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diff --git a/33557-h/33557-h.htm b/33557-h/33557-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a8ebe9f --- /dev/null +++ b/33557-h/33557-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15155 @@ +<!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 Moonlit Way, by Robert W. Chambers</title> +<style type="text/css"> + @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; text-indent: 0; 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; } + } + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + .adbox {text-align: center; margin: auto; width: 20em;} + .adbox p {border: solid 1px black; text-align: center; margin: 0; padding: .5em .5em .5em 1em; font-size: 90%;} + .center, .center p {text-align: center;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: 0.25em; text-decoration: none; background-color: #DDD; font-size: .9em;} + .larger {font-size: large;} + .nowrap {white-space: nowrap;} + .padtop {margin-top: 2em;} + .sig1 {display: block; padding-right: 8em; text-align: right;} + .sig2 {display: block; padding-right: 5em; text-align: right;} + .sig3 {display: block; text-align: right;} + .smaller {font-size: small;} + .trnote {background-color: #EEE; color: inherit; margin: 2em 5% 1em 5%; font-size: small; padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; border: dotted 1px gray;} + blockquote {display: block; margin: .75em 5%; font-size: 90%;} + div.poem {text-align: center; width: 20em; margin: auto;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .chsub {font-size: .8em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .smcaplc {text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: small-caps;} + div.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em;} + div.poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + div.poem p.indent13 {padding-left:8.2em;} + div.poem p.indent2 {padding-left:3.8em;} + div.poem p.indent26 {padding-left:13.4em;} + div.poem p.indent3 {padding-left:4.2em;} + div.poem p.indent4 {padding-left:4.6em;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + p.center {text-align: center !important;} + p.lalign {text-align: left !important;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + td.chalgn {text-align:right; margin-top:0; padding-right:1em;} + + 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>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Moonlit Way, by Robert W. Chambers, +Illustrated by A. I. Keller</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 Moonlit Way</p> +<p>Author: Robert W. Chambers</p> +<p>Release Date: August 28, 2010 [eBook #33557]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOONLIT WAY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Katherine Ward, Darleen Dove, Roger Frank,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class='center'> +<h1><i>The</i><br /> +MOONLIT WAY</h1> +<p class='larger'><i>A Novel</i></p> +<p class='larger padtop'>BY<br /> +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p> +<p class='smaller'>AUTHOR OF<br /> +“THE COMMON LAW,” “THE FIGHTING CHANCE,” ETC.</p> +<p class='smaller'>ILLUSTRATED BY<br /> +A. I. KELLER</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p class='padtop'>D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br /> +NEW YORK LONDON<br /> +<span class='center'>1919</span></p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' id='coverpage' width='389' height='500' /> +<br /> +<p class='caption'> +HIS STRAINED GAZE SOUGHT TO FIX ITSELF ON THIS FACE—(<a href='#page_325'>PAGE 325</a>)<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p class='padtop'><span class='smcap'>Copyright, 1919, by</span><br /> +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p> +<p><span class='smcap'>Copyright, 1918, 1919, by the</span><br /> +INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE CO.</p> +<p class='smaller padtop'><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p><span class='smcaplc'>TO</span><br /> +MY FRIEND<br /> +<span class='larger'>FRANK HITCHCOCK</span></p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='CONTENTS' id='CONTENTS'></a> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +</div> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'><span class="smaller">CHAPTER</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td valign='top' align='right'><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Prologue—Claire-de-Lune</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#PROLOGUE_CLAIREDELUNE'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Shadow Dance</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_A_SHADOW_DANCE'>19</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Sunrise</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_SUNRISE'>28</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Sunset</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_SUNSET'>39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Dusk</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_DUSK'>46</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>In Dragon Court</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_IN_DRAGON_COURT'>57</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Dulcie</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_DULCIE'>78</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Opportunity Knocks</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_OPPORTUNITY_KNOCKS'>87</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Dulcie Answers</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_DULCIE_ANSWERS'>102</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Her Day</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_HER_DAY'>109</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Her Evening</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_HER_EVENING'>123</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Her Night</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_HER_NIGHT'>131</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Last Mail</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_THE_LAST_MAIL'>155</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Midnight Tête-à-Tête</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_A_MIDNIGHT_TTETTE'>170</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Problems</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_PROBLEMS'>186</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Blackmail</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_BLACKMAIL'>194</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Watcher</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_THE_WATCHER'>205</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Conference</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_A_CONFERENCE'>216</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Babbler</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_THE_BABBLER'>233</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Chance Encounter</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_A_CHANCE_ENCOUNTER'>249</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Grogan’s</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_GROGANS'>265</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The White Blackbird</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_THE_WHITE_BLACKBIRD'>278</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Foreland Farms</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_FORELAND_FARMS'>292</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Lion in the Path</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIII_A_LION_IN_THE_PATH'>312</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Silent House</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIV_A_SILENT_HOUSE'>328</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Starlight</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXV_STARLIGHT'>339</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>’Be-N Eirinn I!</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVI_BEN_EIRINN_I'>349</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Moonlit Way</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVII_THE_MOONLIT_WAY'>366</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Green Jackets</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVIII_GREEN_JACKETS'>385</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Asthore</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIX_ASTHORE'>407</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS' id='LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS'></a> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +</div> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:75%;' /> +<col style='width:25%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>His strained gaze sought to fix itself on this face before him</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Nihla put her feathered steed through its absurd paces</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>8</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“You little miracle!”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>100</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>He came toward her stealthily</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>382</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='center padtop adbox'> +<p><span class="larger center">Novels By Robert W. Chambers</span></p> +<p class='lalign'>The Laughing Girl<br /> +The Restless Sex<br /> +Barbarians<br /> +The Dark Star<br /> +The Girl Philippa<br /> +Who Goes There!<br /> +Athalie<br /> +The Business of Life<br /> +The Gay Rebellion<br /> +The Streets of Ascalon<br /> +The Common Law<br /> +The Fighting Chance<br /> +The Younger Set<br /> +The Danger Mark<br /> +The Firing Line<br /> +Japonette<br /> +Quick Action<br /> +The Adventures of A Modest Man<br /> +Anne’s Bridge<br /> +Between Friends<br /> +The Better Man<br /> +Police!!!<br /> +Some Ladies in Haste<br /> +The Tree of Heaven<br /> +The Tracer of Lost Persons<br /> +The Hidden Children<br /> +The Moonlit Way<br /> +Cardigan<br /> +The Reckoning<br /> +The Maid-at-Arms<br /> +Ailsa Paige<br /> +Special Messenger<br /> +The Haunts of Men<br /> +Lorraine<br /> +Maids of Paradise<br /> +Ashes of Empire<br /> +The Red Republic<br /> +Blue-Bird Weather<br /> +A Young Man in a Hurry<br /> +The Green Mouse<br /> +Iole<br /> +The Mystery of Choice<br /> +The Cambric Mask<br /> +The Maker of Moons<br /> +The King in Yellow<br /> +In Search of the Unknown<br /> +The Conspiritors<br /> +A King and a Few Dukes<br /> +In the Quarter<br /> +Outsiders</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span> +<a name='PROLOGUE_CLAIREDELUNE' id='PROLOGUE_CLAIREDELUNE'></a> +<h2>PROLOGUE +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />CLAIRE-DE-LUNE</span></h2> +</div> +<p>There was a big moon over the Bosphorus; the +limpid waters off Seraglio Point glimmered; the +Golden Horn was like a sheet of beaten silver +inset with topaz and ruby where lanterns on rusting +Turkish warships dyed the tarnished argent of the +flood. Except for these, and the fixed lights on the +foreign guard-ships and on a big American steam +yacht, only a pale and nebulous shoreward glow betrayed +the monster city.</p> +<p>Over Pera the full moon’s lustre fell, silvering palace, +villa, sea and coast; its rays glimmered on bridge and +wharf, bastion, tower arsenal, and minarette, transforming +those big, sprawling, ramshackle blotches of +architecture called Constantinople into that shadowy, +magnificent enchantment of the East, which all believe +in, but which exists only in a poet’s heart and mind.</p> +<p>Night veiled the squalour of Balat, and its filth, its +meanness, its flimsy sham. Moonlight made of Galata +a marvel, ennobling every bastard dome, every starved +façade, every unlovely and attenuated minarette, and +invested with added charm each really lovely ruin, each +tower, palace, mosque, garden wall and balcony, and +every crenelated battlement, where the bronze bulk of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +ancient cannon slanted, outlined in silver under the +Prophet’s moon.</p> +<p>Tiny moving lights twinkled on the Galata Bridge; +pale points of radiance dotted Scutari; but the group +of amazing cities called Constantinople lay almost +blotted out under the moon.</p> +<p>Darker at night than any capital in the world, its +huge, solid and ancient shapes bulking gigantic in the +night, its noble ruins cloaked, its cheap filth hidden, +its flimsy Coney Island aspect transfigured and the +stylographic-pen architecture of a hundred minarettes +softened into slender elegance, Constantinople lay +dreaming its immemorial dreams under the black +shadow of the Prussian eagle.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The German Embassy was lighted up like a Pera +café; the drawing-rooms crowded with a brilliant throng +where sashes, orders, epaulettes and sabre-tache glittered, +and jewels blazed and aigrettes waved under the +crystal chandeliers, accenting and isolating sombre +civilian evening dress, which seemed mournful, rusty, +and out of the picture, even when plastered over with +jewelled stars.</p> +<p>Few Turkish officials and officers were present, but +the disquieting sight of German officers in Turkish uniforms +was not uncommon. And the Count d’Eblis, +Senator of France, noted this phenomenon with lively +curiosity, and mentioned it to his companion, Ferez +Bey.</p> +<p>Ferez Bey, lounging in a corner with Adolf Gerhardt, +for whom he had procured an invitation, and +flanked by the Count d’Eblis, likewise a guest aboard +the rich German-American banker’s yacht, was very +much in his element as friend and mentor.</p> +<p>For Ferez Bey knew everybody in the Orient—knew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +when to cringe, when to be patronising, when to fawn, +when to assert himself, when to be servile, when impudent.</p> +<p>He was as impudent to Adolf Gerhardt as he dared +be, the banker not knowing the subtler shades and differences; +he was on an equality with the French senator, +Monsieur le Comte d’Eblis because he knew that +d’Eblis dared not resent his familiarity.</p> +<p>Otherwise, in that brilliant company, Ferez Bey was +a jackal—and he knew it perfectly—but a valuable +jackal; and he also knew that.</p> +<p>So when the German Ambassador spoke pleasantly +to him, his attitude was just sufficiently servile, but not +overdone; and when Von-der-Hohe Pasha, in the uniform +of a Turkish General of Division, graciously exchanged +a polite word with him during a moment’s +easy gossip with the Count d’Eblis, Ferez Bey writhed +moderately under the honour, but did not exactly +squirm.</p> +<p>To Conrad von Heimholz he ventured to present his +German-American patron, Adolf Gerhardt, and the thin +young military attaché condescended in his Prussian +way to notice the introduction.</p> +<p>“Saw your yacht in the harbour,” he admitted +stiffly. “It is astonishing how you Americans permit +no bounds to your somewhat noticeable magnificence.”</p> +<p>“She’s a good boat, the <i>Mirage</i>,” rumbled Gerhardt, +in his bushy red beard, “but there are plenty in America +finer than mine.”</p> +<p>“Not many, Adolf,” insisted Ferez, in his flat, Eurasian +voice—“not ver’ many anyw’ere so fine like your +<i>Mirage</i>.”</p> +<p>“I saw none finer at Kiel,” said the attaché, staring +at Gerhardt through his monocle, with the habitual +insolence and disapproval of the Prussian junker. “To +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +me it exhibits bad taste”—he turned to the Count +d’Eblis—“particularly when the <i>Meteor</i> is there.”</p> +<p>“Where?” asked the Count.</p> +<p>“At Kiel. I speak of Kiel and the ostentation of +certain foreign yacht owners at the recent regatta.”</p> +<p>Gerhardt, redder than ever, was still German enough +to swallow the meaningless insolence. He was not getting +on very well at the Embassy of his fellow countrymen. +Americans, properly presented, they endured +without too open resentment; for German-Americans, +even when millionaires, their contempt and bad manners +were often undisguised.</p> +<p>“I’m going to get out of this,” growled Gerhardt, +who held a good position socially in New York and in +the fashionable colony at Northbrook. “I’ve seen +enough puffed up Germans and over-embroidered +Turks to last me. Come on, d’Eblis——”</p> +<p>Ferez detained them both:</p> +<p>“Surely,” he protested, “you would not miss Nihla!”</p> +<p>“Nihla?” repeated d’Eblis, who had passed his arm +through Gerhardt’s. “Is that the girl who set St. +Petersburg by the ears?”</p> +<p>“Nihla Quellen,” rumbled Gerhardt. “I’ve heard of +her. She’s a dancer, isn’t she?”</p> +<p>Ferez, of course, knew all about her, and he drew +the two men into the embrasure of a long window.</p> +<p>It was not happening just exactly as he and the +German Ambassador had planned it together; they had +intended to let Nihla burst like a flaming jewel on the +vision of d’Eblis and blind him then and there.</p> +<p>Perhaps, after all, it was better drama to prepare +her entrance. And who but Ferez was qualified to prepare +that entrée, or to speak with authority concerning +the history of this strange and beautiful young +girl who had suddenly appeared like a burning star +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +in the East, had passed like a meteor through St. +Petersburg, leaving several susceptible young men—notably +the Grand Duke Cyril—mentally unhinged and +hopelessly dissatisfied with fate.</p> +<p>“It is ver’ fonny, d’Eblis—une histoire chic, vous +savez! Figurez vous——”</p> +<p>“Talk English,” growled Gerhardt, eyeing the serene +progress of a pretty Highness, Austrian, of +course, surrounded by gorgeous uniforms and empressement.</p> +<p>“Who’s that?” he added.</p> +<p>Ferez turned; the gorgeous lady snubbed him, but +bowed to d’Eblis.</p> +<p>“The Archduchess Zilka,” he said, not a whit +abashed. “She is a ver’ great frien’ of mine.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you present me?” enquired Gerhardt, restlessly; +“—or you, d’Eblis—can’t you ask permission?”</p> +<p>The Count d’Eblis nodded inattentively, then turned +his heavy and rather vulgar face to Ferez, plainly interested +in the “histoire” of the girl, Nihla.</p> +<p>“What were you going to say about that dancer?” +he demanded.</p> +<p>Ferez pretended to forget, then, apparently recollecting:</p> +<p>“Ah! Apropos of Nihla? It is a ver’ piquant storee—the +storee of Nihla Quellen. Zat is not ’er name. +No! Her name is Dunois—Thessalie Dunois.”</p> +<p>“French,” nodded d’Eblis.</p> +<p>“Alsatian,” replied Ferez slyly. “Her fathaire was +captain—Achille Dunois?—you know——?”</p> +<p>“What!” exclaimed d’Eblis. “Do you mean that +notorious fellow, the Grand Duke Cyril’s hunting +cheetah?”</p> +<p>“The same, dear frien’. Dunois is dead—his bullet +head was crack open, doubtless by som’ ladee’s angree +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +husban’. There are a few thousan’ roubles—not +more—to stan’ between some kind gentleman and +the prettee Nihla. You see?” he added to Gerhardt, +who was listening without interest, “—Dunois, if he +was the Gran’ Duke’s cheetah, kept all such merry +gentlemen from his charming daughtaire.”</p> +<p>Gerhardt, whose aspirations lay higher, socially, +than a dancing girl, merely grunted. But d’Eblis, +whose aspirations were always below even his own level, +listened with visibly increasing curiosity. And this was +according to the programme of Ferez Bey and Excellenz. +As the Hun has it, “according to plan.”</p> +<p>“Well,” enquired d’Eblis heavily, “did Cyril get +her?”</p> +<p>“All St. Petersburg is still laughing at heem,” replied +the voluble Eurasian. “Cyril indeed launched +her. And that was sufficient—yet, that first night she +storm St. Petersburg. And Cyril’s reward? Listen, +d’Eblis, they say she slapped his sillee face. For me, +I don’t know. That is the storee. And he was ver’ +angree, Cyril. You know? And, by God, it was what +Gerhardt calls a ‘raw deal.’ Yess? Figurez vous!—this +girl, déjà lancée—and her fathaire the Grand +Duke’s hunting cheetah, and her mothaire, what? Yes, +mon ami, a ’andsome Géorgianne, caught quite wild, +they say, by Prince Haledine! For me, I believe it. +Why not?... And then the beautiful Géorgianne, +she fell to Dunois—on a bet?—a service rendered?—gratitude +of Cyril?——Who knows? Only that +Dunois must marry her. And Nihla is their daughtaire. +Voilà!”</p> +<p>“Then why,” demanded d’Eblis, “does she make such +a fuss about being grateful? I hate ingratitude, Ferez. +And how can she last, anyway? To dance for +the German Ambassador in Constantinople is all very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +well, but unless somebody launches her properly—in +Paris—she’ll end in a Pera <ins title='Added missing quotes'>café.”</ins></p> +<p>Ferez held his peace and listened with all his might.</p> +<p>“I could do that,” added d’Eblis.</p> +<p>“Please?” inquired Ferez suavely.</p> +<p>“Launch her in Paris.”</p> +<p>The programme of Excellenz and Ferez Bey was +certainly proceeding as planned.</p> +<p>But Gerhardt was becoming restless and dully irritated +as he began to realise more and more what caste +meant to Prussians and how insignificant to these +people was a German-American multimillionaire. And +Ferez realised that he must do something.</p> +<p>There was a Bavarian Baroness there, uglier than +the usual run of Bavarian baronesses; and to her +Ferez nailed Gerhardt, and wriggled free himself, making +his way amid the gorgeous throngs to the Count +d’Eblis once more.</p> +<p>“I left Gerhardt planted,” he remarked with satisfaction; +“by God, she is uglee like camels—the Baroness +von Schaunitz! Nev’ mind. It is nobility; it is +the same to Adolf Gerhardt.”</p> +<p>“A homely woman makes me sick!” remarked d’Eblis. +“Eh, mon Dieu!—one has merely to look at these +ladies to guess their nationality! Only in Germany +can one gather together such a collection of horrors. +The only pretty ones are Austrian.”</p> +<p>Perhaps even the cynicism of Excellenz had not +realised the perfection of this setting, but Ferez, the +nimble witted, had foreseen it.</p> +<p>Already the glittering crowds in the drawing rooms +were drawing aside like jewelled curtains; already the +stringed orchestra had become mute aloft in its gilded +gallery.</p> +<p>The gay tumult softened; laughter, voices, the rustle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +of silks and fans, the metallic murmur of drawing-room +equipment died away. Through the increasing +stillness, from the gilded gallery a Thessalonian reed +began skirling like a thrush in the underbrush.</p> +<p>Suddenly a sand-coloured curtain at the end of the +east room twitched open, and a great desert ostrich +trotted in. And, astride of the big, excited, bridled +bird, sat a young girl, controlling her restless mount +with disdainful indifference.</p> +<p>“Nihla!” whispered Ferez, in the large, fat ear of +the Count d’Eblis. The latter’s pallid jowl reddened +and his pendulous lips tightened to a deep-bitten crease +across his face.</p> +<p>To the weird skirling of the Thessalonian pipe the +girl, Nihla, put her feathered steed through its absurd paces, +aping the haute-école.</p> +<p>There is little humour in your Teuton; they were +too amazed to laugh; too fascinated, possibly by the +girl herself, to follow the panicky gambols of the reptile-headed +bird.</p> +<p>The girl wore absolutely nothing except a Yashmak +and a zone of blue jewels across her breasts and hips.</p> +<p>Her childish throat, her limbs, her slim, snowy body, +her little naked feet were lovely beyond words. Her +thick dark hair flew loose, now framing, now veiling +an oval face from which, above the gauzy Yashmak’s +edge, two dark eyes coolly swept her breathless audience.</p> +<p>But under the frail wisp of cobweb, her cheeks +glowed pink, and two full red lips parted deliciously +in the half-checked laughter of confident, reckless +youth.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/illus-008.jpg' alt='' title='' width='600' height='426' /> +<br /> +<p class='caption'> +NIHLA PUT HER FEATHERED STEED THROUGH ITS ABSURD PACES<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>Over hurdle after hurdle she lifted her powerful, +half-terrified mount; she backed it, pirouetted, made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +it squat, leap, pace, trot, run with wings half spread +and neck stretched level.</p> +<p>She rode sideways, then kneeling, standing, then +poised on one foot; she threw somersaults, faced to +the rear, mounted and dismounted at full speed. And +through the frail, transparent Yashmak her parted red +lips revealed the glimmer of teeth and her childishly +engaging laughter rang delightfully.</p> +<p>Then, abruptly, she had enough of her bird; she +wheeled, sprang to the polished parquet, and sent her +feathered steed scampering away through the sand-coloured +curtains, which switched into place again +immediately.</p> +<p>Breathless, laughing that frank, youthful, irresistible +laugh which was to become so celebrated in Europe, +Nihla Quellen strolled leisurely around the circle of +her applauding audience, carelessly blowing a kiss or +two from her slim finger-tips, evidently quite unspoiled +by her success and equally delighted to please and to +be pleased.</p> +<p>Then, in the gilded gallery the strings began; and +quite naturally, without any trace of preparation or +self-consciousness, Nihla began to sing, dancing when +the fascinating, irresponsible measure called for it, +singing again as the sequence occurred. And the enchantment +of it all lay in its accidental and detached +allure—as though it all were quite spontaneous—the +song a passing whim, the dance a capricious after-thought, +and the whole thing done entirely to please +herself and give vent to the sheer delight of a young +girl, in her own overwhelming energy and youthful +spirits.</p> +<p>Even the Teuton comprehended that, and the applause +grew to a roar with that odd undertone of animal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +menace always to be detected when the German +herd is gratified and expresses pleasure en masse.</p> +<p>But she wouldn’t stay, wouldn’t return. Like one +of those beautiful Persian cats, she had lingered long +enough to arouse delight. Then she went, deaf to recall, +to persuasion, to caress—indifferent to praise, to +blandishment, to entreaty. Cat and dancer were similar; +Nihla, like the Persian puss, knew when she had +had enough. That was sufficient for her: nothing +could stop her, nothing lure her to return.</p> +<p>Beads of sweat were glistening upon the heavy features +of the Count d’Eblis. Von-der-Goltz Pasha, +strolling near, did him the honour to remember him, +but d’Eblis seemed dazed and unresponsive; and the +old Pasha understood, perhaps, when he caught the +beady and expressive eyes of Ferez fixed on him in +exultation.</p> +<p>“Whose is she?” demanded d’Eblis abruptly. His +voice was hoarse and evidently out of control, for he +spoke too loudly to please Ferez, who took him by +the arm and led him out to the moonlit terrace.</p> +<p>“Mon pauvere ami,” he said soothingly, “she is +actually the propertee of nobodee at present. Cyril, +they say, is following her—quite ready for anything—marriage——”</p> +<p>“What!”</p> +<p>Ferez shrugged:</p> +<p>“That is the gosseep. No doubt som’ man of wealth, +more acceptable to her——”</p> +<p>“I wish to meet her!” said d’Eblis.</p> +<p>“Ah! That is, of course, not easee——”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>Ferez laughed:</p> +<p>“Ask yo’self the question again! Excellenz and his +guests have gone quite mad ovaire Nihla——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></div> +<p>“I care nothing for them,” retorted d’Eblis thickly; +“I wish to know her.... I wish to know her!... +<i>Do you understand?</i>”</p> +<p>After a silence, Ferez turned in the moonlight and +looked at the Count d’Eblis.</p> +<p>“And your newspapaire—<i>Le Mot d’Ordre</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes.... If you get her for me.”</p> +<p>“You sell to me for two million francs the control +stock in <i>Le Mot d’Ordre</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“An’ the two million, eh?”</p> +<p>“I shall use my influence with Gerhardt. That is all +I can do. If your Emperor chooses to decorate him—something—the +Red Eagle, third class, perhaps——”</p> +<p>“I attend to those,” smiled Ferez. “Hit’s ver’ fonny, +d’Eblis, how I am thinking about those Red Eagles +all time since I know Gerhardt. I spik to Von-der-Goltz +de votre part, si vous le voulez? Oui? Alors——”</p> +<p>“Ask her to supper aboard the yacht.”</p> +<p>“God knows——”</p> +<p>The Count d’Eblis said through closed teeth:</p> +<p>“There is the first woman I ever really wanted in +all my life!... I am standing here now waiting for +her—waiting to be presented to her now.”</p> +<p>“I spik to Von-der-Goltz Pasha,” said Ferez; and +he slipped through the palms and orange trees and +vanished.</p> +<p>For half an hour the Count d’Eblis stood there, +motionless in the moonlight.</p> +<p>She came about that time, on the arm of Ferez Bey, +her father’s friend of many years.</p> +<p>And Ferez left her there in the creamy Turkish +moonlight on the flowering terrace, alone with the +Count d’Eblis.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></div> +<p>When Ferez came again, long after midnight, with +Excellenz on one arm and the proud and happy Adolf +Gerhardt on the other, the whole cycle of a little +drama had been played to a conclusion between those +two shadowy figures under the flowering almonds on the +terrace—between this slender, dark-eyed girl and this +big, bulky, heavy-visaged man of the world.</p> +<p>And the man had been beaten and the girl had laid +down every term. And the compact was this: that +she was to be launched in Paris; she was merely to +borrow any sum needed, with privilege to acquit the +debt within the year; that, if she ever came to care +for this man sufficiently, she was to become only one +species of masculine property—a legal wife.</p> +<p>And to every condition—and finally even to the last, +the man had bowed his heavy, burning head.</p> +<p>“D’Eblis!” began Gerhardt, almost stammering in +his joy and pride. “His highness tells me that I am +to have an order—an Imperial d-decoration——”</p> +<p>D’Eblis stared at him out of unseeing eyes; Nihla +laughed outright, alas, too early wise and not even +troubling her lovely head to wonder why a decoration +had been asked for this burly, bushy-bearded man +from nowhere.</p> +<p>But within his sinuous, twisted soul Ferez writhed +exultingly, and patted Gerhardt on the arm, and patted +d’Eblis, too—dared even to squirm visibly closer +to Excellenz, like a fawning dog that fears too much +to venture contact in his wriggling demonstrations.</p> +<p>“You take with you our pretty wonder-child to +Paris to be launched, I hear,” remarked Excellenz, most +affably, to d’Eblis. And to Nihla: “And upon a yacht +fit for an emperor, I understand. Ach! Such a going +forth is only heard of in the Arabian Nights. Eh +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +bien, ma petite, go West, conquer, and reign! It is +a prophecy!”</p> +<p>And Nihla threw back her head and laughed her full-throated +laughter under the Turkish moon.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Later, Ferez, walking with the Ambassador, replied +humbly to the curt question:</p> +<p>“Yes, I have become his jackal. But always at the +orders of Excellenz.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Later still, aboard the <i>Mirage</i>, Ferez stood alone +by the after-rail, staring with ratty eyes at the blackness +beyond the New Bridge.</p> +<p>“Oh, God, be merciful!” he whispered. He had often +said it on the eve of crime. Even an Eurasian rat has +emotions. And Ferez had been in love with Nihla many +years, and was selling her now at a price—selling her +and Adolf Gerhardt and the Count d’Eblis and France—all +he had to barter—for he had sold his soul too long +ago to remember even what he got for it.</p> +<p>The silence seemed more intense for the sounds that +made it audible. From, the unlighted cities on the +seven hills came an unbroken howling of dogs; transparent +waves of the limpid Bosphorus slapped the vessel’s +sides, making a mellow and ceaseless clatter. Far +away beyond Galata Quay, in the inner reek of unseen +Stamboul, the notes of a Turkish flute stole out across +the darkness, where some Tzigane—some unseen wretch +in rags—was playing the melancholy song of Mourad. +And, mournfully responsive to the reedy complaint +of a homeless wanderer from a nation without a home, +the homeless dogs of Islam wailed their miserere under +the Prophet’s moon.</p> +<p>The tragic wolf-song wavered from hill to hill; from +the Fields of the Dead to the Seven Towers, from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +Kassim to Tophane, seeming to swell into one dreadful, +endless plaint:</p> +<p>“My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?”</p> +<p>“And me!” muttered Ferez, shivering in the windy +vapours from the Black Sea, which already dampened +his face with their creeping summer chill.</p> +<p>“Ferez!”</p> +<p>He turned slowly. Swathed in a white wool bernous, +Nihla stood there in the foggy moonlight.</p> +<p>“Why?” she enquired, without preliminaries and +with the unfeigned curiosity of a child.</p> +<p>He did not pretend to misunderstand her in French:</p> +<p>“Thou knowest, Nihla. I have never touched thy +heart. I could do nothing for thee——”</p> +<p>“Except to sell me,” she smiled, interrupting him in +English, without the slightest trace of accent.</p> +<p>But Ferez preferred the refuge of French:</p> +<p>“Except to launch thee and make possible thy +career,” he corrected her very gently.</p> +<p>“I thought you were in love with me?”</p> +<p>“I have loved thee, Nihla, since thy childhood.”</p> +<p>“Is there anything on earth or in paradise, Ferez, +that you would not sell for a price?”</p> +<p>“I tell thee——”</p> +<p>“Zut! I know thee, Ferez!” she mocked him, slipping +easily into French. “What was my price? Who +pays thee, Colonel Ferez? This big, shambling, world-wearied +Count, who is, nevertheless, afraid of me? Did +he pay thee? Or was it this rich American, Gerhardt? +Or was it Von-der-Goltz? Or Excellenz?”</p> +<p>“Nihla! Thou knowest me——”</p> +<p>Her clear, untroubled laughter checked him:</p> +<p>“I know you, Ferez. That is why I ask. That is +why I shall have no reply from you. Only my wits +can ever answer me any questions.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></div> +<p>She stood laughing at him, swathed in her white +wool, looming like some mocking spectre in the misty +moonlight of the after-deck.</p> +<p>“Oh, Ferez,” she said in her sweet, malicious voice, +“there was a curse on Midas, too! You play at high +finance; you sell what you never had to sell, and you +are paid for it. All your life you have been busy +selling, re-selling, bargaining, betraying, seeking always +gain where only loss is possible—loss of all that justifies +a man in daring to stand alive before the God that +made him!... And yet—that which you call love—that +shadowy emotion which you have also sold to-night—I +think you really feel for me.... Yes, I believe it.... +But it, too, has its price.... <i>What</i> +was that price, Ferez?”</p> +<p>“Believe me, Nihla——”</p> +<p>“Oh, Ferez, you ask too much! No! Let <i>me</i> tell <i>you</i>, +then. The price was paid by that American, who is +not one but a German.”</p> +<p>“That is absurd!”</p> +<p>“Why the Red Eagle, then? And the friendship of +Excellenz? What is he then, this Gerhardt, but a millionaire? +Why is nobility so gracious then? What +does Gerhardt give for his Red Eagle?—for the politeness +of Excellenz?—for the crooked smile of a Bavarian +Baroness and the lifted lorgnette of Austria? What +does he give for <i>me</i>? Who buys me after all? Enver? +Talaat? Hilmi? Who sells me? Excellenz? Von-der-Goltz? +You? And who pays for me? Gerhardt, +who takes his profit in Red Eagles and offers me to +d’Eblis for something in exchange to please Excellenz—and +you? And what, at the end of the bargaining, +does d’Eblis pay for me—pay through Gerhardt to +you, and through you to Excellenz, and through Excellenz +to the Kaiser Wilhelm II——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></div> +<p>Ferez, showing his teeth, came close to her and spoke +very softly:</p> +<p>“See how white is the moonlight off Seraglio Point, +my Nihla!... It is no whiter than those loveliest +ones who lie fathoms deep below these little silver +waves.... Each with her bowstring snug about her +snowy neck.... As fair and young, as warm and +fresh and sweet as thou, my Nihla.”</p> +<p>He smiled at her; and if the smile stiffened an instant +on her lips, the next instant her light, dauntless laughter +mocked him.</p> +<p>“For a price,” she said, “you would sell even Life +to that old miser, Death! Then listen what you have +done, little smiling, whining jackal of his Excellency! +I go to Paris and to my career, certain of my happy +destiny, sure of myself! For my opportunity I pay +if I choose—pay <i>what</i> I choose—when and where it +suits me to pay!——”</p> +<p>She slipped into French with a little laugh:</p> +<p>“Now go and lick thy fingers of whatever crumbs +have stuck there. The Count d’Eblis is doubtless licking +his. Good appetite, my Ferez! Lick away lustily, +for God does not temper the jackal’s appetite to his +opportunities!”</p> +<p>Ferez let his level gaze rest on her in silence.</p> +<p>“Well, trafficker in Eagles, dealer in love, vendor of +youth, merchant of souls, what strikes you silent?”</p> +<p>But he was thinking of something sharper than her +tongue and less subtle, which one day might strike her +silent if she laughed too much at Fate.</p> +<p>And, thinking, he showed his teeth again in that +noiseless snicker which was his smile and laughter too.</p> +<p>The girl regarded him for a moment, then deliberately +mimicked his smile:</p> +<p>“The dogs of Stamboul laugh that way, too,” she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +said, baring her pretty teeth. “What amuses you? +Did the silly old Von-der-Goltz Pasha promise you, +also, a dish of Eagle?—old Von-der-Goltz with his +spectacles an inch thick and nothing living within what +he carries about on his two doddering old legs! There’s +a German!—who died twenty years ago and still walks +like a damned man—jingling his iron crosses and mumbling +his gums! Is it a resurrection from 1870 come +to foretell another war? And why are these Prussian +vultures gathering here in Stamboul? Can you tell +me, Ferez?—these Prussians in Turkish uniforms! Is +there anything dying or dead here, that these buzzards +appear from the sky and alight? Why do they crowd +and huddle in a circle around Constantinople? Is there +something dead in Persia? Is the Bagdad railroad +dying? Is Enver Bey at his last gasp? Is Talaat? +Or perhaps the savoury odour comes from the +Yildiz——”</p> +<p>“Nihla! Is there nothing sacred—nothing thou fearest +on earth?”</p> +<p>“Only old age—and thy smile, my Ferez. Neither +agrees with me.” She stretched her arms lazily.</p> +<p>“Allons,” she said, stifling a pleasant yawn with one +slim hand,“—my maid will wake below and miss me; +and then the dogs of Stamboul yonder will hear a solo +such as they never heard before.... Tell me, Ferez, +do you know when we are to weigh anchor?”</p> +<p>“At sunrise.”</p> +<p>“It is the same to me,”—she yawned again—“my +maid is aboard and all my luggage. And my Ferez, +also.... Mon dieu! And what will Cyril have to +say when he arrives to find me vanished! It is, perhaps, +well for us that we shall be at sea!”</p> +<p>Her quick laughter pealed; she turned with a careless +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +gesture of salute, friendly and contemptuous; and her +white bernous faded away in the moonlit fog.</p> +<p>And Ferez Bey stood staring after her out of his +near-set, beady eyes, loving her, desiring her, fearing +her, unrepentant that he had sold her, wondering +whether the day might dawn when he would find it best +to kill her for the prosperity and peace of mind of the +only living being in whose service he never tired—himself.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +<a name='I_A_SHADOW_DANCE' id='I_A_SHADOW_DANCE'></a> +<h2>I +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />A SHADOW DANCE</span></h2> +</div> +<p>Three years later Destiny still wore a rosy face +for Nihla Quellen. And, for a young American +of whom Nihla had never even heard, Destiny +still remained the laughing jade he had always known, +beckoning him ever nearer, with the coquettish promise +of her curved forefinger, to fame and wealth immeasurable.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Seated now on a moonlit lawn, before his sketching +easel, this optimistic young man, whose name was +Barres, continued to observe the movements of a dim +white figure which had emerged from the villa opposite, +and was now stealing toward him across the dew-drenched +grass.</p> +<p>When the white figure was quite near it halted, holding +up filmy skirts and peering intently at him.</p> +<p>“May one look?” she inquired, in that now celebrated +voice of hers, through which ever seemed to sound a +hint of hidden laughter.</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he replied, rising from his folding camp +stool.</p> +<p>She tiptoed over the wet grass, came up beside him, +gazed down at the canvas on his easel.</p> +<p>“Can you really see to paint? Is the moon bright +enough?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes. But one has to be familiar with one’s palette.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></div> +<p>“Oh. You seem to know yours quite perfectly, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Enough to mix colours properly.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t realise that painters ever actually painted +pictures by moonlight.”</p> +<p>“It’s a sort of hit or miss business, but the notes +made are interesting,” he explained.</p> +<p>“What do you do with these moonlight studies?”</p> +<p>“Use them as notes in the studio when a moonlight +picture is to be painted.”</p> +<p>“Are you then a realist, monsieur?”</p> +<p>“As much of a realist as anybody with imagination +can be,” he replied, smiling at her charming, moonlit +face.</p> +<p>“I understand. Realism is merely honesty plus the +imagination of the individual.”</p> +<p>“A delightful <i>mot</i>, madam——”</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” she corrected him demurely. “Are +you English?”</p> +<p>“American.”</p> +<p>“Oh. Then may I venture to converse with you in +English?” She said it in exquisite English, entirely +without accent.</p> +<p>“You <i>are</i> English!” he exclaimed under his breath.</p> +<p>“No ... I don’t know what I am.... Isn’t it +charming out here? What particular view are you +painting?”</p> +<p>“The Seine, yonder.”</p> +<p>She bent daintily over his sketch, holding up the +skirts of her ball-gown.</p> +<p>“Your sketch isn’t very far advanced, is it?” she +inquired seriously.</p> +<p>“Not very,” he smiled.</p> +<p>They stood there together in silence for a while, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +looking out over the moonlit river to the misty, tree-covered +heights.</p> +<p>Through lighted rows of open windows in the elaborate +little villa across the lawn came lively music and +the distant noise of animated voices.</p> +<p>“Do you know,” he ventured smilingly, “that your +skirts and slippers are soaking wet?”</p> +<p>“I don’t care. Isn’t this June night heavenly?”</p> +<p>She glanced across at the lighted house. “It’s so hot +and noisy in there; one dances only with discomfort. +A distaste for it all sent me out on the terrace. Then +I walked on the lawn. Then I beheld you!... Am +I interrupting your work, monsieur? I suppose I am.” +She looked up at him naïvely.</p> +<p>He said something polite. An odd sense of having +seen her somewhere possessed him now. From the distant +house came the noisy American music of a two-step. +With charming grace, still inspecting him out of +her dark eyes, the girl began to move her pretty feet in +rhythm with the music.</p> +<p>“Shall we?” she inquired mischievously.... “Unless +you are too busy——”</p> +<p>The next moment they were dancing together there +on the wet lawn, under the high lustre of the moon, +her fresh young face and fragrant figure close to his.</p> +<p>During their second dance she said serenely:</p> +<p>“They’ll raise the dickens if I stay here any longer. +Do you know the Comte d’Eblis?”</p> +<p>“The Senator? The numismatist?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t know him. I am only a Latin Quarter +student.”</p> +<p>“Well, he is giving that party. He is giving it for +me—in my honour. That is his villa. And I”—she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +laughed—“am going to marry him—<i>perhaps</i>! Isn’t +this a delightful escapade of mine?”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it rather an indiscreet one?” he asked smilingly.</p> +<p>“Frightfully. But I like it. How did you happen +to pitch your easel on his lawn?”</p> +<p>“The river and the hills—their composition appealed +to me from here. It is the best view of the Seine.”</p> +<p>“Are you glad you came?”</p> +<p>They both laughed at the mischievous question.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>During their third dance she became a little apprehensive +and kept looking over her shoulder toward the +house.</p> +<p>“There’s a man expected there,” she whispered, “Ferez +Bey. He’s as soft-footed as a cat and he always +prowls in my vicinity. At times it almost seems to +me as though he were slyly watching me—as though he +were employed to keep an eye on me.”</p> +<p>“A Turk?”</p> +<p>“Eurasian.... I wonder what they think of my +absence? Alexandre—the Comte d’Eblis—won’t like +it.”</p> +<p>“Had you better go?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I ought to, but I won’t.... Wait a moment!” +She disengaged herself from his arms. “Hide +your easel and colour-box in the shrubbery, in case +anybody comes to look for me.”</p> +<p>She helped him strap up and fasten the telescope-easel; +they placed the paraphernalia behind the blossoming +screen of syringa. Then, coming together, she +gave herself to him again, nestling between his arms +with a little laugh; and they fell into step once more +with the distant dance-music. Over the grass their +united shadows glided, swaying, gracefully interlocked—moon-born +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +phantoms which dogged their light young +feet....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>A man came out on the stone terrace under the Chinese +lanterns. When they saw him they hastily backed +into the obscurity of the shrubbery.</p> +<p>“Nihla!” he called, and his heavy voice was vibrant +with irritation and impatience.</p> +<p>He was a big man. He walked with a bulky, awkward +gait—a few paces only, out across the terrace.</p> +<p>“Nihla!” he bawled hoarsely.</p> +<p>Then two other men and a woman appeared on the +terrace where the lanterns were strung. The woman +called aloud in the darkness:</p> +<p>“Nihla! Nihla! Where are you, little devil?” Then +she and the two men with her went indoors, laughing +and skylarking, leaving the bulky man there alone.</p> +<p>The young fellow in the shrubbery felt the girl’s +hand tighten on his coat sleeve, felt her slender body +quiver with stifled laughter. The desire to laugh seized +him, too; and they clung there together, choking back +their mirth while the big man who had first appeared +waddled out across the lawn toward the shrubbery, +shouting:</p> +<p>“Nihla! Where are you then?” He came quite close +to where they stood, then turned, shouted once or twice +and presently disappeared across the lawn toward a +walled garden. Later, several other people came out +on the terrace, calling, “Nihla, Nihla,” and then went +indoors, laughing boisterously.</p> +<p>The young fellow and the girl beside him were now +quite weak and trembling with suppressed mirth.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They had not dared venture out on the lawn, although +dance music had begun again.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></div> +<p>“Is it your name they called?” he asked, his eyes +very intent upon her face.</p> +<p>“Yes, Nihla.”</p> +<p>“I recognise you now,” he said, with a little thrill +of wonder.</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” she replied with amiable indifference. +“Everybody knows me.”</p> +<p>She did not ask his name; he did not offer to enlighten +her. What difference, after all, could the name +of an American student make to the idol of Europe, +Nihla Quellen?</p> +<p>“I’m in a mess,” she remarked presently. “He will +be quite furious with me. It is going to be most disagreeable +for me to go back into that house. He has +really an atrocious temper when made ridiculous.”</p> +<p>“I’m awfully sorry,” he said, sobered by her seriousness.</p> +<p>She laughed:</p> +<p>“Oh, pouf! I really don’t care. But perhaps you +had better leave me now. I’ve spoiled your moonlight +picture, haven’t I?”</p> +<p>“But think what you have given me to make amends!” +he replied.</p> +<p>She turned and caught his hands in hers with adorable +impulsiveness:</p> +<p>“You’re a sweet boy—do you know it! We’ve had +a heavenly time, haven’t we? Do you really think you +ought to go—so soon?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you think so, Nihla?”</p> +<p>“I don’t want you to go. Anyway, there’s a train +every two hours——”</p> +<p>“I’ve a canoe down by the landing. I shall paddle +back as I came——”</p> +<p>“A canoe!” she exclaimed, enchanted. “Will you +take me with you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span></div> +<p>“To Paris?”</p> +<p>“Of course! Will you?”</p> +<p>“In your ball-gown?”</p> +<p>“I’d adore it! Will you?”</p> +<p>“That is an absolutely crazy suggestion,” he said.</p> +<p>“I know it. The world is only a big asylum. There’s +a path to the river behind these bushes. Quick—pick +up your painting traps——”</p> +<p>“But, Nihla, dear——”</p> +<p>“Oh, please! I’m dying to run away with you!”</p> +<p>“To Paris?” he demanded, still incredulous that the +girl really meant it.</p> +<p>“Of course! You can get a taxi at the Pont-au-Change +and take me home. Will you?”</p> +<p>“It would be wonderful, of course——”</p> +<p>“It will be paradise!” she exclaimed, slipping her +hand into his. “Now, let us run like the dickens!”</p> +<p>In the uncertain moonlight, filtering through the +shrubbery, they found a hidden path to the river; and +they took it together, lightly, swiftly, speeding down +the slope, all breathless with laughter, along the moonlit +way.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In the suburban villa of the Comte d’Eblis a wine-flushed +and very noisy company danced on, supped at +midnight, continued the revel into the starlit morning +hours. The place was a jungle of confetti.</p> +<p>Their host, restless, mortified, angry, perplexed by +turns, was becoming obsessed at length with dull premonitions +and vaguer alarms.</p> +<p>He waddled out to the lawn several times, still wearing +his fancy gilt and tissue cap, and called:</p> +<p>“Nihla! Damnation! Answer me, you little fool!”</p> +<p>He went down to the river, where the gaily painted +row-boats and punts lay, and scanned the silvered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +flood, tortured by indefinite apprehensions. About +dawn he started toward the weed-grown, slippery river-stairs +for the last time, still crowned with his tinsel +cap; and there in the darkness he found his aged boat-man, +fishing for gudgeon with a four-cornered net suspended +to the end of a bamboo pole.</p> +<p>“Have you see anything of Mademoiselle Nihla?” +he demanded, in a heavy, unsteady voice, tremulous with +indefinable fears.</p> +<p>“Monsieur le Comte, Mademoiselle Quellen went out +in a canoe with a young gentleman.”</p> +<p>“W-what is that you tell me!” faltered the Comte +d’Eblis, turning grey in the face.</p> +<p>“Last night, about ten o’clock, M’sieu le Comte. I +was out in the moonlight fishing for eels. She came +down to the shore—took a canoe yonder by the willows. +The young man had a double-bladed paddle. +They were singing.”</p> +<p>“They—they have not returned?”</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu le Comte——”</p> +<p>“Who was the—man?”</p> +<p>“I could not see——”</p> +<p>“Very well.” He turned and looked down the dusky +river out of light-coloured, murderous eyes. Then, always +awkward in his gait, he retraced his steps to the +house. There a servant accosted him on the terrace:</p> +<p>“The telephone, if Monsieur le Comte pleases——”</p> +<p>“Who is calling?” he demanded with a flare of fury.</p> +<p>“Paris, if it pleases Monsieur le Comte.”</p> +<p>The Count d’Eblis went to his own quarters, seated +himself, and picked up the receiver:</p> +<p>“Who is it?” he asked thickly.</p> +<p>“Max Freund.”</p> +<p>“What has h-happened?” he stammered in sudden +terror.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></div> +<p>Over the wire came the distant reply, perfectly clear +and distinct:</p> +<p>“Ferez Bey was arrested in his own house at dinner +last evening, and was immediately conducted to the +frontier, escorted by Government detectives.... Is +Nihla with you?”</p> +<p>The Count’s teeth were chattering now. He managed +to say:</p> +<p>“No, I don’t know where she is. She was dancing. +Then, all at once, she was gone. Of what was Colonel +Ferez suspected?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. But perhaps we might guess.”</p> +<p>“Are <i>you</i> followed?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“By—by whom?”</p> +<p>“By Souchez.... Good-bye, if I don’t see you. I +join Ferez. And look out for Nihla. She’ll trick you +yet!”</p> +<p>The Count d’Eblis called:</p> +<p>“Wait, for God’s sake, Max!”—listened; called again +in vain. “The one-eyed rabbit!” he panted, breathing +hard and irregularly. His large hand shook as he +replaced the instrument. He sat there as though paralysed, +for a moment or two. Mechanically he removed +his tinsel cap and thrust it into the pocket of +his evening coat. Suddenly the dull hue of anger dyed +neck, ears and temple:</p> +<p>“By God!” he gasped. “What is that she-devil trying +to do to me? What has she <i>done</i>!”</p> +<p>After another moment of staring fixedly at nothing, +he opened the table drawer, picked up a pistol and +poked it into his breast pocket.</p> +<p>Then he rose, heavily, and stood looking out of the +window at the paling east, his pendulous under lip +aquiver.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +<a name='II_SUNRISE' id='II_SUNRISE'></a> +<h2>II +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />SUNRISE</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The first sunbeams had already gilded her bedroom +windows, barring the drawn curtains with +light, when the man arrived. He was still wearing +his disordered evening dress under a light overcoat; +his soiled shirt front was still crossed by the red +ribbon of watered silk; third class orders striped his +breast, where also the brand new Turkish sunburst +glimmered.</p> +<p>A sleepy maid in night attire answered his furious +ringing; the man pushed her aside with an oath and +strode into the semi-darkness of the corridor. He was +nearly six feet tall, bulky; but his legs were either +too short or something else was the matter with them, +for when he walked he waddled, breathing noisily from +the ascent of the stairs.</p> +<p>“Is your mistress here?” he demanded, hoarse with +his effort.</p> +<p>“Y—yes, monsieur——”</p> +<p>“When did she come in?” And, as the scared and +bewildered maid hesitated: “Damn you, answer me! +When did Mademoiselle Quellen come in? I’ll wring +your neck if you lie to me!”</p> +<p>The maid began to whimper:</p> +<p>“Monsieur le Comte—I do not wish to lie to +you.... Mademoiselle Nihla came back with the +dawn——”</p> +<p>“Alone?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></div> +<p>The maid wrung her hands:</p> +<p>“Does Monsieur le Comte m-mean to harm her?”</p> +<p>“Will you answer me, you snivelling cat!” he panted +between his big, discoloured teeth. He had fished out +a pistol from his breast pocket, dragging with it a +silk handkerchief, a fancy cap of tissue and gilt, and +some streamers of confetti which fell to the carpet +around his feet.</p> +<p>“Now,” he breathed in a half-strangled voice, “answer +my questions. Was she alone when she came in?”</p> +<p>“N-no.”</p> +<p>“Who was with her?”</p> +<p>“A—a——”</p> +<p>“A man?”</p> +<p>The maid trembled violently and nodded.</p> +<p>“What man?”</p> +<p>“M-Monsieur le Comte, I have never before beheld +him——”</p> +<p>“You lie!”</p> +<p>“I do not lie! I have never before seen him, Monsieur +le——”</p> +<p>“Did you learn his name?”</p> +<p>“No——”</p> +<p>“Did you hear what they said?”</p> +<p>“They spoke in English——”</p> +<p>“What!” The man’s puffy face went flabby white, +and his big, badly made frame seemed to sag for a moment. +He laid a large fat hand flat against the wall, +as though to support and steady himself, and gazed +dully at the terrified maid.</p> +<p>And she, shivering in her night-robe and naked feet, +stared back into the pallid face, with its coarse, +greyish moustache and little short side-whiskers which +vulgarized it completely—gazed in unfeigned terror at +the sagging, deadly, lead-coloured eyes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></div> +<p>“Is the man there—in there now—with her?” demanded +the Comte d’Eblis heavily.</p> +<p>“No, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Gone?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Monsieur le Comte, the young man stayed but +a moment——”</p> +<p>“Where were they? In her bedroom?”</p> +<p>“In the salon. I—I served a pâté—a glass of wine—and +the young gentleman was gone the next minute——”</p> +<p>A dull red discoloured the neck and features of the +Count.</p> +<p>“That’s enough,” he said; and waddled past her +along the corridor to the furthest door; and wrenched +it open with one powerful jerk.</p> +<p>In the still, golden gloom of the drawn curtains, +now striped with sunlight, a young girl suddenly sat +up in bed.</p> +<p>“Alexandre!” she exclaimed in angry astonishment.</p> +<p>“You slut!” he said, already enraged again at the +mere sight of her. “Where did you go last night!”</p> +<p>“What are you doing in my bedroom?” she demanded, +confused but flushed with anger. “Leave it! +Do you hear!—” She caught sight of the pistol in his +hand and stiffened.</p> +<p>He stepped nearer; her dark, dilated gaze remained +fixed on the pistol.</p> +<p>“Answer me,” he said, the menacing roar rising in +his voice. “Where did you go last night when you left +the house?”</p> +<p>“I—I went out—on the lawn.”</p> +<p>“And then?”</p> +<p>“I had had enough of your party: I came back to +Paris.”</p> +<p>“And <i>then</i>?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></div> +<p>“I came here, of course.”</p> +<p>“Who was with you?”</p> +<p>Then, for the first time, she began to comprehend. +She swallowed desperately.</p> +<p>“Who was your companion?” he repeated.</p> +<p>“A—man.”</p> +<p>“You brought him here?”</p> +<p>“He—came in—for a moment.”</p> +<p>“Who was he?”</p> +<p>“I—never before saw him.”</p> +<p>“You picked up a man in the street and brought him +here with you?”</p> +<p>“N-not on the street——”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“On the lawn—while your guests were dancing——”</p> +<p>“And you came to Paris with him?”</p> +<p>“Y-yes.”</p> +<p>“Who was he?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know——”</p> +<p>“If you don’t name him, I’ll kill you!” he yelled, +losing the last vestige of self-control. “What kind of +story are you trying to tell me, you lying drab! You’ve +got a lover! Confess it!”</p> +<p>“I have not!”</p> +<p>“Liar! So this is how you’ve laughed at me, mocked +me, betrayed me, made a fool of me! You!—with your +fierce little snappish ways of a virgin! You with your +dangerous airs of a tiger-cat if a man so much as laid +a finger on your vicious body! So Mademoiselle-Don’t-touch-me +had a lover all the while. Max Freund warned +me to keep an eye on you!” He lost control of himself +again; his voice became a hoarse shout: “Max Freund +begged me not to trust you! You filthy little beast! +Good God! Was I crazy to believe in you—to talk +without reserve in your presence! What kind of imbecile +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +was I to offer you marriage because I was crazy +enough to believe that there was no other way to possess +you! You—a Levantine dancing girl—a common +painted thing of the public footlights—a creature of +brasserie and cabaret! And you posed as Mademoiselle +Nitouche! A novice! A devotee of chastity! And, by +God, your devilish ingenuity at last persuaded me that +you actually were what you said you were. And all +Paris knew you were fooling me—all Paris was laughing +in its dirty sleeve—mocking me—spitting on +me——”</p> +<p>“All Paris,” she said, in an unsteady voice, “gave +you credit for being my lover. And I endured it. And +you knew it was not true. Yet you never denied it.... +But as for me, I never had a lover. When I told +you that I told you the truth. And it is true to-day +as it was yesterday. Nobody believes it of a dancing +girl. Now, <i>you</i> no longer believe it. Very well, there +is no occasion for melodrama. I tried to fall in love +with you: I couldn’t. I did not desire to marry you. +You insisted. Very well; you can go.”</p> +<p>“Not before I learn the name of your lover of last +night!” he retorted, now almost beside himself with +fury, and once more menacing her with his pistol. “I’ll +get that much change out of all the money I’ve lavished +on you!” he yelled. “Tell me his name or I’ll kill +you!”</p> +<p>She reached under her pillow, clutched a jewelled +watch and purse, and hurled them at him. She twisted +from her arm a gemmed bracelet, tore every flashing +ring from her fingers, and flung them in a handful +straight at his head.</p> +<p>“There’s some more change for you!” she panted. +“Now, leave my bedroom!”</p> +<p>“I’ll have that man’s name first!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></div> +<p>The girl laughed in his distorted face. He was +within an ace of shooting her—of firing point-blank +into the lovely, flushed features, merely to shatter them, +destroy, annihilate. He had the desire to do it. But her +breathless, contemptuous laugh broke that impulse—relaxed +it, leaving it flaccid. And after an interval something +else intervened to stay his hand at the trigger—something +that crept into his mind; something he had +begun to suspect that she knew. Suddenly he became +convinced that she <i>did</i> know it—that she believed that +he dared not kill her and stand the investigation of a +public trial before a <i>juge d’instruction</i>—that he could +not afford to have his own personal affairs scrutinised +too closely.</p> +<p>He still wanted to kill her—shoot her there where +she sat in bed, watching him out of scornful young +eyes. So intense was his need to slay—to disfigure, +brutalise this girl who had mocked him, that the raging +desire hurt him physically. He leaned back, resting +against the silken wall, momentarily weakened by the +violence of passion. But his pistol still threatened her.</p> +<p>No; he dared not. There was a better, surer way to +utterly destroy her,—a way he had long ago prepared,—not +expecting any such contingency as this, but +merely as a matter of self-insurance.</p> +<p>His levelled weapon wavered, dropped, held loosely +now. He still glared at her out of pallid and blood-shot +eyes in silence. After a while:</p> +<p>“You hell-cat,” he said slowly and distinctly. “Who +is your English lover? Tell me his name or I’ll beat +your face to a pulp!”</p> +<p>“I have no English lover.”</p> +<p>“Do you think,” he went on heavily, disregarding +her reply, “that I don’t know why you chose an Englishman? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +You thought you could blackmail me, didn’t +you?”</p> +<p>“How?” she demanded wearily.</p> +<p>Again he ignored her reply:</p> +<p>“Is he one of the Embassy?” he demanded. “Is he +some emissary of Grey’s? Does he come from their +intelligence department? Or is he only a police jackal? +Or some lesser rat?”</p> +<p>She shrugged; her night-robe slipped and she drew +it over her shoulder with a quick movement. And the +man saw the deep blush spreading over face and throat.</p> +<p>“By God!” he said, “you <i>are</i> an actress! I admit it. +But now you are going to learn something about real +life. You think you’ve got me, don’t you?—you and +your Englishman? Because I have been fool enough +to trust you—hide nothing from you—act frankly +and openly in your presence. You thought you’d get +a hold on me, so that if I ever caught you at your +treacherous game you could defy me and extort from +me the last penny! You thought all that out—very +thriftily and cleverly—you and your Englishman between +you—didn’t you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you? Then why did you ask me the other +day whether it was not German money which was paying +for the newspaper which I bought?”</p> +<p>“The <i>Mot d’Ordre</i>?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“I asked you that because Ferez Bey is notoriously +in Germany’s pay. And Ferez Bey financed the affair. +You said so. Besides, you and he discussed it +before me in my own salon.”</p> +<p>“And you suspected that I bought the <i>Mot d’Ordre</i> +with German money for the purpose of carrying out +German propaganda in a Paris daily paper?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></div> +<p>“I don’t know why Ferez Bey gave you the money +to buy it.”</p> +<p>“He did not give me the money.”</p> +<p>“You said so. Who did?”</p> +<p>“<i>You!</i>” he fairly yelled.</p> +<p>“W-what!” stammered the girl, confounded.</p> +<p>“Listen to me, you rat!” he said fiercely. “I was +not such a fool as you believed me to be. I lavished +money on you; you made a fortune for yourself out of +your popularity, too. Do you remember endorsing a +cheque drawn to your order by Ferez Bey?”</p> +<p>“Yes. You had borrowed every penny I possessed. +You said that Ferez Bey owed you as much. So I accepted +his cheque——”</p> +<p>“That cheque paid for the <i>Mot d’Ordre</i>. It is drawn +to your order; it bears your endorsement; the <i>Mot +d’Ordre</i> was purchased in your name. And it was Max +Freund who insisted that I take that precaution. Now, +try to blackmail me!—you and your English spy!” he +cried triumphantly, his voice breaking into a squeak.</p> +<p>Not yet understanding, merely conscious of some +vague and monstrous danger, the girl sat motionless, +regarding him intently out of beautiful, intelligent +eyes.</p> +<p>He burst into laughter, made falsetto by the hysteria +of sheer hatred:</p> +<p>“That’s where you are now!” he said, leering down +at her. “Every paper I ever made you sign incriminates +you; your cancelled cheque is in the same packet; +your <i>dossier</i> is damning and complete. You didn’t +know that Ferez Bey was sent across the frontier yesterday, +did you? Your English spy didn’t inform you +last night, did he?”</p> +<p>“N-no.”</p> +<p>“You lie! You <i>did</i> know it! That was why you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +stole away last night and met your jackal—to sell him +something besides yourself, this time! You knew they +had arrested Ferez! I don’t know how you knew it, +but you did. And you told your lover. And both of +you thought you had me at last, didn’t you?”</p> +<p>“I—what are you trying to say to me—do to me?” +she stammered, losing colour for the first time.</p> +<p>“Put you where you belong—you dirty spy!” he said +with grinning ferocity. “If there is to be trouble, I’ve +prepared for it. When they try you for espionage, +they’ll try you as a foreigner—a dancing girl in the +pay of Germany—as my mistress whom Max Freund +and I discover in treachery to France, and whom I instantly +denounce to the proper authorities!”</p> +<p>He shoved his pistol into his breast pocket and put +on his marred silk hat.</p> +<p>“Which do you think they will believe—you or the +Count d’Eblis?” he demanded, the nervous leer twitching +at his heavy lips. “Which do you think they will +believe—your denials and counter-accusations against +me, or Max Freund’s corroboration, and the evidence +of the packet I shall now deliver to the authorities—the +packet containing every cursed document necessary +to convict you!—you filthy little——”</p> +<p>The girl bounded from her bed to the floor, her dark +eyes blazing:</p> +<p>“Damn you!” she said. “Get out of my bedroom!”</p> +<p>Taken aback, he retreated a pace or two, and, at +the furious menace of the little clenched fist, stepped +another pace out into the corridor. The door crashed +in his face; the bolt shot home.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In twenty minutes Nihla Quellen, the celebrated and +adored of European capitals, crept out of the street +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +door. She wore the dress of a Finistère peasant; her +hair was grey, her step infirm.</p> +<p>The <i>commissaire</i>, two <i>agents de police</i>, and a Government +detective, one Souchez, already on their way +to identify and arrest her, never even glanced at the +shabby, infirm figure which hobbled past them on the +sidewalk and feebly mounted an omnibus marked Gare +du Nord.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>For a long time Paris was carefully combed for the +dancer, Nihla Quellen, until more serious affairs occupied +the authorities, and presently the world at large. +For, in a few weeks, war burst like a clap of thunder +over Europe, leaving the whole world stunned and reeling. +The dossier of Nihla Quellen, the dancing girl, +was tossed into secret archives, together with the dossier +of one Ferez Bey, an Eurasian, now far beyond +French jurisdiction, and already very industrious in +the United States about God knows what, in company +with one Max Freund.</p> +<p>As for Monsieur the Count d’Eblis, he remained a +senator, an owner of many third-rate decorations, and +of the <i>Mot d’Ordre</i>.</p> +<p>And he remained on excellent terms with everybody +at the Swedish, Greek, and Bulgarian legations, and the +Turkish Embassy, too. And continued in cipher communication +with Max Freund and Ferez Bey in America.</p> +<p>Otherwise, he was still president of the Numismatic +Society of Spain, and he continued to add to his wonderful +collection of coins, and to keep up his voluminous +numismatic correspondence.</p> +<p>He was growing stouter, too, which increased his +spinal waddle when he walked; and he became very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +prosperous financially, through fortunate “operations,” +as he explained, with one Bolo Pasha.</p> +<p>He had only one regret to interfere with his sleep +and his digestion; he was sorry he had not fired his +pistol into the youthful face of Nihla Quellen. He +should have avenged himself, taken his chances, and +above everything else he should have destroyed her +beauty. His timidity and caution still caused him deep +and bitter chagrin.</p> +<p>For nearly a year he heard absolutely nothing concerning +her. Then one day a letter arrived from Ferez +Bey through Max Freund, both being in New York. +And when, using his key to the cipher, he extracted the +message it contained, he had learned, among other +things, that Nihla Quellen was in New York, employed +as a teacher in a school for dancing.</p> +<p>The gist of his reply to Ferez Bey was that Nihla +Quellen had already outlived her usefulness on earth, +and that Max Freund should attend to the matter at +the first favourable opportunity.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +<a name='III_SUNSET' id='III_SUNSET'></a> +<h2>III +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />SUNSET</span></h2> +</div> +<p>On the edge of evening she came out of the Palace +of Mirrors and crossed the wet asphalt, which +already reflected primrose lights from a clearing +western sky.</p> +<p>A few moments before, he had been thinking of her, +never dreaming that she was in America. But he knew +her instantly, there amid the rush and clatter of the +street, recognised her even in the twilight of the passing +storm—perhaps not alone from the half-caught +glimpse of her shadowy, averted face, nor even from +that young, lissome figure so celebrated in Europe. +There is a sixth sense—the sense of nearness to what +is familiar. When it awakes we call it premonition.</p> +<p>The shock of seeing her, the moment’s exciting incredulity, +passed before he became aware that he was +already following her through swarming metropolitan +throngs released from the toil of a long, wet day in +early spring.</p> +<p>Through every twilit avenue poured the crowds; +through every cross-street a rosy glory from the west +was streaming; and in its magic he saw her immortally +transfigured, where the pink light suffused the crossings, +only to put on again her lovely mortality in the +shadowy avenue.</p> +<p>At Times Square she turned west, straight into the +dazzling fire of sunset, and he at her slender heels, not +knowing why, not even asking it of himself, not thinking, +not caring.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div> +<p>A third figure followed them both.</p> +<p>The bronze giants south of them stirred, swung their +great hammers against the iron bell; strokes of the +hour rang out above the din of Herald Square, inaudible +in the traffic roar another square away, lost, +drowned out long before the pleasant bell-notes penetrated +to Forty-second Street, into which they both +had turned.</p> +<p>Yet, as though occultly conscious that some hour +had struck on earth, significant to her, she stopped, +turned, and looked back—looked quite through him, +seeing neither him nor the one-eyed man who followed +them both—as though her line of vision were the East +itself, where, across the grey sea’s peril, a thousand +miles of cannon were sounding the hour from the North +Sea to the Alps.</p> +<p>He passed her at her very elbow—aware of her nearness, +as though suddenly close to a young orchard in +April. The girl, too, resumed her way, unconscious +of him, of his youthful face set hard with controlled +emotion.</p> +<p>The one-eyed man followed them both.</p> +<p>A few steps further and she turned into the entrance +to one of those sprawling, pretentious restaurants, the +sham magnificence of which becomes grimy overnight. +He halted, swung around, retraced his steps and followed +her. And at his heels two shapes followed them +very silently—her shadow and his own—so close together +now, against the stucco wall that they seemed +like Destiny and Fate linked arm in arm.</p> +<p>The one-eyed man halted at the door for a few moments. +Then he, too, went in, dogged by his sinister +shadow.</p> +<p>The red sunset’s rays penetrated to the rotunda and +were quenched there in a flood of artificial light; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +there their sun-born shadows vanished, and three +strange new shadows, twisted and grotesque, took their +places.</p> +<p>She continued on into the almost empty restaurant, +looming dimly beyond. He followed; the one-eyed man +followed both.</p> +<p>The place into which they stepped was circular, centred +by a waterfall splashing over concrete rocks. In +the ruffled pool goldfish glimmered, nearly motionless, +and mandarin ducks floated, preening exotic plumage.</p> +<p>A wilderness of tables surrounded the pool, set for +the expected patronage of the coming evening. The +girl seated herself at one of these.</p> +<p>At the next table he found a place for himself, entirely +unnoticed by her. The one-eyed man took the +table behind them. A waiter presented himself to take +her order; another waiter came up leisurely to attend +to him. A third served the one-eyed man. There were +only a few inches between the three tables. Yet the +girl, deeply preoccupied, paid no attention to either +man, although both kept their eyes on her.</p> +<p>But already, under the younger man’s spellbound +eyes, an odd and unforeseen thing was occurring: he +gradually became aware that, almost imperceptibly, the +girl and the table where she sat, and the sleepy waiter +who was taking her orders, were slowly moving nearer +to him on a floor which was moving, too.</p> +<p>He had never before been in that particular restaurant, +and it took him a moment or two to realise that +the floor was one of those trick floors, the central +part of which slowly revolves.</p> +<p>Her table stood on the revolving part of the floor, +his upon fixed terrain; and he now beheld her moving +toward him, as the circle of tables rotated on its axis, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +which was the waterfall and pool in the middle of the +restaurant.</p> +<p>A few people began to arrive—theatrical people, who +are obliged to dine early. Some took seats at tables +placed upon the revolving section of the floor, others +preferred the outer circles, where he sat in a fixed position.</p> +<p>Her table was already abreast of his, with only the +circular crack in the floor between them; he could easily +have touched her.</p> +<p>As the distance began to widen between them, the +girl, her gloved hands clasped in her lap, and studying +the table-cloth with unseeing gaze, lifted her dark eyes—looked +at him without seeing, and once more gazed +through him at something invisible upon which her +thoughts remained fixed—something absorbing, vital, +perhaps tragic—for her face had become as colourless, +now, as one of those translucent marbles, vaguely +warmed by some buried vein of rose beneath the snowy +surface.</p> +<p>Slowly she was being swept away from him—his gaze +following—hers lost in concentrated abstraction.</p> +<p>He saw her slipping away, disappearing behind the +noisy waterfall. Around him the restaurant continued +to fill, slowly at first, then more rapidly after the orchestra +had entered its marble gallery.</p> +<p>The music began with something Russian, plaintive +at first, then beguiling, then noisy, savage in its brutal +precision—something sinister—a trampling melody +that was turning into thunder with the throb of doom +all through it. And out of the vicious, Asiatic +clangour, from behind the dash of too obvious waterfalls, +glided the girl he had followed, now on her way +toward him again, still seated at her table, still gazing +at nothing out of dark, unseeing eyes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></div> +<p>It seemed to him an hour before her table approached +his own again. Already she had been served by a +waiter—was eating.</p> +<p>He became aware, then, that somebody had also +served him. But he could not even pretend to eat, so +preoccupied was he by her approach.</p> +<p>Scarcely seeming to move at all, the revolving floor +was steadily drawing her table closer and closer to his. +She was not looking at the strawberries which she was +leisurely eating—did not lift her eyes as her table swept +smoothly abreast of his.</p> +<p>Scarcely aware that he spoke aloud, he said:</p> +<p>“Nihla—Nihla Quellen!...”</p> +<p>Like a flash the girl wheeled in her chair to face him. +She had lost all her colour. Her fork had dropped +and a blood-red berry rolled over the table-cloth toward +him.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said, flushing. “I did not mean to +startle you——”</p> +<p>The girl did not utter a word, nor did she move; but +in her dark eyes he seemed to see her every sense concentrated +upon him to identify his features, made shadowy +by the lighted candles behind his head.</p> +<p>By degrees, smoothly, silently, her table swept nearer, +nearer, bringing with it her chair, her slender person, +her dark, intelligent eyes, so unsmilingly and steadily +intent on him.</p> +<p>He began to stammer:</p> +<p>“—Two years ago—at—the Villa Tresse d’Or—on +the Seine.... And we promised to see each other—in +the morning——”</p> +<p>She said coolly:</p> +<p>“My name is Thessalie Dunois. You mistake me for +another.”</p> +<p>“No,” he said, in a low voice, “I am not mistaken.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></div> +<p>Her brown eyes seemed to plunge their clear regard +into the depths of his very soul—not in recognition, +but in watchful, dangerous defiance.</p> +<p>He began again, still stammering a trifle:</p> +<p>“—In the morning, we were to—to meet—at eleven—near +the fountain of Marie de Médicis—unless you +do not care to remember——”</p> +<p>At that her gaze altered swiftly, melted into the exquisite +relief of recognition. Suspended breath, released, +parted her blanched lips; her little guardian +heart, relieved of fear, beat more freely.</p> +<p>“Are you Garry?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I know you now,” she murmured. “You are Garret +Barres, of the rue d’Eryx.... You <i>are</i> Garry!” +A smile already haunted her dark young eyes; colour +was returning to lip and cheek. She drew a deep, noiseless +breath.</p> +<p>The table where she sat continued to slip past him; +the distance between them was widening. She had to +turn her head a little to face him.</p> +<p>“You do remember me then, Nihla?”</p> +<p>The girl inclined her head a trifle. A smile curved +her lips—lips now vivid but still a little tremulous from +the shock of the encounter.</p> +<p>“May I join you at your table?”</p> +<p>She smiled, drew a deeper breath, looked down at the +strawberry on the cloth, looked over her shoulder at +him.</p> +<p>“You owe me an explanation,” he insisted, leaning +forward to span the increasing distance between them.</p> +<p>“Do I?”</p> +<p>“Ask yourself.”</p> +<p>After a moment, still studying him, she nodded as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +though the nod answered some silent question of her +own:</p> +<p>“Yes, I owe you one.”</p> +<p>“Then may I join you?”</p> +<p>“My table is more prudent than I. It is running +away from an explanation.” She fixed her eyes on her +tightly clasped hands, as though to concentrate +thought. He could see only the back of her head, white +neck and lovely dark hair.</p> +<p>Her table was quite a distance away when she turned, +leisurely, and looked back at him.</p> +<p>“May I come?” he asked.</p> +<p>She lifted her delicate brows in demure surprise.</p> +<p>“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, amiably.</p> +<p>The one-eyed man had never taken his eyes off them.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +<a name='IV_DUSK' id='IV_DUSK'></a> +<h2>IV +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />DUSK</span></h2> +</div> +<p>She had offered him her hand; he had bent over it, +seated himself, and they smilingly exchanged the +formal banalities of a pleasantly renewed acquaintance.</p> +<p>A waiter laid a cover for him. She continued to +concern herself, leisurely, with her strawberries.</p> +<p>“When did you leave Paris?” she enquired.</p> +<p>“Nearly two years ago.”</p> +<p>“Before war was declared?”</p> +<p>“Yes, in June of that year.”</p> +<p>She looked up at him very seriously; but they both +smiled as she said:</p> +<p>“It was a momentous month for you then—the month +of June, 1914?”</p> +<p>“Very. A charming young girl broke my heart in +1914; and so I came home, a wreck—to recuperate.”</p> +<p>At that she laughed outright, glancing at his youthful, +sunburnt face and lean, vigorous figure.</p> +<p>“When did <i>you</i> come over?” he asked curiously.</p> +<p>“I have been here longer than you have. In fact, +I left France the day I last saw you.”</p> +<p>“The same day?”</p> +<p>“I started that very same day—shortly after sunrise. +I crossed the Belgian frontier that night, and I +sailed for New York the morning after. I landed here +a week later, and I’ve been here ever since. That, monsieur, +is my history.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></div> +<p>“You’ve been here in New York for two years!” he +repeated in astonishment. “Have you really left the +stage then? I supposed you had just arrived to fill an +engagement here.”</p> +<p>“They gave me a try-out this afternoon.”</p> +<p>“<i>You?</i> A try-out!” he exclaimed, amazed.</p> +<p>She carelessly transfixed a berry with her fork:</p> +<p>“If I secure an engagement I shall be very glad to +fill it ... and my stomach, also. If I don’t secure +one—well—charity or starvation confronts me.”</p> +<p>He smiled at her with easy incredulity.</p> +<p>“I had not heard that you were here!” he repeated. +“I’ve read nothing at all about you in the papers——”</p> +<p>“No ... I am here incognito.... I have taken +my sister’s name. After all, your American public does +not know me.”</p> +<p>“But——”</p> +<p>“Wait! I don’t wish it to know me!”</p> +<p>“But if you——”</p> +<p>The girl’s slight gesture checked him, although her +smile became humorous and friendly:</p> +<p>“Please! We need not discuss my future. Only the +past!” She laughed: “How it all comes back to me +now, as you speak—that crazy evening of ours together! +What children we were—two years ago!”</p> +<p>Smilingly she clasped her hands together on the +table’s edge, regarding him with that winning directness +which was a celebrated part of her celebrated personality; +and happened to be natural to her.</p> +<p>“Why did I not recognise you immediately?” she demanded +of herself, frowning in self-reproof. “I <i>am</i> +stupid! Also I have, now and then, thought about +you——” She shrugged her shoulders, and again her +face faltered subtly:</p> +<p>“Much has happened to distract my memories,” she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +added carelessly, impaling a strawberry, “—since you +and I took the key to the fields and the road to the +moon—like the pair of irresponsibles we were that night +in June.”</p> +<p>“Have you really had trouble?”</p> +<p>Her slim figure straightened as at a challenge, then +became adorably supple again; and she rested her elbows +on the table’s edge and took her cheeks between +her hands.</p> +<p>“Trouble?” she repeated, studying his face. “I don’t +know that word, trouble. I don’t admit such a word +to the honour of my happy vocabulary.”</p> +<p>They both laughed a little.</p> +<p>She said, still looking at him, and at first speaking +as though to herself:</p> +<p>“Of course, you are that same, delightful Garry! +My youthful American accomplice!... Quite unspoiled, +still, but very, very irresponsible ... like all +painters—like all students. And the mischief which is +in me recognised the mischief in you, I suppose.... +I <i>did</i> surprise you that night, didn’t I?... And what +a night! What a moon! And how we danced there on +the wet lawn until my skirts and slippers and stockings +were drenched with dew!... And how we laughed! +Oh, that full-hearted, full-throated laughter of ours! +How wonderful that we have lived to laugh like that! +It is something to remember after death. Just think +of it!—you and I, absolute strangers, dancing every +dance there in the drenched grass to the music that +came through the open windows.... And do you remember +how we hid in the flowering bushes when my +sister and the others came out to look for me? How +they called, ‘Nihla! Nihla! Little devil, where are you?’ +Oh, it was funny—funny! And to see <i>him</i> come out on +the lawn—do you remember? He looked so fat and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +stupid and anxious and bad-tempered! And you and I +expiring with stifled laughter! And he, with his sash, +his decorations and his academic palms! He’d have +shot us both, you know....”</p> +<p>They were laughing unrestrainedly now at the memory +of that impossible night a year ago; and the girl +seemed suddenly transformed into an irresponsible +gamine of eighteen. Her eyes grew brighter with mischief +and laughter—laughter, the greatest magician +and doctor emeritus of them all! The immortal +restorer of youth and beauty.</p> +<p>Bluish shadows had gone from under her lower lashes; +her eyes were starry as a child’s.</p> +<p>“Oh, Garry,” she gasped, laying one slim hand across +his on the table-cloth, “it was one of those encounters—one +of those heavenly accidents that reconcile one to +living.... I think the moon had made me a perfect +lunatic.... Because you don’t yet know what I +risked.... Garry!... It ruined me—ruined me utterly—our +night together under the June moon!”</p> +<p>“What!” he exclaimed, incredulously.</p> +<p>But she only laughed her gay, undaunted little laugh:</p> +<p>“It was worth it! Such moments are worth anything +we pay for them! I laughed; I pay. What +of it?”</p> +<p>“But if I am partly responsible I wish to know——”</p> +<p>“You shall know nothing about it! As for me, I +care nothing about it. I’d do it again to-night! That +is living—to go forward, laugh, and accept what comes—to +have heart enough, gaiety enough, brains enough +to seize the few rare dispensations that the niggardly +gods fling across this calvary which we call life! <i>Tenez</i>, +that alone is living; the rest is making the endless stations +on bleeding knees.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></div> +<p>“Yet, if I thought—” he began, perplexed and troubled, +“—if I thought that through my folly——”</p> +<p>“Folly! <i>Non pas!</i> Wisdom! Oh, my blessed accomplice! +And do you remember the canoe? Were +we indeed quite mad to embark for Paris on the moonlit +Seine, you and I?—I in evening gown, soaked with dew +to the knees!—you with your sketching block and easel! +<i>Quelle déménagement en famille!</i> Oh, Garry, my friend +of gayer days, was that really folly! No, no, no, it +was infinite wisdom; and its memory is helping me to +live through this very moment!”</p> +<p>She leaned there on her elbows and laughed across +the cloth at him. The mockery began to dance again +and glimmer in her eyes:</p> +<p>“After all I’ve told you,” she added, “you are no +wiser, are you? You don’t know why I never went to +the Fountain of Marie de Médicis—whether I forgot to +go—whether I remembered but decided that I had had +quite enough of you. You don’t know, do you?”</p> +<p>He shook his head, smiling. The girl’s face grew +gradually serious:</p> +<p>“And you never heard anything more about me?” +she demanded.</p> +<p>“No. Your name simply disappeared from the billboards, +kiosques, and newspapers.”</p> +<p>“And you heard no malicious gossip? None about +my sister, either?”</p> +<p>“None.”</p> +<p>She nodded:</p> +<p>“Europe is a senile creature which forgets overnight. +<i>Tant mieux</i>.... You know, I shall sing and dance +under my sister’s name here. I told you that, didn’t I?”</p> +<p>“Oh! That would be a great mistake——”</p> +<p>“Listen! Nihla Quellen disappeared—married some +fat bourgeois, died, perhaps,”—she shrugged,—“anything +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +you wish, my friend. Who cares to listen to what +is said about a dancing girl in all this din of war? +Who is interested?”</p> +<p>It was scarcely a question, yet her eyes seemed to +make it so.</p> +<p>“Who cares?” she repeated impatiently. “Who remembers?”</p> +<p>“I have remembered you,” he said, meeting her intently +questioning gaze.</p> +<p>“You? Oh, you are not like those others over there. +Your country is not at war. You still have leisure to +remember. But they forget. They haven’t time to remember +anything—anybody—over there. Don’t you +think so?” She turned in her chair unconsciously, and +gazed eastward. “—They have forgotten me over +there—” And her lips tightened, contracted, bitten into +silence.</p> +<p>The strange beauty of the girl left him dumb. He +was recalling, now, all that he had ever heard concerning +her. The gossip of Europe had informed him that, +though Nihla Quellen was passionately and devotedly +French in soul and heart, her mother had been one of +those unmoral and lovely Georgians, and her father an +Alsatian, named Dunois—a French officer who entered +the Russian service ultimately, and became a hunting +cheetah for the Grand Duke Cyril, until himself hunted +into another world by that old bag of bones on the pale +and shaky nag. His daughter took the name of Nihla +Quellen and what money was left, and made her début +in Constantinople.</p> +<p>As the young fellow sat there watching her, all the +petty gossip of Europe came back to him—anecdotes, +panegyrics, eulogies, scandals, stage chatter, Quarter +“divers,” paid réclames—all that he had ever read and +heard about this notorious young girl, now seated there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +across the table, with her pretty head framed by slender, +unjewelled fingers. He remembered the gems she +had worn that June night, a year ago, and their magnificence.</p> +<p>“Well,” she said, “life is a pleasantry, a jest, a bon-mot +flung over his shoulder by some god too drunk with +nectar to invent a better joke. Life is an Olympian +epigram made between immortal yawns. What do you +think of <i>my</i> epigram, Garry?”</p> +<p>“I think you are just as clever and amusing as I +remember you, Nihla.”</p> +<p>“Amusing to <i>you</i>, perhaps. But I don’t entertain +myself very successfully. I don’t think poverty is a +very funny joke. Do you?”</p> +<p>“Poverty!” he repeated, smiling his unbelief.</p> +<p>She smiled too, displayed her pretty, ringless hands +humorously, for his inspection, then framed her oval +face between them again and made a deliberate grimace.</p> +<p>“All gone,” she said. “I am, as you say, here on my +uppers.”</p> +<p>“I can’t understand, Nihla——”</p> +<p>“Don’t try to. It doesn’t concern you. Also, please +forget me as Nihla Quellen. I told you that I’ve taken +my sister’s name, Thessalie Dunois.”</p> +<p>“But all Europe knows you as Nihla Quellen——”</p> +<p>“Listen!” she interrupted sharply. “I have troubles +enough. Don’t add to them, or I shall be sorry I met +you again. I tell you my name is Thessa. Please remember +it.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said, reddening under the rebuke.</p> +<p>She noted the painful colour in his face, then looked +elsewhere, indifferently. Her features remained expressionless +for a while. After a few moments she looked +around at him again, and her smile began to glimmer:</p> +<p>“It’s only this,” she said; “the girl you met once in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +your life—the dancing singing-girl they knew over +there—is already an episode to be forgotten. End her +career any way you wish, Garry,—natural death, suicide—or +she can repent and take the veil, if you like—or perish +at sea—only end her.... Please?” she +added, with the sweet, trailing inflection characteristic +of her.</p> +<p>He nodded. The girl smiled mischievously.</p> +<p>“Don’t nod your head so owlishly and pretend to understand. +You don’t understand. Only two or three +people do. And I hope they’ll believe me dead, even if +you are not polite enough to agree with them.”</p> +<p>“How can you expect to maintain your incognito?” +he insisted. “There will be plenty of people in your +very first audience——”</p> +<p>“I had a sister, did I not?”</p> +<p>“<i>Was</i> she your sister?—the one who danced with +you—the one called Thessa?”</p> +<p>“No. But the play-bills said she was. Now, I’ve +told you something that nobody knows except two or +three unpleasant devils—” She dropped her arms on +the table and leaned a trifle forward:</p> +<p>“Oh, pouf!” she said. “Don’t let’s be mysterious +and dramatic, you and I. I’ll tell you: I gave that +woman the last of my jewels and she promised to disappear +and leave her name to me to use. It was my +own name, anyway, Thessalie Dunois. Now, you know. +Be as discreet and nice as I once found you. Will +you?”</p> +<p>“Of course.”</p> +<p>“‘Of course,’” she repeated, smiling, and with a little +twitch of her shoulders, as though letting fall a burdensome +cloak. “Allons! With a free heart, then! I +am Thessalie Dunois; I am here; I am poor—don’t be +frightened! I shall not borrow——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span></div> +<p>“That’s rotten, Thessa!” he said, turning very red.</p> +<p>“Oh, go lightly, please, my friend Garry. I have no +claim on you. Besides, I know men——”</p> +<p>“You don’t appear to!”</p> +<p>“Tiens! Our first quarrel!” she exclaimed, laughingly. +“This is indeed serious——”</p> +<p>“If you need aid——”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t! Please, why do you scowl at me? Do +you then wish I needed aid? Yours? Allez, Monsieur +Garry, if I did I’d venture, perhaps, to say so to you. +Does that make amends?” she added sweetly.</p> +<p>She clasped her white hands on the cloth and looked +at him with that engaging, humorous little air which +had so easily captivated her audiences in Europe—that, +and her voice with the hint of recklessness ever +echoing through its sweetness and youthful gaiety.</p> +<p>“What are you doing in New York?” she asked. +“Painting?”</p> +<p>“I have a studio, but——”</p> +<p>“But no clients? Is that it? Pouf! Everybody begins +that way. I sang in a café at Dijon for five francs +and my soup! At Rennes I nearly starved. Oh, yes, +Garry, in spite of a number of obliging gentlemen who, +like you, offered—first aid——”</p> +<p>“That is absolutely rotten of you, Thessa. Did I +ever——”</p> +<p>“No! For goodness’ sake let me jest with you without +flying into tempers!”</p> +<p>“But——”</p> +<p>“Oh, pouf! I shall not quarrel with you! Whatever +you and I were going to say during the next ten minutes +shall remain unsaid!... Now, the ten minutes are +over; now, we’re reconciled and you are in good humour +again. And now, tell me about yourself, your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +painting—in other words, tell me the things about yourself +that would interest a friend.”</p> +<p>“Are you?”</p> +<p>“Your friend? Yes, I am—if you wish.”</p> +<p>“I do wish it.”</p> +<p>“Then I am your friend. I once had a wonderful +evening with you.... I’m having a very good time +now. You were <i>nice</i> to me, Garry. I really was sorry +not to see you again.”</p> +<p>“At the fountain of Marie de Médicis,” he said reproachfully.</p> +<p>“Yes. Flatter yourself, monsieur, because I did <i>not</i> +forget our rendezvous. I might have forgotten it easily +enough—there was sufficient excuse, God knows—a girl +awakened by the crash of ruin—springing out of bed +to face the end of the world without a moment’s warning—yes, +the end of all things—death, too! Tenez, it +was permissible to forget our rendezvous under such +circumstances, was it not? But—I did <i>not</i> forget. I +thought about it in a dumb, calm way all the while—even +while <i>he</i> stood there denouncing me, threatening +me, noisy, furious—with the button of the Legion in +his lapel—and an ugly pistol which he waved in the +air—” She laughed:</p> +<p>“Oh, it was not at all gay, I assure you.... And +even when I took to my heels after he had gone—for +it was a matter of life or death, and I hadn’t a minute +to lose—oh, very dramatic, of course, for I ran away +in disguise and I had a frightful time of it leaving +France! Well, even then, at top speed and scared to +death, I remembered the fountain of Marie de Médicis, +and you. Don’t be too deeply flattered. I remembered +these items principally because they had caused my +downfall.”</p> +<p>“I? I caused——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></div> +<p>“No. <i>I</i> caused it! It was I who went out on the +lawn. It was I who came across to see who was painting +by moonlight. That began it—seeing you there—in +moonlight bright enough to read by—bright enough +to paint by. Oh, Garry—and you were <i>so</i> good-looking! +It was the moon—and the way you smiled at me. +And they all were dancing inside, and <i>he</i> was so big +and fat and complacent, dancing away in there!... +And so I fell a prey to folly.”</p> +<p>“Was it really our escapade that—that ruined you?”</p> +<p>“Well—it was partly that. Pouf! It is over. And +I am here. So are you. It’s been nice to see you.... +Please call our waiter.” She glanced at her +cheap, leather wrist watch.</p> +<p>As they rose and left the dining-room, he asked her +if they were not to see each other again. A one-eyed +man, close behind them, listened for her reply.</p> +<p>She continued to walk on slowly beside him without +answering, until they reached the rotunda.</p> +<p>“Do you wish to see me again?” she enquired abruptly.</p> +<p>“Don’t you also wish it?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, Garry.... I’ve been annoyed in +New York—bothered—seriously.... I can’t explain, +but somehow—I don’t seem to wish to begin a friendship +with anybody....”</p> +<p>“Ours began two years ago.”</p> +<p>“Did it?”</p> +<p>“Did it not, Thessa?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps.... I don’t know. After all—it doesn’t +matter. I think—I think we had better say good-bye—until +some happy hazard—like to-day’s encounter—” +She hesitated, looked up at him, laughed:</p> +<p>“Where is your studio?” she asked mischievously.</p> +<p>The one-eyed man at their heels was listening.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +<a name='V_IN_DRAGON_COURT' id='V_IN_DRAGON_COURT'></a> +<h2>V +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />IN DRAGON COURT</span></h2> +</div> +<p>There was a young moon in the southwest—a +slender tracery in the April twilight—curved +high over his right shoulder as he walked northward +and homeward through the flare of Broadway.</p> +<p>His thoughts were still occupied with the pleasant +excitement of his encounter with Thessalie Dunois; his +mind and heart still responded to the delightful stimulation. +Out of an already half-forgotten realm of romance, +where, often now, he found it increasingly difficult +to realise that he had lived for five happy years, +a young girl had suddenly emerged as bodily witness, +to corroborate, revive, and refresh his fading faith in +the reality of what once had been.</p> +<p>Five years in France!—France with its clear sun +and lovely moon; <ins title='Was it'>its</ins> silver-grey cities, its lilac haze, its +sweet, deep greenness, its atmosphere of living light!—France, +the dwelling-place of God in all His myriad +aspects—in all His protean forms! France, the sanctuary +of Truth and all her ancient and her future +liberties; France, blossoming domain of Love in Love’s +million exquisite transfigurations, wherein only the eye +of faith can recognise the winged god amid his camouflage!</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Wine-strong winds of the Western World, and a pitiless +Western sun which etches every contour with terrible +precision, leaving nothing to imagination—no delicate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +mystery to rest and shelter souls—had swept away +and partly erased from his mind the actuality of those +five past years.</p> +<p>Already that past, of which he had been a part, was +becoming disturbingly unreal to him. Phantoms +haunted its ever-paling sunlight; its scenes were fading; +its voices grew vague and distant; its hushed +laughter dwindled to a whisper, dying like a sigh.</p> +<p>Then, suddenly, against that misty tapestry of tinted +spectres, appeared Thessalie Dunois in the flesh!—straight +out of the phantom-haunted void had stepped +this glowing thing of life! Into the raw reek and familiar +dissonance of Broadway she had vanished. Small +wonder that he had followed her to keep in touch with +the vanishing past, as a sleeper, waking against his will, +strives still to grasp the fragile fabric of a happy +dream.</p> +<p>Yet, in spite of Thessalie, in spite of dreams, in spite +of his own home-coming, and the touch of familiar +pavements under his own feet, the past, to Barres, was +utterly dead, the present strange and unreal, the future +obscure and all aflame behind a world afire with war.</p> +<p>For two years, now, no human mind in America had +been able to adjust itself to the new heaven and the +new earth which had sprung into lurid being at the +thunderclap of war.</p> +<p>All things familiar had changed in the twinkling of +an eye; all former things had passed away, leaving the +stunned brain of humanity dulled under the shock.</p> +<p>Slowly, by degrees, the world was beginning to realise +that the civilisation of Christ was being menaced once +again by a resurgence from that ancient land of legend +where the wild Hun denned;—that again the endless +hordes of barbarians were rushing in on Europe out +of their Eastern fastnesses—hordes which filled the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +shrinking skies with their clamour, vaunting the might +of Baal, cheering their antichrist, drenching the knees +of their own red gods with the blood of little children.</p> +<p>It seemed impossible for Americans to understand +that these things could be—were really true—that the +horrors the papers printed were actualities happening +to civilised people like themselves and their neighbours.</p> +<p>Out of their own mouths the German tribes thundered +their own disgrace and condemnation, yet America +sat dazed, incredulous, motionless. Emperor and +general, professor and junker, shouted at the top of +their lungs the new creed, horrible as the Black Mass, +reversing every precept taught by Christ.</p> +<p>Millions of Teuton mouths cheered fiercely for the +new religion—Frightfulness; worshipped with frantic +yells the new trinity—Wotan, Kaiser and Brute +Strength.</p> +<p><ins title='Was Stunnned'>Stunned</ins>, blinded, deafened, the Western World, still +half-paralysed, stirred stiffly from its inertia. Slowly, +mechanically, its arteries resumed their functions; the +reflex, operating automatically, started trade again in +its old channels; old habits were timidly resumed; minds +groped backward, searching for severed threads which +connected yesterday with to-day—groped, hunted, +found nothing, and, perplexed, turned slowly toward +the smoke-choked future for some reason for it all—some +outlook.</p> +<p>There was no explanation, no outlook—nothing save +dust and flame and the din of Teutonic hordes trampling +to death the Son of Man.</p> +<p>So America moved about her worn, deep-trodden and +familiar ways, her mind slowly clearing from the cataclysmic +concussion, her power of vision gradually returning, +adjusting itself, little by little, to this new +heaven and new earth and this hell entirely new.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></div> +<p>The <i>Lusitania</i> went down; the Great Republic merely +quivered. Other ships followed; only a low murmur +of pain came from the Western Colossus.</p> +<p>But now, after the second year, through the thickening +nightmare the Great Republic groaned aloud; and +a new note of menace sounded in her drugged and +dreary voice.</p> +<p>And the thick ears of the Hun twitched and he +paused, squatting belly-deep in blood, to listen.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Barres walked homeward. Somewhere along in the +40’s he turned eastward into one of those cross-streets +originally built up of brownstone dwelling houses, and +now in process of transformation into that architectural +and commercial miscellany which marks the transition +stage of the metropolis anywhere from Westchester +to the sea.</p> +<p>Altered for business purposes, basements displayed +signs and merchandise of bootmakers, dealers in oriental +porcelains, rare prints, silverware; parlour windows +modified into bay windows, sheeted with plate-glass, exposed, +perhaps, feminine headgear, or an expensive +model gown or two, or the sign of a real-estate man, +or of an upholsterer.</p> +<p>Above the parlour floors lived people of one sort or +another; furnished and unfurnished rooms and suites +prevailed; and the brownstone monotony was already +indented along the building line by brand-new constructions +of Indiana limestone, behind the glittering plate-glass +of which were to be seen reticent displays of +artistic furniture, modern and antique oil paintings, +here and there the lace-curtained den of some superior +ladies’ hair-dresser, where beautifying also was accomplished +at a price, alas!</p> +<p>Halfway between Sixth Avenue and Fifth, on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +north side of the street, an enterprising architect had +purchased half a dozen squatty, three-storied houses, +set back from the sidewalk behind grass-plots. These +had been lavishly stuccoed and transformed into abodes +for those irregulars in the army of life known as +“artists.”</p> +<p>In the rear the back fences had been levelled; six +corresponding houses on the next street had been purchased; +a sort of inner court established, with a common +grass-plot planted with trees and embellished by a +number of concrete works of art, battered statues, sundials, +and well-curbs.</p> +<p>Always the army of civilisation trudges along +screened, flanked, and tagged after by life’s irregulars, +who cannot or will not conform to routine. And these +are always roaming around seeking their own cantonments, +where, for a while, they seem content to dwell +at the end of one more aimless étape through the world—not +in regulation barracks, but in regions too unconventional, +too inconvenient to attract others.</p> +<p>Of this sort was the collection of squatty houses, +forming a “community,” where, in the neighbourhood +of other irregulars, Garret Barres dwelt; and into the +lighted entrance of which he now turned, still exhilarated +by his meeting with Thessalie Dunois.</p> +<p>The architectural agglomeration was known as +Dragon Court—a faïence Fu-dog above the electric +light over the green entrance door furnishing that priceless +idea—a Fu-dog now veiled by mesh-wire to provide +against the indiscretions of sparrows lured thither by +housekeeping possibilities lurking among the dense +screens of Japanese ivy covering the façade.</p> +<p>Larry Soane, the irresponsible superintendent, always +turned gardener with April’s advent in Dragon +Court, contributions from its denizens enabling him to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +pepper a few flower-beds with hyacinths and tulips, and +later with geraniums. These former bulbs had now +gratefully appeared in promising thickets, and Barres +saw the dark form of the handsome, reckless-looking +Irishman fussing over them in the lantern-lit dusk, +while his little daughter, Dulcie, kneeling on the dim +grass, caressed the first blue hyacinth blossom with +thin, childish fingers.</p> +<p>Barres glanced into his letter-box behind the desk, +above which a drop-light threw more shadows than +illumination. Little Dulcie Soane was supposed to sit +under it and emit information, deliver and receive letters, +pay charges on packages, and generally supervise +things when she was not attending school.</p> +<p>There were no letters for the young man. He examined +a package, found it contained his collars from +the laundry, tucked them under his left arm, and +walked to the door looking out upon the dusky interior +court.</p> +<p>“Soane,” he said, “your garden begins to look very +fine.” He nodded pleasantly to Dulcie, and the child +responded to his friendly greeting with the tired but +dauntless smile of the young who are missing those +golden years to which all childhood has a claim.</p> +<p>Dulcie’s three cats came strolling out of the dusk +across the lamplit grass—a coal black one with sea-green +eyes, known as “The Prophet,” and his platonic +mate, white as snow, and with magnificent azure-blue +eyes which, in white cats, usually betokens total deafness. +She was known as “The Houri” to the irregulars +of Dragon Court. The third cat, unanimously but misleadingly +christened “Strindberg” by the dwellers in +Dragon Court, has already crooked her tortoise-shell +tail and was tearing around in eccentric circles or darting +halfway up trees in a manner characteristic, and, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +possibly accounting for the name, if not for the sex.</p> +<p>“Thim cats of the kid’s,” observed Soane, “do be +scratchin’ up the plants all night long—bad cess to +thim! Barrin’ thim three omadhauns yonder, I’d show +ye a purty bed o’ poisies, Misther Barres. But Sthrin’berg, +God help her, is f’r diggin’ through to China.”</p> +<p>Dulcie impulsively caressed the Prophet, who turned +his solemn, incandescent eyes on Barres. The Houri +also looked at him, then, intoxicated by the soft spring +evening, rolled lithely upon the new grass and lay there +twitching her snowy tail and challenging the stars out +of eyes that matched their brilliance.</p> +<p>Dulcie got up and walked slowly across the grass to +where Barres stood:</p> +<p>“May I come to see you this evening?” she asked, +diffidently, and with a swift, sidelong glance toward +her father.</p> +<p>“Ah, then, don’t be worritin’ him!” grumbled Soane. +“Hasn’t Misther Barres enough to do, what with all +thim idees he has slitherin’ in his head, an’ all the books +an’ learnin’ an’ picters he has to think of—whithout +the likes of you at his heels every blessed minute, day +an’ night!——”</p> +<p>“But he always lets me—” she remonstrated.</p> +<p>“G’wan, now, and lave the poor gentleman be! Quit +your futtherin’ an’ muttherin’. G’wan in the house, ye +little scut, an’ see what there is f’r ye to do!——”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you, Soane?” interrupted +Barres good-humouredly. “Of course she can come up +if she wants to. Do you feel like paying me a visit, +Dulcie, before you go to bed?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she nodded diffidently.</p> +<p>“Well, come ahead then, Sweetness! And whenever +you want to come you say so. Your father knows well +enough I like to have you.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></div> +<p>He smiled at Dulcie; the child’s shy preference for +his society always had amused him. Besides, she was +always docile and obedient; and she was very sensitive, +too, never outwearing her welcome in his studio, and +always leaving without a murmur when, looking up +from book or drawing he would exclaim cheerfully: +“Now, Sweetness! Time’s up! Bed for yours, little +lady!”</p> +<p>It had been a very gradual acquaintance between +them—more than two years in developing. From his +first pleasant nod to her when he first came to live in +Dragon Court, it had progressed for a few months, +conservatively on her part, and on his with a detached +but kindly interest born of easy sympathy for youth +and loneliness.</p> +<p>But he had no idea of the passionate response he was +stirring in the motherless, neglected child—of what +hunger he was carelessly stimulating, what latent qualities +and dormant characteristics he was arousing.</p> +<p>Her appearance, one evening, in her night-dress at +his studio doorway, accompanied by her three cats, began +to enlighten him in regard to her mental starvation. +Tremulous, almost at the point of tears, she had +asked for a book and permission to remain for a few +moments in the studio. He had rung for Selinda, ordered +fruit, cake, and a glass of milk, and had installed +Dulcie upon the sofa with a lapful of books. That +was the beginning.</p> +<p>But Barres still did not entirely understand what +particular magnet drew the child to his studio. The +place was full of beautiful things, books, rugs, pictures, +fine old furniture, cabinets glimmering with porcelains, +ivories, jades, Chinese crystals. These all, in minutest +detail, seemed to fascinate the girl. Yet, after giving +her permission to enter whenever she desired, often +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +while reading or absorbed in other affairs, he became +conscious of being watched; and, glancing up, would +frequently surprise her sitting there very silently, with +an open book on her knees, and her strange grey eyes +intently fixed on him.</p> +<p>Then he would always smile and say something +friendly; and usually forget her the next moment in +his absorption of whatever work he had under way.</p> +<p>Only one other man inhabiting Dragon Court ever +took the trouble to notice or speak to the child—James +Westmore, the sculptor. And he was very friendly in +his vigorous, jolly, rather boisterous way, catching her +up and tossing her about as gaily and irresponsibly as +though she were a rag doll; and always telling her he +was her adopted godfather and would have to chastise +her if she ever deserved it. Also, he was always urging +her to hurry and grow up, because he had a wedding +present for her. And though Dulcie’s smile was +friendly, and Westmore’s nonsense pleased the shy +child, she merely submitted, never made any advance.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Barres’s ménage was accomplished by two specimens +of mankind, totally opposite in sex and colour; +Selinda, a blonde, slant-eyed, and very trim Finn, doing +duty as maid; and Aristocrates W. Johnson, lately +employed in the capacity of waiter on a dining-car by +the New York Central Railroad—tall, dignified, graceful, +and Ethiopian—who cooked as daintily as a débutante +trifling with culinary duty, and served at table +with the languid condescension of a dilettante and +wealthy amateur of domestic arts.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Barres ascended the two low, easy flights of stairs +and unlocked his door. Aristocrates, setting the table +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +in the dining-room, approached gracefully and relieved +his master of hat, coat, and stick.</p> +<p>Half an hour later, a bath and fresh linen keyed +up his already lively spirits; he whistled while he tied +his tie, took a critical look at himself, and, dropping +both hands into the pockets of his dinner jacket, walked +out into the big studio, which also was his living-room.</p> +<p>There was a piano there; he sat down and rattled +off a rollicking air from the most recent spring production, +beginning to realise that he was keyed up for +something livelier than a solitary dinner at home.</p> +<p>His hands fell from the keys and he swung around on +the piano stool and looked into the dining-room rather +doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Aristocrates!” he called.</p> +<p>The tall pullman butler sauntered gracefully in.</p> +<p>Barres gave him a telephone number to call. Aristocrates +returned presently with the information that +the lady was not at home.</p> +<p>“All right. Try Amsterdam 6703. Ask for Miss +Souval.”</p> +<p>But Miss Souval, also, was out.</p> +<p>Barres possessed a red-leather covered note-book; he +went to his desk and got it; and under his direction +Aristocrates called up several numbers, reporting adversely +in every case.</p> +<p>It was a fine evening; ladies were abroad or preparing +to fulfil engagements wisely made on such a day +as this had been. And the more numbers he called up +the lonelier the young man began to feel.</p> +<p>Thessalie had not given him either her address or +telephone number. It would have been charming to +have her dine with him. He was now thoroughly inclined +for company. He glanced at the empty dining-room +with aversion.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></div> +<p>“All right; never mind,” he said, dismissing Aristocrates, +who receded as lithely as though leading a +cake-walk.</p> +<p>“The devil,” muttered the young fellow. “I’m not +going to dine here alone. I’ve had too happy a day +of it.”</p> +<p>He got up restlessly and began to pace the studio. +He knew he could get some man, but he didn’t want +one. However, it began to look like that or a solitary +dinner.</p> +<p>So after a few more moments’ scowling cogitation +he went out and down the stairs, with the vague idea +of inviting some brother painter—any one of the regular +irregulars who inhabited Dragon Court.</p> +<p>Dulcie sat behind the little desk near the door, head +bowed, her thin hands clasped over the closed ledger, +and in her pallid face the expressionless dullness of a +child forgotten.</p> +<p>“Hello, Sweetness!” he said cheerfully.</p> +<p>She looked up; a slight colour tinted her cheeks, and +she smiled.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>“Nothing? That’s a very dreary malady—nothing. +You look lonely. Are you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know whether you are lonely or not?” he +demanded.</p> +<p>“I suppose I am,” she ventured, with a shy smile.</p> +<p>“Where is your father?”</p> +<p>“He went out.”</p> +<p>“Any letters for me—or messages?”</p> +<p>“A man—he had one eye—came. He asked who you +are.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></div> +<p>“I think he was German. He had only one eye. He +asked your name.”</p> +<p>“What did you say?”</p> +<p>“I told him. Then he went away.”</p> +<p>Barres shrugged:</p> +<p>“Somebody who wants to sell artists’ materials,” he +concluded. Then he looked at the girl: “So you’re +lonely, are you? Where are your three cats? Aren’t +they company for you?”</p> +<p>“Yes....”</p> +<p>“Well, then,” he said gaily, “why not give a party +for them? That ought to amuse you, Dulcie.”</p> +<p>The child still smiled; Barres walked on past her +a pace or two, halted, turned irresolutely, arrived at +some swift decision, and came back, suddenly understanding +that he need seek no further—that he had +discovered his guest of the evening at his very elbow.</p> +<p>“Did you and your father have your supper, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“My father went out to eat at Grogan’s.”</p> +<p>“How about you?”</p> +<p>“I can find something.”</p> +<p>“Why not dine with me?” he suggested.</p> +<p>The child stared, bewildered, then went a little pale.</p> +<p>“Shall we have a dinner party for two—you and I, +Dulcie? What do you say?”</p> +<p>She said nothing, but her big grey eyes were fixed +on him in a passion of inquiry.</p> +<p>“A real party,” he repeated. “Let the people get +their own mail and packages until your father returns. +Nobody’s going to sneak in, anyway. Or, if that won’t +do, I’ll call up Grogan’s and tell your father to come +back because you are going to dine in my studio with +me. Do you know the telephone number? Very well; +get Grogan’s for me. I’ll speak to your father.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></div> +<p>Dulcie’s hand trembled on the receiver as she called +up Grogan’s; Barres bent over the transmitter:</p> +<p>“Soane, Dulcie is going to take dinner in my studio +with me. You’ll have to come back on duty, when +you’ve eaten.” He hung up, looked at Dulcie and +laughed.</p> +<p>“I wanted company as much as you did,” he confessed. +“Now, go and put on your prettiest frock, and +we’ll be very grand and magnificent. And afterward +we’ll talk and look at books and pretty things—and +maybe we’ll turn on the Victrola and I’ll teach you to +dance—” He had already begun to ascend the stairs:</p> +<p>“In half an hour, Dulcie!” he called back; “—and +you may bring the Prophet if you like.... Shall I +ask Mr. Westmore to join us?”</p> +<p>“I’d rather be all alone with you,” she said shyly.</p> +<p>He laughed and ran on up the stairs.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In half an hour the electric bell rang very timidly. +Aristocrates, having been instructed and rehearsed, +and, loftily condescending to his rôle in a kindly comedy +to be played seriously, announced: “Miss Soane!” in +his most courtly manner.</p> +<p>Barres threw aside the evening paper and came forward, +taking both hands of the white and slightly +frightened child.</p> +<p>“Aristocrates ought to have announced the Prophet, +too,” he said gaily, breaking the ice and swinging Dulcie +around to face the open door again.</p> +<p>The Prophet entered, perfectly at ease, his eyes of +living jade shining, his tail urbanely hoisted.</p> +<p>Dulcie ventured to smile; Barres laughed outright; +Aristocrates surveyed the Prophet with toleration mingled +with a certain respect. For a black cat is never +without occult significance to a gentleman of colour.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div> +<p>With Dulcie’s hand still in his, Barres led her into +the living-room, where, presently, Aristocrates brought +a silver tray upon which was a glass of iced orange +juice for Dulcie, and a “Bronnix,” as Aristocrates +called it, for the master.</p> +<p>“To your health and good fortune in life, Dulcie,” +he said politely.</p> +<p>The child gazed mutely at him over her glass, then, +blushing, ventured to taste her orange juice.</p> +<p>When she finished, Barres drew her frail arm through +his and took her out, seating her. Ceremonies began +in silence, and the master of the place was not quite +sure whether the flush on Dulcie’s face indicated unhappy +embarrassment or pleasure.</p> +<p>He need not have worried: the child adored it all. +The Prophet came in and gravely seated himself on a +neighbouring chair, whence he could survey the table +and seriously inspect each course.</p> +<p>“Dulcie,” he said, “how grown-up you look with your +bobbed hair put up, and your fluffy gown.”</p> +<p>She lifted her enchanted eyes to him:</p> +<p>“It is my first communion dress.... I’ve had to +make it longer for a graduation dress.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s so; you’re graduating this summer!”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And what then?”</p> +<p>“Nothing.” She sighed unconsciously and sat very +still with folded hands, while Aristocrates refilled her +glass of water.</p> +<p>She no longer felt embarrassed; her gravity matched +Aristocrates’s; she seriously accepted whatever was offered +or set before her, but Barres noticed that she ate +it all, merely leaving on her plate, with inculcated and +mathematical precision, a small portion as concession +to good manners.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></div> +<p>They had, toward the banquet’s end, water ices, bon-bons, +French pastry, and ice cream. And presently a +slight and blissful sigh of repletion escaped the child’s +red lips. The symptoms were satisfactory but unmistakable; +Dulcie was perfectly feminine; her capacity +had proven it.</p> +<p>The Prophet’s stately self-control in the fragrant +vicinity of nourishment was now to be rewarded: Barres +conducted Dulcie to the studio and installed her among +cushions upon a huge sofa. Then, lighting a cigarette, +he dropped down beside her and crossed one knee over +the other.</p> +<p>“Dulcie,” he said in his lazy, humorous way, “it’s a +funny old world any way you view it.”</p> +<p>“Do you think it is always funny?” inquired the +child, her deep, grey eyes on his face.</p> +<p>He smiled:</p> +<p>“Yes, I do; but sometimes the joke in on one’s self. +And then, although it is still a funny world, from the +world’s point of view, you, of course, fail to see the +humour of it.... I don’t suppose you understand.”</p> +<p>“I do,” nodded the child, with the ghost of a smile.</p> +<p>“Really? Well, I was afraid I’d been talking nonsense, +but if you understand, it’s all right.”</p> +<p>They both laughed.</p> +<p>“Do you want to look at some books?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“I’d rather listen to you.”</p> +<p>He smiled:</p> +<p>“All right. I’ll begin at this corner of the room and +tell you about the things in it.” And for a while he +rambled lazily on about old French chairs and Spanish +chests, and the panels of Mille Fleur tapestry which +hung behind them; the two lovely pre-Raphael panels +in their exquisite ancient frames; the old Venetian velvet +covering triple choir-stalls in the corner; the ivory-toned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +marble figure on its wood and compos pedestal, +where tendrils and delicate foliations of water gilt had +become slightly irridescent, harmonising with the patine +on the ancient Chinese garniture flanking a mantel clock +of dullest gold.</p> +<p>About these things, their workmanship, the histories +of their times, he told her in his easy, unaccented voice, +glancing sideways at her from time to time to note how +she stood it.</p> +<p>But she listened, fascinated, her gaze moving from +the object discussed to the man who discussed it; her +slim limbs curled under her, her hands clasped around +a silken cushion made from the robe of some Chinese +princess.</p> +<p>Lounging there beside her, amused, humorously flattered +by her attention, and perhaps a little touched, +he held forth a little longer.</p> +<p>“Is it a nice party, so far, Dulcie?” he concluded +with a smile.</p> +<p>She flushed, found no words, nodded, and sat with +lowered head as though pondering.</p> +<p>“What would you rather do if you could do what +you want to in the world, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Think a minute.”</p> +<p>She thought for a while.</p> +<p>“Live with you,” she said seriously.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dulcie! That is no sort of ambition for a +growing girl!” he laughed; and she laughed, too, watching +his every expression out of grey eyes that were her +chiefest beauty.</p> +<p>“You’re a little too young to know what you want +yet,” he concluded, still smiling. “By the time that +bobbed mop of red hair grows to a proper length, you’ll +know more about yourself.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></div> +<p>“Do you like it up?” she enquired naïvely.</p> +<p>“It makes you look older.”</p> +<p>“I want it to.”</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” he nodded, noticing the snowy neck +which the new coiffure revealed. It was becoming evident +to him that Dulcie had her own vanities—little +pathetic vanities which touched him as he glanced at +the reconstructed first communion dress and the drooping +hyacinth pinned at the waist, and the cheap white +slippers on a foot as slenderly constructed as her long +and narrow hands.</p> +<p>“Did your mother die long ago, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“In America?”</p> +<p>“In Ireland.”</p> +<p>“You look like her, I fancy—” thinking of Soane.</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>Barres had heard Soane hold forth in his cups on +one or two occasions—nothing more than the vague +garrulousness of a Celt made more loquacious by the +whiskey of one Grogan—something about his having +been a gamekeeper in his youth, and that his wife—“God +rest her!”—might have held up her head with +“anny wan o’ thim in th’ Big House.”</p> +<p>Recollecting this, he idly wondered what the story +might have been—a young girl’s perverse infatuation +for her father’s gamekeeper, perhaps—a handsome, +common, ignorant youth, reckless and irresponsible +enough to take advantage of her—probably some such +story—resembling similar histories of chauffeurs, riding-masters, +grooms, and coachmen at home.</p> +<p>The Prophet came noiselessly into the studio, +stopped at sight of his little mistress, twitched his tail +reflectively, then leaped onto a carved table and calmly +began his ablutions.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></div> +<p>Barres got up and wound up the Victrola. Then +he kicked aside a rug or two.</p> +<p>“This is to be a real party, you know,” he remarked. +“You don’t dance, do you?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said diffidently, “a little.”</p> +<p>“Oh! That’s fine!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>Dulcie got off the sofa, shook out her reconstructed +gown. When he came over to where she stood, she +laid her hand in his almost solemnly, so overpowering +had become the heavenly sequence of events. For the +rite of his hospitality had indeed become a rite to her. +Never before had she stood in awe, enthralled before +such an altar as this man’s hearthstone. Never had +she dreamed that he who so wondrously served it could +look at such an offering as hers—herself.</p> +<p>But the miracle had happened; altar and priest were +accepting her; she laid her hand, which trembled, in +his; gave herself to his guidance and to the celestial +music, scarcely seeing, scarcely hearing his voice.</p> +<p>“You dance delightfully,” he was saying; “you’re a +born dancer, Dulcie. I do it fairly well myself, and I +ought to know.”</p> +<p>He was really very much surprised. He was enjoying +it immensely. When the Victrola gave up the +ghost he wound it again and came back to resume. +Under his suggestions and tutelage, they tried more +intricate steps, devious and ambitious, and Dulcie, unterrified +by terpsichorean complications, surmounted +every one with his whispered coaching and expert aid.</p> +<p>Now it came to a point where time was not for him. +He was too interested, enjoying it too genuinely.</p> +<p>Sometimes, when they paused to enable him to resurrect +the defunct music in the Victrola, they laughed at +the Prophet, who sat upon the ancient carved table, +gravely surveying them. Sometimes they rested because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +he thought she ought to—himself a trifle pumped—only +to find, to his amazement, that he need not be +solicitous concerning her.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>A tall and ancient clock ringing midnight from clear, +uncompromising bells, brought Barres to himself.</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” he exclaimed, “this won’t do! Dear +child, I’m having a wonderful time, but I’ve got to deliver +you to your father!”</p> +<p>He drew her arm through his, laughingly pretending +horror and haste; she fled lightly along beside him as +he whisked her through the hall and down the stairs.</p> +<p>A candle burned on the desk. Soane sat there, +asleep, and odorous of alcohol, his flushed face buried +in his arms.</p> +<p>But Soane was what is known as a “sob-souse”; +never ugly in his cups, merely inclined to weep over +the immemorial wrongs of Ireland.</p> +<p>He woke up when Barres touched his shoulder, +rubbed his swollen eyes and black, curly head, gazed +tragically at his daughter:</p> +<p>“G’wan to bed, ye little scut!” he said, getting to his +feet with a terrific yawn.</p> +<p>Barres took her hand:</p> +<p>“We’ve had a wonderful party, haven’t we, Sweetness?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” whispered the child.</p> +<p>The next instant she was gone like a ghost, through +the dusky, whitewashed corridor where distorted shadows +trembled in the candlelight.</p> +<p>“Soane,” said Barres, “this won’t do, you know. +They’ll sack you if you keep on drinking.”</p> +<p>The man, not yet forty, a battered, middle-aged by-product +of hale and reckless vigour, passed his hands +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +over his temples with the dignity of a Hibernian Hamlet:</p> +<p>“The harp that wanst through Tara’s halls—” he +began; but memory failed; and two tears—by-products, +also, of Grogan’s whiskey—sparkled in his reproachful +eyes.</p> +<p>“I’m merely telling you,” remarked Barres. “We +all like you, Soane, but the landlord won’t stand for it.”</p> +<p>“May God forgive him,” muttered Soane. “Was +there ever a landlord but he was a tyrant, too?”</p> +<p>Barres blew out the candle; a faint light above the +Fu-dog outside, over the street door, illuminated the +stone hall.</p> +<p>“You ought to keep sober for your little daughter’s +sake,” insisted Barres in a low voice. “You love her, +don’t you?”</p> +<p>“I do that!” said Soane—“God bless her and her +poor mother, who could hould up her pretty head with +anny wan till she tuk up with th’ like o’ me!”</p> +<p>His brogue always increased in his cups; devotion +to Ireland and a lofty scorn of landlords grew with +both.</p> +<p>“You’d better keep away from Grogan’s,” remarked +Barres.</p> +<p>“I had a bite an’ a sup at Grogan’s. Is there anny +harrm in that, sorr?”</p> +<p>“Cut out the ‘sup,’ Larry. Cut out that gang of +bums at Grogan’s, too. There are too many Germans +hanging out around Grogan’s these days. You Sinn +Feiners or Clan-na-Gael, or whatever you are, had better +manage your own affairs, anyway. The old-time +Feinans stood on their own sturdy legs, not on German +beer-skids.”</p> +<p>“Wisha then, sorr, d’ye mind th’ ould song they sang +in thim days:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></div> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>“<i>Then up steps Bonyparty</i></p> +<p><i>An’ takes me by the hand,</i></p> +<p><i>And how is ould Ireland,</i></p> +<p><i>And how does she shtand?</i></p> +<p><i>It’s a poor, disthressed country</i></p> +<p><i>As ever yet was seen,</i></p> +<p><i>And they’re hangin’ men and women</i></p> +<p><i>For the wearing of the green!</i></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p><i>Oh, the wearing of the</i>——”</p> +</div></div> +<p>“That’ll do,” said Barres drily. “Do you want to +wake the house? Don’t go to Grogan’s and talk about +Ireland to any Germans. I’ll tell you why: we’ll probably +be at war with Germany ourselves within a year, +and that’s a pretty good reason for you Irish to keep +clear of all Germans. Go to bed!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +<a name='VI_DULCIE' id='VI_DULCIE'></a> +<h2>VI +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />DULCIE</span></h2> +</div> +<p>One warm afternoon late in spring, Dulcie Soane, +returning from school to Dragon Court, found +her father behind the desk, as usual, awaiting +his daughter’s advent, to release him from duty.</p> +<p>A tall, bony man with hectic and sunken cheeks and +only a single eye was standing by the desk, earnestly +engaged in whispered conversation with her father.</p> +<p>He drew aside instantly as Dulcie came up and laid +her school books on the desk. Soane, already redolent +of Grogan’s whiskey, pushed back his chair and got to +his feet.</p> +<p>“G’wan in f’r a bite an’ a sup,” he said to his daughter, +“while I talk to the gintleman.”</p> +<p>So Dulcie went slowly into the superintendent’s dingy +quarters for her mid-day meal, which was dinner; and +between her and a sloppy scrub-woman who cooked for +them, she managed to warm up and eat what Soane had +left for her from his own meal.</p> +<p>When she returned to the desk in the hall, the one-eyed +man had gone. Soane sat on the chair behind +the desk, his face over-red and shiny, his heels drumming +the devil’s tattoo on the tessellated pavement.</p> +<p>“I’ll be at Grogan’s,” he said, as Dulcie seated herself +in the ancient leather chair behind the desk telephone, +and began to sort the pile of mail which the +postman evidently had just delivered.</p> +<p>“Very well,” she murmured absently, turning around +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +and beginning to distribute the letters and parcels in +the various numbered compartments behind her. Soane +slid off his chair to his feet and straightened up, +stretching and yawning.</p> +<p>“Av anny wan tilliphones to Misther Barres,” he +said, “listen in.”</p> +<p>“What!”</p> +<p>“Listen in, I’m tellin’ you. And if it’s a lady, ask +her name first, and then listen in. And if she says her +name is Quellen or Dunois, mind what she says to +Misther Barres.”</p> +<p>“Why?” enquired Dulcie, astonished.</p> +<p>“Becuz I’m tellin’ ye!”</p> +<p>“I shall not do that,” said the girl, flushing up.</p> +<p>“Ah, bother! Sure, there’s no harm in it, Dulcie! +Would I be askin’ ye to do wrong, asthore? Me who +is your own blood and kin? Listen then: ’Tis a woman +what do be botherin’ the poor young gentleman, an’ +I’ll not have him f’r to be put upon. Listen, m’acushla, +and if airy a lady tilliphones, or if she comes futtherin’ +an’ muttherin’ around here, call me at Grogan’s and +I’ll be soon dishposen’ av the likes av her.”</p> +<p>“Has she ever been here—this lady?” asked the girl, +uncertain and painfully perplexed.</p> +<p>“Sure has she! Manny’s the time I’ve chased her +out,” replied Soane glibly.</p> +<p>“Oh. What does she look like?”</p> +<p>“God knows—annything ye don’t wish f’r to look +like yourself! Sure, I disremember what make of +woman she might be—her name’s enough for you. Call +me up if she comes or rings. She may be a dangerous +woman, at that,” he added, “so speak fair to her and +listen in to what she says.”</p> +<p>Dulcie slowly nodded, looking at him hard.</p> +<p>Soane put on his faded brown hat at an angle, fished +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +a cigar with a red and gold band from his fancy but +soiled waistcoat, scratched a match on the seat of his +greasy pants, and sauntered out through the big, whitewashed +hallway into the street, with a touch of the +swagger which always characterised him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Dulcie, both hands buried in her ruddy hair and both +thin elbows on the desk, sat poring over her school +books.</p> +<p>Graduation day was approaching; there was much +for her to absorb, much to memorise before then.</p> +<p>As she studied she hummed to herself the air of the +quaint song which she was to sing at her graduation +exercises. That did not interfere with her concentration; +but as she finished one lesson, cast aside the book, +and opened another to prepare the next lesson, vaguely +happy memories of her evening party with Barres came +into her mind to disturb her thoughts, tempting her +to reverie and the delicious idleness she knew only when +alone and absorbed in thoughts of him.</p> +<p>But she resolutely put him out of her mind and +opened her book.</p> +<p>The hall clock ticked loudly through the silence; +slanting sun rays fell through the street grille, across +the tessellated floor where flies crawled and buzzed.</p> +<p>The Prophet sat full in a bar of sunlight and gravely +followed the movements of the flies as though specialising +on the study of those amazing insects.</p> +<p>Tenants of Dragon Court passed out or entered at +intervals, pausing to glance at their letter-boxes or requesting +their keys.</p> +<p>Westmore came down the eastern staircase, like an +avalanche, with a cheery:</p> +<p>“Hello, Dulcie! Any letters? All right, old dear! +If you see Mr. Mandel, tell him I’ll be at the club!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></div> +<p>Corot Mandel came in presently, and she gave him +Westmore’s message.</p> +<p>“Thanks,” he said, not even glancing at the thin +figure in the shabby dress too small for her. And, after +peering into his letter-box, he went away with the indolent +swing of a large and powerful plantigrade, gazing +fixedly ahead of him out of heavy, oriental eyes, +and twisting up his jet black, waxed moustache.</p> +<p>A tall, handsome girl called and enquired for Mr. +Trenor. Dulcie returned her amiable smile, unhooked +the receiver, and telephoned up. But nobody answered +from Esmé Trenor’s apartment, and the girl, whose +name was Damaris Souval, and whose profession varied +between the stage and desultory sitting for artists, +smiled once more on Dulcie and sauntered out in her +very charming summer gown.</p> +<p>The shabby child looked after her through the sunny +hallway, the smile still curving her lips—a sensitive, +winning smile, untainted by envy. Then she resumed +her book, serenely clearing her youthful mind of vanity +and desire for earthly things.</p> +<p>Half an hour later Esmé Trenor sauntered in. His +was a <ins title='Was sensative'>sensitive</ins> nature and fastidious, too. Dinginess, +obscurity—everything that was shabby, tarnished, +humble in life, he consistently ignored. He had ignored +Dulcie Soane for three years: he ignored her now.</p> +<p>He glanced indifferently into his letter-box as he +passed the desk. Dulcie said, with the effort it always +required for her to speak to him:</p> +<p>“Miss Souval called, but left no message.”</p> +<p>Trenor’s supercilious glance rested on her for the +fraction of a second, then, with a bored nod, he continued +on his way and up the stairs. And Dulcie returned +to her book.</p> +<p>The desk telephone rang: a Mrs. Helmund desired +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +to speak to Mr. Trenor. Dulcie switched her on, rested +her chin on her hand, and continued her reading.</p> +<p>Some time afterward the telephone rang again.</p> +<p>“Dragon Court,” said Dulcie, mechanically.</p> +<p>“I wish to speak to Mr. Barres, please.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Barres has not come in from luncheon.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure?” <ins title='Was same'>said</ins> the pretty, feminine voice.</p> +<p>“Quite sure,” replied Dulcie. “Wait a minute——”</p> +<p>She called Barres’s apartment; Aristocrates answered +and confirmed his master’s absence with courtly +effusion.</p> +<p>“No, he is not in,” repeated Dulcie. “Who shall I +say called him?”</p> +<p>“Say that Miss Dunois called him up. If he comes +in, say that Miss Thessalie Dunois will come at five to +take tea with him. Thank you. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>Startled to hear the very name against which her +father had warned her, Dulcie found it difficult to reconcile +the sweet voice that came to her over the wire +with the voice of any such person her father had described.</p> +<p>Still a trifle startled, she laid aside the receiver with +a disturbed glance toward the wrought-iron door at the +further end of the hall.</p> +<p>She had no desire at all to call up her father at +Grogan’s and inform him of what had occurred. The +mere thought of surreptitious listening in, of eavesdropping, +of informing, reddened her face. Also, she +had long since lost confidence in the somewhat battered +but jaunty man who had always neglected her, although +never otherwise unkind, even when intoxicated.</p> +<p>No, she would neither listen in nor inform on anybody +at the behest of a father for whom, alas, she had +no respect, merely those shreds of conventional feeling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +which might once have been filial affection, but had +become merely an habitual solicitude.</p> +<p>No, her character, her nature refused such obedience. +If there was trouble between the owner of the +unusually sweet voice and Mr. Barres, it was their affair, +not hers, not her father’s.</p> +<p>This settled in her mind, she opened another book +and turned the pages slowly until she came to the lesson +to be learned.</p> +<p>It was hard to concentrate; her thoughts were straying, +now, to Barres.</p> +<p>And, as she leaned there, musing above her dingy +school book, through the grilled door at the further +end of the hall stepped a young girl in a light summer +gown—a beautiful girl, lithe, graceful, exquisitely +groomed—who came swiftly up to the desk, a trifle pale +and breathless:</p> +<p>“Mr. Barres? He lives here?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Please announce Miss Dunois.”</p> +<p>Dulcie flushed deeply under the shock:</p> +<p>“Mr.—Mr. Barres is still out——”</p> +<p>“Oh. Was it you I talked to over the telephone?” +asked Thessalie Dunois.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Barres has not <ins title='Was reutrned'>returned</ins>?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Thessalie bit her lip, hesitated, turned to go. And +at the same instant Dulcie saw the one-eyed man at the +street door, peering through the iron grille.</p> +<p>Thessalie saw him, too, stiffened to marble, stood +staring straight at him.</p> +<p>He turned and went away up the street. But Dulcie, +to whom the incident signified nothing in particular except +the impudence of a one-eyed man, was not prepared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +for the face which Thessalie Dunois turned toward her. +Not a vestige of colour remained in it, and her dark +eyes seemed feverish and too large.</p> +<p>“You need not give Mr. Barres any message from +me,” she said in an altered voice, which sounded strained +and unsteady. “Please do not even say that I came +or mention my name.... May I ask it of you?”</p> +<p>Dulcie, very silent in her surprise, made no reply.</p> +<p>“Please may I ask it of you?” whispered Thessalie. +“Do you mind not telling anybody that I was here?”</p> +<p>“If—you wish it.”</p> +<p>“I do. May I trust you?”</p> +<p>“Y-yes.”</p> +<p>“Thank you—” A bank bill was in her gloved fingers; +intuition warned her; she took another swift look +at Dulcie. The child’s face was flaming scarlet.</p> +<p>“Forgive me,” whispered Thessalie.... “And +thank you, dear—” She bent over quickly, took Dulcie’s +hand, pressed it, looking her in the eyes.</p> +<p>“It’s all right,” she whispered. “I am not asking +you to do anything you shouldn’t. Mr. Barres will +understand it all when I write to him.... Did you +see that man at the street door, looking through the +grating?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Do you know who he is?” whispered Thessalie.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Have you never before seen him?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He was here at two o’clock talking to my +father.”</p> +<p>“Your father?”</p> +<p>“My father’s name is Lawrence Soane. He is superintendent +of Dragon Court.”</p> +<p>“What is your name?”</p> +<p>“Dulcie Soane.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></div> +<p>Thessalie still held her hand tightly. Then with a +quick but forced smile, she pressed it, thanking the girl +for her consideration, turned and walked swiftly +through the hall out into the street.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Dulcie, dreaming over her closed books in the fading +light, vaguely uneasy lest her silence might embrace +the faintest shadow of disloyalty to Barres, +looked up quickly at the sound of his familiar footsteps +on the pavement.</p> +<p>“Hello, little comrade,” he called to her on his way +to the stairs. “Didn’t we have a jolly party the other +evening? I’m going out to another party this evening, +but I bet it won’t be as jolly as ours!”</p> +<p>The girl smiled happily.</p> +<p>“Any letters, Sweetness?”</p> +<p>“None, Mr. Barres.”</p> +<p>“All the better. I have too many letters, too many +visitors. It leaves me no time to have another party +with you. But we shall have another, Dulcie—never +fear. That is,” he added, pretending to doubt her +receptiveness of his invitation, “if you would care to +have another with me.”</p> +<p>She merely looked at him, smiling deliciously.</p> +<p>“Be a good child and we’ll have another!” he called +back to her, running on up the western staircase.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Around seven o’clock her father came in, steady +enough of foot but shiny-red in the face and maudlin +drunk.</p> +<p>“That woman was here,” he whined, “an’ ye never +called me up! I am b-bethrayed be me childer—wurra +the day——”</p> +<p>“Please, father! If any one sees you——”</p> +<p>“An’ phwy not! Am I ashamed o’ the tears I shed? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +No, I am not. No Irishman need take shame along av +the tears he sheds for Ireland—God bless her where +she shtands!—wid the hob-nails av the crool tyrant +foreninst her bleeding neck an’——”</p> +<p>“Father, please——”</p> +<p>“That woman I warned ye of! She was here! ’Twas +the wan-eyed lad who seen her——”</p> +<p>Dulcie rose and took him by his arm. He made no +resistance; but he wept while she conducted him bedward, +as the immemorial wrongs of Ireland tore his +soul.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<a name='VII_OPPORTUNITY_KNOCKS' id='VII_OPPORTUNITY_KNOCKS'></a> +<h2>VII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The tremendous tragedy in Europe, now nearing +the end of the second act, had been slowly shaking +the drowsy Western World out of its snug +slumber of complacency. Young America was already +sitting up in bed, awake, alert, listening. Older America, +more difficult to convince, rolled solemn and interrogative +eyes toward Washington, where the wooden +gods still sat nodding in a row, smiling vacuously at +destiny out of carved and painted features. Eyes had +they but they saw not, ears but they heard not; neither +spake they through their mouths.</p> +<p>Yet, they that made them were no longer like unto +them, for many an anxious idolater no longer trusted +in them. For their old God’s voice was sounding in +their ears.</p> +<p>The voice of a great ex-president, too, had been +thundering from the wilderness; lesser prophets, endowed, +however, with intellect and vision, had been +warning the young West that the second advent of +Attila was at hand; an officer of the army, inspired +of God, had preached preparedness from the market +places and had established for its few disciples an habitation; +and a great Admiral had died of a broken +heart because his lips had been officially sealed—the +wisest lips that ever told of those who go down to the +sea in ships.</p> +<p>Plainer and plainer in American ears sounded the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +mounting surf of that blood-red sea thundering against +the frontiers of Democracy; clearer and clearer came +the discordant clamour of the barbaric hordes; louder +and more menacing the half-crazed blasphemies of +their chief, who had given the very name of the Scourge +of God to one among the degenerate litter he had sired.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Garret Barres had been educated like any American +of modern New York type. Harvard, then five years +abroad, and a return to his native city revealed him +as an ambitious, receptive, intelligent young man, +deeply interested in himself and his own affairs, theoretically +patriotic, a good citizen by intention, an affectionate +son and brother, and already a pretty good +painter of the saner species.</p> +<p>A modest income of his own enabled him to bide his +time and decline pot-boilers. A comparatively young +father and an even more youthful mother, both of +sporting proclivities, together with a sister of the same +tastes, were his preferred companions when he had +time to go home to the family rooftree in northern +New York. His lines, indeed, were cast in pleasant +places. Beside still waters in green pastures, he could +always restore his city-tarnished soul when he desired +to retire for a while from the battleground of endeavour.</p> +<p>The city, after all, offered him a world-wide battlefield; +for Garret Barres was by choice a painter of +thoroughbred women, of cosmopolitan men—a younger +warrior of the brush imbued with the old traditions +of those great English captains of portraiture, who +recorded for us the more brilliant human truths of the +seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.</p> +<p>From their stately canvases aglow, the eyes of the +lovely dead look out at us; the eyes of ambition, of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +pride, of fatuous complacency; the haunted eyes of +sorrow; the clear eyes of faith. Out of the past they +gaze—those who once lived—deathlessly recorded by +Van Dyck, Lely, Kneller; by Gainsborough, Reynolds, +Hoppner, Lawrence, Raeburn; or consigned to a dignified +destiny by Stuart, Sully, Inman, and Vanderlyn.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When Barres returned to New York after many +years, he found that the aspect of the city had not +altered very greatly. The usual dirt, disorder, and +municipal confusion still reigned; subways were being +dug, but since the memory of man runneth, the streets +of the metropolis have been dug up, and its market +places and byways have been an abomination.</p> +<p>The only visible excitement, however, was in the war +columns of the newspapers, and, sometimes, around +bulletin boards where wrangling groups were no uncommon +sight, citizens and aliens often coming into verbal +collision—sometimes physical—promptly suppressed +by bored policemen.</p> +<p>There was a “preparedness” parade; thousands of +worthy citizens marched in it, nervously aware, now, +that the Great Republic’s only mobile military division +was on the Mexican border, where also certain Guard +regiments were likely to be directed to reinforce the +regulars—pet regiments from the city, among whose +corps of officers and enlisted men everybody had some +friend or relative.</p> +<p>But these regiments had not yet entrained. There +were few soldiers to be seen on the streets. Khaki +began to be noticeable in New York only when the +Plattsburg camps opened. After that there was an interim +of the usual dull, unaccented civilian monotony, +mitigated at rare intervals by this dun-coloured ebb +and flow from Plattsburg.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span></div> +<p>Like the first vague premonitions of a nightmare the +first ominous symptoms of depression were slowly possessing +hearts already uneasy under two years’ burden +of rumours unprintable, horrors incredible to those +aloof and pursuing the peaceful tenor of their ways.</p> +<p>A growing restlessness, unbelief, the incapacity to +understand—selfishness, rapacity, self-righteousness, +complacency, cowardice, even stupidity itself were +being jolted and shocked into something resembling a +glimmer of comprehension as the hunnish U-boats, made +ravenous by the taste of blood, steered into western +shipping lanes like a vast shoal of sharks.</p> +<p>And always thicker and thicker came the damning +tales of rape and murder, of cowardly savagery, brutal +vileness, degenerate bestiality—clearer, nearer, distinctly +audible, the sigh of a ravaged and expiring +civilisation trampled to obliteration by the slavering, +ferocious swine of the north.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Fires among shipping, fires amid great stores of +cotton and grain destined for France or England, explosions +of munitions of war ordered by nations of the +Entente, the clumsy propaganda or impudent sneers +of German and pro-German newspapers; reports of +German meddling in Mexico, in South America, in +Japan; more sinister news concerning the insolent activities +of certain embassies—all these were beginning +to have their logical effect among a fat and prosperous +people which simply could not bear to be aroused +from pleasant dreams of brotherhood to face the raw +and hellish truth.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“For fifty years,” remarked Barres to his neighbour, +Esmé Trenor, also a painter of somewhat eccentric +portraits, “our national characteristic has been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +a capacity for absorbing bunk and a fixed determination +to kid ourselves. There really is a war, Trenor, old +top, and we’re going to get into it before very long.”</p> +<p>Trenor, a tall, tired, exquisitely groomed young man, +who once had painted a superficially attractive portrait +of a popular débutante, and had been overwhelmed +with fashionable orders ever since, was the adored of +women. He dropped one attenuated knee over the +other and lighted an attenuated cigarette.</p> +<p>“Fancy anybody bothering enough about anything +to fight over it!” he said languidly.</p> +<p>“We’re going to <i>war</i>, Trenor,” repeated Barres, +jamming his brushes into a bowl of black soap. “That’s +my positive conviction.”</p> +<p>“Yours is so disturbingly positive a nature,” remonstrated +the other. “Why ever raise a row? Nothing +positive is of any real importance—not even opinions.”</p> +<p>Barres, vigorously cleaning his brushes in turpentine +and black soap, glanced around at Trenor, and in +his quick smile there glimmered a hint of good-natured +malice. For Esmé Trenor was notoriously anything +except positive in his painting, always enveloping a +lack of technical knowledge with a veil of camouflage. +Behind this pretty veil hid many defects, perhaps even +deformities—protected by vague, indefinite shadows +and the effrontery of an adroit exploiter of the restless +sex.</p> +<p>But Esmé Trenor was both clever and alert. He +had not even missed that slight and momentary glimmer +of good-humoured malice in the pleasant glance of +Barres. But, like his more intelligent prototype, +Whistler, it was impossible to know whether or not +discovery ever made any particular difference to him. +He tucked a lilac-bordered handkerchief a little deeper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +into his cuff, glanced at his jewelled wrist-watch, shook +the long ash from his cigarette.</p> +<p>“To be positive in anything,” he drawled, “is an +effort; effort entails exertion; exertion is merely a degree +of violence; violence engenders toxins; toxins dull +the intellect. Quod erat, dear friend. You see?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I see,” nodded Barres, always frankly +amused at Trenor and his ways.</p> +<p>“Well, then, if you see——” Trenor waved a long, +bony, over-manicured hand, expelled a ring or two of +smoke, meditatively; then, in his characteristically languid +voice: “To be positive closes the door to further +observation and pulls down the window shades. +Nothing remains except to go to bed. Is there anything +more uninteresting than to go to bed? Is there +anything more depressing than to know all about something?”</p> +<p>“You do converse like an ass sometimes,” remarked +Barres.</p> +<p>“Yes—sometimes. Not now, Barres. I don’t desire +to know all about anybody or anything. Fancy my +knowing all about art, for example!”</p> +<p>“Yes, fancy!” repeated Barres, laughing.</p> +<p>“Or about anything specific—a woman, for example!” +He shrugged wearily.</p> +<p>“If you meet a woman and like her, don’t you want +to know all there is to know about her?” inquired +Barres.</p> +<p>“I should say not!” returned the other with languid +contempt. “I don’t wish to know anything at all about +her.”</p> +<p>“Well, we differ about that, old top.”</p> +<p>“Religiously. A woman can be only an incidental +amusement in one’s career. You don’t go to a musical +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +comedy twice, do you? And any woman will reveal +herself sufficiently in one evening.”</p> +<p>“Nice, kindly domestic instincts you have, Trenor.”</p> +<p>“I’m merely fastidious,” returned the other, dropping +his cigarette out of the open window. He rose, +yawned, took his hat, stick and gloves.</p> +<p>“Bye,” he said languidly. “I’m painting Elsena +Helmund this morning.”</p> +<p>Barres said, with good-humoured envy:</p> +<p>“I’ve neither commission nor sitter. If I had, you +bet I’d not stand there yawning at my luck.”</p> +<p>“It is you who have the luck, not I,” drawled Trenor. +“I give a portion of my spiritual and material self +with every brush stroke, while you remain at liberty to +flourish and grow fat in idleness. I perish as I create; +my life exhausts itself to feed my art. What you +call my good luck is my martyrdom. You see, dear +friend, how fortunate you are?”</p> +<p>“I see,” grinned Barres. “But will your spiritual +nature stand such a cruel drain? Aren’t you afraid +your morality may totter?”</p> +<p>“Morality,” mused Esmé, going; “that is one of +those early Gothic terms now obsolete, I believe——”</p> +<p>He sauntered out with his hat and gloves and stick, +still murmuring:</p> +<p>“Morality? Gothic—very Gothic—”</p> +<p>Barres, still amused, sorted his wet brushes, dried +them carefully one by one on a handful of cotton waste, +and laid them in a neat row across the soapstone top +of his palette-table.</p> +<p>“Hang it!” he muttered cheerfully. “I could paint +like a streak this morning if I had the chance—”</p> +<p>He threw himself back in his chair and sat there +smoking for a while, his narrowing eyes fixed on a great +window which opened above the court. Soft spring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +breezes stirred the curtains; sparrows were noisy out +there; a strip of cobalt sky smiled at him over the opposite +chimneys; an April cloud floated across it.</p> +<p>He rose, walked over to the window and glanced +down into the court. Several more hyacinths were now +in blossom. The Prophet dozed majestically, curled +up on an Italian garden seat. Beside him sprawled +the snow white Houri, stretched out full length in the +sun, her wonderful blue eyes following the irrational +gambols of the tortoise-shell cat, Strindberg, who had +gone loco, as usual, and was tearing up and down trees, +prancing sideways with flattened ears and crooked tail, +in terror at things invisible, or digging furiously toward +China amid the hyacinths.</p> +<p>Dulcie Soane came out into the court presently +and expostulated with Strindberg, who suffered herself +to be removed from the hyacinth bed, only to make +a hysterical charge on her mistress’s ankles.</p> +<p>“Stop it, you crazy thing!” insisted Dulcie, administering +a gentle slap which sent the cat bucketing and +corvetting across the lawn, where the eccentric course +of a dead leaf, blown by the April wind, instantly occupied +its entire intellectual vacuum.</p> +<p>Barres, leaning on the window-sill, said, without raising +his voice:</p> +<p>“Hello, Dulcie! How are you, after our party?”</p> +<p>The child looked up, smiled shyly her response +through the pale glory of the April sunshine.</p> +<p>“What are you doing to-day?” he inquired, with +casual but friendly interest.</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t there any school?”</p> +<p>“It’s Saturday.”</p> +<p>“That’s so. Well, if you’re doing nothing you’re +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +just as busy as I am,” he remarked, smiling down at +her where she stood below his window.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you paint pictures?” ventured the girl +diffidently.</p> +<p>“Because I haven’t any orders. Isn’t that sad?”</p> +<p>“Yes.... But you could paint a picture just to +please yourself, couldn’t you?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t anybody to paint from,” he explained with +amiable indifference, lazily watching the effect of alternate +shadow and sunlight on her upturned face.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you find—somebody?” Her heart had +suddenly begun to beat very fast.</p> +<p>Barres laughed:</p> +<p>“Would you like to have your portrait painted?”</p> +<p>She could scarcely find voice to reply:</p> +<p>“Will you—let me?”</p> +<p>The slim young figure down there in the April sunshine +had now arrested his professional attention. With +detached interest he inspected her for a few moments; +then:</p> +<p>“You’d make an interesting study, Dulcie. What do +you say?”</p> +<p>“Do—do you mean that you <i>want</i> me?”</p> +<p>“Why—yes! Would you like to pose for me? It’s +pin-money, anyway. Would you like to try it?”</p> +<p>“Y-yes.”</p> +<p>“Are you quite sure? It’s hard work.”</p> +<p>“Quite—sure——” she stammered. The little flushed +face was lifted very earnestly to his now, almost beseechingly. +“I am quite sure,” she repeated breathlessly.</p> +<p>“So you’d really like to pose for me?” he insisted in +smiling surprise at the girl’s visible excitement. Then +he added abruptly: “I’ve half a mind to give you a +job as my private model!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></div> +<p>Through the rosy confusion of her face her grey +eyes were fixed on him with a wistful intensity, almost +painful. For into her empty heart and starved mind +had suddenly flashed a dazzling revelation. Opportunity +was knocking at her door. Her chance had +come! Perhaps it had been inherited from her mother—God +knows!—this deep, deep hunger for things beautiful—this +passionate longing for light and knowledge.</p> +<p>Mere contact with such a man as Barres had already +made endurable a solitary servitude which had +been subtly destroying her child’s spirit, and slowly +dulling the hunger in her famished mind. And now +to aid him—to feel that he was using her—was to arise +from her rags of ignorance and emerge upright into +the light which filled that wonder-house wherein he +dwelt, and on the dark threshold of which her lonely +little soul had crouched so long in silence.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She looked up almost blindly at the man who, in +careless friendliness, had already opened his door to +her, had permitted her to read his wonder-books, had +allowed her to sit unreproved and silent from sheer +happiness, and gaze unsatiated upon the wondrous +things within the magic mansion where he dwelt.</p> +<p>And now to serve this man; to aid him, to creep +into the light in which he stood and strive to learn +and see!—the thought already had produced a delicate +intoxication in the child, and she gazed up at +Barres from the sunny garden with her naked soul in +her eyes. Which confused, perplexed, and embarrassed +him.</p> +<p>“Come on up,” he said briefly. “I’ll tell your father +over the ’phone.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She entered without a sound, closed the door which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +he had left open for her, advanced across the thick-meshed +rug. She still wore her blue gingham apron; +her bobbed hair, full of ruddy lights, intensified the +whiteness of her throat. In her arms she cradled the +Prophet, who stared solemnly at Barres out of depthless +green eyes.</p> +<p>“Upon my word,” thought Barres to himself, “I believe +I have found a model and an uncommon one!”</p> +<p>Dulcie, watching his expression, smiled slightly and +stroked the Prophet.</p> +<p>“I’ll paint you that way! Don’t stir,” said the +young fellow pleasantly. “Just stand where you are, +Dulcie. You’re quite all right as you are——” He +lifted a half-length canvas, placed it on his heavy easel +and clamped it.</p> +<p>“I feel exactly like painting,” he continued, busy +with his brushes and colours. “I’m full of it to-day. +It’s in me. It’s got to come out.... And you certainly +are an interesting subject—with your big grey +eyes and bobbed red hair—oh, quite interesting constructively, +too—as well as from the colour point.”</p> +<p>He finished setting his palette, gathered up a handful +of brushes:</p> +<p>“I won’t bother to draw you except with a +brush——”</p> +<p>He looked across at her, remained looking, the pleasantly +detached expression of his features gradually +changing to curiosity, to the severity of increasing interest, +to concentrated and silent absorption.</p> +<p>“Dulcie,” he presently concluded, “you are so unusually +interesting and paintable that you make me +think very seriously.... And I’m hanged if I’m going +to waste you by slapping a technically adequate +sketch of you onto this nice new canvas ... which +might give me pleasure while I’m doing it ... and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +might even tickle my vanity for a week ... and then +be laid away to gather dust ... and be covered over +next year and used for another sketch.... No.... +<i>No</i>!... You’re worth more than that!”</p> +<p>He began to pace the place to and fro, thinking very +hard, glancing around at her from moment to moment, +where she stood, obediently immovable on the +blue meshed rug, clasping the Prophet to her breast.</p> +<p>“Do you want to become my private model?” he demanded +abruptly. “I mean seriously. Do you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I mean a real model, from whom I can ask anything?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, please,” pleaded the girl, trembling a little.</p> +<p>“Do you understand what it means?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Sometimes you’ll be required to wear few clothes. +Sometimes none. Did you know that?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Mr. Westmore asked me once.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t care to?”</p> +<p>“Not for him.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mind doing it for me?”</p> +<p>“I’ll do anything you ask me,” she said, trying to +smile and shivering with excitement.</p> +<p>“All right. It’s a bargain. You’re my model, Dulcie. +When do you graduate from school?”</p> +<p>“In June.”</p> +<p>“Two months! Well—all right. Until then it will +be a half day through the week, and all day Saturdays +and Sundays, if I require you. You’ll have a weekly +salary——” He smiled and mentioned the figure, and +the girl blushed vividly. She had, it appeared, expected +nothing.</p> +<p>“Why, Dulcie!” he exclaimed, immensely amused. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +“You didn’t intend to come here and give me all your +time for nothing, did you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But why on earth should you do such a thing for +me?”</p> +<p>She found no words to explain why.</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” he continued; “you’re a business woman +now. Your father will have to find somebody to cook +for him and take the desk when he’s out at Grogan’s. +Don’t worry; I’ll fix it with him.... By the way, +Dulcie, supposing you sit down.”</p> +<p>She found a chair and took the Prophet onto her +lap.</p> +<p>“Now, this will be very convenient for me,” he went +on, inspecting her with increasing satisfaction. “If +I ever have any orders—any sitters—you can have a +vacation, of course. Otherwise, I’ll always have an +interesting model at hand—I’ve got chests full of wonderful +costumes—genuine ones——” He fell silent, +his eyes studying her. Already he was planning half +a dozen pictures, for he was just beginning to perceive +how adaptable the girl might be. And there was about +her that indefinable something which, when a painter +discovers it, interests him and arouses his intense artistic +curiosity.</p> +<p>“You know,” he said musingly, “you are something +more than pretty, Dulcie.... I could put you in +eighteenth century clothes and you’d look logical. +Yes, and in seventeenth century clothes, too.... I +could do some amusing things with you in oriental garments.... +A young Herodiade ... Calypso ... +Theodora.... She was a child, too, you know. +There’s a portrait with bobbed hair—a young girl by +Van Dyck.... You know you are quite stimulating +to me, Dulcie. You excite a painter’s imagination. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +It’s rather odd,” he added naïvely, “that I never discovered +you before; and I’ve known you over two +years.”</p> +<p>He had seated himself on the sofa while discoursing. +Now he got up, touched a bell twice. The Finnish +maid, Selinda, with her high cheek-bones, frosty blue +eyes and colourless hair, appeared in cap and apron.</p> +<p>“Selinda,” he said, “take Miss Dulcie into my room. +In a long, leather Turkish box on the third shelf of +my clothes closet is a silk and gold costume and a lot +of jade jewelry. Please put her into it.”</p> +<p>So Dulcie Soane went away with her cat in her arms, +beside the neat and frosty-eyed Selinda; and Barres +opened a portfolio of engravings, where were gathered +the lovely aristocrats of Van Dyck and Rubens and +Gainsborough and his contemporaries—a charmingly +mixed company, separated by centuries and frontiers, +yet all characterised by a common <i>something</i>—some +inexplicable similarity which Barres recognised without +defining.</p> +<p>“It’s rather amusing,” he murmured, “but that kid, +Dulcie, seems to remind me of these people—somehow +or other.... One scarcely looks for qualities in the +child of an Irish janitor.... I wonder who her mother +was....”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When he looked up again Dulcie was standing there +on the thick rug. On her naked feet were jade bracelets, +jade-set rings on her little toes; a cascade of jade +and gold falling over her breasts to the straight, narrow +breadth of peacock hue which fell to her ankles. +And on her childish head, clasping the ruddy bobbed +hair, glittered the jade-incrusted diadem of a fairy +princess of Cathay.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/illus-100.jpg' alt='' title='' width='370' height='500' /> +<br /> +<p class='caption'> +“YOU LITTLE MIRACLE!”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>The Prophet, gathered close to her breast, stared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +back at Barres with eyes that dimmed the splendid +jade about him.</p> +<p>“That settles it,” he said, the tint of excitement rising +in his cheeks. “I <i>have</i> discovered a model and a +wonder! And right here is where I paint my winter +Academy—right here and right now!... And I call +it ‘The Prophets.’ Climb up on that model stand and +squat there cross-legged, and stare at me—straight at +me—the way your cat stares!... There you are. +That’s right! Don’t move. Stay put or I’ll come +over and bow-string you!—you little miracle!”</p> +<p>“Do—you mean me?” faltered Dulcie.</p> +<p>“You bet, Sweetness! Do you know how beautiful +you are? Well, never mind——” He had begun already +to draw with a wet brush, and now he relapsed +into absorbed silence.</p> +<p>The Prophet watched him steadily. The studio became +intensely still.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +<a name='VIII_DULCIE_ANSWERS' id='VIII_DULCIE_ANSWERS'></a> +<h2>VIII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />DULCIE ANSWERS</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The studio door bell rang while Barres was at +breakfast one morning late in June. Aristocrates +leisurely answered the door, but shut it +again immediately and walked out into the kitchenette +without any explanation.</p> +<p>Selinda removed the breakfast cover and fetched the +newspaper. Later, Aristocrates, having washed his +master’s brushes, brought them into the studio mincingly, +upon a silver service-salver.</p> +<p>“No letters?” inquired Barres, glancing up over the +morning paper and laying aside his cigarette.</p> +<p>“No letters, suh. No co’espondence in any shape, +fo’m or manner, suh.”</p> +<p>“Anybody to see me?” inquired Barres, always +amused at Aristocrates’ flights of verbiage.</p> +<p>“Nobody, suh, excusin’ a persistless ’viduality inquihin’ +fo’ you, suh.”</p> +<p>“What persistless individuality was that?” asked +Barres.</p> +<p>“A ve’y or-nary human objec’, suh, pahshially afflicted +with one bad eye.”</p> +<p>“That one-eyed man? He’s been here several times, +hasn’t he? Why does he come?”</p> +<p>“Fo’ commercial puhposes, suh.”</p> +<p>“Oh, a pedlar?”</p> +<p>“He mentions a desiah, suh, to dispose, commercially, +of vahious impo’ted materials requiahed by ahtists.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></div> +<p>“Didn’t you show him the sign in the hall, ‘No pedlars +allowed’?”</p> +<p>“Yaas, suh.”</p> +<p>“What did he say?”</p> +<p>“I would not demean myse’f to repeat what this human +objec’ said, suh.”</p> +<p>“And what did you do then?”</p> +<p>“Mistuh Barres, suh, I totally igno’hed that man,” +replied Aristocrates languidly.</p> +<p>“Quite right. But you tell Soane to enforce the +rule against pedlars. Every day there are two or +three of them ringing at the studio, trying to sell colours, +laces, or fake oriental rugs. It annoys me. Selinda +can’t hear the bell and I have to leave my work +and open the door. Tell that persistless one-eyed man +to keep away. Tell Soane to bounce him next time he +enters Dragon Court. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“Yaas, suh. But Soane, suh, he’s a might friendly +Irish. He’s spo’tin’ ’round Grogan’s nights, ’longa +this here one-eyed ’viduality. Yaas, suh. I done seen +’em co-gatherin’ on vahious occasionalities.”</p> +<p>“Oho!” commented Barres. “It’s graft, is it? This +one-eyed pedlar meets Soane at Grogan’s and bribes +him with a few drinks to let him peddle colours in +Dragon Court! That’s the Irish of it, Aristocrates. +I began to suspect something like that. All right. +I’ll speak to Soane myself.... Leave the studio door +open; it’s warm in here.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The month of May was now turning somewhat sultry +as it melted into June. Every pivot-pane in the +big studio window had been swung wide open. The +sun had already clothed every courtyard tree with +dense and tender foliage; hyacinth and tulip were gone +and Soane’s subscription geraniums blazed in their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +place like beds of coals heaped up on the grass plot of +Dragon Court.</p> +<p>But blue sky, sunshine of approaching summer, gentle +winds and freshening rains brought only restlessness +to New Yorkers that month of May.</p> +<p>Like the first two years of the war, the present year +seemed strange, unreal; its vernal breezes brought no +balm, its blue skies no content. The early summer +sunlight seemed almost uncanny in a world where, beyond +the sea, millions of men at arms swayed ceaselessly +under sun and moon alike, interlocked in one gigantic +death grip!—a horrible and blood-drenched human +chain of butchery stretching half around the +earth.</p> +<p>Into every Western human eye had come strange and +subtle shadows which did not depart with moments of +forgetful mirth, intervals of self-absorption, hours +filled with familiar interests—the passions, hopes, perplexities +of those years which were now no more.</p> +<p>Those years of yesterdays! A vast and depthless +cleft already divided them from to-day. They seemed +as remote as dusty centuries—those days of an ordered +and tranquil world—those days of little obvious +faiths unshattered—even those days of little wars, of +petty local strifes, of an almost universal calm and +peace and trust in brotherhood and in the obligations +of civilisation.</p> +<p>Familiar yesterday had vanished, its creeds forgotten. +It was already decades away, and fading like a +legend in the ever-increasing glare of the red and present +moment.</p> +<p>And the month of May seemed strange, and its soft +skies and sun seemed out of place in a world full of +dying—a world heavy with death—a western world +aloof from the raging hell beyond the seas, yet already +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +tense under the distant threat of three continents in +flames—and all aquiver before the deathly menace of +that horde of blood-crazed demons still at large, still +unsubdued, still ranging the ruins of the planet which +they had so insanely set on fire.</p> +<p>Entire nations were still burning beyond the ocean; +other nations had sunk into cinders. Over the Eastern +seas the furnace breath began to be felt along the +out-thrust coast lines of the Western World. Inland, +not yet; but every seaward city became now conscious +of that first faint warning wave of heat from hell. +Millions of ears strained to catch the first hushed whisper +of the tumult. Silent in its suspense the Great +Republic listened. Only the priesthood of the deaf +and wooden gods continued voluble. But Israel had +already begun to lift up its million eyes; and its ancient +faith began to glow again; and its trust was becoming +once more a living thing—the half-forgotten +trust of Israel in that half-forgotten Lord, who, in +the beginning, had been their helper and their shield.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Through the open studio door came Dulcie Soane. +The Prophet followed at her slender heels, gently waving +an urbane tail.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>After his first smiling greeting—he always rose, +advanced, and took her hand with that pleasant appearance +of formality so adored by femininity, youthful or +mature—he resumed his seat and continued to write +his letters.</p> +<p>These finished, he stamped them, rang for Aristocrates, +picked up his palette and brushes, and pulled +out the easel upon which was the canvas for the morning.</p> +<p>Dulcie, still in the hands of Selinda, had not yet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +emerged. The Prophet sat upright on the carved +table, motionless as a cat of ebony with green-jewelled +eyes.</p> +<p>“Well, old sport,” said Barres, stepping across the +rug to caress the cat, “you and your pretty mistress +begin to look very interesting on my canvas.”</p> +<p>The Prophet received the blandishments with dignified +gratitude. A discreet and feathery purring filled +the room as Barres stroked the jet black, silky fur.</p> +<p>“Fine cat, you are,” commented the young man, +turning as Dulcie entered.</p> +<p>She laid one hand on his extended arm and sprang +lightly to the model stand. And the next moment she +was seated—a slim, gemmed thing glimmering with imperial +jade from top to toe.</p> +<p>Barres laid the Prophet in her arms, stepped back +while Dulcie arranged the docile cat, then retreated to +his canvas.</p> +<p>“All right, Sweetness?”</p> +<p>“All right,” replied the child happily. And the +morning séance was on.</p> +<p>Barres was usually inclined to ramble along conversationally +in his pleasant, detached way while at work, +particularly if work went well.</p> +<p>“Where were we yesterday, Dulcie? Oh, yes; we +were talking about the Victorian era and its art; and +we decided that it was not the barren desert that the +ultra-moderns would have us believe. That’s what we +decided, wasn’t it?”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> decided,” she said.</p> +<p>“So did you, Dulcie. It was a unanimous decision. +Because we both concluded that some among the Victorians +were full of that sweet, clean sanity which alone +endures. You recollect how our decision started?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></div> +<p>“Yes. It was about my new pleasure in Tennyson, +Browning, Morris, Arnold, and Swinburne.”</p> +<p>“Exactly. Victorian poets, if sometimes a trifle +stilted and self-conscious, wrote nobly; makers of Victorian +prose displayed qualities of breadth, imagination +and vision and a technical cultivation unsurpassed. +The musical compositions of that epoch were melodious +and sometimes truly inspired; never brutal, never +vulgar, never degenerate. And the Victorian sculptors +and painters—at first perhaps austerely pedantic—became, +as they should be, recorders of the times and +customs of thought, bringing the end of the reign of +a great Queen to an admirable renaissance.”</p> +<p>Dulcie’s grey eyes never left his. And if she did +not quite understand every word, already the dawning +familiarity with his vocabulary and a general comprehension +of his modes of self-expansion permitted her +to follow him.</p> +<p>“A great Queen, a great reign, a great people,” he +rambled on, painting away all the while. “And if in +that era architecture declined toward its lowest level +of stupidity, and if taste in furniture and in the plastic, +decorative, and textile arts was steadily sinking +toward its lowest ebb, and if Mrs. Grundy trudged the +Empire, paramount, dull and smugly ferocious, while +all snobbery saluted her and the humble grovelled before +her dusty brogans, yet, Dulcie, it was a great era.</p> +<p>“It was great because its faith had not been radically +impaired; it was sane because Germany had not +yet inoculated the human race with its porcine political +vulgarities, its bestial degeneracy in art.... And if, +perhaps, the sentimental in British art and literature +predominated, thank God it had not yet been tainted +with the stark ugliness, the swinish nakedness, the ferocious +leer of things Teutonic!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div> +<p>He continued to paint in silence for a while. Presently +the Prophet yawned on Dulcie’s knees, displaying +a pink cavern.</p> +<p>“Better rest,” he said, nodding smilingly at Dulcie. +She released the cat, who stretched, arched his back, +yawned again gravely, and stalked away over the velvety +Eastern carpet.</p> +<p>Dulcie got up lithely and followed him on little jade-encrusted, +naked feet.</p> +<p>A box of bon-bons lay on the sofa; she picked up +Rossetti’s poems, turned the leaves with jewel-laden +fingers, while with the other hand she groped for a +bon-bon, her grey eyes riveted on the pages before her.</p> +<p>During these intervals between poses it was the +young man’s custom to make chalk sketches of the girl, +recording swiftly any unstudied attitude, any unconscious +phase of youthful grace that interested him.</p> +<p>Dulcie, in the beginning, diffidently aware of this, +had now become entirely accustomed to it, and no +longer felt any responsibility to remain motionless +while he was busy with red chalk or charcoal.</p> +<p>When she had rested sufficiently, she laid aside her +book, hunted up the Prophet, who lazily endured the +gentle tyranny, and resumed her place on the model +stand.</p> +<p>And so they worked away all the morning, until +luncheon was served in the studio by Aristocrates; and +Barres in his blouse, and Dulcie in her peacock silk, +her jade, and naked feet, gravely or lightly as their +moods dictated, discussed an omelette and a pot of +tea or chocolate, and the ways and manners and customs +of a world which Dulcie now was discovering as a +brand new and most enchanting planet.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +<a name='IX_HER_DAY' id='IX_HER_DAY'></a> +<h2>IX +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />HER DAY</span></h2> +</div> +<p>June was ending in a very warm week. Work in +the studio lagged, partly because Dulcie, preparing +for graduation, could give Barres little +time; partly because, during June, that young man +had been away spending the week-ends with his parents +and his sister at Foreland Farms, their home.</p> +<p>From one of these visits he returned to the city just +in time to read a frantic little note from Dulcie Soane:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Dear Mr. Barres</span>, please, <i>please</i> come to my graduation. +I do want <i>somebody</i> there who knows me. And my father +is not well. Is it too much to ask of you? I hadn’t the +courage to speak to you about it when you were here, but I +have ventured to write because it will be so lonely for me +to graduate without having anybody there I know.</p> +<p class='sig1'>“<span class='smcap'>Dulcie Soane.</span>”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was still early in the morning; he had taken a +night train to town.</p> +<p>So when he had been freshened by a bath and change +of linen, he took his hat and went down stairs.</p> +<p>A heavy, pasty-visaged young woman sat at the +desk in the entrance hall.</p> +<p>“Where is Soane?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“He’s sick.”</p> +<p>“<i>Where</i> is he?”</p> +<p>“In bed,” she replied indifferently. The woman’s +manner just verged on impertinence. He hesitated, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +then walked across to the superintendent’s apartments +and entered without knocking.</p> +<p>Soane, in his own room, lay sleeping off the consequences +of an evening at Grogan’s. One glance was +sufficient for Barres, and he walked out.</p> +<p>On Madison Avenue he found a florist, selected a bewildering +bouquet, and despatched it with a hasty note, +by messenger, to Dulcie at her school. In the note +he wrote:</p> +<p>“I shall be there. Cheer up!”</p> +<p>He also sent more flowers to his studio, with pencilled +orders to Aristocrates.</p> +<p>In a toy-shop he found an appropriate decoration +for the centre of the lunch table.</p> +<p>Later, in a jeweller’s, he discovered a plain gold +locket, shaped like a heart and inset with one little diamond. +A slender chain by which to suspend it was +easily chosen; and an extra payment admitted him to +the emergency department where he looked on while +an expert engraved upon the locket: “Dulcie Soane +from Garret Barres,” and the date.</p> +<p>After that he went into the nearest telephone booth +and called up several people, inviting them to dine +with him that evening.</p> +<p>It was nearly ten o’clock now. He took his little +gift, stopped a taxi, and arrived at the big brick high-school +just in time to enter with the last straggling +parents and family friends.</p> +<p>The hall was big and austerely bare, except for the +ribbons and flags and palms which decorated it. It +was hot, too, though all the great blank windows had +been swung open wide.</p> +<p>The usual exercises had already begun; there were +speeches from Authority; prayers by Divinity; choral +effects by graduating pulchritude.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></div> +<p>The class, attired in white, appeared to average +much older than Dulcie. He could see her now, in her +reconstructed communion dress, holding the big bouquet +which he had sent her, one madonna lily of which +she had detached and pinned over her breast.</p> +<p>Her features were composed and delicately flushed; +her bobbed hair was tucked up, revealing the snowy +neck.</p> +<p>One girl after another advanced and read or spoke, +performing the particular parlour trick assigned her +in the customary and perfectly unremarkable manner +characteristic of such affairs.</p> +<p>Rapturous parental demonstrations greeted each effort; +piano, violin and harp filled in nobly. A slight +haze of dust, incident to pedalistic applause, invaded +the place; there was an odour of flowers in the heated +atmosphere.</p> +<p>Glancing at a programme which he had found on his +seat, Barres read: “Song: Dulcie Soane.”</p> +<p>Looking up at her where she sat on the stage, among +her comrades in white, he noticed that her eyes were +busy searching the audience—possibly for him, he +thought, experiencing an oddly pleasant sensation at +the possibility.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The time at length arrived for Dulcie to do her parlour +trick; she rose and came forward, clasping the +big, fragrant bouquet, prettily flushed but self-possessed. +The harp began a little minor prelude—something +Irish and not very modern. Then Dulcie’s pure, +untrained voice stole winningly through the picked +harp-strings’ hesitation:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>“Heart of a colleen,</p> +<p>Where do you roam?</p> +<p class='indent4'>Heart of a colleen,</p> +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></p> +<p>Far from your home?</p> +<p>Laden with love you stole from her breast!</p> +<p>Wandering dove, return to your nest!</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>Sodgers are sailin’</p> +<p>Away to the wars;</p> +<p class='indent4'>Ladies are wailin’</p> +<p>Their woe to the stars;</p> +<p>Why is the heart of you straying so soon—</p> +<p>Heart that was part of you, Eileen Aroon?</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>Lost to a sodger,</p> +<p>Gone is my heart!</p> +<p class='indent4'>Lost to a sodger,</p> +<p>Now we must part——</p> +<p>I and my heart—for it journeys afar</p> +<p>Along with the sodgers who sail to the war!</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>Tears that near blind me</p> +<p>My pride shall dry,——</p> +<p class='indent4'>Wisha! don’t mind me!</p> +<p>Lave a lass cry!</p> +<p>Only a sodger can whistle the tune</p> +<p>That coaxes the heart out of Eileen Aroon!”</p> +</div></div> +<p>And Dulcie’s song ended.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Almost instantly the audience had divined in the +words she sang a significance which concerned them—a +warning—perhaps a prophecy. The 69th Regiment +of New York infantry was Irish, and nearly every seat +in the hall held a relative of some young fellow serving +in its ranks.</p> +<p>The applause was impulsive, stormy, persistent; the +audience was demanding the young girl’s recall; the +noise they made became overwhelming, checking the +mediating music and baffling the next embarrassed graduate, +scheduled to read an essay, and who stood there +mute, her manuscript in her hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span></div> +<p>Finally the principal of the school arose, went over +to Dulcie, and exchanged a few words with her. Then +he came forward, hand lifted in appeal for silence.</p> +<p>“The music and words of the little song you have +just heard,” he said, “were written, I have just learned, +by the mother of the girl who sang them. They were +written in Ireland a number of years ago, when Irish +regiments were sent away for over-seas service. Neither +words nor song have ever been published. Miss Soane +found them among her mother’s effects.</p> +<p>“I thought the story of the little song might interest +you. For, somehow, I feel—as I think you all feel—that +perhaps the day may come—may be near—when +the hearts of our women, too, shall be given to +their soldiers—sons, brothers, fathers—who are ‘sailin’ +away to the wars.’ But if that time comes—which +God avert!—then I know that every man here will do +his duty.... And every woman.... And I know +that:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>‘Tears that near blind you,</p> +<p>Your pride shall dry!——’”</p> +</div></div> +<p>He paused a moment:</p> +<p>“Miss Soane has prepared no song to sing as an +encore. In her behalf, and in my own, I thank you for +your appreciation. Be kind enough to permit the exercises +to proceed.”</p> +<p>And the graduating exercises continued.</p> +<p>Barres waited for Dulcie. She came out among the +first of those departing, walking all alone in her reconstructed +white dress, and carrying his bouquet. +When she caught sight of him, her face became radiant +and she made her way toward him through the +crowd, seeking his outstretched hand with hers, clinging +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +to it in a passion of gratitude and emotion that +made her voice tremulous:</p> +<p>“My bouquet—it is so wonderful! I love every +flower in it! Thank you with all my heart. You are +so kind to have come—so kind to me—so k-kind——”</p> +<p>“It is I who should be grateful, Dulcie, for your +charming little song,” he insisted. “It was fascinating +and exquisitely done.”</p> +<p>“Did you really like it?” she asked shyly.</p> +<p>“Indeed I did! And I quite fell in love with your +voice, too—with that trick you seem to possess of conveying +a hint of tears through some little grace-note +now and then.... And there <i>were</i> tears hidden in +the words; and in the melody, too.... And to think +that your mother wrote it!”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>After a short interval of silence he released her hand.</p> +<p>“I have a taxi for you,” he said gaily. “We’ll drive +home in state.”</p> +<p>The girl flushed again with surprise and gratitude:</p> +<p>“Are—are <i>you</i> coming, too?”</p> +<p>“Certainly I’m going to take you home. Don’t you +belong to me?” he demanded laughingly.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said. But her forced little smile made +the low-voiced answer almost solemn.</p> +<p>“Well, then!” he said cheerfully. “Come along. +What’s mine I look after. We’ll have lunch together +in the studio, if you are too proud to pose for a poor +artist this afternoon.”</p> +<p>At this her sensitive face cleared and she laughed +happily.</p> +<p>“The pride of a high-school graduate!” he commented, +as he seated himself beside her in the taxicab. +“Can anything equal it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></div> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Her pride in your—friendship,” she ventured.</p> +<p>Which unexpected reply touched and surprised him.</p> +<p>“You dear child!” he said; “I’m proud of your +friendship, too. Nothing ought to make a man prouder +than winning a young girl’s confidence.”</p> +<p>“You are so kind,” she sighed, touching the blossoms +in her bouquet with slender fingers that trembled +a little. For she would have offered him a flower from +it had she found courage; but it seemed presumptuous +and she dropped her hand into her lap again.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Aristocrates opened the door for them: Selinda took +her away.</p> +<p>Barres had ordered flowers for the table. In the +middle of it a doll stood, attired in academic cap and +gown, the Stars and Stripes in one hand, in the other +a green flag bearing a gold harp.</p> +<p>When Dulcie came in she stopped short, enchanted +at the sight of the decorated table. But when Aristocrates +opened the kitchen door and her three cats +came trotting in, she was overcome.</p> +<p>For each cat wore a red, white and blue cravat on +which was pinned a silk shamrock; and although +Strindberg immediately keeled over on the rug and +madly attacked her cravat with her hind toes, the general +effect remained admirable.</p> +<p>Aristocrates seated Dulcie. Upon her plate was +the box containing chain and locket. And the girl cast +a swift, inquiring glance across the centre flowers at +Barres.</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s for you, Dulcie,” he said.</p> +<p>She turned quite pale at sight of the little gift. +After a silence she leaned on the table with both elbows, +shading her face with her hands.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></div> +<p>He let her alone—let the first tense moment in her +youthful life ebb out of it; nor noticed, apparently, +the furtive and swift touch of her best handkerchief +to her closed eyes.</p> +<p>Aristocrates brought her a little glass of frosted +orange juice. After an interval, not looking at Barres, +she sipped it. Then she took the locket and chain from +the satin-lined box, read the inscription, closed her +lids for a second’s silent ecstasy, opened them looking +at him through rapturous tears, and with her eyes still +fixed on him lifted the chain and fastened it around +her slender neck.</p> +<p>The luncheon then proceeded, the Prophet gravely +assisting from the vantage point of a neighbouring +chair, the Houri, more emotional, promenading earnestly +at the heels of Aristocrates. As for Strindberg, +she possessed neither manners nor concentration, +and she alternately squalled her desires for food or +frisked all over the studio, attempting complicated +maneuvres with every curtain-cord and tassel within +reach.</p> +<p>Dulcie had found her voice again—a low, uncertain, +tremulous little voice when she tried to thank him for +the happiness he had given her—a clearer, firmer voice +when he dexterously led the conversation into channels +more familiar and serene.</p> +<p>They talked of the graduating exercises, of her part +in them, of her classmates, of education in general.</p> +<p>She told him that since she was quite young she had +learned to play the piano by remaining for an hour +every day after school, and receiving instruction from +a young teacher who needed a little extra pin money.</p> +<p>As for singing, she had had no instruction. Her +voice had never been tried, never been cultivated.</p> +<p>“We’ll have it tried some day,” he said casually.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span></div> +<p>But Dulcie shook her head, explaining that it was +an expensive process and not to be thought of.</p> +<p>“How did you pay for your piano lessons?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I paid twenty-five cents an hour. My mother left +a little money for me when I was a baby. I spent it +all that way.”</p> +<p>“Every bit of it?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I had $500. It lasted me seven years—from +the time I was ten to now.”</p> +<p>“<i>Are</i> you seventeen? You don’t look it.”</p> +<p>“I know I don’t. My teachers tell me that my mind +is very quick but my body is slow. It annoys me to +be mistaken for a child of fifteen. And I have to dress +that way, too, because my dresses still fit me and clothes +are very expensive.”</p> +<p>“Are they?”</p> +<p>Dulcie became confidential and loquacious:</p> +<p>“Oh, very. You don’t know about girls’ clothes, I +suppose. But they cost a very great deal. So I’ve +had to wear out dresses I’ve had ever since I was fourteen +and fifteen. And so I can’t put up my hair because +it would make my dresses look ridiculous; and +that renders the situation all the worse—to be obliged +to go about with bobbed hair, you see? There doesn’t +seem to be any way out of it,” she ended, with a despairing +little laugh, “and I was seventeen last February!”</p> +<p>“Cheer up! You’ll grow old fast enough. And now +you’re going to have a jolly little salary as my model, +and you ought to be able to buy suitable clothes. +Oughtn’t you?”</p> +<p>She did not answer, and he repeated the question. +And drew from her, reluctantly, that her father, so +far, had absorbed what money she had earned by posing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></div> +<p>A dull red gathered under the young man’s cheek-bones, +but he said carelessly:</p> +<p>“That won’t do. I’ll talk it over with your father. +I’m very sure he’ll agree with me that you should bank +your salary and draw out what you need for your personal +expenses.”</p> +<p>Dulcie sat silent over her fruit and bon-bons. Reaction +from the keen emotions of the day had, perhaps, +begun to have their effect.</p> +<p>They rose and reseated themselves on the sofa, where +she sat in the corner among gorgeous Chinese cushions, +her reconstructed dress now limp and shabby, the limp +madonna lily hanging from her breast.</p> +<p>It had been for her the happiest day of her life. It +had dawned the loneliest, but under the magic of this +man’s kindness the day was ending like a day in Paradise.</p> +<p>To Dulcie, however, happiness was less dependent +upon receiving than upon giving; and like all things +feminine, mature and immature, she desired to serve +where her heart was enlisted—began to experience the +restless desire to give. What? And as the question +silently presented itself, she looked up at Barres:</p> +<p>“Could I pose for you?”</p> +<p>“On a day like this! Nonsense, Dulcie. This is +your holiday.”</p> +<p>“I’d really like to—if you want me——”</p> +<p>“No. Curl up here and take a nap. Slip off your +gown so you won’t muss it and ask Selinda for a kimono. +Because you’re going to need your gown this +evening,” he added smilingly.</p> +<p>“Why? <i>Please</i> tell me why?”</p> +<p>“No. You’ve had enough excitement. Tell Selinda +to give you a kimono. Then you can lie down in my +room if you like. Selinda will call you in plenty of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +time. And after that I’ll tell you how we’re going to +bring your holiday to a gay conclusion.”</p> +<p>She seemed disinclined to stir, curled up there, her +eyes brilliant with curiosity, her lips a trifle parted in +a happy smile. She lay that way for a few moments, +looking up at him, her fingers caressing the locket, then +she sat up swiftly.</p> +<p>“Must I take a nap?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>She sprang to her feet, flashed past him, and disappeared +in the corridor.</p> +<p>“Don’t forget to wake me!” she called back.</p> +<p>“I won’t forget!”</p> +<p>When he heard her voice again, conversing with Selinda, +he opened the studio door and went down stairs.</p> +<p>Soane, rather the worse for wear, was at the desk, +and, standing beside him, was a one-eyed man carrying +two pedlar’s boxes under his arms. They both looked +around quickly when Barres appeared. Before he +reached the desk the one-eyed man turned and walked +out hastily into the street.</p> +<p>“Soane,” said Barres, “I’ve one or two things to say +to you. The first is this: if you don’t stop drinking +and if you don’t keep away from Grogan’s, you’ll lose +your job here.”</p> +<p>“Musha, then, Misther Barres——”</p> +<p>“Wait a moment; I’m not through. I advise you to +stop drinking and to keep away from Grogan’s. That’s +the first thing. And next, go on and graft as much +as you like, only warn your pedlar-friends to keep +away from Studio No. 9. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“F’r the love o’ God——”</p> +<p>“Cut out the injured innocence, Soane. I’m telling +you how to avoid trouble, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“Misther Barres, sorr! As God sees me——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></div> +<p>“I can see you, too. I want you to behave, Soane. +This is friendly advice. That one-eyed pedlar who +just beat it has been bothering me. Other pedlars +come ringing at the studio and interrupt and annoy +me. You know the rules. If the other tenants care to +stand for it, all right. But I’m through. Is that +plain?”</p> +<p>“It is, sorr,” said the unabashed delinquent. The +faintest glimmer of a grin came into his battered eyes. +“Sorra a wan o’ thim ever lays a hand to No. 9 bell +or I’ll have his life!”</p> +<p>“One thing more,” continued Barres, smiling in spite +of himself at the Irish of it all. “I am paying Dulcie +a salary——”</p> +<p>“Wisha then——”</p> +<p>“Stop! I tell you that she’s in my employment on +a salary. Don’t ever touch a penny of it again.”</p> +<p>“Sure the child’s wages——”</p> +<p>“No, they <i>don’t</i> belong to the father. Legally, perhaps, +but the law doesn’t suit me. So if you take the +money that she earns, and blow it in at Grogan’s, I’ll +have to discharge her because I won’t stand for what +you are doing.”</p> +<p>“Would you do that, Mr. Barres?”</p> +<p>“I certainly would.”</p> +<p>The Irishman scratched his curly head in frank perplexity.</p> +<p>“Dulcie needs clothes suitable to her age,” continued +Barres. “She needs other things. I’m going to +take charge of her savings so don’t you attempt to +tamper with them. You wouldn’t do such a thing, +anyway, Soane, if this miserable drink habit hadn’t got +a hold on you. If you don’t quit, it will down you. +You’ll lose your place here. You know that. Try to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +brace up. This is a rotten deal you’re giving yourself +and your daughter.”</p> +<p>Soane wept easily. He wept now. Tearful volubility +followed—picturesque, lit up with Hibernian +flashes, then rambling, and a hint of slyness in it which +kept one weeping eye on duty watching Barres all the +while.</p> +<p>“All right; behave yourself,” concluded Barres. +“And, Soane, I shall have three or four people to dinner +and a little dancing afterward. I want Dulcie to +enjoy her graduating dance.”</p> +<p>“Sure, Misther Barres, you’re that kind to the +child——”</p> +<p>“<i>Somebody</i> ought to be. Do you know that there +was nobody she knew to see her graduate to-day, excepting +myself?”</p> +<p>“Oh, the poor darling! Sure, I was that busy——”</p> +<p>“Busy sleeping off a souse,” said Barres drily. +“And by the way, who is that stolid, German-looking +girl who alternates with you here at the desk?”</p> +<p>“Miss Kurtz, sorr.”</p> +<p>“Oh. She seems stupid. Where did you dig her +up?”</p> +<p>“A fri’nd o’ mine riccominds her highly, sorr.”</p> +<p>“Is that so? Who is he? One of your German pedlar +friends at Grogan’s? Be careful, Soane. You +Sinn Feiners are headed for trouble.”</p> +<p>He turned and mounted the stairs. Soane looked +after him with an uneasy expression, partly humorous.</p> +<p>“Ah, then, Mr. Barres,” he said, “don’t be botherin’ +afther the likes of us poor Irish. Is there anny +harrm in a sup o’ beer av a Dootchman pays?”</p> +<p>Barres looked back at him:</p> +<p>“A one-eyed Dutchman?”</p> +<p>“Ah, g’wan, sorr, wid yer hokin’ an’ jokin’! Is it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +graft ye say? An’ how can ye say it, sorr, knowin’ +me as ye do, Misther Barres?”</p> +<p>The impudent grin on the Irishman’s face was too +much for the young man. He continued to mount the +stairs, laughing.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +<a name='X_HER_EVENING' id='X_HER_EVENING'></a> +<h2>X +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />HER EVENING</span></h2> +</div> +<p>As he entered the studio he heard the telephone +ringing. Presently Selinda marched in:</p> +<p>“A lady, sir, who will not giff her name, desires +to spik to Mr. Barres.”</p> +<p>“I don’t talk to anonymous people,” he said curtly.</p> +<p>“I shall tell her, sir?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. Did you make Miss Dulcie comfortable?”</p> +<p>“Yess, sir.”</p> +<p>“That’s right. Now, take that dress of Miss Dulcie’s, +go out to some shop on Fifth Avenue, buy a +pretty party gown of similar dimensions, and bring +it back with you. Take a taxi both ways. Wait—take +her stockings and slippers, too, and buy her some +fine ones. And some underwear suitable.” He went +to a desk, unlocked it, and handed the maid a flat +packet of bank-notes. “Be sure the things are nice,” +he insisted.</p> +<p>Selinda, starched, immaculate, frosty-eyed, marched +out. She returned a few moments later, wearing jacket +and hat.</p> +<p>“Sir, the lady on the telephone hass called again. +The lady would inquire of Mr. Barres if perhaps he +has recollection of the Fountain of Marie de Médicis.”</p> +<p>Barres reddened with surprise and pleasure:</p> +<p>“Oh! Yes, indeed, I’ll speak to <i>that</i> lady. Hang up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +the service receiver, Selinda.” And he stepped to the +studio telephone.</p> +<p>“Nihla?” he exclaimed in a low, eager voice.</p> +<p>“C’est moi, Thessa! Have you a letter from me?”</p> +<p>“No, you little wretch! Oh, Thessa, you’re certainly +a piker! Fancy my not hearing one word from +you since April!—not a whisper, not a sign to tell me +that you are alive——”</p> +<p>“Garry, hush! It was not because I did not wish +to see you——”</p> +<p>“Yes, it was! You knew bally well that I hadn’t +your address and that you had mine! Is that what +you call friendship?”</p> +<p>“You don’t understand what you are saying. I +wanted to see you. It has been impossible——”</p> +<p>“You are not singing and dancing anywhere in New +York. I watched the papers. I even went to the +Palace of Mirrors to enquire if you had signed with +them there.”</p> +<p>“Wait! Be careful, please!——”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Be careful what you say over the telephone. For +my sake, Garry. Don’t use my former name or say +anything to identify me with any place or profession. +I’ve been in trouble. I’m in trouble still. Had you +no letter from me this morning?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“That is disquieting news. I posted a letter to you +last night. You should have had it in your morning +mail.”</p> +<p>“No letter has come from you. I had no letters at +all in the morning mail, and only one or two important +business letters since.”</p> +<p>“Then I’m deeply worried. I shall have to see you +unless that letter is delivered to you by evening.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div> +<p>“Splendid! But you’ll have to come to me, Thessa. +I’ve invited a few people to dine here and dance afterwards. +If you’ll dine with us, I’ll get another man to +balance the table. Will you?”</p> +<p>After a moment she said:</p> +<p>“Yes. What time?”</p> +<p>“Eight! This is wonderful of you, Thessa!” he said +excitedly. “If you’re in trouble we’ll clear it up between +us. I’m so happy that you will give me this +proof of friendship.”</p> +<p>“You dear boy,” she said in a troubled voice. “I +should be more of a friend if I kept away from you.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! You promise, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes ... Do you realise that to-night another +summer moon is to witness our reunion?... I shall +come to you once more under a full June moon.... And +then, perhaps, no more.... Never.... Unless +after the world ends I come to you through shadowy +outer space—a ghost drifting—a shred of mist +across the moon, seeking you once more!——”</p> +<p>“My poor child,” he said laughing, “you must be in +no end of low spirits to talk that way.”</p> +<p>“It does sound morbid. But I have plenty of courage, +Garry. I shall not snivel on the starched bosom +of your evening shirt when we meet. Donc, à bientôt, +monsieur. Soyez tranquille! You shall not be ashamed +of me among your guests.”</p> +<p>“Fancy!” he laughed happily. “Don’t worry, +Thessa. We’ll fix up whatever bothers you. Eight +o’clock! Don’t forget!”</p> +<p>“I am not likely to,” she said.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Until Selinda returned from her foray along Fifth +Avenue, Barres remained in the studio, lying in his +armchair, still possessed by the delightful spell, still +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +excited by the prospect of seeing Thessalie Dunois +again, here, under his own roof.</p> +<p>But when the slant-eyed and spotlessly blond Finn +arrived, he came back out of his retrospective trance.</p> +<p>“Did you get some pretty things for Miss Soane?” +he enquired.</p> +<p>“Yess, sir, be-ootiful.” Selinda deposited on the +table a sheaf of paid bills and the balance of the bank-notes. +“Would Mr. Barres be kind enough to inspect +the clothes for Miss Soane?”</p> +<p>“No, thanks. You say they’re all right?”</p> +<p>“Yess, sir. They are heavenly be-ootiful.”</p> +<p>“Very well. Tell Aristocrates to lay out my clothes +after you have dressed Miss Dulcie. There will be two +extra people to dinner. Tell Aristocrates. Is Miss +Dulcie still asleep?”</p> +<p>“Yess, sir.”</p> +<p>“All right. Wake her in time to dress her so she +can come out here and give me a chance——” He +glanced at the clock “Better wake her now, Selinda. +It’s time for her to dress and evacuate my quarters. +I’ll take forty winks here until she’s ready.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Barres lay dozing on the sofa when Dulcie came in.</p> +<p>Selinda, enraptured by her own efficiency in grooming +and attiring the girl, marched behind her, unable +to detach herself from her own handiwork.</p> +<p>From crown to heel the transfiguration was absolute—from +the point of her silk slipper to the topmost +curl on the head which Selinda had dressed to perfection.</p> +<p>For Selinda had been a lady’s maid in great houses, +and also had a mania for grooming herself with the +minute and thorough devotion of a pedigreed cat. And +Dulcie emerged from her hands like some youthful sea-nymph +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +out of a bath of foam, snowy-sweet as some +fresh and slender flower.</p> +<p>With a shy courage born with her own transfiguration, +she went to Barres, where he lay on the sofa, and +bent over him.</p> +<p>She had made no sound; perhaps her nearness awoke +him, for he opened his eyes.</p> +<p>“Dulcie!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Do I please you?” she whispered.</p> +<p>He sat up abruptly.</p> +<p>“You wonderful child!” he said, frankly astonished. +Whereupon he got off the sofa, walked all around her +inspecting her.</p> +<p>“What a get-up! What a girl!” he murmured. +“You lovely little thing, you astound me! Selinda, you +certainly know a thing or two. Take it from me, you +do Miss Soane and yourself more credit in your way +than I do with paint and canvas.”</p> +<p>Dulcie blushed vividly; the white skin of Selinda also +reddened with pleasure at her master’s enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“Tell Aristocrates to fix my bath and lay out my +clothes,” he said. “I’ve guests coming and I’ve got to +hustle!” And to Dulcie: “We’re going to have a little +party in honour of your graduation. That’s what I +have to tell you, dear. Does it please you? Do your +pretty clothes please you?”</p> +<p>The girl, overwhelmed, could only look at him. Her +lips, vivid and slightly parted, quivered as her breath +came irregularly. But she found no words—nothing +to say except in the passionate gratitude of her grey +eyes.</p> +<p>“You dear child,” he said gently. Then, after a moment’s +silence, he eased the tension with his quick smile: +“Wonder-child, go and seat yourself very carefully, +and be jolly careful you don’t rumple your frock, because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +I want you to astonish one or two people this +evening.”</p> +<p>Dulcie found her voice:</p> +<p>“I—I’m so astonished at myself that I don’t seem +real. I seem to be somebody else—long ago!” She +stepped close to him, opened her locket for his inspection, +holding it out to him as far as the chain permitted. +It framed a miniature of a red-haired, grey-eyed +girl of sixteen.</p> +<p>“Your mother, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“Yes. How perfectly it fits into my locket! I carry +it always in my purse.”</p> +<p>“It might easily be yourself, Dulcie,” he said in a +low voice. “You are her living image.”</p> +<p>“Yes. That is what astonishes me. To-night, for +the first time in my life, it occurred to me that I look +like this girl picture of my mother.”</p> +<p>“You never thought so before?”</p> +<p>“Never.” She stood looking down at the laughing +face in the locket for a few moments, then, lifting her +eyes to his:</p> +<p>“I’ve been made over, in a day, to look like this.... +You did it!”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! Selinda and her curling iron did it.”</p> +<p>They laughed a little.</p> +<p>“No,” she said, “you have made me. You began to +make me all over three months ago—oh, longer ago +than that!—you began to remake me the first time you +ever spoke to me—the first time you opened your door +to me. That was nearly two years ago. And ever since +I have been slowly becoming somebody quite new—inside +and outside—until to-night, you see, I begin to +look like my mother.” She smiled at him, drew a deep +breath, closed the locket, dropped it on her breast.</p> +<p>“I mustn’t keep you,” she said. “I wanted to show +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +the picture—so you can understand what you have done +for me to make me look like that.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When Barres returned to the studio, freshened and +groomed for the evening, he found Dulcie at the piano, +playing the little song she had sung that morning, and +singing the words under her breath. But she ceased +as he came up, and swung around on the piano-stool +to confront him with the most radiant smile he had +ever seen on a human face.</p> +<p>“What a day this has been!” she said, clasping her +hands tightly. “I simply cannot make it seem real.”</p> +<p>He laughed:</p> +<p>“It isn’t ended yet, either. There’s a night to every +day, you know. And your graduation party will begin +in a few moments.”</p> +<p>“I know. I’m fearfully excited. You’ll stay near +me, won’t you?”</p> +<p>“You bet! Did I tell you who are coming? Well, +then, you won’t feel strange, because I’ve merely asked +two or three men who live in Dragon Court—men you +see every day—Mr. Trenor, Mr. Mandel, and Mr. +Westmore.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” she said, relieved.</p> +<p>“Also,” he said, “I have asked Miss Souval—that +tall, pretty girl who sometimes sits for Mr. Trenor—Damaris +Souval. You remember her?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Also,” he continued, “Mr. Mandel wishes to bring +a young married woman who has developed a violent +desire for the artistic and informal, but who belongs +in the Social Register.” He laughed. “It’s all right +if Corot Mandel wants her. Her name is Mrs. Helmund—Elsena +Helmund. Mr. Trenor is painting her.”</p> +<p>Dulcie’s face was serious but calm.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></div> +<p>“And then, to even the table,” concluded Barres +smilingly, “I invited a girl I knew long ago in Paris. +Her name is Thessalie Dunois; and she’s very lovely to +look upon, Dulcie. I am very sure you will like her.”</p> +<p>There was a silence; then the electric bell rang in +the corridor, announcing the arrival of the first guest. +As Barres rose, Dulcie laid her hand on his arm—a +swift, involuntary gesture—as though the girl were +depending on his protection.</p> +<p>The winning appeal touched him and amused him, +too.</p> +<p>“Don’t worry, dear,” he said. “You’ll have the prettiest +frock in the studio—if you need that knowledge +to reassure you——”</p> +<p>The corridor door opened and closed. Somebody +went into his bedroom with Selinda—that being the +only available cloak-room for women.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +<a name='XI_HER_NIGHT' id='XI_HER_NIGHT'></a> +<h2>XI +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />HER NIGHT</span></h2> +</div> +<p>“Thessalie Dunois! This is charming of +you!” said Barres, crossing the studio swiftly +and taking her hand in both of his.</p> +<p>“I’m so glad to see you, Garry—” she looked past +him across the studio at Dulcie, and her voice died out +for a moment. “Who is that girl?” she enquired under +her breath.</p> +<p>“I’ll present you——”</p> +<p>“Wait. <i>Who</i> is she?”</p> +<p>“Dulcie Soane——”</p> +<p>“<i>Soane?</i>”</p> +<p>“Yes. I’ll tell you about her later——”</p> +<p>“In a moment, Garry.” Thessalie looked across the +room at the girl for a second or two longer, then turned +a troubled, preoccupied gaze on Barres. “Have you +a letter from me? I posted it last night.”</p> +<p>“Not yet.”</p> +<p>The doorbell rang. He could hear more guests entering +the corridor beyond. A faint smile—the forced +smile of courage—altered Thessalie’s features now, until +it became a fixed and pretty mask.</p> +<p>“Contrive to give me a moment alone with you this +evening,” she whispered. “My need is great, Garry.”</p> +<p>“Whenever you say! Now?”</p> +<p>“No. I want to talk to that young girl first.”</p> +<p>They walked over to where Dulcie stood by the piano, +silent and self-possessed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></div> +<p>“Thessa,” he said, “this is Miss Soane, who graduated +from high school to-day, and in whose honour I +am giving this little party.” And to Dulcie he said: +“Miss Dunois and I were friends when I lived in France. +Please tell her about your picture, which you and I are +doing.” He turned as he finished speaking, and went +forward to welcome Esmé Trenor and Damaris Souval, +who happened to arrive together.</p> +<p>“Oh, the cunning little girl over there!” exclaimed +the tall and lovely Damaris, greeting Barres with cordial, +outstretched hands. “Where did you find such +an engaging little thing?”</p> +<p>“You don’t recognise her?” he asked, amused.</p> +<p>“I? No. Should I?”</p> +<p>“She’s Dulcie Soane, the girl at the desk down-stairs!” +said Barres, delighted. “This is her party. +She has just graduated from high school, and she——”</p> +<p>“Belongs to Barres,” interrupted Esmé Trenor in +his drawling voice. “Unusual, isn’t she, Damaris?—logical +anatomy, ornamental, vague development; nice +lines, not obvious—like yours, Damaris,” he added impudently. +Then waving his lank hand with its over-polished +nails: “I like the indefinite accented with one +ripping value. Look at that hair!—lac and burnt +orange rubbed in, smeared, then wiped off with the +thumb! You follow the intention, Barres?”</p> +<p>“You talk too much, Esmé,” interrupted Damaris +tartly. “Who is that lovely being talking to the little +Soane girl, Garry?”</p> +<p>“A friend of my Paris days—Thessalie Dunois——” +Again he checked himself to turn and greet Corot Mandel, +subtle creator and director of exotic spectacles—another +tall and rather heavily built man, with a mop +of black and shiny hair, a monocle, and sanguine features +slightly oriental.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span></div> +<p>With Corot Mandel had come Elsena Helmund—an +attractive woman of thoroughbred origin and formal +environment, and apparently fed up with both. For +she frankly preferred “grades” to “registered stock,” +and she prowled through every art and theatrical purlieu +from the Mews to Westchester, in eternal and unquiet +search for an antidote to the sex-ennui which she +erroneously believed to be an intellectual necessity for +self-expression.</p> +<p>“Who is that winning child with red hair?” she enquired, +nodding informal recognition to the other +guests, whom she already knew. “Don’t tell me,” she +added, elevating a quizzing glass and staring at Dulcie, +“that this engaging infant has a history already! It +isn’t possible, with that April smile in her child eyes!”</p> +<p>“You bet she hasn’t a history, Elsena,” said Barres, +frowning; “and I’ll see that she doesn’t begin one as +long as she’s in my neighbourhood.”</p> +<p>Corot Mandel, who had been heavily inspecting Dulcie +through his monocle, now stood twirling it by its +frayed and greasy cord:</p> +<p>“I could do something for her—unless she’s particularly +yours, Barres?” he suggested. “I’ve seldom seen +a better type in New York.”</p> +<p>“You idiot. Don’t you recognise her? She’s Dulcie +Soane! You could have picked her yourself if you’d +had any flaire.”</p> +<p>“Oh, hell,” murmured Mandel, disgusted. “And I +thought I possessed flaire. Your private property, I +suppose?” he added sourly.</p> +<p>“Absolutely. Keep off!”</p> +<p>“Watch me,” murmured Corot Mandel, with a wry +face, as they moved forward to join the others and be +presented to the little guest of the evening.</p> +<p>Westmore came in at the same moment—a short, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +blond, vigorous young man, who knew everybody except +Thessalie, and proceeded to smash the ice in characteristic +fashion:</p> +<p>“Dulcie! You beautiful child! How are you, +duckey?”—catching her by both hands,—“a little salute +for Nunky? Yes?”—kissing her heartily on both +cheeks. “I’ve a gift for you in my overcoat pocket. +We’ll sneak out and get it after dinner!” He gave her +hands a hearty squeeze, turned to the others: “I ought +to have been Miss Soane’s godfather. So I appointed +myself as such. Where are the cocktails, Garry?”</p> +<p>Road-to-ruin cocktails were served—frosted orange +juice for Dulcie. Everybody drank her health. Then +Aristocrates gracefully condescended to announce dinner. +And Barres took out Dulcie, her arm resting light +as a snowflake on his sleeve.</p> +<p>There were flowers everywhere in the dining-room; +table, buffet, curtains, lustres were gay with early blossoms, +exhaling the haunting scent of spring.</p> +<p>“Do you like it, Dulcie?” he whispered.</p> +<p>She merely turned and looked at him, quite unable +to speak, and he laughed at her brilliant eyes and +flushed cheeks, and, dropping his right hand, squeezed +hers.</p> +<p>“It’s your party, Sweetness—all yours! You must +have a good time every minute!” And he turned, still +smiling, to Thessalie Dunois on his left:</p> +<p>“It’s quite wonderful, Thessa, to have you here—to +be actually seated beside you at my own table. I shall +not let you slip away from me again, you enchanting +ghost!—and leave me with a dislocated heart.”</p> +<p>“Garry, that sounds almost sentimental. We’re not, +you know.”</p> +<p>“How do I know? You never gave me a chance to +be sentimental.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></div> +<p>She laughed mirthlessly:</p> +<p>“Never gave you a chance? And our brief but headlong +career together, monsieur? What was it but a +continuous cataract of chances?”</p> +<p>“But we were laughing our silly heads off every minute! +I had no opportunity.”</p> +<p>That seemed to amuse her and awaken the ever-latent +humour in her.</p> +<p>“Opportunity,” she observed demurely, “should be +created and taken, not shyly awaited with eyes rolled +upward and a sucked thumb.”</p> +<p>They both laughed outright. Her colour rose; the +old humorous challenge was in her eyes again; the +subtle mask was already slipping from her features, +revealing them in all their charming recklessness.</p> +<p>“You know my creed,” she said; “to go forward—laugh—and +accept what Destiny sends you—still +laughing!” Her smile altered again, became, for a +moment, strange and vague. “God knows that is what +I am doing to-night,” she murmured, lifting her slim +glass, in which the gush of sunny bubbles caught the +candlelight. “To Destiny—whatever it may be! +Drink with me, Garry!”</p> +<p>Around them the chatter and vivacity increased, as +Damaris ended a duel of wit with Westmore and prepared +for battle with Corot Mandel. Everybody +seemed to be irresponsibly loquacious except Dulcie, +who sat between Barres and Esmé Trenor, a silent, +smiling, reserved little listener. For Barres was still +conversationally involved with Thessalie, and Esmé +Trenor, languid and detached, being entirely ignored +by Damaris, whom he had taken out, awaited his own +proper modicum of worship from his silent little neighbour +on his left—which tribute he took for granted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +was his sacred due, and which, hitherto, he had invariably +received from woman.</p> +<p>But nobody seemed to be inclined to worship; Damaris +scarcely deigned to notice him, his impudence, +perhaps, still rankling. Thessalie, laughingly engaged +with Barres, remained oblivious to the fashionable +portrait painter. As for Elsena Helmund, that +youthful matron was busily pretending to comprehend +Corot Mandel’s covert orientalisms, and secretly wondering +whether they were, perhaps, as improper as +Westmore kept whispering to her they were, urging her +to pick up her skirts and run.</p> +<p>Esmé Trenor permitted a few weary but slightly +disturbed glances to rest on Dulcie from time to time, +but made no effort to entertain her.</p> +<p>And she, on her part, evinced no symptoms of worshipping +him. And all the while he was thinking to +himself:</p> +<p>“Can this be the janitor’s daughter? Is she the +same rather soiled, impersonal child whom I scarcely +ever noticed—the thin, immature, negligible little +drudge with a head full of bobbed red hair?”</p> +<p>His lack of vision, of finer discernment, deeply annoyed +him. Her lack of inclination to worship him, +now that she had the God-sent opportunity, irritated +him.</p> +<p>“The silly little bounder,” he thought, “how can she +sit beside me without timidly venturing to entertain +me?”</p> +<p>He stole another profoundly annoyed glance at Dulcie. +The child was certainly beautiful—a slim, lovely, +sensitive thing of qualities so delicate that the painter +of pretty women became even more surprised and +chagrined that it had taken Barres to discover this desirable +girl in the silent, shabby child of Larry Soane.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span></div> +<p>Presently he lurched part way toward her in his +chair, and looked at her with bored but patronising +encouragement.</p> +<p>“Talk to me,” he said languidly.</p> +<p>Dulcie turned and looked at him out of uninterested +grey eyes.</p> +<p>“What?” she said.</p> +<p>“Talk to me,” he repeated pettishly.</p> +<p>“Talk to yourself,” retorted Dulcie, and turned +again to listen to the gay nonsense which Damaris and +Westmore were exchanging amid peals of general +laughter.</p> +<p>But Esmé Trenor was thunderstruck. A deep and +painful colour stained his pallid features. Never before +had mortal woman so flouted him. It was unthinkable. +It really wouldn’t do. There must be some explanation +for this young girl’s monstrous attitude toward +offered opportunity.</p> +<p>“I say,” he insisted, still very red, “are you bashful, +by any chance?”</p> +<p>Dulcie slowly turned toward him again:</p> +<p>“Sometimes I am bashful; not now.”</p> +<p>“Oh. Then wouldn’t you like to talk to me?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> +<p>“Fancy! And why not, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“Because I haven’t anything to say to you.”</p> +<p>“Dear child, that is the incentive to all conversation—lack +of anything to say. You should practise the +art of saying nothing politely.”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> should have practised it enough to say good +morning to me during these last five years,” said Dulcie +gravely.</p> +<p>“Oh, I say! You’re rather severe, you know! You +were just a little thing running about underfoot!—I’m +sorry you feel angry——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></div> +<p>“I do not. But how can I have anything to talk to +you about, Mr. Trenor, when you have never even +noticed me all these years, although often I have handed +you your keys and your letters.”</p> +<p>“It was quite stupid of me. I’m sorry. But a man, +you see, doesn’t notice children——”</p> +<p>“Some men do.”</p> +<p>“You mean Mr. Barres! That <i>is</i> unkind. Why rub +it in, Dulcie? I’m rather an interesting fellow, after +all.”</p> +<p>“Are you?” she asked absently.</p> +<p>Her honest indifference to him was perfectly apparent +to Esmé Trenor. This would never do. She must +be subdued, made sane, disciplined!</p> +<p>“Do you know,” he drawled, leaning lankly nearer, +dropping both arms on the cloth, and fixing his heavy-lidded +eyes intensely on her,“—do you know—do you +guess, perhaps, why I never spoke to you in all these +years?”</p> +<p>“You did not trouble yourself to speak to me, I +imagine.”</p> +<p>“You are wrong. I was <i>afraid</i>!” And he stared at +her pallidly.</p> +<p>“Afraid?” she repeated, puzzled.</p> +<p>He leaned nearer, confidential, sad:</p> +<p>“Shall I tell you a precious secret, Dulcie? I am a +coward. I am a slave of fear. I am afraid of beauty! +Isn’t that a very strange thing to say? Can you understand +the subtlety of that indefinable psychology? +Fear is an emotion. Fear of the beautiful is still a +subtler emotion. Fear, itself, is beautiful beyond words. +Beauty is Fear. Fear is Beauty. Do you follow me, +Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“No,” said the girl, bewildered.</p> +<p>Esmé sighed:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div> +<p>“Some day you will follow me. It is my destiny to +be followed, pursued, haunted by loveliness impotently +seeking to express itself to me, while I, fearing it, dare +only to express my fear with brush and pencil!... +<i>When</i> shall I paint you?” he added with sad benevolence.</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“When shall I try to interpret upon canvas my subtle +fear of you?” And, as the girl remained mute: +“When,” he explained languidly, “shall I appoint an +hour for you to sit to me?”</p> +<p>“I am Mr. Barres’s model,” she said, flushing.</p> +<p>“I shall have to arrange it with him, then,” he +nodded, wearily.</p> +<p>“I don’t think you can.”</p> +<p>“Fancy! Why not?”</p> +<p>“Because I do not wish to sit to anybody except Mr. +Barres,” she said candidly, “and what you paint does +not interest me at all.”</p> +<p>“Are you familiar with my work?” he asked incredulously.</p> +<p>She shook her head, shrugged, and turned to Barres, +who had at last relinquished Thessalie to Westmore.</p> +<p>“Well, Sweetness,” he said gaily, “do you get on +with Esmé Trenor?”</p> +<p>“He talked,” she said in a voice perfectly audible to +Esmé.</p> +<p>Barres glanced toward Esmé, secretly convulsed, but +that young apostle of Fear had swung one thin leg over +the other and was now presenting one shoulder and the +back of his head to them both, apparently in delightful +conversation with Elsena Helmund, who was fed +up on him and his fears.</p> +<p>“You must always talk to your neighbours at dinner,” +insisted Barres, still immensely amused. “Esmé +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +is a very popular man with fashionable women, Dulcie,—a +painter in much demand and much adored.... +Why do you smile?”</p> +<p>Dulcie smiled again, deliciously.</p> +<p>“Anyway,” continued Barres, “you must now give +the signal for us to rise by standing up. I’m so proud +of you, Dulcie, darling!” he added impulsively; “—and +everybody is mad about you!”</p> +<p>“You made me—” she laughed mischievously, “—out +of a rag and a bone and a hank of hair!”</p> +<p>“You made yourself out of nothing, child! And +everybody thinks you delightful.”</p> +<p>“Do <i>you</i>?”</p> +<p>“You dear girl!—of course I do. Does it make such +a difference to you, Dulcie—my affection for you?”</p> +<p>“Is it—<i>affection</i>?”</p> +<p>“It certainly is. Didn’t you know it?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t—know—what it was.”</p> +<p>“Of course it is affection. Who could be with you +as I have been and not grow tremendously fond of +you?”</p> +<p>“Nobody ever did except you. Mr. Westmore was +always nice. But—but you are so kind—I can’t express—I—c-can’t——” +Her emotion checked her.</p> +<p>“Don’t try, dear!” he said hastily. “We’re going +in to have a jolly dance now. You and I begin it together. +Don’t you let any other fellow take you +away!”</p> +<p>She looked up, laughed blissfully, gazing at him +with brilliant eyes a little dimmed.</p> +<p>“They’ll all be at your heels,” he said, beginning to +comprehend the beauty he had let loose on the world, +“—every man-jack of them, mark my prophecy! But +ours is the first dance, Dulcie. Promise?”</p> +<p>“I do. And I promise you the next—please——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></div> +<p>“Well, I’m host,” he said doubtfully, and a trifle +taken aback. “We’ll have some other dances together, +anyway. But I couldn’t monopolise you, Sweetness.”</p> +<p>The girl looked at him silently, then her grey, intelligent +eyes rested directly on Thessalie Dunois.</p> +<p>“Will you dance with her?” she asked gravely.</p> +<p>“Yes, of course. And with the others, too. Tell +me, Dulcie, did you find Miss Dunois agreeable?”</p> +<p>“I—don’t—know.”</p> +<p>“Why, you ought to like her. She’s very attractive.”</p> +<p>“She is quite beautiful,” said the girl, watching +Thessalie across his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Yes, she really is. What did you and she talk +about?”</p> +<p>“Father,” replied Dulcie, determined to have no further +commerce with Thessalie Dunois which involved +a secrecy excluding Barres. “She asked me if he were +not my father. Then she asked me a great many stupid +questions about him. And about Miss Kurtz, who +takes the desk when father is out. Also, she asked +me about the mail and whether the postman delivered +letters at the desk or in the box outside, and about the +tenants’ mail boxes, and who distributed the letters +through them. She seemed interested,” added the girl +indifferently, “but I thought it a silly subject for conversation.”</p> +<p>Barres, much perplexed, sat gazing at Dulcie in silence +for a moment, then recollecting his duty, he +smiled and whispered:</p> +<p>“Stand up, now, Dulcie. You are running this +show.”</p> +<p>The girl flushed and rose, and the others stood up. +Barres took her to the studio door, then returned to +the table with the group of men.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></div> +<p>“Well,” he exclaimed happily, “what do you fellows +think of Soane’s little girl now? Isn’t she the sweetest +thing you ever heard of?”</p> +<p>“A peach!” said Westmore, in his quick, hearty voice. +“What’s the idea, Garry? Is it to be her career, this +posing business? And where is it going to land her? +In the Winter Garden?”</p> +<p>“Where is it going to land <i>you</i>?” added Esmé impudently.</p> +<p>“Why, I don’t know, myself,” replied Barres, with +a troubled smile. “The little thing always appealed +to me—her loneliness and neglect, and—and something +about the child—I can’t define it——”</p> +<p>“Possibilities?” suggested Mandel viciously. “Take +it from me, you’re some picker, Garry.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps. Anyway, I’ve given her the run of my +place for the last two years and more. And she has +been growing up all the while, and I didn’t notice it. +And suddenly, this spring, I discovered her for the +first time.... And—well, look at her to-night!”</p> +<p>“She’s your private model, isn’t she?” persisted Mandel.</p> +<p>“Entirely,” replied Barres drily.</p> +<p>“Selfish dog!” remarked Westmore, with his lively, +wholesome laugh. “I once asked her to sit for me—more +out of good nature than anything else. And a +jolly fine little model she ought to make you, Garry. +She’s beginning to acquire a figure.”</p> +<p>“She’s quite wonderful that way, too,” nodded +Barres.</p> +<p>“Undraped?” inquired Esmé.</p> +<p>“A miracle,” nodded Barres absently. “Paint is becoming +inadequate. I shall model her this summer. I +tell you I have never seen anything to compare to her. +Never!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div> +<p>“What else will you do with her?” drawled Esmé. +“You’ll go stale on her some day, of course. Am I +next?”</p> +<p>“<i>No</i>!... I don’t know what she’ll do. It begins +to look like a responsibility, doesn’t it? She’s such a +fine little girl,” explained Barres warmly. “I’ve grown +quite fond of her—interested in her. Do you know +she has an excellent mind? And nice, fastidious instincts? +She <i>thinks</i> straight. That souse of a father +of hers ought to be jailed for the way he neglects her.”</p> +<p>“Are you thinking of adopting her?” asked Trenor, +with the faintest of sneers, which escaped Barres.</p> +<p>“Adopt a <i>girl</i>? Oh, Lord, no! I can’t do anything +like that. Yet—I hate to think of her future, +too ... unless somebody looks out for her. But it +isn’t possible for <i>me</i> to do anything for her except +to give her a good job with a decent man——”</p> +<p>“Meaning yourself,” commented Mandel, acidly.</p> +<p>“Well, I <i>am</i> decent,” retorted Barres warmly, amid +general laughter. “You fellows know what chances +she might take with some men,” he added, laughing at +his own warm retort.</p> +<p>Esmé and Corot Mandel nodded piously, each perfectly +aware of what chance any attractive girl would +run with his predatory neighbour.</p> +<p>“To shift the subject of discourse—that girl, Thessalie +Dunois,” began Westmore, in his energetic way, +“is about the cleverest and prettiest woman I’ve seen +in New York outside the theatre district.”</p> +<p>“I met her in France,” said Barres, carelessly. +“She really is wonderfully clever.”</p> +<p>“I shall let her talk to me,” drawled Esmé, flicking +at his cigarette. “It will be a liberal education for +her.”</p> +<p>Mandel’s slow, oriental eyes blinked contempt; he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +caressed his waxed moustache with nicotine-stained fingers:</p> +<p>“I am going to direct an out-of-door spectacle—a +sort of play—not named yet—up your way, Barres—at +Northbrook. It’s for the Belgians.... If Miss +Dunois—unless,” he added sardonically, “you have her +reserved, also——”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! You cast Thessalie Dunois and she’ll +make your show for you, Mandel!” exclaimed Barres. +“I know and I’m telling you. Don’t make any mistake: +there’s a girl who can make good!”</p> +<p>“Oh. Is she a professional?”</p> +<p>It was on the tip of Barres’s tongue to say +“Rather!” But he checked himself, not knowing Thessalie’s +wishes concerning details of her incognito.</p> +<p>“Talk to her about it,” he said, rising.</p> +<p>The others laid aside cigars and followed him into +the studio, where already the gramophone was going +and Aristocrates and Selinda were rolling up the rugs.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Barres and Dulcie danced until the music, twice revived, +expired in husky dissonance, and a new disc was +substituted by Westmore.</p> +<p>“By heaven!” he said, “I’ll dance this with my godchild +or I’ll murder you, Garry. Back up, there!—you +soulless monopolist!” And Dulcie, half laughing, +half vexed, was swept away in Westmore’s vigorous +arms, with a last, long, appealing look at Barres.</p> +<p>The latter danced in turn with his feminine guests, +as in duty bound—in pleasure bound, as far as concerned +Thessalie.</p> +<p>“And to think, to <i>think</i>,” he repeated, “that you and +I, who once trod the moonlit way, June-mad, moon-mad, +should be dancing here together once more!”</p> +<p>“Alas,” she said, “though this is June again, moon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +and madness are lacking. So is the enchanted river +and your canoe. And so is that gay heart of mine—that +funny, careless little heart which was once my +comrade, sending me into a happy gale of laughter +every time it counselled me to folly.”</p> +<p>“What is the matter, Thessa?”</p> +<p>“Garry, there is so much the matter that I don’t +know how to tell you.... And yet, I have nobody +else to tell.... Is that maid of yours German?”</p> +<p>“No, Finnish.”</p> +<p>“You can’t be certain,” she murmured. “Your +guests are all American, are they not?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And the little Soane girl? Are her sympathies +with Germany?”</p> +<p>“Why, certainly not! What gave you that idea, +Thessa?”</p> +<p>The music ran down; Westmore, the indefatigable, +still keeping possession of Dulcie, went over to wind +up the gramophone.</p> +<p>“Isn’t there some place where I could be alone with +you for a few minutes?” whispered Thessalie.</p> +<p>“There’s a balcony under the middle window. It +overlooks the court.”</p> +<p>She nodded and laid her hand on his arm, and they +walked to the long window, opened it, and stepped out.</p> +<p>Moonlight fell into the courtyard, silvering everything. +Down there on the grass the Prophet sat, motionless +as a black sphynx in the lustre of the moon.</p> +<p>Thessalie looked down into the shadowy court, then +turned and glanced up at the tiled roof just above +them, where a chimney rose in silhouette against the +pale radiance of the sky.</p> +<p>Behind the chimney, flat on their stomachs, lay two +men who had been watching, through an upper ventilating +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +pane of glass, the scene in the brilliantly +lighted studio below them.</p> +<p>The men were Soane and his crony, the one-eyed pedlar. +But neither Thessalie nor Barres could see them +up there behind the chimney.</p> +<p>Yet the girl, as though some unquiet instinct warned +her, glanced up at the eaves above her head once more, +and Barres looked up, too.</p> +<p>“What do you see up there?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Nothing.... There could be nobody up there to +listen, could there?”</p> +<p>He laughed:</p> +<p>“Who would want to climb up on the roof to spy on +you or me——”</p> +<p>“Don’t speak so loud, Garry——”</p> +<p>“What on earth is the trouble?”</p> +<p>“The same trouble that drove me out of France,” +she said in a low voice. “Don’t ask me what it was. +All I can tell you is this: I am followed everywhere +I go. I cannot make a living. Whenever I secure an +engagement and return at the appointed time to fill +it, something happens.”</p> +<p>“What happens?” he asked bluntly.</p> +<p>“They repudiate the agreement,” she said in a quiet +voice. “They give no reasons; they simply tell me +that they don’t want me. Do you remember that evening +when I left the Palace of Mirrors?”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I do——”</p> +<p>“That was only one example. I left with an excellent +contract, signed. The next day, when I returned, +the management took my contract out of my hands +and tore it up.”</p> +<p>“What! Why, that’s outrageous——”</p> +<p>“Hush! That is only one instance. Everywhere it +is the same. I am accepted after a try-out; then, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +without apparent reason, I am told not to return.”</p> +<p>“You mean there is some conspiracy——” he began +incredulously, but she interrupted him with a white +hand over his, nervously committing him to silence:</p> +<p>“Listen, Garry! Men have followed me here from +Europe. I am constantly watched in New York. I +cannot shake off this surveillance for very long at a +time. Sooner or later I become conscious again of +curious eyes regarding me; of features that all at once +become unpleasantly familiar in the throng. After +several encounters in street or car or restaurant, I +recognise these. Often and often instinct alone warns +me that I am followed; sometimes I am so certain of +it that I take pains to prove it.”</p> +<p>“Do you prove it?”</p> +<p>“Usually.”</p> +<p>“Well, what the devil——”</p> +<p>“Hush! I seem to be getting into deeper trouble +than that, Garry. I have changed my residence so +many, many times!—but every time people get into my +room when I am away and ransack my effects.... +And now I never enter my room unless the landlady +is with me, or the janitor—especially after dark.”</p> +<p>“Good Lord!——”</p> +<p>“Listen! I am not really frightened. It isn’t fear, +Garry. That word isn’t in my creed, you know. But +it bewilders me.”</p> +<p>“In the name of common sense,” he demanded, “what +reason has anybody to annoy you——”</p> +<p>Her hand tightened on his:</p> +<p>“If I only knew who these people are—whether they +are agents of the Count d’Eblis or of the—the French +Government! But I can’t determine. They steal letters +directed to me; they steal letters which I write +and mail with my own hands. I wrote to you yesterday, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +because I—I felt I couldn’t stand this persecution—any—longer——”</p> +<p>Her voice became unsteady; she waited, gripping his +hand, until self-control returned. When she was mistress +of herself again, she forced a smile and her tense +hand relaxed.</p> +<p>“You know,” she said, “it is most annoying to have +my little love-letter to you intercepted.”</p> +<p>But his features remained very serious:</p> +<p>“When did you mail that letter to me?”</p> +<p>“Yesterday evening.”</p> +<p>“From where?”</p> +<p>“From a hotel.”</p> +<p>He considered.</p> +<p>“I ought to have had it this morning, Thessa. But +the mails, lately, have been very irregular. There have +been other delays. This is probably an example.”</p> +<p>“At latest,” she said, “you should have my letter +this evening.”</p> +<p>“Y-yes. But the evening is young yet.”</p> +<p>After a moment she drew a light sigh of relief, or +perhaps of apprehension, he was not quite sure which.</p> +<p>“But about this other matter—men following and +annoying you,” he began.</p> +<p>“Not now, Garry. I can’t talk about it now. Wait +until we are sure about my letter——”</p> +<p>“But, Thessa——”</p> +<p>“Please! If you don’t receive it before I leave, I +shall come to you again and ask your aid and advice——”</p> +<p>“Will you come <i>here</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Now take me in.... Because I am not +quite certain about your maid—and perhaps one other +person——”</p> +<p>His expression of astonishment checked her for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +moment, then the old irresistible laughter rang out +sweetly in the moonlight.</p> +<p>“Oh, Garry! It is funny, isn’t it!—to be dogged +and hunted day and night by a pack of shadows? If +I only knew who casts them!”</p> +<p>She took his arm gaily, with that little, courageous +lifting of the head:</p> +<p>“Allons! We shall dance again and defy the devil! +And you may send your servant down to see whether +my letter has arrived—not that maid with slanting +eyes!—I have no confidence in her—but your marvellous +major-domo, Garry——”</p> +<p>Her smile was bright and untroubled as she stepped +back into the studio, leaning on his arm.</p> +<p>“You dear boy,” she whispered, with the irresponsible +undertone of laughter ringing in her voice, “thank +you for bothering with my woes. I’ll be rid of them +soon, I hope, and then—perhaps—I’ll lead you another +dance along the moonlit way!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>On the roof, close to the chimney, the one-eyed man +and Soane peered down into the studio through the +smeared ventilator.</p> +<p>In the studio Dulcie’s first party was drawing to an +early but jolly end.</p> +<p>She had danced a dozen times with Barres, and her +heart was full of sheerest happiness—the unreasoning +bliss which asks no questions, is endowed with +neither reason nor vision—the matchless delight which +fills the candid, unquestioning heart of Youth.</p> +<p>Nothing had marred her party for her, not even the +importunity of Esmé Trenor, which she had calmly +disregarded as of no interest to her.</p> +<p>True, for a few moments, while Barres and Thessalie +were on the balcony outside, Dulcie had become +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +a trifle subdued. But the wistful glances she kept +casting toward the long window were free from meaner +taint; neither jealousy nor envy had ever found lodging +in the girl’s mind or heart. There was no room +to let them in now.</p> +<p>Also, she was kept busy enough, one man after another +claiming her for a dance. And she adored it—even +with Trenor, who danced extremely well when +he took the trouble. And he was taking it now with +Dulcie; taking a different tone with her, too. For if +it <i>were</i> true, as some said, that Esmé Trenor was three-quarters +charlatan, he was no fool. And Dulcie began +to find him entertaining to the point of a smile or +two, as her spontaneous tribute to Esmé’s efforts.</p> +<p>That languid apostle said afterward to Mandel, +where they were lounging over the piano:</p> +<p>“Little devil! She’s got a mind of her own, and +she knows it. I’ve had to make efforts, Corot!—efforts, +if you please, to attract her mere attention. I’m +exhausted!—never before had to make any efforts—never +in my life!”</p> +<p>Mandel’s heavy-lidded eyes of a big bird rested on +Dulcie, where she was seated. Her gaze was lifted to +Barres, who bent over her in jesting conversation.</p> +<p>Mandel, watching her, said to Esmé:</p> +<p>“I’m always ready to <i>train</i>—that sort of girl; always +on the lookout for them. One discovers a specimen +once or twice in a decade.... Two or three in a +lifetime: that’s all.”</p> +<p>“Train them?” repeated Esmé, with an indolent +smile. “Break them, you mean, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes. The breaking, however, is usually mutual. +However, that girl could go far under my direction.”</p> +<p>“Yes, she could go as far as hell.”</p> +<p>“I mean artistically,” remarked Mandel, undisturbed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span></div> +<p>“As what, for example?”</p> +<p>“As anything. After all, I <i>have</i> flaire, even if it +failed me this time. But <i>now</i> I see. It’s there, in her—what +I’m always searching for.”</p> +<p>“What may that be, dear friend?”</p> +<p>“What Westmore calls ‘the goods.’”</p> +<p>“And just what are they in her case?” inquired +Esmé, persistent as a stinging gnat around a pachyderm.</p> +<p>“I don’t know—a voice, maybe; maybe the dramatic +instinct—genius as a dancer—who knows? All that is +necessary is to discover it—whatever it may be—and +then direct it.”</p> +<p>“Too late, O philanthropic Pasha!” remarked Esmé +with a slight sneer. “I’d be very glad to paint her, +too, and become good friends with her—so would many +an honest man, now that she’s been discovered—but +our friend Barres, yonder, isn’t likely to encourage +either you or me. So”—he shrugged, but his languid +gaze remained on Dulcie—“so you and I had better +kiss all hope good-bye and toddle home.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Westmore and Thessalie still danced together; Mrs. +Helmund and Damaris were trying new steps in new +dances, much interested, indulging in much merriment. +Barres watched them casually, as he conversed with +Dulcie, who, deep in an armchair, never took her eyes +from his smiling face.</p> +<p>“Now, Sweetness,” he was saying, “it’s early yet, I +know, but your party ought to end, because you are +coming to sit for me in the morning, and you and I +ought to get plenty of sleep. If we don’t, I shall have +an unsteady hand, and you a pair of sleepy eyes. +Come on, ducky!” He glanced across at the clock:</p> +<p>“It’s very early yet, I know,” he repeated, “but you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +and I have had rather a long day of it. And it’s been +a very happy one, hasn’t it, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>As she smiled, the youthful soul of her itself seemed +to be gazing up at him out of her enraptured eyes.</p> +<p>“Fine!” he said, with deepest satisfaction. “Now, +you’ll put your hand on my arm and we’ll go around +and say good-night to everybody, and then I’ll take +you down stairs.”</p> +<p>So she rose and placed her hand lightly on his arm, +and together they made her adieux to everybody, and +everybody was cordially demonstrative in thanking her +for her party.</p> +<p>So he took her down stairs to her apartment, off +the hall, noticing that neither Soane nor Miss Kurtz +was on duty at the desk, as they passed, and that a +pile of undistributed mail lay on the desk.</p> +<p>“That’s rotten,” he said curtly. “Will you have to +change your clothes, sort this mail, and sit here until +the last mail is delivered?”</p> +<p>“I don’t mind,” she said.</p> +<p>“But I wanted you to go to sleep. Where is Miss +Kurtz?”</p> +<p>“It is her evening off.”</p> +<p>“Then your father ought to be here,” he said, irritated, +looking around the big, empty hallway.</p> +<p>But Dulcie only smiled and held out her slim hand:</p> +<p>“I couldn’t sleep, anyway. I had really much rather +sit here for a while and dream it all over again. Good-night.... +Thank you—I can’t say what I feel—but +m-my heart is very faithful to you, Mr. Barres—will +always be—while I am alive ... because you are my +first friend.”</p> +<p>He stooped impulsively and touched her hair with +his lips:</p> +<p>“You dear child,” he said, “I <i>am</i> your friend.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div> +<p>Halfway up the western staircase he called back:</p> +<p>“Ring me up, Dulcie, when the last mail comes!”</p> +<p>“I will,” she nodded, almost blindly.</p> +<p>Out of her lovely, abashed eyes she watched him +mount the stairs, her cheeks a riot of surging colour. +It was some few minutes after he was gone that she +recollected herself, turned, and, slowly traversing the +east corridor, entered her bedroom.</p> +<p>Standing there in darkness, vaguely silvered by reflected +moonlight, she heard through her door ajar the +guests of the evening descending the western staircase; +heard their gay adieux exchanged, distinguished Esmé’s +impudent drawl, Westmore’s lively accents, Mandel’s +voice, the easy laughter of Damaris, the smooth, affected +tones of Mrs. Helmund.</p> +<p>But Dulcie listened in vain for the voice which had +haunted her ears since she had left the studio—the +lovely voice of Thessalie Dunois.</p> +<p>If this radiant young creature also had departed +with the other guests, she had gone away in silence.... +<i>Had</i> she departed? Or was she still lingering +upstairs in the studio for a little chat with the most +wonderful man in the world?... A very, very beautiful +girl.... And the most wonderful man in the +world. Why should they not linger for a little chat +together after the others had departed?</p> +<p>Dulcie sighed lightly, pensively, as one whose happiness +lies in the happiness of others. To be a witness +seemed enough for her.</p> +<p>For a little while longer she remained standing there +in the silvery dusk, quite motionless, thinking of Barres.</p> +<p>The Prophet lay asleep, curled up on her bed; her +alarm clock ticked noisily in the darkness, as though +to mimic the loud, fast rhythm of her heart.</p> +<p>At last, and as in a dream, she groped for a match, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +lighted the gas jet, and began to disrobe. Slowly, +dreamily, she put from her slender body the magic +garments of light—<i>his</i> gift to her.</p> +<p>But under these magic garments, clothing her newborn +soul, remained the radiant rainbow robe of that +new dawn into which this man had led her spirit. Did +it matter, then, what dingy, outworn clothing covered +her, outside?</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Clad once more in her shabby, familiar clothes, and +bedroom slippers, Dulcie opened the door of her dim +room, and crept out into the whitewashed hall, moving +as in a trance. And at her heels stalked the Prophet, +softly, like a lithe shape that glides through dreams.</p> +<p>Awaiting the last mail, seated behind the desk on the +worn leather chair, she dropped her linked fingers into +her lap, and gazed straight into an invisible world peopled +with enchanting phantoms. And, little by little, +they began to crowd her vision, throng all about +her, laughing, rosy wraiths floating, drifting, whirling +in an endless dance. Everywhere they were invading +the big, silent hall, where the candle’s grotesque shadows +wavered across whitewashed wall and ceiling. +Drowsily, now, she watched them play and sway around +her. Her head drooped; she opened her eyes.</p> +<p>The Prophet sat there, staring back at her out of +depthless orbs of jade, in which all the wisdom and +mysteries of the centuries seemed condensed and concentrated +into a pair of living sparks.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +<a name='XII_THE_LAST_MAIL' id='XII_THE_LAST_MAIL'></a> +<h2>XII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />THE LAST MAIL</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The last mail had not yet arrived at Dragon +Court.</p> +<p>Five people awaited it—Dulcie Soane, behind +the desk in the entrance hall, already wandering drowsily +with Barres along the fairy borderland of sleep; +Thessalie Dunois in Barres’ studio, her rose-coloured +evening cloak over her shoulders, her slippered foot +tapping the dance-scarred parquet; Barres opposite, +deep in his favourite armchair, chatting with her; +Soane on the roof, half stupid with drink, watching +them through the ventilator; and, lurking in the moonlit +court, outside the office window, the dimly sinister +figure of the one-eyed man. He wore a white handkerchief +over his face, with a single hole cut in it. +Through this hole his solitary optic was now fixed upon +the back of Dulcie’s drowsy head.</p> +<p>As for the Prophet, perched on the desk top, he continued +to gaze upon shapes invisible to all things mortal +save only such as he.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The postman’s lively whistle aroused Dulcie. The +Prophet, knowing him, observed his advent with indifference.</p> +<p>“Hello, girlie,” he said;—he was a fresh-faced and +flippant young man. “Where’s Pop?” he added, depositing +a loose sheaf of letters on the desk before her +and sketching in a few jig steps with his feet.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></div> +<p>“I don’t know,” she murmured, patting with one +slim hand her pink and yawning lips, and watching him +unlock the post-box and collect the outgoing mail. +He lingered a moment to caress the Prophet, who endured +it without gratitude.</p> +<p>“You better go to bed if you want to grow up to be +a big, sassy girl some day,” he advised Dulcie. “And +hurry up about it, too, because I’m going to marry +you if you behave.” And, with a last affable caress +for the Prophet, the young man went his way, singing +to himself, and slamming the iron grille smartly behind +him.</p> +<p>Dulcie, rising from her chair, sorted the mail, sleepily +tucking each letter and parcel into its proper +pigeon-hole. There was a thick letter for Barres. +This she held in her left hand, remembering his request +that she call him up when the last mail arrived.</p> +<p>This she now prepared to do—had already reseated +herself, her right hand extended toward the telephone, +when a shadow fell across the desk, and the Prophet +turned, snarled, struck, and fled.</p> +<p>At the same instant grimy fingers snatched at the +letter which she still held in her left hand, twisted it +almost free of her desperate clutch, tore it clean in +two at one violent jerk, leaving her with half the letter +still gripped in her clenched fist.</p> +<p>She had not uttered a sound during the second’s +struggle. But instantly an ungovernable rage blazed +up in her at the outrage, and she leaped clean over the +desk and sprang at the throat of the one-eyed man.</p> +<p>His neck was bony and muscular; she could not compass +it with her slender hands, but she struck at it +furiously, driving a sound out of his throat, half roar, +half cough.</p> +<p>“Give me my letter!” she breathed. “I’ll kill you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +if you don’t!” Her furious little hands caught his +clenched fist, where the torn letter protruded, and she +tore at it and beat upon it, her teeth set and her grey +Irish eyes afire.</p> +<p>Twice the one-eyed man flung her to her knees on +the pavement, but she was up again and clinging to +him before he could tear free of her.</p> +<p>“My letter!” she gasped. “I shall kill you, I tell +you—unless you return it!”</p> +<p>His solitary yellow eye began to glare and glitter +as he wrenched and dragged at her wrists and arms +about him.</p> +<p>“Schweinstück!” he panted. “Let los, mioche de +malheur! Eh! Los!—or I strike! No? Also! Attrape!—sale +gallopin!——”</p> +<p>His blow knocked her reeling across the hall. +Against the whitewashed wall she collapsed to her +knees, got up half stunned, the clang of the outer grille +ringing in her very brain.</p> +<p>With dazed eyes she gazed at the remnants of the +torn letter, still crushed in her rigid fingers. Bright +drops of blood from her mouth dripped slowly to the +tessellated pavement.</p> +<p>Reeling still from the shock of the blow, she managed +to reach the outer door, and stood swaying there, +striving to pierce with confused eyes the lamplit darkness +of the street. There was no sign of the one-eyed +man. Then she turned and made her way back to +the desk, supporting herself with a hand along the wall.</p> +<p>Waiting a few moments to control her breathing and +her shaky limbs, she contrived finally to detach the +receiver and call Barres. Over the wire she could hear +the gramophone playing again in the studio.</p> +<p>“Please may I come up?” she whispered.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></div> +<p>“Has the last mail come? Is there a letter for +me?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes ... I’ll bring you w-what there is—if you’ll +let me?”</p> +<p>“Thanks, Sweetness! Come right up!” And she +heard him say: “It’s probably your letter, Thessa. +Dulcie is bringing it up.”</p> +<p>Her limbs and body were still quivering, and she +felt very weak and tearful as she climbed the stairway +to the corridor above.</p> +<p>The nearer door of his apartment was open. +Through it the music of the gramophone came gaily; +and she went toward it and entered the brilliantly illuminated +studio.</p> +<p>Soane, who still lay flat on the roof overhead, peeping +through the ventilator, saw her enter, all dishevelled, +grasping in one hand the fragments of a letter. +And the sight instantly sobered him. He tucked +his shoes under one arm, got to his stockinged feet, +made nimbly for the scuttle, and from there, descending +by the service stair, ran through the courtyard into +the empty hall.</p> +<p>“Be gorry,” he muttered, “thot dommed Dootchman +has done it now!” And he pulled on his shoes, crammed +his hat over his ears, and started east, on a run, for +Grogan’s.</p> +<p>Grogan’s was still the name of the Third Avenue +saloon, though Grogan had been dead some years, and +one Franz Lehr now presided within that palace of +cherrywood, brass and pretzels.</p> +<p>Into the family entrance fled Soane, down a dim +hallway past several doors, from behind which sounded +voices joining in guttural song; and came into a rear +room.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></div> +<p>The one-eyed man sat there at a small table, piecing +together fragments of a letter.</p> +<p>“Arrah, then,” cried Soane, “phwat th’ devil did +ye do, Max?”</p> +<p>The man barely glanced at him.</p> +<p>“Vy iss it,” he enquired tranquilly, “you don’d vatch +Nihla Quellen by dot wentilator some more?”</p> +<p>“I axe ye,” shouted Soane, “what t’hell ye done to +Dulcie!”</p> +<p>“Vat I haff done already yet?” queried the one-eyed +man, not looking up, and continuing to piece together +the torn letter. “Vell, I tell you, Soane; dot +kid she keep dot letter in her handt, und I haff to grab +it. Sacré saligaud de malheur! Dot letter she tear +herself in two. Pas de chance! Your kid she iss mad +like tigers! Voici—all zat rests me de la sacré-nom-de +sacrèminton de lettre——”</p> +<p>“Ah, shut up, y’r Dootch head-cheese!—wid y’r gillipin’ +gallopin’ gabble!” cut in Soane wrathfully. +“D’ye mind phwat ye done? It’s not petty larceny, ye +omadhoun!—it’s highway robbery ye done—bad cess +to ye!”</p> +<p>The one-eyed man shrugged:</p> +<p>“Pourtant, I must haff dot letter——” he observed, +undisturbed by Soane’s anger; but Soane cut him short +again fiercely:</p> +<p>“You an’ y’r dommed letter! Phwat do you care +if I’m fired f’r this night’s wurruk? Y’r letter, is it? +An’ what about highway robbery, me bucko! An’ me +off me post! How’ll I be explaining that? Ah, ye +sicken me entirely, ye Dootch square-head! Now, +phwat’ll I say to them? Tell me that, Max Freund! +Phwat’ll I tell th’ aygent whin he comes runnin’? +Phwat’ll I tell th’ po-lice? Arrah, phwat’t’hell do you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +care, anyway?” he shouted. “I’ve a mind f’r to knock +the block off ye——”</p> +<p>“You shall say to dot agent you haff gone out to +smell,” remarked Max Freund placidly.</p> +<p>“Smell, is it? Smell what, ye dom——”</p> +<p>“You smell some smoke. You haff fear of fire. You +go out to see. Das iss so simble, ach! Take shame, +you Irish Sinn Fein! You behave like rabbits!” He +pointed to his arrangement of the torn letter on the +table: “Here iss sufficient already—regardez! Look +once!” He laid one long, soiled and bony finger on +the fragments: “Read it vat iss written!”</p> +<p>“G’wan, now!”</p> +<p>“I tell you, read!”</p> +<p>Soane, still cursing under his breath, bent over the +table, reading as Freund’s soiled finger moved:</p> +<p>“Fein plots,” he read. “German agents ... disloyal +propa ... explo ... bomb fac ... shipping +munitions to ... arms for Ireland can be ... destruction +of interned German li ... disloyal newspapers +which ... controlled by us in Pari ... Ferez +Bey ... bankers are duped.... I need your advi +... hounded day and ni ... d’Eblis or Govern ... +not afraid of death but indignant ... Sinn Fei——”</p> +<p>Soane’s scowl had altered, and a deeper red stained +his brow and neck.</p> +<p>“Well, by God!” he muttered, jerking up a chair +from behind him and seating himself at the table, but +never taking his fascinated eyes off the torn bits of +written paper.</p> +<p>Presently Freund got up and went out. He returned +in a few moments with a large sheet of wrapping +paper and a pot of mucilage. On this paper, with +great care, he arranged the pieces of the torn letter, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +neatly gumming each bit and leaving a space between +it and the next fragment.</p> +<p>“To fill in iss the job of Louis Sendelbeck,” remarked +Freund, pasting away industriously. “Is it +not time we learn how much she knows—this Nihla +Quellen? Iss she sly like mice? I ask it.”</p> +<p>Soane scratched his curly head.</p> +<p>“Be gorry,” he said, “av that purty girrl is a Frinch +spy she don’t look the parrt, Max.”</p> +<p>Freund waved one unclean hand:</p> +<p>“Vas iss it to look like somedings? Nodding! Also, +you Sinn Fein Irish talk too much. Why iss it in Belfast +you march mit drums und music? To hold our +tongues und vatch vat iss we Germans learn already +first! Also! Sendelbeck shall haff his letter.”</p> +<p>“An’ phwat d’ye mean to do with that girrl, Max?”</p> +<p>“Vatch her! Vy you don’d go back by dot wentilator +already?”</p> +<p>“Me? Faith, I’m done f’r th’ evenin’, an’ I thank +God I wasn’t pinched on the leads!”</p> +<p>“Vait I catch dot Nihla somevares,” muttered +Freund, regarding his handiwork.</p> +<p>“Ye’ll do no dirty thrick to her? Th’ Sinn Fein will +shtand f’r no burkin’, mind that!”</p> +<p>“Ach, wass!” grunted Freund; “iss it your business +vat iss done to somebody by Ferez? If you Irish +vant your rifles und machine guns, leaf it to us Germans +und dond speak nonsense aboud nodding!” He +leaned over and pushed a greasy electric button: +“Now ve drink a glass bier. Und after, you go home +und vatch dot girl some more.”</p> +<p>“Av Misther Barres an’ th’ yoong lady makes a holler, +they’ll fire me f’r this,” snarled Soane.</p> +<p>“Sei ruhig, mon vieux! Nihla Quellen keeps like a +mouse quiet! Und she keeps dot yoong man quiet! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +You see! No, no! Not for Nihla to make some foolishness +und publicity. French agents iss vatching for +her too—l’affaire du <i>Mot d’Ordre</i>. She iss vat you +say, ‘in Dutch’! Iss she, vielleicht, a German spy? +In France they believe it. Iss she a French spy? Ach! +Possibly some day; not yet! And it iss for us Germans +to know always vat she iss about. Dot iss my affair, +not yours, Soane.”</p> +<p>A heavy jowled man in a soiled apron brought two +big mugs of beer and retired on felt-slippered feet.</p> +<p>“Hoch!” grunted Freund, burying his nose in his +frothing mug.</p> +<p>Soane, wasting no words, drank thirstily. After a +long pull he shoved aside his sloppy stein, rose, cautiously +unlatched the shutter of a tiny peep-hole in the +wall, and applied one eye to it.</p> +<p>“Bad luck!” he muttered, “there do be wan av thim +secret service lads drinkin’ at the bar! I’ll not go +home yet, Max.”</p> +<p>“Dot big vone?” inquired Freund, mildly interested.</p> +<p>“That’s the buck! Him wid th’ phony whiskers an’ +th’ Dootch get-up!”</p> +<p>“Vell, vot off it? Can he do somedings?”</p> +<p>“And how should I know phwat that lad can do to +th’ likes o’ me, or phwat the divil brings him here at +all, at all! Sure, he’s been around these three nights +running——”</p> +<p>Freund laughed his contempt for all things American, +including police and secret service, and wiped his +chin with the back of his hand.</p> +<p>“Look, once, Soane! Do these Yankees know vat +it iss a police, a gendarme, a military intelligence? +Vat they call secret service, wass iss it? I ask it? +Schweinerei! Dummheit? Fantoches! Imbeciles! Of +the Treasury they haff a secret service; of the Justice +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +Department also another; and another of the +Army, and yet another of the Posts! Vot kind of +foolish system iss it?—mitout no minister, no chef, no +centre, no head, no organisation—und everybody interfering +in vot efferybody iss doing und nobody knowing +vot nobody is doing—ach wass! Je m’en moque—I +make mock myself at dot secret service which iss too +dam dumm!” He yawned. “Trop bête,” he added indistinctly.</p> +<p>Soane, reassured, lowered the shutter, came back to +the table, and finished his beer with loud gulps.</p> +<p>“Lave us go up to the lodge till he goes out,” he +suggested. “Maybe th’ boys have news o’ thim rifles.”</p> +<p>Freund yawned again, nodded, and rose, and they +went out to an unlighted and ill-smelling back stairway. +It was so narrow that they had to ascend in +single file.</p> +<p>Half way up they set off a hidden bell, by treading +on some concealed button under foot; and a man, +dressed only in undershirt and trousers, appeared at +the top of the stairs, silhouetted against a bright light +burning on the wall behind him.</p> +<p>“Oh, all right,” he said, recognising them, and turned +on his heel carelessly, pocketing a black-jack.</p> +<p>They followed to a closed door, which was made +out of iron and painted like quartered oak. In the wall +on their right a small shutter slid back noiselessly, then +was closed without a sound; and the iron door opened +very gently in their faces.</p> +<p>The room they entered was stifling—all windows being +closed—in spite of a pair of electric fans whirling +and droning on shelves. Some perspiring Germans were +playing skat over in a corner. One or two other men +lounged about a centre table, reading Irish and German +newspapers published in New York, Chicago, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +Milwaukee. There were also on file there copies of the +<i>Evening Mail</i>, the <i>Evening Post</i>, a Chicago paper, and +a pile of magazines, including numbers of <i>Pearson’s</i>, +<i>The Fatherland</i>, <i>The Masses</i>, and similar publications.</p> +<p>Two lithograph portraits hung side by side over +the fireplace—Robert Emmet and Kaiser Wilhelm II. +Otherwise, the art gallery included photographs of Von +Hindenburg, Von Bissing, and the King of Greece.</p> +<p>A large map, on which the battle-line in Europe had +been pricked out in red pins, hung on the wall. Also +a map of New York City, on a very large scale; another +map of New York State; and a map of Ireland. A +dumb-waiter, on duty and astonishingly noiseless, slid +into sight, carrying half a dozen steins of beer and +some cheese sandwiches, just as Soane and Freund entered +the room, and the silent iron door closed behind +them of its own accord and without any audible click.</p> +<p>The man who had met them on the stairs, in undershirt +and trousers, went over to the dumb-waiter, scribbled +something on a slate which hung inside the shelf, +set the beer and sandwiches beside the skat players, +and returned to seat himself at the table to which +Freund and Soane had pulled up cane-bottomed chairs.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, in rather a pleasant voice, “did you +get that letter, Max?”</p> +<p>Freund nodded and leisurely sketched in the episode +at Dragon Court.</p> +<p>The man, whose name was Franz Lehr, and who had +been born in New York of German parents, listened +with lively interest to the narrative. But he whistled +softly when it ended:</p> +<p>“You took a few chances, Max,” he remarked. “It’s +all right, of course, because you got away with it, +but——” He whistled again, thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Sendelbeck must haff his letter. Yess? Also!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></div> +<p>“Certainly. I guess that was the only way—if she +was really going to take it up to young Barres. And +I guess you’re right when you conclude that Nihla +won’t make any noise about it and won’t let her friend, +Barres, either.”</p> +<p>“Sure, I’m right,” grunted Freund. “We got the +goots on her now. You bet she’s scared. You tell +Ferez—yess?”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry; he’ll hear it all. You got that letter +on you?”</p> +<p>Freund nodded.</p> +<p>“Hand it to Hochstein”—he half turned on his rickety +chair and addressed a squat, bushy-haired man +with very black eyebrows and large, angry blue eyes—“Louis, +Max got that letter you saw Nihla writing in +the Hotel Astor. Here it is——” taking the pasted +fragments from Freund and passing them over to +Hochstein. “Give it to Sendelbeck, along with the +blotter you swiped after she left the writing room. +Dave Sendelbeck ought to fix it up all right for Ferez +Bey.”</p> +<p>Hochstein nodded, shoved the folded brown paper +into his pocket, and resumed his cards.</p> +<p>“Is thim rifles——” began Soane; but Lehr laid a +hand on his shoulder:</p> +<p>“Now, listen! They’re on the way to Ireland now. +I told you that. When I hear they’re landed I’ll let +you know. You Sinn Feiners don’t understand how to +wait. If things don’t happen the way you want and +when you want, you all go up in the air!”</p> +<p>“An’ how manny hundred years would ye have us +wait f’r to free th’ ould sod!” retorted Soane.</p> +<p>“You’ll not free it with your mouth,” retorted Lehr. +“No, nor by drilling with banners and arms in Cork +and Belfast, and parading all over the place!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span></div> +<p>“Is—that—so!”</p> +<p>“You bet it’s so! The way to make England sick is +to stick her in the back, not make faces at her across the +Irish Channel. If your friends in the Clan-na-Gael, +and your poets and professors who call themselves +Sinn Feiners, will quit their childish circus playing and +trust us, we’ll show you how to make the Lion yowl.”</p> +<p>“Ah, bombs an’ fires an’ shtrikes is all right, too. +An’ proppygandy is fine as far as it goes. But the +Clan-na-Gael is all afire f’r to start the shindy in Ireland——”</p> +<p>“You start it,” interrupted Lehr, “before you’re +really ready, and you’ll see where it lands the Clan-na-Gael +and the Sinn Fein! I tell you to leave it to +Berlin!”</p> +<p>“An’ I tell ye lave it to the Clan-na-Gael!” retorted +Soane, excitedly. “Musha——”</p> +<p>“For why you yell?” yawned Freund, displaying a +very yellow fang. “Dot big secret service slob, he iss +in the bar hinunter. Perhaps he hear you if like a +pig you push forth cries.”</p> +<p>Lehr raised his eyebrows; then, carelessly:</p> +<p>“He’s only a State agent. Johnny Klein is keeping +an eye on him. What does that big piece of cheese expect +to get by hanging out in my bar?”</p> +<p>Freund yawned again, appallingly; Soane said:</p> +<p>“I wonder is that purty Frinch girrl agin us Irish?”</p> +<p>“What does she care about the Irish?” replied Lehr. +“Her danger to us lies in the fact that she may blab +about Ferez to some Frenchman, and that he may believe +her in spite of all the proof they have in Paris +against her. Max,” he added, turning to Freund, “it’s +funny that Ferez doesn’t do something to her.”</p> +<p>“I haff no orders.”</p> +<p>“Maybe you’ll get ’em when Ferez reads that letter. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +He’s certainly not going to let that girl go about blabbing +and writing letters——”</p> +<p>Soane struck the table with doubled fist:</p> +<p>“Ye’ll do no vi’lence to anny wan!” he cut in. “The +Sinn Fein will shtand for no dirrty wurruk in America! +Av you set fires an’ blow up plants, an’ kidnap +ladies, an’ do murther, g’wan, ye Dootch scuts!—it’s +your business, God help us!—not ours.</p> +<p>“All we axe of ye is machine-goons, an’ rifles, an’ +ships to land them; an’ av ye don’t like it, phway th’ +divil d’ye come botherin’ th’ likes of us Irish wid y’r +proppygandy! Sorra the day,” he added, “I tuk up +wid anny Dootchman at all at all——”</p> +<p>Lehr and Freund exchanged expressionless glances. +The former dropped a propitiating hand on Soane’s +shoulder.</p> +<p>“Can it,” he said good-humouredly. “We’re trying +to help you Irish to what you want. You want Irish +independence, don’t you? All right. We’re going to +help you get it——”</p> +<p>A bell rang; Lehr sprang to his feet and hastened +out through the iron door, drawing his black-jack from +his hip pocket as he went.</p> +<p>He returned in a few moments, followed by a very +good-looking but pallid man in rather careless evening +dress, who had the dark eyes of a dreamer and the +delicate features of a youthful acolyte.</p> +<p>He saluted the company with a peculiarly graceful +gesture, which recognition even the gross creatures at +the skat table returned with visible respect.</p> +<p>Soane, always deeply impressed by the presence of +Murtagh Skeel, offered his chair and drew another one +to the table.</p> +<p>Skeel accepted with a gently preoccupied smile, and +seated himself gracefully. All that is chivalrous, romantic, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +courteous, and brave in an Irishman seemed to +be visibly embodied in this pale man.</p> +<p>“I have just come,” he said, “from a dinner at Sherry’s. +A common hatred of England brought together +the dozen odd men with whom I have been in conference. +Ferez Bey was there, the military attachés of +the German, Austrian, and Turkish embassies, one or +two bankers, officials of certain steamship lines, and a +United States senator.”</p> +<p>He sipped a glass of plain water which Lehr had +brought him, thanked him, then turning from Soane +to Lehr:</p> +<p>“To get arms and munitions into Ireland in substantial +quantities requires something besides the U-boats +which Germany seems willing to offer.</p> +<p>“That was fully discussed to-night. Not that I +have any doubt at all that Sir Roger will do his part +skilfully and fearlessly——”</p> +<p>“He will that!” exclaimed Soane, “God bless him!”</p> +<p>“Amen, Soane,” said Murtagh Skeel, with a wistful +and involuntary upward glance from his dark eyes. +Then he laid his hand of an aristocrat on Soane’s +shoulder. “What I came here to tell you is this: I +want a ship’s crew.”</p> +<p>“Sorr?”</p> +<p>“I want a crew ready to mutiny at a signal from me +and take over their own ship on the high seas.”</p> +<p>“Their own ship, sorr?”</p> +<p>“Their own ship. That is what has been decided. +The ship to be selected will be a fast steamer loaded +with arms and munitions for the British Government. +The Sinn Fein and the Clan-na-Gael, between them, are +to assemble the crew. I shall be one of that crew. +Through powerful friends, enemies to England, it will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +be made possible to sign such a crew and put it aboard +the steamer to be seized.</p> +<p>“Her officers will, of course, be British. And I +am afraid there may be a gun crew aboard. But that +is nothing. We shall take her over when the time +comes—probably off the Irish coast at night. Now, +Soane, and you, Lehr, I want you to help recruit a +picked crew, all Irish, all Sinn Feiners or members of +the Clan-na-Gael.</p> +<p>“You know the sort. Absolutely reliable, fearless, +and skilled men devoted soul and body to the cause for +which we all would so cheerfully die.... Will you +do it?”</p> +<p>There was a silence. Soane moistened his lips reflectively. +Lehr, intelligent, profoundly interested, +kept his keen, pleasant eyes on Murtagh Skeel. Only +the droning electric fans, the rattle of a newspaper, the +slap of greasy cards at the skat table, the slobbering +gulp of some Teuton, guzzling beer, interrupted the +sweltering quiet of the room.</p> +<p>“Misther Murtagh, sorr,” said Soane with a light, +careless laugh, “I’ve wan recruit f’r to bring ye.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?”</p> +<p>“Sure, it’s meself, sorr—av ye’ll sign the likes o’ +me.”</p> +<p>“Thanks; of course,” said Skeel, with one of his +rare smiles, and taking Soane’s hand in comradeship.</p> +<p>“I’ll go,” said Lehr, coolly; “but my name won’t do. +Call me Grogan, if you like, and I’ll sign with you, +Mr. Skeel.”</p> +<p>Skeel pressed the offered hand:</p> +<p>“A splendid beginning,” he said. “I wanted you +both. Now, see what you can do in the Sinn Fein +and Clan-na-Gael for a crew which, please God, we +shall require very soon!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +<a name='XIII_A_MIDNIGHT_TTETTE' id='XIII_A_MIDNIGHT_TTETTE'></a> +<h2>XIII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />A MIDNIGHT TÊTE-À-TÊTE</span></h2> +</div> +<p>When Dulcie had entered the studio that evening, +her white face smeared with blood and +a torn letter clutched in her hand, the gramophone +was playing a lively two-step, and Barres and +Thessalie Dunois were dancing there in the big, brilliantly +lighted studio, all by themselves.</p> +<p>Thessalie caught sight of Dulcie over Barres’s shoulder, +hastily slipped out of his arms, and hurried across +the polished floor.</p> +<p>“What is the matter?” she asked breathlessly, a fearful +intuition already enlightening her as her startled +glance travelled from the blood on Dulcie’s face to the +torn fragments of paper in her rigidly doubled fingers.</p> +<p>Barres, coming up at the same moment, slipped a +firm arm around Dulcie’s shoulders.</p> +<p>“Are you badly hurt, dear? What has happened?” +he asked very quietly.</p> +<p>She looked up at him, mute, her bruised mouth quivering, +and held out the remains of the letter. And +Thessalie Dunois caught her breath sharply as her eyes +fell on the bits of paper covered with her own handwriting.</p> +<p>“There was a man hiding in the court,” said Dulcie. +“He wore a white cloth over his face and he came up +behind me and tried to snatch your letter out of my +hand; but I held fast and he only tore it in two.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></div> +<p>Barres stared at the sheaf of torn paper, lying crumpled +up in his open hand, then his amazed gaze rested +on Thessalie:</p> +<p>“Is this the letter you wrote to me?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Yes. May I have the remains of my letter?” she +asked calmly.</p> +<p>He handed over the bits of paper without a word, +and she opened her gold-mesh bag and dropped them in.</p> +<p>There was a moment’s silence, then Barres said:</p> +<p>“Did he strike you, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“Yes, when he thought he couldn’t get away from +me.”</p> +<p>“You hung on to him?”</p> +<p>“I tried to.”</p> +<p>Thessalie stepped closer, impulsively, and framed +Dulcie’s pallid, blood-smeared face in both of her cool, +white hands.</p> +<p>“He has cut your lower lip inside,” she said. And, +to Barres: “Could you get something to bathe it?”</p> +<p>Barres went away to his own room. When he returned +with a finger-bowl full of warm water, some +powdered boric acid, cotton, and a soft towel, Dulcie +was lying deep in an armchair, her lids closed; and +Thessalie sat beside her on one of the padded arms, +smoothing the ruddy, curly hair from her forehead.</p> +<p>She opened her eyes when Barres appeared, giving +him a clear but inscrutable look. Thessalie gently +washed the traces of battle from her face, then rinsed +her lacerated mouth very tenderly.</p> +<p>“It is just a little cut,” she said. “Your lip is a +trifle swelled.”</p> +<p>“It is nothing,” murmured Dulcie.</p> +<p>“Do you feel all right?” inquired Barres anxiously.</p> +<p>“I feel sleepy.” She sat erect, always with her grey +eyes on Barres. “I think I will go to bed.” She stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +up, conscious, now, of her shabby clothes and slippers; +and there was a painful flush on her face as she thanked +Thessalie and bade her a confused good-night.</p> +<p>But Thessalie took the girl’s hand and retained it.</p> +<p>“Please don’t say anything about what happened,” +she said. “May I ask it of you as a very great favour?”</p> +<p>Dulcie turned her eyes on Barres in silent appeal for +guidance.</p> +<p>“Do you mind not saying anything about this affair,” +he asked, “as long as Miss Dunois wishes it?”</p> +<p>“Should I not tell my father?”</p> +<p>“Not even to him,” replied Thessalie gently. “Because +it won’t ever happen again. I am very certain +of that. Will you trust my word?”</p> +<p>Again Dulcie looked at Barres, who nodded.</p> +<p>“I promise never to speak of it,” she said in a low, +serious voice.</p> +<p>Barres took her down stairs. At the desk she +pointed out, at his request, the scene of recent action. +Little by little he discovered, by questioning her, what +a dogged battle she had fought there alone in the whitewashed +corridor.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you call for help?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I don’t know.... I didn’t think of it. And when +he got away I was dizzy from the blow.”</p> +<p>At her bedroom door he took both her hands in his. +The gas-jet was still burning in her room. On the +bed lay her pretty evening dress.</p> +<p>“I’m so glad,” she remarked naïvely, “that I had on +my old clothes.”</p> +<p>He smiled, drew her to him, and lightly smoothed the +thick, bright hair from her brow.</p> +<p>“You know,” he said, “I am becoming very fond +of you, Dulcie. You’re such a splendid girl in every +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +way.... We’ll always remain firm friends, won’t +we?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And in perplexity and trouble I want you to feel +that you can always come to me. Because—you do +like me, don’t you, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>For a moment or two she sustained his smiling, +questioning gaze, then laid her cheek lightly against +his hands, which still held both of hers imprisoned. +And for one exquisite instant of spiritual surrender +her grey eyes closed. Then she straightened herself +up; he released her hands; she turned slowly and entered +her room, closing the door very gently behind +her.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In the studio above, Thessalie, still wearing her rose-coloured +cloak, sat awaiting him by the window.</p> +<p>He crossed the studio, dropped onto the lounge beside +her, and lighted a cigarette. Neither spoke for +a few moments. Then he said:</p> +<p>“Thessa, don’t you think you had better tell me +something about this ugly business which seems to involve +you?”</p> +<p>“I can’t, Garry.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Because I shall not take the risk of dragging you +in.”</p> +<p>“Who are these people who seem to be hounding +you?”</p> +<p>“I can’t tell you.”</p> +<p>“You trust me, don’t you?”</p> +<p>She nodded, her face partly averted:</p> +<p>“It isn’t that. And I had meant to tell you something +concerning this matter—tell you just enough so +that I might ask your advice. In fact, that is what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +I wrote you in that letter—being rather scared and +desperate.... But half my letter to you has been +stolen. The people who stole it are clever enough to +piece it out and fill in what is missing——”</p> +<p>She turned impulsively and took his hands between +her own. Her face had grown quite white.</p> +<p>“How much harm have I done to you, Garry? Have +I already involved you by writing as much as I did +write? I have been wondering.... I couldn’t bear +to bring anything like that into your life——”</p> +<p>“Anything like what?” he asked bluntly. “Why +don’t you tell me, Thessa?”</p> +<p>“No. It’s too complicated—too terrible. There are +elements in it that would shock and disgust you.... +And perhaps you would not believe me——”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!”</p> +<p>“The Government of a great European Power does +not believe me to be honest!” she said very quietly. +“Why should you?”</p> +<p>“Because I know you.”</p> +<p>She smiled faintly:</p> +<p>“You’re such a dear,” she murmured. “But you +talk like a boy. What do you really know about me? +We have met just three times in our entire lives. Do +any of those encounters really enlighten you? If you +were a business man in a responsible position, could you +honestly vouch for me?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you credit me with common sense?” he insisted +warmly.</p> +<p>She laughed:</p> +<p>“No, Garry, dear, not with very much. Even I +have more than you, and that is saying very little. +We are inclined to be irresponsible, you and I—inclined +to take the world lightly, inclined to laugh, inclined +to tread the moonlit way! No, Garry, neither +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +you nor I possess very much of that worldly caution +born of hardened wisdom and sharpened wits.”</p> +<p>She smiled almost tenderly at him and pressed his +hands between her own.</p> +<p>“If I had been worldly wise,” she said, “I should +never have danced my way to America through summer +moonlight with you. If I had been wiser still, I +should not now be an exile, my political guilt established, +myself marked for destruction by a great European +Power the instant I dare set foot on its soil.”</p> +<p>“I supposed your trouble to be political,” he nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes, it is.” She sighed, looked at him with a weary +little smile. “But, Garry, I am not guilty of being +what that nation believes me to be.”</p> +<p>“I am very sure of it,” he said gravely.</p> +<p>“Yes, you would be. You’d believe in me anyway, +even with the terrible evidence against me.... I don’t +suppose you’d think me guilty if I tell you that I am +not—in spite of what they might say about me—might +prove, apparently.”</p> +<p>She withdrew her hands, clasped them, her gaze lost +in retrospection for a few moments. Then, coming to +herself with a gesture of infinite weariness:</p> +<p>“There is no use, Garry. I should never be believed. +There are those who, base enough to entrap +me, now are preparing to destroy me because they are +cowardly enough to be afraid of me while I am alive. +Yes, trapped, exiled, utterly discredited as I am to-day, +they are still afraid of me.”</p> +<p>“Who are you, Thessa?” he asked, deeply disturbed.</p> +<p>“I am what you first saw me—a dancer, Garry, and +nothing worse.”</p> +<p>“It seems strange that a European Government +should desire your destruction,” he said.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></div> +<p>“If I really were what this Government believes me +to be, it would not seem strange to you.”</p> +<p>She sat thinking, worrying her under lip with delicate +white teeth; then:</p> +<p>“Garry, do you believe that your country is going +to be drawn into this war?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what to think,” he said bitterly. “The +<i>Lusitania</i> ought to have meant war between us and +Germany. Every brutal Teutonic disregard of decency +since then ought to have meant war—every unarmed +ship sunk by their U-boats, every outrage in +America perpetrated by their spies and agents ought +to have meant war. I don’t know how much more this +Administration will force us to endure—what further +flagrant insult Germany means to offer. They’ve answered +the President’s last note by canning Von Tirpitz +and promising, conditionally, to sink no more unarmed +ships without warning. But they all are liars, +the Huns. So that’s the way matters stand, Thessa, +and I haven’t the slightest idea of what is going to happen +to my humiliated country.”</p> +<p>“Why does not your country prepare?” she asked.</p> +<p>“God knows why. Washington doesn’t believe in it, +I suppose.”</p> +<p>“You should build ships,” she said. “You should +prepare plans for calling out your young men.”</p> +<p>He nodded indifferently:</p> +<p>“There was a preparedness parade. I marched in +it. But it only irritated Washington. Now, finally, +the latest Mexican insult is penetrating official stupidity, +and we are mobilising our State Guardsmen for +service on the border. And that’s about all we are +doing. We are making neither guns nor rifles; we +are building no ships; the increase in our regular army +is of little account; some of the most vital of the great +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +national departments are presided over by rogues, +clowns, and fools—pacifists all!—stupid, dull, grotesque +and impotent. And you ask me what my country +is going to do. And I tell you that I don’t know. +For real Americans, Thessa, these last two years have +been years of shame. For we should have armed and +mobilised when the first rifle-shot cracked across the +Belgian frontier at Longwy; and we should have declared +war when the first Hun set his filthy hoof on +Belgian soil.</p> +<p>“In our hearts we real Americans know it. But we +had no leader—nobody of faith, conviction, vision, action, +to do what was the only thing to do. No; we had +only talkers to face the supreme crisis of the world—only +the shallow noise of words was heard in answer +to God’s own summons warning all mankind that hell’s +deluge was at hand.”</p> +<p>The intense bitterness of what he said had made her +very grave. She listened silently, intent on his every +expression. And when he ended with a gesture of +hopelessness and disgust, she sat gazing at him out +of her lovely dark eyes, deep in reflection.</p> +<p>“Garry,” she said at length, “do you know anything +about the European systems of intelligence?”</p> +<p>“No—only what I read in novels.”</p> +<p>“Do you know that America, to-day, is fairly crawling +with German spies?”</p> +<p>“I suppose there are some here.”</p> +<p>“There are a hundred thousand paid German spies +within an hour’s journey of this city.”</p> +<p>He looked up incredulously.</p> +<p>“Let me tell you,” she said, “how it is arranged +here. The German Ambassador is the master spy in +America. Under his immediate supervision are the so-called +diplomatic agents—the personnel of the embassy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +and members of the consular service. These people do +not class themselves as agents or as spies; they are +the directors of spies and agents.</p> +<p>“Agents gather information from spies who perform +the direct work of investigating. Spies usually work +alone and report, through local agents, to consular +or diplomatic agents. And these, in turn, report to the +Ambassador, who reports to Berlin.</p> +<p>“It is all directed from Berlin. The personal source +of all German espionage is the Kaiser. He is the supreme +master spy.”</p> +<p>“Where have you learned these things, Thessa?” he +asked in a troubled voice.</p> +<p>“I have learned, Garry.”</p> +<p>“Are you—a spy?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Have you been?”</p> +<p>“No, Garry.”</p> +<p>“Then how——”</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me; just listen. There are men here in +your city who are here for no good purpose. I do +not mean to say that merely because they seek also to +injure me—destroy me, perhaps,—God knows what +they wish to do to me!—but I say it because I believe +that your country will declare war on Germany +some day very soon. And that you ought to watch +these spies who move everywhere among you!</p> +<p>“Germany also believes that war is near. And this +is why she strives to embroil your country with Japan +and Mexico. That is why she discredits you with Holland, +with Sweden. It is why she instructs her spies +here to set fires in factories and on ships, blow up +powder mills and great industrial plants which are +manufacturing munitions for the Allies of the Triple +Entente.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></div> +<p>“America may doubt that there is to be war between +her and Germany, but Germany does not doubt it.</p> +<p>“Let me tell you what else Germany is doing. She +is spreading insidious propaganda through a million +disloyal Germans and pacifist Americans, striving to +poison the minds of your people against England. She +secretly buys, owns, controls newspapers which are +used as vehicles for that propaganda.</p> +<p>“She is debauching the Irish here who are discontented +with England’s rule; she spends vast sums of +money in teaching treachery in your schools, in arousing +suspicion among farmers, in subsidising mercantile +firms.</p> +<p>“Garry, I tell you that a Hun is always a Hun; a +Boche is always a Boche, call him what else you will.</p> +<p>“The Germans are the monkeys of the world; they +have imitated the human race. But, Garry, they are +still what they always have been at heart, barbarians +who have no business in Europe.</p> +<p>“In their hearts—and for all their priests and clergymen +and cathedrals and churches—they still believe in +their old gods which they themselves created—fierce, +bestial supermen, more cruel, more powerful, more +treacherous, more beastly than they themselves.</p> +<p>“That is the German. That is the Hun under all +his disguises. No white man can meet him on his +own ground; no white man can understand him, appeal +to anything in common between himself and the Boche. +He is brutal and contemptuous to women; he is tyrannical +to the weak, cringing to the strong, fundamentally +bestial, utterly selfish, intolerant of any civilisation +which is not his conception of civilisation—his +monkey-like conception of Christ—whom, in his pagan +soul, he secretly sneers at—not always secretly, now!”</p> +<p>She straightened up with a quick little gesture of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +contempt. Her face was brightly flushed; her eyes +brilliant with scorn.</p> +<p>“Garry, has not America heard enough of ‘the good +German,’ the ‘kindly Teuton,’ the harmless, sentimental +and ‘excellent citizen,’ whose morally edifying origin +as a model emigrant came out of his own sly mouth, +and who has, by his own propaganda alone, become an +accepted type of good-natured thrift and erudition in +your Republic?</p> +<p>“Let me say to you what a French girl thinks! A +hundred years ago you were a very small nation, but +you were homogeneous and the average of culture was +far higher in America then than it is at present. For +now, your people’s cultivation and civilisation is diluted +by the ignorance of millions of foreigners to +whom you have given hospitality. And, of these, the +Germans have done you the most deadly injury, vulgarising +public taste in art and literature, affronting +your clean, sane intelligence by the new decadence and +perversion in music, in painting, in illustration, in fiction.</p> +<p>“Whatever the normal Hun touches he vulgarises; +whatever the decadent Boche touches he soils and degrades +and transforms into a horrible abomination. +This he has done under your eyes in art, in literature, +in architecture, in modern German music.</p> +<p>“His filthy touch is even on your domestic life—this +Barbarian who feeds grossly, whose personal habits +are a by-word among civilised and cultured people, +whose raw ferocity is being now revealed to the world +day by day in Europe, whose proverbial clumsiness and +stupidity have long furnished your stage with its oafs +and clowns.</p> +<p>“This is the thing that is now also invading you with +thousands of spies, betraying you with millions of traitors, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +and which will one day turn on you and tear you +and trample you like an enraged hog, unless you and +your people awake to what is passing in the world you +live in!”</p> +<p>She was on her feet now, flushed, lovely, superb in +her deep and controlled excitement.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you this much,” she said. “It is Germany +that wishes my destruction. Germany trapped me; +Germany would have destroyed me in the trap had I +not escaped. Now, Germany is afraid of me, knowing +what I know. And her agents follow me, spy on +me, thwart me, prevent me from earning my living, +until I—I can scarcely endure it—this hounding and +persecution——” Her voice broke; she waited to control +it:</p> +<p>“I am not a spy. I never was one. I never betrayed +a human soul—no, nor any living thing that +ever trusted me! These people who hound me know +that I am not guilty of that for which another Government +is ready to try me—and condemn me. They +fear that I shall prove to this other Government my +innocence. I can’t. But they fear I can. And the +Hun is afraid of me. Because, if I ever proved my innocence, +it would involve the arrest and trial and certain +execution of men high in rank in the capital of this +other country. So—the Hun dogs me everywhere I +go. I do not know why he does not try to kill me. +Possibly he lacks courage, so far. Possibly he has +not had any good opportunity, because I am very careful, +Garry.”</p> +<p>“But this—this is outrageous!” broke out Barres. +“You can’t stand this sort of thing, Thessa! It’s a +matter for the police——”</p> +<p>“Don’t interfere!”</p> +<p>“But——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></div> +<p>“Don’t interfere! The last thing I want is publicity. +The last thing I wish for is that your city, state, or +national government should notice me at all or have +any curiosity concerning me or any idea of investigating +my affairs.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because, although as soon as your country is at +war with Germany, my danger from Germany ceases, +on the other hand another very deadly danger begins +at once to threaten me.”</p> +<p>“What danger?”</p> +<p>“It will come from a country with which your country +will be allied. And I shall be arrested here as a +<i>German</i> spy, and I shall be sent back to the country +which I am supposed to have betrayed. And there +nothing in the world could save me.”</p> +<p>“You mean—court-martial?”</p> +<p>“A brief one, Garry. And then the end.”</p> +<p>“Death?”</p> +<p>She nodded.</p> +<p>After a few moments she moved toward the door. +He went with her, picking up his hat.</p> +<p>“I can’t let you go with me,” she said with a faint +smile.</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“You are involved sufficiently already.”</p> +<p>“What do I care for——”</p> +<p>“Hush, Garry. Do you wish to displease me?”</p> +<p>“No, but I——”</p> +<p>“Please! Call me a taxicab. I wish to go back +alone.”</p> +<p>In spite of argument she remained smilingly firm. +Finally he rang up a taxi for her. When it signalled +he walked down stairs, through the dim hall and out +to the grilled gateway beside her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></div> +<p>“Good-bye,” she said, giving her hand. He detained +it:</p> +<p>“I can’t bear to have you go alone——”</p> +<p>“I’m perfectly safe, mon ami. I’ve had a delightful +time at your party—really I have. This affair +of the letter does not spoil it. I’m accustomed to similar +episodes. So now, good-night.”</p> +<p>“Am I to see you again soon?”</p> +<p>“Soon? Ah, I can’t tell you that, Garry.”</p> +<p>“When it is convenient then?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And will you telephone me on your safe arrival home +to-night?”</p> +<p>She laughed:</p> +<p>“If you wish. You’re so sweet to me, Garry. You +always have been. Don’t worry about me. I am not +in the least apprehensive. You see I’m rather a clever +girl, and I know something about the Boche.”</p> +<p>“You had your letter stolen.”</p> +<p>“Only half of it!” she retorted gaily. “She is a +gallant little thing, your friend Dulcie. Please give +her my love. As for your other friends, they were +amusing.... Mr. Mandel spoke to me about an engagement.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you consider it? Corot Mandel is the +most important producer in New York.”</p> +<p>“Is he, really? Well, if I’m not interfered with +perhaps I shall go to call on Mr. Mandel.” She began +to laugh mischievously to herself: “There was one +man there who never gave me a moment’s peace until +I promised to lunch with him at the Ritz.”</p> +<p>“Who the devil——”</p> +<p>“Mr. Westmore,” she said demurely.</p> +<p>“Oh, Jim Westmore! Well, Thessa, he’s a corker. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +He’s really a splendid fellow, but look out for him! +He’s also a philanderer.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear. I thought he was just a sculptor and +a rather strenuous young man.”</p> +<p>“I wasn’t knocking him,” said Barres, laughing, +“but he falls in love with every pretty woman he meets. +I’m merely warning you.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Garry,” she smiled. She gave him her +hand again, pulled the rose-coloured cloak around her +bare shoulders, ran across the sidewalk to the taxi, +and whispered to the driver.</p> +<p>“You’ll telephone me when you get home?” he reminded +her, baffled but smiling.</p> +<p>She laughed and nodded. The cab wheeled out into +the street, backed, turned, and sped away eastward.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Half an hour later his telephone rang:</p> +<p>“Garry, dear?”</p> +<p>“Is it you, Thessa?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I’m going to bed.... Tell Mr. Westmore +that I’m not at all sure I shall meet him at the Ritz +on Monday.”</p> +<p>“He’ll go, anyway.”</p> +<p>“Will he? What devotion. What faith in woman! +What a lively capacity for hope eternal! What vanity! +Well, then, tell him he may take his chances.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell him. But I think you might make a date +with me, too, you little fraud!”</p> +<p>“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll drop in to see you unexpectedly +some morning. And don’t let me catch +<i>you</i> philandering in your studio with some pretty +woman!”</p> +<p>“No fear, Thessa.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></div> +<p>“I’m not at all sure. And your little model, Dulcie, +is dangerously attractive.”</p> +<p>“Piffle! She’s a kid!”</p> +<p>“Don’t be too sure of that, either! And tell Mr. +Westmore that I <i>may</i> keep my engagement. And then +again I may not! Good-night, Garry, dear!”</p> +<p>“Good-night!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Walking slowly back to extinguish the lights in the +studio before retiring to his own room for the night, +Barres noticed a piece of paper on the table under +the lamp, evidently a fragment from the torn letter.</p> +<p>The words “Ferez Bey” and “Murtagh” caught his +eye before he realised that it was not his business to +decipher the fragment.</p> +<p>So he lighted a match, held the shred of letter paper +to the flame, and let it burn between his fingers until +only a blackened cinder fell to the floor.</p> +<p>But the two names were irrevocably impressed on +his mind, and he found himself wondering who these +men might be, as he stood by his bed, undressing.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +<a name='XIV_PROBLEMS' id='XIV_PROBLEMS'></a> +<h2>XIV +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />PROBLEMS</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The weather was turning hot in New York, and +by the middle of the week the city sweltered.</p> +<p>Barres, dropping his brushes and laying +aside a dozen pictures in all stages of incompletion; +and being, otherwise, deeply bitten by the dangerously +enchanting art of Manship—dangerous as inspiration +but enchanting to gaze upon—was very busy making +out of wax a diminutive figure of the running Arethusa.</p> +<p>And Dulcie, poor child, what with being poised on +the ball of one little foot and with the other leg slung +up in a padded loop, almost perished. Perspiration +spangled her body like dew powdering a rose; sweat +glistened on the features and shoulder-bared arms of +the impassioned sculptor, even blinding him at times; +but he worked on in a sort of furious exaltation, reeking +of ill-smelling wax. And Dulcie, perfectly willing +to die at her post, thought she was going to, and finally +fainted away with an alarming thud.</p> +<p>Which brought Barres to his senses, even before she +had recovered hers; and he proclaimed a vacation for +his overworked Muse and his model, too.</p> +<p>“Do you feel better, Sweetness?” he enquired, as she +opened her eyes when Selinda exchanged a wet compress +for an ice-bag.</p> +<p>Dulcie, flat on the lounge, swathed in a crash bathrobe, +replied only by a slight but reassuring flutter of +one hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></div> +<p>Esmé Trenor sauntered in for a gossip, wearing his +celebrated lilac-velvet jacket and Louis XV slippers.</p> +<p>“Oh, the devil,” he drawled, looking from Dulcie to +the Arethusa; “she’s worth more than your amateurish +statuette, Garry.”</p> +<p>“You bet she is. And here’s where her vacation begins.”</p> +<p>Esmé turned to Dulcie, lifting his eyebrows:</p> +<p>“You go away with him?”</p> +<p>The idea had never before entered Barres’s head. +But he said:</p> +<p>“Certainly; we both need the country for a few +weeks.”</p> +<p>“You’ll go to one of those damned artists’ colonies, +I suppose,” remarked Esmé; “otherwise, washed and +unwashed would expel shrill cries.”</p> +<p>“Probably not in my own home,” returned Barres, +coolly. “I shall write my family about it to-day.”</p> +<p>Corot Mandel dropped in, also, that morning—he +and Esmé were ever prowling uneasily around Dulcie +in these days—and he studied the Arethusa through a +foggy monocle, and he loitered about Dulcie’s couch.</p> +<p>“You know,” he said to Barres, “there’s nothing like +dancing to recuperate from all this metropolitan pandemonium. +If you like, I can let Dulcie in on that +thing I’m putting on at Northbrook.”</p> +<p>“That’s up to her,” said Barres. “It’s her vacation, +and she can do what she likes with it——”</p> +<p>Esmé interposed with characteristic impudence:</p> +<p>“Barres imitates Manship with impunity; I’d like to +have a plagiaristic try at Sorolla and Zuloaga, if Dulcie +says the word. Very agreeable job for a girl in hot +weather,” he added, looking at Dulcie, “—an easy +swimming pose in some nice cool little Adirondack +lake——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></div> +<p>“Seriously,” interrupted Mandel, twirling his monocle +impatiently by its greasy string, “I mean it, +Barres.” He turned and looked at the lithely speeding +Arethusa. “If that is Dulcie, I can give her a +good part in——”</p> +<p>“You hear, Dulcie?” enquired Barres. “These two +kind gentlemen have what they consider attractive jobs +for you. All I can offer you is liberty to tumble around +the hayfields at Foreland Farms, with my sketching +easel in the middle distance. Now, choose your job, +Sweetness.”</p> +<p>“The hayfields and——”</p> +<p>Dulcie’s voice faded to a whisper; Barres, seated beside +her, leaned nearer, bending his head to listen.</p> +<p>“And <i>you</i>,” she murmured again, “—if you want +me.”</p> +<p>“I always want you,” he whispered laughingly, in +return.</p> +<p>Esmé regarded the scene with weariness and chagrin.</p> +<p>“Come on,” he said languidly to Mandel, “we’ll buy +her some flowers for the evil she does us. She’ll need +’em; she’ll be finished before this amateur sculptor finishes +his blooming Arethusa.”</p> +<p>Mandel lingered:</p> +<p>“I’m going up to Northbrook in a day or two, +Barres. If you change—change Dulcie’s mind for her, +just call me up at the Adolf Gerhardt’s.”</p> +<p>“Dulcie will call you up if she changes my mind.”</p> +<p>Dulcie laughed.</p> +<p>When they had gone, Barres said:</p> +<p>“You know I haven’t thought about the summer. +What was your idea about it?”</p> +<p>“My—idea?”</p> +<p>“Yes. You’d want a couple of weeks in the country +somewhere, wouldn’t you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></div> +<p>“I don’t know. I never went away,” she replied +vaguely.</p> +<p>It occurred to him, now, that for all his pleasant +toleration of Soane’s little daughter during the two +years and more of his residence in Dragon Court, he +had never really interested himself in her well-being, +never thought to enquire about anything which might +really concern her. He had taken it for granted that +most people have some change from the stifling, grinding, +endless routine of their lives—some respite, some +quiet interval for recovery and rest.</p> +<p>And so, returning from his own vacations, it never +occurred to him that the shy girl whom he permitted +within his precincts, when convenient, never knew any +other break in the grey monotony—never left the dusty, +soiled, and superheated city from one year’s summer +to another.</p> +<p>Now, for the first time, he realised it.</p> +<p>“We’ll go up there,” he said. “My family is accustomed +to models I bring there for my summer work. +You’ll be very comfortable, and you’ll feel quite at +home. We live very simply at Foreland Farms. Everybody +will be kind and nobody will bother you, and you +can do exactly as you please, because we all do that at +Foreland Farms. Will you come when I’m ready to +go up?”</p> +<p>She gave him a sweet, confused glance from her grey +eyes.</p> +<p>“Do you think your family would mind?”</p> +<p>“Mind?” He smiled. “We never interfere with one +another’s affairs. It’s not like many families, I fancy. +We take it for granted that nobody in the family could +do anything not entirely right. So we take that for +granted and it’s a jolly sensible arrangement.”</p> +<p>She turned her face on the pillow presently; the ice-bag +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +slid off; she sat up in her bathrobe, stretched her +arms, smiled faintly:</p> +<p>“Shall I try again?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, Lord!” he said, “<i>would</i> you? Upon my word, +I believe you would! No more posing to-day! I’m not +a murderer. Lie there until you’re ready to dress, and +then ring for Selinda.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you want me?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but I want you alive, not dead! Anyway, +I’ve got to talk to Westmore this morning, so you may +be as lazy as you like—lounge about, read——” He +went over to her, patted her cheek in the smiling, absent-minded +way he had with her: “Tell me, ducky, +how are you feeling, anyway?”</p> +<p>It confused her dreadfully to blush when he touched +her, but she always did; and she turned her face away +now, saying that she was quite all right again.</p> +<p>Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he nodded:</p> +<p>“That’s fine,” he said. “Now, trot along to Selinda, +and when you’re fixed up you can have the run +of the place to yourself.”</p> +<p>“Could I have my slippers?” She was very shy +even about her bare feet when she was not actually +posing.</p> +<p>He found her slippers for her, laid them beside the +lounge, and strolled away. Westmore rang a moment +later, but when he blew in like a noisy breeze Dulcie +<ins title='Was has'>had</ins> disappeared.</p> +<p>“My little model toppled over,” said Barres, taking +his visitor’s outstretched hand and wincing under the +grip. “I shall cut out work while this weather lasts.”</p> +<p>Westmore turned toward the Arethusa, laughed at +the visible influence of Manship.</p> +<p>“All the same, Garry,” he said, “there’s a lot in +your running nymph. It’s nice; it’s knowing.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></div> +<p>“That is pleasant to hear from a sculptor.”</p> +<p>“Sculptor? Sometimes I feel like a sculpin—prickly +heat, you know.” He laughed heartily at his own +witticism, slapped Barres on the shoulder, lighted a +pipe, and flung himself on the couch recently vacated +by Dulcie.</p> +<p>“This damned war,” he said, “takes the native gaiety +out of a man—takes the laughter out of life. Over two +years of it now, Garry; and it’s as though the sun is +slowly growing dimmer every day.”</p> +<p>“I know,” nodded Barres.</p> +<p>“Sure you feel it. Everybody does. By God, I have +periods of sickness when the illustrated London periodicals +arrive, and I see those dead men pictured there—such +fine, clean fellows—our own kind—half of them +just kids!—well, it hurts me to look at them, and, for +the sheer pain of it, I’m always inclined to shirk and +turn that page quickly. But I say to myself, ‘Jim, +they’re dead fighting Christ’s own battle, and the least +you can do is to read their names and ages, and look +upon their faces.’... And I do it.”</p> +<p>“So do I,” nodded Barres, sombrely gazing at the +carpet.</p> +<p>After a silence, Westmore said:</p> +<p>“Well, the Boche has taken his medicine and canned +Tirpitz—the wild swine that he is. So I don’t suppose +we’ll get mixed up in it.”</p> +<p>“The Hun is a great liar,” remarked Barres. +“There’s no telling.”</p> +<p>“Are you going to Plattsburg again this year?” enquired +Westmore.</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Are you?”</p> +<p>“In the autumn, perhaps.... Garry, it’s discouraging. +Do you realise what a gigantic task we have +ahead of us if the Hun ever succeeds in kicking us into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +this war? And what a gigantic mess we’ve made of +two years’ inactivity?”</p> +<p>Barres, pondering, scowled at his own thoughts.</p> +<p>“And now,” continued the other, “the Guard is off +to the border, and here we are, stripped clean, with +the city lousy with Germans and every species of Hun +deviltry hatching out fires and explosions and disloyal +propaganda from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the +Lakes to the Gulf!</p> +<p>“A fine mess!—no troops, nothing to arm them with, +no modern artillery, no preparations; the Boche growing +more insolent, more murderous, but slyer; a row +on with Mexico, another brewing with Japan, all Europe +and Great Britain regarding us with contempt—I +ask you, can you beat it, Garry? Are there any +lower depths for us?—any sub-cellars of iniquity into +which we can tumble, like the basket of jelly-fish we +seem to be!”</p> +<p>“It’s a nightmare,” said Barres. “Since Liège and +the <i>Lusitania</i>, it’s been a bad dream getting worse. +We’ll have to wake, you know. If we don’t, we’re of +no more substance than the dream itself:—we <i>are</i> the +dream, and we’ll end like one.”</p> +<p>“I’m going to wait a bit longer,” said Westmore +restlessly, “and if there’s nothing doing, it’s me for +the other side.”</p> +<p>“For me, too, Jim.”</p> +<p>“Is it a bargain?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.... I’d rather go under my own flag, +of course.... We’ll see how this Boche backdown +turns out. I don’t think it will last. I believe the Huns +have been stirring up the Mexicans. It wouldn’t surprise +me if they were at the bottom of the Japanese +menace. But what angers me is to think that we have +received with innocent hospitality these hundreds of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +thousands of Huns in America, and that now, all over +the land, this vast, acclimated nest of snakes rises hissing +at us, menacing us with their filthy fangs!”</p> +<p>“Thank God our police is still half Irish,” growled +Westmore, puffing at his pipe. “These dirty swine +might try to rush the city if war comes while the Guard +is away.”</p> +<p>“They’re doing enough damage as it is,” said Barres, +“with their traitorous press, their pacifists, their +agents everywhere inciting labour to strike, teaching +disorganisation, combining commercially, directing +blackmail, bomb outrages, incendiaries, and infesting +the Republic with a plague of spies——”</p> +<p>The studio bell rang sharply. Barres, who stood +near the door, opened it.</p> +<p>“Thessa!” he exclaimed, astonished and delighted.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +<a name='XV_BLACKMAIL' id='XV_BLACKMAIL'></a> +<h2>XV +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />BLACKMAIL</span></h2> +</div> +<p>She came in swiftly, stirring the sultry stillness +of the studio with a little breeze from her gown, +faintly fragrant.</p> +<p>“Garry, dear!—” She gave him both her hands and +looked at him; and he saw the pink tint of excitement +in her cheeks and her dark eyes brilliant.</p> +<p>“Thessa, this is charming of you——”</p> +<p>“No! I came——” She cast a swift glance around +her, beheld Westmore, gave him one hand as he came +forward.</p> +<p>“How do you do?” she said, almost breathlessly, +plainly controlling some inward excitement.</p> +<p>But Westmore retained her hand and laid the other +over it.</p> +<p>“You <i>said</i> you’d come to the Ritz——”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry.... I have been—bothered—with matters—affairs——”</p> +<p>“You are bothered now,” he said. “If you have +something to say to Garry, I’ll go about my business.... +Only I’m sorry it’s not your business, too.”</p> +<p>He released her hand and reached for the door-knob: +her dark eyes were resting on him with a strained, intent +expression. On impulse she thrust out her arm +and closed the door, which he had begun to open.</p> +<p>“Please—Mr. Westmore.... I do want to see you. +I’m trying to think clearly—” She turned and looked +at Barres.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></div> +<p>“Is it serious?” he said in a low voice.</p> +<p>“I—suppose so.... Garry, I wish to—to come +here ... and stay.”</p> +<p>“What!”</p> +<p>She nodded.</p> +<p>“Is it all right?”</p> +<p>“All right,” he replied pleasantly, bewildered and +almost inclined to laugh.</p> +<p>She said in a low, tense voice.</p> +<p>“I’m really in trouble, Garry. I told you once that +the word was not in my vocabulary.... I’ve had to +include it.”</p> +<p>“I’m so sorry! Tell me all about——”</p> +<p>He checked himself: she turned to Westmore—a +deeper flush came into her cheeks—then she said +gravely:</p> +<p>“I scarcely know Mr. Westmore, but if he is like +you, Garry—your sort—perhaps he——”</p> +<p>“He’d do anything for you, Thessa, if you’ll let him. +Have you confidence in me?”</p> +<p>“You know I have.”</p> +<p>“Then you can have the same confidence in Jim. I +suggest it because I have a hazy idea what your trouble +is. And if you came to ask advice, then I think +that you’ll get double value if you include Jim Westmore +in your confidence.”</p> +<p>She stood silent and with heightened colour for a +moment, then her expression became humorous, and, +partly turning, she put out her gloved hand behind +her and took hold of Westmore’s sleeve. It was +at once an appeal and an impulsive admission of her +confidence in this young man whom she had liked from +the beginning, and who must be trustworthy because +he was the friend of Garret Barres.</p> +<p>“I’m scared half to death,” she remarked, without a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +quaver in her voice, but her smile had now become +forced, and a quick, uneven little sigh escaped her as +she passed her arms through Barres’ and Westmore’s, +and, moving across the carpet between them, suffered +herself to be installed among the Chinese cushions upon +the lounge by the open window.</p> +<p>In her distractingly pretty summer hat and gown, +and with her white gloves and gold-mesh purse in her +lap—her fresh, engaging face and daintily rounded +figure—Thessalie Dunois seemed no more mature, no +more experienced in worldly wisdom, than the charming +young girls one passes on Fifth Avenue on a golden +morning in early spring.</p> +<p>But Westmore, looking into her dark eyes, divined, +perhaps, something less inexperienced, less happy in +their lovely, haunted depths. And, troubled by he +knew not what, he waited in silence for her to speak.</p> +<p>Barres said to her:</p> +<p>“You are being annoyed, Thessa, dear. I gather +that much from what has already happened. Can Jim +and I do anything?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.... It’s come to a point where I—I’m +afraid—to be alone.”</p> +<p>Her gaze fell; she sat brooding for a few moments, +then, with a quick intake of breath:</p> +<p>“It humiliates me to come to you. Would you believe +that of me, Garry, that it has come to a point +where I am actually afraid to be alone? I thought I +had plenty of what the world calls courage.”</p> +<p>“You have!”</p> +<p>“I <i>had</i>. I don’t know what’s become of it—what has +happened to me.... I don’t want to tell you more +than I have to——”</p> +<p>“Tell us as much as you think necessary,” said +Barres, watching her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></div> +<p>“Thank you.... Well, then, some years ago I +earned the enmity of a man. And, through him, a +European Government blacklisted me. It was a terrible +thing. I did not fully appreciate what it meant +at the time.” She turned to Westmore in her pretty, +impulsive way: “This European Government, of which +I speak, believes me to be the agent of another foreign +government—believes that I betrayed its interests. +This man whom I offended, to punish me and to cover +his own treachery, furnished evidence which would have +convicted me of treachery and espionage.”</p> +<p>The excited colour began to dye her cheeks again; +she stretched out one arm in appeal to Westmore:</p> +<p>“Please believe me! I am no spy. I never was. I +was too young, too stupid, too innocent in such matters +to know what this man was about—that he had +very cleverly implicated me in this abhorrent matter. +Do you believe me, Mr. Westmore?”</p> +<p>“Of course I do!” he said with a fervour not, perhaps, +necessary. “If you’ll be kind enough to point +out that gentleman——”</p> +<p>“Wait, Jim,” interposed Barres, nodding to Thessalie +to proceed.</p> +<p>She had been looking at Westmore, apparently much +interested in his ardour, but she came to herself when +Barres interrupted, and sat silent again as though +searching her mind concerning what further she might +say. Slowly the forced smile curved her lips again. +She said:</p> +<p>“I don’t know just what that enraged European +Government might have done to me had I been arrested, +because I ran away ... and came here.... But the +man whom I offended discovered where I was and never +for a day even have his agents ceased to watch me, +annoy me——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div> +<p>There was a quick break in her voice; she set her +lips in silence until the moment’s emotion had passed, +then, turning to Westmore with winning dignity: “I +am a dancer and singer—an entertainer of sorts, by +profession. I——”</p> +<p>“Tell Westmore a little more, Thessa,” said Barres.</p> +<p>“If you think it necessary.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell him. Miss Dunois was the most celebrated +entertainer in Europe when this happened. Since she +came here the man she has mentioned has, somehow, +managed to interfere and spoil every business arrangement +which she has attempted.” He looked at Thessa. +“I don’t know whether, if Thessalie had cared to use +the name under which she was known all over Europe——”</p> +<p>“I didn’t dare, Garry. I thought that, if some +manager would only give me a chance I could make a +new name for myself. But wherever I went I was +dogged, and every arrangement was spoiled.... I had +my jewels.... You remember some of them, Garry. +I gave those away—I think I told you why. <i>But</i> I +had other jewels—unset diamonds given to my mother +by Prince Haledine. Well, I sold them and invested +the money.... And my income is all I have—quite a +tiny income, Mr. Westmore, but enough. Only I could +have done very well here, I think, if I had not been +interfered with.”</p> +<p>“Thessa,” said Barres, “why not tell us both a little +more? We’re devoted to you.”</p> +<p>The girl lifted her dark eyes, and unconsciously they +were turned to Westmore. And in that young man’s +vigorous, virile personality perhaps she recognised +something refreshing, subtlely compelling, for, still +looking at him, she began to speak quite naturally of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +things which had long been locked within her lonely +heart:</p> +<p>“I was scarcely more than a child when General +Count Klingenkampf killed my father. The Grand +Duke Cyril hushed it up.</p> +<p>“I had several thousand roubles. I had—trouble +with the Grand Duke.... He annoyed me ... as +some men annoy a woman.... And when I put him +in his place he insulted the memory of my mother because +she was a Georgian.... I slapped his face with +a whip.... And then I had to run away.”</p> +<p>She drew a quick, uneven breath, smiling at Westmore +from whose intent gaze her own dark eyes never +wandered.</p> +<p>“My father had been a French officer before he took +service in Russia,” she said. “I was educated in Alsace +and then in England. Then my father sent for me and +I returned to St. Peters—I mean Petrograd. And because +I loved dancing my father obtained permission +for me to study at the Imperial school. Also, I had +it in me to sing, and I had excellent instruction.</p> +<p>“And because I did such things in my own way, +sometimes my father permitted me to entertain at the +gay gatherings patronised by the Grand Duke Cyril.”</p> +<p>She smiled in reminiscence, and her gaze became remote +for a moment. Then, coming back, she lifted her +eyes once more to Westmore’s:</p> +<p>“I ran away from Cyril and went to Constantinople, +where Von-der-Goltz Pasha and others whom I had met +at the Grand Duke’s parties, when little more than a +child, were stationed. I entertained at the German +Embassy, and at the Yildiz Palace.... I was successful. +And my success brought me opportunities—of +the wrong kind. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>Westmore nodded.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></div> +<p>“So,” she continued, with a slight movement of disdain, +“I didn’t quite see how I was to get to Paris all +alone and begin a serious career. And one evening I +entertained at the German Embassy—tell me, do you +know Constantinople?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, it is nothing except a vast mass of gossip +and intrigue. One breakfasts on rumours, lunches on +secrets, and dines on scandals. And my maid told me +enough that day to make certain matters quite clear +to me.</p> +<p>“And so I entertained at the Embassy.... Afterward +it was no surprise when his Excellency whispered +to me that an honest career was assured me if I chose, +and that I might be honestly launched in Paris without +paying the price which I would not pay.</p> +<p>“Later I was not surprised, either, when Ferez Bey, +a friend of my father, and a man I had known since +childhood, presented me to—to——” She glanced at +Barres; he nodded; she concluded to name the man: +“—the Count d’Eblis, a Senator of France, and owner +of the newspaper called <i>Le Mot d’Ordre</i>.”</p> +<p>After a silence she stole another glance at Barres; a +smile hovered on her lips. He, also, smiled; for he, +too, was thinking of that moonlit way they travelled +together on a night in June so long ago.</p> +<p>Her glance asked:</p> +<p>“Is it necessary to tell Mr. Westmore this?”</p> +<p>He shook his head very slightly.</p> +<p>“Well,” she went on, her eyes reverting again to +Westmore, “the Count d’Eblis, it appeared, had fallen +in love with me at first sight.... In the beginning he +misunderstood me.... When he realised that I would +endure no nonsense from any man he proved to be +sufficiently infatuated with me to offer me marriage.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></div> +<p>She shrugged:</p> +<p>“At that age one man resembled another to me. +Marriage was a convention, a desirable business arrangement. +The Count was in a position to launch +me into a career. Careers begin in Paris. And I knew +enough to realise that a girl has to pay in one way or +another for such an opportunity. So I said that I +would marry him if I came to care enough for him. +Which merely meant that if he were ordinarily polite +and considerate and companionable I would ultimately +become his wife.</p> +<p>“That was the arrangement. And it caused much +trouble. Because I was a—” she smiled at Barres, +“—a success from the first moment. And d’Eblis immediately +began to be abominably jealous and unreasonable. +Again and again he broke his promise and +tried to interfere with my career. He annoyed me constantly +by coming to my hotel at inopportune moments; +he made silly scenes if I ventured to have any +friends or if I spoke twice to the same man; he distrusted +me—he and Ferez Bey, who had taken service +with him. Together they humiliated me, made my life +miserable by their distrust.</p> +<p>“I warned d’Eblis that his absurd jealousy and unkindness +would not advance him in my interest. And +for a while he seemed to become more reasonable. In +fact, he apparently became sane again, and I had even +consented to our betrothal, when, by accident, I discovered +that he and Ferez were having me followed +everywhere I went. And that very night was to have +been a gay one—a party in honour of our betrothal—the +night I discovered what he and Ferez had been doing +to me.</p> +<p>“I was so hurt, so incensed, that—” She cast an involuntary +glance at Barres; he made a slight movement +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +of negation, and she concluded her sentence calmly: +“—I quarrelled with d’Eblis.... There was a very +dreadful scene. And it transpired that he had sold a +preponderating interest in <i>Le Mot d’Ordre</i> to Ferez +Bey, who was operating the paper in German interests +through orders directly from Berlin. And d’Eblis +thought I knew this and that I meant to threaten him, +perhaps blackmail him, to shield some mythical lover +with whom, he declared, I had become involved, and +who was betraying him to the British Ambassador.”</p> +<p>She drew a deep, long breath:</p> +<p>“Is it necessary for me to say that there was not a +particle of truth in his hysterical accusations?—that +I was utterly astounded? But my amazement became +anger and then sheer terror when I learned from his +own lips that he had cunningly involved me in his transactions +with Ferez and with Berlin. So cunningly, so +cleverly, so seriously had he managed to compromise +me as a German agent that he had a mass of evidence +against me sufficient to have had me court-martialled +and shot had it been in time of war.</p> +<p>“To me the situation seemed hopeless. I never would +be believed by the French Government. Horror of arrest +overwhelmed me. In a panic I took my unset +jewels and fled to Belgium. And then I came here.”</p> +<p>She paused, trembling a little at the memory of it +all. Then:</p> +<p>“The agents of d’Eblis and Ferez discovered me and +have given me no peace. I do not appeal to the police +because that would stir up secret agents of the French +Government. But it has come now to a place where—where +I don’t know what to do.... And so—being +afraid at last—I am here to—to ask—advice——”</p> +<p>She waited to control her voice, then opened her +gold-mesh bag and drew from it a letter.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></div> +<p>“Three weeks ago I received this,” she said. “I +ignored it. Two weeks ago, as I opened the door of +my room to go out, a shot was fired at me, and I heard +somebody running down stairs.... I was badly +scared. But I went out and did my shopping, and +then I went to the writing room of a hotel and wrote +to Garry.... Somebody watching me must have seen +me write it, because an attempt was made to steal the +letter. A man wearing a handkerchief over his face +tried to snatch it out of the hands of Dulcie Soane. +But he got only half of the letter.</p> +<p>“And when I got home that same evening I found +that my room had been ransacked.... That was why +I did not go to meet you at the Ritz; I was too upset. +Besides, I was busy moving my quarters.... But it +was no use. Last night I was awakened by hearing +somebody working at the lock of my bedroom. And I +sat up till morning with a pistol in my hand.... And—I +don’t think I had better live entirely alone—until +it is safer. Do you, Garry?”</p> +<p>“I should think not!” said Westmore, turning red +with anger.</p> +<p>“Did you wish us to see that letter?” asked Barres.</p> +<p>She handed it to him. It was typewritten; and he +read it aloud, leisurely and very distinctly, pausing +now and then to give full weight to some particularly +significant and sinister sentence:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Mademoiselle</span>:</p> +<p>“For two years and more it has been repeatedly intimated +to you that your presence in America is not desirable to +certain people, except under certain conditions, which conditions +you refuse to consider.</p> +<p>“You have impudently ignored these intimations.</p> +<p>“Now, you are beginning to meddle. Therefore, this +warning is sent to you: <i>Mind your business and cease +your meddling!</i></p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div> +<p>“Moreover, you are invited to leave the United States +at your early convenience.</p> +<p>“France, England, Russia, and Italy are closed to you. +Without doubt you understand that. Also, doubtless you +have no desire to venture into Germany, Austria, Bulgaria, +or Turkey. Scandinavia remains open to you, and practically +no other country except Spain, because we do not +permit you to go to Mexico or to Central or South America. +Do you comprehend? <i>We</i> do not permit it.</p> +<p>“Therefore, hold your tongue and control your <i>furor +scribendi</i> while in New York. And make arrangements +to take the next Danish steamer for Christiania.</p> +<p>“This is a friendly warning. For if you are still here +in the United States two weeks after you have received +this letter, other measures will be taken in your regard +which will effectually dispose of your troublesome presence.</p> +<p>“The necessity which forces us to radical action in this +affair is regrettable, but entirely your own fault.</p> +<p>“You have, from time to time during the last two years, +received from us overtures of an amicable nature. You +have been approached with discretion and have been offered +every necessary guarantee to cover an understanding +with us.</p> +<p>“You have treated our advances with frivolity and contempt. +And what have you gained by your defiance?</p> +<p>“Our patience and good nature has reached its limits. +We shall ask nothing further of you; we deliver you our +orders hereafter. And our orders are to leave New York +immediately.</p> +<p>“Yet, even now, at the eleventh hour, it may not be too +late for us to come to some understanding if you change +your attitude entirely and show a proper willingness to +negotiate with us in all good faith.</p> +<p>“But that must be accomplished within the two weeks’ +grace given you before you depart.</p> +<p>“You know how to proceed. If you try to play us false +you had better not have been born. If you deal honestly +with us your troubles are over.</p> +<p>“This is final.</p> +<p class='sig1'>“<span class='smcap'>The Watcher.</span>”</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +<a name='XVI_THE_WATCHER' id='XVI_THE_WATCHER'></a> +<h2>XVI +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />THE WATCHER</span></h2> +</div> +<p>“The Watcher,” repeated Barres, studying the +typewritten signature for a moment longer. +Then he looked at Westmore: “What do you +think of that, Jim?”</p> +<p>Westmore, naturally short tempered, became very +red, got to his feet, and began striding about the studio +as though some sudden blaze of inward anger were +driving him into violent motion.</p> +<p>“The thing to do,” he said, “is to catch this +‘Watcher’ fellow and beat him up. That’s the way to +deal with blackmailers—catch ’em and beat ’em up—vermin +of this sort—this blackmailing fraternity!—I +haven’t anything to do; I’ll take the job!”</p> +<p>“We’d better talk it over first,” suggested Barres. +“There seem to be several ways of going about it. One +way, of course, is to turn detective and follow Thessa +around town. And, as you say, spot any man who +dogs her and beat him up very thoroughly. That’s +your way, Jim. But Thessa, unfortunately, doesn’t +desire to be featured, and you can’t go about beating +up people in the streets of New York without inviting +publicity.”</p> +<p>Westmore came back and stood near Thessalie, who +looked up at him from her seat on the Chinese couch +with visible interest:</p> +<p>“Mr. Westmore?”</p> +<p>“Yes?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div> +<p>“Garry is quite right about the way I feel. I don’t +want notoriety. I can’t afford it. It would mean +stirring up every French Government agent here in +New York. And if America should ever declare war +on Germany and become an ally of France, then your +own Secret Service here would instantly arrest me and +probably send me to France to stand trial.”</p> +<p>She bent her pretty head, adding in a quiet voice:</p> +<p>“Extradition would bring a very swift end to my +career. With the lying evidence against me and a Senator +of France to corroborate it by perjury—ask yourselves, +gentlemen, how long it would take a military +court to send me to the parade in the nearest caserne!”</p> +<p>“Do you mean they’d shoot you?” demanded Westmore, +aghast.</p> +<p>“Any court-martial to-day would turn me over to a +firing squad!”</p> +<p>“You see,” said Barres, turning to Westmore, “this +is a much more serious matter than a case of ordinary +blackmail.”</p> +<p>“Why not go to our own Secret Service authorities +and lay the entire business before them?” asked Westmore +excitedly.</p> +<p>But Thessalie shook her head:</p> +<p>“The evidence against me in Paris is overwhelming. +My dossier alone, as it now stands, would surely condemn +me without corroborative evidence. Your people +here would never believe in me if the French Government +forwarded to them a copy of my dossier from the +secret archives in Paris. As for my own Government——” +She merely shrugged.</p> +<p>Barres, much troubled, glanced from Thessalie to +Westmore.</p> +<p>“It’s rather a rotten situation,” he said. “There +must be, of course, some sensible way to tackle it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +though I don’t quite see it yet. But one thing is very +plain to me: Thessa ought to remain here with us for +the present. Don’t you think so, Jim?”</p> +<p>“How can I, Garry?” she asked. “You have only +one room, and I couldn’t turn you out——”</p> +<p>“I can arrange that,” interposed Westmore, turning +eagerly to Barres with a significant gesture toward +the door at the end of the studio. “There’s the solution, +isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” agreed Barres; and to Thessalie, in explanation: +“Westmore’s two bedrooms adjoin my +studio—beyond that wall. We have merely to unlock +those folding doors and throw his apartment into mine, +making one long suite of rooms. Then you may have +my room and I’ll take his spare room.”</p> +<p>She still hesitated.</p> +<p>“I am very grateful, Garry, and I admit that I am +becoming almost afraid to remain entirely alone, +but——”</p> +<p>“Send for your effects,” he insisted cheerfully. +“Aristocrates will move my stuff into Westmore’s spare +room. Then you shall take my quarters and be comfortable +and well guarded with Aristocrates and Selinda +on one side of you, and Jim and myself just across +the studio.” He cast a sombre glance at Westmore: +“I suppose those rats will ultimately trail her to this +place.”</p> +<p>Westmore turned to Thessalie:</p> +<p>“Where are your effects?” he asked.</p> +<p>She smiled forlornly:</p> +<p>“I gave up my lodgings this morning, packed everything, +and came here, rather scared.” A little flush +came over her face and she lifted her dark eyes and +met Westmore’s intent gaze. “You are very kind,” she +said. “My trunks are at the Grand Central Station—if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +you desire to make up my disconcerted mind for +me. Do you really want me to come here and stay a +few days?”</p> +<p>Westmore suppressed himself no longer:</p> +<p>“I won’t <i>let</i> you go!” he said. “I’m worried sick +about you!” And to Barres, who sat slightly amazed +at his friend’s warmth:</p> +<p>“Do you suppose any of those dirty dogs have traced +the trunks?”</p> +<p>Thessalie said:</p> +<p>“I’ve never yet been able to conceal anything from +them.”</p> +<p>“Probably, then,” said Barres, “they have traced +your luggage and are watching it.”</p> +<p>“Give me your checks, anyway,” said Westmore. +“I’ll go at once and get your baggage and bring it +here. If they’re watching for you it will jolt them to +see a man on the job.”</p> +<p>Barres nodded approval; Thessalie opened her purse +and handed Westmore the checks.</p> +<p>“You both are so kind,” she murmured. “I have not +felt so sheltered, so secure in many, many months.”</p> +<p>Westmore, extremely red again, controlled his emotions—whatever +they were—with a visible effort:</p> +<p>“Don’t worry for one moment,” he said. “Garry +and I are going to settle this outrageous business for +you. Now, I’m off to find your trunks. And if you +could give me a description of any of these fellows +who follow you about——”</p> +<p>“Please—you are not to beat up anybody!” she reminded +him, with a troubled smile.</p> +<p>“I’ll remember. I promise you not to.”</p> +<p>Barres said:</p> +<p>“I think one of them is a tall, bony, one-eyed man, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +who has been hanging around here pretending to peddle +artists’ materials.”</p> +<p>Thessalie made a quick gesture of assent and of caution:</p> +<p>“Yes! His name is Max Freund. I have found it +impossible to conceal my whereabouts from him. This +man, with only one eye, appears to be a friend of the +superintendent, Soane. I am not certain that Soane +himself is employed by this gang of blackmailers, but +I believe that his one-eyed friend may pay him for any +scraps of information concerning me.”</p> +<p>“Then we had better keep an eye on Soane,” growled +Westmore. “He’s no good; he’ll take graft from anybody.”</p> +<p>“Where is his daughter, Dulcie?” asked Thessalie. +“Is she not your model, Garry?”</p> +<p>“Yes. She’s in my room now, lying down. This +morning it was pretty hot in here, and Dulcie fainted +on the model stand.”</p> +<p>“The poor child!” exclaimed Thessalie impulsively. +“Could I go in and see her?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes, if you like,” he replied, surprised at her +warm-hearted interest. He added, as Thessalie rose: +“She is really all right again. But go in if you like. +And you might tell Dulcie she can have her lunch in +there if she wants it; but if she’s going to dress she +ought to be about it, because it’s getting on toward +the luncheon hour.”</p> +<p>So Thessalie went swiftly away down the corridor to +knock at the door of the bedroom, and Barres walked +out with Westmore as far as the stairs.</p> +<p>“Jim,” he said very soberly, “this whole business +looks ugly to me. Thessa seems to be seriously entangled +in the meshes of some blackmailing spider who +is sewing her up tight.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span></div> +<p>“It’s probably a tighter web than we realise,” +growled Westmore. “It looks to me as though Miss +Dunois has been caught in the main net of German +intrigue. And that the big spider in Berlin did the +spinning.”</p> +<p>“That’s certainly what it looks like,” admitted the +other in a grave voice. “I don’t believe that this is +merely a local matter—an affair of petty, personal +vengeance: I believe that the Hun is actually afraid +of her—afraid of the evidence she might be able to +furnish against certain traitors in Paris.”</p> +<p>Westmore nodded gloomily:</p> +<p>“I’m pretty sure of it, too. They’ve tried, apparently, +to win her over. They’ve tried, also, to drive +her out of this country. Now, they mean to force her +out, or perhaps kill her! Good God! Garry, did +you ever hear of such filthy impudence as this entire +German propaganda in America?”</p> +<p>“Go and get her trunks,” said Barres, deeply worried. +“By the time you fetch ’em back here, lunch will +be ready. Afterward, we’d all better get together and +talk over this unpleasant situation.”</p> +<p>Westmore glanced at his watch, turned and went +swinging away in his quick, energetic stride. Barres +walked slowly back to the studio.</p> +<p>There was nobody there. Thessalie had not yet returned +from her visit to Dulcie Soane.</p> +<p>The Prophet, however, came in presently, his tail +politely hoisted. An agreeable aroma from the kitchen +had doubtless allured him; he made an amicable remark +to Barres, suffered himself to be caressed, then +sprang to the carved table—his favourite vantage +point for observation—and gazed solemnly toward the +dining-room.</p> +<p>For half an hour or more, Barres fussed and pottered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +about in the rather aimless manner of all artists, +shifting canvases and stacking them against the wall, +twirling his wax Arethusa around to inspect her from +every possible and impossible angle, using clouds of +fixitive on such charcoal studies as required it, scraping +away meditatively at a too long neglected palette.</p> +<p>He was already frankly concerned about Thessalie, +and the more he considered her situation the keener +grew his apprehension.</p> +<p>Yet he, like all his fellow Americans, had not yet +actually persuaded himself to believe in spies.</p> +<p>Of course he read about them and their machinations +in the daily papers; the spy scare was already well +developed in New York; yet, to him and to the great +majority of his fellow countrymen, people who made a +profession of such a dramatic business seemed unreal—abstract +types, not concrete examples of the human +race—and he could not believe in them—could neither +visualise such people nor realise that they existed outside +melodrama or the covers of a best-seller.</p> +<p>There is an incredulity which knows yet refuses to +believe in its own knowledge. It is very American and +it represented the paradoxical state of mind of this +deeply worried young man, as he stood there in the +studio, scraping away mechanically at his crusted +palette.</p> +<p>Then, as he turned to lay it aside, through the open +studio door he saw a strange, bespectacled man looking +in at him intently.</p> +<p>An unpleasant shock passed through him, and his +instinct started him toward the open door to close it.</p> +<p>“Excuse,” said he of the thick spectacles; and Barres +stopped short:</p> +<p>“Well, what is it?” he asked sharply.</p> +<p>The man, who was well dressed and powerfully built, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +squinted through his spectacles out of little, inflamed +and pig-like eyes.</p> +<p>“Miss Dunois iss here?” he enquired politely. “I +haff a message——”</p> +<p>“What is your name?”</p> +<p>“Excuse, please. My name iss not personally known +to Miss Dunois——”</p> +<p>“Then what is your business with Miss Dunois?”</p> +<p>“Excuse, please. It iss of a delicacy—of a nature +quite private, iff you please.”</p> +<p>Barres inspected him in hostile silence for a moment, +then came to a swift conclusion.</p> +<p>“Very well. Step inside,” he said briefly.</p> +<p>“I thank you, I will wait here——”</p> +<p>“Step inside!” snapped Barres.</p> +<p>Startled into silence, the man only blinked at him. +Under the other’s searching, suspicious gaze, the small, +pig-like eyes were now shifting uneasily; then, as Barres +took an abrupt step forward, the man shrank away +and stammered out something about a letter which he +was to deliver to Miss Dunois in private.</p> +<p>“You say you have a letter for Miss Dunois?” demanded +Barres, now determined to get hold of him.</p> +<p>“I am instructed to giff it myself to her in private, +all alone——”</p> +<p>“Give it to <i>me</i>!”</p> +<p>“I am instruc——”</p> +<p>“Give it to me, I tell you!—and come inside here! +Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”</p> +<p>The spectacled man lost most of his colour as Barres +started toward him.</p> +<p>“Excuse!” he faltered, backing off down the corridor. +“I giff you the letter!” And he hastily thrust +his hand into the side pocket of his coat. But it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +a pistol he poked under the other’s nose—a shiny, +lumpy weapon, clutched most unsteadily.</p> +<p>“Hands up and turn me once around your back!” +whispered the man hoarsely. “Quick!—or I shoot +you!”—as the other, astounded, merely gazed at him. +The man had already begun to back away again, but +as Barres moved he stopped and cursed him:</p> +<p>“Put them up your hands!” snarled the spectacled +man, with a final oath. “Keep your distance or I kill +you!”</p> +<p>Barres heard himself saying, in a voice not much +like his own:</p> +<p>“You can’t do this to me and get away with it! It’s +nonsense! This sort of thing doesn’t go in New York!”</p> +<p>Suddenly his mind grew coldly, terrible clear:</p> +<p>“No, you <i>can’t</i> get away with it!” he concluded +aloud, in the calm, natural voice of conviction. “Your +stunt is scaring women! You try to keep clear of +men—you dirty, blackmailing German crook! I’ve got +your number! You’re the ‘Watcher’!—you murderous +rat! You’re afraid to shoot!”</p> +<p>It was plain that the spectacled man had not discounted +anything of this sort—plain now, to Barres, +that if, indeed, murder actually had been meant, it was +not his own murder that had been planned with that +big, blunt, silver-plated pistol, now wavering wildly before +his eyes.</p> +<p>“I blow your face off!” whispered the stranger, beginning +to back away again, and ghastly pale.</p> +<p>“Keep out of thiss! I am not looking for you. Get +you back; step once again inside that door away!——”</p> +<p>But Barres had already jumped for him, had almost +caught him, was reaching for him—when the man +hurled the pistol straight at his face. The terrific +impact of the heavy weapon striking him between the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +eyes dazed him; he stumbled sideways, colliding with +the wall, and he reeled around there a second.</p> +<p>But that second’s leeway was enough for the bespectacled +stranger. He turned and ran like a deer. +And when Barres reached the staircase the whitewashed +hall below was still echoing with the slam of +the street grille.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, he hurried down, but found the desk-chair +empty and Soane nowhere visible, and continued +on to the outer door, more or less confused by the +terrific blow on the head.</p> +<p>Of course the bespectacled man had disappeared +amid the noonday foot-farers now crowding both sidewalks +east and west, on their way to lunch.</p> +<p>Barres walked slowly back to the desk, still dazed, +but now thoroughly enraged and painfully conscious +of a heavy swelling where the blow had fallen on his +forehead.</p> +<p>In the superintendent’s quarters he found Soane, +evidently just awakened after a sodden night at Grogan’s, +trying to dress.</p> +<p>Barres said:</p> +<p>“There is nobody at the desk. Either you or Miss +Kurtz should be on duty. That is the rule. Now, I’m +going to tell you something: If I ever again find that +desk without anybody behind it, I shall go to the owners +of this building and tell them what sort of superintendent +you are! And maybe I’ll tell the police, also!”</p> +<p>“Arrah, then, Misther Barres——”</p> +<p>“That’s all!” said Barres, turning on his heel. “Anything +more from you and you’ll find yourself in +trouble!”</p> +<p>And he went up stairs.</p> +<p>The lumpy pistol still lay there in the corridor; he +picked it up and took it into the studio. The weapon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +was fully loaded. It seemed to be of some foreign +make—German or Austrian, he judged by the marking +which had been almost erased, deliberately obliterated, +it appeared to him.</p> +<p>He placed it in his desk, seated himself, explored his +bruises gingerly with cautious finger-tips, concluded +that the bridge of his nose was not broken, then threw +himself back in his armchair for some grim and concentrated +thinking.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +<a name='XVII_A_CONFERENCE' id='XVII_A_CONFERENCE'></a> +<h2>XVII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />A CONFERENCE</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The elegantly modulated accents of Aristocrates, +announcing the imminence of luncheon, aroused +Barres from disconcerted but wrathful reflections.</p> +<p>As he sat up and tenderly caressed his battered head, +Thessalie and Dulcie came slowly into the studio together, +their arms interlaced.</p> +<p>Both exclaimed at the sight of the young man’s +swollen face, but he checked their sympathetic enquiries +drily:</p> +<p>“Bumped into something. It’s nothing. How are +you, Dulcie? All right again?”</p> +<p>She nodded, evidently much concerned about his disfigured +forehead; so to terminate sympathetic advice +he went away to bathe his bruises in witch hazel, and +presently returned smelling strongly of that time-honoured +panacea, and with a saturated handkerchief +adorning his brow.</p> +<p>At the same time, there came a considerable thumping +and bumping from the corridor; the bell rang, and +Westmore appeared with the trunks—five of them. +These a pair of brawny expressmen rolled into the +studio and carried thence to the storeroom which separated +the bedroom and bath from the kitchen.</p> +<p>“Any trouble?” enquired Barres of Westmore, when +the expressmen had gone.</p> +<p>“None at all. Nobody looked at me twice. What’s +happened to your noddle?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></div> +<p>“Bumped it. Lunch is ready.”</p> +<p>Thessalie came over to him:</p> +<p>“I have included Dulcie among my confidants,” she +said in a low voice.</p> +<p>“You mean you’ve told her——”</p> +<p>“Everything. And I am glad I did.”</p> +<p>Barres was silent; Thessalie passed her arm around +Dulcie’s waist; the two men walked behind together.</p> +<p>The table was a mass of flowers, over which netted +sunlight played. Three cats assisted—the Prophet, +always dignified, blinked pleasantly from a window +ledge; the blond Houri, beside him, purred loudly. Only +Strindberg was impossible, chasing her own tail under +the patient feet of Aristocrates, or rolling over and +over beneath the table in a mindless assault upon her +own hind toes.</p> +<p>Seated there in the quiet peace and security of the +pleasant room, amid familiar things, with Aristocrates +moving noiselessly about, sunlight lacing wall and ceiling, +and the air aromatic with the scent of brilliant +flowers, Barres tried in vain to realise that murder +could throw its shadow over such a place—that its terrible +menace could have touched his threshold, even for +an instant.</p> +<p>No, it was impossible. The fellow could not have +intended murder. He was merely a blackmailer, suddenly +detected and instantly frightened, pulling a gun +in a panic, and even then failing in the courage to shoot.</p> +<p>It enraged Barres to even think about it, but he +could not bring himself to attach any darker significance +to the incident than just that—a blackmailer, +ready to display a gun, but not to use it, had come to +bully a woman; had found himself unexpectedly +trapped, and had behaved according to his kind.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></div> +<p>Barres had meant to catch him. But he admitted +to himself that he had gone about it very unskilfully. +This added disgust to his smouldering wrath, but he +realised that he ought to tell the story.</p> +<p>And after the rather subdued luncheon was ended, +and everybody had gone out to the studio, he did tell +it, deliberately including Dulcie in his audience, because +he felt that she also ought to know.</p> +<p>“And this is the present state of affairs,” he concluded, +lighting a cigarette and flinging one knee across +the other, “——that my friend, Thessalie Dunois, who +came here to escape the outrageous annoyance of a +gang of blackmailers, is followed immediately and menaced +with further insult on my very threshold.</p> +<p>“This thing must stop. It’s going to be stopped. +And I suggest that we discuss the matter now and decide +how it ought to be handled.”</p> +<p>After a silence, Westmore said:</p> +<p>“You had your nerve, Garry. I’m wondering what +I might have done under the muzzle of that pistol.”</p> +<p>Dulcie’s grey eyes had never left Barres. He encountered +her gaze now; smiled at its anxious intensity.</p> +<p>“I made a botch of it, Sweetness, didn’t I?” he said +lightly. And, to Westmore: “The moment I suspected +him he was aware of it. Then, when I tried to figure +out how to get him into the studio, it was too late. +I made a mess of it, that’s all. And it’s too bad, +Thessa, that I haven’t more sense.”</p> +<p>She gently shook her head:</p> +<p>“You haven’t any sense, Garry. That man might +easily have killed you, in spite of your coolness and +courage——”</p> +<p>“No. He was just a rat——”</p> +<p>“In a corner! You couldn’t tell what he’d do——”</p> +<p>“Yes, I could. He <i>didn’t</i> shoot. Moreover, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +legged it, which was exactly what I was certain he +meant to do. Don’t worry about me, Thessa; if I +didn’t have brains enough to catch him, at least I was +clever enough to know it was safe to try.” He laughed. +“There’s nothing of the hero about me; don’t think it!”</p> +<p>“I think that Dulcie and I know what to call your +behaviour,” she said quietly, taking the silent girl’s +hand in hers and resting it in her lap.</p> +<p>“Sure; it was bull-headed pluck,” growled Westmore. +“The drop is the drop, Garry, and you’re no +mind-reader.”</p> +<p>But Barres persisted in taking it humorously:</p> +<p>“I read that gentleman’s mind correctly, and his +character, too.” Then, to Thessalie: “You say you +don’t recognise him from my description?”</p> +<p>She shook her head thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Garry,” said Westmore impatiently, “if we’re going +to discuss various ways of putting an end to this +business, what way do you suggest?”</p> +<p>Barres lighted another cigarette:</p> +<p>“I’ve been thinking. And I haven’t a notion how to +go about it, unless we turn over the matter to the +police. But Thessa doesn’t wish publicity,” he added, +“so whatever is to be done we must do by ourselves.”</p> +<p>Thessalie leaned forward from her seat on the lounge +by Dulcie:</p> +<p>“I don’t ask that of you,” she remonstrated earnestly. +“I only wanted to stay here for a little +while——”</p> +<p>“You shall do that too,” said Westmore, “but this +matter seems to involve something more than annoyance +and danger to you. Those miserable rascals are +Germans and they are carrying on their impudent intrigues, +regardless of American laws and probably to +the country’s detriment. How do we know what they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +are about? What else may they be up to? It seems +to me that somebody had better investigate their activities—this +one-eyed man, Freund—this handy gunman +in spectacles—and whoever it was who took a shot +at you the other day——”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said Barres, “and you and I are going +to investigate. But how?”</p> +<p>“What about Grogan’s?”</p> +<p>“It’s a German joint now,” nodded Barres. “One +of us might drop in there and look it over. Thessa, +how do you think we ought to go about this affair?”</p> +<p>Thessalie, who sat on the sofa with Dulcie’s hand +clasped in both of hers—a new intimacy which still +surprised and pleasantly perplexed Barres—said that +she could not see that there was anything in particular +for them to do, but that she herself intended to cease +living alone for a while and refrain from going about +town unaccompanied.</p> +<p>Then it suddenly occurred to Barres that if he and +Dulcie went to Foreland Farms, Thessalie should be +invited also; otherwise, she’d be alone again, except for +the servants, and possibly Westmore. And he said so.</p> +<p>“This won’t do,” he insisted. “We four ought to +remain in touch with one another for the present. If +Dulcie and I go to Foreland Farms, you must come, too, +Thessa; and you, Jim, ought to be there, too.”</p> +<p>Nobody demurred; Barres, elated at the prospect, +gave Thessalie a brief sketch of his family and their +home.</p> +<p>“There’s room for a regiment in the house,” he +added, “and you will feel welcome and entirely at home. +I’ll write my people to-night, if it’s settled. Is it, +Thessa?”</p> +<p>“I’d adore it, Garry. I haven’t been in the country +since I left France.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span></div> +<p>“And you, Jim?”</p> +<p>“You bet. I always have a wonderful time at Foreland.”</p> +<p>“Now, this is splendid!” exclaimed Barres, delighted. +“If you disappear, Thessa, those German rats may become +discouraged and give up hounding you. Anyway, +you’ll have a quiet six weeks and a complete rest; and +by that time Jim and I ought to devise some method of +handling these vermin.”</p> +<p>“Nobody,” said Thessalie, smiling, “has asked Dulcie’s +opinion as to how this matter ought to be handled.”</p> +<p>Barres turned to meet Dulcie’s shy gaze.</p> +<p>“Tell us what to do, Sweetness!” he said gaily. “It +was stupid of me not to ask for your views.”</p> +<p>For a few moments the girl remained silent, then, +the lovely tint deepening in her cheeks, she suggested +diffidently that the people who were annoying Thessalie +had been hired to do it by others more easy to handle, +if discovered.</p> +<p>There was a moment’s silence, then Barres struck +his palm with doubled fist:</p> +<p>“<i>That</i>,” he said with emphasis, “is the right way to +approach this business! Hired thugs can be handled +in only two ways—beat ’em up or call in the police. +And we can do neither.</p> +<p>“But the men higher up—the men who inspire and +hire these rats—they can be dealt with in other ways. +You’re right, Dulcie! You’ve started us on the only +proper path!”</p> +<p>Considerably excited, now, as vague ideas crowded +in upon him, he sat smiting his knees, his brows knit +in concentrated thought, aware that they were on the +right track, but that the track was but a blind trail +so far.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></div> +<p>Dulcie ventured to interrupt his frowning cogitation:</p> +<p>“People of position and influence who hire men to +do unworthy things are cowards at heart. To discover +them is to end the whole matter, I think.”</p> +<p>“You’re absolutely right, Sweetness! Wait! I begin +to see—to see things—see something—interesting——”</p> +<p>He looked up at Thessalie:</p> +<p>“D’Eblis, Ferez Bey, Von-der-Goltz Pasha, Excellenz, +Berlin—all these were mixed up with this German-American +banker, Adolf Gerhardt, were they +not?”</p> +<p>“It was Gerhardt’s money, I am sure, that bought +the <i>Mot d’Ordre</i> from d’Eblis for Ferez—that is, for +Berlin,” she said.</p> +<p>“Do you mean,” asked Westmore, “the New York +banker, Adolf Gerhardt, of Gerhardt, Klein & +Schwartzmeyer, who has that big show place at Northbrook?”</p> +<p>Barres smiled at him significantly:</p> +<p>“What do you know about that, Jim! If we go to +Foreland we’re certain to be asked to the Gerhardt’s! +They’re part of the Northbrook set; they’re received +everywhere. They entertain the personnel of the German +and Austrian Embassies. Probably their place, +Hohenlinden, is a hotbed of German intrigue and propaganda! +Thessa, how about you? Would you care +to risk recognition in Gerhardt’s drawing-room, and +see what information you could pick up?”</p> +<p>Thessalie’s cheeks grew bright pink, and her dark +eyes were full of dancing light:</p> +<p>“Garry, I’d adore it! I told you I had never been +a spy. And that is absolutely true. But if you think +I am sufficiently intelligent to do anything to help my +country, I’ll try. And I don’t care how I do it,” she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +added, with her sweet, reckless little laugh, and squeezed +Dulcie’s hand tightly between her fingers.</p> +<p>“Do you suppose Gerhardt would remember you?” +asked Westmore.</p> +<p>“I don’t think so. I don’t believe anybody would +recollect me. If anybody there ever saw Nihla Quellen, +it wouldn’t worry me, because Nihla Quellen is merely +a memory if anything, and only Ferez and d’Eblis know +I am alive and here——”</p> +<p>“And their hired agents,” added Westmore.</p> +<p>“Yes. But such people would not be guests of Adolf +Gerhardt at Northbrook.”</p> +<p>“Ferez Bey might be his guest.”</p> +<p>“What of it!” she laughed. “I was never afraid of +Ferez—never! He is a jackal always. A threatening +gesture and he flees! No, I do not fear Ferez Bey, +but I think he is horribly afraid of me.... I think, +perhaps, he has orders to do me very serious harm—and +dares not. No, Ferez Bey comes sniffing around +after the fight is over. He does no fighting, not Ferez! +He slinks outside the smoke. When it clears away and +night comes he ventures forth to feed furtively on what +is left. That is Ferez—my Ferez on whom I would +not use a dog-whip—no!—merely a slight gesture—and +he is gone like a swift shadow in the dark!”</p> +<p>Fascinated by the transformation in her, the other +three sat gazing at Thessalie in silence. Her colour +was high, her dark eyes sparkled, her lips glowed. And +the superb young figure so celebrated in Europe, so +straight and virile, seemed instinct with the reckless +gaity and courage which rang out in her full-throated +laughter as she ended with a gesture and a snap of +her white fingers.</p> +<p>“For my country—for France, whose generous mind +has been poisoned against me—I would do anything—anything!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +she said. “If you think, Garry, that I have +wit enough to balk d’Eblis, check Ferez, confuse the +plotters in Berlin—well, then!—I shall try. If you say +it is right, then I shall become what I never have been—a +spy!”</p> +<p>She sat for a moment smiling in her flushed excitement. +Nobody spoke. Then her expression altered, +subtlely, and her dark eyes grew pensive.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” she said wistfully, “if I could serve my +country in some little way, France might believe me +loyal.... I have sometimes wished I might have a +chance to prove it. There is nothing I would not risk +if only France would come to believe in me.... But +there seemed to be no chance for me. It is death for +me to go there now, with that dossier in the secret +archives and a Senator of France to swear my life +away——”</p> +<p>“If you like,” said Westmore, very red again, “I’ll +go into the business, too, and help you nail some of +these Hun plotters. I’ve nothing better to do; I’d be +delighted to help you land a Hun or two.”</p> +<p>“I’m with you both, heart and soul!” said Barres. +“The whole country is rotten with Boche intrigue. +Who knows what we may uncover at Northbrook?”</p> +<p>Dulcie rose and came over to where Barres sat, and +he reached up without turning around, and gave her +hand a friendly little squeeze.</p> +<p>She bent over beside him:</p> +<p>“Could I help?” she asked in a low voice.</p> +<p>“You bet, Sweetness! Did you think you were being +left out?” And he drew her closer and passed one arm +absently around her as he began speaking again to +Westmore:</p> +<p>“It seems to me that we ought to stumble on something +at Northbrook worth following up, if we go about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +it circumspectly, Jim—with all that Austrian and German +Embassy gang coming and going during the summer, +and this picturesque fellow, Murtagh Skeel, being +lionised by——”</p> +<p>Dulcie’s sudden start checked him and he looked up +at her.</p> +<p>“Murtagh Skeel, the Irish poet and patriot,” he +repeated, “who wants to lead a Clan-na-Gael raid into +Canada or head a death-battalion to free Ireland. +You’ve read about him in the papers, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“Yes ... I want to talk to you alone——” She +blushed and dropped a confused little curtsey to Thessalie: +“Would you please pardon my rudeness——”</p> +<p>“You darling!” said Thessalie, blowing her a swift, +gay kiss. “Go and talk to your best friend in peace!”</p> +<p>Barres rose and walked away slowly beside Dulcie. +They stood still when out of earshot. She said:</p> +<p>“I have a few of my mother’s letters.... She knew +a young man whose name was Murtagh Skeel.... He +was her dear friend. But only in secret. Because I +think her father and mother disliked him.... It +would seem so from her letters and his.... And she +was—in love with him.... And he with mother.... +Then—I don’t know.... But she came to America +with father. That is all I know. Do you believe he +can be the same man?”</p> +<p>“Murtagh Skeel,” repeated Barres. “It’s an unusual +name. Possibly he is the same man whom your +mother knew. I should say he might have been about +your mother’s age, Dulcie. He is a romantic figure +now—one of those dreamy, graceful, impractical +patriots—an enthusiast with one idea and that an +impossible one!—the freedom of Ireland wrenched by +force from the traditional tyrant, England.”</p> +<p>He thought a moment, then:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></div> +<p>“Whatever the fault, and wherever lies the blame +for Ireland’s unrest to-day, this is no time to start rebellion. +Who strikes at England now strikes at all +Freedom in the world. Who conspires against England +to-day conspires with barbarism against civilisation.</p> +<p>“My outspoken sympathy of yesterday must remain +unspoken to-day. And if it be insisted on, then it will +surely change and become hostility. No, Dulcie; the +line of cleavage is clean: it is Light against Darkness, +Right against Might, Truth against Falsehood, and +Christ against Baal!</p> +<p>“This man, Murtagh Skeel, is a dreamer, a monomaniac, +and a dangerous fanatic, for all his winning +and cultivated personality and the personal purity of +his character.... It is an odd coincidence if he was +once your mother’s friend—and her suitor, too.”</p> +<p>Dulcie stood before him, her head a trifle lowered, +listening to what he said. When he ended, she looked +up at him, then across the studio where Westmore had +taken her place on the sofa beside Thessalie. They +both seemed to be absorbed in a conversation which +interested them immensely.</p> +<p>Dulcie hesitated, then ventured to take possession +of Barres’ arm:</p> +<p>“Could you and I sit down over here by ourselves?” +she asked.</p> +<p>He smiled, always amused by her increasing confidence +and affection, and always a little touched by it, +so plainly she revealed herself, so quaintly—sometimes +very quietly and shyly, sometimes with an ardent impulse +too swift for self-conscious second thoughts which +might have checked her.</p> +<p>So they seated themselves in the carved compartments +of an ancient choir-stall and she rested one elbow +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +on the partition between them and set her rounded +chin in her palm.</p> +<p>“You pretty thing,” he said lightly.</p> +<p>At that she blushed and smiled in the confused way +she had when teased. And at such times she never +looked at him—never even pretended to sustain his +laughing gaze or brave out her own embarrassment.</p> +<p>“I won’t torment you, Sweetness,” he said. “Only +you ought not to let me, you know. It’s a temptation +to make you blush; you do it so prettily.”</p> +<p>“Please——” she said, still smiling but vividly disconcerted +again.</p> +<p>“There, dear! I won’t. I’m a brute and a bully. +But honestly, you ought not to let me.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know how to stop you,” she admitted, laughing. +“I could kill myself for being so silly. Why is it, +do you suppose, that I blu——”</p> +<p>She checked herself, scarlet now, and sat motionless +with her head bent over her clenched palm, and her +lip bitten till it quivered. Perhaps a flash of sudden +insight had answered her own question before she had +even finished asking it. And the answer had left her +silent, rigid, as though not daring to move. But her +bitten lip trembled, and her breath, which had stopped, +came swiftly now, desperately controlled. But there +seemed to be no control for her violent little heart, +which was racing away and setting every pulse a faster +pace.</p> +<p>Barres, more uneasy than amused, now, and having +before this very unwillingly suspected Dulcie of an +exaggerated sentiment concerning him, inspected her +furtively and sideways.</p> +<p>“I won’t tease you any more,” he repeated. “I’m +sorry. But you understand, Sweetness; it’s just a +friendly tease—just because we’re such good friends.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></div> +<p>“Yes,” she nodded breathlessly. “Don’t notice me, +please. I don’t seem to know how to behave myself +when I’m with you——”</p> +<p>“What nonsense, Dulcie! You’re a wonderful comrade. +We have bully times when we’re together. +Don’t we?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, for the love of Mike! What’s a little +teasing between friends? Buck up, Sweetness, and +don’t ever let me upset you again.”</p> +<p>“No.” She turned and looked at him, laughed. +But there was a wonderful beauty in her grey eyes +and he noticed it.</p> +<p>“You little kiddie,” he said, “your eyes are all starry +like a baby’s! You are not growing up as fast as you +think you are!”</p> +<p>She laughed again deliciously:</p> +<p>“How wise you are,” she said.</p> +<p>“Aha! So you’re joshing me, now!”</p> +<p>“But aren’t you very, very wise?” she asked demurely.</p> +<p>“You bet I am. And I’m going to prove it.”</p> +<p>“How, please?”</p> +<p>“Listen, irreverent youngster! If you are going to +Foreland Farms with me, you will require various species +of clothes and accessories.”</p> +<p>At that she was frankly dismayed:</p> +<p>“But I can’t afford——”</p> +<p>“Piffle! I advance you sufficient salary. Thessalie +had better advise you in your shopping——” He hesitated, +then: “You and Thessa seem to have become +excellent friends rather suddenly.”</p> +<p>“She was so sweet to me,” explained Dulcie. “I +hadn’t cared for her very much—that evening of the +party—but to-day she came into your room, where I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +was lying on the bed, and she stood looking at me +for a moment and then she said, ‘Oh, you darling!’ +and dropped on her knees and drew me into her arms.... +Wasn’t that a curious thing to happen? I—I +was too surprised to speak for a minute; then the loveliest +shiver came over me and I—I cuddled up close to +her—because I had never remembered being in mother’s +arms—and it seemed wonderful—I had wanted it so—dreamed +sometimes—and awoke and cried myself to +sleep again.... She was so sweet to me.... We +talked.... She told me, finally, about the reason of +her visit to you. Then she told me about herself.... +So I became her friend very quickly. And I am sure +that I am going to love her dearly.... And when +I love”—she looked steadily away from him—“I would +die to serve—my friend.”</p> +<p>The girl’s quiet ardour, her simplicity and candour, +attracted and interested him. Always he had seemed +to be aware, in her, of hidden forces—of something +fresh and charmingly impetuous held in leash—of controlled +impulses, restless, uneasy, bitted, curbed, and +reined in.</p> +<p>Pride, perhaps, a natural reticence in the opposite +sex—perhaps the habit of control in a girl whose childhood +had had no outlet—some of these, he concluded, +accounted for her subdued air, her restraint from demonstration. +Save for the impulsive little hand on his +arm at times, the slightest quiver of lip and voice, +there was no sign of the high-strung, fresh young force +that he vaguely divined within her.</p> +<p>“Dulcie,” he said, “how much do you know about +the romance of your mother?”</p> +<p>She lifted her grey eyes to his:</p> +<p>“What romance?”</p> +<p>“Why, her marriage.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></div> +<p>“Was that a romance?”</p> +<p>“I gather, from your father, that your mother was +very much above him in station.”</p> +<p>“Yes. He was a gamekeeper for my grandfather.”</p> +<p>“What was your mother’s name?”</p> +<p>“Eileen.”</p> +<p>“I mean her family name.”</p> +<p>“Fane.”</p> +<p>He was silent. She remained thoughtful, her chin +resting between two fingers.</p> +<p>“Once,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself, +“when my father was intoxicated, he said that +Fane is my name, not Soane.... Do you know what +he meant?”</p> +<p>“No.... His name is Soane, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“I suppose so.”</p> +<p>“Well, what do you suppose he meant, if he meant +anything?”</p> +<p>“I don’t quite know.”</p> +<p>“He <i>is</i> your father, isn’t he?”</p> +<p>She shook her head slowly:</p> +<p>“Sometimes, when he is intoxicated, he says that he +isn’t. And once he added that my name is not Soane +but Fane.”</p> +<p>“Did you question him?”</p> +<p>“No. He only cries when he is that way.... Or +talks about Ireland’s wrongs.”</p> +<p>“Ask him some time.”</p> +<p>“I have asked him when he was sober. But he denied +ever saying it.”</p> +<p>“Then ask him when he’s the other way. I—well, +to be frank, Dulcie, you haven’t the slightest resemblance +to your father—not the slightest—not in any +mental or physical particular.”</p> +<p>“He says I’m like mother.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></div> +<p>“And her name was Eileen Fane,” murmured Barres. +“She must have been beautiful, Dulcie.”</p> +<p>“She was——” A bright blush stained her face, but +this time she looked steadily at Barres and neither of +them smiled.</p> +<p>“She was in love with Murtagh Skeel,” said Dulcie. +“I wonder why she did not marry him.”</p> +<p>“You say her family objected.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but what of that, if she loved him?”</p> +<p>“But even in those days he may have been a troublemaker +and revolutionist——”</p> +<p>“Does that matter if a girl is in love?”</p> +<p>In Dulcie’s voice there was again that breathless +tone through which something rang faintly—something +curbed back, held in restraint.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said, smiling, “that if one is in love +nothing else matters.”</p> +<p>“Nothing matters,” she said, half to herself. And +he looked askance at her, and looked again with +increasing curiosity.</p> +<p>Westmore called across the room:</p> +<p>“Thessalie and I are going shopping! Any objections?”</p> +<p>A sudden and totally unexpected dart seemed to +penetrate the heart region of Garret Barres. It was +jealousy and it hurt.</p> +<p>“No objection at all,” he said, wondering how the +devil Westmore had become so familiar with her name +in such a very brief encounter.</p> +<p>Thessalie rose and came over:</p> +<p>“Dulcie, will you come with us?” she asked gaily.</p> +<p>“That’s a first rate idea,” said Barres, cheering up. +“Dulcie, tell her what things you have and she’ll tell +you what you need for Foreland Farms.”</p> +<p>“Indeed I will,” cried Thessalie. “We’ll make her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +perfectly adorable in a most economical manner. Shall +we, dear?”</p> +<p>And she held out her hand to Dulcie, and, smiling, +turned her head and looked across the room at Westmore.</p> +<p>Which troubled Barres and left him rather silent +there in the studio after they had gone away. For +he had rather fancied himself as the romance in Thessalie’s +life, and, at times, was inclined to sentimentalise +a little about her.</p> +<p>And now he permitted himself to wonder how much +there really might be to that agreeable sentiment he +entertained for, perhaps, the prettiest girl he had ever +met in his life, and, possibly, the most delightful.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +<a name='XVIII_THE_BABBLER' id='XVIII_THE_BABBLER'></a> +<h2>XVIII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />THE BABBLER</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The double apartment in Dragon Court, swept +by such vagrant July breezes as wandered into +the heated city, had become lively with preparations +for departure.</p> +<p>Barres fussed about, collecting sketching paraphernalia, +choosing brushes, colours, canvases, field kits, +and costumes from his accumulated store, and boxing +them for transportation to Foreland Farms, with the +languid assistance of Aristocrates.</p> +<p>Westmore had only to ship a modelling stand, a +handful of sculptors’ tools, and a ton or two of Plasteline, +an evil-smelling composite clay, very useful to +work with.</p> +<p>But the storm centre of preparation revolved around +Dulcie. And Thessalie, enchanted with her new rôle +as adviser, bargainer, and purchaser, and always attaching +either Westmore or Barres to her skirts when +she and Dulcie sallied forth, was selecting and accumulating +a charming and useful little impedimenta. +For the young girl had never before owned a single +pretty thing, except those first unpremeditated gifts +of Barres’, and her happiness in these expeditions was +alloyed with trepidation at Thessalie’s extravagance, +and deep misgivings concerning her ultimate ability to +repay out of the salary allowed her as a private model.</p> +<p>Intoxicated by ownership, she watched Thessalie and +Selinda laying away in her brand-new trunk the lovely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +things which had been selected. And one day, thrilled +but bewildered, she went into the studio, where Barres +sat opening his mail, and confessed her fear that only +lifelong devotion in his service could ever liquidate her +overwhelming financial obligations to him.</p> +<p>He had begun to laugh when she opened the subject:</p> +<p>“Thessa is managing it,” he said. “It looks like a +lot of expense, but it isn’t. Don’t worry about it, +Sweetness.”</p> +<p>“I <i>do</i> worry——”</p> +<p>“Now, what a ridiculous thing to do!” he interrupted. +“It’s merely advanced salary—your own +money. I told you to blow it; I’m responsible. And +I shall arrange it so you won’t notice that you are repaying +the loan. All I want you to do is to have +a good time about it.”</p> +<p>“I am having a good time—when it doesn’t scare +me to spend so much for——”</p> +<p>“Can’t you trust Thessa and me?”</p> +<p>The girl dropped to her knees beside his chair in +a swift passion of gratitude:</p> +<p>“Oh, I trust you—I do——” But she could not +utter another word, and only pressed her face against +his arm in the tense silence of emotions which were too +powerful to express, too deep and keen to comprehend +or to endure.</p> +<p>And she sprang to her feet, flushed, confused, turning +from him as he retained one hand and drew her +back:</p> +<p>“Dear child,” he said, in his pleasant voice, “this +is really a very little thing I do for you, compared to +the help you have given me by hard, unremitting, uncomplaining +physical labour and endurance. There is +no harder work than holding a pose for painter or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +sculptor—nothing more cruelly fatiguing. Add to that +your cheerfulness, your willingness, your quiet, loyal, +unobtrusive companionship—and the freshness and inspiration +and interest ever new which you always awake +in me—tell me, Sweetness, are you really in my debt, +or am I in yours?”</p> +<p>“I am in yours. You made me.”</p> +<p>“You always say that. It’s foolish. You made +yourself, Dulcie. You are making yourself all the +while. Why, good heavens!—if you hadn’t had it in +you, somehow, to ignore your surroundings—take the +school opportunities offered you—close your eyes and +ears to the sights and sounds and habits of what was +supposed to be your home——”</p> +<p>He checked himself, thinking of Soane, and his +brogue, and his ignorance and his habits.</p> +<p>“How the devil you escaped it all I can’t understand,” +he muttered to himself. “Even when I first +knew you, there was nothing resembling your—your +father about you—even if you were almost in rags!”</p> +<p>“I had been with the Sisters until I went to high +school,” she murmured. “It makes a difference in a +child’s mind what is said and thought by those around +her.”</p> +<p>“Of course. But, Dulcie, it is usually the unfortunate +rule that the lower subtly contaminates the higher, +even in casual association—that the weaker gradually +undermines the stronger until it sinks to lesser +levels. It has not been so with you. Your clear mind +remained untarnished, your aspiration uncontaminated. +Somewhere within you had been born the quality +of recognition; and when your eyes opened on better +things you recognised them and did not forget +after they disappeared——”</p> +<p>Again he ceased speaking, aware, suddenly, that for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +the first time he was making the effort to analyse this +girl for his own information. Heretofore, he had accepted +her, sometimes curious, sometimes amused, puzzled, +doubtful, even uneasy as her mind revealed itself +by degrees and her character glimmered through in +little fitful gleams from that still hidden thing, herself.</p> +<p>He began to speak again, before he knew he was +speaking—indeed, as though within him somewhere +another man were using his lips and voice as vehicles:</p> +<p>“You know, Dulcie, it’s not going to end—our companionship. +Your real life is all ahead of you; it’s +already beginning—the life which is properly yours to +shape and direct and make the most of.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what kind of life yours is going to +be; I know, merely, that your career doesn’t lie down +stairs in the superintendent’s lodgings. And this life +of ours here in the studio is only temporary, only a +phase of your development toward clearer aims, higher +aspiration, nobler effort.</p> +<p>“Tranquillity, self-respect, intelligent responsibility, +the happiness of personal independence are the prizes: +the path on which you have started leads to the only +pleasure man has ever really known—labour.”</p> +<p>He looked down at her hand lying within his own, +stroked the slender fingers thoughtfully, noticing the +whiteness and fineness of them, now that they had +rested for three months from their patient martyrdom +in Soane’s service.</p> +<p>“I’ll talk to my mother and sister about it,” he concluded. +“All you need is a start in whatever you’re +going to do in life. And you bet you’re going to get it, +Sweetness!”</p> +<p>He patted her hand, laughed, and released it. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +couldn’t speak just then—she tried to as she stood +there, head averted and grey eyes brilliant with tears—but +she could not utter a sound.</p> +<p>Perhaps aware that her overcharged heart was meddling +with her voice, he merely smiled as he watched +her moving slowly back to Thessalie’s room, where the +magic trunk was being packed. Then he turned to +his letters again. One was from his mother:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“Garry darling, anybody you bring to Foreland is always +welcome, as you know. Your family never inquires of +its members concerning any guests they may see fit to +invite. Bring Miss Dunois and Dulcie Soane, your little +model, if you like. There’s a world of room here; nobody +ever interferes with anybody else. You and your guests +have two thousand acres to roam about in, ride over, fish +over, paint over. There’s plenty for everybody to do, alone +or in company.</p> +<p>“Your father is well. He looks little older than you. +He’s fishing most of the time, or busy reforesting that +sandy region beyond the Foreland hills.</p> +<p>“Your sister and I ride as usual and continue to improve +the breeds of the various domestic creatures in which we +are interested and you are not.</p> +<p>“The pheasants are doing well this year, and we’re beginning +to turn them out with their foster-mothers.</p> +<p>“Your father wishes me to tell you and Jim Westmore +that the trout fishing is still fairly good, although it was +better, of course, in May and June.</p> +<p>“The usual parties and social amenities continue in +Northbrook. Everybody included in that colony seems to +have arrived, also the usual influx of guests, and there is +much entertaining, tennis, golf, dances—the invariable card +always offered there.</p> +<p>“Claire and I go enough to keep from being too completely +forgotten. Your father seldom bothers himself.</p> +<p>“Also, the war in Europe has made us, at Foreland, disinclined +to frivolity. Others, too, of the older society in +Northbrook are more subdued than usual, devote themselves +to quieter pursuits. And those among us who have sons of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +military age are prone to take life soberly in these strange, +oppressive days when even under sunny skies in this land +aloof from war, all are conscious of the tension, the vague +foreboding, the brooding stillness that sometimes heralds +storms.</p> +<p>“But all north-country folk do not feel this way. The +Gerhardts, for example, are very gay with a house full +of guests and overflowing week-ends. The German Embassy, +as always, is well represented at Hohenlinden. Your +father won’t go there at all now. As for Claire and myself, +we await political ruptures before we indulge in social +ones. And it doesn’t look like war, now that Von Tirpitz +has been sent to Coventry.</p> +<p>“This, Garry darling, is my budget of news. Bring +your guests whenever you please. You wouldn’t bring anybody +you oughtn’t to; your family is liberal, informal, +pleasantly indifferent, and always delightfully busy with +its individual manias and fads; so come as soon as you +please—sooner, please—because, strange as it may seem, +your mother would like to see you.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The letter was what he had expected. But, as always, +it made him very grateful.</p> +<p>“Wonderful mother I have,” he murmured, opening +another letter from his father:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Dear Garret</span>:</p> +<p>“Why the devil don’t you come up? You’ve missed the +cream of the fishing. There’s nothing doing in the streams +now, but at sunrise and toward evening they’re breaking +nicely in the lake.</p> +<p>“I’ve put in sixty thousand three-year transplants this +year on that sandy stretch. They are white, Scotch and +Austrian. Your children will enjoy them.</p> +<p>“The dogs are doing well. There’s one youngster, the +litter-tyrant of Goldenrod’s brood, who ought to make a +field winner. But there’s no telling. You and I’ll have ’em +out on native woodcock.</p> +<p>“There are some grouse, but we ought to let them alone +for the next few years. As for the pheasants, they’re everywhere +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +now, in the brake, silver-grass, and weeds, peeping, +scurrying, creeping—cunning little beggars and growing +wild as quail.</p> +<p>“The horses are all right. The crops promise well. Labour +is devilish scarce, and unsatisfactory when induced +to accept preposterous wages. What we need are coolies, +if these lazy, native slackers continue to handicap the +farmers who have to employ them. The American ‘hired +man’! He makes me sick. With few exceptions, he is +incredibly stupid, ignorant, unwilling, lazy.</p> +<p>“He’s sometimes a crook, too; he takes pay for what he +doesn’t do; he steals your time; he cares absolutely nothing +about your interests or convenience; he will leave you +stranded in harvest time, without any notice at all; decent +treatment he does not appreciate; he’ll go without a warning +even, leaving your horses unfed, your cattle unwatered, +your crops rotting!</p> +<p>“He’s a degenerate relic of those real men who broke +up the primæval wilderness. He is the reason for high +prices, the cause of agricultural and industrial distress, +the inert, sodden, fermenting, indigestible mass in the +belly of the body-politic!</p> +<p>“The American hired man! If the country doesn’t spew +him up, he’ll kill it!</p> +<p>“Perhaps you’ve heard me before on this subject, Garret. +I’m likely to air my views, you know.</p> +<p>“Well, my son, I look forward to your arrival. I am glad +that Westmore is coming with you. As for your other +guests, they are welcome, of course.</p> +<p class='sig1'>“Your father,</p> +<p class='sig2'>“<span class='smcap'>Reginald Barres</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He laughed; this letter so perfectly revealed his +father.</p> +<p>“Dad and his trout and his birds and his pines and +his eternally accursed hired help,” he said to himself, +“Dad and his monocle and his immaculate attire—the +finest man who ever fussed!” And he laughed tenderly +to himself as he broke the seal of his sister’s brief +note:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></div> +<blockquote> +<p>“Garry dear, I’ve been so busy schooling horses and +dancing that I’ve had no time for letter writing. So glad +you’re coming at last. Bring along any good novels you +see. My best to Jim. Your guests can be well mounted, +if they ride. Father is wild because there are more foxes +than usual, but he’s promised not to treat them as vermin, +and the Northbrook pack is to hunt our territory this season, +after all. Poor Dad! He is a brick, isn’t he?”</p> +<p class='sig1'>“Affectionately,</p> +<p class='sig2'>“<span class='smcap'>Lee</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Barres pocketed his sheaf of letters and began to +stroll about the studio, whistling the air of some recent +musical atrocity.</p> +<p>Westmore, in his own room, composing verses—a +secret vice unsuspected by Barres—bade him “Shut +up!”—the whistling no doubt ruining his metre.</p> +<p>But Barres, with politest intentions, forgot himself +so many times that the other man locked up his “Lines +to Thessalie when she was sewing on a button for me,” +and came into the studio.</p> +<p>“Where is she?” he inquired naïvely.</p> +<p>“Where’s who?” demanded Barres, still sensitive +over the increasing intimacy of this headlong young +man and Thessalie Dunois.</p> +<p>“Thessa.”</p> +<p>“In there fussing with Dulcie’s togs. Go ahead in, +if you care to.”</p> +<p>“Is your stuff packed up?”</p> +<p>Barres nodded:</p> +<p>“Is yours?”</p> +<p>“Most of it. How many trunks is Thessa taking?”</p> +<p>“How do I know?” said Barres, with a trace of irritation. +“She’s at liberty to take as many as she +likes.”</p> +<p>Westmore didn’t notice the irritation; his mind was +entirely occupied by Thessalie—an intellectual condition +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +which had recently become rather painfully apparent +to Barres, and, doubtless, equally if not painfully +apparent to Thessalie herself.</p> +<p>Probably Dulcie noticed it, too, but gave no sign, +except when the serious grey eyes stole toward Barres +at times, as though vaguely apprehensive that he might +not be entirely in sympathy with Westmore’s enchanted +state of mind.</p> +<p>As for Thessalie, though Westmore’s naïve and increasing +devotion could scarcely escape her notice, it +was utterly impossible to tell how it affected her—whether, +indeed, it made any impression at all.</p> +<p>For there seemed to be no difference in her attitude +toward these two men; it was plain enough that she +liked them both—that she believed in them implicitly, +was happy with them, tranquil now in her new security, +and deeply penetrated with gratitude for their +kindness to her in her hour of need.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Come on in,” coaxed Westmore, linking his arm +in Barres’, and counting on the latter to give him countenance.</p> +<p>The arm of Barres remained rigid and unresponsive, +but his legs were reluctantly obliging and carried +him along with Westmore to what had been his own +room before Thessalie had installed herself there.</p> +<p>And there she was on her knees, amid a riot of lingerie +and feminine effects, while Dulcie lovingly +smoothed out and folded object after object which +Selinda placed between layers of pale blue tissue paper +in the trunks.</p> +<p>“How are things going, Thessa?” inquired Westmore, +in the hearty, cheerful voice of the intruder who +hopes to be made welcome. But her attitude was discouraging.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></div> +<p>“You know you are only in the way,” she said. +“Drive him out, Dulcie!”</p> +<p>Dulcie laughed and looked at them both with shyly +friendly eyes:</p> +<p>“Is my trousseau not beautiful?” she asked. “If +you’ll step outside I’ll put on a hat and gown for +you——”</p> +<p>“Oh, Dulcie!” protested Thessalie, “I want you to +dawn upon them, and a dress rehearsal would spoil +it all!”</p> +<p>Westmore tiptoed around amid lovely, frail mounds +of fabrics, until ordered to an empty chair and forbidden +further motion. It was all the same to him, so +long as his fascinated gaze could rest on Thessalie.</p> +<p>Which further annoyed Barres, and he backed out +and walked to the studio, considerably disturbed in +his mind.</p> +<p>“That man,” he thought, “is making an ass of himself, +hanging around Thessa like a half-witted child. +She can’t help noticing it, but she doesn’t seem to do +anything about it. I don’t know why she doesn’t +squelch him—unless she likes it——” But the idea +was so unpleasant to Barres that he instantly abandoned +that train of thought and prepared for himself +a comfortable nest on the lounge, a pipe, and an uncut +volume of flimsy summer fiction.</p> +<p>In the middle of these somewhat sullen preparations, +there came a ring at his studio door. Only the superintendent +or strangers rang that bell as a rule, and +Barres went to his desk, slipped his loaded pistol into +his coat pocket, then walked to the door and opened it.</p> +<p>Soane stood there, his face a shiny-red from drink, +his legs steady enough. As usual when drunk, he was +inclined to be garrulous.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” inquired Barres in a low voice.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></div> +<p>“Wisha, Misther Barres, sorr, av ye’re not too busy +f’r to——”</p> +<p>“S-h-h! Don’t bellow at the top of your voice. +Wait a moment!”</p> +<p>He picked up his hat and came out into the corridor, +closing the studio door behind him so that Dulcie, +if she appeared on the scene, should not be humiliated +before the others.</p> +<p>Soane began again, but the other cut him short:</p> +<p>“Don’t start talking here,” he said. “Come down +to your own quarters if you’re going to yell your head +off!” And he led the way, impatiently, down the stairs, +past the desk where Miss Kurtz sat stolid and mottled-faced +as a lump of uncooked sausage, and into +Soane’s quarters.</p> +<p>“Now, you listen to me first!” he said when Soane +had entered and he had closed the door behind them. +“You keep out of my apartment and out of Dulcie’s +way, too, when you’re drunk! You’re not going to +last very long on this job; I can see that plainly——”</p> +<p>“Faith, sorr, you’re right! I’m fired out entirely +this blessed minute!”</p> +<p>“You’ve been discharged?”</p> +<p>“I have that, sorr!”</p> +<p>“What for? Drunkenness?”</p> +<p>“Th’ divil do I know phwat for! Wisha, then, Misther +Barres, is there anny harrm av a man——”</p> +<p>“Yes, there is! I told you Grogan’s would do the +trick for you. Now you’re discharged without a reference, +I suppose.”</p> +<p>Soane smiled airily:</p> +<p>“Misther Barres, dear, don’t lave that worrit ye! +I want no riference from anny landlord. Sure, landlords +is tyrants, too! An’ phwat the divil should I +be wantin’——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></div> +<p>“What are you going to do then?”</p> +<p>Soane hooked both thumbs into the armholes of his +vest, and swaggered about the room:</p> +<p>“God bless yer kind heart, sorr, I’ve a-plenty to do +and more for good measure!” He came up to confront +Barres, and laid a mysterious finger alongside his +over-red nose and began to brag:</p> +<p>“There’s thim in high places as looks afther the +likes o’ me, sorr. There’s thim that thrusts me, thim +that depinds on me——”</p> +<p>“Have you another job?”</p> +<p>Soane’s scorn was superb:</p> +<p>“A job is ut? Misther Barres, dear, I was injuced +f’r to accept a <i>position</i> of grave importance!”</p> +<p>“Here in town?”</p> +<p>“Somewhere around tin thousand miles away or +thereabouts,” remarked Soane airily.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to take Dulcie with you?”</p> +<p>“Musha, then, Misther Barres, ’tis why I come to +ye above f’r to ax ye will ye look afther Dulcie av I +go away on me thravels?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I will!... Where are you going? What is +all this stuff you’re talking, anyway——”</p> +<p>“Shtuff? God be good to you, it’s no shtuff I talk, +Misther Barres! Sure, can’t a decent man thravel +f’r to see the wurruld as God made it an’ no harrm +in——”</p> +<p>“Be careful what company you travel in,” said +Barres, looking at him intently. “You have been +travelling around New York in very suspicious company, +Soane. I know more about it than you think I +do. And it wouldn’t surprise me if you have a run-in +with the police some day.”</p> +<p>“The po-lice, sorr! Arrah, then, me fut in me hand +an’ me tongue in me cheek to the likes o’ thim! An’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +lave them go hoppin’ afther me av they like. The +po-lice is ut! Open y’r two ears, asthore, an’ listen +here!—there’ll be nary po-lice, no nor constabulary, +nor excise, nor landlords the day that Ireland flies her +flag on Dublin Castle! Sure, that will be the grand +sight, with all the rats a-runnin’, an’ all the hurryin’ +and scurryin’ an’ the futther and mutther——”</p> +<p>“<i>What</i> are you gabbling about, Soane? What’s all +this boasting about?”</p> +<p>“Gabble is ut? Is it boastin’ I am? Sorra the day! +An’ there do be grand gintlemen and gay ladies to-day +that shall look for a roof an’ a sup o’ tay this day +three weeks, when th’ fut o’ the tyrant is lifted from +the neck of Ireland an’ the landlords is runnin’ for +their lives——”</p> +<p>“I thought so!” exclaimed Barres, disgusted.</p> +<p>“An’ phwat was ye thinkin’, sorr?”</p> +<p>“That your German friends at Grogan’s are stirring +up trouble among the Irish. What’s all this nonsense, +anyway? Are they trying to persuade you to follow +the old Fenian tactics and raid Canada? Or is it an +armed expedition to the Irish coast? You’d better +be careful; they’ll only lock you up here, but it’s a +hanging matter over there!”</p> +<p>“Is it so?” grinned Soane.</p> +<p>“It surely is.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, be aisy, Misther Barres, dear. Av +there’s hangin’ to be done this time, ’twill not be thim +as wears the green that hangs!”</p> +<p>Barres slowly shook his head:</p> +<p>“This is German work. You’re sticking your neck +into the noose.”</p> +<p>“Lave the noose for the Clan-na-Gael to pull, sorr, +an’ ’twill shqueeze no Irish neck!”</p> +<p>“You’re a fool, Soane! These Germans are exploiting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +such men as you. Where’s your common +sense? Can’t you see you’re playing a German game? +What do they care what becomes of you or of Ireland? +All they want is for you to annoy England at +any cost. And the cost is death! Do you dream for +an instant that you and your friends stand a ghost of +a chance if you are crazy enough to invade Canada? +Do you suppose it possible to land an expedition on +the Irish coast?”</p> +<p>Soane deliberately winked at him. Then he burst +into laughter and stood rocking there on heel and toe +while his mirth lasted.</p> +<p>But the inevitable Celtic reaction presently sobered +him and switched him into a sombre recapitulation of +Erin’s wrongs. And this tragic inventory brought the +inevitable tears in time. And Woe awoke in him the +memory of the personal and pathetic.</p> +<p>The world had dealt him a wretched hand. He had +sat in a crooked game from the beginning. The cards +had been stacked; the dice were cogged. And now +he meant to make the world disgorge—pay up the living +that it owed him.</p> +<p>Barres attempted to stem the flow of volubility, but +it instantly became a torrent.</p> +<p>Nobody knew the sorrows of Ireland or of the Irish. +Tyranny had marked them for its own. As for himself—once +a broth of a boy—he had been torn from +the sacred precincts of his native shanty and consigned +to a loveless, unhappy marriage.</p> +<p>Then Barres listened without interrupting. But the +woes of Soane became vague at that point. Veiled +references to being “thrampled on,” to “th’ big house,” +to “thim that was high an’ shtiff-necked,” abounded in +an unconnected way. There was something about being +a servant at the fireside of his own wife—a footstool +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +on the hearth of his own home—other incomprehensible +plaints and mutterings, many scalding tears, +a blub or two, and a sort of whining silence.</p> +<p>Then Barres said:</p> +<p>“Who is Dulcie, Soane?”</p> +<p>The man, seated now on his bed, lifted a congested +and stupid visage as though he had not comprehended.</p> +<p>“Is Dulcie your daughter?” demanded Barres.</p> +<p>Soane’s blue eyes wandered wildly in an agony of +recollection:</p> +<p>“Did I say she was <i>not</i>, sorr?” he faltered. “Av +I told ye that, may the saints forgive me——”</p> +<p>“Is it true?”</p> +<p>“Ah, what was I afther sayin’, Misther——”</p> +<p>“Never mind what you said or left unsaid! I want +to ask you another question. Who was Eileen Fane?”</p> +<p>Soane bounded to his feet, his blue eyes ablaze:</p> +<p>“Holy Mother o’ God! What have I said!”</p> +<p>“Was Eileen Fane your wife?”</p> +<p>“Did I say her blessed name!” shouted Soane. +“Sorra the sup I tuk that loosed the tongue o’ me this +cursed day! ’Twas the dommed whishkey inside o’ me +that told ye that—not me—not Larry Soane! Wurra +the day I said it! An’ listen, now, f’r the love o’ God! +Take pride to yourself, sorr, for all the goodness ye +done to Dulcie.</p> +<p>“An’ av I go, and I come no more to vex her, I +thank God ’tis in a gintleman’s hands the child do +be——” He choked; his marred hands dropped by +his side, and he stared dumbly at Barres for a moment. +Then:</p> +<p>“Av I come no more, will ye guard her?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Will ye do fair by her, Misther Barres?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></div> +<p>“Call God to hear ye say ut!”</p> +<p>“So—help me—God.”</p> +<p>Soane dropped on to the bed and took his battered +face and curly head between his <ins title='Added period'>hands.</ins></p> +<p>“I’ll say no more,” he said thickly. “Nor you nor +she shall know no more. An’ av ye have guessed it out, +kape it locked in. I’ll say no more.... I was good +to her—in me own way. But ye cud see—anny wan +with half a cock-eye cud see.... I was—honest—with +her mother.... She made the bargain.... I +tuk me pay an’ held me tongue.... ’Tis whishkey +talks, not me.... I tuk me pay an’ I kept to the +bargain.... Wan year.... Then—she was dead of +it—like a flower, sorr—like the rose ye pull an’ lave +lyin’ in the sun.... Like that, sorr—in a year.... +An’ I done me best be Dulcie.... I done me best. +An’ held to the bargain.... An’ done me best be +Dulcie—little Dulcie—the wee baby that had come at +last—<i>her</i> baby—Dulcie Fane!...”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +<a name='XIX_A_CHANCE_ENCOUNTER' id='XIX_A_CHANCE_ENCOUNTER'></a> +<h2>XIX +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />A CHANCE ENCOUNTER</span></h2> +</div> +<p>A single shaded lamp illuminated the studio, +making the shapes of things vague where outline +and colour were lost in the golden dusk. +Dulcie, alone at the piano, accompanied her own +voice with soft, scarcely heard harmonies, as she +hummed, one after another, old melodies she had learned +from the Sisters so long ago—“The Harp,” “Shandon +Bells,” “The Exile,” “Shannon Water”—songs of that +sort and period:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent2'>“<i>The Bells of Shandon,</i></p> +<p class='indent2'><i>Then sound so grand on</i></p> +<p><i>The pleasant waters of the River Lee.</i>”</p> +</div></div> +<p>Thessalie sat by the open window and Westmore +squatted at her feet on the sill of the little balcony, +doing, as usual, all the talking while she lay deep in +her armchair waving her fan, listening, responding +with a low-voiced laugh or word now and again.</p> +<p>Dulcie sang:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent2'>“<i>On the banks of the Shannon</i></p> +<p><i>When Mary was nigh.</i>”</p> +</div></div> +<p>From that she changed to a haunting, poignant little +song; and Barres looked up from his desk under +the lamp. Then he sealed and stamped the three letters +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +which he had written to his Foreland kinfolk, and, +holding them in one hand, took his hat from the table +with the other, as though preparing to rise. Dulcie +half turned her head, her hands still idling over the +shadowy keys:</p> +<p>“Are you going out?”</p> +<p>“Just to the corner.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you mail your letters down stairs?”</p> +<p>“I’ll step around to the branch post office; they’ll +go quicker.... What was that air you were playing +just now?”</p> +<p>“It is called ‘Mea Culpa.’”</p> +<p>“Play it again.”</p> +<p>She turned to the keys, recommenced the Celtic air, +and sang in a clear, childish voice:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>“Wake, little maid!</p> +<p>Red dawns the morn,</p> +<p>The last stars fade,</p> +<p>The day is born;</p> +<p>Now the first lark wings high in air,</p> +<p>And sings the Virgin’s praises there!</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>“I am afraid</p> +<p>To see the morn;</p> +<p>I lie dismayed</p> +<p>Beside the thorn.</p> +<p>Gazing at God with frightened eyes,</p> +<p>Where larks are singing in the skies.</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>II</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>“Why, mourn, dear maid,</p> +<p>Alone, forlorn,</p> +<p>White and afraid</p> +<p>Beside the thorn,</p> +<p>With weeping eyes and sobbing breath</p> +<p>And fair sweet face as pale as death?</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></p> +<p>“For love repayed</p> +<p>By Mary’s scorn,</p> +<p>I weep, betrayed</p> +<p>By one unborn!</p> +<p>Where can a poor lass hide her head</p> +<p>Till day be done and she be dead!”</p> +</div></div> +<p>The voice and playing lingered among the golden +shadows, hushed to a whisper, ceased.</p> +<p>“Is it very old, that sad little song?” he asked at +last.</p> +<p>“My mother wrote it.... There is the <i>Mea Culpa</i>, +still, which ends it. Shall I sing it?”</p> +<p>“Go on,” he nodded.</p> +<p>So she sang the <i>Mea Culpa</i>:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>III</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent2'>“Winds in the whinns</p> +<p class='indent3'>Shall kene for me—</p> +<p>(<i>For Love is Love though men be men!</i>)</p> +<p class='indent3'>Till all my sins</p> +<p class='indent3'>Forgiven be—</p> +<p>(<i>Maxima culpa, Lord. Amen.</i>)</p> +<p class='indent3'>And Mary’s grace my fault shall purge,</p> +<p class='indent3'>While skylarks plead my cause above,</p> +<p class='indent3'>And breezy rivers sing my dirge,</p> +<p class='indent3'>Because I loved and died of Love.</p> +<p>(<i>I love, and die of Love!</i>)</p> +<p class='indent13'>Amen.”</p> +</div></div> +<p>When the soft cadence of the last notes was stilled, +Dulcie turned once more toward him in the uncertain +light.</p> +<p>“It’s very lovely,” he said, “and dreadfully triste. +The air alone is enough to break your heart.”</p> +<p>“My mother, when she wrote it, was unhappy, I +imagine——” She swung slowly around to face the +keys again.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></div> +<p>“Do you know why she was so unhappy?”</p> +<p>“She fell in love,” said the girl over her shoulder. +“And it saddened her life, I think.”</p> +<p>He sat motionless for a while. Dulcie did not turn +again. Presently he rose and walked slowly out and +down stairs, carrying his letters with him.</p> +<p>The stolid, mottled-faced German girl was on duty +at the desk, and she favoured him with a sour look, +as usual.</p> +<p>“There was a gen’l’man to see you,” she mumbled.</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>“Just now. I didn’t know you was in.”</p> +<p>“Well, why didn’t you ring up the apartment and +find out?” he demanded.</p> +<p>She gave him a sullen look:</p> +<p>“Here’s his card,” she said, shoving it across the +desk.</p> +<p>Barres picked up the card. “Georges Renoux, +Architect,” he read. “Hotel Astor” was pencilled in +the corner.</p> +<p>Barres knit his brows, trying to evoke in his memory +a physiognomy to fit a name which seemed hazily +familiar.</p> +<p>“Did the gentleman leave any message?” he asked.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, please don’t make another mistake of this +kind,” he said.</p> +<p>She stared at him like a sulky sow, her little eyes red +with malice.</p> +<p>“Where is Soane?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Out.”</p> +<p>“Where did he go?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t ask him,” she replied, with a slight sneer.</p> +<p>“I wish to see him,” continued Barres patiently. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +“Could you tell me whether he was likely to go to Grogans?”</p> +<p>“What’s Grogan’s?”</p> +<p>“Grogan’s Café on Third Avenue—where Soane +hangs out,” he managed to explain calmly. “You +know where it is. You have called him up there.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know nothin’ about it,” she grunted, resuming +the greasy novel she had been reading.</p> +<p>But when Barres, now thoroughly incensed, turned +to leave, her small, pig-like eyes peeped slyly after +him. And after he had disappeared through the corridor +into the street she hastily unhooked the transmitter +and called Grogan’s.</p> +<p>“This is Martha.... Martha Kurtz. Yes, I want +Frank Lehr.... Is that you, Frank?... The artist, +Barres, who was pumping Soane the other night, +is after him again. I told you how I listened at the +door, and how I heard that Irish souse blabbing and +bragging.... What?... Sure!... Barres was at +the desk just now inquiring if Soane had gone to Grogan’s.... +You bet!... Barres is leery since <i>K17</i> +hit him with a gun. Sure; he’s stickin’ his nose into +everything.... Look out for him, if he comes around +Grogan’s askin’ for Soane.... And say; there was +a French guy here callin’ on Barres. I knew he was +in, but I said he was out. I was just goin’ to call you +when Barres came down.... Yes, I got his name.... +Wait, I copied it out.... Here it is, ‘Georges +Renoux, Architect.’ And he wrote ‘Hotel Astor’ in +the corner.</p> +<p>“Yes, he said tell Barres to call him up. Naw, I +didn’t give him the message.... You don’t say! Is +that right? He’s one o’ them nosey Frenchman? <i>A +captain</i>?... Gee!... What’s his lay?... In +New York? Well, you better watch out then.... +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +Sure, I’ll ring you if he comes back!... No, there +ain’t no news.... Yes, I was to the Astor grille last +night, and I talked to <i>K17</i>.... There was a guy +higher up there. I don’t know who. He looked like +he was a dark complected Jew.... <i>Ferez Bey</i>?... +Gee!... You expect Skeel? To-night? Doin’ <i>what</i>? +You think this man Renoux is watchin’ the Clan-na-Gael? +Well, you better tell Soane to shut his mouth +then.</p> +<p>“Yes, that Dunois girl is here still. It’s a pity <i>K17</i> +lost his nerve.... Well, you better look out for her +and for Barres, too. They’re as thick as last year +honey!</p> +<p>“All right, I’ll let you know anything. Bye-bye.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Barres, walking leisurely up the street, kept watching +for Soane somewhere along the block; but could +see nobody in the darkness, resembling him.</p> +<p>Outdoors the July night was cooler; young girls, +hatless, in summer frocks, gathered on stoops or +strolled through the lamplit dark. Somewhere a piano +sounded, not unpleasantly.</p> +<p>In the branch post office he mailed his letters, turned +to go out, and caught sight of Soane passing along the +sidewalk just outside.</p> +<p>And with him was the one-eyed man, Max Freund—the +man who, perhaps, had robbed Dulcie of half the +letter.</p> +<p>His first emotion was sheer anger, and it started him +toward the door, bent on swift but unconsidered vengeance.</p> +<p>But before this impulse culminated in his collaring +the one-eyed man, sufficient common sense came to the +rescue. A row meant publicity, and an inquiry by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +authority would certainly involve the writer of the +partly stolen letter—Thessalie Dunois.</p> +<p>Cool and collected now, but mad all through, Barres +continued to follow Soane and Freund, dropping back +several yards to keep out of sight, and trying to make +up his mind what he ought to do.</p> +<p>The cross street was fairly well lighted; there +seemed to be plenty of evening strollers abroad, so that +he was not particularly conspicuous on the long block +between Sixth and Fifth Avenues.</p> +<p>The precious pair, arriving at Fifth Avenue, halted, +blocked by the normal rush of automobiles, unchecked +now by a traffic policeman.</p> +<p>So Barres halted, too, and drew back alongside a +shop window.</p> +<p>And, as he stopped and stepped aside, he saw a man +pause on the sidewalk across the street and move back +cautiously into the shadow of a façade opposite.</p> +<p>There was nothing significant in the occurrence; +Barres merely happened to notice it; then he turned +his eyes toward Soane and Freund, who now were crossing +Fifth Avenue. And he went after them, with no +definite idea in his head.</p> +<p>Soane and Freund walked on eastward; a tramcar +on Madison Avenue stopped them once more; and, as +Barres also halted behind them and stepped aside into +the shadows, there, just across the street, he saw the +same man again halt, retire, and stand motionless in +a recess between two shop windows.</p> +<p>Barres tried to keep one eye on him and the other +on Soane and Freund. The two latter were crossing +Madison Avenue; and as soon as they had crossed, still +headed east, the man on the other side of the street +came out of his shadowy recess and started eastward, +too.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></div> +<p>Then Barres also started, but now he was watching +the man across the street as well as keeping Soane and +Freund in view—watching the former solitary individual +with increasing curiosity.</p> +<p>Was that man keeping an eye on him? Was he following +Soane and Freund? Was he, in fact, following +anybody, and had the lively imagination of Barres +begun to make something out of nothing?</p> +<p>At Park Avenue Freund and Soane paused, not apparently +because of any vehicular congestion impeding +their progress, but they seemed to be engaged in +vehement conversation, Soane’s excitable tones reaching +Barres, where he had halted again beside the tradesmen’s +gate of a handsome private house.</p> +<p>And once more, across the street the solitary figure +also halted and stood unstirring under a porte-cochère.</p> +<p>Barres, straining his eyes, strove to make out details +of his features and dress. And presently he concluded +that, though the man did turn and glance in his direction +occasionally, his attention was principally fixed +on Soane and Freund.</p> +<p>His movements, too, seemed to corroborate this idea, +because as soon as they started across Park Avenue +the man on the opposite side of the street was in instant +motion. And Barres, now intensely curious, walked +eastward once more, following all three.</p> +<p>At Lexington Avenue Soane sheered off and, despite +the clutch of Freund, went into a saloon. Freund +finally followed.</p> +<p>As usual, across the street the solitary figure had +stopped. Barres, also immobile, kept him in view. +Evidently he, too, was awaiting the reappearance of +Soane and Freund.</p> +<p>Suddenly Barres made up his mind to have a good +look at him. He walked to the corner, walked over to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +the south side of the street, turned west, and slowly +sauntered past the man, looking him deliberately in the +face.</p> +<p>As for the stranger, far from shrinking or avoiding +the scrutiny, he on his part betrayed a very lively +interest in the physiognomy of Barres; and as that +young man approached he found himself scanned by +a brilliant and alert pair of eyes, as keen as a fox-terrier’s.</p> +<p>In frank but subtly hostile curiosity their glances +met and crossed. Then, in an instant, a rather odd +smile glimmered in the stranger’s eyes, twitched at his +pleasant mouth, just shaded by a tiny moustache:</p> +<p>“If you please, sir,” he said in a low, amused voice, +“you will not—as they say in New York—butt in.”</p> +<p>Barres, astonished, stood quite still. The young +man continued to regard him with a very intelligent +and slightly ironical expression:</p> +<p>“I do not know, of course,” he said, “whether you +are of the city police, the State service, the Post Office, +the Department of Justice, the Federal Secret +Service”—he shrugged expressive shoulders—“but this +I do know very well, that through lack of proper coordination +in the branches of all your departments of +City, State, and Federal surety, there is much bungling, +much working at cross purposes, much interference, +and many blunders.</p> +<p>“Therefore, I beg of you not to do anything further +in the matter which very evidently occupies you.” +And he bowed and glanced across at the saloon into +which Soane and Freund had disappeared.</p> +<p>Barres was thinking hard. He drew out his cigarette +case, lighted a cigarette, came to his conclusions:</p> +<p>“You are watching Freund and Soane?” he asked +bluntly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></div> +<p>“And you, sir? Are you observing the stars?” inquired +the young man, evidently amused at something +or other unperceived by Barres.</p> +<p>The latter said, frankly and pleasantly:</p> +<p>“I <i>am</i> following those two men. It is evident that +you are, also. So may I ask, have you any idea where +they are going?”</p> +<p>“I can guess, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“To Grogan’s?”</p> +<p>“Of course.”</p> +<p>“Suppose,” said Barres quietly, “I put myself under +your orders and go along with you.”</p> +<p>The strange young man was much diverted:</p> +<p>“In your kind suggestion there appears to be concealed +a germ of common sense,” he said. “In which +particular service are you employed, sir?”</p> +<p>“And you?” inquired Barres, smilingly.</p> +<p>“I imagine you may have guessed,” said the young +man, evidently greatly amused at something or other.</p> +<p>Sheer intuition prompted Barres, and he took a +chance.</p> +<p>“Yes, I have ventured to guess that you are an Intelligence +Officer in the French service, and secretly +on duty in the United States.”</p> +<p>The young man winced but forced a very bland +smile.</p> +<p>“My compliments, whether your guess is born of +certainty or not. And you, sir? May I inquire your +status?”</p> +<p>“I’m merely a civilian with a season’s Plattsburg +training as my only professional experience. I’m +afraid you won’t believe this, but it’s quite true. I’m +not in either Municipal, State, or Federal service. +But I don’t believe I can stand this Hun business much +longer without enlisting with the Canadians.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></div> +<p>“Oh. May I ask, then, why you follow that pair +yonder?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you why. I am a painter. I live at +Dragon Court. Soane, an Irishman, is superintendent +of the building. I have reason to believe that German +propagandists have been teaching him disloyalty under +promise of aiding Ireland to secure political independence.</p> +<p>“Coming out of the branch post office this evening, +where I had taken some letters, I saw Soane and that +fellow, Freund. I really couldn’t tell you exactly +what my object was in following them, except that I +itched to beat up the German and refrained because +of the inevitable notoriety that must follow.</p> +<p>“Perhaps I had a vague idea of following them to +Grogan’s, where I knew they were bound, just to look +over the place and see for myself what that German +rendezvous is like.</p> +<p>“Anyway, what kept me on their trail was noticing +<i>you</i>; and your behaviour aroused my curiosity. That +is the entire truth concerning myself and this affair. +And if you believe me, and if you think I can be of +any service to you, take me along with you. If not, +then I shall certainly not interfere with whatever you +are engaged in.”</p> +<p>For a few moments the young Intelligence Officer +looked intently at Barres, the same amused, inexplicable +smile on his face. Then:</p> +<p>“Your name,” he said, with malicious gaiety, “is +Garret Barres.”</p> +<p>At that Barres completely lost countenance, but the +other man began to laugh:</p> +<p>“Certainly you are Garry Barres, a painter, a celebrated +Beaux Arts man of——”</p> +<p>“Good heavens!” exclaimed Barres, “<i>you</i> are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +Renoux! You are little Georges Renoux, of the atelier +Ledoux!—on the architect’s side!—you are that man +who left his card for me this evening! I’ve seen you +often! You were a little devil of a nouveau!—but you +were always the centre of every bit of mischief in the +rue Bonaparte! You put the whole Quarter en charette! +I saw you do it.”</p> +<p>“I saw <i>you</i>,” laughed Renoux, “on one notorious occasion, +teaching jiu-jitsu to a policeman! Don’t talk +to me about my escapades!”</p> +<p>Cordially, firmly, in grinning silence, they shook +hands. And for a moment the intervening years seemed +to melt away; the golden past became the present; +and Renoux even thrilled a little at the condescension +of Barres in shaking hands with him—the <i>nouveau</i> +honoured by the <i>ancien</i>!—the reverence never entirely +forgotten.</p> +<p>“What are you, anyway, Renoux?” asked Barres, +still astonished at the encounter, but immensely interested.</p> +<p>“My friend, you have already guessed. I am Captain: +Military Intelligence Department. You know? +There are no longer architects or butchers or bakers +in France, only soldiers. And of those soldiers I am +a very humble one.”</p> +<p>“On secret duty here,” nodded Barres.</p> +<p>“I need not ask an old Beaux Arts comrade to be +discreet and loyal.”</p> +<p>“My dear fellow, France is next in my heart after +my own country. Tell me, you are following that +Irishman, Soane, and his boche friend, Max Freund, +are you not?”</p> +<p>“It happens to be as you say,” admitted Renoux, +smilingly. “A job for a ‘flic,’ is it not?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></div> +<p>“Shall I tell you what I know about those two men?—what +I suspect?”</p> +<p>“I should be very glad——” But at that moment +Soane came out of the saloon across the way, and +Freund followed.</p> +<p>“May I come with you?” whispered Barres.</p> +<p>“If you care to. Yes, come,” nodded Renoux, keeping +his clear, intelligent eyes on the two across the +street, who now stood under a lamp-post, engaged in +some sort of drunken altercation.</p> +<p>Renoux, watching them all the while, continued in +a low voice:</p> +<p>“Remember, Barres, if we chance to meet again here +in America, I am merely Georges Renoux, an architect +and a fellow Beaux Arts man.”</p> +<p>“Certainly.... Look! They’re starting on, those +two!”</p> +<p>“Come,” whispered Renoux.</p> +<p>Soane, unsteady of leg and talkative, was now making +for Third Avenue beside Freund, who had taken +him by the arm, in hopes, apparently, of steadying +them both.</p> +<p>As Renoux and Barres followed, the latter cautiously +requested any instructions which Renoux might +think fit to give.</p> +<p>Renoux said in his cool, agreeable voice:</p> +<p>“You know it’s rather unusual for an officer to +bother personally with this sort of thing. But my +people—even the renegade Germans in our service—have +been unable to obtain necessary information for +us in regard to Grogan’s.</p> +<p>“It happened this afternoon that certain information +was brought to me which suggested that I myself +take a look at Grogan’s. And that is what I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +was going to do when I saw you on the street, carefully +stalking two well-known suspects.”</p> +<p>They both laughed cautiously.</p> +<p>Grogan’s was now in sight on the corner, its cherrywood +magnificence and its bilious imitation of stained +glass aglow with electricity. And into its “Family +Entrance” swaggered Soane, followed by the lank figure +of Max Freund.</p> +<p>Renoux and Barres had halted fifty yards away. +Neither spoke. And presently came to them a short, +dark, powerfully built man, who strolled up casually, +puffing a large, rank cigar.</p> +<p>Renoux named him to Barres:</p> +<p>“Emile Souchez, one of my men.” He added: +“Anybody gone in yet?”</p> +<p>“Otto Klein, of Gerhardt, Klein & Schwartzmeyer +went in an hour ago,” replied Souchez.</p> +<p>“Oho,” nodded Renoux softly. “That signifies +something really interesting. Who else went in?”</p> +<p>“Small fry—Dave Sendelbeck, Louis Hochstein, +Terry Madigan, Dolan, McBride, Clancy—all Clan-na-Gael +men.”</p> +<p>“Skeel?”</p> +<p>“No. He’s still at the Astor. Franz Lehr came +out about half an hour ago and took a taxi west. +Jacques Alost is following in another.”</p> +<p>Renoux thought a moment:</p> +<p>“Lehr has probably gone to see Skeel at the Hotel +Astor,” he concluded. “We’re going to have our +chance, I think.”</p> +<p>Then, turning to Barres:</p> +<p>“We’ve decided to take a sport-chance to-night. We +have most reliable information that this man Lehr, +who now owns Grogan’s, will carry here upon his person +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +papers of importance to my Government—and to +yours, too, Barres.</p> +<p>“The man from whom he shall procure these papers +is an Irish gentleman named Murtagh Skeel, just arrived +from Buffalo and stopping overnight at the Hotel +Astor.</p> +<p>“Lehr, we were informed, was to go personally and +get those papers.... Do you really wish to help +us?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“Very well. I expect we shall have what you call +a mix-up. You will please, therefore, walk into Grogan’s—not +by the family entrance, but by the swinging +doors on Lexington Avenue. Kindly refresh yourself +there with some Munich beer; also eat a sandwich +at my expense, if you care to. Then you will give +yourself the pains to inquire the way to the wash-room. +And there you will possess your soul in amiable +patience until you shall hear me speak your name +in a very quiet, polite tone.”</p> +<p>Barres, recognising the familiar mock seriousness +of student days in Paris, began to smile. Renoux +frowned and continued his instructions:</p> +<p>“When you hear me politely pronounce your name, +mon vieux, then you shall precipitate yourself valiantly +to the aid of Monsieur Souchez and myself—and perhaps +Monsieur Alost—and help us to hold, gag and +search the somewhat violent German animal whom we +corner inside the family entrance of Herr Grogan!”</p> +<p>Barres had difficulty in restraining his laughter. +Renoux was very serious, with the delightful mock +gravity of a witty and perfectly fearless Frenchman.</p> +<p>“Lehr?” inquired Barres, still laughing.</p> +<p>“That is the animal under discussion. There will be +a taxicab awaiting us——” He turned to Souchez: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +“Dis, donc, Emile, faut employer ton coup du Pêre +François pour nous assurer de cet animal là.”</p> +<p>“B’en sure,” nodded Souchez, fishing furtively in the +side pocket of his coat and displaying the corner of +a red silk handkerchief. He stuffed it into his pocket +again; Renoux smiled carelessly at Barres.</p> +<p>“Mon vieux,” he said, “I hope it will be like a good +fight in the Quarter—what with all those Irish in there. +You desire to get your head broken?”</p> +<p>“You bet I do, Renoux!”</p> +<p>“Bien! So now, if you are quite ready?” he suggested. +“Merci, monsieur, et à bientôt!” He bowed +profoundly.</p> +<p>Barres, still laughing, walked to Lexington Avenue, +crossed northward, and entered the swinging doors of +Grogan’s, perfectly enchanted to have his finger in the +pie at last, and aching for an old-fashioned Latin +Quarter row, the pleasures of which he had not known +for several too respectable years.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +<a name='XX_GROGANS' id='XX_GROGANS'></a> +<h2>XX +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />GROGAN’S</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The material attraction of Grogan’s was principally +German beer; the æsthetic appeal of +the place was also characteristically Teutonic +and consisted of peculiarly offensive decorations, including +much red cherry, much imitation stained glass, +many sprawling brass fixtures, and many electric lights. +Only former inmates of the Fatherland could have +conceived and executed the embellishments of Grogan’s.</p> +<p>There was a palatial bar, behind which fat, white-jacketed +Teutons served slopping steins of beer upon +a perforated brass surface. There was a centre table, +piled with those barbarous messes known to the undiscriminating +Hun as “delicatessen”—raw fish, sour +fish, smoked fish, flabby portions of defunct pig in various +guises—all naturally nauseating to the white +man’s olfactories and palate, and all equally relished +by the beer-swilling boche.</p> +<p>A bartender with Pekinese and apoplectic eyes and +the scorbutic facial symptoms of a Strassburg liver, +took the order from Barres and set before him a frosty +glass of Pilsner, incidentally drenching the bar at the +same time with swipes, which he thriftily scraped +through the perforated brass strainer into a slop-bucket +underneath.</p> +<p>Being a stranger there, Barres was furtively scrutinised +at first, but there seemed to be nothing particularly +suspicious about a young man who stopped in for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +a glass of Pilsner on a July night, and nobody paid +him any further attention.</p> +<p>Besides, two United States Secret Service men had +just gone out, followed, as usual, by one Johnny Klein; +and the Germans at the tables at the bar, and behind +the bar were still sneeringly commenting on the episode—now +a familiar one and of nightly occurrence.</p> +<p>So only very casual attention was paid to Barres and +his Pilsner and his rye-bread and sardine sandwich, +which he took over to a vacant table to desiccate and +discuss at his leisure.</p> +<p>People came and went; conversation in Hunnish gutturals +became general; soiled evening newspapers were +read, raw fish seized in fat red fingers and suckingly +masticated; also, skat and pinochle were resumed with +unwiped hands, and there was loud slapping of cards +on polished table tops, and many porcine noises.</p> +<p>Barres finished his Pilsner, side-stepped the sandwich, +rose, asked a bartender for the wash-room, and +leisurely followed the direction given.</p> +<p>There was nobody in there. He had, for company, +a mouse, a soiled towel on a roller, and the remains +of some unattractive soap. He lighted a cigarette, +surveyed himself in the looking glass, cast a friendly +glance at the mouse, and stood waiting, flexing his +biceps muscles with a smile of anticipated pleasure in +renewing the use of them after such a very long period +wasted in the peaceful pursuit of art.</p> +<p>For he was still a boy at heart. All creative minds +retain something of those care-free, irresponsible years +as long as the creative talent lasts. As it fails, +worldly caution creeps in like a thief in the night, to +steal the spontaneous pleasures of the past and leave +in their places only the old galoshes of prudence and +the finger-prints of dull routine.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></div> +<p>Barres stood by the open door of the wash-room, +listening. The corridor which passed it led on into +another corridor running at right angles. This was +the Family Entrance.</p> +<p>Now, as he waited there, he heard the street door +open, and instantly the deadened shock of a rush and +struggle.</p> +<p>As he started toward the Family Entrance, straining +his ears for the expected summons, a man in flight +turned the corner into his corridor so abruptly that +he had him by the throat even before he recognised in +him the man with the thick eye-glasses who had hit +him between the eyes with a pistol—the “Watcher” of +Dragon Court!</p> +<p>With a swift sigh of gratitude to Chance, Barres +folded the fleeing Watcher to his bosom and began +the business he had to transact with him—an account +too long overdue.</p> +<p>The Watcher fought like a wildcat, but in silence—fought +madly, using both fists, feet, baring his teeth, +too, with frantic attempts to use them. But Barres +gave him no opportunity to kick, bite, or to pull out +any weapon; he battered the Watcher right and left, +swinging on him like lightning, and his blows drummed +on him like the tattoo of fists on a punching bag until +one stinging crack sent the Watcher’s head snapping +back with a jerk, and a terrific jolt knocked him as +clean and as flat as a dead carp.</p> +<p>There were papers in his coat, also a knuckle-duster, +a big clasp-knife, and an automatic pistol. And Barres +took them all, stuffed them into his own pockets, and, +dragging his still dormant but twitching victim by the +collar, as a cat proudly lugs a heavy rat, he started +for the Family Entrance, where Donnybrook had now +broken loose.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span></div> +<p>But the silence of the terrific struggle in that narrow +entry, the absence of all yelling, was significant. +No Irish whoops, no Teutonic din of combat shattered +the stillness of that dim corridor—only the deadened +sounds of blows and shuffling of frantic feet. It was +very evident that nobody involved desired to be interrupted +by the police, or call attention to the location +of the battle field.</p> +<p>Renoux, Souchez, and a third companion were in +intimate and desperate conflict with half a dozen other +men—dim, furious figures fighting there under the flickering +gas jet from which the dirty globe had been +knocked into fragments.</p> +<p>Into this dusty maelstrom of waving arms and legs +went Barres—first dropping his now inert prey—and +began to hit out enthusiastically right and left, at the +nearest hostile countenance visible.</p> +<p>His was a flank attack and totally unexpected by <ins title='Removed duplicate word'>the</ins> +attackees; and the diversion gave Renoux time to +seize a muscular, struggling opponent, hold him squirming +while Souchez passed his handkerchief over his +throat and the third man turned his pockets inside +out.</p> +<p>Then Renoux called breathlessly to Barres:</p> +<p>“All right, mon vieux! Face to the rear front! +March!”</p> +<p>For a moment they stiffened to face a battering rush +from the stairs. Suddenly a pistol spoke, and an +Irish voice burst out:</p> +<p>“Whist, ye domm fool! G’wan wid yer fishtin’ an’ +can th’ goon-play!”</p> +<p>There came a splintering crash as the rickety banisters +gave way and several Teutonic and Hibernian +warriors fell in a furious heap, blocking the entry with +an unpremeditated obstacle.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></div> +<p>Instantly Souchez, Barres and the other man backed +out into the street, followed nimbly by Renoux and +his plunder.</p> +<p>Already a typical Third Avenue crowd was gathering, +though the ominous glimmer of a policeman’s buttons +had not yet caught the lamplight from the street +corner.</p> +<p>Then the door of Grogan’s burst open and an embattled +Irishman appeared. But at first glance the +hopelessness of the situation presented itself to him; +a taxi loaded with French and American franc-tireurs +was already honking triumphantly away westward; an +excited and rapidly increasing throng pressed around +the Family Entrance; also, the distant glitter of a +policeman’s shield and buttons now extinguished all +hope of pursuit.</p> +<p>Soane glared at the crowd out of enraged and blood-shot +eyes:</p> +<p>“G’wan home, ye bunch of bums!” he said thickly, +and slammed the door to the Family Entrance of Grogan’s +notorious café.</p> +<p>At 42d Street and Madison Avenue the taxi stopped +and Souchez and Alost got out and went rapidly across +the street toward the Grand Central depot. Then the +taxi proceeded west, north again, then once more west.</p> +<p>Renoux, busy with a bleeding nose, remarked carelessly +that Souchez and Alost were taking a train and +were in a hurry, and that he himself was going back +to the Astor.</p> +<p>“You do not mind coming with me, Barres?” he +added. “In my rooms we can have a bite and a glass +together, and then we can brush up. That was a nice +little fight, was it not, mon ami?”</p> +<p>“Fine,” said Barres with satisfaction.</p> +<p>“Quite like the old and happy days,” mused Renoux, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +surveying wilted collar and rumpled tie of his comrade. +“You came off well; you have merely a bruised cheek.” +His eyes began to sparkle and he laughed: “Do you +remember that May evening when your very quarrelsome +atelier barricaded the Café de la Source and forbade +us to enter—and my atelier marched down the +Boul’ Mich’ with its Kazoo band playing our atelier +march, determined to take your café by assault? Oh, +my! What a delightful fight that was!”</p> +<p>“Your crazy comrades stuffed me into the fountain +among the goldfish. I thought I’d drown,” said +Barres, laughing.</p> +<p>“I know, but your atelier gained a great victory +that night, and you came over to Müller’s with your +Kazoo band playing the Fireman’s March, and you carried +away our palms and bay-trees in their green tubs, +and you threw them over the Pont-au-Change into the +Seine!——”</p> +<p>They were laughing like a pair of schoolboys now, +quite convulsed and holding to each other.</p> +<p>“Do you remember,” gasped Barres, “that girl who +danced the Carmagnole on the Quay?”</p> +<p>“Yvonne Tête-de-Linotte!”</p> +<p>“And the British giant from Julien’s, who threw +everybody out of the Café Montparnasse and invited +the Quarter in to a free banquet?”</p> +<p>“McNeil!”</p> +<p>“What ever became of that pretty girl, Doucette de +Valmy?”</p> +<p>“Oh, it was she who cheered on your atelier to the +assault on Müllers!——”</p> +<p>Laughter stifled them.</p> +<p>“What crazy creatures we all were,” said Renoux, +staunching the last crimson drops oozing from his nose. +Then, more soberly: “We French have a grimmer affair +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +over there than the joyous rows of the Latin Quarter. +I’m sorry now that we didn’t throw every waiter in +Müller’s after the bay-trees. There would have been +so many fewer spies to betray France.”</p> +<p>The taxi stopped at the 44th Street entrance to the +Astor. They descended, Renoux leading, walked +through the corridor to Peacock Alley, turned to the +right through the bar, then to the left into the lobby, +and thence to the elevator.</p> +<p>In Renoux’s rooms they turned on the electric light, +locked the door, closed the transom, then spread their +plunder out on a table.</p> +<p>To Renoux’s disgust his own loot consisted of sealed +envelopes full of clippings from German newspapers +published in Chicago, Milwaukee, and New York.</p> +<p>“That animal, Lehr,” he said with a wry face, “has +certainly played us a filthy turn. These clippings +amount to nothing——” His eyes fell on the packet +of papers which Barres was now opening, and he leaned +over his shoulder to look.</p> +<p>“Thank God!” he said, “here they are! Where on +earth did you find these papers, Barres? They’re the +documents we were after! They ought to have been +in Lehr’s pockets!”</p> +<p>“He must have passed them to the fellow who +bumped into me near the wash-room,” said Barres, enchanted +at his luck. “What a fortunate chance that +you sent me around there!”</p> +<p>Renoux, delighted, stood under the electric light unfolding +document after document, and nodding his +handsome, mischievous head with satisfaction.</p> +<p>“What luck, Barres! What did you do to the fellow?”</p> +<p>“Thumped him to sleep and turned out his pockets. +Are these really what you want?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></div> +<p>“I should say so! This is precisely what we are +looking for!”</p> +<p>“Do you mind if I read them, too?”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t. Why should I? You’re my loyal +comrade and you understand discretion.... <i>What</i> +do you think of <i>this</i>!” displaying a typewritten document +marked “Copy,” enclosing a sheaf of maps.</p> +<p>It contained plans of all the East River and Harlem +bridges, a tracing showing the course of the new aqueduct +and the Ashokan Dam, drawings of the Navy +Yard, a map of Iona Island, and a plan of the Welland +Canal.</p> +<p>The document was brief:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“Included in report by <i>K17</i> to Diplomatic Agent controlling +Section 7-4-11-B. Recommended that detail plan +of DuPont works be made without delay.</p> +<p class='sig1'>“<span class='smcap'>Skeel.</span>”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Followed several sheets in cipher, evidently some intricate +variation of those which are always ultimately +solved by experts.</p> +<p>But the documents that were now unfolded by Captain +Renoux proved readable and intensely interesting.</p> +<p>These were the papers which Renoux read and which +Barres read over his shoulder:</p> +<blockquote> +<p class='center'>“(Copy)<br /> +<br /> +Berlin Military Telegraph Office Telegram<br /> +<br /> +Berlin. Political Division of the General Staff<br /> +Nr. Pol. 6431.<br /> +<br /> +(SECRET)<br /> +<br /> +8, Moltkestrasse,<br /> + Berlin, NW, 40.<br /> + March 20, 1916.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></div> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Ferez Bey</span>,<br /> + N. Y.</p> +<p>“Referring to your correspondence and conversations +with Colonel Skeel, I most urgently request that the necessary +funds be raised through the New York banker, Adolf +Gerhardt; also that Bernstorff be immediately informed +through Boy-Ed, so that plans of Head General Staff of +Army on campaign may not be delayed.</p> +<p>“Begin instantly enlist and train men, secure and arm +power-boat assemble equipment and explosives, Welland +Canal Exp’d’n. War Office No. 159-16, Secret U. K.:—T, +3, P.”</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class='tb' /> +<blockquote> +<p>“Foreign Office, Berlin,</p> +<p class='sig1'>“Dec. 28, 1914.</p> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Dear Sir Roger</span>:—I have the honour to acknowledge +receipt of your letter of the 23d inst., in which you submitted +to his Imperial Majesty’s Government a proposal +for the formation of an Irish brigade which would be +pledged to fight only for the cause of Irish nationalism, +and which is to be composed of any Irish prisoners of war +willing to join such a regiment.</p> +<p>“In reply I have the honour to inform you that his +Imperial Majesty’s Government agrees to your proposal +and also to the conditions under which it might be possible +to train an Irish brigade. These conditions are set out +in the declaration enclosed in your letter of the 13th inst., +and are given at foot. I have the honour to be, dear Roger, +your obedient servant,</p> +<p class='sig1'>“(Signed) <span class='smcap'>Zimmerman</span>,</p> +<p class='sig3'>“Under Secretary of State for the Foreign Office.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class='tb' /> +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>To His Honour, Sir Roger Casement</span>,<br /> + “Eden Hotel, Kurfürstendamm, Berlin.”</p> +<p class='center'>“(SECRET)</p> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Colonel Murtagh Skeel</span>,<br /> + “Flying Division, Irish Expeditionary Corps,<br /> + “New York.</p> +<p>“For your information I enclose Zimmerman’s letter to +Sir Roger, and also the text of Articles 6 and 7, being part +of our first agreement with Sir Roger Casement.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></div> +<p>“You will note particularly the Article numbered 7.</p> +<p>“This paragraph, unfortunately, still postpones your suggested +attempt to seize on the high seas a British or neutral +steamer loaded with arms and munitions, and make a +landing from her on the Irish Coast.</p> +<p>“But, in the meantime, is it not possible for you to seize +one of the large ore steamers on the Great Lakes, transfer +to her sufficient explosives, take her into the Welland Canal +and blow up the locks?</p> +<p>“No more valuable service could be performed by Irishmen; +no deadlier blow delivered at England.</p> +<p>“I am, my dear Skeel, your sincere friend and comrade,</p> +<p class='sig1'>“(Signed) <span class='smcap'>Von Papen</span>.</p> +<p>“P. S.—Herewith appended are Articles 6 and 7 included +in the Casement convention:</p> +<p class='center'>“(SECRET)</p> +<p>“Text of Articles 6 and 7 of the convention concluded +between Sir Roger Casement and the German Government:</p> +<p>“6. The German Imperial Government undertakes ‘under +certain circumstances’ to lend the Irish Brigade adequate +military support, and to send it to Ireland abundantly +supplied with arms and ammunition, in order that once +there it may equip any Irish who would like to join it in +making an attempt to re-establish Ireland’s national liberty +by force of arms.</p> +<p>“The ‘special circumstances’ stipulated above are as +follows:</p> +<p>“In case of a German naval victory which would make +it possible to reach the Irish coast, the German Imperial +Government pledges itself to despatch the Irish Brigade +and a German expeditionary corps commanded by German +officers, in German troopships, to attempt a landing on the +Irish coast.</p> +<p>“7. It will be impossible to contemplate a landing in +Ireland unless the German Navy can gain such a victory +as to make it really likely that an attempt to reach Ireland +by sea would succeed. Should the German Navy not win +such a victory, then a use will be found for the Irish +Brigade in Germany or elsewhere. But in no case will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +it be used except in such ways as Sir Roger Casement shall +approve, as being completely in accordance with Article 2.</p> +<p>“In this case the Irish Brigade might be sent to Egypt +to lend assistance in expelling the English and re-establishing +Egyptian independence.</p> +<p>“Even if the Irish Brigade should not succeed in fighting +for the liberation of Ireland from the English yoke, nevertheless +a blow dealt at the British intruders in Egypt and +intended to help the Egyptians to recover their freedom +would be a blow struck for a cause closely related to that +of Ireland.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Another paper read as follows:</p> +<blockquote> +<p class='sig2'>“Halbmondlager,<br /> + “Aug. 20th, 1915.</p> +<p class='center'>“(SECRET)”</p> +<p>“To <span class='smcap'>Murtagh Skeel, Colonel,</span><br /> + “Irish Exp. Force,<br /> + “N. Y.</p> +<p class='center'>“REPORT</p> +<p>“On June 7, fifty Irishmen, with one German subaltern, +were handed over to this camp, to be temporarily accommodated +here. On June 16 five more Irishmen arrived, +one of whom, having a broken leg, was sent to the camp +hospital. There are, therefore, fifty-four Irishmen now +here, one Sergeant Major, one Deputy Sergeant Major, +three Sergeants, three Corporals, three Lance Corporals, +and forty-three privates.</p> +<p>“They were accommodated as well as could be among +the Indian battalion, an arrangement which gives rise to +much trouble, which is inevitable, considering the tasks +imposed upon Half Moon Camp.</p> +<p>“The Irish form an Irish brigade, which was constituted +after negotiations between the Foreign Office and Sir +Roger Casement, the champion of Irish independence.</p> +<p>“Enclosed is the Foreign Office communication of Dec. +28, 1914, confirming the conditions on which the Irish +brigade was to be formed.</p> +<p>“The members of the Irish brigade are no longer German +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +prisoners of war, but receive an Irish uniform; and, +according to orders, instructions are to be issued to treat +the Irish as comrades in arms.</p> +<p>“The Irish are under the command of a German officer, +First Lieut. Boehm, the representative of the Grand General +Staff (Political Division) which is in direct communication +with the subaltern in charge of the Irish. This +subaltern has been receiving money direct, which he expends +in the interests of the Irish; 250 marks were given +him through the Commandant’s office, Zossen, and 250 marks +by First Lieut. Boehm.</p> +<p>“Promotions, also, are made known by being directly +communicated to the subaltern in question. As will appear +from the enclosed copy, dated July 20, these promotions +were as follows: (1) Sergeant Major, (2) Deputy Sergeant +Major, and (3) Sergeants.</p> +<p>“The uniforms arrived between the end of July and the +beginning of August. Their coming was announced in a +letter dated July 20 (copy enclosed), and their distribution +was ordered. The box of uniforms was addressed to +Zossen, whence it was brought here. The uniforms consist +of a jacket, trousers, and cap in Irish style, and are +of huntsman’s green cloth. Altogether, uniforms arrived +for fifty men, and they have since been given out. Three +non-commissioned officers brought their uniforms with them +from Limburg on July 16. Two photographs of the Irish +are annexed.</p> +<p>“A few Irish are in correspondence with Sir Roger +Casement, who, in a letter from Munich, dated Aug. 16, +says that he hears that the Irish are shortly to be transferred +from here to another place. In a letter dated +July 17 he complains of his want of success, only fifty men +having sent in their names as wishing to join the brigade.</p> +<p>“Six weeks ago Sir Roger Casement was here with First +Lieutenant Boehm. Since then, however, neither of these +gentlemen has personally visited the Irish.</p> +<p>“Since the 18th of June the commandant’s office has +allowed every penniless Irishman two marks a week—a +sum which is now being paid out to fifty-three men.</p> +<p>“On Aug. 6 the subaltern in charge of the Irish brigade +was given a German soldier to help him.</p> +<p>“In this camp every possible endeavour is made to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +help to attain the important objects in view, but owing +to the Irish being accommodated with coloured races within +the precincts of a closed camp, it is inevitable that serious +dissensions and acts of violence should take place. Moreover, +a German subaltern is not suited for dealing independently +with Irishmen.</p> +<p class='sig1'>“(Sgd.) <span class='smcap'>Hauptmann</span>, d. R. a. D.,</p> +<p class='sig2'>“(Retired Captain on the Reserve List).”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The last paper read as follows:</p> +<blockquote> +<p class='center'>“(COPY)</p> +<p class='center'>“(Wireless via Mexico)</p> +<p class='sig1'>“Berlin (no date).</p> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Ferez</span>,<br /> + “N. Y.</p> +<p>“Necessary close Nihla Quellen case immediately. Evidently +useless expect her take service with us. Hold you +responsible. Advise you take secret measures to end menace +to our interests in Paris. D’Eblis urges instant action. +Bolo under suspicion. Ex-minister also suspected. Only +drastic and final action on your part can end danger. You +know what to do. Do it.”</p> +<p>The telegram was signed with a string of letters and +numerals.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Renoux glanced curiously at Barres, who had turned +very red and was beginning to re-read the wireless.</p> +<p>When he finished, Renoux folded all the documents +and placed them in the breast pocket of his coat.</p> +<p>“Mon ami, Barres,” he said pleasantly, “you and +I have much yet to say to each other.”</p> +<p>“In the meanwhile, let us wash the stains of combat +from our persons. What is the number of your collar?”</p> +<p>“Fifteen and a half.”</p> +<p>“I can fit you out. The bathroom is this way, old +top!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +<a name='XXI_THE_WHITE_BLACKBIRD' id='XXI_THE_WHITE_BLACKBIRD'></a> +<h2>XXI +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />THE WHITE BLACKBIRD</span></h2> +</div> +<p>Refreshed by icy baths and clean linen, and +now further fortified against the slings and +arrows of outrageous fortune by a supper of +cold fowl and Moselle, Captain Renoux and Garret +Barres sat in the apartment of the former gentleman, +gaily exchanging Latin Quarter reminiscences through +the floating haze of their cigars.</p> +<p>But the conversation soon switched back toward the +far more serious business which alone accounted for +their being there together after many years. For, as +the French officer had remarked, a good deal remained +to be said between them. And Barres knew what he +meant, and was deeply concerned at the prospect.</p> +<p>But Renoux approached the matter with careless +good humour and by a leisurely, circuitous route, which +polite pussy-footing was obviously to prepare Barres +for impending trouble.</p> +<p>He began by referring to his mission in America, +admitting very frankly that he was a modest link in +the system of military and political intelligence maintained +by all European countries in the domains of +their neighbours.</p> +<p>“I might as well say so,” he remarked, “because it’s +known to the representatives of enemy governments +here as well as to your own Government, that some of +us are here; and anybody can imagine why.</p> +<p>“And, in the course of my—studies,” he said deliberately, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +while his clear eyes twinkled, “it has come to +my knowledge, and to the knowledge of the French +Ambassador, that there is, in New York, a young +woman who already has proven herself a dangerous +enemy to my country.”</p> +<p>“That is interesting, if true,” said Barres, reddening +to the temples. “But it is even more interesting +if it is not true.... And it isn’t!”</p> +<p>“You think not?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think anything about it, Renoux; I <i>know</i>.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid you have been misled, Barres. And it +is natural enough.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because,” said Renoux serenely, “she is very beautiful, +very clever, very young, very appealing.... +Tell me, my friend, where did you meet her?”</p> +<p>Barres looked him in the eyes:</p> +<p>“Where did you learn that I had ever met her?”</p> +<p>“Through the ordinary channels which, if you will +pardon me, I am not at liberty to discuss.”</p> +<p>“All right. It is sufficient that you know I have +met her. Now, where did I meet her?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Renoux candidly.</p> +<p>“How long have I known her then?”</p> +<p>“Possibly a few weeks. Our information is that +your acquaintance with her is not of long duration.”</p> +<p>“Wrong, my friend: I met her in France several +years ago; I know her intimately.”</p> +<p>“Yes, the intimacy has been reported,” said Renoux, +blandly. “But it doesn’t take long, sometimes.”</p> +<p>Barres reddened again and shook his head:</p> +<p>“You and your agents are all wrong, Renoux. So +is your Government. Do you know what it’s doing—what +you and your agents are doing? You’re playing +a German game for Berlin!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></div> +<p>This time Renoux flushed and there was a slight +quiver to his lips and nostrils; but he said very pleasantly:</p> +<p>“That would be rather mortifying, mon ami, if it +were true.”</p> +<p>“It is true. Berlin, the traitor in Paris, the conspirator +in America, the German, Austrian, and Turkish +diplomatic agents here ask nothing better than that +you manage, somehow, to eliminate the person in question.”</p> +<p>“Why?” demanded Renoux.</p> +<p>“Because more than one of your public men in Paris +will face charges of conspiracy and treason if the person +in question ever has a fair hearing and a chance +to prove her innocence of the terrible accusations that +have been made against her.”</p> +<p>“Naturally,” said Renoux, “those accused bring +counter charges. It is always the history of such +cases, mon ami.”</p> +<p>“Your mind is already made up, then?”</p> +<p>“My mind is a real mind, Barres. Reason is what +it seeks—the logical evidence that leads to truth. If +there is anything I don’t know, then I wish to know +it, and will spare no pains, permit no prejudice to +warp my judgment.”</p> +<p>“All right. Now, let’s have the thing out between +us, Renoux. We are not fencing in the dark; we understand +each other and are honest enough to say so. +Now, go on.”</p> +<p>Renoux nodded and said very quietly and pleasantly:</p> +<p>“The reference in one of these papers to the celebrated +Nihla Quellen reminds me of the first time I +ever saw her. I was quite bowled over, Barres, as you +may easily imagine. She sang one of those Asiatic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +songs—and then the dance!—a miracle!—a delight—apparently +entirely unprepared, unpremeditated even—you +know how she did it?—exquisite perfection—something +charmingly impulsive and spontaneous—a +caprice of the moment! Ah—there is a wonderful artiste, +Nihla Quellen!”</p> +<p>Barres nodded, his level gaze fixed on the French +officer.</p> +<p>“As for the document,” continued Renoux, “it does +not entirely explain itself to me. You see, this Eurasian, +Ferez Bey, was a very intimate friend of Nihla +Quellen.”</p> +<p>“You are quite mistaken,” interposed Barres. But +the other merely smiled with a slight gesture of deference +to his friend’s opinion, and went on.</p> +<p>“This Ferez is one of those persistent, annoying +flies which buzz around chancelleries and stir up diplomats +to pernicious activities. You know there isn’t +much use in swatting, as you say, the fly. No. Better +find the manure heap which hatched him and burn +that!”</p> +<p>He smiled and shrugged, relighted his cigar, and +continued:</p> +<p>“So, mon ami, I am here in your charming and hospitable +city to direct the necessary sanitary measures, +sub rosa, of course. You have been more than kind. +My Government and I have you to thank for this batch +of papers——” He tapped his breast pocket and +made salutes which Frenchmen alone know how to +make.</p> +<p>“Renoux,” said Barres bluntly, “you have learned +somehow that Nihla Quellen is under my protection. +You conclude I am her lover.”</p> +<p>The officer’s face altered gravely, but he said nothing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></div> +<p>Barres leaned forward in his chair and laid a hand +on his comrade’s shoulder:</p> +<p>“Renoux, do you trust me, personally?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Very well. Then I shall trust you. Because there +is nothing you can tell me about Nihla Quellen that I +do not already know—nothing concerning her <i>dossier</i> +in your secret archives, nothing in regard to the evidence +against her and the testimony of the Count +d’Eblis. And that clears the ground between you and +me.”</p> +<p>If Renoux was surprised he scarcely showed it.</p> +<p>Barres said:</p> +<p>“As long as you know that she is under my protection, +I want you to come to my place and talk to her. +I don’t ask you to accept my judgment in regard to +her; I merely wish you to listen to what she has to +say, and then come to your own conclusions. Will +you do this?”</p> +<p>For a few moments Renoux sat quite still, his clear, +intelligent eyes fixed on the smoking tip of his cigar. +Without raising them he said slowly:</p> +<p>“As we understand it, Nihla Quellen has been a +spy from the very beginning. Our information is +clear, concise, logical. We know her history. She +was the mistress of Prince Cyril, then of Ferez, then +of d’Eblis—perhaps of the American banker, Gerhardt, +also. She came directly from the German Embassy +at Constantinople to Paris, on Gerhardt’s yacht, +the <i>Mirage</i>, and under his protection and the protection +of Comte Alexandre d’Eblis.</p> +<p>“Ferez was of the party. And that companionship +of conspirators never was dissolved as long as Nihla +Quellen remained in Europe.”</p> +<p>“That Nihla Quellen has ever been the mistress of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +any man is singularly untrue,” said Barres coolly. +“Your Government has to do with a chaste woman; +and it doesn’t even know that much!”</p> +<p>Renoux regarded him curiously:</p> +<p>“You have seen her dance?” he enquired gravely.</p> +<p>“Often. And, Renoux, you are too much a man of +the world to be surprised at the unexpected. There +<i>are</i> white blackbirds.”</p> +<p>“Yes, there are.”</p> +<p>“Nihla Quellen is one.”</p> +<p>“My friend, I desire to believe it if it would be agreeable +to you.”</p> +<p>“I know, Renoux; I believe in your good-will. Also, +I believe in your honesty and intelligence. And so I +do not ask you to accept my word for what I tell you. +Only remember that I am absolutely certain concerning +my belief in Nihla Quellen.... I have no doubt +that you think I am in love with her.... I can’t +answer you. All Europe was in love with her. Perhaps +I am.... I don’t know, Renoux. But this I +do know; she is clean and sweet and honest from the +crown of her head to the sole of her foot. In her heart +there has never dwelt treachery. Talk to her to-night. +You’re like the best of your compatriots, clear minded, +logical, intelligent, and full of that legitimate imagination +without which intellect is a machine. You know +the world; you know men; you don’t know women and +you know you don’t. Therefore, you are equipped to +learn the truth—to divine it—from Nihla Quellen. +Will you come over to my place now?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Renoux pleasantly.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The orchestra was playing as they passed through +the hotel; supper rooms, corridors, café and lobby were +crowded with post-theatre throngs in search of food +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +and drink and dance music; and although few theatres +were open in July, Long Acre blazed under its myriad +lights and the sidewalks were packed with the audiences +filtering out of the various summer shows and into all-night +cabarets.</p> +<p>They looked across at the distant war bulletins displayed +on Times Square, around which the usual gesticulating +crowd had gathered, but kept on across +Long Acre, and west toward Sixth Avenue.</p> +<p>Midway in the block, Renoux touched his comrade +silently on the arm, and halted.</p> +<p>“A few minutes, mon ami, if you don’t mind—time +for you to smoke a cigarette while waiting.”</p> +<p>They had stopped before a brownstone house which +had been converted into a basement dwelling, and +which was now recessed between two modern shops constructed +as far as the building line.</p> +<p>All the shades and curtains in the house were drawn +and the place appeared to be quite dark, but a ring +at the bell brought a big, powerfully built porter, who +admitted them to a brightly lighted reception room. +Then the porter replaced the chains on the door of +bronze.</p> +<p>“Just a little while, if you will be amiable enough +to have patience,” said Renoux.</p> +<p>He went away toward the rear of the house and +Barres seated himself. And in a few moments the burly +porter reappeared with a tray containing a box of +cigarettes and a tall glass of Moselle.</p> +<p>“Monsieur Renoux will not be long,” he said, bringing +a sheaf of French illustrated periodicals to the +little table at Barres’ elbow; and he retired with a +bow and resumed his chair in the corridor by the bronze +door.</p> +<p>Through closed doors, somewhere from the rear of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +the silent house came the distant click of a typewriter. +At moments, too, looking over the war pictures in the +periodicals, Barres imagined that he heard a confused +murmur as of many voices.</p> +<p>Later it became evident that there were a number +of people somewhere in the house, because, now and +then, the porter unlatched the door and drew the +chains to let out some swiftly walking man.</p> +<p>Once two men came out together. One carried a +satchel; the other halted in the hallway to slip a clip +into an automatic pistol before dropping it into the +side pocket of his coat.</p> +<p>And after a while Renoux appeared, bland, debonaire, +evidently much pleased with whatever he had +been doing.</p> +<p>Two other men appeared in the corridor behind him; +he said something to them in a low voice; Barres imagined +he heard the words, “Washington” and “Jusserand.”</p> +<p>Then the two men went out, walking at a smart pace, +and Renoux sauntered into the tiny reception room.</p> +<p>“You don’t know,” he said, “what a very important +service you have rendered us by catching that fellow +to-night and stripping him of his papers.”</p> +<p>Barres rose and they walked out together.</p> +<p>“This city,” added Renoux, “is fairly verminous with +disloyal Huns. The streets are crawling with them; +every German resort, saloon, beer garden, keller, café, +club, society—every German drug store, delicatessen +shop, music store, tobacconist, is lousy with the treacherous +swine.</p> +<p>“There are two great hotels where the boche gathers +and plots; two great banking firms are centres of +German propaganda; three great department stores, +dozens of downtown commercial agencies; various +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +buildings and piers belonging to certain transatlantic +steamship lines, the offices of certain newspapers and +periodicals.... Tell me, Barres, did you know that +the banker, Gerhardt, owns the building in which you +live?”</p> +<p>“Dragon Court!”</p> +<p>“You didn’t know it, evidently. Yes, he owns it.”</p> +<p>“Is he really involved in pro-German intrigue?” +asked Barres.</p> +<p>“That is our information.”</p> +<p>“I ask,” continued Barres thoughtfully, “because his +summer home is at Northbrook, not far from my own +home. And to me there is something peculiarly contemptible +about disloyalty in the wealthy who owe +every penny to the country they betray.”</p> +<p>“His place is called Hohenlinden,” remarked Renoux.</p> +<p>“Yes. Are you having it watched?”</p> +<p>Renoux smiled. Perhaps he was thinking about +other places, also—the German Embassy, for example, +where, inside the Embassy itself, not only France but +also the United States Government was represented by +a secret agent among the personnel.</p> +<p>“We try to learn what goes on among the boches,” +he said carelessly. “They try the same game. But, +Barres, they are singularly stupid at such things—not +adroit, merely clumsy and brutal. The Hun cannot +camouflage his native ferocity. He reveals himself.</p> +<p>“And in that respect it is fortunate for civilisation +that it is dealing with barbarians. Their cunning is +of the swinish sort. Their stench ultimately discovers +them. You are discovering it for yourselves; you detected +Dernberg; you already sniff Von Papen, Boy-ed, +Bernstorff. All over the world the nauseous effluvia +from the vast Teutonic hog-pen is being detected and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +recognised. And civilisation is taking sanitary measures +to abate the nuisance.... And your country, +too, will one day send out a sanitary brigade to help +clean up the world, just as you now supply our details +with the necessary chlorides and antiseptics.”</p> +<p>Barres laughed:</p> +<p>“You are very picturesque,” he said. “And I’ll tell +you one thing, if we don’t join the sanitary corps now +operating, I shall go out with a bottle of chloride +myself.”</p> +<p>They entered Dragon Court a few moments later. +Nobody was at the desk, it being late.</p> +<p>“To-morrow,” said Barres, as they ascended the +stairs, “my friends, Miss Soane, Miss Dunois, and +Mr. Westmore are to be our guests at Foreland Farms. +You didn’t know that, did you?” he added sarcastically.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” replied Renoux, much amused. “Miss +Dunois, as you call her, sent her trunks away this evening.”</p> +<p>Barres, surprised and annoyed, halted on the landing:</p> +<p>“Your people didn’t interfere, I hope.”</p> +<p>“No. There was nothing in them of interest to us,” +said Renoux naïvely. “I sent a report when I sent on +to Washington the papers which you secured for us.”</p> +<p>Barres paused before his studio door, key in hand. +They could hear the gramophone going inside. He +said:</p> +<p>“I don’t have to ask you to be fair, Renoux, because +the man who is unfair to others swindles himself, and +you are too decent, too intelligent to do that. I am +going to present you to Thessalie Dunois, which happens +to be her real name, and I am going to tell her +in your presence who you are. Then I shall leave you +alone with her.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></div> +<p>He fitted his latchkey and opened the door.</p> +<p>Westmore was trying fancy dancing with Dulcie +on one side, and Thessalie on the other—the latter +evidently directing operations.</p> +<p>“Garry!” exclaimed Thessalie.</p> +<p>“You’re a fine one! Where have you been?” began +Westmore. Then he caught sight of Renoux and became +silent.</p> +<p>Barres led his comrade forward and presented +him:</p> +<p>“A fellow student of the Beaux Arts,” he explained, +“and we’ve had a very jolly evening together. And, +Thessa, there is something in particular that I should +like to have you explain to Monsieur Renoux, if you +don’t mind....” He turned and looked at Dulcie: +“If you will pardon us a moment, Sweetness.”</p> +<p>She nodded and smiled and took Westmore’s arm +again, and continued the dance alone with him while +Barres, drawing Thessalie’s arm through his, and passing +his other arm through Renoux’s, walked leisurely +through his studio, through the now open folding doors, +past his bedroom and Westmore’s, and into the latter’s +studio beyond.</p> +<p>“Thessa, dear,” he said very quietly, “I feel very +certain that the worst of your troubles are about to +end——” He felt her start slightly. “And,” he continued, +“I have brought my comrade, Renoux, here +to-night so that you and he can clear up a terrible +misunderstanding.</p> +<p>“And Monsieur Renoux, once a student of architecture +at the Beaux Arts, is now Captain Renoux of +the Intelligence Department in the French Army——”</p> +<p>Thessalie lost her colour and a tremor passed +through the arm which lay within his.</p> +<p>But he said calmly:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span></div> +<p>“It is the only way as well as the best way, Thessa. +I know you are absolutely innocent. I am confident +that Captain Renoux is going to believe it, too. If he +does not, you are no worse off. Because it has already +become known to the French Government that +you are here. Renoux knew it.”</p> +<p>They had halted; Barres led Thessalie to a seat. +Renoux, straight, deferential, correct, awaited her +pleasure.</p> +<p>She looked up at him; his keen, intelligent eyes met +hers.</p> +<p>“If you please, Captain Renoux, will you do me +the honour to be seated?” she said in a low voice.</p> +<p>Barres went to her, bent over her hand, touched it +with his lips.</p> +<p>“Just tell him the truth, Thessa, dear,” he said.</p> +<p>“Everything?” she smiled faintly, “including our +first meeting?”</p> +<p>Barres flushed, then laughed:</p> +<p>“Yes, tell him about that, too. It was too charming +for him not to appreciate.”</p> +<p>And with a half mischievous, half amused nod to +Renoux he went back to find the dancers, whom he +could hear laughing far away in his own studio.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was nearly one o’clock when Dulcie, who had been +sleeping with Thessalie, whispered to Barres that she +was ready to retire.</p> +<p>“Indeed, you had better,” he said, releasing her as +the dance music ran down and ceased. “If you don’t +get some sleep you won’t feel like travelling to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“Will you explain to Thessa?”</p> +<p>“Of course. Good-night, dear.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></div> +<p>She gave him her hand in silence, turned and offered +it to Westmore, then went away toward her room.</p> +<p>Westmore, who had been fidgeting a lot since Thessalie +had retired for a tête-à-tête with a perfectly unknown +and alarmingly good-looking young man whom +he never before had laid eyes on, finally turned short +in his restless pacing of the studio.</p> +<p>“What the deuce can be keeping Thessa?” he demanded. +“And who the devil is that black-eyed young +sprig of France you brought home with you?”</p> +<p>“Sit down and I’ll tell you,” said Barres crisply, +instinctively resenting his friend’s uncalled for solicitude +in Thessalie’s behalf.</p> +<p>So Westmore seated himself and Barres told him +all about the evening’s adventures. And he was still +lingering unctuously over the details of the battle at +Grogan’s, the recital of which, Westmore demanding, +he had begun again, when at the farther end of the +studio Thessalie appeared, coming toward them.</p> +<p>Renoux was beside her, very deferential and graceful +in his attendance, and with that niceness of attitude +which confesses respect in every movement.</p> +<p>Thessalie came forward; Barres advanced to meet +her with the unspoken question in his eyes, and she +gave him both her hands with a tremulous little smile +of happiness.</p> +<p>“Is it all right?” he whispered.</p> +<p>“I think so.”</p> +<p>Barres turned and grasped Renoux by one hand.</p> +<p>The latter said:</p> +<p>“There is not the slightest doubt in my mind, mon +ami. You were perfectly right. A frightful injustice +has been done in this matter. Of that I am absolutely +convinced.”</p> +<p>“You will do what you can to set things right?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></div> +<p>“Of course,” said Renoux simply.</p> +<p>There was a moment’s silence, then Renoux smiled:</p> +<p>“You know,” he said lightly, “we French have a +horror of any more mistakes like the Dreyfus case. +We are terribly sensitive. Be assured that my Government +will take up this affair instantly upon receiving +my report.”</p> +<p>He turned to Barres:</p> +<p>“Would you, perhaps, offer me a day’s hospitality +at your home in the country, if I should request it +by telegram sometime this week or next?”</p> +<p>“You bet,” replied Barres cordially.</p> +<p>Then Renoux made his adieux, as only such a +Frenchman can make them, saying exactly the right +thing to each, in exactly the right manner.</p> +<p>When he was gone, Barres took Thessalie’s hands +and pressed them:</p> +<p>“Pretty merle-blanc, your little friend Dulcie is already +asleep. Tell us to-morrow how you convinced +him that you are what you are—the dearest, sweetest +girl in the world!”</p> +<p>She laughed demurely, then glanced apprehensively, +sideways, at Westmore.</p> +<p>And the mute but infuriated expression on that +young man’s countenance seemed to cause her the loss +of all self-possession, for she cast one more look at +him and fled with a hasty “good-night!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +<a name='XXII_FORELAND_FARMS' id='XXII_FORELAND_FARMS'></a> +<h2>XXII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />FORELAND FARMS</span></h2> +</div> +<p>Toward three o’clock on the following afternoon +the sun opened up like a searchlight +through the veil of rain, dissolving it to a +golden haze which gradually grew thinner and thinner, +revealing glimpses of rolling country against a horizon +of low mountains.</p> +<p>About the same time the covered station wagon +turned in between the white gates of Foreland Farms, +proceeded at a smart trot up the drive, and stopped +under a dripping porte-cochère, where a smiling servant +stood waiting to lift out the luggage.</p> +<p>A trim looking man of forty odd, in soft shirt and +fawn coloured knickers, and wearing a monocle in his +right eye and a flower in his buttonhole, came out on +the porch as Barres and his guests descended.</p> +<p>“Well, Garry,” he said, “I’m glad you’re home at +last! But you’re rather late for the fishing.” And +to Westmore:</p> +<p>“How are you, Jim? Jolly to have you back! But +I regret to inform you that the fishing is very poor +just now.”</p> +<p>His son, who stood an inch or two taller than his +debonaire parent, passed one arm around his shoulders +and patted them affectionately while the easy presentations +were concluded.</p> +<p>At the same moment two women, <ins title='Was beautifuly'>beautifully</ins> mounted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +and very wet, galloped up to the porch and welcomed +Garry’s guests from their saddles in the pleasant, informal, +incurious manner characteristic of Foreland +Farm folk—a manner which seemed too amiably certain +of itself to feel responsibility for anybody or +anything else.</p> +<p>Easy, unconcerned, slender and clean-built women +these—Mrs. Reginald Barres, Garry’s mother, and her +daughter, Lee. And in their smart, rain-wet riding +clothes they might easily have been sisters, with a few +years’ difference between them, so agreeably had Time +behaved toward Mrs. Barres, so closely her fair-haired, +fair-skinned daughter resembled her.</p> +<p>They swung carelessly out of their saddles and set +spurred foot to turf, and, with Garret and his guests, +sauntered into the big living hall, where a maid waited +with wine and biscuits and the housekeeper lingered to +conduct Thessalie and Dulcie to their rooms.</p> +<p>Dulcie Soane, in her pretty travelling gown, walked +beside Mrs. Reginald Barres into the first great house +she had ever entered. Composed, but shyly enchanted, +an odd but delightful sensation possessed her that she +was where she belonged—that such environment, such +people should always have been familiar to her—were +logical and familiar to her now.</p> +<p>Mrs. Barres was saying:</p> +<p>“And if you like parties, there is always gaiety at +Northbrook. But you don’t have to go anywhere or +do anything you don’t wish to.”</p> +<p>Dulcie said, diffidently, that she liked everything, +and Mrs. Barres laughed.</p> +<p>“Then you’ll be very popular,” she said, tossing her +riding crop onto the table and stripping off her wet +gloves.</p> +<p>Barres senior was already in serious confab with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +Westmore concerning piscatorial conditions, the natural +low water of midsummer, the capricious conduct +of the trout in the streams and in the upper and lower +lakes.</p> +<p>“They won’t look at anything until sunset,” he explained, +“and then they don’t mean business. You’ll +see, Jim. I’m sorry; you should have come in June.”</p> +<p>Lee, Garret’s boyishly slim sister, had already begun +to exchange opinions about horses with Thessalie, +for both had been familiar with the saddle since childhood, +though the latter’s Cossack horsemanship and +mastery of the haute école, incident to her recent and +irregular profession, might have astonished Lee Barres.</p> +<p>Mrs. Barres was saying to Dulcie:</p> +<p>“We don’t try to entertain one another here, but +everybody seems to have a perfectly good time. The +main thing is that we all feel quite free at Foreland. +You’ll lose yourself indoors at first. The family for +a hundred years has been adding these absurd two-story +wings, so that the house wanders at random over +the landscape, and you may have to inquire your way +about in the beginning.”</p> +<p>She smiled again at Dulcie and took her hand in +both of hers:</p> +<p>“I’m sure you will like the Farms,” she said, linking +her other arm through her son’s. “I’m rather wet, +Garry,” she added, “but I think Lee and I had better +dry out in the saddle.” And to Dulcie again: “Tea +at five, if anybody wishes it. Would you like to see +your room?”</p> +<p>Thessalie, conversing with Lee, turned smilingly to +be included in the suggestion; and the maid came forward +to conduct her and Dulcie through the intricacies +of the big, casual, sprawling house, where rooms and +corridors and halls rambled unexpectedly and irrelevantly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +in every direction, and one vista seemed to terminate +in another.</p> +<p>When they had disappeared, the Barres family +turned to inspect its son and heir with habitual and +humorous insouciance, commenting frankly upon his +personal appearance and concluding that his health +still remained all that could be desired by the most solicitous +of parents and sisters.</p> +<p>“There are rods already rigged up in the work-room,” +remarked his father, “if you and your guests +care to try a dry-fly this evening. As for me, you’ll +find me somewhere around the upper lake, if you care +to look for me——”</p> +<p>He fished out of his pocket a bewildering tangle of +fine mist-leaders, and, leisurely disentangling them, +strolled toward the porch, still talking:</p> +<p>“There’s only one fly they deign to notice, now—a +dust-coloured midge tied in reverse with no hackle, +no tinsel, a May-fly tail, and barred canary wing——” +He nodded wisely over his shoulder at his son and +Westmore, as though sharing with them a delightful +secret of world-wide importance, and continued on +toward the porch, serenely interested in his tangled +leaders.</p> +<p>Garret glanced at his mother and sister; they both +laughed. He said:</p> +<p>“Dad is one of those rarest of modern beings, a genuine +angler of the old school. After all the myriad +trout and salmon he has caught in a career devoted to +fishing, the next fish he catches gives him just as fine +a thrill as did the very first one he ever hooked! It’s +quite wonderful, isn’t it, mother?”</p> +<p>“It’s probably what keeps him so youthful,” remarked +Westmore. “The thing to do is to have something +to do. That’s the elixir of youth. Look at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +your mother, Garry. She’s had a busy handful bringing +you up!”</p> +<p>Garret looked at his slender, attractive mother and +laughed again:</p> +<p>“Is that what keeps you so young and pretty, +mother?—looking after me?”</p> +<p>“Alas, Garry, I’m over forty, and I look it!”</p> +<p>“Do you?—you sweet little thing!” he interrupted, +picking her up suddenly from the floor and marching +proudly around the room with her. “Gaze upon my +mother, Jim! Isn’t she cunning? Isn’t she the smartest +little thing in America? Behave yourself, mother! +Your grateful son is showing you off to the appreciative +young gentleman from New York——”</p> +<p>“You’re ridiculous! Jim! Make him put me down!”</p> +<p>But her tall son swung her to his shoulder and placed +her high on the mantel shelf over the huge fireplace; +where she sat beside the clock, charming, resentful, +but helpless, her spurred boots dangling down.</p> +<p>“Come on, Lee!” cried her brother, “I’m going to +put you up beside her. That mantel needs ornamental +bric-a-brac and objets d’art——”</p> +<p>Lee turned to escape, but her brother cornered and +caught her, and swung her high, seating her beside his +indignant mother.</p> +<p>“Just as though we were two Angora kittens,” remarked +Lee, sidling along the stone shelf toward her +mother. Then she glanced out through the open front +door. “Lift us down, quick, Garry. You’d better! +The horses are in the flower beds and there’ll be no +more bouquets for the table in another minute!”</p> +<p>So he lifted them off the mantel and they hastily +departed, each administering correction with her riding +crop as she dodged past him and escaped.</p> +<p>“If your guests want horses you know where to find +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +them!” called back his sister from the porch. And +presently she and his mother, securely mounted, went +cantering away across country, where grass and fern +and leaf and blossom were glistening in the rising +breeze, weighted down with diamond drops of rain.</p> +<p>Westmore walked leisurely toward his quarters, to +freshen up and don knickers. Garret followed him into +the west wing, whistling contentedly under his breath, +inspecting each remembered object with great content +as he passed, nodding smilingly to the servants he encountered, +lingering on the landing to acknowledge the +civilities of the ancient family cat, who recognised him +with effusion but coyly fled the advances of Westmore, +ignoring all former and repeated introductions.</p> +<p>Their rooms adjoined and they conversed through +the doorway while engaged in ablutions.</p> +<p>Presently, from behind his sheer sash-curtains, Westmore +caught sight of Thessalie on the west terrace below. +She wore a shell-pink frock and a most distractingly +pretty hat; and he hurried his dressing as much +as he could without awaking Garret’s suspicions.</p> +<p>A few minutes later, radiant in white flannels, he +appeared on the terrace, breathing rather fast but +wreathed in persuasive smiles.</p> +<p>“I know this place; I’ll take you for a walk where +you won’t get your shoes wet. Shall I?” he suggested, +with all his guile and cunning quite plain to Thessalie, +and his purpose perfectly transparent to her smiling +eyes.</p> +<p>But she consented prettily, and went with him without +demurring, picking her way over the stepping-stone +walk with downcast gaze and the trace of a smile on +her lips—a smile as delicately indefinable as the fancy +which moved her to accept this young man’s headlong +advances—which had recognized them and accepted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +them from the first. But why, she did not even yet +understand.</p> +<p>“Agreeable weather, isn’t it?” said Westmore, fatuously +revealing his present paucity of ideas apart from +those which concerned the wooing of her. And he was +an intelligent young man at that, and a sculptor of +attainment, too. But now, in his infatuated head, +there remained room only for one thought, the thought +of this girl who walked so demurely and daintily beside +him over the flat, grass-set stepping stones toward +the three white pines on the little hill.</p> +<p>For it had been something or other at first sight with +Westmore—love, perhaps—anyway that is what he +called the mental chaos which now disorganised him. +And it was certain that something happened to him the +first time he laid eyes on Thessalie Dunois. He knew +it, and she could not avoid seeing it, so entirely naïve +his behaviour, so utterly guileless his manœuvres, so +direct, unfeigned and childish his methods of approach.</p> +<p>At moments she felt nervous and annoyed by his +behaviour; at other times apprehensive and helpless, +as though she were responsible for something that did +not know how to take care of itself—something immature, +irrational, and entirely at her mercy. And it +may have been the feminine response to this increasing +sense of obligation—the confused instinct to guide, admonish +and protect—that began being the matter with +her.</p> +<p>Anyway, from the beginning the man had a certain +fascination for her, unwillingly divined on her part, yet +specifically agreeable even to the point of exhilaration. +Also, somehow or other, the girl realised he had a brain.</p> +<p>And yet he was a pitiably hopeless case; for even +now he was saying such things as:</p> +<p>“Are you quite sure that your feet are dry? I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +should never forgive myself, Thessa, if you took cold.... +Are you tired?... How wonderful it is to be +here alone with you, and strive to interpret the mystery +of your mind and heart! Sit here under the pines. +I’ll spread my coat for you.... Nature is wonderful, +isn’t it, Thessa?”</p> +<p>And when she gravely consented to seat herself he +dropped recklessly onto the wet pine needles at her +feet, and spoke with imbecile delight again of nature—of +how wonderful were its protean manifestations, +and how its beauties were not meant to be enjoyed +alone but in mystic communion with another who understood.</p> +<p>It was curious, too, but this stuff seemed to appeal +to her, some commonplace chord within her evidently +responding. She sighed and looked at the mountains. +They really were miracles of colour—masses of purest +cobalt, now, along the horizon.</p> +<p>But perhaps the trite things they uttered did not +really matter; probably it made no difference to them +what they said. And even if he had murmured: +“There are milestones along the road to Dover,” she +might have responded: “There was an old woman +who lived in a shoe”; and neither of them would have +heard anything at all except the rapid, confused, and +voiceless conversation of two youthful human hearts +beating out endless questions and answers that never +moved their smiling lips. There was the mystery, if +any—the constant wireless current under the haphazard +flow of words.</p> +<p>There was no wind in the pines; meadow and pasture, +woodland and swale stretched away at their feet +to the distant, dark-blue hills. And all around them +hung the rain-washed fragrance of midsummer under +a still, cloudless sky.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></div> +<p>“It seems impossible that there can be war anywhere +in the world,” she said.</p> +<p>“You know,” he began, “it’s getting on my nerves +the way those swine from the Rhine are turning this +decent green world into a bloody wallow! Unless we +do something about it pretty soon, I think I’ll go +over.”</p> +<p>She looked up:</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“To France.”</p> +<p>She remained silent for a while, merely lifting her +dark eyes to him at intervals; then she grew preoccupied +with other thoughts that left her brows bent +slightly inward and her mouth very grave.</p> +<p>He gazed reflectively out over the fields and woods:</p> +<p>“Yes, I can’t stand it much longer,” he mused aloud.</p> +<p>“What would you do there?” she inquired.</p> +<p>“Anything. I could drive a car. But if they’ll +take me in some Canadian unit—or one of the Foreign +Legions—it would suit me.... You know a man can’t +go on just living in the world while this beastly business +continues—can’t go on eating and sleeping and +shaving and dressing as though half of civilisation were +not rolling in agony and blood, stabbed through and +through——”</p> +<p>His voice caught—he checked himself and slowly +passed his hand over his smoothly shaven face.</p> +<p>“Those splendid poilus,” he said; “where they stand +we Americans ought to be standing, too.... God +knows why we hesitate.... I can’t tell you what we +think.... Some of us—don’t agree—with the Administration.”</p> +<p>His jaws snapped on the word; he stared out through +the sunshine at the swallows, now skimming the uncut +hay fields in their gusty evening flight.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div> +<p>“Are you really going?” she asked, at length.</p> +<p>“Yes. I’ll wait a little while longer to see what my +country is going to do. If it doesn’t stir during the +next month or two, I shall go. I think Garry will go, +too.”</p> +<p>She nodded.</p> +<p>“Of course,” he remarked, “we’d prefer our own +flag, Garry and I. But if it is to remain furled——” +He shrugged, picked a spear of grass, and sat brooding +and breaking it into tiny pieces.</p> +<p>“The only thing that troubles me,” he went on presently, +keeping his gaze riveted on his busy fingers, “the +only thing that worries me is you!”</p> +<p>“Me?” she exclaimed softly. And an inexplicable +little thrill shot through her.</p> +<p>“You,” he repeated. “You worry me to death.”</p> +<p>She considered him a moment, her lips parted as +though she were about to say something, but it remained +unsaid, and a slight colour came into her cheeks.</p> +<p>“What am I to do about you?” he went on, apparently +addressing the blade of grass he was staring at. +“I can’t leave you as matters stand.”</p> +<p>She said:</p> +<p>“Please, you are not responsible for me, are you?” +And tried to laugh, but scarcely smiled.</p> +<p>“I want to be,” he muttered. “I desire to be entirely——”</p> +<p>“Thank you. You have been more than kind. And +very soon I hope I shall be on happy terms with my +own Government again. Then your solicitude should +cease.”</p> +<p>“If your Government listens to reason——”</p> +<p>“Then I also could go to France!” she interrupted. +“Merely to think of it excites me beyond words!”</p> +<p>He looked up quickly:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></div> +<p>“You wish to go back?”</p> +<p>“Of course!”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“How can you ask that! If you had been a disgraced +exile as I have been, as I still am—and falsely +accused of shameful things—annoyed, hounded, blackmailed, +offered bribes, constantly importuned to become +what I am not—a traitor to my own people—would +you not be wildly happy to be proven innocent? +Would you not be madly impatient to return and prove +your devotion to your own land?”</p> +<p>“I understand,” he said in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Of course you understand. Do you imagine that +I, a French girl, would have remained here in shameful +security if I could have gone back to France and +helped? I would have done anything—anything, I +tell you—scrubbed the floors of hospitals, worked my +fingers to the bone——”</p> +<p>“I’ll wait till you go,” he said.... “They’ll clear +your record very soon, I expect. I’ll wait. And we’ll +go together. Shall we, Thessa?”</p> +<p>But she had not seemed to hear him; her dark eyes +grew remote, her gaze swept the sapphire distance. +It was his hand laid lightly over hers that aroused her, +and she withdrew her fingers with a frown of remonstrance.</p> +<p>“Won’t you let me speak?” he said. “Won’t you +let me tell you what my heart tells me?”</p> +<p>She shook her head slowly:</p> +<p>“I don’t desire to hear yet—I don’t know where my +own heart—or even my mind is—or what I think about—anything. +Please be reasonable.” She stole a look +at him to see how he was taking it, and there was concern +enough in her glance to give him a certain amount +of hope had he noticed it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span></div> +<p>“You like me, Thessa, don’t you?” he urged.</p> +<p>“Have I not admitted it? Do you know that you +are becoming a serious responsibility to me? You +worry me, too! You are like a boy with all your emotions +reflected on your features and every thought perfectly +unconcealed and every impulse followed by unconsidered +behaviour.</p> +<p>“Be reasonable. I have asked it a hundred times +of you in vain. I shall ask it, probably, innumerable +times before you comply with my request. Don’t show +so plainly that you imagine yourself in love. It embarrasses +me, it annoys Garry, and I don’t know what +his family will think——”</p> +<p>“But if I <i>am</i> in love, why not——”</p> +<p>“Does one advertise all one’s most intimate and secret +and—and sacred emotions?” she interrupted in +sudden and breathless annoyance. “It is not the way +that successful courtship is conducted, I warn you! +It is not delicate, it is not considerate, it is not sensible.... +And I <i>do</i> want you to—to be always—sensible +and considerate. I <i>want</i> to like you.”</p> +<p>He looked at her in a sort of dazed way:</p> +<p>“I’ll try to please you,” he said. “But it seems to +confuse me—being so suddenly bowled over—a thing +like that rather knocks a man out—so unexpected, you +know!—and there isn’t much use pretending,” he went +on excitedly. “I can’t see anybody else in the world +except you! I can’t think of anybody else! I’m +madly in love—blindly, desperately——”</p> +<p>“Oh, please, <i>please</i>!” she remonstrated. “I’m not +a girl to be taken by storm! I’ve seen too much—lived +too much! I’m not a Tzigane to be galloped +alongside of and swung to a man’s saddle-bow! Also, +I shall tell you one thing more. Happiness and laughter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +are necessities to me! And they seem to be becoming +extinct in you.”</p> +<p>“Hang it!” he demanded tragically, “how can I +laugh when I’m in love!”</p> +<p>At that a sudden, irresponsible little peal of laughter +parted her lips.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear!” she said, “you <i>are</i> funny! Is it a matter +of prayer and fasting, then, this gloomy sentiment +which you say you entertain for me? I don’t know +whether to be flattered or vexed—you are <i>so</i> funny!” +And her laughter rang out again, clear and uncontrolled.</p> +<p>The girl was quite irresistible in her care-free gaiety; +her lovely face and delicious laughter no man +could utterly withstand, and presently a faint grin +became visible on his features.</p> +<p>“Now,” she cried gaily, “you are becoming human +and not a Grecian mask or a gargoyle! Remain so, +mon ami, if you expect me to wish you good luck +in your love—your various affairs——” She blushed +as she checked herself. But he said very quickly:</p> +<p>“Will you wish me luck, Thessa, in my various love +affairs?”</p> +<p>“How many have you on hand?”</p> +<p>“Exactly one. Do you wish me a sporting chance? +Do you, Thessa?”</p> +<p>“Why—yes——”</p> +<p>“Will you wish me good luck in my courtship of +you?”</p> +<p>The quick colour again swept her cheeks at that, +but she laughed defiantly:</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “I wish you luck in that, also. +Only remember this—whether you win or lose you must +laugh. <i>That</i> is good sportsmanship. Do you promise? +Very well! Then I wish you the best of luck +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +in your—various—courtships! And may the girl you +win at least know how to laugh!”</p> +<p>“She certainly does,” he said so naïvely that they +both gave way to laughter again, finding each other +delightfully absurd.</p> +<p>“It’s the key to my heart, laughter—in case you are +looking for the key,” she said daringly. “The world +is a grim scaffold, mon ami; mount it gaily and go +to the far gods laughing. Tell me, is there a better +way to go?”</p> +<p>“No; it’s the right way, Thessa. I shan’t be a +gloom any more. Come on; let’s walk! What if you +do get your bally shoes wet! I’m through mooning +and fussing and worrying over you, young lady! +You’re as sturdy and vigorous as I am. After all, +it’s a comrade a man wants in the world—not a white +mouse in cotton batting! Come! Are you going for +a brisk walk across country? Or are you a white +mouse?”</p> +<p>She stood up in her dainty shoes and frail gown +and cast a glance of hurt reproach at him.</p> +<p>“Don’t be brutal,” she said. “I’m not dressed to +climb trees and fences with you.”</p> +<p>“You won’t come?”</p> +<p>Their eyes met in silent conflict for a few moments. +Then she said: “Please don’t make me.... It’s such +a darling gown, Jim.”</p> +<p>A wave of deep happiness enveloped him and he +laughed: “All right,” he said, “I won’t ask you to +spoil your frock!” And he spread his coat on the pine +needles for her once more.</p> +<p>She considered the situation for a few moments before +she sat down. But she did seat herself.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said, “we are going to discuss a situation. +This is the situation: I am deeply in love. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +you’re quite right, it’s no funeral; it’s a joyous thing +to be in love. It’s a delight, a gaiety, a happy enchantment. +Isn’t it?”</p> +<p>She cast a rather shy and apprehensive glance at +him, but nodded slightly.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said, “I’m in love, and I’m happy +and proud to be in love. What I wish then, naturally, +is marriage, a home, children——”</p> +<p>“Please, Jim!”</p> +<p>“But I can’t have ’em! Why? Because I’m going +to France. And the girl I wish to marry is going also. +And while I bang away at the boche she makes herself +useful in canteens, rest-houses, hospitals, orphanages, +everywhere, in fact, where she is needed.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And after it’s all over—all over—and ended——”</p> +<p>“Yes?”</p> +<p>“Then—then if she finds out that she loves me——”</p> +<p>“Yes, Jim—if she finds that out.... And thank +you for—asking me—so sweetly.”... She turned +sharply and looked out over a valley suddenly blurred.</p> +<p>For it had been otherwise with her in years gone +by, and men had spoken then quite as plainly but differently. +Only d’Eblis, burnt out, done for, and obsessed, +had wearily and unwillingly advanced that far.... And +Ferez, too; but that was unthinkable of a +creature in whom virtue and vice were of the same virus.</p> +<p>Looking blindly out over the valley she said:</p> +<p>“If my Government deals justly with me, then I +shall go to France with you as your comrade. If I +ever find that I love you I will be your wife.... Until +then——” She stretched out her hand, not looking +around at him; and they exchanged a quick, firm +clasp.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></div> +<p>And so matters progressed between, these two—rather +ominously for Barres, in case he entertained +any really serious sentiments in regard to Thessalie. +And, recently, he had been vaguely conscious that he +entertained something or other concerning the girl +which caused him to look with slight amazement and +unsympathetic eyes upon the all too obvious behaviour +of his comrade Westmore.</p> +<p>At present he was standing in the summer house +which terminated the blossoming tunnel of the rose arbour, +watching water falling into a stone basin from +the fishy mouth of a wall fountain, and wondering +where Thessalie and Westmore had gone.</p> +<p>Dulcie, in a thin white frock and leghorn hat, roaming +entranced and at hazard over lawn and through +shrubbery and garden, encountered him there, still +squinting abstractedly at the water spout.</p> +<p>It was the first time the girl had seen him since their +arrival at Foreland Farms. And now, as she paused +under the canopy of fragrant rain-drenched roses and +looked at this man who had made all this possible for +her, she suddenly felt the change within herself, fitting +her for it all—a subtle metamorphosis completing +itself within her—the final accomplishment of a +transmutation, deep, radical, permanent.</p> +<p>For her, the stark, starved visage which Life had +worn had relaxed; in the grim, forbidding wall which +had closed her horizon, a door opened, showing a corner +of a world where she knew, somehow, she belonged.</p> +<p>And in her heart, too, a door seemed to open, and +her youthful soul stepped out of it, naked, fearless, +quite certain of itself and, for the first time during +their brief and earthly partnership, quite certain of +the body wherein it dwelt.</p> +<p>He was thinking of Thessalie when Dulcie came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +up and stood beside him, looking down into the water +where a few goldfish swam.</p> +<p>“Well, Sweetness,” he said, brightening, “you look +very wonderful in white, with that big hat on your very +enchanting red hair.”</p> +<p>“I feel both wonderful and enchanted,” she said, +lifting her eyes. “I shall live in the country some day.”</p> +<p>“Really?” he said smiling.</p> +<p>“Yes, when I earn enough money. Do you remember +the crazy way Strindberg rolls around? Well, I +feel like doing it on that lawn.”</p> +<p>“Go ahead and do it,” he urged. But she only +laughed and chased the goldfish around the basin with +gentle fingers.</p> +<p>“Dulcie,” he said, “you’re unfolding, you’re blossoming, +you’re developing feminine snap and go and +pep and je-ne-sais-quoi.”</p> +<p>“You’re teasing. But I believe I’m very feminine—and +mature—though you don’t think so.”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t think you’re exactly at an age called +well-preserved,” he said, laughing. He took her hands +and drew her up to confront him. “You’re not too +old to have me as a playmate, Sweetness, are you?”</p> +<p>She seemed to be doubtful.</p> +<p>“What! Nonsense! And you’re not too old to be +bullied and coaxed and petted——”</p> +<p>“Yes, I am.”</p> +<p>“And you’re not too old to pose for me——”</p> +<p>She grew pink and looked down at the submerged +goldfish. And, keeping her eyes there:</p> +<p>“I wanted to ask you,” she said, “how much longer +you think you would require me—that way.”</p> +<p>There was a silence. Then she looked at him out +of her frank grey eyes.</p> +<p>“You know I’ll do what you wish,” she said. “And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +I know it is quite all right....” She smiled at him. +“I belong to you: you made me.... And you know +all about me. So you ought to use me as you wish.”</p> +<p>“You don’t want to pose?” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes, except——”</p> +<p>“Very well.”</p> +<p>“Are you annoyed?”</p> +<p>“No, Sweetness. It’s all right.”</p> +<p>“You are annoyed—disappointed! And I won’t +have it. I—I couldn’t stand it—to have you displeased——”</p> +<p>He said pleasantly:</p> +<p>“I’m not displeased, Dulcie. And there’s no use +discussing it. If you have the slightest feeling that +way, when we go back to town I’ll do things like the +Arethusa from somebody else——”</p> +<p>“Please don’t!” she exclaimed in such naïve alarm +that he began to laugh and she blushed vividly.</p> +<p>“Oh, you are feminine, all right!” he said. “If it +isn’t to be you it isn’t to be anybody.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t mean that.... <i>Yes</i>, I did!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Dulcie! Shame! <i>You</i> jealous!—even to the +verge of sacrificing your own feelings——”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what it is, but I’d rather you used +me for your Arethusa. You know,” she added wistfully, +“that we began it together.”</p> +<p>“Right, Sweetness. And we’ll finish it together or +not at all. Are you satisfied?”</p> +<p>She smiled, sighed, nodded. He released her lovely, +childlike hands and she walked to the doorway of the +summer house and looked out over the wall-bed, where +tall thickets of hollyhock and blue larkspur stretched +away in perspective toward a grove of trees and a little +pond beyond.</p> +<p>His painter’s eye, already busy with the beauty of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +her face and figure against the riot of flowers, and +almost mechanically transposing both into terms of +colour and value, went blind suddenly as she turned +and looked at him.</p> +<p>And for the first time—perhaps with truer vision—he +became aware of what else this young girl was +besides a satisfying combination of tint and contour—this +lithe young thing palpitating with life—this +slender, gently breathing girl with her grey eyes meeting +his so candidly—this warm young human being +who belonged more truly in the living scheme of things +than she did on painted canvas or in marble.</p> +<p>From this unexpected angle, and suddenly, he found +himself viewing her for the first time—not as a plaything, +not as a petted model, not as an object appealing +to his charity, not as an experiment in altruism—nor +sentimentally either, nor as a wistful child without +a childhood.</p> +<p>Perhaps, to him, she had once been all of these. He +looked at her with other eyes now, beginning, possibly, +to realise something of the terrific responsibility he +was so lightly assuming.</p> +<p>He got up from his bench and went over to her; +and the girl turned a trifle pale with excitement and +delight.</p> +<p>“Why did you come to me?” she asked breathlessly.</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Did you know I was trying to make you get up +and come to me?”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Yes! Isn’t it curious? I looked at you and kept +thinking, ‘I want you to get up and come to me! I +want you to <i>come</i>! I <i>want</i> you!’ And suddenly you +got up and came!”</p> +<p>He looked at her out of curious, unsmiling eyes:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span></div> +<p>“It’s your turn, after all, Dulcie.”</p> +<p>“How is it my turn?”</p> +<p>“I drew you—in the beginning,” he said slowly.</p> +<p>There was a silence. Then, abruptly, her heart +began to beat very rapidly, scaring her dumb with its +riotous behaviour. When at length her consternation +subsided and her irregular breathing became composed, +she said, quite calmly:</p> +<p>“You and all that you are and believe in and care +for very naturally attracted me—drew me one evening +to your open door.... It will always be the +same—you, and what of life and knowledge you represent—will +never fail to draw me.”</p> +<p>“But—though I am just beginning to divine it—you +also drew <i>me</i>, Dulcie.”</p> +<p>“How could that be?”</p> +<p>“You did. You do still. I am just waking up to +that fact. And that starts me wondering what I’d +do without you.”</p> +<p>“You don’t have to do without me,” she said, instinctively +laying her hand over her heart; it was beating +so hard and, she feared, so loud. “You can always +have me when you wish. You know that.”</p> +<p>“For a while, yes. But some day, when——”</p> +<p>“Always!”</p> +<p>He laughed without knowing why.</p> +<p>“You’ll marry some day, Sweetness,” he insisted.</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes you will——”</p> +<p>“No!”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>But she only looked away and shook her head. And +the silent motion of dissent gave him an odd sense of +relief.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +<a name='XXIII_A_LION_IN_THE_PATH' id='XXIII_A_LION_IN_THE_PATH'></a> +<h2>XXIII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />A LION IN THE PATH</span></h2> +</div> +<p>With the decline of day came enough of a +chill to spin a delicate cobweb of mist across +the country and cover forests and hills with +a bluish bloom.</p> +<p>The sunset had become a splashy crimson affair, perhaps +a bit too theatrical. In the red blaze Thessalie +and Westmore came wandering down from the three +pines on the hill, and found Barres on the lawn scowling +at the celestial conflagration in the west, and Dulcie +seated near on the fountain rim, silent, distrait, +watching the scarlet ripples spreading from the plashing +central jet.</p> +<p>“You can’t paint a thing like that, Garry,” remarked +Westmore. Barres looked around:</p> +<p>“I don’t want to. Where have you been, Thessa?”</p> +<p>“Under those pines over there. We supposed you’d +see us and come up.”</p> +<p>Barres glanced at her with an inscrutable expression; +Dulcie’s grey eyes rested on Barres. Thessalie +walked over to the reddened pool.</p> +<p>“It’s like a prophecy of blood, that water,” she +said. “And over there the world is in flames.”</p> +<p>“The Western World,” added Westmore, “I hope +it’s an omen that we shall soon catch fire. How long +are you going to wait, Garry?”</p> +<p>Barres started to answer, but checked himself, and +glanced across at Dulcie without knowing exactly why.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span></div> +<p>“I don’t know,” he said irresolutely. “I’m fed up +now.... But——” he continued to look vaguely at +Dulcie, as though something of his uncertainty remotely +concerned her.</p> +<p>“I’m ready to go over when you are,” remarked +Westmore, placidly smiling at Thessalie, who immediately +presented her pretty profile to him and settled +down on the fountain rim beside Dulcie.</p> +<p>“Darling,” she said, “it’s about time to dress. Are +you going to wear that enchanting white affair we discovered +at <ins title="Was Mendel's">Mandel’s</ins>?”</p> +<p>Barres senior came sauntering out of the woods and +through the wall gate, switching a limber rod reflectively. +He obligingly opened his creel and displayed +half a dozen long, slim trout.</p> +<p>“They all took that midge fly I described to you this +afternoon,” he said, with the virtuous satisfaction of +all prophets.</p> +<p>Everybody inspected the crimson-flecked fish while +Barres senior stood twirling his monocle.</p> +<p>“Are we dining at home?” inquired his son.</p> +<p>“I believe so. There is a guest of honour, if I recollect—some +fellow they’re lionising—I don’t remember.... +And one or two others—the Gerhardts, I +believe.”</p> +<p>“Then we’d better dress, I think,” said Thessalie, +encircling Dulcie’s waist.</p> +<p>“Sorry,” said Barres senior, “hoped to take you +young ladies out on the second lake and let you try +for a big fish this evening.”</p> +<p>He walked across the lawn beside them, switching his +rod as complacently as a pleased cat twitches its tail.</p> +<p>“We’ll try it to-morrow evening,” he continued reassuringly, +as though all their most passionate hopes +had been bound up in the suggested sport; “it’s rather +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +annoying—I can’t remember who’s dining with us—some +celebrated Irishman—poet of sorts—literary +chap—guest of the Gerhardts—neighbours, you know. +It’s a nuisance to bother with dinner when the trout +rise only after sunset.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you ever dine willingly, Mr. Barres, while +the trout are rising?” inquired Thessalie, laughing.</p> +<p>“Never willingly,” he replied in a perfectly sincere +voice. “I prefer to remain near the water and have +a bit of supper when I return.” He smiled at Thessalie +indulgently. “No doubt it amuses you, but I +wager that you and little Miss Soane here will feel +exactly as I do after you’ve caught your first big +trout.”</p> +<p>They entered the house together, followed by Garry +and Westmore.</p> +<p>A dim, ruddy glow still lingered in the quiet rooms; +every window glass was still lighted by the sun’s smouldering +ashes sinking in the west; no lamps had yet +been lighted on the ground floor.</p> +<p>“It’s the magic hour on the water,” Barres senior +confided to Dulcie, “and here I am, doomed to a stiff +shirt and table talk. In other words, nailed!” And +he gave her a mysterious, melancholy, but significant +look as though she alone were really fitted to understand +the distressing dilemmas of an angler.</p> +<p>“Would it be too late to fish after dinner?” ventured +Dulcie. “I’d love to go with you——”</p> +<p>“Would you, really!” he exclaimed, warmly grateful. +“That is the spirit I admire in a girl! It’s human, +it’s discriminating! And yet, do you know, nobody +except myself in this household seems to care +very much about angling? And, actually, I don’t believe +there is another soul in this entire house who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +would care to miss dinner for the sake of landing the +finest trout in the second lake!—unless you would?”</p> +<p>“I really would!” said Dulcie, smiling. “Please try +me, Mr. Barres.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I shall! I’ll give you one of my pet rods, +too! I’ll——”</p> +<p>The rich, metallic murmur of a temple gong broke +out in the dim quiet of the house. It was the dressing +bell.</p> +<p>“We’ll talk it over at dinner—if they’ll let me sit +by you,” whispered Barres senior. And with the smile +and the cautionary gesture of the true conspirator, he +went away in the demi-light.</p> +<p>Thessalie came from the bay window, where she had +been with Westmore and Garry, and she and Dulcie +walked away toward the staircase hall, leisurely followed +by the two men who, however, turned again into +the western wing.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Dulcie was the first to reappear and descend the +stairs of the north wing—a willowy white shape in the +early dusk, slim as a young spirit in the lamplit silence.</p> +<p>Nobody else had come down; a maid was turning +up a lamp here and there; the plebeian family cat came +out of the shadows from somewhere and made advances +as though divining that this quiet stranger was a +friend to cats.</p> +<p>So Dulcie stooped to pet her, then wandered on +through the place and finally into the music room, where +she seated herself at the piano and touched the keys +softly in the semi-dusk.</p> +<p>Among the songs—words and music—which her +mother had left in manuscript, was one which she had +learned recently,—“Blue Eyes”—and she played the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +air now, seated there all alone in the subdued lamp +light.</p> +<p>Presently people began to appear from above—Mrs. +Barres, who motioned her not to rise, and who seated +herself near, watching the girl’s slender fingers moving +on the keys; then Lee, who came and stood beside +her, followed in a few moments by Thessalie and the +two younger men.</p> +<p>“What is that lovely little air you are playing?” +inquired Mrs. Barres.</p> +<p>“It is called ‘Blue Eyes,’” said Dulcie, absently.</p> +<p>“I have never before heard it.”</p> +<p>The girl looked up:</p> +<p>“No, my mother wrote it.”</p> +<p>After a silence:</p> +<p>“It is really exquisite,” said Mrs. Barres. “Are +there words to it?”</p> +<p>Some people had come into the entrance hall beyond; +there was the low whirring of an automobile +outside.</p> +<p>“Yes, my mother made some verses for it,” replied +Dulcie.</p> +<p>“Will you sing them for me after dinner?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I shall be happy to.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Barres turned to welcome her new guests, now +entering the music room convoyed by Barres senior, who +was arrayed in the dreaded “stiff shirt” and already +indulging in “table talk.”</p> +<p>“They took,” he was explaining, “a midge-fly with +no hackle—Claire, here are the Gerhardts and Mr. +Skeel!” And while his wife welcomed them and introductions +were effected, he continued explaining the construction +of the midge to anybody who listened.</p> +<p>At the first mention of Murtagh Skeel’s name, the +glances of Westmore, Garry and Thessalie crossed like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +lightning, then their attention became riveted on this +tall, graceful, romantic looking man of early middle +age, who was being lionised at Northbrook.</p> +<p>The next moment Garry stepped back beside Dulcie +Soane, who had turned white as a flower and was +gazing at Skeel as though she had seen a ghost.</p> +<p>“Do you suppose he can be the same man your +mother knew?” he whispered, dropping his arm and +taking her trembling hand in a firm clasp.</p> +<p>“I don’t know.... I seem to feel so.... I can’t +explain to you how it pierced my heart—the sound +of his name.... Oh, Garry!—suppose it is true—that +he is the man my mother knew—and cared for!”</p> +<p>Before he could speak, cocktails were served, and +Adolf Gerhardt, a large, bearded, pompous man, engaged +him in explosive conversation:</p> +<p>“Yes, this fellow Corot Mandel is producing a new +spectacle-play on my lawn to-morrow evening. Your +family and your guests are invited, of course. And +for the dance, also——” He included Dulcie in a +pompous bow, finished his cocktail with another flourish:</p> +<p>“You will find my friend Skeel very attractive,” he +went on. “You know who he is?—<i>the</i> Murtagh Skeel +who writes those Irish poems of the West Coast—and +is not, I believe, very well received in England +just now—a matter of nationalism—patriotism, eh? +Why should it surprise your Britisher, eh?—if a gentleman +like Murtagh Skeel displays no sympathy for +England?—if a gentleman like my friend, Sir Roger +Casement, prefers to live in Germany?”</p> +<p>Garry, under his own roof, said pleasantly:</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t do for us to discuss those things, I +fear, Mr. Gerhardt. And your Irish lion seems to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +be very gentle and charming. He must be fascinating +to women.”</p> +<p>Gerhardt threw up his hands:</p> +<p>“Oh, Lord! They would like to eat him! Or be +eaten by him! You know? It is that way always +between the handsome poet and the sex. Which eats +which is of no consequence, so long as they merge. +Eh?” And his thunderous laughter set the empty +glasses faintly ringing on the butler’s silver tray.</p> +<p>Garry spoke to Mrs. Gerhardt, a large, pallid, +slabby German who might have been somebody’s +kitchen maid, but had been born a <i>von</i>.</p> +<p>Later, as dinner was announced, he contrived to +speak to Thessalie aside:</p> +<p>“Gerhardt,” he whispered, “doesn’t recognise you, +of course.”</p> +<p>“No; I’m not at all apprehensive.”</p> +<p>“Yet, it was on his yacht——”</p> +<p>“He never even looked twice at me. You know what +he thought me to be? Very well, he had only social +ambitions then. I think that’s all he has now. You +see what he got with his Red Eagle,” nodding calmly +toward Mrs. Gerhardt, who now was being convoyed +out by the monocled martyr in the “stiff shirt.”</p> +<p>The others passed out informally; Lee had slipped +her arm around Dulcie. As Garry and Thessalie +turned to follow, he said in a low voice:</p> +<p>“You feel quite secure, then, Thessa?”</p> +<p>She halted, put her lips close to his ear, unnoticed +by those ahead:</p> +<p>“Perfectly. The Gerhardts are what you call fatheads—easily +used by anybody, dangerous to no one, +governed by greed alone, without a knowledge of any +honour except the German sort. But that Irish +dreamer over there, <i>he</i> is dangerous! That type always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +is. He menaces the success of any enterprise +to which his quixotic mind turns, because it instantly +becomes a fixed idea with him—an obsession, a monomania!”</p> +<p>She took his arm and walked on beside him.</p> +<p>“I know that fascinating, hot-headed, lovable type +of mystic visionary,” she said, “handsome, romantic, +illogical, governed entirely by emotion, not fickle +yet never to be depended on; not faithless, but absolutely +irresponsible and utterly ignorant of fear!... +My father was that sort. <i>Not</i> the hunting cheetah +Cyril and Ferez pretended. And it was in <i>defence</i> of +a woman that my father died.... Thank God!”</p> +<p>“Who told you?”</p> +<p>“Captain Renoux—the other night.”</p> +<p>“I’m so glad, Thessa!”</p> +<p>She held her flushed head high and smiled at him.</p> +<p>“You see,” she said, “after all it is in my blood +to be decent.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The Gerhardts, racially vulgar and socially blunt—for +the inherent vulgarity of the Teutonic peoples +is an axiom among the civilised—made themselves characteristically +conspicuous at the flower-laden table; +but it was on Murtagh Skeel that all eyes became ultimately +focused to the limit of good-breeding. He was +the lode-star—he was the magnet, the vanishing point +for all curiosity, all surmises, all interest.</p> +<p>Perfect breeding, perfect unconsciousness of self, +were his minted marks to guarantee the fineness of his +metal. He was natural without effort, winning in +voice, in manner, in grace of mind and body, this fascinating +Irishman of letters—a charming listener, a +persuasive speaker, modest, light hearted, delightfully +deferential.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></div> +<p>Seated on the right of Mrs. Barres, his smiling +hostess very quickly understood the situation and made +it pleasantly plain to everybody that her guest of +honour was not to be privately monopolised.</p> +<p>So almost immediately all currents of conversation +flowed from all sides toward this dark-eyed, handsome +man, and in return the silver-tongued tide of many +currents—the Irish Sea at its sparkling flood—flowed +prettily and spread out from its perennial source within +him, and washed and rippled gently over every separate +dinner plate, so that nobody seemed neglected, +and there was jetsam and beach-combing for all.</p> +<p>And it was inevitable, presently, that Murtagh +Skeel’s conversation should become autobiographical +in some degree, and his careless, candid, persuasive +phrases turn into little gemlike memories. For he +came ultimately, of course, to speak of Irish nationalism +and what it meant; of the Celt as he had been +and must remain—utterly unchanged, as long as the +last Celt remained alive on earth.</p> +<p>The subject, naturally, invaded the fairy lore, wild +legend and lovely mysticism of the West Coast; and +centred about his own exquisite work of interpreting it.</p> +<p>He spoke of it very modestly, as his source of inspiration, +as the inception of his own creative work +in that field. But always, through whatever he said, +rang low and clear his passionate patriotism and the +only motive which incited him to creative effort—his +longing for national autonomy and the re-gathering +of a scattered people in preparation for its massed +journey toward its Destiny.</p> +<p>His voice was musical, his words unconscious poetry. +Without effort, without pains, alas!—without logic—he +held every ear enthralled there in the soft candlelight +and subdued glimmer of crystal and of silver.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span></div> +<p>His was the magic of shadow and half-lights, of +vague nuances and lost outlines, and the valued degrees +of impinging shade. No sharp contours, no +stark, uncompromising shapes, no brutality of raw +daylight, and—alas!—no threat of uncompromising +logic invaded his realm of dreamy demi-lights and faded +fantasies.</p> +<p>He reigned there, amid an enchanted twilight of his +own creation, the embodiment of Irish romance, tender, +gay, sweet-minded, persuasive, gallant—and +tragic, when, at some unexpected moment, the frail +veil of melancholy made his dark eyes less brilliant.</p> +<p>All yielded to his charm—even the stuffed Teutons, +gorging gravy; all felt his sway over mind and heart, +nor cared to analyse it, there in the soft light of candles +and the scent of old-fashioned flowers.</p> +<p>There arose some question concerning Sir Roger +Casement.</p> +<p>Murtagh Skeel spoke of him with the pure enthusiasm +of passionate belief in a master by a humble disciple. +And the Teutons grunted assent.</p> +<p>The subject of the war had been politely avoided, +yet, somehow, it came out that Murtagh Skeel had +served in Britain’s army overseas, as an enlisted man +in some Irish regiment—a romantic impulse of the +moment, involving a young man’s crazy plan to foment +rebellion in India. Which little gem of a memoire +presently made the fact of his exile self-explanatory. +Yet, he contrived that the ugly revelation +should end in laughter—an outbreak of spontaneous +mirth through which his glittering wit passed like +lightning, cauterising the running sore of treason....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Coffee served, the diners drifted whither it suited +them, together or singly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></div> +<p>Like an errant spirit, Dulcie moved about at hazard +amid the softened lights, engaged here, approached +there, pausing, wandering on, nowhere in particular, +yet ever listlessly in motion.</p> +<p>Encountering her near the porch, Barres senior had +paused to whisper that there was no hope for any fishing +that evening; and she had lingered to smile after +him, as, unreconciled, he took his stiff-shirted way +toward the pallid, bejewelled, unanimated mass of Mrs. +Gerhardt, settled in the widest armchair and absorbing +cordial.</p> +<p>A moment later the girl encountered Garry. He +remained with her for a while, evidently desiring to be +near her without finding anything in particular to say. +And when he, in turn, moved elsewhere, obeying some +hazy mandate of hospitality, he became conscious of +a reluctance to leave her.</p> +<p>“Do you know, Sweetness,” he said, lingering, “that +you wear a delicate beauty to-night lovelier than I +have ever seen in you? You are not only a wonderful +girl, Dulcie; you are growing into an adorable woman.”</p> +<p>The girl looked back at him, blushing vividly in her +sheer surprise—watched him saunter away out of her +silent sphere of influence before she found any word +to utter—if, indeed, she had been seeking any, so +deeply, so painfully sweet had sunk his words into +every fibre of her untried, defenceless youth.</p> +<p>Now, as her cheeks cooled, and she came to herself +and moved again, there seemed to grow around her a +magic and faintly fragrant radiance through which +she passed—whither, she paid no heed, so exquisitely +her breast was thrilling under the hurrying pulses of +her little heart.... And presently found herself on +the piano bench, quite motionless, her gaze remote, her +fingers resting on the keys.... And, after a long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +while, she heard an old air stealing through the silence, +and her own voice,—<i>à demi-voix</i>—repeating her +mother’s words:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>I</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>“Were they as wise as they are blue—</p> +<p class='indent26'>My eyes—</p> +<p>They’d teach me not to trust in you!—</p> +<p>If they were wise as they are blue.</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>But they’re as blithe as they are blue—</p> +<p class='indent26'>My eyes—</p> +<p>They bid my heart rejoice in you,</p> +<p>Because they’re blithe as well as blue.</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>Believe and love! my gay heart cries;</p> +<p>Believe him not! my mind replies;</p> +<p class='indent2'>What shall I do</p> +<p>When heart affirms and sense denies</p> +<p>All I reveal within my eyes</p> +<p class='indent2'>To you?</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>II</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>“If they were black instead of blue—</p> +<p class='indent26'>My eyes—</p> +<p>Perhaps they’d prove unkind to you!</p> +<p>If they were black instead of blue.</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>But God designed them blithe and blue—</p> +<p class='indent26'>My eyes—</p> +<p>Designed them to be kind to you,</p> +<p>And made them tender, gay and true.</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>Believe me, love, no maid is wise</p> +<p>When from the windows of her eyes,</p> +<p class='indent2'>Her heart looks through!</p> +<p>Alas! My heart, to its surprise,</p> +<p>Has learned to look; and now it sighs</p> +<p class='indent2'>For you!”</p> +</div></div> +<p>She became conscious of somebody near, as she +ended. She turned and saw Murtagh Skeel at her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +elbow—saw his agitated, ashen face—looked beyond +him and discovered other people gathered in the tinted +light beyond, listening; then she lifted her clear, still +gaze again to the white-faced man beside her, and saw +his shaken soul staring at her through the dark windows +of <i>his</i> eyes.</p> +<p>“Where did you learn it?” he asked with a futile +effort at that control so difficult for any Celt to grasp +where the heart is involved.</p> +<p>“The song I sang? ‘Blue Eyes’?” she inquired.</p> +<p>“Yes—that.”</p> +<p>“I have the manuscript of the composer.”</p> +<p>“Could you tell me where you got it—and—and who +wrote those words you sang?”</p> +<p>“The manuscript came to me from my mother.... +She wrote it.... I think you knew her.”</p> +<p>His strong, handsome hand dropped on the piano’s +edge, gripped it; and under his pale skin the quick +blood surged to his temples.</p> +<p>“What was your—your mother’s name, Miss +Soane?”</p> +<p>“She was Eileen Fane.”</p> +<p>The throbbing seconds passed and still they looked +into each other’s eyes in silence. And at last:</p> +<p>“So you did know my mother,” she said under her +breath; and the hushed finality of her words set his +strong hand trembling.</p> +<p>“Eileen’s little daughter,” he repeated. “Eileen +Fane’s child.... And grown to womanhood.... +Yes, I knew your mother—many years ago.... +When I enlisted and went abroad.... Was it Sir +Terence Soane who married your mother?”</p> +<p>She shook her head. He stared at her, striving to +concentrate, to think. “There were other Soanes,” +he muttered, “the Ellet Water folk—no?——But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +there were many Soanes among the landed gentry in +the East and North.... I cannot seem to recollect—the +sudden shock—hearing a song unexpectedly——”</p> +<p>His white forehead had grown damp under the curly +hair now clinging to it. He passed his handkerchief +over his brow in a confused way, then leaned heavily +on the piano with both hands grasping it. For the +ghost of his youth was interfering, disputing his control +over his own mind, filling his ear with forgotten +words, taking possession of his memory and tormenting +it with the distant echoes of a voice long dead.</p> +<p>Through the increasing chaos in his brain his +strained gaze sought to fix itself on this living, breathing +face before him—the child of Eileen Fane.</p> +<p>He made the effort:</p> +<p>“There were the Soanes of Colross——” But he got +no farther that way, for the twin spectres of his youth +and <i>hers</i> were busy with his senses now; and he leaned +more heavily on the piano, enduring with lowered head +the ghostly whirlwind rushing up out of that obscurity +and darkness where once, under summer skies, he +had sowed a zephyr.</p> +<p>The girl had become rather white, too. One slim +hand still rested on the ivory keys, the other lay inert +in her lap. And after a while she raised her grey +eyes to this man standing beside her:</p> +<p>“Did you ever hear of my mother’s marriage?”</p> +<p>He looked at her in a dull way:</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“You heard—nothing?”</p> +<p>“I heard that your mother had left Fane Court.”</p> +<p>“What was Fane Court?”</p> +<p>Murtagh Skeel stared at her in silence.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” she said, trembling a little. “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +know nothing about my mother. She died when I was +a few months old.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean that you don’t know who your mother +was? You don’t know who she married?” he asked, +astounded.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Good God!” he said, gazing at her. His tense +features were working now; the battle for self-control +was visible to her, and she sat there dumbly, looking +on at the mute conflict which suddenly sent the tears +flashing into his dark eyes and left his sensitive mouth +twitching.</p> +<p>“I shall not ask you anything now,” he said unsteadily; +“I shall have to see you somewhere else—where +there are no people—to interrupt.... But I shall +tell you all I know about—your mother.... I was +in trouble—in India. Somehow or other I heard indirectly +that your mother had left Fane Court. Later +it was understood that she had eloped.... Nobody +could tell me the man’s name.... My people in Ireland +did not know.... And I was not on good terms +with your grandfather. So there was no hope of information +from Fane Court.... I wrote, indeed, begging, +beseeching for news of your mother. Sir Barry—your +grandfather—returned my letters unopened.... +And that is all I have ever heard concerning +Eileen Fane—your mother—with whom I—fell in love—nearly +twenty years ago.”</p> +<p>Dulcie, marble pale, nodded.</p> +<p>“I knew you cared for my mother,” she said.</p> +<p>“How did you learn it?”</p> +<p>“Some letters of hers written to you. Letters from +you to her. I have nothing else of hers except some +verses and little songs—like the one you recognised.”</p> +<p>“Child, she wrote it as I sat beside her!——” His +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +voice choked, broke, and his lips quivered as he fought +for self-control again.... “I was not welcome at +Fane Court.... Sir Barry would not tolerate me.... +Your mother was more kind.... She was very +young. And so was I, Dulcie.... There were political troubles. +I was always involved. God knows +which was the stronger passion—it must have been love +of country—the other seeming hopeless—with the folk +at Fane Court my bitter enemies—only excepting your +mother.... So I went away.... And which of the +Soanes your mother eloped with I have never learned.... +Now, tell me—for you surely know that much.”</p> +<p>She said:</p> +<p>“There is a man called Soane who tells me sometimes +that he was once a gamekeeper at what he calls +‘the big house.’ I have always supposed him to be +my father until within the last year. But recently, +when he has been drinking heavily, he sometimes tells +me that my name is not Soane but Fane.... Did +you ever know of such a man?”</p> +<p>“No. There were gamekeepers about.... No. I +cannot recall—and it is impossible! A gamekeeper! +And your <i>mother</i>! The man is mad! What in God’s +name does all this mean!——”</p> +<p>He began to tremble, and his white forehead under +the clustering curls grew damp and pinched again.</p> +<p>“If you are Eileen’s daughter——” But his face +went dead white and he got no further.</p> +<p>People were approaching from behind them, too; +voices grew distinct in conversation; somebody turned +up another lamp.</p> +<p>“Do sing that little song again—the one you sang +for Mr. Skeel,” said Lee Barres, coming up to the +piano on her brother’s arm. “Mrs. Gerhardt has been +waiting very patiently for an opportunity to ask you.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +<a name='XXIV_A_SILENT_HOUSE' id='XXIV_A_SILENT_HOUSE'></a> +<h2>XXIV +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />A SILENT HOUSE</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The guests from Hohenlinden had departed from +Foreland Farms; the family had retired. Outside, +under a sparkling galaxy of summer stars, +tall trees stood unstirring; indoors nothing stirred except +the family cat, darkly prowling on velvet-shod +feet in eternal search of those viewless things which are +manifest only to the feline race—sorcerers all, whether +quadruped or human.</p> +<p>In various bedrooms upstairs lights went out, one +after another, until only two windows remained illuminated, +one in the west wing, one in the north.</p> +<p>For Dulcie, in her negligée and night robe, still sat +by the open window, chin resting on palm, her haunted +gaze remotely lost somewhere beyond the July stars.</p> +<p>And, in his room, Garry had arrived only as far as +removing coat and waistcoat in the process of disrobing +for the night. For his mind was still deeply preoccupied +with Dulcie Soane and with the strange expression +of her face at the piano—and with the profoundly +altered visage of Murtagh Skeel.</p> +<p>And he was asking himself what could have happened +between those two in such a few minutes there +at the piano in the music-room. For it was evident +to him that Skeel was labouring under poorly controlled +emotion, was dazed by it, and was recovering +self-possession only by a mighty effort.</p> +<p>And when Skeel had finally taken his leave and had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +gone away with the Gerhardts, he suddenly stopped on +the porch, returned to the music-room, and, bending +down, had kissed Dulcie’s hand with a grace and reverence +which made the salute more of a serious ceremony +than the impulsive homage of a romantic poet’s whim.</p> +<p>Considered by itself, the abrupt return and quaintly +perfect salute might have been taken as a spontaneous +effervescence of that delightful Celtic gallantry so +easily stirred to ebullition by youth and beauty. And +for that it was accepted by the others after Murtagh +Skeel was gone; and everybody ventured to chaff Dulcie +a little about her conquest—merely the gentle humour +of gentlefolk—a harmless word or two, a smile +in sympathy.</p> +<p>Garry alone saw in the girl’s smile no genuine response +to the light badinage, and he knew that her +serenity was troubled, her careless composure forced.</p> +<p>Later, he contrived to say good-night to her alone, +and gave her a chance to speak; but she only murmured +her adieux and went slowly away up the stairs +with Thessalie, not looking back.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Now, sitting there in his dressing-gown, briar pipe +alight, he frowned and pondered over the matter in +the light of what he already knew of Dulcie, of the +dead mother who bore her, of the grotesquely impossible +Soane, of this man, Murtagh Skeel.</p> +<p>What had he and Dulcie found in common to converse +about so earnestly and so long there in the music-room? +What had they talked about to drive the colour +from Dulcie’s cheeks and alter Skeel’s countenance +so that he had looked more like his own wraith than his +living self?</p> +<p>That Dulcie’s mother had known this man, had once, +evidently, been in love with him more or less, doubtless +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +was revealed in their conversation at the piano. Had +Skeel enlightened Dulcie any further? And on what +subject? Soane? Her mother? Her origin—in case +the child had admitted ignorance of it? Was Dulcie, +now, in possession of new facts concerning herself? +Were they agreeable facts? Were they depressing? +Had she learned anything definite in regard to her +birth? Her parentage? Did she know, now, who was +her real father? Was the obvious absurdity of Soane +finally exploded? Had she learned what the drunken +Soane meant by asserting that her name was not Soane +but Fane?</p> +<p>His pipe burned out and he laid it aside, but did not +rise to resume his preparation for bed.</p> +<p>Then, somewhere from the unlighted depths of the +house came the sound of the telephone bell—at that +hour of night always a slightly ominous sound.</p> +<p>He got up and went down stairs, not troubling to +switch on any light, for the lustre of the starry night +outside silvered every window and made it possible for +him to see his way.</p> +<p>At the clamouring telephone, finally, he unhooked +the receiver:</p> +<p>“Hello?” he said. “Yes! Yes! Oh, is that <i>you</i>, +Renoux? Where on earth are you?... At Northbrook?... +Where?... At the Summit House? +Well, why didn’t you come here to us?... Oh!... +No, it isn’t very late. We retire early at Foreland.... +Oh, yes, I’m dressed.... Certainly.... Yes, +come over.... Yes!... <i>Yes</i>!... I’ll wait for +you in the library.... In an hour?... You bet. +No, I’m not sleepy.... Sure thing!... Come on!”</p> +<p>He hung up the receiver, turned, and made his way +through the dusk toward the library which was opposite +the music-room across the big entrance hall.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span></div> +<p>Before he turned on any light he paused to look out +at the splendour of the stars. The night had grown +warmer; there was no haze, now, only an argentine +clarity in which shadowy trees stood mysterious and +motionless and the dim lawn stretched away to the +distant avenue and wall, lost against their looming border +foliage.</p> +<p>Once he thought he heard a slight sound somewhere +in the house behind him, but presently remembered +that the family cat held sway among the mice at such +an hour.</p> +<p>A little later he turned from the window to light a +lamp, and found himself facing a slim, white figure in +the starry dusk.</p> +<p>“Dulcie!” he exclaimed under his breath.</p> +<p>“I want to talk to you.”</p> +<p>“Why on earth are you wandering about at this +hour?” he asked. “You made me jump, I can tell +you.”</p> +<p>“I was awake—not in bed yet. I heard the telephone. +Then I went out into the west corridor and +saw you going down stairs.... Is it all right for me +to sit here in my night dress with you?”</p> +<p>He smiled:</p> +<p>“Well, considering——”</p> +<p>“Of course!” she said hastily, “only I didn’t know +whether outside your studio——”</p> +<p>“Oh, Dulcie, you’re becoming self-conscious! Stop +it, Sweetness. Don’t spoil things. Here—tuck yourself +into this big armchair!—curl up! There you are. +And here I am——” dropping into another wide, deep +chair. “Lord! but you’re a pretty thing, Dulcie, with +your hair down and all glimmering with starlight! +We’ll try painting you that way some day—I wouldn’t +know how to go about it offhand, either. Maybe a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +screened arc-lamp in a dark partition, and a peep-hole—I +don’t know——”</p> +<p>He lay back in his chair, studying her, and she +watched him in silence for a while. Presently she +sighed, stirred, placed her feet on the floor as though +preparing to rise. And he came out of his impersonal +abstraction:</p> +<p>“What is it you want to say, Sweetness?”</p> +<p>“Another time,” she murmured. “I don’t——”</p> +<p>“You dear child, you came to me needing the intimacy +of our comradeship—perhaps its sympathy. My +mind was wandering—you are so lovely in the starlight. +But you ought to know where my heart is.”</p> +<p>“Is it open—a little?”</p> +<p>“Knock and see, Sweetness.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I came to ask you—Mr. Skeel is coming +to-morrow—to see me—alone. Could it be contrived—without +offending?”</p> +<p>“I suppose it could.... Yes, of course.... Only +it will be conspicuous. You see, Mr. Skeel is much +sought after in certain circles—beginning to be pursued and——”</p> +<p>“He asked me.”</p> +<p>“Dear, it’s quite all right——”</p> +<p>“Let me tell you, please.... He <i>did</i> know my +mother.”</p> +<p>“I supposed so.”</p> +<p>“Yes. He was the man. I want you to know what +he told me.... I always wish you to know everything +that is in my—mind—always, for ever.”</p> +<p>She leaned forward in her chair, her pretty, bare +feet extended. One silken sleeve of her negligée had +fallen to the shoulder, revealing the perfect symmetry +of her arm. But he put from his mind the ever latent +artistic delight in her, closed his painter’s eye to her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +protean possibilities, and resolutely concentrated his +mental forces upon what she was now saying:</p> +<p>“He turns out to be the same man my mother wrote +to—and who wrote to her.... They were in love, +then. He didn’t say why he went away, except that +my mother’s family disliked him.... She lived at a +house called Fane Court.... He spoke of my mother’s +father as Sir Barry Fane....”</p> +<p>“That doesn’t surprise me, Sweetness.”</p> +<p>“Did <i>you</i> know?”</p> +<p>“Nothing definite.” He looked at the lovely, slender-limbed +girl there in the starry dusk. “I knew +nothing definite,” he repeated, “but there was no mistaking +the metal from which you had been made—or +the mould, either. And as for Soane——” he +smiled.</p> +<p>She said:</p> +<p>“If my name is really Fane, there can be only one +conclusion; some kinsman of that name must have +married my mother.”</p> +<p>He said:</p> +<p>“Of course,” very gravely.</p> +<p>“Then who was he? My mother never mentioned +him in her letters. What became of him? He must +have been my father. Is he living?”</p> +<p>“Did you ask Mr. Skeel?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He seemed too deeply affected to answer me. +He must have loved my mother very dearly to show +such emotion before me.”</p> +<p>“What did you ask him, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“After we left the piano?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I asked him that. I had only a few more moments +alone with him before he left. I asked him about my +mother—to tell me how she looked—so I could think +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +of her more clearly. He has a picture of her on ivory. +He is to bring it to me and tell me more about her. +That is why I must see him to-morrow—so I may +ask him again about my father.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear....” He sat very silent for a while, +then rose, came over, and seated himself on the padded +arm of Dulcie’s chair, and took both her hands into +his:</p> +<p>“Listen, Sweetness. You are what you are to me—my +dear comrade, my faithful partner sharing our +pretty partnership in art; and, more than these, Dulcie, +you are my friend.... Never doubt that. Never +forget it. Nothing can alter it—nothing you learn +about your origin can exalt that friendship.... +Nothing lessen it. Do you understand? <i>Nothing</i> can +<i>lessen</i> it, save only if you prove untrue to what you +are—your real self.”</p> +<p>She had rested her cheek against his arm while he +was speaking. It lay there now, pressed closer.</p> +<p>“As for Murtagh Skeel,” he said, “he is a charming, +cultivated, fascinating man. But if he attempts to +carry out his agitator’s schemes and his revolutionary +propaganda in this country, he is headed for most +serious trouble.”</p> +<p>“Why does he?”</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me why men of his education and character +do such things. They do; that’s all I know. +Sir Roger Casement is another man not unlike Skeel. +There are many, hot-hearted, generous, brave, irrational. +There is no use blaming them—no justice in +it, either. The history of British rule in Ireland is +a matter of record.</p> +<p>“But, Dulcie, he who strikes at England to-day +strikes at civilisation, at liberty, at God! This is no +time to settle old grievances. And to attempt to do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +it by violence, by propaganda—to attempt a reckoning +of ancient wrongs in any way, to-day, is a crime—the +crime of treachery against Christ’s teachings—of +treason against Lord Christ Himself!”</p> +<p>After a long interval:</p> +<p>“You are going to this war quite soon. Mr. Westmore +said so.”</p> +<p>“I am going—with my country or without it.”</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>“When I finally lose patience and self-respect.... +I don’t know exactly when, but it will be pretty soon.”</p> +<p>“Could I go with you?”</p> +<p>“Do you wish to?”</p> +<p>She pressed her cheek against his arm in silence.</p> +<p>He said:</p> +<p>“That has troubled me a lot, Dulcie. Of course +you could stay here; I can arrange—I had come to a +conclusion in regard to financial matters——”</p> +<p>“I can’t,” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Can’t what?”</p> +<p>“Stay here—take anything from you—accept without +service in return.”</p> +<p>“What would you do?”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t care—if you—leave me here alone.”</p> +<p>“But, Dulcie——”</p> +<p>“I know. You said it this evening. There will come +a time when you would not find it convenient to have +me—around——”</p> +<p>“Dear, it’s only because a man and a woman in this +world cannot continue anything of enduring intimacy +without business as an excuse. And even then, the +pleasant informality existing now could not be continued +with anything except very serious disadvantage +to you.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span></div> +<p>“You will grow tired of painting me,” she said under +her breath.</p> +<p>“No. But your life is all before you, Dulcie. Girls +usually marry sooner or later.”</p> +<p>“Men do too.”</p> +<p>“That’s not what I meant——”</p> +<p>“You will marry,” she whispered.</p> +<p>Again, at her words, the same odd uneasiness began +to possess him as though something obscure, unformulated +as yet, must some day be cleared up by him and +decided.</p> +<p>“Don’t leave me—yet,” she said.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t take you with me to France.”</p> +<p>“Let me enlist for service. Could you be patient +for a few months so that I might learn something—anything!—I +don’t care what, if only I can go with +you? Don’t they require women to scrub and do unpleasant +things—humble, unclean, necessary things?”</p> +<p>“You couldn’t—with your slender youth and delicate +beauty——”</p> +<p>“Oh,” she whispered, “you don’t know what I could +do to be near you! That is all I want—all I want in +the world!—just to be somewhere not too far away. I +couldn’t stand it, now, if you left me.... I couldn’t +live——”</p> +<p>“Dulcie!”</p> +<p>But, suddenly, it was a hot-faced, passionate, sobbing +child who was clinging desperately to his arm and +staunching her tears against it—saying nothing more, +merely clinging close with quivering lips.</p> +<p>“Listen,” he said impulsively. “I’ll give you time. +If there’s anything you can learn that will admit you +to France, come back to town with me and learn it.... +Because I don’t want to leave you, either.... +There ought to be some way—some way——” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +checked himself abruptly, stared at the bowed head +under its torrent of splendid hair—at the desperate +white little hands holding so fast to his sleeve, at the +slender body gathered there in the deep chair, and all +aquiver now.</p> +<p>“We’ll go—together,” he said unsteadily.... +“I’ll do what I can; I promise.... You must go upstairs +to bed, now.... Dulcie!... dear girl....”</p> +<p>She released his arm, tried to get up from her chair +obediently, blinded by tears and groping in the starlight.</p> +<p>“Let me guide you——” His voice was strained, his +touch feverish and unsteady, and the convulsive closing +of her fingers over his seemed to burn to his very +bones.</p> +<p>At the stairs she tried to speak, thanking him, asking +pardon for her tears, her loss of self-command, +penitent, afraid that she had lowered herself, strained +his friendship—troubled him——</p> +<p>“No. I—<i>want</i> you,” he said in an odd, indistinct, +hesitating voice.... “Things must be cleared up—matters +concerning us—affairs——” he muttered.</p> +<p>She closed her eyes a moment and rested both hands +on the banisters as though fatigued, then she looked +down at him where he stood watching her:</p> +<p>“If you had rather go without me—if it is better +for you—less troublesome——”</p> +<p>“I’ve told you,” he said in a dull voice, “I want +you. You must fit yourself to go.”</p> +<p>“You are so kind to me—so wonderful——”</p> +<p>He merely stared at her; she turned almost wearily +to resume her ascent.</p> +<p>“Dulcie!”</p> +<p>She had reached the landing above. She bent over, +looking down at him in the dusk.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span></div> +<p>“Did you understand?”</p> +<p>“I—yes, I think so.”</p> +<p>“That I <i>want</i> you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“It is true. I want you always. I’m just beginning +to understand that myself. Please don’t ever forget +what I say to you now, Dulcie; I want you. I shall always +want you. Always! As long as I live.”</p> +<p>She leaned heavily on the newel-post above, looking +down.</p> +<p>He could not see that her eyes were closed, that her +lips moved in voiceless answer. She was only a vague +white shape there in the dusk above him—a mystery +which seemed to have been suddenly born out of some +poignant confusion of his own mind.</p> +<p>He saw her turn, fade into the darkness. And he +stood there, not moving, aware of the chaos within him, +of shapeless questions being evolved out of this profound +disturbance—of an inner consciousness groping +with these questions—questions involving other questions +and menacing him with the necessity of decision.</p> +<p>After a while, too, he became conscious of his own +voice sounding there in the darkness:</p> +<p>“I am very near to love.... I have been close to it.... +It would be very easy to fall in love to-night.... +But I am wondering—about to-morrow.... +And afterward.... But I have been very near—very +near to love, to-night....”</p> +<p>The front doorbell rang through the darkness.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +<a name='XXV_STARLIGHT' id='XXV_STARLIGHT'></a> +<h2>XXV +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />STARLIGHT</span></h2> +</div> +<p>When Barres opened the front door he saw +Renoux standing there in the shadow of the +porch, silhouetted against the starlight. They +exchanged a silent grip; Renoux stepped inside; Barres +closed the front door.</p> +<p>“Shall I light up?” he asked in a low voice.</p> +<p>“No. There are complications. I’ve been followed, +I think. Take me somewhere near a window which commands +the driveway out there. I’d like to keep my eye +on it while we are talking.”</p> +<p>“Come on,” said Barres, under his breath. He +guided Renoux through the shadowy entrance hall to +the library, moved two padded armchairs to the window +facing the main drive, motioned Renoux to seat +himself.</p> +<p>“When did you arrive?” he asked in a cautious voice.</p> +<p>“This morning.”</p> +<p>“What! You got here before we did!”</p> +<p>“Yes. I followed Souchez and Alost. Do you know +who <i>they</i> were following?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“One of your guests at dinner this evening.”</p> +<p>“Skeel!”</p> +<p>Renoux nodded:</p> +<p>“Yes. You saw them start for the train. Skeel was +on the train. But the conference at your studio delayed +me. So I came up by automobile last night.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span></div> +<p>“And you’ve been here all day?”</p> +<p>Renoux nodded, but his keen eyes were fixed on the +drive, shining silver-grey in the starlight. And his +gaze continually reverted to it while he continued speaking:</p> +<p>“My friend, things are happening. Let me first tell +you what is the situation. Over this entire hemisphere +German spies are busy, German intrigue and propaganda +are being accelerated, treason is spreading from +a thousand foci of infection.</p> +<p>“In South America matters are very serious. A +revolution is being planned by the half million Germans +in Brazil; the neutrality of Argentine is being +most grossly violated and Count Luxburg, the boche +Ambassador, is already tampering with Chile and other +Southern Republics.</p> +<p>“Of course, the Mexican trouble is due to German +intrigue which is trying desperately to involve that Republic +and yours and also drag in Japan.</p> +<p>“In Honolulu the German cruiser which your Government +has interned is sending out wireless information +while her band plays to drown the crackle of the +instrument.</p> +<p>“And from the Golden Gate to the Delaware capes, +and from the Soo to the Gulf, the spies of Germany +swarm in your great Republic, planning your destruction +in anticipation of the war which will surely come.”</p> +<p>Barres reddened in the darkness and his heart beat +more rapidly:</p> +<p>“You think it really will come?”</p> +<p>“War with Germany? My friend, I am certain of +it. Your Government may not be certain. It is, if +you permit a foreigner to say so—an—unusual Administration.... +In this way, for example: it is +cognisant of almost everything treasonable that is happening; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +it maintains agents in close contact with every +mischief-hatching German diplomat in this hemisphere; +it even has agents in the German Embassies—agents +unsuspected, who daily rub elbows with German Ambassadors +themselves!</p> +<p>“It knows what Luxburg is doing; it is informed +every day concerning Bernstorff’s dirty activities; the +details of the Mexican and Japanese affairs are familiar +to Mr. Lansing; all that happens aboard the +<i>Geier</i>, the interned German liners—all that occurs in +German consulates, commercial offices, business houses, +clubs, cafés, saloons, is no secret to your Government.</p> +<p>“Yet, nothing has been done, nothing is being done +except to continue to collect data of the most monstrous +and stupendous conspiracy that ever threatened a free +nation! I repeat that nothing is being done; no preparation +is being made to face the hurricane which has +been looming for two years and more, growing ever +blacker over your horizon. All the world can see the +lightning playing behind those storm clouds.</p> +<p>“And, my God!—not an umbrella! Not an order for +overshoes and raincoats!... I am not, perhaps, in +error when I suggest that the Administration is an—unusual +one.”</p> +<p>Barres nodded slowly.</p> +<p>Renoux said:</p> +<p>“I am sorry. The reckoning will be heavy.”</p> +<p>“I know.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you know. Your great politician, Mr. Roosevelt, +knows; your great Admiral, Mahan, knew; your +great General, Wood, knows. Also, perhaps some million +or more sane, clear thinking American citizens +know.” He made a hopeless gesture. “It is a pity, +Barres, my friend.... Well—it is, of course, the affair +of your people to decide.... We French can only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span> +wait.... But we have never doubted your ultimate +decision.... Lafayette did not live in vain. Yorktown +was not merely a battle. Your Washington +lighted a torch for your people and for ours to hold +aloft eternally. Even the rain of blood drenching our +Revolution could not extinguish it. It still burned at +Gravelotte, at Metz, at Sedan. It burned above the +smoke and dust of the Commune. It burned at the +Marne. It still burns, mon ami.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Alors——” He sat silent for a few moments, his +gaze intent on the starry obscurity outdoors. Then, +slow and pleasantly:</p> +<p>“The particular mess, the cooking of which interests +my Government, the English Government, and +yours, is now on the point of boiling over. It’s this +Irish stew I speak of. Poor devils—they must be +crazy, every one of them, to do what they are already +beginning to do.... You remember the papers which +you secured?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, what we did last night at Grogan’s has prematurely +dumped the fat into the fire. They know +they’ve been robbed; they know that their plans are +in our hands. Do you suppose that stops them? No! +On the contrary, they are at this very moment attempting, +as you say in New York, to beat us to it.”</p> +<p>“How do you mean?”</p> +<p>“This way: the signal for an Irish attempt on Canada +is to be the destruction of the Welland Canal. +You remember the German suggestion that an ore +steamer be seized? They’re going to try it. And if +that fails, they’re to take their power boat into the +canal anyway and blow up a lock, even if they blow +up themselves with it. Did you ever hear of such madness? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +Mon dieu, if only we had those men under your +flag on our western front!”</p> +<p>“Do you know who these men are?” asked Barres.</p> +<p>“Your dinner guest—Murtagh Skeel—leads this +company of Death.”</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>“Now! To-morrow! That’s why I’m here! That’s +why your Secret Service men are arriving. I tell you +the mess is on the point of boiling over. The crew is +already on its way to take over the launch. They’re +travelling west singly, by separate trains and routes.”</p> +<p>“Do you know who they are—these madmen?”</p> +<p>“Here is the list—don’t strike a light! I can recall +their names, I think—some of them anyway——”</p> +<p>“Are any of them Germans?”</p> +<p>“Not one. Your German doesn’t blow himself up +with anything but beer. Not he! No; he lights a fuse +and legs it! I don’t say he’s a coward. But self-immolation +for abstract principle isn’t in him. There +have been instances resembling it at sea—probably not +genuine—not like that poor sergeant of ours in 1870, +who went into the citadel at Laon and shoved a torch +into the bin of loose powder under the magazine.... +Because the city had surrendered. And Paris was not +many miles away.... So he blew himself up with +citadel, magazine, all the Prussians in the neighbourhood, +and most of the town.... Well—these Irish +are planning something of that sort on the Welland +Canal.... Murtagh Skeel leads them. The others I +remember are Madigan, Cassidy, Dolan, McBride—and +that fellow Soane!——”</p> +<p>“Is <i>he</i> one of them?”</p> +<p>“He surely is. He went west on the same train that +brought Skeel here. And now I’ll tell you what has +been done and why I’m here.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span></div> +<p>“We haven’t located the power-boat on the lake. +But the Canadians are watching for it and your agents +are following these Irishmen. When the crew assembles +they are to be arrested and their power-boat and explosives +seized.</p> +<p>“I and my men have no official standing here, of +course—would not be tolerated in any co-operation, +<i>officially</i>. But we have a certain understanding with +certain authorities.”</p> +<p>Barres nodded.</p> +<p>“You see? Very well. Then, with delicacy and discretion, +we keep in touch with Mr. Skeel.... And +with other people.... You see?... He is abed in +the large house of Mr. Gerhardt over yonder at Northbrook.... +Under surveillance.... He moves? We +move—very discreetly. You see?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“Very well, then. But I am obliged to tell you, also, +that the hunting is not done entirely by our side. No! +In turn, I and my men, and also your agents, are being +hunted by German agents.... It is that which +annoys and hampers us, because these German agents +continually dog us and give the alarm to these Irishmen. +You see?”</p> +<p>“Who are the German agents? Do you know?”</p> +<p>“Very well indeed. Bernstorff is the head; Von +Papen and Boy-ed come next. Under them serve certain +so-called ‘Diplomatic Agents of Class No. 1’—Adolf +Gerhardt is one of them; his partners, Otto +Klein and Joseph Schwartzmeyer are two others.</p> +<p>“They, in turn, have under them diplomatic agents +of the second class—men such as Ferez Bey, Franz +Lehr, called <i>K17</i>. You see? Then, lower still in the +scale, come the spies who actually investigate under +orders; men like Dave Sendelbeck, Johnny Klein, Louis +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span> +Hochstein, Max Freund. And, then, lowest of all in +rank are the rank and file—the secret ‘shock-troops’ +who carry out desperate enterprises under some leader. +Among the Germans these are the men who sneak about +setting fires, lighting the fuses of bombs, scuttling ships, +defacing Government placards, poisoning Red Cross +bandages to be sent to the Allies—that sort. But +among them are no battalions of Death. <i>Non pas!</i> +And, for that, you see, they use these Irish. You understand +now?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> +<p>“Well, then! I trust you absolutely, Barres. And +so I came over to ask you—and your clever friends, +Mademoiselle Dunois, Miss Soane, Mr. Westmore, to +keep their eyes on this man Skeel to-morrow afternoon +and also to-morrow evening. Because they will be +guests at the Gerhardts’. Is it not so?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, your Government’s agents will be there. They +will also be in the neighbourhood, watching roads and +railway stations. I have one man in service with the +Gerhardts—their head chauffeur. If anything happens—if +Skeel tries to slip away—if you miss him—I +would be very grateful if you and your friends notify +the head chauffeur, Menard.”</p> +<p>“We’ll try to do it.”</p> +<p>“That’s all I want. Just get word to Menard that +Skeel seems to be missing. That will be sufficient. Will +you say this to your friends?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I will, Renoux. I’ll be glad to. I’ll be particularly +happy to offer to Miss Dunois this proof of +your confidence in her integrity.”</p> +<p>Renoux looked very grave.</p> +<p>“For me,” he said, “Miss Dunois is what she pretends +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span> +to be. I have so informed my Government at +home and its representatives at Washington.”</p> +<p>“Have you heard anything yet?”</p> +<p>“Yes, a telegram in cipher from Washington late +this afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Favourable to her?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Our Ambassador is taking up immediately the +clues Miss Dunois furnished me last night. Also, he +has cabled at length to my home Government. At this +hour, no doubt, d’Eblis, Bolo, probably an ex-minister +or two, are being watched. And in this country your +Government is now in possession of facts which must +suggest a very close surveillance of the activities of +Ferez Bey.”</p> +<p>“Where is he?”</p> +<p>Renoux shook his head:</p> +<p>“He <i>was</i> in New York. But he gave us the slip. An +eel!” he added, rising. “Oh, we shall pick up his slimy +traces again in time. But it is mortifying.... Well, +thank you, mon ami. I must go.” And he started toward +the hall.</p> +<p>“Have you a car anywhere?” asked Barres.</p> +<p>“Yes, up the road a bit.” He glanced through the +sidelight of the front door, carelessly. “A couple of +men out yonder dodging about. Have you noticed +them, Barres?”</p> +<p>“No! Where?”</p> +<p>“They’re out there in the shadow of your wall. I +imagined that I’d be followed.” He smiled and opened +the front door.</p> +<p>“Wait!” whispered Barres. “You are not going out +there alone, are you?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. There’s no danger.”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t like it, Renoux. I’ll walk as far as +your car——”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span></div> +<p>“Don’t trouble! I have no personal apprehension——”</p> +<p>“All the same,” muttered the other, continuing on +down the front steps beside his comrade.</p> +<p>Renoux shrugged good-humouredly his disapproval +of such precaution, but made no further protest. Nobody +was visible anywhere on the grounds. The big +iron gates were still locked, but the wicket was open. +Through this they stepped out onto the macadam.</p> +<p>A little farther along stood a touring car with two +men in it.</p> +<p>“You see?” began Renoux—when his words were cut +by the crack of a pistol, and the red tail-light of +the car crashed into splinters and went dark.</p> +<p>“Well, by God!” remarked Renoux calmly, looking +at the woods across the road and leisurely producing +an automatic pistol.</p> +<p>Then, from deeper in the thicket, two bright flames +stabbed the darkness and the crash of the shots re-echoed +among the trees.</p> +<p>Both men in the touring car instantly turned loose +their pistols; Renoux said, in a voice at once perplexed +and amused:</p> +<p>“Go home, Barres. I don’t want people to know you +are out here.... I’ll see you again soon.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t there anything——”</p> +<p>“Nothing. Please—you would oblige me by keeping +clear of this if you really desire to help me.”</p> +<p>There were no more shots. Renoux stepped leisurely +into the tonneau.</p> +<p>“Well, what the devil do you gentlemen make of +this?” Barres heard him say in his cool, humorous +voice. “It really looks as though the boches were getting +nervous.”</p> +<p>The car started. Barres could see Renoux and another +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +man sitting with pistols levelled as the car glided +along the fringe of woods. But there were no more +shots on either side, and, after the car had disappeared, +Barres turned and retraced his way.</p> +<p>Then, as he entered his own gate by the side wicket, +and turned to lock it with his own key, an electric +torch flashed in his face, blinding him.</p> +<p>“Let him have it!” muttered somebody behind the +dazzling light.</p> +<p>“That’s not one of them!” said another voice distinctly. +“Look out what you’re doing! Douse your +glim!”</p> +<p>Instantly the fierce glare faded to a cinder. Barres +heard running feet on the macadam, the crash of shrubbery +opposite. But he could see nobody; and presently +the footsteps in the woods were no longer audible.</p> +<p>There seemed to be nothing for him to do in the matter. +He lingered by the wicket for a while, peering +into the night, listening. He saw nothing; heard nothing +more that night.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span> +<a name='XXVI_BEN_EIRINN_I' id='XXVI_BEN_EIRINN_I'></a> +<h2>XXVI +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />’BE-N EIRINN I!</span></h2> +</div> +<p>Barres senior rose with the sun. Also with +determination, which took the form of a note +slipped under his wife’s door as he was leaving +the house:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Darling</span>:</p> +<p>“I lost last night’s fishing and I’m hanged if I lose it +to-night! So don’t ask me to fritter away a perfectly +good evening at the Gerhardt’s party, because the sun is +up; I’m off to the woods; and I shall remain there until +the last trout breaks.</p> +<p>“Tell the little Soane girl that I left a rod for her in +the work-room, if she cares to join me at the second lake. +Garry can bring her over and leave her if he doesn’t +wish to fish. Don’t send a man over with a lot of food +and shawls. I’ve a creel full of provisions, and I am sufficiently +clad, and I hate to be disturbed and I am never +grateful to people who try to be good to me. However, I +love you very dearly.</p> +<p class='sig1'>“Your husband,</p> +<p class='sig2'>“<span class='smcap'>Reginald Barres</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At half past seven trays were sent to Mrs. Barres +and to Lee; and at eight-thirty they were in the saddle +and their horses fetlock deep in morning dew.</p> +<p>Dulcie, sipping her chocolate in bed, marked their +departure with sleepy eyes. For the emotions of the +night before had told on her, and when a maid came to +remove the tray she settled down among her pillows +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span> +again, blinking unresponsively at the invitation of the +sun, which cast over her a fairy net of gold.</p> +<p>Thessalie, in negligée, came in later and sat down on +the edge of her bed.</p> +<p>“You sleepy little thing,” she said, “the men have +breakfasted and are waiting for us on the tennis court.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know how to play,” said Dulcie. “I don’t +know how to do anything.”</p> +<p>“You soon will, if you get up, you sweet little lazy-bones!”</p> +<p>“Do you think I’ll ever learn to play tennis and golf +and to ride?” inquired Dulcie. “You know how to do +everything so well, Thessa.”</p> +<p>“Dear child, it’s all locked up in you—the ability to +do everything—be anything! The only difference between +us is that I had the chance to try.”</p> +<p>“But I can’t even stand on my head,” said Dulcie +wistfully.</p> +<p>“Did you ever try?”</p> +<p>“N-no.”</p> +<p>“It’s easy. Do you want to see me do it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, please, Thessa!”</p> +<p>So Thessalie, calmly smiling, rose, cast herself lightly +upon her hands, straightened her lithe figure leisurely, +until, amid a cataract of tumbling silk and chiffon, +her rose silk slippers pointed toward the ceiling. Then, +always with graceful deliberation, she brought her feet +to the floor, forming an arc with her body; held it a +moment, and slowly rose upright, her flushed face half-buried +in her loosened hair.</p> +<p>Dulcie, in raptures, climbed out of bed and insisted +on immediate instruction. Down on the tennis court, +Garry and Westmore heard their peals of laughter +and came across the lawn under the window to remonstrate.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span></div> +<p>“Aren’t you ever going to get dressed!” called up +Westmore. “If you’re going to play doubles with +us you’d better get busy, because it’s going to be a +hot day!”</p> +<p>So Thessalie went away to dress and Dulcie tiptoed +into her bath, which the maid had already drawn.</p> +<p>But it was an hour before they appeared on the +lawn, cool and fresh in their white skirts and shoes, and +found Westmore and Barres, red and drenched, hammering +each other across the net in their second furious +set.</p> +<p>So Dulcie took her first lesson under Garry’s auspices; +and she took to it naturally, her instinct being +sound, but her technique as charmingly awkward as a +young bird’s in its first essay at flying.</p> +<p>To see her all in white, with sleeves tucked up, +throat bare, and the sun brilliant on her ruddy, rippling +hair, produced a curious impression on Barres. +As far as the East is from the West, so far was this +Dulcie of the tennis court separated from the wistful, +shabby child behind the desk at Dragon Court.</p> +<p>Could they possibly be the same—this lithe, fresh, +laughing girl, with white feet flashing and snowy skirts +awhirl?—and the pale, grey-eyed slip of a thing that +had come one day to his threshold with a faltering request +for admittance to that wonderland wherein dwelt +only such as he?</p> +<p>Now, those grey eyes had turned violet, tinged with +the beauty of the open sky; the loosened hair had become +a net entangling the very sunlight; and the frail +body, now but one smooth, soft symmetry, seemed +fairly lustrous with the shining soul it masked within it.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She came over to the net, breathless, laughing, to +shake hands with her victorious opponents.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span></div> +<p>“I’m so sorry, Garry,” she said, turning penitently +to him, “but I need such a lot of help in the world before +I’m worth anything to anybody.”</p> +<p>“You’re all right as you are. You always have been +all right,” he said in a low voice. “You never were +worth less than you are worth now; you’ll never be +worth more than you are worth to me at this moment.”</p> +<p>They were walking slowly across the lawn toward the +northern veranda. She halted a moment on the grass +and cast a questioning glance at him:</p> +<p>“Doesn’t it please you to have me learn things?”</p> +<p>“You always please me.”</p> +<p>“I’m so glad.... I try.... But don’t you think +you’d like me better if I were not so ignorant?”</p> +<p>He looked at her absently, shook his head:</p> +<p>“No ... I couldn’t like you better.... I couldn’t +care more—for any girl—than I care for you.... +Did you suspect that, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s true.”</p> +<p>They moved slowly forward across the grass—he +distrait, his handsome head lowered, swinging his tennis-bat +as he walked; she very still and lithe and slender, +moving beside him with lowered eyes fixed on their +mingled shadows on the grass.</p> +<p>“When are you to see Mr. Skeel?” he asked abruptly.</p> +<p>“This afternoon.... He asked if he might hope to +find me alone.... I didn’t know exactly what to say. +So I told him about the rose arbour.... He said he +would pay his respects to your mother and sister and +then ask their permission to see me there alone.”</p> +<p>They came to the veranda; Dulcie seated herself +on the steps and he remained standing on the grass in +front of her.</p> +<p>“Remember,” he said quietly, “that I can never care +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +less for you than I do at this moment.... Don’t forget +what I say, Dulcie.”</p> +<p>She looked up at him, happy, wondering, even perhaps +a little apprehensive in her uncertainty as to his +meaning.</p> +<p>He did not seem to care to enlighten her further. His +mood changed, too, even as she looked at him, and she +saw the troubled gravity fade and the old gaiety glimmering +in his eyes:</p> +<p>“I’ve a mind to put you on a horse, Sweetness, and +see what happens,” he remarked.</p> +<p>“Oh, Garry! I don’t want to tumble off before <i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>“Before whom had you rather land on that red head +of yours?” he inquired. “I’d be more sympathetic +than many.”</p> +<p>“I’d rather have Thessa watch me break my neck. +Do you mind? It’s horrid to be so sensitive, I suppose. +But, Garry, I couldn’t bear to have you see me +so shamefully awkward and demoralised.”</p> +<p>“Fancy your being awkward! Well, all right——”</p> +<p>He looked across the lawn, where Thessalie and Westmore +sat together, just outside the tennis court, under +a brilliant lawn umbrella.</p> +<p>Oddly enough, the spectacle caused him no subtle +pang, although their heads were pretty close together +and their mutual absorption in whatever they were +saying appeared evident enough.</p> +<p>“Let ’em chatter,” he said after an instant’s hesitation. +“Thessa or my sister can ride with you this afternoon +when it’s cooler. I suppose you’ll take to the +saddle as though born there.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope so!”</p> +<p>“Sure thing. All Irish girls—of your quality—take +to it.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span></div> +<p>“My—quality?”</p> +<p>“Yours.... It’s merely happened so,” he added irrelevantly, +“—but the contrary couldn’t have mattered +... as long as you are <i>you</i>! Nothing else matters one +way or another. You <i>are</i> you: that answers all questions, +fulfils all requirements——”</p> +<p>“I <i>don’t</i> quite understand what you say, Garry!”</p> +<p>“Don’t you, Sweetness? Don’t you understand why +you’ve always been exactly what you appear like at +this moment?”</p> +<p>She looked at him with her lovely, uncertain smile:</p> +<p>“I’ve always been myself, I suppose. You are teasing +me dreadfully!”</p> +<p>He laughed in a nervous, excited way, not like himself:</p> +<p>“You bet you have always been yourself, Sweetness!—in +spite of everything you’ve always been <i>yourself</i>. +I am very slow in discovering it. But I think I realise +it now.”</p> +<p>“Please,” she remonstrated, “you are laughing at me +and I don’t know why. I think you’ve been talking +nonsense and expecting me to pretend to understand.... +If you don’t stop laughing at me I shall retire +to my room <ins title='Added missing quote'>and—and——”</ins></p> +<p>“What, Sweetness?” he demanded, still laughing.</p> +<p>“Change to a cooler gown,” she said, humorously +vexed at her own inability to threaten or punish him +for his gaiety at her expense.</p> +<p>“All right; I’ll change too, and we’ll meet in the +music-room!”</p> +<p>She considered him askance:</p> +<p>“Will you be more respectful to me, Garry?”</p> +<p>“Respectful? I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Very well, then, I’m not coming back.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span></div> +<p>But when he entered the music-room half an hour +later, Dulcie was seated demurely before the piano, +and when he came and stood behind her she dropped her +head straight back and looked up at him.</p> +<p>“I had a wonderful icy bath,” she said, “and I’m +ready for anything. Are you?”</p> +<p>“Almost,” he said, looking down at her.</p> +<p>She straightened up, gazed silently at the piano for +a few moments; sounded a few chords. Then her +fingers wandered uncertainly, as though groping for +something that eluded them—something that they delicately +sought to interpret. But apparently she did +not discover it; and her search among the keys ended +in a soft chord like a sigh. Only her lips could have +spoken more plainly.</p> +<p>At that moment Westmore and Thessalie came in +breezily and remained to gossip a few minutes before +bathing and changing.</p> +<p>“Play something jolly!” said Westmore. “One of +those gay Irish things, you know, like ‘The Honourable +Michael Dunn,’ or ‘Finnigan’s Wake,’ or——”</p> +<p>“I don’t know any,” said Dulcie, smiling. “There’s +a song called ‘Asthore.’ My mother wrote it——”</p> +<p>“Can you sing it?”</p> +<p>The girl ran her fingers over the keys musingly:</p> +<p>“I’ll remember it presently. I know one or two +old songs like ‘Irishmen All.’ Do you know that song?”</p> +<p>And she sang it in her gay, unembarrassed way:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>“Warm is our love for the island that bore us,</p> +<p>Ready are we as our fathers before us,</p> +<p class='indent2'>Genial and gallant men,</p> +<p class='indent2'>Fearless and valiant men,</p> +<p>Faithful to Erin we answer her call.</p> +<p class='indent2'>Ulster men, Munster men,</p> +<p class='indent2'>Connaught men, Leinster men,</p> +<p>Irishmen all we answer her call!”</p> +</div></div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span></div> +<p>“Fine!” cried Westmore. “Try it again, Dulcie!”</p> +<p>“Maybe you’ll like this better,” she said:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent2'>“Our Irish girls are beautiful,</p> +<p>As all the world will own;</p> +<p class='indent2'>An Irish smile in Irish eyes</p> +<p>Would melt a heart of stone;</p> +<p class='indent2'>But all their smiles and all their wiles</p> +<p>Will quickly turn to sneers</p> +<p class='indent2'>If you fail to fight for Erin</p> +<p>In the Irish Volunteers!”</p> +</div></div> +<p>“Hurrah!” cried Westmore, beating time and picking +up the chorus of the “Irish Volunteers,” which Dulcie +played to a thunderous finish amid frantic applause.</p> +<p>She sang for them “The West’s Awake!”, “The +Risin’ of the Moon,” “Clare’s Dragoons,” and “Paddy +Get Up!” And after Westmore had exercised his +lungs sufficiently in every chorus, he and Thessalie went +off to their respective quarters, leaving Barres leaning +on the piano beside Dulcie.</p> +<p>“Your people are a splendid lot—given half a +chance,” he said.</p> +<p>“My people?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. After all, Sweetness, you’re Irish, you +know.”</p> +<p>“Oh.”</p> +<p>“Aren’t you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what I am,” she murmured half to +herself.</p> +<p>“Whoever you are it’s the same to me, Dulcie.” +... He took a few short, nervous turns across the +room; walked slowly back to her: “Has it come back +to you yet—that song of your mother’s you were trying +to remember?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span></div> +<p>Even while he was speaking the song came back to +her memory—her mother’s song called “Asthore”—startling +her with its poignant significance to herself.</p> +<p>“Do you recollect it?” he asked again.</p> +<p>“Y-yes ... I can’t sing it.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“I don’t wish to sing ‘Asthore’——” She bent her +head and gazed at the keyboard, the painful colour +dyeing her neck and cheeks.</p> +<p>When at length she looked up at him out of lovely, +distressed eyes, something in his face—something—some +new expression which she dared not interpret—set +her heart flying. And, scarcely knowing what she +was saying in her swift and exquisite confusion:</p> +<p>“The words of my mother’s song would mean +nothing to you, Garry,” she faltered. “You could not +understand them——”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“B-because you could not be in sympathy with them.”</p> +<p>“How do you know? Try!”</p> +<p>“I can’t——”</p> +<p>“Please, dear!”</p> +<p>The smile edging her lips glimmered in her eyes now—a +reckless little glint of humour, almost defiant.</p> +<p>“Do you insist that I sing ‘Asthore’?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>He seemed conscious of a latent excitement in her to +which something within himself was already responsive.</p> +<p>“It’s about a lover,” she said, “—one of the old-fashioned, +head-long, hot-headed sort—Irish, of course!—you’d +not understand—such things——” Her +tongue and colour were running random riot; her +words outstripped her thoughts and tripped up her +tongue, scaring her a little. She drummed on the keys +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span> +a rollicking trill or two, hesitated, stole a swift, uncertain +glance at him.</p> +<p>A delicate intoxication enveloped her, stimulating, +frightening her a little, yet hurrying her into speech +again:</p> +<p>“I’ll sing it for you, Garry asthore! And if I were +a lad I’d be singing my own gay credo!—if I were the +lad—and you but a lass, asthore!”</p> +<p>Then, though her gray eyes winced and her flying +colour betrayed her trepidation, she looked straight at +him, laughingly, and her clear, childish voice continued +the little prelude to “Asthore”:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>I</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>“I long for her, who e’er she be—</p> +<p>The lass that Fate decrees for me;</p> +<p>Or dark or white and fair to see,</p> +<p>My heart is hers <i>’be n-Eirinn i</i>!</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>I care not, I,</p> +<p>Who ever she be,</p> +<p>I could not love her more!</p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirin i—</i></p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirinn i—</i></p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!</i><a name='FNanchor_0001' id='FNanchor_0001'></a><a href='#Footnote_0001' class='fnanchor'>[1]</a></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>II</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>“I know her tresses unconfined,</p> +<p>In wanton ringlets woo the wind—</p> +<p>Or rags or silk her bosom bind</p> +<p>It’s one to me; my eyes are blind!</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>I care not, I,</p> +<p>Who ever she be,</p> +<p>Or poor, or rich galore!</p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirinn i—</i></p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirinn i—</i></p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!</i></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span></p> +<p class='indent4'>III</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>“At noon, some day, I’ll climb a hill,</p> +<p>And find her there and kiss my fill;</p> +<p>And if she won’t, I think she will,</p> +<p>For every Jack must have his Jill!</p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>I care not, I,</p> +<p>Who ever she be,</p> +<p>The lass that I adore!</p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirinn i—</i></p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirinn i—</i></p> +<p><i>’Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!</i>”</p> +</div></div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0001' id='Footnote_0001'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0001'><span class='label'>[1]</span></a> +<p>The refrain, pronounced <i>Bay-nayring-ee</i>, is common to a number +of Irish love-songs written during the last century. It should +be translated: “Whoever she be.”</p> +<p>In writing this song, it is evident that Eileen Fane was inspired +by Blind William of Tipperary; and that she was beholden +to Carroll O’Daly for her “Eileen, my Treasure,” although not +to Robin Adair of County Wicklow.</p> +<p class='sig1'><span class='smcap'>Author.</span></p> +</div> +<p>Dulcie’s voice and her flushed smile, too, faded, died +out. She looked down at the keyboard, where her +white hands rested idly; she bent lower—a little lower; +laid her arms on the music-rest, her face on her crossed +arms. And, slowly, the tears fell without a tremor, +without a sound.</p> +<p>He had leaned over her shoulders; his bowed head was +close to hers—so close that he became aware of the +hot, tearful fragrance of her breath; but there was +not a sound from her, not a stir.</p> +<p>“What is it, Sweetness?” he whispered.</p> +<p>“I—don’t know.... I didn’t m-mean to—cry.... +And I don’t know why I should.... I’m very +h-happy——” She withdrew one arm and stretched it +out, blindly, seeking him; and he took her hand and +held it close to his lips.</p> +<p>“Why are you so distressed, Dulcie?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span></div> +<p>“I’m not. I’m happy.... You know I am.... +My heart was very full; that is all.... I don’t seem +to know how to express myself sometimes.... Perhaps +it’s because I don’t quite dare.... So something +gives way.... And this happens—tears. Don’t mind +them, please.... If I could reach my handkerchief——” +She drew the tiny square of sheer stuff +from her bosom and rested her closed eyes on it.</p> +<p>“It’s silly, isn’t it, Garry?... W-when a girl is +so heavenly contented.... Is anybody coming?”</p> +<p>“Westmore and Thessa!”</p> +<p>She whisked her tears away and sat up swiftly. But +Thessa merely called to them that she and Westmore +were off for a walk, and passed on through the hall +and out through the porch.</p> +<p>“Garry,” she murmured, looking away from him.</p> +<p>“Yes, dear?”</p> +<p>“May I go to my room and fix my hair? Because +Mr. Skeel will be here. Do you mind if I leave you?”</p> +<p>He laughed:</p> +<p>“Of course not, you charming child!” Then, as he +looked down at her hand, which he still retained, his +expression altered; he inclosed the slender fingers, bent +slowly and touched the fragrant palm with his lips.</p> +<p>They were both on their feet the next second; she +passing him with a pale, breathless little smile, and +swiftly crossing the hall; he dumb, confused by the sudden +tumult within him, standing there with one hand +holding to the piano as though for support, and looking +after the slim, receding figure till it disappeared beyond +the library door.</p> +<p>His mother and sister returned from their morning +ride, lingered to chat with him, then went away to dress +for luncheon. Murtagh Skeel had not yet arrived.</p> +<p>Westmore and Thessalie returned from their walk in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span> +the woods by the second lake, reporting a distant view +of Barres senior, fishing madly from a canoe.</p> +<p>Dulcie came down and joined them in the library. +Later Mrs. Barres and Lee appeared, and luncheon was +announced.</p> +<p>Murtagh Skeel had not come to Foreland Farms, and +there was no word from him.</p> +<p>Mrs. Barres spoke of his absence during luncheon, +for Garry had told her he was coming to talk to Dulcie +about her mother, whom he had known very well in +Ireland.</p> +<p>Luncheon ended, and the cool north veranda became +the popular rendezvous for the afternoon, and later +for tea. People from Northbrook drove, rode, or +motored up for a cheering cup, and a word or two of +gossip. But Skeel did not come.</p> +<p>By half-past five the north veranda was thronged +with a gaily chattering and very numerous throng from +neighbouring estates. The lively gossip was of war, +of the coming elections, of German activities, of the +Gerhardts’ promised moonlight spectacle and dance, of +Murtagh Skeel and the romantic interest he had +aroused among Northbrook folk.</p> +<p>So many people were arriving or leaving and such a +delightful and general informality reigned that Dulcie, +momentarily disengaged from a vapid but persistent +dialogue with a chuckle-headed but persistent youth, +ventured to slip into the house, and through it to the +garden in the faint hope that perhaps Murtagh Skeel +might have avoided the tea-crush and had gone directly +there.</p> +<p>But the rose arbour was empty; only the bubble of +the little wall fountain and a robin’s evening melody +broke the scented stillness of the late afternoon.</p> +<p>Her mind was full of Murtagh Skeel, her heart of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span> +Garry Barres, as she stood there in that blossoming +solitude, listening to the robin and the fountain, while +her eyes wandered across flower-bed, pool, and clipped +greensward, and beyond the garden wall to the hill +where three pines stood silver-green against the sky.</p> +<p>Little by little the thought of Murtagh Skeel faded +from her mind; fuller and fuller grew her heart with +confused emotions new to her—emotions too perplexing, +too deep, too powerful, perhaps, for her to understand—or +to know how to resist or to endure. For +the first vague sweetness of her thoughts had grown +keen to the verge of pain—an exquisite spiritual tension +which hurt her, bewildered her with the deep emotions +it stirred.</p> +<p>To love, had been a phrase to her; a lover, a name. +For beyond that childish, passionate adoration which +Barres had evoked in her, and which to her meant +friendship, nothing more subtly mature, more vital, had +threatened her unawakened adolescence with any clearer +comprehension of him or any deeper apprehension of +herself.</p> +<p>And even now it was not knowledge that pierced her, +lighting little confusing flashes in her mind and heart. +For her heart was still a child’s heart; and her mind, +stimulated and rapidly developing under the warm and +magic kindness of this man who had become her only +friend, had not thought of him in any other way.... +Until to-day.</p> +<p>What had happened in her mind, in her heart, she +had not analysed—probably was afraid to, there at the +piano in the music-room. And later, in her bedroom, +when she had summoned up innocent courage sufficient +for self-analysis, she didn’t know how to question herself—did +not realise exactly what had happened to her, +and never even thought of including him in the enchanted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span> +cataclysm which had befallen her mind and +heart and soul.</p> +<p>Thessalie and Westmore appeared on the lawn by +the pool. Behind the woods the sky was tinted with +pale orange.</p> +<p>It may have been the psychic quality of the Celt in +Dulcie—a pale glimmer of clairvoyance—some momentary +and vague premonition wirelessed through the evening +stillness which set her sensitive body vibrating; +for she turned abruptly and gazed northward across +the woods and hills—remained motionless, her grey +eyes fixed on the far horizon, all silvery with the hidden +glimmer of unlighted stars.</p> +<p>Then she slowly said aloud to herself:</p> +<p>“He will not come. He will never come again—this +man who loved my mother.”</p> +<p>Barres approached across the grass, looking for her. +She went forward through the arbour to meet him.</p> +<p>“Hasn’t he come?” he asked.</p> +<p>“He is not coming, Garry.”</p> +<p>“Why? Have you heard anything?”</p> +<p>She shook her head:</p> +<p>“No. But he isn’t coming.”</p> +<p>“Probably he’ll explain this evening at the Gerhardts’.”</p> +<p>“I shall never see him again,” she said absently.</p> +<p>He turned and gave her a searching look. Her gaze +was remote, her face a little pale.</p> +<p>They walked back to the house together in silence.</p> +<p>A servant met them in the hall with a note on a tray. +It was for Barres; Dulcie passed on with a pale little +smile of dismissal; Barres opened the note:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“The pot has boiled over, mon ami. Something has +scared Skeel. He gave us the slip very cleverly, leaving +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span> +Gerhardt’s house before sunrise and motoring north at +crazy speed. Where he will strike the railway I have no +means of knowing. Your Government’s people are trying +to cover Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. On the Canada side +the authorities have been notified and are alert I hope.</p> +<p>“Gerhardt’s country house is a nest of mischief hatchers. +One in particular is under surveillance and will be arrested. +His name is Tauscher.</p> +<p>“Because, mon ami, it has just been discovered that +there are <i>two</i> plots to blow up the Welland Canal! One is +Skeel’s. The other is Tauscher’s. It is a purely German +plot. They don’t intend to blow themselves up these Huns. +Oh no! They expect to get away.</p> +<p>“Evidently Bernstorff puts no faith in Skeel’s mad plan. +So, in case it doesn’t pan out, here is Tauscher with another +plan, made in Germany, and very, very thorough. +Isn’t it characteristic? Here is the report I received this +morning:</p> +<p>“‘Captain Franz von Papen, Military Attaché on the +ambassadorial staff of Count von Bernstorff, and Captain +Hans Tauscher, who, besides being the Krupp agent in +America, is also, by appointment of the German War +Office, von Papen’s chief military assistant in the United +States, have plotted the destruction of the Welland Canal +in Canada.</p> +<p>“‘Captain Hans Tauscher will be arrested and indicted +for violation of Section 13 of the United States Criminal +Code, for setting on foot a military enterprise against +Canada during the neutrality of the United States.</p> +<p>“‘Tauscher is a German reserve officer and is subject +to the orders of Captain Franz von Papen, Military Attaché +of Count von Bernstorff. His indictment will be +brought about by reason of an attempt to blow up parts +of the Welland Canal, the waterway connecting Lakes +Erie and Ontario. A small party of Germans, under command +of one von der Goltz, have started from New York +for the purpose of committing this act of sabotage, and, +incidentally, of assassination of all men, women and children +who might be involved in the explosion at the point +to be selected by the plotters.</p> +<p>“‘Tauscher bought and furnished to this crowd of assassins +the dynamite which was to be used for the purpose. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +The fact that Tauscher had bought the dynamite has become +known to the United States authorities and he will +be called upon to make an explanation.</p> +<p>“‘Captain Tauscher is said to be an agreeable companion, +but he had the ordinary predilection of a German +officer for assassinating women and children.’</p> +<p>“Now, then, mon ami, this is the report. I expect that +United States Secret Service men will arrest Tauscher to-night. +Perhaps Gerhardt, also, will be arrested.</p> +<p>“At any rate, at the dance to-night you need not look +for Skeel. But may I suggest that you and Mr. Westmore +keep your eyes on Mademoiselle Dunois. Because, +at the railway station to-day, the German agents, Franz +Lehr and Max Freund, were recognised by my men, disguised +as liveried chauffeurs, but in whose service we +have not yet been able to discover.</p> +<p>“Therefore, it might be well for you and Mr. Westmore +to remain near Mademoiselle Dunois during the evening.</p> +<p>“Au revoir! I shall see you at the dance.</p> +<p class='sig1'>“<span class='smcap'>Renoux.</span>”</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span> +<a name='XXVII_THE_MOONLIT_WAY' id='XXVII_THE_MOONLIT_WAY'></a> +<h2>XXVII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />THE MOONLIT WAY</span></h2> +</div> +<p>Barres whistled and sang alternately as he tied +his evening tie before his looking glass.</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent4'>“<i>And I care not, I,</i></p> +<p><i>Who ever she be</i></p> +<p class='indent2'><i>I could not love her more!</i>”</p> +</div></div> +<p>he chanted gaily, examining the effect and buttoning +his white waistcoat.</p> +<p>Westmore, loitering near and waiting for him, referred +again, indignantly, to Renoux’s report concerning +the presence of Freund and Lehr at the Northbrook +railway station.</p> +<p>“If I catch them hanging around Thessa,” he said, +“I’ll certainly beat them up, Garry.</p> +<p>“Deal with anything of that sort directly; that’s always +the best way. No use arguing with a Hun. When +he misbehaves, beat him up. It’s the only thing he understands.”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s all right for us to do it now, as long as +the French Government knows where Thessa is,” remarked +Barres, drawing a white clove-carnation +through his buttonhole. “But what do you think of +that dirty swine, Tauscher, planning wholesale murder +like that? Isn’t it the fine flower of Prussianism? +There’s the real and porcine boche for you, sombre, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +savage, stupidly ferocious, swinishly persistent, but +never quite cunning enough, never sufficiently subtle +in planning his filthy and murderous holocausts.”</p> +<p>Westmore nodded:</p> +<p>“Quite right. The <i>Lusitania</i> and Belgium cost the +Hun the respect of civilisation, and are driving the +civilised world into a common understanding. We’ll go +in before long; don’t worry.”</p> +<p>They descended the stairs together just as dinner +was announced.</p> +<p>Mrs. Barres said laughingly to her son:</p> +<p>“Your father is still fishing, I suppose, so in spite of +his admonition to me by letter this morning, I sent over +one of the men with some thermos bottles and a very +nice supper. He grumbles, but he always likes it.”</p> +<p>“I wonder what Mr. Barres will think of me,” ventured +Dulcie. “He left such a pretty little rod for +me. Thessa and I have been examining it. I’d like +to go, only—” she added with a wistful smile, “I have +never been to a real party.”</p> +<p>“Of course you’re going to the Gerhardts’,” insisted +Lee, laughing. “Dad is absurd about his fishing. I +don’t believe any girl ever lived who’d prefer fishing +on that foggy lake at night to dancing at such a party +as you are going to to-night.”</p> +<p>“Aren’t you going?” asked Thessalie, but Lee shook +her head, still smiling.</p> +<p>“We have two young setters down with distemper, +and mother and I always sit up with our dogs under +such circumstances.”</p> +<p>Personal devotion of this sort was new to Thessalie. +Mrs. Barres and Lee told her all about the dreaded +contagion and how very dreadful an epidemic might +be in a kennel of such finely bred dogs as was the well-known +Foreland Kennels.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span></div> +<p>Dog talk absorbed everybody during dinner. Mrs. +Barres and Lee were intensely interested in Thessalie’s +description of the Grand Duke Cyril’s Russian wolfhounds, +with which she had coursed and hunted as a +child.</p> +<p>Once she spoke, also, of those strange, pathetic, +melancholy Ishmaelites, pitiable outcasts of their race—the +pariah dogs of Constantinople. For, somehow, +while dressing that evening, the distant complaint of a +tethered beagle had made her think of Stamboul. And +she remembered that night so long ago on the moonlit +deck of the <i>Mirage</i>, where she had stood with Ferez +Bey while, from the unseen, monstrous city close at +hand, arose the endless wailing of homeless dogs.</p> +<p>How strange it was, too, to think that the owner of +the <i>Mirage</i> should this night be her host here in the +Western World, yet remain unconscious that he had +ever before entertained her.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Before coffee had been served in the entrance hall, +the kennel master sent in word that one of the pups, +a promising Blue Belton, had turned very sick indeed, +and would Mrs. Barres come to the kennels as soon as +convenient.</p> +<p>It was enough for Mrs. Barres and for Lee; they +both excused themselves without further ceremony and +went away together to the kennels, apparently quite +oblivious of their delicate dinner gowns and slippers.</p> +<p>“I’ve seen my mother ruin many a gown on such errands,” +remarked Garry, smiling. “No use offering +yourself as substitute; my mother would as soon abandon +her own sick baby to strangers as turn over an +ailing pup to anybody except Lee and herself.”</p> +<p>“I think that is very splendid,” murmured Dulcie, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span> +relinquishing her coffee cup to Garry and suffering +a maid to invest her with a scarf and light silk wrap.</p> +<p>“My mother <i>is</i> splendid,” said Garry in a low voice. +“You will see her prove it some day, I hope.”</p> +<p>The girl turned her lovely head, curiously, not understanding. +Garry laughed, but his voice was not +quite steady when he said:</p> +<p>“But it all depends on you, Dulcie, how splendid +my mother may prove herself.”</p> +<p>“On <i>me</i>!”</p> +<p>“On your—kindness.”</p> +<p>“My—<i>kindness</i>!”</p> +<p>Thessalie came up in her pretty carnation-rose cloak, +esquired by the enraptured Westmore, expressing admiration +for the clothing adorning the very obvious +object of his devotion:</p> +<p>“All girls can’t wear a thing like that cloak,” he was +explaining proudly; “now it would look like the devil +on you, Dulcie, with your coppery hair and——”</p> +<p>“What exquisite tact!” shrugged Thessalie, already +a trifle restive under his constant attendance and unremitting +admiration. “Can’t you, out of your richly +redundant vocabulary, find something civil to say to +Dulcie?”</p> +<p>But Dulcie, still preoccupied with what Barres had +said, merely gave her an absent-minded smile and walked +slowly out beside her to the porch, where the headlights +of a touring car threw two broad beams of gold +across the lawn.</p> +<p>It was a swift, short run through the valley northward +among the hills, and very soon the yellow lights +of Northbrook summer homes dotted the darkness +ahead, and cars were speeding in from every direction—from +Ilderness, Wythem, East and South Gorloch—carrying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span> +guests for the Gerhardts’ moonlight spectacle +and dance.</p> +<p>Apropos of the promised spectacle, Barres observed +to Dulcie that there happened to be no moon, and consequently +no moonlight, but the girl, now delightfully +excited by glimpses of Hohenlinden festooned with +electricity, gaily reproached him for being literal.</p> +<p>“If one is happy,” she said, “a word is enough to +satisfy one’s imagination. If they call it a moonlight +spectacle, I shall certainly see moonlight whether it’s +there or not!”</p> +<p>“They may call it heaven, too, if they like,” he said, +“and I’ll believe it—if you are there.”</p> +<p>At that she blushed furiously:</p> +<p>“Oh, Garry! You don’t mean it, and it’s silly to say +it!”</p> +<p>“I mean it all right,” he muttered, as the car swung +in through the great ornamental gates of Hohenlinden. +“The trouble is that I mean so much—and <i>you</i> mean +so much to me—that I don’t know how to express it.”</p> +<p>The girl, her face charmingly aglow, looked straight +in front of her out of enchanted eyes, but her heart’s +soft violence in her breast left her breathless and mute; +and when the car stopped she scarcely dared rest her +hand on the arm which Barres presented to guide her +in her descent to earth.</p> +<p>It may have been partly the magnificence of Hohenlinden +that so thrillingly overwhelmed her as she +seated herself with Garry on the marble terrace of an +amphitheatre among brilliant throngs already gathered +to witness the eagerly discussed spectacle.</p> +<p>And it really was a bewilderingly beautiful scene, +there under the summer stars, where a thousand rosy +lanterns hung tinting the still waters of the little stream +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span> +that wound through the clipped greensward which +was the stage.</p> +<p>The foliage of a young woodland walled in this vernal +scene; the auditorium was a semi-circle of amber marble—rows +of low benches, tier on tier, rising to a level +with the lawn above.</p> +<p>The lantern light glowed on pretty shoulders and +bare arms, on laces and silks and splendid jewels, and +stained the sombre black of the men with vague warm +hues of rose.</p> +<p>Westmore, leaning over to address Barres, said with +an amused air:</p> +<p>“You know, Garry, it’s Corot Mandel who is putting +on this thing for the Gerhardts.”</p> +<p>“Certainly I know it,” nodded Barres. “Didn’t he +try to get Thessa for it?”</p> +<p>Thessalie, whose colour was high and whose dark +eyes, roaming, had grown very brilliant, suddenly held +out her hand to one of two men who, traversing the inclined +aisle beside her, halted to salute her.</p> +<p>“Your name was on our lips,” she said gaily. “How +do you do, Mr. Mandel! How do you do, Mr. Trenor! +Are you going to amaze us with a miracle in this +enchanting place?”</p> +<p>The two men paid their respects to her, and, with +unfeigned astonishment and admiration, to Dulcie, +whom they recognised only when Thessalie named her +with delighted malice.</p> +<p>“Oh, I say, Miss Soane,” began Mandel, leaning on +the back of the marble seat, “you and Miss Dunois +might have helped me a lot if I’d known you were +to be in this neighbourhood.”</p> +<p>Esmé Trenor bent over Barres, dropping his voice:</p> +<p>“We had to use a couple of Broadway hacks—you’ll +recognise ’em through their paint—you understand?—the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372' name='page_372'></a>372</span> +two that New York screams for. It’s too bad. +Corot wanted something unfamiliarly beautiful and +young and fresh. But these Northbrook amateurs are +incredibly amateurish.”</p> +<p>Thessalie was chattering away with Corot Mandel +and Westmore; Esmé Trenor gazed upon Dulcie in +wonder not unmixed with chagrin:</p> +<p>“You’ve never forgiven me, Dulcie, have you?”</p> +<p>“For what?” she inquired indifferently.</p> +<p>“For not discovering you when I should have.”</p> +<p>She smiled, but the polite effort and her detachment +of all interest in him were painfully visible to Esmé.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry you still remember me so unkindly,” he +murmured.</p> +<p>“But I never do remember you at all,” she explained +so candidly that Barres was obliged to avert his +amused face, and Esmé Trenor reddened to the roots +of his elaborate hair. Mandel, with a wry grin, linked +his arm in Trenor’s and drew him away toward the +flight of steps which was the stage entrance to the +dressing rooms below.</p> +<p>“Good-bye!” he said, waving his hat. “Hope you’ll +like my moonlight frolic!”</p> +<p>“Where’s your bally moon!” demanded Westmore.</p> +<p>As he spoke, an unseen orchestra began to play “<i>Au +Claire de la Lune</i>,” and, behind the woods, silhouetting +every trunk and branch and twig, the glittering edge +of a huge, silvery moon appeared.</p> +<p>Slowly it rose, flashing a broad path of light across +the lawn, reflected in the still little river. And when it +was in the position properly arranged for it, some local +Joshua—probably Corot Mandel—arrested its further +motion, and it hung there, flooding the stage with a +witching lustre.</p> +<p>All at once the stage swarmed with supple, glimmering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span> +shapes: Oberon and Titania came flitting down +through the trees; Puck, scintillating like a dragon-fly, +dropped on the sward, seemingly out of nowhere.</p> +<p>It was a wonderfully beautiful ballet, with an unseen +chorus singing from within the woods like a thousand +seraphim.</p> +<p>As for the play itself, which began with the calm +and silvered river suddenly swarming alive with water-nymphs, +it had to do, spasmodically, with the love of +the fairy crown-prince for the very attractive water-nymph, +Ythali. This nimble lady, otherwise, was +fiercely wooed by the King of the Mud-turtles, a most +horrid and sprawling shape, but a clever foil—with +his army of river-rats, minks and crabs—to the +nymphs and wood fairies.</p> +<p>Also, the music was refreshingly charming, the singing +excellent, and the story interesting enough to keep +the audience amused until the end.</p> +<p>There was, of course, much moonlight dancing, much +frolicking in the water, few clothes on the Broadway +principals, fewer on the chorus, and apparently no +scruples about discarding even these.</p> +<p>But the whole spectacle was so unreal, so spectral, +that its shadowy beauty robbed it of offence.</p> +<p>That sort of thing had made Corot Mandel famous. +He calculated to the width of a moonbeam just how +far he could go. And he never went a hair’s breadth +farther.</p> +<p>Thessalie looked on with flushed cheeks and parted +lips, absorbed in it all with the savant eyes of a professional. +She also had once coolly decided how far +her beauty and talent and adolescent effrontery could +carry her gay disdain of man. And she had flouted him +with indifferent eyes and dainty nose uplifted—mocked +him and his conventions, with a few roubles in her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span> +dressing-room—slapped the collective face of his sex +with her insolent loveliness, and careless smile.</p> +<p>Perhaps, as she sat there watching the fairy scene, +she remembered her ostrich and the German Embassy, +and the aged Von-der-Goltz Pasha, all over jewels and +gold, peeping at her through thick spectacles under his +red fez.</p> +<p>Perhaps she thought of Ferez, too, and maybe it +was thought of him that caused her smooth young +shoulders the slightest of shivers, as though a harsh +breeze had chilled her skin.</p> +<p>As for Dulcie, she was in the seventh heaven, thrilled +with the dreamy beauty of it all and the exquisite phantoms +floating on the greensward under her enraptured +eyes.</p> +<p>No other thought possessed her save sheer delight in +this revelation of pure enchantment.</p> +<p>So intent, so still she became, leaning a little forward +in her place, that Barres found her far more interesting +and wonderful to watch than Mandel’s cunningly +contrived illusions in the artificial moonlight below.</p> +<p>And now Titania’s trumpets sounded from the woods, +warning all of the impending dawn. Suddenly the +magic fairy moon vanished like the flame of a blown-out +candle; a faint, rosy light grew through the trees, revealing +an empty stage and a river on which floated +a single swan.</p> +<p>Then, from somewhere, a distant cock-crow rang +through the dawn. The play was ended.</p> +<p>Two splendid orchestras were alternating on the vast +marble terraces of Hohenlinden, where hundreds of +dancers moved under the white radiance of a huge +silvery moon overhead—another contrivance of +Mandel’s—for the splendid sphere aglow with white +fire had somehow been suspended above the linden trees +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span> +so that no poles and no wires were visible against the +starry sky.</p> +<p>And in its milky flood of light the dancers moved +amid a wilderness of flowers or thronged the supper-rooms +within, where Teutonic architectural and decorative +magnificence reigned in one vast, incredible, indigestible +gastronomic apotheosis of German kultur.</p> +<p>Barres, for the moment, dancing with Thessalie, +pressed her fingers with mischievous tenderness and +whispered:</p> +<p>“The moonlit way once more with you, Thessa! Do +you remember our first dance?”</p> +<p>“Can I ever thank God enough for that night’s +folly!” she said, with such sudden emotion that his +smile altered as he looked into her dark eyes.</p> +<p>“Yet that dance by moonlight exiled you,” he said.</p> +<p>“Do you realise what it saved me from, too? And +what it has given me?”</p> +<p>He wondered whether she included Westmore in the +gift. The music ceased at that moment, and, though +the other orchestra began, they strolled along the +flowering balustrade of the terrace together until they +encountered Dulcie and Westmore.</p> +<p>“Have you spoken to your hostess?” inquired Westmore. +“She’s over yonder on a dais, enthroned like +Germania or a Metropolitan Opera Valkyrie. Dulcie +and I have paid our homage.”</p> +<p>So Barres and Thessalie went away to comply with +the required formality; and, when they returned from +the rite, they found Esmé Trenor and Corot Mandel +cornering Dulcie under a flowering orange tree while +Westmore, beside her, chatted with a most engaging +woman who proved, later, to be a practising physician.</p> +<p>Esmé was saying languidly, that anybody could fly +into a temper and kick his neighbours, but that indifference +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span> +to physical violence was a condition of mind +attained only by the spiritual intellect of the psychic +adept.</p> +<p>“Passivism,” he added with a wave of his lank +fingers, “is the first plane to be attained on the journey +toward Nirvana. Therefore, I am a pacifist and this +silly war does not interest me in the slightest.”</p> +<p>The very engaging woman, who had been chatting +with Westmore, looked around at Esmé Trenor, evidently +much amused.</p> +<p>“I imagined that you were a pacifist,” she said. “I +fancy, Mr. Mandel, also, is one.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I am, madam!” said Corot Mandel. “I’ve +plenty to do in life without strutting around and +bawling for blood at the top of my lungs!”</p> +<p>“Thank heaven,” added Esmé, “the President has +kept us out of war. This business of butchering others +never appealed to me—except for the slightly unpleasant +sensations which I experience when I read the details.”</p> +<p>“Oh. Then unpleasant sensations so appeal to +you?” inquired Westmore, very red.</p> +<p>“Well, they <i>are</i> sensations, you know,” drawled +Esmé. “And, for a man who experiences few sensations +of any sort, even unpleasant ones are pleasurable.”</p> +<p>Mandel yawned and said:</p> +<p>“The war is an outrageous bore. All wars are stupid +to a man of temperament. Therefore, I’m a pacifist. +And I had rather live under Prussian domination +than rush about the country with a gun and sixty +pounds of luggage on my back!”</p> +<p>He looked heavily at Dulcie, who had slipped out +of the corner on the terrace, where he and Esmé had +penned her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span></div> +<p>“There are other things to do more interesting than +jabbing bayonets into Germans,” he remarked. “Did +you say you hadn’t any dance to spare us, Miss Soane? +Nor you either, Miss Dunois? Oh, well.” He cast a +disgusted glance at Barres, squinted at Westmore +through his greasy monocle in hostile silence; then, +taking Esmé’s arm, made them all a too profound +obeisance and sauntered away along the terrace.</p> +<p>“What a pair of beasts!” said Westmore. “They +make me actually ill!”</p> +<p>Barres shrugged and turned to the very engaging +lady beside him:</p> +<p>“What do you think of that breed of human, doctor?” +he inquired.</p> +<p>She smiled at Barres and said:</p> +<p>“Several of my own patients who are suffering from +the same form of psycho-neurotic trouble are also +peace-at-any-price pacifists. They do not come to me +to be cured of their pacifism. On the contrary, they +cherish it most tenderly. In examining them for other +troubles I happened upon what appeared to me a very +close relation between the peculiar attitude of the +peace-at-any-price pacifist and a certain type of unconscious +pervert.”</p> +<p>“That passivism is perversion does not surprise me,” +remarked Barres.</p> +<p>“Well,” she said, “the pacifist is not conscious of +his real desires and therefore cannot be termed a true +pervert. But the very term, passivism, is usually significant +and goes very deep psychologically. In analysing +my patients I struck against a buried impulse +in them to suffer tyrannous treatment from an omnipotent +master. The impulse was so strong that it +amounted to a craving and tried to absorb all the +psychic material within its reach. They did not recognise +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span> +the original impulse, because that had long ago +been crushed down by the exactions of civilised life. +Nevertheless, they were tortured and teased, made unsettled +and wretched by a something which continually +baffled them. Deep under the upper crust of +their personalities was concealed a seething desire to +be completely, inevitably, relentlessly, unreservedly +overwhelmed by a subjugation from which there was +no escape.”</p> +<p>She turned to Westmore:</p> +<p>“It’s purely pathological, the condition of those two +self-confessed pacifists. The pacifist loves suffering. +The ordinary normal person avoids suffering when possible. +He endures it only when something necessary +or desirable cannot be gained in any other way. He +may undergo agony at the mere thought of it. His +bravery consists in facing danger and pain in spite +of fear. But the extreme passivist, who is really an +unconscious pervert, loves to dream of martyrdom +and suffering. It must be a suffering, however, which +is forced upon him, and it must be a personal matter, +not impersonal and general, as in war. And he loves +to contemplate a condition of complete captivity—of +irresponsible passivity, in which all resistance is in +vain.”</p> +<p>“Do you know, they disgust me, those two!” said +Westmore angrily. “I never could endure anything +abnormal. And now that I know Esmé is—and that +big lout, Mandel—I’ll keep away from them. Do you +blame me, doctor?”</p> +<p>“Well,” she said, much amused and turning to go, +“they’re very interesting to physicians, you know—these +non-resisting, pacifistic perverts. But outside a +sanatorium I shouldn’t expect them to be very popular.” +And she laughed and joined a big, good-looking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span> +man who had come to seek her, and who wore, in his +buttonhole, the button of the French Legion of Honour.</p> +<p>Thessalie had strolled forward along the terrace by +herself, interested in the pretty spectacle and the play +of light on jewels and gowns.</p> +<p>Westmore, busy in expressing to Barres his opinion +of Esmé and Mandel, did not at the moment miss Thessalie, +who continued to saunter on along the balustrade +of the terrace, under the blossoming row of +orange trees.</p> +<p>Just below her was another terrace and an oval +pool set with tiny jets which seemed to spray the basin +with liquid silver. Silvery fish, too, were swimming in +it near the surface, sometimes flinging themselves clear +out of water as though intoxicated by the unwonted +lustre which flooded their crystal pool.</p> +<p>To see them nearer, Thessalie ran lightly down the +steps and walked toward the shimmering basin. And +at the same time the head and shoulders of a man in +evening dress, his bosom crossed by a sash of watered +red silk, appeared climbing nimbly from a still lower +level.</p> +<p>She watched him step swiftly upon the terrace and +cross it diagonally, walking in her direction toward the +stone stairs which she had just descended. Then, paying +him no further attention, she looked down into the +water.</p> +<p>He came along very near to where she stood, gazing +into the pool—peered at her curiously—was already +passing at her very elbow—when something made +her lift her head and look around at him.</p> +<p>The mock moonlight struck full across his features; +and the shock of seeing him drove every vestige of colour +from her own face.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span></div> +<p>The man halted, staring at her in unfeigned amazement. +Suddenly he snarled at her, baring his teeth +in her shrinking face.</p> +<p>“<i>Kismet dir!</i>” he whispered, “it ees <i>you</i>!... +Nihla Quellen! <i>Now</i> I begin onderstan’!... Yas, I +now onderstan’ who arrange it that they haf arrest my +good frien’, Tauscher! It ees <i>you</i>, then! Von Igel +he has tol’ me, look out once eef she escape—thees +yoong leopardess——”</p> +<p>“Ferez!” Thessalie’s young figure stiffened and the +colour flamed in her cheeks.</p> +<p>“You leopardess!” he repeated, every tooth a-grin +again with rage, “you misbegotten slut of a hunting +cheetah! So thees is ’ow you strike!... Ver’ well. +Yas, I see ’ow it ees you strike at——”</p> +<p>“Ferez!” she cried. “Listen to <i>me</i>!”</p> +<p>“I ’ear you! Allez!”</p> +<p>“Ferez Bey! I am not afraid of you!”</p> +<p>“Ees it so?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it is so. I <i>never</i> have been afraid of you! +Not even there on the deck of the <i>Mirage</i>, that night +when you tapped the hilt of your Kurdish knife and +spoke of Seraglio Point! Nor when your scared spy +shot at me in the corridor of the Tenth Street house; +nor afterward at Dragon Court! Nor now! Do you +understand, Eurasian jackal! Nor <i>now</i>! Anybody +can see what <i>Heruli</i> whelped you! What are you doing +in America? Kassim Pasha is your den, where your +<i>rayah</i> loll and scratch in the sun! It is their <i>Keyeff</i>! +And yours!”</p> +<p>She took a quick step toward him, her eyes flashing, +her white hand clenched:</p> +<p>“<i>Allah Kerim</i>—do you say? <i>El Hamdu Lillah!</i> +Do you take yourself for the <i>muezzin</i> of all jackals, +then, howling blasphemies from some <i>minaret</i> in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span> +hills? Do you understand what they’d do to you in +the <i>Hirka-i-Sherif Jamesi</i>? Because you are <i>nothing</i>; +do you hear?—nothing but an Eurasian assassin! +And Moslem and Christian alike know where <i>you</i> belong +among the lost pariahs of Stamboul!”</p> +<p>The girl was utterly transfigured. Whatever of the +Orient was in her, now blazed white hot.</p> +<p>“What have I done to you, Ferez? What have I +ever done to you that you, even from my childhood, +come always stepping noiselessly at my skirt’s edge?—always +padding behind me at my heels, silent, sinister, +whimpering with bared teeth for the courage to +bite which God denies you!”</p> +<p>The man stood almost motionless, moistening his +dry lips with his tongue, but his eyes moved continually, +stealing uneasy glances around him and upward, +where, on the main terrace above them, the heads of +the throng passed and repassed.</p> +<p>“Nihla,” he said, “for all thees scorn and abuse of +me, you know, in the false heart of you, why it ees so +if I have seek you.”</p> +<p>“You dealer in lies! You would have sold me to +d’Eblis! You thought you <i>had</i> sold me! You were +paid for it, too!”</p> +<p>“An’ still!” He looked at her furtively.</p> +<p>“What do you mean? You conspired with d’Eblis +to ruin me, soul and body! You involved me in your +treacherous propaganda in Paris. Through you I am +an exile. If I go back to my own country, I shall +go to a shameful death. You have blackened my honour +in my country’s eyes. But that was not enough. +No! You thought me sufficiently broken, degraded, +terrified to listen to any proposition from you. You +sent your agents to me with offers of money if I would +betray my country. Finding I would not, you whined +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span> +and threatened. Then, like the Eurasian dog you are, +you tried to bargain. You were eager to offer me +anything if I would keep quiet and not interfere——”</p> +<p>“Nihla!”</p> +<p>“What?” she said, contemptuously.</p> +<p>“In spite of thees—of all you say—I have love you!”</p> +<p>“Liar!” she retorted wrathfully. “Do you dare say +that to me, whom you have already tried to murder?”</p> +<p>“I say it. Yas. Eef it has not been so then you +were dead long time.”</p> +<p>“You—you are trying to tell me that you spared +me!” she demanded scornfully.</p> +<p>“It ees so. Alexandre—d’Eblis, you know?—long +time since he would have safety for us all—thees way. +Non! Je ne pourrais pas vouz tuer, moi! It ees not +in my heart, Nihla.... Because I have love you long +time—ver’ long time.”</p> +<p>“Because you have <i>feared</i> me long time, ver’ long +time!” she mocked him. “That is why, Ferez—because +you are afraid; because you are only a jackal. And +jackals never kill. No!”</p> +<p>“You say thees-a to me, Nihla?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I say it. You’re a coward! And I’ll tell you +something more. I am going to make a complete +statement to the French Government. I shall relate +everything I know about d’Eblis, Bolo Effendi, a certain +bureaucrat, an Italian politician, a Swiss banker, +old Von-der-Goltz Pasha, Heimholz, Von-der-Hohe +Pasha, and you, my Ferez—and you, also!</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/illus-382.jpg' alt='' title='' width='361' height='500' /> +<br /> +<p class='caption'> +HE CAME TOWARD HER STEALTHILY<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“Do you know what France will do to d’Eblis and +his scoundrel friends? Do you guess what these duped +Americans will do to Bolo Effendi? And to you? And +to Von Papen and Boy-ed and Von Igel—yes, and to +Bernstorff and his whole murderous herd of Germans? +And can you imagine what my own doubly duped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383' name='page_383'></a>383</span> +Government will surely, surely do, some day, to you, +Ferez?”</p> +<p>She laughed, but her dark eyes fairly glittered:</p> +<p>“<i>My</i> martyrdom is ending, God be thanked! And +then I shall be free to serve where my heart is ... in +Alsace!... Alsace!—forever French!”</p> +<p>In the white light she saw the sweat break out on +the man’s forehead—saw him grope for his handkerchief—and +draw out a knife instead—never taking +his eyes off her.</p> +<p>She turned to run; but he had already blocked the +way to the stone steps; and now he came creeping +toward her, white as a cadaver, distracted from sheer +terror, and rubbing the knife flat against his thigh.</p> +<p>“So you shall do thees—a filth to me—eh, Nihla?” +he whispered with blanched lips. “It ees on me, your +frien’, you spring to keel me, eh, my leopardess? Ver’ +well. But firs’ I teach you somethings you don’ know!—thees-a +way, my Nihla!”</p> +<p>He came toward her stealthily, moving more swiftly +as she put the stone basin of the pool between them +and cast an agonised glance up at the distant terrace.</p> +<p>“Jim!” she cried frantically. “Jim! Help me, +Jim!”</p> +<p>The gay din of the music above drowned her cry; +she fled as Ferez darted toward her, but again he +doubled and sprang back to bar the stone steps, and +she halted, white and breathless, yet poised for instant +flight.</p> +<p>Again and again she called out desperately for aid; +the noise of the orchestra smothered her cry. And +if, indeed, anybody from the terrace above chanced to +glance down, it is likely that they supposed these two +were skylarking merrymakers at some irresponsible +game of catch-who-can.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384' name='page_384'></a>384</span></div> +<p>Suddenly Thessalie remembered the lower level, +where the automobiles were parked, and from which +Ferez had first appeared. She could escape that way. +There were the steps, not very far behind her. The +next instant she turned and ran like a deer.</p> +<p>And after her sped Ferez, his broad, thin-bladed +knife pressed flat against the crimson sash across his +breast, his dead-white visage distorted with that blind, +convulsive fear which makes murderers out of cowards.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385' name='page_385'></a>385</span> +<a name='XXVIII_GREEN_JACKETS' id='XXVIII_GREEN_JACKETS'></a> +<h2>XXVIII +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />GREEN JACKETS</span></h2> +</div> +<p>Thoroughly worried by this time over the +sudden disappearance of Thessalie Dunois, and +unable to discover her anywhere on the terrace +or in the house, Westmore, Barres and Dulcie Soane +had followed the winding main drive as far as the level, +where their car was waiting among scores of other +cars.</p> +<p>But Thessalie was not there; the chauffeur had not +seen her.</p> +<p>“Where in the world could she have gone?” faltered +Dulcie. “She was standing up there on the terrace +with us, a moment ago; then, the very next second, she +had vanished utterly.”</p> +<p>Westmore, grim and pallid, walked back along the +drive; Dulcie followed with Barres. As they overtook +Westmore, he cast one more glance back at the ranks +of waiting cars, then stared up at the terraced hill +above them, over which the artificial moon hung above +the lindens, glowing with pallid, lambent fires.</p> +<p>There was a vague whitish object on one of the +grassy slopes—something in motion up there—something +that was running erratically but swiftly—as +though in pursuit—or <i>pursued</i>!</p> +<p>“My God! What’s that, Garry!” he burst out. +“That thing up there on the hillside!”</p> +<p>He sprang for the steps, Barres after him, taking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386' name='page_386'></a>386</span> +the ascent at incredible speed, up, up, then out along +a shrub-set grassy slope.</p> +<p>“Thessa!” shouted Westmore. “Thessa!”</p> +<p>But the girl was flat on her back on the grass now, +fighting sturdily for life—twisting, striking, baffling +the whining, panting thing that knelt on her, holding +her and trying to drive a knife deep into the lithe +young body which always slipped and writhed out of +his trembling clutch.</p> +<p>Again and again he tore himself free from her grasp; +again and again his armed hand sought to strike, but +she always managed to seize and drag it aside with +the terrible strength of one dying. And at last, with +a last crazed, superhuman effort, she wrested the knife +from his unnerved fist, tore it out of his spent fingers.</p> +<p>It fell somewhere near her on the grass; he strove +to reach it and pick it up, but already her dauntless +resistance began to exhaust him, and he groped for the +knife in vain, trying to pin her down with one hand +while, with desperate little fists, she rained blows on +his bloodless face that dazed him.</p> +<p>But there was still another way—a much better way, +in fact. And, as the idea came to him, he ripped the +red-silk sash from his breast and, in spite of her struggles, +managed to pass it around her bare neck.</p> +<p>“Now!” he panted. “I keep my word at last. C’est +fini, ma petite Nihla.”</p> +<p>“Jim! Help me!” she gasped, as Ferez pulled savagely +at the silk noose, tightened it with all his +strength, knotted it. And in that same second he +heard Westmore crashing through the shrubbery, close +to him.</p> +<p>Instantly he rose to his knees on the grass; bounded +to his feet, leaped over the low shrubs, and was off +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387' name='page_387'></a>387</span> +down the slope—gone like a swift hawk’s shadow on +the hillside. Barres was after him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The soul of Thessalie Dunois was very near to its +escape, now, brightening, glistening within its unconscious +chrysalis, stretching its glorious limbs and +wings; preparing to arise from its spectral tenement +and soar aloft to its myriad sisters, where they +swarmed glittering in the zenith.</p> +<p>Had it not been for the knife lying beside her on +the grass—the blade very bright in the starlight—truly +the youthful soul of Thessalie had been sped.</p> +<p>At the edge of the Gerhardts’ pine woods, Barres, +at fault, baffled, furious, out of breath and glaring +around him in the dark, sullenly gave up the hopeless +chase, turned in his tracks, and came back. Thessalie, +lying in Dulcie’s arms, unclosed her eyes and looked +up at him.</p> +<p>“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling and bending +over her.</p> +<p>“Yes ... Jim came.”</p> +<p>Westmore’s voice was shaky.</p> +<p>“We worked her arms—Dulcie and I—started respiration. +She was nearly gone. That beast strangled +her——”</p> +<p>“I lost him in those woods below. Who was he?”</p> +<p>“Ferez Bey!”</p> +<p>Thessalie sighed, closed her eyes.</p> +<p>“She’s about all in,” whispered Westmore. And, to +Dulcie: “Let me take her. I’ll carry her to the car.”</p> +<p>At that Thessalie opened her eyes again and the +old, faintly humorous smile glimmered out at him as +he stooped and lifted her from the grass.</p> +<p>“Can I really trust myself to your arms, Jim?” she +murmured.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388' name='page_388'></a>388</span></div> +<p>“You’d better get used to ’em,” he retorted. “You’ll +never get away from them again—I can tell you that +right now!”</p> +<p>“Oh.... In that case, I hope they’ll be—comfortable—your +arms.”</p> +<p>“Do you think they will be, Thessa?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps.” She gazed into his eyes very seriously +from where she lay cradled in his powerful arms.</p> +<p>“I’m tired, Jim.... So sore and bruised.... +When he was choking me I tried to think of you—believing +it was the end—my last conscious thought——”</p> +<p>“My darling!——”</p> +<p>“I’m so tired,” she breathed, “so lonely.... I +shall be—contented—in your arms.... Always——” +She turned her head and rested her cheek against his +breast with a deep sigh.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He held her in his arms in the car all the way to +Foreland Farms. Dulcie, however, had possessed herself +of Thessalie’s left hand, and when she stroked it +and pressed it to her lips the girl’s tightening fingers +responded, and she always smiled.</p> +<p>“I’m just tired and sore,” she explained languidly. +“Ferez battered me about so dreadfully!... It was +so mortifying. I despised him all the time. It made +me furious to be handled by such a contemptible and +cowardly creature.”</p> +<p>“It’s a matter for the police, now,” remarked Barres +gloomily.</p> +<p>“Oh, Garry!” she exclaimed. “What a very horrid +ending to the moonlit way we took together so long +ago!—the lovely silvery path of Pierrot!”</p> +<p>“The story of Pierrot is a tragedy, Thessa! We +have been luckier on our moonlit way.”</p> +<p>“Than Pierrot and Pierrette?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389' name='page_389'></a>389</span></div> +<p>“Yes. Death always saunters along the path of +the moon, watching for those who take it.... You +are very fortunate, Pierrette.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she murmured, “I am fortunate.... Am I +not, Jim?” she added, looking up wistfully into his +shadowy face above her.</p> +<p>“I don’t know about that,” he said, “but there’ll be +no more moonlight business for you unless I’m with +you. And under those circumstances,” he added, “I’ll +knock the block off Old Man Death if he tries to flirt +with you!”</p> +<p>“How brutal! Garry, do you hear his language to +me?”</p> +<p>“I hear,” said Barres, laughing. “Your young man +is a very matter of fact young man, Thessa, and I +fancy he means what he says.”</p> +<p>She looked up at Westmore; her lips barely moved:</p> +<p>“Do you—dear?”</p> +<p>“You bet I do,” he whispered. “I’ll pull this planet +to pieces looking for you if you ever again steal away +to a rendezvous with Old Man Death.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When the car arrived at Foreland Farms, Thessalie +felt able to proceed to her room upon her own legs, +and with Dulcie’s arm around her.</p> +<p>Westmore bade her good-night, kissing her hand—awkwardly—not +being convincing in any rôle requiring +attitudes.</p> +<p>He wanted to take her into his arms, but seemed +to know enough not to do it. Probably she divined +his irresolute state of mind, for she extended her hand +in a pretty manner quite unmistakable. And the romantic +education of James H. Westmore began.</p> +<p>Barres lingered at the door after Westmore departed, +obeying a whispered aside from Dulcie. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390' name='page_390'></a>390</span> +came out in a few moments, carefully closing the bedroom +door, and stood so, one hand behind her still resting +on the knob.</p> +<p>“Thessa is crying. It’s only the natural relaxation +from that horrible tension. I shall sleep with her to-night.”</p> +<p>“Is there anything——”</p> +<p>“Oh, no. She will be all right.... Garry, are +they—are they—in <i>love</i>?”</p> +<p>“It rather looks that way, doesn’t it?” he said, smiling.</p> +<p>She gazed at him questioningly, almost fearfully.</p> +<p>“Do <i>you</i> believe that Thessa is in love with Mr. +Westmore?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Yes, I do. Don’t you?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know.... I thought so. But——”</p> +<p>“But what?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t—didn’t know—what you would think of +it.... I was afraid it might—might make you—unhappy.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you <i>care</i> if Thessa loves somebody else?” +she asked breathlessly.</p> +<p>“Did you think I did, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t.”</p> +<p>There was a strained silence; then the girl smiled at +him in a confused manner, drew a swift, sudden breath, +and, as he stepped forward to detain her, turned +sharply away, pressing her forearm across her eyes.</p> +<p>“Dulcie! Did you understand me?” he said in a low, +unsteady voice.</p> +<p>She was already trying to open the door, but he +dropped his right hand over her fingers where they +were fumbling with the knob, and felt them trembling. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391' name='page_391'></a>391</span> +At the same moment, the sound of Thessalie’s smothered +and convulsive sobbing came to him; and Dulcie’s +nervous hand slipped from his.</p> +<p>“Dulcie!” he pleaded. “Will you come back to me +if I wait?”</p> +<p>She had stopped; her back was still toward him, but +she nodded slightly, then moved on toward the bed, +where Thessalie lay all huddled up, her face buried in +the tumbled pillows.</p> +<p>Barres noiselessly closed the door.</p> +<p>He had already started along the corridor toward +his own room, when the low sound of voices in the staircase +hall just below arrested his attention—his sister’s +voice and Westmore’s. And he retraced his steps +and went down to where they stood together by the +library door.</p> +<p>Lee wore a nurse’s dress and apron, such as a kennel-mistress +affects, and her strong, capable hands were +full of bottles labelled “Grover’s Specific”—the same +being dog medicine of various sorts.</p> +<p>“Mother is over at the kennels, Garry,” she said. +“She and I are going to sit up with those desperately +sick pups. If we can pull them through to-night they’ll +probably get well, eventually, unless paralysis sets in. +I was just telling Jim that a very attractive young +Frenchman was here only a few minutes before you arrived. +His name is Renoux. And he left this letter +for you—fish it out of my apron pocket, there’s a +dear——”</p> +<p>Her brother drew out the letter; his sister said:</p> +<p>“Mr. Renoux went away in a car with two other men. +He asked me to say to you that there was no time to +lose—whatever he meant by that! Now, I must hurry +away!” She turned and sped through the hall and +out through the swinging screen door on the north +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_392' name='page_392'></a>392</span> +porch. Garry had already opened the note from +Renoux, glanced over it; then he read it aloud to Westmore:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>My dear Comrade</span>:</p> +<p>“The fat’s in the fire! Your agents took Tauscher in +charge to-day. Max Freund and Franz Lehr have just +been arrested by your excellent Postal authorities. Warrants +are out for Sendelbeck, Johann Klein, and Louis +Hochstein. I think the latter are making for Mexico, +but your Secret Service people are close on their heels.</p> +<p>“Recall for von Papen and Boy-ed is certain to be demanded +by your Government. Mine will look after Bolo +Effendi and d’Eblis and their international gang of spies +and crooks. Ferez Bey, however, still eludes us. He is +somewhere in this vicinity, but of course, even when we +locate him again, we can’t touch him. All we can do is +to point him out to your Government agents, who will then +keep him in sight.</p> +<p>“So far so good. But now I am forced to ask a very +great favour of you, and, if I may, of your friend, Mr. +Westmore. It is this: Skeel, contrary to what was expected +of him, did not go to the place which is being +watched. Nor have any of his men appeared at that rendezvous +where there lies the very swift and well-armed +launch, <i>Togue Rouge</i>, which we had every reason to suppose +was to be their craft in this outrageous affair.</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact, this launch is Tauscher’s. But it, +and the pretended rendezvous, are what you call a plant. +Skeel never intended to assemble his men there; never +intended to use that particular launch. Tauscher merely +planted it. Your men and the Canadian agents, unfortunately, +are covering that vicinity and are still watching +for Skeel, who has a very different plan in his crazy head.</p> +<p>“Now, this is Skeel’s plan, and this is the situation, +learned by me from papers discovered on Tauscher:</p> +<p>“The explosives bought and sent there by Tauscher himself +are on a big, fast power-boat which is lying at anchor +in a little cove called Saibling Bay. The boat flies the +Quebec Yacht Club ensign, and a private pennant to which +it has no right.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393' name='page_393'></a>393</span></div> +<p>“Two of Skeel’s gang are already aboard—a man named +Con McDermott and another, Kelly Walsh. Skeel joins +the others at a hamlet near the Lake shore, known as Three +Ponds. The tavern is a notorious and disreputable old +brick hotel—what you call a speak-easy. That is their +rendezvous.</p> +<p>“Well, then, I have wired to your people, to Canada, to +Washington. But Three Ponds is not a very long drive +from here, if one ignores speed limits. Yes? Could you +help us maintain a close surveillance over that damned +tavern to-night? Is it too much to ask?</p> +<p>“And if you and Mr. Westmore are graciously inclined +to aid us, would you be so kind as to come armed? Because, +mon ami, unless your Government people arrive in +time, I shall certainly try to keep Skeel and his gang +from boarding that boat.</p> +<p>“Au revoir, donc! I am off with Jacques Alost and +Emile Souchez for that charming summer resort, the Three +Ponds Tavern, where, from the neighbouring roadside +woods, I shall hope to flag your automobile by sunrise +and welcome you and your amiable friend, Mr. Westmore, +as our brothers in arms.</p> +<p class='sig1'>“<span class='smcap'>Renoux</span>, your comrade and, friend.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There was a silence. Then Westmore looked at his +watch.</p> +<p>“We ought to hustle,” he remarked. “I’ll get on +some knickers and stick a couple of guns in my pocket. +You’d better telephone to the garage.”</p> +<p>As they hastened up the stairs together, Barres said: +“Have I time for a word with Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“That’s up to you. I’m not going to say anything +to Thessa. I wouldn’t care to miss this affair. If +we arrived too late and they had already dynamited +the Welland Canal, we’d never forgive ourselves.”</p> +<p>Barres ran for his room.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They were dressed, armed and driving out of the +Foreland Farms gates inside of ten minutes. Barres +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394' name='page_394'></a>394</span> +had the wheel; Westmore sat beside him shoving new +clips into two automatics and dividing the remaining +boxes of ammunition.</p> +<p>“The crazy devils,” he said to Barres, raising his +voice to make himself heard. “Blow up the Canal, +will they! What’s the matter with these Irishmen! +The rest are not like ’em. Look at the Flanders fighting, +Garry! Look at the magnificent record of the +Irish regiments! Why don’t our Irish play the +game?”</p> +<p>“It’s their blind hatred of England,” shouted Barres, +in his ear. “They’re monomaniacs. They can’t see +anything else—can’t see what they’re doing to civilisation—cutting +the very throat of Liberty every time +they jab at England. What’s the use? You can’t +talk to them. They’re lunatics. But when they start +things over here they’ve got to be put into straitjackets.”</p> +<p>“They <i>are</i> lunatics,” repeated Westmore. “If they +weren’t, they wouldn’t risk the wholesale murder of +women and children. That is a purely German peculiarity; +it’s what the normal boche delights in. But +the Irish are white men. And it’s only when they’re +crazy they’d try a thing like this.”</p> +<p>After a long silence:</p> +<p>“How fast, Garry?”</p> +<p>“Around fifty.”</p> +<p>“How far is it?”</p> +<p>“About twenty-five miles further.”</p> +<p>The car rushed on through the night under the brilliant +July stars and over a perfect road. In the hollows, +where spring brooks ran under stone bridges, a +slight, chilling mist hung, but otherwise the night was +clear and warm.</p> +<p>Woods, fields, farms, streamed by in the darkness; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395' name='page_395'></a>395</span> +the car tore on in the wake of its glaring, golden headlights, +where clouds of little winged creatures of the +night whirled and eddied like flecks of tinsel.</p> +<p>Rarely they encountered other cars, for the hour +was late, and there were no lights in the farm houses +which they passed along the road.</p> +<p>They spoke seldom now, their terrific speed and the +roaring wind discouraging conversation. But the +night air, which they whipped into a steadily flowing +gale, was still soft and fragrant and warm; and with +every mile their exhilaration increased.</p> +<p>Now the eastern horizon, which had already paled +to a leaden tone, was becoming pallid; and few stars +were visible except directly overhead.</p> +<p>Barres slowed down to twenty miles. Long double +barriers of dense and misty woodland flanked the road +on either hand, with few cultivated fields between and +very rarely a ramshackle barn.</p> +<p>Acres of alder swamp spread away on either hand, +set with swale and pool and tussock. And across the +flat desolation the east was all a saffron glow now, +and the fish-crows were flying in twos and threes above +the bog holes.</p> +<p>“There’s a man in the road ahead,” said Westmore.</p> +<p>“I see him.”</p> +<p>The man threw up one arm in signal, then made a +sweeping gesture indicating that they should turn +to the left. The man was Renoux.</p> +<p>“A cart-track and a pair of bars,” said Westmore. +“Their car has been in there, too. You can see the +tire marks.”</p> +<p>Renoux sprang onto the running board without a +word.</p> +<p>Barres steered his car very gingerly in through the +bars and along the edge of the woods where, presently, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396' name='page_396'></a>396</span> +the swampy cart-track turned to the right among the +trees.</p> +<p>“All right!” said Renoux briskly, dropping to the +ground. He shook hands with the two new arrivals, +passed one arm under each of theirs, and led them +forward along a wet, ferny road toward a hardwood +ridge.</p> +<p>Here Souchez and Alost, who lay full length on the +dead leaves, got up, to welcome the reinforcements, +and to point out the disreputable old brick building +which stood close to the further edge of the woods, +rear end toward them, and fronting on a rutty crossroad +beyond.</p> +<p>“Are we in time?” inquired Barres in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Plenty,” said Renoux with a shrug. “They’ve +been making a night of it in there. They’re at it yet. +Listen!”</p> +<p>Even at that distance the sound of revelry was audible—shouts, +laughter, cheering, boisterous singing.</p> +<p>“Skeel is there,” remarked Renoux, “and I fancy +he’s an anxious man. They ought to have been out +of that house before dawn to escape observation, but I +imagine Skeel has an unruly gang to deal with in those +reckless Irishmen.”</p> +<p>Barres and Westmore peered out through the +fringe of trees across the somewhat desolate landscape +beyond.</p> +<p>There were no houses to be seen. Here and there +on the bogs were stakes of swale-hay and a gaunt tree +or two.</p> +<p>“That brick hotel,” said Renoux, “is one of those +places outside town limits, where law is defied and license +straddles the line. It’s run by McDermott, one +of the two men aboard the power-boat.”</p> +<p>“Where is their boat?” inquired Westmore.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397' name='page_397'></a>397</span></div> +<p>Renoux turned and pointed to the southwest.</p> +<p>“Over there in a cove—about a mile south of us. +If they leave the tavern we can get to the boat first +and block their road.”</p> +<p>“We’ll be between two fires then,” observed Barres, +“from the boat’s deck and from Skeel’s gang.”</p> +<p>Renoux nodded coolly:</p> +<p>“Two on the boat and five in the hotel make seven. +We are five.”</p> +<p>“Then we can hold them,” said Westmore.</p> +<p>“That’s all I want,” rejoined Renoux briskly. “I +just want to check them and hold them until your +Government can send its agents here. I know I have +no business to do this—probably I’ll get into trouble. +But I can’t sit still and twirl my thumbs while people +blow up a canal belonging to an ally of France, can I?”</p> +<p>“Hark!” motioned Barres. “They’re singing! +Poor devils. They’re like Cree Indians singing their +death song.”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said Westmore sombrely, “that deep +in each man’s heart there remains a glimmer of hope +that he, at least, may come out of it.”</p> +<p>Renoux shrugged:</p> +<p>“Perhaps. But they are brave, these Irish—brave +enough without a skinful of whiskey. And with it +they are entirely reckless. No sane man can foretell +what they will attempt.” He turned to include Alost +and Souchez: “I think there can be only one plan of +action for us, gentlemen. We should string out here +along the edges of the woods. When they leave the +tavern we should run for the landing and get into the +shack that stands there—a rickety sort of boat-house +on piles,” he explained to Westmore and Barres. +“There is the path through the woods.” He pointed to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398' name='page_398'></a>398</span> +the left, where a trodden way bisected the wood-road. +“It runs straight to the landing,” he added.</p> +<p>Alost, at a sign from him, started off westward +through the woods. Souchez followed. Renoux +leaned back against a big walnut tree and signified +that he would remain there.</p> +<p>So Barres and Westmore moved forward to the +right, very cautiously, circling the rear of the old +brick hotel where a line of ruined horse-sheds and a +rickety barn screened them from view of the hotel’s +south windows.</p> +<p>So close to the tavern did they pass that they could +hear the noisy singing very distinctly and see through +the open windows the movement of shadowy figures +under the paling light of a ceiling lamp.</p> +<p>Westmore ventured nearer in hopes of getting a better +view from the horse-sheds; and Barres crept after +him through the rank growth of swale and weeds.</p> +<p>“Look at them!” whispered Westmore. “They’re +in a sort of uniform, aren’t they?”</p> +<p>“They’ve got on green jackets and stable-caps! +Do you see that stack of rifles in the corner of the +tap-room?”</p> +<p>“There’s Skeel!” muttered Westmore, “the man in +the long cloak sitting by the fireplace with his face +buried in his hands!”</p> +<p>“He looks utterly done in,” whispered Barres. +“Probably he can’t manage that gang and he begins +to realise it. Hark! You can hear every word of +that thing they’re singing.”</p> +<p>Every word, indeed, was a yell or a shout, and distinct +enough at that. They were roaring out “Green +Jackets”:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>“<i>Oh, Irish maids love none but those</i></p> +<p><i>Who wear the jackets green!</i>”</p> +</div></div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399' name='page_399'></a>399</span></div> +<p>—all lolling and carousing around a slopping wet +table—all save Murtagh Skeel, who, seated near the +empty fireplace with his white face buried between his +fingers, never stirred from his attitude of stony immobility.</p> +<p>“There’s Soane!” whispered Barres, “that man who +just got up!”</p> +<p>It was Soane, his cap cocked aslant on his curly +head, his green jacket unbuttoned, a tumbler aloft in +his unsteady clutch.</p> +<p>“Whurroo!” he yelled. “<i>Gu ma slan a chi mi!—fear +a’ Bhata!</i>” And he laid a reckless hand on Skeel’s +cloaked shoulder. But the latter never stirred; and +Soane, winking at the company, flourished his tumbler +aloft and broke into “The Risin’ o’ the Moon”:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>“Oh, then tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall,</p> +<p>Phwere the gatherin’ is to be!</p> +<p class='indent2'>In th’ ould shpot be the river;—</p> +<p>Sure it’s known to you an’ me!”</p> +</div></div> +<p>And the others began to shout the words:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>“<i>Death to every foe and traitor!</i></p> +<p><i>Forward! Strike the marchin’ tune,</i></p> +<p class='indent2'><i>And hurrah, me lads, for freedom!</i></p> +<p><i>’Tis the risin’ of the moon!</i></p> +</div><div class='stanza'> +<p>“At the risin’ of the moon,</p> +<p class='indent2'>At the risin’ of the moon,</p> +<p>And a thousand blades are flashin’</p> +<p>At the risin’ of the moon!”</p> +</div></div> +<p>“Here’s to Murtagh Skeel!” roared Soane, “<i>An +gille dubh ciardubh!</i> Whurroo!”</p> +<p>Skeel lifted his haggard visage, slowly looked +around, got up from his stool.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_400' name='page_400'></a>400</span></div> +<p>“In God’s name,” he said hoarsely, “if you’re not +utterly shameless, take your rifles and follow me. +Look at the sun! Have you lads gone stark mad? +What will McDermott think? What will Kelly Walsh +say? It’s too late to weigh anchor now; but it isn’t +too late to go aboard and sober up, and wait for dark.</p> +<p>“If you’ve a rag of patriotism left you’ll quit your +drinking and come with me!”</p> +<p>“Ah, sure, then, Captain dear,” cried Soane, “is +there anny harrm in a bite an’ a sup f’r dyin’ lads +befoor they go whizzin’ up to glory?”</p> +<p>“I tell you we should be aboard! <i>Now!</i>”</p> +<p>Another said:</p> +<p>“Aw, the cap’s right. To hell with the booze. +Come on, youse!” And he began to button his green +jacket. Another got up on unsteady legs:</p> +<p>“Sure,” he said, “there do be time f’r to up anchor +an’ shquare away for Point Dalhousie. Phwat’s interferin’, +I dunno.”</p> +<p>“A Canadian cruiser,” said Skeel with dry bitterness. +“Get aboard, anyway. We’ll have to wait for +dark.”</p> +<p>There was a reluctant shuffle of feet, a careless adjusting +of green jackets and caps, a reaching for rifles.</p> +<p>“Come on,” whispered Barres, “we’ve got to get +to the landing before they do.”</p> +<p>They turned and moved off swiftly among the trees. +Renoux saw them coming, understood, turned and hurried +southward to warn Alost and Souchez. Barres +and Westmore caught glimpses of them ahead, striding +along the trodden path under the trees, and ran +to overtake them.</p> +<p>“They’re going aboard,” said Barres to Renoux. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_401' name='page_401'></a>401</span> +“But they will probably wait till dark before starting.”</p> +<p>“They will unless they’re stark mad,” said Renoux, +hurrying out to the southern borders of the wood. +But no sooner had he arrived on the edge of the open +swale country than he uttered an exclamation of rage +and disgust, and threw up his hands helplessly.</p> +<p>It was perfectly plain to the others what was happening—and +what now could not be prevented.</p> +<p>There lay the big, swift power boat, still at anchor; +there stood the ramshackle wharf and boat-house. +But already a boat had put off from the larger craft +and was being rowed parallel with the shore toward +the mouth of a marshy creek.</p> +<p>Two men were rowing; a third steered.</p> +<p>But what had suddenly upset Renoux was the sight +of a line of green jackets threading the marsh to the +north, led by Skeel, who was already exchanging handkerchief +signals with the men in the boat.</p> +<p>Renoux glanced at his prey escaping by an avenue +of which he had no previous knowledge. It was death +to go out into the open with pistols and face the fire +of half a dozen rifles. No man there had any delusions +concerning that.</p> +<p>Souchez had field-glasses slung around his neck. +Renoux took them, gazed at the receding boat, set his +teeth hard.</p> +<p>“Ferez!” he growled.</p> +<p>“What!” exclaimed Westmore, turning a violent +red.</p> +<p>“The man steering is Ferez Bey.” Renoux handed +the binoculars to Westmore with a shrug.</p> +<p>Barres, bending double, had gone out into the swale. +A thicket of cat-tails screened him and he advanced +very carefully, keeping his eyes on the green-jacketed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_402' name='page_402'></a>402</span> +men whose heads, shoulders and rifles were visible +above the swampy growth beyond.</p> +<p>Suddenly Renoux, who was watching him in bitter +silence, saw him turn and beckon violently.</p> +<p>“Quick!” he said in a low, eager voice. “He may +have found a ditch to shelter us!”</p> +<p>Renoux was correct in his surmise: Barres stood +with drawn pistol, awaiting them in a muddy ditch +which ran through the reeds diagonally across the +marsh. It was shin-deep in water.</p> +<p>“We could make a pretty good stand in a ditch +like this, couldn’t we?” he demanded excitedly.</p> +<p>“You bet we can!” replied Renoux, jumping down +beside him, followed by Westmore, Alost and Souchez +in turn.</p> +<p>Barres, leading, ran down the ditch as fast as he +could, spattering himself and the others with mud and +water at every step.</p> +<p>“Here!” panted Renoux, clambering nimbly out of +the ditch and peering ahead through the reeds. Then +he suddenly stood upright:</p> +<p>“Halt!” he shouted. “It’s all up with you, Skeel! +Keep away from that boat, or I order my men to +fire!”</p> +<p>There was a dead silence for a moment; then Skeel’s +voice:</p> +<p>“Better not bother us, my good man. We know our +business and you’d better learn yours.”</p> +<p>“Skeel,” retorted Renoux, “my business is other +people’s business, sometimes. It’s yours just now. I +warn you to keep away from that boat!” He turned +and hailed the boat in the next breath: “Boat ahoy! +Keep off or we open fire!”</p> +<p>The metallic bang of a rifle cut him short and his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_403' name='page_403'></a>403</span> +straw hat was jerked from his head. Then came +Skeel’s voice, calmly dangerous:</p> +<p>“I know you, Renoux! You have no standing here. +Keep away or I’ll kill you!”</p> +<p>“What lawful standing have you—leading an armed +expedition from the United States into Canada!” retorted +Renoux, red with anger and looking about for +his hat.</p> +<p>“If you don’t get back I shall surely kill you!” replied +Skeel. “I count three, Renoux:—one—two—three.” +Bang! went another rifle, and Renoux +shrugged and dropped reluctantly back into the ditch.</p> +<p>“They’re crazy,” he said. “Barres, fire across that +boat out yonder.”</p> +<p>Westmore also fired, aiming carefully at Ferez. It +was too far; they both knew it. But the ricochetting +bullets seemed to sting the rowers to frantic exertion, +and Ferez, at the rudder, ducked and squatted flat, the +tip of his hat alone showing over the gunwale.</p> +<p>“We can’t stop them,” said Renoux desperately. +“They’re certain to reach that boat.”</p> +<p>Now, suddenly, Skeel’s six rifles cracked viciously +and the bullets came screaming over the ditch.</p> +<p>Renoux fairly gnashed his teeth:</p> +<p>“If a bluff won’t stop them, then I’m through,” he +said bitterly. “I haven’t any authority. I haven’t +the audacity to fire on them—to so insult your Government. +And yet, by God!—there’s the canal to remember!”</p> +<p>Another volley from the Green Jackets, and again +the whizzing scream of bullets through the cat-tails +above their heads.</p> +<p>“Look!” cried Barres. “They’re embarking already! +There isn’t a chance of holding them.”</p> +<p>It was true. Pell-mell through the shallow water +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_404' name='page_404'></a>404</span> +and into the boat leaped the Green Jackets, holding +their rifles high in the early sunshine; Skeel sprang +in last of all; the oars flashed.</p> +<p>Pistols hanging helplessly, Renoux and his men +stood there foolishly on the edge of their ditch and +watched the boat pull back to the big power-craft.</p> +<p>Nobody said anything. The Green Jackets climbed +aboard with a derisive cheer. So near was the power-boat +that Skeel, Ferez, and Soane were easily distinguishable +there in the brilliant sunshine, on deck.</p> +<p>“Anyway,” burst out Renoux, “they’ll not dare lie +there at anchor and wait for dark, now.”</p> +<p>Even as he spoke the anchor came up.</p> +<p>Very deliberately the small boat was hoisted to the +davits; the big craft began to move, swinging her nose +north by west, the spray breaking under the bows. +She was already under way, already headed for the +open sea.</p> +<p>And then, without any warning whatever, out of +the northeast, almost sheering the jutting point which +had concealed her, rushed a Canadian patrol boat, her +forward deck a geyser of spouting foam.</p> +<p>A red lance of flame leaped from her forward gun; +the sharp crack shattered the summer stillness; the +shell went skittering away over the water, across the +bows of the power-boat; a string of signals broke +from the cruiser’s mast.</p> +<p>Then an amazing thing happened; the power-boat’s +after deck suddenly swarmed with Green Jackets; there +came a flash and a report, and a shell burst over the +Canadian patrol cruiser, cutting her halliards to ribbons.</p> +<p>“Well—by—God!” gasped Renoux. Barres and +Westmore stood petrified; but the three Frenchmen, +with one accord, and standing up very straight, uncovered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_405' name='page_405'></a>405</span> +in the presence of these men who were about +to die.</p> +<p>Suddenly the power-boat broke out a flag at her +masthead—a bright green flag bearing a golden harp.</p> +<p>Again the small gun flashed from her after-deck; +another gun spoke with a splitting report from the +starboard bow; both the shells exploded close to the +patrol cruiser, showering her superstructure with +steel fragments.</p> +<p>And, as the concussions subsided, and the landward +echoes of the shots died away, far and clear from the +power-boat’s decks, across the water, came the defiant +chorus:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p class='indent2'>“I saw the Shannon’s purple tide</p> +<p class='indent2'>Roll by the Irish town,</p> +<p>As I stood in the breach by Donal’s side</p> +<p>When England’s flag went down!—”</p> +</div></div> +<p>They were singing “Green Jackets,” these doomed +men. Barres could hear them cheering, too, for a moment +only—then every gun aboard the flimsy little +craft spat flame at the big Canadian, and the bursting +shells splashed the water all around her with their +pigmy fragments.</p> +<p>Now, from the cruiser, a single gun bellowed. Instantly +a red glare wrapped the launch; there was a +heavy report, a fountain of rushing smoke and debris.</p> +<p>Against the infernal flare of light Skeel’s tall figure +showed in silhouette, standing there with hat lifted as +though cheering. Again, from the cruiser, a gun +crashed. Where the burning launch had been a horrible +flare shot up; and the shocking detonation rocked +land and sky. On the water a vast black cloud rested, +almost motionless; and all around rained charred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_406' name='page_406'></a>406</span> +things that had been wood and steel and clothing, perhaps—perhaps +fragments of living creatures.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>So passed into eternity Murtagh Skeel and his +Green Jackets, hurled skyward in the twinkling of an +eye on the roaring blast of their own magazine. What +was left of their green flag attained an altitude unparalleled +that sunny morning. But their souls soared +higher into that blinding light which makes all things +clear at last, solves all questions, all perplexities—which +consoles all griefs and quiets at last the bitter +mirth of those who have laughed at Death for conscience’s +sake.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Very slowly the dull cloud lifted from the sunlit +water. Dead fish floated there; others, half-stunned, +lay awash with fins quivering, or strove to turn over, +shining silver white in the morning sun.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_407' name='page_407'></a>407</span> +<a name='XXIX_ASTHORE' id='XXIX_ASTHORE'></a> +<h2>XXIX +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />ASTHORE</span></h2> +</div> +<p>The sun hung low over Northbrook hills as +Barres turned his touring car in between the +high, white service gates of Foreland Farms, +swung around the oval and backed into the garage.</p> +<p>Barres senior, very trim in tweeds, the web-straps +of a creel and a fly-book wallet crossing his breast, +glanced up from his absorbing occupation of preparing +evening casts on a twelve-foot, tapered mist-leader.</p> +<p>“Hello,” he said absently, glancing from his son to +Westmore through his monocle, “where have you been +keeping yourselves all day?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you all about it later, dad,” said Garry, +emerging from the garage with Westmore. “Where +is mother?”</p> +<p>“In the kennels, I believe.... What do you think +of this cast, Jim?—a whirling dun for a dropper, a +hare’s ear for a——” He checked himself; glanced +doubtfully at the two young men.</p> +<p>“You’re somewhat muddy,” he remarked; and continued +to explore his fly-book for new combinations.</p> +<p>Westmore, very weary, started for the house; Garry +walked across to the kennel gate, let himself in among +a dozen segregated and very demonstrative English +setters, walked along the tree-bordered alley behind +the garage, and, shutting out the affectionate but +quarantined dogs, entered the kennels.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_408' name='page_408'></a>408</span></div> +<p>His mother, in smock and apron, and wearing rubber +gloves, was seated on the edge of a straw-littered +bunk, a bottle in one hand, a medicine-dropper in the +other. Her four-footed patient, swathed in blankets, +lay on the straw beside her.</p> +<p>“Well, dear,” she said, looking up at her son, +“where have you been all night, and most of to-day?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you about it later, mother. There’s something +else I want to ask you——” He fell silent, +watching her measure out fourteen drops of Grover’s +Specific for distemper.</p> +<p>“I’m listening, Garry,” she said, bending over the +sick pup and gently forcing open his feverish jaws. +Then she dropped her medicine far back on his tongue; +the pup gulped, sneezed, looked at her out of dull eyes +and feebly wagged his tail.</p> +<p>“I’m going to pull him through, Garry,” she said. +“The other pups are doing well, too. But your sister +and I were up with them all night. I only hope and +pray that the distemper doesn’t spread.”</p> +<p>She looked up at her son:</p> +<p>“Well, dear, what is it you have to ask me?”</p> +<p>“Mother, do you like Dulcie Soane?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know her yet.... She’s very sweet—very +young——”</p> +<p>“Do you like her?”</p> +<p>“Why—yes——” She looked intently at her tall, +unsmiling son. “But I don’t even know who she is, +Garry.”</p> +<p>Her son bent down beside her and put one arm +around her shoulder. She sat quite motionless with +the bottle of Grover’s Specific in one rubber-gloved +hand, the medicine dropper poised in the other.</p> +<p>He said:</p> +<p>“Dulcie’s name is Fane, not Soane. Her grandfather +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_409' name='page_409'></a>409</span> +was Sir Barry Fane, of Fane Court—an Irishman. +His daughter, Eileen, was Dulcie’s mother.... +Her father—is dead—I believe.”</p> +<p>“But—this explains nothing, Garry.”</p> +<p>“Is it not explanation enough, mother?”</p> +<p>“Is it enough for you, my son?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Her head slowly drooped. She sat gazing in silence +at the straw-littered floor.</p> +<p>He looked earnestly, anxiously at his mother’s face. +Her brooding expression remained tranquil but inscrutable.</p> +<p>He said, watching her intently:</p> +<p>“I wasn’t sure about myself until last night. I +don’t know about Dulcie, whether she can care for me—in +this new way.... We were friends. But I am +in love with her now.... Deeply.”</p> +<p>It was one of the moments in his career which remain +fixed forever in a young man’s memory.</p> +<p>In a mother’s memory, too. Whatever she says +and does then, he never forgets. She, too, remembers +always.</p> +<p>He stood leaning over her in the dim light of the +kennel, one arm around her shoulders, waiting. And +presently she lifted her head, looked him quietly in +the eyes, bent forward very gently, and kissed him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Dulcie was not in the house, nor was Thessalie.</p> +<p>Barres and Westmore exchanged conversation between +their open doors while bathing and dressing.</p> +<p>“You know, Garry,” admitted the latter, “I feel all +shaken up, yet, over that ghastly business.”</p> +<p>“So do I.... If they hadn’t died so gamely.... +But Skeel was a <i>man</i>!”</p> +<p>“You bet he was, crazy or sane!... What a pity!... +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_410' name='page_410'></a>410</span> +And that poor devil, Soane! Did you hear them +cheering there, at the last? And what superb nerve—breaking +out that green flag!”</p> +<p>“And think of their opening on that big patrol +boat! They hadn’t a chance.”</p> +<p>“They had no chance anyway,” said Westmore. +“It meant execution if they surrendered—at least, +they probably thought so. But how do you suppose +that cowardly strangler, Ferez, felt when he realised +that Skeel was going to fight?”</p> +<p>“He certainly got what was coming to him, didn’t +he?” said Barres grimly. “You’ll tell Thessa, won’t +you?”</p> +<p>“As soon as I can find her,” nodded Westmore, giving +his fresh bow-tie a most killing twist.</p> +<p>He was ready before Barres was, and he lost no +time in starting out to find Thessalie.</p> +<p>Barres, following him later, discovered him on the +library lounge with Thessalie’s fair cheek resting +against his.</p> +<p>“I’m s-sorry!” he stammered, backing out, and very +conscious of Westmore’s unconcealed annoyance. But +Thessalie called to him in a perfectly calm voice, and +he ventured to come back.</p> +<p>“Are you going to tell Dulcie about this horrible affair?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“Not immediately.... Are you feeling all right, +Thessa?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I had a horrid night. Isn’t it odd how a +girl can so completely lose her nerve after a thing is +all over?”</p> +<p>“That’s the best time to lose it,” said Westmore. +And to Barres: “She’s bruised from head to foot +and her neck hurts yet——”</p> +<p>“It is nothing,” murmured Thessalie, looking smilingly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_411' name='page_411'></a>411</span> +at her lover. Then they both glanced at Barres.</p> +<p>There was a silence. Side by side on the library +lounge they continued to gaze expectantly at Barres. +And when he got it into his head that this polite expectancy +might express their desire for his early departure, +he backed out again, embarrassed and +slightly irritated.</p> +<p>Thessalie called to him very sweetly:</p> +<p>“If you are looking for Dulcie, I left her a few +minutes ago over by the wall-fountain in the rose arbour.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” he said, and turned back through the +hall, traversing it to the north veranda.</p> +<p>There was no sign of Dulcie in the garden or on the +lawn. He walked slowly across the clipped grass, beyond +the pool, and, turning to the right past a sun-dial, +stepped into the long rose-arbour. At the further end +of the blossoming tunnel he saw her seated on the low +wall in the rear of the tea-house. Her head was +turned toward the woods beyond.</p> +<p>When he was near her she heard him and looked +around, was on the point of rising, but something in +his expression held her motionless.</p> +<p>“Where have you been, Garry?”</p> +<p>He ignored the question, seated himself beside her +on the wall, and drew both her hands into his. He +saw the swift colour stain her face, the lovely, disconcerted +eyes lower.</p> +<p>“Last night,” he said, “did you come back as you +promised?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And you found me gone.”</p> +<p>She nodded.</p> +<p>“What could you have thought of me, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>“I—my thoughts were—not very clear.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_412' name='page_412'></a>412</span></div> +<p>“Are they clearer?”</p> +<p>Her head remained lowered but she raised her grey +eyes to his. Her face had become very still and +white.</p> +<p>“Dulcie,” he said under his breath, “I am in love +with you.... What will you do about it?”</p> +<p>And, after a little while:</p> +<p>“W-what shall I do, Garry?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Love me. Can you?”</p> +<p>She remained silent.</p> +<p>“Will you?—Dulcie Fane!”</p> +<p>Her lips stirred, but no sound came.</p> +<p>“You are so wonderful,” he said. “I am just realising +that I began to fall in love with you a long time +ago.”</p> +<p>The declining sun sent a red shaft across the fields, +painting every tree-trunk, gilding bramble and brake. +A single ray touched the girl’s white neck and turned +her copper-tinted hair to burning gold.</p> +<p>“Do you love me? Can you love me, that way, Dulcie?”</p> +<p>She rose abruptly, and he rose too, retaining her +hands; but as she turned her head from him he saw +her mouth quiver.</p> +<p>“Dearest—dearest!” But she interrupted him:</p> +<p>“I want to tell you—that I don’t understand why +I should be called by my mother’s maiden name.... +I w-want you to know that I <i>don’t</i> understand it ... +if that would make a difference—in your c-caring for +me.... And I wish you to know that—that I love +and worship her memory—and that I am happy and +proud—and <i>proud</i>—to bear her name.”</p> +<p>“My darling——”</p> +<p>“Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Dulcie.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_413' name='page_413'></a>413</span></div> +<p>“And do you still want me?”</p> +<p>“You adorable child——”</p> +<p>“<i>Do</i> you?”</p> +<p>“Of course I do——” He caught her in his arms, +held her close, lifted her flushed face. “Now, tell me +whether you can love <i>me</i>! Tell me everything that’s +hidden in your mind and heart!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Garry,” she faltered, “I do belong to you. I +belong to you anyway, because you made me. And +I’ve always been in love with you—always!—always +from the very beginning of the world, <i>Asthore</i>! And +now—if you want me—this way—Garry <i>mo veel +asthore</i>——” Her hands crept from his breast to his +shoulders; stole up around his neck. “Asthore,” she +murmured; and their lips met in their first kiss. Then +she gravely turned her head and laid her cheek against +his; and he heard her murmuring to herself:</p> +<p>“<i>Drahareen o machree, mo veel asthore!</i> This man—this +man who takes my heart—and gives me +his....”</p> +<p>“What are you murmuring there all to yourself?” +he whispered, laughing and drawing her closer. But +she only clung to him passionately and her closed lids +kept back the starting tears.</p> +<p>“What is it, dear?” he asked.</p> +<p>“H-happiness,” she whispered, “and pride, perhaps.... And +my love for you, Asthore!”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOONLIT WAY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 33557-h.txt or 33557-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/3/5/5/33557">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/5/5/33557</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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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