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diff --git a/3805-h/3805-h.htm b/3805-h/3805-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..21344a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/3805-h/3805-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13941 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!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" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Vultures, by Henry Seton Merriman + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vultures, by Henry Seton Merriman + +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 Vultures + +Author: Henry Seton Merriman + +Release Date: April 13, 2006 [EBook #3805] +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VULTURES *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE VULTURES + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + A NOVEL <br /> <br /> By Henry Seton Merriman + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVII </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXVII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <h3> + ALL AT SEA + </h3> + <p> + Mr. Joseph P. Mangles, at his ease in a deck-chair on the broad Atlantic, + was smoking a most excellent cigar. Mr. Mangles was a tall, thin man, who + carried his head in the manner curtly known at a girls' school as + “poking.” He was a clean-shaven man, with bony forehead, sunken cheeks, + and an underhung mouth. His attitude towards the world was one of patient + disgust. He had the air of pushing his way, chin first, doggedly through + life. The weather had been bad, and was now moderating. But Mr. Mangles + had not suffered from sea-sickness. He was a dry, hard person, who had + suffered from nothing but chronic dyspepsia—had suffered from it for + fifty years or so. + </p> + <p> + “Fine weather,” he said. “Women will be coming on deck—hang the fine + weather.” + </p> + <p> + And his voice was deep and low like a growl. + </p> + <p> + “Joseph,” said Miss Mangles, “growls over his meals like a dog.” + </p> + <p> + The remark about the weather and the women was addressed to a man who + leaned against the rail. Indeed, there was no one else near—and the + man made no reply. He was twenty-five or thirty years younger than Mr. + Mangles, and looked like an Englishman, but not aggressively so. The large + majority of Britons are offensively British. Germans are no better; so it + must be racial, this offensiveness. A Frenchman is at his worst, only + comically French—a matter of a smile; but Teutonic characteristics + are conducive to hostility. + </p> + <p> + The man who leaned against the rail near to Joseph P. Mangles was six feet + high, and rather heavily built, but, like many big men, he seemed to take + up no more than his due share of room in this crowded world. There was + nothing distinctive about his dress. His demeanor was quiet. When he spoke + he was habitually asked to repeat his remark, which he did, with patience, + in the same soft, inaudible voice. + </p> + <p> + There were two men on board this great steamer who were not business men—Joseph + P. Mangles and Reginald Cartoner; and, like two ships on a sea of + commercial interests, they had drifted together during the four days that + had elapsed since their departure from New York. Neither made anything, or + sold anything, or had a card in his waistcoat-pocket ready for production + at a moment's notice, setting forth name and address and trade. Neither + was to be suspected of a desire to repel advances, and yet both were + difficult to get on with. For human confidences must be mutual. It is only + to God that man can continue telling, telling, telling, and getting never + a word in return. These two men had nothing to tell their fellows about + themselves; so the other passengers drifted away into those closely linked + corporations characteristic of steamer life and left them to themselves—to + each other. + </p> + <p> + And they had never said things to each other—had never, as it were, + got deeper than the surface of their daily life. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner was a dreamy man, with absorbed eyes, rather deeply sunk under a + strong forehead. His eyelids had that peculiarity which is rarely seen in + the face of a man who is a nonentity. They were quite straight, and cut + across the upper curve of the pupil. This gave a direct, stern look to + dreamy eyes, which was odd. After a pause, he turned slowly, and looked + down at his companion with a vague interrogation in his glance. He seemed + to be wondering whether Mr. Mangles had spoken. And Mangles met the glance + with one of steady refusal to repeat his remark. But Mangles spoke first, + after all. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “the women will be on deck soon—and my sister Jooly. + You don't know Jooly?” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with a slow and pleasant American accent. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you speaking to a young lady in the saloon after luncheon,” said + Cartoner. “She had a blue ribbon round her throat. She was pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “That wasn't Jooly,” said Mr. Mangles, without hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” asked Cartoner, with the simple directness of those who have + no self-consciousness—who are absorbed, but not in themselves, as + are the majority of men and women. + </p> + <p> + “My niece, Netty Cahere.” + </p> + <p> + “She is pretty,” said Cartoner, with a spontaneity which would have meant + much to feminine ears. + </p> + <p> + “You'll fall in love with her,” said Mangles, lugubriously. “They all do. + She says she can't help it.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner looked at him as one who has ears but hears not. He made no + reply. + </p> + <p> + “Distresses her very much,” concluded Mangles, dexterously shifting his + cigar by a movement of the tongue from the port to the starboard side of + his mouth. Cartoner did not seem to be very much interested in Miss Netty + Cahere. He was a man having that air of detachment from personal + environments which is apt to arouse curiosity in the human heart, more + especially in feminine hearts. People wanted to know what there was in + Cartoner's past that gave him so much to think about in the present. + </p> + <p> + The two men had not spoken again when Miss Netty Cahere came on deck. She + was accompanied by the fourth officer, a clean-built, clean-shaven young + man, who lost his heart every time he crossed the Atlantic. He was + speaking rather earnestly to Miss Cahere, who listened with an expression + of puzzled protest on her pretty face. She had wondering blue eyes and a + complexion of the most delicate pink and white which never altered. She + was slightly built, and carried herself in a subtly deprecating manner, as + if her own opinion of herself were small, and she wished the world to + accept her at that valuation. She made no sign of having perceived her + uncle, but nevertheless dismissed the fourth officer, who reluctantly + mounted the ladder to the bridge, looking back as he went. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mangles threw his cigar overboard. + </p> + <p> + “She don't like smoke,” he growled. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner looked at the cigar, and absent-mindedly threw his cigarette + after it. He had apparently not made up his mind whether to go or stay, + when Miss Cahere approached her uncle, without appearing to notice that he + was not alone. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said, “that that was one of the officers of the ship, + though he was very young—quite a boy. He was telling me about his + mother. It must be terrible to have a near relation a sailor.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke in a gentle voice, and it was evident that she had a heart full + of sympathy for the suffering and the poor. + </p> + <p> + “I wish some of my relations were sailors,” replied Mr. Mangles, in his + deepest tones. “Could spare a whole crew. Let me introduce my friend, Mr. + Cartoner—Miss Cahere.” + </p> + <p> + He completed the introduction with an old-fashioned and ceremonious wave + of the hand. Miss Cahere smiled rather shyly on Cartoner, and it was his + eyes that turned away first. + </p> + <p> + “You have not been down to meals,” he said, in his gentle, abrupt way. + </p> + <p> + “No; but I hope to come now. Are there many people? Have you friends on + board?” + </p> + <p> + “There are very few ladies. I know none of them.” + </p> + <p> + “But I dare say some of them are nice,” said Miss Cahere, who evidently + thought well of human nature. + </p> + <p> + “Very likely.” + </p> + <p> + And Cartoner lapsed into his odd and somewhat disconcerting + thoughtfulness. + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahere continued to glance at him beneath her dark lashes—dark + lashes around blue eyes—with a guileless and wondering admiration. + He certainly was a very good-looking man, well set up, with that quiet air + which bespeaks good breeding. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen the ship on the other side?” she asked, after a pause; “a + sailing ship. You cannot see it from here.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she made a little movement, as if to show him the spot from + whence the ship was visible. Cartoner followed her meekly, and Mr. + Mangles, left behind in his deck-chair, slowly sought his cigar-case. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Miss Cahere, pointing out a sail on the distant horizon. + “One can hardly see it now. When I first came on deck it was much nearer. + That ship's officer pointed it out to me.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner looked at the ship without much enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Miss Cahere, in a lower voice—she had a rather + confidential manner—“I think sailors are very nice, don't you? But . + . . well, I suppose one ought not to say that, ought one?” + </p> + <p> + “It depends what you were going to say.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahere laughed, and made no reply. Her laugh and a glance seemed, + however, to convey the comfortable assurance that whatever she had been + about to say would not have been applicable to Cartoner himself. She + glanced at his trim, upright figure. + </p> + <p> + “I think I prefer soldiers,” she said, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner murmured something inaudible, and continued to gaze at the ship + he had been told to look at. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know my uncle before you came on board, or were you brave enough + to force him to speak? He is so silent, you know, that most people are + afraid of him. I suppose you had met him before.” + </p> + <p> + “No. It was a mere accident. We were neither of us ill. We were both + hungry, and hurried down to a meal. And the stewards placed us next to + each other.” + </p> + <p> + Which was a long explanation, without much information in it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I thought perhaps you were in the diplomatic service,” said Miss + Cahere, carelessly. + </p> + <p> + For an instant Cartoner's eyes lost all their vagueness. Either Miss + Cahere had hit the mark with her second shot, or else he was making a + mental note of the fact that Mr. Mangles belonged to that amiable body of + amateurs, the American Diplomatic Corps. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mangles had naturally selected the leeward side of the deck-house for + his seat, and Miss Cahere had brought Cartoner round to the weather side, + where a cold Atlantic breeze made the position untenable. Without + explanation, and for her own good, he led the way to a warmer quarter. But + at the corner of the deck-house a gust caught Miss Cahere, and held her + there in a pretty attitude, with her two hands upraised to her hat, + looking at him with frank and laughing eyes, and waiting for him to come + to her assistance. The same gust of wind made the steamer lurch so that + Cartoner had to grasp Miss Cahere's arm to save her from falling. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, quietly, and with downcast eyes, when the incident + had passed. For in some matters she held old-fashioned notions, and was + not one of the modern race of hail-fellow-well-met girls who are friendly + in five minutes with men and women alike. + </p> + <p> + When she came within sight of her uncle, she suddenly hurried towards him, + and made an affectionate, laughing attempt to prevent his returning his + cigar-case to his jacket pocket. She even took possession of the + cigar-case, opened it, and with her own fingers selected a cigar. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, firmly, “you are going to smoke again at once. Do you + think I did not see you throw away the other? Mr. Cartoner—is it not + foolish of him? Because I once said, without reflecting, that I did not + care about the smell of tobacco, he never lets me see him smoke now.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she laid her hand affectionately on the old man's shoulder + and looked down at him. + </p> + <p> + “As if it mattered whether I like it or not,” she said. “And I do like it—I + like the smell of your cigars.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mangles looked from Cartoner to his niece with an odd smile, which was + perhaps the only way in which that lean countenance could express + tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “As if it mattered what I think,” she said, humbly, again. + </p> + <p> + “Always like to conciliate a lady,” said Mr. Mangles, in his deep voice. + </p> + <p> + “Especially when that lady is dependent on you for her daily bread and her + frocks,” answered Netty, in an affectionate aside, which Cartoner was, + nevertheless, able to overhear. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your aunt Jooly?” inquired the old man, hurriedly. “I thought + she was coming on deck.” + </p> + <p> + “So she is,” answered Netty. “I left her in the saloon. She is quite well. + She was talking to some people.” + </p> + <p> + “What, already?” exclaimed the lady's brother. And Netty nodded her head + with a mystic gravity. She was looking towards the saloon stairway, from + whence she seemed to expect Miss Mangles. + </p> + <p> + “My sister Jooly, sir,” explained Mr. Mangles to Cartoner, “is no doubt + known to you—Miss Julia P. Mangles, of New York City.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner tried to look as if he had heard the name before. He had lived in + the United States during some months, and he knew that it is possible to + be famous in New York and quite without honor in Connecticut. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she has not come into your line of country?” suggested Mr. + Mangles, not unkindly. + </p> + <p> + “No—I think not.” + </p> + <p> + “Her line is—at present—prisons.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never been in prison,” replied Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you will get experience in course of time,” said Mr. Mangles, + with his deep, curt laugh. “No, sir, my sister is a lecturer. She gets on + platforms and talks.” + </p> + <p> + “What about?” asked Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mangles described the wide world, with a graceful wave of his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “About most things,” he answered, gravely; “chiefly about women, I take + it. She is great on the employment of women, and the payment of them. And + she is right there. She has got hold of the right end of the stick there. + She had found out what very few women know—namely, that when women + work for nothing, they are giving away something that nobody wants. So + Jooly goes about the world lecturing on women's employment, and pointing + out to the public and the administration many ways in which women may be + profitably employed and paid. She leaves it to the gumption of the + government to discover for themselves that there is many a nice berth for + which Jooly P. Mangles is eminently suited, but governments have no + gumption, sir. And—” + </p> + <p> + “Here is Aunt Julie,” interrupted Miss Cahere, walking away. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mangles gave a short sigh, and lapsed into silence. + </p> + <p> + As Miss Cahere went forward, she passed another officer of the ship, the + second in command, a dogged, heavy man, whose mind was given to the ship + and his own career. He must have seen something to interest him in Netty + Cahere's face—perhaps he caught a glance from the dark-lashed eyes—for + he turned and looked at her again, with a sudden, dull light in his face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <h3> + SIGNAL HOUSE + </h3> + <p> + Where Gravesend merges into Northfleet—where the spicy odors of + chemical-fertilizing works mingle with the dry dust of the cement + manufactories which throw their tall chimneys into an ever-gray sky—there + stands a house known as the Signal House. Why it is so called no one knows + and very few care to inquire. It is presumably a square house of the + Jacobean period—presumably because it is so hidden by trees, so + wrapped in grimy ivy, so dust-laden and so impossible to get at, that its + outward form is no longer to be perceived. + </p> + <p> + It is within sound of the bells that jingle dismally on the heads of the + tram-car horses, plying their trade on the high-road, and yet it is + haunted. Its two great iron gates stand on the very pavement, and they are + never opened. Indeed, a generation or two of painters have painted them + shut, and grime and dirt have laid their seals upon the hinges. A side + gate gives entrance to such as come on foot. A door in the wall, up an + alley, is labelled “Tradesman's Entrance,” but the tradesmen never linger + there. No merry milkman leaves the latest gossip with his thin, blue milk + on that threshold. The butcher's chariot wheels never tarry at the corner + of that alley. Indeed, the local butcher has no chariot. His clients + mostly come in a shawl, and take their purchases away with them wrapped in + a doubtful newspaper beneath its folds. The better-class buyers wear a + cloth cricketing cap, coquettishly attached to a knob of hair by a + hat-pin. + </p> + <p> + The milkman, moreover, is not a merry man, hurrying on his rounds. He goes + slowly and pessimistically, and likes to see the halfpenny before he tips + his measure. + </p> + <p> + This, in a word, is a poor district, where no one would live if he could + live elsewhere, with the Signal House stranded in the midst of it—a + noble wreck on a barren, social shore. For the Signal House was once a + family mansion; later it was described as a riverside residence, then as a + quaint and interesting demesne. Finally its price fell with a crash, and + an elderly lady of weak intellect was sent by her relations to live in it, + with two servants, who were frequently to be met in Gravesend in the + evening hours, at which time, it is to be presumed, the elderly lady of + weak intellect was locked in the Signal House alone. But the house never + had a ghost. Haunted houses very seldom have. The ghost was the mere + invention of some kitchen-maid. + </p> + <p> + Haunted or not, the house stood empty for years, until suddenly a + foreigner took it—a Russian banker, it was understood. A very nice, + pleasant-spoken little gentleman this foreigner, who liked quiet and the + river view. He was quite as broad as he was long, though he was not + preposterously stout. There was nothing mysterious about him. He was well + known in the City. He had merely mistaken an undesirable suburb for a + desirable one, a very easy mistake for a foreigner to make; and he was + delighted at the cheapness of the house, the greenness of the old lawn, + the height of the grimy trees within the red brick wall. + </p> + <p> + He lived there all one summer, and the cement smoke got into his throat in + the autumn and gave him asthma, for which complaint he had obviously been + designed by Providence, for he had no neck. He used the Signal House + occasionally from Saturday till Monday. Then he gave it up altogether, and + tried to sell it. It stood empty for some years, while the Russian banker + extended his business and lived virtuously elsewhere. Then he suddenly + began using the house again as a house of recreation, and brought his + foreign servants, and his foreign friends and their foreign servants, to + stay from Saturday till Monday. + </p> + <p> + And all these persons behaved in an odd, Continental way, and played bowls + on the lawn at the back of the house on Sundays. The neighbors could hear + them but could see nothing, owing to the thickness of the grimy trees and + the height of the old brick wall. But no one worried much about the Signal + House; for they were a busy people who lived all around, and had to earn + their living, in addition to the steady and persistent assuagement of a + thirst begotten of cement dust and the pungent smell of bone manure. One + or two local amateurs had made sure of the fact that there was nothing in + the house that would repay a burglarious investigation, which, added to + the fact that the police station is only a few doors off, tended to allay + a natural curiosity as to the foreign gentleman's possessions. + </p> + <p> + When he came he drove in a close cab from Gravesend Station, and usually + told the cabman when his services would again be required. He came thus + with three friends one summer afternoon, some years ago, and came without + luggage. The servants, who followed in a second cab, carried some parcels, + presumably of refreshments. These grave gentlemen were, it appeared, about + to enjoy a picnic at the Signal House—possibly a tea-picnic in the + Russian fashion. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon was fine, and the gentlemen walked in the garden at the back + of the house. They were walking thus when another cab stopped at the + closed iron gate, and the banker hurried, as fast as his build would + allow, to open the side door and admit a seafaring man, who seemed to know + his bearings. + </p> + <p> + “Well, mister,” he said, in a Northern voice, “another of your little + jobs?” + </p> + <p> + The two men shook hands, and the banker paid the cabman. When the vehicle + had gone the host turned to his guest and replied to the question. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my fren',” he said, “another of my little jobs. I hope you are well, + Captain Cable?” + </p> + <p> + But Captain Cable was not a man to waste words over the social + conventions. He was obviously well—as well as a hard, seafaring life + will make a man who lives simply and works hard. He was a short man, with + a red face washed very clean, and very well shaven, except for a little + piece of beard left fantastically at the base of his chin. His eyes were + blue and bright, like gimlets. He may have had a soft heart, but it was + certainly hidden beneath a hard exterior. He wore a thick coat of blue + pilot-cloth, not because the July day was cold, but because it was his + best coat. His hat was carefully brushed and of hard, black felt. It had + perhaps been the height of fashion in Sunderland five years earlier. He + wore no gloves—Captain Cable drew the line there. As for the rest, + he had put on that which he called his shore-going rig. + </p> + <p> + “And yourself?” he answered, mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “I am very well, thank you,” replied the polite banker, who, it will have + been perceived, was nameless to Captain Cable, as he is to the reader. The + truth being that his name was so absurdly and egregiously Russian that the + plain English tongue never embarked on that sea of consonants. “It is an + affair, as usual. My friends are here to meet you, but I think they do not + speak English, except your colleague, the other captain, who speaks a + little—a very little.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he led the way to the garden, where three gentlemen were + awaiting them. + </p> + <p> + “This is Captain Cable,” he said, and the three gentlemen raised their + hats, much to the captain's discomfiture. He did not hold by foreign ways; + but he dragged his hat off and then expectorated on the lawn, just to show + that he felt quite at home. He even took the lead in the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Tell 'em,” he said, “that I'm a plain man from Sun'land that has a + speciality, an' that's transshipping cargo at sea, but me hands are + clean.” + </p> + <p> + He held them out and they were not, so he must have spoken metaphorically. + </p> + <p> + The banker translated, addressing himself to one of his companions, rather + markedly and with much deference. + </p> + <p> + “You're speakin' French,” interrupted Captain Cable. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my fren', I am. Do you know French?” + </p> + <p> + “Not me,” returned Captain Cable, affably. “They're all one to me. They're + all damn nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + He was, it seemed, that which is called in these days of blatant + patriotism a thorough Englishman, or a true Blue, according to the social + station of the speaker. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman to whom the translation had been addressed smiled. He was a + tall and rather distinguished-looking man, with bushy white hair and + mustache. His features were square-cut and strong. His eyes were dark, and + he had an easy smile. He led the way to some chairs which had been placed + near a table at the far end of the lawn beneath a cedar-tree, and his + manner had something faintly regal in it, as if in his daily life he had + always been looked up to and obeyed without question. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him that we also are plain men with clean hands,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And the banker replied: + </p> + <p> + “Oui, mon Prince.” + </p> + <p> + But the interpretation was taken out of his mouth by one of the others, + the youngest of the group—a merry-eyed youth, with a fluffy, fair + mustache and close-cropped, flaxen hair. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” he said, in perfect English, “says that we also are plain + men, and that your hands will not be hurt by touching ours.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand as he spoke, and refused to withdraw it until it had + been grasped, rather shame-facedly, by Captain Cable, who did not like + these effusive foreign ways, but, nevertheless, rather liked the young + man. + </p> + <p> + The banker ranged the chairs round the table, and the oddly assorted group + seated themselves. The man who had not yet spoken, and who sat down last, + was obviously a sailor. His face was burned a deep brown, and was mostly + hidden by a closely cut beard. He had the slow ways of a Northerner, the + abashed manner of a merchant skipper on shore. The mark of the other + element was so plainly written upon him that Captain Cable looked at him + hard and then nodded. Without being invited to do so they sat next to each + other at one side of the table, and faced the three landsmen. Again + Captain Cable spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Provided it's nothing underhand,” he said, “I'm ready and willing. + Or'nary risks of the sea, Queen's enemies, act o' God—them's my + risks! I am uninsured. Ship's my own. I don't mind explosives—” + </p> + <p> + “There are explosives,” admitted the banker. + </p> + <p> + “Then they must be honest explosives, or they don't go below my hatches. + Explosives that's to blow a man up honest, before his face.” + </p> + <p> + “There are cartridges,” said the young man who had shaken hands. + </p> + <p> + “That'll do,” said the masterful sailor. And pointing a thick finger + towards the banker, added, “Now, mister,” and sat back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “It is a very simple matter,” explained the banker, in a thick, suave + voice. “We have a cargo—a greater part of it weight, though there is + some measurement—a few cases of light goods, clothing and such. You + will load in the river, and all will be sent to you in lighters. There is + nothing heavy, nothing large. There is also no insurance, you understand. + What falls out of the slings and is lost overside is lost.” + </p> + <p> + The banker paused for breath. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Captain Cable. “It's the same with me and my ship. + There is no insurance, no tricking underwriters into unusual risks. It's + neck or nothing with me.” + </p> + <p> + And he looked hard at the breathless banker, with whom it was, in this + respect, nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I understand right enough,” he added, with an affable nod to the three + foreigners. + </p> + <p> + “You will sail from London with a full general cargo for Malmo or + Stockholm, or somewhere where officials are not wide-awake. You meet in + the North Sea, at a point to be fixed between yourselves, the <i>Olaf</i>, + Captain Petersen—sitting by your side.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable turned and gravely shook hands with Captain Petersen. + </p> + <p> + “Thought you was a seafaring man,” he said. And Captain Petersen replied + that he was “Vair pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “The cargo is to be transshipped at sea, out of sight of land or + lightship. But that we can safely leave to you, Captain Cable.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't deny,” replied the mariner, who was measuring Captain Petersen + out of the corner of his eye, “that I have been there before.” + </p> + <p> + “You can then go up the Baltic in ballast to some small port—just a + sawmill, at the head of a fjord—where I shall have a cargo of timber + waiting for you to bring back to London. When can you begin loading, + captain?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” replied the captain. “Ship's lying in the river now, and if + these gentlemen would like to see her, she's as handy a—” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not think we shall have time for that!” put in the banker, + hastily. “And now we must leave you and Captain Petersen to settle your + meeting-place. You have your charts?” + </p> + <p> + By way of response the captain produced from his pocket sundry folded + papers, which he laid tenderly on the table. For the last ten years he had + been postponing the necessity of buying new charts of certain sections of + the North Sea. He looked round at the high walls and the overhanging + trees. + </p> + <p> + “Hope the wind don't come blustering in here much,” he said, + apprehensively, as he unfolded the ragged papers with great caution. + </p> + <p> + The fair-haired young man drew forward his chair, and Cable, seeing the + action, looked at him sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Seafaring man?” he inquired, with a weight of doubt and distrust in his + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Not by profession, only for fun.” + </p> + <p> + “Fun? Man and boy, I've used the sea forty years, and I haven't yet found + out where the fun comes in!” + </p> + <p> + “This gentleman,” explained the banker, “his Ex—Mr.—” He + paused, and looked inquiringly at the white-haired gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Martin.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Martin will be on board the <i>Olaf</i> when you meet Captain + Petersen in the North Sea. He will act as interpreter. You remember that + Captain Petersen speaks no English, and you do not know his language. The + two crews, I understand, will be similarly placed. Captain Peterson + undertakes to have no one on board speaking English. And your crew, my + fren'?” + </p> + <p> + “My crew comes from Sun'land. Men that only speak English, and precious + little of that,” replied Captain Cable. + </p> + <p> + He had his finger on the chart, but paused and looked up, fixing his + bright glance on the face of the white-haired gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing—I'm a plain-spoken man myself—what is there + for us two—us seafaring men?” + </p> + <p> + “There is five hundred pounds for each of you,” replied the white-haired + gentleman for himself, in slow and careful English. + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable nodded his grizzled head over the chart. + </p> + <p> + “I like to deal with a gentleman,” he said, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “And so do I,” replied the white-haired foreigner, with a bow. + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable grunted audibly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <h3> + A SPECIALTY + </h3> + <p> + A muddy sea and a dirty gray sky, a cold rain and a moaning wind. + Short-capped waves breaking to leeward in a little hiss of spray. The + water itself sandy and discolored. Far away to the east, where the + green-gray and the dirty gray merge into one, a windmill spinning in the + breeze—Holland. Near at hand, standing in the sea, the picture of + wet and disconsolate solitude, a little beacon, erect on three legs, like + a bandbox affixed to a giant easel. It is alight, although it is broad + daylight; for it is always alight, always gravely revolving, night and + day, alone on this sandbank in the North Sea. It is tended once in three + weeks. The lamp is filled; the wick is trimmed; the screen, which is + ingeniously made to revolve by the heat of the lamp, is lubricated, and + the beacon is left to its solitude and its work. + </p> + <p> + There must be land to the eastward, though nothing but the spinning mill + is visible. The land is below the level of the sea. There is probably an + entrance to some canal behind the moving sandbank. This is one of the + waste-places of the world—a place left clean on sailors' charts; no + one passes that way. These banks are as deadly as many rocks which have + earned for themselves a dreaded name in maritime story. For they never + relinquish anything that touches them. They are soft and gentle in their + embrace; they slowly suck in the ship that comes within their grasp. Their + story is a long, grim tale of disaster. Their treasure is vast and stored + beneath a weight, half sand, half water, which must ever baffle the + ingenuity of man. Fog, the sailors' deadliest foe, has its home on these + waters, rising on the low-lying lands and creeping out to sea, where it + blows to and fro for weeks and weeks together. When all the world is blue + and sunny, fog-banks lie like a sheet of cotton-wool on these coasts. + </p> + <p> + “Barrin' fogs—always barrin' fogs!” Captain Cable had said as his + last word on leaving the Signal House. “If ye wait a month, never move in + a fog in these waters, or ye'll move straight to Davy Jones!” + </p> + <p> + And chance favored him, for a gale of wind came instead of a fog, one of + those May gales that sweep down from the northwest without warning or + reason. + </p> + <p> + At sunset the <i>Olaf</i> had crept cautiously in from the west—a + high-prowed, well-decked, square-rigged steamer of the old school, with + her name written large amidships and her side-lights set aft. Captain + Petersen was a cautious man, and came on with the leadsman working like a + clock. He was a man who moved slowly. And at sea, as in life, he who moves + slowly often runs many dangers which a greater confidence and a little + dash would avoid. He who moves slowly is the prey of every current. + </p> + <p> + Captain Petersen steamed in behind the beacon. He sighted the windmill + very carefully, very correctly, very cautiously. He described a + half-circle round the bank hidden a few feet below the muddy water. Then + he steamed slowly seawards, keeping the windmill full astern and the + beacon on his port quarter. When the beacon was bearing southeast he rang + the engine-room bell. The steamer, hardly moving before, stopped dead, its + bluff nose turned to the wind and the rustling waves. Then Captain + Petersen held up his hand to the first mate, who was on the high + forecastle, and the anchor splashed over. The <i>Olaf</i> was anchored at + the head of a submarine bay. She had shoal water all round her, and no + vessel could get at her unless it came as she had come. The sun went down, + and the red-gray clouds in the stormy west slowly faded into night. There + was no land in sight. Even the whirligig windmill was below the horizon + now. Only the three-legged beacon stood near, turning its winking, + wondering eye round the waste of waters. + </p> + <p> + Here the <i>Olaf</i> rode out the gale that raged all through the night, + and in the morning there was no peace, for it still rained and the + northwest wind still blew hard. There was no depth of water, however, to + make a sea big enough to affect large vessels. The <i>Olaf</i> rode easily + enough, and only pitched her nose into the yellow sea from time to time, + throwing a cloud of spray over the length of her decks, like a bird at its + bath. + </p> + <p> + Soon after daylight the Prince Martin Bukaty came on deck, gay and lively + in his borrowed oilskins. His blue eyes laughed in the shadow of the black + sou'wester tied down over his eyes, his slight form was lost in the ample + folds of Captain Petersen's best oilskin coat. + </p> + <p> + “It remains to be seen,” he said, peering out into the rain and spray, + “whether that little man will come to us in this.” + </p> + <p> + “He will come,” said Captain Petersen. + </p> + <p> + Prince Martin Bukaty laughed. He laughed at most things—at the + timidity and caution of this Norse captain, at good weather, at bad + weather, at life as he found it. He was one of those few and happy people + who find life a joy and his fellow-being a huge joke. Some will say that + it is easy enough to be gay at the threshold of life; but experience tells + that gayety is an inward sun which shines through all the changes and + chances of a journey which has assuredly more bad weather than good. The + gayest are not those who can be pointed out as the happiest. Indeed, the + happiest are those who appear to have nothing to make them happy. Martin + Bukaty might, for instance, have chosen a better abode than the stuffy + cabin of a Scandinavian cargo-boat and cheerier companions than a grim + pair of Norse seamen. He might have sought a bluer sky and a bluer sea, + and yet he stood on the dripping deck and laughed. He clapped Captain + Petersen on the back. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we have got here and we have ridden out the worst of it, and we + haven't dragged our anchors and nobody has seen us, and that exceedingly + amusing little captain will be here in a few hours. Why look so gloomy, my + friend?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Petersen shook the rain from the brim of his sou'wester. + </p> + <p> + “We are putting our necks within a rope,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Not your neck—only mine,” replied Martin. “It is a necktie that one + gets accustomed to. Look at my father! One rarely sees an old man so free + from care. How he laughs! How he enjoys his dinner and his wine! The wine + runs down a man's throat none the less pleasantly because there is a loose + rope around it. And he has played a dangerous game all his life—that + old man, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It is all very well for you,” said Captain Petersen, gravely, turning his + gloomy eyes towards his companion. “A prince does not get shot or hanged + or sent to the bottom in the high seas.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you think that,” said Prince Martin, momentarily grave. “One can + never tell.” + </p> + <p> + Then he broke into a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Come!” he said, “I am going aloft to look for that English boat. Come on + to the fore-yard. We can watch him come in—that little bulldog of a + man.” + </p> + <p> + “If he has any sense he will wait in the open until this gale is over,” + grumbled Petersen, nevertheless following his companion forward. + </p> + <p> + “He has only one sense, that man—a sense of infinite fearlessness.” + </p> + <p> + “He is probably afraid—” Captain Petersen paused to hoist himself + laboriously on to the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” inquired Martin, looking through the ratlines. + </p> + <p> + “Of a woman.” + </p> + <p> + And Martin Bukaty's answer was lost in the roar of the wind as he went + aloft. + </p> + <p> + They lay on the fore-yard for half an hour, talking from time to time in + breathless monosyllables, for the wind was gathering itself together for + that last effort which usually denotes the end of a gale. Then Captain + Petersen pointed his steady hand almost straight ahead. On the gray + horizon a little column of smoke rose like a pillar. It was a steamer + approaching before the wind. + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable came on at a great pace. His ship was very low in the water, + and kicked up awkwardly on a following sea. He swung round the beacon on + the shoulder of a great wave that turned him over till the rounded wet + sides of the steamer gleamed like a whale's back. He disappeared into the + haze nearer the land, and presently emerged again astern of the <i>Olaf</i>, + a black nozzle of iron and an intermittent fan of spray. He was crashing + into the seas at full speed—a very different kind of sailor to the + careful captain of the <i>Olaf</i>. His low decks were clear, and each sea + leaped over the bow and washed aft—green and white. As the little + steamer came down he suddenly slackened speed, and waved his hand as he + stood alone on the high bridge. + </p> + <p> + Then two or three oilskin-clad figures crept forward into the spray that + still broke over the bows. The crew of the <i>Olaf</i>, crowding to the + rail, looked down on the deeply laden little vessel from the height of + their dry and steady deck. They watched the men working quickly almost + under water on the low forecastle, and saw that it was good. Captain Cable + stood swaying on the bridge—a little, square figure in gleaming + oilskins—and said no word. He had a picked crew. + </p> + <p> + He passed ahead of the <i>Olaf</i> and anchored there, paying out cable as + if he were going to ride out a cyclone. The steamer had no name visible, a + sail hanging carelessly over the stern completely hid name and port of + registry. Her forward name-boards had been removed. Whatever his business + was, this seaman knew it well. + </p> + <p> + No sooner was his anchor down than Captain Cable began to lower a boat, + and Petersen, seeing the action, broke into mild Scandinavian profanity. + “He is going to try and get to us!” he said, pessimistically, and went + forward to give the necessary orders. He knew his business, too, this + Northern sailor, and when, after a long struggle, the boat containing + Captain Cable and two men came within reach, a rope—cleverly thrown—coiled + out into the flying scud and fell across the captain's face. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later he scrambled on to the deck of the <i>Olaf</i> and + shook hands with Captain Petersen. He did not at once recognize Prince + Martin, who held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you, Captain Cable,” he said. Cable finished drying the salt + water from his face with a blue cotton handkerchief before he shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you thought I wasn't coming,” he said, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “No, I knew you would.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see me for my own sake?” suggested the captain, grimly smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it always does one good to see a man,” answered Prince Martin. + </p> + <p> + “They tell me you're a prince.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all.” + </p> + <p> + The captain measured him slowly with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Makings of a man as well, perhaps,” he said, doubtfully. Then he turned + to cast an eye over the <i>Olaf</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Tin-kettle of a thing!” he observed, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “My little cargo won't be much in her great hold. Hatches are too small. + Now, I'm all hatch. Can't open up in this weather. We can turn to and get + our running tackle bent. It'll moderate before the evening, and if it does + we can work all night. Will your Rile Highnes' be ready to work all + night?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be ready whenever your High Mightiness is.” + </p> + <p> + The captain gave a gruff laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Dammy, you're the right sort!” he muttered, looking aloft at the rigging + with that contempt for foreign tackle which is essentially the privilege + of the British sailor. + </p> + <p> + Cable gave certain orders, announced that he would send four men on board + in the afternoon to bend the running tackle “ship-shape and Bristol + fashion,” and refused to remain on board the <i>Olaf</i> for luncheon. + </p> + <p> + “We've got a bit of steak,” he said, conclusively, and clambered over the + side into his boat. In confirmation of this statement the odor of fried + onions was borne on the breeze a few minutes later from the small steamer + to the large one. + </p> + <p> + The men from Sunderland came on board during the afternoon—men who, + as Captain Cable had stated, had only one language and made singularly + small use of that. Music and seamanship are two arts daily practised in + harmony by men who have no common language. For a man is a seaman or a + musician quite independently of speech. So the running tackle was + successfully bent, and in the evening the weather moderated. + </p> + <p> + There was a half-moon, which struggled through the clouds soon after dark, + and by its light the little English steamer sidled almost noiselessly + under the shadow of her large companion. Captain Cable's crew worked + quickly and quietly, and by nine o'clock that work was begun which was to + throw a noose round the necks of Prince Bukaty, Prince Martin, Captain + Petersen, and several others. + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable divided the watches so that the work might proceed + continuously. The dawn found the smaller steamer considerably lightened, + and her captain bright and wakeful at his post. All through the day the + transshipping went on. Cases of all sizes and all weights were slung out + of the capacious hatches of the one to sink into the dark hold of the + other vessel, and there was no mishap. Through the second night the + creaking of the blocks never ceased, and soon after daylight the three men + who had superintended the work without resting took a cup of coffee + together in the cabin of the <i>Olaf</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Likely as not,” said Captain Cable, setting down his empty cup, “we + three'll not meet again. I have had dealings with many that I've never + seen again, and with some that have been careful not to know me if they + did see me.” + </p> + <p> + “We can never tell,” said Martin, optimistically. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” the captain went on, “I can hold me tongue. That's agreed—we + all hold our tongues, whatever the newspapers may be likely to pay for a + word or two. Often enough I've read things in the newspaper that I could + put a different name to. And that little ship of mine has had a hand in + some queer political pies.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Martin, with his gay laugh, “and kept it clean all the + same.” + </p> + <p> + “That's as may be. And now I'll say good-bye. I'll be calling on your + father for my money in three days' time—barrin' fogs. And I'll tell + him I left you well. Good-bye, Petersen; you're a handy man. Tell him he's + a handy man in his own langwidge, and I'll take it kindly.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable shook hands, and clattered out of the cabin in his great + sea-boots. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later the <i>Olaf</i> was alone on that shallow sea, which + seemed lonelier and more silent than ever; for when a strong man quits a + room he often bequeaths a sudden silence to those he leaves behind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <h3> + TWO OF A TRADE + </h3> + <p> + “His face reminds one of a sunny graveyard,” a witty Frenchwoman had once + said of a man named Paul Deulin. And it is probable that Deulin alone + could have understood what she meant. Those who think in French have a + trick of putting great thoughts into a little compass, and, as the hollow + ball of talk is tossing to and fro, it sometimes rings for a moment in a + deeper note than many ears are tuned to catch. + </p> + <p> + The careless word seized the attention of one man who happened to hear it—Reginald + Cartoner, a listener, not a talker—and made that man Paul Deulin's + friend for the rest of his life. As there is <i>point de culte sans + mystere</i>, so also there can be no lasting friendship without reserve. + And although these two men had met in many parts of the world—although + they had in common more languages than may be counted on the fingers—they + knew but little of each other. + </p> + <p> + If one thinks of it, a sunny graveyard, bright with flowers and the gay + green of spring foliage, is the shallowest fraud on earth, endeavoring to + conceal beneath a specious exterior a thousand tragedies, a whole harvest + of lost illusions, a host of grim human comedies. On the other hand, this + is a pious fraud; for half the world is young, and will discover the roots + of the flowers soon enough. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner had met Deulin in many strange places. Together they had + witnessed queer events. Accredited to a new president of a new republic, + they once had made their bow, clad in court dress, and official dignity, + to the man whom they were destined to see a month later hanging on his own + flagstaff, out over the plaza, from the spare-bedroom window of the new + presidency. They had acted in concert; they had acted in direct + opposition. Cartoner had once had to tell Deulin that if he persisted in + his present course of action the government which he (Cartoner) + represented would not be able to look upon it with indifference, which is + the language of diplomacy, and means war. + </p> + <p> + For these men were the vultures of their respective Foreign Offices, and + it was their business to be found where the carcass is. + </p> + <p> + “The chief difference between the gods and men is that man can only be in + one place at a time,” Deulin had once said to Cartoner, twenty years his + junior, in his light, philosophic way, when a turn of the wheel had + rendered a long journey futile, and they found themselves far from that + place where their services were urgently needed. + </p> + <p> + “If men could be in two places at the same moment, say once only during a + lifetime, their lives would be very different from what they are.” + Cartoner had glanced quickly at him when he spoke, but only saw a ready, + imperturbable smile. + </p> + <p> + Deulin was a man counting his friends among all nationalities. The captain + of a great steamship has perhaps as many acquaintances as may be + vouchsafed to one man, and at the beginning of a voyage he has to assure a + number of total strangers that he remembers them perfectly. Deulin, during + fifty-odd years of his life, had moved through a maze of men, remembering + faces as a ship-captain must recollect those who have sailed with him, + without attaching a name or being able to allot one saving quality to lift + an individual out of the ruck. For it is a lamentable fact that all men + and all women are painfully like each other; it is only their faces that + differ. For God has made the faces, but men have manufactured their own + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Deulin had met a few who were not like the others, and one of these was + Reginald Cartoner, who was thrown against him, as it were, in a + professional manner when Deulin had been twenty years at the work. + </p> + <p> + “I always cross the road,” he said, “when I see Cartoner on the other + side. If I did not, he would go past.” + </p> + <p> + This he did in the literal sense the day after Cartoner landed in England + on his return from America. Deulin saw his friend emerge from a club in + Pall Mall and walk westward, as if he had business in that direction. Like + many travellers, the Frenchman loved the open air. Like all Frenchmen, he + loved the streets. He was idling in Pall Mall, avoiding a man here and + there. For we all have friends whom we are content to see pass by on the + other side. Deulin's duty was, moreover, such that it got strangely mixed + up with his pleasure, and it often happens that discretion must needs + overcome a natural sociability. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner saw his friend approaching; for Deulin had the good fortune, or + the misfortune, to be a distinguished-looking man, with a tall, spare + form, a trim white mustache and imperial, and that air of calm possession + of his environment which gives to some paupers the manner of a great + land-owner. He shook hands in silence, then turned and walked with + Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “I permit myself a question,” he said. “When did you return from Cuba?” + </p> + <p> + “I landed at Liverpool last night.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner turned in his abrupt way and looked his companion up and down. + Perhaps he was wondering for the hundredth time what might be buried + behind those smiling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I am in London, as you see,” said Deulin, as if he had been asked a + question. “I am awaiting orders. Something is brewing somewhere, one may + suppose. Your return to London seems to confirm such a suspicion. Let us + hope we may have another little . . . errand together—eh?” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, Deulin bowed in his rather grand way to an old gentleman who + walked briskly past in the military fashion, and who turned to look + curiously at the two men. + </p> + <p> + “You are dressed in your best clothes,” said Deulin, after a pause; “you + are going to pay calls.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to call on one of my old chiefs.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will ask your permission to accompany you. I, too, have put on a + new hat. I am idle. I want something to do. Mon Dieu, I want to talk to a + clean and wholesome Englishwoman, just for a change. I know all your old + chiefs, my friend. I know where you have been every moment since you made + your mark at this business. One watches the quiet men—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “She will be glad to see you,” said Cartoner, with his slow smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! She is always kind, that lady; for I guess where we are going. She + might have been a great woman . . . if she had not been a happy one.” + </p> + <p> + “I always go to see them when I am in town,” said Cartoner, who usually + confined his conversation to the necessaries of daily intercourse. + </p> + <p> + “And he—how is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is as well as can be expected. He has worked so hard and so long in + many climates. She is always anxious about him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the penalty a woman pays,” said Deulin. “To love and to be consumed + by anxiety—a woman's life, my friend. Oddly enough, I should have + gone there this afternoon, whether I had met you or not. I want her good + services—again.” + </p> + <p> + And the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders with a laugh, as if suddenly + reminded of some grievous error in his past life. + </p> + <p> + “I want her to befriend some friends of mine, if she has not done so + already. For she knows them, of course. They are the Bukatys. Of course, + you know the history of the Bukatys of Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + “I know the history of Poland,” answered Cartoner, looking straight in + front of him with reflective eyes. He had an odd way of carrying his head + a little bent forward, as if he bore behind his heavy forehead a burden of + memories and knowledge of which his brain was always conscious—as a + man may stand in the centre of a great library, and become suddenly aware + that he has more books than he can ever open and understand. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you do; you know a host of things. And you know more history + that was ever written in books. You know more than I do, and Heaven knows + that I know a great deal. For you are a reader, and I never look into a + book. I know the surface of things. The Bukatys are in London. I give you + that—to put in your pipe and smoke. Father and son. It is not for + them that I seek Lady Orlay's help. They must take care of themselves—though + they will not do that. It does not run in the family, as you know, who + read history books.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Cartoner, pausing before crossing to the corner of St. + James's Street, in the manner of a man whose life had not been passed in + London streets. For it must be remembered that English traffic is + different to the traffic of any other streets in the world. + </p> + <p> + “There is a girl,” pursued the Frenchman. “Families like the Bukatys + should kill their girls in infancy. Not that Wanda knows it; she is as gay + as a bird, and quite devoted to her father, who is an old ruffian—and + my very dear friend.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you want Lady Orlay to do for Princess Wanda?” inquired + Cartoner, with a smile. It was always a marvel to him that Paul Deulin + should have travelled so far down the road of life without losing his + enthusiasm somewhere by the way. + </p> + <p> + “That I leave to Lady Orlay,” replied Deulin, with an airy wave of his + neat umbrella, which imperilled the eyesight of a passing baker-boy, who + abused him. Whereupon Deulin turned and took off his hat and apologized. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, ignoring the incident, “I would not presume to dictate. + All I should do would be to present Wanda to her. 'Here is a girl who has + the misfortune to be a Bukaty; who has no mother; who has a father who is + a plotter and an old ruffian—a Polish noble, in fact—and a + brother who is an enthusiast, and as brave as only a prince can be.' I + should say, 'You see that circumstances have thrown this girl upon the + world, practically alone—on the hard, hard upper-class world—with + only one heart to break. It is only men who have a whole row of hearts on + a shelf, and, when one is broken, they take down another, made, perhaps, + of ambition, or sport, or the love of a different sort of woman—and, + vogue la galere, they go on just as well as they did before.'” + </p> + <p> + “And my accomplished aunt . . .” suggested Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “Would laugh at me, I know that. I would rather have Lady Orlay's laugh + than another woman's tears. And so would you; for you are a man of + common-sense, though deadly dull in conversation.” + </p> + <p> + As if to prove the truth of this assertion, Deulin was himself silent + until they had ascended St. James's Street and turned to the left in + Piccadilly; and, sure enough, Cartoner had nothing to say. At last he + broke the silence, and made it evident that he had been placidly following + the stream of his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Joseph P. Mangles?” he asked, in his semi-inaudible monotone. + </p> + <p> + “An American gentleman—the word is applicable in its best sense—who + for his sins, or the sins of his forefathers, has been visited with the + most terrible sister a man ever had.” + </p> + <p> + “So much I know.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin turned and looked at his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have met him—that puts another complexion on your + question.” + </p> + <p> + “I have just crossed the Atlantic in the next chair to him.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is all you know about him?” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then Joseph P. Mangles is getting on.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he?” repeated Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “He is in the service of his country, my friend, like any other poor devil—like + you or me, for instance. He spends half of his time kicking his heels in + New York, or wherever they kick their heels in America. The rest of his + time he is risking his health, or possibly his neck, wherever it may + please the fates to send him. If he had been properly trained, he might + have done something, that Joseph P. Mangles; for he can hold his tongue. + But he took to it late, as they all do in America. So he has come across, + has he? Yes, the storm-birds are congregating, my silent friend. There is + something in the wind.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin raised his long, thin nose into the dusty May air and sniffed it. + </p> + <p> + “Was that girl with them?” he inquired presently—“Miss Netty + Cahere?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I always make love to Miss Cahere—she likes it best.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner stared straight in front of him, and made no comment. The + Frenchman gave a laugh, which was not entirely pleasant. It was rare that + his laugh was harsh, but such a note rang in it now. They did not speak + again until they had walked some distance northward of Piccadilly, and + stopped before a house with white window-boxes. Several carriages stood at + the other side of the road against the square railings. + </p> + <p> + “Is it her day?” inquired Deulin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin made a grimace expressive of annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “And we shall see a number of people we had better not see. But, since we + are here, let us go in—with a smile on the countenance, eh? my brave + Cartoner.” + </p> + <p> + “And a lie on the tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “There I will meet you, too,” replied Deulin, looking into his card-case. + </p> + <p> + They entered the house, and, as Deulin had predicted, there found a number + of people assembled, who noted, no doubt, that they had come together. It + was observable that this was not a congregation of fashionable or artistic + people; for the women were dressed quietly, and the men were mostly old + and white-haired. It was also dimly perceptible that there was a larger + proportion of brain in the room than is allotted to the merely + fashionable, or to that shallow mixture of the dramatic and pictorial, + which is usually designated the artistic world. Moreover, scraps of + conversation reached the ear that led the hearer to conclude that the + house was in its way a miniature Babel. + </p> + <p> + The two men separated on the threshold, and Deulin went forward to shake + hands with a tall, white-haired woman, who was the centre of a vivacious + group. Over the heads of her guests this lady had already perceived + Cartoner, who was making his way more slowly through the crowd. He seemed + to have more friends there than Deulin. Lady Orlay at length went to meet + Cartoner, and as they shook hands, one of those slight and indefinable + family resemblances which start up at odd moments became visible. + </p> + <p> + “I want you particularly to-morrow night,” said the lady; “I have some + people coming. I will send a card to your club this evening.” + </p> + <p> + And she turned to say good-bye to a departing guest. Deulin was at + Cartoner's elbow again. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said, taking him by the sleeve and speaking in his own tongue, + “I wish to present you to friends of mine. Prince Pierre Bukaty,” he + added, stopping in front of a tall, old man, with bushy, white hair, and + the air of a mediaeval chieftain, “allow me to present my old friend + Cartoner.” + </p> + <p> + The two men shook hands without other greeting than a formal bow. Deulin + still held Cartoner by the sleeve, and gently compelled him to turn + towards a girl who was looking round with bright and eager eyes. She had a + manner full of energy and spirit, and might have been an English girl of + open air and active tastes. + </p> + <p> + “Princess Wanda,” said the Frenchman, “my friend Mr. Cartoner.” + </p> + <p> + The eager eyes came round to Cartoner's face, of which the gravity seemed + suddenly reflected in them. + </p> + <p> + “He is the best linguist in Europe,” said Deulin, in a gay whisper; “even + Polish; he speaks with the tongue of men and of angels.” + </p> + <p> + And he himself spoke in Polish. + </p> + <p> + Princess Wanda met Cartoner's serious eyes again, and in that place, where + human fates are written, another page of those inscrutable books was + folded over. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <h3> + AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE + </h3> + <p> + Prince Bukaty was an affable old man, with a love of good wine and a + perfect appreciation of the humorous. Had he been an Englishman, he would + have been an honest squire of the old Tory type, now fast fading before + facilities for foreign travel and a cheap local railway service. But he + was a Pole, and the fine old hatred which should have been bestowed upon + the Radicals fell to the lot of the Russians, and the contempt hurled by + his British prototype upon Dissent was cast upon Commerce as represented + in Poland by the thrifty German <i>emigre</i>. + </p> + <p> + The prince carried his bluff head with that air which almost invariably + bespeaks a stormy youth, and looked out over mankind from his great height + as over a fine standing crop of wild oats. As a matter of fact, he had + grown to manhood in the years immediately preceding those wild early + sixties, when all Europe was at loggerheads, and Poland seething in its + midst, as lava seethes in the crater of a volcano. + </p> + <p> + The prince had been to England several times. He had friends in London. + Indeed, he possessed them in many parts of the world, and, oddly enough, + he had no enemies. To his credit be it noted that he was not an exile, + which is usually another name for a scoundrel. For he who has no abiding + city generally considers himself exempt from the duties of citizenship. + </p> + <p> + “They do not take me seriously,” he said to his intimate friends; “they do + not honor me by recognizing me as a dangerous person; but we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + And the Prince Bukaty was thus allowed to go where he listed, and live in + Warsaw if he so desired. Perhaps the secret of this lay in the fact that + he was poor; for a poor man has few adherents. In the olden times, when + the Bukatys had been rich, there were many professing readiness to follow + him to the death—which is the way of the world. “You have but to + hold up your hand,” cries the faithful follower. But wise men know that + the hand must have something in it. The prince had been young and + impressionable when Poland was torn to pieces, when that which for eight + centuries had been one of the important kingdoms of the world was wiped + off the face of Europe, like writing off a slate. He was not a ruffian, as + Deulin had described him; but he was a man who had been ruffled, and + nothing could ever smooth him. + </p> + <p> + He was too frank by nature to play a hopeless game with the cunning and + the savor of spite which hopeless games require. If he liked a man, he + said so; if he disliked one, he was equally frank about it. He liked + Cartoner on the briefest of brief introductions, and said so. + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult to find a man in London who speaks anything but English, + and of anything but English topics. You are the narrowest people in the + world—you Londoners. But you are no Londoner; I beg your pardon. + Well, then, come and see me to-morrow. We are in a hotel in Kensington—will + you come? That is the address.” + </p> + <p> + And he held out a card with a small gold crown emblazoned in the corner, + after the mode of eastern Europe. Cartoner reflected for a moment, which + was odd in a man whose decisions were usually arrived at with lightning + speed. For he had a slow tongue and a quick brain. There are few better + equipments with which to face the world. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said at length; “it will give me much pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + The prince glanced at him curiously beneath his bushy eyebrows. What was + there to need reflection in such a small question? + </p> + <p> + “At five o'clock,” he said. “We can give you a cup of the poisonous tea + you drink in this country.” + </p> + <p> + And he went away laughing heartily at the small witticism. People whose + lives are anything but a joke are usually content with the smallest jests. + </p> + <p> + It was scarcely five o'clock the next day when Cartoner was conducted by a + page-boy to the Bukatys' rooms in the quiet old hotel in Kensington. The + Princess Wanda was alone. She was dressed in black. There is in some + Varsovian families a heritage of mourning to be worn until Poland is + reinstated. She was slightly but strongly made. Like her father and her + brother, there was a suggestion of endurance in her being, such as is + often found in slightly made persons. + </p> + <p> + “I came as early as I could,” said Cartoner, and, as he spoke, the clock + struck. + </p> + <p> + The princess smiled as she shook hands, and then perceived that she had + not been intended to show amusement. Cartoner had merely made a rather + naïve statement in his low monotone. She thought him a little odd, and + glanced at him again. She changed color slightly as she turned towards a + chair. He was quite grave and honest. + </p> + <p> + “That is kind of you,” she said, speaking English without the least + suspicion of accent; for she had had an English governess all her life. + “My father will take it to mean that you wanted to come, and are not only + taking pity on lonely foreigners. He will be here in a minute. He has just + been called away.” + </p> + <p> + “It was very kind of him to ask me to call,” replied Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + There was a simple directness in his manner of speech which was quite new + to the Princess Wanda. She had known few Englishmen, and her own + countrymen had mostly the manners of the French. She had never met a man + who conveyed the impression of purpose and of the habit of going straight + towards his purpose so clearly as this. Cartoner had not come to pay an + idle visit. She wondered why he had come. He did not rush into + conversation, and yet his silence had no sense of embarrassment in it. His + hair was turning gray above the temples. She could see this as he took a + chair near the window. He was probably ten years older than herself, and + gave the impression of experience and of a deep knowledge of the world. + From living much alone he had acquired the habit of wondering whether it + was worth while to say that which came into his mind—which is a + habit fatal to social success. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Deulin dined with us last night,” said the princess, following + the usual instinct that silence between strangers is intolerable. “He + talked a great deal of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Deulin is a diplomatist. He talks too much.” + </p> + <p> + “He accuses you of talking too little,” said Wanda, with some spirit. + </p> + <p> + “You see, there are only two methods of leaving things unsaid, princess.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is diplomacy?” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Which is diplomacy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I think you are both great artists,” she said, with a laugh, as the + door opened and her father entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “I only come to ask you a question—a word,” said the prince. + “Heavens! your English language! I have a man down-stairs—a question + of business—and he speaks the oddest English. Now what is the + meaning of the word jettison?” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner gave him the word in French. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried the prince, holding up his two powerful hands, “of course. How + foolish of me not to guess. In a moment I will return. You will excuse me, + will you not? Wanda will give you some tea.” + </p> + <p> + And he hurried out of the room, leaving Cartoner to wonder what a person + so far removed above commerce could have to do with the word jettison. + </p> + <p> + The conversation returned to Deulin. He was a man of whom people spoke + continually, and had spoken for years. In fact, two generations had found + him a fruitful topic of conversation without increasing their knowledge of + him. If he had only been that which is called a public man, a novelist or + a singer, his fortune would have been easy. All his advertising would have + been done for him by others. For there was in him that unknown quantity + which the world must needs think magnificent. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to tell me all you know about him,” said the princess in her + brisk way. “He is the only old man I have ever seen whose thoughts have + not grown old too. And, of course, one wonders why. He is the sort of + person who might do anything surprising. He might fall in love and marry, + or something like that, you know. Papa says he is married already, and his + wife is in a mad asylum. He says there is a tragedy. But I don't. He has + no wife—unless he has two.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of that side of his life. I only know his career.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not care about his career,” said the princess, lightly. “I go deeper + than careers.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at Cartoner with a wise nod and a shrewd look in her gay, blue + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “A man's career is only the surface of his life.” + </p> + <p> + “Then some men's lives are all surface,” said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + Wanda gave a little, half-pitying, half-contemptuous jerk of her head. + </p> + <p> + “Some men have the soul of an omnibus-horse,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner reflected for a moment, looking gravely the while at this girl, + who seemed to know so much of life and to have such singularly clear and + decisive views upon it. + </p> + <p> + “What would you have them do beyond going on when required and stopping + when expedient—and avoiding collisions?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I should like them to break the omnibus up occasionally,” she answered, + “and take a wrong turning sometimes, just to see if a little happiness lay + that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he laughed. “You are a Pole and a Bukaty. I knew it as soon as I + saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “One must do something. We were talking of such things last night, and + Monsieur Deulin said that his ideal combination in a man was an infinite + patience and a sudden premeditated recklessness.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you have come down to a mere career again,” said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily.” + </p> + <p> + The prince came into the room again at this moment. + </p> + <p> + “What are you people discussing,” he asked, “so gravely?” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in French, which was the language that was easiest to him, for he + had been young when it was the fashion in Poland to be French. + </p> + <p> + “I do not quite know,” answered Cartoner, slowly. “The princess was giving + me her views.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” retorted the old man, with his rather hollow laugh. “They are + long views, those views of hers.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner was still standing near the window. He turned absently and looked + out, down into the busy street. There he saw something which caused him + intense surprise, though he did not show it; for, like any man of strong + purpose, his face had but one expression, and that of thoughtful + attention. He saw Captain Cable, of the <i>Minnie</i>, crossing the + street, having just quitted the hotel. This was the business acquaintance + of Prince Bukaty's, who had come to speak of jettison. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner knew Captain Cable well, and his specialty in maritime skill. He + had seen war waged before now with material which had passed in and out of + the <i>Minnie's</i> hatches. + </p> + <p> + The prince did not refer again to the affairs that had called him away. + The talk naturally turned to the house where they had first met, and Wanda + mentioned that her father and she were going to the reception given by the + Orlays that evening. + </p> + <p> + “You're going, of course?” said the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am going.” + </p> + <p> + “You go to many such entertainments?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I go to very few,” replied Cartoner, looking at Wanda in his + speculative way. + </p> + <p> + Then he suddenly rose and took his leave, with a characteristic omission + of the usual “Well, I must be off,” or any such catch-word. He certainly + left a great deal unsaid which this babbling world expects. + </p> + <p> + He walked along the crowded streets, absorbed in his own thoughts, for + some distance. Then he suddenly emerged from that quiet shelter, and + accepted the urgent invitation of a hansom-cab driver to get into his + vehicle. + </p> + <p> + “Westminster Bridge,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He quitted the cab at the corner of the bridge, and walked quickly down to + the steamboat-landing. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you want to go to?” inquired the gruff, seafaring ticket-clerk. + </p> + <p> + “As far as I can,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + A steamer came almost at once, and Cartoner selected a quiet seat over the + rudder. He must have known that the <i>Minnie</i> was so constructed that + she could pass under the bridges, for he began to look for her at once. It + was six o'clock, and a spring tide was running out. All the passenger + traffic was turned to the westward, and a friendly deck-hand, having + leisure, came and gave Cartoner his views upon cricket, in which, as was + natural in one whose life was passed on running water, his whole heart + seemed to be absorbed. Cartoner was friendly, but did not take advantage + of this affability to make inquiries about the <i>Minnie</i>. He knew, + perhaps, that there is no more suspicious man on earth than a river-side + worker. + </p> + <p> + The steamer raced under the bridges, and at last shot out into the Pool, + where a few belated barges were drifting down stream. A number of steamers + lay at anchor, some working cargo, others idle. The majority were + foreigners, odd-shaped vessels, with funnels like a steam + threshing-machine, and gayly painted deck-houses. + </p> + <p> + In one quiet corner, behind a laid-up excursion-boat and a file of North + Sea fish-carriers, lay the <i>Minnie</i>, painted black, with nothing + brighter than a deep brown on her deck-house, her boats painted a shabby + green. She might have been an overgrown tug or a superannuated + fish-carrier. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner landed at the Cherry Orchard Pier, and soon found a boatman to + take him to the <i>Minnie</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Just took the skipper on board a few minutes ago, sir,” he said. “He must + have come down by the boat before yours.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Cartoner stood on the deck of the <i>Minnie</i>, and + banged with his fist on the cover of the cabin gangway, which was + tantamount to ringing at Captain Cable's front door. + </p> + <p> + The sailor's grim face appeared a moment later, emerging like the face of + a hermit-crab from its shell. The frown slowly faded, and the deep, + unwashed wrinkles took a kindlier curve. + </p> + <p> + “It's you, Mr. Cartoner,” he said. “Glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “I was passing in a steamer,” answered Cartoner, quietly, “and recognized + the <i>Minnie</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I take it friendly of you, Mr. Cartoner, remembering the rum time you and + me had together. Come below. I've got a drop of wine somewhere stowed away + in a locker.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <h3> + THE VULTURES + </h3> + <p> + “I suppose,” Miss Mangles was saying—“I suppose, Joseph, that Lady + Orlay has been interested in the work without our knowing it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is possible, Jooly—it is possible,” replied Mr. Joseph P. + Mangles, looking with a small, bright, speculative eye out of the window + of his private sitting-room in a hotel in Northumberland Avenue. + </p> + <p> + Miss Mangles was standing behind him, and held in her hand an + invitation-card notifying that Lady Orlay would be at home that same + evening from nine o'clock till midnight. + </p> + <p> + “This invitation,” said the recipient, “accompanied as it is by a friendly + note explaining that the shortness of the invitation lies in the fact that + we only arrived the day before yesterday, seems to point to it, Joseph. It + seems to indicate that England is prepared to give me a welcome.” + </p> + <p> + “On the face of it, Jooly, it would seem—just that.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mangles continued to gaze with a speculative eye into Northumberland + Avenue. If, as Cartoner had suggested, the profession of which Mr. Joseph + P. Mangles was a tardy ornament, needed above all things a capacity for + leaving things unsaid, the American diplomatist was not ignorant in his + art. For he did not inform his sister that the invitation to which she + attached so flattering a national importance owed its origin to an + accidental encounter between himself and Lord Orlay—a friend of his + early senatorial days—in Pall Mall the day before. + </p> + <p> + Miss Mangles stood with the card in her hand and reflected. No woman and + few men would need to be told, moreover, the subject of her thoughts. Of + what, indeed, does every woman think the moment she receives an + invitation? + </p> + <p> + “Jooly,” Mr. Mangles had been heard to say behind that lady's back—“Jooly + is an impressive dresser when she tries.” + </p> + <p> + But the truth is that Jooly did not always try. She had not tried this + morning, but stood in the conventional hotel room dressed in a black cloth + garment which had pleats down the front and back and a belt like a Norfolk + jacket. Miss Mangles was large and square-shouldered. She was a rhomboid, + in fact, and had that depressing square-and-flat waist which so often + figures on the platform in a great cause. Her hair was black and shiny and + straight; it was drawn back from her rounded temples by hydraulic + pressure. Her mouth was large and rather loose; it had grown baggy by much + speaking on public platforms—a fearsome thing in a woman. Her face + was large and round and white. Her eyes were dull. Long ago there must + have been depressing moments in the life of Julia P. Mangles—moments + spent in front of her mirror. But, like the woman of spirit that she was, + she had determined that, if she could not be beautiful, she could at all + events be great. + </p> + <p> + One self-deception leads to another. Miss Mangles sat down and accepted + Lady Orlay's invitation in the full and perfect conviction that she owed + it to her greatness. + </p> + <p> + “Are they abstainers?” she asked, reflectively, going back in her mind + over the causes she had championed. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” replied Joseph, winking gravely at a policeman in Northumberland + Avenue. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Lord Orlay is open to conviction.” + </p> + <p> + “If you tackle Orlay, you'll find you've bitten off a bigger bit than you + can chew,” replied Joseph, who had a singular habit of lapsing into the + vulgarest slang when Julia mounted her high horse in the presence of + himself only. When others were present Mr. Mangles seemed to take a sort + of pride in this great woman. Let those explain the attitude who can. + </p> + <p> + Lady Orlay's entertainments were popularly said to be too crowded, and no + one knew this better than Lady Orlay. + </p> + <p> + “Let us ask them all and be done with them,” she said; and had said it for + thirty years, ever since she had begun a social existence with no other + prospects than that which lay in her husband's brain—then plain Mr. + Orlay. She had never “done with them,” had never secured that peaceful + domestic leisure which had always been her dream and her husband's dream, + and would never secure it. For these were two persons, now old and + white-haired and celebrated, who lived in the great world, and had a + supreme contempt for it. + </p> + <p> + The Mangleses were among the first to arrive, Julia in a dress of rich + black silk, with some green about it, and a number of iridescent + beetle-wings serving as a relief. Miss Netty Cahere was a vision of pink + and self-effacing quietness. + </p> + <p> + “We shall know no one,” she said, with a shrinking movement of her + shoulders as they mounted the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Not even the waiters,” replied Joseph Mangles, in his lugubrious bass, + glancing into a room where tea and coffee were set out. “But they will + soon know us.” + </p> + <p> + They had not been in the room, however, five minutes before an + acquaintance entered it, tall and slim, like a cheerful Don Quixote, with + the ribbon of a great order across his shirt-front. He paused for a moment + near Lord and Lady Orlay, and his entrance caused, as it usually did, a + little stir in the room. Then he turned and greeted Joseph Mangles. Over + the large, firm hand of that gentleman's sister he bowed in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to say to that great woman,” he sometimes said. “She is so + elevated that my voice will not reach her.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin then turned to where Miss Cahere had been standing. But she had + moved away a few paces, nearer to a candelabrum, under which she was now + standing, and a young officer in full German uniform was openly admiring + her, with a sort of wonder on his foolish, Teutonic face. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I expected you had forgotten me,” she said, when Deulin presented + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me—I have tried,” he replied, with great earnestness; but + the complete innocence of her face clearly showed that she did not attach + any deep meaning to his remark. + </p> + <p> + “You must see so many people that you cannot be expected to remember them + all.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not remember them all, mademoiselle—only a very, very few.” + </p> + <p> + “Then tell me, who is that lovely girl you bowed to as you came into the + room?” + </p> + <p> + “Is there another in the room?” inquired Deulin, looking around him with + some interest. + </p> + <p> + “Over there, with the fair hair, dressed in black.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! talking to Cartoner. Yes. Do you think her beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “I think she is perfectly lovely. But somehow she does not look like one + of us, does she?” And Miss Cahere lowered her voice in a rather youthful + and inexperienced way. + </p> + <p> + “She is not like one of us, Miss Cahere,” replied Deulin. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we are plebeians, and she is a princess.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then she is married?” exclaimed Miss Cahere, and her voice fell three + semitones on the last word. + </p> + <p> + “No. She is a princess in her own right. She is a Pole.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahere gave a little sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing,” she said, looking at the Princess Wanda, with a soft light + of sympathy in her gentle eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you pity her?” asked Deulin, glancing down sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Because princesses are always obliged to marry royalties, are they not—for + convenience, I mean—not from . . . from inclination, like other + girls?” + </p> + <p> + And Miss Cahere's eyelids fluttered, but she did not actually raise her + eyes towards her interlocutor. An odd smile flickered for an instant on + Deulin's lips. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, with a sharp sigh—and that was all. He bowed, and + turned away to speak to a man who had been waiting at his elbow for some + minutes. This also was a Frenchman, who seemed to have something special + to report, for they walked aside together. + </p> + <p> + It was quite late in the evening before Deulin succeeded in his efforts to + get a few moments' speech with Lady Orlay. He found that unmatched hostess + at leisure in the brief space elapsing between the arrival of the latest + and the departure of the earliest. + </p> + <p> + “I was looking for you,” she said; “you, who always know where everybody + is. Where is Mr. Mangles? An under-secretary was asking for him a moment + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Mangles is listening to the music in the library—comparatively + happy by himself behind a barricade of flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “And that preposterous woman?” + </p> + <p> + “That preposterous woman is in the refreshment-room.” + </p> + <p> + Thus they spoke of the great lecturer on Prison Wrongs. + </p> + <p> + “You have seen the Bukatys?” inquired Lady Orlay. “I called on them the + moment I received your note from Paris. They are here to-night. I have + never seen such a complexion. Is it characteristic of Poland?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” replied Deulin, with unusual shortness, looking away across + the room. + </p> + <p> + Lady Orlay's clever eyes flashed round for a moment, and she looked grave. + It was as if she had pushed open the door of another person's room. + </p> + <p> + “I like the old man,” she said, with a change of tone. “What is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a rebel.” + </p> + <p> + “Proscribed?” + </p> + <p> + “No—they dare not do that. He was a great man in the sixties. You + remember how in the great insurrection an unfailing supply of arms and + ammunition came pouring into Poland over the Austrian frontier—more + arms than the national government could find men for.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember that.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the man,” said Deulin, with a nod of his head in the direction of + the Prince Bukaty, who was talking and laughing near at hand. + </p> + <p> + “And the girl—it is very sad—I like her very much. She is gay + and brave.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Deulin, “when a woman is gay and brave—and young—Heaven + help us.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Monsieur Deulin.” + </p> + <p> + “And when she is gay and brave, and . . . old . . . milady—God keep + her,” he said with a grave bow. + </p> + <p> + “I liked her at once. I shall be glad to do anything I can, you know. She + has a great capacity for making friends.” + </p> + <p> + “She has already made a few—this evening,” put in the Frenchman, + with a significant gesture of his gloved hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Not one who can hurt her, I think. I can see to that. The usual enemy—of + a pretty girl—that is all.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off with a sudden laugh. Once or twice he had laughed like that, + and his manner was restless and uneasy. In a younger man, or one less + experienced and hardened, the observant might have suspected some hidden + excitement. Lady Orlay turned and looked at him curiously, with the + frankness of a friendship which had lasted nearly half a century. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed—but he laughed uneasily—and spread out his hands in + a gesture of bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “What is what?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Orlay looked at her fan reflectively as she opened and closed it. + </p> + <p> + “Reginald Cartoner has turned up quite suddenly,” she said. “Mr. Mangles + has arrived from Washington. You are here from Paris. A few minutes ago + old Karl Steinmetz, who still watches the nations en amateur, shook hands + with me. This Prince Bukaty is not a nonentity. All the Vultures are + assembling, Paul. I can see that. I can see that my husband sees it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you and yours are safe now. You are in the backwater—you and + Orlay—quietly moored beneath the trees.” + </p> + <p> + “Finally,” continued Lady Orlay, without heeding the interruption, “you + come to me with a light in your eye which I have seen there only once or + twice during nearly fifty years. It means war, or something very like it—the + Vultures.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little shiver as she looked round the room. After a short + silence Deulin rose suddenly and held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” he said. “You are too discerning. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going—?” + </p> + <p> + “Away,” he answered, with a wave of the hand descriptive of space. “I must + go and pack my trunks.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Orlay had not moved when Mr. Mangles came up to say good-night. Miss + Julia P. Mangles bowed in a manner which she considered impressive and the + world thought ponderous. Netty Cahere murmured a few timid words of + thanks. + </p> + <p> + “We shall hope to see you again,” said Lady Orlay to Mr. Mangles. + </p> + <p> + “'Fraid not,” he answered; “we're going to travel on the Continent.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you start?” asked her ladyship. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Another one,” muttered Lady Orlay, watching Mr. Mangles depart. And her + brief reverie was broken into by Reginald Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “You have come to say good-bye,” she said to him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going away again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will not tell me where you are going.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot,” answered Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will tell you,” said Lady Orlay, who, as Paul Deulin had said, was + very experienced and very discerning. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to Russia, all of you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <h3> + AT THE FRONTIER + </h3> + <p> + Daylight was beginning to contend with the brilliant electric illumination + of the long platform as that which is called the Warsaw Express steamed + into Alexandrowo Station. There are many who have never heard of + Alexandrowo, and others who know it only too well. + </p> + <p> + How many a poor devil has dropped from the footboard of the train just + before these electric lights were reached—to take his chance of + crossing the frontier before morning—history will never tell! How + many have succeeded in passing in and out of that dread railway station + with a false passport and a steady face, beneath the searching eye of the + officials, Heaven only knows! There is no other way of passing Alexandrowo—of + getting in or out of the kingdom of Poland—but by this route. Before + the train is at a standstill at the platform each one of the long corridor + carriages is boarded by a man in the dirty white trousers, the green tunic + and green cap, the top-boots, and the majesty of Russian law. Here, + whatever time of day or night, winter or summer, it is always as light as + day, thanks to an unsparing use of electricity. There are always sentries + on the outer side of the train. The platform is a prison-yard—the + waiting rooms are prison-yards. + </p> + <p> + With a passport in perfect order, vised for here and there and everywhere, + with good clothes, good luggage, and nothing contraband in baggage or + demeanor, Alexandrowo is easy enough. Obedience and patience will see the + traveller through. There is no fear of his being left in the huge station, + or of his going anywhere but to his avowed and rightful destination. But + with a passport that is old or torn, with a visa which bears any but a + recent date, with a restless eye or a hunted look, the voyager had better + take his chance of dropping from the footboard at speed, especially if it + be a misty night. + </p> + <p> + Like sheep, the passengers are driven from the train in which not so much + as a newspaper is left. Only the sleeping-car is allowed to go through, + but it is emptied and searched. The travellers are penned within a large + room where the luggage is inspected, and they are deprived of their + passports. When the customs formalities are over they are allowed to find + the refreshment-room, and there console themselves with weak tea in + tumblers until such time as they are released. + </p> + <p> + The train on this occasion was a full one, and the great inspection-room, + with its bare walls and glaring lights, crammed to overflowing. The + majority of the travellers seemed, as usual, to be Germans. There were a + few ladies. And two men, better dressed than the others, had the + appearance of Englishmen. They drifted together—just as the women + drifted together and the little knot of shady characters who hoped against + hope that their passports were in order. For the most part, no one spoke, + though one German commercial traveller protested with so much warmth that + an examination of his trunks was nothing but an intrusion on the officer's + valuable time that a few essayed to laugh and feel at their ease. + </p> + <p> + Reginald Cartoner, who had been among the first to quit Lady Orlay's, was + an easy first across the frontier. He had twelve hours' start of anybody, + and was twenty-four hours ahead of all except Paul Deulin, whose train had + steamed into Berlin Station as the Warsaw Express left it. He seemed to + know the ways of Alexandrowo, and the formalities to be observed at the + frontier, but he was not eager to betray his knowledge. He obeyed with a + silent patience the instructions of the white-aproned, black-capped porter + who had a semi-official charge of him. He made no attempt to escape an + examination of his luggage, and he avoided the refreshment-room tea. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner glanced at the man, whose appearance would seem to indicate that + he was a fellow-countryman, and made sure that he did not know him. Then + he looked at him again, and the other happened to turn his profile. + Cartoner recognized the profile, and drew away to the far corner of the + examination-room. But they drifted together again—or, perhaps, the + younger man made a point of approaching. It was, at all events, he who, + when all had been marshalled into the refreshment-room, drew forward a + chair and sat down at the table where Cartoner had placed himself. + </p> + <p> + He ordered a cup of coffee in Russian, and sought his cigarette-case. He + opened it and laid it on the table in front of Cartoner. He was a fair + young man, with an energetic manner and the clear, ruddy complexion of a + high-born Briton. + </p> + <p> + “Englishman?” he said, with an easy and friendly nod. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cartoner, taking the proffered cigarette. His manner was + oddly stiff. + </p> + <p> + “Thought you were,” said the other, who, though his clothes were English + and his language was English, was nevertheless not quite an Englishman. + There was a sort of eagerness in his look, a picturesque turn of the head—a + sense, as it were, of the outwardly pictorial side of existence. He moved + his chair, in order to turn his back on a Russian officer who was seated + near, and did it absently, as if mechanically closing his eye to something + unsightly and conducive to discomfort. Then he turned to his coffee with a + youthful spirit of enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “All this would be mildly amusing,” he said, “at say any other hour of the + twenty-four, but at three in the morning it is rather poor fun. Do you + succeed in sleeping in these German schlafwagens?” + </p> + <p> + “I can sleep anywhere,” replied Cartoner, and his companion glanced at him + inquiringly. It seemed that he was sleepy now, and did not wish to talk. + </p> + <p> + “I know Alexandrowo pretty well,” the other volunteered, nevertheless, + “and the ways of these gentlemen. With some of them I am quite on friendly + terms. They are inconceivably stupid; as boring as—the + multiplication-table. I am going to Warsaw; are you? I fancy we have the + sleeping-car to ourselves. I live in Warsaw as much as anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + He paused to feel in his pocket, not for his cigarettes this time, but for + a card. + </p> + <p> + “I know who you are,” said Cartoner, quietly: “I recognized you from your + likeness to your sister. I was dancing with her forty-eight hours ago in + London.” + </p> + <p> + “Wanda?” inquired the other, eagerly. “Dear old Wanda! How is she? She was + the prettiest girl in the room, I bet.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” he said, “all about them. But, first, tell me your name. Wanda + writes to me nearly every day, and I hear about all their friends—the + Orlays and the others. What is your name? She is sure to have made mention + of it in her letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Reginald Cartoner.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I have heard of you—but not from Wanda.” + </p> + <p> + He paused to reflect. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he added, rather wonderingly, after a pause. “No, she never + mentioned your name. But, of course, I know it. It is better known out of + England than in your own country, I fancy. Deulin—you know Deulin?—has + spoken to us of you. No doubt we have dozens of other friends in common. + We shall find them out in time. I am very glad to meet you. You say you + know my name—yes, I am Martin Bukaty. Odd that you should have + recognized me from my likeness to Wanda. I am very glad you think I am + like her. Dear old Wanda! She is a better sort than I am, you know.” + </p> + <p> + And he finished with a frank and hearty laugh—not that there was + anything to laugh at, but merely because he was young, and looked at life + from a cheerful standpoint. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner sipped his coffee, and looked reflectively at his companion over + the cup. “Cartoner,” Paul Deulin had once said to a common friend, “weighs + you, and naturally finds you wanting.” It seemed that he was weighing + Prince Martin Bukaty now. + </p> + <p> + “I saw your father also,” he said, at length. “He was kind enough to ask + me to call, which I did.” + </p> + <p> + “That was kind of you. Of course we know no one in London—no one, I + mean, who speaks anything except English. That is a thing which is never + quite understood on the Continent—that if you go to London you must + speak English. If you cannot, you had better hang yourself and be done + with it, for you are practically in solitary confinement. My father does + not easily make friends—you must have been very civil to him.” + </p> + <p> + “According to my lights, I was,” admitted Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + Martin laughed again. It is a gay heart that can be amused at three in the + morning. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is,” continued Martin, in his quick and rather heedless way, + “that we Poles are under a cloud in Europe now. We are the wounded man by + the side of the road from Jerusalem down to Jericho, and there is a + tendency to pass by on the other side. We are a nation with a bad want, + and it is nobody's business to satisfy it. Everybody is ready, however, to + admit that we have been confoundedly badly treated.” + </p> + <p> + He tossed off his coffee as he spoke, and turned in his chair to nod an + acknowledgment to the profound bows of a gold-laced official who had + approached him, and who now tendered an envelope, with some murmured words + of politeness. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—thank you,” said Prince Martin, and slipped the envelope + within his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “It is my passport,” he explained to Cartoner, lightly. “All the rest of + you will receive yours when you are in the train. Mine is the doubtful + privilege of being known here, and being a suspected character. So they + are doubly polite and doubly watchful. As for you, at Alexandrowo you + rejoice in a happy obscurity. You will pass in with the crowd, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I always try to,” replied Cartoner. Which was strictly true. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” went on Martin, not too discreetly, considering their + environments, “we cannot forget that we were a great nation before there + was a Russian Empire or an Austrian Empire or a German Empire. We are a + landlady who has seen better days; who has let her lodgings to three + foreign gentlemen who do not pay the rent—who make us clean their + boots and then cast them at our heads.” + </p> + <p> + The doors of the great room had now been thrown open, and the passengers + were passing slowly out to the long, deserted platform. It was almost + daylight now, and the train was drawn up in readiness to start, with a + fresh engine and new officials. The homeliness of Germany had vanished, + giving place to that subtle sense of discomfort and melancholy which hangs + in the air from the Baltic to the Pacific coast. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will stay a long time in Warsaw,” said Martin, as they walked + up the platform. “My father and sister will be coming home before long, + and will be glad to see you. We will do what we can to make the place + tolerable for you. We live in the Kotzebue, and I have a horse for you + when you want it. You know we have good horses in Warsaw, as good as any. + And the only way to see the country is from the saddle. We have the best + horses and the worst roads.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, very much,” replied Cartoner. “I, of course, do not know how long + I shall stay. I am not my own master, you understand. I never know from + one day to another what my movements may be.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Martin, in the absent tone of one who only half hears. “No, + of course not. By-the-way, we have the races coming on. I hope you will be + here for them. In our small way, it is the season in Warsaw now. But, of + course, there are difficulties—even the races present difficulties—there + is the military element.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and indicated with a short nod the Russian officer who was + passing to his carriage in front of them. + </p> + <p> + “They have the best horses,” he explained. “They have more money than we + have. We have been robbed, as you know. You, whose business it is.” + </p> + <p> + He turned, with his foot on the step of the carriage. He was so accustomed + to the recognition of his rank that he went first without question. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, with a laugh, “I had quite forgotten that it is your + business to know all about us.” + </p> + <p> + “I have tried to remind you of it several times,” answered Cartoner, + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “To shut me up, you mean?” asked the younger man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Martin was standing at the door of Cartoner's compartment. He turned away + with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” he said. “Hope you will get some more sleep. We shall meet + again in a few hours.” + </p> + <p> + He closed the sliding door, and as the train moved slowly out of the + station Cartoner could hear the cheerful voice—of a rather high + timbre—in conversation with the German attendant in the corridor. + For, like nearly all his countrymen, Prince Martin was a man of tongues. + The Pole is compelled by circumstances to learn several languages: first, + his own; then the language of the conqueror, either Russian or German, or + perhaps both. For social purposes he must speak the tongue of the two + countries that promised so much for Poland and performed so little—England + and France. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner sat on the vacant seat in his compartment, which had not been + made up as a bed, and listened thoughtfully to the pleasant tones. It was + broad daylight now, and the flat, carefully cultivated land was green and + fresh. Cartoner looked out of the window with an unseeing eye, and the + sleeping-carriage lumbered along in silence. The Englishman seemed to have + no desire for sleep, though, not being an impressionable man, he was + usually able to rest and work, fast and eat at such times as might be + convenient. He was considered by his friends to be a rather cold, steady + man, who concealed under an indifferent manner an almost insatiable + ambition. He certainly had given way to an entire absorption in his + profession, and in the dogged acquirement of one language after another as + occasion seemed to demand. + </p> + <p> + He had been, it was said, more than usually devoted to his profession, + even to the point of sacrificing friendships which, from a social and + possibly from an ambitious point of view, could not have failed to be + useful to him. Martin Bukaty was not the first man whom he had kept at + arm's-length. But in this instance the treatment had not been markedly + successful, and Cartoner was wondering now why the prince had been so + difficult to offend. He had refused the friendship, and the effect had + only been to bring the friend closer. Cartoner sat at the open window + until the sun rose and the fields were dotted here and there with the + figures of the red-clad peasant women working at the crops. At seven + o'clock he was still sitting there, and soon after Prince Martin Bukaty, + after knocking, drew back the sliding door and came into the compartment, + closing the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking about it,” he said, in his quick way, “and it won't + do, you know—it won't do. You cannot appear in Warsaw as our friend. + It would never do for us to show special attention to you. Anywhere else + in the world, you understand, I am your friend, but not in Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cartoner, “I understand.” + </p> + <p> + He rose as he spoke, for Prince Martin was holding out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” he said, in his quiet way, and they shook hands as the train + glided into Warsaw Station. + </p> + <p> + In the doorway Martin turned and looked back over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “All the same, I don't understand why Wanda did not mention your name to + me. She might have foreseen that we should meet. She is quick enough, as a + rule, and has already saved my father and me half a dozen times.” + </p> + <p> + He waited for an answer, and at length Cartoner spoke. + </p> + <p> + “She did not know that I was coming,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <h3> + IN A REMOTE CITY + </h3> + <p> + The Vistula is the backbone of Poland, and, from its source in the + Carpathians to its mouth at Dantzic, runs the whole length of that which + for three hundred years was the leading power of eastern Europe. At Cracow—the + tomb of many kings—it passes half round the citadel, a shallow, + sluggish river; and from the ancient capital of Poland to the present + capital—Warsaw—it finds its way across the great plain, amid + the cultivated fields, through the quiet villages of Galicia and Masovia. + </p> + <p> + Warsaw is built upon two sides of the river, the ancient town looking from + a height across the broad stream to the suburb of Praga. In Praga—a + hundred years ago—the Russians, under Suvaroff, slew thirteen + thousand Poles; in the river between Praga and the citadel two thousand + were drowned. Less than forty years ago a crowd of Poles assembled in the + square in front of the castle to protest against the tyranny of their + conquerors. They were unarmed, and when the Russian soldiery fired upon + them they stood and cheered, and refused to disperse. Again, in cold + blood, the troops fired, and the Warsaw massacre continued for three hours + in the streets. + </p> + <p> + Warsaw is a gay and cheerful town, with fine streets and good shops, with + a cold, gray climate, and a history as grim as that of any city in the + world save Paris. Like most cities, Warsaw has its principal street, and, + like all things Polish, this street has a terrible name—the + Krakowski Przedmiescie. It is in this Krakowski Faubourg that the Hotel de + l'Europe stands, where history in its time has played a part, where kings + and princes have slept, where the Jew Hermani was murdered, where the + bodies of the first five victims of the Russian soldiery were carried + after the massacre and there photographed, and, finally, where the great + light from the West—Miss Julie P. Mangles—alighted one May + morning, looking a little dim and travel-stained. + </p> + <p> + “Told you,” said Mr. Mangles to his sister, who for so lofty a soul was + within almost measurable distance of snappishness—“told you you + would have nothing to complain of in the hotel, Jooly.” + </p> + <p> + But Miss Mangles was not to be impressed or mollified. Only once before + had her brother and niece seen this noble woman in such a frame of mind—on + their arrival at the rising town of New Canterbury, Massachusetts, when + the deputation of Women Workers and Wishful Waiters for the Truth failed + to reach the railway depot because they happened on a fire in a straw-hat + manufactory on their way, and heard that the newest pattern of straw hat + was to be had for the picking up in the open street. + </p> + <p> + There had been no deputation at Warsaw Station to meet Miss Mangles. + London had not recognized her. Berlin had shaken its official head when + she proposed to visit its plenipotentiaries, and hers was the ignoble + position of the prophet—not without honor in his own country—who + cannot get a hearing in foreign parts. + </p> + <p> + “This is even worse than I anticipated,” said Miss Mangles, watching the + hotel porters in a conflict with Miss Netty Cahere's large trunks. + </p> + <p> + “What is worse, Jooly?” + </p> + <p> + “Poland!” replied Miss Mangles, in a voice full of foreboding, and yet + with a ring of determination in it, as if to say that she had reformed + worse countries than Poland in her day. + </p> + <p> + “I allow,” said Mr. Mangles, slowly, “that at this hour in the morning it + appears to be a one-horse country. You want your breakfast, Jooly?” + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast will not put two horses to it, Joseph,” replied Miss Mangles, + looking not at her brother, but at the imposing hotel concierge with a + bland severity indicative of an intention of keeping him strictly in his + place. + </p> + <p> + Miss Netty quietly relieved her aunt of the small impedimenta of travel, + with a gentle deference which was better than words. Miss Cahere seemed + always to know how to say or do the right thing, or, more difficult still, + to keep the right silence. Either this, or the fact that Miss Mangles was + conscious of having convinced her hearers that she was as expert in the + lighter swordplay of debate as in the rolling platform period, somewhat + alleviated the lady's humor, and she turned towards the historic + staircase, which had run with the blood of Jew and Pole, with a distinct + air of condescension. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Mr. Joseph Mangles to the concierge, in a voice of deep + depression which only added to the incongruity of his French, “what + languages you speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Russian, French, Polish, German, English—” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do to go on with,” interrupted Mangles, in his own tongue. “We'll + get along in English. My name is Mangles.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the porter bowed low, as to one for whom first-floor rooms and a + salon had been bespoken, and waved his hand towards the stairs, where + stood a couple of waiters. + </p> + <p> + Of the party, Miss Cahere alone appeared cool and composed and neat. She + might, to judge from her bright eyes and delicate complexion, have slept + all night in a comfortable bed. Her hat and her hair had the appearance of + having been arranged at leisure by a maid. Miss Netty had on the surface a + little manner of self-depreciating flurry which sometimes seemed to + conceal a deep and abiding calm. She had little worldly theories, too, + which she often enunciated in her confidential manner; and one of these + was that one should always, in all places and at all times, be neat and + tidy, for no one knows whom one may meet. And, be it noted in passing, + there have been many successful human careers based upon this simple rule. + </p> + <p> + She followed the waiter up-stairs with that soft rustle of the dress which + conveys even in the obtuse masculine mind a care for clothes and the habit + of dealing with a good dressmaker. At the head of the stairs she gave a + little cry of surprise, for Paul Deulin was coming along the broad + corridor towards her, swinging the key of his bedroom and nonchalantly + humming an air from a recent comic opera. He was, it appeared, as much at + home here as in London or Paris or New York. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mademoiselle!” he said, standing hat in hand before her, “who could + have dreamed of such a pleasure—here and at this moment—in + this sad town?” + </p> + <p> + “You seemed gay enough—you were singing,” answered Miss Cahere. + </p> + <p> + “It was a sad little air, mademoiselle, and I was singing flat. Perhaps + you noticed it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never know when people are singing flat or not. I have no ear for + music. I only know when I like to hear a person's voice. I have no + accomplishments, you know,” said Netty, with a little humble drawing-in of + the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Deulin, with a gesture which conveyed quite clearly his opinion + that she had need of none. And he turned to greet Miss Mangles and her + brother. + </p> + <p> + Miss Mangles received him coldly. Even the greatest of women is liable to + feminine moments, and may know when she is not looking her best. She shook + hands, with her platform bow—from the waist—and passed on. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” said Joseph Mangles. “Got here before us? Thought you'd turn up. + Dismal place, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “You have just arrived, I suppose?” said Deulin. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please don't laugh at us!” broke in Netty. “Of course you can see + that. You must know that we have just come out of a sleeping-car!” + </p> + <p> + “You always look, mademoiselle, as if you had come straight from heaven,” + answered Deulin, looking at Miss Cahere, whose hand was at her hair. It + was pretty hair and a pretty, slim, American hand. But she did not seem to + hear, for she had turned away quickly and was speaking to her uncle. + Deulin accompanied them along the corridor, which is a long one, for the + Hotel de l'Europe is a huge quadrangle. + </p> + <p> + “You startled me by your sudden appearance, you know,” she said, turning + again to the Frenchman, which was probably intended for an explanation of + her heightened color. She was one of those fortunate persons who blush + easily—at the right time. “I am sure Uncle Joseph will be pleased to + have you in the same hotel. Of course, we know no one in Warsaw. Have you + friends here?” + </p> + <p> + “Only one,” replied Deulin—“the waiter who serves the Zakuska + counter down-stairs. I knew him when he was an Austrian nobleman, + travelling for his health in France. He does not recognize me now.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you stay long?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not intend to,” replied Deulin, “when I came out of my room this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But you and Mr. Cartoner have Polish friends, have you not?” asked Netty. + </p> + <p> + “Not in Warsaw,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we shall meet again,” broke in Joseph Mangles at this moment, + halting on the threshold of the gorgeous apartment. He tapped the number + on the door in order to draw Deulin's attention to it. “Always welcome,” + he said. “Funny we should meet here. Means mischief, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it does,” answered Deulin, looking guilelessly at Netty. + </p> + <p> + He took his leave and continued his way down-stairs. Out in the Krakowski + Faubourg the sun was shining brightly and the world was already astir, + while the shops were opening and buyers already hurrying home from the + morning markets. It is a broad street, with palaces and churches on either + side. Every palace has its story; two of them were confiscated by the + Russian government because a bomb, which was thrown from the pavement, + might possibly have come from one of the windows. Every church has rung to + the strains of the forbidden Polish hymn—“At Thy altar we raise our + prayer; deign to restore us, O Lord, our free country.” Into almost all of + them the soldiers have forced their way to make arrests. + </p> + <p> + Paul Deulin walked slowly up the faubourg towards the new town. The clocks + were striking the hour. He took off his hat, and gave a little sigh of + enjoyment of the fresh air and bright sun. + </p> + <p> + “Just Heaven, forgive me!” he said, with upturned eyes. “I have already + told several lies, and it is only eight o'clock. I wonder whether I shall + find Cartoner out of bed?” + </p> + <p> + He walked on in a leisurely way, brushing past Jew and Gentile, gay + Cossack officers, and that dull Polish peasant who has assuredly lived + through greater persecution than any other class of men. He turned to the + right up a broad street and then to the left into a narrower, quieter + thoroughfare, called the Jasna. The houses in the Jasna are mostly large, + with court-yards, where a few trees struggle for existence. They are let + out in flats, or in even smaller apartments, where quiet people live—professors, + lawyers, and other persons, who have an interest within themselves and are + not dependent on the passer-by for entertainment. + </p> + <p> + Into one of these large houses Deulin turned, and gave his destination to + the Russian doorkeeper as he passed the lodge. This was the second floor, + and the door was opened by a quick-mannered man, to whom the Frenchman + nodded familiarly. + </p> + <p> + “Is he up yet?” he inquired, and called the man by his Christian name. + </p> + <p> + “This hour, monsieur,” replied the servant, leading the way along a narrow + corridor. He opened a door, and stood aside for Deulin to pass into a + comfortably furnished room, where Cartoner was seated at a writing-table. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning,” said the Frenchman. As he passed the table he took up a + book and went towards the window, where he sat down in a deep arm-chair. + “Don't let me disturb you,” he continued. “Finish what you are doing.” + </p> + <p> + “News?” inquired Cartoner, laying aside his pen. He looked at Deulin + gravely beneath his thoughtful brows. They were marvellously dissimilar—these + friends. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” returned Deulin, throwing aside the book he had picked up—Lelewel's + <i>History of Poland</i>, in Polish. “I trouble for your future, Cartoner. + You take life so seriously—you, who need not work at all. Even + uncles cannot live forever, and some day you will be in a position to lend + money to poor devils of French diplomatists. Think of that!” + </p> + <p> + He reflected for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, after a pause, “I have news of all sorts—news which + goes to prove that you are quite right to take an apartment instead of + going to the hotel. The Mangles arrived here this morning—Mangles + frere, Mangles soeur, and Miss Cahere. I say, Cartoner—” He paused, + and examined his own boots with a critical air. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Cartoner, how old do you put me?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty.” + </p> + <p> + “All that, mon cher?—all that? Old enough to play the part of an old + fool who excels all other fools.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner took up his pen again. He had suddenly thought of something to + put down, and in his odd, direct way proceeded to write, while Deulin + watched him. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said the Frenchman at length, and Cartoner paused, pen in hand—“what + would you think of me if I fell in love with Netty Cahere?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you a very lucky man if Netty Cahere fell in love with + you,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “I have known you a good many years, and have gathered + that that is your way of looking at things. You want your wife to be in + love with you. Odd! I suppose it is English. Well, I don't know if there + is any harm done, but I certainly had a queer sensation when I saw Miss + Cahere suddenly this morning. You think her a nice girl?” + </p> + <p> + “Very nice,” replied Cartoner, gravely. + </p> + <p> + Deulin looked at him with an odd smile, but Cartoner was looking at the + letter before him. + </p> + <p> + “What I like about her is her quiet ways,” suggested Deulin, tentatively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then they lapsed into silence, while Cartoner thought of his letter. + Deulin, to judge from a couple of sharp sighs which caught him unawares, + must have been thinking of Netty Cahere. At length the Frenchman rose and + took his leave, making an appointment to dine with Cartoner that evening. + </p> + <p> + Out in the street he took off his hat to high heaven again. + </p> + <p> + “More lies!” he murmured, humbly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <h3> + THE SAND-WORKERS + </h3> + <p> + At the foot of the steep and narrow Bednarska—the street running + down from the Cracow Faubourg to the river—there are always many + workers. It is here that the bathing-houses and the boat-houses are. Here + lie the steamers that ply slowly on the shallow river. Here, also, is a + trade in timber where from time to time one of the smaller rafts that + float from the Carpathians down to Dantzic is moored and broken up. Here, + also, are loafers, who, like flies, congregate naturally near the water. + </p> + <p> + A few hundred yards higher up the river, between the Bednarska and the + spacious Jerozolimska Alley, many carts and men work all day in the sand + which the Vistula deposits along her low banks. The Jerozolimska starts + hopefully from the higher parts of the city—the widest, the newest, + the most Parisian street in the town, Warsaw's only boulevard—down + the hill, as if it expected to find a bridge at the bottom. But there is + no bridge there, and the fine street dwindles away to sandy ruts and a + broken tow-path. Here horses struggle vainly to drag heavy sand-carts from + the ruts, while their drivers swear at them and the sand-workers lean on + their spades and watch. A cleaner sand is dredged from the middle or + brought across in deep-laden punts from the many banks that render + navigation next to impossible—a clean, hard sand, most excellent for + building purposes. + </p> + <p> + It was the hour of the mid-day dinner—for Polish hours are the hours + of the early Victorian meals. Horses and men were alike at rest. The + horses nibbled at the thin grass, while the men sat by the water and ate + their gray bread, which only tastes of dampness and carraway-seeds. It was + late autumn, and the sun shone feebly through a yellow haze. The scene was + not exhilarating. The Vistula, to put it plainly, is a dismal river. + Poland is a dismal country. A witty Frenchman, who knew it well, once said + that it is a country to die for, but not to live in. + </p> + <p> + It was only natural that the workmen should group together for their + uninteresting meal. The sand-bank offered a comfortable seat. Their + position was in a sense a strategetical one. They were in full view of the + bridge and of the high land behind them, but no one could approach within + half a mile unperceived. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” one of the workmen was saying, “those who know say that there will + inevitably be a kingdom of Poland again. Some day. And if some day, why + not now? Why not this time?” + </p> + <p> + His hearers continued to eat in silence. Some were slightly built, + oval-faced men—real Poles; others had the narrower look of the + Lithuanian; while a third type possessed the broad and placid face that + comes from Posen. Some were born to this hard work of the sand-hills; + others had that look in the eyes, that carriage of the head, which + betokens breeding and suggests an ancestral story. + </p> + <p> + “The third time, they say, is lucky,” answered a white-haired man, at + length. He was a strong man, with the lines of hunger cut deeply in his + face. The work was nothing to him. He had labored elsewhere. The others + turned and looked at him, but he said no more. He glanced across the river + towards the spires of Praga pointing above the brown trees. Perhaps he was + thinking of those other times, which he must have seen fifty and twenty + years ago. His father must have seen Praga paved with the dead bodies of + its people. He must have seen the river run sluggish with the same burden. + He may have seen the people shot down in the streets of Warsaw only twenty + years before. His eyes had the dull look which nearly always betokens some + grim vision never forgotten. He seemed a placid old man, and was known as + an excellent worker, though cruel to his horses. + </p> + <p> + He who had first spoken—a boatman known as Kosmaroff—was a + spare man, with a narrow face and a long, pointed chin, hidden by a neat + beard. He was not more than thirty-five years old, and presented no + outward appearance of having passed through hardships. His manner was + quick and vivacious, and when he laughed, which was not infrequent, his + mouth gave an odd twist to the left. The corner went upwards towards the + eye. His smile was what the French call a pale smile. At times, but very + rarely, a gleam of recklessness passed through his dark eyes. He had been + a raftsman, and was reputed to be the most daring of those little-known + watermen at flood-times and in the early thaw. He glanced towards the old + man as if hoping that more was coming. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will be the third time,” he said, when the other had lapsed into + a musing silence, “though few of us have seen it with our own eyes. But we + have other means of remembering. We have also the experience of our + forefathers to guide us—though we cannot say that our forefathers + have told us—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off with a short laugh. His grandfather had died at Praga; his + father had gone to Siberia to perish there. + </p> + <p> + “We shall time it better,” he said, “than last time. We have men watching + the political world for us. The two emperors are marked as an old man is + marked by those who are named in his will. If anything happened to + Bismarck, if Austria and Russia were to fall out, if the dogs should + quarrel among themselves—the three dogs that have torn Poland to + pieces! Anything would do! They knew the Crimean War was coming. England + and France were so slow. And they threw a hundred thousand men into Warsaw + before they turned to the English. That showed what they thought of us!” + </p> + <p> + The others listened, looking patiently at the river. The spirit of some + was broken. There is nothing like hunger for breaking the spirit. Others + looked doubtful, for one reason or another. These men resembled a board of + directors—some of them knew too little, others too much. It seemed + to be Kosmaroff's mission to keep them up to a certain mark by his + boundless optimism, his unquestioning faith in a good cause. + </p> + <p> + “It is all very well for you,” said one, a little fat man with beady eyes. + Fat men with beady eyes are not usually found in near proximity to danger + of any sort—“you, who are an aristocrat, and have nothing to lose!” + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff ate his bread with an odd smile. He did not look towards the + speaker. He knew the voice perhaps, or he knew that the great truth that a + man's character is ever bubbling to his lips, and every spoken word is a + part of it running over. + </p> + <p> + “There are many who can be aristocrats some day—with a little + good-fortune,” he said, and the beady eyes brightened. + </p> + <p> + “I lost five at Praga,” muttered an elderly man, who had the subdued + manner of the toiler. “That is enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well to remember Praga,” returned Kosmaroff, in a hard monotone. + “It is well to remember that the Muscovites have never kept their word! + There is much to remember!” + </p> + <p> + And a murmur of unforgetfulness came from the listeners. Kosmaroff glanced + sideways at two men who sat shoulder to shoulder staring sullenly across + the river. + </p> + <p> + “I may be an aristocrat by descent,” he said, “but what does that come to? + I am a raftsman. I work with my hands, like any other. To be a Polish + aristocrat is to have a little more to give. They have always done it. + They are ready to do it again. Look at the Bukatys and a hundred others, + who could go to France and live there peaceably in the sunshine. I could + do it myself. But I am here. The Bukatys are here. They will finish by + losing everything—the little they have left—or else they will + win everything. And I know which they will do. They will win! The prince + is wise. Prince Martin is brave; we all know that!” + </p> + <p> + “And when they have won will they remember?” asked one of the two smaller + men, throwing a brown and leathery crust into the river. + </p> + <p> + “If they are given anything worth remembering they will not forget it. You + may rely on that. They know what each gives—whether freely or with a + niggard hand—and each shall be paid back in his own coin. They give + freely enough themselves. It is always so with the aristocrats; but they + expect an equal generosity in others, which is only right!” + </p> + <p> + The men sat in a row facing the slow river. They were toil-worn and + stained; their clothing was in rags. But beneath their sandy hair more + than one pair of eyes gleamed from time to time with a sudden anger, with + an intelligence made for higher things than spade and oar. As they sat + there they were like the notes of a piano, and Kosmaroff played the + instrument with a sure touch that brought the fullest vibration out of + each chord. He was a born leader; an organizer not untouched perchance by + that light of genius which enables some to organize the souls of men. + </p> + <p> + Nor was he only a man of words, as so many patriots are. He was that + dangerous product, a Pole born in Siberia. He had served in a Cossack + regiment. The son of convict No. 2704, he was the mere offspring of a + number—a thing not worth accounting. In his regiment no one noticed + him much, and none cared when he disappeared from it. And now here he was + back in Poland, with a Russian name for daily use and another name hidden + in his heart that had blazed all over Poland once. Here he was, a raftsman + plying between Cracow and Warsaw, those two hot-beds of Polish patriotism—a + mere piece of human driftwood on the river. He had made the usual grand + tour of Russia's deadliest enemies. He had been to Siberia and Paris and + London. He might have lived abroad, as he said, in the sunshine; but he + preferred Poland and its gray skies, manual labor, and the bread that + tastes of dampness. For he believed that a kingdom which stood in the + forefront for eight centuries cannot die. There are others who cherish the + same belief. + </p> + <p> + “This time,” he went on, after a pause, “I have news for you. We are a + little nearer. It is our object to be ready, and then to wait patiently + until some event in Europe gives us our opportunity. Last time they acted + at the wrong moment. This time we shall not do that, but we shall + nevertheless act with decision when the moment arrives. We are a step + nearer to readiness, and we owe it to Prince Martin Bukaty again. He is + never slow to put his head in the noose, and laughs with the rope around + his neck. And he has succeeded again, for he has the luck. We have five + thousand rifles in Poland—” + </p> + <p> + He paused and looked down the line of grimy faces, noting that some + lighted up and others drooped. The fat little man with the beady eyes + blinked as he stared resolutely across the river. + </p> + <p> + “In Warsaw!” he added, significantly. “So, if there are any who think that + the cause is a dead one, they had better say so now—and take the + consequences.” He concluded rather grimly, with his one-sided smile. + </p> + <p> + No one seemed disposed to avail himself of this invitation. + </p> + <p> + “And there is ammunition enough,” continued Kosmaroff, “to close the + account of every Muscovite in Warsaw!” + </p> + <p> + His voice vibrated as he spoke, with the cold and steady hatred of the + conquered; but on his face there only rested the twisted smile. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you this,” he went on, “because I am likely to go to Cracow before + long, and so that you may know what is expected of you. Certain events may + be taken beforehand as a sure signal for assembly—such as the death + of either emperor, of the King of Prussia, or of Bismarck, the declaration + of war by any of the great powers. There is always something seething on + the Indian frontier, and one day the English will awake. The Warsaw papers + will not have the news; but the <i>Czas</i> and the other Cracow journals + will tell you soon enough, and you can all see the Galician papers when + you want to, despite their censors and their police!” + </p> + <p> + A contemptuous laugh from the fat man confirmed this statement. This was + his department. In many men cunning takes the place of courage. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the steam-whistle of the iron-works farther up the river + boomed out across the plain. The bells of the city churches broke out into + a clanging unanimity as to the time of day, and all the workers stirred + reluctantly. The dinner-hour was over. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff rose to his feet and stretched himself—a long, lithe, wiry + figure. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said. “We must go back to work.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced from face to face, and any looking with understanding at his + narrow countenance, his steady, dark eyes, and clean-cut nose must have + realized that they stood in the presence of that rare and indefinable + creation—a strong man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <h3> + A WARNING + </h3> + <p> + It is a matter of history that the division of Poland into three saved + many families from complete ruin. For some suffered confiscation in the + kingdom of Poland and saved their property in Galicia; others, again in + Posen had estates in Masovia, which even Russian justice could not lay + hands upon—that gay justice of 1832, which declared that, in + protesting against the want of faith of their conquerors, the Poles had + broken faith. The Austrian government had sympathized with the discontent + of those Poles who had fallen under Russian sway, while in Breslau it was + permitted to print and publish plain words deemed criminal in Cracow and + Warsaw. The dogs, in a word, behaved as dogs do over their carrion, and, + having secured a large portion, kept a jealous eye on their neighbor's + jaw. + </p> + <p> + The Bukatys had lost all in Poland except a house or two in Warsaw, but a + few square miles of fertile land in Galicia brought in a sufficiency, + while Wanda had some property in the neighborhood of Breslau bequeathed to + her by her mother. The grim years of 1860 and 1861 had worn out this lady, + who found the peace that passeth man's understanding while Poland was yet + in the horrors of a hopeless guerilla warfare. + </p> + <p> + “Russia owes me twenty years of happiness and twenty million rubles,” the + old prince was in the habit of saying, and each year on the anniversary of + his wife's death he reckoned up afresh this debt. He mentioned it, + moreover, to Russian and Pole alike, with that calm frankness which was + somehow misunderstood, for the administration never placed him among the + suspects. Poland has always been a plain-speaking country, and the Poles, + expressing themselves in the roughest of European tongues, a plain-spoken + people. They spoke so plainly to Henry of Valois when he was their king + that one fine night he ran away to mincing France and gentler men. When, + under rough John Sobieski, they spoke with their enemy in the gate of + Vienna, their meaning was quite clear to the Moslem understanding. + </p> + <p> + The Prince Bukaty had a touch of that rough manner which commands respect + in this smooth age, and even Russian officials adopted a conciliatory + attitude towards this man, who had known Poland without one of their kind + within her boundaries. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot expect an old man such as I to follow all the changes of your + petty laws, and to remember under which form of government he happens to + be living at the moment!” he had boldly said to a great personage from St. + Petersburg, and the observation was duly reported in the capital. It was, + moreover, said in Warsaw that the law had actually stretched a point or + two for the Prince Bukaty on more than one occasion. Like many outspoken + people, he passed for a barker and not a biter. + </p> + <p> + It does not fall to the lot of many to live in a highly civilized town and + submit to open robbery. Prince Bukaty lived in a small palace in the + Kotzebue street, and when he took his morning stroll in the Cracow + Faubourg he passed under the shadow of a palace flying the Russian flag, + which palace was his, and had belonged to his ancestors from time + immemorial. He had once made the journey to St. Petersburg to see in the + great museum there the portraits of his fathers, the books that his + predecessors had collected, the relics of Poland's greatness, which were + his, and the greatness thereof was his. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered to the loquacious curator, “I know. You tell me nothing + that I do not know. These things are mine. I am the Prince Bukaty!” + </p> + <p> + And the curator of St. Petersburg went away, sorrowful, like the young man + who had great possessions. + </p> + <p> + For Russia had taken these things from the Bukatys, not in punishment, but + because she wanted them. She wanted offices for her bureaucrats on the + Krakowski Przedmiescie, in Warsaw, so she took Bukaty Palace. And to whom + can one appeal when Caesar steals? + </p> + <p> + Poland had appealed to Europe, and Europe had expressed the deepest + sympathy. And that was all! + </p> + <p> + The house in the Kotzebue had the air of an old French town-house, and + was, in fact, built by a French architect in the days of Stanislaus + Augustus, when Warsaw aped Paris. It stands back from the road behind high + railings, and, at the farther end of a paved court-yard, to which entrance + is gained by two high gates, now never opened in hospitality, and only + unlocked at rare intervals for the passage of the quiet brougham in which + the prince or Wanda went and came. The house is just round the corner of + the Kotzebue, and therefore faces the Saski Gardens—a quiet spot in + this most noisy town. The building is a low one, with a tiled roof and + long windows, heavily framed, of which the smaller panes and thick + woodwork suggest the early days of window-glass. Inside, the house is the + house of a poor man. The carpets are worn thin; the furniture, of a + sumptuous design, is carefully patched and mended. The atmosphere has that + mournful scent of better days—now dead and past. It is the odor of + monarchy, slowly fading from the face of a world that reeks of cheap + democracy. + </p> + <p> + The air of the rooms—the subtle individuality which is impressed by + humanity on wood and texture—suggested that older comfort which has + been succeeded by the restless luxury of these times. + </p> + <p> + The prince was, it appeared, one of those men who diffuse tranquillity + wherever they are. He had moved quietly through stirring events; had acted + without haste in hurried moments. For the individuality of the house must + have been his. Wanda had found it there when she came back from the school + in Dresden, too young to have a marked individuality of her own. The + difference she brought to the house was a certain brightness and a sort of + experimental femininity, which reigned supreme until her English governess + came back again to live as a companion with her pupil. Wanda moved the + furniture, turned the house round on its staid basis, and made a hundred + experiments in domestic economy before she gave way to her father's habits + of life. Then she made that happiest of human discoveries, which has the + magic power of allaying at one stroke the eternal feminine discontent + which has made the world uneasy since the day that Eve idled in that + perfect garden—she found that she was wanted in the world! + </p> + <p> + The prince did not tell her so. Perhaps his need of her was too obvious to + require words. He had given his best years to Poland, and now that old age + was coming, that health was failing and wealth had vanished, Poland would + have none of him. + </p> + <p> + There was no Poland. At this moment Wanda burst upon him, so to speak, + with a hundred desires that only he could fulfil, a hundred questions that + only he could answer. And, as wise persons know, to fulfil desires and + answer questions is the best happiness. + </p> + <p> + Father and daughter lived a quiet life in the house that was called a + palace by courtesy only. For Martin was made of livelier stuff, and rarely + stayed long at home. He came and went with a feverish haste; was fond of + travel, he said, and the authorities kept a questioning eye upon his + movements. + </p> + <p> + There are two doors to the Bukaty Palace. As often as not, Martin made use + of the smaller door giving entrance to the garden at the back of the + house, which garden could also be entered from an alley leading round from + the back of the bank, which stands opposite the post-office in the busier + part of Kotzebue Street. + </p> + <p> + He came in by this door one evening and did not come alone, for he was + accompanied by a man in working-clothes. The streets of Warsaw are well + lighted and well guarded by a most excellent police, second only as the + Russians are to the police of London. It is therefore the custom to go + abroad at night as much as in the day, and the Krakowski is more crowded + after dark than during the afternoon. Kosmaroff had walked some distance + behind Prince Martin in the streets. Martin unlocked the gate of the + garden and passed in, leaving the gate open with the key in the lock. In a + minute Kosmaroff followed, locked the gate after him, and gave the key + back to its owner on the steps of the garden door of the house, where + Martin was awaiting him, latch-key in hand. They did it without comment or + instruction, as men carry out a plan frequently resorted to. + </p> + <p> + Martin led the way into the house, along a dimly lighted corridor, to a + door which stood ajar. Outside the night was cold; within were warmth and + comfort. Martin went into the long room. At the far end, beneath the lamp + and near an open wood fire, the prince and Wanda were sitting. They were + in evening dress, and the prince was dozing in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought Kos to see you,” said Martin, and, turning, he looked + towards the door. The convict's son, the convict, came forward with that + ease which, to be genuine, must be quite unconscious. He apparently gave + no thought to his sandy and wrinkled top-boots, from which the original + black had long since been washed away by the waters of the Vistula. He + wore his working-clothes as if they were the best habit for this or any + other palace. He took Wanda's hand and kissed it in the old-world fashion, + which has survived to this day in Poland. But the careless manner in which + he raised her fingers to his lips would have showed quite clearly to a + competent observer that neither Wanda nor any other woman had ever touched + his heart. + </p> + <p> + “You will excuse my getting up,” said the prince. “My gout is bad + to-night. You will have something to eat?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I have eaten,” replied Kosmaroff, drawing forward a chair. + </p> + <p> + Martin put the logs together with his foot, and they blazed up, lighting + with a flickering glow the incongruous group. + </p> + <p> + “He will take a glass of port,” said the prince, turning to Wanda, and + indicating the decanter from which, despite his gout, he had just had his + after-dinner wine. + </p> + <p> + Wanda poured out the wine and handed it to Kosmaroff, who took it with a + glance and a quick smile of thanks, which seemed to indicate that he was + almost one of the family. And, indeed, they were closely related, not only + in the present generation, but in bygone days. For Kosmaroff represented a + family long since deemed extinct. + </p> + <p> + “I have come,” he said, “to tell you that all is safe. Also to bid you + good-bye. As soon as I can get employment I shall go down to Thorn to stir + them up there. They are lethargic at Thorn.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” laughed the prince, moving his legs to a more comfortable position, + “you young men! You think everybody is lethargic. Don't move too quickly. + That is what I always preach.” + </p> + <p> + “And we are ready enough to listen to your preaching,” answered Kosmaroff. + “You will admit that I came here to-night in obedience to your opinion + that too much secrecy is dangerous because it leads to misunderstandings. + Plain speaking and clear understanding was the message you sent me—the + text of your last sermon.” + </p> + <p> + With his quick smile Kosmaroff touched the rim of the prince's wineglass, + which stood at his elbow, and indicated by a gesture that he drank his + health. + </p> + <p> + “That was not my text—that was Wanda's,” answered the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Kosmaroff, looking towards Wanda. “Is that so? Then I will take + it. I believe in Wanda's views of life. She has a vast experience.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been to Dresden and to London,” answered Wanda, “and a woman + always sees much more than a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Always?” asked Kosmaroff, with his one-sided smile. + </p> + <p> + “Always.” + </p> + <p> + But Kosmaroff had turned towards the prince in his quick, jerky way. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-way,” he asked, “what is Cartoner doing in Warsaw?” + </p> + <p> + “Cartoner—the Englishman who speaks so many languages? We met him in + London,” answered the prince. “Who is he? Why should he not be here?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you who he is,” answered Kosmaroff, with a sudden light in + his eyes. “He is the man that the English send when they suspect that + something is going on which they can turn to good account. He has a trick + of finding things out—that man. Such is his reputation, at all + events. Paul Deulin is another, and he is here. He is a friend of yours, + by-the-way; but he is not dangerous, like Cartoner. There is an American + here, too. His instructions are Warsaw and Petersburg. There is either + something moving in Russia or else the powers suspect that something may + move in Poland before long. These men are here to find out. They must find + out nothing from us.” + </p> + <p> + The prince shrugged his shoulders indifferently. He did not attach much + importance to these foreigners. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” went on Kosmaroff, “they are only watchers. But, as Wanda + says, some people see more than others. The American, Mangles, who has + ladies with him, will report upon events after they have happened. So will + Deulin, who is an idler. He never sees that which will give him trouble. + He does not write long despatches to the Quai d'Orsay, because he knows + that they will not be read there. But Cartoner is different. There are + never any surprises for the English in matters that Cartoner has in hand. + He reports on events before they have happened, which is a different + story. I merely warn you.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, Kosmaroff rose, glancing at the clock. + </p> + <p> + “There are no instructions?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” answered the prince. “Except the usual one—patience!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes,” replied Kosmaroff, “we shall be patient.” + </p> + <p> + He did not seem to think that it might be easier to be patient in this + comfortable house than on the sand-hills of the Vistula in the coming + winter months. + </p> + <p> + “But be careful,” he added, addressing Martin more particularly, “of this + man Cartoner. He will not betray, but he will know—you understand. + And no one must know!” + </p> + <p> + He shook hands with Martin and Wanda and then with the prince. + </p> + <p> + “You met him in London, you say?” he said to the prince. “What did you + think of him?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought him—a quiet man.” + </p> + <p> + “And Wanda?” continued Kosmaroff, lightly, turning to her—“she who + sees so much. What did she think of him?” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid of him!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <h3> + AN AGREEMENT TO DIFFER + </h3> + <p> + The Saxon Gardens are in the heart of Warsaw, and, in London, would be + called a park. At certain hours the fashionable world promenades beneath + the trees, and at all times there is a thoroughfare across from one + quarter of the town to another. + </p> + <p> + Wanda often sat there in the morning or walked slowly with her father at + such times as the doctor's instructions to take exercise were still fresh + upon his memory. There are seats beneath the trees, overlooking the green + turf and the flowers so dear to the Slavonian soul. Later in the morning + these seats are occupied by nurses and children, as in any other park in + any other city. But from nine to ten Wanda had the alleys mostly to + herself. + </p> + <p> + The early autumn had already laid its touch upon the trees, and the leaves + were brown. The flowers, laboriously tended all through the brief, + uncertain summer, had that forlorn look which makes autumn in Northern + latitudes a period of damp depression. Wanda had gone out early, and was + sitting at the sunny side of the broad alley that divides the gardens in + two from end to end. She was waiting for Martin, who had been called back + at the door of the palace and had promised to follow in a few minutes. He + had a hundred engagements during the day, a hundred friends among those + unfortunate scions of noble houses who will not wear the Russian uniform, + who cannot by the laws of their caste engage in any form of commerce, and + must not accept a government office—who are therefore idle, without + the natural Southern sloth that enables Italians and Spaniards to do + nothing gracefully all day long. Wanda was wiser than Martin. Girls + generally are infinitely wiser than young men. But the wisdom ceases to + grow later in life, and old men are wiser than old women. Wanda was, in a + sense, Martin's adviser, mentor, and friend. She had, as he himself + acknowledged, already saved him from dangers into which his natural + heedlessness and impetuosity would have led him. As to the discontent in + which all Poland was steeped, which led the princes and their friends into + many perils, Wanda had been brought up to it, just as some families are + brought up to consumption and the anticipation of an early death. + </p> + <p> + In her eminently practical, feminine way of looking at things, Wanda was + much more afraid of Martin running into debt than into danger. Debt and + impecuniosity would be so inconvenient at this time, when her father daily + needed some new comfort, and daily depended for his happiness more and + more upon his port wine and that ease which is only to be enjoyed by an + easy mind. + </p> + <p> + Wanda was thinking of these things in the Saski Gardens, and hardly heeded + the passers-by, though—for the feminine instincts were strong in her—she + looked with softer eyes on the children than she did on the Jew who + hurried past, with bent back and a bowed head, from the richer quarter of + the town to his own mysterious purlieus of the Franoiszkanska. The latter, + perhaps, recalled the thoughts of Martin and his heedlessness; the former + made her think of—she knew not what. + </p> + <p> + She was looking towards the colonnade that marks the site of the King of + Saxony's palace, when Cartoner came through the archway into the garden. + She recognized him even at this distance, for his walk was unlike that of + the nervous, quick-moving Pole or the lurking Jew. It was more like the + gait of a Russian; but all the Russians in Warsaw wear a uniform. That is + why they are there. There was a suggestion of determination in the walk of + this Englishman. + </p> + <p> + He came down the wide alley towards her, and then suddenly perceived her. + She saw this without actually looking at him, and knew the precise moment + when he first caught sight of her. It was presumably upon experience that + Wanda based her theory that women see twice as much as men. She saw him + turn, without hesitation, away from her down a narrower alley leading to + the right. It was his intention to avoid her. But the only turning he + could take was that leading to the corner of Kotzebue Street, and Martin + was at the other end of it, coming towards him. Cartoner was thus caught + in the narrow alley. Wanda sat still and watched the two men. She suddenly + knew in advance what would happen, as it is often vouchsafed to the human + understanding to know at a moment's notice what is coming; and she had a + strange, discomforting sense that these minutes were preordained—that + Martin and Cartoner and herself were mere puppets in the hands of Fate, + and must say and do that which has been assigned to them in an unalterable + scheme of succeeding events. + </p> + <p> + She watched the two men meet and shake hands, in the English fashion, + without raising their hats. She could see Cartoner's movements to continue + his way, and Martin's detaining hand slipped within the Englishman's arm. + </p> + <p> + “What does it matter?” Martin was saying. “There is no one to see us here, + at this hour in the morning. We are quite safe. There is Wanda, sitting on + the seat, waiting for me. Come back with me.” + </p> + <p> + And Wanda could divine the words easily enough from her brother's attitude + and gestures. It ought to have surprised her that Cartoner yielded, for it + was unlike him. He was so much stronger than Martin—so determined, + so unyielding. And yet she felt no surprise when he turned and came + towards her with Martin's hand still within his arm. She knew that it was + written that he must come; divined vaguely that he had something to say to + her which it was safer to say than to leave to be silently understood and + perhaps misunderstood. She gave an impatient sigh. She had always ruled + her father and brother and the Palace Bukaty, and this sense of + powerlessness was new to her. + </p> + <p> + While they approached, Martin continued to talk in his eager, laughing + way, and Cartoner smiled slowly as he listened. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you,” he said to Wanda, as he took off his hat, “and went the other + way to avoid you.” + </p> + <p> + And, having made this plain statement, he stood silently looking at her. + He looked into her eyes, and she met his odd, direct gaze without + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Cartoner and I,” Prince Martin hastened to explain, “travelled from + Berlin together, and we agreed then that, much as we might desire it, it + would be inconvenient for me to show him that attention which one would + naturally want to show to an Englishman travelling in Poland. That is why + he went the other way when he saw you.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda looked at Cartoner with her quick, shrewd smile. It would have been + the obvious thing to have confirmed this explanation. But Cartoner kept + silent. He had acquired, it seemed, the fatal habit—very rare among + men and almost unknown in women—of thinking before he spoke. Which + habit is deadly for that which is called conversation, because if one + decides not to give speech to the obvious and the unnecessary and the + futile there is in daily intercourse hardly anything left. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Martin, who always had plenty to say for himself, “in this + province of Russia we are not even allowed to choose our own friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Even in a free country one does not pick one's friends out, like the best + strawberries from a basket,” said Wanda. + </p> + <p> + “Not a question to be arranged beforehand,” put in Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “Not even by the governor-general of Poland?” asked Wanda, looking + thoughtfully at the falling leaves which a sudden gust of wind had + showered round them. + </p> + <p> + “Not even by the Czar.” + </p> + <p> + “Who, I am told, means well!” said Martin, ironically, and with a gay + laugh, for irony and laughter may be assimilated by the young. “Poor man! + It must be terrible to know that people are saying behind one's back that + one means well! I hope no one will ever say that of me.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda had sat down again, and was stirring the dead leaves with her + walking-stick. + </p> + <p> + “Martin and I are going for a tramp,” she said. “We like to get away from + the noise and the dust—and the uniforms.” + </p> + <p> + But Martin sat down beside her and made room for Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “We attract less attention than if we stand,” he explained. And Cartoner + took the seat offered. “Such hospitality as our circumstances allow us to + offer you,” commented the young prince, gayly, “a clean stone seat on the + sunny side of a public garden.” + </p> + <p> + “But let us understand each other,” put in Wanda, in her practical way, + and looked from one man to the other with those gay, blue eyes that saw so + much, “since we are conspirators.” + </p> + <p> + “The better we understand each other the better conspirators we shall be,” + said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “I notice you don't ask, 'What is the plot?'” said Wanda. + </p> + <p> + “The plot is simple enough,” answered Martin, for Cartoner said nothing, + and looked straight in front of him. He did not address one more than the + other, but explained the situation, as it were, for the benefit of all + whom it might concern. He had lighted a cigarette—a little Russian + affair, all gold lettering and mouthpiece, and as he spoke he jerked the + ash from time to time so that it should not fly and incommode his sister. + </p> + <p> + “Rightly or wrongly, we are suspected of being malcontents. The Bukatys + have in the past been known to foster that spirit of Polish nationality + which it has been the endeavor of three great countries to suppress for + nearly a century. Despite Russia, Prussia, and Austria there is still a + Polish language and a Polish spirit; despite the Romanoffs, the Hapsburgs, + and the Hohenzollerns there are still a few old Lithuanian and Ruthenian + families extant. And rightly or wrongly, those in authority are kind + enough to blame, among others, the Bukatys for these survivals. Weeds, it + seems, are hard to kill. Whether we are really to blame or not is of no + consequence. It does not matter to the dog whether he deserves his bad + name or not—after he is hanged. But it is not good to be a Bukaty + and live in Poland just now, though some of us manage to have a good time + despite them all—eh, Wanda?” + </p> + <p> + And he laid his hand momentarily on his sister's arm. But she did not + answer. She desired before all things that clear understanding which was + part of her creed of life, and she glanced quickly from side to side for + fear some interruption should approach. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cartoner, on the other hand,” he continued, in his airy way, “is a + most respectable man—in the employ of his country. That is what + damns Mr. Cartoner. He is in the employ of his country. And he has a great + reputation, to which I take off my hat.” + </p> + <p> + And he saluted gayly Cartoner's reputation. + </p> + <p> + “It would never do,” continued Martin, “for us, the suspects, to be + avowedly the friend of the man who is understood to be an envoy in some + capacity of his government. Whether he is really such or not is of no + consequence. It matters little to the dog, you remember.” + </p> + <p> + “But what are we to do?” asked Wanda, practically. “Let us have a clear + understanding. Are we to pass each other in the streets?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Cartoner, speaking at length, without hesitation and + without haste—a man who knew his own mind, and went straight to the + heart of the question. “We must not meet in the streets.” + </p> + <p> + “That may not be as easy as it sounds,” said Wanda, “in a small city like + Warsaw. Are you so long-sighted that you can always make sure of avoiding + us?” + </p> + <p> + “I can, at all events, try,” answered Cartoner, simply. After a pause (the + pauses always occurred when it happened, so to say, to be Cartoner's turn + to speak) he rose from the stone seat, which was all that the Bukatys + could offer him in Warsaw. “I can begin at once,” he said, gravely. And he + took off his hat and went away. + </p> + <p> + It was done so quickly and quietly that Wanda and Martin were left in + silence on the seat, watching him depart. He went the way he had come, + down the broad walk towards the colonnade, and disappeared between the + pillars of that building. + </p> + <p> + “A man of action, and not of words,” commented Martin, who spoke first. “I + like him. Come, let us go for our walk.” + </p> + <p> + And Wanda said nothing. They rose and went away without speaking, though + they usually had plenty to say to each other. It almost seemed that + Cartoner's silence was contagious. + </p> + <p> + He, for his part, went into the Faubourg and crossed to the river side of + that wide street. It thus happened that he missed seeing Mr. Joseph + Mangles, sunning himself upon the more frequented pavement, and smoking a + contemplative cigar. Mr. Mangles would have stopped him had they met. Paul + Deulin was not far behind Mr. Mangles, idling past the shops, which could + scarcely have had much interest for the Parisian. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Frenchman to himself, “there is our friend Reginald. He is + in one of his silent humors. I can see that from this distance.” + </p> + <p> + He turned on the pavement and watched Cartoner, who was walking rather + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “If any woman ever marries that man,” the Frenchman said to himself, “she + will have to allow a great deal to go without saying. But, then, women are + good at that.” + </p> + <p> + And he continued his leisurely contemplation of the dull shop-windows. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner walked on to his rooms in the Jasna, where he found letters + awaiting him. He read them, and then sat down to write one which was not + an answer to any that he had received. He wrote it carefully and + thoughtfully, and when it was written sealed it. For in Warsaw it is well + to seal such letters as are not intended to be read at the post-office. + And if one expects letters of importance, it is wiser not to have them + sent to Poland at all, for the post-office authorities are kind enough to + exercise a parental censorship over the travellers' correspondence. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner's letter was addressed to an English gentleman at his country + house in Sussex, and it asked for an immediate recall from Poland. It was + a confession, for the first time, that the mission entrusted to him was + more than he could undertake. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <h3> + CARTONER <i>VERSUS</i> FATE + </h3> + <p> + It has been said that on the turf, and under it, all men are equal. It is, + moreover, whispered that the crooked policy of Russia forwards the cause + of horseracing at Warsaw by every means within its power, on the theory + that even warring nationalities may find themselves reconciled by a common + sport. And this dream of peace, pursued by the successor of that Czar who + said to Poland: “Gentlemen—no dreams,” seems in part justified by + the undeniable fact that Russians and Poles find themselves brought nearer + together on the race-course than in any other social function in Warsaw. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” cried Paul Deulin, breaking in on the solitude of Cartoner's rooms + after lunch one day towards the end of October. “Come, and let us bury the + hatchet, and smoke the cigarette of peace before the grand-stand at the + Mokotow. Everybody will be there. All Poland and his wife, all the + authorities and their wives, and these ladies will peep sideways at each + other, and turn up their noses at each other's toilets. To such has + descended the great strife in eastern Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think so, or I pretend to think so, which comes to the same thing, + and makes it a more amusing world for those who have no stake in it. Come + with me, and I will show you this little world of Warsaw, where the + Russians walk on one side and the Poles pass by on the other; where these + fine Russian officers glance longingly across the way, only too ready to + take their hearts there and lose them—but the Czar forbids it. And, + let me tell you, there is nothing more dangerous in the world than a pair + of Polish eyes.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off suddenly; for Cartoner was looking at him with a speculative + glance, and turned away to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said. “It is a fine day—St. Martin's summer. It is + Sunday, but no matter. All you Englishmen think that there is no recording + angel on the Continent. You leave him behind at Dover.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have no principles,” said Cartoner, rising from his chair, and + looking round absent-mindedly for his hat. + </p> + <p> + “You would be no friend of mine if you had. There is no moderation in + principles. If a man has any at all, he always has some to spare for his + neighbors. And who wants to act up to another man's principles? + By-the-way, are you doing any good here, Cartoner?” + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” pursued Deulin; “and I am bored. That is why I want you to come + to the races with me. Besides, it would be more marked to stay away than + to go—especially for an Englishman and a Frenchman, who lead the + world in racing.” + </p> + <p> + “That is why I am going,” said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't like racing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am very fond of it,” answered the Englishman, in the same absent + voice, as he led the way towards the door. + </p> + <p> + In the Jasna they found a drosky, where there is always one to be found at + the corner of the square, and they did not speak during the drive up the + broad Marszalkowska to the rather barren suburb of the Mokotow (where + bricks and mortar are still engaged in emphasizing the nakedness of the + land), for the simple reason that speech is impossible while driving + through the streets of the worst-paved city in Europe. Which is a grudge + that the traveller may bear against Russia, for if Poland had been a + kingdom she would assuredly have paved the streets of her capital. + </p> + <p> + The race-course is not more than fifteen minutes' drive from the heart of + the town, and all Warsaw was going thither this sunny afternoon. At the + entrance a crowd was slowly working its way through the turnstiles, and + Deulin and Cartoner passed in with it. They had the trick, so rare among + travellers, of doing this in any country without attracting undue + attention. + </p> + <p> + It was a motley enough throng. There were Polish ladies and gentlemen in + the garb of their caste, which is to-day the same all the world over, + though in some parts of Ruthenia and Lithuania one may still come across a + Polish gentleman of the old school in his frogged coat and top-boots. + German tradesmen and their families formed here and there one of those + domesticated and homely groups which the Fatherland sends out into the + world's trading centres. And moving amid these, as quietly and + unobtrusively as possible, the Russian officers, who virtually had the + management of the course—tall, fair, clean men, with sunburned faces + and white skins—energetic, refined, and strong. They were mostly in + white tunics with gold shoulder-straps, blue breeches, and much gold lace. + Here and there a Cossack officer moved with long, free strides in his + dressing-gown of a coat, heavily ornamented with silver, carrying high his + astrakhan cap, and looking round him with dark eyes that had a gleam of + something wild and untamed in them. It was a meeting-ground of many races, + one of the market-places where men may greet each other who come from + different hemispheres and yet owe allegiance to one flag: are sons of the + empire which to-day gathers within one ring-fence the north, the south, + the east, and the west. + </p> + <p> + “France amuses me, England commands my respect, but Russia takes my breath + away,” said Deulin, elbowing his way through the medley of many races. On + all sides one heard different languages—German, the sing-song + Russian—the odd, exclamatory tongue which three emperors cannot + kill. + </p> + <p> + “And Germany?” inquired Cartoner, in his low, curt voice. + </p> + <p> + “Bores me, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + He was pushing his way gently through into the paddock, where a number of + men were congregated, but no ladies. + </p> + <p> + “The Fatherland,” he added, “the heavy Fatherland! I killed a German once, + when I was in the army of the Loire—a most painful business.” + </p> + <p> + He was still shaking his head over this reminiscence when they reached the + gateway of the paddock. He was passing through it when, without turning + towards him, he grasped Cartoner's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” he said, “look!” + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden commotion in the well-dressed crowd in the paddock, and + above the gray coats and glossy hats the tossing colors of a jockey. The + head of a startled horse and two gleaming shoes appeared above the heads + of men for a moment. A horse had broken away with its jockey only half in + the saddle. + </p> + <p> + The throng divided, and dispersed in either direction like sheep before a + dog—all except one man, who, walking with two sticks, could not move + above a snail's pace. + </p> + <p> + Then, because they were both quick men, with the instincts and a long + practice of action in moments calling for a rapid decision, Deulin and + Cartoner ran forward. But they could not save the catastrophe which they + knew was imminent. The horse advanced with long, wild strides, and knocked + the crippled old man over as if he were a ninepin. He came on at a gallop + now, the jockey leaning forward and trying to catch a broken bridle, his + two stirrups flying, his cap off. The little man was swearing in English. + And he had need to, for through the paddock gate the crowd was densely + packed and he was charging into it on a maddened horse beyond control. + </p> + <p> + Deulin was nearer, and therefore the first to get to the horse; but + Cartoner's greater weight came an instant later, and the horse's head was + down. + </p> + <p> + “Let go! let go!” cried the jockey through his teeth, as Cartoner and + Deulin, one on each side, crammed the stirrups over his feet. “Let go! + I'll teach him!” + </p> + <p> + And they obeyed him, for the horse interested them less than the Prince + Bukaty, lying half-stunned on the turf. They were both at his side in a + moment and saw him open his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I am unhurt,” he said. “Help me up. No! sh—h! No, nothing is + broken; it is that confounded gout. No, I cannot rise yet! Leave me for a + minute. Go, one of you, and tell Wanda that I am unhurt. She is in box No. + 18, in the grand-stand.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in French, to Deulin more particularly. + </p> + <p> + “Go and tell her,” said the Frenchman, over his shoulder, in English. + “Some busy fool has probably started off by this time to tell her that her + father is killed. You will find us in the club-house when you come back.” + </p> + <p> + So Cartoner went to the grand-stand to seek Wanda there, in the face of + all Warsaw, with his promise to avoid her still fresh in his memory. As he + approached he saw her in the second tier of boxes. She was dressed in + black and white, as she nearly always was. It was only the Russians and + the Germans who wore gay colors. He could see the surprise on her face and + in Martin's eyes as he approached, and knew that there were a hundred eyes + watching him, a hundred ears waiting to catch his words when he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Princess,” he said, “the prince has had a slight accident, and has sent + me to tell you that he is unhurt, in case you should hear any report to + the contrary. He was unable to avoid a fractious horse, and was knocked + down. Mr. Deulin is with him, and they have gone to the club pavilion.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke rather slowly in French, so that all within ear-shot could + understand and repeat. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go to him?” asked Wanda, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Only to satisfy yourself. I assure you he is unhurt, princess, and would + come himself were he able to walk.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda rose, and turned to take her cloak from the back of her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take us to him, monsieur?” she said. + </p> + <p> + And the three quitted the grand-stand together in a rather formal silence. + The next race was about to start, and the lawn, with its forlorn, autumnal + flower-beds, was less crowded now as they walked along it towards the + paddock. + </p> + <p> + “It was very good of you to come and tell us,” said Martin, in English, + “with the whole populace looking on. It will do you no good, you know, to + do a kindness to people under a cloud. I suppose it was true what you said + about the prince being unhurt?” + </p> + <p> + “Almost,” answered Cartoner. “He is rather badly shaken. I think you will + find it necessary to go home, but there is no need for anxiety.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” exclaimed Martin. “He is a tough old fellow. You cannot come in + here, you know, Wanda. It is against the Jockey Club laws, even in case of + accidents.” + </p> + <p> + He stood at the gate of the club enclosure as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Wait here,” he said, “with Cartoner, and I will be back in a few + minutes.” + </p> + <p> + So Cartoner and Wanda were left in the now deserted paddock, while the + distant roar of voices announced that the start for the next race had been + successfully accomplished. + </p> + <p> + Wanda looked rather anxiously towards the little square pavilion into + which her brother was hurrying, and Cartoner only looked at Wanda. He + waited till she should speak, and she did not appear to have anything to + say at that moment. Perhaps in this one case that clear understanding of + which she was such a pronounced advocate was only to be compassed by + silence, and not by speech. The roar of voices behind them came nearer and + nearer as the horses approached the winning-post. The members of the club + stood rigid beneath the pavilion awning, some with field-glasses, others + with knitted brows and glittering eyes. All eyes were turned in one + direction, except Wanda's and Cartoner's. + </p> + <p> + Then, when the race was over and the roar had subsided, Martin came + hurrying back, and one glance at his face told them that there was no need + for anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “He is laughing in there over a glass of cognac. He refuses absolutely to + go home, and he wants me to help him up the stairs. He will sit under the + awning, he says. And we are to go back to the grand-stand,” Martin said, + as he approached. + </p> + <p> + “See,” he added, pointing to the paddock where the crowd was hurrying to + gather round the winning horse. “See, it is already a thing of the past. + And he wants it to be so. He wants no fuss made about it. It is no good + advertising the fact of the existence of a dog with a bad name, eh? Thank + you all the same, Cartoner, for your good offices. You and Deulin, they + say, averted a catastrophe. The incident is over, my dear Wanda. It is + forgotten by all except us. Wait here a minute and I will come back to + you.” + </p> + <p> + With a nod to Cartoner, as if to say, “I leave her to your care,” he + turned and left them again. + </p> + <p> + Then at length Wanda spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” she said, “you are not so strong as—” + </p> + <p> + “As what?” he asked, seeing that she sought a word. + </p> + <p> + “As Fate, I suppose,” she answered, and her eyes were grave as she looked + across the mournful level land towards the west, where the sun was sinking + below parallel bars of cloud to the straight line of the horizon. Sunset + over a plain is one of nature's tragic moments. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Fate?” she asked, with a sudden change of manner. + </p> + <p> + “Even Fate can be hampered in its movements, princess,” answered Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “By what?” + </p> + <p> + “By action. I have written for my recall.” + </p> + <p> + He was looking towards the pavilion. It seemed that it was he, and not his + companion, who was now anxious for Martin to return. Wanda was still + looking across the course towards the sinking sun. + </p> + <p> + “You have asked to be recalled from Warsaw?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she said, after a pause, “it would have been better for you if we + had not met at Lady Orlay's, in London. Monsieur Deulin once said that you + had never had a check in your career. This is the first check. And it has + come through—knowing us.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner made no answer, but stood watching the door of the pavilion with + patient, thoughtful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot deny it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And he did not deny it. + </p> + <p> + Then she turned her head, and looked at him with clever, speculative + keenness. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you asked for your recall?” she asked, slowly. + </p> + <p> + And still Cartoner made no answer. He was without rival in the art of + leaving things unsaid. Then Martin came to them, laughing and talking. And + across the course, amid the tag-rag and bobtail of Warsaw, the eyes of the + man called Kosmaroff watched their every movement. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE WHEELS OF CHANCE + </h3> + <p> + When Martin and Wanda returned to the grand-stand they found the next box + to theirs, which had hitherto been empty, occupied by a sedate party of + foreigners. Miss Mangles had come to the races, not because she cared for + sport, but because she had very wisely argued in her mind that one cannot + set about to elevate human nature without a knowledge of those depths to + which it sometimes descends. + </p> + <p> + “And this,” she said, when she had settled herself on the chair commanding + the best view, “this is the turf.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” corrected Mr. Mangles, pointing down to the lawn with his + umbrella, “is the turf. This is the grand-stand.” + </p> + <p> + “The whole,” stated Miss Mangles, rather sadly, and indicating with a + graceful wave of her card, which was in Russian and therefore illegible to + her, the scene in general, “the whole constitutes the turf.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph P. Mangles sat corrected, and looked lugubriously at Netty, who was + prettily and quietly dressed in autumnal tints, which set off her delicate + and transparent complexion to perfection. Her hair was itself of an + autumnal tint, and her eyes of the deep blue of October skies. + </p> + <p> + “And these young men are on it,” concluded Miss Mangles, with her usual + decision. One privilege of her sex she had not laid aside—the + privilege of jumping to conclusions. Netty glanced beneath her dark lashes + in the direction indicated by Miss Mangles's inexorable finger; but some + of the young men happening to look up, she instantly became interested in + the Russian race-card which she could not read. + </p> + <p> + “It is very sad,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Miss Mangles continued to look at the young men severely, as if making up + her mind how best to take them in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Don't see the worst of 'em here,” muttered Mr. Mangles, dismally. “It + isn't round about the grand-stand that young men come to grief—on + the turf. That contingent is waiting to be called up into the boxes, and + reformed—by the young women.” + </p> + <p> + Netty looked gently distressed. At times she almost thought Uncle Joseph + inclined to be coarse. She looked across the lawn with a rather wistful + expression, eminently suited to dark blue eyes. The young men below were + still glancing up in her direction, but she did not seem to see them. At + this moment Wanda and Martin returned to their box. Wanda was preoccupied, + and sat down without noticing the new-comers. Several ladies leaned over + the low partitions and asked questions, which were unintelligible to + Netty, and the news was spread from mouth to mouth that the Prince Bukaty + was not hurt. + </p> + <p> + Joseph P. Mangles looked at the brother and sister beneath his heavy + brows. He knew quite well who they were, but did not consider himself + called upon to transmit the information. + </p> + <p> + “Even the best people seem to lend their countenance to this,” said Miss + Mangles, in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Jooly.” + </p> + <p> + But Miss Mangles did not hear. She was engaged in bowing to Paul Deulin, + who was coming up the steps. She was rather glad to see him, for the + feeling had come over her that she was quite unknown to all these people. + This is a feeling to which even the greatest are liable, and it is most + unpleasant. For the heart of the celebrated is apt to hunger for the nudge + of recognition and the surreptitious sidelong glance which convey the + gratifying fact that one has been recognized. Paul Deulin would serve to + enlighten these benighted people, and some little good might yet be done + by a distinct and dignified attitude of disapproval towards the turf. + </p> + <p> + “One would scarcely expect to see you here, Mr. Deulin,” she said, shaking + hands, with a playful shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Since you are here,” he answered, “there can be no harm. It is only a + garden-party, after all.” + </p> + <p> + And he bowed over Netty's head with an empressement which would have + conveyed to any one more versed in the ways of men the reason why he had + come. + </p> + <p> + “Do you bet, Mr. Deulin?” inquired Jooly. + </p> + <p> + “Never, unless I am quite sure,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “There is,” observed Miss Mangles, who was inclined to be gracious—“there + is perhaps less harm in that.” + </p> + <p> + “And less risk,” explained Deulin gravely. “But surely,” he said, in a + lower tone, turning to Netty, “you know the Princess Wanda? Did you not + meet her at Lady Orlay's?” + </p> + <p> + Netty had already displayed some interest in Martin Bukaty, which was + perhaps indiscreet. For a young man's vanity is singularly alert, and he + was quite ready to return the interest with interest, so to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied, “we met her at Lady Orlay's. But I think she does not + remember—though she seemed to recollect Mr. Cartoner, whom she met + at the same time.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin looked at her with his quick smile as he nodded a little, + comprehending nod, and Netty's eyes looked into his innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Be assured,” he answered, “that she has not seen you, or she would not + fail to remember you. You are sitting back to back, you observe. The + princess is rather distrait with thoughts of her father, who has just had + a slight mishap.” + </p> + <p> + He bent forward as he spoke and touched Wanda on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Wanda,” he said, “this young lady remembers meeting you in London.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda turned and, rising, held her hand over the low barrier that divided + the two boxes. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she said, “Miss Cahere. You must excuse my sitting down so + near to you without seeing you. I was thinking of something else.” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly expect you to recollect me,” Netty hastened to say. “You must + have met so many people in London. Is it not odd that so many who were at + Lady Orlay's that night should be in Warsaw to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Wanda, rather absently. “Are there many?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. Mr. Deulin was there, and yourself and the prince and we three + and—Mr. Cartoner.” + </p> + <p> + She looked round as she spoke for Cartoner, but only met Martin Bukaty's + eyes fixed upon her with open admiration. When speaking she had much + animation, and her eyes were bright. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you are here with your brother. The likeness is unmistakable. I + hope the prince is not hurt?” she said, in her little, friendly, + confidential way to Wanda. + </p> + <p> + “No, he is not hurt, thank you. Yes, that is my brother. May I introduce + him? Martin. Miss Cahere—my brother.” + </p> + <p> + And the introduction was effected, which was perhaps what Netty wanted. + She did not take much notice of Martin, but continued to talk to Wanda. + </p> + <p> + “It must be so interesting,” she said, “to live in Warsaw and to be able + to help the poor people who are so down-trodden.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do nothing of that sort,” replied Wanda. “It is only in books that + women can do anything for the people of their country. All I can do for + Poland is to see that one old Polish gentleman gets what he likes for + dinner, and to housekeep generally—just as you do when you are at + home, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” protested Netty, “but I am not so useful as that. That is what + distresses me. I seem to be of no use to anybody. And I am sure I could + never housekeep.” + </p> + <p> + And some faint line of thought, suggested perhaps by the last remark, made + her glance in passing at Martin. It was so quick that only Martin saw it. + At all events, Paul Deulin appeared to be looking rather vacantly in + another direction. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Miss Mangles does all that when you are at home?” said Wanda, + glancing towards the great woman, who was just out of ear-shot. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Wanda,” put in Deulin, in a voice of gravest protest, “you surely + do not expect that of a lady who housekeeps for all humanity. Miss Mangles + is one of our leaders of thought. I saw her so described in a prominent + journal of Smithville, Ohio. Miss Mangles, in her care for the world, has + no time to think of an individual household.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” said Netty, “we have no settled home in America. We live + differently. We have not the comfort of European life.” + </p> + <p> + And she gave a little sigh, looking wistfully across the plain. Martin + noticed that she had a pretty profile, and the tenderest little droop of + the lips. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a race, the last on the card, put a stop to further + conversation, and Netty refused, very properly, to deprive Martin of the + use of his field-glasses. + </p> + <p> + “I can see,” she said, in her confidential way, “well enough for myself + with my own eyes.” + </p> + <p> + And Martin looked into the eyes, so vaunted, with much interest. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” she said to Wanda, when the race was over, “that I saw Mr. + Cartoner a short time ago. Has he gone?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy he has,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “He did not see us. And we quite forgot to tell him the number of our box. + I only hope he was not offended. We saw a great deal of him on board. We + crossed the Atlantic in the same ship, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And one becomes so intimate on a voyage. It is quite ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin, leaning against the pillar at the back of the box, was + thoughtfully twisting his grizzled mustache as he watched Netty. There was + in his attitude some faint suggestion of an engineer who has set a machine + in motion and is watching the result with a contemplative satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + Martin was reluctantly making a move. One or two carriages were allowed to + come to the gate of the lawn, and of these one was Prince Bukaty's. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Wanda,” said Martin. “We must not keep him waiting. I can see him, + with his two sticks, coming out of the club enclosure.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you to make sure that he is none the worse,” said Deulin, + “and then return to the assistance of these ladies.” + </p> + <p> + He did not speak as they moved slowly through the crowd. Nor did he + explain to Wanda why he had reintroduced Miss Cahere. He stood watching + the carriages after they had gone. + </p> + <p> + “The gods forbid,” he said, piously, to himself, “that I should attempt to + interfere in the projects of Providence! But it is well that Wanda should + know who are her friends and who her enemies. And I think she knows now, + my shrewd princess.” + </p> + <p> + And he bowed, bareheaded, in response to a gay wave of the hand from Wanda + as the carriage turned the corner and disappeared. He turned on his heel, + to find himself cut off from the grand-stand by a dense throng of people + moving rather confusedly towards the exit. The sky was black, and a shower + was impending. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well!” he muttered, philosophically, “they are capable of taking care + of themselves.” + </p> + <p> + And he joined the throng making for the gates. It appeared, however, that + he gave more credit than was merited; for Netty was carried along by a + stream of people whose aim was a gate to the left of the great gate, and + though she saw the hat of her uncle above the hats of the other men, she + could not make her way towards it. Mr. Mangles and his sister passed out + of the large gateway, and waited in the first available space beyond it. + Netty was carried by the gentle pressure of the crowd to the smaller gate, + and having passed it, decided to wait till her uncle, who undoubtedly must + have seen her, should come in search of her. She was not uneasy. All + through her life she had always found people, especially men, ready, nay, + anxious, to be kind to her. She was looking round for Mr. Mangles when a + man came towards her. He was only a workman in his best suit of working + clothes. He had a narrow, sunburned face, and there was in his whole being + a not unpleasant suggestion of the seafaring life. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” he said, in perfect English, as he raised his cap, “that + you have lost the rest of your party. You are also in the wrong course, so + to speak. We are the commoner people here, you see. Can I help you to find + your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” answered Netty, without concealing her surprise. “I think my + uncle went out of the larger gate, and it seems impossible to get at him. + Perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Kosmaroff, “I will show you another way with pleasure. + Then that tall gentleman is not your father?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Mr. Mangles is my uncle,” replied Netty, following her companion. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is Mr. Mangles! An American, is he not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We are Americans.” + </p> + <p> + “A diplomatist?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my uncle is in the service.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are at the Europe. Yes, I have heard of Mr. Mangles. This way; we + can pass through this alley and come to the large gate.” + </p> + <p> + “But you—you are not a Pole? It is so kind of you to help me,” said + Netty, looking at him with some interest. And Kosmaroff, perceiving this + interest, slightly changed his manner. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are looking at my clothes,” he said, rather less formally. “In + Poland things are not always what they seem, mademoiselle. Yes, I am a + Pole. I am a boatman, and keep my boat at the foot of Bednarska Street, + just above the bridge. If you ever want to go on the river, it is pleasant + in the evening, you and your party, you will perhaps do me the great honor + of selecting my poor boat, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will remember,” answered Netty, who did not seem to notice that + his glance was, as it were, less distant than his speech. + </p> + <p> + “I knew at once—at once,” he said, “that you were English or + American.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then there is a difference—” said Netty, looking round for her + uncle. + </p> + <p> + “There is a difference—yes, assuredly.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Netty, with a subtle tone of expectancy in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Your mirror will answer that question,” replied Kosmaroff, with his odd, + one-sided smile, “more plainly than I should ever dare to do. There is + your uncle, mademoiselle, and I must go.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mangles, perceiving the situation, was coming forward with his hand in + his pocket, when Kosmaroff took off his cap and hurried away. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Netty, laying her hand on Mr. Mangle's arm, “do not give him + anything. He was rather a superior man, and spoke a little English.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV + </h2> + <h3> + SENTENCED + </h3> + <p> + Like the majority of Englishmen, Cartoner had that fever of the horizon + which makes a man desire to get out of a place as soon as he is in it. The + average Englishman is not content to see a city; he must walk out of it, + through its suburbs and beyond them, just to see how the city lies. + </p> + <p> + Before he had been long in Warsaw, Cartoner hired a horse and took + leisurely rides out of the town in all directions. He found suburbs more + or less depressing, and dusty roads innocent of all art, half-paved, + growing wider with the lapse of years, as in self-defence the + foot-passengers encroached on the fields on either side in search of a + cleaner thoroughfare. To the north he found that the great fort which a + Russian emperor built for Warsaw's good, and which in case of emergency + could batter the city down in a few hours, but could not defend it from + any foe whatever. Across the river he rode through Praga, of grimmest + memory, into closely cultivated plains. But mostly he rode by the + riverbanks, where there are more trees and where the country is less + uniform. He rode more often than elsewhere southward by the Vistula, and + knew the various roads and paths that led to Wilanow. + </p> + <p> + One evening, when clouds had been gathering all day and the twilight was + shorter than usual, he was benighted in the low lands that lie parallel + with the Saska Island. He knew his whereabouts, however, and soon struck + that long and lonely river-side road, the Czerniakowska, which leads into + the manufacturing districts where the sugar-refineries and the + iron-foundries are. It was inches deep in dust, and he rode in silence on + the silent way. Before him loomed the chimney of the large iron-works, + which clang and rattle all day in the ears of the idlers in the Lazienki + Park. + </p> + <p> + Before he reached the high wall that surrounds these works on the land + side he got out of the saddle and carefully tried the four shoes of his + horse. One of them was loose. He loosened it further, working at it + patiently with the handle of his whip. Then he led the horse forward and + found that it limped, which seemed to satisfy him. As he walked on, with + the bridle over his arm, he consulted his watch. There was just light + enough to show him that it was nearly six. + </p> + <p> + The iron-foundries were quiet now. They had been closed at five. From the + distant streets the sound of the traffic came to his ears in a long, low + roar, like the breaking of surf upon shingle far away. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner led his horse to the high double door that gave access to the + iron-foundry. He turned the horse very exactly and carefully, so that the + animal's shoulder pressed against that half of the door which opened + first. Then he rang the bell, of which the chain swung gently in the wind. + It gave a solitary clang inside the deserted works. After a few moments + there was the sound of rusted bolts being slowly withdrawn, and at the + right moment Cartoner touched the horse with his whip, so that it started + forward against the door and thrust it open, despite the efforts of the + gate-keeper, who staggered back into the dimly lighted yard. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner looked quickly round him. All was darkness except an open + doorway, from which a shaft of light poured out, dimly illuminating cranes + and carts and piles of iron girders. The gate-keeper was hurriedly bolting + the gate. Cartoner led his horse towards the open door, but before he + reached it a number of men ran out and fell on him like hounds upon a fox. + He leaped back, abandoning his horse, and striking the first-comer full in + the chest with his fist. He charged the next and knocked him over; but + from the third he retreated, leaping quickly to one side. + </p> + <p> + “Bukaty!” he cried; “don't you know me?” + </p> + <p> + “You, Cartoner!” replied Martin. He spread out his arms, and the men + behind him ran against them. He turned and said something to them in + Polish, which Cartoner did not catch. “You here!” he said. And there was a + ring in the gay, rather light voice, which the Englishman had never heard + there before. But he had heard it in other voices, and knew the meaning of + it. For his work had brought him into contact with refined men in moments + when their refinement only serves to harden that grimmer side of human + nature of which half humanity is in happy ignorance, which deals in battle + and sudden death. + </p> + <p> + “It is too risky,” said some one, almost in Martin's ear, in Polish, but + Cartoner heard it. “We must kill him and be done with it.” + </p> + <p> + There was an odd silence for a moment, only broken by the stealthy feet of + the gate-keeper coming forward to join the group. Then Cartoner spoke, + quietly and collectedly. His nerve was so steady that he had taken time to + reflect as to which tongue to make use of. For all had disadvantages, but + silence meant death. + </p> + <p> + “This near fore-shoe,” he said in French, turning to his horse, “is nearly + off. It has been loose all the way from Wilanow. This is a foundry, is it + not? There must be a hammer and some nails about.” + </p> + <p> + Martin gave a sort of gasp of relief. For a moment he had thought there + was no loop-hole. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner looked towards the door, and the light fell full upon his + patient, thoughtful face. The faces of the men standing in a half-circle + in front of him were in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “Good! He's a brave man!” muttered the man who had spoken in Martin's ear. + It was Kosmaroff. And he stepped back a pace. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Martin, hastily, “this is a foundry. I can get you a hammer.” + </p> + <p> + His right hand was opening and shutting convulsively. Cartoner glanced at + it, and Martin put it behind his back. He was rather breathless, and he + was angrily wishing that he had the Englishman's nerve. + </p> + <p> + “You might tell these men,” he said, in French, “of my mishap; perhaps one + of them can put it right, and I can get along home. I am desperately + hungry. The journey had been so slow from Wilanow.” + </p> + <p> + He had already perceived that Kosmaroff understood both English and + French, and that it was of him that Martin was afraid. He spoke slowly, so + as to give Martin time to pull himself together. Kosmaroff stepped forward + to the horse and examined the shoe indicated. It was nearly off. + </p> + <p> + Martin turned, and explained in Polish that the gentleman had come for a + hammer and some nails—that his horse had nearly lost a shoe. + Cartoner had simply forced him to become his ally, and had even indicated + the line of conduct he was to pursue. + </p> + <p> + “Get a hammer—one of you,” said Kosmaroff, over his shoulder, and + Martin bit his lip with a sudden desire to speak—to say more than + was discreet. He took his cue in some way from Cartoner, without knowing + that wise men cease persuading the moment they have gained consent. Never + comment on your own victory. + </p> + <p> + Never had Cartoner's silent habit stood him in such good stead as during + the following moments, while a skilled workman replaced the lost shoe. + Never had he observed so skilled a silence, or left unsaid such dangerous + words. For Kosmaroff watched him as a cat may watch a bird. Behind, were + the barred gates, and in front, the semicircle of men, whose faces he + could not see, while the full light glared through the open doorway upon + his own countenance. Two miles from Warsaw—a dark autumn night, and + eleven men to one. He counted them, in a mechanical way, as persons in + face of death nearly always do count, with a cold deliberation, their + chances of life. He played his miserable little cards with all the skill + he possessed, and his knowledge of the racial characteristics of humanity + served him. For he acted slowly, and gave his enemies leisure to see that + it would be a mistake to kill him. They would see it in time; for they + were not Frenchmen, nor of any other Celtic race, who would have killed + him first and recognized their mistake afterwards. They were Slavs—of + the most calculating race the world had produced—a little slow in + their calculations. So he gave them time, just as Russia must have time; + but she will reach the summit eventually, when her farsighted policy is + fully evolved—long, long after reader and writer are dust. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner gave the workman half a rouble, which was accepted with a + muttered word of thanks, and then he turned towards the great doors, which + were barred. There was another pause, while the gate-keeper looked + inquiringly at Kosmaroff. + </p> + <p> + “I am very much obliged to you,” said Cartoner to Martin, who went towards + the gate as if to draw back the bolt. But at a signal from Kosmaroff the + gate-keeper sprang forward and opened the heavy doors. + </p> + <p> + Martin was nearest, and instinctively held the stirrup, while Cartoner + climbed into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Saved your life!” he said, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” answered Cartoner, turning in his saddle to lift his hat to the + men grouped behind him. He looked over their heads into the open doorway, + but could see nothing. Nevertheless, he knew where were concealed the arms + brought out into the North Sea by Captain Cable in the <i>Minnie</i>. + </p> + <p> + “More than I bargained for,” he muttered to himself, as he rode away from + the iron-foundry by the river. He put his horse to a trot and presently to + a canter along the deserted, dusty road. The animal was astonishingly + fresh and went off at a good pace, so that the man sent by Kosmaroff to + follow him was soon breathless and forced to give up the chase. + </p> + <p> + Approaching the town, Cartoner rode at a more leisurely pace. That his + life had hung on a thread since sunset did not seem to affect him much, + and he looked about him with quiet eyes, while the hand on the bridle was + steady. + </p> + <p> + He was, it seemed, one of those fortunate wayfarers who see their road + clearly before them, and for whom the barriers of duty and honor, which + stand on either side of every man's path, present neither gap nor gate. He + had courage and patience, and was content to exercise both, without + weighing the changes of reward too carefully. That he read his duty in a + different sense to that understood by other men was no doubt only that + which this tolerant age calls a matter of temperament. + </p> + <p> + “That Cartoner,” Deulin was in the habit of saying, “takes certain things + so seriously, and other things—social things, to which I give most + careful attention—he ignores. And yet we often reach the same end by + different routes.” + </p> + <p> + Which was quite true. But Deulin reached the end by a happy guess, and + that easy exercise of intuition which is the special gift of the Gallic + race, while Cartoner worked his way towards his goal with a steady + perseverance and slow, sure steps. + </p> + <p> + “In a moment of danger give me Cartoner,” Deulin had once said. + </p> + <p> + On more than one occasion Cartoner had shown quite clearly, without words, + that he understood and appreciated that odd mixture of heroism and + frivolity which will always puzzle the world and draw its wondering + attention to France. The two men never compared notes, never helped each + other, never exchanged the minutest confidence. + </p> + <p> + Joseph P. Mangles was different. He spoke quite openly of his work. + </p> + <p> + “Got a job in Russia,” he had stolidly told any one who asked him. “Cold, + unhealthy place.” He seemed to enter upon his duties with the casual + interest of the amateur, and, in a way, exactly embodied the attitude of + his country towards Europe, of which the many wheels within wheels may + spin and whir or halt and grind without in any degree affecting the great + republic. America can afford to content herself with the knowledge of what + has happened or is happening. Countries nearer to the field of action must + know what is going to happen. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner rode placidly to the stable where he had hired his horse, and + delivered the beast to its owner. He had no one in Warsaw to go to and + relate his adventures. He was alone, as he had been all his life—alone + with his failures and his small successes—content, it would seem, to + be a good servant in a great service. + </p> + <p> + He went to the restaurant of the Hotel de France, which is a quiet place + of refreshment close to the Jasna, which has no political importance, like + the restaurant of the Europe, and there dined. The square was deserted as + he stumbled over the vile pavement towards his rooms. The concierge was + sitting at the door of the quiet house where he had taken an apartment. + All along the street the dvornik of every house thus takes his station at + the half-closed door at nightfall. And it is so all through the town. It + is a Russian custom, imported among others into the free kingdom of + Poland, when the great empire of the north cast the shadow of its + protecting wing over the land that is watered by the Vistula. So, no man + may come or go in Warsaw without having his movements carefully noted by + one who is directly responsible to the authorities for the good name of + the house under his care. + </p> + <p> + “The poet is in. There is a letter up-stairs,” said the door-keeper to + Cartoner, as he passed in. Cartoner's servant was out, and the lamps were + turned low when he entered his sitting-room. He knew that the letter must + be the reply to his application for a recall. He turned up the lamp, and, + taking the letter from the table where it lay in a prominent position, sat + down in a deep chair to read it at leisure. + </p> + <p> + It bore no address, and prattled of the crops. Some of it seemed to be + nonsense. Cartoner read it slowly and carefully. It was an order, in brief + and almost brutal language, to stay where he was and do the work intrusted + to him. For a man who writes in a code must perforce avoid verbosity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV + </h2> + <h3> + A TALE HALF TOLD + </h3> + <p> + The heart soon accustoms itself to that existence which is called living + upon a volcano. Prince Bukaty had indeed known no other life, and to such + as had daily intercourse with him he was quite a peaceful and jovial + gentleman. He had brought up his children in the same atmosphere of strife + and peril, and it is to be presumed that the fit had survived, while the + unfit princess, his wife, had turned her face to the wall quite soon, not + daring to meet the years in which there could be no hope of alleviation. + </p> + <p> + The prince's friends were not in Warsaw; many were at the mines. Some + lived in Paris; others were exiled to distant parts of Russia. His + generation was slowly passing away, and its history is one of the grimmest + stories untold. Yet he sat in that bare drawing-room of a poor man and + read his <i>Figaro</i> quite placidly, like any bourgeois in the safety of + the suburb, only glancing at the clock from time to time. + </p> + <p> + “He is late,” he said once, as he folded the paper, and that was all. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly eleven o'clock, and Martin had been expected to return to + dinner at half-past six. Wanda was working, and she, too, glanced towards + the clock at intervals. She was always uneasy about Martin, whose daring + was rather of the reckless type, whose genius lay more in leadership than + in strategy. As to her father, he had come through the sixties, and had + survived the persecution and the dangers of Wielopolski's day—he + could reasonably be expected to take care of himself. With regard to + herself, she had no fear. Hers was the woman's lot of watching others in a + danger which she could not share. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly half-past eleven when Martin came in. He was in + riding-costume and was covered with dirt. His eyes, rimmed with dust, + looked out of a face that was pale beneath the sunburn. He threw himself + into a chair with an exclamation of fatigue. + </p> + <p> + “Had any dinner?” asked his father. + </p> + <p> + Wanda looked at her brother's face, and changed color herself. There was a + suggestion of the wild rose in Wanda's face, with its delicate, fleeting + shades of pink and white, while the slim strength of her limbs and + carriage rather added to a characteristic which is essentially English or + Polish. For American girls suggest a fuller flower on a firmer stem. + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened,” said Wanda, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Martin, stretching out his slight legs. + </p> + <p> + The prince laid aside his newspaper, and looked up quickly. When his + attention was thus roused suddenly his eyes and his whole face were + momentarily fierce. Some one had once said that the history of Poland was + written on those deep-lined features. + </p> + <p> + “Anything wrong?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that affects affairs,” replied Martin. “Everything is safe.” + </p> + <p> + Which seemed to be catch-words, for Kosmaroff had made use of almost the + identical phrases. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite confident that there is no danger to affairs,” continued + Martin, speaking with the haste and vehemence of a man who is anxious to + convince himself. “It was a mere mischance, but it gave us all a horrid + fright, I can tell you—especially me, for I was doubly interested. + Cartoner rode into our midst to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Cartoner?” repeated the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He rang the bell, and when the door was opened—we were + expecting some one else—he led his horse into our midst, with a + loose shoe.” + </p> + <p> + “Who saw him?” asked the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Every one.” + </p> + <p> + “Kosmaroff?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And if I had not been there it would have been all up with Cartoner. + You know what Kosmaroff is. It was a very near thing.” + </p> + <p> + “That would have been a mistake,” said the prince, reflectively. “It was + the mistake they made last time. It has never paid yet to take life in + driblets.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I told Kosmaroff afterwards, when Cartoner had gone. It was + evident that it could only have been an accident. Cartoner could not have + known. To do a thing like that, he must have known all—or nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “He could not have known all,” said the prince. “That is an + impossibility.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he must have known nothing,” put in Wanda, with a laugh, which at + one stroke robbed the matter of much of its importance. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know how much he perceived when he was in—as to his own + danger, I mean—for he has an excellent nerve, and was steady; + steadier than I was. But he knows that there was something wrong,” said + Martin, wiping the dust from his face with his pocket-handkerchief. His + hand shook a little, as if he had ridden hard, or had been badly + frightened. “We had a bad half-hour after he left, especially with + Kosmaroff. The man is only half-tamed, that is the truth of it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is more to his own danger than to any one else's,” put in Wanda, + again. She spoke lightly, and seemed quite determined to make as little of + the incident as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Then how do matters stand?” inquired the prince. + </p> + <p> + “It comes to this,” answered Martin, “that Poland is not big enough to + hold both Kosmaroff and Cartoner. Cartoner must go. He must be told to go, + or else——” + </p> + <p> + Wanda had taken up her work again. As she looked at it attentively, the + color slowly faded from her face. + </p> + <p> + “Or else—what?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + Martin shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Kosmaroff is not a man to stick at trifles.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” said Wanda, who would have things plainly, “that he would + assassinate him?” + </p> + <p> + Wanda glanced at her father. She knew that men hard pressed are no + sticklers. She knew the story of the last insurrection, and of the + wholesale assassination, abetted and encouraged by the anonymous national + government of which the members remain to this day unknown. The prince + made an indifferent gesture of the hand. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot go into those small matters. We are playing a bigger game that + that. It has always been agreed that no individual life must be allowed to + stand in the way of success.” + </p> + <p> + “It is upon that principle that Kosmaroff argues,” said Martin, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely; and as I was not present when this happened—as it is, + moreover, not my department—I cannot, personally, act in the + matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Kosmaroff will obey nobody else.” + </p> + <p> + “Then warn Cartoner,” the prince said, in a final voice. His had always + been the final word. He would say to one, go; and to another, come. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot do it,” said Martin, looking at Wanda. “You know my position—how + I am watched.” + </p> + <p> + “There is only one person in Warsaw who can do it,” said Wanda—“Paul + Deulin.” + </p> + <p> + “Deulin could do it,” said the prince, thoughtfully. “But I never talk to + Deulin of these matters. Politics are a forbidden subject between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will go and see Monsieur Deulin the first thing to-morrow + morning,” said Wanda, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “You?” asked her father. And Martin looked at her in silent surprise. The + old prince's eyes flashed suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Remember,” he said, “that you run the risk of making people talk of you. + They may talk of us—of Martin and me—the world has talked of + the Bukatys for some centuries—but never of their women.” + </p> + <p> + “They will not talk of me,” returned Wanda, composedly. “I will see to + that. A word to Mr. Cartoner will be enough. I understood him to say that + he was not going to stay long in Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + The prince had acquired the habit of leaving many things to Wanda. He knew + that she was wiser than Martin, and in some ways more capable. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, rising. “I take no hand in it. It is very late. Let us go + to bed.” + </p> + <p> + He paused half-way towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing,” he said, “which we should be wise to recollect—that + whatever Cartoner may know or may not know will go no farther. He is a + diplomatist. It is his business to know everything and to say nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, by Heaven, he knows his business!” cried Martin, with his reckless + laugh. + </p> + <p> + There are three entrances to the Hotel de l'Europe, two beneath the great + archway on the Faubourg, where the carriages pass through into the + court-yard—where Hermani was assassinated—where the people + carried in the bodies of those historic five, whose mutilated corpses were + photographed and hawked all through eastern Europe. The third is a side + door, used more generally by habitues of the restaurant. It was to this + third door that Wanda drove the next morning. She knew the porter there. + He was in those days a man with a history and Wanda was not ignorant of + it. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Cahere—the American lady?” she said. And the porter gave her + the number of Netty's room. He was too busy a man to offer to escort her + thither. + </p> + <p> + Wanda mounted the stairs along the huge corridor. She passed Netty's room, + and ascended to the second story. All fell out as she had wished. At the + head of the second staircase there is a little glass-partitioned room, + where the servants sit when they are unemployed. In this room, reading a + French newspaper, she found Paul Deulin's servant, a well-trained person. + And a well-trained French servant is the best servant in the world. He + took it for granted that Wanda had come to see his master, and led the way + to the spacious drawing-room occupied by Deulin, who always travelled <i>en + prince</i>. + </p> + <p> + “I am given for my expenses more money than I can spend,” he said, in + defence of his extravagant habits, “and the only people to whom I want to + give it are those who will not accept it.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin was not in the room, but he came in almost as soon as Wanda had + found a chair. She was looking at a book, and did not catch the flash of + surprise in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Did Jean show you in?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all right. He will keep everybody else out. And he will lie. It + would not do, you know, for you to be talked about. We all have enemies, + Wanda. Even plain people have enemies.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda waited for him to ask her why she had come. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, glancing at her and drawing a chair up to the table near + which she was sitting. “Yes! What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “An unfortunate incident,” answered Wanda, “that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Life is an unfortunate incident if we come to that. I hope I + predicted it. It is so consoling to have predicted misfortune when it + comes. Your father?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Martin?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Cartoner,” said Deulin, dropping his voice half a dozen tones, and + leaning both elbows on the table in a final way, which dispensed with the + necessity of reply. + </p> + <p> + “Allons. What has Cartoner been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “He has found out something.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, la! la!” exclaimed Deulin, in a whisper—giving voice to that + exclamation which, as the cultured reader knows, French people reserve for + a really serious mishap. “I should have thought he knew better.” + </p> + <p> + “And I cannot tell you what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “And I cannot guess. I never find out things, and know nothing. An + ignorant Frenchman, you know, ignores more than any other man.” + </p> + <p> + “It came to Martin's knowledge,” explained Wanda, looking at him across + the table, with frank eyes. But Deulin did not meet her eyes. “Look a man + in the eyes when you tell him a lie,” Deulin had once said to Cartoner, + “but not a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “It came to Martin's knowledge by chance, and he says that—” Wanda + paused, drew in her lips, and looked round the room in an odd, hurried way—“that + it is not safe for Mr. Cartoner to remain any longer in Warsaw, or even in + Poland. Mr. Cartoner was very kind to us in London. We all like him. + Martin cannot, of course, say anything for him. My father won't—” + </p> + <p> + Deulin was playing a gay little air with his fingers on the table. His + touch was staccato, and he appeared to be taking some pride in his + execution. + </p> + <p> + “Years ago,” he said, after a pause, “I once took it upon myself to advise + Cartoner. He was quite a young man. He listened to my advice with + exemplary patience, and then acted in direct contradiction to it—and + never explained. He is shockingly bad at explanation. And he was right, + and I was wrong.” + </p> + <p> + He finished his gay little air with an imaginary chord, played with both + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Voila!” he said. “I can do nothing, fair princess.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely you will not stand idle and watch a man throw away his life,” + said Wanda, looking at him in surprise. + </p> + <p> + He raised his eyes to hers for a moment, and they were startlingly + serious. They were dark eyes, beneath gray lashes. The whole man was neat + and gray and—shallow, as some thought. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Wanda,” he said, “for forty years and more I have watched men—and + women—do worse than throw their lives away. And it has quite ceased + to affect my appetite.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda rose from her chair, and Deulin's face changed again. He shot a + sidelong glance at her and bit his lip. His eyes were keen enough now. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” he said, as he followed her to the door. “I will give him a + little hint—the merest ghost of a hint—will that do?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Wanda, going more slowly towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Though I do not know why we should, any of us, trouble about this + Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda quickened her pace a little, and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “There are reasons why I should not accompany you,” said Deulin, opening + the door. “Try the right-hand staircase, and the other way round.” + </p> + <p> + He closed the door behind her, and stood looking at the chair which Wanda + had just vacated. + </p> + <p> + “Only the third woman who knows what she wants,” he said, “and yet I have + known thousands—thousands.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI + </h2> + <h3> + MUCH—OR NOTHING + </h3> + <p> + If we contemplate our neighbour's life with that calm indifference to his + good or ill which is the only true philosophy, it will become apparent + that the gods amuse themselves with men as children amuse themselves with + toys. Most lives are marked by a series of events, a long roll of + monotonous years, and perhaps another series of events. In some the + monotonous years come first, while others have a long breathing space of + quiet remembrance before they go hence and are no more seen. + </p> + <p> + A child will take a fly and introduce him to the sugar-basin. He will then + pull off his wings in order to see what he will do without them. The fly + wanders round beneath the sugar-basin, his small mind absorbed in a + somewhat justifiable surprise, and then the child loses all interest in + him. Thus the gods—with men. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner was beginning to experience this numb surprise. His life, set + down as a series of events, would have made what the world considers good + reading nowadays. It would have illustrated to perfection; for it had been + full of incidents, and Cartoner had acted in these incidents—as the + hero of the serial sensational novel plays his monthly part—with a + mechanical energy calling into activity only one-half of his being. He had + always known what he wanted, and had usually accomplished his desires with + the subtraction of that discount which is necessary to the accomplishment + of all human wishes. The gods had not helped him; but they had left him + alone, which is quite as good, and often better. And in human aid this + applies as well, which that domestic goddess, the managing female of the + family, would do well to remember. + </p> + <p> + The gods had hitherto not been interested in Cartoner, and, like the fly + on the nursery window that has escaped notice, he had been allowed to + crawl about and make his own small life, with the result that he had never + found the sugar-basin and had retained his wings. But now, without + apparent reason, that which is called fate had suddenly accorded him that + gracious and inconsequent attention which has forever decided the sex of + this arbiter of human story. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner still knew what he wanted, and avoided the common error of + wanting too much. For the present he was content with the desire to avoid + the Princess Wanda Bukaty. And this he was not allowed to do. Two days + after the meeting at the Mokotow—the morning following the visit + paid by Wanda to the Hotel de l'Europe—Cartoner was early astir. He + drove to the railway station in time to catch the half-past eight train, + and knowing the ways of the country, he took care to arrive at ten minutes + past eight. He took his ticket amid a crowd of peasants—wild-looking + men in long coats and high boots, rough women in gay shades of red, in + short skirts and top-boots, like their husbands. + </p> + <p> + This was not a fashionable train, nor a through train to one of the + capitals. A religious fete at a village some miles out of Warsaw attracted + the devout from all parts, and the devout are usually the humble in Roman + Catholic countries. Railways are still conducted in some parts of Europe + on the prison system, and Cartoner, glancing into the third-class waiting + room, saw that it was thronged. The second-class room was a little + emptier, and beyond it the sacred green-tinted shades of the first-class + waiting-room promised solitude. He went in alone. There was one person in + the bare room, who rose as he came in. It was Wanda. The gods were kind—or + cruel. + </p> + <p> + “You are going away?” she said, in a voice so unguardedly glad that + Cartoner looked at her in surprise. “You have seen Monsieur Deulin, and + you are going away.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I have not seen Deulin since the races. He came to my rooms + yesterday, but I was out. My rooms are watched, and he did not come + again.” + </p> + <p> + “We are all watched,” said Wanda, with a short and careless laugh. “But + you are going away—that is all that matters.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not going away. I am only going across the frontier, and shall be + back this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda turned and looked towards the door. They were alone in the room, + which was a vast one. If there were any other first-class passengers, they + were waiting the arrival of the train from Lemberg in the restaurant, + which is the more usual way of gaining access to the platform. She + probably guessed that he was going across the frontier to post a letter. + </p> + <p> + “You must leave Warsaw,” she said; “it is not safe for you to stay here. + You have by accident acquired some knowledge which renders it imperative + for you to go away. Your life, you understand, is in danger.” + </p> + <p> + She kept her eyes on the door as she spoke. The ticket-collector on duty + at the entrance of the two waiting-rooms was a long way off, and could not + hear them even if he understood English, which was improbable. There were + so many other languages at this meeting-place of East and West which it + was essential for him to comprehend. The room was absolutely bare; not so + much as a dog could be concealed in it. It these two had anything to say + to each other this was assuredly the moment, and this bare railway station + the place to say it in. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner did not laugh at the mention of danger, or shrug his shoulders. + He was too familiar with it, perhaps, to accord it this conventional + salutation. + </p> + <p> + “Martin would have warned you,” she went on, “but he did not dare to. + Besides, he thought that you knew something of the danger into which you + had unwittingly run.” + </p> + <p> + “Not unwittingly,” said Cartoner, and Wanda turned to look at him. He said + so little that his meaning needed careful search. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you much—” she began, and he interrupted her at once. + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” he said, “you must tell me nothing. It was not unwitting. I am + here for a purpose. I am here to learn everything—but not from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Martin hinted at that,” said Wanda, slowly, “but I did not believe him.” + </p> + <p> + And she looked at Cartoner with a sort of wonder in her eyes. It was as if + there were more in him—more of him—than she had ever expected. + And he returned her glance with a simplicity and directness which were + baffling enough. He looked down at her. He was taller than she, which was + as it should be. For half the trouble of this troubled world comes from + the fact that, for one reason or another, women are not always able to + look up to the men with whom they have dealings. + </p> + <p> + “It is true enough,” he said, “fate has made us enemies, princess.” + </p> + <p> + “You said that even the Czar could not do that. And he is stronger than + fate—in Poland. Besides——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You, who say so little, were indiscreet enough to confide something in + your enemy. You told me you had written for your recall.” + </p> + <p> + And again her eyes brightened, with an anticipating gleam of relief. + </p> + <p> + “It has been refused.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must go—you must go!” she said, quickly. She glanced at the + great clock upon the wall. She had only ten minutes in which to make him + understand. He was an eminently sensible person. There were gleams of gray + in his closely cut hair. + </p> + <p> + “You must not think that we are alarmists. If there is any family in the + world who knows what it is to live peaceably, happily—quite gayly—” + she broke off with a light laugh, “on a volcano—it is the Bukatys. + We have all been brought up to it. Martin and I looked out of our nursery + window on April 8, 1861, and saw what was done on that day. My father was + in the streets. And ever since we have been accustomed to unsettled + times.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Cartoner, “what it is to be a Bukaty.” And he smiled slowly + as she looked at him with gray, fearless eyes. Then suddenly her manner, + in a flash, was different. + </p> + <p> + “Then you will go?” she pleaded, softly, persuasively. And when he turned + away his eyes from hers, as if he did not care to meet them, she glanced + again, hurriedly, at the clock. There is a cunning bred of hatred, and + there is another cunning, much deeper. “Say you will go!” + </p> + <p> + And, sternly economical of words, he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think you understand,” she went on, changing her manner and her + ground again. And to each attack he could only oppose his own stolid, dumb + form of defence. “You do not understand what a danger to us your presence + here is. It is needless to tell you all this,” with a gesture she + indicated the well-ordered railway station, the hundred marks of a high + state of civilization, “is skin deep. That things in Poland are not at all + what they seem. And, of course, we are implicated. We live from day to day + in uncertainty. And my father is such an old man; he has had such a + hopeless struggle all his life. You have only to look at his face—” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” admitted Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “It would be very hard if anything should happen to him now, after he has + gone through so much. And Martin, who is so young in mind, and so happy + and reckless! He would be such an easy prey for a political foe. That is + why I ask you to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” answered Cartoner, who, like many people reputed clever, + was quite a simple person. + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” said Wanda, with that logic which men, not having the wit to + follow it, call no logic at all, “you can do no good here, if all your + care and attention are required for the preservation of your life. Why + have they refused your recall? It is so stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “I must do the best I can,” replied Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + Wanda shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and tapped her foot on the + ground. Then suddenly her manner changed again. + </p> + <p> + “But we must not quarrel,” she said, gently. “We must not misunderstand + each other,” she added, with a quick and uneasy laugh, “for we have only + five minutes in all the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Here and now,” he corrected, with a glance at the clock, “we have only + five minutes. But the world is large.” + </p> + <p> + “For you,” she said quickly, “but not for me. My world is Warsaw. You + forget I am a Russian subject.” + </p> + <p> + But he had not forgotten it, as she could see by the sudden hardening of + his face. + </p> + <p> + “My presence in Warsaw,” he said, as if the train of thought needed no + elucidating, “is in reality no source of danger to you—to your + father and brother, I mean. Indeed, I might be of some use. I or Deulin. + Do not misunderstand my position. I am of no political importance. I am + nobody—nothing but a sort of machine that has to report upon events + that are past. It is not my business to prevent events or to make history. + I merely record. If I choose to be prepared for that which may come to + pass, that is merely my method of preparing my report. If nothing happens + I report nothing. I have not to say what might have happened—life is + too short to record that. So you see my being in Warsaw is really of no + danger to your father and brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see—I see!” answered Wanda. She had only three minutes now. + The door giving access to the platform had long been thrown open. The + guard, in his fine military uniform and shining top-boots, was strutting + the length of the train. “But it was not on account of that that we asked + Monsieur Deulin to warn you. It does not matter about my father and + Martin. It is required of them—a sort of family tradition. It is + their business in life—almost their pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my business in life—almost my pleasure,” said Cartoner, with + a smile. + </p> + <p> + “But is there no one at home—in England—that you ought to + think of?” in an odd, sharp voice. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody,” he replied, in one word, for he was chary with information + respecting himself. + </p> + <p> + Wanda had walked towards the platform. Immediately opposite to her stood a + carriage with the door thrown open. In those days there were no corridor + carriages. Two minutes now. + </p> + <p> + “We must not be seen together on the platform,” she said. “I am only going + to the next station. We have a small farm there, and some old servants + whom I go to see.” + </p> + <p> + She stood within the open doorway, and seemed to wait for him to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said, “for warning me.” + </p> + <p> + And that was all. + </p> + <p> + “You must go,” he added, after a moment's pause. + </p> + <p> + Still she lingered. + </p> + <p> + “There is so much to say,” she said, half to herself. “There is so much to + say.” + </p> + <p> + The train was moving when Cartoner stepped into a carriage at the back. He + was alone, and he leaned back with a look of thoughtful wonder in his + eyes, as if he were questioning whether she were right—whether there + was much to say—or nothing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE SENATORSKA + </h3> + <p> + “It is,” said Miss Julie Mangles, “in the Franciszkanska that one lays + one's hand on the true heart of the people.” + </p> + <p> + “That's as may be, Jooly,” replied her brother, “but I take it that the + hearts of the women go to the Senatorska.” + </p> + <p> + For Miss Mangles, on the advice of a polyglot concierge, had walked down + the length of that silent street, the Franciszkanska, where the Jews ply + their mysterious trades and where every shutter is painted with bright + images of the wares sold within the house. The street is a picture-gallery + of the human requirements. The chosen people hurry to and fro with curved + backs and patient, suffering faces that bear the mark of eighteen hundred + years of persecution. No Christian would assuredly be a Jew; and no Jew + would be a Polish Jew if he could possibly help it. For a Polish Jew must + not leave the country, may not even quit his native town, unless it suits + a paternal government that he should go elsewhere. He has no personal + liberty, and may not exercise a choice as to the clothes that he shall + wear. + </p> + <p> + “I shall,” said Miss Mangles, “write a paper on the Jewish question in + this country.” + </p> + <p> + And Joseph changed the position of his cigar from the left-hand to the + right-hand corner of his mouth, very dexterously from within, with his + tongue. He saw no reason why Jooly should not write a paper on the Semitic + question in Russia, and read it to a greedy multitude in a town-hall, + provided that the town-hall was sufficiently far West. + </p> + <p> + “Seen the Senatorska, Netty?” he inquired. But Netty had not seen the + Senatorska, and did not know how to find it. + </p> + <p> + “Go out into the Faubourg,” her uncle explained, “and just turn to the + left and follow all the other women. It is the street where the shops + are.” + </p> + <p> + Two days later, when Miss Julie Mangles was writing her paper, Netty set + out to find the Senatorska. Miss Mangles was just putting down—as + the paper itself recorded—the hot impressions of the moment, + gathered after a walk down the Street of the Accursed. For they like their + impressions served hot out West, and this is a generation that prefers + vividness to accuracy. + </p> + <p> + Netty found the street quite easily. It was a sunny morning, and many + shoppers were abroad. In a degree she followed her uncle's instructions, + and instinct did the rest. For the Senatorska is not an easy street to + find. The entrance to it is narrow and unpromising, like either end of + Bond Street. + </p> + <p> + The Senatorska does not approach Bond Street or the Rue de la Paix, and + Netty, who knew those thoroughfares, seemed to find little to interest her + in the street where Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski—that weak + dreamer—built his great opera-house and cultivated the ballet. The + shops are, indeed, not worthy of a close attention, and Netty was passing + them indifferently enough when suddenly she became absorbed in the wares + of a silver-worker. Then she turned, with a little cry of surprise, to + find a gentleman standing hatless beside her. It was the Prince Martin + Bukaty. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid you did not remember me,” said Martin. “You looked straight + at me, and did not seem to recognize me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I? I am so short-sighted, you know. I had not forgotten you. Why + should I?” + </p> + <p> + And Netty glanced at Martin in her little, gentle, appealing way, and then + looked elsewhere rather hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you travellers must see so many people you cannot be expected to + remember every one who is introduced to you at a race-meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Netty, looking into the silversmith's shop. “One meets a + great number of people, but not many that one likes. Do you not find it + so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” answered Martin, “that you do not meet many people that you + like.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you must not think that I dislike people,” urged Netty, in some + concern; “I should be very ungrateful if I did. Everybody is so kind. Do + you not find it so? I hate people to be cynical. There is much more + kindness in the world than anybody suspects. Do you not think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. It has not come my way, perhaps. It naturally would come + in yours.” + </p> + <p> + And Martin looked down at her beneath the pink shade of her parasol with + that kindness in his eyes of which Netty had had so large a share. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” she protested, with a little movement of the shoulders + descriptive of a shrinking humility. “Why should I? I have done nothing to + deserve it. And yet, perhaps you are right. Everybody is so kind—my + uncle and aunt—everybody. I am very fortunate, I am sure. I wonder + why it is?” + </p> + <p> + And she looked up inquiringly into Martin's face as if he could tell her, + and, indeed, he looked remarkably as if he could—if he dared. He had + never met anybody quite like Netty—so spontaneous and innocent and + easy to get on with. Conversation with her was so interesting and yet so + little trouble. She asked a hundred questions which were quite easy to + answer; and were not stupid little questions about the weather, but had a + human interest in them, especially when she looked up like that from under + her parasol, and there was a pink glow on her face, and her eyes were + dark, almost as violets. + </p> + <p> + “Ought I to be here?” she asked. “Going about the streets alone, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You are not alone,” answered Martin, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No, but—perhaps I ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + And Martin, looking down, saw nothing but the top of the pink parasol. + </p> + <p> + “In America, you know,” said the voice from under the parasol, “girls are + allowed to do so much more than in Europe. And it is always best to be + careful, is it not?—to follow the customs of the country, I mean. In + France and Germany people are so particular. I wanted to ask you what is + the custom in Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + Martin stepped to one side in order to avoid the parasol. + </p> + <p> + “In Warsaw you can do as you like. We are not French, and Heaven forbid + that we should resemble the Germans in anything. Here every one goes about + the streets as they do in England or America.” + </p> + <p> + As if to confirm this, he walked on slowly, and she walked by his side. + </p> + <p> + “I can show you the best shops,” he said, “such as they are. This is + Ulrich's, the flower shop. Those violets are Russian. The only good thing + I ever heard of that came from Russia. Do you like violets?” + </p> + <p> + “I love them,” answered Netty, and she walked on rather hurriedly to the + next shop. + </p> + <p> + “You would naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Netty, looking with a curious interest at the packets of tea + in the Russian shop next to Ulrich's. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not the correct thing to select the flower that matches the eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “It is very kind of you to say that,” said Netty, in a voice half-afraid, + half-reproachful. + </p> + <p> + “It is very kind of Heaven to give you such eyes,” answered Martin, gayly. + He was more and more surprised to find how easy it was to get on with + Netty, whom he seemed to have known all his life. Like many lively + persons, he rather liked a companion to possess a vein of gravity, and + this Netty seemed to have. He was sure that she was religious and very + good. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” said Netty, hastily, and ignoring his remark, “I am much + interested in Poland. It is such a romantic country. People have done such + great things, have they not, in Poland? I mean the nobles—and the + poor peasants, too in their small way, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “The nobles have come to great grief in Poland—that is all,” replied + Martin, with a short laugh. + </p> + <p> + “And it is so sad,” said Netty, with a shake of the head; “but I am sure + it will all come right some day. Do you think so? I am sure you are + interested in Poland—you and your sister and your father.” + </p> + <p> + “We are supposed to be,” admitted Martin. “But no one cares for Poland + now, I am afraid. The rest of the world has other things to think of, and, + in England and America, Poland is forgotten now—and her history, + which is the saddest history of any nation in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am sure you are wrong there,” said Netty, earnestly. “I know a + great number of people who are sorry for the Poles and interested in + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you?” asked Martin, looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied, with downcast eyes. “Come,” she said, after a pause, + with a sort of effort, “we must not stand in front of this shop any + longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Especially,” he said, with a laugh, as he followed her, “as it is a + Russian shop. Wherever you see tea and articles of religion mixed up in a + window, that is a Russian shop, and if you sympathize with Poland you will + not go into it. There are, on the other hand, plenty of shops in Warsaw + where they will not serve Russians. It is to those shops that you must + go.” + </p> + <p> + Netty looked at him doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite serious,” he said. “We must fight with what weapons we have.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, indicating the shops, “these people, but not you. You + are a prince, and they cannot touch you. They would not dare to take + anything from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Because there is nothing to take,” laughed Martin, gayly; “we were ruined + long ago. They took everything there was to take in 1830, when my father + was a boy. He could not work for his living, and I may not either; so I am + a prince without a halfpenny to call his own.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so sorry!” she said, in a soft voice, and, indeed, she looked it. + </p> + <p> + Then she caught sight of Paul Deulin a long way off, despite her short + sight, which was perhaps spasmodic, as short sight often is. She stopped, + and half turned, as if to dismiss Martin. When Deulin perceived them he + was standing in the middle of the pavement, as if they had just met. He + came up with a bow to Netty and his hand stretched out to Martin—his + left hand, which conveyed the fact that he was an old and familiar friend. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you are on your way back to the Europe to lunch?” he said to + Netty. “I am in luck. I have come just in time to walk back with you, if + you will permit it.” + </p> + <p> + And he did not wait for permission, but walked on beside Netty, while + Martin took off his hat and went in the opposite direction. It was not the + way he wanted to go but something had made him think that Netty desired + him to go, and he departed with a pleasant sensation as of a secret + possessed in common with her. He walked back quickly to the flower-shop + kept by Ulrich, in the Senatorska. + </p> + <p> + A rare thing happened to Paul Deulin at this moment. He fell into a train + of thought, and walked some distance by the side of Netty without + speaking. It was against his principles altogether. “Never be silent with + a woman,” he often said. “She will only misconstrue it.” + </p> + <p> + “It was odd that I should meet you at that moment,” he said, at length, + for Netty had not attempted to break the silence. She never took the + initiative with Paul Deulin, but followed quite humbly and submissively + the conversational lead which he might choose to give. He broke off and + laughed. “I was going to say that it was odd that I should have met you at + a moment that I was thinking of you; but it would be odder still if I + could manage to meet you at a moment when I was not thinking of you, would + it not?” + </p> + <p> + “It was very kind of you,” said Netty, “to think of me at the race-meeting + the other day, and to introduce me to the Bukatys. I am so interested in + the princess. She is so pretty, is she not? Such lovely hair, and I think + her face is so interesting—a face with a history, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Deulin, rather shortly, “Wanda is a nice girl.” He did not + seem to find the subject pleasing, and Netty changed her ground. + </p> + <p> + “And the prince,” she said, “the old one, I mean—for this one, + Prince Martin, is quite a boy, is he not?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes—quite a boy,” replied Deulin, absently, as he looked back + over his shoulder and saw Martin hurry into the flower-shop where he had + first perceived Netty and the young prince talking together. + </p> + <p> + “It is so sad that they are ruined—if they are really ruined.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no doubt whatever about that,” answered Deulin. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Netty, who was practical, “could nothing induce him—the + young prince, I mean—to abandon all these vague political dreams and + accept the situation as it is, and settle down to develop his estates and + recover his position?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” said Deulin, “the domestic felicities. Your fine and + sympathetic heart would naturally think of that. You go about the world + like an unemployed and wandering angel, seeking to make the lives of + others happier. Those are dreams, and in Poland dreams are forbidden—by + the Czar. But they are the privilege of youth, and I like to catch an + occasional glimpse of your gentle dreams, my dear young lady.” + </p> + <p> + Netty smiled a little pathetically, and glanced up at him beneath her + lashes, which were dark as lashes should be that veil violet eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Now you are laughing at me, because I am not clever,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid! But I am laughing at your dream for Martin Bukaty. He will + never come to what you suggest as the cure for his unsatisfactory life. He + has too much history behind him, which is a state of things never quite + understood in your country, mademoiselle. Moreover, he has not got it in + him. He is not stable enough for the domestic felicities, and Siberia—his + certain destination—is not a good mise-en-scene for your dream. No, + you must not hope to do good to your fellow-beings here, though it is + natural that you should seek the ever-evasive remedy—another + privilege of youth.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk as if you were so very old,” said Netty, reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “I am very, very old,” he replied, with a laugh. “And there is no remedy + for that. Even your kind heart can supply no cure for old age.” + </p> + <p> + “I reserve my charity and my cures for really deserving cases,” answered + Netty, lightly. “I think you are quite capable of taking care of + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “And of evolving my own dreams?” he inquired. But she made no answer, and + did not appear to notice the glance of his tired, dark eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I know so little,” she said, after a pause, “so very little of Poland or + Polish history. I suppose you know everything—you and Mr. Cartoner?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cartoner! Yes, he knows a great deal. He is a regular magazine of + knowledge, while I—I am only a little stall in Vanity Fair, with + everything displayed to the best advantage in the sunshine. Now, there is + a life for you to exercise your charity upon. He is brilliantly + successful, and yet there is something wanting in his life. Can you not + prescribe for him?” + </p> + <p> + Netty smiled gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know him sufficiently well,” she said. “Besides, he requires no + sympathy if it is true that he is the heir to a baronetcy and a fortune.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin's eyebrows went up into his hat, and he made, for his own + satisfaction, a little grimace of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! is that so?” he inquired. “Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + But Netty could not remember where she had heard what she was ready to + believe was a mere piece of gossip. Neither did she appear to be very + interested in the matter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + JOSEPH'S STORY + </h3> + <p> + Mr. Mangles gave a dinner-party the same evening. “It is well,” he had + said, “to show the nations that the great powers are in perfect harmony.” + He made this remark to Deulin and Cartoner, whom he met at the Cukiernia + Lourse—a large confectioner's shop and tea-house in the Cracow + Faubourg—which is the principal cafe in Warsaw. And he then and + there had arranged that they should dine with him. + </p> + <p> + “I always accept the good Mangles' invitations. Firstly, I am in love with + Miss Cahere. Secondly, Julie P. Mangles amuses me consumedly. In her + presence I am dumb. My breath is taken away. I have nothing to say. But + afterwards, in the night, I wake up and laugh into my pillow. It takes + years off one's life,” said Deulin, confidentially, to Cartoner, as they + sipped their tea when Mr. Joseph P. Mangles had departed. + </p> + <p> + As Deulin was staying under the same roof he had only to descend from the + second to the first floor, when the clock struck seven. By some chance he + was dressed in good time, and being an idle person, with a Gallic love of + street-life, he drew back his curtain, and stood at the window waiting for + the clock to strike. + </p> + <p> + “I shall perhaps see the heir to the baronetcy arrive,” he said to + himself, “and we can make our entry together.” + </p> + <p> + It happened that he did see Cartoner; for the square below the windows was + well lighted. He saw Cartoner turn out of the Cracow Faubourg into the + square, where innumerable droskies stand. He saw, moreover, a man arrive + at the corner immediately afterwards, as if he had been following + Cartoner, and, standing there, watch him pass into the side door of the + hotel. + </p> + <p> + Deulin reflected for a moment. Then he went into his bedroom, and took his + coat and hat and stick. He hurried down-stairs with them, and gave them + into the care of the porter at the side door, whose business it is to take + charge of the effects of the numerous diners in the restaurant. When he + entered the Mangles' drawing-room a few minutes later he found the party + assembled there. Netty was dressed in white, with some violets at her + waistband. She was listening to her aunt and Cartoner, who were talking + together, and Deulin found himself relegated to the society of the + hospitable Joseph at the other end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “You're looking at Cartoner as if he owed you money,” said Mr. Mangles, + bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “I was looking at him with suspicion,” admitted Deulin, “but not on that + account. No one owes me money. It is the other way round, and it is not I + who need to be anxious, but the other party, you understand. No, I was + looking at our friend because I thought he was lively. Did he strike you + as lively when he came in?” + </p> + <p> + “Not what I should call a vivacious man,” said Mangles, looking dismally + across the room. “There was a sort of ripple on his serene calm as he came + in perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Deulin, in a low voice. “That is bad. There is usually + something wrong when Cartoner is lively. He is making an effort, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + They went towards the others, Deulin leading the way. + </p> + <p> + “What beautiful violets,” said he to Netty. “Surely Warsaw did not produce + those?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they are pretty,” answered Netty, making a little movement to show + the flowers to greater advantage to Deulin and to Cartoner also. Her waist + was very round and slender. “They came from that shop in the Senatorska or + the Wirzbowa, I forget, quite, which street. Ulrich, I think, was the + name.” + </p> + <p> + And she apparently desired to let the subject drop there. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Deulin, slowly. “Ulrich is the name. And you are fond of + violets?” + </p> + <p> + “I love them.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin was making a silent, mental note of the harmless taste, when dinner + was announced. + </p> + <p> + “It was I who recommended Netty to investigate the Senatorska,” said Mr. + Mangles, when they were seated. But Netty did not wish to be made the + subject of the conversation any longer. She was telling Cartoner, who sat + next to her, a gay little story, connected with some piece of steamer + gossip known only to himself and her. Is it not an accepted theory that + quiet men like best those girls who are lively? + </p> + <p> + Miss Mangles dispensed her brother's hospitality with that rather labored + ease of manner to which superior women are liable at such times as they + are pleased to desire their inferiors to feel comfortable, and to enjoy + themselves according to their lights. + </p> + <p> + Deulin perceived the situation at once, and sought information respecting + Poland, which was most graciously accorded him. + </p> + <p> + “And you have actually walked through the Jewish quarter?” he said, + noting, with the tail of his eye, that Cartoner was absent-minded. + </p> + <p> + “I entered the Franciszkanska near the old church of St. John, and + traversed the whole length of the street.” + </p> + <p> + “And you formed an opinion upon the Semitic question in this country?” + asked the Frenchman, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “I have.” + </p> + <p> + And Deulin turned to his salmon, while Miss Mangles swept away in a few + chosen phrases the difficulties that have puzzled statesmen for fifteen + hundred years. + </p> + <p> + “I shall read a paper upon it at one of our historical Women's Congress + meetings—and I may publish,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It would be in the interests of humanity,” murmured Deulin, politely. “It + would add to the . . . wisdom of the nations.” + </p> + <p> + Across the table Netty was doing her best to make her uncle's guest happy, + seeking to please him in a thousand ways, which need not be described. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she was saying at that moment, in not too loud a voice, “that + you dislike political women.” Heaven knows how she knew it. “But I am + afraid I must confess to taking a great interest in Poland. Not the sort + of interest you would dislike, I hope. But a personal interest in the + people. I think I have never met people with quite the same qualities.” + </p> + <p> + “Their chief quality is gameness,” said Cartoner, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and that is just what appeals to English and Americans. I think the + princess is delightful—do you not think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cartoner, looking straight in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “There must be a great many stories,” went on Netty, “connected with the + story of the nation, which it would be so interesting to know—of + people's lives, I mean—of all they have attempted and have failed to + do.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph was listening at his end of the table, with a kindly smile on his + lined face. He had, perhaps, a soft place in that cynical and dry heart + for his niece, and liked to hear her simple talk. Cartoner was listening, + with a greater attention than the words deserved. He was weighing them + with a greater nicety than experienced social experts are in the habit of + exercising over dinner-table talk. And Deulin was talking hard, as usual, + and listening at the same time; which is not by any means an easy thing to + do. + </p> + <p> + “I always think,” continued Netty, “that the princess has a story. There + must, I mean, be some one at the mines or in Siberia, or somewhere + terrible like that, of whom she is always thinking.” + </p> + <p> + And Netty's eyes were quite soft with a tender sympathy, as she glanced at + Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” put in Deulin, hastily, between two of Julie's solemn + utterances. “Perhaps she is thinking of her brother—Prince Martin. + He is always getting into scrapes—ce jeune homme.” + </p> + <p> + But Netty shook her head. She did not mean that sort of thought at all. + </p> + <p> + “It is your romantic heart,” said Deulin, “that makes you see so much that + perhaps does not exist.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want a story,” put in Joseph Mangles, suddenly, in his deep voice, + “I can tell you one.” + </p> + <p> + And because Joseph rarely spoke, he was accorded a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Waiter's a Finn, and says he doesn't understand English?” began Mangles, + looking interrogatively at Deulin, beneath his great eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Which I believe to be the truth,” assented the Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + “Cartoner and Deulin probably know the story,” continued Joseph, “but they + won't admit that they do. There was once a nobleman in this city who was + like Netty; he had a romantic heart. Dreamed that this country could be + made a great country again, as it was in the past—dreamed that the + peasants could be educated, could be civilized, could be turned into human + beings. Dreamed that when Russia undertook that Poland should be an + independent kingdom with a Polish governor, and a Polish Parliament, she + would keep her word. Dreamed that when the powers, headed by France and + England, promised to see that Russia kept to the terms of the treaty, they + would do it. Dreamed that somebody out of all that crew, would keep his + word. Comes from having a romantic heart.” + </p> + <p> + And he looked at Netty with his fierce smile, as if to warn her against + this danger. + </p> + <p> + “My country,” he went on, “didn't take a hand in that deal. Bit out of + breath and dizzy, as a young man would be that had had to fight his own + father and whip him.” + </p> + <p> + And he bobbed his head apologetically towards Cartoner, as representing + the other side in that great misunderstanding. + </p> + <p> + “Ever heard the Polish hymn?” he asked, abruptly. He was not a good + story-teller perhaps. And while slowly cutting his beef across and across, + in a forlorn hope that it might, perchance, not give him dyspepsia this + time, he recited in a sing-song monotone: + </p> + <p> + “'O Lord, who, for so many centuries, didst surround Poland with the + magnificence of power and glory; who didst cover her with the shield of + Thy protection when our armies overcame the enemy; at Thy altar we raise + our prayer: deign to restore us, O Lord, our free country!'” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and looked slowly round the table. + </p> + <p> + “Jooly—pass the mustard,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Then, having helped himself, he lapsed into the monotone again, with a + sort of earnest unction that had surely crossed the seas with those + Pilgrim Fathers who set sail in quest of liberty. + </p> + <p> + “'Give back to our Poland her ancient splendor! Look upon fields soaked + with blood! When shall peace and happiness blossom among us? God of wrath, + cease to punish us! At Thy altar we raise our prayer: deign to restore us, + O Lord, our free country!'” + </p> + <p> + And there was an odd silence, while Joseph P. Mangles ate sparingly of the + beef. + </p> + <p> + “That is the first verse, and the last,” he said at length. “And all + Poland was shouting them when this man dreamed his dreams. They are + forbidden now, and if that waiter's a liar, I'll end my days in Siberia. + They sang it in the churches, and the secret police put a chalk mark on + the backs of those that sang the loudest, and they were arrested when they + came out—women and children, old men and maidens.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Julie P. Mangles made a little movement, as if she had something to + say, as if to catch, as it were, the eye of an imaginary chairman, but for + once this great speaker was relegated to silence by universal acclaim. For + no one seemed to want to hear her. She glanced rather impatiently at her + brother, who was always surprising her by knowing more than she had given + him credit for, and by interesting her, despite herself. + </p> + <p> + “The dreamer was arrested,” he continued, pushing away his plate, “on some + trivial excuse. He was not dangerous, but he might be. There was no + warrant and no trial. The Czar had been graciously pleased to give his own + personal attention to this matter which dispensed with all formalities and + futilities . . . of justice. Siberia! Wife with great difficulty obtained + permission to follow. They were young—last of the family. Better + that they should be the last—thought the paternal government of + Russia. But she had influential relatives—so she went. She found him + working in the mines. She had taken the precaution of bringing doctor's + certificates. Work in the mines would inevitably kill him. Could he not + obtain in-door work? He petitioned to be made the body-servant of the + governor of his district—man who had risen from the ranks—and + was refused. So he went to the mines again—and died. The wife had in + her turn been arrested for attempting to aid a prisoner to escape. Then + the worst happened—she had a son, in prison, and all the care and + forethought of the paternal government went for nothing. The pestilential + race was not extinct, after all. The ancestors of that prison brat had + been kings of Poland. But the paternal government was not beaten yet. They + took the child from his mother, and she fretted and died. He had nobody + now to care for him, or even to know who he was, but his foster-father—that + great and parental government.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph paused, and looked round the table with a humorous twinkle in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Nice story,” he said, “isn't it? So the brat was mixed up with other + brats so effectually that no one knew which was which. He grew up in + Siberia, and was drafted into a Cossack regiment. And at last the race was + extinct; for no one knew. No one, except the recording angel, who is a bit + of a genealogist, I guess. Sins of the fathers, you know. Somebody must + keep account of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + The dessert was on the table now; for the story had taken longer in the + telling than the reading of it would require. + </p> + <p> + “Cartoner, help Netty to some grapes,” said the host, “and take some + yourself. Story cannot interest you—must be ancient history. Well—after + all, it was with the recording angel that the Russian government slipped + up. For the recording angel gave the prison brat a face that was + historical. And if I get to Heaven, I hope to have a word with that + humorist. For an angel, he's uncommon playful. And the brat met another + private in the Cossack regiment who recognized the face, and told him who + he was. And the best of it is that the government has weeded out the + dangerous growth so carefully that there are not half a dozen people in + Poland, and none in Russia, who would recognize that face if they saw it + now.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph poured out a glass of wine, which he drank with outstretched chin + and dogged eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Man's loose in Poland now,” he added. + </p> + <p> + And that was the end of the story. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX + </h2> + <h3> + THE HIGH-WATER MARK + </h3> + <p> + Netty did not smoke. She confessed to being rather an old-fashioned + person. Which is usually accounted to her for righteousness by men, who, + so far as women are concerned, are intensely conservative—such men, + at all events, whose opinion it is worth a woman's while to value. + </p> + <p> + Miss Mangles, on the other hand, made a point of smoking a cigarette from + time to time in public. There were two reasons. The ostensible reason, + which she gave freely when asked for it, and even without the asking—namely, + that she was not going to allow men to claim the monopoly of tobacco. + There was the other reason, which prompts so many actions in these blatant + times—the unconscious reason that, in going counter to ancient + prejudices respecting her sex, she showed contempt for men, and meted out + a bitter punishment to the entire race for having consistently and + steadily displayed a complete indifference to herself. + </p> + <p> + Miss Mangles announced her intention of smoking a cigarette this evening, + upon which Netty rose and said that if they were not long over their + tobacco they would find her in the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + The Mangles' salon was separated from the dining-room by Joseph's + apartment—a simple apartment in no way made beautiful by his Spartan + articles of dress and toilet. The drawing-room was at the end of the + passage, and there was a gas-jet at each corner of the corridor. Netty + went to the drawing-room, but stopped short on the threshold. Contrary to + custom, the room was dark. The old-fashioned chandelier in the centre of + the large, bare apartment glittered in the light of the gas-jet in the + passage. Netty knew that there were matches on the square china stove + opposite to the door, which stood open. She crossed the room, and as she + did so the door behind her, which was on graduated hinges, swung to. She + was in the dark, but she knew where the stove was. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly her heart leaped to her throat. There was some one in the room. + The soft and surreptitious footstep of a person making his way cautiously + to the door was unmistakable. Netty tried to speak—to ask who was + there. But her voice failed. She had read of such a failure in books, but + it had never been her lot to try to speak and to find herself dumb until + now. + </p> + <p> + Instinctively she turned and faced the mysterious and terrifying sound. + Then her courage came quite suddenly to her again. Like many diminutive + persons, she was naturally brave. She moved towards the door, her small + slippers and soft dress making no sound. As the fugitive touched the + door-handle she stretched out her hand and grasped a rough sleeve. + Instantly there was a struggle, and Netty fought in the dark with some one + infinitely stronger and heavier than herself. That it was a man she knew + by the scent of tobacco and of rough working-clothes. She had one hand on + the handle, and in a moment turned it and threw open the door. The light + from without flooded the room, and the man leaped back. + </p> + <p> + It was Kosmaroff. His eyes were wild; he was breathless. For a moment he + was not a civilized man at all. Then he made an effort, clinched his + hands, and bit his lips. His whole demeanor changed. + </p> + <p> + “You, mademoiselle!” he said, in broken English. “Then Heaven is kind—Heaven + is kind!” + </p> + <p> + In a moment he was at her feet, holding her two hands, and pressing first + one and then the other to his lips. He was wildly agitated, and Netty was + conscious that his agitation in some way reached her. In all her life she + had never known what it was to be really carried away until that moment. + She had never felt anything like it—had never seen a man like this—at + her feet. She dragged at her hands, but could not free them. + </p> + <p> + “I came,” he said—and all the while he had one eye on the passage to + see that no one approached—“to see you, because I could not stay + away! You think I am a poor man. That is as may be. But a poor man can + love as well as a rich man—and perhaps better!” + </p> + <p> + “You must go! you must go!” said Netty. And yet she would have been sorry + if he had gone. The worst of reaching the high-water mark is that the ebb + must necessarily be dreary. In a flash of thought she recollected Joseph + Mangles' story. This was the sequel. Strange if he had heard his own story + through the door of communication between Mangles' bedroom and the + dining-room. For the other door, from the salon to the bedroom, stood wide + open. + </p> + <p> + “You think I have only seen you once,” said Kosmaroff. “I have not. I have + seen you often. But the first time I saw you—at the races—was + enough. I loved you then. I shall love you all my life!” + </p> + <p> + “You must go—you must go!” whispered Netty, dragging at her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I won't unless you promise to come to the Saski Gardens now—for + five minutes. I only ask five minutes. It is quite safe. There are many + passing in and out of the large door. No one will notice you. The streets + are full. I made an excuse to come in. A man I know was coming to these + rooms with a parcel for you. I took the parcel. See, there is the + tradesman's box. I brought it. It will take me out safely. But I won't go + till you promise. Promise, mademoiselle!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” whispered Netty, hurriedly. “I will come!” + </p> + <p> + Firstly, she was frightened. The others might come at any moment. Secondly—it + is to be feared—she wanted to go. It was the high-water mark. This + man carried her there and swept her off her feet—this working-man, + in his rough clothes, whose ancestor had been a king. + </p> + <p> + “Go and get a cloak,” he said. “I will meet you by the great fountain.” + </p> + <p> + And Netty ran along the corridor to her room, her eyes alight, her heart + beating as it had never beaten before. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff watched her for a moment with that strange smile that twisted + his mouth to one side. Then he struck a match and turned to the + chandelier. The globe was still warm. He had turned out the gas when + Netty's hand was actually on the handle. + </p> + <p> + “It was a near thing,” he said to himself in Russian, which language he + had learned before any other, so that he still thought in it. “And I found + the only way out of that hideous danger.” + </p> + <p> + As he thus reflected he was putting together hastily the contents of + Joseph Mangles's writing-case, which were spread all over the table in + confusion. Then he hurried into the bedroom, closed one or two drawers + which he had left open, put the despatch-case where he had found it, and, + with a few deft touches, set the apartment in order. A moment later he + lounged out at the great doorway, dangling the tradesman's box on his arm. + </p> + <p> + It was a fine moonlight night, and the gardens were peopled by shadows + moving hither and thither beneath the trees. The shadows were mostly in + couples. Others had come on the same errand as Kosmaroff—for a + better motive, perhaps, or a worse. It was the very end of St. Martin's + brief summer, and when winter lays its quiet mantle on these northern + plains lovers must needs seek their opportunities in-doors. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff arrived first, and sat down thoughtfully on a bench. He was one + of the few who were not muffled in great-coats and wraps against the + autumn chill. He had known a greater cold than Poland ever felt. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she will come,” he said in his mind, watching the gate through + which Netty must enter the gardens. “It matters little if she does not. + For I do not know what I shall say when she does come. Must leave that to + the inspiration of the moment—and the moonlight. She is pretty + enough to make it easy.” + </p> + <p> + In a few moments Netty passed through the gate and came towards him—not + hurriedly or furtively, as some maiden in a book to her first clandestine + meeting—but with her head thrown back, and with an air of having + business to transact, which was infinitely safer and less likely to + attract the attention of the idle. It was she who spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “I am going back at once,” she said. “It was very wrong to come. But you + frightened me so. Was it very wrong? Do you think it was wrong of me to + come, and despise me for it?” + </p> + <p> + “You promised,” he whispered, eagerly; “you promised me five minutes. Out + of a whole lifetime, what is it? For I am going away from Warsaw soon, and + I shall never see you again perhaps, and shall have only the memory of + these five minutes to last me all my life—these five minutes and + that minute—that one minute in the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + And he took her hand, which was quite near to him, somehow, on the stone + bench, and raised it to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “We are going away, too,” she said. She was thinking also of that one + minute in the doorway of the salon, when she had touched high-water mark. + “We are on our way to St. Petersburg, and are only waiting here till my + uncle has finished some business affairs on which he is engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is not a business man,” said Kosmaroff, suddenly interested. “What + is he doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. He never talks to me of his affairs. I never know whether + he is travelling for pleasure, or on account of his business in America, + or for political purposes. He never explains. I only know that we are + going on to St. Petersburg.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shall not see you again. What am I to do all my life without seeing + you? And the others—Monsieur Deulin and that Englishman, Cartoner—are + they going to St. Petersburg, too?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” answered Netty, hastily withdrawing her hand, because a + solitary promenader was passing close by them. “They never tell me either. + But . . .” + </p> + <p> + “But what! Tell me all you know, because it will enable me, perhaps, to + see you again in the distance. Ah! if you knew! If you could only see into + my heart!” + </p> + <p> + And he took her hand again in the masterful way that thrilled her, and + waited for her to answer. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cartoner will not go away from Warsaw if he can help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Kosmaroff. “Why—tell me why?” + </p> + <p> + But Netty shook her head. They were getting into a side issue assuredly, + and she had not come here to stray into side issues. With that skill which + came no doubt with the inspiration of the moment in which Kosmaroff + trusted he got back into the straight path again at one bound—the + sloping, pleasant path in which any fool may wander and any wise man lose + himself. + </p> + <p> + “It is for you that he stays here,” he said. “What a fool I was not to see + that! How could he know you, and be near you, and not love you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he has found it quite easy to do it,” answered Netty, with an odd + laugh. “No, it is not I who keep him in Warsaw, but somebody who is clever + and beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no one more beautiful than you in Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + And for a moment Netty was silenced by she knew not what. + </p> + <p> + “You say that to please me,” she said at last. And her voice was quite + different—it was low and uneven. + </p> + <p> + “I say it because it is the truth. There is no one more beautiful than you + in all the world. Heaven knows it.” + </p> + <p> + And he looked up with flashing black eyes to that heaven in which he had + no faith. + </p> + <p> + “But who is there in Warsaw,” he asked, “whom any one could dream of + comparing with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt there are hundreds. But there is one whom Mr. Cartoner + compares with me—and even you must know that she is prettier than I + am.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know it,” protested Kosmaroff, again taking her hand. “There is + no one in all the world.” + </p> + <p> + “There is the Princess Wanda Bukaty,” said Netty, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Does Cartoner admire her? Do they know each other? Yes, I remember I + saw them together at the races.” + </p> + <p> + “They knew each other in London,” said Netty. “They knew each other when I + first saw them together at Lady Orlay's there. And they have often met + here since.” + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff seemed to be hardly listening. He was staring in front of him, + his eyes narrow with thought and suspicion. He seemed to have forgotten + Netty and his love for her as suddenly as he had remembered it in the + salon a few minutes earlier. + </p> + <p> + “Is it that he has fallen in love—or is it that he desires + information which she alone can give him?” he asked at length. Which was, + after all, the most natural thought that could come to him at that moment + and in that place. For every man must see the world through his own eyes. + </p> + <p> + Before she could answer him the town clocks struck ten. Netty rose hastily + and drew her cloak round her. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” she said; “I have been here much more than five minutes. Why + did you let me stay? Oh—why did you make me come?” + </p> + <p> + And she hurried towards the gate, Kosmaroff walking by her side. + </p> + <p> + “You will come again,” he said. “Now that you have come once—you + cannot be so cruel. Now that you know. I am nearly always at the river, at + the foot of the Bednarska. You might walk past, and say a word in passing. + You might even come in my boat. Bring that woman with the black hair, your + aunt, if necessary. If would be safer, perhaps. Do you speak French?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and she does not.” + </p> + <p> + “Good—then we can talk. I must not go beyond the gate. Good-bye—and + remember that I love you—always, always!” + </p> + <p> + He stood at the gate and watched her hurry across the square towards the + side door of the hotel, where the concierge was so busy that he could + scarcely keep a note of all who passed in and out. + </p> + <p> + “It is all fair—all fair,” said Kosmaroff to himself, seeking to + convince himself. “Besides—has the world been fair to me?” + </p> + <p> + Which argument has made the worst men that walk the earth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX + </h2> + <h3> + A LIGHT TOUCH + </h3> + <p> + Soon after ten o'clock Miss Mangles received a message that Netty, having + a headache, had gone to her room. Miss Cahere had never given way to that + weakness, which is, or was, euphoniously called the emotions. She was not + old-fashioned in that respect. + </p> + <p> + But to-night, on regaining her room, she was conscious, for the first time + in her life, of a sort of moral shakiness. She felt as if she might do or + say something imprudent. And she had never felt like that before. No one + in the world could say that she had ever been imprudent. That which the + lenient may call a school-girl escapade—a mere flight to the garden + for a few minutes—was scarcely sufficient to account for this + feeling. She must be unwell, she thought. And she decided, with some + wisdom, not to submit herself to the scrutiny of Paul Deulin again. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mangles had not finished his excellent cigar; and although Miss + Mangles did not feel disposed for another of those long, innocent-looking + Russian cigarettes offered by Deulin, she had still some views of value to + be pressed upon the notice of the inferior sex. + </p> + <p> + Deulin had been glancing at the clock for some time, and, suspiciously + soon after learning that they were not to see Netty again, he announced + with regret that he had letters to write, and must take his leave. + Cartoner made no excuse, but departed at the same time. + </p> + <p> + “I will come down to the door with you,” said Deulin, in the passage. He + was always idle, and always had leisure to follow his sociable instincts. + </p> + <p> + At the side door, while Cartoner was putting on his coat, he stepped + rather suddenly out into the street, and before Cartoner had found his hat + was back again. + </p> + <p> + “It is a moonlight night,” he said. “I will walk with you part of the + way.” + </p> + <p> + He turned, as he spoke, towards his coat and hat and stick, which were + hanging near to where Cartoner had found his own. He did not seem to think + it necessary to ask the usual formal permission. They knew each other too + well for that. Cartoner helped the Frenchman on with his thin, light + overcoat, and reaching out his hand took the stick from the rack, weighing + and turning it thoughtfully in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “That is the Madrid Stick,” said the Frenchman. “You were with me when I + bought it.” + </p> + <p> + “And when you used it,” added Cartoner, in his quietest tone, as he led + the way to the door. “Generally keep your coat in the hall?” he inquired, + casually, as they descended the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” replied Deulin, glancing at the questioner sideways beneath + the brim of his hat. + </p> + <p> + It was, as he had said, a beautiful night. The moon was almost full and + almost overhead, so that the streets were in most instances without shadow + at all; for they nearly all run north and south, as does the river. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Deulin, taking Cartoner's arm, and leading him to the right + instead of the left; for Cartoner was going towards the Cracow Faubourg, + which was the simplest but not the shortest way to the Jasna. “Yes—let + us go by the quiet streets, eh? We have walked the pavement of some queer + towns in our day, you and I. The typical Englishman, so dense, so silent, + so unobservant—who sees nothing and knows nothing and never laughs, + but is himself the laughing-stock of all the Latin races and the piece de + resistance of their comic papers. And I, at your service, the typical + Frenchman; all shrugs and gesticulations and mustache—of politeness + that is so insincere—of a heart that is so unstable. Ah! these + national characteristics of comic journalism—how the stupid world + trips over them on to its vulgar face!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he was hurrying Cartoner along, ever quicker and quicker, with + a haste that must have been unconscious, as it certainly was unnatural to + one who found a thousand trifles to interest him in the streets whenever + he walked there. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner made no answer, and his companion expected none. They were in a + narrow street now—between the backs of high houses—and had + left the life and traffic of frequented thoroughfares behind them. Deulin + turned once and looked over his shoulder. They were alone in the street. + He released Cartoner's arm, through which he had slipped his left hand in + an effusive French way. He was fingering his stick with his right hand in + an odd manner, and walked with his head half turned, as if listening for + footsteps behind him. Suddenly he swung round on his heels, facing the + direction from which they had just come. + </p> + <p> + Two men were racing up the street, making but little noise on the + pavement. + </p> + <p> + “Any coming from the other side?” asked Deulin. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “In the doorway,” whispered the Frenchman. He was very quick and quite + steady. And there is nothing more dangerous on earth than a steady + Frenchman, who fights with his brain as well as his arm. Deulin was + pushing his companion back with his left hand into a shallow doorway that + had the air of being little used. The long blade of his sword-stick, no + thicker at the hilt than the blade of a sailor's sheath-knife, and + narrowing to nothing at the point, glittered in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said, and thrust the empty stick into Cartoner's hand. “But you + need not use it. There are only two. Ah! Ah!” + </p> + <p> + With a sharp little cry of delight he stepped out into the moonlight, and + so quick were his movements in the next moments that the eye could + scarcely follow them. Those who have seen a panther in liberty know there + is nothing so graceful, so quick, so lithe and noiseless in animal life. + And Deulin was like a panther at that moment. He leaped across the + pavement to give one man a stinging switch across the cheek with the flat + of the blade, and was back on guard in front of Cartoner like a flash. He + ran right round the two men, who stood bewildered together, and did not + know where to look for him. Once he lifted his foot and planted a kick in + the small of his adversary's back, sending him staggering against the + wall. He laughed, and gave little, sharp cries of “Ah!” and “La!” + breathlessly. He did a hundred tricks of the fencing-floor—performed + a dozen turns and sleights of hand. It was a marvel of agility and + quickness. He struck both men on shoulder, arm, hand, head, and leg; + forward, back-handed, from above and below. He never awaited their attack—but + attacked them. Was it not Napoleon who said that the surest way to defend + is to attack? + </p> + <p> + The wonder was that, wielding so keen a point, he never hurt the men. The + sword might have been a lady's riding-whip, for its bloodlessness, from + the stinging cuts he inflicted. But the whistle of it through the air was + not the whistle of leather. It was the high, clear, terrifying note of + steel. + </p> + <p> + The two men, in confusion, backed across the road, and finally ran to the + opposite pavement, where they were half hidden by a deep shadow. Without + turning, Deulin backed towards Cartoner, who stood still in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Even if they are armed,” said Deulin, “they won't fire. They don't want + the police any more than we do. Can tell you, Cartoner, it would not suit + my book at all to get into trouble in Warsaw now.” + </p> + <p> + While he spoke he watched the shadows across the road. + </p> + <p> + “Both have knives,” he said, “but they cannot get near me. Stay where you + are.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Cartoner. “Haven't had a chance yet.” + </p> + <p> + And he gave a low laugh, which Deulin had only heard once or twice before + in all the years that they had known each other. + </p> + <p> + “That's the best,” he said, half to himself, “of dealing with a man who + keeps his head. Here they come, Cartoner—here they come.” + </p> + <p> + And he went out to meet them. + </p> + <p> + But only one came forward. They knew that unless they kept together, + Deulin could not hold them both in check. The very fact of their returning + to the attack—thus, with a cold-blooded courage—showed that + they were Poles. In an instant Deulin divined their intention. He ran + forward, his blade held out in front of him. Even at this moment he could + not lay aside the little flourish—the quick, stiff pose—of the + fencer. + </p> + <p> + His sword made a dozen turns in the air, and the point of it came down + lightly, like a butterfly, on the man's shoulder. He lowered it further, + as if seeking a particular spot, and then, deliberately, he pushed it in + as if into a cheese. + </p> + <p> + “Voila, mon ami,” he said, with a sort of condescension as if he had made + him a present. As, indeed, he had. He had given him his life. + </p> + <p> + The man leaped back with a little yelp of pain, and his knife clattered on + the stones. He stood in the moonlight, looking with horror-struck eyes at + his own hand, of which the fingers, like tendrils, were slowly curling up, + and he had no control over them. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Deulin, in Polish, “for you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the other, who had been moving surreptitiously round towards + Cartoner, who had, indeed, come out to meet him; but the man turned and + ran, followed closely by his companion. + </p> + <p> + Deulin picked up the knife, which lay gleaming on the cobble-stones, and + came towards Cartoner with it. Then he turned aside, and carefully dropped + it between the bars of the street gutter, where it fell with a muddy + splash. + </p> + <p> + “He will never use that hand again,” he said. “Poor devil! I only hope he + was well paid for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin was feeling in the pocket of his top-coat. + </p> + <p> + “Have you an old envelope?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner handed him what he asked for. It happened to be the envelope of + the letter he had received a few days earlier, denying him his recall. And + Deulin carefully wiped the blade of the sword-stick with it. He tore it + into pieces and sent it after the knife. Then he polished the bright steel + with his pocket-handkerchief, from the evil point to the hilt, where the + government mark and the word “Toledo” were deeply engraved. + </p> + <p> + “Unless I keep it clean it sticks,” he explained. “And if you want it at + all, you want it in a hurry—like a woman's heart, eh?” + </p> + <p> + He was looking up and down the street as he spoke, and shot the blade back + into its sheath. He turned and examined the ground to make sure that + nothing was left there. + </p> + <p> + “The light was good,” he said, appreciatively, “and the ground favorable + for—for the autumn manoeuvres.” + </p> + <p> + And he broke into a gay laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said. “Let us go back into the more frequented streets. This + back way was not a success—only proves that it never does to turn + tail.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know,” asked Cartoner, “that this was coming off?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite simple, my friend. I was at the window when you arrived at the + Europe. You were followed. Or, at all events, I thought you were followed. + So I made up my mind to walk back with you and see. Veni, vidi, vici—you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + And again his clear laugh broke the silence of that back street, while he + made a pass at an imaginary foe with his stick. + </p> + <p> + “I thought we might escape by the quieter streets,” he went on. “For it is + our business to seek peace and ensure it. But it was not to be. Neither + could I warn you, because we have never interfered in each other's + business, you and I. That is why we have continued, through many chances + and changes, to be friends.” + </p> + <p> + They walked on in silence for a few moments. Then Cartoner spoke, saying + that which he was bound to say in his half-audible voice. + </p> + <p> + “It was like you, to come like that and take the risk,” he said, “and say + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + But Deulin stopped him with a quick touch on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “As to that,” he said, “silence, my friend. Wait. Thank me, if you will, + five years hence—ten years hence—when the time comes. I will + tell you then why I did it.” + </p> + <p> + “There can only be one reason why you did it,” muttered the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “Can there? Ah! my good Cartoner, you are a fool—the very best sort + of fool—and yet, in the matter of intellect, you are as superior to + me as I am superior to you . . . in swordsmanship.” + </p> + <p> + And he made another pass into thin air with his stick. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to fight some one to-night,” he said. “Some one of the very + first order. I feel in the vein. I could do great things to-night—and + the angels in heaven are talking of me.” + </p> + <p> + In his light-hearted way he bared his head and looked up to the sky. But + there was a deeper ring in his voice. It almost seemed as if he were + sincere. + </p> + <p> + As he stood there, bareheaded, with his coat open and his shirt gleaming + in the moonlight, a carriage rattled past, and stopped immediately behind + them. The door was opened from within, and the only occupant, alighting + quickly, came towards them. + </p> + <p> + “There is only one man in Warsaw who would apostrophize the gods like + that,” he said. The speaker was Prince Martin Bukaty. + </p> + <p> + He recognized Cartoner at this moment. + </p> + <p> + “You!” he said, and there was a sharp note in his voice. “You, Cartoner! + What are you doing in the streets at this time of night?” + </p> + <p> + “We have been dining with Mangles,” explained Deulin. + </p> + <p> + “And we do not quite know what we are doing, or where we are going,” added + Cartoner. “But we think we are going home.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be on the spree,” said Martin, with a laugh in his voice, and + none in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “We are,” answered Deulin. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Martin, turning to send away the carriage. “Come—your + shortest way is through our place now. My father and Wanda are out at a + ball, or something, so I am afraid you will not see them.” + </p> + <p> + “Do it,” whispered Deulin's voice from behind. + </p> + <p> + And Cartoner followed Martin up the narrow passage that led to the garden + of the Bukaty Palace. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI + </h2> + <h3> + A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING + </h3> + <p> + Martin led the way without speaking. He opened the door with a key, and + passed through first. The garden was dark; for the trees in it had grown + to a great height, and, protected as they were from the wild winds that + sweep across the central plain of Europe, they had not shed their leaves. + </p> + <p> + A few lights twinkled through the branches from the direction of the + house, and the shape of the large conservatory was dimly outlined, as + though there were blinds within, partially covering the glass. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Martin, carefully closing the door behind him. “You find me in + sole possession. My father and sister have gone to a reception—a + semi-political affair at which they are compelled to put in an appearance. + It only began at half-past nine. They will not be home till midnight. Mind + those branches, Cartoner! You will come in, of course.” + </p> + <p> + And he hurried on again to open the next door. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, for a few minutes,” answered Deulin, and seeing a movement of + dissent on Cartoner's part, he laid his hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “It is better,” he said, in an undertone. “It will put them completely off + the scent. There are sure to be more than two in it.” + </p> + <p> + So, reluctantly, Cartoner followed Martin into the Bukaty Palace for the + first time. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the young prince, “into the drawing-room. I see they have + left the lights on there.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed open the door of the long, bare room, and stood aside to allow + his guests to pass. + </p> + <p> + “Holloa!” he exclaimed, an instant later, following them into the room. + </p> + <p> + At the far end of it, where two large folding-doors opened to the + conservatory, half turning to see who came, stood Wanda. She had some + flowers in her hand, which she had just taken from her dress. + </p> + <p> + “Back again already?” asked Martin, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Wanda. “There were some people there he did not want to + meet, so we came away again at once.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought they could not possibly be there.” + </p> + <p> + “They got there,” answered Wanda, “by some ill chance, from Petersburg, + just in time.” + </p> + <p> + And as she spoke she shook hands with Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “It is not such an ill chance, after all,” said Deulin, “since it gives us + the opportunity of seeing you. Where is your father?” + </p> + <p> + “He is in his study.” + </p> + <p> + “I rather want to see him,” said Deulin, looking at Martin. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, then,” was the answer. “He will be glad to see you. It will + cheer him up.” + </p> + <p> + And Wanda and Cartoner were left alone. It had all come about quickly and + simply—so much quicker and simpler than human plans are the plans of + Heaven. + </p> + <p> + Wanda, still standing in the doorway of the conservatory, of which the + warm, scented air swept out past her into the great room, watched her + brother and Deulin go and close the door behind them. She turned to + Cartoner with a smile as if about to speak; but she saw his face, and she + said nothing, and her own slowly grew grave. + </p> + <p> + He came towards her, upright and still and thoughtful. She did not look at + him, but past him towards the closed door. He only looked at her with + quiet, remembering eyes. Then he went straight to the point, as was his + habit. + </p> + <p> + “I was wrong,” he said, “when I said that fate could be hampered by + action. Nothing can hamper it. For fate has brought me here again.” + </p> + <p> + He stood before her, and the attitude in some way conveyed that by the + word “here” he only thought and meant near to her. There was a strange + look in her eyes of suspense and fear, and something else which needs no + telling to such as have seen it, and cannot be conveyed in words to those + who have not. + </p> + <p> + “A clear understanding,” he said abruptly, recalling her own words. “That + is your creed.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little nod, and still looked past him towards the door with + deep, submissive eyes. One would have thought that she had done something + wrong which was being brought home to her. Explain the thought, who can! + </p> + <p> + “I made another mistake,” he said. “Have been acting on it for years. I + thought that a career was everything. I dreamed, I suppose, of an embassy—of + a viceroyalty, perhaps—when I was quite young, and thought the world + was easy to conquer. All that . . . vanished when I saw you. If it comes, + well and good. I should like it. Not for my own sake.” + </p> + <p> + She made a little movement, and her eyelids flickered. Ah! that clear + understanding, which poor humanity cannot put into words! + </p> + <p> + “If it doesn't come”—he paused, and snapped the finger and thumb + that hung quiescent at his side—“well and good. I shall have lived. + I shall have known what life is meant to be. I shall have been the + happiest man in the world.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke slowly in his gently abrupt way. Practice in a difficult + profession had taught him to weigh every word he uttered. He had never + been known to say more than he meant. + </p> + <p> + “There never has been anybody else,” he continued. “All that side of life + was quite blank. The world was empty until you came and filled it, at Lady + Orlay's that afternoon. I had come half round the world—you had come + across Europe. And fate had fixed that I should meet you there. At first I + did not believe. I thought it was a mistake—that we should drift + apart again. Then came my orders to leave for Warsaw. I knew then that you + would inevitably return. Still I tried to get out of it—fought + against it—tried to avoid you. And you knew what it all came to.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded again, and still did not meet his eyes. She had not spoken to + him since he entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “There never can be anybody else,” he said. “How could there be?” + </p> + <p> + And the abrupt laugh that followed the question made her catch her breath. + She had, then, the knowledge given to so few, that so far as this one + fellow-creature was concerned she was the whole earth—that he was + thrusting upon her the greatest responsibility that the soul can carry. + For to love is as difficult as it is rare, but to be worthy of love is + infinitely harder. + </p> + <p> + “I knew from the first,” he continued, “that there is no hope. Whichever + way we turn there is no hope. I can spare you the task of telling me + that.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her eyes to his at last. + </p> + <p> + “You knew?” she asked, speaking for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “I know the history of Poland,” he said, quietly. “The country must have + your father—your father needs you. I could not ask you to give up + Poland—you know that.” + </p> + <p> + They stood in silence for a few moments. They had had so little time + together that they must needs have learned to understand each other in + absence. The friendship that grows in absence and the love that comes to + life between two people who are apart, are the love and friendship which + raise men to such heights as human nature is permitted to attain. + </p> + <p> + “If you asked me,” said Wanda, at length, with an illegible smile—“I + should do it.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I asked you I should not love you. If you loved me, you would one + day cease to do so; for you would remember what I had asked you. There + would be a sort of flaw, and you would discover it—and that would be + the end.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it so delicate as that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It is the frailest thing in the world—and the strongest,” he + answered, with his thoughtful smile. “It is a very delicate sort of—thought, + which is given to two people to take care of. And they never seem to + succeed in keeping it even passably intact—and not one couple in a + million carry it through life unhurt. And the injuries never come from the + outer world, but from themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you learn all that?” she asked, looking at him with her shrewd, + smiling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You taught me.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have a terribly high ideal.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you do not expect the impossible?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you will never have to compromise? All the world + compromises.” + </p> + <p> + “With its conscience,” said Cartoner. “And look at the result.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are good,” she returned, looking at him with a speculative + gravity, “as well as concise—and rather masterful.” + </p> + <p> + “It is clear,” he said, “that a man who persuades a woman to marry against + her inclination, or her conviction, or her conscience, is seeking her + unhappiness and his own.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she cried. “But you ask for a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “I ask for love.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” she said, going past that question, “no obstacles.” + </p> + <p> + “No obstacles that both could not conscientiously face and set aside.” + </p> + <p> + “And if one such object—quite a small one—should be found?” + </p> + <p> + “Then they must be content with love alone.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda turned from him, and fell into thought for some moments. They seemed + to be feeling their way forward on that difficult road where so many + hasten and such numbers fall. + </p> + <p> + “You have a way,” she said, “of putting into words—so few words—what + others only half think, and do not half attempt to act up to. If they did—there + would, perhaps, be no marriages.” + </p> + <p> + “There would be no unhappy ones,” said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “And it is better to be content with love alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Content,” was his sole answer. + </p> + <p> + Again she thought in silence for quite a long time, although their moments + were so few. A clock on the mantel-piece struck half-past ten. Cartoner + had bidden Joseph P. Mangles good-night only half an hour earlier, and his + life had been in peril—he had been down to the depths and up to the + heights since then. When the gods arrive they act quickly. + </p> + <p> + “So that is your creed,” she said at length. “And there is no compromise?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + And she smiled suddenly at the monosyllable reply. She had had to deal + with men of no compromise more than the majority of villa-dwelling women + have the opportunity of doing, and she knew, perhaps, that such are the + backbone of human nature. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, with a quick sigh, as she turned and looked down the + length of the long, lamp-lit room. “You are strong—you are strong + for two.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head in negation, for he knew that hers was that fine, steely + strength of women which endures a strain all through a lifetime of which + the world knows nothing. Then, acting up to her own creed of seeking + always the clear understanding, she returned to the point they had left + untouched. + </p> + <p> + “And if two people had between them,” she suggested, wonderingly, “that + with which you say they might be content, if they had it, and were sure + they had it, and had with it a perfect trust in each other, but knew that + they could never have more, could they be happy?” + </p> + <p> + “They could be happier than nearly everybody else in the world,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + “And if they had to go on all their lives—and if one lived in London + and the other in Warsaw—Warsaw?” + </p> + <p> + “They could still be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “If she—alone at one end of Europe—” asked Wanda, with her + worldly-wise searching into detail—“if she saw slowly vanishing + those small attractions which belong to youth, for which he might care, + perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “She could still be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “And he? If he experienced a check in his career, or had some misfortune, + and felt lonely and disappointed—and there was no one near to—to + take care of him?” + </p> + <p> + “He could still be happy—if—” + </p> + <p> + “If—?” + </p> + <p> + “If he knew that she loved him,” replied Cartoner, slowly. + </p> + <p> + Wanda turned and looked at him with an odd little laugh, and there were + tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you may know that,” she said, suddenly descending from the uncertain + heights of generality. “You may be quite sure of that. If that is what you + want.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I want.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. She looked + at his bent head, and when her eyes rested on the gray hairs at his + temples, they lighted suddenly with a gleam which was strangely protecting + and dimly maternal. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to go away from Warsaw,” she said. “I would rather you went + even if you say—that you are afraid to stay.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say that.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” she added, with her head held high, “they would not believe you + if you did.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you,” he answered, “not to run any risks, to take every care. + But we must not see each other. I may have to go away without seeing you.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little nod of comprehension, and held her lips between her + teeth. She was looking towards the door; for she had heard voices in that + direction. + </p> + <p> + “I should like,” she said, “to make you a promise in return. It would give + me great satisfaction. Some day you may, perhaps, be glad to remember it.” + </p> + <p> + The voices were approaching. It was Deulin's voice, and he seemed to be + speaking unnecessarily loud. + </p> + <p> + “I promise you,” said Wanda, with unfathomable eyes, “never to marry + anybody else.” + </p> + <p> + And the door opened, giving admittance to Deulin, who was laughing and + talking. He came forward looking, not at Wanda and Cartoner, but at the + clock. + </p> + <p> + “To your tents, O Israel!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner said good-night at once, and went to the door. For a moment + Deulin was left alone with Wanda. He went to a side-table, where he had + laid his sword-stick. He took it up, and slowly turned it in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Wanda,” he said, “remember me in your prayers to-night!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII + </h2> + <h3> + THE WHITE FEATHER + </h3> + <p> + It is to be presumed that the majority of people are willing enough to + seek the happiness of others; which desire leads the individual to + interfere in her neighbor's affairs, while it burdens society with a + thousand associations for the welfare of mankind or the raising of the + masses. + </p> + <p> + Looking at the question from the strictly commonsense point of view, it + would appear to the observer that those who do the most good or the least + harm are the uncharitable. Better than the eager, verbose man is he who + stands on the shore cynically watching a landsman in a boat without + proffering advice as to how the vessel should be navigated, who only holds + out a cold and steady hand after the catastrophe has happened, or, if no + catastrophe supervenes, is content to walk away in that silent wonder + which the care of Providence for the improvident must ever evoke. + </p> + <p> + Paul Deulin was considered by his friends to be a cynic; and a French + cynic is not without cruelty. He once told Wanda that he had seen men and + women do much worse than throw their lives away, which was probably the + unvarnished truth. But there must have been a weak spot in his cynicism. + There always is a weak spot in the vice of the most vicious. For he sat + alone in his room at the Hotel de l'Europe, at Warsaw, long into the + night, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and thinking thoughts which he + would at any other juncture have been the first to condemn. He was + thinking of the affairs of others, and into his thoughts there came, + moreover, the affairs, not of individuals, but of nations. A + fellow-countryman once gave it as his opinion that so long as the trains + ran punctually and meals were served at regular intervals he could + perceive no difference between one form of government and another. And in + the majority of instances the fate of nations rarely affects the lives of + individuals. + </p> + <p> + Deulin, however, was suddenly made aware of his own ignorance of affairs + that were progressing in his immediate vicinity, and which were affecting + the lives of those around him. More than any other do Frenchmen herd + together in exile, and Deulin knew all his fellow-countrymen and women in + Warsaw, in whatsoever station of life they happened to move. He had a + friend behind the counter of the small feather-cleaning shop in the + Jerozolimska. This lady was a French Jewess, who had by some undercurrent + of Judaism drifted from Paris to Warsaw again and found herself once more + among her own people. The western world is ignorant of the strength of + Jewry in Poland. + </p> + <p> + Deulin made a transparent excuse for his visit to the cleaner's shop. He + took with him two or three pairs of those lavender gloves which Englishmen + have happily ceased to wear by day. + </p> + <p> + “One likes,” he said to the stout Jewess, “to talk one's own tongue in a + foreign land.” + </p> + <p> + And he sat down quite affably on the hither side of the counter. + Conversation ran smoothly enough between these two, and an hour slipped + past before Deulin quitted the little shop. It was still early in the day, + and he hurried to Cartoner's rooms in the Jasna. He bought a flower at the + corner of the Jerozolimska as he went along, and placed it in his + buttonhole. He wore his soft felt hat at a gay angle, and walked the + pavement at a pace and with an air belonging to a younger generation. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he cried, at the sight of Cartoner, pipe in mouth, at his + writing-table. “Ah! if you were only idle, as I am”—he paused, with + a sharp, little sigh—“if you only could be idle, how much happier + you would be!” + </p> + <p> + “A Frenchman,” replied Cartoner, without looking up, “thinks that noise + means happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are happy—you pretend to happiness?” inquired Deulin, + sitting down without being invited to do so, and drawing towards him a + cigarette-case that lay upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank you,” replied Cartoner, lightly. He seemed, too, to be gay + this morning. + </p> + <p> + “Don't thank me—thank the gods,” replied Deulin, with a sudden + gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Cartoner presently, without ceasing to write, “what do you + want?” + </p> + <p> + Deulin glanced at his friend with a gleam of suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “What do I want?” he inquired, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You want something. I always know when you want something. When you + are most idle you are most occupied.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner wrote on while Deulin lighted a cigarette and smoked half of it + with a leisurely enjoyment of its bouquet. + </p> + <p> + “There is a certain smell in the Rue Royale, left-hand side looking + towards the Column—the shady side, after the street has been watered—that + my soul desires,” said the Frenchman, at length. + </p> + <p> + “When are you going?” asked Cartoner, softly. + </p> + <p> + “I am not going; I wish I were. I thought I was last night. I thought I + had done my work here, and that it would be unnecessary to wait on + indefinitely for——” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “For the upheaval,” explained Deulin, with an airy wave of his cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “This morning—” he began. And then he waited for Cartoner to lay + aside his pen and lean back in his chair with the air of thoughtful + attention which he seemed to wear towards that world in which he moved and + had his being. Cartoner did exactly what was expected of him. + </p> + <p> + “This morning I picked up a scrap of information.” He drew towards him a + newspaper, and with a pencil made a little drawing on the margin. The + design was made in three strokes. It was not unlike a Greek cross, Deulin + threw the paper across the table. + </p> + <p> + “You know that man?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know his name,” replied Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “No; no one knows that,” replied Deulin. “It is one of the very few + mysteries of the nineteenth century. All the others are cleared up.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner made no answer. He sat looking at the design, thinking, perhaps, + with wonder of the man who in this notoriety-loving age was still content + to be known only by a mark. + </p> + <p> + “Up to the present I have not attached much importance to those rumors + which, happily, have never reached the newspaper,” said Deulin, after a + pause. “One has supposed that, as usual, Poland is ready for an upheaval. + But the upheaval does not come. That has been the status quo for many + years here. Suppose—suppose, my friend, that they manufacture their + own opportunity, or agree with some other body of malcontents as to the + creating of an opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “Anarchy?” inquired Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “The ladies of the party call it Nihilism,” replied the Frenchman, with an + inimitable gesture, conveying the fact that he was not the man to gainsay + a lady. + </p> + <p> + “Bukaty would not stoop to that. Remember they are a patient people. They + waited thirty years.” + </p> + <p> + “And struck too hastily, after all,” commented Deulin. “Bukaty would not + link himself with these others, who talk so much and do so little. But + there are others besides Bukaty, who are younger, and can afford to wait + longer, and are therefore less patient—men of a more modern stamp, + without his educational advantages, who are nevertheless sincere enough in + their way. It may not be a gentlemanly way—” + </p> + <p> + “The man who goes by the name of Kosmaroff is a gentleman, according to + his lights,” interrupted Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! since you say so,” returned Deulin, with a significant gesture, + “yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon sang,” said Cartoner, and did not trouble to complete the saying. “He + is too much of a gentleman to herd with the extremists.” + </p> + <p> + But Deulin did not seem to be listening. He was following his own train of + thought. + </p> + <p> + “So you know of Kosmaroff?” he said, studying his companion's face. “You + know that, too. What a lot you know behind that dull physiognomy. Where is + Kosmaroff? Perhaps you know that.” + </p> + <p> + “In Warsaw,” guessed Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “Wrong. He has gone towards Berlin—towards London, by the same + token.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin leaned across the table and tapped the symbol that he had drawn on + the margin of the newspaper, daintily, with his finger-nail. + </p> + <p> + “That parishioner is in London, too,” he said, in his own tongue—and + the word means more in French. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner slowly tore the margin from the newspaper and reduced the drawing + to small pieces. Then he glanced at the clock. + </p> + <p> + “Trying to get me out of Warsaw,” he said. “Giving me a graceful chance of + showing the white feather.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin smiled. He had seen the glance, and he was quicker than most at + guessing that which might be passing in another man's mind. The force of + habit is so strong that few even think of a train without noting the time + of day at the same moment. If Cartoner was thinking of a train at that + instant, it could only be the train to Berlin on the heels of Kosmaroff, + and Deulin desired to get Cartoner away from Warsaw. + </p> + <p> + “The white feather,” he said, “is an emblem that neither you nor I need + trouble our minds about. Don't get narrow-minded, Cartoner. It is a + national fault, remember. For an Englishman, you used to be singularly + independent of the opinion of the man in the street or the woman at the + tea-table. Afraid! What does it matter who thinks we are afraid?” + </p> + <p> + And he gave a sudden staccato laugh which had a subtle ring in it of envy, + or of that heaviness which is of a life that is waxing old. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said, after a pause, and he made a little diagram on the + table, “here is a bonfire, all dry and crackling—here, in Warsaw. + Here—in Berlin or in London—is the man with the match that + will set it alight. You and I have happened on a great event, and stand in + the shadow that it casts before it, for the second—no, for the third + time in our lives. We work together again, I suppose. We have always done + so when it was possible. One must watch the dry wood, the other must know + the movements of the man with the kindling. Take your choice, since your + humor is so odd. You stay or you go—but remember that it is in the + interests of others that you go.” + </p> + <p> + “Of others?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—of the Bukatys. Your presence here is a danger to them. Now go + or stay, as you like.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner glanced at his companion with watchful eyes. He was not + deliberating; for he had made up his mind long ago, and was now weighing + that decision. + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” he said, at length. And Deulin leaned back in his chair with + a half-suppressed yawn of indifference. It was, as Cartoner had observed, + when he was most idle that this gentleman had important business in hand. + He had a gay, light, easy touch on life, and, it is to be supposed, never + set much store upon the gain of an object. It seemed that he must have + played the game in earnest at one time, must have thrown down his stake + and lost it, or won it perhaps, and then had no use for his gain, which is + a bitterer end than loss can ever be. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you are right,” he said. “And, at all events, you will see the + last of this sad city.” + </p> + <p> + Then he changed the subject easily, and began to talk of some trivial + matter. From one question to another he passed, with that air of + superficiality which northern men can never hope to understand, and here + and there he touched upon those grave events which wise men foresaw at + this period in European history. + </p> + <p> + “I smell,” he said, “something in the atmosphere. Strangers passing in the + street look at one with a questioning air, as if there were a secret which + one might perhaps be party to. And I, who have no secrets.” + </p> + <p> + He spread out his hands, with a gay laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” he added, with a sudden gravity, “there is nothing in life + worth making a secret of—except one's income. There are many reasons + why mine remains unconfessed. But, my friend, if anything should happen—anything—anywhere—we + keep each other advised. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + “Usual cipher,” answered Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “My salutations to Lady Orlay,” said Deulin, with a reflective nod. “That + woman who can keep a secret.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you had none.” + </p> + <p> + “She knows the secret—of my income,” answered the Frenchman. “Tell + her—no! Do not tell her anything. But go and see her. When will you + leave?” + </p> + <p> + “To-night.” + </p> + <p> + “And until then? Come and lunch with me at the Russian Club. No! Well, do + as you like. I will say good-bye now. Heavens! how many times have we met + and said good-bye again in hotels and railway stations and hired rooms! We + have no abiding city and no friends. We are sons of Ishmael, and have none + to care when we furl our tents and steal away.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and looked round the bare room, in which there was nothing but + the hired furniture. + </p> + <p> + “The police will be in here five minutes after you are out,” he said, + curtly. “You have no message—” He paused to pick up from the floor a + petal of his flower that had fallen. Then he walked to the window and + looked out. Standing there, with his back to Cartoner, he went on: “No + message to any one in Warsaw?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “No—you wouldn't have one. You are not that sort of man. Gad! You + are hard, Cartoner—hard as nails.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner did not answer. He was already putting together his possessions—already + furling his solitary tent. It was only natural that he was loath to go; + for he was turning his back on danger, and few men worthy of the name do + that with alacrity, whatever their nationality may be; for gameness is not + solely a British virtue, as is supposed in English public schools. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Deulin turned round and shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know when we shall next meet. Take care of yourself. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + And he went towards the door. But he paused on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “The matter of the 'white feather' you may leave to me. You may leave + others to me, too, so far as that goes. The sons of Ishmael must stand + together.” + </p> + <p> + And, with an airy wave of the hand and his rather hollow laugh, he was + gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + COEUR VOLANT + </h3> + <p> + In that great plain which is known to geographers as the Central European + Depression the changes of the weather are very deliberate. If rain is + coming, the cautious receive full warning of its approach. The clouds + gather slowly, and disperse without haste when their work is done. For + some days it had been looking like rain. The leaves on the trees of the + Saski Gardens were hanging limp and lifeless. The whole world was dusty + and expectant. Cartoner left Warsaw in a deluge of rain. It had come at + last. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon Deulin went to call at the Bukaty Palace. He was ushered + into the great drawing-room, and there left to his own devices. He did an + unusual thing. He fell into a train of thought so absorbing that he did + not hear the door open or the soft sound of Wanda's dress as she entered + the room. Her gay laugh brought him down to the present with a sort of + shock. + </p> + <p> + “You were dreaming,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid!” he answered, fervently. “Dreams and white hairs—No, + I was listening to the rain.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and looked at her with a sudden defiance in his eyes, as if + daring her to doubt him. + </p> + <p> + “I was listening to the rain. The summer is gone, Wanda—it is gone.” + </p> + <p> + He drew forward a chair for her, and glanced over his shoulder towards the + large folding-doors, through which the conservatory was visible in the + fading light. The rain drummed on the glass roof with a hopeless, slow + persistency. + </p> + <p> + “Can you not shut that door?” he said. “Bon Dieu! what a suicidal note + that strikes—that hopeless rain—a northern autumn evening! + There was a chill in the air as I drove down the Faubourg. If I were a + woman I should have tea, or a cry. Being a man, I curse the weather and + drive in a hired carriage to the pleasantest place in Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for further permission, he went and closed the large + doors, shutting out the sound of the rain and the sight of the streaming + glass, with sodden leaves stuck here and there upon it. Wanda watched him + with a tolerant smile. Her daily life was lived among men; and she knew + that it is not only women who have unaccountable humors, a sudden anger, + or a quick and passing access of tenderness. There was a shadow of + uneasiness in her eyes. He had come to tell her something. She knew that. + She remembered that when this diplomatist looked most idle he was in + reality about his business. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, throwing himself back in an easy-chair and looking at + her with smiling lips and eyes deeply, tragically intelligent. “That is + more comfortable. Can you tell me nothing that will amuse me? Do you not + see that my sins sit heavily on me this evening?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know if it will amuse you,” answered Wanda, in her energetic + way, as if taking him at his word and seeking to rouse him, “but Mr. + Mangles and Miss Cahere are coming to tea this evening.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin made a grimace at the clock. If he had anything to say, he seemed + to be thinking, he must say it quickly. Wanda was, perhaps, thinking the + same. + </p> + <p> + “Separately they are amusing enough,” he said, slowly, “but they do not + mingle. I have an immense respect for Joseph P. Mangles.” + </p> + <p> + “So has my father,” put in Wanda, rather significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is why you asked them. Your father knows that in a young country + events move by jerks—that the man who is nobody to-day may be + somebody to-morrow. The mammon of unrighteousness, Wanda.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are above that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not above anything that they deem necessary for the good of Poland,” + she answered, gravely. “They give everything. I have not much to give, you + see.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you have what every woman has—to sacrifice upon some + altar or another—your happiness!” + </p> + <p> + Wanda shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. She glanced across at him. + He knew something. But he had learned nothing from Cartoner. Of that, at + least, she was sure. + </p> + <p> + “Happiness, or a hope of happiness,” he went on, reflectively. “Perhaps + one is as valuable as the other. Perhaps they are the same thing. If you + gain a happiness you lose a hope, remember that. It is not always + remembered by women, and very seldom by men.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it so precious? It is common enough, at all events.” + </p> + <p> + “What is common enough?” he asked, absent-mindedly. + </p> + <p> + “Hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Hope! connais pas!” he exclaimed, with a sudden laugh. “You must ask some + one who knows more about it. I am a man of sorrow, Wanda; that is why I am + so gay.” + </p> + <p> + And his laugh was indeed light-hearted enough. + </p> + <p> + “The rain makes one feel lonely, that is all,” he went on, as if seeking + to explain his own humor. “Rain and cold and half a dozen drawbacks to + existence lose their terrors if one has an in-door life to turn to and a + fire to sit by. That is why I am here.” + </p> + <p> + And he drew his chair nearer to the burning logs. Wanda now knew that he + had something to tell her—that he had come for no other purpose. + And, that he should be delicate and careful in his approach, told her that + it was of Cartoner he had come to speak. While the delicacy and care + showed her that he had guessed something, it also opened up a new side to + his character. For the susceptibilities of men and women who have passed + middle age are usually dull, and often quite dead, to the sensitiveness of + younger hearts. It almost seemed that he divined that Wanda's heart was + sensitive and sore, like an exposed nerve, though she showed the world a + quiet face, such as the Bukatys had always shown through as long and grim + a family history as the world has known. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not feel lonely in this great room?” he asked, looking round at + the bare walls, which still showed the dim marks left by the portraits + that had gone to grace an imperial gallery. + </p> + <p> + “No, I think not,” answered Wanda. She followed his glance round the room, + wondering, perhaps, if the rest of her life was to be weighed down by the + sense of loneliness which had come over her that day for the first time. + </p> + <p> + Deulin, like the majority of Frenchmen, had certain mental gifts, usually + considered to be the special privilege of women. He had a feminine way of + skirting a subject—of walking round, as it were, and contemplating + it from various side issues, as if to find out the best approach to it. + </p> + <p> + “The worst of Warsaw,” he said, “is its dulness. The theatres are + deplorable. You must admit that. And of society, there is, of course, + none. I have even tried a travelling circus out by the Mokotow. One must + amuse one's self.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her furtively, as if he were ashamed of having to amuse + himself, and remembered too late how much the confession might mean. + </p> + <p> + “It was sordid,” he continued. “One wondered how the performers could be + content to risk their lives for the benefit of such a small and such an + undistinguished audience. There was a trapeze troupe, however, who + interested me. There was a girl with a stereotyped smile—like + cracking nuts. There was a young man whose conceit took one's breath away. + It was so hard to reconcile such preposterous vanity with the courage that + he must have had. And there was a large, modest man who interested me. It + was really he who did all the work. It was he who caught the others when + they swung across the tent in mid-air. He was very steady and he was + usually the wrong way up, hanging by his heels on a swinging trapeze. He + had the lives of the others in his hands at every moment. But it was the + others who received the applause—the nut-cracker girl who + pirouetted, and the vain man who tapped his chest and smiled + condescendingly. But the big man stood in the background, scarcely bowing + at all, and quite forgetting to smile. One could see from the expression + of his patient face that he knew it did not matter what he did for no one + was looking at him—which was only the truth. Then, when the applause + was over, he turned and walked away, heavy-shouldered and rather tired—his + day's work done. And, I don't know why, I thought—of Cartoner.” + </p> + <p> + She expected the name. Perhaps she wished for it, though she never would + have spoken it herself. She had yet to learn to do that. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Deulin, after a pause, pursuing, it would appear, his own + thoughts, “the world would get on very well without its talkers. No great + man has ever been a great talker. Have you noticed that in history?” + </p> + <p> + Wanda made no answer. She was still waiting for the news that he had to + tell her. The logs on the fire fell about with a crackle, and Deulin rose + to put them in order. While thus engaged he continued his monologue. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that is why I feel lonely this afternoon. In a sense, I am + alone. Cartoner has gone, you know. He has left Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin glanced at the mirror over the mantel-piece, and if he had had any + doubts they were now laid aside, for there was only gladness in Wanda's + face. It was good news, then. And Deulin was clever enough to know the + meaning of that. + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” she said. “I am very glad.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Deulin, gravely, as he returned to his chair. “It is a + good thing. I left him this morning, placidly preparing to depart at half + an hour's warning. He was packing, with that repose of manner which you + have perhaps noticed. Better than Vespers, better than absolution, is + Cartoner's repose of manner—for me, bien entendu. But, then, I am + not a devout man.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have done what I asked you to do,” said Wanda, “some time ago, + and I am very grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “Some time ago? It was only yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it? It seems more than that,” said Wanda. And Deulin nodded his head + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I was able to give him some information which made him change his plans + quite suddenly,” he explained. “So he packed up and went. He had not much + to pack. We travel light—he and I. We have no despatch-boxes or + note-books or diaries. What we remember and forget we remember and forget + in our own heads. Though I doubt whether Cartoner forgets anything.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” asked Wanda, turning upon him quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh! I do my best,” he said, lightly. “But if you desire to forget + anything you should begin early. It is not a habit acquired in later + life.” + </p> + <p> + He rose as he spoke and looked at the clock. He had a habit of peering and + contracting his round brown eyes which made many people think that he was + short-sighted. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think I will wait for the Mangles,” he said. “Especially Julie. + I do not feel in the humor for Julie. By-the-way—” He paused, and + contemplated the fire thoughtfully. “You never talk politics, I know. With + the Mangles you may go further, and not even talk of politicians. It is no + affair of theirs that Cartoner may have quitted Warsaw—you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought Mr. Joseph Mangles the incarnation of discretion,” + said Wanda. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You have found out Mangles, have you? I wonder if you have found us + all out. Yes, Mangles is discreet, but Netty is not. I call her Netty—well, + because I regard her with a secret and consuming passion.” + </p> + <p> + “And have an equally secret and complete contempt for her discretion.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he exclaimed, and turned to look at her again. “Have I concealed my + admiration so successfully as that? Perhaps I have overdone the + concealment.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you have overdone the contempt,” suggested Wanda. “She is + probably more discreet than you think, but I shall not put her to the + test.” + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Deulin, in an explanatory way, “Cartoner may have had + reasons of his own for leaving without drum or trumpet. You and I are the + only persons in Warsaw who know of his departure, except the people in the + passport-office—and the others, whose business it is to watch us + all. You have a certain right to know; because in a sense you brought it + all about, and it concerns the safety of your father and Martin. So I took + it upon myself to tell you. I was not instructed to do so by Cartoner. I + have no message of politeness to give to any one in Warsaw. Cartoner + merely saw that it was his duty to go, and to go at once; so he went at + once. And with a characteristic simplicity of purpose, he ignored the + little social trammels which the majority of mankind know much better than + they know their Bible, and follow much more closely. He was too discreet + to call and say good-bye—knowing the ways of servants in this + country. He will be much too discreet to send a conge card by post, + knowing, as he does, the Warsaw post-office.” + </p> + <p> + He took up his hat as he sat, and broke suddenly into his light and + pleasant laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You are wondering,” he said, “why I am taking this unusual course. It is + not often, I know, that one speaks well of one's friend behind his back. + It is six for Cartoner and half a dozen for myself. To begin with, + Cartoner is my friend. I should not like him to be misunderstood. Also, I + may do the same at any moment myself. We are here to-day and gone + to-morrow. Sometimes we remember our friends and sometimes we forget + them.” + </p> + <p> + “At all events,” said Wanda, shaking hands, “you are cautious. You make no + promises.” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore we break none,” he answered, as he crossed the threshold. + </p> + <p> + He had hardly gone before Netty entered the room, followed closely by Mr. + Mangles. She was prettily dressed. She appeared to be nervous and rather + shy. The two girls shook hands in silence. Joseph Mangles, standing well + in the middle of the room, waited till the first greeting was over, and + then, with that solemn air of addressing an individual as if he or she + were an assembly, he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Princess,” he said, “my sister begs to be excused. She is unable to take + tea this afternoon. Last night she considered herself called upon to make + a demonstration in the cause that she has at heart. She smoked two + cigarettes towards the emancipation of your sex, princess. Just to show + her independence—to show, I surmise, that she didn't care a—that + she did not care. She cares this afternoon. She had a headache.” + </p> + <p> + And he bowed with a courtesy with which some old-fashioned men still + attempt to oppose the progress of women. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE WEST INDIA DOCK ROAD + </h3> + <p> + It is not only in name that this great thoroughfare has the sound of the + sea, the suggestion of a tarry atmosphere, and that mystery which hangs + about the lives of simple sailor men. To thousands and thousands of + foreigners the word London means the West India Dock Road, and nothing + more. There are sailors sailing on every sea who cherish the delusion that + they have seen life and London when they have passed the portals of one of + the large public-houses of the West India Dock Road. + </p> + <p> + There are others who are not sailors, speaking one of the half-dozen + tongues of eastern Europe, of which the average educated Briton does not + even know the name, whose lives are bounded on the west by Aldgate Pump, + on the east by the Dock Gates, on the north by Houndsditch, and on the + south by St. Katherine's Dock and Tower Hill. A man who would wish to + knock at any door in this district, and speak to him who opened it in his + native tongue, would have to pass five years of his life between the + Baltic and the Black Sea, the Carpathians and the Caucasus. Galician, + Ruthenian, Polish, Magyar would be required as a linguistic basis, while + variations of the same added to Russian and German for those who have + served in one army or another, would probably be useful. + </p> + <p> + There are many odd trades in the West India Dock Road, and none of them, + it would seem, so profitable as the fleecing of sailors. But by a queer + coincidence the callings mostly savor of the same painful process. They + run to leather for the most part, and the manufacture of those <i>articles + de luxe</i> which are chiefly composed of colored morocco and gum. There + is also a trade in furs. Half-way down the West India Dock Road, where the + shops are most sordid, and the bird-fanciers congregate, there is quite a + large fur store, of which the window, clad in faded red, is adorned by a + white rabbit-skin, laid flat upon a fly-blown newspaper, and a stuffed + sea-gull with a singularly knowing squint. + </p> + <p> + There was once a name above the shop, but the owner of it, for reasons of + his own, or so soon, perhaps, as he realized that he was in a country + where no one wants to know your name, or cares about your business, had + carelessly painted it out with a pot of black paint and a defective brush, + which had last been used for red. + </p> + <p> + On each side of the shop-window is a door, one leading to the warehouse + and workshop at the back. Through this door there passes quite a + respectable commerce. The skin of the domestic cat, drawn hither on coster + carts from the remoter suburbs, passes in to this door to emerge from it + later in neat wooden cases addressed to enterprising merchants in + Trondhjem, Bergen, Berlin, and other northern cities from which tourists + are in the habit of carrying home mementoes in the shape of the fur and + feather of the country. There is also a small importation of American fur + to be dressed and treated and re-despatched to the Siberian fur dealers + from whom the American globe-trotter prefers to buy. A number of unhealthy + work-people—men, women, and ancient children—also use this + door, entering by it in the morning, and only coming into the air again + after dark. They have yellow faces and dusty clothes. A long companionship + with fur has made them hirsute; for the men are unshaven, and the women's + heads are burdened with heavy coils of black hair. + </p> + <p> + The other door, which is little used, seems to be the entrance to the + dwelling-house of the nameless foreigner. On the left-hand door-post is + nailed a small tin tablet, whereon are inscribed in the Russian character + three words, which, being translated, read: “The Brothers of Liberty.” As + no one of importance in the West India Dock Road reads the Russian + characters, there is no harm done, or else some disappointment would + necessarily be experienced by the passer-by to think that any one so + nearly related to liberty should choose to live in that spot. Neither + would the Trafalgar Square agitator be pleased were he called upon to + suppose that the siren whom he pursues with such ardor on rainy Sunday + afternoons could ever take refuge behind the dingy Turkey-red curtain that + hides the inner parts of the furrier's store from vulgar gaze. + </p> + <p> + “That's their lingo,” said Captain Cable to himself, with considerable + emphasis, one dull winter afternoon when, after much study of the numbers + over the shop doors, he finally came to a stand opposite the furrier's + shop. + </p> + <p> + He stepped back into the road to look up at the house, thereby imperilling + his life amid the traffic. A costermonger taking cabbages from the Borough + Market to Limehouse gave the captain a little piece of his mind in the + choicest terms then current in his daily intercourse with man, and + received in turn winged words of such a forcible and original nature as to + send him thoughtfully eastward behind his cart. + </p> + <p> + “That's their lingo, right enough,” said the captain, examining the tin + tablet a second time. “That's Polish, or I'm a Dutchman.” + </p> + <p> + He was, as a matter of fact, wrong, for it was Russian, but this was, + nevertheless, the house he sought. He looked at the dingy building + critically, shrugged his shoulders, and, tilting forward his high-crowned + hat, he scratched his head with a grimace indicative of disappointment. It + was not to come to such a house as this that he had put on what he called + his “suit”; a coat and trousers of solid pilot-cloth designed to be worn + as best in all climates and at all times. It was not in order to impress + such people as must undoubtedly live behind those faded red curtains that + he had unpacked from the state-room locker his shore-going hat, high, and + of fair, round shape, such as is only to be bought in the shadow of + Limehouse steeple. + </p> + <p> + The house was uninviting. It had a furtive, dishonest look about it. + Captain Cable saw this. He was a man who studied weather and the outward + signs of a man. He rang the bell all the louder, and stood squarely on the + threshold until the door was opened by a dirty man in a dirty apron, who + looked at him in lugubrious silence. + </p> + <p> + “Name of Cable,” said the captain, turning to expectorate on the pavement, + after the manner of far-sighted sailors who are about to find themselves + on carpet. The man made a slight grimace, and craned forwards with an + interrogative ear held ready for a repetition. + </p> + <p> + “Name of Cable,” repeated the captain. “Dirty!” he added, just by way of + inviting his hearer's attention, and adding that personal note without + which even the shortest conversation is apt to lose interest. + </p> + <p> + This direct address seemed to have the desired effect, for the man stood + aside. + </p> + <p> + “Heave ahead!” he said, pointing to an open door. For the only English he + knew was the English they speak in the Baltic. The captain cocked his + bright blue eye at him, his attention caught by the familiar note. And he + stumped along the passage into the dim room at the end. It was a small, + square room, with a window opening upon some leads, where discarded + bottles and blackened moss surrounded the remains of a sparrow. The room + was full of men—six or seven foreign faces were turned towards the + new-comer. Only one, however, of these faces was familiar to Captain + Cable. It was the face of the man known on the Vistula as Kosmaroff. + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded to him. He had a large nodding acquaintance. It will be + remembered that he claimed for his hands a cleanliness which their + appearance seemed to define as purely moral. In his way he was a proud + man, and stand-offish at that. He looked slowly round, and found no other + face to recognize. But he looked a second time at a small, dark man with + gentle eyes, whose individuality must have had something magnetic in it. + Captain Cable was accustomed to judge from outward things. He picked out + the ruling mind in that room, and looked again at its possessor as if + measuring himself against him. + </p> + <p> + “Take a chair, captain,” said Kosmaroff, who himself happened to be + standing. He was leaning against the high, old-fashioned mantel-piece, + which had seen better days—and company—and smoking a + cigarette. He was clad in a cheap, ready-made suit; for his heart was in + his business, and he scraped and saved every kopeck. But the cheap + clothing could not hide that ease of movement which bespeaks a long + descent, or conceal the slim strength of limb which is begotten of the + fine, clean, hard bone of a fighting race. + </p> + <p> + The captain looked round, and sought his pocket-handkerchief, with which + to dust the proffered seat, mindful of his “suit.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you speak German, captain?” inquired Kosmaroff. + </p> + <p> + And Captain Cable snorted at the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Sailed with a crew of Germans,” he answered; “I understand a bit, and I + know a few words. I know the German for d—n your eyes, and handy + words like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Kosmaroff, addressing the gentle-eyed man, “we had better + continue our talk in German. Captain Cable is a man who likes plain + dealing.” + </p> + <p> + He himself spoke in the language of the Fatherland, and Captain Cable + stiffened at the sound of it, as all good Britons should. + </p> + <p> + “We have not much to say to Captain Cable,” replied the man who seemed to + be a leader of the Brothers of Liberty. He spoke in a thin tenor voice, + and was what the French call <i>chetif</i> in appearance—a weak man, + fighting against physical disabilities and an indifferent digestion. + </p> + <p> + “It is essential in the first place,” he continued, “that we should + understand each other; we the conquerors and you the conquered.” + </p> + <p> + With a gesture he divided the party assembled into two groups, the smaller + of which consisted only of Kosmaroff and another. And then he looked out + of the window with his woman-like, reflective smile. + </p> + <p> + “We the Russians, and you the Poles. I fear I have not made myself quite + clear. I understand, however, that we are to trust the last comer + entirely, which I do with the more confidence that I perceive that he + understands very little of what we are saying.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable's solid, weather-beaten face remained rigid like a + figure-head. He looked at the speaker with an ill-concealed pity for one + who could not express himself in plain English and be done with it. + </p> + <p> + “Our circumstances are such that no correspondence is possible,” continued + the speaker. “Any agreement, therefore, must be verbal, and verbal + agreements should be quite clear—the human memory is so liable to be + affected by circumstances—and should be repeated several times in + the hearing of several persons. I understand, therefore, that, after a + period of nearly twenty years, Poland—is ready again.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence in that dim and quiet room. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Kosmaroff, deliberately, at length. + </p> + <p> + “And is only awaiting her opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + One of the Brothers of Liberty, possibly the secretary of that body, which + owned its inability to put anything in writing, had provided a penny + bottle of ink and a sticky-looking, red pen-holder. The speaker took up + the pen suspiciously, and laid it down again. He rubbed his finger and + thumb together. His suspicions had apparently been justifiable. It was a + sticky one! Then he lapsed into thought. Perhaps he was thinking of the + pen-holder, or perhaps of the history of the two nations represented in + that room. He had a thoughtful face, and history is a fascinating study, + especially for those who make it. And this quiet man had made a little in + his day. + </p> + <p> + “An opportunity is not an easy thing to define,” he said at length. “Any + event may turn out to be one. But, so far as we can judge, Poland's + opportunity must lie in two or three possible events at the most. One + would be a war with England. That, I am afraid, I cannot bring about just + yet.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke quite seriously, and he had not the air of a man subject to the + worst of blindness—the blindness of vanity. + </p> + <p> + “We have all waited long enough for that. We have done our best out on the + frontier and in the English press, but cannot bring it about. It is + useless to wait any longer. The English are fiery enough—in print—and + ready enough to fight—in Fleet Street. In Russia we have too little + journalism—in England they have too much.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable yawned at this juncture with a maritime frankness. + </p> + <p> + “Another opportunity would be a social upheaval,” said the Russian, + drumming on the table with his slim fingers. “The time has not come for + that yet. A third alternative is a mishap to a crowned head—and that + we can offer to you.” + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff moved impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” he exclaimed. “I have heard that talk for the last ten + years. Have you brought me across Europe to talk of that?” + </p> + <p> + The Russian looked at him calmly, stroking his thin, black mustache, and + waited till he had finished speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that is all I have to propose to you—but this time it is + more than talk. You may take my word for that. This time we shall all + succeed. But, of course, we want money, as usual. Ah! what a different + world this would be if the poor could only be rich for one hour. We want + five thousand roubles. I understand you have control of ten times that + amount. If Poland will advance us five thousand roubles she shall have her + opportunity—and a good one—in a month from now.” + </p> + <p> + He held up his hand to command silence, for Kosmaroff, with eyes that + suddenly blazed in anger, had stepped forward to the table, and was about + to interrupt. And Kosmaroff, who was not given to obedience, paused, he + knew not why. + </p> + <p> + “Think,” said the other, in his smooth, even voice—“one month from + now, after waiting twenty years. In a month you yourself may be in a very + different position to that you now occupy. You commit yourselves to + nothing. You do not even give ground for the conclusion that the Polish + party ever for a moment approved of our methods. Our methods are our own + affair, as are the risks we are content to run. We have our reasons, and + we seek the approval of no man.” + </p> + <p> + There was a deadly coldness in the man's manner which seemed to vouch for + the validity of those reasons which he did not submit to the judgment of + any. + </p> + <p> + “Five thousand roubles,” he concluded. “And in exchange I give you the + date—so that Poland may be ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Kosmaroff, who had regained his composure as suddenly as + he had lost it. “I decline—for myself and for the whole of Poland. + We play a cleaner game than that.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and took up his hat, and his hand shook as he did it. + </p> + <p> + “If I did not know that you are a patriot according to your lights—if + I did not know something of your story, and of those reasons that you do + not give—I should take you by the throat and throw you out into the + street for daring to make such a proposal to me,” he said, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “To a deserter from a Cossack regiment,” suggested the other. + </p> + <p> + “To me,” repeated Kosmaroff, touching himself on the breast and standing + at his full height. No one spoke, as if the silent spell of History were + again for a moment laid upon their tongues. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Cable,” said Kosmaroff, “you and I have met before, and I learned + enough of you then to tell you now that this is no place for you, and + these men no company for you. I am going—will you come?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm agreeable,” said Captain Cable, dusting his hat. + </p> + <p> + When they were out in the street, he turned to Kosmaroff and looked up + into his face with bright and searching eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that man?” he asked, as if there had been only one in the room. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know his name,” replied Kosmaroff. + </p> + <p> + They were standing on the doorstep. The dirty man had closed the door + behind them, and, turning on his heel, Kosmaroff looked thoughtfully at + the dusty woodwork of it. Half absent-mindedly he extended one finger and + made a design on the door. It was not unlike a Greek cross. + </p> + <p> + “That is who he is,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable followed the motion of his companion's finger. + </p> + <p> + “I've heard of him,” he said. “And I heard his voice—sort of + soft-spoken—on Hamburg quay one night, many years ago. That is why I + refused the job and came out with you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV + </h2> + <h3> + THE CAPTAIN'S STORY + </h3> + <p> + More especially in northern countries nature lays her veto upon the + activity of men, and winter calls a truce even to human strife. Cartoner + awaited orders in London, for all the world was dimly aware of something + stirring in the north, and no one knew what to expect or where to look for + the unexpected. + </p> + <p> + It was a cold winter that year, and the Baltic closed early. Captain Cable + chartered the <i>Minnie</i> in the coasting trade, and after Christmas he + put her into one of the cheaper dry-docks down the river towards + Rotherhithe. His ship was, indeed, in dry-dock when the captain opened + with the Brothers of Liberty those negotiations which came to such a + sudden and untoward end. + </p> + <p> + Paul Deulin wrote one piteous letter to Cartoner, full of abuse of the + cold and wet weather. “If the winter would only set in,” he said, “and dry + things up and freeze the river, which has overflowed its banks almost to + the St. Petersburg Station, on the Praga side, life would perhaps be more + endurable.” + </p> + <p> + Then the silence of the northern winter closed over him too, and Cartoner + wrote in vain, hoping to receive some small details of the Bukatys and + perhaps a mention of Wanda's name. But his letters never reached Warsaw, + or if they travelled to the banks of the Vistula they were absorbed into + that playful post-office where little goes in and less comes out. + </p> + <p> + There were others besides Cartoner who were wintering in London who + likewise laid aside their newspaper with a sigh half weariness, half + relief, to find that their parts of the world were still quiet. + </p> + <p> + “History is assuredly at a stand-still,” said an old traveller one evening + at the club, as he paused at Cartoner's table. “The world must be quiet + indeed with you here in London, all the winter, eating your head off.” + </p> + <p> + “I am waiting,” replied Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” he said, placidly, continuing his dinner. + </p> + <p> + Later on he returned to his rooms in Pall Mall. He was a great reader, and + was forced to follow the daily events in a dozen different countries in a + dozen different languages. He was surrounded by newspapers, in a deep + arm-chair by the table, when that came for which he was waiting. It came + in the form of Captain Cable in his shore-going clothes. The little sailor + was ushered in by the well-trained servant of this bachelor household + without surprise or comment. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner made him welcome with a cigar and an offer of refreshment, which + was refused. Captain Cable knew that as you progress upward in the social + scale the refusal of refreshment becomes an easier matter until at last + you can really do as you like and not as etiquette dictates, while to + decline the beggar's pint of beer is absolute rudeness. + </p> + <p> + “We've always dealt square by each other, you and I,” said the captain, + when he had lighted his cigar. Then he fell into a reminiscent humor, and + presently broke into a chuckling laugh. + </p> + <p> + “If it hadn't been for you, them Dons would have had me up against the + wall and shot me, sure as fate,” he said, bringing his hand down on his + knee with a keen sense of enjoyment. “That was ten years ago last + November, when the <i>Minnie</i> had been out of the builder's yard a + matter of six months.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cartoner, putting the dates carefully together in his mind. It + seemed that the building of the <i>Minnie</i> was not the epoch upon which + he reckoned his periods. + </p> + <p> + “She's in Morrison's dry-dock now,” said the captain, who in a certain way + was like a young mother. For him all the topics were but a number of + by-ways leading ultimately to the same centre. “You should go down and see + her, Mr. Cartoner. It's a big dock. You can walk right round her in the + mud at the bottom of the dock and see her finely.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner said he would. They even arranged a date on which to carry out + this plan, and included in it an inspection of the <i>Minnie's</i> new + boiler. Then Captain Cable remembered what he had come for, and the plan + was never carried out after all. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “you've a reckoning against me, Mr. Cartoner. I have never + done you a good turn that I know of, and you saved my life, I believe, + that time—you and that Frenchman who talks so quick, Moonseer Deulin—that + time, over yonder.” + </p> + <p> + And he nodded his head towards the southwest with the accuracy of one who + never loses his bearings. For there are some people who always know which + is the north; and others who, if asked suddenly, do not know their left + hand from their right; and others, again, who say—or shout—that + all men are created equal. + </p> + <p> + “I've been done, Mr. Cartoner—that is what I've come to tell you. Me + that has always been so smart and has dealt straight by other men. Done, + hoodwinked, tricked—same as a Sunday-school teacher. And I can do + you a good turn by telling you about it; and I can do the other man a bad + turn, which is what I want to do. Besides, it's dirty work. Me, that has + always kept my hands——” + </p> + <p> + He looked at his hands, and decided not to pursue the subject. + </p> + <p> + “You'll say that for me, Mr. Cartoner—you that has known me ten + years and more.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'll say that for you,” answered Cartoner, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “They did me!” cried the captain, leaning forward and banging his hand + down on the table, “with the old trick of a bill of lading lost in the + post and a man in a gold-laced hat that came aboard one night and said he + was a government official from the Arsenal come for his government stuff. + And it wasn't government stuff, and he wasn't a government official. It + was——” + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable paused and looked carefully round the room. He even looked + up to the ceiling, from a long habit of living beneath deck skylights. + </p> + <p> + “Bombs!” he concluded—“bombs!” + </p> + <p> + Then he went further, and qualified the bombs in terms which need not be + set down here. + </p> + <p> + “You know me and you know the <i>Minnie</i>, Mr. Cartoner!” continued the + angry sailor. “She was specialty built with large hatches for machinery, + and—well, guns. She was built to carry explosives, and there's not a + man in London will insure her. Well, we got into the way of carrying war + material. It was only natural, being built for it. But you'll bear me out, + and there are others to bear me out, that we've only carried clean stuff + up to now—plain, honest, fighting stuff for one side or the other. + Always honest—revolutions and the like, and an open fight. But bombs——” + </p> + <p> + And here again the captain made use of nautical terms which have no place + on a polite page. + </p> + <p> + “There's bombs about, and it's me that has been carrying them,” he + concluded. “That is what I have got to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” asked Cartoner, in his gentle and soothing way. + </p> + <p> + The captain settled himself in his chair, and crossed one leg over the + other. + </p> + <p> + “Know the Johannis Bulwark, in Hamburg?” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Know the Seemannshaus there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The house that stands high up among the trees overlooking the + docks.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the place,” said Captain Cable. “Well, one night I was up there, + on the terrace in front of the house where the sailors sit and spit all + day waiting to be taken on. Got into Hamburg short-handed. I was picking + up a crew. Not the right time to do it, you'll say, after dark, as times + go and forecastle hands pan out in these days. Well, I had my reasons. You + can pick up good men in Hamburg if you go about it the right way. A man + comes up to me. Remembered me, he said; had sailed with me on a voyage + when we had machinery from the Tyne that was too big for us, and we + couldn't get the hatches on. We sailed after nightfall, I recollect, with + hatches off, and had the seas slopping in before the morning. He + remembered it, he said. And he asked me if it was true that I was goin'—well, + to the port I was bound for. And I said it was God's truth. Then he told + me a long yarn of two cases outshipped that was lying down at the wharf. + Transshipment goods on a through bill of lading. And the bill of lading + gone a missing in the post. A long story, all lies, as I ought to have + known at the time. He had a man with him—forwarding agent, he called + him. This chap couldn't speak English, but he spoke German, and the other + man translated as we went along. I couldn't rightly see the other man's + face. Little, dark man—with a queer, soft voice, like a woman + wheedlin'! Too d—d innocent, and I ought to have known it. Don't you + ever be wheedled by a woman, Mr. Cartoner. Got a match?” + </p> + <p> + For the captain's cigar had gone out. But he felt quite at home, as he + always did—this unvarnished gentleman from the sea—and asked + for what he wanted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to make a long yarn short, I took the cases. Two of them, size of + an orange-box. We were full, so I had them in the state-room alongside of + the locker where I lie down and get a bit of sleep when I feel I want it. + And they paid me well. It was government stuff, the soft-spoken man said, + and the freight would come out of the taxes and never be missed. We went + into heavy weather, and, as luck would have it, one of the cases broke + adrift and got smashed. I mended it myself, and had to open it. Then I saw + that it was explosives. Lie number one! It was packed in wadding so as to + save a jar. It was too small for shells. Besides, no government sends + loaded shells about, 'cepting in war time. At the moment I did not think + much about it. It was heavy weather, and I had a new crew. There were + other things to think about. And, I tell you, when I got to port, a chap + with gold lace on him came aboard and took the stuff away.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner's attention was aroused now. There was something in this story, + after all. There might be everything in it when the captain told what had + brought these past events back to his recollection. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to tell you the port of discharge,” said Captain Cable, + “because in doing that I should run foul of other people who acted square + by me, and I'll act square by them. I'll tell you one thing, though, I + sighted the Scaw light on that voyage. You can have that bit of + information—you, that's half a sailor. You can put that in your pipe + and smoke it.” + </p> + <p> + And he glanced at Cartoner's cigarette with the satisfaction of a + conversationalist who has pulled off a good simile. + </p> + <p> + “'Safternoon,” he continued, “I went to see some people about a little job + for the <i>Minnie</i>. She'll be out of dock in a fortnight. You will not + forget to come down and see her?” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see her,” said Cartoner. “Go on with your story.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this afternoon I went to see some parties that had a charter to + offer me. Foreigners—every man Jack of them. Spoke in German, out of + politeness to me. The Lord knows what they would have spoken if I hadn't + been there. It was bad enough as it was. But it wasn't the lingo that got + me; it was the voice. 'Where have I heard that voice?' thinks I. And then + I remembered. It was at the Seemannshaus, at Hamburg, one dark night. + 'You're a pretty government official,' I says to myself, sitting quiet all + the time, like a cat in the engine-room. I wouldn't have taken the job at + any rate, owing to that voice, which I have never forgotten, and yet never + thought to hear again. But while the parley voo was still going on, up + jumps a man—the only man I knew there—name beginning with a K—don't + quite remember it. At any rate, up he jumps, and says that that room was + no place for me nor yet for him. Dare say you know the man, if I could + remember his name. Sort of thin, dark man, with a way of carrying his head—quarter-deck + fashion—as if he was a king or a Hooghly pilot. Well, we gets up and + walks out, proudlike, as if we had been insulted. But blessed if I knew + what it was all about. 'Who's that man!' I asks when we were in the + street. And the other chap turns and makes a mark upon the door, which he + rubs out afterwards as if it was a hanging matter. 'That's who that is,' + he says.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner turned, and with one finger made an imaginary design on the soft + pile of the table-cloth. Captain Cable looked at it critically, and after + a moment's reflection admitted in an absent voice that his hopes for + eternity were exceedingly small. + </p> + <p> + “You are too much for me,” he said, after a pause. “You that deal in + politics and the like.” + </p> + <p> + “And the other man's name is Kosmaroff,” said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “That's it—a Russian,” answered Captain Cable, rising, and looking + at the clock. His movements were energetic and very quick for his years. + He carried with him the brisk atmosphere of the sea and the hardness of a + life which tightens men's muscles and teaches them to observe the outward + signs of man and nature. + </p> + <p> + “It beats me,” he said. “But I've told you all I can—all, perhaps, + that you want to hear. For it seems that you are putting two and two + together already. I think I've done right. At any rate, I'll stand by it. + It makes me uneasy to think of that stuff having been below the <i>Minnie's</i> + hatches.” + </p> + <p> + “It makes me uneasy, too,” said Cartoner. “Wait a minute till I put on + another coat. I am going out. We may as well go down together.” + </p> + <p> + He came back a moment later, having changed his coat. He was attaching the + small insignia of a foreign order to the lapel. + </p> + <p> + “Going to a swarree?” asked Cable, as between men of the world. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to look for a man I want to see to-night, and I think I shall + find him, as you say, at a soiree,” answered Cartoner, gravely. + </p> + <p> + Out in the street he paused for a moment. A cab was already waiting, + having dashed up from the club stand. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-way,” he said, “I shall not be able to come down and see the <i>Minnie</i> + this time. I shall be off by the eight o'clock train to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Going foreign?” asked the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am going abroad again,” answered Cartoner, and there was a sudden + ring of exultation in his voice. For this was after all, a man of action + who had strayed into a profession of which the strength is to sit still. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE SPRING + </h3> + <p> + The Mangles passed the winter at Warsaw, and there learned the usual + lesson of the traveller: that countries reputed hot or cold are neither so + hot nor so cold as they are represented. The winter was a hard one, and + Warsaw, of all European cities, was, perhaps, the last that any lady would + select to pass the cold months in. + </p> + <p> + “I have my orders,” said Mangles, rather grimly, “and I must stay here + till I am moved on. But the orders say nothing about you or Netty. Go to + Nice if you like.” + </p> + <p> + And Julie seemed half inclined to go southward. But for one reason or + another—reasons, it may be, put forward by Netty in private + conversation with her aunt—the ladies lingered on. + </p> + <p> + “The place is dull for you,” said Mangles, “now that Cartoner seems to + have left us for good. His gay and sparkling conversation would enliven + any circle.” + </p> + <p> + And beneath his shaggy brows he glanced at Netty, whose smooth cheek did + not change color, while her eyes met his with an affectionate smile. + </p> + <p> + “You seemed to have plenty to say to each other coming across the + Atlantic,” she said. “I always found you with your heads close together + whenever I came on deck.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't think we sparkled much,” said Joseph, with his under lip well + forward. + </p> + <p> + “It is very kind of Uncle Joseph,” said Netty, afterwards, to Miss + Mangles, “to suggest that we should go south, and, of course, it would be + lovely to feel the sunshine again, but we could not leave him, could we? + You must not think of me, auntie; I am quite happy here, and should not + enjoy the Riviera at all if we left uncle all alone here.” + </p> + <p> + Julie had a strict sense of duty, which, perhaps, Netty was cognizant of; + and the subject was never really brought under discussion. During a + particularly bad spell of weather Mr. Mangles again and again suggested + that he should be left at Warsaw, but on each occasion Netty came forward + with that complete unselfishness and sweet forethought for others which + all who knew her learned to look for in her every action. + </p> + <p> + Warsaw, she admitted, was dull, and the surrounding country simply + impossible. But the winter could not last forever, she urged, with a + little shiver. And it really was quite easy to keep warm if one went for a + brisk walk in the morning. To prove this she put on the new furs which + Joseph had bought her, and which were very becoming to her delicate + coloring, and set out full of energy. She usually went to the Saski + Gardens, the avenues of which were daily swept and kept clear of snow; and + as often as not, she accidentally met Prince Martin Bukaty there. + Sometimes she crossed the bridge to Praga, and occasionally turned her + steps down the Bednarska to the side of the river which was blocked by ice + now, wintry and desolate. The sand-workers were still laboring, though + navigation was, of course, at a stand-still. + </p> + <p> + Netty never saw Kosmaroff, however, who had gone as suddenly as he came—had + gone out of her life as abruptly as he burst into it, leaving only the + memory of that high-water mark of emotion to which he had raised her. + Leaving also that blankest of all blanks in the feminine heart, an + unsatisfied curiosity. She could not understand Kosmaroff, any more than + she could understand Cartoner. And it was natural that she should, in + consequence, give much thought to them both. There was, she felt, + something in both alike which she had not got at, and she naturally wanted + to get at it. It might be a sorrow, and her kind heart drew her attention + to any hidden thought that might be a sorrow. She might be able to + alleviate it. At any rate, being a woman, she, no doubt, wanted to stir it + up, as it were, and see what the result would be. + </p> + <p> + Prince Martin was quite different. He was comparatively easy to + understand. She knew the symptoms well. She was so unfortunate. So many + people had fallen in love with her, through no fault of her own. Indeed, + no one could regret it more than she did. She did not, of course, say + these things to her aunt, Julie, or to that dear old blind stupid, her + uncle, who never saw or understood anything, and was entirely absorbed in + his cigars and his newspapers. She said them to herself—and, no + doubt, found herself quite easy to convince—as other people do. + </p> + <p> + Prince Martin was very gay and light-hearted, too. If he was in love, he + was gayly, frankly, openly in love, and she hoped that it would be all + right—whatever that might mean. In the mean time, of course, she + could not help it if she was always meeting him when she went for her walk + in the Saski Gardens. There was nowhere else to walk, and it was to be + supposed that he was passing that way by accident. Or if he had found out + her hours and came there on purpose she really could not help it. + </p> + <p> + Deulin came and went during the winter. He seemed to have business now at + Cracow, now at St. Petersburg. He was a bad correspondent, and talked much + about himself, without ever saying much; which is quite a different thing. + He had the happy gift of imparting a wealth of useless information. When + in Warsaw he busied himself on behalf of the ladies, and went so far as to + take Miss Mangles for a drive in his sleigh. To Netty he showed a hundred + attentions. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand,” she said, “why everybody is so kind to me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is because you are so kind to everybody,” he answered, with that air + of appearing to mean more than he said, which he seemed to reserve for + Netty. + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand Mr. Deulin,” said Netty to her uncle one day. “Why + does he stay here? What is he doing here?” + </p> + <p> + And Joseph P. Mangles merely stuck his chin forward, and said in his + deepest tones: + </p> + <p> + “You had better ask him!” + </p> + <p> + “But he would not tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Cartoner,” continued Netty, “I understood he was coming back, but + he does not seem to come. No one seems to know. It is so difficult to get + information about the merest trifles. Not that I care, of course, who + comes and who goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Course not,” said Mangles. + </p> + <p> + After a pause, Netty looked up again from her work. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle,” she said, “I was wondering if there was anything wrong in + Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you wonder that?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. It feels, sometimes, as if there were something wrong. Mr. + Cartoner went away so suddenly. The people in the streets are so odd and + quiet. And down stairs in the restaurant, at dinner, I see them exchange + glances when the Russian officers come into the room. I distrust the + quietness of the people, and—uncle—Mr. Deulin's gayety—I + distrust that, too. And then, you; you so often ask us to go away and + leave you here alone.” + </p> + <p> + Mangles laughed, curtly, and folded his newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “Because it is a dull hole,” he said, “that is why I want you to go away. + It has got on your nerves. It is because you have not lived in a conquered + country before. All conquered countries are like that.” + </p> + <p> + Which was a very long explanation for Joseph Mangles to make. And he never + again proposed that Netty and her aunt should go to Nice. But Netty's + curiosity was not satisfied, and she knew that Deulin would answer no + question seriously. Why did not Kosmaroff come back? Why did Cartoner stay + away? As soon as etiquette allowed, she called at the Bukaty Palace. She + made an excuse in some illustrated English and American magazines which + might interest the Princess Wanda. But there was no one at home. She + understood from the servant, who spoke a little German, that they had gone + to their country house, a few miles from Warsaw. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Netty went for a walk in the Saski Gardens. The weather + had changed suddenly. It was quite mild and springlike. At last the grip + of winter seemed to be slackening. There were others in the gardens who + held their faces up to the sky, and breathed in the softer air with a sort + of expectancy; who seemed to wonder if the winter had really broken, or if + this should only be a false hope. It was one of the first days in March—a + month wherein all nature slowly stirs after her long sleep, and men pull + themselves together to new endeavor. The majority of great events in the + world's history have taken place in the spring months. Is not the Ides of + March written large in the story of this planet? + </p> + <p> + Netty had not been many minutes in the gardens when Prince Martin came to + her. He had laid aside his fur coat for a lighter cloak of English make, + which made him look thinner. His face, too, was thin and spare, like the + face of a man who is working hard at work or sport. But he was gay and + light-hearted as ever. Neither did he make any disguise of his admiration + for Netty. + </p> + <p> + “It is three days,” he said, “since I have seen you. And it seems like + three years.” + </p> + <p> + Which is the sort of remark that can only be ignored by the discreet. + Besides, Prince Martin did not go so far as to state why the three days + had been so tedious. It might be for some other reason altogether. + </p> + <p> + “My uncle has been pressing us to go away,” said Netty, “to the south of + France, to Nice, but——” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” answered Netty, after a pause, “you see for yourself—we have + not gone.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a very selfish hope—but I hope you will stay,” said Prince + Martin. He looked down at her, and the thought of her possible departure + caught him like a vise. He was a person of impulse, and (which is not + usual) his impulse was as often towards good as towards evil. She looked, + besides looking pretty, rather small and frail, and dependent at that + moment, and all the chivalry of his nature was aroused. It was only + natural that he should think that she had all the qualities he knew Wanda + to possess, and, of course, in an infinitely higher degree. Which is the + difference between one's own sister and another person's. She was good, + and frank, and open. The idea of concealment between himself and her was + to be treated with scorn. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you,” he said, “if at any time there is any reason why you + cannot stay.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should there be any reason—” she began, and a quick + movement that he made to look round and see who was in sight, who might be + within hearing, made her stop. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I do not want you to tell me anything. I do not want to know,” she + said hurriedly. Which was the absolute truth; for politics bored her + horribly. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with a laugh, and only loved her all the more, for + persisting in her ignorance of those matters which are always better left + to men. + </p> + <p> + “I almost missed,” he said gayly, “an excellent opportunity of holding my + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Only——” began Netty, as if in continuation of her protest + against being told anything. + </p> + <p> + “Only what?” + </p> + <p> + “Only—be careful,” she said, with downcast eyes. And, of course, + that brought him, figuratively, to her feet. He vowed he would be careful, + if it was for her sake. If she would only say that it was for her sake. + And at the moment he really meant it. He was as honest as the day. But he + did not know, perhaps, that the best sort of men are those who + persistently and repeatedly break their word in one respect. For they will + vow to a woman never to run into danger, to be careful, to be cowards. And + when the danger is there, and the woman is not—their vow is writ in + water. + </p> + <p> + Netty tried to stop him. She was very much distressed. She almost had + tears in her eyes, but not quite. She put her gloved hands over her ears + to stop them, but did not quite succeed in shutting out his voice. The + gloves were backed with a dark, fine fur, which made her cheeks look + delicate and soft as a peach. + </p> + <p> + “I will not hear you,” she said. “I will not. I will not.” + </p> + <p> + Then he seemed to recollect something, and he stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said; “you are quite right. I have no business to ask you to hear + me. I have nothing to offer you. I am poor. At any moment I may be an + outlaw. But at any moment I may have more to offer you. Things may go + well, and then I should be in a very different position.” + </p> + <p> + Netty looked away from him, and seemed to be trying to think. Or, perhaps, + she was only putting together recollections which had all been thought out + before. She could be a princess. She remembered that. She had only been in + Europe six months, and here was a prince at her feet. But there were + terrible drawbacks. Warsaw was one of them, and poverty, that greatest of + all drawbacks, was the other. + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you nothing now,” he said. “But soon, before the summer, there + may be great changes in Poland.” + </p> + <p> + Then his own natural instinct told him that position, or poverty, wealth + or success, had nothing to do with the cause he was pleading. He did not + even know whether Netty was rich or poor, and he certainly did not care. + </p> + <p> + “What did you mean,” he asked, “when you said 'Be careful'? What did you + mean—tell me?” + </p> + <p> + His gay, blue eyes were serious enough now. They were alight with an + honest and good love. Never of a cold and calculating habit, he was + reckless of observation. He did not care who saw. He would have taken her + hands and forced her to face him had she not held them behind her back. + She was singularly calm and self-possessed. People who appear nervous + often rise to the occasion. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what I meant,” she said; “I do not know. You must not ask + me. It slipped out when I was not thinking. Oh! please be generous, and do + not ask me.” + </p> + <p> + By some instinct she had leaped to the right mark. She had asked a Bukaty + to be generous. + </p> + <p> + “Some day,” he said, “I will ask you.” + </p> + <p> + And he walked with her to the gate of the gardens in silence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII + </h2> + <h3> + A SACRIFICE + </h3> + <p> + Though the fine weather did not last, it was a promise of better things, + like the letter that precedes a welcome friend. After it the air seemed + warmer, though snow fell again, and the thermometer went below zero. + </p> + <p> + Wanda and her father did not return to Warsaw as they had intended. + </p> + <p> + So long as the frost holds, the country is endurable; nay, it is better + than the towns on those great plains of eastern Europe; but when the thaw + comes, and each small depression is a puddle, every low-lying field a + pond, and whole plains become lakes, few remain in the villages who can + set their feet upon the pavement. The early spring, so closely associated + in most minds with the song of birds and the budding of green things, is + in Poland and Russia a period of waiting for the water to drain off the + flat land; a time to look to one's thickest top-boots in these countries, + where men and women are booted to the knee, and every third house displays + the shoemaker's sign upon its door-post. + </p> + <p> + The Bukatys' country-house, like all else that the past had left them, was + insignificant. In olden days it had been a farm, one of the smallest, used + once or twice during the winter as a shooting-lodge; for it stood in the + midst of vast forests. It was not really ancient, for it had been built in + the days of Sobieski, when that rough warrior and parvenu king built + himself the house in the valley of the Vistula, where he saw all his + greatness vanish, and ended his days in that grim solitude which is the + inheritance of master-minds. The hand of the French architect is to be + detected even in this farm; for Poland, more frankly and consciously than + the rest of the world, drew all her inspiration and her art from France. + Did not France once send her a king? Was not Sobieski's wife a + Frenchwoman, who, moreover, ruled that great fighter with her little + finger, stronger than any rod of iron? If ever a Frenchman was + artificially made from other racial materials, he was the last king of + Poland, Stanislas Augustus Poniatowski. + </p> + <p> + Built on raised ground, the farm-house was of stone. It had been a plain, + square building; but in the days of Poniatowski some attempt had been made + at ornamentation in the French style. A pavilion had been built in the + garden amid the pine-trees. A sun-dial had been placed on the lawn, which + was now no longer a lawn, but had lapsed again into a meadow. The cows had + polished the sun-dial with their rough sides, while the passage of cold + winters and wet springs had left the plaster ornamentation mossy and + broken. + </p> + <p> + Here, amid a simple people, the Bukatys spent a portion of the year. They + usually came in the winter, because it was in the winter they were needed. + The feudal spirit, which was strong in the old prince and weaker in his + children, has two sides to it; but its enemies have only remembered one. + The prince took it as a matter of course that it was his duty to care for + his peasants, and relieve as far as lay in his power the distress which + came upon them annually with the regularity of the recurring seasons. With + a long winter and a wet spring, with a heavy taxation, and a standing bill + at the village shop kept by a Jew, and the village inn kept by another, + these peasants never had any money. And so far as human foresight can + perceive, there seems to be no reason why they ever should. + </p> + <p> + By some chain of reasoning, which assuredly had a flaw in it, the prince + seemed to have arrived at the conclusion that he was put into the world to + help his peasants, and those who were now no longer his serfs. And, though + he spoke to them as if they were of a different creation and not his + equals—as the French Revolution set about to prove, but only + succeeded in proving the contrary—he cared for their bodies as he + would have cared for a troop of sheep. He only saw that they were hungry, + and he fed them. Wanda only saw that there were among them sick who could + not pay for a doctor, and could not have gone to the expense of obeying + his orders had they called one in. She only saw that there were mothers + who had to work in the fields, while their children died of infantine and + comparatively simple complaints at home, because their rightful nurse + could not spare the time to nurse them. It was no wonder that the roof of + the farm-house leaked, and that the cows were invited to feed upon the + front lawn. + </p> + <p> + Clad in a sheepskin coat, with great jack-boots flapping above his knees, + the prince spent all his days on horseback, riding from house to house, + giving a little money and a good deal of sound and practical advice, + listening to the old, old stories of undrained land and poor crops, of bad + seed and broken tools; and cheering the tellers with his great laugh and + some small witticism. For they are a gay people, these Poles, through it + all. “Ils sont legers, actifs, insouciants,” said Napoleon, that keenest + searcher of the human heart, who knew them a hundred years ago when their + troubles were comparatively fresh. And it is an odd thing that adversity + rarely breaks a man's spirit, but often strengthens it. + </p> + <p> + Wanda sometimes rode, but usually went on foot, and had more than enough + work to fill the days now growing longer and lighter. She, like her + father, was brisk and cheerful in her well-being—like him, she was + intolerant of anything that savored of laziness or lack of spirit. They + liked the simple life and the freedom from the restraint that hung round + their daily existence in Warsaw. But the old man watched the weather, and + longed to be about larger business, which alone could satisfy the restless + spirit of activity handed down to him by the forefathers who had stirred + all Europe, and spoken fearlessly to kings. + </p> + <p> + Wanda was not sorry when the thaw gave way to renewed frost. The snow lay + thickly on the ground, and weighed down the branches of the pines. In the + stillness which brooded over the land during day and night alike the only + sound they ever heard was the sharp crack of a branch breaking beneath its + burden. They had lived in this still world of snow and forest for some + weeks, and had seen and heard nothing of men. + </p> + <p> + “This frost cannot last,” said the prince. “The spring must come soon, and + then we shall have to go back to the world and its business.” + </p> + <p> + But the world and its business thereof did not wait until the brief frost + was over. It came to them that same night. For Kosmaroff was essentially + of the active world, and carried with him wherever he went the spirit of + unrest. + </p> + <p> + He arrived on foot soon after nine o'clock. He was going on to Warsaw on + foot the same night, he announced, before the greetings were over. + </p> + <p> + “And you have had nothing to eat,” said Wanda, glancing at his spare, + weather-beaten face. He was the impersonation of hardness and activity; a + man in excellent physical training, inured to cold and every hardship. He + had simply opened the front door and walked in, throwing his rough + sheepskin coat aside in the outer hall. The snow was on his boots nearly + to the knee. The ice hung from his mustache and glistened on his eyebrows. + He held his coarse blue handkerchief in his hand, and wiped his face from + time to time as the ice melted. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, “I have had nothing to eat. But the servants do not + know I am here. I saw the lights in their windows at the other end of the + house. I would rather go hungry than let them know that I am here.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not go hungry from this house,” said the prince, with his rather + fierce laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I will get you what you want,” said Wanda, lighting a candle. “There are + no servants, however, so you need not think of that. There are only the + farmer and his wife—and my maid, who is English, and silent.” + </p> + <p> + So, before telling his news, Kosmaroff sat down and ate, while Wanda + waited on him, and Prince Bukaty poured out wine for this rough man in the + homespun clothing and heavy boots of the Vistula raftsman, who yet had the + manner of a gentleman and that quiet air of self-possession in all + societies which is not to be learned in schools nor yet acquired at any + academy. + </p> + <p> + “When you have finished,” said Wanda, “you can talk of your affairs. I + shall leave you to yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there is not much to say,” answered Kosmaroff. “I have done no good + on my journey. Things make no progress.” + </p> + <p> + “You expect too much,” said the prince. He had helped himself to a glass + of wine, and fingered the glass reflectively as he spoke. “You expect the + world to move more quickly than it can. It is old and heavy, remember + that. I have a fellow-feeling for it, with my two sticks. You would never + make a diplomatist. I have heard of negotiations going forward for five + years, and then falling through, after all.” + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff smiled, his odd, one-sided smile, and cut himself a piece of + bread. There was a faint suggestion of the river-side in his manner at + table. This was a man into whose life the ceremony of sit-down meals had + never entered largely. He ate because he was hungry—not, as many do, + to pass the time. + </p> + <p> + “One thing I came to tell you I can tell you now,” he said. “In fact, it + is better that the princess should hear it; for in a way it concerns her + also. But, please, do not stand,” he added, turning to her. “I have all I + want. It is kind of you to wait on me as if I were a king—or a + beggar.” + </p> + <p> + His laugh had rather a cruel ring in it as he continued his meal. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he said, after a pause, “about that Englishman, Cartoner.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda turned slowly, and resumed the chair she had quitted on Kosmaroff's + sudden appearance at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, in a steady voice. + </p> + <p> + “He knows more than it is safe to know—safe for us—or for + himself. One evening I could have put him out of the way, and it is a + pity, perhaps, that it was not done. In a cause like ours, which affects + the lives and happiness of millions, we should not pause to think of the + life of one. This does not come into my sphere, and I have no immediate + concern in it——” He stopped, and looked at the prince. + </p> + <p> + “But I have also no power,” he added, “over those whose affair it is—you + understand that. This comes under the hand of those who study the attitude + of the European powers, our—well, I suppose I may say—our + foreign office. It is their affair to know what powers are friendly to us—they + were all friendly to us thirty years ago, in words—and who are our + enemies. It is also their affair to find out how much the foreign powers + know. It seems they must know something. It seems that Cartoner—knows + everything. So it is reported in Cracow.” + </p> + <p> + The prince shrugged his shoulders, and gave a short laugh. + </p> + <p> + “In Cracow,” he said, “they are all words.” + </p> + <p> + “There are certain men, it appears,” continued Kosmaroff, “in the service + of the governments—in one service it is called 'foreign affairs,' in + another the 'secret service'—whose mission it is to find themselves + where things are stirring, to be at the seat of war. They are, in jest, + called the Vultures. It is a French jest, as you would conclude. And the + Vultures have been congregating at Warsaw. Therefore, the powers know + something. At Cracow, it is said—I ask your pardon for repeating it—that + they know, and that Cartoner knows what he knows—through the + Bukatys.” + </p> + <p> + The prince's lips moved beneath his mustache, but he did not speak. Wanda, + who was seated near the fire, had turned in her chair, and was looking at + Kosmaroff over her shoulder with steady eyes. She was not taken by + surprise. It was Cartoner himself who had foreseen this, and had warned + her. There was deep down in her heart, even at this moment, a thrill of + pride in the thought that her lover was a cleverer man than any she had + had to do with. And, oddly enough, the next words Kosmaroff spoke made her + his friend for the rest of her life. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing against him. I know nothing of him, except that he is a + brave man. It happens that I know that,” he said. “He knows as well as I + do that his life is unsafe in this country, and yet, before I left London + I heard—for we have friends everywhere—that he had got his + passport for Russia again. It is to be presumed that he is coming back, so + you must be prepared. In case anything should happen to confirm these + suspicions that come to us from Cracow, you know that I have no control + over certain members of the party. If it was thought that you or Martin + had betrayed anything—” + </p> + <p> + “I or Martin would be assassinated,” said the prince with his loud laugh. + “I know that. I have long known that we are going back to the methods of + the sixties—suspicion and assassination. It has always been the ruin + of Poland—that method.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have no feelings with regard to this man?” asked Kosmaroff, + sharply, looking from father to daughter, with a keen sidelong glance, as + if the suspicion that had come from Cracow had not left him untouched. + </p> + <p> + “None whatever,” answered the prince. “He is a mere passing acquaintance. + He must be allowed to pass. We will drop him—you can tell your + friends—it will not be much of a sacrifice compared to some that + have been made for Poland.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda glanced at her father. Did he mean anything? + </p> + <p> + “You know what they are,” broke in Kosmaroff's eager voice. “They see a + mountain in every molehill. Martin was seen at Alexandrowo with Cartoner. + Wanda was seen speaking to him at the Mokotow. He is known to have called + on you at your hotel in London.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a question of dropping his acquaintance, my friend,” said the + prince, “and I tell you, he shall be dropped.” + </p> + <p> + “It is more than that,” answered Kosmaroff, half sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” said the prince, suddenly roused to anger, “that Martin and I + are put upon our good behavior—that our lives are safe only so long + as we are not seen speaking to Cartoner, or are not suspected of having + any communication with him.” + </p> + <p> + And Kosmaroff was silent. + </p> + <p> + He had ceased eating, and had laid aside his knife and fork. It was clear + that his whole mind and body were given to one thought and one hope. He + looked indifferently at the simple dishes set before him, and had + satisfied his hunger on that nearest to him, because it came first. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you this,” he said, after a silence, “because no one else dared to + tell you. Because I know, perhaps better than any other, all that you have + done—all that you are ready to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes. Everything must be done for Poland,” said the prince, + suddenly pacified by the recollection, perhaps, of what the speaker's life + had been. Wanda had risen as if to go. The clock had just struck ten. + </p> + <p> + “And the princess says the same?” said Kosmaroff, rising also, and raising + her hand to his lips to bid her good-night, after the Polish fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, “I say the same.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE PINE-WOODS + </h3> + <p> + The prince was early astir the next morning. He was a hardy old man, and + covered great distances on his powerful horse. Neither cold nor rain + prevented him from undertaking journeys to some distant village which had + once owned his ancestor as lord and master—in those days when a + noble had to pay no more for killing a peasant than a farmer may claim for + an injured sheep to-day. + </p> + <p> + The prince never discussed with Wanda those affairs in which, as a noble, + he felt compelled to take an active interest. He had seen, perhaps, enough + in the great revolution of his younger days to teach him that women—and + even Polish women—should take no part in politics. He believed in a + wise and studied ignorance of those things which it is better not to know. + He made no reference to Kosmaroff at breakfast the next morning, and Wanda + asked no questions. She had not slept until nearly morning, and had heard + her father bolt the doors after the departure of the ex-Cossack. She had + heard Kosmaroff's light and quick step on the frozen snow as he started on + his seven-mile walk to Warsaw. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner's name, then, was not mentioned during the morning meal, which + the prince ate with the deliberation of his years. The morning was bright + and sunny, with a crisp air and sufficient frost to keep the snow from + melting. The prince had recovered from his anger of the previous evening, + and was gay. Wanda, too, seemed light-hearted enough. She was young and + strong. In her veins there flowed the blood of a race that had always been + “game,” that had always faced the world with unflinching eyes, and had + never craved its pity. Her father had lost everything, had lived a life of + hardship, almost to privation for one of his rank; and witnessed the ruin + or the downfall of all his friends; and yet he could laugh with the merry, + while with the mourner it was his habit to purse up his lips beneath the + grizzled mustache and mutter a few curt words, not of condolence, but of + stimulation to endure. + </p> + <p> + He liked to see cheerful faces around him. They helped him, no doubt, to + carry on to the end of his days that high-handed and dignified fight + against ill-fortune which he had always waged. + </p> + <p> + “If you have a grievance,” he always said to those who brought their tales + of woe to his ears, “air it as much as you like, but speak up, and do not + whine.” + </p> + <p> + He had to listen to a great number of such tales, and to the majority of + grievances could suggest no cure; for they were the grievances of Poland, + and in these later times of Finland also, to which it appears there is no + cure. + </p> + <p> + “I shall make a long round to-day,” he said to Wanda, when he was in the + saddle, with his short, old-fashioned stirrup, his great boots covering + his knee and thigh from the wind, and his weather-beaten old face looking + out from the fur collar of his riding-coat. “It may be the last time this + winter. The spring must come soon.” + </p> + <p> + And he went away at an easy canter. + </p> + <p> + Wanda, left alone for the whole day in the stillness of this forest farm, + had her round to do also. She set out on foot soon after her father's + departure, bound to a distant cottage in the depths of the pine-woods. The + trees were quiet this morning; for it is only at the time of thaw, when + the snow, gathering moisture from the atmosphere, gains in weight and + breaks down the branches, that the woods crack as beneath the tread of + some stealthy giant. But a frost seems to brace the trees which in the + colder weather stand grim and silent, bearing their burden without + complaint. + </p> + <p> + The sky was cloudless and the air quite still. There is no silence like + that of a northern pine-wood in winter; for the creatures living in the + twilight there have been given by God silent feet and a stealthy habit—the + smaller ones going in fear of the larger, and the beasts of prey ever + alert for their natural enemy—man. The birds kept for the most part + to the outer fringes of the forest, nearer to the crops and the few, far + cottages. + </p> + <p> + Wanda had grown from childhood amid the pines, and the gloomy forest-paths + were so familiar as to have lost all power to impress her. In the nursery + she had heard tales of wolves and bears, but had never seen them. They + might be near or far; they might be watching through the avenues of + straight and motionless stems. In their childhood it had been the delight + of Martin and herself to trace in the snow the footprints of the wolves—near + the house, in the garden, right up to the nursery window. They had + gradually acquired the indifference of the peasants who work in the + fields, or the woodmen at their labors amid the trees, who are aware that + the silent, stealthy eyes are watching them, and work on without fear. The + prince had taught the children fearlessness, or, perhaps, it was in their + blood, and needed no education. He had taught them to look upon the beasts + of the forests not as enemies, but as quiet, watching friends. + </p> + <p> + Wanda went alone whithersoever she listed, without so much as turning her + head to look over her shoulder. The pine-woods were hers; the peasants + were her serfs in spirit, if not in deed. Here, at all events, the Bukatys + were free to come and go. In cities they were watched, their footsteps + dogged by human wolves. + </p> + <p> + There are few paths through the great forests of Poland, of Posen, and of + Silesia, and what there are, are usually cut straight and at right angles + to each other. There was a path just wide enough to give passage to the + narrow timber carts from the farm direct to the woodman's cottage, and so + flat is the face of the earth that the distant trees are like the masts of + ships half-hidden by the curve of the world. It seems as if one could walk + on and on forever, or drop from hunger and fatigue and lie unheeded for + years in some forgotten corner. In the better-kept forests the paths are + staked and numbered, or else it would be impossible to know the way amid + such millions of trees—all alike, all of the same height. But the + prince was too poor to vie with the wealthy land-owners of Silesia, and + his forests were ill-kept. + </p> + <p> + In places the trees had fallen across the original path, and the few + passers-by had made a new path to one side or the other. Sometimes a tree + had grown outward towards the light and air, almost bridging the open + space. + </p> + <p> + Wanda could not, therefore, see very far in front or behind, and was taken + by surprise by the thud of a horse's feet on the beaten snow behind her. + She turned, thinking it was her father, who for some reason had returned + home, and, learning whither she had gone, had followed her. But it was not + the prince. It was Cartoner. Before she had quite realized that it was he, + he was on his feet leading his horse towards her. + </p> + <p> + She paused and looked at him, half startled; then, with a curt, + inarticulate cry of joy she hurried towards him. Thus were given to them a + few of those brief moments of complete happiness which are sometimes + vouchsafed to human beings. Which must assuredly be moments stolen from + heaven; for angels are so chary with them, giving them to a few favored + ones only once or twice in a whole lifetime, and, to the large majority of + mankind, never at all. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you come?” asked Wanda. + </p> + <p> + “To see you,” replied this man of few words. + </p> + <p> + And the sound of his voice, the sight of his strong face, swept away all + her troubles and anxieties; as if, with his greater physical strength, he + had taken a burden which she could hardly lift, and carried it easily. For + he always seemed to know how to meet every emergency and face every + trouble. A minute ago she had been reflecting with relief that he was not + in Poland, and now it seemed as if her heart must break had he been + anywhere else. She forgot for the moment all the dangers that surrounded + them; the hopelessness of their love, the thousand reasons why they should + not meet. She forgot that a whole nation stood between them. But it was + only for a moment—a moment borrowed from eternity. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the only reason?” she asked, remembering with a sort of shock + that this world of glittering snow and still pine-trees was not their real + world at all. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot stay in Poland! You must go away again at once! You do not + know—” And she stopped short, for their respective positions were + such that they always arrived at a point where only silence was left to + them. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” he answered with a short laugh. “I know. I am going away + to-night—to St. Petersburg.” + </p> + <p> + He did not explain that his immediate departure was not due to the fears + that she had half expressed. + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad.” She broke off, and looked at him with a little smile. “I + am so glad you are going away.” + </p> + <p> + She turned away from him with a sharp sigh. For she had now a new anxiety, + which, however, like Aaron's rod, had swallowed all the rest. + </p> + <p> + “I would rather know that you were safe in England,” she said, “even if I + were never to see you again. But,” and she looked up at him with a sort of + pride in her eyes—that long-drawn pride of race which is strong to + endure—“but you must never be hampered by a thought of me. I want + you to be what you have always been. Ah! you need not shake your head. All + men say the same of you—they are afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him slowly, up and down. + </p> + <p> + “And I am not,” she added, with a sudden laugh. For her happiness was real + enough. The best sort of happiness is rarely visible to the multitude. It + lies hidden in odd corners and quiet places; and the eager world which, + presumably, is seeking it, hurries past and never recognizes it, but + continues to mistake for it prosperity and riches, noise and laughter, + even fame and mere cheap notoriety. + </p> + <p> + They walked slowly back towards the farm, and again the gods were kind to + them; for they forgot how short their time was, how quickly such moments + fly. Much that they had to say to each other may not be expressed on + paper, neither can any compositor set it up in type. + </p> + <p> + They were practical enough, however, and as they walked beneath the + snow-clad pines they drew up a scheme of life which was astonishingly + unlike the dreams and aspirations of most lovers. For it was devoid of + selfishness, and they looked for happiness—not in an immediate + gratification of all their desires and an instant fulfilment of their + hopes, but in a mutual faith that should survive all separation and bridge + the longest span of years. Loyalty was to be their watchword. Loyalty to + self, to duty, and to each other. + </p> + <p> + Wanda did not, like the heroine of a novel, look for a passion that should + stride over every obstacle to its object, that should ignore duty, which + is only another word for honor, and throw down the spectres, Foresight, + Common-sense, Respect, which must arise in the pathway of that madness, a + brief passion. She was content, it seemed, that her lover should be wise, + should be careful for the future, should take her life into his hands with + a sort of quiet mastery as if he had a right to do so—a right, not + to ruin and debase, such as is usually considered the privilege of that + which is called a great passion and admired as such—but a right to + shape, guard, and keep. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner had not much to say about his own feelings, which, perhaps, made + him rather different from most lovers. He went so far as to consider the + feelings of others and to place them before his own, which, of course, is + quite unusual. And yet the scheme of life which was his reading of Love, + and which Wanda extracted from him that sunny March morning and pieced + together bit by bit in her own decided and conclusive way, seemed to + content her. She seemed to gather from it that he loved her precisely as + she wished to be loved, and that, come what might, she had already enough + to make her life happier than the lives of most women. + </p> + <p> + And, of course, they hoped. For they were young, and human, and the spring + was in the air. But their hope was one of those things of which they could + not speak; for it involved knowledge of which Wanda had become possessed + at the hand of the prince and Martin and Kosmaroff. It touched those + things which Cartoner had come to Poland to learn, but not from Wanda. + </p> + <p> + The smell of the wood-smoke from the chimneys of the farm told them that + they were nearing the edge of the forest, and Wanda stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “You must not go any nearer,” she said. “You are sure no one saw you when + you came?” + </p> + <p> + “No one,” answered Cartoner, whom fortune had favored as he came. For he + had approached the farm through the wood, and he had seen Wanda's + footsteps in the snow. He had often ridden over the same ground on the + very horse which he was now riding, and knew every inch of the way to + Warsaw. He could get there without being seen, might even quit the city + again unobserved. + </p> + <p> + For he knew—indeed, Wanda had told him—the dangers that + surrounded him. He knew also that these dangers were infinitely greater + for Martin and the prince. + </p> + <p> + “It is only what you foresaw,” she said, “when—when we first + understood.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is worse than I foresaw,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + So they parted, with the knowledge that they must not meet again in Poland + when their meeting must mean such imminent risk to others. They could not + even write to each other while Wanda should be within the circle of the + Russian postal service. There was but the one link between them—Paul + Deulin; and to him neither would impart a confidence. Deulin had brought + about this meeting to-day. Warned by telegram, he had met Cartoner at + Warsaw Station, and had counselled him not to go out into the streets. + Since he was only waiting a few hours in Warsaw for the St. Petersburg + train, he must either sit in the station or take a horse and go for a ride + into the country. The Bukatys, by-the-way, were not in town, but at their + country house. + </p> + <p> + “Go and see them,” he added. “A man living on a volcano may surely play + with firearms if he wants to. And you are all on the volcano together. + Pah! I know the smell of it. The very streets, my friend, reek of + catastrophe.” + </p> + <p> + Wanda was gay and light-hearted to the end. There was French blood in her + veins—that gay, good blood which stained the streets of Paris a + hundred years ago, and raised a standard of courage against adversity for + all the world to imitate so long as history shall exist. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner turned once in his saddle and saw her standing in the sunlight + waving him a farewell, with her eyes smiling and her lips hard pressed. + Then he rode on, with that small, small hope to help him through his + solitary wanderings which he knew to be identical with the hope of Poland, + for which the time was not yet ripe. He was the watcher who sees most of + the game, and knew that the time might never ripen till years after Wanda + and he had gone hence and were no more seen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX + </h2> + <h3> + IN A BY-WAY + </h3> + <p> + There are few roads in Poland. Sooner or later, Cartoner must needs join + the great highway that enters Warsaw from the west, passing by the gates + of the cemetery. + </p> + <p> + Deulin, no doubt, knew this, for Cartoner found him, riding leisurely away + from the city, just beyond the cemetery. The Frenchman sat his horse with + a straight leg and arm which made Cartoner think of those days ten years + earlier, to which Deulin seldom referred, when this white-haired dandy was + a cavalry soldier, engaged in the painful business of killing Germans. + </p> + <p> + Deulin did not think it necessary to refer to the object of Cartoner's + ride. Neither did he mention the fact that he knew that this was not the + direct way to St. Petersburg. + </p> + <p> + “I hired a horse and rode out to meet you,” he said, gayly—he was + singularly gay this morning, and there was a light in his eye—“to + intercept you. Kosmaroff is back in Warsaw. I saw him in the streets—and + he saw me. I think that man is the god in the machine. He is not a + nonentity. I wonder who he is. There is blood there, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + He turned his horse as he spoke, and rode back towards the city with + Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “In the mean time,” he said, “I have the hunger of a beggar's dog. What + are we to do? It is one o'clock—and I have the inside of a + Frenchman. We are a great people. We tear down monarchies, and build up a + new republic which is to last forever, and doesn't. We make history so + quickly that the world stands breathless—but we always breakfast + before mid-day.” + </p> + <p> + He took out his watch, and showed its face to Cartoner, with a gesture + which could not have been more tragic had it marked the hour of the last + trump. + </p> + <p> + “And we dare not show our faces in the streets. At least, I dare not show + mine in the neighborhood of yours in Warsaw. For they have got accustomed + to me there. They think I am a harmless old man—a dentist, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “My train goes from the St. Petersburg Station at three,” said Cartoner. + “I will have some lunch at the other station, and drive across in a close + cab with the blinds down.” + </p> + <p> + And he gave his low, gentle laugh. Deulin glanced at him as if there were + matter for surprise in the sound of it. + </p> + <p> + “Like a monstrosity going to a fair,” he said. “And I shall go with you. I + will even lunch with you at the station—a station steak and a beery + table. There is only one room at the station for those who eat and those + who await their trains. So that the eaters eat before a famished audience + like Louis XVI., and the travellers sit among the crumbs. I am with you. + But let us be quick—and get it over. Did you see Bukaty?” he asked, + finally, and, leaning forward, he sought an imaginary fly on the lower + parts of his horse; for, after all, he was only a man, and lacked the + higher skill or the thicker skin of the gentler sex in dealing with + certain delicate matters. + </p> + <p> + “No, I only saw the princess,” replied Cartoner. And they rode on in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” said Deulin, at length, gravely, “if that happens which you + expect and I expect, and everybody here is hoping for—I shall seek + out Wanda at once, and look after her. I do not know whether it is my duty + or not. But it is my inclination; and I am much too old to put my duty + before my inclination. So, if anything happens, and there follows that + confusion which you and I have seen once or twice before, where things are + stirring and dynasties are crumbling in the streets—when friends and + foes are seeking each other in vain—you need not seek me or think + about our friends in Warsaw. You need only think of yourself, remember + that. I shall have eloped—with Wanda.” + </p> + <p> + And he finished with an odd laugh, that had a tender ring in it. + </p> + <p> + “Bukaty and I,” he went on, after a pause, “do not talk of these things + together. But we have come to an understanding on that point. And when the + first flurry is over and we come to the top for a breath of air, you have + only to wire to my address in Paris to tell me where you are—and I + will tell you where—we are. We are old birds at this sport—you + and I—and we know how to take care of ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + They were now in the outskirts of the town, among the wide and ill-paved + streets where tall houses are springing up on the site of the huts once + occupied by the Jews who are now quartered in the neighborhood of the + Nowiniarska market-place. For the chosen people must needs live near a + market-place, and within hearing of the chink of small coin. In the cities + of eastern Europe that have a Jews' quarter there is a barrier erected + between the daily lives of the two races, though no more than a narrow + street may in reality divide them. Different interests, different hopes, + aspirations, and desires are to be found within a few yards, and neighbors + are as far apart as if a frontier line or the curse of Babel stood between + them. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner and Deulin, riding through the Jewish quarter, were as safe from + recognition as if they were in a country lane at Wilanow; for the men + hurrying along the pavements were wrapped each in his own keen thought of + gain, and if they glanced up at the horsemen at all, merely looked in + order to appraise the value of their clothes and saddles—as if there + were nothing beyond. For them, it would seem there is no beyond; nothing + but the dumb waiting for the removal of that curse which has lasted + nineteen hundred years, and instead of wearing itself out, seems to gain + in strength as the world grows older. + </p> + <p> + “We will go by the back ways,” said Cartoner, “and need never see any of + our world in Warsaw at all.” + </p> + <p> + The streets were crowded by men, for the women live an in-door life in an + atmosphere that seems to bleach and fatten. The roads were little used for + wheel traffic; for the commerce by which these people live is of so retail + a nature that it seems to pass from hand to hand in mysterious cloth + bundles and black stuff bags. The two horsemen were obliged to go slowly + through the groups, who never raised their heads, or seemed to speak above + a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “What do they talk of—what do they think—all day?” said + Cartoner. And, indeed, the quiet of the streets had a suggestion of + surreptitiousness. Even the children are sad, and stand about in + melancholy solitude. + </p> + <p> + “I would sooner be a dog,” answered Deulin, with a shake of the shoulders, + as if Care had climbed into the saddle behind him. “Sooner a dog.” + </p> + <p> + By these ways they reached the station, and there found a messenger to + take the horses to their stable. All through the streets they had passed + men in one uniform or another, who looked stout and well-fed, who strode + in the middle of the pavement, while the Poles, whose clothes were poor + and threadbare, shuffled aside in their patched and shambling boots to + make way for the conqueror. Sometimes they would turn and look back at + some sword-bearer who was more offensive than usual, with reflective eyes + as if marking him in order to know him at a future time. As is always the + case, it was the smaller officials who were the most offensive—the + little Jacks-in-office from the postal administration, the common + officers, the hundred obscure civil servants who wear a sword and uniform + unworthily in any one of the three European empires. On the other hand, + the men in real authority, and notably the officers of the better + regiments, sought to conciliate by politeness and a careful retention of + themselves in the background. But these well-intentioned efforts were of + small avail; for racial things are stronger than human endeavor or the + careful foresight of statesmen. Here in Warsaw the Muscovite, the Pole, + the Jew—herding together in the same streets, under the same roof, + obedient to one law, acknowledging one sovereign—were watching each + other, hating each other. + </p> + <p> + At the street corners the smart, quiet police took note of each + foot-passenger, every carriage, every stranger passing in a hired + droschki. Cartoner and Deulin could see from the passing glance beneath + the flat, green cap that they were seen and recognized at every turn. On + the steps of the station they were watched with a polite pretense of + looking the other way by two of the higher officials of the + Russian-speaking police. + </p> + <p> + “I do not mind them,” said Deulin, passing through the doorway to the + booking-office. “It is not of them that we need be afraid. We are doing no + harm, and they cannot send us out of the country while our passports hold + out. They have satisfied themselves as to that. For they have been through + my belongings twice, in my rooms at the Europe—I know when my things + have been touched—they or some one else. Perhaps Kosmaroff; who + knows?” + </p> + <p> + Thus he talked on in characteristic fashion, saying a hundred nothings as + only Frenchmen and women can, touching life lightly like a skilled + musician, running nimble fingers over the keys, and striking a chord half + by accident here and there which was sonorous and had a deeper meaning. He + ordered the luncheon, argued with the waiter, and rallied him on the + criminal paucity of his menu. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “let it be beef. I know your mutton. It tastes like the + smell of goat. So give us beef—your railway beef, which has + travelled so far, but not by train. It has come on foot, to be killed and + cut up by a locomotive, to be served by a waiter who has assuredly failed + as a stoker.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down as he spoke, and rearranged the small table, covered by a + doubtful cloth, through which could be felt the chill of the marble + underneath. Deulin always took the lead in these small matters, and + Cartoner accepted his decision without comment. The Frenchman knew him so + well, it seemed, that he knew his tastes, or suspected his indifference. + While he thus rattled on he glanced sharply from time to time at his + companion, and when the waiter was finally sent away with a hundred minute + instructions, he turned suddenly to Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “You are absorbed. What are you thinking about?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking how well you speak Polish. And yet you have only been here + once before,” answered the Englishman, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “When I was a young man there were opportunities of learning Polish in + Paris,” said Deulin. “Yes—I learned Polish when I was young——” + </p> + <p> + He had arranged the table to his satisfaction, had picked up several + objects to examine them and replace them with care on the exact spot from + whence he had taken them, and was now looking round the room with large, + deep-lined eyes which were always tired and never at rest. + </p> + <p> + “When one is young, one learns so much in a short time, especially if that + time is ill-spent,” he said, airily. “That is why the virtuous are such + poor company; they have no backbone to their past. With the others—'nous + autres'—it is the evil deeds that form a sort of spinal column to + our lives, rigid and strong, upon which to lean in old age when virtue is + almost a necessity.” + </p> + <p> + Finally he came round in his tour of inspection to the face opposite to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he said, sharply, “you are devilish absent-minded. It is a + bad habit. It makes the world think that you have something on your mind. + And having nothing on its own mind—or no mind to have anything on—it + hates you for your airs of superiority.” + </p> + <p> + He took up the bottle of wine which the waiter had set upon the table in + front of him, inspected the label, and filled two glasses. He tasted the + vintage, and made a wry face. Then he raised his shoulders with an air or + reconciliation to the inevitable. + </p> + <p> + “When I was a young—a very young diplomatist—an old scoundrel + in gold spectacles told me that one of the first rules of the game was to + appear content with that which you cannot alter. We must apply that rule + to this wine. It is our old friend, Chateau la Pompe. It will not hurt + you. It will not loosen your tongue, my friend, you need not fear that.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke so significantly that Cartoner looked across the table at him. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Deulin laughed and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that my tongue requires loosening?” + </p> + <p> + And the Frenchman stroked his mustache as he looked thoughtfully into the + steady, meditating eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It is not,” he said, “that you assume a reserve which one might think + unfair. It is merely that there are so many things which you do not think + worth saying, or wise to speak of, or necessary to communicate, that—well—there + is nothing left but silence. And silence is sometimes dangerous. Not as + dangerous as speech, I allow—but dangerous, nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner looked at him and waited. Across the little table the two schools + went out to meet each other—the old school of diplomacy, all words; + the new, all silence. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” said the Frenchman. “I once knew a man into whose care was given + the happiness of a fellow-being. There is a greater responsibility, + by-the-way, than the well-being of a whole nation, even of one of the two + greatest nations in the world. And that is a care which you and I have had + upon our shoulders for a brief hour here and there. It was the old story; + for it was the happiness of a woman. God knows the man meant well! But he + bungled it. Bon Dieu—how he bungled it! He said too little. Ever + since he has talked too much. She was a Polish woman, by-the-way, and that + has left a tenderness, nay, a raw place, in my heart, which smarts at the + sound of a Polish word. For I was the man.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” asked Cartoner, “what do you want to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” answered the other, quick as thought. “I only tell you the + story as a warning. To you especially, who take so much for said that has + not been said. You are strong, and a man. Remember that a woman—even + the strongest—may not be able to bear such a strain as you can + bear.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner was listening attentively enough. He always listened with + attention to his friend on such rare occasions as he chose to be serious. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” went on Deulin, after a pause, during which the waiter had set + before him a battered silver dish from which he removed the cover with a + flourish full of promise—“you know that I would give into your care + unreservedly anything that I possessed, such as a fortune, or—well—a + daughter. I would trust you entirely. But any man may make a mistake. And + if you make a mistake now, I shall never forgive you—never.” + </p> + <p> + And his eyes flashed with a sudden fierceness as he looked at his + companion. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything I can do for you, my friend?” he asked, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “You have already promised to do the only thing I would ask you to do in + Warsaw,” replied Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + Deulin held up one hand in a gesture commanding silence. + </p> + <p> + “Not another word—they cost you so much, a few words—I + understand perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + Then with a rapid relapse into his gayer mood he turned to the dish before + him. + </p> + <p> + “And now let us consider the railway beef. It promises little. But it + cannot be so tough and indigestible as the memory of a mistake—I + tell you that.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX + </h2> + <h3> + THE QUIET CITY + </h3> + <p> + The most liberal-minded man in Russia at this time was the Czar. He had + chosen his ministers from among the nobles who were at least tolerant of + advance, if they did not actually advocate it. Much as he hated to make a + change, he had in one or two instances parted with old and trusted + servants—friends of his boyhood—rather than forgo one item of + his policy. In other cases he had appealed to the memory of their long + friendship in order to bring his nobles not to his own way of thinking, + for he could not do that, but to his own plan of action. + </p> + <p> + “I do not agree with you, but I will serve you,” had answered one of + these, and the Czar, who did not know where to turn to find the man he + needed, accepted such service. + </p> + <p> + For a throne stands in isolation, and no man may judge another by looking + down upon him, but must needs descend into the crowd, and, mingling there + on a lower level, pick out for himself the honest man or the clever man—or + that rare being, the man who is both. + </p> + <p> + Kings and emperors may not do this, however. Despots dare not. Alexander + II. acted as any ordinary man acts when he finds himself in a position to + confer favors, to make appointments, to get together, as it were, a + ministry, even if this takes no more dignified a form than a board of + directors. He suspected that the world contained precisely the men he + wanted, if he could only let down a net into it and draw them up. How, + otherwise, could he select them? So he did the usual thing. He looked + round among his relations, and, failing them, the friends of his youth. + For an emperor, popularly supposed to have the whole world to choose from, + has no larger a choice than any bourgeois looking round his own small + world for a satisfactory executor. + </p> + <p> + Coming to the throne, as he did, in the midst of a losing fight, his first + task was to conclude a humiliating peace. He must needs bow down to the + upstart adventurer of France, who had tricked England into a useless war + in order to steady his own tottering throne. + </p> + <p> + Alexander II., moreover, came to power with the avowed intention of + liberating the serfs, which intention he carried out, and paid for with + his own life in due time. Russia had been the only country to stand aloof + on the slave question, thus branding herself in two worlds as still + uncivilized. The young Czar knew that such a position was untenable. + “Without the serf the Russian Empire must crumble away,” his advisers told + him. “With the serf she cannot endure,” he answered And twenty-two + millions of men were set free. In this act he stood almost alone; for + hardly a single minister was with him heart and soul, though many obeyed + him loyally enough against their own convictions. Many honestly thought + that this must be the end of the Russian Empire. + </p> + <p> + It is hard to go against the advice of those near at hand; for their point + of view must always appear to be the same as one's own, while counsel from + afar comes as the word of one who is looking at things from another + stand-point, and may thus be more easily mistaken. + </p> + <p> + Alexander II., called suddenly to reign over one-tenth part of the human + race, men of different breed and color, of the three great contending + religions and a hundred minor churches, was himself a nervous, + impressionable man, suffering from ill-health, bowed down with the weight + of his great responsibility. His father died in his arms, broken-hearted, + bequeathing him an empire invaded by the armies of five European nations, + hated of all the world, despised of all mankind. Even to-day there is a + sinister sound in the very name of Russian. Men turn to look twice at one + who comes from that stupendous empire. It is said that an hereditary + melancholy broods beneath the weightiest earthly crown. History tells that + none wearing it has ever reached a hale old age. Soldiers still hearty, + still wearing the sword they have carried through half a dozen campaigns, + bow to-day in the Winter Palace before their sovereign, having taken the + oath of allegiance to four successive Czars. + </p> + <p> + Half in, half out of Europe, Alexander II. awoke with his own hand the + great nation still wrapped in the sleep of the Middle Ages, only to find + that he had stirred a slumbering power whose movements were soon to prove + beyond control. He poured out education like water upon the surface of a + vast field full of hidden seed, which must inevitably spring up wheat or + tares—a bountiful harvest of good or a terrific growth of evil. He + made reading and writing compulsory to the whole of his people. With a + stroke of the pen he threw aside the last prop to despotic rule. Yet he + hoped to continue Czar of All the Russias. This tall, pale, gentle, + determined man was a man of courage. When the time came he faced the + consequence of his own temerity with an unflinching eye. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want of me?” he asked, the very moment after he had been + saved almost by a miracle from assassination. For he knew that he was + giving more than was wise. It is said that he was puzzled and thoughtful + after each attempt upon his life. + </p> + <p> + The war with Turkey was the first sign that Russia was awakening—that + the soldiers knew how to read and write. It was the first time in history + that the nation forced a Czar to declare war, and Servia was full of + Russian volunteers fighting for Christian Slavs before the Emperor + realized that he must fight—and fight alone, for no nation in Europe + would help him. He had taught Russia to read; had raised the veil of + ignorance that hung between his people and the rest of civilization. They + had read of the Bulgarian atrocities, and there was no holding them. + </p> + <p> + To rule autocratically what was then the vastest empire in the world was + in itself more than one brain could compass. But in addition to his own + internal troubles, Alexander II. was surrounded by European difficulties. + England, his steady, deadly enemy, despite a declaration of neutrality, + was secretly helping Turkey. Austria, as usual, the dog waiting on the + threshold, was ready to side with the winner—for a consideration. No + wonder this man was always weary. It is said that all through his reign he + received and despatched telegrams at any hour of the night. + </p> + <p> + No wonder that his heart was hardened towards Poland. The most + liberal-minded Czar had his mean point, as every man must have. There are + many great and good men who will write a check readily enough and look + twice at a penny. There are many who will give generously with one hand + while grasping with the other that which is really the property of their + neighbor. Alexander's mean point was Poland. + </p> + <p> + On the occasion of his first imperial visit to Warsaw he said, in the + cold, calm voice which was so hated and feared: “Gentlemen, let us have no + more dreams.” Eleven years later he reminded an influential deputation of + Polish nobles of the unforgiven and unforgotten words, commending the + caution to their attention again. He paid frequent visits to Warsaw on one + excuse or another. This dreamer would have no dreaming in his dominion. + This mean man must ever be looking at his hoard. The chief interest in the + study of a human life lies around the inexplicable. If we were quite + consistent we should be entirely dull. No one knows why this liberal + autocrat was mean to Poland. + </p> + <p> + From Warsaw, the city which has been commanded to stand still, Cartoner + travelled across the plains of endless snow towards the north. He found as + he progressed a hundred signs of the awakening. The very faces of the + people had changed since he last looked upon them only a few years + earlier. These people were now a nation, conscious of their own strength. + They had fought in a great and victorious war, not because they had been + commanded to fight, but because they wanted to. They had followed with + understanding the diplomatic warfare that succeeded the signing of the + treaty of San Stefano. They had won and lost. They were men, and no longer + driven beasts. + </p> + <p> + It was evening when Cartoner arrived at St. Petersburg. The long northern + twilight had begun, and the last glow of the western sky was reflected on + the golden dome of St. Isaac's, while the arrowy spire of the Admiralty + shot up into a cloudless sky. + </p> + <p> + The Warsaw Railway Station is in a quiet part of the town, and the streets + through which Cartoner drove in his hired sleigh were almost deserted. It + was the hour of the promenade in the Summer Garden, or the drive in the + Newski Prospect, so that all the leisured class were in another quarter of + the town. St. Petersburg is, moreover, the most spacious capital in the + world, where there is more room than the inhabitants can occupy, where the + houses are too large and the streets too wide. The Catherine Canal was, of + course, frozen, and its broken surface had a dirty, ill-kept air, while + the snow was spotted with rubbish and refuse, and trodden down into + numberless paths and crossings. Cartoner looked at it indifferently. It + had no history yet. The streets were silent beneath their cloak of snow. + All St. Petersburg is silent for nearly half the year, and is the quietest + city in the world, excepting Venice. + </p> + <p> + The sleigh sped across the Nicholas Bridge to the Vasili Island. The river + showed no signs of spring yet. The usual pathways across it were still in + use. The Vasili Ostrov is less busy than that greater part of the city + which lies across the river. Behind the academy of Arts, and leading out + of the Bolshoi Prospect, are a number of parallel streets where quiet + people live—lawyers and merchants, professors at the university or + at one or other of the numerous schools and colleges facing the river and + looking across it towards the English Quay. + </p> + <p> + It was to one of these streets that Cartoner had told his driver to + proceed, and the man had some difficulty in finding the number. It was a + house like any other in the street—like any other in any other + street. For St. Petersburg is a monstrous town, showing a flat face to the + world, exhibiting to the sky a flat expanse of roof broken here and there + by some startling inequality, the dagger-like spire of St. Peter and St. + Paul, the great roof of the Kasan Cathedral, the dome of St. Isaac's—the + largest cathedral in the world. + </p> + <p> + When the sleigh at length drew up with a shrill clang of bells the + door-keeper came from beneath the great porch without enthusiasm. His was + a quiet house, and he did not care for strangers, especially at this time, + when every man looked askance at a new-comer and the police gave the + dvorniks no peace. He seemed to recognize Cartoner, however, for he raised + his hand to his peaked cap when he answered that the gentleman asked for + was within. + </p> + <p> + “On the second floor. You will remember the door,” he said, over his + shoulder, as Cartoner, having paid the driver, hurried towards the house, + leaving the dvornik to bring the luggage. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner's summons at the door on the second floor was answered by a + clumsy Russian maid-servant, who smiled a broad, good-natured recognition + when she saw him, and, turning without a word, led the way along a narrow + passage. The smell of tobacco smoke and a certain bareness of wall and + floor suggested a bachelor's home. The maid opened the door of a room and + stood aside for Cartoner to pass in. + </p> + <p> + Seated near an open wood-fire was a man with grizzled hair and a short, + brown beard, which had the look of concealing a determined chin. He was in + the act of filling a wooden pipe from a jar on the table, and he stood up, + pipe in hand, to greet the new-comer. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said. “I was wondering if you would come, or if you had got other + work to do.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am at the same work. And you?” + </p> + <p> + “As you see,” replied the bearded man, dragging forward a chair with his + foot and seating himself again before the fire. “I am here still, where + you left me”—he paused to make a brief calculation—“five years + ago. I stayed here all through the war—all through the Berlin + Congress, when it was not good to be an Englishman in Petersburg. But I + stayed. Tallow! It does not sound heroic, but the world must have its + tallow. And there is a simplicity about commerce, you know.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a short laugh—the laugh of a man who had tried something and + failed. Something that was not commerce, for his voice and speech had a + ring of other things. + </p> + <p> + “Can you put me up?” asked Cartoner. “Only for a few days, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “As long as you stay in Petersburg you stay in these rooms,” replied the + other, gravely. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner nodded his thanks and sat down. Their attitude towards each other + had the repose which is only existent in a friendship that has lasted + since childhood. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Gad!” exclaimed the other, “we are in a queer way. I went to the opera + the other evening. He showed his face in the imperial box and the house + was empty in half an hour. He always drives alone in his sleigh now, so + that only one royal life may go at a time. They'll get him—they'll + get him! And he knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “Fools!” said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “They are worse than fools,” answered the other. “The man is down, and + they strike him. His asthma is worse. He has half a dozen complaints. His + policy has failed. It was the finest policy ever tried in Russia. He is + the finest Czar they have ever had. He gave them trial by jury; he + abolished corporal punishment. Fools! they are the scum of this earth, + Cartoner!” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” replied Cartoner, in his gentle way, “students who cannot learn—workmen + who will not work—women whom no one will marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the sons and daughters of the serfs that he emancipated. It makes + one sick to talk of them. Let me hear about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” answered Cartoner, “I have had nothing to eat since breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all you have to tell me about yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “That is all.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI + </h2> + <h3> + THE PAYMENT + </h3> + <p> + It was on every gossip's tongue in St. Petersburg that Jeliaboff had been + arrested. + </p> + <p> + “It is the beginning of the end,” men said. “They will now catch the + others. The new reign of terror is over.” + </p> + <p> + But Jeliaboff himself—a dangerous man (one of the Terrorists), the + chief of the plot to blow up the imperial train at the Alexandroff Station—said + that it was not so. This also, the mere bravado of an arrested criminal, + was bandied from mouth to mouth. + </p> + <p> + For two years the most extraordinary agitation of modern days had held + Russian society within its grip. All the world seemed to whisper. Men + walking in the streets turned to glance over their shoulders at the + approach of a step, at the sound of a sleigh-bell. The women were in the + secret, too; and when the women touch politics they are politics no + longer. For there should be no real emotion in politics; only the + stimulated emotion of the platform. + </p> + <p> + For two years the Czar had been slowly and surely ostracized by a + persecution which was as cruel as it was unreasoning. + </p> + <p> + In former days the curious, and the many who loved to look on royalty, had + studied his habits and hours to the end that they might gain a glimpse of + him or perhaps a bow from the courteous Emperor. Now his habits and his + daily life were watched for quite another purpose. If it was known that he + would pass through a certain street, he was now allowed a monopoly of that + thoroughfare. None passed nearer to the Winter Palace than he could help. + If the Czar was seen to approach, men hurried in the opposite direction; + women called their children to them. He was a leper among his own people. + </p> + <p> + “Do not go to the opera to-morrow,” one lady would say to another. “I have + heard that the Czar is to be there.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not pass through the Little Sadovaia,” men said to one another; “the + street is mined. Do not let your wife linger in the Newski Prospect; it is + honeycombed by mines.” + </p> + <p> + The Czar withdrew himself, as a man must who perceives that others shrink + from him; as the leper who sees even the pitiful draw aside his cloak. But + some ceremonies he would not relinquish; and to some duties he remained + faithful, calmly facing the risk, which he fully recognized. + </p> + <p> + He went to the usual Sunday review on the 12th of March, as all the world + knows. It was a brilliant, winter morning. The sun shone from a cloudless + sky upon streets and houses buried still beneath their winter covering of + snow. The houses always look too large for their inmates, the streets too + wide for those that walk them. St. Petersburg was planned on too large a + scale by the man who did everything largely, and made his window looking + out upon Europe a bigger window than the coldness of his home would allow. + </p> + <p> + The review passed off successfully. The Czar, men said, was in good + spirits. He had that morning signed a decree which was now in the hands of + Loris Melikoff, and would to-morrow be given to the world, proving even to + the most sceptical for the hundredth time that he had at heart the advance + of Russia—the greater liberty of his people. + </p> + <p> + Instead of returning direct to the Winter Palace, the Czar paid his usual + visit to his cousin, the Grand Duchess Catherine. He quitted her palace at + two o'clock in his own carriage, accompanied by half a dozen Cossacks. His + officers followed in two sleighs. It was never known which way he would + take. He himself gave the order to the coachman. He knew the streets as + thoroughly as the driver himself; for he had always walked in them + unattended, unheeded, and unknown—had always mixed with his + subjects. This was no French monarch living in an earthly heaven above his + people. He knew—always had known—what men said to each other + in the streets. + </p> + <p> + He gave the order to go to the Winter Palace by way of the Catherine + Canal, which was not the direct way. Had he passed down the Newski + Prospect half of that great street would have been blown to the skies. The + road running by the side of the Catherine Canal was in 1881 a quiet enough + thoroughfare, with large houses staring blankly across the frozen canal. + The canal itself was none too clean a sight, for the snow was old and + soiled and strewed with refuse. In some places there were gardens between + the road and the waterways, but most of its length was bounded by a low + wall and a railing. + </p> + <p> + The road itself was almost deserted. The side streets of St. Petersburg + are quieter than the smaller thoroughfares of any other city in the world. + A confectioner's boy was alone on the pavement, hurrying along and + whistling as he went on his Sunday errand of delivery. He hardly glanced + at the carriage that sped past him. Perhaps he saw a man looking over the + low wall at the approach of the cavalcade. Perhaps he saw the bomb thrown + and heard the deafening report. Though none can say what he heard or saw + at that minute, for he was dead the next. + </p> + <p> + The bomb had fallen under the carriage at the back. A Cossack and his + horse, following the imperial conveyance, were instantly killed. The Czar + stepped out from amid the debris on to the torn and riven snow. He + stumbled, and took a proffered arm. They found blood on the cushions + afterwards. At that moment the only thought in his mind seemed to be + anger, and he glanced at the dying Cossack—at the dead baker-boy. + The pavement and the road were strewn with wounded—some lying quite + still, others attempting to lift themselves with numbed and charred limbs. + It was very cold. + </p> + <p> + Ryssakoff, who had thrown the bomb, was already in the hands of his + captors. Had the crowd been larger, had the official element been weaker, + he would have been torn to pieces then and there. The Czar went towards + him. Some say that he spoke to him. But no clear account of those few + moments was ever obtained. The noise, the confusion, the terror of it + seemed to have deadened the faculties of all who took part in this + tragedy, and they could only act mechanically, as men who were walking in + their sleep. + </p> + <p> + Already a crowd had collected. Every moment added to its numbers. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back! Stand back! A second bomb is coming!” cried more than one + voice. There are a hundred witnesses ready to testify that they heard this + strange warning. But no man seemed to heed it. There are moments in the + lives of men when their contempt for death raises them at one bound to the + heights of immortality. + </p> + <p> + Those around the Czar urged him to quit the spot at once. In such a crowd + of people there must be some enemies. At last he turned and went towards + the sleigh which had been brought forward to take the place of the + shattered carriage. He was pale now, and walked with an effort. + </p> + <p> + The onlookers stood aside to make a passage for him. Many raised their + hats, and made silent manifestations of their respect and pity. + </p> + <p> + One man, alone, stood with folded arms, hat on head, and watched the Czar. + He was on the pavement, with his back to the iron gate leading to the + canal. The pavement was not six feet wide, and the Czar came along it + towards him. For a moment they faced each other. Then the freed son of the + serf raised both hands and threw his missile on the stones between them—at + the feet of the man who had cut the chain of his slavery. + </p> + <p> + It was the serf who shrieked. The Emperor uttered no plaint. A puff of + white-gray smoke rose to heaven. And those who watched there no doubt took + note of it. + </p> + <p> + A shower of snow and human debris was thrown into the air. The very stones + of the pavement were displaced. + </p> + <p> + The Emperor was on the ground against the railings. He was blind. One leg + was gone, the other torn and mutilated to the hip. It was pitiful. He + uttered no sound, but sought to move his bare limbs on the snow. + </p> + <p> + This was the end—the payment. He discharged his debt without a + murmur. He had done the right—against the counsel of the wise, + against his crown and his own greatness, against his purse and his + father's teaching. He had followed the dictates of his own conscience. He + had done more than any other Czar, before or since, for the good of + Russia. And this was the payment! + </p> + <p> + The other—the man who had thrown the bomb—was already dead. + The terrific explosion had sent his soul hard after the puff of white + smoke, and in the twinkling of an eye he stood at the bar of the Great + Assize. It is to be hoped that he made a good defence there, and did not + stammer in the presence of his Judge. + </p> + <p> + The Czar's gentlemen in attendance were all killed or wounded. He was left + to the care of his Cossack escort, who were doing what they could to + succor him—though, being soldiers, they knew that he had passed + beyond all human aid. The crowd parted to make way for a tall man who + literally threw aside all who stood in his path. It was the Emperor's + brother, the Grand Duke Michael, brought hither by the sound of the first + explosion. He knelt on the blood-stained snow and spoke to the dying man. + </p> + <p> + The sleigh towards which he had been walking was now brought forward + again, and the Czar was lifted from the snow. There was no doctor near. + The mob drew back in dumb horror. In the crowd stood Cartoner, brought + hither by that instinct which had made him first among the Vultures—the + instinct that took him to the battle-field, where he was called upon to + share the horror and reap none of the glory. + </p> + <p> + His quiet eyes were ablaze for once with a sudden, helpless anger. He + could not even give way to the first and universal impulse to kill the + killer. + </p> + <p> + He stood motionless through the brief silence that succeeded to the second + explosion. There is a silence that follows those great events brought + about by a man which seems to call aloud for a word from God. + </p> + <p> + Then, because it was his duty to draw his buzzing thoughts together, to be + watchful and quick, to think and act while others stood aghast, he took + one last look at the dying Emperor, and turned to make his way from the + crowd while yet he could. He had pieced together, with the slow accuracy + that Deulin envied him, the small scraps of information obtained from one + source or another in Warsaw, in London from Captain Cable, in St. + Petersburg from half a dozen friends. This was Poland's opportunity. A + sudden inspiration had led him to look for the centre of the evil, not in + Warsaw, but in St. Petersburg. And that which other men called his luck + had brought him within sound of the first explosion by the side of the + Catherine Canal. + </p> + <p> + He passed through a back street and out into wider thoroughfares. He + hurried as much as was prudent, and in a few moments was beyond the zone, + as it were, of alarm and confusion. A sleigh came towards him. The driver + was half asleep, and looked about him with a placid, stupid face. Here was + a man who had heard nothing. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner called him, and did not wait for him to descend to unhook the + heavy leather apron. + </p> + <p> + “The telegraph office,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And when the driver had settled down to his usual breakneck speed, he + urged him to go faster. The passers on the pavement were going about their + ordinary business now, bent on paying Sunday calls or taking Sunday + exercise. None knew yet what had taken place a few hundred yards away. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner sat with clenched teeth and thought. He had a strong grasp over + his own emotions, but his limbs were shaking inside his thick furs. He + made a supreme effort of memory. It was a moment in a lifetime, and he + knew it. Which is not always the case, for great moments often appear + great only when we look back at them. + </p> + <p> + He had not his code-books with him. He dared not carry them in the streets + of St. Petersburg, where arrest might meet him at any corner by mistake or + on erroneous suspicion. His head was stored with a thousand things to be + remembered. Could he trust his memory to find the right word, or the word + that came nearest to the emergency of this moment? Could he telegraph that + the Emperor was dead when he had last seen him living, but assuredly + feeling his way across the last frontier? The Czar must assuredly be dead + before a telegram despatched now could reach England. It was a risk. But + Cartoner was of a race of men who seem to combine with an infinite + patience the readiness to take a heavy risk at a given moment. + </p> + <p> + The telegraph office was quiet. The clerks were dignified and sedate + behind their caging—stiff and formal within their semi-military + uniform. They knew nothing. As soon as the news reached them the + inexorable wire windows would be shut down, and no unofficial telegrams + could be despatched from Russia. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner had five minutes' start, perhaps, in front of the whole world. + Five minutes might suffice to flash his news beyond the reach of recall. + </p> + <p> + The sense of discipline was strong in him. His first message was to London—a + single word from the storehouse of his infallible memory. + </p> + <p> + He sent a second telegram to Deulin, in Warsaw, which was no longer. The + first message might reach its destination. The chances of the second were + not so good, and the second might mean life or death to Wanda. He walked + slowly back towards the double doors. He might even gain a minute there, + he thought, by simulating clumsiness with the handle should any one wish + to enter in haste. He was at the outer door when a man hurried up the + steps. This was a small man, with a pale and gentle face, and eyes in + which a dull light seemed to smoulder. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner detained him on the step for quite half a minute by persistently + turning the handle the wrong way. When at length he was allowed to enter, + he swore at the Englishman in a low voice as he passed, which Captain + Cable would have recognized had he heard it. The two men looked at each + other in the twilight between the doors. Each knew that the other knew. + Then the little man passed in. The front of his black coat had a white + stain upon it, as if he had been holding a loaf of bread under his arm. + Cartoner noticed it, and remembered it afterwards, when he learned that + the bombs which seem to have been sown broadcast in the streets of St. + Petersburg that day were painted white. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the square to the Winter Palace, and stood with the silent + crowd there until the bells told all Petersburg the news that the + mightiest monarch had been called to stand before a greater than any + earthly throne. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII + </h2> + <h3> + A LOVE-LETTER + </h3> + <p> + The next morning Miss Netty Cahere took her usual walk in the Saski + Gardens. It was much warmer at Warsaw than at St. Petersburg, and the snow + had melted, except where it lay in gray heaps on either side of the garden + walks. The trees were not budding yet, but the younger bark of the small + branches was changing color. The first hidden movements of spring were + assuredly astir, and Netty felt kindly towards all mankind. + </p> + <p> + She wished at times that there were more people in Warsaw to be kind to. + It is dull work being persistently amiable to one's elderly relatives. + Netty sometimes longed for a little more excitement, especially, perhaps, + for the particular form of excitement which leads one-half of the world to + deck itself in bright colors in the spring for the greater pleasure of the + other half. + </p> + <p> + She wished that Cartoner would come back; for he was an unsolved problem + to her, and there had been very few unsolved male problems in her brief + experience. She had usually found men very easy to understand, and the + failure to achieve her simple purpose in this instance aroused, perhaps, + an additional attention. She thought it was that, but she was not quite + sure. She had not arrived at a clear definition in her own mind as to what + she thought of Cartoner. She was quite sure, however, that he was + different from other men. + </p> + <p> + She had not seen Kosmaroff again, and the memory of her strange interview + with him had lost sharpness. But she was conscious of a conviction that he + had merely to come again, and he would regain at once the place he had so + suddenly and violently taken in her thoughts. She knew that he was in the + background of her mind, as it were, and might come forward at any moment. + She often walked down the Bednarska to the river, and displayed much + interest in the breaking up of the ice. + </p> + <p> + As to Prince Martin Bukaty, she had definitely settled that he was nice. + It is a pity that the word nice as applied to the character of a young man + dimly suggests a want of interest. He was so open and frank that there was + really no mystery whatever about him. And Netty rather liked a mystery. Of + course it was most interesting that he should be a prince. Even Aunt + Julie, that great teacher of equality, closed her lips after speaking of + the Bukatys, with an air of tasting something pleasant. It was a great + pity that the Bukatys were so poor. Netty gave a little sigh when she + thought of their poverty. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, Martin was the only person at hand. She did not count + Paul Deulin, who was quite old, of course, though interesting enough when + he chose to be. Netty walked backward and forward down the broad walk in + the middle of those gardens, which the government have so frequently had + to close against public manifestations, and wondered why Martin was so + long in coming. For the chance meetings had gradually resolved themselves + into something very much like an understanding, if not a distinct + appointment. All people engaging in the game of love should be warned that + it is a game which never stands still, but must move onward or backward. + You may play it one day in jest, and find that it must be played in + earnest next time. You may never take it up just where you left it, for + the stake must always be either increasing or diminishing. And this is + what makes it rather an interesting game. For you may never tell what it + may grow to, and while it is in progress, none ever believe that it will + have an end. + </p> + <p> + Netty liked Martin very much. Had he been a rich prince instead of a poor + one, she would, no doubt, have liked him very much better. And it is a + thousand pities that more young persons have not their affections in such + practical and estimable control. Though, to be strictly just, it is young + men who are guilty in this respect, much more than the maidens with whom + they fall in love. It is rare, in fact, that a young girl is oblivious to + the practical side of that which many mothers teach them to be the + business of their lives. But then it is very rare that a girl is in love + with the man she marries. Sometimes she thinks she is. Sometimes she does + not even go so far as that. + </p> + <p> + Netty was, no doubt, engaged in these and other golden dreams of + maidenhood as she walked in the Saski Gardens this March morning. The + faces of those who passed her were tranquil enough. The news of + yesterday's doings in St. Petersburg had not reached Warsaw, or, at all + events, had not been given to the public yet. Even rumor is leaden-footed + in this backward country. + </p> + <p> + Presently Netty sat down. Martin had never kept her waiting, and she felt + angry and rather more anxious to see him, perhaps, than she had ever been + before. The seats were, of course, deserted, for the air was cold. Down + the whole length of the gardens there was only one other occupant of the + polished stone benches—an old man, sitting huddled up in his shabby + sheepskin coat. He seemed to be absorbed in thought, or in the dull + realization of his own misery, and took no note of the passers. + </p> + <p> + Netty hardly glanced at him. She was looking impatiently towards the + Kotzebue gate, which was the nearest to the Bukaty Palace of all the + entrances to the Saski Gardens. At length she saw Martin, not in the + gardens, but in the Kotzebue Street itself. She recognized his hat and + fair hair through the railings. He was walking with some one who might + almost have been Kosmaroff, better dressed than usual. But they parted + hurriedly before she could make sure, and Martin came towards the gate of + the gardens. He had evidently seen her and recognized her, but he did not + come to her with his usual joyous hurry. He paused, and looked all ways + before quitting the narrower path and coming out into the open. + </p> + <p> + Netty was at the lower end of the central avenue, close to the old palace + of the king of Saxony, where there is but little traffic; for the two + principal thoroughfares are at the farther corner of the gardens, near to + the two market-places and the Jewish quarter. + </p> + <p> + It thus happened that there was no one in Netty's immediate vicinity + except the old man, huddled up in his ragged coat. Martin paused to + satisfy himself that he was not followed, and then came towards her, but + Netty could see that he did not intend to stop and speak. He did not even + bow as he approached, but passing close by her he dropped a folded note at + her feet, and walked on without looking round. + </p> + <p> + There were others passing now in either direction, but Netty seemed to + know exactly how to act. She sat with her foot on the note until they had + gone. Then she stooped and picked up the paper. The precautions were + unnecessary, it seemed, for no one was even looking in her direction. + </p> + <p> + “I must not speak to you,” Martin wrote, “for there is danger in it—not + to me, but to yourself. That of which you will not let me tell you is for + to-night. Whatever you hear or see, do not leave your rooms at the Europe. + I have already provided for your safety. There is great news, but no one + knows it yet. Whatever happens, I shall always be thinking of you, and—no! + I must not say that. But to-morrow I may be able to say it—who + knows! I shall walk to the end of the garden and back again; but I must + not even bow to you. If you go away before I pass again, leave something + on the seat that I may keep until I see you again—your glove or a + flower, to be my talisman.” + </p> + <p> + Netty smiled as she read the letter, and glanced at Martin down the length + of the broad walk, with the tolerant softness still in her eyes. She + rather liked his old-fashioned chivalry, which is certainly no longer + current to-day, and would, perhaps, be out of place between two young + persons united fondly by a common sport or a common taste in + covert-coating. + </p> + <p> + Martin was at the far end of the gardens now, and in a minute would turn + and come towards her again. She had not long in which to think and to make + up her mind. She had, as Martin wrote, prevented him from telling her of + those political matters in which he was engaged. But she knew that events + were about to take place which might restore the fortunes of the Bukatys. + Should these fortunes be restored she knew that the prince would be the + first man in Poland. He might even be a king. For the crown had gone by + ballot in the days when Poland was a monarchy. + </p> + <p> + Netty had some violets pinned in the front of her jacket. She thoughtfully + removed them, and sat looking straight in front of her—absorbed in + maiden calculations. If Prince Bukaty should be first in Poland, Prince + Martin must assuredly be second. She laid the violets on the stone seat. + Martin had turned now though he was still far away. She looked towards + him, still thinking rapidly. He was a man of honor. She knew that. She had + fully gauged the honor of more than one man; had found it astonishingly + reliable. The honor of women was quite a different question. That which + Prince Martin said in the day of adversity he would assuredly adhere to in + other circumstances. “Besides—” And she smiled a thoughtful smile of + conscious power as she bent her head to rebutton her jacket and arrange + her furs. + </p> + <p> + She tore the letter into small pieces and threw it behind the heap of snow + at the back of the seat upon which she sat. Then she rose, looked at the + bunch of violets still lying where she had laid them, and walked slowly + away. She glanced over her shoulder at the old man sitting beneath the + leafless trees at the other side of the broad avenue. He sat huddled + within the high collar of his coat and heeded nothing. There was no one + near to the seat that she had just vacated, and Martin was now going + towards it. She hurried to the Saxon Palace, and as she passed beneath its + arches turned just in time to see Martin bend over the stone seat and take + up his talisman. He did it without disguise or haste. Any one may pick up + a flower, especially one that has been dropped by a pretty girl. + </p> + <p> + Martin walked on, and turned to the left down the path that leads to the + Kotzebue gate. + </p> + <p> + Then the old man on the seat nearly opposite to that upon which Netty had + been sitting seemed to arouse himself from the lethargy of misery. He + turned his head within his high collar, and watched Martin until he was + out of sight. Netty had disappeared almost at once beneath the arches of + the covered passages of the palace. + </p> + <p> + After a pause the old man rose, and crossing the pathway, sat down on the + seat vacated by Netty. He waited there a few minutes until the passers-by + had their backs turned towards him, and there was no one near enough to + notice his movements. Then he stepped, nimbly enough, across the bank of + gray snow, and collected the pieces of the letter which Netty had thrown + there. He brought them back to the stone seat and spread them out there, + like parts of a puzzle. He was, it seemed, an expert at such things; for + in a moment he had them in order, and had pieced together the upper half + of the paper. Moreover, he must have been a linguist; the note was written + in English, and this Warsaw waif of the public gardens seemed to read it + without difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “That of which you will not let me tell you is for to-night,” he read, and + instantly felt for his watch within the folds of his ancient clothing. It + was not yet mid-day. But the man seemed suddenly in a flurry, as if there + were more to be done before nightfall than he could possibly compass. + </p> + <p> + He collected the papers and placed them carefully inside a shabby purse. + Then he rose and departed in the direction of the governor-general's + palace. He must have been pressed for time, for he quite forgot to walk + with the deliberation that would have beseemed his apparent years. + </p> + <p> + Netty walked round the outside of the gardens, and ultimately turned into + the Senatorska, the street recommended to her by her uncle as being + composed of the best shops in the town. Oddly enough, she met Joseph + Mangles there—not loitering near the windows, but hurrying along. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “thought I might meet you here.” + </p> + <p> + He was, it appeared, as simple as other old gentlemen, and leaped to the + conclusion that if Netty was out-of-doors she must necessarily be in the + Senatorska. He suited his pace to hers. His head was thrust forward, and + he appeared to have something to think about, for he offered no remark for + some minutes. + </p> + <p> + “The mail is in,” he then observed, in his usual lugubrious tone, as if + the post had brought him his death-warrant. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” answered Netty, glancing up at him. She was sure that something had + happened. “Have you had important news?” + </p> + <p> + “Had nothing by the mail,” he answered, looking straight in front of him. + And Netty asked no more questions. + </p> + <p> + “Your aunt Jooly,” he said, after a pause, “has had an interesting mail. + She has been offered the presidency—” + </p> + <p> + “Of the United States?” asked Netty, with a little laugh, seeing that + Joseph paused. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” he answered, with deep gravity. “Of the Massachusetts Women + Bachelors' Federation.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “She'll accept,” opined Joseph P. Mangles, lugubriously. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a great honor?” + </p> + <p> + “There are different sorts of greatness,” Joseph replied. + </p> + <p> + “What is the Massachusetts Women Bachelors' Federation?” + </p> + <p> + Joseph Mangles did not reply immediately. He stepped out into the road to + allow a lady to pass. He was an American gentleman of the old school, and + still offered to the stronger sex that which they intend to take for + themselves in the future. + </p> + <p> + “Think it is like the blue-ribbon army,” he said, when he returned to + Netty's side. “The sight of the ribbon induces the curious to offer the + abstainer drink. The Massachusetts Bachelor Women advertise their + membership of the Federation, just to see if there is any man around who + will induce 'em to resign.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Aunt Julie pleased?” asked Netty. + </p> + <p> + “Almighty,” was the brief reply. “And she will accept it. She will marry + the paid secretary. They have a paid secretary. President usually marries + him. He is not a bachelor-woman. They're mostly worms—the men that + help women to make fools of themselves.” + </p> + <p> + This was very strong language for Uncle Joseph, who usually seemed to have + a latent admiration for his gifted sister's greatness. Netty suspected + that he was angry, or put out by something else, and made the + Massachusetts Women Bachelors bear the brunt of his displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “She is a masterful woman is Aunt Jooly,” he said; “she'll give him his + choice between dismissal and—and earthly paradise.” + </p> + <p> + Netty laughed soothingly, and glanced up at him again. He was walking + along with huge, lanky strides, much more hurriedly than he was aware of. + His head was thrust forward, and his chin went first as if to push a way + through a crowded world. + </p> + <p> + And it was borne in upon Netty that Uncle Joseph had received some order; + that he was pluming his ragged old wings for flight. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII + </h2> + <h3> + THIN ICE + </h3> + <p> + It was not yet mid-day when Paul Deulin called at the Bukaty Palace. + </p> + <p> + “Is the prince in?” he asked. “Is he busy?” he added, when the servant had + stood back with a gesture inviting him to enter. But the man only shrugged + his shoulders with a smile. The prince, it appeared, was never busy. + Deulin found him, in fact, in an arm-chair in his study, reading a German + newspaper. + </p> + <p> + The prince looked at him over the folded sheet. They had known each other + since boyhood, and could read perhaps more in each other's wrinkled and + drawn faces than the eyes of a younger generation were able to perceive. + The prince pointed to the vacant arm-chair at the other side of the + fireplace. Deulin took the chair with that leisureliness of movement and + demeanor of which Lady Orlay, and Cartoner, and others who were intimate + with him, knew the inner meaning. His eyes were oddly bright. + </p> + <p> + They waited until the servant had closed the door behind him, and even + then they did not speak at once, but sat looking at each other in the glow + of the wood-fire. Then Deulin shrugged his shoulders, and made, with both + hands outspread, a gesture indicative of infinite pity. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know?” said the prince, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “I knew at eight o'clock this morning. Cartoner advised me of it by a + cipher telegram.” + </p> + <p> + “Cartoner?” said the prince, interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “Cartoner is in Petersburg. He went there presumably to attend this—pleasing + denouement.” + </p> + <p> + The prince gave a short laugh. + </p> + <p> + “How well,” he said, folding his newspaper, and laying it aside + reflectively—“how well that man knows his business. But why did he + telegraph to you?” + </p> + <p> + “We sometimes do each other a good turn,” explained Deulin, rather curtly. + “It must have happened yesterday afternoon. One can only hope that—it + was soon over.” + </p> + <p> + The prince laughed, and looked across at the Frenchman with a glitter + beneath his shaggy brows. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” he said, “you must not ask me to get up any sentiment on this + occasion. Do not let us attempt to be anything but what God made us—plain + men, with a few friends, whom one would regret; and a number of enemies, + of whose death one naturally learns with equanimity. The man was a thief. + He was a great man and in a great position, which only made him the + greater thief.” + </p> + <p> + The prince moved his crippled legs with an effort and contemplated the + fire. + </p> + <p> + “He is dead,” he went on, after a pause, “and there is an end to it. I do + not pray that he may go to eternal punishment. I only want him to be dead; + and he is dead. Voila! It is a matter of rejoicing.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a ruffian; I always said you were a ruffian,” said Deulin, + gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I am a man, my friend, who has an object in life. An object, moreover, + which cannot take into consideration a human life here or there, a human + happiness more or less. You see, I do not even ask you to agree with me or + to approve of me.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend, in the course of a long life I have learned only one effective + lesson—to judge no man,” put in Deulin. + </p> + <p> + “Remember,” continued the prince, “I deplore the method. I understand it + was a bomb. I take no part in such proceedings. They are bad policy. You + will see—we shall both see, if we live long enough—that this + is a mistake. It will alienate all sympathies from the party. They have + not even dared to approach me with any suggestion of co-operation. They + have approached others of the Polish party and have been sent about their + business. But—well, one would be a fool not to take advantage of + every mishap to one's enemy.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin help up one hand in a gesture imploring silence. + </p> + <p> + “Thin ice!” he said, warningly. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” laughed the other. “You and your thin ice! I am no diplomatist—a + man who is afraid to look over a wall.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Only a man who prefers to find out what is on the other side by less + obvious means,” corrected the Frenchman. “One must not be seen looking + over one's neighbor's wall—that is the first commandment of + diplomacy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you here?” asked the prince, abruptly, with his rough laugh. + </p> + <p> + And Paul Deulin suddenly lost his temper. He sat bolt upright in his + chair, and banged his two hands down on the arms of it so that the dust + flew out. He glared across at the prince with a fierceness in his eyes + that had not glittered there for twenty years. + </p> + <p> + “You think I came here to pry into your affairs—to turn our + friendship into a means for my own aggrandizement? You think that I report + to my government that which you and I may say to each other, or leave + unsaid, before your study fire? Was it not I who cried 'Thin ice'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes,” answered the prince, shortly. And the two old friends + glared at each other gleams of the fires that had burned fiercely enough + in other days. “Yes—yes! but why are you here this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Why am I here this morning? I will tell you. I ask you no questions, I + want to know nothing of your schemes and plans. You can run your neck into + a noose if you like. You have been doing it all your life. And—who + knows?—you may win at last. As for Martin, you have brought him up + in the same school. And, bon Dieu! I suppose you are Bukatys, and you + cannot help it. It is your affair, after all. But you shall not push Wanda + into a Russian prison! You shall not get her to Siberia, if I can help + it!” + </p> + <p> + “Wanda!” said the prince, in some surprise—“Wanda!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You forget—you Bukatys always have forgotten—the women. + Warsaw is no place for Wanda to-day. And to-day's work—to-night's + work—is no work for Wanda!” + </p> + <p> + “To-night's work! What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + The prince sat forward and looked hard at his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you need not be alarmed. I know nothing,” was the answer. “But I am + not a complete fool. I put two and two together at random. I only guess, + as you know. I have guessed all my life. And as often as not I have + guessed right, as you know. Ah! you think I am interfering in that which + is not my business, and I do not care a snap of the finger what you + think!” + </p> + <p> + And he illustrated this indifference with a gesture of his finger and + thumb. + </p> + <p> + The prince laughed suddenly and boisterously. + </p> + <p> + “If I did not know that you had broken your heart—more than once—long + ago,” he began. But Deulin interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Only once,” he put in, with a short, hard laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, only once, then. I should say that you had fallen in love with + Wanda.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Deulin, lightly, “that is an old affair. That happened when she + used to ride upon my shoulder. And one keeps a tenderness for one's old + loves, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what do you propose to do? I tell you honestly I have had no + time to think of my own affairs. I have had no courage to think of them, + perhaps. I have been at work all night. Yes, yes! I know! Thin ice! You + ought to know it when you see it. You have been on it all your life, and + through it—” + </p> + <p> + “Only once,” repeated Deulin. “I propose what any other young lover would + propose to do—to run away with her from Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + Deulin looked at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “In half an hour. Think of the risks, Bukaty—a young girl.” + </p> + <p> + And he saw a sudden fierceness in the old man's eyes. The point was + gained. + </p> + <p> + “I could take her to Cracow this evening. Your sister there will take her + in.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes! But will Wanda go?” + </p> + <p> + “If you tell her to go she will. I think that is the only power on earth + that can make her do it.” + </p> + <p> + The prince smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know her failings. You are no lover, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a question in which we are both beyond our depth. You will do + this thing for me. I come back in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “What about the passport, and the difficulties of getting away from Warsaw + to-day?” asked the prince. “What we know others must know now.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave those matters to me. You can safely do so. Please do not move. I + will find my way to the door, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “If you see Wanda as you go,” called out the prince, as Deulin closed the + door behind him, “send her to me.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin did see Wanda. He had always intended to do so. He went to the + drawing-room and there found her, busy over some household books. He held + out beneath her eyes the telegram he had received that morning. + </p> + <p> + “A telegram,” she said, looking at it. “But I cannot make out its meaning. + I never saw or heard of that word before.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless the news it contains will stir the blood of men till the end + of time,” answered Deulin, lightly. “It is from a reliable source. + Cartoner sent it. Upon that news your father is basing that which he + wishes to say to you in his study now.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Wanda, with a ring of anxiety in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing!” put in Deulin, quickly, at the sight of her face. + “Nothing that need disturb your thoughts or mine. It is only a question of + empires and kingdoms.” + </p> + <p> + With his light laugh, he turned away from her, and was gone before she + could ask him a question. + </p> + <p> + In half an hour he returned. He had a cab waiting at the door, and the + passport difficulty had been overcome, he said. + </p> + <p> + “The man in the street,” he added, turning to the prince, sitting beside + Wanda, who stood before the study fire in her furs, ready to go—“the + man in the street and the innumerable persons who carry swords in this + city know nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “They will know at the frontier,” answered the prince, “and it is there + that you will have difficulties.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is there that we shall overcome them,” he replied, gayly. “It is + there also, I hope, that we shall dine. For I have had no lunch. No + matter; I lunched yesterday. I shall eat things in the train, and Wanda + will hate me. I always hate other people's crumbs, while for my own I have + a certain tenderness. Yes. Now let us say good-bye and be gone.” + </p> + <p> + For Paul Deulin's gayety always rose to the emergency of the moment. He + came of a stock that had made jests on the guillotine steps. He was + suddenly pressed for time, and had scarcely a moment in which to bid his + old friend good-bye, and no leisure to make those farewell speeches which + are nearly always better left unsaid. + </p> + <p> + “I must ask you,” he said to Wanda, when they were in the cab, “to drive + round by the Europe, and keep you waiting a few moments while I run + up-stairs and put together my belongings. I shall give up my room. I may + not come back. One never knows.” + </p> + <p> + And he looked curiously out of the cab window into the street that had run + with blood twice within his own recollection. He peered into the faces of + the passers-by as into the faces of men who were to-day, and to-morrow + would be as the seed of grass. + </p> + <p> + In the Cracow Faubourg all seemed to be as usual. Some were going about + their business without haste or enthusiasm, as the conquered races always + seem to do, while others appeared to have no business at all beyond a + passing interest in the shop-windows and a leisurely sense of enjoyment in + the sunshine. The quieter thoroughfares were quieter than usual, Deulin + thought. But he made no comment, and Wanda seemed to be fully occupied + with her own thoughts. The long expected, when it comes at last, is really + more surprising than the unexpected itself. + </p> + <p> + It was the luncheon hour at the Hotel de l'Europe, but the entrance hall + was less encumbered with hats and fur coats than was usual between twelve + and two. The man in the street might, as he had said, know nothing; but + others, and notably the better-born, knew now that the Czar was dead. + </p> + <p> + As Deulin was preparing to open the carriage door, Wanda spoke for the + first time. + </p> + <p> + “What will you do about the Mangles?” she asked. “We cannot let them + remain here unwarned.” + </p> + <p> + Deulin reflected for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I had forgotten them,” he answered. “In times of stress one finds out + one's friends, because the others are forgotten. I will say a word to + Mangles, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Wanda, sitting back in the cab so that on one should see + her—“yes, do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Odd people women are,” said Deulin to himself, as he hurried up-stairs. + He must really have been in readiness to depart, for he came down again + almost at once, followed by a green-aproned porter carrying his luggage. + </p> + <p> + “I looked into Mangles's salon,” he said to Wanda, when he was seated + beside her again. “He remains here alone. The ladies have already gone. + They must have taken the mid-day train to Germany. He is no fool—that + Mangles. But this morning he is dumb. He would say nothing.” + </p> + <p> + At the station and at the frontier there were, as the prince had + predicted, difficulties, and Deulin overcame them with the odd mixture of + good-humor and high-handedness which formed his method of ruling men. He + seemed to be in good spirits, and always confident. + </p> + <p> + “They know,” he said, when Wanda and he were safely seated in the Austrian + railway carriage. “They all know. Look at their stupid, perturbed faces. + We have slipped across the frontier before they have decided whether they + are standing on their heads or their heels. Ah! what a thing it is to have + a smile to show the world!” + </p> + <p> + “Or a grin,” he added, after a long pause, “that passes for one.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV + </h2> + <h3> + FOR ANOTHER TIME + </h3> + <p> + The thaw came that afternoon. Shortly before sunset the rain set in; the + persistent, splashing, cold rain that drives northward from the + Carpathians. In a few hours the roads would be impassable. The dawn would + see the rise of the Vistula; and there are few sights in nature more + alarming than the steady rise of a huge river. + </p> + <p> + There is to this day no paved road across the plain that lies to the south + of Warsaw. From the capital to the village of Wilanow there are three + roads which are sandy in dry weather, and wet in spring and autumn. During + the rains the whole tracks, and not only the ruts, are under water. They + are only passable and worthy of the name of road in winter, when the + sleighs have pressed down a hard and polished track. + </p> + <p> + Along the middle road—which is the worst and the least frequented—a + number of carts made their way soon after eight o'clock at night. The road + is not only unmade, but is neglected and allowed to fall into such deep + ruts and puddles as to make it almost impassable. It is bordered on either + side by trees and a deep ditch. In the late summer it is used for the + transit of the hay which is grown on the low-lying land. In winter it is + the shortest road to Wilanow. In spring and autumn it is not used at all. + </p> + <p> + It was raining hard now, and the wind hummed drearily through the + pollarded trees. Each of the four carts was dragged by three horses, + harnessed abreast in the Russian fashion. They were the ordinary hay-carts + of the country, to be encountered at any time on the more frequented road + nearer to the hills, carrying produce to the city. The carts were going + towards the city now, but they were empty. + </p> + <p> + Fifty yards in front of the caravan a man splashed along through the + standing water, his head bent to the rain. It was Kosmaroff. He was in his + working clothes, and the rain had glued his garments to his spare limbs. + He walked with long strides, heedless of where he set his feet. He had + reached that stage of wetness where whole water could scarcely have made + him wetter. Or else he had such business in hand that mere outward things + were of no account. Every now and then he turned his head, half + impatiently, to make sure that the carts were following him. The wheels + made no sound on the wet sand, but the heavy wood-work of the carts + groaned and creaked as they rolled clumsily in the deep ruts. + </p> + <p> + At the cross-ways, where the shorter runs at right angles into the larger + Wilanow road, Kosmaroff found a man waiting for him, on horseback, under + the shadow of the trees, which are larger here. The horseman was riding + slowly towards him from the town, and led a spare horse. He was in a rough + peasant's overcoat of a dirty white cloth, drawn in at the waist, and + split from heel to band, for use in the saddle. They wear such coats still + in Poland and Galicia. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff gave a little cough. There is nothing so unmistakable as a man's + trick of coughing. The horseman pulled up at once. + </p> + <p> + “You are punctual,” he said. “I was nearly asleep in the saddle.” + </p> + <p> + And the voice was that of Prince Martin Bukaty. He had another coat such + as he was wearing thrown across the saddle in front of him, and he leaned + forward to hand it down to Kosmaroff. + </p> + <p> + “You are not cold?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; I feel as if I should never be cold again.” + </p> + <p> + “That is good. Put on your coat quickly. You must not catch a chill. You + must take care of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “So must you,” answered Kosmaroff, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + Though one was dark and the other fair, there was a subtle resemblance + between these two men which lay, perhaps, more in gesture and limb than in + face. There also existed between them a certain sympathy which the French + call <i>camaraderie</i>, which was not the outcome of a long friendship. + Far back in the days of Poland's greatness they must have had a common + ancestor. In the age of chivalry some dark, spare knight, with royal blood + in his veins, had perhaps fallen in love with one of the fair Bukatys, + whose women had always been beautiful, and their men always reckless. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff climbed into the saddle, and they stood side by side, waiting + for the carts to come up. Martin's horse began to whinny at the sound of + approaching hoofs, when its rider leaned forward in the saddle and struck + it fiercely on the side of its great Roman nose, which sounded hollow, + like a drum. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you had little sleep last night,” said Kosmaroff when Martin + yawned, with his face turned up to the sky. + </p> + <p> + “I had none.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” said Kosmaroff. “We may get some—to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The carts now came up. Each team had two drivers, one walking on either + side. + </p> + <p> + “You know what to do,” said Martin to these in turn. “Come to the + iron-foundry, where you will find us waiting for you. When you are laden + you are to go straight back as quickly as you can by this same road to the + military earthworks, where you will find our friends drawn up in line. You + are to turn to the left, down the road running towards the river on this + side of the fortifications, and pass slowly down the line, dropping your + load as directed by those who will meet you there. If you are stopped on + the road by the police or a patrol, who insist on asking what you have in + your carts, you must be civil to them, and show them; and while they are + looking into your carts you must kill them quietly with the knife.” + </p> + <p> + The drivers seemed to have heard these instructions before, for they + merely nodded, and made no comment. One of them gave a low laugh, and that + was all. He appeared to be an old man with a white beard, and had perhaps + waited a long time for this moment. There was a wealth of promise in his + curt hilarity. + </p> + <p> + Then Martin and Kosmaroff turned and rode on towards Warsaw at a trot. + Before long they wheeled to the right, quitting the highway and taking to + the quieter Czerniakowska, that wide and deserted road which runs by the + river-side, skirting the high land now converted into a public + pleasure-ground, under the name of the Lazienki Park. + </p> + <p> + In the daytime the Czerniakowska is only used by the sand-carts and the + workmen going to and from the manufactories. To-night, in the pouring + rain, no one passed that way. + </p> + <p> + Before the iron-foundry is reached the road narrows somewhat, and is + bounded on either side by a high stone wall. On the left are the lower + lands of the Lazienki Park; the yards and storehouses of the iron-foundry + are on the right. + </p> + <p> + At the point where the road narrows Kosmaroff suddenly reined in his + horse, and leaning forward, peered into the darkness. There are no lamps + at the farther end of the Czerniakowska. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Martin. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I saw a glint under the wall,” answered Kosmaroff. “There—there + it is again. Steel. There is some one there. It is the gleam of those + distant lights on a bayonet.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us go forward,” said Martin, “and see who it is.” + </p> + <p> + And he urged his horse, which seemed tired, and carried its head low + beneath the rain. They had not gone ten paces when a rough voice called + out: + </p> + <p> + “Who goes there?” + </p> + <p> + “Who goes there?” echoed Martin. “But this is a high-road.” And he moved + nearer to the wall. The man stepped from the shadow, and his bayonet + gleamed again. + </p> + <p> + “No matter,” he said; “you cannot pass this way.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my friend—” began Martin, with a protesting laugh. But he + never finished the sentence, for Kosmaroff had slipped out of the saddle + on the far side, and interrupted him by pushing the bridle into his hand. + Then the ex-Cossack ran round at the back of the horses. + </p> + <p> + The soldier gave a sharp exclamation of surprise, and the next moment his + rifle rattled down against the wall. Both men were on the ground now in + the water and the mud. There came to Martin's ears the sound of hard + breathing, and some muttered words of anger; then a sharp cough, which was + not Kosmaroff's cough. + </p> + <p> + After an instant of dead silence, Kosmaroff rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “First blood,” he said, breathlessly. He went to his horse and wiped his + hands upon its mane. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” he exclaimed, “how he smelled of bad cigarettes!” + </p> + <p> + Martin was leaning in the saddle, looking down at the dark form in the + mud. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he is dead enough,” said Kosmaroff. “I broke his neck. Did you not + hear it go?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I heard it. But what was he doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “That is yet to be found out,” was the reply, in a sharp, strained voice. + “This is Cartoner's work.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it,” whispered Martin. And yet in his heart he could scarcely + doubt it at that moment. Nothing was further from his recollection than + the note he had given to Netty in the Saski Gardens ten hours ago. + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” he asked, with a sudden despair in his voice. He had + always been lucky and successful. + </p> + <p> + “It means,” answered the man who had never been either, “that the place is + surrounded, of course. They have got the arms, and we have failed—this + time. Take the horses back towards the barracks—and wait for me + where the water is across the road. I will go forward on foot and make + sure. If I do not return in twenty minutes it will mean that they have + taken me.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he took off his white overcoat, which was all gray and + bespattered with mud, and threw it across the saddle. His working clothes + were sombre and dirty. He was almost invisible in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment,” he said. “I will get over the wall here. Bring your horse + against the wall.” + </p> + <p> + Martin did so, avoiding the body of the sentry, which lay stretched across + the foot-path. The wall was eighteen feet high. + </p> + <p> + “Stand in your stirrups,” said Kosmaroff, “and hold one arm up rigid + against the wall.” + </p> + <p> + He was already standing on the broad back of the charger, steadying + himself by a firm grip of Martin's collar. He climbed higher, standing on + Martin's shoulders, and steadying himself against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ready? I am going to spring.” + </p> + <p> + He placed the middle of his foot in Martin's up-stretched palm, gave a + light spring and a scramble, and reached the summit of the wall. Martin + could perceive him for a moment against the sky. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he whispered, and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Martin had not returned many yards along the road they had come when he + heard pattering steps in the mud behind him. It was Kosmaroff, breathless. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” he whispered. “Quick!” + </p> + <p> + And he scrambled into the saddle while the horse was still moving. He was, + it must be remembered, a trained soldier. He led the way at a gallop, + stooping in the saddle to secure the swinging stirrups. Martin had to use + his spurs to bring his horse alongside. Shoulder to shoulder they splashed + on in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “I went right in,” gasped Kosmaroff. “The arms are gone. The place is full + of men. There is a sotnia drawn up in the yard itself. It is an ambuscade. + We have failed—failed—this time!” + </p> + <p> + “We must stop the carts, and then ride on and disperse the men,” said + Martin. “We may do it. We may succeed. It is a good night for such work.” + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff gave a short, despairing laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said. “You are full of hope—you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I am full of hope—still,” answered Martin. He had more to + lose than his companion. But he had also less to gain. + </p> + <p> + They rode hard until they met the carts, and turned them back. So far as + these were concerned, there was little danger in going away empty from the + city. + </p> + <p> + Then the two horsemen rode on in silence. They were far out in the + marsh-lands before Kosmaroff spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” he then said, “that I was seen as I climbed back over the + wall. I heard a stir among the rifles. But they could not recognize me. It + is just possible that I may not be suspected. For you it is different. If + they knew where the arms were stored, they must also know who procured + them. You will never be able to show yourself in Warsaw again.” + </p> + <p> + “I may be able to make myself more dangerous elsewhere,” said Martin, with + a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” went on Kosmaroff, “if they will have arrested your + father and sister; but I am quite sure that they will be in the palace now + awaiting your return there. We must get away to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” answered Martin gayly, “it does not matter much about that. What I + am thinking of are these four thousand men waiting out here in the rain. + How are we to get them to their homes in Warsaw?” + </p> + <p> + And Kosmaroff had no answer to this question. + </p> + <p> + Beneath the trees on the low, wet land inside the fortifications they + found their men drawn up in a double line. There were evidences of + military organization and training in their bearing and formation. If the + arms had been forthcoming, these would have been dangerous soldiers; for + they were desperate men, and had each in his heart a grievance to be wiped + out. They were only the nucleus of a great rising, organized carefully and + systematically—the brand to be thrown amid the straw. They were to + surprise and hold the two strongholds in Warsaw, while the whole country + was set in a blaze, while the foreign powers and the parties to the treaty + which Russia had systematically broken were appealed to and urged to + assist. It was a wild scheme, but not half so wild as many that have + succeeded. + </p> + <p> + The four thousand heroically waiting the word that was to send them on + their forlorn hope heard the news in silence, and all silently moved away. + </p> + <p> + “It is for another time—it is for another time!” said Kosmaroff and + Martin repeatedly and confidently, as the men moved past them in the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + In Warsaw there was a queer silence, and every door was shut. The streets + had been quite deserted, and they were now full of soldiers, who, at a + given word, had moved out from the barracks to line the streets. + </p> + <p> + At midnight they were still at their posts, when the first stragglers came + in from the south, silent, mud-bespattered, bedraggled men, who shuffled + along in their dripping clothes in the middle of the street in groups of + two and three. They hung their heads and crept to their houses. And the + conquerors watched them without sympathy, without anger. + </p> + <p> + It was a miserable fiasco. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV + </h2> + <h3> + ACROSS THE FRONTIER + </h3> + <p> + Those who listened at their open windows that night for the sound of + firing heard it not. They heard, perhaps, the tread of slipshod feet + hurrying homeward. They could scarcely fail to hear the Vistula grinding + and grumbling in its new-found strength. For the ice was moving and the + water rising. The long sleep of winter was over, and down the great length + of the river that touches three empires men must needs be on the alert + night and day. + </p> + <p> + Between the piers of the bridge the ice had become blocked, and the large, + flat floes sweeping down on the current were pushing, hustling, and + climbing on each other with grunts and squeaks as if they had been endowed + with some low form of animal life. The rain did not cease at midnight, but + the clouds lifted a little, and the night was less dark. The moon above + the clouds was almost full. + </p> + <p> + “There is only one chance of escape,” Kosmaroff had said—“the river. + Meet me on the steps at the bottom of the Bednarska at half-past twelve. I + will get a boat. Have you money?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a few roubles—I never had many,” answered Martin. + </p> + <p> + “Get more if you can—get some food if you can—a bottle of + vodka may make the difference between life and death. Keep your coat.” + </p> + <p> + And they parted hurriedly on the hill where the road rises towards the + Mokotow. Kosmaroff turned to the right and went to the river, where he + earned his daily bread, where his friends eked out their toilsome lives. + Martin joined the silent, detached groups hurrying towards the city. He + passed down the whole length of the Marszalkowska with the others + slouching along the middle of the street beneath the gaze of the soldiers, + brushing past the horses of the Cossacks stationed at the street corners. + And he was allowed to pass, unrecognized. + </p> + <p> + A group of officers stood in the wide road opposite to the railway + station, muffled in their large cloaks. They were talking together in a + low voice. One of them gave a laugh as Martin passed. He recognized the + voice as that of a friend—a young Cossack officer who had lunched + with him two days earlier. + </p> + <p> + Soon after midnight he made his way down the steep Bednarska. He had found + out that the Bukaty Palace was surrounded; had seen the light filtering + through the dripping panes of the conservatory. His father was probably + sitting in the great drawing-room alone, before the wood-fire, meditating + over the failure which he must have realized by now from a note hurriedly + sent by one of the few servants whom they could trust. Martin knew that + Wanda had gone. He also knew the address that would find her. This was one + of the hundred details to which the prince himself had attended. He had + been a skilled organizer in the days when he had poured arms and + ammunition into Poland across the Austrian frontier, and his hand had not + lost its cunning. All Poland was seamed by channels through which + information could be poured at any moment day or night, just as water is + distributed over the land of an irrigated farm. + </p> + <p> + Martin had procured money. He carried some large round loaves of gray + bread under his arm. The neck of a bottle protruded from the pocket of his + coat. Among the lower streets near the river these burdens were more + likely to allay than to arouse suspicion. + </p> + <p> + Between the Bednarska and the bridge which towers above the low-roofed + houses fifty yards farther down the river are the landing-stages for the + steamers that ply in summer. There is a public bath, and at one end of + this floating erection a landing-stage for smaller boats, where as often + as not Kosmaroff found work. It was to this landing-stage that Martin + directed his steps. In summer there were usually workers and watchers here + night and day; for the traffic of a great river never ceases, and those + whose daily bread is wrested from wind, water, and tide must get their + sleep when they can. + </p> + <p> + To-night there were a few men standing at the foot of the street where the + steps are—river-workers who had property afloat and imprisoned by + the ice, dwellers, perhaps, in those cheap houses beneath the bridge which + are now gradually falling under the builder's hammer, who took a sleepless + interest in the prospects of a flood. + </p> + <p> + Martin went out onto the landing-stage, and looked about him as if he also + had a stake in this, one of nature's great lotteries. There he had a fit + of coughing, such as any man might have on such a night, and at the most + deadly time of the year. He waited ten minutes, perhaps, coughing at + intervals, and at length Kosmaroff came to him, not from the land, but + across the moving floes from the direction of the bridge. + </p> + <p> + “The water is running freely,” he said, “through the middle arch. I have a + boat out there on the ice. Come!” + </p> + <p> + And he took the bread from Martin's arms, and led the way on to the river + that he knew so well in all its varying moods. The boat was lying on the + ice a few yards above the massive pier of the bridge, almost at the edge + of the water, which could be heard gurgling and lapping as it flowed + towards the sea with its burden of snow and ice. It was so dark that + Martin, stumbling over the chaos of ice, fell against the boat before he + saw it. It was one of the rough punts of a primeval simplicity of build + used by the sand-workers of the Vistula. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff gave his orders shortly and sharply. He was at home on the + unstable surface, which was half water, half ice. He was commander now, + and spoke without haste or hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Help me,” he said, “to carry her to the edge, but do not stand upright. + We can easily get away unseen, and you may be sure that no one will come + out on the ice to look for us. We must be twenty miles away before dawn.” + </p> + <p> + The boat was a heavy one, and they stumbled and fell several times; for + there was no foothold, and both were lightly made men. At last they + reached the running water and cautiously launched into it. + </p> + <p> + “We must lie down in the bottom of the boat,” said Kosmaroff, “and take + our chances of being crushed until we are past the citadel.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke they shot under the bridge. Above them, to the left, towered + the terrace of the castle, and the square face of that great building + which has seen so many vicissitudes. Every window was alight. For the + castle is used as a barracks now, and the soldiers, having been partially + withdrawn from the streets, were going to bed. Soon these lights were left + behind, and the outline of the citadel, half buried in trees, could be + dimly seen. Then suddenly they left the city behind, and were borne on the + breast of the river into the outer darkness beyond. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff sat up. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a piece of bread,” he said. “I am famished.” + </p> + <p> + But he received no answer. Prince Martin was asleep. + </p> + <p> + The sky was beginning to clear. The storm was over, but the flood had yet + to come. The rain must have fallen in the Carpathians, and the Vistula + came from those mountains. In twenty-four hours there would be not only + ice to fear, but uprooted trees and sawn timber from the mills; here and + there a mill-wheel torn from its bearings, now and then a dead horse; a + door, perhaps, of a cottage, or part of a roof; a few boats; a hundred + trophies of the triumph of nature over man, borne to the distant sea on + muddy waters. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff found the bread and tore a piece off. Then he made himself as + comfortable as he could in the stern of the boat, using one oar as a + rudder. But he could not see much. He could only keep the boat heading + down stream and avoid the larger floes. Then—wet, tired out, + conscious of failure, sick at heart—he fell asleep, too, in the + hands of God. + </p> + <p> + When he awoke he found Martin crouching beside him, wide awake. The prince + had taken the oar and was steering. The clouds had all cleared away, and a + full moon was high above them. The dawn was in the sky above the level + land. They were passing through a plain now, broken here and there by + pollarded trees, great spaces of marsh-land, with big, low-roofed farms + standing back on the slightly rising ground. It was almost morning. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff sat up, and immediately began to shiver. Martin was shivering + too, and handed him the vodka-bottle with a laugh. His spirits were proof + even against failure and a hopeless dawn and bitter cold. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff stood up and looked round. They were travelling at a great pace + in the company of countless ice-floes, some white with snow, others gray + and muddy. + </p> + <p> + “I know where we are,” he answered, after a pause. “We have passed + Wyszogrod. We are nearing Plock. We have come a great distance. I wish my + teeth wouldn't chatter.” + </p> + <p> + “I have secured mine with a piece of bread,” mumbled Martin. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff was looking uneasily at the sky. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot travel during the day,” he said, after a long examination of + the little clouds hanging like lines across the eastern sky. “We shall not + be able to cross the frontier at Thorn with this full moon, and I am + afraid we are going to have fine weather. We shall soon come to some large + islands on this side of Plock. I know a farmer there. We must wait with + him until we have promise of a suitable night to pass through Thorn.” + </p> + <p> + Before daylight they reached the islands. There was no pack now; the ice + was afloat and moving onward. All Kosmaroff's skill, all the little + strength of both was required to work the boat through the floes towards + the land. The farmer took them in willingly enough, and boasted that they + could not have found a safer hiding-place in all Poland, which, indeed, + seemed true enough. For none but expert and reckless boatmen would attempt + to cross the river now. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, Kosmaroff made the passage to the mainland before mid-day, + and set off on foot to Plock. He was going to communicate with the prince + at Warsaw, and ask him to provide money or means of escape to await them + at Dantzic. In two days a reply came, telling them that their escape was + being arranged, but they must await further instructions before quitting + their hiding-place. After the lapse of four days these further orders came + by the same sure channel, which was independent of the Russian + post-offices. + </p> + <p> + The fugitives were to proceed cautiously to Dantzic, to pass through that + town at night to the anchorage below Neufahrwasser. Here they would find + Captain Cable, in the <i>Minnie</i>, anchored in the stream ready for sea. + The instructions were necessarily short. There were no explanations + whatever. There was no news. + </p> + <p> + At Plock, Kosmaroff could learn nothing, for nothing was known there. The + story of the great plot had been hushed up by the authorities. There are + persons living in Warsaw who do not know of it to this day. There are + others who know of it and deny that it ever existed. The arms are in use + in Central Asia at the present time, though their pattern is already + considered antiquated. Any one who may choose to walk along the + Czerniakowska will find to-day on the left-hand side of it a large + building, once an iron-foundry, now deserted and falling into disrepair. + If it be evening-time, he will, as likely as not, meet the patrol from the + neighboring hussar barracks, which nightly guards this road and the + river-side. + </p> + <p> + After receiving their final instructions, Kosmaroff and Martin had to wait + two days until the weather changed—until the moon, now well on the + wane, did not rise before midnight. + </p> + <p> + At last they set out, in full daylight, on a high river still encumbered + by ice. It was much warmer during the day now; but the evenings were cold, + and a thick mist usually arose from the marsh-lands. This soon enveloped + them, and they swept on unseen. None could have followed them into the + mist, for none had Kosmaroff's knowledge of the river. + </p> + <p> + The frontier-line is some miles above the ancient city of Thorn. It is + strictly guarded by day and night. The patrol-boats are afloat at every + hour. Kosmaroff had arranged to arrive at this spot early in the night, + before the mists had been dispelled by the coming of the moon. + </p> + <p> + Even he could only guess at their position. Once they dared to approach + the shore in order to discover some landmark. But they navigated chiefly + by sound. The whistle of a distant train, the sound of church clocks, the + street cries of a town—these were Kosmaroff's degrees of latitude. + </p> + <p> + “We are getting near,” he said, in little more than a whisper. “What is + the time?” + </p> + <p> + It was nearly eleven o'clock. If they got past the frontier they would + sweep through Thorn before mid-night. The river narrows here, and goes at + a great pace. It is still of a vast width—one of the largest rivers + in Europe. + </p> + <p> + The mist was very thick here. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” whispered Kosmaroff, suddenly. And they heard the low, regular + thud of oars. It was the patrol-boat. + </p> + <p> + Almost immediately a voice, startlingly near, called upon them to halt. + They crouched low in the boat. In a mist it is very difficult to locate + sound. They looked round in all directions. The voice seemed to have come + from above. It was raised again, and seemed to be behind them this time. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, or we fire!” it said, in Russian. Then followed a sharp whistle, + which was answered by two or three others. There were at least three boats + close at hand, seeking to locate each other before they fired. + </p> + <p> + Immediately afterwards the firing began, and was taken up by the more + distant boats. A bullet splashed in the water close behind Kosmaroff's + oar, with a sharp spit like that of an angry cat. Martin gave a suppressed + laugh. Kosmaroff only smiled. + </p> + <p> + Then two bullets struck the boat simultaneously, one on the stern-post, + fired from behind, the other full on the side amidships, where Martin lay + concealed. + </p> + <p> + Neither of the two men moved or made a sound. Kosmaroff leaned forward and + peered into the fog. The patrol-boats were behind now, and the officers + were calling to each other. + </p> + <p> + “What was it—a boat or a floating tree?” they heard them ask each + other. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff was staring ahead, but he saw Martin make a quick movement in + the bottom of the boat. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “A bullet,” answered Martin. “It came through the side of the boat, low + down. It struck me in the back—the spine. I cannot move my legs. But + I have stopped the water from coming in. I have my finger in the hole the + bullet made below the water-line. I can hold on till we have passed + through Thorn.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in his natural voice, quite cheerfully. They were not out of + danger yet. Kosmaroff could not quit the steering-oar. He glanced at + Martin, and then looked ahead again uneasily. + </p> + <p> + Martin was the first to speak. He raised himself on his elbow, and with a + jerk of the wrist threw something towards Kosmaroff. It was an envelope, + closed and doubled over. + </p> + <p> + “Put that in your pocket,” he said. And Kosmaroff obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “You know Miss Cahere, who was at the Europe?” asked Martin, suddenly, + after a pause. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff smiled the queer smile that twisted his face all to one side. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know her.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her that, or get it to her,” said Martin. + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Martin, answering the unasked question, “I am badly hit, + unless you can do something for me after we are past Thorn.” + </p> + <p> + And his voice was still cheerful. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVI + </h2> + <h3> + CAPTAIN CABLE SOILS HIS HANDS + </h3> + <p> + Cartoner was preparing to leave St. Petersburg when he received a letter + from Deulin. The Frenchman wrote from Cracow, and mentioned in a rather + rambling letter that Wanda was staying with a relative in that ancient + city. He also thought it probable that she would make a stay in England + pending the settlement of certain family affairs. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” wrote Deulin, “that you will soon be on your way home. I + think it likely we shall both be sent to Madrid before long. At all + events, I hope we may meet somewhere. If you are passing through Dantzic + on your homeward journey, you will find your old friend Cable there.” + </p> + <p> + This last sentence was partly disfigured by a peculiar-shaped blot. The + writer had evidently dropped his pen, all laden with ink, upon the letter + as he wrote it. And Cartoner knew that this was the kernel, as it were, of + this chatty epistle. He was bidden to make it convenient to go to Dantzic + and to see Captain Cable there. + </p> + <p> + He arrived in Dantzic early in the morning, and did not go to a hotel. He + left his luggage at the station and walked down to the Lange Brucke, where + the river steamers start for Neufahrwasser. + </p> + <p> + The boats ran every hour, and Cartoner had not long to wait. He was not + pressed for time, however, on his homeward journey, as he was more or less + his own master while travelling, and could break his journey at Dantzic + quite as easily as at Berlin. + </p> + <p> + Neufahrwasser is slowly absorbing the commerce of Dantzic, and none but + small vessels go up the river to the city now. Captain Cable was deeply + versed in those by-paths of maritime knowledge which enable small vessels + to hold their own in these days of monopoly. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner knew that he would find the <i>Minnie</i> not in dock, but in one + of the river anchorages, which are not only cheaper, but are more + convenient for a vessel wanting to go to sea at short notice. And Captain + Cable had a habit of going to sea at short notice. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner was not far wrong. For his own steamer passed the <i>Minnie</i> + just above Neufahrwasser, where the river is broad and many vessels lie in + mid-stream. The <i>Minnie</i> was deeply laden and lay anchored bow and + stern, with the rapid tide rustling round her chains. She was ready for + sea. Cartoner could see that. But she flew no bluepeter nor heralded her + departure, as some captains, and especially foreigners, love to do. It + adds to their sense of importance, and this was a modern quality little + cultivated by Captain Cable. Neither was his steam aggressively in + evidence. The <i>Minnie</i> did not catch the eye of the river-side idler, + but conveyed the impression that she was a small, insignificant craft + minding her own business, and would be much obliged if you would mind + yours. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner had to walk back by the river-side and then take a boat from the + steps opposite to the anchorage. He bade the boatman wait while he + clambered on board. Captain Cable had been informed of the approach of a + shore boat, and was standing squarely on his own iron main-deck when + Cartoner put his leg across the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Come below,” he said, without enthusiasm. “It wasn't you that I was + expecting. I tell you that.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner followed the captain into the little, low cabin, which smelled of + petroleum, as usual. The <i>Minnie</i> was a hospitable ship, according to + her facilities, and her skipper began by polishing a tumbler with a corner + of the table-cloth. Then he indicated the vacant swing-back bench at the + far side of the table, and sat down opposite to Cartoner himself. + </p> + <p> + “Was up the Baltic,” he explained. “Pit props. Got a full cargo on board. + Got an offer such as a poor sailorman couldn't afford to let slip to come + to Dantzic and wait here till two gents came aboard. That's all I'm going + to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all I want to know,” answered Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “But, dammy, it's not all I want to know!” shouted Cable, suddenly, with a + bang of his little, thick fist on the table. “I've been thinking since I + lay here—been sleeping badly, and took the anchor watch meself—what + I want to know is whether I'm to be treated gentlemanly!” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” inquired Cartoner, gently. And the sound of his voice + seemed to pacify the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he admitted, “I'm not a gentleman, I know that; but in + seafaring things I'll be treated as such. Truth is, I'm afraid it's + something to do with this news from St. Petersburg. And I don't take any + bombmen on board my ship, and that's flat.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can assure you on that point,” said Cartoner. “Nobody who had + to do with the assassination of the Czar is likely to be in Dantzic. But I + do not know whom you are to take on board here.” + </p> + <p> + “May be as you can guess,” suggested the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I can guess,” admitted Cartoner, with his slow smile. + </p> + <p> + “But you won't tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “No. When do you expect them?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll answer that and ask you another,” said Captain Cable, getting a + yellow decanter from a locker beneath the table. “That's port—ship-chandler's + port. I won't say it's got a bokay, mind.” + </p> + <p> + For Captain Cable's hospitality was not showy or self-sufficient. + </p> + <p> + “I'll answer that and ask you another. I expected them last night. They'll + likely come down with the tide, soon after midnight to-night. And now I'll + ask you, what brought you aboard this ship, here in Dantzic River, Mr. + Cartoner?” + </p> + <p> + “A letter from a Frenchman you know as well as I do—Paul Deulin. + Like to read it?” + </p> + <p> + And Cartoner laid the letter before Captain Cable, who smiled + contemptuously. He knew what was expected of a gentleman better than even + to glance at it as it lay before him in its envelope. + </p> + <p> + “No, I wouldn't,” he answered. He scratched his head reflectively, and + looked beneath his bushy brows at Cartoner as if he expected the + ship-chandler's port to have an immediate effect of some sort. + </p> + <p> + “Got your luggage in the boat alongside?” he asked, at length. + </p> + <p> + “No. It's at the station.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let me send a hand ashore for it. Got three Germans furard. You'll + come aboard and see this thing through, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” answered Cartoner. He handed Captain Cable the ticket for his + luggage. + </p> + <p> + “Mate's receipt?” inquired the captain. + </p> + <p> + And Cartoner nodded. The captain pushed the decanter towards his guest as + he rose to go and give the necessary orders. + </p> + <p> + “No stint of the wine,” he said, and went out on deck. + </p> + <p> + When he came back he laid the whole question aside, and devoted himself to + the entertainment of his guest. They both slept in the afternoon. For the + captain had been up all night, and fully expected to see no bed the + following night. + </p> + <p> + “If they come down with the tide we'll go to sea on the same ebb,” he + said, as he lay down on his state-room locker and composed himself to + sleep. + </p> + <p> + He sent the hands below at ten o'clock, saying he would keep the anchor + watch himself. He wanted no forecastle gossip, he said to Cartoner, and + did not trouble to explain that he had kept the watch three nights in + succession on that account. Cartoner and he walked the deck side by side, + treading softly for the sake of the sleepers under deck. For the same + reason, perhaps, they were silent. + </p> + <p> + Once only Captain Cable spoke in little more than a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Hope he is pleased with himself,” he said, as he stood at the stern rail, + looking up river, as it happened, towards Cracow. “For it is his doing, + you and me waiting his orders here this cold night. They're tricky—the + French. He's a tricky man.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” admitted Cartoner, who knew that the captain spoke of Deulin, “he + is a tricky man.” + </p> + <p> + After this they walked backward and forward for an hour without speaking. + Then Captain Cable suddenly raised his hand and pointed into the night. + </p> + <p> + “There's a boat yonder,” he said, “coming down quiet, under the lee of the + land.” + </p> + <p> + They stood listening, and presently heard the sound of oars used with + great caution. A boat was crossing the river now and coming towards them. + Captain Cable went forward and took a coil of rope. He clambered + laboriously to the rail and stood there, watching the shadowy shape of the + boat, which was now within hail. It was swinging round on the tide with + perfect calculation and a most excellent skill. + </p> + <p> + “Stand by,” said Captain Cable, gruffly, and the coils of his rope + uncurled against the sky, to fall in a straight line across the boat. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner could see a man catch the rope neatly and make it fast with two + turns. In a moment the boat came softly nestling against the steamer as a + kitten may nestle against its mother. + </p> + <p> + The man, who seemed to be the sole occupant, stood up, resting his hand on + the rail of the <i>Minnie</i>. His head came up over the rail, and he + peered into Cartoner's face. + </p> + <p> + “You!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cartoner, watching his hands, for there was a sort of + exultation in Kosmaroff's voice, as if fate had offered him a chance which + he never expected. + </p> + <p> + Cable came aft and stood beside Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “I want to go to sea this tide,” he said. “Where is the other man?” + </p> + <p> + “The other man is Prince Martin Bukaty,” was the answer. “Help me to lift + him on board.” + </p> + <p> + “Why can't he come on board himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is dead,” answered Kosmaroff, with a break in his voice. And + he lurched forward against the rail. Cartoner caught him by one arm and + held him up. + </p> + <p> + “I am so weak!” he murmured, “so weak! I am famished!” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner lifted him bodily over the rail, and Cable received him, half + fainting, in his arms. The next moment Cartoner was kneeling in the boat + that rode alongside. He slowly raised Martin, and with an effort held him + towards the captain, who was sitting astride on the rail. Thus they got + him on board and carried him to the cabin. They passed through it to that + which was grandly called the captain's state-room. They laid him on the + locker which served for a bed, while Kosmaroff, supporting himself against + the bulkhead, watched them in silence. + </p> + <p> + The captain glanced at Martin, and then, catching sight of Kosmaroff's + face, he hurried to the cabin, to return in a minute with the inevitable + decanter, yellow with age and rust. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said, “drink that. Eat a bit o' biscuit. You're done.” + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff did as he was told. His eyes had the unmistakable glitter of + starvation and exhaustion. They were fixed on Cartoner's face, with a + hundred unasked questions in them. + </p> + <p> + “How did it happen?” asked Cartoner, at length. + </p> + <p> + “They fired on us crossing the frontier, and hit him. Pity it was not me. + He is a much greater loss than I should have been. That was the night + before last. He died before the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut! tut!” muttered Captain Cable, with an unwritable expression of pity. + “There was the makings of a man in him,” he said—“the makings of a + man!” + </p> + <p> + And what Captain Cable held worthy of the name of man is not so common as + to be lost to the world with indifference. He stood reflecting for a + moment while Kosmaroff ate the ship's biscuit offered to him in the lid of + a box, and Cartoner stared thoughtfully at the flickering lamp. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take him out to sea and bury him there,” said Cable, at length, “if + so be as that's agreeable to you. There's many a good man buried at sea, + and when my time comes I'll ask for no better berth.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the only thing to be done,” said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff glanced towards the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “that will do. He will lay quiet enough there.” + </p> + <p> + And all three, perhaps, thought of all that they were to bury beneath the + sea with this last of the Bukatys. + </p> + <p> + Captain Cable was the first to move. He turned and glanced at the clock. + </p> + <p> + “I'll turn the hands out,” he said, “and we'll get to sea on the ebb. But + I'll have to send ashore for a pilot.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Kosmaroff, rising and finishing his wine, “you need not do + that. I can take you out to sea.” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded curtly and went on deck, leaving Kosmaroff and Cartoner + alone in the cabin in the silent presence of the man who had been the + friend of both. + </p> + <p> + “Will you answer me a question?” asked Kosmaroff, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “If I can,” was the reply, economical of words. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you on the 13th of March?” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner reflected for a moment, and then replied: + </p> + <p> + “In St. Petersburg.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I do not understand you,” said Kosmaroff. “I don't understand how we + failed. For you know we have failed, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing,” answered Cartoner. “But I conclude you have failed, + since you are here—and he is there.” + </p> + <p> + And he pointed towards Martin. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I had nothing to do with it,” said Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot expect me to believe that.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not care,” replied the English diplomat, gently, “whether you + believe it or not.” + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff moved towards the door. He carefully avoided passing near + Cartoner, as if too close a proximity might make him forget himself. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you one thing,” he said, in a hard, low voice. “It will not + do for you to show your face in Poland. Don't ever forget that I will take + any chance I get to kill you! There is not room for you and me in Poland!” + </p> + <p> + “If I am sent there I shall go,” replied Cartoner. And there crept to one + side of Kosmaroff's face that slow smile which seemed to give him pain. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you will.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went to the door. For Captain Cable could be heard on deck giving + his orders, and already the winches were at work. But the Pole paused on + the threshold and looked back. Then he came into the cabin again with his + hand in the pocket of his threadbare workman's jacket. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said, bringing out a folded envelope and laying it on the + cabin-table between them. “A dead man's wish. Get that to Miss Cahere. + There is no message.” + </p> + <p> + Cartoner took up the envelope and put it in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not see her, but I will see that she gets it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The dawn was in the sky before the <i>Minnie</i> swept out past the + pier-head light of Neufahrwasser. It was almost daylight when she slowed + down in the bay to drop her pilot. Kosmaroff's boat was towing astern, + jumping and straining in the wash of the screw. They hauled it up under + the quarter, and in the dim light of coming day Cable and Cartoner drew + near to the Pole, who had just quitted the wheel. + </p> + <p> + The three men stood together for a moment in silence. There was much to be + said. There was a multitude of questions to be asked and answered. But + none of the three had the intention of doing either one or the other. + </p> + <p> + “If you want a passage home,” said Cable, gruffly, “cut your boat adrift. + You're welcome.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” was the answer. “I am going back to Poland to try again.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Cartoner, and peered in the half-light into the face of the + only man he had had dealings with who had not been afraid of him. “Perhaps + we shall meet again soon,” he said, “in Poland.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” replied Cartoner. “I am under orders for Madrid.” + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff stood by the rail for a moment, looking down into his boat. Then + he turned suddenly to Cartoner, and made him a short, formal bow. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Cartoner nodded, and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + Kosmaroff then turned towards Cable, who was standing with his hands + thrust into his jacket-pockets, looking ahead towards the open sea. + </p> + <p> + “Captain,” he said, and held out his hand so that Cable could not help + seeing it. The captain hesitated, and at length withdrew his hand from the + shelter of his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, mister,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Then Kosmaroff climbed down into his boat. They cut the rope adrift, and + he sat down to the oars. + </p> + <p> + There was a lurid streak of dawn low down in the sky, and Kosmaroff headed + his boat towards it across the chill, green waters. Above the promise of a + stormy day towered a great bank of torn clouds hanging over Poland. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVII + </h2> + <h3> + THE PARTING OF THE WAYS + </h3> + <p> + Paul Deulin happened to be in Lady Orlay's drawing-room, nearly a month + later, when Miss Cahere's name was announced. He made a grimace and stood + his ground. + </p> + <p> + Lady Orlay, it may be remembered, was one of those who attempt to keep + their acquaintances in the right place—that is to say, in the + background of her life. With this object in view, she had an “at home” + day, hoping that her acquaintances would come to see her then and not stay + too long. To-day was not that day. + </p> + <p> + “I know I ought not to have come this afternoon,” explained Netty, with a + rather shy haste, as she shook hands. “But I could not wait until next + Tuesday, because we sail that day.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are going home again?” + </p> + <p> + Netty turned to greet Deulin, and changed color very prettily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, looking from one to the other with the soft blush still + in her cheeks—“yes, and I am engaged to be married.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Deulin. And his voice meant a great deal, while his eyes said + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Do we know the—gentleman?” asked Lady Orlay kindly. She was noting, + with her quick and clever eyes, that Netty seemed happy and was + exquisitely dressed. She was quite ready to be really interested in this + idyl. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” answered Netty. “He is not unknown in London. His name is + Burris.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Lady Orlay, “the comp—” Then she remembered that to call + a fellow-creature a company promoter is practically a libel. “The + millionaire?” she concluded, rather lamely. + </p> + <p> + “I believe he is very rich,” admitted Netty, “though, of course—” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not,” Lady Orlay hastened to say. “I congratulate you, and + wish you every happiness.” + </p> + <p> + She turned rather abruptly towards Deulin, as if to give the next word to + him. He took it promptly. + </p> + <p> + “And I,” he said, with his old-world bow and deprecatory outspreading of + the hands—“I wish you all the happiness—that money can buy.” + </p> + <p> + Then he walked towards the fireplace, and stood there with his shoulder + turned towards them while the two ladies discussed that which was to be + Netty's future life. Her husband would be old enough to be her father, but + he was a millionaire twice over—in London and New York. He had, + moreover, a house in each of those great cities, of which details appeared + from time to time in the illustrated monthly magazines. + </p> + <p> + “So I shall hope to be in London every year,” said Netty, “and to see all + the friends who have been so kind to us—you and Lord Orlay and Mr. + Deulin.” + </p> + <p> + “And Reginald Cartoner,” suggested Deulin, turning to look over his + shoulder for the change which he knew would come into Netty's eyes. And it + came. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. She looked as if she would like to ask a question, but + did not give way to the temptation. She did not know that Cartoner was in + the house at that moment, and Wanda, too. She did not know that Deulin had + brought Wanda to London to stay at Lady Orlay's until Martin effected his + escape and joined his sister in England. She only knew what the world now + knew—that Price Martin Bukaty had died and been buried at sea. It + was very sad, she had said, he was so nice. + </p> + <p> + Deulin did not join in the conversation again. He seemed to be interested + in the fire, and Lady Orlay glanced at him once or twice, seeking to + recall him to a sense of his social obligations. He had taken an envelope + from his pocket, and, having torn it in two, had thrown it on the fire, + where it was smouldering now on the coals. It was a soiled and worn + envelope, as if it had passed through vicissitudes; there seemed to be + something inside it which burned and gave forth an aromatic odor. + </p> + <p> + He was still watching the fire when Netty rose and took her leave. When + the door closed again Lady Orlay went towards the fire. + </p> + <p> + “What is that in which you are so deeply interested that you quite forgot + to be polite?” she said to Deulin. “Is it a letter?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a love-token,” answered the Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + “For Netty Cahere?” + </p> + <p> + “No. For the woman that some poor fool supposed her to be.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Orlay touched the envelope with the toe of a slipper which was still + neat and small, so that it fell into the glowing centre of the fire and + was there consumed. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you have assumed a great responsibility,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I have, and I shall carry it lightly to heaven if I get there.” + </p> + <p> + “It has a smell of violets,” said Lady Orlay, looking down into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “They are violets—from Warsaw,” admitted Deulin. “Wanda is in?” he + asked, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they are in the study. I will send for her.” + </p> + <p> + “I have received a letter from her father,” said Deulin, with his hand on + the bell. + </p> + <p> + Wanda came into the room a few minutes later. She was, of course, in + mourning for Martin now, as well as for Poland. But she still carried her + head high and faced the world with unshrinking eyes. Cartoner followed her + into the room, his thoughtful glance reading Deulin's face. + </p> + <p> + “You have news?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard from your father at last.” + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman took the letter from his pocket, and his manner of unfolding + it must have conveyed the intimation that he was not going to give it to + Wanda, but intended to read it aloud, for Lady Orlay walked to the other + end of the long room, out of hearing. Cartoner was about to follow her, + when Wanda turned and glanced at him, and he stayed. + </p> + <p> + “The letter begins,” said Deulin, unconsciously falling into a + professional preliminary— + </p> + <p> + “'I have received Cartoner's letter supplementing the account given by the + man who was with Martin at the last. I remember Captain Cable quite well. + When we met him at the Signal House, at Northfleet, I little thought that + he would be called upon to render the last earthly service to my son. So + it was he who read the last words. And Martin was buried in the Baltic. + You, my old friend, know all that I have given to Poland. The last gift + has been the hardest to part with. Some day I hope to write to Cartoner, + but not now. He is not a man to attach much importance to words. He is, I + think, a man to understand silence. At present I cannot write, as I am + virtually a prisoner in my own house. From a high quarter I have received + a gracious intimation that my affairs are under the special attention of a + beneficent monarch, and that I am so far to be mercifully forgiven that a + sentence of perpetual confinement within the barriers of Warsaw will be + deemed sufficient punishment for—not having been found out. But my + worst enemies are my own party. Nothing can now convince them that Martin + and I did not betray the plot. Moreover, Cartoner's name is freely coupled + with ours. So they believe. So it will go down to history, and nothing + that we can say will make any difference. That I find myself in company + with Cartoner in this error only strengthens the feeling of friendship, of + which I was conscious when we first met. Beg him, for his own sake, never + to cross this frontier again. Ask him, for mine, to avoid making any sign + of friendship towards me or mine.'” + </p> + <p> + As fate ruled it, the letter required turning at this point, and Deulin, + for the first time in his life, perhaps, made a mistake at a crucial + moment. He allowed his voice to break on the next word, and had to pause + for an instant before he could proceed. + </p> + <p> + “Then follow,” he said, rather uneasily, “certain passages to myself which + I need not read. Further on he proceeds: 'I am in good health. Better, + indeed, than when I last saw you. I am, in fact, a very tough old man, and + may live to give much trouble yet.'” + </p> + <p> + Deulin broke off, and laughed heartily at this conceit. But he laughed + alone. + </p> + <p> + “So, you see, he seems very cheerful,” he said, as if it was the letter + that had laughed. He folded the paper and replaced it in his pocket. “He + seems to be getting on very well without you, you perceive,” he added, + smiling at Wanda. But he lacked conviction. There was in his voice and + manner a dim suggestion of the losing game, consciously played. + </p> + <p> + “May I read the letter for myself?” asked Wanda, holding out her slim, + steady hand. + </p> + <p> + After a moment's hesitation, Deulin took the folded paper from his pocket + and handed it to her. Lady Orlay had returned to the group standing near + the fire. He turned and met her eyes, making an imperceptible movement of + his eyebrows, as of one who had made an attempt and failed. They waited in + silence while Wanda read the letter, and at length she handed it back to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I read it differently. It is not only the world which + appears differently to two different people, even a letter may have two + meanings to two readers. You shed a sort of gayety upon that——” + </p> + <p> + She indicated the letter which he still held in his hand, and Deulin + deprecated the suggestion by a shrug of the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “—which is not really there. To me it is the letter of a + broken-hearted man,” she added slowly. There was an odd pause, during + which Wanda seemed to reflect. She was at the parting of the ways. Even + Deulin had nothing to say. He could not point out the path. Perhaps + Cartoner had already done so by his own life, without any words at all. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go to Warsaw to-night,” she said at last to Lady Orlay, “if you + will not think me wanting in manners. Believe me, I do not lack gratitude. + But—you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, I understand,” replied the woman who had known happiness. And + she closed her lips quickly, as if she feared that they might falter. + </p> + <p> + “It is so clearly my duty, and duty is best, is it not?” said Wanda. As + she spoke she turned to Cartoner. The question was asked of none other. It + was unto his judgment that she gave her case; to his wisdom she submitted + the verdict of her life. She wished him to give it before these people. As + if she took a subtle pride in showing them that he was what she knew him + to be. She was sure of her lover; which is, perhaps, happiness enough for + this world. + </p> + <p> + “Duty is best, is it not?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “It is the only thing,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + Deulin was the first to speak. He had strong views upon last words and + partings. The mere thought of such things made him suddenly energetic and + active. He turned to Wanda with his watch in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Your mind is made up?” he asked. “You go to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must go at once to see to your passport and make arrangements for + the journey. I take you as far as Alexandrowo. I cannot take you across + the frontier, you understand?” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Cartoner. + </p> + <p> + “And you? When do you go to Spain?” + </p> + <p> + “To-night,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Then good-bye.” The Frenchman held out his hand, and in a moment was at + the door. Lady Orlay followed him out of the room and closed the door + behind her. She followed him down-stairs. In the hall they stood and + looked at each other in silence. There were tears in the woman's eyes. But + Deulin's smile was sadder. + </p> + <p> + “And this is the end,” he said—“the end!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lady Orlay; “it is not. It cannot be. I have never known a + great happiness yet that was not built upon the wreckage of other + happinesses. That is why happy people are never gay. It is not the end, + Paul. Heaven is kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” answered Deulin, grudgingly. On the door-step he paused, and, + facing her suddenly, he made a gesture indicating himself, commanding her + attention to his long life and story. “Sometimes, milady.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vultures, by Henry Seton Merriman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VULTURES *** + +***** This file should be named 3805-h.htm or 3805-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/0/3805/ + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + +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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