the +shrubbery I stumbled over something soft—Jacqueline’s +clothes, lying in a circle as she had stepped out +of them.</p> +<p>Speed took them. I followed him, creeping back to +the window, where we entered in time to avoid discovery +by a wretch who had succeeded in mounting the +wall, torch in hand.</p> +<p>One or two soldiers climbed over and dropped into +the garden, prowling around, prodding the bushes +with their bayonets, even coming to press their dirty +faces and hands against our window.</p> +<p>“They’re all here!” sang out one. “It was an owl, +I tell you!” And he menaced us with his rifle in +pantomime and retired, calling his companions to follow.</p> +<p>“Where is Jacqueline?” asked the Countess, looking +anxiously at the little blue skirt on Speed’s knees. +“Have they harmed that child?”</p> +<p>I told her.</p> +<p>A beautiful light grew in her eyes as she listened. +“Did I not warn you that we Bretons know how to +die?” she said.</p> +<p>I looked dully at Speed, who sat by the window, +brooding over the little woollen skirt on his knees, +stroking it, touching the torn hem, and at last folding +it with unaccustomed and shaky hands.</p> +<p>There were noises outside our door, loud voices, +hammering, the sound of furniture being dragged over +stone floors, and I scarcely noticed it when our door +was opened again.</p> +<p>Then somebody called out our names; a file of half-drunken +soldiers grounded arms in the passageway +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span> +with a bang that brought us to our feet, as Mornac, +flushed with wine, entered unsteadily, drawn sword +in hand.</p> +<p>“I’m damned if I stay here any longer,” he broke +out, angrily. “I’ll see whether my rascals can’t shoot +straight by torch-light. Here, you! Scarlett, I mean! +And you, Speed; and you, too, madame; patter your +prayers, for you’ll get no priest. Lieutenant, withdraw +the guard at the wall. Here, captain, march the battalion +back to Paradise and take the servants!”</p> +<p>A second later the drums began to beat, but Mornac, +furious, silenced them.</p> +<p>“They can hear you at sea!” he shouted. “Do you +want a boat-load of marines at your heels? Strike out +those torches! Four will do for the garden. March!”</p> +<p>The shuffling tread of the insurgent infantry echoed +across the gravel court-yard; torches behind the walls +were extinguished; blackness enveloped the cliffs.</p> +<p>“Well,” broke out Speed, hoarsely, “good-bye, Scarlett.”</p> +<p>He held out his hand.</p> +<p>“Good-bye,” I said, stunned.</p> +<p>I dropped my hand as two soldiers placed themselves +on either side of him.</p> +<p>“Well, good-bye,” he repeated, aimlessly; and then, +remembering, he went to the Countess and offered his +hand.</p> +<p>“I am so sorry for you,” she said, with a pallid smile. +“You have much to live for. But you must not feel +lonely, monsieur; you will be with us—we shall be +close to you.”</p> +<p>She turned to me, and her hands fell to her side.</p> +<p>“Are you contented?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I answered.</p> +<p>“I, too,” she said, sweetly, and offered her hands.</p> +<p>I held them very tightly. “You say,” I whispered, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span> +“that it is not—love. But you do not speak for me. +I love you.”</p> +<p>A bright blush spread over brow and neck.</p> +<p>“So—it was love—after all,” she said, under her +breath. “God be with us to-day—I love you.”</p> +<p>“March!” cried Mornac, as two soldiers took station +beside me.</p> +<p>“I beg you will be gentle with this lady,” I said, +angrily, as two more soldiers pushed up beside the +young Countess and laid their hands on her shoulders.</p> +<p>“Who the devil are you giving orders to?” shouted +Mornac, savagely. “March!”</p> +<p>Speed passed out first; I followed; the Countess came +behind me.</p> +<p>“Courage,” I stammered, looking back at her as we +stumbled out into the torch-lit garden.</p> +<p>She smiled adorably. Her forefathers had mounted +the guillotine smiling.</p> +<p>Mornac pointed to the garden wall near the bench +where we had sat together. A soldier dressed like a +Turco lifted a torch and set it in the flower-bed under +the wall, illuminating the spot where we were to stand. +As this soldier turned to come back I saw his face.</p> +<p>“Salah Ben-Ahmed!” I cried, hoarsely. “Do Marabouts +do this butcher’s work?”</p> +<p>The Turco stared at me as though stunned.</p> +<p>“Salah Ben-Ahmed is a disgraced soldier!” I said, +in a ringing voice.</p> +<p>“It’s a lie!” he shouted, in Arabic—“it’s a lie, O +my inspector! Speak! Have these men tricked me? +Are you not Prussians?”</p> +<p>“Silence! Silence!” bawled Mornac. “Turco, fall +in! Fall in, I say! What! You menace me?” he +snarled, cocking his revolver.</p> +<p>Then a man darted out of the red shadows of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span> +torch-light and fell upon Mornac with a knife, and +dragged him down and rolled on him, stabbing him +through and through, while the mutilated wretch +screamed and screamed until his soul struggled out +through the flame-shot darkness and fled to its last +dreadful abode.</p> +<p>The Lizard rose, shaking his fagot knife; they fell +upon him, clubbing and stabbing with stock and bayonet, +but he swung his smeared and sticky blade, clearing +a circle around him. And I think he could have +cut his way free had not Tric-Trac shot him in the +back of the head.</p> +<p>Then a frightful tumult broke loose. Three of the +torches were knocked to the ground and trampled out +as the insurgents, doubly drunken with wine and the +taste of blood, seized me and tried to force me against +the wall; but the Turco, with his shrill, wolf-like battle +yelp, attacked them, sabre-bayonet in hand. Speed, +too, had wrested a rifle from a half-stupefied ruffian, +and now stood at bay before the Countess; I saw him +wielding his heavy weapon like a flail; then in the +darkness Tric-Trac shot at me, so close that the powder-flame +scorched my leg. He dropped his rifle to +spring for my throat, knocking me flat, and, crouching +on me, strove to strangle me; and I heard him whining +with eagerness while I twisted and writhed to free my +windpipe from his thin fingers.</p> +<p>At last I tore him from my body and struggled to +my feet. He, too, was on his legs with a bound, running, +doubling, dodging; and at his heels I saw a +dozen sailors, broadaxes glittering, chasing him from +tree to shrub.</p> +<p>“Speed!” I shouted—“the sailors from the <i>Fer-de-Lance</i>!”</p> +<p>The curtains of the house were on fire; through the +hallway poured the insurgent soldiery, stampeding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span> +in frantic flight across the court out into the moors; +and the marines, swarming along the cliffs, shot at +them as they ran, and laughed savagely when a man +fell into the gorse, kicking like a wounded rabbit.</p> +<p>Speed marked their flight, advancing coolly, pistol +flashing; the Turco, Ben-Ahmed, dark arms naked to +the shoulder, bounded behind the frightened wretches, +cornering, hunting them through flower-beds and +bushes, stealthily, keenly, now creeping among the +shadows, now springing like a panther on his prey, +until his blue jacket reeked and his elbows dripped.</p> +<p>I had picked up a rifle with a broken bayonet; the +Countess, clasping my left arm, stood swaying in the +rifle-smoke, eyes closed; and, when a horrid screeching +arose from the depths of the garden where they were +destroying Tric-Trac, she fell to shuddering, hiding +her face on my shoulder.</p> +<p>Suddenly Speed appeared, carrying a drenched little +figure, partly wrapped in a sailor’s pea-jacket, slim +limbs drooping, blue with cold.</p> +<p>“Put out that fire in there,” he said, hoarsely; “we +must get her into bed. Hurry, for God’s sake, Scarlett! +There’s nobody in the house!”</p> +<p>“Jacqueline! Jacqueline! brave little Bretonne,” +murmured the Countess, bending forward and gathering +the unconscious child into her strong, young arms.</p> +<p>Through the dim dawn, through smoke and fading +torch-light, we carried Jacqueline into the house, now +lighted up with an infernal red from the burning dining-room.</p> +<p>“The house is stone; we can keep the flames to one +room if we work hard,” I said. A sailor stood by the +door wiping the stained blade of his broadaxe, and I +called on him to aid us.</p> +<p>A fresh company of sailors passed on the double, +rifles trailing, their officer shouting encouragement, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span> +And as we came in view of the semaphore, I saw the +signal tower on fire from base to top.</p> +<p>The gray moorland was all flickering with flashes +where the bulk of the insurgent infantry began firing +in retreat; the marines’ fusillade broke out from Paradise +village; rifle after rifle cracked along the river-bank. +Suddenly the deep report of a cannon came +echoing landward from the sea; a shell, with lighted +fuse trailing sparks, flew over us with a rushing whistle +and exploded on the moors.</p> +<p>All this I saw from the house where I stood with +Speed and a sailor, buried in smoke, chopping out +blazing woodwork, tearing the burning curtains from +the windows. The marines fired steadily from the +windows above us.</p> +<p>“They want the Red Terror!” laughed the sailors. +“They shall have it!”</p> +<p>“Hunt them out! Hunt them out!” cried an officer, +briskly. “Fire!” rang out a voice, and the volley +broke crashing, followed by the clear, penetrating +boatswain’s whistle sounding the assault.</p> +<p>Blackened, scorched, almost suffocated, I staggered +back to the tea-room, where the Countess stood clasping +Jacqueline, huddled in a blanket, and smoothing +the child’s wet curls away from a face as white as +death.</p> +<p>Together we carried her back through the smoking +hallway, up the stairs to my bedroom, and laid her in +the bed.</p> +<p>The child opened her eyes as we drew the blankets.</p> +<p>“Where is Speed?” she asked, dreamily.</p> +<p>A moment later he came in, and she turned her head +languidly and smiled.</p> +<p>“Jacqueline! Jacqueline!” he whispered, bending +close above her.</p> +<p>“Do you love me, Speed?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span></p> +<p>“Ah, Jacqueline,” he stammered, “more than you +can understand.”</p> +<p>Suddenly a step sounded on the stairs, a rifle-stock +grounded, clanging, and a sonorous voice rang out:</p> +<p>“Salute, O my brother of the toug! The enemies of +France are dead!”</p> +<p>And in the silence around him Salah Ben-Ahmed +the Marabout recited the fatha, bearing witness to the +eternal unity of God.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Late that night the light cavalry from Lorient rode +into Paradise. At dawn the colonel, established in +the mayory, from whence its foolish occupant had +fled, sent for Speed and me, and when we reported he +drew from his heavy dolman our commissions, restoring +us to rank and pay in the regiment <i>de marche</i> which +he commanded.</p> +<p>At sunrise I had bade good-bye to the sweetest woman +on earth; at noon we were miles to the westward, riding +like demons on Buckhurst’s heavy trail.</p> +<p>I am not sure that we ever saw him again, though +once, weeks later, Speed and I and a dozen hussars +gave chase to a mounted man near St. Brieuc, and that +man might have been Buckhurst. He led us a magnificent +chase straight to the coast, where we rode +plump into a covey of Prussian hussars, who were +standing on their saddles, hacking away at the telegraph-wires +with their heavy, curved sabres.</p> +<p>That was our first and last sight of the enemy in +either Prussian or communistic guise, though in the +long, terrible days and nights of that winter of ’71, +when three French armies froze, and the white death, +not the Prussians, ended all for France, rumors of insurrection +came to us from the starving capital, and +we heard of the red flag flying on the Hôtel-de-Ville, +and the rising of the carbineers under Flourens; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span> +some spoke of the leader of the insurrection and called +him John Buckhurst.</p> +<p>That Buckhurst could have penetrated Paris neither +Speed nor I believed; but, as all now know, we were +wrong, though the testimony concerning his +death<a name='FNanchor_A' id='FNanchor_A'></a><a href='#Footnote_A' class='fnanchor'>[A]</a> at +the hands of his terrible colleague, Mortier, was not +in evidence until a young ruffian, known as “The +Mouse,” confessed before he expiated his crimes on +Sartory Plain in 1872.</p> +<p>Thus, for three blank, bitter months, freezing and +starving, the 1st Regiment <i>de marche</i> of Lorient Hussars +stood guard at Brest over the diamonds of the +crown of France.</p> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_A' id='Footnote_A'></a><a href='#FNanchor_A'><span class='label'>[A]</span></a> +<p>This affair is dealt with in <i>Ashes of Empire</i>.</p> +</div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span> +<a name='XXII_THE_SECRET' id='XXII_THE_SECRET'></a> +<h2>XXII</h2> +<h3>THE SECRET</h3> +</div> +<p>The news of the collapse of the army of the East +found our wretchedly clothed and half-starved +hussars still patrolling the environs of Brest from +Belair to the Pont Tournant, and from the banks of +the Elorn clear around the ramparts to Lannion Bay, +where the ice-sheathed iron-clads lay with banked +fires off the Port Militaire, and the goulet guard-boats +patrolled the Port de Commerce from the Passe de +l’Ouest to the hook on the Digue and clear around to +Cap Espagnol.</p> +<p>All Brest, from the battlements of the Château of St. +Martin, in Belair, was on watch, so wrought up was the +governor over the attempt on the treasure-train. For +three months our troopers scarcely left their saddles, +except to be taken to the hospital in Recouvrance.</p> +<p>The rigor of the constant alert wore us to shadows; +rockets from the goulet, the tocsin, the warning boom +of a gun from the castle, found us spurring our jaded +horses through ice and snow to scour the landward +banlieue and purge it of a dreaded revolt. The names +of Marx, of Flourens, of Buckhurst, were constantly repeated; +news of troubles at Bordeaux, rumors of the +red flag at Marseilles, only served to increase the rigid +system of patrol, which brought death to those in the +trenches as well as to our sleet-soaked videttes.</p> +<p>Suddenly the nightmare ended with a telegram. +Paris had surrendered. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span></p> +<p>Immediately the craze to go beset us all; our improvised +squadrons became clamoring mobs of peasants, +wild to go home. Deserters left us every night; +they shot some in full flight; some were shot after drum-head +séances in which Speed and I voted in vain for +acquittal. But affairs grew worse; our men neglected +their horses; bands of fugitives robbed the suburbs, +roving about, pillaging, murdering, even burning the +wretched hovels where nothing save the four walls +remained even for the miserable inmates.</p> +<p>Our hussars were sent on patrol again, but they deserted +with horses and arms in scores, until, when we +rode into the Rue du Bois d’Amour, scarce a squadron +clattered into the smoky gateway, and the infantry of +the line across the street jeered and cursed us from their +barracks.</p> +<p>On the last day of February our regiment was disbanded, +and the officers ordered to hold themselves in +readiness to recruit the débris of a dragoon regiment, +one squadron of which at once took possession of our +miserable barracks.</p> +<p>On the first day of March, by papers from London, +we learned that the war was at an end, and that the +preliminary treaty of Sunday, the 26th, had been signed +at Versailles.</p> +<p>The same mail brought to me an astonishing offer +from Cairo, to assist in the reorganization and accept +a commission in the Egyptian military police. Speed +and I, shivering in our ragged uniforms by the barrack +stove, discussed the matter over a loaf of bread +and a few sardines, until we fell asleep in our greasy +chairs and dreamed of hot sunshine, and of palms, and +of a crimson sunset against which a colossal basking +monster, half woman, half lion, crouched, wallowing +to her stone breasts in a hot sea of sand.</p> +<p>When I awoke in the black morning hours I knew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383' name='page_383'></a>383</span> +that I should go. All the roaming instinct in me was +roused. I, a nomad, had stayed too long in one stale +place; I must be moving on. A feverish longing seized +me; inertia became unbearable; the restless sea called +me louder and louder, thundering on the breakwater; +the gulls, wheeling above the arsenal at dawn, screamed +a challenge.</p> +<p>Leave of absence, and permission to travel pending +acceptance of my resignation, I asked for and obtained +before the stable trumpets awoke my comrade from his +heavy slumber by the barrack stove.</p> +<p>I made my packet—not much—a few threadbare garments +folded around her letters, one to mark each +miserable day that had passed since I spurred my +horse out of Trécourt on the track of the wickedest man +I ever knew.</p> +<p>Speed awoke with the trumpets, and stared at me +where I knelt before the stove in my civilian clothes, +strapping up my little packet.</p> +<p>“Oh,” he said, briefly, “I knew you were going.”</p> +<p>“So did I,” I replied. “Will you ride to Trécourt +with me? I have two weeks’ permission for you.”</p> +<p>He had no clothing but the uniform he wore, and no +baggage except a razor, a shirt, a tooth-brush, and a +bundle of letters, all written on Madame de Vassart’s +crested paper, but not signed by her.</p> +<p>We bolted our breakfast of soup and black bread, +and bawled for our horses, almost crazed with impatience, +now that the moment had come at last.</p> +<p>“Good-bye!” shouted the shivering dragoon officers, +wistfully, as we wheeled our horses and spurred, clattering, +towards the black gates. “Good-bye and good +luck! We drink to those you love, comrades!”</p> +<p>“And they shall drink to you! Good-bye! Good-bye!” +we cried, till the salt sea-wind tore the words +from our teeth and bowed our heads as we galloped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384' name='page_384'></a>384</span> +through the suburbs and out into the icy high-road, +where, above us, the telegraph-wires sang their whirring +dirge, and the wind in the gorse whistled, and the +distant forest sounded and resounded with the gale’s +wailing.</p> +<p>On, on, hammering the flinty road with steel-shod +hoofs, racing with the racing clouds, thundering across +the pontoon, where benumbed soldiers huddled to +stare, then bounding forward through the narrow +lanes of hamlets, where pinched faces peered out at +us from hovels, and gaunt dogs fled from us into the +frozen hedge.</p> +<p>Far ahead we caught sight of the smoke of a locomotive.</p> +<p>“Landerneau!” gasped Speed. “Ride hard, Scarlett!”</p> +<p>The station-master saw us and halted the moving +train at a frantic signal from Speed, whose uniform +was to be reckoned with by all station-masters, and +ten minutes later we stood swaying in a cattle-car, +huddled close to our horses to keep warm, while the +locomotive tore eastward, whistling frantically, and an +ocean of black smoke poured past, swarming with +sparks. Crossing the Aune trestle with a ripping roar, +the train rushed through Châteaulin, south, then east, +then south.</p> +<p>Toward noon, Speed, clinging to the stall-bars, +called out to me that he could see Quimper, and in a +few moments we rolled into the station, dropped two +cars, and steamed out again into the beautiful Breton +country, where the winter wheat was green as new grass +and the gorse glimmered, and the clear streams rushed +seaward between their thickets of golden willows and +green briers, already flushing with the promise of new +buds.</p> +<p>Rosporden we passed at full speed; scarcely a patch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385' name='page_385'></a>385</span> +of melting snow remained at Bannalec; and when we +steamed slowly into Quimperlé, the Laïta ran crystal-clear +as a summer stream, and I saw the faint blue of +violets on the southern slope of the beech-woods.</p> +<p>Some gendarmes aided us to disembark our horses, +and a sub-officer respectfully offered us hospitality at +the barracks across the square; but we were in our saddles +the moment our horses’ hoofs struck the pavement, +galloping for Paradise, with a sweet, keen wind +blowing, hinting already of the sea.</p> +<p>This was that same road which led me into Paradise +on that autumn day which seemed years and years +ago. The forests were leafless but beautiful; the blackthorns +already promised their scented snow to follow +the last melting drift which still glimmered among the +trees in deep woodland gullies. A violet here and +there looked up at us with blue eyes; in sheltered spots, +fresh, reddish sprouts pricked the moist earth, here a +whorl of delicate green, there a tender spike, guarding +some imprisoned loveliness; buds on the beeches were +brightening under a new varnish; naked thickets, no +longer dead gray, softened into harmonies of pink +and gold and palest purple.</p> +<p>Once, halting at a bridge, above the quick music +of the stream we heard an English robin singing all +alone.</p> +<p>“I never longed for spring as I do now,” broke out +Speed. “The horror of this black winter has scarred +me forever—the deathly whiteness, month after month; +the freezing filth of that ghastly city; the sea, all slime +and ice!”</p> +<p>“Gallop,” I said, shuddering. “I can smell the +moors of Paradise already. The winds will cleanse +us.”</p> +<p>We spoke no more; and at last the road turned to the +east, down among the trees, and we were traversing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386' name='page_386'></a>386</span> +the square of Paradise village, where white-capped +women turned to look after us, and children stared at +us from their playground around the fountain, and the +sleek magpies fluttered out of our path as we galloped +over the bridge and breasted the sweet, strong moor +wind, spicy with bay and gorse.</p> +<p>Speed flung out his arm, pointing. “The circus +camp was there,” he said. “They have ploughed the +clover under.”</p> +<p>A moment later I saw the tower of Trécourt, touched +with a ray of sunshine, and the sea beyond, glittering +under a clearing sky.</p> +<p>As we dismounted in the court-yard the sun flashed +out from the fringes of a huge, snowy cloud.</p> +<p>“There is Jacqueline!” cried Speed, tossing his +bridle to me in his excitement, and left me planted +there until a servant came from the stable.</p> +<p>Then I followed, every nerve quivering, almost dreading +to set foot within, lest happiness awake me and I +find myself in the freezing barracks once more, my +brief dream ended.</p> +<p>In the hallway a curious blindness came over me. I +heard Jacqueline call my name, and I felt her hands +in mine, but scarcely saw her; then she slipped away +from me, and I found myself seated in the little tea-room, +listening to the dull, double beat of my own heart, trembling +at distant sounds in the house—waiting, endlessly +waiting.</p> +<p>After a while a glimmer of common-sense returned +to me. I squared my shoulders and breathed deeply, +then rose and walked to the window.</p> +<p>The twigs on the peach-trees had turned wine-color; +around the roots of the larkspurs delicate little palmated +leaves clustered; crocus spikes pricked the grass +everywhere, and the tall, polished shoots of the peonies +glistened, glowing crimson in the sun. A heavy cat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387' name='page_387'></a>387</span> +sunned its sleek flanks on the wall, brilliant eyes half +closed, tail tucked under. Ange Pitou had grown +very fat in three months.</p> +<p>A step at the door, and I wheeled, trembling. But +it was only a Breton maid, who bore some letters on a +salver of silver.</p> +<p>“For me?” I asked.</p> +<p>“If you please,” she said, demurely.</p> +<p>Two letters, and I knew the writing on one. The +first I read standing:</p> +<div style='font-size:smaller'> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Buffalo, N. Y.</span>, <i>Feb</i>. 3, 1871.<br /></p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Mr. Scarlett, Dear Sir and Friend,</span>—Trusting you’re +well I am pleased to admit the same, the blind Goddess having +smiled on me and the circus since we quit that damn terra firma +for a more peeceful climb.</p> +<p>“We are enjoying winter quarters near to the majestic phenomena +of Niagara, fodder is cheap and vittles bountiful.</p> +<p>“Would be pleased to have you entertain idees of joining us, +and the same to Mr. Speed—you can take the horses. I have +a lion man from Jersey City. We open in Charleston S. C. +next week no more of La continong for me, <i>savvy voo</i>! home is +good enough for me. That little Jacqueline left me I got a girl +and am training her but she ain’t Jacqueline. Annimals are +well Mrs. Grigg sends her love and is joined by all especially +the ladies and others too numerous to mention. Hoping to hear +from you soon about the horses I remain yours truly and courteously,</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>“H. Byram Esq</span>.”<br /></p> +</div> +<p>The second letter I opened carelessly, smiling a +little:</p> +<div style='font-size:smaller'> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>New York</span>, <i>Feb</i>. 1, 1871.<br /></p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Mr. Scarlett,</span>—We were married yesterday. We +have life before us, but are not afraid. I shall never forget you; +my wife can never forget the woman you love. We have both +passed through hell—but <i>we have passed through alive</i>. And +we pray for the happiness of you and yours.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Kelly Eyre</span>.”<br /></p> +</div> +<p>Sobered, I laid this letter beside the first, turned +thoughtfully away into the room, then stood stock-still. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388' name='page_388'></a>388</span></p> +<p>The Countess de Vassart stood in the doorway, a +smile trembling on her lips. In her gray eyes I read +hope; and I took her hands in mine. She stood silent +with bent head, exquisite in her silent shyness; and I +told her I loved her, and that I asked for her love; that +I had found employment in Egypt, and that it was sufficient +to justify my asking her to wed me.</p> +<p>“As for my name,” I said, “you know that is not +the name I bear; yet, knowing that, you have given +me your love. You read my dossier in Paris; you +know <i>why</i> I am alone, without kin, without a family, +without a home. Yet you believe that I am not tainted +with dishonor. And I am not. Listen, this is what +happened; this is why I gave up all; and ... this is +my name!” ...</p> +<p>And I bent my head and whispered the truth for the +first time in my life to any living creature.</p> +<p>When I had ended I stood still, waiting, head still +bowed beside hers.</p> +<p>She laid her hand on my hot face and slowly drew it +close beside hers.</p> +<p>“What shall I promise you?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Yourself, Éline.”</p> +<p>“Take me.... Is that all?”</p> +<p>“Your love.”</p> +<p>She turned in my arms and clasped her hands behind +my head, pressing her mouth to mine.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAIDS OF PARADISE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 28295-h.txt or 28295-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/2/9/28295">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/2/9/28295</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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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