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diff --git a/38020-h/38020-h.htm b/38020-h/38020-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..33bf20a --- /dev/null +++ b/38020-h/38020-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11666 @@ +<!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" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Transgression of Andrew Vane, by Guy Wetmore Carry -- a Project Gutenberg eBook. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .25em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .25em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +body > p { /* paras at body level - not in div or table */ + text-align: justify; /* or left?? */ + text-indent: 1em; /* first-line indent */ +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + + .tdr {text-align: right;} + .tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + padding:1em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Transgression of Andrew Vane, by Guy Wetmore Carryl + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Transgression of Andrew Vane + a novel + +Author: Guy Wetmore Carryl + +Release Date: November 15, 2011 [EBook #38020] +[Last updated: November 27, 2015] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRANSGRESSION OF ANDREW VANE *** + + + + +Produced by Rory OConor, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<div> +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i"></a></span></p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="center">BOOKS BY GUY WETMORE CARRYL</p> +<hr /> +<table summary="books by author"> +<tr><td colspan="2"><i>PUBLISHED BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</i></td></tr> +<tr><td>THE TRANSGRESSION OF ANDREW VANE</td><td>$1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"><i>PUBLISHED BY HARPER AND BROTHERS</i></td></tr> +<tr><td>FABLES FOR THE FRIVOLOUS</td><td>$1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td>MOTHER GOOSE FOR GROWN-UPS</td><td>$1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"><i>PUBLISHED BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td>GRIMM TALES MADE GAY</td><td>$1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td>THE LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR</td><td>$1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td>ZUT, AND OTHER PARISIANS</td><td>$1.50</td></tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</div> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii"></a></span></p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="400" height="506" alt="Guy Wetmore Carryl." title="Guy Wetmore Carryl." /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</div> + + +<div><p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii"></a></span></p> +<h1>The Transgression of<br /> +Andrew Vane</h1> +<br /> +<p class="center"><i>A NOVEL</i></p> +<br /> +<h3><span style="font-size:small;">BY</span><br /> +GUY WETMORE CARRYL<br /> +<span style="font-size:x-small;"> +<i>Author of "Zut, and Other Parisians"</i></span></h3> +<br /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/logo.png" width="100" height="124" alt="logo" title="Ou polla alla polu" /> +</div> +<br /> +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:small;">NEW YORK</span><br /> +HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY<br /> +<span style="font-size:x-small;">1904</span></p> +</div> + + +<div><p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv"></a></span></p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="center"> +<span style="font-size:x-small;">Copyright, 1904</span><br /> +<span style="font-size:small;">BY</span><br /> +HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</p> +<hr class="r5" /> +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:x-small;"><i>Published April, 1904</i></span></p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="center"> +<span style="font-size:x-small;">ROBERT DRUMMOND, PRINTER, NEW YORK</span></p> +</div> + + +<div><p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v"></a></span></p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="center">TO<br /> +HENRY HOLT</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</div> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi"></a></span></p> + + +<div><p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<h2 id="toc">Table of Contents.</h2> +<div><table summary="table of contents"> +<tr><td></td><td class="tdr">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#PROLOGUE">Prologue</a></span></td><td class="tdr">1</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER I.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Mr. Carnby Receives a Letter</a></span></td><td class="tdr">22</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER II.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">New Friends and Old</a></span></td><td class="tdr">36</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER III.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">The Girl in Red</a></span></td><td class="tdr">51</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER IV.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Mother and Daughter</a></span></td><td class="tdr">71</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER V.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">The Good and Faithful Servant</a></span></td><td class="tdr">89</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER VI.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">A Revolt Suppressed</a></span></td><td class="tdr">106</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER VII.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">A Pledge of Friendship</a></span></td><td class="tdr">117</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER VIII.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">A Parley and a Prayer</a></span></td><td class="tdr">130</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER IX.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">The Woman in the Case</a></span></td><td class="tdr">143</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER X.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">The Fairy Godmother</a></span></td><td class="tdr">159</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XI.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Some After-dinner Conversation</a></span></td><td class="tdr">175</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XII.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Reaction</a></span></td><td class="tdr">192</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XIII.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Rhapsodie Hongroise, No. 2</a></span></td><td class="tdr">204</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XIV.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Fate is Hard—Cash!</a></span></td><td class="tdr">218</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XV.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">"As it was in the Beginning, is now, and ever shall be."</a></span></td><td class="tdr">237</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XVI.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">A Declaration of Independence</a></span></td><td class="tdr">256</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XVII.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">A Dog and His Master</a></span></td><td class="tdr">268</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XVIII.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Fair Exchange is No Robbery</a></span></td><td class="tdr">283</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XIX.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Redemption</a></span></td><td class="tdr">297</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER XX.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">The Shadow</a></span></td><td class="tdr">311</td></tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</div></div> + + +<div><p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix"></a></span></p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<h1 id="The_Transgression_of_Andrew_Vane">The Transgression of Andrew Vane</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</div> + + +<div><p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x"></a></span></p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the things ye do, when your life is new,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And your sin is sinned with a smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye shall pay full sore, ye men, though the score<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Fates hold back for a while:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye shall pay, at the end, for your frauded friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the secret your lips betray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the lust and the lie, to the Gods on High<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye shall pay—ye shall pay—ye shall pay!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye shall pay ten-fold, with your heart's best gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah, tempted women and true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye shall render account, to the full amount,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For each beautiful thing ye do.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the youth ye yield, for the soul ye shield,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the pitiful prayers ye pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis the fancy of Fate that, soon or late,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye shall pay—ye shall pay—ye shall pay!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</div> + + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a></span></p> +<h1>The Transgression of Andrew Vane.</h1> + +<h2 id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE.</h2> + + +<p>For months past, she had felt that she was +weakening, that the crescent wretchedness of five +long years—an uninterrupted descent from level to +level, on each of which the thorns of disillusion +caught at, and tore from her, some shred of hope +or self-respect—had done its work at last. Her +courage and her faith, inherited, the one from the +mental, the other from the moral, vigour of a rigid +and uncompromising Puritan ancestry, were slipping +from her. What the end was to be, she did +not dare to ask; but it lay there ahead, grim and +ominous, gradually taking form, through the mist +of the immediate future. Its very suggestion of +divergence from all that was familiar to her, of being +even a degree more monstrous than what she had +already suffered, sickened and appalled her, who +had never known a dread of mere death, but drew +back with unspeakable fear before the looming +of this unknown, ultimate degradation.</p> + +<p>John Vane had wooed his wife with the easy confidence +born of adequate position, adequate means,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +and more than adequate ability. Four years of +Harvard had taught him to believe life in the little +Western town which had been his birthplace, to be, +for a man of literary bent, a practical impossibility; +and when he stepped easily from the halls of his +Alma Mater into the offices of a Boston magazine, +it was a practical renunciation of his early environment, +and an expression of his resolve to follow in +the actual as well as the metaphorical footprints of +some of the greatest figures in American literature.</p> + +<p>Six months later, he announced his engagement +to Helen Sterling, the only daughter of a pioneer in +copper, whose character had long since built him up +a reputation, to which, later, the five figures of his +income lent an added lustre. From first to last, +from the occasion of the young collegian's presentation +to the reigning belle of her season to the moment +when she said, "I, Helen, do take thee, John"—and +the rest of it—there was, by way of proving the +rule, never a stumbling-block in the exceptionally +smooth course of their love. They were made for +each other, people said, and no one subscribed more +confidently to this opinion than themselves.</p> + +<p>But—and does ever a honeymoon pass without +the uneasy awakening of that latent 'But'?—Helen +was not a month older before she was forced to the +unwilling conclusion that there was a singular, intangible +something lacking in her husband's character. +It was not that he was not gifted; for that, +his most casual acquaintance knew him to be;—or in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +love with her; for of that he gave evidence almost +as conclusive as would have been furnished by the +ceaseless reiteration of that spoken devotion which +a woman craves, without hope of receiving, from +the man she loves. But things had come to him +so easily, so independent of any effort of his own, +that he was become the chief of optimists, imbued +with the serene and confident <i>laisser aller</i> of the clan; +and, now that association was making her intimate +with his methods of work, she found them to be +wholly haphazard, inspired merely by the whim of +the moment, unregulated by any remotest evidence +of system. His performances were the meaningless +flashes and snaps of Chinese crackers, not the steady +and purposeful, if less imposing, fire of a skilfully +laid fuse, leading on to great results. His confidence +in his own ability, in the certainty of his ultimate +triumph, was so absolute that he was content with +the minimum of endeavor, oblivious to the fact that +only statues can remain thus passive with the assurance +that laurel wreaths will be laid before them. +He did not realize that the living must pluck their +laurels for themselves.</p> + +<p>Lacking the initiative which is its indispensable +ally, Vane nevertheless possessed all the impatience +of restraint or routine characteristic of the creative +faculty. A year of editorial work was sufficient to +convince him that it was not possible for such a +temperament as his to be trammelled by fixed hours, +and strait-jacketed by observance of detail. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +resigned his position, on the plea of devoting himself +entirely to writing, and there ensued a period during +which he sunned himself in society's favour, and +received his share of flattery in return for several +trifles contributed to the magazines, but created +nothing worthy even of the infinitesimal effort which +he made. A man had to think, to arrange, to compose, +he told his wife. Rome was not built in a +day, and the mere manual act of transferring his +thoughts to paper was a trifle, when contrasted with +the process of incubation. So month after month +dragged by, and little by little, as his novelty wore +off, John Vane dropped out of society's consideration +as a literary potentiality, and came to be regarded +as nothing more than one of many good-looking, +agreeable men-about-town, to whom, in the matter +of his wife and his worldly weal, the Fates had been +generous beyond the ordinary.</p> + +<p>One of the first unmistakable signs of degeneration +was his now constant complaint that he was unappreciated. +The average man's share of applause is in +strict proportion to his deserts. In Vane's case +the allowance had been appreciably in excess of his +due, but it was exhausted at last; and flattery is a +drug which, with indulgence, becomes, a necessity. +Deprived of it, he grew fretful and impatient, made +occasional abortive efforts at performance of the +great things formerly expected of him, and talked +savagely of prejudice when his manuscripts came +back from the editors, accompanied by polite notes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +wherein the pill of non-availability was sugar-coated +with reference to the pleasure of examining his work, +and the regret with which it was returned.</p> + +<p>For a time he had his wife's most loyal support +and sympathy. She liked to believe that what he +said was true, that literary excellence counted for +nothing in a commercial age, and that a man who +would not conform to silly superficial standards had +no chance of recognition. But Helen was a woman +to whom a goose was a goose, and a swan a swan, at +all times, and regardless of ownership. Moreover, +she had been a lover of the best in literature since +first she had been given the run of her father's library, +and sat for entire afternoons curled into a big arm-chair, +skipping the long words of Thackeray or Charles +Lamb. Her critical sense, thus perfected, was now +too alert to allow of any treachery to standard. Intensely +loyal she was, but intensely just, as well; +and all her eagerness to believe her husband what +he claimed to be could not blind her to the mediocrity, +often the utter worthlessness, of his later +work. With revelation arose, naturally, an ardent +desire to aid him, and strict sincerity, which was her +most admirable quality, pointed to candour as the +only adequate means. With his resentment of her +counsel came her first disheartening insight into +the shallowness and perversity of his nature. That +he could accuse her of attempting to belittle him, +rank her as at one with those who misunderstood +him, hurt her more keenly than if he had turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +and cursed her. It was the parting of their ways, +the first decisive step on the road which she was to +follow wearily for five years of discouragement and +disillusion.</p> + +<p>With the waning of his popularity Vane renounced +Boston, as he had renounced his birthplace, and +they moved to New York. Here, for a time, he contributed +listlessly to the humorous weeklies and +the less pretentious magazines; but reputation of +the kind he sought was not to be won by mere facility +in rhyming or in writing around a dozen illustrations; +and, presently, he reverted to his old complaint of +prejudice and non-appreciation. Then a chance +acquaintance led him into speculation. Where +abler men failed, John Vane was swept into complete +disaster. In a transient panic, he was caught +long of a big line of stocks, tried to average too soon, +and was finally forced to let go his holdings at about +the bottom of the market.</p> + +<p>It was ruin, absolute and utter; but Helen almost +welcomed it, in the belief that the spur of a necessity +he had never known before would goad him to the +achievement of better things. But the character +of John Vane was not the stuff whereof is made the +moral phœnix. He shrivelled before the fire of +defeat, and sank hopelessly into the ashes of surrender.</p> + +<p>They moved from their luxurious apartment to a +cheap hotel, thence to a cheaper one, thence to a +boarding-house. The backward path was strewn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +with unsettled bills, and loans never to be repaid. +Vane wrote spasmodically for the daily papers, and +for such of the magazines as would still accept his +work, and, on the pittance thus earned, and the +generosity of Helen's father, they contrived to exist, +in a fashion, for something over two years.</p> + +<p>But, given the temperament of John Vane, the +next development was inevitable. At first Helen +sturdily refused to believe that a new demon had +entered the hell which he was making of her life. +She met him, at night, with an attempt at a smile, +deliberately ignoring his unsteady gait, his sodden +face, his hot, rank breath. But the evidence was +plain, constant, incontestable. Drink had gripped +him, and she knew too well that whatever of weakness +laid hand upon her husband never relinquished hold.</p> + +<p>So another year went by, the gulf between them +widening and widening. Finally, he struck her—and +then, or the first time, that final degradation, +that ominous, unknowable end of hope and self-respect, +loomed, hideous and shadowy, through +the fog before her. Unable to interpret its significance, +she told herself, nevertheless, that it was very +near.</p> + +<p>They were living in Kingsbridge, in a little frame +house into which a man who had known her husband +in his Wall Street days had come, in settlement of a +bad debt, and which he had offered them, for charity's +sake, at a paltry annual rental. The same Samaritan +had given Vane a small position in his office, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +latter now went to and fro, between the city and its +gruesome little neighbour on the Harlem, taking +leave of his wife with a curt, contemptuous nod, and +returning, bloated and foul-breathed, to pass the +evenings in a semi-stupor.</p> + +<p>The chance had been too good to be disregarded, +but life under such conditions was no better than +sheer existence. The cottage was one of a squat, ill-favoured +row on a side street, within a stone's throw +of the railway station. They had found it equipped, +in a way, with cheap, yellowish furniture, worn and +faded carpets, and kitchen utensils distinguished by +the grime of many meals and the musty inheritance +of insufficient washings. About the house there +was a stale, moist smell of plaster, and the plot of turf +in the little front yard was dry and discoloured, like +the mats of imitation grass in the establishment of a +country photographer. Helen had striven to redeem +the desolation of the tiny living-room with the few +pictures and articles of furniture which she had contrived +to save from the wreck of their former fortunes; +but the attempt was not successful. The rare prints +were out of place against the tawdry wall-paper, and +the few pieces of Sheraton and Chippendale to which +she had clung took on, in such surroundings, the +shabbiness of what was already there.</p> + +<p>She was obliged to do her own marketing and cooking +and housework, since a servant, in their straitened +circumstances, was out of the question: and +not the least part of her martyrdom was the purchase<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +of scrawny yellow fowls, and vegetables of a +freshness past, and their preparation in the dingy +little kitchen, which left an odour of frying lard on +the very clothes she wore.</p> + +<p>Vane had left her, an hour before, on his way to the +city; and now, as the weight of depression became +intolerable, she took her hat, locked the door behind +her, and started for a long walk over the hill-roads +back of the town. This had lately come to be her +habit. It was something to escape, even for half a +day, from the dispirited little suburb, with its sallow +frame houses, its patched fences, and its cinder-strewn +roadways, along which lean cats slunk guiltily, +and dishevelled fowls picked their way in search of +food. Up on the hills, the air of late November +was keen and chill, and grayed with a drifting smoke-mist +from distant fires of dried leaves. The brown +grass was veiled here and there with thin patches of +snow, stippled with faint shadows, cast by the filial +oak-leaves, which cling longer than any other to the +maternal bough. As Helen passed, squirrels darted +nimbly away to a safe distance, and then sat up to +watch her, with their fore paws held coquettishly +against their breasts. It was all very sane and +healthy, all in wonderful contrast to her morbid +life in the shadow of John Vane's personality.</p> + +<p>There had been no children—a fact which, in +happier hours, she had deplored, but for which she +was now profoundly grateful. There are things +which it is easier to bear alone. To share with another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>—and +that other her child—the humiliation +of her ill-starred association with her husband, would +but have been to double the burden's weight. In +her own case the period of martyrdom was well-nigh +done. For his son and hers it would simply be +at its beginning, tragic in its boundless possibilities +of shame.</p> + +<p>As the thought came of the motherhood thus +denied her, she wondered why she had been faithful +to John Vane. Once she had believed in him, and +so strong had been this faith that some shreds of it +yet remained, to bind her to him through all the +unspeakably humiliating days of his gradual but +inevitable degradation. Nor was her fidelity of +the negative, meaningless kind which is strong simply +because unassailed. As a woman of the world, +she had, more than once, been brought into contact +with men lax in their scrupulosity, but scrupulous +in their laxity. She had had her temptations, her +chances of escape; and the price to be paid was not +exorbitant, in view of the relief to be obtained. +But upon these she had resolutely turned her back, +hoping against hope for the miracle which never +came. Even now, her father's door stood wide to +her, and every instinct of reason impelled her to a +separation. But Vane had not only killed her love +for him; he had destroyed her very taste for life itself, +under any circumstances whatever. She clung to +him now, not because she loved him, not because it +was impossible to do without him, but because he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +had sapped her youth, her faith, her craving for anything +short of oblivion.</p> + +<p>She stood for a long time, motionless, at a point +where a little stream tinkled pleasantly over the +stones beneath its first thin sheathing of ice. The +trees, saving only the oaks, were bare, and stood +stiffly, in close proximity, in the weird, white brilliance +of <i>contre-lumière</i>; and for a few moments +the barren tranquillity of the scene was indescribably +restful. Then the light changed, as a slow cloud +crept across the sun, and, with the coming of the +resultant shadow, Helen, always exquisitely sensible +to the moods of nature, returned suddenly to a consciousness +of her extremity. It was not real, then, +this negative beauty, this serene simplicity of nun-like, +early winter; it was not real, her own unwonted +calm! What <i>was</i> actual, material, inevitable, +was the personality of the man who dominated her +life like an evil spirit, using her as his chattel, abusing +her as his slave. Abruptly, the whole course of their +association spread itself before her, up to her last +glimpse of him, that morning, shambling on his way +to the miserable daily duty to which he had sunk. +And this was the life which she had been so eager to +share with him, the life which, in those early days, his +promises had made to seem so fair! Together, they +were to have seen the world—the wonderful, great +world, that had shone in the distance, like a Promised +Land, from the Pisgah of her girlish imaginings: London, +Paris, Rome, the Nile, Greece, India, and Japan.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +They were to have seen them all—drunk, in company, +of the wine of beauty and inspiration, doubling +their individual pleasures with the magic wand of +mutual comprehension, as he should turn the treasures +found along their enchanted way into such words +as men preserve to praise, and she stand at his side, +the first to read and reverence. And now? For +the first time, the full splendour of the dream, the full +squalor of the reality, swept down upon her. She +saw him, diverted from his own ideals, and ignorant +of hers, taking the initial step upon his downward +way, no foot of which was ever to be retraced: +drunken, debauched, impotent to write one worthy +word, skulking, shamefaced and sodden, through +a world of sunlight and manly endeavour, like some +noisome prowler of the night, surprised, far from its +lair, by the dawn of sweet young day. She was no +more than a girl, and already it was too late. The +blitheness of life was gone, never to return. For a +moment she stood with her worn hands crushed +against her face, and then she stretched her arms +upward to their full length, and cried aloud, "Ah, +God! Ah, <i>God</i>!" to the chill, clear sky of the November +day.</p> + +<p>A voice at her side aroused her before she realized +that she was not alone. At the sound she turned +guiltily, and found herself face to face with a man +she had never seen. He stood quite near, hat in +hand, surveying her with cool, steel-blue eyes. In +that first instant, with a perception sharpened by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +her mental anguish, she became suddenly as familiar +with every detail of his appearance as if they had +been intimates for years. He was tall and slender, +and unmistakably young; and, in singular contrast +to his pallid complexion, his lips, under the +thin mustache, were full and red, with a strange, +sensual crookedness that was half a smile and half +a sneer. There was about him a curious, compellant +air of mastery and self-possession, as of one sure of +himself, and accustomed to control; and his first +words, under their veneer of polite solicitude, were, +in their total lack of surprise or idle curiosity, significant +of the trained man of the world, while the +quaint, foreign flavour of the title by which he addressed +her was equally suggestive of the cosmopolite.</p> + +<p>"You are in distress, <i>madame</i>?"</p> + +<p>Helen paused before replying. With the instinctive +delicacy of her sex, she realized that in the +approach of a stranger who had surprised her in +a betrayal of extreme emotion there was something +which she would do well to resent; and yet she was +come to one of those crises which every woman +knows; when the need of sympathy, even the most +casual, was imperative—when, albeit at the sacrifice +of conventionality, she was fain to seek support, to +grasp a firm hand, to hear a friendly, though an +unknown, voice. Pride, her stanch ally through +all the bitter hours of her despair, had weakened at +this the most crucial point, and, like a frightened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +child, she would have run for reassurance into the +arms of the veriest passer-by.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she answered presently. "But, believe +me, the expression of my feeling was purely +involuntary. I thought myself alone. There are, +ordinarily, few passers by this road."</p> + +<p>He had replaced his hat now, and was no longer +looking at her, but down across the shelving slope +of hillside, spiked with slender trees, as close-set as +the bristles of a giant brush. When he spoke again, +his tone had curiously assumed the existence of a +relation between them, as if, instead of total strangers, +they had been old acquaintances, come together at +this spot, and exchanging impressions of the scene +before them.</p> + +<p>"Strange," he said slowly, "that you should be +in distress, when Nature, which always seems to me +the most sympathetic of companions, is wrapped +in so great repose. In my dealings with humanity, +I've frequently met with misunderstanding; but never, +in the attitude of Nature, a lack of what I felt to be +completest comprehension of my mood. She always +seems to divine our difficulties, and to have some +little helpful hint, some small parable, which, if we +read it aright, will point out the solution of our problem, +or at least serve to soothe the momentary pang. +This little stream at our feet, for example: how it +preaches the lesson that while we must meet with +days that are cold, unsympathetic, drear, it's not +only possible, but best, to preserve, under the ice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +in which adversity wraps our hearts, the life and +laughter which friendlier suns have taught us! I +wonder if that is not the secret of all human contentment—to +resign oneself to the chilling touch of +the wintry days of life, secure in the knowledge that +summer will return, the compensation be made +manifest, and the wrong turned to right."</p> + +<p>The rebuff which was on Helen's lips an instant +before was never spoken. It was one of those +moments when the intuitive assertion of dignity +and self-reliance lays down its arms before the need +of comfort and companionship. She did not look +at him, but in her silence there was that which encouraged +him to continue.</p> + +<p>"You don't resent my speaking to you in this +way?" he asked. "After all, why should you? +You are a bubble on this strange, erratic stream of +life, and I another. Bubble does not ask bubble +the reason of their meeting, at some predestined +spot between source and sea. Instead, they touch, +perhaps to drift apart again after a moment; perhaps, +as one often sees them, to unite in one larger, +better, brighter bubble than either had been before. +Neither cares a tittle for its chance companion's +previous history, or for what the other bubbles say. +Curiosity as to another's past is the prerogative of +small-spirited man, as is also the dread of adverse +criticism. Now the commingling bubbles are one +of Nature's little parables, and my conception of +ideal sympathy."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>His eyes were upon her now, and, strangely impelled, +her own came round to meet them.</p> + +<p>"I'm not wholly sure that I get your meaning," +she said, feeling that he exacted a reply. "Is it +that association and sympathy are merely the result +of chance?"</p> + +<p>"Chance is only a word that we use to express +the workings of a force beyond our understanding." +He stooped and picked up a little stone, weighed +it momentarily in his palm, and then, reversing +his hand, let it fall. "One would hardly be apt to +call it chance," he added, "that, after leaving my +hand, that pebble reached the ground. If we understood +destiny as we understand gravitation, we +should not say that our present meeting was due +to chance, but rather that it was the logical outcome +of a natural law."</p> + +<p>There was a long pause, during which he glanced +at her more than once, with the seemingly careless +but actually keenly observant air of a skilled physician +studying a nervous patient. She was a little +frightened, she confessed to herself, as she gathered +her wits, staring at the bit of river which was visible +from where they stood, and the slopes beyond. For +weeks she had been prey to an apathy which was +only broken, at intervals, by an outburst of passionate +revolt. Now, in some inexplicable fashion, the +burden seemed to have slipped from her shoulders, +and the feeling of depression was replaced by one +of uplifting, of unreasonable exhilaration. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +sensation was vaguely familiar to her, and, groping +for a clue, she found its parallel in the preliminary +action of ether, which she had taken a year or so +before. Through the growing, not unpleasurable, +dizziness which came upon her thus, the man's +voice made its way.</p> + +<p>"Let me try to explain myself more clearly," he +was saying. "Something—God, or chance, or destiny, +or whatever you choose to call it—led me +around that last turn of the road at a moment when, +if I'm not mistaken, a fellow being came to the +snapping-point of self-control. I can't think our +meeting without significance. I believe I was sent +to help you. The question is, whether you're broad +and generous and courageous enough to take for +granted a formal introduction, and the gradual +evolution of acquaintance into intimacy, up to the +moment when you would naturally turn to me, as +your most loyal friend, for sympathy. And I think +you will do that."</p> + +<p>Once more Helen looked at him. Her mind was +curiously clouded, but the sensation gave her no +uneasiness. Instead, she felt that she was smiling.</p> + +<p>"I think you will do it," he repeated.</p> + +<p>He was holding out his hand with the confidence +of one who knows it will be accepted, and, after a +moment, she laid her own within it. His fingers +closed firmly on hers, and, of a sudden, the world +drew in about her, graying, as under the touch of +fog. Her last perception was of his eyes fixed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +full on hers with an expression of quiet amusement.</p> + +<p>"I'm faint," she murmured, "I am—faint—"</p> + +<p>When she came to herself, his eyes still held her.</p> + +<p>"In the strange, unknowable book of Fate," he +said, "it was written, from the beginning of time, that +you and I should meet upon a dull hillside in late +November, and—and that all that has been should +be!"</p> + +<p>Before she had time to answer, he had left her.</p> + +<p>Briefly she stood, dizzy and perplexed, and then, +after one great leap, her heart seemed to shudder +and stand still. <i>She was in the sordid little living-room +of the Kingsbridge cottage, and outside the day +was glooming into twilight!</i></p> + +<p>Without power to move, she watched from the +window the man who had just gone, pass down the +path and through the gate, and, turning, wave a +farewell, before he hurried away in the direction of the +station. Then she was fully aroused by the entrance +of the postman, and went slowly to meet +him at the door. There was only one letter, but +this was directed in her husband's unsteady hand, +and, as she opened it, the contents leapt at her like +a blow:</p> + +<blockquote><p> + +"<span class="smcap">Helen</span>:"<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Let me be as brief as you will think me brutal. +When this reaches you I shall already be far at sea—with +another woman. I have seen how you despised +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>me, and I think that you know this, and that I +hate you for it. I shall not ask you to forgive +me, for I, too, have many things to forgive. If you +had understood me, much that has happened might +never have been. But what is past is past. Let +us bury it and have done."</p> + +<p class="right"> +"<span class="smcap">John.</span>"<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>For minutes, which seemed an eternity, Helen +stood, fingering the wretched sheet, and gazing straight +before her with blank, unwinking eyes. Then, with +a rush, came remembrance, and with it a great +wave of relief. Before she fully comprehended her +intention, she was at the gate of the cottage. But +there she halted, with a nameless sense of loss and +desperation. From the distance had come the +yelp of a signalled locomotive, and then a dozen +short, choking pants, as it dragged the reluctant train +into motion. He had gone!</p> + +<p>"But he will come back!" she murmured, "and, +that he may come sooner, I will write."</p> + +<p>It was only towards the end of her black, sleepless +night that she remembered that she did not even +know his name.</p> + +<p>Late autumn slid gloomily into winter, and winter +into spring, before she realized that he would never +come. To her father she had written nothing of +Vane's desertion. For a year past, his name had +not been mentioned in their letters, so the omission +was no longer noted, and Mr. Sterling's remittances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +enabled her to live in material comfort. She clung to +the forlorn little cottage with a vague feeling that +by it alone could she be traced when He should +come back for her; but took a servant, a slovenly +little wench, who moved in a circumambient odour +of carbolic acid, and amassed dust under beds and +sofas as a miser hoards his gold.</p> + +<p>Helen herself saw nothing, heeded nothing. Save +in the impulse which followed her reading of Vane's +letter, her mind was never wholly clear from the +shadow which had descended upon it at the moment +of that hand-grip on the hillside. Hour after hour, +day after day, week after week, she sat at the window, +motionless, listening for the creak of the gate, the +crunch of footsteps on the gravel path, which would +tell her that He had returned.</p> + +<p>With spring the disillusion came, and she crept +back to the shelter of her father's house, but to no +change, save slow and listless surrender to the inevitable. +Sometimes they heard her whispering to +herself, as she sat, with some book which they had +brought her, unopened on her knee—odd scraps of +sentences, and broken phrases, without apparent +relevancy or connection. The family physician, a +friend from boyhood of Andrew Sterling, tapped his +forehead significantly at such times as these, and +the hands of the two men would meet in a grasp of +mutual understanding.</p> + +<p>One night in late August her child was born, and +the west wind that brought a new soul to the Sterling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +door, pausing an instant in its passing, gathered up, +and in its kind arms bore away, on its pathless flight +into the Great Unknown, the tired spirit of Helen +Vane.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h4>MR. CARNBY RECEIVES A LETTER.</h4> + + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy Carnby furnished to the +reflective observer a striking illustration of the circumstance +that extremes not only meet, but, not +infrequently, marry. Mrs. Carnby confessed to fifty, +and was in reality forty-seven. As, in any event, +incredulity answers "Never!" when a woman makes +mention of her age, she preferred that the adverb +should be voiced with flattering emphasis and in her +presence, rather than sarcastically and behind her +back. She was nothing if not original.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby was distinctly plain, a fact which five +minutes of her company effectually deprived of all +significance: her power of attraction being as forceful +as that of a magnet, and similar to a magnet's +in its absence of outward evidence. She was a +woman of temperate but kaleidoscopic enthusiasms, +who had retained enough of the atmosphere of each +to render her interesting to a variety of persons. +Prolonged experience of the world had invested her +with an admirable broad-mindedness, which caused +her to tread the notoriously dangerous paths of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +American Colony, in which she was a constant and +conspicuous figure, with the assurance of an Indian +fakir walking on broken glass—pleasurably appreciative +of the risk, that is, while assured by consummate +<i>savoir faire</i> against cutting her feet. Her +<i>fort</i> was tact. She had at one and the same time a +faculty for forgetting confidences which commended +her to women, and a knack of remembering them +which endeared her to men. It was with the latter +that she was preëminently successful. What might +have been termed her masculine method was based +on the broad, general principle that the adult male is +most interested in the persons most interested in +him, and it never failed, in its many modifications, +of effect. Men told her of their love-affairs, for +example, with the same unquestioning assurance +wherewith they intrusted their funds to a reputable +banker; and were apt to remember the manner in +which their confidences were received, longer than +the details of the confidences themselves. And +when you can listen for an hour, with every evidence +of extreme interest, to a man's rhapsodies +about another woman, and, at the end, send him +away with a distinct recollection of the gown you +wore, or the perfume on the handkerchief he picked +up for you, then, dear lady, there is nothing more to +be said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Jeremy Carnby infrequently accompanied +his wife to a reception or a <i>musicale</i>, somewhat as +Chinese idols and emperors are occasionally produced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +in public—as an assurance of good faith, +that is, and in proof of actual existence. As it is +not good form to flaunt one's marriage certificate +in the faces of society, an undeniable, flesh-and-blood +husband is, perhaps, the next best thing—when +exhibited, of course, with that golden mean +of frequency which lies between a hint of henpeck +on the one side and a suggestion of neglect upon the +other. Mrs. Carnby blazed in the social firmament of +the American Colony with the unwavering fixity of the +Polar Star: Jeremy appeared rarely, but with extreme +regularity, like a comet of wide orbit, as evidence +that the marital solar system was working +smoothly and well.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby was, and not unreasonably, proud +of Jeremy. They had lived twenty-five years in +Paris, and, to the best of her knowledge and belief, +he was as yet unaware, at least in a sentimental +sense, that other women so much as existed. Since +one cannot own the Obélisque or the Vénus de Milo, +it is assuredly something to have a husband who +never turns his head on the Avenue du Bois, or finds a +use for an opera-glass at the Folies-Bergère. Jeremy +was not amusing, still less brilliant, least of all popular; +but he was preëminently loyal and unfeignedly +affectionate—qualities sufficiently rare in the world +in which Mrs. Carnby lived, and moved, and +had the greater portion of her being, to recommend +themselves strongly to her shrewd, uncompromising +mind. In her somewhat over-furnished life he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +occupied a distinct niche, which one else could +have filled; and in this, to her way of thinking, +he was unique—as a husband. After <i>foie gras</i> and +champagne, Mrs. Carnby always breakfasted on +American hominy, a mealy red apple, and a glass of +milk. She was equally careful, however, to take +the meal in company with Jeremy. He was part +of the treatment.</p> + +<p>The Carnby <i>hôtel</i> was one of the number in the +Villa Dupont. One turned in through a narrow +gateway, from the sordid dinginess of the Rue Pergolèse, +and, at a stone's throw from the latter's +pungent cheese and butter shops, and grimy <i>charbonneries</i>, +came delightfully into the shade of chestnuts +greener than those exposed to the dust of the +great avenues, and to the sound of fountains plashing +into basins buried in fresh turf. It was very +quiet, like some charming little back street at St. +Germain or Versailles, and the houses, with their +white walls and green shutters and glass-enclosed +porticos, were more like country villas than Parisian +<i>hôtels</i>. The gay stir of the boulevards and the +Avenue du Bois might, to all seeming, have been +a hundred kilometres distant, so still and simple +was this little corner of the capital. Jeremy frankly +adored it. He had a great office looking out upon +the Place de l'Opéra, and when he rose from his +desk, his head aching with the reports and accounts +of the mighty insurance company of which he was +the European manager, and went to the window in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +search of distraction, it was only to have his eyes +met by a dizzier hodge-podge than that of the figures +he had left—the moil of <i>camions</i>, omnibuses, and +cabs, threading in and out at the intersection of +the six wide driveways, first up and down, and then +across, as the brigadier in charge regulated the traffic +with sharp trills of his whistle, which jerked up the +right arms of the policemen at the crossings, as if +some one had pulled the strings of so many marionettes +with white batons in their hands. All this +was not irritating, or even displeasing, to Jeremy. +He was too thorough an American, despite his long +residence in Paris, and too keen a business man, notwithstanding +his wife's fortune, not to derive satisfaction +from every evidence of human energy. The +Place de l'Opéra appealed to the same instincts +in his temperament that would have been gratified +by the sight of a stop-cylinder printing-machine in +action. But, not the less for that, his heart was +domiciled in the <i>hôtel</i> in the Villa Dupont.</p> + +<p>On a certain evening in mid-April, Jeremy had +elaborated his customary half-hour walk homeward +with a detour by way of the Boulevard Malesherbes, +the Parc Monceau, and the Avenue Hoche, and it +was close upon six when he let himself in at his front +door, and laid his derby among the shining top-hats +of his wife's callers, on the table in the <i>antichambre</i>. +Through the half-parted curtains at the +<i>salon</i> door came scraps of conversation, both in +French and English, and the pleasant tinkle of cups<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +and saucers; and, as he passed, he had a glimpse of +several well-groomed men, in white waistcoats and +gaiters, sitting on the extreme edges of their chairs, +with their toes turned in, their elbows on their knees, +and tea-cups in their hands; and smartly-dressed +women, with big hats, and their veils tucked up +across their noses, nibbling at <i>petits fours</i>. He +turned into his study with a feeling of satisfaction. +It was incomprehensible to his mind, this seemingly +universal passion for tea and sweet cakes; but if the +institution was to exist under his roof at all, it was +gratifying to know that, albeit the tea was the finest +Indian overland, and the sweet cakes from the Maison +Gagé, it was not for these reasons alone that the +16th Arrondissement was eager, and the 7th not +loath, to be received at the <i>hôtel</i> in the Villa Dupont. +Jeremy knew that his wife was the most popular +woman in the Colony, as to him she was the best and +most beautiful in the world. Before he touched +the <i>Temps</i> or the half-dozen letters which lay upon +his table, he leaned forward, with his elbows on +the silver-mounted blotter, and his temples in his +hands, and looked long at her photograph smiling +at him out of its Russian enamel frame. If the world, +which laughed at him for his prim black neckties +and his common-sense shoes, even while it respected +him for his business ability, had seen him thus, it +would have shared his wife's knowledge that Jeremy +Carnby was an uncommonly good sort.</p> + +<p>He opened his letters carefully, slitting the envelopes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +with a slender paper-knife, and endorsing +each one methodically with the date of receipt +before passing on to the next. All were private +and personal, his voluminous business mail being +handled at his office by a secretary and two stenographers. +With characteristic loyalty, Jeremy wrote +regularly to a score of old acquaintances and poor +relations in the States, most of whom he had seen +but once or twice in the twenty-five years of his +exile, and read their replies with interest, often with +emotion: and his own left hand knew not how many +cheques had been signed, and cheering words written, +by his unassuming right, in reply to the plaints and +appeals of his intimates of former years. For the +steady, white light of Jeremy Carnby's kindliness let +never a glint of its brightness pass through the +closely-woven bushel of his modesty.</p> + +<p>He hesitated with the last letter in his hand, +reread it slowly, and then lit a cigar and sat looking +fixedly at his inkstand, blowing out thin coils of +smoke. So Mrs. Carnby found him, as she swept in, +dropped into a big red-leather arm-chair, and slid +smoothly into an especial variety of small talk, +wherewith she was wont to smooth the business +wrinkles from his forehead, and bring him into +a frame of mind proper to an appreciation of the +efforts of their <i>chef</i>.</p> + +<p>"If it isn't smoking a cigar at fifteen minutes +before the dinner-hour!" she began, with an assumption +of indignation. "Really, Jeremy, you're getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +quite revolutionary in your ways. I think I shall +tell Armand that hereafter we shall begin dinner +with coffee, have salad with the Rüdesheimer, and +take our soup in the conservatory."</p> + +<p>Mr. Carnby laid down his cigar.</p> + +<p>"I lit it absent-mindedly," he answered. "Have +they gone?"</p> + +<p>"No, of course not, stupid!" retorted his wife. +"They're all out there. I told them to wait until we'd +finished dinner. Now, Jeremy! why <i>will</i> you ask +such questions?"</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> stupid of me," he admitted.</p> + +<p>"And to punish you, I shall tell you who they +were," announced Mrs. Carnby. "I might do +worse and tell you all they said. You're so—so +<i>comfortable</i>, Jeremy. When I'm on the point of +boiling over because of the inanities of society I can +always come in here and open my safety-valve, and +you don't care a particle, do you, if I fill your study +full of conversational steam?"</p> + +<p>Jeremy smiled pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"You <i>nice</i> person!" added his wife. "Well, here +goes. First, there was that stupid Mrs. Maitland. +She told me all about her portrait. It seems Benjamin-Constant +is painting it—and I thought the +others would never come. Finally, however, they +did—the Villemot girls and Mrs. Sidney Kane, and +a few men—Daulas and De Bousac and Gerald Kennedy +and that insufferable little Lister man. Then +Madame Palffy. It makes me furious every time I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +hear her called 'madame.' The creature was born +in Worcester—and do you know, Jeremy, I'm positive +she buys her gowns at an upholsterer's? No +mere dressmaker could lend her that striking resemblance +to a sofa, which is growing stronger +every day! Her French is too impossible. She +was telling Daulas about something that never +happened to her on her way out to their country +place, and I heard her say '<i>compartiment de dames +soûles</i>' quite distinctly. I can't imagine how she +contrives to know so many things that aren't so. +One would suppose she'd stumble over a real, live +fact now and again, if only by accident. And her +husband's no better. Trying to find the truth in +one of his stories severely taxes one's aptitude +in long division. I saw him at the Hatzfeldts' +<i>musicale</i> night before last. Pazzini was playing, +and Palffy was sound asleep in a corner, after three +glasses of punch. I really felt sorry that a man +with such a wife should be missing something attractive, +and I was going to poke him surreptitiously +with my fan, but Tom Radwalader said, 'Better +let the lying dog sleep!' He positively <i>is</i> amusing, +that Radwalader man!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby looked up at her husband for the +admiring smile which was the usual guarantee that +she had amused him, but only to find Jeremy's eyes +once more riveted upon the inkstand, and the cigar +between his thin lips again.</p> + +<p>"My dear Jeremy," she said, "I'm convinced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +that you've not heard one syllable of my carefully +prepared discourse."</p> + +<p>"My dear Louisa," responded Mr. Carnby with +unwonted readiness, "I'm convinced that I have not. +The truth of the matter is," he added apologetically, +"that I've received an unusual letter."</p> + +<p>"It must indeed be unusual if it can cause you +to ignore my conversation," said Louisa Carnby.</p> + +<p>"That is perfectly true," said Jeremy with conviction.</p> + +<p>His wife rose, came over to his side, and kissed +him on the tip of his nose.</p> + +<p>"Good my lord," she said, "I think I like your +tranquil endorsement of the compliments I make +for myself better than those which other men +invent out of their own silly heads! Am I to know +what is in your unusual letter?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked Jeremy seriously.</p> + +<p>"Why not, indeed?" said Mrs. Carnby. "I +have taken you for better or worse. There's so +little 'worse' about the contract, Jeremy, that I +stand ready to accept such as there is in a willing +spirit, even when it comes in the form of a dull +letter."</p> + +<p>Jeremy looked up at her with his familiar smile.</p> + +<p>"Louisa," he said, "if I were twenty years of age, +I should ask nothing better than the chance to +marry you again."</p> + +<p>"Man! but thou'rt the cozener!" exclaimed +Mrs. Carnby. "Thou'dst fair turn the head of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +puir lassis. There—that'll do. Go on with your +letter!"</p> + +<p>"It's from Andrew Sterling," said Jeremy. +"You'll remember him, I think, in Boston. He +was a friend of my father's, and kept a friendly eye +on me after the old gentleman's death. We've +always corresponded, more or less regularly, and +now he writes to say—but perhaps I'd best read you +that part of his letter."</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly," put in his wife. "That is, if +you can. People write so badly, nowadays."</p> + +<p>"Um—um—" mumbled Jeremy, skipping the +introductory sentences. "Ah! Here we have it. +Mr. Sterling says: 'Now for the main purpose of +this letter. My poor daughter's only son, Andrew +Sterling Vane, is sailing to-day on the <i>Kaiser Wilhelm +der Grosse</i>. He has been obliged to leave Harvard, +as his health is not robust, and I have thought that +perhaps the sea-voyage and some months in Paris +might put him in shape—'"</p> + +<p>"<i>Good</i> Lord!" broke in Mrs. Carnby. "Imagine +some months in Paris by way of rest-cure!"</p> + +<p>"'And so,'" continued Jeremy, "'I'm sending +him over, in hopes that the change may be of benefit. +He is a singular lad—sensitive in the extreme, and +utterly inexperienced—and I am going to ask if, +"for auld lang syne," you will be so good as to make +him welcome. I don't mean, of course, that I expect +you to exercise any sort of supervision. The boy +must take care of himself, like all of us, but I would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +like to feel that, in a strange city, there is one place +where he may find a hint of home."</p> + +<p>Jeremy paused.</p> + +<p>"Go on!" observed Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"There is really nothing more of importance," +said her husband, "except that I've also received +a note from young Vane. He's at the Ritz."</p> + +<p>"Of course!" ejaculated Mrs. Carnby. "Paying +two louis per diem for his room, and making semi-daily +trips to Morgan, Harjes'. They're wonderful, +these tourist bank-accounts. Their progress from +a respectable amount to absolute zero is as inevitable +as the recession of the sea from high-water +mark to dead low tide—a steady withdrawal from +the bank, my dear Jeremy! How old might the +young gentlemen be?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Carnby made a mental calculation.</p> + +<p>"His mother was about my own age," he said +presently. "I know she and I used to go to dancing-school +together. And she died in childbirth, if I +remember rightly. Her husband was a scamp—ran +off with another woman. I never saw him. +That would make the boy about twenty or twenty-one."</p> + +<p>"He will be rather good-looking," said Mrs. Carnby +reflectively, "with a general suggestion of soap +and cold water about him. He will wear preposterously +heavy boots with the soles projecting all +around like little piazzas, and a straw hat, and dog-skin +gloves with seams like small hedges, and turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +back at the wrists. They're all exactly alike, the +young Americans one sees over here. One would +think they came by the dozen, in a box. And when +he is sitting down he will be hitching at his trousers +all the time, so that the only thing one remembers +about him afterwards is the pattern of his stockings."</p> + +<p>"We ought to invite him to dinner," suggested +Jeremy.</p> + +<p>"Without doubt," agreed his wife; "but to breakfast +first, I think—and on Sunday. One can judge +a man's character so well by the way he behaves +at Sunday breakfast. If he fidgets, and drinks +quantities of water, then he's dissipated! I don't +know why Saturday night is always fatal to dissipated +men, but it is. If his top hat looks as if it +had been brushed the wrong way, then he's religious, +and has been to church. I shall go out and inspect +it while you're smoking. If he does all the talking, +he's an ass; and if I do it all, he's a fool."</p> + +<p>"You're a difficult critic, my dear," said Jeremy. +"You must remember he is only twenty or so."</p> + +<p>"To be twenty or so in appearance is a man's +misfortune," replied Mrs. Carnby. "To be twenty +or so in behaviour is his fault. I'll write to him +to-night, and ask him to breakfast on Sunday, <i>tout +à fait en famille</i>, and we'll try him on a—you don't +mind my calling you a dog, Jeremy?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," said Mr. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"<i>Eh bien!</i>" said his wife. "We'll have him to +breakfast on Sunday, and try him on a dog! If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +he's presentable and amusing, I shall make him my +exclusive property. If he's dull, I shall tell him +Madame Palffy is a woman he should cultivate +assiduously. I send her all the people who don't +pass muster at my dinners. She has them next +day, like warmed-over <i>vol-au-vents</i>. My funeral +baked meats do coldly furnish forth her breakfast-table."</p> + +<p>"When you wish to appear most unmerciful, my +dear," said Jeremy, "you always pick out Madame +Palffy; and whenever you do, I spoil the effect of +what you say by thinking of—"</p> + +<p>"Margery?" put in Mrs. Carnby. "Yes, of +course, that's my soft spot, Jeremy. There's only +one thing which Margery Palffy ought to be that +she isn't, and that's—ahem!—an orphan."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h4>NEW FRIENDS AND OLD.</h4> + + +<p>In ordinary, Mrs. Carnby was one of the rare +mortals who succeed in disposing as well as in proposing, +but there were times when there was not +even a family resemblance between her plans and her +performances. She had fully intended that young +Vane should be the only guest at her Sunday breakfast, +but as she came out of church that morning +into the brilliant sunlight of the Avenue de l'Alma, +she found herself face to face with the Ratchetts, +newly returned from Monte Carlo, and promptly +bundled the pair of them into her victoria. Furthermore, +as the carriage swung round the Arc, +and into the Avenue du Bois, she suddenly espied +Mr. Thomas Radwalader, lounging, with an air of +infinite boredom, down the <i>plage</i>.</p> + +<p>"There's that Radwalader, thinking about himself +again!" she exclaimed, digging her coachman +in the small of his ample back with the point of her +tulle parasol. "Positively, it would be cruelty +to animals not to rescue him. <i>Arretez</i>, Benoit!"</p> + +<p>Radwalader came up languidly as the carriage +stopped.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" demanded Mrs. Carnby, +after greetings had been exchanged.</p> + +<p>"Home," answered Radwalader. "I met Madame +Palffy back there a bit, and couldn't get away for +ten minutes. You know, it's shocking on the nerves, +that kind of thing, so I thought I'd drop in at my +quarters for a pick-me-up."</p> + +<p>"Well, if I'm not a pick-you-up, I'm sure I don't +know what is," said Mrs. Carnby. "You're to +come to breakfast. You'll have to walk, though. +We're three already, you see, and I don't want +people to take my carriage for a <i>panier à salade</i>. +I hadn't the most remote intention of asking you; +but when a man tells me he's been talking for ten +minutes to that Palffy, I always take him in and +give him a good square meal."</p> + +<p>"You're very kind," said Radwalader. "Are you +going to play bridge afterwards? If so, I must go +home for more money."</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort!" said Mrs. Carnby emphatically. +"There's a <i>protégé</i> of Jeremy's coming +to breakfast—a Bostonian, twenty years young, +and over here for his health. You must all go, +directly after coffee. I'm going to spend the afternoon +feeding him with sweet spirits of nitre out of +a spoon, and teaching him his catechism. Perhaps +you'd like to stay and learn yours?"</p> + +<p>"I think I know it," laughed Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"If you do, it's one of your own fabrication, then—with +just a single question and answer. 'What is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +my duty toward myself? My duty toward myself +is, under all circumstances, to do exactly as I dee +please.'"</p> + +<p>"If that were the case, my good woman, I should +live up to my profession of faith, not only by accepting +your invitation, as I mean to do, but by staying +the entire afternoon."</p> + +<p>"That's very nicely said indeed," answered Mrs. +Carnby. "<i>Allez</i>, Benoit!"</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later the whole party were assembled +in her <i>salon</i>. Carnby, caught by his wife +as he was scuttling into his study, was now doing +his visibly inadequate best to entertain Philip +Ratchett, who stood gloomily before him, with his +legs far apart, his hands in his pockets, and his +eyes on the top button of his host's waistcoat. He +was a typical Englishman, of the variety which +leans against door-jambs in the pages of <i>Punch</i>, +and makes unfortunate remarks beginning with +"I say—" about the relatives of the stranger addressed. +Society bored him to the verge of extinction, +but it is only fair to say that he repaid the +debt with interest. He was tolerated—as many a +man before and after him has been—for the sake +of his wife.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ratchett patronized, with equal ardour, a +sewing-class which fabricated unmentionable garments +of red flannel for supposedly grateful heathen, +and a society for psychical research which boasted +of liberal-mindedness because it was willing to admit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +that, at the dawn of the twentieth century, +the causes of certain natural phenomena yet remained +unexplained. Her entire conception of life underwent +a radical change whenever she read a new +book, which she did at fortnightly intervals. She +was thirty, clever, and frankly beautiful, hence a +factor in the Colony.</p> + +<p>The fifth member of the company in Mrs. Carnby's +<i>salon</i>, Mr. Thomas Radwalader, enjoyed the truly +Parisian distinction of being an impecunious bachelor +who did not accept all the invitations he received. +He might have been thirty-five or forty-five or +fifty-five. His smooth-shaven, impassive face offered +no indication whatever of his age. He was already +quite gray, but, in contrast to this, his speech was +tinged with a frivolity, rather pleasant than otherwise, +which hinted at youth. Mrs. Carnby had once +described him as being "dappled with knowledge," +and this, in common with the majority of Mrs. +Carnby's estimates, came admirably near to being +exact. Radwalader's actual fund of information +was far less ample than was indicated by the facility +with which he talked on any and every subject, +but he was master of the science of selection. He +judged others—and rightly—by himself, and went +upon the often-proven theory that a polished brilliant +attracts more attention than an uncut Koh-i-nur. +He made the superficial things of life his own, and +on the rare occasions when the trend of conversation +led him out of his depth, he caught at the life-belt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +of epigram, and had found his feet again before +men better informed had finished floundering. He +lived in a tiny apartment, on the safe side of nothing +a year, and kept up appearances with a skill that +was little short of genius. Gossip passed him by, +a circumstance for which he was devoutly grateful, +though it was due less to chance than to management.</p> + +<p>Such was the company into which Mr. Andrew +Sterling had despatched his grandson—in hopes +that the change might be of benefit. As he came +through the <i>portières</i>, young Vane proved to tally, +in the main essentials of appearance, with Mrs. +Carnby's prophetic estimate. He was somewhat +more than rather good-looking, and essentially +American, with the soap-and-cold-water suggestion +strongly to the fore. Mrs. Carnby always noted +three things about a man before she spoke to him—his +hands, his linen, and his eyes. In the first two +Andrew Vane qualified immediately; in the third +his hostess was forced to confess herself at a loss. +In singular contrast to a complexion dark almost +to swarthiness, his eyes were large and of an intense +steel-blue. He met those of another squarely, not +alone with the frankness characteristic of youth, +but with the strange calm of confidence typical +of men accustomed to the command of a battle-ship +or an army corps. Mrs. Carnby, in ordinary the +most self-possessed of women, gave, almost guiltily, +before the keen, clear eyes of Andrew Vane.</p> + +<p>"He has no business whatever to have eyes like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +that, at his age," she told herself, almost angrily. +"They ought to <i>grow</i> in a man's head, after he has +seen everything there is to be seen."</p> + +<p>The thought was involuntary, but it recalled to +her memory where she had seen their like before.</p> + +<p>"Radwalader has them," she added mentally. +"<i>Good</i> Lord! <i>Radwalader</i>! And this child hasn't +even graduated!"</p> + +<p>During the brief interval between the general +introduction and the announcement of breakfast, +she studied her new guest with unwonted interest. +He was of the satisfactory medium height at which +a man is neither contemptible nor clumsy, slight +in build, but straight as an arrow, with narrow hips +and a square backward fling of shoulder which spoke +of resolution.</p> + +<p>"He has 'No Compromise' written all over his +back," said Mrs. Carnby to herself. "I should +believe everything he told me, and not be afraid of +what I told him."</p> + +<p>Then she noted that he was eminently at ease. +There is something out of the common about twenty +that keeps its hands hanging at its sides, and its +feet firmly planted, without suggesting a tailor's +dummy. Andrew was talking to Mr. Carnby about +his grandfather and Boston, and from the first to +the last word of the short colloquy he did not once +shift his position. As he stood thus, in some curious +fashion consideration of his years was completely +eliminated from one's thought of him. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +deferential, but in the negative manner of guest to +host, rather than in the positive of youth to age; +and, at the same time, he was assertive, but with +the force of personality, not the conspicuity of +awkwardness. He fitted into his surroundings instantly, +like a wisely placed <i>bibelot</i>, but he dominated +them as well.</p> + +<p>"That Palffy," was Mrs. Carnby's final resolve, +"shall get him only over my dead body."</p> + +<p>And so, unconsciously, Andrew scored his first +Parisian triumph.</p> + +<p>For the first ten minutes of breakfast, Mrs. Carnby, +at whose left he sat, let him designedly alone. It +was her belief that men, like saddle-horses, should +be given their heads in strange territory, and left +to find themselves—this in contrast to the policy +of her social rival, Madame Palffy, who boasted of +being able to draw out the best there was in a new +acquaintance in the first quarter-hour of conversation. +In this she was probably correct, though in a sense +which she did not perceive—for few good qualities +survived the strain of that initial quarter-hour.</p> + +<p>But if Mrs. Carnby's attention appeared to be +engrossed by Radwalader on her right, and Mrs. +Ratchett beyond Radwalader, she kept, nevertheless, +a weather eye on Andrew; and when, presently, +his spoon tinkled on his <i>bouillon</i> saucer, she turned +to him.</p> + +<p>"I've been watching you," she began, "to see how +you would take to French oysters. It's a test I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +always apply to newcomers from America. If they +eat only one <i>Marennes verte</i>, I know at once that +they approve of forty-story buildings, and are going +to talk about 'getting back to God's country'; if +they eat all six, I know I may venture to hint that +there are advantages about living in Paris, without +having my head bitten off for being an expatriate."</p> + +<p>"It would seem your head is quite safe, so far as +I am concerned," laughed Andrew, "for I finished +off my half-dozen, and thought them very good."</p> + +<p>"Then you have the soul of a Parisian in the +body of a Bostonian," affirmed Mrs. Carnby. "A +liking for <i>Marennes vertes</i> is a survival of a previous +state of existence. Here's Mr. Radwalader, for +instance, who can't abide them, even after Heaven +knows <i>how</i> many years in Paris."</p> + +<p>"They taste so much like two-sou pieces that, +whenever I eat them, they make me feel like a frog +savings-bank," said Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"There you are!" cried Mrs. Carnby triumphantly. +"That would never have arisen as an objection in +the mind of any one who had known what it is to be +a Parisian."</p> + +<p>"Or a frog savings-bank," said Radwalader. +"No, I suppose not. I can't seem to live down +the fact that I was born in the shadow of Independence +Hall. But I'm doing so much to make up +for the bad beginnings of my present incarnation, +that I shall undoubtedly be a Parisian in my next. +Have you been here long, Mr. Vane?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Three days."</p> + +<p>"Do you speak French?" put in Mrs. Carnby. +"No? What a pity! You've no idea what a +difference it makes."</p> + +<p>"I've only such a smattering as one gets in school +and college," said Andrew. "Of course I didn't +<i>know</i> I was coming over here. But, after all, one +seems to get on very well with English."</p> + +<p>"That's just the trouble, Mr. Vane," volunteered +Mrs. Ratchett. "So many Americans are content +just to 'get on' over here. That isn't the cue to +Paris at all! It only means that you and she are on +terms of bowing acquaintance. You'll never get to +know her till you can talk to her in her own tongue."</p> + +<p>"Or listen to her talk to you," observed Radwalader. +"So long as we're using the feminine +gender—"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" interrupted Mrs. Carnby. "A remark +like that <i>does</i> come with <i>extreme</i> grace from you, +I <i>must</i> say. Here," she added, turning to Mrs. +Ratchett, and indicating Radwalader with her +fish-fork, "here's a man, my dear, who spent two +solid hours of last Monday telling me the story +of his life. And it reminded me precisely of a peacock—one +long, stuck-up tale with a hundred I's in +it. Radwalader, you're a brute!"</p> + +<p>Carnby, with his eyes fixed vacantly upon a +spot midway between a pepper-mill and a little +dish of salted almonds, appeared to be revolving +some complicated business problem in his mind;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +and, as his wife caught sight of him, her fish-fork +swung round a quarter-circle in her fingers, like a +silver weathercock, until, instead of Radwalader, it +indicated the point of her husband's nose.</p> + +<p>"That person," she said to Andrew, "is either +in Trieste or Buda. His company has an incapable +agent in both cities, and whenever he glares at +vacancy, like a hairdresser's image, I know he +is in either one town or the other. With practice, +I shall come to detect the shade of difference in his +expression which will tell me which it is. Mr. +Ratchett—some more of the <i>éperlans</i>?"</p> + +<p>Ratchett was deeply engaged in dressing morsels +of smelts in little overcoats of <i>sauce tartare</i>, assisting +them carefully with his knife to scramble aboard +his fork, and, having braced them there firmly +with cubes of creamed potato, conveying the whole +arrangement to his mouth, where he instantly +secured it from escape by popping in a piece of bread +upon its very heels. He looked up, as Mrs. Carnby +spoke to him, murmured "'k you," and immediately +returned to the business in hand. Radwalader and +Mrs. Ratchett had fallen foul of each other over a +chance remark of his, and were now just disappearing +into a fog of art discussion, from which, in his +voice, an abrupt "Besnard" popped, at intervals, +as indignantly as a ball from a Roman candle, or, +in hers, the word "Whistler" rolled forth with +an inflection which suggested the name of a +cathedral.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell me a little about yourself," said Mrs. Carnby, +turning again to Andrew.</p> + +<p>"If it's to be about myself," he answered, "I +think it's apt to be little indeed. I've been in +college almost three years, but I've been kept back, +more or less, by a touch of fever I picked up on a +trip to Cuba. It crops out every now and again, +and knocks me into good-for-nothingness for a +while. I'm not sure that I shall go back to Harvard. +You see, I want to <i>do</i> something."</p> + +<p>"What?" demanded Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure. I'm over here in search of a hint."</p> + +<p>"And a very excellent idea, too!" said his hostess. +"Because, if you will keep your eyes open in the +American Colony, you'll see about everything which +a man ought <i>not</i> to do; and after that it should +be comparatively easy to make a choice among the +few things that remain."</p> + +<p>"You're not very flattering to the American +Colony," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"That's because I belong to it," replied Mrs. Carnby, +"and you'll find I'm about the only woman in +it, able to speak French, who will make that admission. +I belong to it, and I love it—for its name. +It's about as much like America as a cold veal cutlet +with its gravy coagulated—if you've ever seen +<i>that</i>!—is like the same thing fresh off the grill. But +I don't allow any one but myself to say so!"</p> + +<p>"You're patriotic," suggested Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Only passively. I'm extremely doubtful as to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +the exact location of 'God's country,' and, even if +you were to prove to my satisfaction that it lies +between Seattle and Tampa, I'm not sure I should +want to live there. America's a kind of conservatory +on my estate. I don't care to sit in it continually, +but, at the same time, I don't like to have +other people throwing stones through the roof. But +about what you want to do?"</p> + +<p>"I really haven't the most remote idea. I want +it to be something worth while—something which +will attract attention."</p> + +<p>"Nothing does, nowadays," said Mrs. Carnby, +"except air-ships and remarriage within two hours +of divorce."</p> + +<p>"What <i>are</i> you talking about?" asked Mrs. Ratchett, +suddenly abandoning the argument in which it was +evident that she was coming out second best.</p> + +<p>"My choice of a profession," replied Andrew. "I +don't want to make a mistake. But everything +seems to be overcrowded."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," observed Radwalader. "It isn't so +much a question of selecting what's right as of getting +what's left. Haven't you a special talent?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"And if you had, it wouldn't do you much +good in the States," commented Mrs. Carnby. +"Nothing counts over there but money and social +position. It's the only country on earth where it's +less blessed to be gifted than received."</p> + +<p>"I had thought of civil engineering," said Andrew.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Civil engineering?" repeated Mrs. Carnby. "But, +my dear Mr. Vane, <i>that's</i> not a profession. It's +only a synonym for getting on in society. We're +all of us civil engineers!"</p> + +<p>She pushed back her chair as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"We'll wait for you in the <i>salon</i>," she added, +"and, meanwhile, Mrs. Ratchett and I will think +up a profession for Mr. Vane. Jeremy, you're to +give them the shortest cigars you have."</p> + +<p>"I was once in the same quandary," said Radwalader +to Andrew, when the men were left alone, +"and concluded to let Time answer the question for +me. You may have noticed that Time is prone to +reticence. So far, he has not committed himself +one way or another."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I haven't the patience for that," said +Andrew. "Besides, it's different in America. One +<i>has</i> to do something over there. It's almost against +the law to be idle."</p> + +<p>"Of course. The only remedy for that is to live +in Paris. You might do that. It's a profession all +by itself—of faith, if nothing else. Only one has +need of the golden means."</p> + +<p>"I think I am a homeopathist, so far as Europe +is concerned," said Andrew. "I'm already a little +homesick for the Common."</p> + +<p>"It's a bad pun," answered Radwalader, "but is +there anything in America but—the common?"</p> + +<p>"You can't expect me to agree with you there."</p> + +<p>"I don't. I never expect any one to agree with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +me. It takes all the charm out of conversation. +You may remember that Mark Twain once said +that it's a difference of opinion which makes horse-races. +He should have made it human races. That +would have been truer, and so, more original. But +a homeopathist is only a man who has never tried +allopathy. You must let me convert you by showing +you something of Paris. If I've any profession +at all, it's that of guide."</p> + +<p>"You're very kind," said Andrew, "but you +mustn't let your courtesy put you to inconvenience +on my account. There must be a penalty attached +to knowing Paris well, in the form of fellow country-men +who want to be shown about."</p> + +<p>"'Never a rose but has its thorn,'" quoted Radwalader. +"If you know Paris well, you're overrun; +and if you don't, you're run over. Of the +two, the former is the less objectionable. When +we leave here, perhaps you'd like to go out to the +races for a while? If you haven't been, Auteuil is +well worth seeing of a Sunday afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I should be very glad," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Then we'll consider it agreed. I see Carnby is +getting to his feet. He is about to make his regular +postprandial speech. It is one to be commended +for its brevity."</p> + +<p>"The ladies?" suggested Jeremy interrogatively.</p> + +<p>"By all means!" said Radwalader, as his cigarette +sizzled into the remainder of his coffee. "It's a +toast to which we all respond."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"By the way," said Ratchett, as they moved +toward the <i>portières</i>, "I was going to ask you chaps +about membership in the Volney."</p> + +<p>The three men gathered in a group, and Andrew, +seeing that they were about to speak of something +in which he had no concern, passed into the <i>salon</i>. +Here he was surprised to find three women instead +of two—still more surprised when the newcomer +wheeled suddenly, and came toward him with both +hands outstretched.</p> + +<p>"How do you <i>do</i>?" she said. "What a charming +surprise! Mrs. Carnby was just speaking of you, +and I've been telling her what jolly times we used +to have last summer at Beverly. How delightful to +find you here! Mrs. Carnby's my dearest friend, +you must know, Mr. Vane."</p> + +<p>"Miss Palffy is one of the few people to whom I +always feel equal," observed Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"I can say the same, I'm sure," agreed Andrew.</p> + +<p>"That means that you and I are to be friends +as well, then," answered Mrs. Carnby, "because +things that are equal to the same thing are bound +to be equal to each other. Are you going out with +Jeremy, Margery?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—our usual Sunday spree, you know. He's +a dear!"</p> + +<p>She bent over as she spoke and buried her nose in +one of the big roses on the table.</p> + +<p>"Lord, girl, but I'm glad to see you again!" said +the inner voice of Andrew Vane.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h4>THE GIRL IN RED.</h4> + + +<p>The saddling-bell was whirring for the third +race as Andrew and Radwalader slipped in at the +main entrance of Auteuil, and made their way +rapidly through the throng behind the <i>tribunes</i>, +in the direction of the betting-booths beyond.</p> + +<p>"We'll just have time to place our bets," said +Radwalader, as he scanned the bulletins. "Numbers +two, five, six, and eleven are out. Scratch them +off your programme and we'll take our pick of the +rest."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to advise me," answered Andrew. +"One couldn't very well be more ignorant of the +horses than I am."</p> + +<p>"I never give advice," said Radwalader, with an +air of seriousness. "I used to, long ago. I went +about vaccinating my friends, as it were, with +counsel, but none of it ever took, or was taken—whichever +way you choose to put it—so I gave it up. +Besides, a French race-horse is like the girl one +elects to marry. The choice is purely a matter of +luck, and there's no depending upon the record<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +of previous performances. I've always thought +that if <i>I</i> had to choose a wife, I'd prefer to do it in +the course of a game of blind-man's buff. The one +I caught I'd keep. Then the choice would at +least be unprejudiced. Shut your eyes, my dear +Vane, and stick your pencil-point through your +programme. Then open them and bet on the +horse nearest the puncture." And he went through +this little performance himself with the utmost solemnity. +"It's Vivandière," he added. "I shall stake +a louis on Vivandière."</p> + +<p>"And I, for originality's sake, shall choose Mathias, +with my eyes open," said Andrew, laughing, as +they took their places in line before the booth.</p> + +<p>"Well, you couldn't do better," observed his +companion. "He's a willing little beast, and not +unlikely to romp home in the lead. I'd bet on +him myself, except that I'm so damnably unlucky +that it really wouldn't be fair to you, Vane. I +never back a horse but what he falls. I had ten +louis up, last Sunday, on a steeplechase, and the +water-jump was so full of the horses I'd chosen +that, upon my soul, you couldn't see the water! +It was for all the world like the sunken road at +Waterloo after the charge of the <i>cuirassiers</i>."</p> + +<p>When they had purchased their tickets, Radwalader +led the way to the front of the <i>tribunes</i>, +and, mounting upon the bench along the rail, turned +his back upon the course, and began to survey the +throng in the tiers of seats above.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This is my favourite way of introducing a newcomer +to Paris," he said presently. "She never +appears to better advantage than when she is togged +out in her Sunday-go-to-race-meeting-best."</p> + +<p>With his stick he began to point out people here +and there, until, from a narrow gateway to their +right, the horses filed out upon the track, and they +turned, resting their elbows on the railing, to watch +them go by.</p> + +<p>"That's Vivandière," said Radwalader. "Poor +animal! She runs the best possible chance of breaking +her neck. If the jockey so much as suspected +that I'd her number in my pocket, he'd probably +have taken out a policy on his life. There's Mathias—the +little chestnut. He looks in rattling good form. +I suspect you haven't thrown away that louis."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be a very ruinous loss, in any event," +said Andrew.</p> + +<p>Radwalder was choosing a cigarette from his +case.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," he answered, rolling it between his +fingers, "if you'd mind my asking you if you mean +that? To some people it would be a consideration; +to others, none whatever. It isn't conventional, or +even good form, to pry into a man's finances, but +we shall probably be going about together, more +or less, during your stay, and in such a case I always +like to know how a man stands in regard to expenses. +I don't want to embarrass you by proposing things +you don't feel you can afford, still less to be a clog<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +upon you when you wish to go beyond my +means."</p> + +<p>He looked up, smiling frankly.</p> + +<p>"Don't misunderstand me," he added. "It's not +in the least an idle curiosity. I'm an old friend +of Mrs. Carnby's, and it would be a great pleasure +to do anything to make your visit a success. But, +if you'll trust me, I'd be glad to know how you +propose to live. You don't think me impertinent?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," said Andrew. "I understand +perfectly. It's a very sensible point of view. And +I'll say candidly that my grandfather, Mr. Sterling, +has been very generous; so that, unless I'm totally +reckless, there's no reason why I shouldn't have +the best of everything." He paused for a moment, +and then added: "My letter of credit is for thirty +thousand francs."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Radwalader. "It makes +things easier. I'd forgotten for the moment your +relationship to Mr. Sterling, or I shouldn't have +needed to take the liberty of speaking as I did. I +met him once in Boston, I think. Isn't he called +the 'Copper Czar'?"</p> + +<p>"I believe he is," replied Andrew. "But there's +not much in nicknames, you know."</p> + +<p>"No, of course not," agreed his companion. +"There goes the bell. For once, it's a fair start."</p> + +<p>Far away, beyond the thickly-peopled stretch of +the <i>pelouse</i>, a group of gaily-coloured dots went +rocking rapidly to the left, vanished for an instant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +at the turn, and then flashed into view again in the +form of jockeys standing stiffly in their stirrups, +as the horses swept down the transverse stretch. +People were shouting all about them, and in Andrew's +unaccustomed ears the blood surged and hammered +madly. He was at the age when there is nothing +more inspiring than such a play of life and action, +under the open sky and over the close-cropped turf. +The ripple of lithe muscles along the sleek flanks +of the horses; the set, smooth-shaven faces of the +rigid jockeys; the gleam of sunlight and colour; +and the deep, crescendo voice of the multitude, +swelling to thunder as the racers flew past—all these +set his pulses tingling, until he, too, cried out impulsively +in his excitement. It was his first horse-race, +and his first glimpse of Paris into the bargain. +There is more than enough in the combination to +set young blood aglow.</p> + +<p>"<i>Houp! Houp! Houp!</i>" With sharp, staccato +cries of encouragement, the jockeys were raising +their mounts at the water-jump, over which they +sailed gallantly, one after another, like great brown +birds, until the very last. There was a lisp of grazed +twigs, a long "A-ah!" from <i>pelouse</i> and <i>pesage</i> alike, +a dull splash which sent the spray flying high in +silver beads and then a jockey in a crimson blouse +rolled heavily forward on the turf, arose, stamped +his foot, and swore profusely in picturesque cockney +at his mare, who had regained her feet and, with +dangling rein and saddle all askew, stood looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +back at him, as if uncertain whether to stop and +inquire after his injuries or go on alone. Abruptly +deciding upon the latter as the wiser course, she set +off at a leisurely gallop, to the accompaniment of +shrill, sarcastic comments from the crowd, and +an additional exposition of the jockey's astonishing +wealth of vocabulary.</p> + +<p>"<i>Voilà!</i>" sighed Radwalader. "That was Vivandière! +What did I tell you? It's absolutely inhuman +of me to bet on a horse. And look at Mathias! +He's twenty metres ahead of the rest, and going +better every minute. You've hit it this time, Vane. +There's one comfort. You'll win back my louis, +at all events. It's something to know that the +money's not going out of the family."</p> + +<p>The crowd was already shouting "<i>Mathias! C'est +Mathias qui gagne!</i>" as Andrew bent forward to see +the horses wheel again into the transverse cut. +Mathias was far in the lead, and seemed to gain +yet more at the hurdle. The race was practically +over, a thousand yards from the finish, and, as +Mathias flashed past the post, a winner by twenty +lengths, and Vivandière came ambling complacently +in, at the end of the procession, with the +stirrups bouncing grotesquely up and down, Radwalader +replaced his field-glass with a deep sigh +of resignation, and the two men went back toward +the bulletins to see the posting of the payments.</p> + +<p>It appeared, when the figures snapped into place, +that Mathias returned one hundred and ten francs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +which meant a clear gain of ten louis. Andrew had +"hit it" in good earnest.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall adopt horse-racing as my profession," +he laughed, as they cashed the ticket at +the <i>caisse</i>. "Let's see: forty dollars a race, six +races a day, seven days to the week—two-forty— +twenty-eight—fourteen—sixteen—sixteen hundred +and eighty dollars a week. By Jove! That's not +bad, by way of a start!"</p> + +<p>"The start's the easiest part of it," observed Radwalader. +"Even Vivandière can manage that. It's +the finish that counts, and the finish of horse-racing +is commonly the penitentiary. It's the only profession +where the hard labor comes at the end +instead of at the beginning."</p> + +<p>"I think I'll hang on to what I've won, then," +answered Andrew. "If you've nothing better to +do, perhaps you'll help me to spend part of it on a +dinner to-night. You know all the best places. +And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to walk about +a bit, and see the people."</p> + +<p>"I accept both proposals with pleasure," said +his companion. "We might dine at the Tour d'Argent, +if you like. I haven't had one of Frédéric's +ducks in a little eternity."</p> + +<p>Back of the <i>tribunes</i> the crowd was greater now +than it had been at the time of their arrival. There +was the usual gay commingling of elaborate spring +<i>toilettes</i>, brilliant parasols, white waistcoats, gloves, +and gaiters, and red and blue uniforms; and, all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +about them, a babble of brilliant nothings. It was, +as Radwalader had said, Paris at her best. He +resumed his comments, which had been interrupted +by the race, punctuating each sentence with a nod, +or a few words, in French or English, to passing +acquaintances, and flicking the gravel with the point +of his stick.</p> + +<p>"I envy you your first impressions, my dear Vane. +It's an old story with me, all this, but I remember +quite distinctly my first day on a French racecourse. +It seemed to me the most wonderful spot +on earth. I'd always lived in Philadelphia, and +from Philadelphia to Paris is something in the +nature of a resurrection. For the first time in my +life, I saw people in possession of something to live +<i>for</i>, instead of merely something to live <i>on</i>. There +wasn't so much as a wrinkle of anxiety in sight. +Then and there, I adopted Paris as my permanent +abode. You know this town is a kind of metaphorical +fly-paper. When once one has settled, +one stops buzzing and banging one's head against +the window-screens of circumstance."</p> + +<p>"And flops over, and dies?" asked Andrew. "It seems +to me that's the unpleasant part about fly-paper."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure of that," said Radwalader. "I'd +have to have the fly's word for it. All of us must +die in one manner or another, and perhaps being +suffocated by a surfeit of sugar and molasses is not +the most disagreeable way. However, you are +only going to browse along the edges."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There are some stunning women here," said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>"That's singularly <i>à propos</i>," replied Radwalader. +"Are there any in particular whom you'd like to +meet? I know about all of them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you?" said Andrew. "I hadn't noticed +you bow."</p> + +<p>For a fraction of a second Radwalader glanced +at his companion's face. Then—</p> + +<p>"Hadn't you?" he said, with a short laugh. "I'm +afraid your eyes have been too busy with the women +themselves to take note of my salutations."</p> + +<p>The next moment he doffed his hat ceremoniously +to a little black-eyed creature with a superb triple +string of pearls hanging almost to the waist of her +black lace gown.</p> + +<p>"That's Suzanne Derval," he explained, as they +passed. "She's one of the brightest women in +Paris."</p> + +<p>"And alone?" said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Her escort," answered Radwalader, with an +almost imperceptible pause between the words, +"is probably placing his bet. As I said before, if +there's any one you want to meet—"</p> + +<p>"Well, there is," replied Andrew, colouring a little. +"We passed a girl in red back there a bit. It's possible +you know her. I'm afraid you think me a good +deal of a boy."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you think a good deal of a girl," +laughed Radwalader. "No, my dear chap. Or,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +rather, if your desire is an evidence of extreme youth, +then the majority of men are fit subjects for a <i>crèche</i>. +Come along, and we'll try to track your scarlet +siren."</p> + +<p>"We'll not have much difficulty," said Andrew, +as they turned. "There she is now. Do you see? +By the tree—in red."</p> + +<p>"Oh," answered Radwalader, "oh, yes. That's +Mirabelle Tremonceau. Your 'red' is <i>cerise</i>, as a +matter of fact, but that's as near as the average man +comes to the colour of a woman's gown."</p> + +<p>"I can't imagine one spending much time in learning +such things."</p> + +<p>"Anywhere but in Paris, perhaps not. Here the +knowledge is vital. It's part of one's education—like +being able to distinguish a Louis Quatorze chair +from a Louis Quinze, or a Fragonard from a Boucher +ten feet away. If you want to meet Mademoiselle +Tremonceau, I'll be very glad to present you."</p> + +<p>"I might wait here while you ask her," suggested +Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Radwalader. "Oh, yes—by all +means."</p> + +<p>The girl was talking with an officer of <i>chasseurs</i>, +on the turf, a short distance away. She was tall +and slender, very pale, with magnificent violet eyes +and golden-bronze hair. From the gauze <i>aigrettes</i> +on her hat to the tips of her patent-leather shoes, +her costume was absolutely flawless. Her gown, +of cherry-coloured <i>crêpe de Chine, pailleté</i> with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +silver, breathed from its every fold the talismanic +word "Paquin," and the Lalique ornament of +emeralds and ruddy gold which swung at her throat +by a slender chain said as plainly "Charlier." +There was not a dot missing from her veil, not the +suggestion of a wrinkle in her white gloves, and +not a displeasing note in the harmony of the +whole.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing wrong about the boy's judgment," +was Radwalader's mental comment. "He's +picked out the prettiest and best gowned woman +in Paris. And it couldn't be better," he added, +with an odd little smile.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Tremonceau greeted him with a +nod, a gloved hand, and a "<i>Comment vas-tu?</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>B'en, pas mal, merci</i>," answered Radwalader. +With his left hand he caressed his chin reflectively, +and, as if this had been a signal—which indeed it +was—the girl turned to the young <i>chasseur</i>, who +was staring at the intruder out of round, resentful +eyes, and dismissed him with a hint.</p> + +<p>"You've had fifteen minutes of my time, <i>mon cher</i>."</p> + +<p>Then, as he retired, discomfited, she faced Radwalader +again, and seemed to search his face for +the answer to some unspoken question.</p> + +<p>"I want to present one of my friends," he said, +as if replying. "Mr. Andrew Vane—an American +who has been in Paris three days. We'll have to +speak English. Have I your permission?"</p> + +<p>"You're strangely ceremonious of a sudden,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +answered Mademoiselle Tremonceau. "I don't seem +to remember your asking permission before."</p> + +<p>"It was his suggestion," observed Radwalader +laconically.</p> + +<p>For a moment the girl made no reply. Her +questioning look had observably become more keen, +and with one finger she picked at the turquoise +matrix in the handle of her parasol.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she said finally.</p> + +<p>"<i>Galetteux</i>," said Radwalader. "Go softly, my +friend."</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Tremonceau bowed with ineffable +dignity.</p> + +<p>"You have my gracious permission to present +him," she said.</p> + +<p>Whistling softly, as was his habit when pleased, +the air of "<i>Au Clair de la Lune</i>," Radwalader observed +their meeting from the corners of his eyes, +and was struck, as Mrs. Carnby had been, by +Andrew's perfect repose. They spoke in English, +of trivialities—Paris, the weather, the crowd, and +the victory of Mathias—and, as the saddling-bell rang +for the fifth race, all walked out together to the +trackside. Here Radwalader left them, to place +his bet, and Andrew found two little wooden chairs on +which they seated themselves to await his return.</p> + +<p>"You and Mr. Radwalader are old friends?" +asked the girl.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said Andrew, "we met for +the first time only this morning."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! And what do you think of him?"</p> + +<p>"I find him very agreeable," said Andrew; "a +little cynical, perhaps, but clever—and cleverness, to +twist an English saying, covers a multitude of sins."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's clever," answered Mademoiselle Tremonceau. +"There are the horses. Are you coming +to tea?" she added, after a silence, as Radwalader +rejoined them.</p> + +<p>Radwalader turned to Andrew.</p> + +<p>"The poet says that opportunity has no back +hair," he observed. "I think we might grasp at +this forelock, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Since Mademoiselle Tremonceau is so kind, I +should say, by all means."</p> + +<p>They watched the race in silence, and then:</p> + +<p>"I can find room for you both in the victoria," +suggested the girl.</p> + +<p>"Better yet!" said Radwalader with alacrity, +"provided Vane takes the <i>strapontin</i>. The only +place where I feel my age is in my knees. Since +you've never occupied Mademoiselle Tremonceau's +<i>strapontin</i>, my dear Vane, you can have no idea of +the physical discomfort attendant upon being a +little lower than an angel. Think of my having +won—even a <i>placé</i>! Shall we go now? I abhor +the crush at the end. Give me a minute to cash +my ticket, and then we'll look up the carriage."</p> + +<p>"Do you speak French?" said Mademoiselle +Tremonceau to Andrew, as Radwalader strolled off +in the direction of the <i>caisse</i>.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I seem to be able to say what I want when the +occasion arises," he answered, "but I much prefer +English. I am trying to adjust myself to new conditions, +and I need all my energy for the task, without +undertaking a strange language at the same time. +You can have no idea how one's first visit to Paris +sends preconceived notions tumbling about one's +ears. So far, the Eiffel Tower is the only thing which +looked as I expected it would. There's a surprise at +every turn."</p> + +<p>"For example?"</p> + +<p>"Well, for example, French women. Even so far +as my own town of Boston we know you're beautiful, +and beautifully gowned, although nothing short of +personal experience can teach one to what an extent. +But I've always been brought up to believe that you +were so hemmed in by conventionality, so strictly +watched, that a chap wasn't allowed so much as to +say 'Good-morning' to one of you, so long as you +were unmarried, at least, except under the eyes of +mothers and fathers and guardians. But it seems +that it's not so at all."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, Mademoiselle Tremonceau's lips +parted in a little smile, and as he paused, she slipped +in an apparently irrelevant question.</p> + +<p>"Are you married, Mr. Vane?"</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, no!" said Andrew. "I suppose +I may as well confess that I'm only twenty."</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Tremonceau looked off across the +track to where, in the interval preceding the next<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +race, the restless thousands circled to and fro about +the betting-booths of the <i>pelouse</i>, in the manner of +a multitude of ants preparing to carry off a bulky +bit of carrion. Then she drew her veil tight, with +a charmingly feminine little <i>moue</i> which shortened +her upper lip, tilted her chin, and set her eyelids +fluttering.</p> + +<p>"Twenty?" she echoed. "My age precisely. +<i>Tiens! C'est plutô drôlatique ça!</i> Here's Mr. Radwalader, +at last. Did you get your payment? Only +twenty-two fifty? Well, that is your other louis back, +at all events. Don't you want to run along after +the carriage, as long as you know how? Mr. Vane +will attend to me, I'm sure, and we'll meet you at +the right of the main entrance. Here's the carriage +number. Simon is the <i>brigadier</i> in charge to-day. +Tell him it's for me, and you won't have to wait."</p> + +<p>Radwalader undertook this commission with cheerfulness, +although the pace at which he started +toward the gate was distinctly incompatible with +even the most liberal conception of "running along." +Evidently he was not unique in his abhorrence of +the crush at the end. Many were already making +their way from the <i>pesage</i>, and the crowd behind +the <i>tribunes</i> was densest about the <i>sorties</i>. Andrew +and Mademoiselle Tremonceau followed him, five +minutes later.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if you mind my taking your arm?" +asked the girl. "I'm always a little nervous, going +out."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"With pleasure," said Andrew, adding, as her +glove touched his sleeve, "I was going to suggest it, +but I don't know French etiquette as yet, and I was +afraid I might be presuming."</p> + +<p>He was unconscious that, as they passed through +the throng, many heads were turned, among them +that of the young officer of <i>chasseurs</i>, who drew the +end of his mustache between his lips, and gnawed +it savagely. A perfectly appointed victoria, drawn +up at the edge of the driveway, was awaiting them, +with Radwalader standing at the step.</p> + +<p>It was close upon seven o'clock when the two men +emerged from Mademoiselle Tremonceau's apartments +on the Avenue Henri Martin, and, hailing a +passing cab, set off for the Tour d'Argent. Radwalader +evinced no desire to talk, as they bowled across +to and then down the Champs Elysées, and Andrew +was conscious of being grateful for the silence. He +wanted to think. He did not wholly understand +the hour and a half which had just gone by. There +had been no sign of Mademoiselle Tremonceau's +family. Tea was served in a <i>salon</i> crowded with +elaborate furniture, and softly illumined by rose-shaded +electric globes on bronze <i>appliques</i>. Liveried +servants came and went noiselessly, through +tapestry curtains, and over an inlaid floor, polished +to mirror-like brilliance, and strewn with mounted +skins. The double <i>marqueterie</i> tea-table gleamed +with a silver samovar and candlesticks, Baccarat +glass, and thin, cream-coloured cups and saucers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +with a crest in raised gold. Here and there, huge +Gloire de Dijon roses leaned sleepily from silver +vases, and, on a little stand, a great bunch of wild +violets breathed summer from a blue Sèvres bowl. +An indefinable atmosphere of luxury and languor +pervaded the room. From the girl herself came a +faint hint of some strangely sweet, but wholly unfamiliar, +fragrance, which Andrew had not noted in +the open air. He watched her, fascinated, as her +slender white hands, with their blazing jewels, went +to and fro among the cups and saucers. Her every +movement was deliciously and suggestively feminine, +as had been her tightening of her veil, an hour +before, and exquisitely languid and deliberate, as +if the day had been a thousand hours long instead of +twenty-four. She said but little, Radwalader maintaining +a running thread of his half-banter, half-philosophy, +with its ingenious double-meanings and +contortions of the commonplace, whereby, in some +fashion of his own, he contrived to simulate and +stimulate conviction.</p> + +<p>Andrew had found, presently, that he was growing +sleepy. The abrupt change from the cool air of +outer afternoon to the perfume-laden atmosphere +of Mademoiselle Tremonceau's <i>salon</i>, the drone of +Radwalader's voice, the soft light, in contrast to +the sunshine they had left—all contributed to his +drowsiness. Once, for nearly a minute, the whole +room melted, as it were, into one golden-gray mist, +through which silver and glass and fabrics glowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +only as harmonious notes of colour, and wherein +the face of his hostess seemed to float like a reflection +in troubled water. Then, as suddenly, every +detail of his surroundings appeared to bulge at him +out of the haze, and stood fixed and clear. For an +instant he thought that Radwalader had raised his +voice. He seemed to be speaking very loudly; but, +when the first nervous start had passed, Andrew +realized that this was his own imagining, and that +neither of his companions had noticed his momentary +somnolence.</p> + +<p>At the end, he had held Mademoiselle Tremonceau's +hand for a second beyond the limit of convention. +She made no motion to withdraw it, but looked him +frankly in the eyes.</p> + +<p>"We've been neglecting you, haven't we?" she +said. "Mr. Radwalader and I are such old friends, +that we're inclined to selfishness, and apt to forget +that our talk is not as interesting to others as to +ourselves. Perhaps you'll come in to tea on Tuesday, +about five, and I'll try to prove myself a more +considerate hostess."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Andrew. "I shall be very +pleased—though I suspect you are undertaking the +impossible."</p> + +<p>The <i>fiacre</i> was passing the Rond Point when Radwalader +spoke.</p> + +<p>"This is the hour when Paris seems to me supremely +to deserve her title of siren," he said. "In spring +and summer, at least, I always try to pass it out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +doors. There is a fascination for me, that never +grows stale, in the coming of twilight, when the +street-lamps begin to wink, and the <i>cafés</i> are lighting +up. Did you ever feel softer air or see a more tenderly +saffron sky? And this constant murmur of +passing carriages, this hum of voices, broken, more +often than anywhere else on earth, by laughter—isn't +it <i>life</i>, as one never understands the word elsewhere? +Isn't it full of suggestion and appeal? I've +never been able to analyze the charm of the Champs +Elysées at sunset, more nearly than to say that it +seems to blot out one's remembrance of everything +in the world that is sordid and commonplace, and +to bring boldly to the fore the significance of all that +is sweet and gay. Can you imagine considering the +price of stocks or the drift of politics just now? I +can't. I think of flowers, and Burgundy in slender-stemmed +glasses, and <i>tziganes</i> playing waltz music, +and women with good teeth, laughing. I smell +roses and <i>trèfle</i>. I see mirrors, and candlesticks +with openwork shades, silver over red, and sleek +waiters bending down with bottles swathed in +napkins. I hear violins and the swish of silk skirts. +I taste caviar—and I <i>feel</i>—that I have underestimated +Providence, after all!"</p> + +<p>"There is no Paris but Paris, and Radwalader is +her prophet!" laughed Andrew.</p> + +<p>"That suggests a religion," said the other, "and +I suppose, all said and done, that Paris <i>is</i> my religion. +How did you like Mirabelle Tremonceau?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Even more than I expected."</p> + +<p>"That's well—and very unusual. One almost +always expects too much of a beautiful woman. +Beauty has this in common with an inherited fortune—that +it's apt to paralyze individual effort. +Looking into mirrors and cutting coupons don't +leave one much time for anything else. But she's +exceptional. You're right in liking her, and what's +more, you'll probably like her better and better as +time goes on."</p> + +<p>"She asked me if I was married," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Did she?" answered Radwalader. "Well—are +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, assuredly not."</p> + +<p>"Engaged, perhaps."</p> + +<p>Instead of replying, Andrew glanced curiously at +his companion, his lips set in a thin, straight line. +Radwalader met his glance fairly.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Vane," he said immediately. +"That was unwarranted impertinence, which you're +quite justified in resenting. I'm too prone to trifling, +and the remark slipped out thoughtlessly. Pray +consider it unsaid."</p> + +<p>"With the best will in the world," said Andrew +heartily. "There is nothing more admirable, I +always think, than a frank apology."</p> + +<p>In the words there was a faint, curiously suggestive +echo of the tone in which Radwalader was wont +to voice his glittering generalities.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h4>MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.</h4> + + +<p>Madame Raoul Palffy would, in all probability, +have been intensely surprised and entirely incredulous +had any one informed her that hers was an +irritating personality. But the fact remained. She +was flagrantly complacent, and her placidity enraged +one immeasurably, and goaded nervous temperaments +to the verge of frenzy. Tradespeople had +been known to grit their teeth and swear almost +audibly at her, and at least two guards upon the +Métropolitain had lost their positions because her +leisurely manner of locomotion had moved them +irresistibly to breaches of the courteous treatment +enjoined upon them by the General Manager's +notice to the public.</p> + +<p>Madame Palffy was a large, florid person with a +partiality for jet and crimson velvet, and whose passing, +much in the manner of a frigate under full sail, +was apt to be fatal to fragile ornaments standing +unwarily too near to table-edges. About her there +was always a suggestion of imminent explosion, due +to her chronic shortness of breath, the extreme<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +snugness of her gowns, and the fashion in which her +pudgy palms, unmercifully compressed into white +gloves two sizes too small, crowded desperately +out of the little ovals across which the top buttons +yearned toward their proper holes. Harmoniously, +her face was fat, and dappled all over with ruddy +pink, with the eyes, nose, and mouth crowded together +in the centre, as if for sociability's sake, or in +fear of sliding off the smooth slopes of her cheeks +and chin. Her hair, with its variety of puffs and +curls, appeared to have been laid out by a landscape +gardener.</p> + +<p>As for Raoul Palffy, all that one was apt to remember +about him was the fact that he had married a +Miss Barrister of Worcester. He was as completely +eclipsed by this injudicious proceeding as if he had +been elected Vice-President of the United States. +He closely resembled a frog on the point of suffocation. +With a loyalty worthy of a better cause, he +imbibed vast quantities of the wine of his native +Bordeaux, and became each year more shockingly +apoplectic in appearance. Out of his wife's sight, +he swelled magnificently, like a red balloon, and, +between ignorance and exaggeration, was hardly +on bowing terms with veracity: in her presence, he +was another man. It was more than anything as +if some one had taken a pin to the red balloon. As +a natural result of their relative assertiveness, the +couple moved, for the most part, not in the French +society to which Monsieur Palffy's connections warranted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +their aspiring, but in that of the Colony, +where his wife's pretensions and her deplorable +mismanipulation of her adopted tongue were less +conspicuously burlesque. After twenty years of +Paris, Madame Palffy still said <i>nom de plume</i> and <i>café +noir</i>.</p> + +<p>It was to renew acquaintance with parents so +curiously contrasted that Margery Palffy had returned +from ten years of almost continuous residence +in the States. To say that she proved a surprise +to them would be to do but faint justice to the +mental perturbation with which they surveyed this +tall, self-possessed young person, who was, in practically +every particular, a total stranger. Her +father, with his characteristic lack of enterprise, +had promptly given her up. He had neither the +faculty of rendering, nor that of inspiring, affection; +and this his daughter seemed, from the very outset, +to understand, and tacitly to accept. They +rarely met, except at dinner, and then with such a +desperate lack of common interests as prevented +any interchange of conversation beyond the merest +commonplaces. Madame Palffy, on the contrary, +made an earnest, if inept, attempt to fill, in her +daughter's life, a place which she had long since +forfeited; and, to the best of her ability, Margery +strove to meet her half-way. But the gap made by +their years of separation was now too wide to be +effectually bridged. Madame Palffy was artificial +from the summit of her elaborate <i>coiffure</i> to the tips<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +of her inadequately ample shoes: her daughter, in +every detail of her sound and sensible make-up, was +a convincing product of all that is best, sincerest, +and most wholesome in American education. The +two could no more mix than oil and water. It was +to Mrs. Carnby and her husband that Margery +turned for sympathy, with an instant recognition +of qualities appealingly akin to her own: and these +two received her with open arms. For them, three +months had sufficed to render Margery Palffy indispensable, +and the same period served to prove to +the girl, not only her need of friendship, but that +here lay the means of its satisfaction. As Madame +Palffy complacently observed to Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"I think that Margery feels that there's no place +like home."</p> + +<p>And as Mrs. Carnby replied, with extreme relish:</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of it. It must be a most comforting +conviction!"</p> + +<p>Margery Palffy, whose attitude toward the society +to which she was a comparatively recent recruit was +sufficiently indicated by her desire to be called +"Miss" instead of "Mademoiselle," was accustomed +to reserve her Sunday afternoons for Mr. Carnby. +They would go to the Bois, to walk and watch the +driving, or take a <i>bateau mouche</i> to Suresnes and +return, or even slip out to Versailles or St. Germain. +Jeremy was a man of small enthusiasms, but he +shared with his wife a profound affection, of the +type which is always pathetic in the childless, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +this tall, slender girl, as fresh and sweet as a ripe +fig, grown on the family thistle of the Palffys. An +impulse, which, in the light of its results, could only +be regarded as an inspiration, had prompted Madame +Palffy to send her daughter, at the age of nine, to be +educated in the States. A sound and rational school +in Connecticut, and ten vacations in the superbly +invigorating air of the North Shore under the care +of a sensibly indulgent aunt, had forthwith performed +a miracle. A thin, brown child, with an +affected lisp, was now grown straight and tall, with +an eye to measure a putt or a friend, a hand which +knew the touch of a tiller and a rein, and a voice to +win a dog, a child, or a man. Margery Palffy was +very beautiful withal, with her russet-brown hair, +her finely chiselled features, and her confident smile. +She impressed one immediately as having arranged +her hair herself—by bunching it all up together, +and then giving it one inspirited twist which accomplished +more than all the system in the world. Some +one—not her mother!—knew what kind of gown she +ought to wear, but—what was more important—she +knew how to wear it. One would have said that +her eyes were by Helleu and her nose by George du +Maurier. Men looked to their hearts when her +mouth was open, and to their consciences when it +was closed—tight-closed! A laugh to make them +worship her, a frown to make them despise themselves, +a suggestion that she was capable of giving +all she would expect from another, a somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +stronger suggestion that she would be apt to expect +a considerable deal, very clean-cut, very sane, very +good form—such was Margery Palffy at what might +be called her worst. As for Margery Palffy at her +best, as yet even the most casual of Colony gossips +had never more than hinted at a love-affair.</p> + +<p>Madame Palffy having attended two church services, +and observed with gratification that her new +bonnet was far more imposing than the bonnets, old +and new, of her fellow worshippers, had now sought +the seclusion of her Empire boudoir. She was, +above all things, consistent. In this sacred spot +she ventured to lay aside her society manner, but, +beyond this, she made no concessions to privacy. +Her lounging-gown would have been presentable at +a garden-party, and she devoted five minutes to +rearranging her hair, before sinking massively upon +the <i>chaise-longue</i>, and giving her thoughts free rein.</p> + +<p>An unusually brilliant week had drawn to a close the +evening before. Madame Palffy's dinner-table had +groaned beneath its burden of silver and chiselled +glass, and her box at "Louise" had presented to the +auditorium such a background of white linen and +vicuna as had sent poisonous darts to the hearts of +a dozen ambitious and observant mothers.</p> + +<p>The reason was not far to seek. From the moment +of her <i>début</i>, two months before, Margery Palffy had +been a tremendous success. Her beauty, her novelty, +her shrewd wit and unfailing gaiety had swept +through the Colony as a sickle through corn. Madame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +Palffy smiled to herself as she reviewed the past +few weeks. Her daughter's had been a name to +conjure with.</p> + +<p>But, almost immediately, the smile became a sigh. +Beneath her satisfaction in Margery's triumph, the +ambitious lady felt that there was something lacking—and +that something was a complete understanding +of the girl herself. Since her return from the States, +her mother had been slowly and reluctantly forced +to the conviction that there was that in her nature +which it was beyond one's power to grasp, and her +apparent frankness and simplicity made the failure +to read her doubly hard to analyze. Her interest +in life and the society world about her was unquestionable. +Fresh and unspoiled, she trod the social +labyrinth undeviatingly, received the flatteries, even +the open devotion, of half a hundred men with caution, +and remained—herself. And Madame Palffy, +to whom social success was a guarantee of a status +so little lower than the seraphim as to make the +difference unworthy of consideration, looked with +growing admiration upon that of her beautiful +daughter, and treasured every evidence thereof +deep in her pompous heart. The difficulty lay in +the fact that Margery impressed not only the world +in general by her dignity, but abashed her ambitious +parent as well. Madame Palffy was content to +have her daughter talk in parables, if she would, and +be as impartial as justice itself, but afterwards, when +the lights were out and the guests had departed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +she wanted the parables explained and the preferences +laid bare. And this was precisely the confidential +relation which she had never been able to +establish. In public she figured naturally as Margery's +confidant and mentor. In private she was, +in reality, hardly nearer to her than was the newest +of her new acquaintances.</p> + +<p>In this state of affairs Madame Palffy distinctly +perceived all the elements of a dilemma. As was +naturally to be expected, her daughter had no sooner +been restored to her, than the ambitious lady's mind +began to wrestle with the problem of a suitable marriage—or +"alliance," as she preferred to think of it. +To this intent, she had selected the Vicomte de +Boussac, whom she was wont to call, for no apparent +reason, "one of her boys." Nothing was further +from the Vicomte's intention than a marriage <i>à la +mode</i>, imbued as he was with the national predilection +for marriage <i>au mois</i>, but he had a habit—had +De Boussac—of describing himself as <i>enchanté</i> +with whatsoever might be proposed to him by +one of the opposite sex. He was <i>enchanté</i> to meet +Madame's beautiful daughter, <i>enchanté</i> to act as +their escort on any and every occasion, <i>enchanté</i>, +above all, at Madame's disregard of conventionality, +whereby he was permitted to enjoy frequent <i>tête-à-têtes</i> +with Margery. But he had an eye for the +boundary-line. He smiled with inimitable charm +at Madame Palffy's transparent hints, derived considerable +diversion from her daughter's society, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +throughout, behaved in a manner nothing short of +exemplary. At the end of three months, during +which Margery's <i>début</i> had come and gone, the +wistful matchmaker was frankly in despair.</p> + +<p>A beneficent Providence had begrudged Madame +Palffy a very liberal allowance of diplomacy, and, +this failing, she was now resolved upon a desperate +move, nothing less than a complete revelation of +her plans, and an appeal to Margery for confirmation +of her hopes. Whenever she considered this approaching +ordeal, she seemed suddenly to lose a cube-shaped +section of her vital organs. Just now the +sensation was oppressive: for she had taken the +decisive step that very morning, and requested +Margery to attend her at five o'clock; and, over +there on the mantel, the hands of her little ormolu +clock were galloping inconsiderately over the last +quarter before the fatal hour. Even as she glanced +apprehensively at its face, the tinkle of the five +strokes broke the silence, and she had barely time +to secure the lavender salts from her dressing-table, +when there came a tap at the door.</p> + +<p>"<i>Entrez!</i>"</p> + +<p>Margery had been walking, and with her entrance +into the room came an indescribable suggestion of the +open air. Her face was radiant, and the violets at +her belt, brought suddenly from the slight chill +without into the warmth of her mother's boudoir, +seemed to heave a perfumed sigh of relief. The +girl's brown eyes, aglow with youth and health,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +the proud poise of her head, and her firm hands, +ungloved and guiltless of rings, were all in marked +contrast to the heavy woman throned upon the +divan, and languidly sniffing at her salts. It was +a confronting of nature and art, unmistakably to +the latter's disadvantage. Somehow, the hopelessness +of her self-appointed task was more than +ever apparent to the ambitious Madame Palffy.</p> + +<p>"And where do you suppose I've been?" began +Margery.</p> + +<p>"Not to church, I know," said her mother. "I +half expected to see you, but I was alone in the pew."</p> + +<p>"No, not to church. Once a day is enough, surely. +I've been with Mr. Carnby to the Jardin d'Acclimatation."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, my dear, what a plebeian expedition! +What <i>were</i> you doing—visiting the <i>serres</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing half so dignified. We were at the +menagerie, feeding the monkeys with gingernuts."</p> + +<p>Madame Palffy simply gasped. There are some +situations with which words are impotent to deal.</p> + +<p>"Monkeys," continued Margery, "are adorable. +They are sufficiently human to be typical, and then +there's the advantage that one can stare at them +to one's heart's content, without being thought ill-mannered. +I saw lots of our friends—Mr. Radwalder, +for instance, as vain as life and twice as loquacious; +and one haughty young creature who held +himself aloof, despising the rest, and taking no pains +to conceal it. That was Monsieur de Boussac. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +manner was so unmistakable that I actually found +myself bowing, as our eyes met."</p> + +<p>"Margery!"</p> + +<p>"It's the solemn truth, mother; the Vicomte has +a dual existence."</p> + +<p>"But my dear child—the monkey-house! What +<i>could</i> Jeremy Carnby have been thinking of, to +take you to such a place?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't. I took him."</p> + +<p>"But one never knows what one might catch +there—typhoid—or—or fleas, my dear!"</p> + +<p>Madame Palffy shuddered, and returned to her +salts.</p> + +<p>"Fleas, mother? I never thought of that possibility, +but if I had, it would only have been an +added inducement. Never having met a flea, I am +sure I should enjoy the experience. You know +what somebody says? 'Incomparably the bravest +of all the creatures of God.' And, above all things, +I adore courage."</p> + +<p>Here was an auspicious beginning to a serious +conversation! In sheer desperation, Madame Palffy +assumed her society manner.</p> + +<p>"Margery," she said, "you're quite old enough +to take care of yourself; though, to speak frankly, +you have a somewhat peculiar method of doing so. +Let us abandon the monkeys for the present. I have +something to say to you. I—I—"</p> + +<p>She hesitated for an instant, and then proceeded +resolutely.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've been thinking of you a great deal, of late, +and you must forgive me if I speak unreservedly +to you. It's because of my affection for you, and +my deep interest in your welfare."</p> + +<p>She did not see the slight contraction of her +daughter's eyebrows, and it was well for her peace +of mind that she did not. It argued ill for a sympathetic +reception of her carefully formulated appeal.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure, my dear mother, that it's very far +from my desire to resent anything you say. Why +should I? Has any one a better right to speak—er—unreservedly?"</p> + +<p>"I've been more than proud of you always," continued +Madame Palffy, "<i>more</i> than proud, my dear. +You've been a great comfort to me, and, if I do say +it, a wonderful success in the Colony. I remember +no <i>débutante</i> in ten years who has received so much +attention, and the fact that it has not spoiled you +shows how worthy of it all you are. And now," she +added, with an uneasy smile, "for <i>la grande serieux</i>."</p> + +<p>Again that curious drawing together of Miss +Palffy's eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"<i>Le grand serieux?</i>" she repeated. She detested +feeling her way in the dark, and now groped dexterously +for a clue. "That's usually taken to mean +something quite alien to our present conversation."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said her mother, catching at this +opening, "not at <i>all</i> alien, my dear. In fact, Margery, +what I want to ask you is this. Er—have +you ever thought of marrying?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes—often," said Margery promptly.</p> + +<p>The two words were characteristic of their curious +relations, as Madame Palffy realized, with a little +inward sigh of despair. They answered her question +fully, and they answered it not at all.</p> + +<p>"You don't understand me, perhaps," she went +on. "I mean, have you ever seen—here in Paris, +for instance—any particular man whom it has +seemed to you you might—er—love? Now—there +is De Boussac—"</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, my dear. Let me finish. I'll +not conceal from you that it has been a dear wish +of mine to see you married to him. I've known +him since he was a baby. He's titled, rich, very +talented, and more than moderately good-looking. +His position is irreproachable, and his family goes +straight back indefinitely."</p> + +<p>She stopped nervously. The speech which she +had mentally prepared, descriptive of De Boussac's +desirability, had been some ten times this length. +In some fashion, Margery's eyes had shorn it of +verbiage, and reduced it, as it were, to its lowest +terms.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear mother, this is the first inkling I've +had of any such idea. I can't imagine that Monsieur +de Boussac has ever breathed a word on the +subject. Don't you think the first mention should +come from him? I've no reason to suppose that he +cares a straw for me."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He does—I know he does," broke in Madame +Palffy eagerly. "You're quite wrong in supposing +he's never spoken of it. Remember, these things +are managed differently over here. You have the +American idea. In Paris one speaks first to the +girl's parents."</p> + +<p>Margery shrugged her shoulders. A kind of +instinct told her that she must ask no questions if +she would be told no lies.</p> + +<p>"And there's another objection," she said. "I +don't <i>want</i> to marry him. He may have money, +but money isn't everything. Indeed, it's entered +very near the foot of my list of the things to be +desired in life. As to position, my own is sufficiently +good to make his immaterial. We go back indefinitely +ourselves, you know; although, to be sure, +I've found some things in the family records which +seemed to suggest that it might have been better +not to have gone back so far. Last, but very far +from least, I don't love him, and, in view of the fact +that, if he really had the slightest feeling for me, I +should, in all probability, have known of it long +ago, I must say, my dear mother, that your suggestion +strikes me as having all the elements of a +screaming farce."</p> + +<p>At this point Madame Palffy applied a minute +handkerchief to her eyes, and began to weep softly.</p> + +<p>"How cruelly you speak!" she moaned, "and I—I +meant it all for the best."</p> + +<p>Fortunately, Mrs. Carnby had never seen Madame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +Palffy cry. As it was, she imagined that nothing +about that lady could be more irritating than her +smile. But Margery, under whose faultlessly-fitting +jacket beat the tenderest and most considerate of +hearts, was moved. She watched her mother in +silence for a moment, and then went across to the +divan, and, kneeling beside it, took Madame Palffy's +available hand in hers.</p> + +<p>"I did speak cruelly," she said, "and I'm sorry. +Let me see if I can't put it more considerately, so +that you'll understand. Love is—has always been—to +me the most sacred thing on earth. I've watched, +as every girl must watch, for its coming, believing +that its touch would transform all life. There can +be, it seems to me, but one man in the world able +to do that, and I'm content to wait for him, without +trying to hurry the future, or aid fate or Providence, +whichever it may be, in the disposal of my heart. +I've been glad all my life that we were not rich +enough for our means to be an object. Of course, +poverty has barred many out from happiness, but +it pleases me to think that when a man seeks me, +there can be no doubt that it is for myself alone. +Not only that, but I've hoped that he would be poor +as well, and it's been my pride that, when I searched +my heart, I found that wish deep within it, without +affectation, without a hint of uncertainty. I'm +old-fashioned, I suppose, and out of touch with +the times, but I hold the faith that was before +riches or social position came into the world—I hold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +to love, the love of a strong man for a pure woman, +the love of a good woman for an honest man! Let +me but start honestly, with no motive that I am +ashamed to tell, no thought governing my action +save reverence for those three great responsibilities—love, +marriage, and motherhood, and I have no fear +of what may come."</p> + +<p>As the girl was speaking, Madame Palffy's sobs +grew fainter, and finally she forgot to dab at her +eyes with the morsel of lace. She was interested.</p> + +<p>"It's this great reverence which I have for love," +continued Margery, "that prompted me to answer +impatiently when you spoke of Monsieur de Boussac. +You didn't mean to hurt me, of course: I know +that. But, to me, it was as if you'd torn away the +veil before my holy of holies, and cast out the image +I had cherished there, and were thrusting a grinning +golden idol in its place. I want love to come into +my life freely—not to be invited to dinner, and +announced by the butler. There will be no question +in my mind when it has really come, no measuring +of the man with a yardstick. I shall feel that +he is for me, even before he asks me to be his. Above +all, the question must come from his lips, and the +answer be for his ears alone. No man loving me +as I would be loved would be content to employ +an ambassador."</p> + +<p>Here Madame Palffy came to herself, and moaned +again.</p> + +<p>"I don't mean to reproach you, mother. I believe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +and I'm very glad to believe, that you've +always had my happiness in view. But, in the +nature of things, there are many points upon which +our ideas are bound to differ, and this is one. You +thought it best that I should be educated in America, +and you mustn't be surprised to find me American +as a result. Look back. Do you realize that +I've not spent six full months in Paris since I was a +little girl? Now that I've come back to you, I +can't readjust all my ideas in a moment. I want to +please you, dear, in any way I can, but I'm an American +all through, and you—well, perhaps you're +more French than you realize, yourself. We must +try to grow together, but in many ways it will not +be easy. We must be patient with each other, dear."</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean," said Madame Palffy +mournfully. "We're as far apart as the poles."</p> + +<p>"Not quite that, I think," answered Margery, with +a smile, "but, in some respects, three thousand +miles. Let us try to remember that: it will make +things easier."</p> + +<p>"It's a terrible disappointment to me," came +lugubriously from the handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," answered Margery, "very sorry. But +I'm sure that I could never love Monsieur de Boussac, +and sure that I could never even believe in his +love unless he himself should tell me of it. I think +we understand each other now, mother. If I'd had +any idea of this before, I might have spared you this +talk. But, painful as it has been, it has, at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +events, brought us nearer together. Don't let us +speak of it again."</p> + +<p>Then Madame Palffy unaccountably touched her +zenith.</p> + +<p>"No," she agreed, rising majestically from the +divan, "no, we'll not speak of it again. It must +make no change between us. I love you very +dearly, Margery, and I wish I could have seen you +his wife, but if it cannot be, that's all there is to it. +Let's dress for dinner, my dear," and, bending over, +she kissed the air affectionately, a half-inch from +her daughter's cheek. "You're a strange girl," +she added, "and I don't pretend to understand you. +But choose your own husband. I shall like him +for your sake."</p> + +<p>As Margery left the room, Madame Palffy turned +to the mirror, and surveyed with a sigh the ravages +which this emotional half-hour had made in her +appearance. For the three following days she was +a mute martyr, and relished the <i>rôle</i> immeasurably.</p> + +<p>Margery, dressing for dinner, hummed softly to +herself, smiling as no one of her Paris friends had +ever seen her smile.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Ah, Moon of my Delight, that knows no wane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again'"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Andrew Vane had played an accompaniment to +that a hundred times, in her aunt's big shore house +at Beverly.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h4>THE GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT.</h4> + + +<p>On the following Thursday morning, the bell of +St. Germain-des-Prés was striking the hour of eleven +when Monsieur Jules Vicot opened his eyes, instantly +closed them again, and groaned. It was the hour +which he disliked more than any other of the twenty-four, +this of awakening, and from day to day it did +not differ in essential details. The weather might +be hot or cold, fair or foul, wet or dry—that was +one thing and not important. What <i>was</i> important—what, +in the estimation of Monsieur Vicot, distinguished +this hour so unenviably from its fellows, +was the variety of distressing physical symptoms +which, in his own person, inevitably accompanied it. +They were symptoms long familiar to Monsieur +Vicot—a feeling under his eyelids which appeared +to indicate the presence of coarse sand; a throbbing +of the heart which seemed, inexplicably, to be taking +place in his throat; a dull pain at his temples and +back of his ears which prompted him to hold his +head sedulously balanced, lest a sudden movement +to right or left occasion an acuter pang; finally, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +taste on his tongue which suggested a commingling +of fur, blotting-paper, and raw quinces.</p> + +<p>Presently Monsieur Vicot opened his eyes once +more and fixed them upon the window, from which, +from his position, nothing was visible save sky of an +intense blue. Against this background a number +of small reddish-brown blotches swam slowly to +and fro, and among these tiny whorls of a light +gray colour expanded and contracted with inconceivable +rapidity. At one time these symptoms +had caused him peculiar uneasiness. Now he +ignored them. They were less disturbing to his +equanimity than the remarkable twitching of his +fingers. For two years he had made a point of +keeping his hands in the side pockets of his jacket, +save when he found it absolutely necessary to use +them. He no longer made gestures. They are +desirable as aids to expression, but only when steady.</p> + +<p>The majority of men, in waking, apply themselves +to consideration of the day which lies before +them. It was Monsieur Jules Vicot's custom, on +the contrary, to undertake a mental review of the +night which lay behind. The review was not always +complete. Often there were gaps, and, more frequently, +he found himself completely at a loss to +account for his return to his room on the <i>cinquième</i> +of 70, Rue St. Benoit, and the indisputable fact that +he was in bed, with his clothes reposing, with something +not unrelated to order, on the solitary +chair.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, as he surveyed it, he assured himself for the +thousandth time that it was not a cheerful room. +Abundant sunlight, the recompense of Nature for +six flights of stairs, was its sole redeeming virtue. +For the rest, everything belonging to Monsieur +Vicot was applied to some use entirely foreign to +the original purpose for which it had been designed. +An ink-stand served him as a candlestick, his chair +was at once table and clothes-rack, a ramshackle +sofa played the <i>rôle</i> of bed, and a frouzy plush table-cover +was his rug. An astonishing accumulation +of cigarette-ends and empty bottles suggested slovenliness +in the occupant. On the contrary, they stood +for his economical instincts. It is not every one +who knows that twenty cigarette-ends make a pipe-ful +of tobacco, and that as many empty brandy-flasks +may be exchanged for a full half-pint, but +the knowledge, if rare, is useful.</p> + +<p>"It is a pig-pen," said Monsieur Jules Vicot to +himself, "and very appropriate at that!"</p> + +<p>Then he set to work upon his matutinal review +of the preceding night. His recollections were more +than usually hazy. After a wretched dinner at <i>La +Petite Chaise</i>, rendered yet more unpalatable by +the proprietor's unpleasant references to certain +previous repasts, as yet unpaid, came a distinct +hour or so of leaning on the parapet of the Quai d'Orléans, +in dreamy contemplation of a man clipping +a black poodle on the cobblestones below; then +another period, of gradually lessening clearness, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +a little wine-shop on the Rue de Beaune; then—nothing.</p> + +<p>"Well, I was drunk," reflected Monsieur Vicot; +but again manifested his dissimilarity from the +majority of men by not committing himself in respect +to his intentions for the future.</p> + +<p>He arose with an air of languor, yawned, looked +dubiously at one trembling hand, shook his head, +and then surveyed himself in a triangular bit of looking-glass +tacked against the wall.</p> + +<p>Candour is oftentimes a depressing thing—particularly +in a mirror. Monsieur Vicot's glass showed +him a clean-shaven face almost devoid of colour; +eyes, the blackness of which seemed to have soaked +out, like water-colour through blotting-paper, into +gray-blue circles on the lower lids; hair almost white; +a thin nose with widely dilated nostrils; a tremulous +mouth; and a weak, receding chin. It was a face +which might have been handsome before becoming +a document with the signatures of the seven cardinal +vices written large upon it. Now it was evidence +which even Monsieur Vicot could not ignore. +He leered defiantly at it, mixed himself a stiff drink +of cheap brandy and water, and forthwith applied +himself to his toilet.</p> + +<p>Seeing the result which he presently achieved, +one perceived him to be a man of a certain ability +under crushing limitations. With a broken comb, +a well-worn brush, which he applied, with admirable +impartiality, to both his hair and his coat, a morsel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +of soap, and some cold water, Monsieur Vicot accomplished +what was little short of a miracle; and when, +a half-hour later, he emerged upon the Rue St. +Benoit and turned toward the boulevard, his appearance +was akin to respectability. Luck and his face +were against him, but incidental obstacles he contrived +to overcome.</p> + +<p>He took a <i>mazagran</i> and a roll at the Deux Magots, +fortified himself with a package of <i>vertes</i>, and swung +aboard a passing tram. At one o'clock he was +sauntering down the Rue de Villejust, with his +hands in his pockets. Suddenly he stopped, looked +intently for an instant at a certain window on a +level with his eye, and then went on at a brisker +gait. He had abruptly become cheerful, and that +for no apparent reason. There is, commonly, nothing +particularly enlivening in the aspect of a blue +jar in an apartment window; yet that, and nothing +else, was what had arrested the attention of Monsieur +Jules Vicot, and brought the tune he was +whistling to his lips.</p> + +<p>Mr. Thomas Radwalader occupied a <i>rez de chaussée</i> +on the Rue de Villejust, which differed from the ordinary +run of Paris apartments in that its doorway +gave directly on the street, independent of the <i>loge +de concierge</i>, and, what was more important, of the +<i>concierges</i> themselves. Yet the latter held that +Radwalader was a gentleman of becomingly regular +habits. He kept one servant, a <i>bonne</i> on the objectively +safe side of fifty, who cooked and marketed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +for him; maintained, throughout his quarters, a +neatness which would have put the proverbial pin +to shame; and, in general, ministered to his material +well-being more competently than the average +man-servant. That she was not likely to wear his +clothes, use his razors, or pilfer his tobacco was half +a bachelor's domestic problem solved at the very +outset. On the debit side of the account, she pottered +eternally, and was an ardent advocate of protracted +conversation; but these tendencies Radwalader +had managed, in the course of their five years of +association, to temper to a considerable degree; so +that now she was as near to perfection in her particular +sphere as a mere mortal is apt to be. Her +name was Eugénie Dufour, and in her opinion the +entire system of mundane and material things revolved +about the person of Thomas Radwalader.</p> + +<p>In view of his avowed love of luxury, the latter's +quarters were distinguished by severe, almost military, +simplicity. Without exception, the rooms +were carpeted, but there were no draperies either +at doors or windows. The <i>salon</i>, of which the solitary +window opened on the street, was Louis Seize +in style, with straight-backed chairs, upholstered +in dark-red brocade, a grand piano which had belonged +to Radwalader's mother, and a large print of +the period, simply framed, in the exact centre of +each wall-panel. There were no ornaments, save +a white Sèvres bust of Marie Antoinette on the mantel, +two reading-lamps, and a few odds and ends of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +silver, ivory, and enamel, which had the guilty air +of unavoidable gifts, rather than the easy assurance +of chosen <i>bibelots</i>. Some books in old bindings, a +stand of music, and a tea-table with its service—and +that was all.</p> + +<p>Separated from this <i>salon</i> by double doors was +what had formerly been a bedroom, but which now, +for want of a better name, Radwalader called <i>La +Boîte</i>. This was his <i>sanctum sanctorum</i>, wherein +one might reasonably have looked to find the confusion +dear to the happy estate of bachelorhood. But +here again was evident, though in a lesser degree, +the austerity which characterized the <i>salon</i>. One +naturally expected a litter of periodicals, pipes, and +papers; but, on the contrary, the large table was +almost clear, and the interior of the writing-desk, +which stood open by the window, revealed only +symmetrical piles of note-paper, envelopes, and +blotters, and writing paraphernalia of the ordinary +office variety. In the chimney-place was a brazier +on a low tripod, and from this, each morning, the +worthy Eugénie removed a quantity of ashes—ashes +which had entered the room in the form of Radwalader's +correspondence of the previous day. In +one corner stood a small safe, and on top of this were +boxes of cigars, and cigarettes of eight or ten varieties, +but all arranged as methodically as the contents +of the desk. The remaining wall-space was +occupied by book-shelves, in which no single volume +was an inch out of line.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>The opinion of Radwalader's <i>concierges</i> as to the +regularity of his habits was seemingly based on +fact. Eugénie lived with her brother in the Chaussée +d'Antin, and went to and fro every day, regardless +of weather, on top of the Rue Taitbout-La Muette +tram. With characteristic regularity and promptitude, +she had never once failed, during the five years +of her service, to awaken her <i>patron</i> at eight o'clock. +Radwalader invariably replied with a cheerful "<i>Bien!</i>" +and five minutes later was splashing in his bath. +His coffee was served at nine, his mornings, in general, +spent in <i>La Boîte</i>. He took <i>déjeuner</i> at one, and +then went out, returning only to dress for dinner, +which he rarely had at home. Midnight found +him again in <i>La Boîte</i>, bending over a book or some +papers at his desk. Then only it was that the door +of his safe stood open. In all this there was, assuredly, +no evidence of aught but tastes so quiet as to +savour of asceticism. But then Radwalader was a +man who believed in a place for everything and +everything in its place.</p> + +<p>His visitors were few, save only on Thursday afternoons, +when he was known to be at home. Then a +dozen or so of men lounged in his <i>salon</i>, which was +reinforced for the occasion by chairs from the other +rooms, and several little tables for whiskey and +tobacco. Eugénie did not appear. They were served, +when there was need of service, by a middle-aged man-servant +with a furtive eye and a hand that trembled +nervously when handling glasses and decanters; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +which reason those of Radwalader's guests to whom +the situation was most familiar preferred to help +themselves. They reproached him, when more important +topics were exhausted, with the apparent +decrepitude of this retainer, whose name was Jules. +But their host made it plain that he had good and +sufficient reasons for employing him. He had grown +up in his mother's family in Philadelphia, said Radwalader, +first as page and then as butler. When the +Radwalader millions went by the board, Jules had +remained with the family through sheer loyalty, +accepting but half the wages he had formerly earned. +Once he had even saved Radwalader's life in the surf +at Atlantic City. Later he had taken to drink, gone +rapidly to pieces, and, at last, had been discharged as +a hopeless case. They had given him a reference, for +charity's sake, on the strength of which he had found +a place as travelling valet; but once in Paris, his old +weakness had returned, and so he had lost his position, +and never chanced upon another. Then Radwalader +had found him stranded, begging on the boulevards, +and, for the sake of the old days, had given him +clothes and money, and found him occasional employment, +such as this Thursday service, by means of +which he contrived to eke out a living, such as it was. +At other times, when he was not drunk, he drove a +cab for the Compagnie Urbaine. (This last, the most +incongruous feature of Radwalader's explanation, was, +curiously enough, the only one which had the slightest +foundation in fact!)</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My best quality is gratitude," Radwalader concluded. +"He saved my life; so I give him such of my +clothes as become unfit for publication, and pay him +five francs every Thursday for not being of the least +assistance. I'm afraid you'll have to put up with +him. It's a case of 'love me, love my dog.'"</p> + +<p>And this, under its thin veneer of cynicism, was +taken as an indication of a very admirable instinct +on Radwalader's part, for which men admired him. +They continued to make fun of Jules, but, after this +defence of him, they nodded to him on entering, and +spoke to him by name.</p> + +<p>Andrew Vane joined the gathering in Radwalader's +rooms on the Thursday following their Sunday at +Auteuil. It was observable that, without exception, +the guests were men who had done, or were going to +do, something out of the ordinary. No one of them +seemed to be in the present tense of achievement. +They talked slowly, choosing their words with noticeable +care, with an eye to their effect, and switching +ever and anon in a new direction, as irresponsibly as +a fly in mid-air. To Andrew the atmosphere was not +only that of another city, but of another world. +From art to literature, from literature to music, from +music to the stage, the talk drifted, punctuated with +names of men and things whereof he did not remember +ever to have heard. Save for their air of having +but just stepped out of a barber's chair, they were +men of a general type familiar to him—well dressed, +evenly poised. The scene might have been Boston<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +or New York, save for one thing: in all that was said, +there was never the most remote hint of actual interest. +The opinions were like those of more than +usually brilliant schoolboys, putting into their own +phraseology certain fundamental axioms. The +speakers, with the sole exception of Radwalader, gave +the impression of being unutterably tired, and of +playing with words with the unique intent of passing +the time. Your American has but little leisure for +grammar, and less for eloquence, but in what he says +there is always present the vivifying spark of vital +and intimate concern. His theories are jewels in the +rough, but one is conscious of the ceaseless clink-clink +of the tool which is busily transforming them into +fame and fortune. The men in Radwalader's <i>salon</i> +were toying with gems long since cut and polished, +whose sole virtue lay in the new light caught by their +facets, as the result of some unexpected turn. Radwalader +himself went farther. He combined the confidence +of the American in his future with that of the +Frenchman in his past. Andrew had thought him +cynical, but he gained by contrast with his companions. +The others seemed merely to be giving thought +to what they said, but he to be saying what he +thought.</p> + +<p>"I'm almost remorseful at having asked you to join +us this afternoon," he began, when the introductions +were over. "Whenever I see a man in a strange +crowd, it reminds me of society's phrase at parting—'I've +enjoyed <i>myself</i> immensely!' It has the distinction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +of being the only polite remark which has any +claim upon veracity. Usually, one hasn't enjoyed +anything else! Of course, for the moment, you feel +like a brook-trout in salt water. But it's a crowd +that I think you'll like, when the grossly overestimated +element of novelty wears off. Let me tell you, +in a word, who they are, and what they stand for. +That's De Boussac at the piano. He knows four +major and two minor chords in every key of the gamut, +and contrives to fashion, out of the six, an accompaniment +for anything you may ask of him. Beside him, +leaning over the music, is Lister. He's a would-be +playwright, with a mother who has gained the nickname +of the 'Jail-breaker,' because she never finishes +a sentence. You'll meet her some day and be amused. +To the left is Rafferty—who's popular because, just +now, brogue happens to rhyme with vogue. Then, +Clavercil. He thinks he's not understood, without +realizing that his sole ground for dissatisfaction lies +in the fact that he is. He's a fool, pure and simple, +who inherited a fortune from his uncle—a bully old +chap who never made a mistake in his life, and only +the one I have mentioned, in his death. Next, Wisby—who +paints things as they are not, and will be +famous when the public gets educated down to him. +The man helping himself to whiskey is Berrith. He +wrote 'The Foibles of Fate' in the early '90's, and has +been living ever since on the dregs of its success—a +'one-book author' with a vengeance. That's Ford, +by the window, with the red hair. He's a crank on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +aerial navigation, and says his air-ship will be the +solution of the problem. I've already christened it +'Eve,' with an eye to its share in another fall of man."</p> + +<p>Radwalader lowered his voice.</p> + +<p>"On your right is Barclay-Jones. Barclay was his +mother's name, and when he came abroad he hyphenated +it with his father's. The combination always +reminds me of a rather stylish tug-boat with its towline +attached to a scow on a mud-flat. The man +listening to him is Gerald Kennedy, the singer. He +hasn't advanced beyond the Tommy Tucker stage +yet, but he's a good sort, an Englishman, a friend of +Mrs. Carnby and of the Ratchetts. On my left are +Norrich, Peake, and Pfeffer, in the order named. +Pfeffer is the only married man in the crowd. He +married in haste, and his leisure is employed to the +full. He gets his pin-money from his wife, and a +prick of the pin goes with every franc. Norrich is +on the staff of the Paris <i>Herald</i>. Peake, like Clavercil, +is simply the disbursing agent of an inherited +fortune."</p> + +<p>Radwalader paused, lighted a cigarette, and smiled +at Andrew frankly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Finis!</i>" he said. "Do you think me very uncharitable? +I hope not. It seems so much better to +get men's bad qualities out of the way and done with +at the start, and then to find out their good points, +one by one, in a succession of pleasant surprises. +It's a crowd you'll like, when once you get the point +of view. You've been used to poise, and at first you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +won't like pose. But, after all, the difference lies +only in the eye—a pun's only permissible when it +tells the truth. We all pose over here. You will, +yourself, if you stay long enough. It's as contagious +as smallpox. And, by the way, I was talking with +Peake about you only yesterday. He's going to the +States next week, and wants to find some one to +occupy his apartment while he's away. If you're +not thinking of remaining at the Ritz, you couldn't +do better than to take it. It's a charming little +place, on the Rue Boissière, near the Place d'Iéna, +perfectly furnished, and with a balcony and bath. +Of course, the rent's no object to him. All he wants +is some one to keep it aired and clean."</p> + +<p>"It can't do any harm to ask him about it," said +Andrew. "To tell you the truth, I've rather been +thinking of doing something of the kind."</p> + +<p>"No sooner said than done," agreed Radwalader, +and, leaning forward across Norrich, he added: "I +say, Peake, move up here, will you?</p> + +<p>"I've been telling Vane about your apartment," +he continued, as Peake drew close to them, dragging +his chair by the arms, "and he seems to think he +might like to have a look at it. He's over here for +quite a time, you know, and he certainly couldn't be +as comfortable anywhere else."</p> + +<p>"I hope you'll take the place, Mr. Vane," said +Peake. "I've always maintained that a man of my +tastes had no business in the States; but it seems I +have, after all. I think I told you, Radwalader—my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +late, lamented Aunt Esther, you know. She +threatened to leave me nothin' but her good will, +and now she's popped off, saddlin' me with everythin' +she had in the world."</p> + +<p>"That's what she meant by her good will, probably," +observed Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"P'r'aps," said Peake, with a little nod. "But the +c'lamity's just as great. She was a good-hearted +creature, but she belonged to the black-walnut and +marble-group period. Her sideboard weighed a ton, +and she had wax flowers in her 'parlour.' And I'm +to sell <i>nothin'</i>, my good man! It's all to go to my +wife! Why, the very thought's enough to keep any +woman from marryin' me. Oh, my dear Radwalader, +I mourn my find, I do indeed."</p> + +<p>"But about the apartment?" suggested Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Well, all I can say, Mr. Vane, is that I'm +sure you'll be comfortable. It's a modest box, at +best; but it suits me, and will probably suit you. +'Man wants but little here below'—a bath, sunlight, +a good bed, and cleanliness—that's all. You'll find +'em at my place. Radwalader'll get you a <i>valet de +chambre</i>, no doubt. I'd throw mine in, if I hadn't +already thrown him out. The wife of my <i>concierge</i> +is doin' for me till I go. I can't say more. Two +hundred francs a month. I'll be back by the first +of August—I can't miss Trouville, you know, +Radwalader—and the chances are I'll have to evict +you, Mr. Vane. I know <i>I</i> wouldn't leave that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +apartment except at the business end of a pitch-fork!"</p> + +<p>"It sounds like the very thing I want," said Andrew, +with a smile at the other's eloquence.</p> + +<p>"And there's actually some prospect of your getting +it," drawled Radwalader. "What an exceptional +animal you are, Vane!"</p> + +<p>"Come 'round to-morrow mornin' to breakfast, +both of you," said Peake. "Then you can have a +look over the place, Mr. Vane, and judge for yourself. +If you like it, we'll clinch a bargain on the spot."</p> + +<p>"Very well," agreed Andrew. "Shall I stop for +you, Mr. Radwalader?"</p> + +<p>"By all means. About twelve."</p> + +<p>"Then <i>that's</i> settled!" observed Peake, with an air +of profound satisfaction. "I positively must have +a whiskey, Radwalader. I'm quite exhausted. I +haven't talked so much business in a year."</p> + +<p>For an hour the conversation was general, and +presently thereafter Radwalader was alone. For a +time he stood by the <i>salon</i> table, idly fingering a +paper-cutter and scowling. Then he stepped noiselessly +to the door, listened briefly but intently, and +abruptly flung it open and looked out into the <i>antichambre</i>.</p> + +<p>"Not this time!" observed Jules laconically, from +the dining-room beyond, where he was languidly polishing +wine-glasses.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see you profit by experience," retorted +Radwalader. "Come here."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>The faithful servitor came slowly across the hallway, +glanced about the empty <i>salon</i>, helped himself liberally +from the whiskey decanter, swallowed the raw +spirit at a gulp, and flung himself heavily into a chair.</p> + +<p>"Fire away!" he remarked. "I hope it's something +worth while. I don't mind saying I'm hard +up."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h4>A REVOLT SUPPRESSED.</h4> + + +<p>"I've passed the window every day for a week," +continued Monsieur Jules Vicot, "because I hardly +thought you were in earnest in your threat to throw +me over, and when I saw the jar there again, this +morning, I found I was quite right. You'd thought +better of it—eh? You wanted to see me. It's just +as well, perhaps—for both of us."</p> + +<p>There was a suggestion of defiance in his tone which +contrasted curiously with the tremor of his hand, as +he lit a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"I might have taken the liberty of calling on one +of your Thursdays, without any summons," he added, +as Radwalader made no reply. As he spoke, he +glanced up, met the other's steady eyes, and immediately +looked away again.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't do to push a partner too far," he concluded, +with the hint of a whine.</p> + +<p>There was a long pause, which was evidently extremely +disconcerting to Monsieur Vicot. He removed +his cigarette from his lips several times, and +as often replaced it, his hand trembling violently. +Radwalader never took his eyes from him, but sat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +smiling slightly, with his elbow resting on the arm of +his chair, and his hand raised and open. There was +not a quiver in his fingers, a fact which was duly +noted, as it was intended to be, by his companion.</p> + +<p>"Have you lost your tongue?" demanded the latter +presently, with manifest irritation.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by no means, my excellent Jules," answered +Radwalader, easily. "I was simply reflecting how I +might submit a few facts for your consideration in a +manner which would render a repetition of the communication +unnecessary. There seems to be some +misunderstanding. I think I'm not slow to appreciate +another's meaning. I make bold to suppose +that you desire to intimidate me?"</p> + +<p>Monsieur Vicot fidgeted uneasily, discarded his +cigarette, lit another, shrugged his shoulders, and +gripped the arms of his chair.</p> + +<p>"I think it's time we understood each other," resumed +Radwalader, still smiling. "It's long since +we spoke of certain things—trivialities, maybe, such +as forgery, theft, and blackmail—"</p> + +<p>"As to blackmail—" put in the other, with an attempt +at bravado.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," agreed Radwalader. "You're about to +say that we're in the same boat. So we are, but not—to +quote the old epigram—but not with the same +skulls. I'm not a fool, my good Jules. You are. I +walk in the bed of running streams, you in fresh-fallen +snow. The inference is plain. My hold upon +you is in black and white, and deposited, as you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +know, in my safe-deposit vault at the bank. It's as +comforting as an insurance policy. In case of my +sudden disappearance—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, chuck it!" said Vicot.</p> + +<p>"Whereas your hold upon me," swerved off Radwalader +pleasantly, "also as you know, is as substantial +as the cigarette-ash you've just flicked upon +my carpet."</p> + +<p>"Chuck that, too," put in Vicot, sullenly. "What's +the use of all this talk? You've the whip-hand, Radwalader, +and you know it."</p> + +<p>"<i>Then remember it, by God!</i>" exclaimed the other. +His assumption of smiling pleasantly was gone like a +wisp of smoke. He had risen suddenly, and, with his +fist clenched on the table-edge, was leaning over his +companion as if he would crush him by the very force +of his personality. His steel-blue eyes had hardened, +and at the corners of his lips hovered a sneering smirk +which suggested a panther.</p> + +<p>"Then remember it," he reiterated, "and remember +it for all time! What I say, I say once. After +that—I act. You snivelling drunkard! You wretched, +nerve-racked lump of bluff! <i>You</i> threaten <i>me</i>? +Did you suppose I'd forgotten that I could have sent +you to the galleys five years ago, just because I haven't +mentioned the fact since then? Do you imagine I +can't send you there now? Do you think I'd hesitate +for a wink about throwing you overboard, body +and soul, if I didn't find you useful? Do you fancy +I'm <i>afraid</i> of you? God! What a maggot it is!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +Look at those hands, you whelp! I've seen you +grovel, and I've heard you whine, and what a man +will do once he'll do again under like conditions. It's +too late for you to pit your will against mine, my +friend! You gave yourself away five years ago, when +first I put on the thumbscrews, and I know at just +which turn of them you're going to whimper again!"</p> + +<p>To all appearance, the white heat of Radwalader's +passion was gone as suddenly as it had come. With +the last words, his face resumed its normal expression +of placidity, and, before he continued, he began +to pace slowly up and down the room, with his +thumbs in the pockets of his trousers. Vicot had +made no motion, save, at the other's contemptuous +reference to his hands, to fold his arms. Now he +sank a little farther into his chair, and, under lowered +lids, his eyes slid to and fro, following his companion's +march.</p> + +<p>"If you didn't understand the situation before," +resumed Radwalader, "it's probable that you do now. +As it happens, I don't fear God, man, or devil; but +even if I were as timid as a rabbit, I wouldn't fear +<i>you</i>! You're a convenience, that's all—an instrument +to do that part of my work which is a trifle too +dirty for a gentleman's hands. So long as you do it +to my satisfaction, I see fit to pay you, and pay you +well; and you're free to drink like the swine you are, +and go to the devil your own way. But the indispensable +man doesn't exist, my good Jules, and the +moment you kick over the traces, out you go! I discarded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +you last month because I don't like people +who listen at doors, even if I'm not fool enough to +give them an opportunity of hearing anything. If +I've chosen to call for you again, it's simply that I've +work for you, and assuredly not because I'm in any +fear of consequences. Pray get that into your head +as speedily, and keep it there as long, as possible. +There are plenty of others to take your place. As +for partners, you're as much mine as the coyote is +the wolf's, and no more. So you've said enough on +<i>that</i> point."</p> + +<p>"What's the job?" put in Vicot, as the other +paused.</p> + +<p>"If you haven't forgotten certain things in the +past few weeks, you know what it means when I sit +close to one man and talk only to him whenever you're +in the room."</p> + +<p>"Never to forget his face," answered Vicot, as if +responding to a question in the catechism. "Is it +another game of shadow?"</p> + +<p>"To an extent, yes. But it will be more in the +open than usual. You won't have to skulk. Do you +think you can accustom yourself to the change?"</p> + +<p>"Get on!" said Vicot impatiently. "I suppose +it's the young chap?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He's to take Remson Peake's apartment, +in all probability—or some other. And you, my excellent +Jules, are to be his <i>valet de chambre</i>."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" commented the other, without any +evidence of surprise. "And the pay?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's usual from him, I suppose," said Radwalader, +"and from me double."</p> + +<p>"Say three hundred francs a month, all told?"</p> + +<p>"About that."</p> + +<p>Radwalader seated himself again, and, leaning forward, +continued more earnestly, making a little +church and steeple of his linked fingers.</p> + +<p>"First, visitors—their names, or, if not that, their +appearance, as accurately as possible. Next, letters—both +incoming and outgoing—particularly the +latter. Steam them, and take copies whenever it +seems best. Keep an eye especially on anything relating +to—well, to women in general. If any come +to the apartment, make good use of your remarkable +faculty for eavesdropping, which was so lamentably +misapplied here. Keep your hands off his tobacco +and wine. Be respectful. Get him to talk as much +as possible, and remember what he says. Stay sober—if +you can. And report to me immediately if anything +important turns up."</p> + +<p>"When do I begin?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell. In a few days, probably. I'll let +you know."</p> + +<p>Vicot rose slowly.</p> + +<p>"What a blackguard you are, Radwalader!" he +said, almost admiringly.</p> + +<p>"That's not the greatest compliment I've known +you to pay me," drawled Radwalader. "Imitation is +the sincerest flattery."</p> + +<p>The other poured himself another half-glass of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +whiskey, set it on the table-edge, and stood looking +down at it.</p> + +<p>"And I was once a gentleman!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't get maudlin," answered Radwalader. +"We were all of us something unprofitable once. The +main fact, by your own confession, is that, as a gentleman, +you couldn't make enough to keep body and +soul together; and that, as a scalawag, you can turn +over three hundred francs a month. The world is +full of gentlemen. They're a drug on the market. +But accomplished scoundrels are rare, my good Vicot."</p> + +<p>"You'll have a deal to answer for one of these +days, Radwalader."</p> + +<p>Radwalader shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"One never has to answer so long as there are no +questions asked," he said flippantly. "You'd better +take your tipple and go home. Preaching doesn't +become you in the least degree."</p> + +<p>"I want to know," said Vicot slowly, taking up his +glass, "what you mean to do. I've pulled many a +chestnut out of the fire for you, Radwalader, and if +I haven't burned my fingers in doing it, I've soiled +them enough, God knows. You haven't any scruple +about calling me names, and I take your insults because +I'd starve to death if I didn't. But I've a conscience, +and it cuts me, now and again."</p> + +<p>"Bank-notes make good court-plaster," observed +Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but there are some things which I've done +that I won't do again. I don't want to be mixed up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +in another affair like that of young Baxter. Do you +ever think of that morning at the Morgue?"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't made to look backward," said Radwalader. +"Providence put my eyes in the front of my +head, and I know how to take a hint."</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>I</i> think of it—often," said Vicot, with something +like a shudder. "He repaid me in my own +coin, that boy. If I shadowed him in his life, he +shadows me in his death. Even brandy doesn't blot +him out of my mind. When I shut my eyes at night, +I can see him, sitting in that ghastly chair, with his +face, all purple, looking through the cloudy glass—as +truly murdered by us who stood looking at him, as +if we had pitched him into the lake at Auteuil with +our own hands!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, rot!" exclaimed Radwalader. "You know +what that means, don't you? Other men see centipedes +and blue rats: you see Baxter, that's all. Cut +off the liquor, and you won't know there ever was +such a thing as a Morgue. Baxter was a silly ass. +He tried to do things with ten thousand francs that +a sane man wouldn't attempt with a hundred. I let +him go his pace, and I was as surprised as the next +chap when I found how short his rope was. I held +his notes for double the amount he had in the beginning. +Did I come down on his family for them, after +he chose the easiest way of evading payment? Not +a bit of it. I burned them."</p> + +<p>"Policy," commented Vicot briefly.</p> + +<p>"Is the best honesty," supplemented Radwalader.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He was daft on baccarat, and if he had to lose, why +not to me as well as another? And a man who drowns +himself for ten thousand francs isn't worth considering."</p> + +<p>He crossed to the piano, and, seating himself, let +his fingers stray up and down the keyboard through +a maze of curiously intermingling minor chords. +Then he began to hum softly, looking up, with his +eyes half-closed, as if trying to recall the words. +After a moment, he struck a final note, low in the +bass, and, with his foot on the pedal, listened until +the sound died down to silence.</p> + +<p>"I want to know what you mean to do," reiterated +Vicot obstinately.</p> + +<p>"Well, you won't, and that's flat. The job is for +you to take or leave, as you see fit. Only I want +yes or no, and, after that, no more talk. I'm a hard +man to make angry, but you've done it once to-day, +and that's once too often for your good. Why, what +are you thinking of, man? You've known me for five +years. Did you ever see me hesitate or back down? +Did you ever find a screw loose in my work, or so +much as a scrap of paper to incriminate me? Did +you ever know me to leave a footprint in the mud +we've been through together—or let you leave one +either, for that matter? A man like you would land +in Mazas inside of a week, if he tinkered with business +like mine, without a head like mine to guide him! +Look here. You've been useful to me, Vicot, and, +though you've been paid enough to make us quits,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +I'm not ungrateful to you in my own way. Continue +to stick by me and I'll stick by you. Throw it all +over, if you will, and you can go your way, with a +handsome present to boot. But let me hear any +more of such drivel as you've given me to-day, and, +as God lives, my man, I'll smooch you off the face of +the earth, as I'd smooch a green caterpillar off a +page of my book! You'd be a smear of slime, my +friend, and nothing more—and I'd turn the page, +and go on reading!"</p> + +<p>Radwalader had not raised his tone, as on the +former occasion, or even risen, but his voice rasped +the silence of the <i>salon</i> like a diamond on thin glass.</p> + +<p>"Is it yes, or no?" he added.</p> + +<p>Vicot swallowed the spirit in his glass, and looked +across at him with his eyes watering and blinking.</p> + +<p>"You know which," he said.</p> + +<p>"Say it!"</p> + +<p>"It's yes," said Vicot sulkily; "but if I wasn't the +cur I am, I'd tell you to go to hell—you and all your +works!"</p> + +<p>Radwalader closed the piano gently.</p> + +<p>"If it affords you any satisfaction to hear it," he +answered, rising with a yawn, "I think it likely that +the injunction is entirely superfluous. We sha'n't +gain anything by prolonging this interview. It's +four minutes to six, and I must dress for dinner. +When I want you, I'll stick the blue jar in the window. +Meanwhile, here's fifty francs on account. I'll +get Mr. Vane to pay you in advance."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vicot stood silent for a moment, the bill crackling +as he folded it between his trembling fingers.</p> + +<p>"Is that his name?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"That's his name. <i>Au revoir.</i>"</p> + +<p>And Radwalader went to the window, flung it open, +and drew a deep breath of the soft, spring-evening +air. A girl was selling violets on the corner, and he +beckoned to her, and bought a bunch of Palmas, leaning +down from the sill to take them. Plunging his +face into the fragrant purple mass, he dropped a two-franc +piece into her hand with a gesture which bade +her keep the coin.</p> + +<p>"<i>Comme monsieur est bon!</i>" said the girl, smiling +up at him.</p> + +<p>Only one other figure was in sight, that of Monsieur +Jules Vicot, with his head bent, and his hands +in his pockets, turning, at a snail's pace, into the +Avenue Victor Hugo. From him Radwalader's eyes +came back to the face of the flower-girl.</p> + +<p>"You were just in time," he said, with his nose +among the violets. "The air was getting a little +close."</p> + +<p>Then he shut the window, leaving her looking up, +smiling, and wrinkling her forehead at the same time, +and went back into his bedroom, whistling "<i>Au +Clair de la Lune</i>."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h4>A PLEDGE OF FRIENDSHIP.</h4> + +<p>The following week found Andrew fairly installed +<i>en garçon</i>, with a man-servant, recommended by Radwalader, +presiding over his boots and apparel, and a +fat apple-cheeked <i>concierge</i> preparing his favourite +dishes in a fashion which suggested that all former +cooks of his experience had been the veriest tyros. +It had taken but a week at the Ritz to disgust him +with the elaborate pomposity of life at a fashionable +hotel, and, in its unpretentious way, Remson Peake's +apartment was a gem. A tiled bath, with a porcelain +tub; a bedchamber in white and sage-green, with +charmingly odd, splay-footed furniture of the Glasgow +school; a severely simple dining-room, with curtains +and upholstery of heavy crimson damask; a +study with furniture of <i>marqueterie</i> mahoghany, a +huge divan, and a club-fender upon which to cock +one's feet; a pantry and a kitchen like a doll's—it +was complete, inviting, and equipped in every detail. +For Andrew it had a very special charm. His whole +life had been, to a great extent, subordinate to the +presence and personality of his grandfather. Even +college had not brought him the usual accompaniment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +of rooms at Claverly or Beck, for—and it was +to his credit—he had never so much as suggested +leaving Mr. Sterling alone in the big house on Beacon +Hill. But even an influence as kindly as this gentle, +indulgent old man's may irk. Now, for the first +time, Andrew found himself the practical master of +his movements. And Remson Peake's apartment +had the rare, almost unique, quality of disarming +criticism. One had no suggestions to make. One +would—given the opportunity—have done the same +in every particular.</p> + +<p>And so, the faint qualms of homesickness having +worn off in the course of his initial fortnight in the +capital, Andrew found himself supremely contented, +and discovered a new charm in life at every turn. +Radwalader was the essence of courtesy and consideration, +invariable in his good humour, tireless in his +efforts to amuse and entertain the young <i>protégé</i> of +his good friend Mrs. Carnby. Paris, he told Andrew, +was like a box of delicate <i>pastilles</i>, each of which +should be allowed to melt slowly on the tongue: it disagreed +with those who attempted to swallow the whole +box of its attractions at a gulp. So they went about +Andrew's sight-seeing in a leisurely manner, taking +the Louvre and the Luxembourg by half-hours, and +sandwiching in a church, a monument, or a celebrated +street, on the way; for it was another theory of Radwalader's +that a franc found on the pavement, or in +the pocket of a discarded waistcoat, is more gratifying +than fifty deliberately earned.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's the things you happen on which you will enjoy," +he said, "not those you go to work to find, by +taking a tram or walking a mile. Unpremeditated +discoveries, like unpremeditated dissipations, are +always the most successful. There's nothing so flat +as a plan."</p> + +<p>As was to be expected, Mrs. Carnby was not able to +monopolize Andrew. Mrs. Ratchett took him into +her good graces, and, as was usual with her where +men were concerned, contrived to make him think of +her between his calls. And there were many others—women +characteristic of the American Colony, whose +husbands were never served up except with dinner. +It was as Mrs. Carnby told him:</p> + +<p>"If a bachelor has manners, discretion, and presentable +evening dress, he need never pay for a dinner +in Paris, so long as the Colony knows of his existence. +And remember this. Nothing is dearer to a +woman's heart than a man at five o'clock. She will +excuse anything, if you'll give her a chance to remember +how many lumps you take and whether it's +cream or lemon. Attend to your teas, my young +friend, and you can do just about as you like about +your <i>p</i>'s and <i>q</i>'s!"</p> + +<p>Madame Palffy, too, seeking whom she might entertain +(which, in her case, was equivalent to devouring), +collected young men as geologists collect specimens +of minerals. The analogy was strengthened by +her predilection for chipping off portions—the darker +portions—of their characters, and handing these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +around for the edification of her friends. She cultivated +Andrew assiduously, though it was not for +this reason that he dropped in so frequently at tea-time. +Margery, with her clean-cut beauty, appealed +to him in a very special sense. They had in common +many memories of the free, open-air, sane, and wind-blown +life of the North Shore; and now, when they +idled through portions of "The Persian Garden," +which had been the fad at Beverly, it was by way of +getting a whiff of sea air, and an echo of the laughter +that had been.</p> + +<p>Often he found himself looking at her admiringly. +She had the knack of satisfying one's sense of what +ought to be. Her dress was almost always of a +studied simplicity which depended for its effect entirely +upon colour and fit, and could have been bettered +in neither. Not the least factor in her striking +beauty was its purity, its freedom from the smallest +suggestion of artificiality. She was singularly alive, +admirably clear-eyed and strong, and in her fresh +propriety there was always a challenge to the open air +and the full light of day. She had, even in the ballroom, +an indefinable hint of out-of-doors. The contrast +between her personality and that of Parisian +women—of Mirabelle Tremonceau, for example—was +the contrast between the clean, dull linen of a New +England housekeeper and the dainty shams of an +exhibition bedroom; between a physician's hands +and a manicure's; between the keen, salt air of the +North Shore and that of a tropical island. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +femininity impressed where that of others merely +charmed. The majority of women are pink: Margery +Palffy was a soft, clear cream.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Andrew seemed to feel, rather than +to see, a subtle alteration in her. A few months had +given her a new reserve, almost an attitude of distrust, +which puzzled and eluded him. Their talks at +Beverly had been different from these. There, they +had spoken much of the future, of what they hoped +and believed: here they skirted, instead of boldly +boarding, serious topics, and were fallen unconsciously, +but immediately, into the habit of chaffing +each other over meaningless trifles. He was baffled +and disconcerted by the change. There was much +which he had come to say. He had rehearsed it all +many times, and remembering the charming lack of +constraint which had characterized all their former +intercourse, to say it had seemed comparatively easy. +But now he was like a man who has been recalling +his fluent renderings, at school or college, of the +classic texts, but, suddenly confronted with the same +passages, cannot translate a word.</p> + +<p>Again, the presence of her family depressed him +with something of her own visible distress, humiliated +him with something of her own evident shame. +There was no such thing as making allowances for +either Monsieur or Madame Palffy. From the moment +of one's first glimpse of them, they were hopelessly +and irretrievably impossible. Not that they had +the faintest suspicion of this. They were supremely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +self-satisfied, and moved massively through life with +a firm conviction that they fulfilled all requirements. +Madame, with her frightful French, was as complacent +in a conversation with a duchess of the Faubourg as +was Monsieur, with his feeble and flatulent observations +upon subjects of which he had no knowledge, in +a company of after-dinner smokers. It was impossible +to exaggerate their preternatural idiocy. A bale +of cotton, suddenly introduced into polite society, +could have manifested no more stupendous lack of +resource than they. It was only when tempted with +the bait of gossip—most probably untrue—that they +rose heavily to the surface of the conversation instead +of floundering in its depths. Half the Colony detested +them, all of the Colony laughed at them, and none of +the Colony believed them. In short—they were Monsieur +and Madame Palffy. There was no more to be +said.</p> + +<p>Had Margery been farther from him, curiously +enough she would have been far more readily approached +in the manner which Andrew had planned. +He was far from comprehending that it was her vital +and intimate interest in him which showed her that +he would note all the defects of the deplorable frame +wherein he thus found her placed. The very fact +that they had known each other under different and +happier conditions forced her to assume the defensive +now that other circumstances were patent to +his eyes. She was intensely proud. There must be +no chance for him to pity her. So, she assumed a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +gaiety which she was far from feeling, and sought in +the by-ways of banter a refuge from the broader and +more open road of surrender. On her side and on +his it was a more mature case of the painful embarrassment +incidental to the early stages of a children's +party. They had played unrestrainedly together, as +it were, but now, in the artificial light of a society +strange to both of them, were stricken dumb.</p> + +<p>From the strain of this baffling position Andrew +sought relief in the company of Mirabelle Tremonceau. +Here was no constraint, no unuttered solemnities +to come up choking into the throat. She was +very beautiful, very inconsequent, very gay; but the +same light <i>insouciance</i> which in Margery distressed +and humiliated him, because of the unsounded deeps +which lay below, attracted and amused him in Mirabelle, +by simple reason of its essential shallowness. +She was altogether different from any woman he had +ever known, but her novelty meant no more to him +than a part of that charmingly sparkling and intoxicating +wine of Paris of which he was learning to take +deep draughts. Never for an instant did it alter the +strength of the original purpose which had brought +him from America, but it went far toward lessening +the keen disappointment which Margery's apparent +disregard of that purpose caused him. In the latter's +presence he was exquisitely sensitive to the possible +significance of every word. He thought too much, +and the sombre current of these reflections too often +darkened the surface of conversation, turned her uneasy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +and unnatural, and sent him away in a fit of +the blues. With Mirabelle, on the contrary, he never +thought at all. Since he had nothing to ask of her +beyond what she had already granted him—the privilege +of her friendship and the fascination of her presence—he +enjoyed these to the full. It was his consuming +desire for another and more tender relation +with Margery that caused him to be blind to the promise +of that which existed—almost to despise it.</p> + +<p>Minutes grew into hours with unbelievable celerity +in the company of Mirabelle Tremonceau. With +something akin to intuition, all unsuspecting as he +was, he said nothing of her to Mrs. Carnby, to Margery, +or even to Radwalader. At the first, there +was but one who could have told him whither he +was tending—but Thomas Radwalader had all-sufficient +reasons for holding his tongue. Yet, back of +his slight infatuation, there lay in Andrew's mind +a little sense of guilt. He could not have laid finger +upon the quality of his indiscretion, but he felt +indefinitely that all was not right. He recognized, +or seemed to recognize, in Mirabelle a fruit forbidden, +but told himself that it was a passing episode. He +was confident that the way would yet lie open for +the attainment of his heart's desire, and meanwhile +he would amuse himself and say nothing. Your +ostrich, with his silly head buried in the sand, is not +the only creature that fatuously underestimates both +its own desirability and the perspicacity of those +interested in its movements. Twice, in the afternoon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +Andrew had driven with Mirabelle in the +Allée des Acacias. She gave him the seat at her +right, and people turned to look at the passing +victoria, as they had turned and looked on the afternoon +when she took his arm at the gate of Auteuil.</p> + +<p>But better than driving was the time passed, +daily, in her apartment on the Avenue Henri Martin. +It was on the fifth floor, running the whole width of +the house, and with a broad balcony looking down +upon the rows of trees below. A corner of this +balcony was enclosed by gay awnings, and made +garden-like by azaleas and potted palms. Mademoiselle +Tremonceau had a great lounging chair, and +a table for books and <i>bon-bons</i>, and Andrew sprawled +at her feet, on red cushions, with his back against +the balcony rail, his hands linked behind his head, +and his long legs stretched out upon a Persian rug. +All this was the most unexpected feature of his new +life, and hence the most attractive. It was as far +as possible removed from a suggestion of metropolitan +existence. May was already upon them, and +the air above the wide and shaded avenue was indescribably +soft and sweet. The roar of the city mounted +to their high coign only in a subdued murmur, as of +the sea at a distance. Birds came and went, twittering +on the cornice above their heads. The sun +soaked through Andrew's serge and linen, and sent +pleasurable little thrills of warmth through the muscles +of his broad back. A faint perfume came to him +from the roses on the table. A delicious, indefinable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +languor hung upon his surroundings. He was vaguely +reminded of afternoons at Newport and Nahant—afternoons +when everything smelt of new white +flannel, warm leaves, and the fox-terrier blinking and +quivering on his knee—when the only sounds were +the whine of insects in the vines, the rasping snore +of locusts in the nearest trees, and the snarl of passing +carriage-wheels on a Macadam driveway. He could +close his eyes and remember it all, and know that what +had been, was good. He could open them, and feel +that what was, was better!</p> + +<p>As is always the case, when sympathy is pregnant +with prophecy, Andrew's acquaintance with Mirabelle +Tremonceau had grown into friendship before +he realized the change. At first he had made excuses +for the frequency of his calls; but at the end +of three weeks the daily visit had come, in his eyes +as well as hers, to be a matter of course.</p> + +<p>So it was that three o'clock would find him upon +her balcony, or in a cushioned corner of her divan; +and whereas, at the outset, he had been but one of +several men present, he discovered of a sudden not +only that for four days had he found her alone at +the accustomed hour, but that she refused herself to +other callers when the <i>maître d'hôtel</i> brought in their +cards. He was not insensible to the compliment, +but it was one he had experienced before.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, the <i>maître d'hôtel</i> had not even +taken his name, but ushered him directly through +the <i>salon</i> to the Venetian blind at the window, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +lifted this to let him pass out upon the balcony. +Mademoiselle Tremonceau was in her great chair, +with a yellow-covered novel perched, tent-like, upon +her knee. She smiled as he came out, and gave him +her hand. Andrew bent over and kissed it, before +taking his seat. It was a trick of the Frenchmen +he had met at Mrs. Carnby's—one of the things which +are courtesies in Paris, and impertinence elsewhere. +The girl's hand lay for an instant against his lips. +It was as soft as satin, and smelt faintly of orris, and +her fingers closed on his with a little friendly pressure.</p> + +<p>"You were expecting me?" he asked, as he dropped +upon the cushions beside her.</p> + +<p>"I'd given you up," she answered. "It's ten +minutes past three."</p> + +<p>"Am I as regular as that?" he laughed. "I was +lunching at my friend Mrs. Carnby's, and we didn't +get up from table till long after two. I came directly +over."</p> + +<p>Mirabelle looked away across the house-tops with +a little frown.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Andrew. "Anything gone +wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! My thoughts wouldn't be a bargain at +a penny. Tell me—have you seen Mr. Radwalader +lately?"</p> + +<p>"Last night. We went to the Français."</p> + +<p>"You continue to like him?"</p> + +<p>"I think we should never be intimate friends. +Apart from the difference in our ages and opinions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +there's something about him which I don't seem to +get at—like shaking a gloved hand, if you know what +I mean."</p> + +<p>"Ye-es," said Mirabelle slowly. "It's odd you +should have noticed that."</p> + +<p>"But it's ungrateful of me to mention even that +small objection," continued Andrew. "He's been +the soul of kindness, and has shown me all over Paris, +introduced me everywhere, and, in general, explained +things. I've learned more in three weeks with him +than I could have learned myself in a year. So, you +see, I couldn't very well help liking him, even if I +wanted to help it—which I don't. Why do you +ask?"</p> + +<p>For an instant Mirabelle's slender hand fluttered +toward him with an odd little tentative gesture, and +then went back to her cheek.</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure," she answered. "Perhaps only for +lack of anything else to say. People have told me +that they disliked Mr. Radwalader—that they distrusted +him."</p> + +<p>"I suppose we're all of us disliked and distrusted—by +somebody," said Andrew. "But, so far as I'm +concerned, Radwalader's my friend. Perhaps you +don't know me well enough yet to understand that +that means a great deal."</p> + +<p>"You're very loyal you mean?" suggested the girl.</p> + +<p>"I hope so—yes. I have few friends; but those I +have, I care for and respect and, if necessary, defend. +They can't be talked against in my presence."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder," said Mirabelle slowly, "if I'm one of +the happy few."</p> + +<p>"Decidedly!" said Andrew heartily.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean," she continued, "that you care for +me as you care for these other friends, that you—that +you respect me, and that you'd defend me—if +necessary?"</p> + +<p>"Decidedly, decidedly! I hope I've proved the +first two, and I hope there'll never be any cause to +prove the last. But if there is, you may count on +me."</p> + +<p>Mirabelle looked at him for a moment, and then +leaned back and closed her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said. "You don't know what +that means to me."</p> + +<p>"Why, how serious you are over it!" laughed Andrew. +"Does it seem to you so very wonderful? To +me it appears to be the most natural thing in the +world."</p> + +<p>"Ah, to <i>you</i>, perhaps," answered Mirabelle. "But +to me—yes, it does seem <i>very</i> wonderful. You see—I've +never had it said to me before!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h4>A PARLEY AND A PRAYER.</h4> + + +<p>May was close upon the heels of June before there +came a change, but one afternoon, as Andrew paused +in his playing, an atmosphere of new intimacy seemed +to touch him. He had been alone with Margery for +half an hour, and something in the music—or was it +only fancy?—told him that her thoughts were occupied +with him. She had greeted him with a little air +of weariness—but not unfriendly—and, as he took +her hand, she looked at him with some indefinite +question in her eyes. The impression made by this +gained on him as they talked, and, more strongly, as +he played. Once or twice he was upon the point of +turning abruptly and seeking the clue, but he had +been so long perplexed, so long uncertain, that he +hesitated still. If only she would give him an opening, +if she would but come, as she had often come at +Beverly, to lean above him, humming the words of +some song into which he had unconsciously drifted, +then had he had the courage to turn, to grip her hands, +to ask her....</p> + +<p>"I wonder if we would, even if we could," she said.</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Andrew.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How should you be expected to know? I've been +a thousand miles away—thinking of Omar. I mean +whether we would 'shatter it to bits, and then remould +it nearer to the heart's desire.'"</p> + +<p>Andrew swung round on the piano-stool, slowly +chafing his palms together. He did not dare trust +himself to look at her. For the first time since they +had met in Paris, he caught an echo of the old life in +her tone.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if we could, even if we would," he +answered. "I think so—perhaps. Whatever set you +thinking about that?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," said Margery, with a +short laugh. "Sometimes, in my own little way, I'm +quite a philosopher! I was just thinking that if any +of us were given the chance to change things—everything—shatter +'the sorry scheme of things' into bits, +as Omar says—we should perhaps make an equally +sorry bungle of the task of reconstruction. We're +always saying 'If!' but when it actually came to the +point, do you suppose we'd really want anything to +be different?"</p> + +<p>Again that singular, appealing query in her eyes. +It was the old Margery at last, simple, serious, and +candid. There was a responsive light in Andrew's +face as he replied:</p> + +<p>"Some things, no doubt. I don't think I could +suggest a desirable change in you—except one. Will +you let me tell you?"</p> + +<p>Margery nodded.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's more of a restoration than a change," continued +Andrew. "I'd like to see you, in every respect, +precisely as you were at Beverly."</p> + +<p>"And am I not? A little older, of course, and +bound to be more dignified, as becomes a young +woman in society; but for the rest, I'd be sorry to +think you find a change in me."</p> + +<p>Andrew wheeled back to the piano, and refingered +a few chords.</p> + +<p>"Now that you've seen the world," he said presently, +"tell me what pleases you most in life."</p> + +<p>And he faced her again, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Motion!" replied Margery promptly. "I can't +explain that, but I know it's so. Motion! I don't +care what kind, just so long as it shows that the +world is alive and happy. I love to see things run +and leap—a man, or a horse, or a dog. I love the +surf, the trees in a wind; all evidences of strength, +of activity, of—well, of <i>life</i> in every and any form. +Not so much dancing. That always seems to me to be +a forced, an artificial kind of movement, unless it's +<i>very</i> smoothly done—and you know, almost every one +hops! But I could watch swimming and driving +and rowing for hours, and, for that matter, any outdoor +sport—racing, football, lacrosse—anything which +gives one the idea that men are glad to be alive!"</p> + +<p>"How curious!" said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Curious? Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because that's a man's point of view, not a girl's. +I ask you what pleases you most in life, and I expect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +that you're going to say music, or flowers, or the play. +Instead, you cut out remorselessly everything which +one naturally associates with a woman's way of +amusing herself, and give me an answer which sounds +as if it came from one of the lads at St. Paul's. That's +the way they used to talk, exactly. It was all rush, +vim, get-up-and-get-out, with them. If you know +what I mean, they breathed so hard and talked so +fast that it always seemed to me as if they'd just +come in from running in a high wind."</p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed Margery, with a nod. "I know. +That's what I like. That's what I call the glad-to-be-alive +atmosphere."</p> + +<p>There fell a little silence. Andrew's fine eyes were +tiptoeing from point to point of the big, over-furnished +<i>salon</i> with a kind of amazed disgust. He +had not known that there were so many hideous +things in the world. Madame Palffy worshipped at the +twin altars of velvet and gilt paint. Much of what +now encumbered the room and smote the eye had +been picked up in Venice, at the time of her ponderous +honeymoon with the apoplectic Palffy. That was +twenty years before, when the <i>calle</i> back of the +Piazza were filled with those incalculable treasures +of tapestry, carved wood, and ivory now in the +<i>palazzi</i> of rich Venetians—if, indeed, they are not in +Cluny. But the Palffys were as stupid as they were +pompous. They moved heavily round and round +the Piazza, and furnished their prospective <i>salon</i> out +of the front windows of smirking charlatans. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +irreparable and damning results of their selection, as +Andrew now surveyed them, had been modified—or, +more exactly, exaggerated—by the subsequent purchases +of two decades in the flamboyant bazars of +the Friedrichs Strasse, in the "art departments" of +the big shops on Regent and Oxford streets, and in +the degenerate galleries of the Palais Royal. Madame +Palffy's idea of statuary was a white marble greyhound +asleep upon a cushion of red <i>sarrancolin</i>: and +her taste ran to Bohemian glass, to onyx vases, and +to plaques with broad borders of patterned gilt, +enclosing heads of simpering Neapolitan girls—these +last to hang upon the wall. There were spindle-legged +chairs, with backs like golden harps, and seats of +brocade wherein salmon-pink and turquoise-blue +wrestled for supremacy; and in front of the huge +mantel (logically decked with a red lambrequin) there +was a velvet ottoman in the form of a mushroom, +whereon when Monsieur Palffy sat, his resemblance +to a suffocating frog became absolutely startling. +The rest of the furniture was so massive as to suggest +that it could have been moved to its present position +by no agency less puissant than a glacier, and, for +the most part, the upholstery was tufted, and so +tightly stuffed that one slid about on the chairs and +sofas as if they had been varnished. The room contained +four times as much of everything as was +appropriate or even decent, and this gave all the +furnishings the air of being on exhibition and for sale. +One's imagination, however, was not apt to embrace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +the possibility, under any conceivable circumstances, +of voluntary purchase.</p> + +<p>Presently Andrew's eyes came back to Margery. It +was evident that she had been watching him: for she +smiled whimsically.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she suggested.</p> + +<p>"Can you guess what I was thinking?" he asked, +with a slightly embarrassed laugh.</p> + +<p>"In part, I imagine," said Margery. "Wasn't it +something like this: that, as a matter of fact, I <i>have</i> +pretty well shattered my scheme of things to bits and +remoulded it—and that the new arrangement is not +altogether a success?"</p> + +<p>"I don't seem to see you in these surroundings," returned +Andrew evasively. "At Beverly you seemed +to 'belong': you were all of a piece with the life. +Here—well, it's different. That was why I asked +you that question, and that was why I thought there +was something about you which I wanted to see +changed—or restored. You know we used to be very +open with each other, very good friends in every sense +of the word; but now something's come between us. +I've felt it all along, and I thought perhaps it was +that you'd stopped caring for the things that used to +mean most to you, that new interests, and perhaps +your success and the compliments that people pay +you, had cut the old ties, and that you had new ideas +and ideals. I've felt—I've felt, Miss Palffy, that I'd +forfeited even the small place I had in your life. +You've been holding me at a distance, haven't you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +I've thought so. I asked you that question to see if +I was right or wrong, and to my surprise I find that +you are apparently the same as ever. You still love +all that made the sympathy between us. Well, then, +the fault must be in me. Tell me: what have I done, +that you treat me almost as a stranger?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, very sorry," said Margery earnestly. +"If I've given you any such impression, believe me, +it was quite without reason or even intention. I've +always looked upon you as one of my best friends. +Surely, I've not been holding you at a distance: that +must have been a fancy of yours. You must know +that you're always welcome here, that I'm always +glad to see you. Please believe that."</p> + +<p>But the little restraint was there!</p> + +<p>"I can't quite explain what I mean," said Andrew. +"You see, Paris is a queer sort of place. It upsets +all one's notions. There's so much that's strange and +interesting and new all about us that we're apt to +find the old things growing dim. I know, in my own +case, that I'm wiser for these few weeks, and perhaps"—he +laughed unevenly—"sadder! Forgive me +for thinking that it might have been the same with +you. This big city is so full of fascinations of one +sort or another, that one can hardly be blamed if one +is distracted at the first. Until I saw you that Sunday +at Mrs. Carnby's, I'd never realized what a difference +a few months might make. Your voice brought +back—a lot! I forgot that it was all in the past, that +we couldn't pick up things as they were in Beverly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>—the +sailing, the bathing, the horseback rides, the +golf, and all the rest. Those months had made you +a woman and me a man. Much that we used to do +and say was done and said and finished with forever. +But I <i>did</i> hope that the spirit of the thing would +remain, that we'd 'grown parallel to each other,' as +Mrs. Carnby says, and that we'd be nearer together, +instead of farther apart, for the separation. But no! +It isn't a fancy on my part. There's something +changed. Do you remember Wordsworth? 'There +hath passed away a glory from the earth'—and, Miss +Palffy, there has, there <i>has</i>! I know I'm not wrong—something's +come between us, and that something is +just what I've said—Paris! Isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" she answered, with her eyes on his.</p> + +<p>But Andrew Vane, the blind, did not understand.</p> + +<p>Margery rose, almost with a shudder, crossed the +room, and stood at the window opening upon the +balcony. Below, a whirling stream of cabs, bound in +from Longchamp, split around the island in the centre +of the <i>place</i>, merged again upon the opposite side, +and went rocking and rattling on, up the Avenue +Victor Hugo, toward the Arc. In curious contrast +to this continuous and flippant clatter, the harsh bell +of St. Honoré d'Eylau was striking six.</p> + +<p>"I hate it!" said the girl. "I couldn't attempt to +make you understand how I loathe Paris, and how +home-sick for America I am. Here—I can't express +it, but the shallowness and the insincerity and the—the +immorality of these people gets into one's blood.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +It's all pretence, sham, and heartless, cynical impurity. +At first I didn't see it—I didn't understand. I +was dazzled with the lights, and the fountains, and +the gaiety. I was lonely—yes: but when I remembered +all there was to see and do, remembered that +here is the best in art and music and what not, I +thought I should be happy. But it's the beauty of +a tropical swamp, Mr. Vane—there's poison in the +air! You wouldn't think I'd feel that, would you?—but +I do. It's all around me. I can't shut it out. +I meet it here, there—everywhere. It sickens me. +It chokes me. It's just as if something that I couldn't +fight against, that was bound to conquer me in the +end, struggle as I might, were trying to rob me of all +my beliefs, and ideals, and trust in the honour of men +and the goodness of women. I hate it! I'd give—oh, +what <i>wouldn't</i> I give!—to be back in America, +on the good, clean North Shore, where things—where +things are <i>straight</i>!"</p> + +<p>She turned upon him suddenly, her eyes full of a +strange trouble that was almost fear.</p> + +<p>"Do you see?" she added.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Andrew slowly. "I think I see. +That's what I meant; that's how I thought you +would feel. I'm sorry. You're right, of course: +Paris is no place for a girl—like you."</p> + +<p>"It's no place for any one who loves what's clean +and decent," said Margery hotly. "It's no place +for a <i>man</i>! I'm not supposed to know, am I, about +such things? And perhaps I don't. I couldn't tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +you exactly what I mean, even if I wanted to. But +I feel it here." She laid her hand upon her throat. +"I feel the danger that I can't describe. It strangles +me. I'm afraid. I'm afraid for its influence upon +any one for whom—for whom I might care. I'm +afraid for myself. It's nothing definite, you see, and +that's just where it seems to me to be so dangerous. +Do you remember when we were reading Tennyson +at Beverly—'The Lotus Eaters'?"</p> + +<p>She paused for an instant, and then, looking away +from him again, recited the lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'For surely now our household hearths are cold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else the island princes over-bold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before them of the ten years' war in Troy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is there confusion in the little isle?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let what is broken so remain.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There was something in her voice more eloquent +than the music of the words. Andrew came forward +a step, as if he would have touched her, but she +looked up and met his eyes.</p> + +<p>"And you're afraid—?" he began.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," she answered, "that we've come to +a land where it seems always afternoon; and that if +we don't take heed, my friend, we may not fight a +good fight, we may not keep the faith."</p> + +<p>She made an odd little weary gesture.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will you play some of the 'Garden' now?" she +asked. "I think I should like it. I'm just the least +bit blue."</p> + +<p>Andrew hesitated, but the words he wanted would +not come. He turned back to the piano, fingered the +music doubtfully for a moment, and then began to +play. There was no need to voice the words. They +both knew them well, and they fitted, as, somehow, +the verse of Omar has a knack of doing.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Strange, is it not, that of the myriads who<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before us passed the Door of Darkness through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not one returns to tell us of the Road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which to discover we must travel too."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I'm glad I know you," he broke in impulsively, +with his fingers on the keys. "You're a good friend."</p> + +<p>Margery made no reply.</p> + +<p>"My grandfather, who's the best old chap in all +the world," continued Andrew, playing the following +crescendo softly, "is the only other person of whom +I can feel that as you make me feel it. He always +calls me 'Andy.' I rather like that silly little name. +I wonder—"</p> + +<p>He swung round, facing her.</p> + +<p>"I think we're both of us a trifle homesick, Miss +Palffy. I wonder if you'd mind—calling me—that?"</p> + +<p>He looked down for a second, and in that second +Margery Palffy moistened her lips. When she spoke, +it seemed to her that her voice sounded harsh and dry.</p> + +<p>"I shall be very glad, if you wish it—Andy."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. And I—?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you like—yes. After all, as you say, we're +friends—and a little homesick."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Margery."</p> + +<p>Andrew resumed his playing, turning a few pages.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah, Love, could you and I with Fate conspire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To grasp the sorry scheme of things entire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would we not shatter it to bits—and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Behind him, the girl, unseen, unheard, was whispering +a word for every chord. Once, her hand went out +toward the smooth, close-cropped head, bent in eager +attention above the score.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Love!" said the music.</p> + +<p>"Ah, love!" whispered Margery Palffy.</p> + +<p>"What a <i>lot</i> there is in this!" exclaimed Andrew, +crashing into two sharps.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Once more, to Margery, her voice seemed cold and +hard.</p> + +<p>"The good old days at Beverly—what?" said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Andrew dawdled with the <i>andante</i>.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah, Moon of my Delight, that knows no wane—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I must be going," he said, and rose to take her +hand.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," he added, retaining it, "if you know +that I would give the world to ask you just one +question—and be certain of the answer?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not now," said Margery steadily, "not now, +please. I have many things to think of. Listen. +I'm going down to Poissy—to the Carnbys', to-morrow. +I know they mean to ask you over Sunday; +and then, my friend, you can ask me—whatever you +will. No, please. Good-by."</p> + +<p>From the window she watched him stroll across +to the little island in the centre of the <i>place</i>, there +pause to await the coming of the tram, and then, +mounting to the <i>impériale</i>, light a cigarette. Presently, +with hee-hawing of its donkey-horn, the tram +swerved into the avenue again.</p> + +<p>The girl leaned her cheek against the heavy curtain. +The tram dwindled into the distance—toward +the Arc—toward the brilliant centre of Paris—toward +danger! Then, in a still small voice, she prayed:</p> + +<p>"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those +who—who trespass against us. And lead us—lead +us not into temptation: but deliver us from evil...."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h4>THE WOMAN IN THE CASE.</h4> + + +<p>In the sun-spangled stretch of shade under the +acacias of the Villa Rossignol four drank coffee and +talked of Andrew Vane. Mrs. Carnby had remained +in Paris three weeks beyond her usual time; first, +because the weather had been no more than bearably +warm; and second, because the decorator who was +renovating the <i>salon</i> of the villa had been somewhat +more than bearably slow. The first of June, however, +found her at Poissy, and the Villa Rossignol once +more prepared to receive and discharge a continually +varying stream of guests with the regularity of +a self-feeding press.</p> + +<p>There was something very admirable about the +hospitality of the Villa Rossignol. In the first place, +there were fourteen bedrooms; and in the second, +a hostess who never made plans for her guests; and +in the third, no fixed hour for first breakfast. People +came by unexpected trains, and, finding every one +out, ordered, as the sex might be, whiskey and cigarettes, +or tea and a powder-box, and were served, and, +in general, made themselves at home, till Mrs. Carnby<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +returned from driving or canoeing. And seemingly +there was always a saddle-horse at liberty in the +stable, no matter how many might be riding; and +a vacant corner to be found, inside or out, without +regard to the number of <i>tête-à-têtes</i> already in progress. +In a word, Mrs. Carnby knew to perfection how <i>laisser +aller</i> and whom <i>laisser venir</i>—the which, all said +and done, appear to be the qualities most admirable +in an out-of-town hostess, by very reason, perhaps, +of their being the least common.</p> + +<p>So, at all events, thought Mrs. Carnby's three guests +as they took their coffee-cups from her and, sipping +the first over-hot spoonfuls cautiously, shuffled a +few topics of conversation, in an attempt to find one +which invited elaboration. They were consumedly +comfortable: for breakfast had been served on the +stroke of one, with five members of the house-party +absent. The remaining three were grateful for a +punctuality which was not concerned with the greatest +good of the greatest number.</p> + +<p>"It was so wise of you not to wait breakfast, +Louisa," observed Mrs. Ratchett, and her voice resembled +as much as anything the purr of a particularly +well-bred kitten. "I was as hollow as a shell an hour +ago. By this time I'd infallibly have caved in."</p> + +<p>"It's nothing short of imbecile to wait for people +who're out in an automobile," replied Mrs. Carnby. +"Whenever any one brings a machine down here, and +takes some of my guests to ride, I have all the clocks +in the house regulated, and order Armand to announce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +breakfast and dinner on the stroke of the hour. It's +only just to the sane people who may happen to be +visiting me."</p> + +<p>"In the present instance," put in Radwalader, "it's +to be supposed that the others will have sense enough +to get breakfast at the spot nearest available to that +of the breakdown."</p> + +<p>"The breakdown? You take a deal for granted, +Radwalader," said Gerald Kennedy, gazing up into +the shifting foliage of the acacias.</p> + +<p>"I, too, have been <i>en auto</i>," answered Radwalader, +"and am familiar with the inevitable feature of a run. +At this moment Andrew Vane is in his shirt-sleeves +and a pitiful perspiration, violently turning a crank +and talking under his breath. Or else he's flat on his +back, under the car, with only his feet sticking out. +Can you believe otherwise, after the evidence of those +five vacant chairs?"</p> + +<p>"How sensible we are, we four!" smiled Mrs. Ratchett.</p> + +<p>"Ours is the conservatism of the lilies of the field," +supplemented Radwalader. "We spin not, therefore +neither do we toil."</p> + +<p>"I fancy Vane is regretting having left his chauffeur +to breakfast in the servant's hall," said Kennedy.</p> + +<p>"And I, that, if anything, Vane is the better +mechanician of the two," said Radwalader. "The +boy's aptitude is really quite astounding. He learned +that machine in an hour, Pivert tells me, and now +knows it better than Pivert himself. He's only renting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +it by the week, you know, but old Mr. Sterling +will be called upon for the purchase-price, if I'm not +mistaken, before he's a month older."</p> + +<p>"One might be justified in remarking," said Mrs. +Ratchett, "that Andrew Vane is—er—going it—don't +you think?—in a fashion little short of precipitous."</p> + +<p>"<i>Wein—Weib—Gesang</i>," murmured Kennedy, with +his eyes in the trees.</p> + +<p>"I know he sings," commented Mrs. Carnby, "but +I hadn't heard of his drinking."</p> + +<p>"Or of his—oh yes I had, too!" Mrs. Ratchett +caught herself up abruptly, with a suspicion of a +blush. "Some one told me he was fast going to the—er—"</p> + +<p>"Cats?" suggested Kennedy amiably.</p> + +<p>"Gerald, you're indecent!" exclaimed Mrs. Carnby. +"And remember, I won't listen to gossip about my +guests—except Madame Palffy. For the moment, Mr. +Vane's reputation is under the protection of mine."</p> + +<p>Radwalader leaned back in his chair, and yawned +without shame.</p> + +<p>"Vane is developing, that's all," he said. "It's +a thing rather to be desired than otherwise. Paris +does such a deal for the raw American, in the way +of opening his eyes. Vane is just beginning to +'learn how.' I've no doubt that in Boston he ate +his lettuce with sugar and vinegar, and thought it +effeminate to have his nails manicured. Now that +he's acquiring the art of living, pray make some +allowance for the crude colouring of his <i>exquisses</i>. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +finished picture will be a creation of marked merit, +I warrant you. I've seen a good bit of Vane, and +he can be trusted to take care of himself."</p> + +<p>"The question is whether he can be trusted to +have other people take care of him," said Mrs. +Ratchett viciously, looking at Radwalader over +the edge of her coffee-cup.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you dangerous, dear lady."</p> + +<p>"Radwalader is always so unselfish," said Mrs. +Carnby. "He escapes embarrassing situations by +walking out on other people's heads."</p> + +<p>"I deserved it," laughed Mrs. Ratchett. "But I +really wasn't thinking of you, Radwalader. I +heard there was a lady in the case of Mr. Vane."</p> + +<p>"I credit him with more originality," said Radwalader. +"No, believe me, the facts are no more +than must be expected in a young man who has +been tied to apron-strings for an appreciable number +of years."</p> + +<p>"Not that old Mr. Sterling wears aprons," observed +Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"And not that I was referring to old Mr. Sterling. +I had in mind the very estimable United States of +America, which wash so much dirty linen in public +that it would be something more than surprising if +there were not a supply of particularly starchy +apron-strings continually on hand—in Boston in +particular. Vane has been taught her creed, which +is to make a necessity of virtue. His daily fare has +been a <i>rechauffé</i> of worn-out fallacies. I haven't a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +doubt but what he's been instructed that an honest +man is the noblest work of God, and I've no idea +that he's ever understood till now that vice is its +own reward, or how immaterial it is whether a +thing is gold or not, so long as it really glitters."</p> + +<p>He turned a tiny glass of <i>fine</i> into his coffee, and +continued, stirring it thoughtfully:</p> + +<p>"What happens when you turn your stable-bred +colt out to pasture for the first time? Doesn't he +kick up his heels and snort? Assuredly. And we +don't take that as an evidence, do we, that, all in +good time, he won't run neck and neck with the best +of them, and perhaps carry off the Grand Prix? I +always believe in cultivating charity, if only for +one comfortable quality attributed to it. Let's be +charitable in the case of Vane. He's only kicking +up his heels and snorting."</p> + +<p>"If you're going to assume the mantle of charity +with the view of covering the multitude of your +sins—!" suggested Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to send it to the tailor's to have the +tucks let out," said Radwalader, with infinite good +humour. "Exactly, dear friend. Forgive me my +little sermon. You see, the physician doesn't preach, +as a rule, and I'm afraid the priest is equally unapt +to practise. You must pardon me my shortcomings. +I can't very well be all things to all men—much less +to one woman. And, while we are on this subject, it +may interest you to know that Vane has chosen his +profession: he's going to be a novelist."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you mean that he's going to write novels?" +asked Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>Radwalader appeared to reflect.</p> + +<p>"No," he said presently. "I think I mean that +he's going to be a novelist. I stand open to correction," +he added, with an affected air of humility.</p> + +<p>"By no means," answered Mrs. Carnby. "Probably +I don't understand. It sounds to me a good +deal like saying he's going to be a German Emperor +or a Pope—that's all."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, I'm quite sure that's what I mean. +He has read me several chapters of a novel upon +which he's at work, and I must say that they display +a knowledge of women which, in a man of his +years, is nothing less than remarkable."</p> + +<p>"That's not impossible," put in Mrs. Carnby. "I +had a letter, only yesterday, from a woman who +knows him, and it appears that he's as good as +engaged to a very charming young American."</p> + +<p>"However," said Radwalader mildly, "I think +the knowledge of women displayed by Vane in the +chapters he was so good as to read to me is hardly +such as one would expect to deduce from the fact +that he is as good as engaged to a very charming +young American."</p> + +<p>"His choice of a profession must be a very recent +resolution," said Mrs. Carnby. "To be sure, until +to-day, I haven't seen him in a week."</p> + +<p>"An eternity in Paris," said Kennedy. "Extra-ordinary +people, the Americans! Not content with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +securing monopolies of tramways and industrial trusts +over here, they appear to control a monopoly of +feminine consideration as well. I confess—though +only to the acacias—that I'm in the least degree +weary of the subject of Mr. Andrew Vane. Radwalader, +I'll give you twenty at cannons."</p> + +<p>"Done!" said Radwalader, rising.</p> + +<p>"The cigars are on the corner-table in the billiard-room," +observed Mrs. Carnby, "and the Scotch is +on the dining-room <i>buffet</i>, with ice and soda. Don't +call the servants for a half-hour, at least: it irritates +them immeasurably to have their eating confused +with other people's drinking."</p> + +<p>"I really don't mean it as gossip," said Mrs. +Ratchett, as the men vanished into the house. "I'm +interested in Mr. Vane. He seems more rational +and cleaner-cut than the American cubs one sees +over here as a rule; and if he's only going to go the +way of the rest of them—if there's a woman in the +case—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby shrugged her shoulders. "Andrew +Vane has been in Paris for ten weeks," she said. "I +think it not improbable that Paris will be in Andrew +Vane for the rest of his natural life."</p> + +<p>"Then there <i>is</i> a woman in the case!" exclaimed +Mrs. Ratchett.</p> + +<p>"So you say, my dear."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ratchett's pointed slipper began to beat an +impatient tattoo on the grass.</p> + +<p>"Could anything be more ludicrous than for us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +two to beat about the bush in this fashion?" she +broke out, after a moment. "You know perfectly +what I mean, Louisa—what one <i>always</i> means, in +short, by 'a woman in the case'!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course I know," agreed Mrs. Carnby +frankly. "The women one speaks of as being in +cases are always more or less disreputable. Well, +there <i>is</i> a woman in the case of our young friend—and +a very engaging woman at that."</p> + +<p>"Engaging appears to be a habit with Mr. Vane's +flames," said Mrs. Ratchett. "It's a little hard on +the one in America. And pray where did <i>you</i> see +her?—the other, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Oh, here, there, and everywhere. Vane made the +mistake, at first, of trying to carry on his little affair +<i>sub rosa</i>. People are always seen when they try not +to be, you know. Lately, I believe, they've been +going about quite openly, so it has been almost +impossible to keep track of them."</p> + +<p>"But how do you arrive at the conclusion that +the lady—"</p> + +<p>"Isn't respectable? I've walked up the Opéra +Comique stairway behind her, my dear, and there +was no mistaking the social grade of her petticoats. +They were entirely beyond a reputable woman's +means. And you're quite right. It's downright +hard on the other one. She's like my own daughter—Margery +Palffy is."</p> + +<p>"Margery Palffy! Why, how very surprising! I +thought you said the girl was in America."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No—I said 'a charming young American.' And +it's really not surprising at all. My letter was from +Mrs. Johnny Barrister—Madame Palffy's sister-in-law, +you know. She always took charge of Margery during +the summer vacations. They've a big house at Beverly, +which I've never seen, and heaps of money. +That's how Mr. Vane met Margery, I suppose: he +seems to have had the run of the house. Molly +Barrister mentioned him casually, but quite as if +the engagement were a matter of course—quite as if +he had come over here on purpose to see Margery."</p> + +<p>"The lady with—er—the petticoats," suggested +Mrs. Ratchett, "strikes me in the light of evidence +to the contrary."</p> + +<p>"One can never tell," said Mrs. Carnby. "He +wouldn't be the first man to drive tandem. There's +apt to be a leader, you see—a high-stepping, showy +thoroughbred, that attracts all the attention, and +does none of the work: and then, an earnest, faithful +little cob, as wheeler. After a time, a man gets +tired of the frills and furbelows, sells the leader to +break some other fellow's neck, and settles down. +Then you'll see the earnest little wheeler as much +appreciated as may be, and dragging the domestic +tilbury along at a rational, <i>bourgeois</i> rate of speed. +One can never tell, my dear."</p> + +<p>"All that," observed Mrs. Ratchett dryly, "doesn't +ring true, Louisa, and—what's worse—it isn't even +clever. You're fond of Margery Palffy."</p> + +<p>"It's froth!" exclaimed Mrs. Carnby, "the kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +of froth one sticks on the top of a horrid little pudding +to conceal its disgusting lack of merit. Don't +ask me what I think of men, Ethel. I couldn't tell +you, without employing certain violent expletives, +and nowadays no really original woman swears!"</p> + +<p>A distant, whirring snore, very faint at first, had +grown louder as they were speaking, and now swelled +into a muffled roar, as Andrew's automobile lunged +up the driveway, and stopped, sobbing, before the +villa. Mrs. Carnby raised her voice, to carry across +the lawn:</p> + +<p>"Have you had breakfast?"</p> + +<p>Andrew, turning from the automobile, waved his +hand in reply.</p> + +<p>"We broke down near the Pavilion Henri Quatre," +he called. "The others had breakfast while I was +making repairs. I coffeed so late that I wasn't +hungry. I knew that I could hold over till tea-time."</p> + +<p>The party, five in number, came chattering toward +them across the lawn. Old Mrs. Lister led the way, +followed by her son and Madame Palffy, whom Mrs. +Carnby always invited to Poissy for the first Sunday +of the season—"to get it over with," as she had been +heard to say. Behind were Andrew and Margery. +Jeremy was to bring Palffy, De Boussac, and Ratchett +down by the late train, and these, with Kennedy, +Radwalader, and Mrs. Ratchett, completed the +house-party.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lister, whom Radwalader had described to +Andrew as "the jail-breaker, because she never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +finishes a sentence," plunged abruptly into one of her +disconnected prolations, addressing herself to Mrs. +Carnby:</p> + +<p>"Of course, we are <i>most</i> reprehensibly late—but +you see—I don't understand about these things—Mr. +Vane said—it's so difficult to comprehend—but +it was something that the gravel—or was it the +dust?—at all events—and I always say that meals +above <i>all</i> things—but then accidents are simply +<i>bound</i> to occur—I do hope you didn't wait—and it +was delightful—my first experience—but of course +we <i>had</i> to—there was no telling how long—though +fortunately—and I'm quite fagged out, dear Mrs. +Carnby—as I say to Jack—when one is young, you +know—but when one gets to fifty-four—though I +don't complain—I think one should never regret—and +I enjoyed the drive—or does one say ride?—it's +so difficult—"</p> + +<p>She paused for breath, and Madame Palffy took +up the tale.</p> + +<p>"It was <i>fas</i>—cinating, <i>fas</i>—cinating," she said, +"and most exciting. I reached St. Germain quite +<i>en déshabille</i>. Mr. Vane kindly took Margery on +the front seat. Mrs. Lister and I sat behind, and +Mr. Lister on the floor, with his feet on the step. +It was flying."</p> + +<p>And she waved her fat hands, and sank ponderously +into a chair.</p> + +<p>"My most humble apologies, Mrs. Carnby," said +Andrew. "It couldn't really be helped, and I provided<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +my crew with sufficient nourishment to keep +them alive till dinner."</p> + +<p>"You're forgiven," replied his hostess, "only don't +do it again. After all," she added, looking Andrew +wickedly in the eye, "your crime, like dear old Sir +Peter Teazle's, carried its punishment along with it."</p> + +<p>"Now I come to think of it," observed young +Lister vacuously, "she's his second wife, Madame +Palffy—or <i>is</i> she? Do you know the Flament-Gontouts, +Mrs. Carnby? No? They live up in the +Monceau quarter. She was an American, a Bostonian. +Her maiden name was Fayne—sister of Clarence +Fayne, the painter, who married Mary Clemin, the +daughter of Anthony Clemin, who used to own the +Parker House—"</p> + +<p>He did not appear to be addressing any one in particular, +which was fortunate, as no one had ever been +known to vouchsafe him the compliment of attention. +He spoke with as much variety of expression +as an accountant making comparisons, and invariably, +as now, upon the subject of birth, marriage, and +death—a hopelessly dull young man.</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> write plays?" said Mrs. Carnby, when the +purpose of his presence in Paris had been explained +to her. "Never! But he may have written the +thirty-sixth chapter of Genesis."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that's quite cold," said Mrs. Carnby, +as, in compliance with a request, she handed Andrew +a cup of coffee, "but it's your own fault."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he laughed. "Coffee is one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +few things which are more or less good all the way +up and down the thermometer from thirty-two to +two hundred and twelve."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby looked at him critically, as he stirred, +and told herself that he came up strikingly well to +many standards. His hair was neither too short nor +too long, he was perfectly shaved, his stock was +tied to a nicety, his clothes were on friendly terms +with him, his hands were excellently well-kept—and +an hour before he had been tinkering with a +motor!—and his teeth were even and studiously cared +for. He was an aristocrat, a patrician, from his +head to his heels—and it <i>would</i> be a pity, thought +Mrs. Carnby, to have him go the way of what Mrs. +Ratchett had called "the rest of them"—the way of +Tommy Clavercil, for example, whose late <i>affaire</i> +had been so crudely mismanaged that he was no +longer invited to the best tables in the Colony, or +the way of Radwalader's young acquaintance, +Ernest Baxter, who ended up in the Morgue. And +then there was Margery—</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby's eyes came round to her, instantly +narrowed, and dropped. There are moments when +the souls of us come to their twin windows, and look +out, and shout our secrets to the veriest passer-by. +Margery was looking at Andrew Vane—and Mrs. +Carnby <i>saw</i>!</p> + +<p>"<i>Good</i> Lord!" she thought. "Then at least half +of the story's true—and I'm afraid that's about +fifty per cent. too much!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The list of my offences isn't complete, as yet, Mrs. +Carnby," said Andrew. "I very stupidly left my +camera at the Pavilion. I'm afraid I shall have to +go back for it."</p> + +<p>Once more Mrs. Carnby looked at him.</p> + +<p>"I'll go with you," she said suddenly. "I haven't +had a chance to see how your machine runs, as yet, +and, besides, every one of these lazy people will be +wanting to take a nap presently. I know them of +old. I never nap myself. It's a fattening habit."</p> + +<p>"Delighted to have you, I'm sure, Mrs. Carnby."</p> + +<p>There was the slightest trace of hesitation in +Andrew's voice, but Mrs. Carnby rose to her +feet.</p> + +<p>"I may be back to tea, and I may be back to-morrow," +she said to the others. "One never +knows, <i>en automobile</i>."</p> + +<p>She was still frowning perplexedly, as Andrew +steered the automobile deftly out of the gate.</p> + +<p>"It's turned a bit windy," he said. "We didn't +use the dust-cloths coming over, but there's one +under the seat. What do you say—shall we have +it?"</p> + +<p>He bent forward, as she nodded, and dragged the +cloth from its place beneath them. Something +heavy rapped smartly on Mrs. Carnby's foot, and +she looked down with a little exclamation.</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"That?" answered Andrew. "Why—er, that's my +camera."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby leaned back in her seat, drawing the +dust-cloth smoothly over her knees.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think," she said deliberately, "that +you had better tell me your <i>real</i> reason for wanting +to go back to St. Germain—and wanting to go back +alone?"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h4>THE FAIRY GODMOTHER.</h4> + + +<p>They were mounting the steep incline of the +Route de Poissy before Andrew replied. He had +been staring fixedly ahead, absorbed apparently in +the business of guiding the automobile around the +sharp turns of the side streets, before they struck +the wide main road. It was almost as if he had not +heard the remark at all; but Mrs. Carnby knew +better. And she was one of the discerning persons +who never build els on telling observations. Despite +the tension with which the following pause was +instinct, it was Andrew, not she, who first spoke.</p> + +<p>"That was a very singular speech, Mrs. Carnby."</p> + +<p>"<i>On fait ce qu'on peut</i>," said Mrs. Carnby. "You're +a very singular young man, Mr. Vane."</p> + +<p>"I have my failings, of course," said Andrew, a +trifle coolly. "I'm only human, you know. We're +all of us that."</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately, you're <i>not</i> 'only human' my +dear young friend; you're masculine as well. And +we're not all of us <i>that</i>, thank Heaven!"</p> + +<p>"Aren't we talking a little blindly?" suggested Andrew.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, possibly," agreed his companion, "but +some things aren't easy to say. Do you remember +that when one of the old prophets undertook to haul a +monarch over the coals for his misdeeds, he would +always begin with a parable? I think, in this +instance, I shall follow the established precedent."</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you were going to begin by saying +you were old enough to be my mother," retorted +Andrew, with a faint smile.</p> + +<p>"I always skip unimportant details," said Mrs. +Carnby. She observed with satisfaction that, without +increasing the speed at the top of the incline, +Andrew had turned from the direct route to St. +Germain into one of the forest by-roads. Evidently +he was in no haste to curtail the conversation.</p> + +<p>"I'm waiting," he observed presently.</p> + +<p>"Where I used to spend my summers, on the +South Shore," said Mrs. Carnby, with her eyes on +the interlacing foliage overhead, "it was the custom +of the natives to make collections of marine trophies +from the beach and the rock-pools, and work upon +them sundry transformations, with an aim to alleged +artistic effectiveness. They glued the smaller shells +and coloured pebbles on boxes and mirror-frames; +and painted landscapes on the pearl finish of the +larger mussels; and tied baby-ribbon around the sea-urchin +shells; and gilded the dried starfish. You +know what I mean—the kind of thing that comes +under the head of 'A Present from North Scituate' +or 'Souvenir of Nantasket Beach.' But you may,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +perhaps, have remarked the appearance of one and +all of these objects while they were as yet where +nature was pleased to put them—on the sand, +that is, or in the tidal pools. Do you remember the +sheen of the pebbles, the soft pinks and grays of the +starfish? Is there anything comparable to these, +in the artistic combination of all the gilt paint and +baby-ribbon in the world? It seems to suggest, as a +possibility, that nature knows best; and that in +lacking the simple touch of sea-water they lack the +one thing which ever made them beautiful at all. It +opens up a whole tragedy in the phrase 'out of one's +element.' That's my parable."</p> + +<p>"You'll remember," said Andrew, falling in with +her whim, "that the transgressing monarch rarely +understood what the prophet was driving at in his +parable. I, too, must follow precedent."</p> + +<p>"Shall I speak plainly?" asked Mrs. Carnby, +laying her hand for an instant on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Very, please. There seems to be something +rather serious back of all this."</p> + +<p>"<i>Eh bien!</i> You're a young man, Andrew Vane, +to whom fate has been uncommonly civil. Your +family is rather exceptionally good, on—er—on both +sides. Your means are, or will be, some day, almost +uncomfortably ample. You're more than passably +good-looking, and you're surprisingly clever. Your +health is magnificent, and, finally, nature chose +America as your environment."</p> + +<p>"A mixed blessing, that last!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Five words, with Thomas Radwalader in every +letter!" said Mrs. Carnby. "I should think you'd +find the <i>rôle</i> of phonograph rather unsatisfying."</p> + +<p>"I thought you liked him," said Andrew, flushing.</p> + +<p>"And I like the obelisk!" nodded Mrs. Carnby, "but +that doesn't necessarily imply that I should like half +a hundred tin facsimiles set up in its immediate +vicinity, and making the Place de la Concorde look +like a colossal asparagus-bed! There are only three +ways in which a man can be distinguished, nowadays. +He must be unimaginably rich, unspeakably +immoral, or unquestionably original. You're not +the first, as yet, and you've just proved that you're +not the last."</p> + +<p>"I'm not the second, I hope?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby pursed her lips, and wrinkled her +forehead.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not <i>unspeakably</i> immoral," she said, +"but immoral—yes, I think you're that. Of course, +there are many different conceptions of immorality, +and mine may be unique. Let us come back to my +parable. What I mean is this. You were born +with every natural good fortune, and your breeding +and education secure to you every social advantage +which one could possibly desire. You've been +placed, like the sea-urchins or the starfish, in a +situation preëminently befitting you. You're American +in every detail of your sane, clean make-up, my +friend, and you've been given America, the sanest, +cleanest country on God's globe, in which to develop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +and achieve. Might one ask what you're doing +over here? Getting a finish?—that's what it's +called, isn't it? Allowing yourself, that is to say, +to be tied up with the baby-ribbon and decorated +with the gilt paint of Parisian frivolity! And +when you go back—if you ever do—to live in America, +what will you be? 'A Souvenir of Paris,' my +good sir, 'A Present from the Invalides,' as undeniably +as if somebody had lettered the words on +your forehead in ornamental script, and pasted a +photograph of Napoleon's tomb on your shirt-bosom. +That's what <i>I</i> call immoral. I like you better as +an American; I like you better with the sheen of the +salt water on you; I like you better in your element, +Mr. Andrew Vane!"</p> + +<p>"I never heard anything better in the way of a +sermon," said Andrew, groping for an answer.</p> + +<p>"It's too true to be good," retorted Mrs. Carnby. +"Do you believe any of it?"</p> + +<p>"Some, perhaps—not all. And the whole attack +is a litle abrupt. What <i>have</i> I been doing?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing! You've hit upon precisely the objection. +'<i>Tekel!</i>—thou art weighed in the balances and +art found wanting!' Margery Palffy is like my own +daughter to me, Mr. Vane. She calls me her fairy +godmother, you know. Are you looking forward +to introducing her to Mirabelle Tremonceau?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby was once more contemplating the +forest foliage overhead. For the second time in +fifteen minutes, her instinct for distinguishing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +line which separates the boldly effective from the +futilely impertinent was standing her in good stead. +As a matter of fact, Andrew had <i>not</i> been weighed +in the balances—but he was just about to be!</p> + +<p>The forest was all alive with the lisp of leaves, +and the shifting dapple of sunlight and shadow, +and, even as she waited, Mrs. Carnby smiled quietly +to herself, in pure enjoyment of the great Gothic +arches of green, that seemed to thrill and shiver +with delight under the warm sunlight and the fresh +west wind. The forest, like the sea, has in its every +mood a magnificent dignity of its own—a superb +indifference to the transitory doings of man, which +dwarfs human affairs to an aspect of utter triviality. +The world which Mrs. Carnby knew, and toward +which her attitude was alternately one of keen +appreciation and of good-natured contempt—the +world of fashion and frivolity and easy cynicism, +seemed, as she contrasted it with this vast serenity, +to become incomparably little. The suggestion of +endurance and repose with which these shadowy +reaches, opening to right and left, were eloquent, +lent a curious contemptible tawdriness to the little +comedy, so conceivably potential tragedy, in which +she and the man beside her were playing each a +part. How little difference it made, after all, if +men were fools or blackguards, and women wantons +or martyrs! For a moment she was sorry she had +spoken. She felt that here and now she could not +quarrel, or even dispute, with Andrew over what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +he chose to do. The intrusion of intrigue and dissipation +into these forest fastnesses was hideously +incongruous.</p> + +<p>"There's cruelty in what you have said, but I can +see that it's not wanton cruelty, and that there's +kindness as well."</p> + +<p>Andrew was speaking slowly, thoughtfully; almost, +thought Mrs. Carnby to herself, as if he, too, had +been touched by the softening sympathy of the +forest. But she shook off the mood which had been +stealing over her, as being wholly inadequate to the +demand upon her fund of resource. What was +needed, far from being the influence of elemental +nature, was the keenest, if most worldly, diplomacy +of which she was mistress. She straightened herself, +and began to put on her gloves, working the fingers +with the patient care of one who understood that, +with a glove above all things, it is <i>le premier pas qui +coute</i>. Inwardly she was keying taut the strings +of her self-possession. She realized that emotion +would be as fatal to her purpose as would sheer +frivolity.</p> + +<p>"Under your words," continued Andrew, "I can +see that there must lie a more or less intimate +knowledge of many things which we have never +mentioned—many things which I did not suppose +you would ever—"</p> + +<p>"Find out? You really <i>are</i> young, aren't you? +Why, my dear Mr. Vane, any given woman of average +intelligence can find out whatever she chooses about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +any given man, provided always she hasn't the fatal +handicap of being in love with him. Not that I've +been spying upon you, understand. It's hardly a +matter of vital concern to me if you go completely +to the dogs, but Margery would probably give her +heart's blood to hold you back. Therefore, people +tell <i>me</i> all the facts, and keep <i>her</i> in total ignorance. +That's the way of the world. Why, my good sir, I +could probably tell you at this moment how you've +spent fifty per cent. of your time for the past week, +and, between them, the other women back there at +the villa could account for another quarter. With +gossip all things are possible."</p> + +<p>"I didn't think I was of sufficient importance to +call for such strict surveillance," said Andrew.</p> + +<p>"You're not! That's precisely what you must +learn about the American Colony. It's what things +are done, not who does them, that makes four-fifths +of the gabble. A man's a man, and a woman's a +woman, and an intrigue's an intrigue. You could +tag them exhibits A, B, and C, and the Colony would +find almost as much to talk about as if you gave +the full names. What's not known is made up. +It's necessary to find tea-table topics, and necessity +is the mother of invention. You can have no idea, +unless you're in the thick of the gossip, how absorbing +any one person's affairs can be, when there's +nothing better to talk about."</p> + +<p>She admitted frankly to herself that she was talking +to gain time, giving Andrew a chance to find his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +line of reply. It was going to be important, that +reply, at least for Margery Palffy. Mrs. Carnby +would undoubtedly have been at a loss to give a +word-for-word rendition of the duties of a sponsor in +baptism, either fairy or otherwise, according to the +Book of Common Prayer. She recollected vaguely +certain references to the pomps and vanities of the +world, and realized, with a little inward smile, that +she was warring more earnestly against these—and +the rest—in her adopted goddaughter's behalf than +ever she had considered it necessary to do in her +own.</p> + +<p>"As it happens," she continued, "there's been no +one else to claim the centre of the stage for the +past few weeks, and therefore the lime-light has been +turned upon you, as being the latest novelty—and +a highly enterprising one at that! I think it manifestly +impossible that you could have performed all +the exploits credited to you, even had you given all +your time to the task, with no allowance for eating and +sleeping. But I think, too, that you would be surprised +to find how extremely realistic gossip can be +at times, and how much that you think is known +only to yourself or to a few is, in fact, the talk of +half the Colony. You remember dear old Sir Peter +Teazle? I seem always to be quoting him. He +knew such an infinite deal, and guessed so much more. +'I leave my character behind me,' he said, in parting +from the scandal-mongers. Now, that's <i>so</i> true of +Paris—only more. My dear Andrew Vane, not only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +do you leave your character at the tea-table you +are quitting, but you'll meet it, more or less torn +to shreds, at that to which you are going: and, if +you were at the pains, you might find it, in a like +state of demoralization, at a dozen others in the +same <i>arrondissement</i>! I wish I could make you +understand that. It seems to me to be so important +to the conduct of life to know not only how we stand, +but in what manner we fall."</p> + +<p>"As yet the charge against me seems to be a trifle +indefinite," suggested Andrew.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," retorted Mrs. Carnby, "I +mentioned the young person's name quite distinctly—the +one, you know, whom you saw by chance at +the Pavillon Henri Quatre, and whom you were +going back to meet."</p> + +<p>"I can't pretend to misunderstand you," began +Andrew, "but of course any reflection upon Mademoiselle +Tremonceau—"</p> + +<p>"Now, my dear man, <i>pray</i> don't be comic!" burst +in Mrs. Carnby. "That sort of thing is as grotesque +in these days as the doctrine of original sin. And of +all places in the world—Paris! Oh no! A spade's +a spade here, believe me, and when one is <i>demi-mondaine</i>, +like Mirabelle Tremonceau, one is perfectly +understood. <i>She</i> knows, and <i>you</i> know, and +<i>I</i> know. Don't let us argue over the indisputable."</p> + +<p>"I <i>didn't</i> know, at first," said Andrew gravely, +"and, if I have guessed recently, you must not take +that to mean that our relations have changed in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +least degree. There's nothing between Mademoiselle +Tremonceau and myself that I could not mention, +Mrs. Carnby—absolutely nothing. But her friend +I've been, and her friend I am. I'm not prepared +to hear her branded as a 'moral leper' or something +of the sort. How hard you are, you good women!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose," said Mrs. Carnby resignedly, "that +when one adds two and two, the result is bound to +be four. It isn't ever five or thirty-seven, by any +chance, is it, just by way of variety? It's provokingly +inevitable; but not more so than what a man +will say under certain circumstances. Do I really +seem to you that kind of person? Do you really +imagine that I'm objecting to your <i>penchant</i> for the +little Tremonceau, on the ground that her ideas of +moral deportment are not all that might be desired? +I hadn't thought that I gave the impression of being +so desperately archaic."</p> + +<p>"But you were about to warn me—"</p> + +<p>"Merely to keep that self-same eccentricity of +deportment well in mind, my friend. <i>Chacun dans +sa niche</i>, Mr. Vane—the little Tremonceau and you, as +well as the rest of us. And hers is not the Palais de +Glace before four o'clock, nor yet a <i>matinée classique</i> +at the Français; and yours is not her victoria in the +Bois. Don't be crude. A certain amount of privacy +in the conduct of such affairs is as troublesome as a +pocket-handkerchief or a bathing-suit—but quite as +essential. <i>Ne vous affichez pas.</i> It only shows you +to be an amateur—in the American sense—and to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +amateurish, nowadays, is to be grotesque. And, of +course, it doesn't make any difference how innocent +your relations may be. So long as Mirabelle Tremonceau +is a figure in the calculation, there's no reason +why people should not believe anything they choose."</p> + +<p>"You mentioned Miss Palffy," ventured Andrew. +"Have you heard that she—that I—"</p> + +<p>"Indirectly. That, frankly, is why I have taken +the liberty of meddling in your affairs. It really +isn't quite fair on the girl to bungle things. So long +as you're going to work to gallicize yourself, pray +make a thorough job of it. Don't copy the Frenchman's +license, and neglect to imitate his discretion. +I abhor half-made methods."</p> + +<p>"But Miss Palffy—"</p> + +<p>"Is heels over head in love with you, Mr. Vane. +That much I know. I don't ask about <i>your</i> feelings. +As a matter of fact, they haven't much bearing on +the main issue, which is that I don't mean to have +her disappointed in her estimate of you, for want of a +friendly warning from an old woman who has seen +many a young man spoil his life just because he took +serious things too lightly and trivial ones too seriously."</p> + +<p>"I wonder how much of this is serious advice, +Mrs. Carnby," said Andrew suddenly, and with a +perceptible ring of irritation in his voice, "and how +much of it banter, with more than a suggestion of +contempt. Apparently you're urging me to a change +of course; actually, only to a change of method. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +know you can't approve of my friendship for Mademoiselle +Tremonceau, and yet you're not asking me +to give it up, but only to put it out of sight and hearing. +Isn't that—excuse me—but isn't it rather +like trafficking with one's ideas of right and wrong? +If one's doing no harm, why not go on? If one's to +blame, why not pull up short?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nobody pulls up short, in these days," said +Mrs. Carnby, "except habitual drunkards who have +been pronounced incurable. One mustn't ask too +much of people. It's like the servants: the old-fashioned +kind used to brush the dust into a dust-pan, +wrap it up in newspapers, and see that the ash-man +carried it off; now they sweep it under the beds +and sofas, where it can't be seen. One mustn't +complain of knowing it's there, so long as it isn't +actually in evidence. <i>Autre temps autres mœurs.</i> +It's a long cry from Hester Prynne to Mirabelle +Tremonceau. Besides, pulling up short all by oneself +is one thing, and pulling a woman up short into the +bargain is quite another. She might object, the little +Tremonceau."</p> + +<p>"She hasn't the shadow of a claim on me."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Mrs. Carnby, wrinkling her +eyes amusedly at the corners, "of course not." +Inwardly she added, "Two and two make four!"</p> + +<p>"Whereas Margery—"</p> + +<p>"Whereas Margery," echoed Mrs. Carnby, "will +play a part which convention has made absolutely +iron-clad. She will continue to love, as she loves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +now, an ideal man, endowed with an almost embarrassing +multiplicity of imaginary virtues; and, +incidentally, will pray daily that she may become +worthy of him. Then, when he has sown his wild +oats, perhaps he'll come to her, at his own good +pleasure, and lay at her feet what he has achieved—a +pleasant smattering of things generally talked +about, a comprehensive intimacy with things generally +<i>not</i> talked about, a tobacco heart, and a set of +nerves which make him unfit for publication three +days in the week. With these somewhat insufficient +materials she will proceed to build up something +indefinitely resembling her original ideal. And they +will be married. And they will live—hem! <i>haply</i>—ever +afterwards!"</p> + +<p>Andrew swung the automobile round a sharp +corner with a vicious jerk, and they emerged from +the shelter of the wood-road, and found themselves +again upon the glaring white of the Route de Poissy. +St. Germain was not far distant. They could see +the <i>octroi</i> and the first houses through the trees. +But it was toward Poissy that Andrew turned.</p> + +<p>"Shall we go back?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"If you think the little Tremonceau won't be +angry at the delay," answered Mrs. Carnby pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"I'm fond of her," said Andrew abruptly, "very."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that," said Mrs. Carnby, almost with +enthusiasm. "It excuses a great deal. I confess +I was afraid that you were trying to be big—to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +'show off,' as the children say. After all, she's the +most beautiful <i>cocotte</i> in Paris, and the most sought +after. One couldn't have blamed you for being +flattered. But if you're really fond of her, one can't +very well do anything except be glad that it's impossible +you should always be so."</p> + +<p>"Why impossible?" demanded Andrew. "I'm +bound to confess that it seems to me to be quite +within the range of likelihood that I should always +be fond of her. Why impossible?"</p> + +<p>"It's hard to explain—that," said Mrs. Carnby, +"but those women don't wear. They seem to be +only plated with fascination, and in time the plating +wears off, and you come back to the kind with the +Hall-mark. I'm perfectly at ease about that. I've +known too many cases of its happening. Oh, I +know how it all is now! The polish is absolutely +dazzling, and you can't imagine that it will ever +be different. That's a symptom of the earliest +stages, but the disease will run its regular course."</p> + +<p>"You rather touch one on the quick, Mrs. Carnby. +I think perhaps neither of us realizes what an extremely +unusual conversation this has been."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't call it commonplace," said Mrs. +Carnby, "and I think you've stood it beautifully. +But I want to ask you one more question. <i>Do</i> +you love Margery?"</p> + +<p>"With all my heart and soul and strength, Mrs. +Carnby!"</p> + +<p>"Then, my dear young friend, it's time to think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +what you're about. There's only one thing for +you to do. The path lies open before you—and I +think you'll have the courage and the good sense, +to say nothing of the common decency, to follow +it!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h4>SOME AFTER-DINNER CONVERSATION.</h4> + + +<p>Night in the garden of the Villa Rossignol was +as night is nowhere else. The cool dusk softened +the somewhat stilted formality of the flower-beds +and winding walks, and mercifully blurred the uncompromising +stiffness of the paved terrace, flanked by +marble urns, and giving, in three broad steps, upon +the lawn. At this season the air was neither warm +nor chill, but so deliciously adjusted that, as it +moved, its touch on the cheeks and forehead was +like that of a woman's fingers. The stillness was +emphasized rather than disturbed by a tiny tinkle +of water, falling from ledge to ledge of a rockery +hidden in the trees, and the sound, hardly less liquid, +of a nightingale, rehearsing, pianissimo, snatches of +the melody that midnight would hear in full. The +darkness seemed to drip perfume: for the little +seats and summer-houses, cunningly hidden here +and there among the <i>bosquets</i>, were veritable bowers +of roses, and the new grass and foliage had that +fresh June smell which July, with its dust and +scorching suns, so soon turns stale.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>The women were on the terrace now; the men +inside. Through the windows of the west wing, +open from floor to ceiling to the soft night air, the +big dining-table gleamed with linen, silver, and +crystal, in not ungraceful disarray, and above it hung +a thin haze of blue-gray smoke, through which the +shirt-bosoms and white waistcoats of the men stood +oddly out, seeming to have no relation to their +owners, whose faces were cut off by the deep-red +candle-shades from the light, and so from the view +of those outside. Now and again their laughter +came out through the windows in rollicking little +gusts, and immediately thereafter the haze of smoke +was reinforced.</p> + +<p>"What an amusing time they always seem to have, +once they're rid of us!" said Mrs. Ratchett, almost +resentfully. "If one could be a fly, now, and perch +in comfort, upside down, upon the ceiling—"</p> + +<p>"One would get a vast deal of tobacco-smoke +into one's lungs," put in Mrs. Carnby, "and a vast +store of unrepeatable anecdotes into one's memory. +I really can't approve of your project, Ethel, and +I'm convinced that, to your particular style of +beauty, it would be most unbecoming to perch—particularly +upside down!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the men!" exclaimed old Mrs. Lister, with +a kind of ecstatic wriggle. "What <i>do</i> you suppose?—but +of course we shall never know—I dare say we'd +be quite shocked—but it sounds entertaining—and +they say, you know, that the cleverest stories—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +Mr. Radwalader must be an adept—if only we +<i>could</i>—!"</p> + +<p>"For my part," observed Madame Palffy majestically, +"I have no desire to overhear anything in +the nature of <i>double entendre</i>."</p> + +<p>"Oh, shade of Larousse!" murmured Mrs. Carnby +into her coffee-cup. "Where <i>did</i> the creature learn +her French? Shall we take a little walk?" she added +aloud, turning to Margery.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes—with pleasure, Mrs. Carnby," answered +the girl, with a quick start. Her eyes had +been fixed upon an indistinct form beyond the +window of the dining-room, which was the person +of Mr. Andrew Vane.</p> + +<p>For a few moments they trod the winding gravel +path in silence. Then, as a clump of shrubbery +hid the house from view, she stopped impulsively, +and laid her hand on the arm of her hostess.</p> + +<p>"Fairy godmother—" she began.</p> + +<p>"Now, my dear girl," interrupted Mrs. Carnby, +"don't say anything you'll be sorry for afterwards. +I'm a very vain, weak, silly, gossipy old woman—but +I <i>am</i> a woman, Margery, and that means that +I often see things I'm not meant to see, and which +I wish I hadn't. Don't give me your confidence +just because you feel that I may have guessed—"</p> + +<p>"I <i>know</i> you've guessed, Mrs. Carnby!" broke +in Margery, "and, after all, it's just as well, because +I must speak to some one. I feel, somehow, as if I'd +lost my way, and I think I'm a little frightened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +I've always been very sure of myself till now, very +confident of my ability to judge what was the right +thing to do, and to get on without advice. But +now—it's different. I'm unhappy."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby slid her arm across the girl's shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Go on, my dear," she said. "I didn't mean that +I wasn't willing to listen—only that I wouldn't like +to feel that I was surprising your confidence."</p> + +<p>"First of all," said Margery, "and in spite of +everybody's kindness to me, I'm afraid I hate this +new life, which is so different from everything I've +learned to know and love. I hate all this pretence +and posing which we're carrying on, day after day, +among people who smirk before our faces and ridicule +us behind our backs; and I'm coming to hate +myself worst of all. I want my life to be better +than that of a butterfly among a lot of wasps! In +America I hadn't time to stop and think whether I +was happy or not, and I've read somewhere that +that is just what true happiness means. Everything +was very natural and simple over there. I used +to wake up wanting to sing, and life seemed to begin +all over again every morning. And then, without +the least warning, came to me—what you've guessed, +you know. I was sure of it at once. There was +nothing said, but one feels such things, don't you +think?—feels them coming, just as one feels the +dawn sometimes, even while it's still quite dark? +I had a little hint or two—just enough to make me +confident and happier than ever. I knew there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +were reasons for his not speaking: I guessed at his +grandfather, and a very little thought showed me +that it could do no harm to wait. I wanted him to +be sure, just as sure as I was. I was even content +to come away and leave him. I <i>knew</i>, you see, and I +saw it was only a question of time. I never doubted +for a moment how it would end, and so I wasn't the +least bit surprised when he came through the <i>salon</i> +door, that Sunday in Paris. I thought—I was <i>sure</i> +he'd come for me. I could have shouted, I was so +happy, Mrs. Carnby! I had to turn away and pretend +to be admiring some roses, I remember, because +I felt that I was smiling—no, <i>grinning</i>—and just at +nothing! Well—"</p> + +<p>She paused, with a catch in her throat, and then +went on determinedly.</p> + +<p>"I've—I've been waiting ever since. We're good +friends, almost <i>too</i> good friends, but there's something +missing, something gone. I'm afraid you'll +hardly understand me if I say that ever since last +summer in Beverly I've felt that he belonged to +me—all of him—every bit. Now—well, I can't +feel that way any longer. It is just as if I were +sharing him with somebody or something, and not +getting the better or even the larger part. I've +heard—well, you know how gossip goes! I've +heard that there was another girl. He's been seen +with her, often and often. People might have +spared me, if they'd known: but of course they +didn't; and so I've picked up fragments and fragments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +of talk, and every one has cut me like a knife. +In the midst of all this, he came to me and asked +me—no! he asked me nothing, but I knew what he +meant. I put him off. I felt that I must have +time to think. But the moment for decision has +come. He may ask me again at any time. What +shall I say? Fairy godmother, what <i>shall</i> I say? +I <i>want</i> to trust him! I want to stake my confidence +in him against all the gossip in the world. +And yet if he's only asking me because he thinks I +expect it, if he really doesn't <i>want</i> me—"</p> + +<p>"He <i>does</i> want you!" said Mrs. Carnby. "I could +shake you, Margery. You're <i>so</i> far off the track, and +at the same time you make it so hard to show you +why. Let me see."</p> + +<p>She hesitated, biting her lips.</p> + +<p>"Look here," she continued suddenly. "Suppose +you had a baby brother, for example, and you +loved him better than all the world, and you knew +that, in his baby way, he felt the same love for you, +and you should carry him, all of a jump, into the +next room, and plant him down in front of a ten-foot +Christmas-tree, all blazing with candles and glass balls +and whatchercallems—cornucopias—would you be +surprised if he hadn't any use for you for at least an +hour? No, you wouldn't—not a bit of it! You'd think +it quite natural. Well, there you are! You are yourself, +and baby brother's Andrew Vane, and the Christmas +tree's Paris: and you'll just have to wait, that's all, +till he's through blinking and sucking his thumb!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Carnby!" said Margery, laughing in +spite of herself. "Can't you see that, much as I +am afraid of Paris for my own sake, I'm more afraid +of it for his?"</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Carnby, with a change of +tone, "nowadays one's forced to take rather a +liberal view of things. There are only a few delusions +left, and love's not one of them—more's the +pity! The best flowers, Margery—and I grant you +love is one of the <i>very</i> best—are brought to perfection +by methods which it's not always pleasant to follow +in detail. There's a deal of hacking and pruning +and fertilizing and cross-breeding with ignobler +growths to be gone through with before one obtains +a satisfactory result. It's like the most inviting +dishes served up by one's <i>chef</i>: if we had the dangerous +curiosity to pry into all the stages of their preparation, +I doubt if very many of them would stand +the test and prove so tempting, after all. That's the +way with a man. When he brings us his love, we +have to accept it, without inquiring too closely +how it has come to be. You won't think me vain if +I say all men can't be Jeremy Carnbys? When +they know <i>how</i> to love, more often than not it's +because they've learned; and as to how they <i>learned</i>, +it's for our own good not to be too inquisitive. Usually, +my dear, it means another woman, and not a +woman one would be apt to call upon, at that."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Carnby!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Don't be provincial, Margery. I've no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +patience with the whitewash business. It's better +at all times to look things squarely in the face, even +if doing so makes—er—your eyes water! There's +hardly a woman happily married to-day who hasn't +been preceded, and rather profitably preceded, I +venture to say, by another woman—and not a very +good woman either. She's there in the background, +but we have to ignore her, and by the time we notice +her at all it's more than likely she has ceased to be +important. She's been the method of preparing +the dish, that's all, the fertilizer which has made +the rose of love possible. She has taught the man +what neither you nor any girl in the least like you +could teach him—the things which are not worth +while! We get the better part. She has burned +up the chaff. We get the wheat."</p> + +<p>Margery had tightly locked her hands.</p> + +<p>"Fairy godmother," she said, "you don't want +me to believe that, do you? You don't want me +to be only the whim of a man's changed fancy, the +thing on which he practises all he has learned from—from—"</p> + +<p>"I would to Heaven I could <i>make</i> a man fit for +you!" answered Mrs. Carnby, drawing the girl close +to her, "but, since I can't do that, I want you to +see things in their true light, and to learn that charity +begins in the same place which is called a woman's +sphere, and that love, from her standpoint, is little +more than forgiveness on the endless instalment +plan!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But Andrew—" said Margery eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Andrew Vane is only a man," said Mrs. Carnby +sententiously. "He can't be made out a seraph +even by the fact that you—er—"</p> + +<p>"Love him," supplemented the girl brokenly. "I +see what you mean. I would have given anything +in the world to have saved him from this, and—it's +too late, already."</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Mrs. Carnby. +"Now's the time when he needs you most. If you +couldn't win him away from any woman that ever +lived, good or bad, you wouldn't be Margery Palffy! +Bless me! I must be getting back to the others, +my dear. Now don't take this too much to heart. +It's all coming out right in the end. These things +are only temporary, at worst. Be brave, Margery."</p> + +<p>"Oh—brave!" answered Margery, flinging up her +chin. "Yes, I shall be that. Don't fear but that I +shall know how to handle the situation now. And—thank +you, fairy godmother. I'll wait here a few +minutes, if you don't mind, and just—<i>think</i>!"</p> + +<p>As she walked toward the villa again, Mrs. Carnby +compressed her lips.</p> + +<p>"Now there's a deal of common sense in that girl," +she said to herself. "She must have inherited it +from her grandparents!"</p> + +<p>But, with all her shrewdness, she had never more +hopelessly complicated a situation.</p> + +<p>For a time Margery lingered, compelled by the +need of reflection and the beauty of the night. All<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +about her the blue-black darkness, eloquent with +the breath of the roses and the fluting of the now-emboldened +nightingale, sighed and turned in its +sleep, as if it dreamed of pleasant things. Paris, +with its frivolities, its sins, its sorrows, and its snares, +was like some uneasy, half-forgotten dream. The +brand had touched the girl, but as yet it had no +more than stung, it had not seared. The sword +quivered, but the thread yet held. The merciful +garment of the calm, sweet night yet smothered, +like sleep before awakening, the bitterness of full +reality. The moment was one of those oases in +the desert of disillusion which, with the crystal +clamour of falling water, the cool shade of widespread +foliage, and the odour of fresh, moist +earth, alone make tolerable the journey of the +caravan.</p> + +<p>So it was that Margery was able to speak naturally, +with the knowledge of having herself well in hand, +as a step crunched on the gravel near by, and Andrew +flung his cigarette upon the path, where it spawned +in a quantity of tiny points of light, which gloomed +immediately into nothingness.</p> + +<p>"How extravagant you are! Surely you must +know by this time that I don't mind smoke in the +least. I was just about to go in."</p> + +<p>"Not yet for a moment, please," said Andrew. +"Let's come into this little arbour. There's something +I want to say."</p> + +<p>He pointed, as he spoke, to a small marble-columned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +seat in the shrubbery, buried under a great +hood of climbing rose-vines in full bloom. For an +instant only the girl hesitated. Then she led the +way resolutely, gathering her light shawl more +closely about her shoulders, with something like a +shiver, despite the warmth of the still June evening. +For a little they sat in silence. When Andrew +spoke, it was with an abruptness which told of +embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"You remember, perhaps, what you said to me +the other day in Paris—about fighting a good fight, +and keeping the faith? Will you tell me just what +you meant by that? It's been haunting me, lately. +When you said that the influence of Paris made you +afraid for those—for those for whom you might +care, did you mean—<i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>He laid his hand on hers, as he asked the question, +but she drew away slightly, and he straightened +himself again, with a little puzzled frown.</p> + +<p>"Please don't ask me to answer that," she said, +after a moment. "Whatever I meant, it can make +no difference now."</p> + +<p>"No difference, Margery? Do you want me to +understand that you were not in earnest—that +you really didn't care?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't said that," answered the girl wearily. +"I said it could make no difference now, now that +the mischief's done."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I don't understand you," said Andrew +slowly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, pray don't let's discuss it. I've no right to +question you."</p> + +<p>"No right?"</p> + +<p>"No right at all, and, as a matter of fact, when +I said that I didn't mean to. Perhaps I <i>was</i> thinking +of you, in part. I'm sorry I presumed. Only +one doesn't like to see one's friends make fools of +themselves—and that's what most men do in Paris, +isn't it? Never mind. It's like our golf at Beverly. +I prefer to have you play the game, and keep your +own tally."</p> + +<p>"The game?" demanded Andrew. "What game? +What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the game that all men play—the game in +which we have no part, of which we must not even +speak or hear, we women who respect ourselves. +Don't let's talk of it. We're supposed to be friends, +and for that reason I'll overlook what you don't +absolutely force me to see. That's my part, isn't +it?—to pretend I don't understand, even when I +do? And I do—I <i>do</i>! I'm not cynical, but neither +am I a fool. I've lived in Paris only a little while, +but long enough to know that when one says 'boys +will be boys' it sometimes means—oh, more than +putty-blowers, and coming indoors with wet feet, +and pulling out the parrot's tail-feathers!"</p> + +<p>She stopped abruptly, with a perception that +she was overdoing her assumption of unconcern, +that she was talking wildly, that her voice had +taken on an unnatural strain.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't understand you in the least," said Andrew +deliberately, "or at least I'm sure that what you +seem to be saying isn't what you really mean. I +can't believe that after all that has been—after all +I have hoped was going to be—why, Margery, I +came out here—no, I came all the way from America, +to ask you—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't!</i>"</p> + +<p>Margery had risen with the word, and now, leaning +against one of the marble columns of the little +arbour, was looking away into the gloom.</p> + +<p>"I want to believe in you," she added. "Leave +me that, at least. Play the game, Andy—play the +game!"</p> + +<p>"The game—the game—the game!" exclaimed +Andrew. "What is all this you're saying, Margery? +What are you accusing me of? Is it possible +you don't know I love you—that I've always loved +you, ever since first I saw you? I'd have asked you +long ago, at Beverly, but my grandfather begged +me, almost commanded me, to wait. We were +both so young. He wanted me to make sure. And, +although I knew that I should never change, I felt +he was right. I wanted you to have your chance, +to come out, to see a little bit of life, before I tried +to bind you to any promise. And when I heard +that you were not coming back to America this year, +that you <i>had</i> come out, and were the beauty and +the belle of the Colony here, I knew that it was time +to make a try for you, unless I was to lose you forever.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +So I came over here to tell you this—to ask +you to marry me. And now—in Heaven's name, +what <i>is</i> it, Margery? What has changed you? +What do you mean by all this? If there is anything +I can explain—"</p> + +<p>The girl turned to him, with a little, piteous +gesture.</p> + +<p>"Have I asked you for an explanation?" she +said. "Do I need one—since I <i>know</i>? You say +you'd have asked me long ago. Well, then, I +ask you—why didn't you? Why didn't you ask +me before it was too late? Why didn't you ask +me while yet you had something to offer me which +I could have accepted gratefully—your innocence, +your purity, the best of all that was in you, and to +which I had a right, do you hear?—a right! Why +didn't you speak then, before you'd thrown all these +away, sold your birthright, and become like all the +rest? Do you come to me <i>now</i>—now, with another +woman's kisses on your lips, and God only knows +what of the impurity she has taught you in your +heart? Do you come to me like that, and expect +me to welcome you, to accept the fact that I am +your second choice after a woman whose name you +would not mention to me—"</p> + +<p>"Margery—Margery!"</p> + +<p>"Do you deny it? Do you deny that you were +with her—when?—yesterday? Oh, be true at least +to <i>one</i> thing, whatever it be—if not to the faith you +owed me, if all you've been telling me is true, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +to the woman you've preferred before me—to your +mistress, to your mistress, Andrew Vane!"</p> + +<p>Andrew fell back a step, putting up his hands as +if to ward off a blow.</p> + +<p>"It was for this," he faltered, "that you told me +to come here—to ask you anything I chose?"</p> + +<p>"You know better than that!" said Margery +firmly.</p> + +<p>"Then Mrs. Carnby has been telling you—"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Carnby has told me nothing except what I +knew—or, rather, tried not to know—before. It +isn't from her I learned. The truth has come to +me bit by bit, and I've fought against it as +it came, trying to believe in you to the very +last."</p> + +<p>"And you think—"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes! I think—I <i>know</i>! How quick you +were to refer to Mrs. Carnby! She knows, of course—everybody +knows—even I! Well, I don't want to +criticise you or blame you. You've forced me +into it by making me part of all this. Now, all I ask +of you is to respect me, to leave me out of what you +choose to do in future, and not to mock the name of +love with this pitiful fancy for me—a fancy so trivial +and so idle that it couldn't even hold you back +from transgression. I ask you to go back to her, +or, if you're tired of her already, at least not to come +to me. I'm different from these other women, who +can laugh at such things, and gloss them over, and +forget them. I demand of the man who asks me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +to marry him the selfsame thing that he demands of +me. I demand that he shall be pure!"</p> + +<p>The girl's voice broke suddenly, and she pressed +her cheek against one of the marble columns of the +little arbour, battling against the insistence of her +tears.</p> + +<p>"You must forgive me," she said presently. "I +have no right to speak as I have done, but—if you've +guessed the reason, that is part of my humiliation +and my shame. Will you go now? I want to be +alone."</p> + +<p>"How can I?" said Andrew slowly. "How can +I leave you, even for an hour, while you think as +you do? It would mean that all was over between +us forever."</p> + +<p>"All <i>is</i> over," answered Margery, "as much over +as if you or I had been dead for twenty years!"</p> + +<p>"Listen to me!" exclaimed Andrew hotly. "And +you shall have the truth, if that's what you want. +There <i>is</i> such a woman—yes! But she is no more +a part of my life than that bird out there. She has +been an incident, nothing more. You had only to +ask me, and I would never have seen her again. +You have only to ask me now—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, stop!" broke in Margery. "Don't make me +despise you!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Margery!</i>" +He had stumbled forward blindly into this abortive +explanation, remembering for the moment nothing +but his own knowledge of the truth. Now, as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +checked him, a sickening sense of what his words +must signify to her swept down upon him, and he +covered his face with his hands.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how to put it," he murmured. "I +don't know what to say."</p> + +<p>"You have said quite enough," replied Margery. +Her voice was quite cool, quite steady now. "I +have asked you once to leave me. Will you please +go now—at once?"</p> + +<p>Andrew dropped his hands, and searched her face +with his eyes. There was no trace in it of any emotion +beyond a slight contempt.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean," he asked, "that this is the end?"</p> + +<p>"The end?" she repeated. "The end—er—of +<i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>With that he left her.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h4>REACTION.</h4> + + +<p>Noon of the following day found Andrew once +more in the Rue Boissière. He had not seen Margery +from the moment when he had left her in the +arbour. She had come in while the men were playing +billiards, and gone directly to her room, pleading a +headache, an excuse which was also made to cover +her non-appearance in the morning. The two +hours immediately following breakfast passed laboriously, +the whole party hanging together with that +kind of helpless attraction which characterizes the +bubbles in a cup of tea. There was a general sense +of relief when the big Panhard purred up the driveway, +and Andrew, Radwalader, and Kennedy whirled +off in it to Paris. Monsieur and Madame Palffy +and the Listers were to follow almost immediately +by train, and Mrs. Carnby was talking a continuous +stream of the most unmitigated gossip.</p> + +<p>"If I had stopped to think that in an hour they +would all be gone," she told Jeremy, that night, +"I would first have screamed the General Thanksgiving +at the top of my lungs, and then had the +vapours—whatever they may be!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was something the same feeling which had +prompted Radwalader to remark, as they rolled +away from the villa:</p> + +<p>"I wonder if General Sherman had ever been to a +house-party with the Listers when he made that +remark about war."</p> + +<p>Then, as Andrew made no reply, he relapsed into +silence. He possessed that most precious gift of +the Gods—the knowledge of when not to talk.</p> + +<p>But it was when Andrew was once more alone in +his familiar quarters, and had flung himself moodily +into a chair, that the full force of his situation +returned upon him. In twelve hours the whole world +had changed. He realized for the first time that, +as a matter of fact, there had never been in his mind +the shadow of a doubt that the way lay clear before +him, that the attainment of his wishes had been, in +his calculations, no more than a matter of time. +He had relied upon Margery's constancy like a +mariner upon that of the North Star, and it was +as if that luminary had suddenly flung away from +him into some new and wholly unfamiliar constellation. +The man who offers his hand in friendship +and is stabbed in reply is not more aghast than was +he. He was bitterly hurt, bitterly resentful. He +had taken Mrs. Carnby's reprimand as something +to which, if it was not wholly deserved, he had at least +laid himself open: but that was a very different +matter from the scornful and passionate rebuff +which he had received from Margery herself. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +first had almost afforded him a sense of relief. Like +a child who is conscious of some slight transgression, +the rebuke had seemed to set things square, to wipe +out his fault, and give him absolution and a chance +for a fresh start. But what followed, so wholly out +of proportion to his knowledge of the truth, left +him only conscious of a monstrous and unpardonable +injustice. Complete innocence is never so jealous +or so resentful as is the half-innocence in which +lurks a hint of self-accusation, a suspicion of actual +guilt. He had stood ready, with a kind of fierce +and proud submission, to accept such blame as could +be rightly laid at his door, but this very attitude of +partial contrition flamed into anger the moment +the scale was tipped too far in his disfavour. He +did not see that the main factor in his revolt was +the same as that in his acceptance of Mrs. Carnby's +words—a sense of disloyalty, that is, to what he knew +in his heart to be the true and manly course. He +was very young, and moreover he had fallen, to at +least an appreciable extent, from the high estate +of his best ideals. Conscience impelled him to +accept with humility as much of censure as he conceived +that he deserved, but the savage pride of +youth commanded him not to yield a single foot +of ground beyond that which, by his folly, he had +forfeited. He had been wrong; that he was willing +to acknowledge: but his punishment had fallen too +suddenly and too hard. Other men had done +worse—infinitely worse—and had prospered. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +for him, it was already too late to turn back. He +was learning, albeit rebelliously, that standards of +conduct are the boomerangs of the moral armament. +The expert may juggle with them with comparative +security; but the novice who recklessly flings them +into space and then seeks to resume his hold upon +them is apt to suffer a rude blow in the attempt. +<i>Facilis descensus</i>—but the way of retreat is choked +with briers and strewn with boulders, and never +wholly retraceable.</p> + +<p>Essentially, Andrew Vane was very clean, with +an instinctive revulsion from whatever savoured of +animalism or sensuality. Among a certain class +of men at Harvard he had been called, for a time, +"Galahad" Vane; with that impulse to sneer which +is irrepressible in those who resent what they find +themselves forced to respect. There was something +peculiarly appropriate, however, about the name +thus bestowed in ridicule: for that fine sense of +nicety which is a safeguard more sure than abstract +principle had held him instinctively aloof from +whatever was simply sordid or unclean. Temptation +of the baser sort, which left its furrows on the +sand of natures less refined, washed harmlessly over +the sturdy rock of his self-respect. The illicit was +inseparably associated in his mind with vulgarity. +To seek a pleasure which necessitated keeping one +eye on the police and the other on one's purse smote +him, even in suggestion, with a sickening sense of +degradation. He passed by, with the sniff of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +thoroughbred terrier, the carrion in which his fellows +rolled.</p> + +<p>But it was to this very fastidiousness that Mirabelle +had appealed: and because she so fully satisfied +it he at first misunderstood the situation utterly. +It came to him clothed in a refinement, a daintiness, +an atmosphere of soft lights and flowers and <i>savoir +faire et vivre</i> which spoke eloquently to all that was +sensuous in his nature, and stirred nothing of what +was merely sensual. That was the French of it. +The national deftness which is able to make plain +women beautiful, and ordinary viands delicacies, +finds its parallel in the national ability to smother +the first approach of impropriety in disguises infinitely +varied. And Mirabelle herself was more than +content not to urge the issue. For the first time in +her experience, she was unable to scent an ulterior +motive in a man's admiration. She appreciated the +simplicity of Andrew's attitude, without fully comprehending +its significance. Back of it, no doubt, +lay the as yet undeveloped progressions in a routine +all too familiar: but she was grateful for the respite.</p> + +<p>But a chance word, now and again, had stirred of +late the serenity of their curious relation. He put +away the thought which forced itself upon him, but +it returned invariably, and each time with a suggestion +of more eloquent appeal. The subtle influence +of Paris, which undermines the bulwarks of principle +and prejudice by insensible degrees, was at work. +Daily he heard the things which he had instinctively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +avoided treated as inevitable and by no means +unjustified accessories of life; daily the insinuating +tooth of epigrammatic banter gnawed at the +stability of his former convictions; while the very +offences which had always repelled him by their sordid +vulgarity were now accomplished all about him, +light-heartedly, to the clink of crystal glasses, the +soft pulse of waltz music, the ripple of laughter, and +the ring of gold. All that is most lavish and most +ingenious in the imaginative power and the executive +ability of man had been laid under contribution +to produce the effect which now enthralled his +senses. None of the ordinary restrictions and limitations +of life raised a finger to check this pagan +prodigality of license. Economy, responsibility, and +every more serious consideration stood aside from +the path of sovereign pleasure. The world had given +of its best with a lavish hand, for here was not only +the gold to pay for, but the wit to appreciate, perfection. +The labels on these cobweb-covered vintages, +the dishes they enhanced, the flowers they +rivalled in perfume, the music, the lights, the laughter, +all spoke one language—a language forgetful of +the past, heedless of the future, but eloquent as the +tongue of Circe of the present joy of living. These +men and women were civilization's latest work—the +best, in the sense of ultra-elaboration, that the experience +of the ages had enabled her to accomplish. +They had been prodigally dowered with the extremes +of sensuous refinement; they were clothed, fed, housed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +and diverted by the ultimate attainments of human +invention and skill; they demanded that life should +be a festival, and every detail of existence the child +of a most cunning imagination and a consummate +faculty of execution: and this was the spot where +was given them what they asked. The goddess of +luxury, in whose ears their prayers were poured, and +at whose feet their gold was piled, could do no more. +They had climbed the capstone of her pyramid, her +sun had touched its zenith, and her last word was +said!</p> + +<p>So, as Andrew considered his present state, he was +aware of the force of Radwalader's remark that in +Paris a man had something for which, instead of +merely something on which, to live. Life took on a +new aspect. In Boston it had been wholesome, +monotonous, gray, silver, and brown: in Paris it was +heady, infinitely varied, gold, purple, and rose-pink. +In another of his fanciful moods, Radwalader had +described it as a sapiently ordered dinner: and this, +too, now that his eyes were opened, Andrew understood. +There were the soups and solid courses—the +architecture, history, and artistic associations of the +great city: there were, by way of whetting the appetite, +the clean little <i>hors d'œuvres</i>, radishes, anchovies, +and olives—the tea-tables of the Colony, the theatres, +the talks with Mrs. Carnby and the women of +her set: but there were, as well, the wines and +<i>sauces piquantes</i>—the races, the restaurants at midnight, +the Allée at noon, and Mirabelle Tremonceau!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +The beauty and luxury of it all continually charmed +his senses; the fever of it stirred hotly in his blood.</p> + +<p>Lately, he had been conscious of noticing things +about Mirabelle which had never been part of his +analysis of another woman. To him, with one exception, +a girl had been a face or a form, to be associated +with, or brought back to memory by, a +snatch of waltz-music, a perfume, or a particular +effect of moonlight on water, or sunlight upon +foliage. Margery Palffy was the exception, but it +was not she who had taught him the faculty of observation +which, of late, he had applied to her. Not +from her had he learned to remark details—how the +skin crinkled along her nose before a laugh came and +after it had gone, how her chin cut in under sharply, +and then swelled softly again before it met her +throat. Now, for the first time, he was conscious +that a woman is never wholly silent—that a whisper +of lace or a lisp of silk speaks the movement that is +unapparent to the eye. Already he had found that +her frown can be mirth-provoking, and her smile of +a sadness beyond description. Already he was become +weatherwise in his understanding of the +ripples of expression blown by the shifting winds of +inner thought across her eyes. He knew when she +was bored, by the barely perceptible compression of +her lower lip, which told of a skilfully smothered yawn; +when she was secretly amused, by the little curving +line which showed for an instant on either cheek; +when she was troubled or puzzled, by the tiniest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +contraction of her eyebrows. In his recollection +dwelt such trifles as the nicking of a full instep by +the edge of a slipper, the falling away of lace from a +lifted wrist, the sudden swell of rounded muscles +beneath the ear when the head is turned aside, and +the imprint of pointed nails and the jewels of rings +on the fingers of a discarded glove. If he had remembered +the noses, eyes, and mouths of other +women, his memory now caressed the veins in her +wrists, the little wisps of hair low in her neck, the +interlinking of her long lashes, the shadow from +chin to ear, and the silvering touch of sunlight on +the down of her averted cheek. Such things had +his study of her taught him. Trifles, all! Yet does +a man ever forget that woman, through his intimacy +with whom these perceptions were first born, like +golden threads newly discovered in the warp and +woof of some familiar fabric? And that woman +was Mirabelle Tremonceau.</p> + +<p>So it was this—all this—Paris, and her luxury, +charm, and infinite, bewildering appeal—with +which he had merely toyed, because, at the back +of his appreciation, lay ever the thought of what +Margery Palffy meant to him, and what he had +come to ask of her! What had been his reward? +Because he had been neither one thing nor the other +he was treated as the outcast he had not dared to +be. He had no more than fingered the nettle, +instead of grasping it boldly, like a man, and so—it +had stung! He had relied, throughout, upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +something which did not exist—the loyalty of those +for whose sake he had striven to keep himself, in all +essentials, clean. When he came to them, prepared +to admit his little follies, they had slammed the +gate of injustice in his face!</p> + +<p>Of a sudden, the scene in the garden at Poissy +leaped back at him, and he rose and began to pace +the room. They trusted hearsay, did they? They +gossiped about him, each to each, among themselves? +They cast him off, as he had been a pariah, without +a chance to justify himself, to give them the explanation +which he had been ready to offer, but they +unprepared to believe? Well, then, they should +have their fill! He had tried to enter what he +supposed was a friendly port, and had been torpedoed, +raked fore and aft at the very haven's +mouth, and sent about his business like the veriest +privateer. But there <i>were</i> friendly harbours! There +was still Radwalader—his friend! There was still +Mirabelle! How ready they were to believe her +guilty, between whom and himself there existed +nothing but a friendship wholly pure!</p> + +<p>Now, the curious chivalry of youth had him +firmly in its grasp—the curious, unreasoning, treacherous +chivalry which has not learned to discriminate +as yet, but which cloaks its own essential selfishness +in a fierce allegiance to the thing of the moment, +blind to all larger issues, lance in rest to tilt at windmills, +hotly insistent upon the immaterial present, +scornful of the future, contemptuous of the past.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +This girl at whom they were all so eager to cast a +stone, this girl who was his friend, and whose only +friend he seemed to be—was it not to her that he +owed his utmost loyalty, rather than to her who +had so readily rejected him upon no better pretence +than that of hearsay? Because others refused to +grant him the confidence in his integrity which they +fully owed him, was that any reason for his proving +uncharitable, too?—for siding against Mirabelle and +with them?</p> + +<p>Andrew clenched his fingers savagely.</p> + +<p>"She is my friend!" he said aloud, "my friend! +As for the rest, if they want proof of my depravity, +by the Lord they shall have it to the full!"</p> + +<p>The Tempter was very near now, glorying in the +preliminary moves of Vanity, his stanch ally.</p> + +<p>The bell whirred sharply, as Andrew paced the +<i>salon</i> to and fro, and, a moment later, his servant +tapped and entered.</p> + +<p>"Well, Jules?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Une dame, monsieur</i>," announced Vicot suavely, +and then—Andrew found her hand in his. There +was a suggestion of challenge in her eyes as she +lifted them to his, and, before she spoke, her eyebrows +went up questioningly and her even white +teeth nicked her lower lip.</p> + +<p>"You're not angry?"</p> + +<p>"Angry?" said Andrew. "Why should I be? +I'm surprised, perhaps: I wasn't expecting you. +But angry?—no, certainly not. I'm very pleased."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p>But, for the moment, there was no conviction in +his tone. Her coming smote him with a vague +uneasiness. It was something new, this—something +for which he found himself wholly unprepared. He +seemed to divine that a significant development +was imminent, and that, in some sense not fully +clear, his threshold was a Rubicon—which she had +crossed!</p> + +<p>In the <i>antichambre</i> Monsieur Vicot was scribbling +his master's name and his own initials in the receipt-book +of a little, domino-shaped messenger-boy. +Then, as young Mercury went whistling down the +stairs, he turned the blue missive over and over in +his fingers.</p> + +<p>"I'll be damned if Radwalader sees it!" he ejaculated, +and thrust it in his pocket, where, for a vitally +important period, it remained—forgotten!</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h4>RHAPSODIE HONGROISE, NO. 2.</h4> + + +<p>"It was a whim, if you like," said Mirabelle, a +little unevenly, as she stripped off her gloves. "I +hadn't seen you for four whole days, except for +that little glimpse at St. Germain, and I was tired, +cross, and a little lonely. So I took the chance of +your being back and of finding you alone and disengaged. +Perhaps, if you've nothing to do, you +will let me stay to breakfast. I told Pierre that I +would send down word if he was not to wait. Will +you ask your man to say so?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>Andrew touched the bell, gave the message, and, +when Jules had gone, stood for a moment by the +table fingering his letters. Mirabelle had removed +her veil and hat, but was still at the mirror, touching +the trifling disarrangement of her hair. Their eyes +met in reflection, and suddenly both laughed. Then +he went over to her side.</p> + +<p>"It's very good to see you again," he said, but +with a slight trace of embarrassment in his voice.</p> + +<p>Mirabelle gave his shoulder a tiny pat.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>L'ami!</i>" she said simply.</p> + +<p>Abruptly her mood changed, and she wheeled +upon him, all eager animation.</p> + +<p>"So this is your little house, great baby! You +must show me everything. It's a picnic, this: we +shall be two children. Paris? <i>Ça n'existe pas! Il +n'y a que nous deux au monde!</i>"</p> + +<p>She perched upon the tall fender, swinging her +feet, and humming a little tune.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oh, la vie bourgeoisé!</i>"</p> + +<p>Subtly her gaiety infected him, and he laughed +again, this time without a hint of embarrassment. +This was another Mirabelle, a Mirabelle he had not +known. In some unaccountable fashion, her mood +stripped her of a decade. She was, in very truth, a +child, with a child's light-hearted mirth, a child's +shiningly excited eyes, a child's imperious demand +to be amused.</p> + +<p>They went over the apartment together, pausing +for all manner of comment. She took an almost +infantile delight in bringing into prim order the +chaos of neckties thrown carelessly into an upper +drawer; smoothed her golden-bronze hair with his +silver-backed brushes; washed her hands at his +basin, and flicked the shining drops of water at him +from the tips of her slender fingers. She mocked +the vanity indicated by a dozen pairs of patent-leathers; +tested, with a feigned shudder, the keenness +of his razors; simulated a furious jealousy at +the discovery of a photograph of Réjane upon his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +dressing-table; rummaged through the cups and +plates and glasses in the <i>vitrine</i>; called him, whimsically, +<i>gran'père</i>, <i>mon oncle</i>, and <i>vieux garçon</i>; +laughed, frowned, scolded, teased, and petted; and +was, in short, the incarnation of a gay, reckless, +<i>toi-et-moi-et-vogue-la-galère</i> femininity.</p> + +<p>Little by little, the charm of her humour gained +upon him. To the man in whose life woman has +never played a thoroughly intimate part there is +something indescribably alluring in her near association +with the little details of commonplace existence. +Andrew was conscious that, in this independence +which he had so lately learned to value, +there had been lacking a something which was now, +for the first time, supplied. A phrase occurred to +him—"the better half." Yes, that was it—the +curious inspiration with which an interested, intimately +concerned woman infects such sordid items +as neckties, cups and saucers. Until then, the +main charm of his new manner of life had lain in its +sheer independence of all save his personal inclination. +Now he was suddenly aware that man's +completest happiness relies upon a partial subordination; +upon a certain dependence upon another, +if still a kindred, point of view. As he watched +Mirabelle come and go, as he heard her comments, as +he felt the magnetism of her presence, he was smitten +with a vast sense of loneliness—with a perception +that, in reality, no man is sufficient unto himself. In +this first flush of life, in this new enjoyment of Paris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +the alluring, he felt the need of something more. +Was it Margery? Was it Mirabelle? At the moment +he could not have told which, if indeed it was +either. Once he risked a compliment.</p> + +<p>"How pretty you are! It makes one want to kiss +you!"</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she said shortly. "Please don't talk +like that. It spoils everything."</p> + +<p>He drew back to look at her, puzzled, but it +seemed that she avoided his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Not—not just now," she added. "You don't +understand."</p> + +<p>Almost immediately, she was laughing and chattering +again.</p> + +<p>Then came breakfast, and—what is rare even in +Paris—a breakfast perfect in its very simplicity. A +bisque as smooth as velvet, <i>sole cardinale</i> worthy of +Frédéric himself, a <i>casserole</i> of chicken, with a salad +of celery and peppers, Burgundy tempered to an +eighth of a degree, no sweets—but a compensating +cup of coffee, <i>eau de vie de Dantzic</i>, with its flecks of +shattered sunlight gleaming oddly in the clear +liquid, and cigarettes, which Mirabelle refused with +a <i>moue</i> which hinted at temptation. Andrew +toasted her, across the table, with mock ceremony, +in the gold-shot <i>liqueur</i>.</p> + +<p>"It's like your life, <i>l'amie</i>," he said, squinting at +the last few drops, "smooth and sweet and all spangled +with sunshine and gold."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And soon done with!" added Mirabelle lightly, +turning her glass upside down upon the cloth.</p> + +<p>She would have him take the largest and most +comfortable chair by the window, while she chose +the broad, flat sill at his feet. The glare of the +sunlight was cut off from them by an awning, but +its warmth came pleasurably through. A window-box +of narcissus in full bloom breathed a perfume, as +deadening as the juice of poppies, on the air. Now +and again a cab rattled sharply down the incline of +cobbles to the Place d'Iéna, and was blotted abruptly +out of hearing on the muffling driveway of the +square. For the rest, the world was very still, all +distinct noises of the great and restless city being +merged into one indeterminate blur of sound.</p> + +<p>The curious instinct of silence, which so often gave +the hours they spent together their especial character, +fell upon them now. Once, as if some disturbing +thought had startled her, Mirabelle turned suddenly +and touched Andrew's hand, but her own fell +back before the gesture was actually complete. The +light wind stirred the hair at her temples, and the +long scarf of delicate Liberty gauze which she had +thrown across her shoulders, and he took up a corner +of this and pleated it between his fingers for a +time in silence. He was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"Would you care to go out—to the Exposition or +the Bois? You'll be saying presently that you've +had a stupid afternoon."</p> + +<p>Mirabelle shook her head, with a faint smile, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +then altered her position, drawing up her feet and +linking her fingers across her knees. The change +brought her close to the arm of his chair, and she +looked up at him long and steadily, and then shook +her head again.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, "I shall not say that. The +Exposition? The Bois? I suppose there <i>are</i> such +things, but I'd forgotten them. I like it here. I +am happy."</p> + +<p>With that strange new understanding of his, it +was not alone her smile which he noticed, but the +slow, irregular fall of her eyelids, and the deepening +of a tiny shadow when the lashes rested on her +cheek. An atmosphere for which he was at a loss +to account seemed always to envelop him when he +came into this girl's presence. He was conscious of +the same not unpleasant languor which had come +upon him on that first afternoon in her <i>salon</i>, after +the return from Auteuil, but now it was not due, as +then, to drowsiness. Rather, it was a blotting out of +every consideration save that he was with her. +America, Poissy, even Paris, humming there below +them, seemed to belong to another world, and that in +which he was living for the moment, to be made up +of sunlight, and silence, and perfume.</p> + +<p>"I'm almost sorry," he said presently, "that you +came."</p> + +<p>The girl made no reply. A singular change, +which was not movement, seemed to stiffen and +straighten her. Without actually altering, her position<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +lost its grace, its ease, its assurance. Staring +straight away before her, her eyes forgot to wink. +Her whole bearing was that of an animal warned by +the crackle of a trodden twig of some peril imminent +and vital.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you felt that you <i>could</i> come," continued +Andrew. "I've not had much experience of life, and +it's not for me to question you. But we've been +good friends. I wish it could have remained that +way. Young as I am, I've had disappointments—bitter +ones. The people I thought I could trust—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Andrew!</i>"</p> + +<p>She had never called him by his name before. +At the word, a curious little thrill stirred in him, +and he closed his eyes, his mouth tightening at the +corners.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he added, in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible," said Mirabelle slowly, "that all +this time you—<i>haven't known</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I've tried not to know," he answered. "I've +tried not to listen to what people said. It has all +been so different from anything like that. You've +been like the girls I know in my own country, like +a comrade, like a chum. I've tried to keep myself +from thinking of you in any other light. I've always +been glad to be with you: yes, and I'm glad to have +you with me now. And yet—I know that we shall +both be sorry for this. To-morrow—"</p> + +<p>"<i>To-morrow!</i>"</p> + +<p>Misunderstanding, she turned to him, and slipped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +her hand into his. A moment she hesitated, and +then bowed her face against his arm.</p> + +<p>"Then you <i>do</i> know!" she continued. "Ah, my +friend, I have hoped that it would not come to this."</p> + +<p>Her voice had suddenly gone wistful. She was +the child again, but the child hurt, penitent, and +near to tears.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, <i>l'ami</i>, I hoped it would not come +to this. I'm so careless, Andrew. I don't think—I +forget. You see, we are different, <i>nous autres</i>. +What are little things to other women are great +things to us, and what are great things to them—"</p> + +<p>Then she looked into his eyes. Almost unconsciously, +her fingers touched his arm.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could make you understand," she added. +"Even with me, there is only one thing that can +justify—"</p> + +<p>She paused for a breath, with a gesture toward the +open window.</p> + +<p>"It was to get away from all that that I came—to +forget—to be alone with you—just we together—two +children—to have something different. I'm so +tired of it all, Andrew—and—there has never been +any one like you. I didn't think what it would +mean. Ah, my friend—"</p> + +<p>She sank back upon the cushion, with a little +sigh.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Andrew's heart contracted, seemed to +mount into his throat, and, repulsed, beat wildly +against the bars of its prison. He felt the tremor of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +its pulsing in his wrists, in his temples, in his ears. +He knew that he was colouring deeply. He strove +to tighten his lips, but they parted in spite of him, +and the breath shot through with a little hiss. Then +he came to himself, and saw that the girl's eyes had +closed, and that her hand on the arm of the chair +had gripped the silken scarf. Folds of it, sharpened +to the thinness of paper, came out between her +fingers, and her knuckles showed like little bosses of +tinted ivory through the pink flesh.</p> + +<p>What was it? The hand of a passing spirit, +wholly unfamiliar, had touched him; a voice never +heard before had whispered something in his ear. +What was it—what was this thing which he understood +and did not understand? Bending slightly +forward, he looked down through the ironwork railing +at the street below. A solitary cab leaned +maudlinly over the kerb, the driver slewed around +in his seat, with his elbow on the roof, and his varnished +hat on the back of his head, reading a newspaper; +and the horse nodding, with his nose in a +feed-bag. Two children were marching resolutely, +hand in hand and out of step, their nurses following, +with the gay plaid ribbons of their caps flapping +about their hips. The pipe of an itinerant plumber +whined and squeaked unmelodiously, and the horn +of a passing automobile hiccoughed in the distance. +Inconsequently there came to Andrew the memory +of a sudden awakening from a nap on the beach at +Newport. For a moment, everything in sight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>—people, +houses, boats, the sand, the sunlight, and +the sea—had been garbed in startling unreality, in +a new, strange light.</p> + +<p>The restlessness of a curious dissatisfaction suddenly +laid hold upon him, and he rose and began to +pace the <i>salon</i> once more. He would have given +something to fling himself out of the chaos of conflicting +thoughts which beset him, to ride, for example, +five miles at a gallop, as he had been wont to do +at Beverly, with the wind tearing at his hair and a +thoroughbred lunging between his knees.</p> + +<p>Presently he became aware that Mirabelle was +watching him curiously, and was puzzled to find that +for the first time he was not ready to meet her eyes. +He seated himself at the piano, and for a moment +fingered the music on the rack, without actually +taking in the title—"Rhapsodie Hongroise, No. 2." +Then he smiled, with a little nod as if he had been +greeting an acquaintance on the street, and his hands +fell upon the keys.</p> + +<p>Majestically, with ponderous bass notes and a +deeper comment of short, staccato chords, the Rhapsodie +began. It was as solemn as a dirge in its +adagio movement, till the high treble began to flutter +into the <i>motif</i>, and dragged it upward, with a +brilliant run, into a suggestion of running water. +Plunging again into the bass, the music marched +firmly on, varied with higher chords, until, through +the monotonous throb, a bird chirped, twittered, and +trilled, and cadenza followed cadenza, plashing in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +and over the main theme. This variation was presently +gone again in a swiftly descending arpeggio, +and the adagio reasserted itself, beating out across +the <i>salon</i> with the lingering quality of tolled bells, +freeing itself at last by another run into the crystal +sparkle of the treble, where the <i>motif</i> was repeated, +ringing with fresh vigour. The bass replied with a +brief word now and again, correcting the new rendering +of the air that it had taught, or patiently +repeating a whole phrase. But, petulantly, the +treble threw off the sombre spirit of what had gone +before. Again it thrilled with bird-music, and ran +into the gay babble of brooks, punctuated rarely by +a deeper chord, as if the water swerved round a +stone, and slid, murmuring, across a level, before +swinging again down a shelving reach. But, almost +immediately, a new element stole in—a tremulous +flutter of one note, potently suggestive of mad music +to follow. Faster—faster! The flutter was interrupted +by a dripping of stray notes, an octave +lower, dotted, presently, with a tiny tinkling above. +Then, without warning, the whole plunged into a +mad <i>vivace</i> movement, that galloped like a living +thing, was interrupted by whimsically coupled notes, +gabbling up and down, and then seemed to lengthen +and bound forward as if it had been spurred. There +was a thunder of chromatics—hoofs pounding on a +long bridge—then the tinkle of water broke in again—right +at his elbow—lingered briefly, and was gone, +and the hoofs were thudding on a muffling stretch of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +soft road. The suggestion, at first merely a fancy, +grew upon him as he played. This was the gallop +of which he had felt a need! He could almost see +the wiry mare snapping in the wind, smell the horse +and the saddle, and hear the stirrup-leathers squeaking +against his boots. In spirit, at least, he put into +the music the exultation, which is near to delirium, +of a ride at nightfall or at dawn. The earth, which +never sighs save when falling asleep or waking, sighs +then, and her breath is sweet. Scents and sounds +step to the roadside, and are gone again in a moment. +The wind whips and whistles. And the triplicate +hoof-beats pound, pound, pound out of life all +that is stale, morbid, and unclean, so that it becomes +a crystal dome inverted on a perfume-breathing +garden, and one man whirling through space like a +god, with a laugh on his lips!</p> + +<p>Hurdles rushed at Andrew out of the music, and +he rose to them, and, clearing them, would have +shouted, but that the music shouted for him. He +felt the familiar shock of landing, the infinitesimal +pause before the recover, and then—away, away! +It was life, youth, the surge and hammer of red +blood through every vein, the certainty of strength +and the sovereignty of success, the ineffable wine of +life, filling the cup to the brim, and splashing over +into the sunlight, in drops like rubies sheathed in +silver.</p> + +<p>As suddenly as it had begun, the mad, blood-stirring +gallop was over. The stream tinkled and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +was still. The <i>motif</i> was repeated softly, incompletely, +as if regretfully, in adagio, then paraphrased +in a brilliant staccato movement, which mounted, +plunged madly down from treble to bass, hesitated, +and whipped out of existence in a group of crashing +chords.</p> + +<p>"I never knew you could play like that!"</p> + +<p>Mirabelle had risen, and come across to the piano, +and the words were spoken in a voice barely above +a whisper. The room seemed to Andrew to be closing +in around him, and out of its dwindling distance +floated her face, more beautiful than he had ever +seen it, but very pale and with eyes wide and startled. +He did not answer directly. Thoughts as +confused as the wisps of a dream but half recalled +went racing through his brain. For an instant he +strove to control himself, strove to remember, +strove to forget. Then, as it were, a great tide of +oblivion to all but the intoxication of the moment +swept down upon him.</p> + +<p>"You said," he began, "that only one thing +could justify—What is it? What did you +mean?"</p> + +<p>He stood up as he spoke, came quite close to her, +and took her hands.</p> + +<p>"What did you mean?" he repeated. "Tell me—Mirabelle."</p> + +<p>As she did not speak, he took her hand and drew +her toward him, with a kind of dull wonder in his +eyes. What he saw in hers he had never seen in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +woman's before—a mist not wholly moisture, and +tenderer than tears.</p> + +<p>"Mirabelle!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Je t'aime!</i>" she murmured. "<i>Je t'adore!</i>"</p> + +<p>She would have drawn back, but he took her in +his arms. From the gold-bronze hair which touched +his cheek came a faint perfume, and through the +thin silk he could feel the hammer of her heart. So +for a long moment he held her, with his lips on hers. +It was like kissing a rose—a rose that smelt of orris.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h4>FATE IS HARD—CASH!</h4> + + +<p>As Andrew took his mail from the hand of Jules +one afternoon, some three weeks later, his eye was +caught by a packet directed in the precise script of +old Mr. Sterling, and this, together with a letter in +the same hand, he separated from the mass of other +material, and gave his immediate attention. There +had grown in him a singular craving for all that +could remind him of his life at home. As he slit the +envelope, a draft upon his bankers came first to +his hand, and he glanced at it, with a short whistle, +before laying it on the desk. It was for fifteen +thousand francs.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sterling's letter, a model of prim penmanship, +ran as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Andy</span>: I have yours of the 12th inst., +and am gratified to learn that Paris is surpassing +your expectations. Although it is a city not ordinarily +recommended as a sojourning-place for young +men, I have seen enough of the world to know that +it is not the surroundings which are significant, so +much as the temperament of the individual placed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>among them. If you were inclined to dissipation, +you would manufacture, if not find, it in a one-horse +prohibition town in one of the back counties of +Maine: and if you were otherwise disposed, not +Paris itself would be competent to prove your undoing. +So I am not averse to your project of remaining +until Christmas. I have great confidence in you. If +you will look back, you will realize that I have not +burdened you with advice since the days when it +was necessary to warn you against over-indulgence +in ice-cream, or send you away from the breakfast-table +for a more effective application of the nail-brush. +That has been because I have seen in you +something which I believe to be a guarantee against +your ever falling into any misdoing which would be +a discredit to the name you bear. I mean the fine +healthiness of mind which eschews by instinct whatever +is 'common or unclean'. You will have your +fling, as I had mine, and as it is right you should. +You will learn for yourself the lessons which no one +else can teach you; but I think your attitude will +always be that of a gentleman. There are ways +and ways of doing things—even of sowing wild oats—and +among these are the way of the gentleman and +the way of the fool. You have never been the latter, +and I have no reason to believe you will begin now.</p> + +<p>"Among the commonest formulas of parental +advice is that which exhorts a young man never to do +or say anything which a mother or sister could not +hear: and this deserves, to my way of thinking, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>just about the amount of attention which it ordinarily +receives. I know the type of man whom you +have always chosen, and, in all likelihood, always will +choose, as a friend: and if you will avoid doing anything +which you would be ashamed to tell that kind +of man, I shall be satisfied.</p> + +<p>"As you wish to remain in Paris for some time +longer, and as Paris is preëminently a city where +money is a <i>sine qua non</i>, I am disposed not only to +approve your plan, but to make it possible of execution, +with a certain degree of liberality. You should +know, if you do not know already, that I have made +you my heir. When I am obliged to shuffle off +this mortal coil, you will come into something over +eighty thousand a year. There are responsibilities +attached to such an income, and not the least of +them is the knowledge of the social obligation which +it imposes. There is nothing more deplorable than +the spectacle of a young man squandering what he +can't afford to spend, unless it be that of an old one +grudging what he can. While far from counselling +wanton extravagance, I wish you to form those +habits of generosity and open-heartedness which your +position makes incumbent upon you. Repay with +liberality the courtesies extended to you; and keep +on the credit, rather than the debit, side of the +social account. Take your share of the legitimate +pleasures of life as well, paying as you go.</p> + +<p>"To the letter of credit given you on your departure, +which provided for a possible expenditure of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>thousand dollars a month for the six months of your +contemplated stay, I now add a draft for fifteen +thousand francs (F. 15,000), to cover the additional +three months during which you propose to remain. +In view of this, you will not think me unreasonable +in foregoing the customary remittance for a much +smaller sum upon your birthday.</p> + +<p>"That birthday is still somewhat more than three +months distant, but a present which I had contemplated +making you on the occasion, being already +completed, I am forwarding it by this mail, with my +best wishes and affection. It is a miniature of your +mother—whom it is your greatest misfortune never +to have known—painted, from a photograph, by +Cavigny-Maupré during his recent visit to Boston: +and it is appropriate that you should have it at a time +when you are absent—with sincere regret, as you +please me by saying—from the grim old house where +you have been an unspeakable comfort to, and +where awaits you an affectionate welcome from,</p> + +<p class="center">"Your grandfather,</p> +<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Andrew Sterling</span>.</p> + +<p>"<i>Andrew Sterling Vane, Esq., Paris, France.</i>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>"Dear old man!" said Andrew to himself, with a +little smile of affection, before laying the letter +aside. "Dear, generous old man!" Then he turned +to the package which contained the portrait of his +mother.</p> + +<p>Cavigny-Maupré had excelled himself in this the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +most recent in his long series of masterly miniatures. +The tranquil and beautiful face of Helen Vane, as +it had been before the blight of disillusion dimmed +its ethereal sweetness, looked out at Andrew with +serene and steadfast eyes. There was no attempt at +striking colouring, no trick of effect. The artist, +with the instinct which never played him false, had +aimed to preserve the touch of simplicity, of girlishness, +which the old photograph had given him as his +cue. The result was a singularly appealing beauty, +which his more ambitious productions, with all their +emphatic brilliancy, utterly lacked. Before he could +have analyzed the impulse which prompted him, +Andrew had touched his lips to the picture, and in +the act of performing this simple homage his fine +eyes grew moist. For this was his mother—the +pale, gentle-eyed dream-mother he had never seen, +but who had given her life for his, and who, perhaps, +with the searching vision of the immortals, was +watching him wistfully from beyond the immeasurably +distant stars!</p> + +<p>So, at the dinner-hour, Radwalader found him—sunk +deep in his chair, with his eyes half-closed, +and the miniature in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" he said. "Come in."</p> + +<p>"You look like a drawing by Gibson," observed +Radwalader lightly, "over the title 'Day Dreams' +or 'A Face from the Past,' or something of the sort. +The old, old story, eh, Vane? Mooning over the +loved one's portrait?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not a bad guess," replied Andrew, somewhat +gravely, as he rose, and tendered Radwalader the +picture.</p> + +<p>"That was my mother," he added.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <i>beg</i> your pardon!" exclaimed Radwalader, +with that ready assumption of contrition wherewith +he contrived so skilfully to repair his infrequent +<i>faux pas</i>.</p> + +<p>"No harm done," answered Andrew. "Are you +engaged for dinner? I've ordered a table at Armenonville, +and meant to send Jules over to your +place to ask you, but the time has gone faster than I +thought. Gad! it's almost seven. I <i>have</i> been +mooning, in good earnest. Will you go?"</p> + +<p>"With pleasure. I dropped in on the chance that +you might have nothing to do."</p> + +<p>Radwalader laid the miniature on the table.</p> + +<p>"It's a very beautiful face," he added. "I wonder +if I ever saw her. It's not impossible. I remember +meeting your grandfather in Boston."</p> + +<p>"You'd hardly have met my mother, though. +She died when I was born—twenty years ago. +You'd have been quite a boy."</p> + +<p>"A boy well out of knickerbockers, then! You +flatter me, Vane. Is it possible that you don't +know I'm tottering on the ragged edge of +fifty?"</p> + +<p>"One wouldn't believe it, then. Come in while I +brush up a bit."</p> + +<p>He led the way into the bedroom, and Radwalader,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +following, applied himself to the consumption of +a cigarette. For three weeks he had been observing +Andrew with a new attention. He was always +quick to note symptoms, but in the present instance +he found himself, to his surprise, unable to analyze +them with his accustomed readiness. The change +which he saw was singularly subtle, albeit as pronounced +as that which a separation of years might +have enabled him to perceive. It was with difficulty +that he could bring himself to believe that +barely a day had gone by without their meeting. It +seemed impossible that Andrew had not gone and +come again, passing, in the interim, through some +vastly significant experience. Radwalader found +him less open, while habited with a new assurance; +less enthusiastic, while subject at times to an almost +feverish gaiety; more alive to the minutest details of +the new life which surrounded him, but with a +tendency to scoff replacing his former merely boyish +interest. There were times when Radwalader +would have called him unqualifiedly happy; others +when there was no such thing as believing him +otherwise than wretched. He was thinner, smiled +less than formerly, and took for granted much +which had thitherto excited his eager comment, his +amusement, or his dislike. Over all he wore a new +reserve, a worldliness beyond his years. In all +this, while there was much which Radwalader did +not fully understand, there was much which he had +expected, much which he had deliberately planned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +His cards had long since been dealt and sorted. +Now he chanced a lead.</p> + +<p>"I was at Poissy yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Ah?"</p> + +<p>Andrew appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, +diligently towelling his head. As he looked +up, his eyes, so curiously like Radwalader's own, +were not less coolly non-committal than they.</p> + +<p>"How is Mrs. Carnby?" he added.</p> + +<p>"A good bit out of patience with you, I gather," +said Radwalader. "You've pretty well deserted +her of late, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>Andrew was drying his fingers, one by one, with +somewhat exaggerated attention.</p> + +<p>"One can't serve God and Mammon," he observed, +with that new flippancy of his. "I won't +stoop to the pettiness of fencing with you, Radwalader. +You're not blind, I take it. You must know +as well as I why I don't want to go to Poissy, and +why, if I did, they wouldn't care to have me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other, "I suppose I do. If I +didn't, it wouldn't be for lack of hearing you talked +about. Gossip is tolerably busy with your name, +these days."</p> + +<p>"Gossip is rarely busy with <i>one</i> name," retorted +Andrew dryly.</p> + +<p>"Obviously. I didn't mean to ignore Mademoiselle +Tremonceau: as you say, a lack of candour +between us would be merely petty: but I wasn't +quite sure how far you were prepared to concede me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +the license of a friend. These are ticklish subjects, +even between intimates. I'm not inclined to meddle, +but I've thought more than once of asking you if +you thought the game worth while."</p> + +<p>"I make a point of not thinking about it, one way +or another," said Andrew. "Why should I? I've +youth, health, money, the sunshine, Paris—and her. +Why should I think? It's nobody's business but +my own. Don't be a prig, Radwalader."</p> + +<p>"God forbid!" ejaculated Radwalader. "I see +I've been mistaken. I had an idea that it <i>was</i> +somebody's business, other than yours—very much +so, in fact. Of course, if it isn't—"</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly, and made a little signal of +warning. An instant later Monsieur Vicot entered +the room, and began to lay out Andrew's evening +dress. His presence was an effective check upon +further conversation along the direct line they had +been pursuing, and, as Andrew hurried through +his dressing, Radwalader plunged into generalities.</p> + +<p>In another fifteen minutes Vicot opened the apartment +door for them, and, as they passed out, closed +it and stepped into the <i>salon</i>. The first object +which met his eye was the miniature of Helen Vane, +lying, face downward, on the table where Radwalader +had left it. He picked it up and set it, upright, +on the mantel, under the brilliant light of an electric +bulb. Then, idly curious, he leaned forward +and stared at it.</p> + +<p>In the soft gloom of the July evening Armenonville<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +glittered and twinkled among the trees, and +flung handfuls of shivered light on the wind-ruffled +waters of the little lake. As they approached, they +had a glimpse of tables brilliant with spotless napery +and sheen of crystal and silver, and of heavy-headed +roses leaning from tall and slender vases. Solicitous +waiters, grotesquely swaddled in their aprons, were +turning every wine-glass to a ruby or a topaz with +the liquid light of Bourgogne or Champagne. Electric +lights glowed pink in roses of crinkled silk. The +Pavilion was a veritable fairy palace, as unstable, to +all appearance, and as gossamer-light as the fabric +of a dream swung miraculously within a luminous +haze.</p> + +<p>The table reserved for them was in an elbow of +the piazza and so, a little apart from the others; +and the <i>maître d'hôtel</i> led them toward it with an air +which was hardly less impressive than a <i>fanfare</i>. +It was his business to remember the faces of young +foreigners who thundered up at midday in twenty-horse-power +Panhards expressly to command a +table, and incidentally to tip him a louis. Moreover, +there was Radwalader—Radwalader, who knew +by his first name every <i>maître d'hôtel</i> from Lavenue's +to the Rat Mort, and from Marguery's to the Pavillon +Bleu, called Frédéric himself "<i>mon vieux</i>," and +sent messages to the <i>chef</i> at Voisin's or the Café +Riche, informing him for whom the order was to be +prepared.</p> + +<p>Among the things which Andrew had unconsciously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +assimilated from Radwalader, was something very +nearly equalling the latter's instinct for ordering a +dinner. It was that, even more than the louis or +the Panhard, which inspired respect in the supercilious +mind of the <i>maître d'hôtel</i>. So they had +caviar, sharpening the twang of their halves of lemon +with a dash of tabasco; and <i>langouste à l'Américaine</i>, +with a hint of tarragon in the mayonnaise; venison, +with a confection of ginger, marmalade, and currant +jelly, which not every one gets, even for the asking, +at the Pavilion d'Armenonville; a salad of split +Malaga grapes and hearts of lettuce; and a Camembert +cheese, taken at the flood—the which, in Camembert, +is of as good omen as that in the affairs of +men.</p> + +<p>Around them the brilliantly-illuminated tables were +filled with diners. The true Parisian <i>monde</i>, long +since departed for Aix or Hombourg, had given +place to the annual influx of foreigners and the +lighter spirits of the half-world, men and women +both. Here were minds which skidded from subject +to subject with the eccentricity of water-spiders +on a roadside pool. The latest comedies, the latest +fashions, the latest scandals—they came and went, +verbal drops sliding over the acute edge of conversation, +each touched with prismatic hues of +humour, irony, or cynicism. The hum of chat +was a patchwork of English, French, German, +Spanish, Russian, and Italian. Europe was talking—talking +the gossip of the day—pouring it like liquid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +silver into the moulds of many languages, wherefrom +it took the oddest forms of epigram.</p> + +<p>Here and there, members of the American Colony +were entertaining friends from the States, arrived +that afternoon from Calais, Cherbourg, or Le Hâvre, +with the odour of bilge-water yet in their nostrils, +and the <i>terra</i>, misnamed <i>firma</i>, rocking unpleasantly +under their senses. At an adjoining table, a huge +American collegian, labouring heavily against the +head-wind of many cocktails, addressed his waiter:</p> + +<p>"Ziss my las' night 'n Paruss, gassun. Jer know +w'a' I've done t' Paruss? Ziss w'a' I've done t' +Paruss."</p> + +<p>He made the gesture of one wringing a half of +lemon, and casting it contemptuously aside, and +looked up, proudly, for approval. Later he would +be tenderly removed—"a river ark on the ocean +brine."</p> + +<p>But these—the transient Americans—were the +least significant factors in the scene. They had come +to prey, and would go away to scoff. They were a +grade above the herded tourists to whose understanding +the Colonne Vendôme is an edifice closed for fear +of suicides; but among them were women who +would write books on Paris, upon the strength of +three months' residence and six letters of introduction, +and men whose diligence in exhuming the +most sordid evidences of metropolitan degradation +would enable them to speak, thenceforward, with +authority upon French depravity—the Hams, Tartuffes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +and Parkhursts of their hour. Paris finds +time to smile at many such. Over and around them +flowed the smooth current of Parisian <i>savoir vivre</i> +which they could not hope to understand, still less +to emulate.</p> + +<p>"I feel," said Andrew slowly, "as if I had lived +here all my life. Do you remember telling me, +that day at Auteuil, that things one ordinarily disregards +in America are part of one's education in +Paris? I've learned the truth of that. I don't +think I should be apt to mistake <i>cerise</i> for red, as +things are now."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever think of the irony of these <i>toilettes +de demi-mondaine</i>?" asked Radwalader, looking +from one to another of the superb gowns at the +neighbouring tables. "You know, they're society's +fashions of the day after to-morrow. I wonder +what our dear lady of the Parc Monceau, or Mayfair, +or Fifth Avenue, or Back Bay, or Nob Hill, would +say if she knew the source of that trick of sleeve, or +that contrast of <i>entre-deux</i>, which she fondly imagines +was born in the mind of a Doucet for her and her +alone. It came into being, my dear Vane, in a +stuffy, overfurnished little apartment in one of the +suburbs, as a <i>patron</i> of questionable merit by a +charming creature with more ideas than reputation, +and was first worn at the little Mathurins—or here—by +Ninon Gyrianne: at a theatre where my lady +would not be seen, by a woman whom she would +not receive! Or, if not that, La Girofla stood sponsor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +for it at Deauville or Monte Carlo, and was duly +complimented in the <i>potins of Gil Blas</i>. <i>Quelle farce, +mon Dieu!</i>"</p> + +<p>The two men were eating at the leisurely rate +which is the most invaluable lesson Paris teaches +the American. Andrew's lips curled in a little +sneer.</p> + +<p>"It's all a farce," he said, "and, God knows, I'm +the biggest mountebank of them all. When I look +back six weeks, it's another Andrew Vane I see—a +better one."</p> + +<p>"But not a happier one, I fancy," suggested +Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"Why not? Do you think, after all your experience, +that Paris brings happiness? Distraction, +perhaps—amusement—knowledge—but happiness? +Oh no!"</p> + +<p>He looked down, appearing to reflect, and then +went on in another tone:</p> + +<p>"I've been meaning to have a little talk with you, +Radwalader, and what we were saying, back there +at the apartment, seemed to open the way. I'm +going to be pretty frank, and, on the score of friendship, +I hope you'll be the same."</p> + +<p>Radwalader nodded, narrowing his eyes.</p> + +<p>"It's about Mirabelle Tremonceau. Believe me +or not as you will, it was all innocent enough at first. +She was something new in my life, something entirely +new. I can't say I fell in love with her. There +were reasons why that wasn't possible at the time;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +but I found her beautiful, amusing, and the soul of +kindness. I liked her, and—well, I drifted along +from day to day, without any particular plan, one +way or another. It may seem incredible that I +thought her like any other girl I knew, but I did. I +suppose it's not an especially novel story—Paris and +the young American."</p> + +<p>"Goliath and David," commented Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"Exactly—except that David won out, and I +haven't. I began to hear things, but, even so, I +continued to like her, and to go there. I didn't half +believe what I heard, in the first place: it was all so +different—the surroundings and all that—from anything +I'd ever known. There wasn't a sign of anything +of the sort, as far as I could see; and I was +more sorry for her than anything else, when I finally +caught on. I had the kind of feeling one has for a +chap that's being overhazed at college. Everybody +was damning her, and all the time she was treating +me as her friend—and nothing more. I felt that it +was up to me to stick up for her, and I did—even +when Mrs. Carnby chimed in, and told me I was +acting like a fool. You see—"</p> + +<p>He hesitated, fingering his fork, and appearing to +reflect.</p> + +<p>"I said I'd talk straight with you," he added, +"and I will. There was only one person whose +opinion made any difference to me, and I felt I +could trust her all through. I dodged the question +when you spoke of it, back there, but of course you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +were right. It <i>was</i> somebody's business—Margery +Palffy's. I'd been as good as engaged to her for a +year—that is, <i>she</i> knew and <i>I</i> knew—and it never +dawned upon me that she was going to think anything +except—well, <i>that</i>! You see, I knew I hadn't +done anything wrong, and I went to her, as bold as +brass, that last night when we were all at Poissy, +and asked her definitely. You can imagine how I +felt when she came back at me with—I don't need +to tell you what she said. It was the same old +business that other people had been hinting at, but +it was straight from the shoulder, and showed me +that she thought I was as unworthy of her as a man +could well be—as unworthy of her as I am now! It +was the worst kind of a facer. It drove me mad, +Radwalader—I want you to remember, all the time, +that I didn't deserve it—and I flung away from her, +with every drop of my damnable pride at the boiling-point, +and came back to Paris, and—to the inevitable. +For three weeks I've been living in heaven—and +in hell!"</p> + +<p>"In heaven," said Radwalader quietly, "because +of Mirabelle; and in hell because of—"</p> + +<p>"That's it—because of Margery Palffy! Try to +understand me. If I thought I loved her before, I +<i>know</i> it now. If it were possible to go back—but it +isn't—it's never possible to do that. It's too late, +that's all there is about it."</p> + +<p>Radwalader smiled easily. The cards were running +his way now.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Surely, you're not tied up as tight as that," he +said. "You've been a trifle hot-headed, yes; but +in all you've told me, there's nothing more than +what a vast majority of the men you know have +done, and nothing more than what a vast majority +of women have forgiven and forgotten. It's never +too late to mend. Cut loose, my dear Vane—cut +loose from Mirabelle, and go back to the girl you +really care for. You'll have to deny a few things, +of course, and swallow some humiliation; but don't +get tragic over it. In affairs like this, the first +course is humble-pie, but the <i>pièce de résistance</i> is +invariably fatted calf!"</p> + +<p>"Cut loose from Mirabelle," repeated Andrew. +"Cut loose from Mirabelle?"</p> + +<p>"Obviously. There's one infallible way, my +friend."</p> + +<p>Radwalader raised his right hand lightly, and +chafed with his thumb the tips of his first and second +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Money?" demanded Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Of course! And you may thank your stars that +you're in a position to command it. Many a chap +has gone under because he couldn't pay the piper +when the bill came in. You can; and there's no +reason under heaven why you should let this matter +trouble you. Wait a moment!"—as Andrew was +about to speak—"let me explain. I'm not the sort +that cuts into other people's affairs as a rule. I +detest meddling, and ordinarily I don't want to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +bothered with what doesn't concern me. But I +like you, Vane—I do, heartily. I'd be more sorry +than a little to see you in trouble. What's more, I +feel to a certain extent responsible, as I was the one +to introduce you. Well, then—suppose you leave +the whole affair to me. I know the world, and especially +Paris, and more especially Mirabelle Tremonceau. +Leave it in my hands. Even if she's +ugly about it, I can probably get you out, all clear, +for fifteen or twenty thousand francs, where it might +cost you fifty if you undertook to engineer the +thing yourself. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>"Say?" repeated Andrew, with a little, mirthless +laugh, "why, simply that you don't understand. +Mirabelle wouldn't accept money from me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, not money, like that," said Radwalader, +"not money out of a purse—'one, two, three, <i>and</i> +two make five. I think that's correct, madam, and +thank <i>you</i>!' No, I grant you—probably she +wouldn't. But a Panhard, or a deposit at her +bankers', or diamonds—that would be different."</p> + +<p>"No—no," said Andrew, shaking a single finger +from side to side. "You're all wrong. You don't +get the situation at all. When a woman loves a +man—"</p> + +<p>"Love?" broke in Radwalader. "Piffle! Leave +it to me, my dear sir, and in twenty-four hours I'll +prove to you that Mirabelle Tremonceau's spelling +of the word 'love' begins with the symbol for pounds +sterling!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And Margery?" faltered Andrew.</p> + +<p>"I saw Miss Palffy at Poissy," said Radwalader. +"She's still staying there, you know. Now, if you'd +told me that <i>she</i> loved you, I'd have believed you. +She was looking wretchedly, I thought."</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment, to give the words their +proper effect, and then played his highest card.</p> + +<p>"Did you receive a telegram from her after you +left Poissy?"</p> + +<p>Andrew stared blankly at him, moistening his +lips.</p> + +<p>"A telegram?" he said. "A telegram?"</p> + +<p>"I thought you didn't," replied Radwalader, +"and told her so. It seems she sent one, and was +surprised you hadn't answered."</p> + +<p>"A telegram!" said Andrew again. "Do you +realize what that means, Radwalader? Why, it +would have made all the difference in the world! A +telegram? No, of course I never received it! And +I've been—I've been—"</p> + +<p>His voice broke suddenly.</p> + +<p>"My God! Radwalader, but fate is hard!"</p> + +<p>"Fate, in this instance," remarked Radwalader, +"<i>is</i> hard—hard cash. Don't let any false quixotism +blind you to that, Vane. I've shown you the way +out. Think it over, and when you're ready, come +to me."</p> + +<p>He crumpled his napkin, and rose. He had played. +Now it was for Mirabelle to trump the trick.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h4>"AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING, IS NOW, AND EVER +SHALL BE."</h4> + + +<p>The two men separated at the Porte Maillot, +Radwalader strolling away in the direction of the +Métropolitain entrance with a readily fabricated +excuse about a card engagement. He understood +to perfection the action of moral leaven—that, once +introduced as an ingredient, it must not be unduly +stirred, but left, with the fair white cloth of unconcern +drawn smoothly over it, to work its will at +ease. To a greater extent even than Mrs. Carnby, +he possessed the instinct for not saying too much. +He left Andrew to reflect upon what had passed +between them, confident of its effect.</p> + +<p>Andrew paused at the junction of the Avenues de +Malakoff and de la Grande Armée, the confusion +and glare of the great thoroughfares smiting fretfully +upon his instant need of reflection, and then +returned upon his tracks, seeking the cool quiet +of the Bois. After a short walk past the brightly +lighted Chalet du Touring Club, a by-path tempted +him, and he turned aside. At once the forest +closed in upon him, and the scene of a half-hour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +before became more than ever like a phase in some +fantastic and uneasy dream. At Armenonville there +had been a blaze of light and a ripple of laughter, +which barred out the stars of heaven as if they had +never been: here was a world of stillness and of +shadow, broken only by the distant music of the +tziganes, and, through the interstices of tree-trunks +and foliage, the intermittent gleam of bicycle and +automobile lanterns on the Route de la Porte des +Sablons. The faintly pungent odour of moss rose to +his nostrils, as in some deep, undiscovered retreat in a +provincial preserve. The small, sweet twitter of a +restless bird pricked the delicious silence like the +sound of a rip in thin linen. The tziganes at Armenonville +were playing the "Valse Bleue." The air, +pulsing softly through the gloom, seemed almost to +speak the words:</p> + +<p>"<i>Pourquoi ne pas m'aimer, p'isqu' tu sais que je +t'ai—ai—me?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Margery!" said Andrew slowly, to himself. +"Margery—Margery!"</p> + +<p>In the three weeks just past, he had been building a +new world, a world from which his former ideals had +been deliberately banished, and wherein new standards +of conduct had been set. Pride, recklessness, +and resentment had been the triumvirate by which +this moral state was governed, and he had obeyed +their dictates blindly, without caring, as he had told +Radwalader, to think. Left to itself, this might +have endured indefinitely, even as the larger world,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +with all its codes and creeds, established by the limited +experience of the men inhabiting it. But what +would be effected by the abrupt entrance into society +of a messenger from another planet, infinitely wiser, +infinitely more advanced, was brought to pass by +Radwalader's words. The <i>status quod</i> reeled on its +foundations. The alternative which Andrew had +accepted, and which had dulled, if not actually done +away with, the acuteness of his disappointment, now +appeared in its true light as the veriest sham, a +sedative worse than useless—enervating—stupefying—poisonous. +The bare suggestion was enough. Not +for a moment did he doubt the significance of this +message which had never reached him. It could +mean but one thing—forgiveness and recall. All +there had been to say upon the other count, had been +said in that half-hour in the arbour. Her hand had +been stretched out to stay him from the precipice +down which he had plunged—stretched out too +late! The knowledge tore in an instant the mask +from his vanity, and he stood confessed—a coward. +What was it she had said? "A fancy so trivial +and so idle that it could not even hold you back +from transgression." And he had resented that, +resented it only to furnish proof, when the actual +temptation came, that it was true!</p> + +<p>He knew himself now for what he was. How +scornful he had been of these accusations, how +certain of himself, how small in that great loyalty +of his which stood for nothing, how ready to believe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +himself infallible! The merest profligate of those +whose follies he had despised in other days, was no +weaker, in the end, than he. He looked up blindly +to where the stars winked faintly through the lace-like +foliage, and cursed the distant roar of Paris +which came dully to his ears. Paris—Circe! and +he no better than the transformed comrades of +Ulysses! He was a coward—a fraud—a sham; +he found himself, in this moment of bitter self-reproach, +untrue even to the flimsy conception of +duty which, when it put him to the test, he had +debauched. He thought of Mirabelle, and in thinking +hated her! With all her beauty, all her perfect +mimicry of breeding, all the little significant hints of +colour and perfume with which she so skilfully clothed +with charm whatever pertained to her, she had +never struck below his ready appreciation of whatever +was suggestive of refinement and eloquent of femininity. +It was her novelty which had principally +charmed him, but novelty is the butterfly of the +sensations—the most brilliant, the shortest-lived of +these emotional ephemera. Mrs. Carnby had struck +the key-note in her cool analysis of the <i>demi-monde</i>: +"These women don't wear. They seem to be only +plated with fascination, and in time the plating +wears off, and you come back to the kind with the +hall-mark."</p> + +<p>Now the scales fell from Andrew's eyes, and he +knew that what she had said was true. Compared +to Margery—the Margery he had loved and lost,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +what was this Mirabelle to whom he had yielded +her place? Beautiful, yes! But the perception of +beauty, like beauty's self, lies only skin-deep. Now, +with Radwalader's suggestion that the way of retreat +lay open, came the reaction, inevitable in such a +nature as Andrew Vane's, from an emotion purely +extrinsic. He was tired of her. The plating had +worn off.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he remembered that he had promised +to see her that night, and, with an abrupt perception +of the opportunity thus offered, he pulled himself +together, and swung off rapidly toward the +Porte Dauphine. As he walked, inhaling the fragrance +of the evening air, a new sanity seemed to +descend on him. He promised himself that this +should be the end. However the effect was to be +accomplished, he was determined to break the +relation, kindly but firmly, and at whatever risk +to regain, if not his self-esteem, at least his freedom. +As to what should follow, he did not care—or dare—to +ask. The unknown significance of the lost message +soothed him like an irrational caress. Was it too +late? Is it <i>ever</i> "too late to mend"? He neither knew +nor cared. Given his freedom, he would chance +the rest. Fate was hard. A thought checked him. +"Fate is hard—cash!"</p> + +<p>"Whatever I believe," he told himself, "I don't +believe that." And then, in the illogical manner of +man, added: "I don't care what it costs me—this is +the end!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> + +<p>He found Mirabelle in a corner of her great divan, +and the room softly illumined. She wore a bewitchingly +dainty lounging-gown of iridescent silk, +in the folds of which peacock-blues and greens +played and rippled into each other in constant com-minglings.</p> + +<p>"<i>Embrasse-moi</i>," she said, looking up at him.</p> + +<p>She glanced at him curiously as he straightened +himself again and dropped upon the cushions at +her feet. In a woman, the manner of a kiss performs +the midwife's office to the beginnings of clairvoyance.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said Andrew presently, "if you +know that people are talking about us, <i>ma chère</i>?"</p> + +<p>Mirabelle commented upon this intelligence with a +tilt of her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Yes," continued Andrew, "it seems that our +doings are become public property, and our reputations +are in jeopardy."</p> + +<p>"Yours, perhaps," remarked the girl. "As for +mine, <i>mon ami, ça n'existe pas</i>."</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't!</i>" said Andrew suddenly. "Please don't!"</p> + +<p>"After all," said Mirabelle, "what difference? +They talk, these good people, whether things are so +or not. It's the women, of course. If my clothes +were not <i>d'un chic</i>, they would pass me over as unworthy +of consideration."</p> + +<p>"This time," said Andrew, "it seems the ground +of complaint is not clothes alone. I'm told that +I'm <i>affiché</i>."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So you are, I suppose. You were that from the +moment I took your arm at Auteuil, that first afternoon. +Do you object? There are many who would +be glad to say as much."</p> + +<p>Andrew bit his lip. It was going to be harder than +he had thought. He had come to say—he could +not have told exactly what. His whole relation +with Mirabelle had come so stealthily into being, +and had been distinguished by a novelty, a <i>goût +piquant</i> so subtle and alluring, that he had hardly +been conscious of its development into something +definite and established, until the thing was done. +His thoughts went back to that afternoon, in his +own apartment, three weeks before, when first he +had kissed her. That had been the turning-point—the +crisis when the whole wide world tipped upside +down. His entire point of view had undergone an +instantaneous readjustment as his lips met hers, +and before him had opened the gate of a new world—a +garden lavish of unfamiliar fruits and strange +flowers, breathing a heavy, languid, deadening +sweetness. He had entered, as one turns aside +from the beaten road to explore some little vista of +unprecedented beauty, with a vague convincement +at the back of his brain, that the divergence was for +a moment only, and that, so soon as his curiosity +should be satisfied, he would turn back to the highway +and go forward again, richer by an experience +which it was not necessary to mention, and which +would be as immaterial in its bearing upon the main<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +issues of life, as a flower plucked and tossed aside in +passing, or a tune whistled in a moment of lightheartedness.</p> + +<p>Now—it was singularly hard to cut to the pith of +the sensation—the gate which had opened so invitingly +seemed to have closed behind him. What +was still more curious, he found, of a sudden, that +these fruits and flowers which had tempted him by +reason of their novelty, were now as familiar, as +seemingly essential, as if they had always been features +of his environment. The garden itself was no +longer a place wherein he walked as a transient visitor, +idly inspecting, but one in which he stood as +proprietor. The tendrils had climbed and clung +about his feet. The moment for retreat had come, +and lo! he could not move!</p> + +<p>As they talked, he grew still more conscious of the +fact that this task of disentanglement which he had +planned, was one beset with unexpected difficulties. +Mirabelle had practically disregarded the inclined +plane of suggestion by which he had sought to lead +up to the main issue, and, with a little air of proprietorship, +had begun to map out her plans for the +coming week—plans in which Andrew figured as +naturally, as much as a matter of course, as did her +carriage or her meals or her gowns. For the first +time, he realized to what an extent she had a claim +upon him. For the first time, the curb replaced +the snaffle. For the first time, the bit made its +presence fully felt. Andrew stirred uneasily.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>M'amie</i>," he said, "we've been much in each +other's company of late—more, perhaps, than is +best for either of us."</p> + +<p>"How can that be?" asked Mirabelle, with a little +laugh. "We love each other—<i>ça suffit</i>. It's impossible +to be too much together."</p> + +<p>Her voice was quite even, but that was not to say +that she did not scent the approaching issue.</p> + +<p>"But people say—" began Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Oh, lalà! <i>People say!</i> What <i>don't</i> they say, +my poor friend? What won't they continue to say, +however you choose to live, and whatever you +choose to do? That's Paris, and that's the smallest +village in Brittany, and everything in between, into +the bargain. Nowadays, one must do as one sees +fit, and have the courage of one's convictions. We've +chosen our way. It's too late to think of what people +say. After all, it's gossip, all this, and gossip is +a snake. One kills it if one can; but, in the long +run, it's better to step over it and forget. What +does gossip amount to? If you're seen always with +your wife, it's because you can't trust her alone; if +you're never seen with her, it's because you've interests +elsewhere. If you spend your nights in public, +you're a profligate; and if you spend them at home, +you're a secret drinker. 'People say'! Let them +say, Andrew. It can't make any difference."</p> + +<p>"Our—our friendship is the talk of the American +Colony," said Andrew, almost savagely.</p> + +<p>Mirabelle looked at him suddenly, with a curious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +crinkling of her forehead. The issue now lay clear +before her.</p> + +<p>"And you are ashamed of <i>that</i>?" she asked.</p> + +<p>She leaned back wearily, closing her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course you are," she added. "I wonder +why it is that we—<i>nous autres</i>—never seem to realize +what it means, all this. A little laughter, a kiss or +two, and the rest, a '<i>je t'aime</i>' which means something +less than nothing, and then—They speak of the +women whom men abuse! What is that to being +<i>used</i>—and flung aside?"</p> + +<p>"Mirabelle!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't speak to me! I know all that you're +going to say—I've heard it all before! I knew it, +back there a minute, when you kissed me, thinking +of another woman! It's the old story—a little +harder to bear this time, perhaps, because I've +cared very much for you. Somehow, you seemed +different from other men. You were young, you were +gentle, you were respectful, <i>mon Dieu!</i>—respectful! +I thought that it was for <i>me</i> you cared—<i>me</i>, as you saw +me here, loving and needing to be loved—not the +Mirabelle Tremonceau who is dressed like a doll by +Paquin and Louise—the Mirabelle Tremonceau of +the Acacias, and the Palais de Glace, and the Café de +Paris. I said to myself that it had not all been in +vain—the training, the care, the painstaking which +have made me what I am. Long since, I'd come to +loathe all these, my surroundings, but, for the first +time, it seemed to me that perhaps they were not a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +sham and an imitation and a mockery. You were a +gentleman—not a <i>rasta</i>, like the others. I thought +your instincts couldn't play you false, and that I +saw that they prompted you to regard me, here in +my own home, as a woman and a friend, not merely +as a mistress and a toy. From the first, you never +presumed, you never let the thought of what, at +worst, I might have been to you, come forward to +shame the thought of what I was, at best! I said +to myself that you cared for <i>me</i>—for my mind—my +heart—and that what was most to others was nothing +to you. When you kissed me first—that afternoon—ah, +<i>mon Dieu</i>! I thought it was not the kiss of passion, +but the kiss of love! At that moment you +knew fully what I was—if you'd not guessed it +before, but you asked for—nothing! Instead you +played, and your soul was in the music. I've never +heard such playing. It was pure—pure—<i>pure!</i> +Ah!—"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes slowly, without looking at him.</p> + +<p>"And I was happy—happier than I've ever been: +because, I said, there must still be a little something +in me of all I thought I'd lost. I'd not loved +you before that day. It was while we were there +together that it came. I would to God you'd let +me go then—let me go with the memory of a look +which I'd never seen in a man's eyes before—the +look which said 'Respect.'"</p> + +<p>For a moment there was silence, and then Mirabelle +laughed shortly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That was what I was fool enough to think—all +that! <i>Quelle idiote! Nous voilà, cher ami</i>, at the end +of the chapter. Your glove is worn: you must +replace it. Your flower is wilted: you must have +another for your lapel!"</p> + +<p>Now she looked full at him, her lip curling.</p> + +<p>"It is like the Moulin," she added. "<i>Combien +est-ce que tu me donnes, beau brun?</i>"</p> + +<p>Andrew swung himself to a kneeling posture.</p> + +<p>"What are you saying?" he demanded hotly. +"My God! Does what has been between us mean +nothing to you? Have I ever suggested—have I +ever said a word to justify such a monstrous thing? +I—"</p> + +<p>"Just now you kissed me, thinking of another +woman!" exclaimed Mirabelle. "Did you suppose I +didn't know? Why, I've <i>loved</i> you—that's how I +knew! Do you realize what all this meant? You +could have made me good again. I would have +left all this—forgotten it—blotted it out! I could +have gone away quietly into the country, and lived +my life out, without a regret. I could almost have +been content never to see you again—never to hear +from you, if I could have remembered—what once +was true—that you respected me! Forgive what I +said just now. It was coarse—unworthy of all that +has been. But you don't understand. I wish I'd +not said what I did; and yet, at times, I feel that +way—I mean, as if it were all the same—at the +Moulin Rouge or here—they for an hour, I for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +month, but each flung away presently, like the dregs +of wine. I've laughed at the knowledge that that is +how it is; always laughed—until the shadow of the +thought fell on you!"</p> + +<p>She slid her cool fingers into the hand he started +to raise in protest, and held it close against her +cheek.</p> + +<p>"Then it maddened me. You see, everything +has been different with you from what it was with +the others. I'd never have believed that I could care +for any man as I have for you—and perhaps I +shouldn't have cared for you as I have, if you'd +come into my life in any other way. But you asked +to be presented to me, and waited for Radwalader +to get my permission; you talked to me as to a +young girl of your own <i>monde</i>; and if at first I didn't +understand what that meant, I soon saw that it was +because <i>you didn't know</i>! Is it any wonder that I +came to love you?—you who alone of all men yielded +me the exquisite homage of respect? I dreaded +the moment when the change must come—when +that deference which intoxicated me like a new +wine should be touched with a growing spirit of +license, which from you would have been intolerable! +From day to day I watched you, but even when I +knew that you suspected what I was, my eyes—<i>mon +Dieu</i>, how keen they were!—could see no change in +you—and that was the greatest surprise of all. +And when, in that moment of madness, I as much as +told you, and you were gentle with me, what had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +been love for your treatment of me became, all at +once, love for just—<i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>With an almost imperceptible pressure she drew +him closer to her. As she went on speaking, her +fingers touched his temples and his hair in a succession +of tiny, soft caresses which were like the embryos +of spoken endearments.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon bien aimé!</i> Never will you be able to comprehend +what you thus came to mean to me. I +have always been vain, lazy, passionately desirous +of all that is softest, sweetest, most palatable in +life; and these things I have had—but at what a +price! Then <i>you</i> came, and with you a flash of hope! +I made myself believe, I don't know what! Marriage? +Yes, there was even that in my mind; and there +was, as well, the idea of going away, as I've said, +into the country, and letting the four winds and the +sunlight of heaven wash and wash and wash me, +through all the years of my life, until I should go +out of this world as white as I came in! Ah! I +don't know what it was, that little flash of hope, +except that it seemed to say that escape was possible, +and it was to <i>your</i> hand I clung, seeking the outlet. +But that was only for one night—for just that one +night! With the next day, with all the sights and +sounds to which I am accustomed—the Allée at +noon, Armenonville at tea-time, Paillard's at midnight—I +saw what the end must be; and, since then, +I've watched, as only a woman watches, for that +first little hint of its coming which only a woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +sees! Ah, <i>mon cheri</i>, it has come, it has come indeed! +For a moment I cried out in my agony against the +fate which is separating us. You must forgive me +that. Six weeks—a little slice of spring—and +already you are tired of me. <i>Mon amour—mon +amour!</i>"</p> + +<p>Andrew turned, and, with his forehead on her +knees and his lips against her fingers, battled silently +against the swelling in his throat and the hot moisture +stinging his inner lids. In the warm, perfume-laden +silence, both the man and the girl went back +in thought to their individual as well as their associated +past. For the end of each successive stage +of life has this in common with the concluding +moments of the whole: as with a drowning person, +all preceding incidents and emotions start up in +orderly array, intensified and in their proper +light.</p> + +<p>So Andrew, reviewing the past three weeks, was +prey to a passionate regret. In this there was censure, +not so much of his own weakness, as of the +test which had laid it bare. In youth, reaction carries +with a merciless arraignment of all which has +made possible disloyalty to standard; with age, +men learn to blame themselves, their own folly and +frailty. In his heart of hearts, Andrew impugned +the girl; and when, under the impetus of her resentment, +she had voiced that scathing sneer, he had +almost welcomed it, as an excuse for the course he +was determined to pursue. For an instant, pity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +and regret were swallowed up in a profound sense of +indignity. In its essentials, her speech seemed no +better than a touch of the brutal vulgarity which, +with deliberation, he had avoided all his life. It +had that very element of the sordid which had held +him aloof from the student excursions from Cambridge +into Boston—excursions so apt to end in +brawls, drunken clamour, tears, and maudlin reconciliations. +It was of a piece with a dispute over +the finish of a game of cards, with the recriminations +of an aggrieved supper companion, with the abuse of +an exasperated bartender. It cut him to the quick, +and, for the moment, seemed to place Mirabelle on a +level with the women with whom she desperately +classed herself. "It is like the Moulin!" As she +said the words, it was as if the wand of a harlequin +had touched the scene. The faint perfume of the +Gloire de Dijon roses which he himself had sent her +turned suddenly to the stale smell of the tobacco +smoke which hung densely over the dancers in the +Red Mill of Montmartre; and Mirabelle herself, with +her angry eyes, was at one with the painted, powdered, +and bedizened monstrosity whom Radwalader +had snubbed one evening as she paused at the table +where he and Andrew were sampling an atrocious +<i>liqueur</i> and watching an unlovely quadrille. But +the impression passed as it had come. She was +herself again, supremely beautiful, and supremely +appealing in her avowal of devotion; and the element +of romance which, in his mind, had always characterized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +their relation was intensified rather than +diminished by this touch of tragedy.</p> + +<p>Mirabelle rose suddenly, looking down upon +him.</p> + +<p>"I understand," she said; "but there is one thing +I would like to ask you. This other woman—do +you love her? Will all this procure you what you +want?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," faltered Andrew. "Perhaps +not."</p> + +<p>"Then why—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how can I explain to you?" he exclaimed, +rising in his turn. "It's just this—I <i>must</i> make another +try, and to do that I <i>must</i> be free! You have +the right to ask—what <i>haven't</i> you the right to ask! +I'll tell you the truth—that's all I can do now. The +girl I asked to marry me flung me off because—because—"</p> + +<p>"Because of <i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>She bent forward, staring at him, as if she would +wring the truth from his hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Yes—because of you."</p> + +<p>"And when was this? When <i>was</i> it, I ask you? +Was it—<i>before</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then she had no grounds for what she said? +She was wrong—she misjudged you—and then you +came back to me!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why—<i>why</i>?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Andrew miserably. "I +owed you something. I couldn't hear you accused +like that when there was no reason. You were my +friend."</p> + +<p>"And so—you gave up the woman you—loved? +Ah, <i>mon Dieu</i>!"</p> + +<p>She paused, and then her eyes blazed suddenly +with such a light as he had never seen in them, and +her hands went to her temples with a bewildered +flutter.</p> + +<p>"It was for me," she said, "for me! And to-morrow +it is to be <i>adieu</i>?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow?"</p> + +<p>Briefly they searched each other's eyes.</p> + +<p>"I mean to-night, of course," said Mirabelle +evenly. "Andrew—there is one thing I would like +to ask of you, before you go. Will you—will you +kiss me once—not as you have ever kissed me?" +Her fingers touched her forehead. "Will you kiss +me—here?"</p> + +<p>He advanced a step and did as she had asked, +then fell back.</p> + +<p>"Mirabelle—Mirabelle!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't think of me, my friend. I don't mean +to be cruel—but I have—other interests. Let us +say good-by, and part—friends. I trust you may be +happy."</p> + +<p>"Mirabelle!"</p> + +<p>Andrew's voice broke suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Then it's good-by?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mirabelle; and, with a little sob, he +bent and kissed her hand.</p> + +<p>When he had gone, she stood irresolutely, her lips +parted and her eyes very bright. Then she wheeled +and walked slowly toward the mantel. A photograph +of Thomas Radwalader leaned there against +a slender vase. As it met her eyes, she snatched +abruptly at it, tore it into twenty pieces, and scattered +the fragments in the air.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h4>A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.</h4> + + +<p>"He's gone for a couple of days," observed Vicot +bluntly, as he opened the door of Andrew's apartment +to Radwalader, about noon of the following day. +"He left a note for you. It's on his desk."</p> + +<p>"I'll come in and read it," answered Radwalader, +with his customary lack of manifest surprise. "It +may require an answer."</p> + +<p>He pulled off his gloves in a leisurely manner, as +he entered the little <i>salon</i>, and stood looking down +at the note addressed to him.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," he added, "you'll save me the trouble +of opening this by giving me a brief epitome of its +contents."</p> + +<p>"He didn't honour me with his confidence," said +Vicot. "And he left the note sealed."</p> + +<p>Radwalader turned the envelope, flap up.</p> + +<p>"I see you've been careful to restore it to its original +condition," he remarked. "You're skilful at +this kind of thing, my friend—uncommonly skilful. +I fail to perceive the slightest evidence of your tampering."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then why not give me the benefit of the doubt?" +demanded the other sullenly.</p> + +<p>"Because, with the best will in the world, it's +quite impossible to give you the benefit of something +which doesn't exist. A sealed letter and a +corked bottle, you see, are two things which habit +has long since made it impossible to resist."</p> + +<p>"Not a drop of liquor has touched my lips to-day!" +exclaimed Vicot.</p> + +<p>"And it's past noon!" retorted Radwalader +lightly. "Is this a miracle of which you are informing +me, or have you been taking it through a tube?"</p> + +<p>He took up the note, and seated himself deliberately +in Andrew's chair. Vicot watched him alertly, +gnawing his lip.</p> + +<p>"Am I to know what it's about?" he demanded +presently.</p> + +<p>"There's no conceivable reason why you should," +was the answer; "but, on the other hand, there +seems to be no conceivable reason why you shouldn't. +Only pray don't stand upon ceremony, my good +Jules. If you know the contents, do be kind enough +to say so, and spare me the effort of useless recapitulation."</p> + +<p>"I've practically told you already. I haven't +touched it."</p> + +<p>"Curiously enough," said Radwalader, "I believe +you."</p> + +<p>He threw the note upon the table, and Vicot, +picking it up, scanned it eagerly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'I've gone back,'" he read slowly, "'for another +try.'"</p> + +<p>"Well?" inquired Radwalader pleasantly. "Are +you any the wiser?"</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" asked Vicot, looking down +at him.</p> + +<p>"It means," said Radwalader, "that the game is +up."</p> + +<p>"Damnation!"</p> + +<p>"My <i>good</i> Jules!" protested Radwalader, "pardon +the license of an old friend, who begs to suggest +that your interruption is in most execrable taste!"</p> + +<p>"What are you driving at?" exclaimed Vicot +impatiently. "What does it mean, all this palaver? +There's something back of it. You can't hoodwink +me, Radwalader."</p> + +<p>"Far be it from me to attempt the impossible, my +astute Jules. Quite justly, you demand what I'm +driving at, and, quite frankly, I've told you. The +game is up. Mr. Vane has outplayed us. He's +managed to get out of this pretty little tangle in a +fashion at once ingenious and unexpected. I confess +myself beaten. He's gone back to the girl he +intends to marry."</p> + +<p>Radwalader paused for an instant, as a thought +struck him.</p> + +<p>"And he would have gone back long ago," he +added, "if he had received a certain telegram which +was sent to him three weeks ago. If that particular +telegram was not intercepted <i>en route</i>, it should have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +reached him; if that particular telegram <i>was</i> intercepted +<i>en route</i>, it should have reached <i>me</i>. +Well?"</p> + +<p>Vicot stared at him blankly, his hand groping in +his pocket.</p> + +<p>"A telegram?" he repeated, and then drew out +the blue missive which had arrived, almost simultaneously +with Mirabelle, three weeks before.</p> + +<p>"I forgot," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"You ass!" exclaimed Radwalader. "It's lucky +enough for you that your carelessness didn't interfere +with my plans. As it is, I don't see that it makes +much difference. Vane has been too sharp for us, +all around. For once in my life, I've made a miscalculation. +He's out of the net, right enough, and +the best we can do is to abandon the chase and +apply ourselves to something more profitable. I'm +glad to think that, however unsatisfactory, from a +financial point of view, the venture may have +proved to me, at least you have not suffered—"</p> + +<p>"Enough of that!" broke in Vicot. "Get to the +point!"</p> + +<p>"Why, the point is simply this. On the return of +Mr. Vane, you will present, in due form, your resignation +from his employ, and resume your careful +surveillance of my window in the Rue de Villejust. +When you shall observe it to be ornamented with a +certain unpretentious blue jar, you will know that I +am once more at home to you. I think I can +promise you that the next case deserving of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +joint attention will not be so barren of result as this +one, which we are now with reluctance forced to +relinquish. You might go back to driving a cab, +meanwhile."</p> + +<p>"I'm to leave Mr. Vane's employ," said Vicot, less +in the tone of inquiry than in that of reflection. +"I'm to leave Mr. Vane's employ."</p> + +<p>"Quite so, my perspicacious Jules."</p> + +<p>"Well, then—I won't!" said Jules Vicot.</p> + +<p>He seated himself upon the edge of Andrew's +desk and folded his arms.</p> + +<p>"Radwalader," he added, "many's the time I've +listened to you. Now it's your turn to listen to +me."</p> + +<p>Radwalader, following the impulse of a momentary +whim, folded his arms in turn.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon cher confrère</i>," he said amusedly, "I shall +listen with reverent attention to whatever you may +have to say."</p> + +<p>"I know too well," continued the other, "that I +can't appeal with any hope of success to your sense +of pity—because you haven't any. Wilfully or +otherwise, you have contrived to stifle the promptings +of feeling which weaken—or is it strengthen?—other +men. You're trained to perfection. But +there must be one thing which even you are unable +to forget—I mean the time when we were young +and clean, when we smiled by day as we dreamed of +what lay before us, instead of shuddering by night, +as now, as we dream of what lies behind."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> + +<p>Radwalader nodded. "I'm not addicted, myself, +to the unpleasant habit of shuddering," he said, +"but I think I know what you mean by the other +part of your preamble. 'When all the world was +young, lad, and all the trees were green: and every +goose a swan, lad, and every lass a queen!' Isn't +that it? Yes, I seem to remember something of the +sort, and with a not unpleasurable emotion. Continue, +my good Jules."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes," said Vicot, moistening his lips, +"the thought of that time must come back even to +you. Sometimes even you, with all your callousness, +must contrast what you might have been +with what you are. Sometimes a face, among all those +we meet, must recall to you the days when better +things were possible. But if you have never been +thrust back thus upon your own youth, and grown +sick at thought of it, I have! There's nothing more +awful."</p> + +<p>"We've been over all this before," put in Radwalader, +with a suggestion of weariness.</p> + +<p>"You said you'd hear me out! I'm not talking +religion, or even morality. I'm trying to spare +you the cant to which you once objected. I don't +care about the future. I'm like you in having no +more dread of hell than love of heaven. No, it's not +the future which hits me. But the past—! The +world—the world which, long since, I ran to meet +so eagerly—has made me rotten, rotten, <i>rotten</i> to +the core!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Severe," commented Radwalader, "but strictly +accurate. Continue, my Jules."</p> + +<p>"You can't make me angry, Radwalader. I'm +changed a good bit in these past few weeks. I've +been going easy on the drink for one thing, which +may account for the fact that my head has cleared, +and that I see a number of things in a very different +light."</p> + +<p>For an instant his eyes gleamed with a kind of +eagerness.</p> + +<p>"I wish you were easier to talk to, Radwalader," +he added, his voice suddenly grown timorous with a +hint of the old whimper. "With all your cold-bloodedness, +you're the only—"</p> + +<p>"When you've anything worth saying, I'm as easy +to talk to as the next man," said Radwalader. "It's +only when you begin to lament through your nose +about the past, and remorse; and 'I remember, I +remember the house where I was born,' that I'm +not the pink of polite attention. I confess I can't +stand that kind of thing; but, for this once, let it go. +I'll hear you out."</p> + +<p>"Well," continued the other, "one thing I've +found out is that there is less tragedy than comedy +about an old man looking back shamefacedly upon +the past."</p> + +<p>"That's the first sensible thing you've said," +observed Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"The tragic spectacle," added Vicot, "is that of +the young man looking forward hopefully upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +future. Now the old man and the young man I +describe have been in close proximity for several +weeks, and the old man has learned that his own +security isn't worth much, one way or another, when +compared with the young man's security."</p> + +<p>"The old man gets ten in modesty." Radwalader +carefully entered the mark in an imaginary report-book.</p> + +<p>"The old man sees," pursued Vicot, "that a +certain person whom he has been fearing is really +of infinitely minor importance, after all."</p> + +<p>"<i>Grand merci!</i>"</p> + +<p>"This person has been jumping out of dark corners +and shouting 'Boo!'—that's all. Even if he should +tell all he knows about the old man—but he won't, no +matter what happens: that's another thing the old +man has learned—it wouldn't make any difference. +Do you see? It wouldn't make any difference at +all!"</p> + +<p>He peered at Radwalader triumphantly, but the +latter noted that under his folded left arm Vicot's +right thumb twitched ceaselessly against his sleeve. +He hugged himself upon perceiving this, and nodded.</p> + +<p>"Shrewd old man!" he said. "Pity he didn't +find all this out sooner."</p> + +<p>"Well, soon or late," went on Vicot, "the knowledge +is his now, and it's bound to be useful—not to +himself, mind you, but to the <i>young</i> man! Do you +begin to see? If this person is going to hound this +young man, and ruin his life as he has ruined others,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +it will have to be by new tricks. The old man knows +all the old ones—he would recognize them in their +earliest stages—he would be able to checkmate this—this +person, before he had fairly made the first move!"</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" inquired Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"All? Yes—it's all until I hear what you have +to say."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm expected to take part in the conversation, +am I? I thought I was only to listen. Well, +then, my good Jules, if you will allow me to dispense +with the thin disguise of the old man and the young +man and the certain person—as the phrases are +becoming wearisome—suppose I were to say to you +that all this is entirely without interest, so far as +I'm concerned? We've fought over all this ground +of my hold upon you; and you know as well as I +that you're at liberty to test its efficacy whenever +your courage is equal to the ordeal. We've also +wasted some time upon your maunderings over your +past probity, youthful innocence, and present degeneration. +I'm sorry, but I can't get up the faintest +gleam of enthusiasm on this subject. Indeed, it +bores me intolerably, and I beg you'll spare me from +it in the future. As regards Mr. Andrew Vane, +whom you see fit to think in danger of being 'ruined,' +I've already stated that I've no further designs upon +him. Altogether, my good Jules, I consider that +I've done no more than shamefully waste my time +by giving you my undivided attention for the past +ten minutes."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vicot revolved these remarks in silence for a few +moments, glancing up covertly once or twice from +under his heavy lids, as if in hope of surprising the +other in an expression indicative of some idea at +variance with his words. But in each instance +Radwalader met his eyes with his quiet, non-committal +smile.</p> + +<p>"It seems you were right," continued the latter +presently, "in saying you have changed. If it +pleases you to imagine that the alteration is in the +nature of a great moral awakening, by all means consider +it so. To my way of thinking, it's more like +one of the transient panics of a Louis XI., praying to +the little images in his cap, and ready, the next moment, +to resume his misdoing at the point where he +left off. Only one thing is made clear by what +you've said, and that is that you're no longer fit for +the kind of work I've thus far found for you. From +to-day we part company."</p> + +<p>He rose slowly to his feet, and was about to move +towards the door, when he was checked by a movement +on the other's part. Following his old habit, +Vicot had thrust his hands into his pockets.</p> + +<p>"That suits me," he answered. "But please to +remember this. I've been cleaning and loading +your weapons for you so long that I know their uses +as well as yourself. I'm able to turn them effectively +against you, and I'll do it if need be. I +would be resigning the little hold I have upon security, +perhaps; but I'd not be doing it uselessly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +Some men fling themselves into the sea, simply to +be rid of life: others save the life of another by +quietly slipping off a log that won't keep two afloat. +Both acts are suicide, but, somehow, there's a difference."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I begin to see," said Radwalader. "Sidney +Carton all over again—eh? I, in the leading rôle +of guillotine, come down upon you and chop off your +head, while Mr. Vane goes free. 'It is a far, far better +thing that I do than I have ever done,' and all +that. It's a pity that Mr. Vane, by his own shrewdness, +has already obviated the danger which threatened +him, and that you no longer have the opportunity +of exercising your lofty purpose."</p> + +<p>"If I could believe that!" observed Vicot.</p> + +<p>"Believe what?"</p> + +<p>"Why, believe that the smallest part of what +you've told me is true—that the game's up—that +you're beaten—that Mr. Vane is free. But I can't. +What have you often said to me?—that you never +turn back, never give up. And yet, knowing you're +defeated, I find you smiling, careless, ready to +chuck the game and begin on something else. Does +that ring true? You know whether it does or +not. You know whether I've any reason to trust +you? No! And so I refuse to leave Mr. Vane's +employ."</p> + +<p>"Might one inquire," asked Radwalader, "what +you expect to gain?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," replied Vicot, "which you would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +appreciate or even understand. I expect to gain +self-respect."</p> + +<p>"<i>Indeed!</i> May I ask whose?"</p> + +<p>"If I cannot be anything myself," continued +Vicot, disregarding the sneer, "I can at least be of +use to this boy. I can show him my life, teach him +how insignificant slips are the beginnings of moral +avalanches, and how bitter are the dregs when one +has had the wine."</p> + +<p>"You're an authority on <i>that</i> point, at all events," +commented Radwalader dryly. "But what insensate +delusion is this, my eloquent, disreputable +Jules? What can you possibly be to him, or he to +you? How can you even begin to speak to him +upon this personal plane? At the first symptom of +such insolent effrontery, he'd give you a week's +wages in lieu of notice, and show you the door. +Faugh! Why, man, he's your master, your employer, +your—"</p> + +<p>"He's my son!" said Jules Vicot.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h4>A DOG AND HIS MASTER.</h4> + + +<p>For a long moment after this announcement, +Radwalader stared at the speaker curiously. Vicot +had straightened himself, and met his eyes with a +kind of boldness which he had never shown before.</p> + +<p>"He is my son!" he repeated presently. "Sit +down, Radwalader. You may as well hear the whole +story. My name's no more Vicot than yours is. +It's John Vane, and twenty-five years ago it was as +respected as any in Boston. I'd everything to live +for, as the saying is, and I might have realized it all; +but, except for about a year, just after I left college, +I never seemed to get a grip on things. I had money—perhaps +that was the trouble. Everything came +my way for a time, but I mixed myself up in speculation, +and it wasn't long before I found myself +ruined. I—I was married. My wife stuck to me, +even after I began to drink, but after the liquor'd +had a chance to make me about what I've been ever +since you've known me, and I saw that she was +beginning to despise me, I grew—or thought I grew—to +hate her. We were living in a wretched little +house in Kingsbridge, the drink was gaining on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +me every day, and things got worse and worse. I +expect I was brutal to her, though half the time I +didn't know what I was saying. Anyhow, she drew +farther and farther away from me, till after a few +months the fact that we were man and wife was +nothing more than a hideous burlesque. She +wouldn't let me touch her, she'd hardly answer when +I spoke to her, and that made me furious. The +conditions were intolerable, maddening: and when +another woman came into my life, who flattered me +and seemed fond of me and had enough money for +us both, I saw a way of escape. I deserted my wife, +soothing what little conscience I had left, with the +thought that she'd go back to her father, be cared +for, and think herself well rid of me. I sailed for +Liverpool with the other. That was twenty-one +years ago—on Thanksgiving Day, 1879. For a +little, I reformed, but the old habits came back, of +course, and, the first I knew, I was done by as I'd +done. My—my companion left me, with a small +monthly allowance and the information that this +would be continued so long as I made no attempt to +see her. She knew me pretty well by then, you see! +And she was right. I accepted, and for fifteen years +I managed to live on this pittance, drifting all over +Europe and turning my hand to whatever job came +my way. Then she died, and the allowance came +to an end. I was here in Paris, strapped; and it was +then you caught me in what was, for me, too bold an +attempt at swindling—the case of Mr. Rutherford,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +of course. You knew me for a thief and a forger, +and I was fully prepared to have you turn me over +to the police, when I discovered that you were no +better than myself, and that your knowledge was to +be used not to betray, but merely to intimidate me. +You know the rest—up to the moment when you told +me that I was to become the servant of Mr. Vane.</p> + +<p>"All this time I had never so much as heard of his +existence. Indirectly, I'd learned of my wife's +death, but that it was because of the birth of a child—that +I never knew. Even when I heard the name +I wasn't more than momentarily startled. It's not +an uncommon one, and nothing was farther from +my mind than the thought that I might have a son. +But it was only a few days before I guessed. The +name 'Andrew' gave me the first clue. It's his +grandfather's. Then, when I began to probe into +his letters, as you'd told me to, I soon learned the +truth. And, from the moment I was sure, my mind +was made up. I'd made a botch of my own life, +and here I was engaged in an attempt to make a +botch of his. Well, then, I wouldn't. The time +didn't seem right for saying anything to you. I +thought I could do more good by keeping mum, +and watching. If you'll look back—" and Vicot's +voice took on a new note of pride—"you'll find +that I haven't given you a scrap of information +which would tend to damage him in any way, or +put him in your power."</p> + +<p>"That," observed Radwalader, "appears, from my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +knowledge of the case, to have been simply because +you didn't know anything worth telling. I thought +I was going to need your services, but, as it happened, +I didn't. Things went very well by themselves."</p> + +<p>"But it was only last night," continued Vicot, after +a moment, "that I realized what this boy meant to me. +After you'd gone out to dinner, I picked up what was +lying on that table. I'd never seen it before. Either +it had just come, or else he's kept it locked up. Do +you remember what it was? It was that picture—there!"</p> + +<p>He flung out one hand passionately, pointing at +the miniature on the mantel behind Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"Look! I found <i>that</i>—the picture of my wife and +the mother of my son!"</p> + +<p>Radwalader rose slowly, turned, walked across to +the mantel, and bent forward to examine the picture. +As Vicot continued, the vague expression of +interest on the other's face deepened to one of eager +scrutiny. His eyebrows came together, as of one +who strives to recollect, and then a small, sneering +smile began to curl the corners of his lips.</p> + +<p>"That settled the question. As I say, I've made +a rotten failure of everything, but there's one chance +left! When I saw her picture, I saw my duty, and +I was glad—my God! how glad I was! So now I'm +resolved. You can do as you please. You can say +what you will. You can flay me alive, if you like, +or send me to the galleys, or ruin me in any fashion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +in your power. I've seen the picture of the woman +I wronged, and I've seen my way to make good. +From somewhere, perhaps, she'll see and understand. +He's my son! Do as you think best—you'll never +harm him. He shall marry this girl he loves, and +that without a word out of your mouth—curse you! +I'm not afraid for myself. My life's over. But the +sins of the fathers shall <i>not</i> be visited upon the +children! God Almighty Himself won't deny me +this chance. And <i>there</i> is my highest trump, Master +Radwalader. Can you take the trick?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Yes</i>, by God!" exclaimed Radwalader, wheeling +full upon him, "and with the ace! I knew that face +last night, though at the time I couldn't place it. +So <i>that</i> is the woman you deserted at Kingsbridge +twenty-one years ago—your wife—the mother of +Andrew Vane! Oh, don't assure me! <i>I</i> know +you're telling the truth, right enough, but I know +more than that. Shall I tell you? Well, then, +what <i>you</i> rejected <i>I</i> picked up; what <i>you</i> were fool +enough to desert <i>I</i> was wise enough to appreciate. +<i>Your wife</i>—ho! You tell me that she wouldn't +answer you when you spoke to her, that for months +she wouldn't let you touch her, that your marriage +was a farce. Here is what <i>I</i> tell <i>you</i>. I found no +such difficulty. She answered me readily enough +she took my hand before I'd known her five minutes, +and everything she denied you, she gave to me! Do +you understand what <i>that</i> means? It means that if +the father of Andrew Vane is alive to-day, he's not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +alive in the person of Jules Vicot or of John Vane, +but in that of Thomas Radwalader!"</p> + +<p>He threw himself violently into the chair again, +and his nervous tension snapped in a shrill laugh. +As the last words left his lips, it was as if an unseen +hand had snuffed out the light in the eyes of the +man who had been John Vane. His exaltation left +him, and he braced himself rigidly against the desk, +leaning far back, and staring, staring through the +singular, dull film which had come across his pupils. +He gave no audible evidence, until Radwalader had +spoken again, that he had understood or even heard.</p> + +<p>"What a witch Fate is! What hands she deals! +A moment since, you were nearer to having me in a +tight place, Jules—er—Mr. Vane, than you ever have +been, or than you're ever likely to be again. There's +just one thing against which I've never been able to +secure myself, and that is the possibility of some +sudden, overmastering emotion in those whom I'm +forced to trust. I've never been so unfortunate as +to run foul of it before, but when you were trumpeting +remorse, and self-sacrifice, and atonement, and +so forth, a moment ago, I confess I thought you had +the odd trick. With hysteria, all things are possible, +and a majority probable. If Andrew Vane had been +in reality your son, and you'd not chosen to believe +that I'd no further plans in regard to him, you might +have done me an infinite deal of harm. You disturbed +me—you disturbed me considerably, Mr. +Vane. But, lo and behold! a turn of the wheel, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +throw of the dice, a deal of the cards, and I am able, +with extreme relish, to snap my fingers in your face—because, +since he is <i>not</i> your son, but mine, you're +going to keep your mouth shut even more tightly +in the future than you have in the past! If you'd +not been an idiot, as well as a coward, you'd have +known long ago that my hold over you hasn't been +worth the paper on which it was written. My very +silence about what I knew of the Rutherford swindle +made me an accessory after the fact. Strange you +didn't think of that! But now—things are very +different. You'll keep your mouth shut, my dear +Mr. Vane, because, while nothing but shame could +have come to the boy by the revelation that he was +your son, the shame would be multiplied a thousand-fold +by the public admission that he is mine!"</p> + +<p>As he paused, the other blinked, and strove in +vain for an instant before he could find his voice.</p> + +<p>"A lie!" he murmured hoarsely. "All a damned +lie!"</p> + +<p>"Let's see if it is," answered Radwalader. "I +don't deal in that dangerous commodity if I can +avoid it. There never was a lie yet which it wasn't +possible, sooner or later, to nail: and that in itself is +enough to make me fight shy. I never take unnecessary +risks. Besides, in the present instance, the +truth fits my needs to a nicety. So I think you'll +believe what I'm going to tell you."</p> + +<p>Vicot gave a short, bewildered nod, seeming to ask +him to continue.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The facts, then, are these: After having disgraced, +and, presumably, maltreated, the woman +who had the misfortune to be your wife, you deserted +her, by your own confession, and thereby, as +no doubt you will concede, relinquished whatever +claim you had upon her, and all right of supervision +or control over what she chose to do. You left her +in poverty and wretchedness—and I found her. +You sought escape and consolation: she did the same. +You found them in the company of another woman: +she found them in the company of another man. I +was so happy as to be that man. <i>Voilà!</i> It's quite +simple."</p> + +<p>"Lies—all lies!" broke in Vicot passionately. +"She was not that kind. She was a saint on earth!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, you've learned to appreciate her!"</p> + +<p>"Never in God's world would she have stooped to +you—unless you brought deceit to bear."</p> + +<p>Vicot was picking feverishly at the edge of the +desk, his filmed eyes shifting and shifting in their +sockets.</p> + +<p>"Well, then—yes!" said Radwalader. "If I'm +nothing else, at least I'm loyal to the women who—er—have, +as you courteously put it, stooped to me. +I <i>did</i> bring deceit to bear. I was interested in mesmerism +in those days, and highly adept. When I +came upon her, by merest chance, she was desperate, +unstrung, and, I think, on the point of collapse. In +a very natural attempt to calm her, I put forth an +influence which had already been proved considerable.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +To my surprise she yielded completely to it, +and passed, almost before I realized what I'd done, +into a state of profound trance, in which I found her +wholly subject to my will. Up to that moment—believe +me or not, as you choose—I had no ulterior +motive. But when I found her walking, talking as +I desired, interest led me on. I directed her back to +the town—we met on a hill-road back of it—willing +her to lead me to her home. I'd some thought of +explaining matters to her family, but when I found +that she apparently had none, when I saw the +squalor and dreariness in which she lived, curiosity +impelled me to question her, and from her unconscious +answers I gained enough to confirm my +present knowledge of who she was. Then—I was +but human—she was very beautiful—the circumstances—"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" broke in Vicot. "I understand what +you're going to say."</p> + +<p>"So much the better: we're saved the necessity +of going into unpleasant details. Suffice it to say +that what happened, happened. Already, as we +walked together, I'd said enough to impress my +mentality upon hers, to make her mind my property, +and her will subject to mine. When I left her I +meant to go back, to help and uplift her, to marry +her, perhaps. Who knows? I was very young +then and a good deal of a pedant."</p> + +<p>"So you never went back," said Vicot. "You +left her—<i>like that</i>!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Just as you'd left her, the same day," retorted +Radwalader, his complacency quite restored. "Don't +let's get to recriminations. I fancy it's a case of +pot and kettle."</p> + +<p>"All this doesn't prove that the boy's not mine," +exclaimed the other, with sudden energy.</p> + +<p>Radwalader rose, came quite close to him, and +said with a little sneer:</p> + +<p>"Do you think it's likely? It's a question of the +simplest arithmetic. Vane's not yet twenty-one—and +what have you told me? Look back—calculate."</p> + +<p>Vicot made no reply. He was peering at Radwalader's +face, and presently he whispered:</p> + +<p>"My God! <i>He's even got your eyes!</i>"</p> + +<p>"From the sublime to the ridiculous," said Radwalader. +"A moment since, you were spouting +heroic sentiments, and had me so obviously at a +disadvantage that I—yes, I was almost afraid of +you. Now we're parties to a <i>dénouement</i> which would +seem to have come from the pen of Alfred Capus."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean to do?" asked Vicot lifelessly.</p> + +<p>"Do? Why, nothing. What is there to do, +except to be thankful that a discerning Providence +has put it out of your power to injure me. The +boy's mine—there can't be a doubt of it—and if you +so much as open your lips on the subject, you not +only disgrace yourself and me, but Andrew as well, +and, most of all, the memory of your wife. That's +enough: I'm satisfied. Sheer common-sense will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +show you, as it shows me, that silence is the only +course. Andrew believes, as does every one else, +that his father is dead. We alone, of all men, know +the truth—and we agree to hold our tongues."</p> + +<p>"If I could trust you!" exclaimed Vicot, "but I +can't—I <i>can't</i>! You've laid a trap for him—you +know you have!—just as you did for the others, +because he's young, and reckless, and rich! You +called me in to help you, and probably the Tremonceau +girl as well. Oh, I know how it's worked! +Well, that's why I must stick by him, and guard +him, and see to it that he can marry the girl he wants +to—"</p> + +<p>Suddenly Radwalader laughed.</p> + +<p>"Why, what an ass it is!" he said. "Look here, +you mountebank! The only person who has brought +Andrew Vane into trouble, from the very beginning +of all this, is <i>you</i>! I couldn't <i>make</i> him compromise +himself: I could only set the bait. He nibbled at +it, to be sure, but he was never in my power or Mirabelle +Tremonceau's for a moment. He loved another +girl. He went to her and asked her to marry him, +and she refused him, but he'd no sooner left her than +she thought better of it and sent for him. If that +message had reached him, he would never have +seen Mirabelle again; but it didn't reach him, and, +quite naturally, he took the next best thing. Now +she's his mistress, and he's just where I've wanted +to have him all along. For all this, Mr. Vane, I +have only you to thank!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I?" repeated Vicot. "What have I to do with +it?"</p> + +<p>"This much: that, while you've been planning to +keep him out of my power, the very thing that would +have done so once and for all has been lying in your +pocket. A moment ago you laid a telegram upon +the table. It's still there. Open it!"</p> + +<p>Slowly, wonderingly, Vicot tore the blue paper +open and read aloud the five words which it contained:</p> + +<p>"Come back to me. <span class="smcap">Margery.</span>"</p> + +<p>Radwalader slipped his hands into his pockets.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," he said. "Do you see?"</p> + +<p>"But you said, only a little while ago," stammered +Vicot, "that the game was up—that you wouldn't do +anything more."</p> + +<p>"Only by way of shutting your mouth," said +Radwalader coolly. "Since then there've been +developments. When I said that, I was, as I've +already told you, anxious to get rid of you. Now—well, +you won't blab in any event, because the small +sum of money which it will cost Vane to get rid of +Mirabelle is nothing compared with what it would +mean to him if you forced me into pitting my knowledge +of his origin against your accusations of me."</p> + +<p>"And so," cried Vicot furiously, "you're determined +to hold this over him. You'll hound him +and hound him—damn you!—till perhaps you'll +drive him desperate—till you drive him to kill himself—and +end up in the Morgue, like young Baxter—and +then you'll go and look at him, staring out through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +the glass—and you'll smile and light a cigarette +and whistle 'Au Clair de la Lune'! You hell-hound!"</p> + +<p>He flung himself forward, as if he would have +seized the other by the throat, halted suddenly as +Radwalader's right hand came from his pocket, and +stooped, staring cross-eyed into the shining mouth +of a revolver, held without a tremor six inches from +his contorted face.</p> + +<p>"Get back, you dog!" said Radwalader; and at +the words, as if he had been a dog indeed, Vicot +shuddered, went limp, and sank whimpering at his +master's feet.</p> + +<p>"Now listen to me as well as you're able," continued +Radwalader. "If you stir hand or foot in +this matter, you're a lost man. It's no longer the +old story: you know what's at stake <i>now</i>! I don't +know what this madness of yours may lead you to, +but I've myself to protect, and you may rest assured +I'll do that, no matter at what cost. If, through +some distorted and drunken idea of protecting him, +you betray me, I'll hound you—since you talk of +hounding—as never was a man hounded before. I'd +sacrifice not only you, not only Vane, not only the +memory of his mother, but myself into the bargain. +If I pull down all Paris about my ears, I'll beat +you, do you hear?—I'll beat you, my man—I'll +beat you!"</p> + +<p>As he finished, Vicot dragged himself to his elbows +and looked up. His face was ghastly, and wet with +ridiculous insensate tears.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All right, Radwalader," he whined. "Do as you +please, only for God's sake don't let this get out. If +you must have the money, get it from him, but don't +ruin his life—don't let him know. I won't breathe a +word—I swear I won't—and I'll do whatever else +you ask of me—anything—God knows I will!"</p> + +<p>He was on his knees now, clutching at Radwalader's +coat.</p> + +<p>"Now it's all right, isn't it?" he asked. "It's all +right between us? You won't tell, and I won't +tell. We understand each other, Radwalader, +don't we?—ha, yes, we understand each other, you +and I!"</p> + +<p>"<i>God!</i>" said Radwalader, flinging him off. "Is it +a man or a worm?"</p> + +<p>Briefly he stood, looking down at the thing which +writhed and whimpered before him, and then touched +it curiously with his foot. A moment later, the +outer door closed behind him with a sullen slam.</p> + +<p>For a long time—for five hours and more—Vicot +lay where he had fallen. At first he choked and +sobbed, repeating fragments of his miserable appeal, +but gradually even this incoherent murmur died +down to silence. The long summer afternoon stole +by; and from the street outside came the commingled +sounds of a busy thoroughfare—the rattle +of wheels, the cries of venders, the clamour of children +playing: and still he lay, as motionless as one +dead. It was only when the sunlight swung in horizontally +through the window on the Rue Boissière,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +and the bell of a neighbouring church was striking +six, that he stirred, rose, and went slowly across to +stare down into the street. A cab was standing at +the corner—a cab of the Compagnie Urbaine.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Vicot smiled.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h4>FAIR EXCHANGE IS NO ROBBERY.</h4> + + +<p>At eleven o'clock that night, the electric door-bell +of Radwalader's apartment gave two short staccato +chirps and then a prolonged whir. At the sound +he looked up sharply from his evening mail, and +drew his eyebrows together in a puzzled frown.</p> + +<p>"At this hour?" he said to himself, and then, +closing the doors of <i>La Boîte</i> behind him, went out +to answer the summons.</p> + +<p>Mirabelle entered deliberately, passing before him +into the <i>salon</i>, and shredding a little note in her +slender fingers.</p> + +<p>"There's no need of this now," she explained, +scattering the pieces in the empty fireplace. "It +was merely to ask you to call to-morrow. I'd have +mailed it if I'd not found you at home."</p> + +<p>She flung back her light wrap as she spoke, disclosing +a superb evening gown, and a profusion of +diamonds slightly on the safe side of undue ostentation. +Withal, she had a nice sense of fitness in +the matter of dress. It was a safety-valve not +possessed by many of her <i>monde</i>, and which, at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +times, guaranteed her against exploding into vulgarity.</p> + +<p>"I confess," said Radwalader, "that I was surprised +when I recognized your ring. Of late, your +visits have been so infrequent that when I'm +favoured with one at this—to say the least—unconventional +hour, I'm sure that its object is of some +importance."</p> + +<p>Mirabelle looked at him coolly, with a slightly +contemptuous droop of her eyelids.</p> + +<p>"I believe that it's a characteristic of both the +visits I make and those I receive," she said lazily, +"that they're seldom without an object. As for +the hour, I'm not to be judged by the conventionality +for which you manifest so commendable—and so +abrupt—a concern. We Parisians are like our +allies, the Russians: we go by standards of time +which differ from those of the rest of the world. +May I sit down?"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon!" said Radwalader. "Do—by +all means."</p> + +<p>Mirabelle installed herself in an armchair, and +her eyes were travelling to and fro about the room. +Something in the curious confidence of her manner, +a confidence that was almost insolence, turned Radwalader +vaguely uneasy. He was standing with +his back to her, lighting his inevitable cigarette. +There was nothing in his expression to indicate +enjoyment of that usually enjoyable operation.</p> + +<p>"Any news?" he inquired, as the tobacco caught.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Would you mind turning around?" asked Mirabelle +sweetly. "I dislike talking to shoulders."</p> + +<p>Radwalader wheeled upon her with a bow.</p> + +<p>"You are irresistible, <i>ma chère</i>," said he. "After +all, what use? I know you're clever, and you know +I am. It's quite an imbecile proceeding for us to +waste poses and by-plays upon each other. What +<i>is</i> the news? Has the Great Inevitable happened?"</p> + +<p>A tiny shadow crossed her eyes at the phrase, but +she answered steadily.</p> + +<p>"If by 'the Great Inevitable' you mean that the +pleasure vehicle of Mr. Vane has no further accommodations +for me as a passenger, then assuredly yes—the +Great Inevitable has happened."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Radwalader reflectively.</p> + +<p>"He came last night to bid me good-by. It's the +old story. There's another girl—a girl he wants to +marry—and one must clear the decks before going +into action."</p> + +<p>Radwalader looked at her, in silence now, but +with a question in his face.</p> + +<p>"You want to hear about the financial side, I +suppose," she continued. "How pleasant they are, +these little business conferences, how friendly, and +yet—how dignified! It's a pity that there must be +losses as well as gains in such a business as yours, <i>mon +cher associé</i>. It would be so much more agreeable +if one could always declare a dividend, instead of +making an occasional assignment. In the present +instance, I've no further report to make. He's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +tired of me, and he's given me my <i>congé</i>, and that's +all there is to it."</p> + +<p>She looked down, fingering the lace on her gown, +as if to dismiss the subject.</p> + +<p>"You asked him?" began Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"I asked him—nothing! And I <i>shall</i> ask him—nothing! +That was what I came to tell you. I +gather from your expression that it's not pleasant +news. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the truth +is: I'm tired of this kind of thing. I'm going away +for a little rest, and I don't care to be troubled by +money matters."</p> + +<p>Mirabelle was letting her contempt for the man +before her grow dangerously apparent in her voice, +and he winced under it, and then flushed darkly.</p> + +<p>"What rubbish is this?" he demanded, almost +roughly. "Is it a joke?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, as far as possible from anything of the kind," +retorted Mirabelle. "I was never more in earnest. +You wished me to engage with you in blackmailing +Mr. Vane, and you'll probably be kind enough to +remind me that I've done this kind of thing before. +I don't deny it, but—"</p> + +<p>For the first time her voice broke slightly.</p> + +<p>"There are reasons," she added, "why I cannot +do it now."</p> + +<p>Radwalader bit his lip. For a moment his temper +well-nigh claimed the upper hand, but he was shrewd +enough to match this curious unconcern with something +quite as non-committal.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You mean that you love him, I suppose," he +observed.</p> + +<p>"Love?" repeated Mirabelle. "<i>Mon Dieu, monsieur!</i> +what right have I to love, or you to speak +of it? Haven't we grovelled enough in the mud +outside of the cathedral? Must we further degrade +it, as well as ourselves, by entering and laying hands +upon the very shrine?"</p> + +<p>"You love him," said Radwalader, "and he's tired +of you. That's regrettable. I can stand my share +of the pecuniary loss, but I grieve to see you humiliated."</p> + +<p>He glanced at her, and was pleased to notice that +her colour had deepened, and that her foot tapped the +floor. He was at a disadvantage, he knew, until +this curious, apathetic self-control should be broken +down.</p> + +<p>"I can spare your sympathy," she answered. +"No doubt I shall recover from my humiliation, +all in good time. I'm going away, as I've said. +There's the little place my father left me, and that +I've told you about, back of Boissy-St. Leger, at +the edge of the forest, and it's enough. I didn't +come here to reproach you, Radwalader, or to quarrel. +I simply came to say what I've said, and go. I +can't pretend to be sorry that I've made it impossible +for you to carry out your plans, but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>chère amie</i>!" broke in Radwalader, with a +little wave of his hand. "Give yourself no uneasiness +on that head, I beg of you. I had a strong hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +before you compelled me to discard, but who knows +whether it won't be improved by the draw? The +game's never lost till it's played, you know."</p> + +<p>"<i>Radwalader!</i>"</p> + +<p>Mirabelle leaned forward in her chair, knitting her +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you are—going on?"</p> + +<p>"Why, assuredly, my friend! You can't be so ingenuous +as to suppose that my plans are necessarily +changed by this change in yours. I'm sorry to lose +your coöperation, of course. The thing had reached +a point where it would have been easy to bring it +to a prompt and successful conclusion; but, unfortunately, +you've seen fit to back out at the critical +moment. But, as you say, there can be no need of +quarrels and reproaches on either side. You are +perfectly free to do as seems best to you, but really +you mustn't expect that your action binds <i>me</i>. +I've spent a deal of time and thought over this +business, and now I shall have to spend more—but +relinquish it? Why, never in the world, my friend! +Beautiful, attractive, and accomplished as you are, +you must realize that you are not the only woman +in the world."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean," demanded Mirabelle, "that you're +going on—with another woman—to play this whole +miserable business over again, until you've had your +will of him? Do you mean that what I've done +doesn't stand for anything?"</p> + +<p>"I see no necessity for giving you an outline of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +my exact plans," said Radwalader, "now that you've +resigned from any share in them; but, if it will afford +you any satisfaction, you have a tolerably accurate +idea of my intentions."</p> + +<p>"Listen to me!" answered Mirabelle, with a last +effort at calm. "I have done your bidding in the +past, furthered your schemes, and taken my share of +the gain. Bah! Why should I regret it? Regret +mends no breakages. It's to the future, not to the +past, that I look. I've told you what I want. I +want my freedom. I want to go away into the country, +and to forget—everything! I don't know how +long it will last, and I don't care. All I want now +is peace of mind. I don't say I'll never come back to—to +all this: for no doubt I shall; but for the moment, +for a time, I want to be alone, and at ease. Will +you make it possible, Radwalader?"</p> + +<p>"I? But why is it necessary to ask me that? +I've said I'm sorry to lose you. You're the only +woman I can absolutely trust, the only one who can +hold her tongue and do as she's told. I freely forgive +you this single desertion. No doubt there are +particular circumstances in the case which have +forced you to the course you've taken. You don't +see fit to explain them, and I don't care to ask. +And then it's not as if you were going away for ever. +You'll come back—and shortly. Paris, the Bois, +your diamonds, your amusements, your little <i>affaires</i>—they're +as necessary to you as light or air. So, go +by all means, and enjoy your vacation to your heart's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +content. I'll not disturb you. <i>Au revoir, ma +chère!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Mirabelle brokenly. "How little, +with all your cleverness, you understand a woman! +Where she can be happy in her lover's happiness, no +matter at what cost to her, she must be unhappy in +his distress, no matter how free from personal suffering +she herself may be! You asked me if I loved +him. Well, then—yes! I don't mind saying that, +because you'll never understand how or why. How +should you? How should you know that, to a +woman, a man is not so much a personality, as the +author of all the new impulses and emotions which +he brings into her life? You say he's tired of me, +and I answer you that I'm more than repaid by +what he's taught me of truth and manliness and +gentleness and respect. That's why I could give +him up—because I knew that his best happiness lay +apart from mine. That's why I had to desert you—because +I could not be party to any plot to shame or +to degrade him. What I gave, I gave freely and +fully. Ah, try—<i>try</i> to understand! I've been a +faithful partner to you, haven't I? You yourself +say I've never broken my word or made a false move +in the games we've played together. I've been +loyal to you, no matter what degradation it cost me, +because I knew you trusted me. At first, as you +know, I didn't see what I was helping you to do. I +encouraged the boys you brought to me, and cast +them off when you gave the word. And afterwards,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +when now and again you gave me something from +Tiffany's, did I think?—did I know? When I found +out, it was too late. I was bound to you in a way, +and—well, I'll leave all that. My only point is this: +I've served you faithfully, haven't I—faithfully, +unflinchingly, and loyally—from first to last?"</p> + +<p>"From first to last," echoed Radwalader, slowly +nodding.</p> + +<p>"Then," said Mirabelle, with sudden passion, +flinging back her head, "I ask for my reward—for +my payment—for my wages. I ask of you the +honour and integrity of Andrew Vane!"</p> + +<p>"The—"</p> + +<p>"Yes!—that—that—<i>that</i>! in payment for mine, +which I've sold to you. Fair exchange is no robbery. +I love him, do you hear? I've accepted my +dismissal at his hands, but I do not choose that you +should continue to plot against him, with another +woman as bait, and with a spy in his rooms watching +for every little slip and folly, and ready, when +you say so, to post them all before the world—unless +he <i>pays</i>! <i>Dieu!</i> I can imagine you, as you were +with Chauvigny, with little De Vitzoff, with young +Baxter, with Sir Henry Gore, and the rest of them! +'Unfortunate, of course, but really, you see, you've +been most imprudent, and every precaution must +be taken to prevent the details of this affair leaking +out.' <i>Et cetera!</i> 'The only safe way with these +people is to buy them off.' <i>Et cetera!</i> 'If you will +put yourself in my hands, I think I can manage it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +for ten—twenty—thirty thousand francs.' <i>Et cetera, +et cetera, et cetera! Eh bien—non!</i> I do not choose +to have it so with the man I love. There are other +fish for you to catch. Let me have this one's life. +That much you owe me. As you call yourself a +man, pay me and let me go!"</p> + +<p>She had risen with the intensity of her appeal, and +now, white with passion, Radwalader flashed to his +feet at her side.</p> + +<p>"By Heaven, Mirabelle—!"</p> + +<p>"And by Heaven, Monsieur Radwalader! What +then? Are you going to threaten me? Do you +take me for a Jules Vicot, at least? Do my hands +tremble? Do I shrink before you? Ah, that might +have been possible at first: for I don't deny that I've +feared you at times; but now—<i>zut</i>! It's not the +first time, my Radwalader, that the pupil has out-stripped +the master. You've taught me too much +for your own good. <i>Voyons!</i> A secret is safe just +so long as one person knows it, and only one. But +no man is secure, from the moment when he confides +to others that he's not what he pretends to be. But +you?—you are different. For two years past, to +my knowledge, and probably for many more, you've +been building up a house of cards. It's growing +very tall, Monsieur Radwalader, very dangerously +tall. You think the foundations strong, but they +weaken with every card you add. <i>Allons!</i> Enough +of this brawling. You know what I demand."</p> + +<p>"And if I refuse?" suggested Radwalader.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you refuse? Ah, then your game is indeed +ended and your house of cards blown down! For +I'll make your name notorious, not only in Paris, +but in every capital of Europe. They shall have +all the details—all that Vicot, as well as I, can give +them. By the blood of Christ, <i>monsieur</i>, if you +don't promise what I ask, in three days the name of +Thomas Radwalader, swindler, card-sharp, blackmailer, +and blood-sucker, shall be the common property +of the civilized world! What have I to lose, or +fear, or even consider? Nothing! You know that, +as well as I. And I'll save the man I love from the +trap you're preparing for him, even if I send myself +to St. Lazare!"</p> + +<p>Radwalader sank back easily into his chair.</p> + +<p>"My good Mirabelle," he said, "all this is very +admirable as sentiment and, I must say, extraordinarily +well done. It's a pity that it should be +wasted upon an impossible situation. Be patient +with me for a moment, and I'll show you precisely +why you'll neither edify the capitals of Europe with +an account of my private affairs nor compel me to +do anything but what I choose to do in the case of +Mr. Andrew Vane. We are three in number: I, a +gentleman who chooses, for reasons of his own, to +keep one side of his life from the view of the general +public; you, a very charming girl, most cruelly, but +nevertheless conspicuously, avoided by the members +of your sex who pride themselves upon respectability; +and Andrew Vane, a young person wounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +perhaps, but as yet not mortally, by the shafts of +scandal. Now, let us see. You desire to snatch +him from the—what is it?—pit?—pitfall?—ah! trap—which +I am preparing for him. How do you go +about it? You first associate my name with several +most unpleasant terms of reproach, and then proceed +to drag the combination before the public, and +say, 'Here is the intimate companion of the man I +love!' What does that mean? The man you love—<i>you</i>! +What a happy revelation for the friends and +family of Andrew Vane, who has been dawdling in +your arms, while another woman as much as held +his plighted word! I won't dwell on it. It's a subject +by reference to which I've never sought to +humiliate you—but you've driven me to touch upon +it. Believe me, my friend, if it's indeed your wish +to save Andrew Vane from disgrace, you should +devise some project more promising than a public +proclamation of the fact that you've been his mistress +these few weeks past. You tell me you've +nothing to fear and nothing to lose. You'll add, +perhaps, that the fact's already public property, but +it isn't. It's public gossip, which is a very different +thing. The plain fact is this: from the instant +when you associate your name with his, he's ruined +absolutely and irretrievably."</p> + +<p>Mirabelle bent forward to look at him, almost +curiously.</p> + +<p>"Are you a man or a devil?" she said.</p> + +<p>"A man, <i>ma chère</i>, and, in my own way, not an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +unreasonable or ungrateful man. To prove that, +you shall have what you ask. You can see what +trumpery rant you've been talking, and you probably +regret it already. Once for all—and as you should +have known—if threats of exposure could have +effected anything, I'd have been the talk of Europe +long ago. Please don't try it again. It's a waste +of time and a trial of temper, and, to me at least, such +scenes are always disagreeable. Now to the main +issue. I will do what you wish—on one condition."</p> + +<p>"I accept it," said Mirabelle promptly.</p> + +<p>"That's rash, and I release you from the pledge. +Wait till you know what the condition is. As you +say, there are other fish to catch, and, quite frankly, +I need your aid in catching them. So you will give +up your dream of rustic retirement, and remain +exactly as you are, and what you are, and where +you are. Also, the business relations between us—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, no—<i>no</i>!"</p> + +<p>"The business relations between us are to continue +in force, except that on the books of the firm +we shall close the account with Mr. Andrew Vane."</p> + +<p>For an instant the little house back of Boissy-St. +Leger hung on Mirabelle's vision—the rose-garden, +the wide outlook on the valley of the Marne, the +poplars stirred by a west wind, sweet with the breath +of Fontainebleau. Side by side with these rose the +contrasted mirage of crowded <i>cafés</i>, race-courses, +and theatres, the half-contemptuous court of women-weary +men, the unspeakable slavery, heartache, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +humiliation of the life she had lived and which she +loathed. Then she looked straight into Radwalader's +eyes. She had no need to ask if this was final. +They knew each other, these two.</p> + +<p>"There shall be no other woman to come between +him and the one he wants to marry?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No other woman."</p> + +<p>"Vicot shall have no share in his life at all?"</p> + +<p>"No share."</p> + +<p>"And you will never mention what he has done—in +Paris—with me?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>There was silence between them for a moment, a +silence pricked only by the strokes of midnight.</p> + +<p>"As you said, fair exchange is no robbery," suggested +Radwalader.</p> + +<p>"If I agree?—"</p> + +<p>"You have my word. Honour among thieves!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Soit!</i>" said Mirabelle. "God help me—have +your way!"</p> + +<p>For an instant she stood motionless, and then, +with an imperious gesture, commanded his service +as if she had been the empress she appeared, and he +the lackey.</p> + +<p>"My cloak, <i>monsieur</i>!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h4>REDEMPTION.</h4> + + +<p>At Poissy the three weeks had worn listlessly +away. Margery yet remained, though the time +originally set as a limit for her visit had passed. +Monsieur and Madame Palffy were staying with some +friends in Dresden, whom Mrs. Carnby had never +seen, but whom, under the present circumstances, +she whimsically described to Jeremy as being "in +danger, necessity, and tribulation."</p> + +<p>Truth to tell, she had been forced to fall back upon +her own invention for means of amusement. She was +chafing under a sense of helplessness in a situation +which she seemed totally unable to grasp, and a fierce +impatience against the social conditions which make +it possible for a man to shut off the women most +deeply interested in him from the most significant +features of his life and conduct. She had spent a half-hour +in Margery's room on the morning of Andrew's +departure, and there had heard as much as she +cared to about the conversation in the arbour. Upon +this problem she had brought to bear all her trained +powers of persuasion, and at the end had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +satisfaction of bringing Margery to a less intolerant +attitude. The matter of inducing her to telegraph +Andrew a recall she had found more difficult.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't deceive you, my dear," she said. "I'm +absolutely convinced of the truth of what I say when +I tell you that you've misjudged him. Oh yes—I +know the appearances are all against him. I thought +just as you do, until I had the courage to ask him +out and out about the matter; but, when I did, I +soon saw that the circumstances were unusual—extraordinarily +so. He's been reckless, and, if he +cares for you as he pretends to, highly inconsiderate. +But I believe, as firmly as I do in my own existence, +that in the main essentials he's innocent. Of course, +he's been going around with this woman—even <i>he</i> +doesn't deny that; but the very fact that he admits +it seems to me to prove that it hasn't been as bad as +you suppose. One may go a long way with a woman +without going too far. Why, Margery, I could bite +my tongue off when I think what I said to you last +night. Just think!—I imagined I was straightening +things out, and giving you your cue! Instead, it appears +that I was only giving you a wrong idea, and +putting everything into a hideous mess. Why, you +didn't give him a fighting chance! You piled on +him every accusation that came into your head, and +then sent him off before he had a chance to explain. +Why didn't you ask him one straight question, if +that was what you wanted to know? He'd have +answered you—yes, and told you the truth! If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +there's one thing Andrew Vane is not, it's a liar. I +was sure of that before I'd known him two minutes."</p> + +<p>"But there wasn't any need to ask him," broke in +Margery. "He said of his own accord that—that +there is such a woman."</p> + +<p>"And what else?" demanded Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"That she wasn't any more to him than a bird that +was singing near us; that he'd never see her again if +I asked him."</p> + +<p>"And you sent him away after <i>that</i>! Good heavens, +my dear, that was the moment of all others when +you should have said 'I believe you!' For he was +telling you the truth—I'll stake my intelligence +on it. It was the supreme evidence of his reliance +upon you, the supreme test of your love. And you +failed. Appearances? Yes, of course! And what +are appearances? Nothing in the world but a perpetual +reminder that we're not omniscient. Margery—you've +got to call him back."</p> + +<p>Margery made no reply.</p> + +<p>"You owe that much to him, and you owe it to +me. We've both of us been in the wrong, and you +must give us a chance to set things right. If you +can't take him as he is, then ask him to tell you +exactly what his relations have been with this woman, +and act on his answer as you see fit. I can't criticise +you for doing as you think right, if only you're +acting on the truth; but the truth you must have! +At present you're depending upon a lot of hearsay, +upon the criminally thoughtless cynicism of a gossipy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +old woman, and on your own rash conclusions. +My dear girl, you know I love you—love you better +than anything in the world, except Jeremy? Well, +then, do this for me."</p> + +<p>"Very well," answered Margery wearily, "but +it's no use, Mrs. Carnby."</p> + +<p>That morning she telegraphed Andrew to come +back to her—and there was no reply.</p> + +<p>Thereafter the subject had not been mentioned +either by the girl or her hostess. For the first time there +lay a little barrier of restraint between them, which +Mrs. Carnby, with all her tact, found it impossible to +pass, or even clearly to define. Her customary confidence +in herself stood back aghast. Any further +interference, she knew, might well be set down as +idle meddling. She had done her best—and failed.</p> + +<p>Day by day she saw Margery grow paler and +thinner. The old gaiety was slipping from her, +flashing forth at more and more infrequent intervals, +like the flame of an untended lamp, brightening +more feebly, ever and anon, before it dies away. +But there was nothing to be said or done. The +little touches of endearment and sympathy with +which women often fill the place of words, passed +between them, but too often these negative interpreters +of their hidden thoughts caused the girl's +eyes to fill. At Mrs. Carnby's earnest entreaty, she +prolonged her visit, and was glad of the seclusion +of the villa, the long idle days, the evenings at billiards +or backgammon with Jeremy, and the still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +warm nights when, through sleepless hours, reverie +had free rein. Curiously enough, and despite Andrew's +neglect of her, her former tenderness for him +returned and grew. The first passion of her resentment +having passed, she was learning to make the +ample and even obstinate allowances of the woman +who has seen love in her grasp, and had it snatched +away. At the moment of her rejection of him, +there had been nothing within her range of vision +but the spectre of cruel and humiliating wrong. +But now a thousand little appealing reminiscences +came back to woo and to persuade her. The old days +at Beverly; the boy-and-girl companionship wherefrom +had sprung the first flower of her love; the +high hopefulness of their young attitude; the bashful +acknowledgment of unspoken understanding +with which they parted; the long months of separation, +when her unhappiness in her new surroundings +was silver-shot with prescience of his coming; +that coming itself, and the joyous significance of it—all +these worked upon her night and day. She +was learning to forget the little hints of gossip +whereby she first began to doubt him, and even the +terrible frankness of Mrs. Carnby's words, which +had seemed to confirm all her worst suspicions. She +felt that if only she had been given the time which +now was hers, she would have been able to adjust +these matters, reduce the gossip to its proper place of +insignificance, and see, as now she saw, the vast and +supreme importance of their love. Now it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +herself, not him, she blamed for his silence. She +had indeed not "given him a fighting chance." She +had insulted him, and, at the end, sent him about his +business with a heartless sneer. Mrs. Carnby's +words came back to her—"love is little more than +forgiveness on the endless instalment plan!"—and +she had not been willing to forgive him, even when +perhaps there had been nothing to forgive. She +would turn restlessly, watching the dawn brightening +against her window. Ah, kind God, what would +she not forgive him now! What difference could +anything that had been make, if only she could +hear his voice again, and see him bending over the +music of "The Persian Garden," and know that for +all time he was hers!</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Each morn a thousand roses brings, you say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes—but where leaves the rose of yesterday?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby was not alone in her perception of +the change in Margery. Jeremy mentioned it, one +night, as they were dressing for dinner.</p> + +<p>"I hope there's nothing gone wrong with Margery, +Louisa."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," retorted his wife, dragging savagely +on the comb.</p> + +<p>"Then you've noticed?"</p> + +<p>"I've noticed—yes. It's the Tremonceau woman."</p> + +<p>"The—"</p> + +<p>"The most beautiful <i>cocotte</i> in Paris, my poor Jeremy. +Thank God, <i>you</i> have to be <i>told</i> these things!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +It's the old story, no more admirable because, this +time, it's a friend of ours who's making a fool of +himself. If I had my way, I'd have sign-boards +stuck up at every gate of Paris, with a finger pointing +inward, and the inscription 'Mud Garden. For +Children Only.' Faugh!"</p> + +<p>"But you don't suppose—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby faced her husband, her hands upon +her hips, assuming a kind of brazen effrontery.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose, Jeremy Carnby, that a Paris +<i>cocotte</i> affects the company of a rich young American +for the sake of his <i>beaux yeux</i>. I don't suppose that +a good-looking boy in his twenties affects the company +of Mirabelle Tremonceau for the pleasures of +her conversation. I don't suppose that the loveliest +and purest girl on earth is going to survey with emotion +the unspeakable folly of the man she cares for. +And I don't suppose the man she cares for is likely +to be any different from the majority of men, who +decide upon marriage principally because they're +tired of the other thing. I don't suppose <i>anything</i> +except what's logical, and natural—and perfectly +disgusting!"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean—Vane?" asked Jeremy.</p> + +<p>"Yes—<i>bat</i>!" said Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>Jeremy wisely made no reply.</p> + +<p>So it was that when, at the end of the three weeks, +Mr. Thomas Radwalader came down to spend the +day, he found his hostess in a fine glow of suppressed +impatience. She seized the first moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +when they were alone to question him. They +were old friends. He never laid claim to much in +the way of morality in the presence of Mrs. Carnby, +and it is a characteristic of this attitude that +the person adopting it is frequently his own worst +critic, and has more credit allowed to him than he +deserves. Even the devil is not so black as he is +painted, and if he will have the audacity to do most +of the painting in question himself, he is more than +likely to find that, in the opinion of others, his complexion +will be comfortably free from blemishes. +Radwalader's smooth assumption of an indefinite +kind of laxity, set at ease rather than aroused Mrs. +Carnby's suspicions of him.</p> + +<p>"He can't be so <i>very</i> bad," she told herself, "or +he wouldn't talk so much about it."</p> + +<p>For unnecessary admissions are a sedative to gossip, +just as unnecessary concealments are a stimulant.</p> + +<p>"How's Mr. Vane?" demanded Mrs. Carnby +abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Why, I was about to ask you," answered Radwalader. +"I thought he was quite a <i>protégé</i> of yours. +I've not seen much of him, myself, of late. He's +made new friends, and of course I was never much +more than a preliminary guide to Paris. I fancy he +can find his own way about, nowadays."</p> + +<p>"I'll warrant he can!" exclaimed Mrs. Carnby, +"and into society none too good, at that!"</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, don't tell me you don't know what I mean! +Of course, you're bound to shield him. You men +always do that, don't you? You put your intoxicated +friends to bed, and send discreet telegrams to +their wives, to say they've been called out of town +on business. That's not forgery—it's friendship. +And when one of you's going to the bad, the rest of +you stand around and say: 'Poor old chap! Don't +let his family suspect what <i>we</i> know.' Oh, I wasn't +born yesterday, Radwalader! You may as well tell +me what I want to know: it isn't much. Is he still +trotting about with that Tremonceau woman?"</p> + +<p>"Now, Mrs. Carnby!" protested Radwalader. "Is +that a fair question?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," said Mrs. Carnby dryly, "but +you've answered it already, so never mind! Let +me tell you that I'm quite through with Andrew +Vane. He didn't even have the grace to answer a +telegram that Margery Palffy sent him, three weeks +ago, asking him to come down."</p> + +<p>"Three weeks ago?" repeated Radwalader reflectively. +"But, Mrs. Carnby, he was here three +weeks ago. We all were—don't you remember?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally I remember," said Mrs. Carnby impatiently, +"but there were urgent reasons for his +return. Now, don't tell me you don't know <i>that</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Know it? How <i>should</i> I know it? Vane doesn't +confide his private affairs to me. Do you mean +that—"</p> + +<p>"I mean that Margery had made a great mistake,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +in the course of a conversation they had on the last +evening he was here—a mistake which imperilled the +happiness of them both, and which it was of the +utmost importance to set right. At the time, perhaps, +he showed himself to be the victim of an unjust +accusation; but since, he has shown himself to be a +cad. If you've never known—but I'd not have +believed it of you—that Margery was in love with +him, and that he's pretended to be in love with her, +then it's time you did!"</p> + +<p>"What a pity!" observed Radwalader. "I wish +I'd known all this before: I might have done something. +But, after all, it's just as well. It wouldn't +have done for Miss Palffy to humiliate herself; and +the little Tremonceau—"</p> + +<p>"Is his mistress?" put in Mrs. Carnby.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Radwalader, with a skilful sigh. +"There's no doubt whatever about that."</p> + +<p>"I'd have wagered a good bit on his innocence!"</p> + +<p>"When you wager anything on the innocence of a +young man who's been the close companion of Mirabelle +Tremonceau for six weeks or so," answered +Radwalader, "it's nothing less than a criminal +waste of money."</p> + +<p>"Then he's not only a cad," said Mrs. Carnby +angrily, "but a liar as well; and, as I've said already, +I'm through with him!"</p> + +<p>She was more than astounded when, two mornings +later, a telegram was handed her at the breakfast-table. +It was from Andrew, and requested<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +permission to come down at once and spend one +night.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll leave you to answer that," she observed +to Margery, who was alone with her at table, +Jeremy having gone up to town by the early train. +"The boy's waiting."</p> + +<p>She tossed the despatch across the table as she +spoke.</p> + +<p>She was more astounded still when Margery +looked up at her with the first spontaneous smile +which Mrs. Carnby had seen upon her lips for many +days.</p> + +<p>"Please ask him to come," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Carnby, "<i>do</i> be +careful! Remember how much has happened. If +only you'd let me advise you!"</p> + +<p>"You've advised me once already, fairy godmother," +said Margery, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Heaven help me, so I have!" replied her hostess. +"Do you mean it, Margery?"</p> + +<p>"I was never more in earnest," answered the girl, +turning suddenly grave again.</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Carnby sent the required answer.</p> + +<p>All that morning she was more puzzled than ever +she had been in the whole course of her life. It was +certain that the girl's mood had changed. The +doubtful shadow in her eyes had given place to a +clear glow of confidence, and her laugh was free +from any suggestion of restraint. That in itself was +curious. Depression, melancholy, even resentment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +were to be expected as a result of the news that +Andrew Vane was on the point of entering her life +once more. Of late he had shown himself in a more +unfavourable light than ever, and yet in her eyes, her +smile, her light-hearted animation there was something +akin to a suggestion that he had been fully +exonerated from suspicion, rather than freshly and +more significantly subjected to it. She was emphatically +happy—and Mrs. Carnby could not comprehend. +The thought, indeed, came to her that +the explanation which Andrew had denied her, these +three weeks past, had been given to Margery, in +some fashion as yet unexplained. But this theory +was wholly incompatible with his bearing when he +arrived at noon. He looked wretchedly ill, and was +prey to a visible embarrassment. He took her hand, +but did not meet her eyes, and the credit she was +beginning to accord him gave way, once more, to +anger. As a result, her greeting was conspicuously +cool. After dinner he and Margery played billiards, +while Jeremy dozed, with the <i>Temps</i> over his +placid face, and Mrs. Carnby did more to ruin a +piece of embroidery than she had done to further it +in the past six months. Suddenly the good lady +retired to her room, with a violent and fortuitous +headache. She had relinquished any attempt to +fathom the situation: she had frankly thrown up +the sponge!</p> + +<p>"Shall we take a walk in the garden?" asked +Andrew.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> + +<p>When they were alone with the silence and the +stars, his hand sought hers.</p> + +<p>"Margery!"</p> + +<p>"Andy!"</p> + +<p>"I've simply come to say good-by, my dear. You +were quite right: I'm not worthy of you. I'm +going back to the States as soon as I can get away. +All I want you to remember is this: I've been careless—reckless—wholly +at fault from the beginning to +the end—but I've loved you always, my dearest—always—always! +I won't go into all the miserable +details. Paris has made a fool of me, that's all. +I'm not the first idiot to throw away his chance of +happiness because of the big city over there, and +I'm not the first to pay the penalty I deserve. Once, +perhaps, I had the right to demand something at +your hands; but now I've no right to ask for anything. +I ask for nothing! I've come to beg for +your forgiveness, and to say good-by. Will you +forgive me, Margery?"</p> + +<p>"I want to ask you just one question," said Margery +steadily. "When I accused you of—of <i>that</i>—the +other night, was I right or wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Wrong," said Andrew Vane; "but now—"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she leaned toward him, stopping his +speech with her soft and open palm.</p> + +<p>"I've thought of another question," she said. +"Do you love me—now?"</p> + +<p>"Love you?" answered Andrew. "Ah, Margery!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then I wish to hear no more. The past is the +past, do you hear? I love you! I've learned much +in these few weeks. I love you, and I need you. +You can't leave me now. I've been so weary for +you, my love! Ah, whatever there has been between +us in the past, don't let anything stand between us +now!"</p> + +<p>"But you don't understand," faltered Andrew. +"Things have changed. There is much that you +have to forgive me—much that I have to explain—"</p> + +<p>"As to what I have to forgive you," answered +Margery, "I think there is also much for you to forgive +me; and as to what you have to explain—oh, +explain it later, Andy—explain it, if you like, when +we—"</p> + +<p>"Are married!" exclaimed Andrew. "No! Things +must be made clear now. I've transgressed, my +love—transgressed beyond hope of forgiveness. +What would you say if you knew—?"</p> + +<p>"I know already!" answered the girl. "I know +more than you think—and I forgive it all. Oh, +Andy, <i>don't</i> make it too hard for me! Help me—won't +you?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, with a realization of what all this +meant, he opened his arms, as to a child, and, like a +confiding child, she went into them.</p> + +<p>"I love you," she whispered. "That's all—I +love you!"</p> + +<p>"My love—my love—<i>my love!</i>" said Andrew.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h4>THE SHADOW.</h4> + + +<p>Your most astute strategist is the general ready, +at any stage of the campaign, to authorize a complete +change of plan, if the circumstances call for it, +and to make for the end in view along wholly altered +lines. The Braddocks of warfare are those who at +all hazards persist in the course at first laid out.</p> + +<p>Radwalader, contrary to his custom, did not +leave his apartment until mid-afternoon of the following +day. He carried a valise, and stopped for a +moment on the step to snuff the fresh air with appreciation. +Then he said "Psst!" and the yellow +cab which was standing at the corner of the avenue +squeaked into motion and drew up at the kerb.</p> + +<p>"Gare St. Lazare," said Radwalader briefly. +He flung his valise upon the seat, climbed in after it, +put one foot on the <i>strapontin</i> to steady himself, and +plunged, with a grin of amusement, into the latest +number of <i>Le Rire</i>. He could afford a few moments +of sheer frivolity: for he had just finished eight hours +of careful reflection, and his plans were quite complete.</p> + +<p>The driver of the yellow cab had only grunted in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +reply, but he drove briskly enough, once they were +under way. Though the day was warm, he wore +his fawn-coloured coat, with the triple cape, and had +turned up the collar about his ears. His white +cockaded hat, a size too large, was tipped forward +over his nose, and between it and his coat-collar, in +the back, showed a strip of bright red hair. For +features, he had a nobbly nose, with a purple tinge, +and a mustache like a red nail-brush.</p> + +<p>From time to time Radwalader looked up from +his reading to remark their progress, and invariably +he smiled. The Place de l'Etoile, freshly sprinkled, +and smelling refreshingly of cool wet wood; the +omnibus and tramway stations, with their continual +ebb and flow of passengers seeking numbers; the +stupendous dignity of the Arc, and the preposterous +insignificance of three Englishwomen staring up at +it, with their mouths open, and Baedekers in their +hands; the fresh green of the chestnuts on the +Avenue de Friedland; the crack of a teamster's whip, +and his "<i>Ahi! Houp!</i>" of encouragement to the +giant gray stallions, toiling up the steep incline of +the Faubourg St. Honoré; the crowds of women at +Félix Potin's, pinching the fat fowls, and stowing +parcels away in netted bags; the "shish-shish-shish" +of an infantry company shuffling at half-step +toward the gateway of La Pépinière; the people +<i>terrassé</i> before the restaurants on the Place du Hâvre—it +was all very amusing, very characteristic, very +<i>Parigot</i>. More than ever, Radwalader felt that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +needed it all, that he must have it at any price, that +life would not be worth living else or elsewhere. +Fortunately, there was no reason for a change, so +long as he kept his wits. Indeed his prospects were +brighter now than they had ever been.</p> + +<p>Once a bridal carriage whirled past him, all +windows, and with a lamp at each corner, and a red-faced +quartette inside; and other carriages followed, +full of exultant guests, whose full-dress costumes, in +this broad daylight, were, to his Saxon sense, as incongruous +as a Welsh rabbit on a breakfast-table—all +bowling across to the Champs, and so away to +the Restaurant Gillet. Again, it was a glimpse of +a funeral moving up to a side door of St. Augustin, +with an abject little band of mourners trailing along +on foot, behind the black and purple car; again, +nothing more than a sally between an <i>agent</i> and a +ragamuffin at a crossing—"<i>Ouste, galopin!</i>" "<i>Eh, +'spèce de balai! As-tu vu la ferme?</i>"—or a driver's +injunction to his horse—"<i>Tu prends donc racine, +saucisse</i>"—or a girl's laugh, or the squawk of a +tram-horn, or the cries of the <i>camelots</i>—"<i>Voyez +l'Parispor! Voici la Pa-resse! Voyez l'D-rrr-oi +'d'l'homme!</i>" The importance of the phenomenon +was not significant. It was all Paris, and Thomas +Radwalader was very glad to be alive. When he +left the yellow cab in the Cour du Hâvre, the driver +had fifty centimes <i>pourboire</i>, though it was not like +his passengers to go beyond three sous.</p> + +<p>Trivial as this circumstance was, it apparently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> +had a strangely demoralizing effect upon the driver +of the yellow cab. He drew on for perhaps twenty +feet, and then deliberately clambered down from +his box, and followed his late <i>client</i> to the ticket +office, at the foot of the eastern stairway. Here, +with some ingenuity, he remarked, "<i>Même chose</i>."</p> + +<p>"Poissy <i>première</i>?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Oui.</i>"</p> + +<p>In the first-class carriage of the Poissy train, a +little, oblong pane of glass, above Radwalader's head, +enabled him, had he been so minded, to glance into +the next compartment—enabled the single occupant +of the next compartment, who <i>was</i> so minded, +to glance, as they started, into his.</p> + +<p>In the Cour du Hâvre an infuriated <i>agent</i> apostrophized +the deserted vehicle:</p> + +<p>"<i>Sale sous-les-pieds!</i> He amuses himself elsewhere, +then, <i>ton drôle!</i>"</p> + +<p>The which was strictly true.</p> + +<p>As the train rumbled through the illuminated +tunnel, the driver of the yellow cab did a number +of things with the most surprising rapidity and decision. +He threw his varnished white hat out of the +window, and followed it immediately with his triple-caped +overcoat. He stripped off his fawn-coloured +trousers, thereby revealing the unusual circumstance +that he wore two pairs—one of corduroy. +The latter hurtled out into the smoky tunnel, in +the wake of the hat and coat, and the climax was +capped by a like disappearance of the red hair, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> +nail-brush mustache, and the nobbly nose. Then +Monsieur Jules Vicot smoothed his workman's +blouse, dragged a Tam-o'-shanter from his pocket, +pulled it down over his eyes, settled the scarlet +handkerchief at his throat, threw himself back on +the cushions, and lit a cigarette with hands that +trembled excessively.</p> + +<p>At Poissy Radwalader alighted, and swung rapidly +away, across the <i>place</i>, in the direction of the Villa +Rossignol. At Poissy the other also alighted, +strolled over to the Hôtel de Rouen, and, in the company +of a slowly consumed <i>matelote</i> and four successive +absinthes, dozed, pondered, smoked—and +waited for the dark.</p> + +<p class="p2">That morning Margery and Andrew had told +Mrs. Carnby. For an instant the good lady faced +Andrew, her eyes blazing with inquiry. He met +their challenge serenely.</p> + +<p>"Won't you congratulate me," he asked, smiling—"and +the only girl in the world?"</p> + +<p>"The <i>only</i> girl in the world?" demanded Mrs. +Carnby audaciously.</p> + +<p>"Yes—just that."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnby pounced upon Margery.</p> + +<p>"Of <i>course</i> I congratulate you! You dear! And, +as for <i>you</i>," she added, whirling upon Andrew once +more, "you're the luckiest man I know—except +Jeremy! And you've worried me almost into a +decline. I thought you'd never get her—I mean,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> +I thought she'd never get you—I don't know <i>what</i> +I mean, Andrew Vane! Go along in, both of you, +and sing about your roses and jugs of wine and +nightingales and moons of delight. I can see that's +all you'll be good for, from now on!"</p> + +<p>And so, shamelessly, they did—all over again, +from "Wake! for the Sun" to "flown again, who +knows!"</p> + +<p>"It's tied up in double bow-knots with our hearts, +all this 'Persian Garden' music," said Andrew. +"Do you remember how we used to rave over it at +Beverly? And I loved you even then—from the +first night."</p> + +<p>Standing behind him, Margery touched his hair.</p> + +<p>And so evening came again, drenched in starlight +and rose-perfume, and stirring rapturously to +the voice of the nightingale.</p> + +<p>"I want to speak to you."</p> + +<p>Radwalader touched Andrew's arm as they rose +from the table, and led the way directly through +the open window into the garden, and, through the +garden gate, into the Avenue Meissonier beyond. +Once there, he fell back a step, so that they were +side by side.</p> + +<p>"Let's walk toward the river," he suggested, +taking Andrew's arm.</p> + +<p>A single lamp swung at the archway of the railroad +bridge, but along the villa walls and under the +trees of the Boulevard de la Seine beyond, the +shadows were very dark. Once, as they passed a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +poplar, one shadow disengaged itself from the trunk, +and at a distance followed them. A little ahead +was the gaily illuminated terrace of L'Esturgeon, +overhanging the river, and crowded with people +dining and talking all at once.</p> + +<p>"I saw Mirabelle yesterday," observed Radwalader. +"It seems you're off scot-free."</p> + +<p>"Did <i>she</i> tell you that?" asked Andrew in surprise.</p> + +<p>"No—only that you'd parted company for good +and all. I guessed the rest. I thought you'd +hardly be so foolish as not to consult me, if the question +of money came up."</p> + +<p>"Thank the Lord, the episode was free from <i>that</i> +element of vulgarity, at all events!" exclaimed +Andrew. "Yes, it's over. It wasn't easy, Radwalader. +I was surprised to find how much she +thought of me. But, of course, there was nothing +else to do. In any event, the thing couldn't have +gone on for ever, and when I heard about that telegram, +I couldn't ring down the curtain too soon. +But it hurt. Poor little girl! I'll always think +kindly of her, Radwalader, although she came near +to losing me the only thing in the world that's worth +while. Well, we said good-by, and I came down +here just on the chance that it mightn't be too late. +It was a thin-enough chance, to my way of thinking, +in view of the past three weeks. By Gad, here was +I deserving the worst kind of a wigging that ever a +man got, and lo and behold, it was the prodigal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> +son after all! Mrs. Carnby was the first to congratulate +me. Will you be the next?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that Miss Palffy is going to +marry you?" asked Radwalader, coming to a full +stop.</p> + +<p>"Just that," said Andrew; "though why she +should, after all this—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, rot!" laughed the other. "You've been no +worse than other men, and so long as you've owned +up—"</p> + +<p>"We'll never agree on the question of whether I +deserve her or not," put in Andrew. "Never in the +whole course of my life shall I forgive myself this +folly. But we won't talk of that. The fact remains +that I'm forgiven, and that she's going to marry me. +Oh, <i>Gawd</i>!"</p> + +<p>He looked up at the sky and bit his lip. He was +desperately shy of slopping over, and, for a moment, +desperately near to it.</p> + +<p>Presently he continued. They had rounded +L'Esturgeon now, and were walking along the southern +side of the Pont de Poissy, close to the rail. +Radwalader's pieces were all in place for the opening +of the new game.</p> + +<p>"When a chap's only been pulled out of a horrible +mess by the merest chance, and when, into the bargain, +he's been engaged to the one-and-only for something +under twenty-four hours, he is apt to do +considerable slobbering. I hope you'll give me +credit for sparing you all I <i>might</i> say, Radwalader,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +when I confine myself to saying that I'm in +luck."</p> + +<p>"And that, you most certainly are," said Radwalader +cheerfully. "I'm glad you're so well +out of your scrape, Vane, and I congratulate you +heartily." A pressure of his fingers on Andrew's +arm lent the phrase the emphasis of a hand-shake. +"Miss Palffy is charming—so clean and straight, and, +to say nothing of her beauty, with such high standards. +To be quite frank with you, I'm a bit surprised +that you got off so easily. But, since you +have, there's nothing to be said, except that she's a +stunner, and I can understand now how much all +this has meant to you. What a thing to have standing +between you, eh? If Mirabelle <i>had</i> been ugly, I +fancy you'd have paid her about anything she chose +to ask."</p> + +<p>"If I'd been <i>sure</i> of getting Margery!" said +Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Of course—yes. That's what I mean. With +Miss Palffy as an object, there could scarcely be a +limit to the hush-money one would put up to clear +away any obstacles that might exist."</p> + +<p>"I expect not," said Andrew nervously. "I +couldn't lose her now—I simply couldn't. It would +kill me."</p> + +<p>"I once knew of such a case," said Radwalader +musingly. "Chap just about to marry the girl, +and he found out that there was something very +crooked about his birth—that he was illegitimate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +in fact. The father hung on to him like an octopus +and bled him like a leech. But the—er—girl never +knew."</p> + +<p>"It was worth it to him," commented Andrew, +"if he'd have lost the girl else."</p> + +<p>"I've forgotten what he paid," said Radwalader, +"but I know it was pretty stiff—in the form of a regular +allowance by the year."</p> + +<p>"Was the chap rich?" asked Andrew. He was +looking down the river, and taking great breaths of +the delicious night air, thrilling with the memory of +Margery waiting back there for him; and his part in +the conversation was little more than automatic.</p> + +<p>"Reasonably," said Radwalader. "Enough to +stand the strain. Curious old house, this—isn't it?"</p> + +<p>He paused, and leaned upon the railing of the +bridge.</p> + +<p>"The plaster's rotten as possible," answered +Andrew after a moment, during which he had been +hacking boyishly at it with his knife.</p> + +<p>"You know both sides of the bridge were lined +with houses once," said Radwalader. "Picturesque +it must have been! This is the only one left, and it +doesn't look as if it could keep from toppling over +into the river very much longer. Lord! how fast +the water runs down there! It's a veritable mill-race. +I shouldn't care to have to swim against it."</p> + +<p>He hesitated deliberately, and then continued, +with a slight change of tone:</p> + +<p>"There's something I want to tell you, Vane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> +I didn't care to bother you with it as long as you +were worrying on your own account, but now—confidence +for confidence. The fact of the matter +is that I need money, and need it badly."</p> + +<p>Andrew pursued his hacking.</p> + +<p>"If that's all that's troubling you," he said, "I can +probably make you a loan that will tide you over. +I'll be very glad to, if I can. How much do you +need?"</p> + +<p>A workman slouched past them, his hands in the +pockets of his corduroy trousers, his tam o' shanter +pulled down over his eyes.</p> + +<p>"No," said Radwalader, "I don't want to borrow; +I might never be able to repay. But suppose I +were to give you a piece of information—a tip—that +was of the very greatest importance to you, +mightn't it be worth a small sum?"</p> + +<p>Andrew stared at him curiously.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," he said. "Do you mean +that you know something that is very important to +me?"</p> + +<p>"Vastly important."</p> + +<p>"And that is known to no one else?"</p> + +<p>"To one other person only."</p> + +<p>"And that you want to <i>sell</i> to me?"</p> + +<p>"That I want to <i>tell</i> you. You can do as you +see fit about paying me for it. I think you will, +but if not—"</p> + +<p>He smiled evilly, secure of the darkness.</p> + +<p>"There are other ways of utilizing it," he added.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> + +<p>Andrew chopped thoughtfully at the plaster.</p> + +<p>"I don't seem to understand what you're driving +at," he said presently, "but, somehow—well, I don't +like the sound of it, Radwalader. Of course, I +know you don't mean it that way, but it sounds rather—rather +unfriendly, if you'll allow me to say so. Oh, +<i>damn</i> it all!"</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Radwalader, surprised at the +sudden exclamation.</p> + +<p>"There goes my knife. I ought to have known +better than to hew at this stuff with it. I suppose +that's the last I shall ever see of it—and a new one, +too. Why—that's queer! Did you notice? There +wasn't any splash."</p> + +<p>He peered over the rail.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" he added, "here's a ladder—leading +down."</p> + +<p>"There's a little garden down there," explained +Radwalader, peering over in his turn. "I remember +now. It's on part of the foundations of another old +house, and the chap who lives in this one grows +flowers there, oddly enough, and goes up and down +on the ladder. Your knife's down there, somewhere. +Jove! but it's dark!"</p> + +<p>But Andrew already had one leg across the railing, +one foot on the top round of the ladder.</p> + +<p>"This is easy," he said, "and I have my match-box, +too. You see—well, Margery bought the +knife only this morning in the bazar, and I wouldn't +lose it for the world. And, by the way, Radwalader,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> +forget what I said just now, will you? It wasn't +very decent."</p> + +<p>Then, with a short laugh of embarrassment, he +descended into the shadows.</p> + +<p>The shadows! They were very deep below there, +until broken by the flicker of Andrew's match. Then +the shadows under the doorway of the old house, up +by the top of the bridge, were deeper, and—what was +this?—one shadow moved—moved—drew near to the +man who leaned upon the rail, whistling "Au Clair +de la Lune."</p> + +<p>"All right!" called Andrew. "I have it. Now +we come up again."</p> + +<p>"Go slow," advised Radwalader. "You'll find +it darker than ever, after the match. Why—what—"</p> + +<p>A hand on his shoulder had spun him round, but +he had no more than recognized the white face grinning +into his, no more than time to comprehend the +words, "You've whistled for the last time, by God!" +before the steel-shod butt of a revolver crashed three +times in succession on—and through—his forehead.</p> + +<p>"<i>Once for me!</i>" said Jules Vicot, between his +teeth, "<i>and once for my wife, and once for your son!</i>"</p> + +<p>He hurled Radwalader from him, ran a few feet, +turned at the rail to see the smitten man writhing +and groping blindly on the cobbles of the driveway, +and then, emptying the entire contents of the revolver +in his direction, vaulted with a laugh into +the swirling Seine below.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> + +<p>The guilty river caught him, hid him, hurried him +away. Only once he moved of his own volition, +and then she laid her brown hand on his mouth and +stilled him, once for all. Around the wide curves +of her course, he was to go, through the thrashing +locks of Les Mureaux and Notre Dame de la Garenne, +past Les Andelys and Pont de l'Arche, and the high +quays of Elbeuf, and the twinkling lights of Rouen, +and the vineyards and the poplars and the red-roofed +villages—on, on, on, to where the lights of +Le Hâvre and Honfleur wink, each to each, across +the widened channel. For such was the course appointed +whereby the most pitiful shadow that ever +fell from Poissy Bridge should make its way to sea.</p> + +<p>Back there was the sound of many voices and of +running feet. Radwalader lay with his head on +Andrew's arm, his eyes closed, and his breath coming +in short hard gasps. The first arrivals from +the town were three young Englishmen, who had +been dining at L'Esturgeon, were on their way to +the station, and outran all others at the sound of +the five shots. One of them proved to be a medical +student, and fell at once to making an examination, +while the others held back the crowd.</p> + +<p>"How did it happen?" he asked. "What was it +all about?"</p> + +<p>"God knows!" said Andrew. "I'd been down +the ladder there to look for a knife I'd dropped, +and I was just coming up again when I heard him +call out, and then a scuffle and the sound of blows,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> +and then the firing. I think whoever shot him +jumped into the river. There was a big splash just +as I came up to the level of the bridge."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other. "We heard that from +the street, just as we started to run. God! how +that blackguard piled it on! Look here—his head's +all pushed in, and he's shot in at least two places. +I'm afraid the poor chap's done for. Hello! he's +coming to."</p> + +<p>Radwalader slowly opened his eyes, and after a +moment seemed striving to speak. Andrew bent +down, wiping away the blood.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked. "Is there something +you want to say, dear old man?"</p> + +<p>Without replying, Radwalader glanced eloquently +at the Englishman, and, at this mute signal, the latter +stepped back.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" whispered Andrew. "Do you +want to tell us who it was?"</p> + +<p>Radwalader shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Is it what you were going to tell me a few minutes +ago?" asked Andrew, with a kind of intuition.</p> + +<p>For a full half-minute, the dying man's eyes were +fixed upon the eager, solicitous face that bent so +close to his—upon the earnest eyes so curiously like +and yet unlike his own, upon the white teeth showing +between the parted lips, upon the straight +patrician nose and the smooth clear complexion. +Then, with a singular smile, a smile almost affectionate +in its sweetness:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's of no consequence now," he murmured.</p> + +<p>He raised one hand, and gently touched Andrew on +the cheek.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, my boy," he added, more feebly.</p> + +<p>His head fell limply, and he shuddered once, and +then was very still.</p> + +<p>A moment later, Andrew laid him back upon the +driveway, and covered his face.</p> + +<div><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="center">THE END.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></div> + +<div> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="transnote"> +[Transcriber's notes:<br /> +Some inconsistent spellings and hyphenations have been retained.]</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Transgression of Andrew Vane, by +Guy Wetmore Carryl + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRANSGRESSION OF ANDREW VANE *** + +***** This file should be named 38020-h.htm or 38020-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/0/2/38020/ + +Produced by Rory OConor, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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