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diff --git a/43216-8.txt b/43216-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a09f3be..0000000 --- a/43216-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6554 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Zut and Other Parisians, by Guy Wetmore Carryl - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Zut and Other Parisians - -Author: Guy Wetmore Carryl - -Release Date: July 14, 2013 [EBook #43216] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZUT AND OTHER PARISIANS *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Eleni Christofaki and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's note. - -Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. Variable -spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Words in italics are -presented _this way_. - - - - -By Guy Wetmore Carryl. - - - THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR. Crown 8vo, $1.50. - - ZUT AND OTHER PARISIANS. Narrow 12mo. - - GRIMM TALES MADE GAY. Illustrated by ALBERT LEVERING. Square crown - 8vo, $1.50, _net._ Postpaid, $1.62. - - -HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, BOSTON AND NEW YORK. - - - - -Zut - -_AND OTHER PARISIANS_ - - - - - _GUY WETMORE CARRYL_ - - Zut - - AND OTHER PARISIANS - - [Illustration] - - _BOSTON AND NEW YORK_ - HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY - _The Riverside Press, Cambridge_ - 1903 - - - - - _Copyright 1903 by Guy Wetmore Carryl_ - _All rights reserved_ - - _Published September, 1903_ - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -_A_ - -C. F. G. - - -_Mon cher ami_: - -_En souvenir de maints beaux jours dont tu as partagé l'allégresse: en -attendant d'autres à venir: de ceux-là encore dont tu as adouci la -souffrance et l'ennui: par reconnaissance de conseils qu'on n'oublie -jamais et de prévoyances dont on se souvient toujours: je te dédie les -contes suivants. Tu y retrouveras beaucoup d'amis et peut-être autant -d'inconnus: tu les acceuilleras assurément, les uns et les autres, avec -cette belle hospitalité qui ne s'est jamais démentie, et qui m'a rendu -et me rendra encore--espérons-le!--ton obligé et reconnaissant_ - - _G. W. C._ - - - - -_CONTENTS_ - - - _Page_ - - ZUT 3 - - CAFFIARD, _Deus ex Machina_ 28 - - THE NEXT CORNER 56 - - THE ONLY SON OF HIS MOTHER 84 - - THE TUITION OF DODO CHAPUIS 109 - - LE POCHARD 138 - - A LATTER-DAY LUCIFER 161 - - POIRE! 190 - - PAPA LABESSE 215 - - IN THE ABSENCE OF MONSIEUR 245 - - LITTLE TAPIN 275 - - - - -ZUT - - - - -[Illustration] - -Zut - - -SIDE by side, on the avenue de la Grande Armée, stand the épicerie of -Jean-Baptiste Caille and the salle de coiffure of Hippolyte Sergeot, and -between these two there is a great gulf fixed, the which has come to be -through the acerbity of Alexandrine Caille (according to Espérance -Sergeot), through the duplicity of Espérance Sergeot (according to -Alexandrine Caille). But the veritable root of all evil is Zut, and Zut -sits smiling in Jean-Baptiste's doorway, and cares naught for anything -in the world, save the sunlight and her midday meal. - -When Hippolyte found himself in a position to purchase the salle de -coiffure, he gave evidence of marked acumen by uniting himself in the -holy--and civil--bonds of matrimony with the retiring patron's daughter, -whose dot ran into the coveted five figures, and whose heart, said -Hippolyte, was as good as her face was pretty, which, even by the -unprejudiced, was acknowledged to be forcible commendation. The -installation of the new establishment was a nine days' wonder in the -quartier. It is a busy thoroughfare at its western end, is the avenue de -la Grande Armée, crowded with bicyclists and with a multitude of -creatures fearfully and wonderfully clad, who do incomprehensible things -in connection with motor-carriages. Also there are big cafés in plenty, -whose waiters must be smoothly shaven: and moreover, at the time when -Hippolyte came into his own, the porte Maillot station of the -Métropolitain had already pushed its entrée and sortie up through the -soil, not a hundred metres from his door, where they stood like -atrocious yellow tulips, art nouveau, breathing people out and in by -thousands. There was no lack of possible custom. The problem was to turn -possible into probable, and probable into permanent; and here the seven -wits and the ten thousand francs of Espérance came prominently to the -fore. She it was who sounded the progressive note, which is half the -secret of success. - -"Pour attirer les gens," she said, with her arms akimbo, "il faut -d'abord les épater." - -In her creed all that was worth doing at all was worth doing gloriously. -So, under her guidance, Hippolyte journeyed from shop to shop in the -faubourg St. Antoine, and spent hours of impassioned argument with -carpenters and decorators. In the end, the salle de coiffure was -glorified by fresh paint without and within, and by the addition of a -long mirror in a gilt frame, and a complicated apparatus of gleaming -nickel-plate, which went by the imposing title of appareil antiseptique, -and the acquisition of which was duly proclaimed by a special placard -that swung at right angles to the door. The shop was rechristened, too, -and the black and white sign across its front which formerly bore the -simple inscription "Kilbert, Coiffeur," now blazoned abroad the vastly -more impressive legend "Salon Malakoff." The window shelves fairly -groaned beneath their burden of soaps, toilet waters, and perfumery, a -string of bright yellow sponges occupied each corner of the window, and, -through the agency of white enamel letters on the pane itself, public -attention was drawn to the apparently contradictory facts that English -was spoken and "schampoing" given within. Then Hippolyte engaged two -assistants, and clad them in white duck jackets, and his wife fabricated -a new blouse of blue silk, and seated herself behind the desk with an -engaging smile. The enterprise was fairly launched, and experience was -not slow in proving the theories of Espérance to be well founded. The -quartier was épaté from the start, and took with enthusiasm the bait -held forth. The affairs of the Salon Malakoff prospered prodigiously. - -But there is a serpent in every Eden, and in that of the Sergeot this -rôle was assumed by Alexandrine Caille. The worthy épicier himself was -of too torpid a temperament to fall a victim to the gnawing tooth of -envy, but in the soul of his wife the launch, and, what was worse, the -immediate prosperity of the Salon Malakoff, bred dire resentment. Her -own establishment had grown grimy with the passage of time, and the -annual profits displayed a constant and disturbing tendency toward -complete evaporation, since the coming of the big cafés, and the -resultant subversion of custom to the wholesale dealers. This persistent -narrowing of the former appreciable gap between purchase and selling -price rankled in Alexandrine's mind, but her misguided efforts to -maintain the percentage of profit by recourse to inferior qualities only -made bad worse, and, even as the Sergeot were steering the Salon -Malakoff forth upon the waters of prosperity, there were nightly -conferences in the household next door, at which impending ruin -presided, and exasperation sounded the keynote of every sentence. The -resplendent façade of Hippolyte's establishment, the tide of custom -which poured into and out of his door, the loudly expressed admiration -of his ability and thrift, which greeted her ears on every side, and, -finally, the sight of Espérance, fresh, smiling, and prosperous, behind -her little counter,--all these were as gall and wormwood to Alexandrine, -brooding over her accumulating debts and her decreasing earnings, among -her dusty stacks of jars and boxes. Once she had called upon her -neighbor, somewhat for courtesy's sake, but more for curiosity's, and -since then the agreeable scent of violet and lilac perfumery dwelt -always in her memory, and mirages of scrupulously polished nickel and -glass hung always before her eyes. The air of her own shop was heavy -with the pungent odors of raw vegetables, cheeses, and dried fish, and -no brilliance redeemed the sardine and biscuit boxes which surrounded -her. Life became a bitter thing to Alexandrine Caille, for if nothing is -more gratifying than one's own success, surely nothing is less so than -that of one's neighbor. Moreover, her visit had never been returned, and -this again was fuel for her rage. - -But the sharpest thorn in her flesh--and even in that of her phlegmatic -husband--was the base desertion to the enemy's camp of Abel Flique. In -the days when Madame Caille was unmarried, and when her ninety kilos -were fifty still, Abel had been youngest commis in the very shop over -which she now held sway, and the most devoted suitor in all her train. -Even after his prowess in the black days of '71 had won him the -attention of the civil authorities, and a grateful municipality had -transformed the grocer-soldier into a guardian of law and order, he -still hung upon the favor of his heart's first love, and only gave up -the struggle when Jean-Baptiste bore off the prize and enthroned her in -state as presiding genius of his newly acquired épicerie. Later, an -unwittingly kindly prefect had transferred Abel to the seventeenth -arrondissement, and so the old friendship was picked up where it had -been dropped, and the ruddy-faced agent found it both convenient and -agreeable to drop in frequently at Madame Caille's on his way home, and -exchange a few words of reminiscence or banter for a box of sardines or -a minute package of tea. But, with the deterioration in his old friends' -wares, and the almost simultaneous appearance of the Salon Malakoff, his -loyalty wavered. Flique sampled the advantages of Hippolyte's -establishment, and, being won over thereby, returned again and again. -His hearty laugh came to be heard almost daily in the salle de coiffure, -and because he was a brave homme and a good customer, who did not stand -upon a question of a few sous, but allowed Hippolyte to work his will, -and trim and curl and perfume him to his heart's content, there was -always a welcome for him, and a smile from Madame Sergeot, and -occasionally a little present of brillantine or perfumery, for -friendship's sake, and because it is well to have the good-will of the -all-powerful police. - -From her window Madame Caille observed the comings and goings of Abel -with a resentful eye. It was rarely now that he glanced into the -épicerie as he passed, and still more rarely that he greeted his former -flame with a stiff nod. Once she had hailed him from the doorway, -sardines in hand, but he had replied that he was pressed for time, and -had passed rapidly on. Then indeed did blackness descend upon the soul -of Alexandrine, and in her deepest consciousness she vowed to have -revenge. Neither the occasion nor the method was as yet clear to her, -but she pursed her lips ominously, and bided her time. - -In the existence of Madame Caille there was one emphatic consolation for -all misfortunes, the which was none other than Zut, a white angora cat -of surpassing beauty and prodigious size. She had come into -Alexandrine's possession as a kitten, and, what with much eating and an -inherent distaste for exercise, had attained her present proportions and -her superb air of unconcern. It was from the latter that she derived her -name, the which, in Parisian argot, at once means everything and -nothing, but is chiefly taken to signify complete and magnificent -indifference to all things mundane and material: and in the matter of -indifference Zut was past-mistress. Even for Madame Caille herself, who -fed her with the choicest morsels from her own plate, brushed her fine -fur with excessive care, and addressed caressing remarks to her at -minute intervals throughout the day, Zut manifested a lack of interest -that amounted to contempt. As she basked in the warm sun at the shop -door, the round face of her mistress beamed upon her from the little -desk, and the voice of her mistress sent fulsome flattery winging toward -her on the heavy air. Was she beautiful, mon Dieu! In effect, all that -one could dream of the most beautiful! And her eyes, of a blue like the -heaven, were they not wise and calm? Mon Dieu, yes! It was a cat among -thousands, a mimi almost divine. - -Jean-Baptiste, appealed to for confirmation of these statements, replied -that it was so. There was no denying that this was a magnificent beast. -And of a chic. And caressing--(which was exaggeration). And of an -affection--(which was doubtful). And courageous--(which was wholly -untrue.) Mazette, yes! A cat of cats! And was the boy to be the whole -afternoon in delivering a cheese, he demanded of her? And Madame Caille -would challenge him to ask her that--but it was a good, great beast all -the same!--and so bury herself again in her accounts, until her -attention was once more drawn to Zut, and fresh flattery poured forth. -For all of this Zut cared less than nothing. In the midst of her -mistress's sweetest cajolery, she simply closed her sapphire eyes, with -an inexpressibly eloquent air of weariness, or turned to the intricacies -of her toilet, as who should say: "Continue. I am listening. But it is -unimportant." - -But long familiarity with her disdain had deprived it of any sting, so -far as Alexandrine was concerned. Passive indifference she could suffer. -It was only when Zut proceeded to an active manifestation of ingratitude -that she inflicted an irremediable wound. Returning from her marketing -one morning, Madame Caille discovered her graceless favorite seated -complacently in the doorway of the Salon Malakoff, and, in a paroxysm of -indignation, bore down upon her, and snatched her to her breast. - -"Unhappy one!" she cried, planting herself in full view of Espérance, -and, while raining the letter of her reproach upon the truant, -contriving to apply its spirit wholly to her neighbor. "What hast thou -done? Is it that thou desertest me for strangers, who may destroy thee? -Name of a name, hast thou no heart? They would steal thee from me--and -above all, _now_! Well then, no! One shall see if such things are -permitted! Vagabond!" And with this parting shot, which passed -harmlessly over the head of the offender, and launched itself full at -Madame Sergeot, the outraged épicière flounced back into her own domain, -where, turning, she threatened the empty air with a passionate gesture. - -"Vagabond!" she repeated. "Good-for-nothing! Is it not enough to have -robbed me of my friends, that you must steal my child as well? We shall -see!"--then, suddenly softening--"Thou art beautiful, and good, and -wise. Mon Dieu, if I should lose thee, and above all, _now_!" - -Now there existed a marked, if unvoiced, community of feeling between -Espérance and her resentful neighbor, for the former's passion for cats -was more consuming even than the latter's. She had long cherished the -dream of possessing a white angora, and when, that morning, of her own -accord, Zut stepped into the Salon Malakoff, she was received with -demonstrations even warmer than those to which she had long since become -accustomed. And, whether it was the novelty of her surroundings, or -merely some unwonted instinct which made her unusually susceptible, her -habitual indifference then and there gave place to animation, and her -satisfaction was vented in her long, appreciative purr, wherewith it was -not once a year that she vouchsafed to gladden her owner's heart. -Espérance hastened to prepare a saucer of milk, and, when this was -exhausted, added a generous portion of fish, and Zut then made a tour of -the shop, rubbing herself against the chair-legs, and receiving the -homage of customers and duck-clad assistants alike. Flique, his ruddy -face screwed into a mere knot of features, as Hippolyte worked violet -hair-tonic into his brittle locks, was moved to satire by the -apparition. - -"Tiens! It is with the cat as with the clients. All the world forsakes -the Caille." - -Strangely enough, the wrathful words of Alexandrine, as she snatched her -darling from the doorway, awoke in the mind of Espérance her first -suspicion of this smouldering resentment. Absorbed in the launching of -her husband's affairs, and constantly employed in the making of change -and with the keeping of her simple accounts, she had had no time to -bestow upon her neighbors, and, even had her attention been free, she -could hardly have been expected to deduce the rancor of Madame Caille -from the evidence at hand. But even if she had been able to ignore the -significance of that furious outburst at her very door, its meaning had -not been lost upon the others, and her own half-formed conviction was -speedily confirmed. - -"What has she?" cried Hippolyte, pausing in the final stage of his -operations upon the highly perfumed Flique. - -"Do I know?" replied his wife with a shrug. "She thinks I stole her -cat--_I!_" - -"Quite simply, she hates you," put in Flique. "And why not? She is old, -and fat, and her business is taking itself off, like that! You are young -and"--with a bow, as he rose--"beautiful, and your affairs march to a -marvel. She is jealous, c'est tout! It is a bad character, that." - -"But, mon Dieu!"-- - -"But what does that say to you? Let her go her way, she and her cat. Au -r'voir, 'sieurs, 'dame." - -And, rattling a couple of sous into the little urn reserved for tips, -the policeman took his departure, amid a chorus of "Merci, m'sieu', au -r'voir, m'sieu'," from Hippolyte and his duck-clad aids. - -But what he had said remained behind. All day Madame Sergeot pondered -upon the incident of the morning and Abel Flique's comments thereupon, -seeking out some more plausible reason for this hitherto unsuspected -enmity than the mere contrast between her material conditions and those -of Madame Caille seemed to her to afford. For, to a natural placidity of -temperament, which manifested itself in a reluctance to incur the -displeasure of any one, had been lately added in Espérance a shrewd -commercial instinct, which told her that the fortunes of the Salon -Malakoff might readily be imperiled by an unfriendly tongue. In the -quartier, gossip spread quickly and took deep root. It was quite -imaginably within the power of Madame Caille to circulate such rumors of -Sergeot dishonesty as should draw their lately won custom from them and -leave but empty chairs and discontent where now all was prosperity and -satisfaction. - -Suddenly there came to her the memory of that visit which she had never -returned. Mon Dieu! and was not that reason enough? She, the youngest -patronne in the quartier, to ignore deliberately the friendly call of a -neighbor! At least it was not too late to make amends. So, when business -lagged a little in the late afternoon, Madame Sergeot slipped from her -desk, and, after a furtive touch to her hair, went in next door to pour -oil upon the troubled waters. - -Madame Caille, throned at her counter, received her visitor with -unexampled frigidity. - -"Ah, it is you," she said. "You have come to make some purchases, no -doubt." - -"Eggs, madame," answered her visitor, disconcerted, but tactfully -accepting the hint. - -"The best quality--or--?" demanded Alexandrine, with the suggestion of a -sneer. - -"The best, evidently, madame. Six, if you please. Spring weather at -last, it would seem." - -To this generality the other made no reply. Descending from her stool, -she blew sharply into a small paper bag, thereby distending it into a -miniature balloon, and began selecting the eggs from a basket, holding -each one to the light, and then dusting it with exaggerated care before -placing it in the bag. While she was thus employed Zut advanced from a -secluded corner, and, stretching her fore legs slowly to their utmost -length, greeted her acquaintance of the morning with a yawn. Finding in -the cat an outlet for her embarrassment, Espérance made another effort -to give the interview a friendly turn. - -"He is beautiful, madame, your matou," she said. - -"It is a female," replied Madame Caille, turning abruptly from the -basket, "and she does not care for strangers." - -This second snub was not calculated to encourage neighborly overtures, -but Madame Sergeot had felt herself to be in the wrong, and was not to -be so readily repulsed. - -"We do not see Monsieur Caille at the Salon Malakoff," she continued. -"We should be enchanted"-- - -"My husband shaves himself," retorted Alexandrine, with renewed dignity. - -"But his hair"--ventured Espérance. - -"_I_ cut it!" thundered her foe. - -Here Madame Sergeot made a false move. She laughed. Then, in confusion, -and striving, too late, to retrieve herself--"Pardon, madame," she -added, "but it seems droll to me, that. After all, ten sous is a sum so -small"-- - -"All the world, unfortunately," broke in Madame Caille, "has not the -wherewithal to buy mirrors, and pay itself frescoes and appareils -antiseptiques! The eggs are twenty-four sous--but we do not pride -ourselves upon our eggs. Perhaps you had better seek them elsewhere for -the future!" - -For sole reply Madame Sergeot had recourse to her expressive shrug, and -then laying two francs upon the counter, and gathering up the sous which -Alexandrine rather hurled at than handed her, she took her way toward -the door with all the dignity at her command. But Madame Caille, feeling -her snub to have been insufficient, could not let her go without a final -thrust. - -"Perhaps your husband will be so amiable as to shampoo my cat!" she -shouted. "She seems to like your 'Salon'!" - -But Espérance, while for concord's sake inclined to tolerate all -rudeness to herself, was not prepared to hear Hippolyte insulted, and -so, wheeling at the doorway, flung all her resentment into two words. - -"Mal élevée!" - -"Gueuse!" screamed Alexandrine from the desk. And so they parted. - -Now, even at this stage, an armed truce might still have been preserved, -had Zut been content with the evil she had wrought, and not thought it -incumbent upon her further to embitter a quarrel that was a very pretty -quarrel as it stood. But, whether it was that the milk and fish of the -Salon Malakoff lay sweeter upon her memory than any of the familiar -dainties of the épicerie Caille, or that, by her unknowable feline -instinct, she was irresistibly drawn toward the scent of violet and -lilac brillantine, her first visit to the Sergeot was soon repeated, and -from this visit other visits grew, until it was almost a daily -occurrence for her to saunter slowly into the salle de coiffure, and -there receive the food and homage which were rendered as her undisputed -due. For, whatever was the bitterness of Espérance toward Madame Caille, -no part thereof descended upon Zut. On the contrary, at each visit her -heart was more drawn toward the sleek angora, and her desire but -strengthened to possess her peer. But white angoras are a luxury, and an -expensive one at that, and, however prosperous the Salon Malakoff might -be, its proprietors were not as yet in a position to squander eighty -francs upon a whim. So, until profits should mount higher, Madame -Sergeot was forced to content herself with the voluntary visits of her -neighbor's pet. - -Madame Caille did not yield her rights of sovereignty without a -struggle. On the occasion of Zut's third visit, she descended upon the -Salon Malakoff, robed in wrath, and found the adored one contentedly -feeding on fish in the very bosom of the family Sergeot. An appalling -scene ensued. - -"If," she stormed, crimson of countenance, and threatening Espérance -with her fist, "if you _must_ entice my cat from her home, at _least_ I -will thank you not to give her food. I provide all that is necessary; -and, for the rest, how do I know what is in that saucer?" - -And she surveyed the duck-clad assistants and the astounded customers -with tremendous scorn. - -"You others," she added, "I ask you, is it just? These people take my -cat, and feed her--_feed_ her--with I know not what! It is overwhelming, -unheard of--and, above all, _now_!" - -But here the peaceful Hippolyte played trumps. - -"It is the privilege of the vulgar," he cried, advancing, razor in hand, -"when they are at home, to insult their neighbors, but here--no! My wife -has told me of you and of your sayings. Beware! or I shall arrange your -affair for you! Go! you and your cat!" - -And, by way of emphasis, he fairly kicked Zut into her astonished -owner's arms. He was magnificent, was Hippolyte! - -This anecdote, duly elaborated, was poured into the ears of Abel Flique -an hour later, and that evening he paid his first visit in many months -to Madame Caille. She greeted him effusively, being willing to pardon -all the past for the sake of regaining this powerful friend. But the -glitter in the agent's eye would have cowed a fiercer spirit than hers. - -"You amuse yourself," he said sternly, looking straight at her over the -handful of raisins which she tendered him, "by wearying my friends. I -counsel you to take care. One does not sell inferior eggs in Paris -without hearing of it sooner or later. I know more than I have told, but -not more than I _can_ tell, if I choose." - -"Our ancient friendship"--faltered Alexandrine, touched in a vulnerable -spot. - -"--preserves you thus far," added Flique, no less unmoved. "Beware how -you abuse it!" - -And so the calls of Zut were no longer disturbed. - -But the rover spirit is progressive, and thus short visits became long -visits, and finally the angora spent whole nights in the Salon Malakoff, -where a box and a bit of carpet were provided for her. And one fateful -morning the meaning of Madame Caille's significant words "and above all, -_now_!" was made clear. - -The prosperity of Hippolyte's establishment had grown apace, so that, on -the morning in question, the three chairs were occupied, and yet other -customers awaited their turn. The air was laden with violet and lilac. A -stout chauffeur, in a leather suit, thickly coated with dust, was -undergoing a shampoo at the hands of one of the duck-clad, and, under -the skillfully plied razor of the other, the virgin down slid from the -lips and chin of a slim and somewhat startled youth, while from a -vaporizer Hippolyte played a fine spray of perfumed water upon the ruddy -countenance of Abel Flique. It was an eloquent moment, eminently fitted -for some dramatic incident, and that dramatic incident Zut supplied. She -advanced slowly and with an air of conscious dignity from the corner -where was her carpeted box, and in her mouth was a limp something, -which, when deposited in the immediate centre of the Salon Malakoff, -resolved itself into an angora kitten, as white as snow! - -"Epatant!" said Flique, mopping his perfumed chin. And so it was. - -There was an immediate investigation of Zut's quarters, which revealed -four other kittens, but each of these was marked with black or tan. It -was the flower of the flock with which the proud mother had won her -public. - -"And they are all yours!" cried Flique, when the question of ownership -arose. "Mon Dieu, yes! There was such a case not a month ago, in the -eighth arrondissement--a concierge of the avenue Hoche who made a -contrary claim. But the courts decided against her. They are all yours, -Madame Sergeot. My felicitations!" - -Now, as we have said, Madame Sergeot was of a placid temperament which -sought not strife. But the unprovoked insults of Madame Caille had -struck deep, and, after all, she was but human. - -So it was that, seated at her little desk, she composed the following -masterpiece of satire: - - CHÈRE MADAME,--We send you back your cat, and the others--all but - one. One kitten was of a pure white, more beautiful even than its - mother. As we have long desired a white angora, we keep this one as - a souvenir of you. We regret that we do not see the means of - accepting the kind offer you were so amiable as to make us. We fear - that we shall not find time to shampoo your cat, as we shall be so - busy taking care of our own. Monsieur Flique will explain the rest. - - We pray you to accept, madame, the assurance of our distinguished - consideration, - - HIPPOLYTE AND ESPÉRANCE SERGEOT. - - * * * * * - -It was Abel Flique who conveyed the above epistle, and Zut, and four of -Zut's kittens, to Alexandrine Caille, and, when that wrathful person -would have rent him with tooth and nail, it was Abel Flique who laid his -finger on his lip, and said,-- - -"Concern yourself with the superior kitten, madame, and I concern myself -with the inferior eggs!" - -To which Alexandrine made no reply. After Flique had taken his -departure, she remained speechless for five consecutive minutes for the -first time in the whole of her waking existence, gazing at the spot at -her feet where sprawled the white angora, surrounded by her mottled -offspring. Even when the first shock of her defeat had passed, she -simply heaved a deep sigh, and uttered two words,-- - -"Oh, _Zut_!" - -The which, in Parisian argot, at once means everything and nothing. - - - - -[Illustration] - -Caffiard - -DEUS EX MACHINA - - -THE studio was tucked away in the extreme upper northeast corner of 13 -ter rue Visconti, higher even than that cinquième, dearly beloved of the -impecunious, and of whoso, between stairs and street odors, chooses the -lesser evil, and is more careful of lungs than legs. After the six long -flights had been achieved, around a sharp corner and up a little winding -stairway, was the door which bore the name of Pierre Vauquelin. Inside, -after stumbling along a narrow hall, as black as Erebus, and floundering -through a curtained doorway, one came abruptly into the studio, and, in -all probability, fell headlong over a little rattan stool, or an easel, -or a box of paints, and was picked up by the host, and dusted, and put -to rights, and made much of, like a bumped child. Thus restored to -equanimity one was better able to appreciate what Pierre called la -Boîte. - -The Box was a room eight metres in width by ten in length, with a -skylight above, and a great, square window in the north wall, which -latter sloped inward from floor to ceiling, by reason of the mansarde -roof. Of what might be called furniture there was but little, a Norman -cupboard of black wood, heavily carved, a long divan, contrived from -various packing boxes and well-worn rugs, a large, square table, a half -dozen chairs, three easels, and a repulsive little stove with an -interminable pipe, which, with its many twists and turns, gave one the -impression of a thick, black snake, that had, a moment before, been -swaying about in the room, and had suddenly found a hole in the roof -through which to thrust its head. - -But of minor things the Box was full to overflowing. The Norman cupboard -was crammed with an assortment of crockery, much of it sadly nicked and -cracked, the divan was strewn with boxes of broken pastels, -paint-brushes, and palettes coated with dried colors, the table littered -with papers, sketches, and books, and every chair had its own particular -trap for the unwary, in the form of thumb-tacks or a glass half full of -cloudy water: and in the midst of this chaos, late on a certain mid-May -afternoon, stood the painter himself, with his hands thrust deep into -the pockets of his corduroy trousers, and his back turned upon the -portrait upon which he had been at work. It was evident that something -untoward was in the air, because Pierre, who always smoked, was not -smoking, and Pierre, who never scowled, was scowling. - -In the Quartier--that Quartier which alone, of them all, is spelt with a -capital Q--there was, in ordinary, no gayer, more happy-go-lucky type -than this same Pierre. He lived, as did a thousand of his kind, on -eighty sous a day (there were those who lived on less, pardi!), and -breakfasted, and dined, at that,--yes, and paid himself an absinthe at -the Deux Magots at six o'clock, and a package of green cigarettes, into -the bargain. For the rest of the time, he was understood to be working -on a portrait in his studio, and, what is more surprising, often was. -There was nothing remarkable about Pierre's portraits, except that -occasionally he sold one, and for money--for _actual money_, the -astonishing animal! But if any part of the modest proceeds of such a -transaction remained, after the rent had been paid and a new canvas -purchased, it was not the caisse d'épargne which saw it, be sure of -that! For Pierre lived always for the next twenty-four hours, and let -the rest of time and eternity look out for themselves. - -Yet he took his work seriously. That was the trouble. Even admitting -that, thus far, his orders had come only from the more prosperous -tradesmen of the Quartier, did that mean, par exemple, that they would -not come in time from the millionaires of the sixteenth arrondissement? -By no means, whatever, said Pierre. To be sure, he had never had the -Salon in the palm of his hand, so to speak, but what of that? Jean-Paul -himself would tell you that it was all favoritism! So Pierre toiled away -at his portrait painting, and made a little competency, but, if the -truth were told, no appreciable progress from year's beginning to year's -end. - -For once, however, his luck had played him false. The fat restaurateur, -whose wife's portrait he had finished that afternoon and carried at top -speed, with the paint not yet dry, to the rue du Bac, was out of town on -business, and would not return until the following evening; and that, so -far as Pierre was concerned, was quite as bad as if he were not expected -until the following year. Pierre's total wealth amounted to one -five-franc piece and three sous, and he had been relying upon the -restaurateur's four louis, to enable him to fulfill his promise to Mimi. -For the next day was her fête, and they were to have breakfasted in the -country, and taken a boat upon the Seine, and returned to dine under the -trees. Not at Suresnes or St. Cloud, ah, non! Something better than -that--the true country, sapristi! at Poissy, twenty-eight kilometres -from Paris. All of which meant at least a louis, and, no doubt, more! -And where, demanded Pierre of the great north window, where was a louis -to be found? - -For there was a tacit understanding among the comrades in the Quartier -that there must be no borrowing and lending of money. It was a clause of -their creed, which had been adopted in the early days of their -companionship, for what was, clearly, the greatest general good, the -chances being that no one of them would ever possess sufficient surplus -capital either to accommodate another or to repay an accommodation. For -a moment, to be sure, the thought had crossed Pierre's mind, but he had -rejected it instantly as impracticable. Aside from the unwritten -compact, there was no one of them all who could have been of service, -had he so willed. Even Jacques Courbet, who possessed a disposition -which would have impelled him to chop off his right hand with the utmost -cheerfulness, if thereby he could have gratified a friend, was worse -than useless in this emergency. Had it been a matter of forty sous--but -a louis! As well have asked him for the Vénus de Milo, and had done with -it. - -So it was that, with the premonition of Mimi's disappointed eyes cutting -great gaps in his tender heart, Pierre had four times shrugged his -shoulders, and quoted to himself this favorite scrap of his remarkable -philosophy,--"Oh, lala! All this will arrange itself!" and four times -had paused, in the act of lighting a cigarette, and plunged again into -the depths of despondent reverie. As he was on the point of again -repeating this entirely futile operation, a distant clock struck six, -and Pierre, remembering that Mimi must even now be waiting for him at -the west door of St. Germain-des-Prés, clapped on his cap, and sallied -forth into the gathering twilight. - -It was apéritif hour at the Café des Deux Magots, and the long, -leather-covered benches against the windows, and the double row of -little marble-topped tables in front were rapidly filling, as Pierre and -Mimi took their places, and ordered two Turins à l'eau. A group of -American Beaux Arts men at their right were chattering in their uncouth -tongue, with occasional scraps of Quartier slang, by way of local color, -and now and again hailing a newcomer with exclamations, apparently of -satisfaction, which began with "Hello!" The boulevard St. Germain was -alive with people, walking past with the admirable lack of haste which -distinguishes the Parisian, or waiting, in patient, voluble groups, for -a chance to enter the constantly arriving and departing trams and -omnibuses; and an unending succession of open cabs filed slowly along -the curb, their drivers scanning the terrasse of the café for a possible -fare. The air was full of that mingled odor of wet wood pavements and -horse-chestnut blossoms, which is the outward, invisible sign of that -most wonderful of inward and spiritual combinations--Paris and Spring! -And, at the table directly behind Pierre and Mimi sat Caffiard. - -There was nothing about Caffiard to suggest a _deus ex machina_, or -anything else, for that matter, except a preposterously corpulent old -gentleman with an amiable smile. But in nothing were appearances ever -more deceitful than in Caffiard. For it was he, with his enormous double -chin, and his general air of harmless fatuity, who edited the little -colored sheet entitled La Blague, which sent half Paris into convulsions -of merriment every Thursday morning, and he who knew every caricaturist -in town, and was beloved of them all for the heartiness of his -appreciation and the liberality of his payments. In the first regard he -was but one of many Parisian editors: but in the second he stood -without a peer. Caran d'Ache, Léandre, Willette, Forain, Hermann Paul, -Abel Faivre--they rubbed their hands when they came out of Caffiard's -private office, and if the day chanced to be Saturday, there was -something in their hands worth rubbing. A fine example, Caffiard! - -Mimi's black eyes sparkled like a squirrel's as she watched Pierre over -the rim of her tumbler of vermouth. She was far from being blind, Mimi, -and already, though they had been together but six minutes, she had -noted that unusual little pucker between his eyebrows, that sad little -droop at the corners of his merry mouth. She told herself that Pierre -had been overworking himself, that Pierre was tired, that Pierre needed -cheering up. So Mimi, who was never tired, not even after ten hours in -Madame Fraichel's millinery establishment, secretly declared war upon -the unusual little pucker and the sad little droop. - -"Voyons donc, my Pierrot!" she said. "It is not a funeral to which we go -to-morrow, at least! Thou must be gay, for we have much to talk of, thou -knowest. One dines at La Boîte?" - -"The dinner is there, such as it is," replied Pierre gloomily. - -"What it is now, is not the question," said Mimi, with confidence, "but -what I make of it--pas? And then there is to-morrow! Oh, lala, lalala! -What a pleasure it will be, if only the good God gives us beautiful -weather. Dis, donc, great thunder-cloud, dost thou know it, this -Poissy?" - -Pierre had begun a caricature on the back of the wine-card, glancing now -and again at his model, an old man selling newspapers on the curb. He -shook his head without replying. - -"Eh, b'en, my little one, thou mayest believe me that it is of all -places the most beautiful! One eats at the Esturgeon, on the Seine,--but -_on_ the Seine, with the water quite near, like that chair. He names -himself Jarry, the proprietor, and it is a good type--fat and handsome. -I adore him! Art thou jealous, species of thinness of a hundred nails? -B'en, afterwards, one takes a boat, and goes, softly, softly, down the -little arm of the Seine, and creeps under the willows, and, perhaps, -fishes. But no, for it is the closed season. But one sings, eh? What -does one sing? Voyons!" - -She bent forward, and, in a little voice, like an elf's, very thin and -sweet, hummed a snatch of a song they both knew. - - _"C'est votre ami Pierrot qui vient vous voir: - Bonsoir, madame la lune!"_ - -"And then," she went on, as Pierre continued his sketch in silence, "and -then, one disembarks at Villennes and has a Turin under the arbors of -Bodin. Another handsome type, Bodin! Flut! _What_ a man!" - -Mimi paused suddenly, and searched his cloudy face with her earnest, -tender little eyes. - -"Pierrot," she said, softly, "what hast thou? Thou art not angry with -thy gosseline?" - -Pierre surveyed the outline of the newspaper vender thoughtfully, -touched it, here and there, with his pencil-point, squinted, and then -pushed the paper toward the girl. - -"Not bad," he said, replacing his pencil in his pocket. - -But Mimi had no eyes for the caricature, and merely flicked the -wine-card to the ground. - -"Pierrot"--she repeated. - -Vauquelin plunged his hands in his pockets and looked at her. - -"Well, then," he announced, almost brutally, "we do not go to-morrow." - -"_Pierre!_" - -It was going to be much worse than he had supposed, this little tragedy. -Bon Dieu, how pretty she was, with her startled, hurt eyes, already -filling with tears, and her parted lips, and her little white hand, that -had flashed up to her cheek at his words! Oh, much worse than he had -supposed! But she must be told: there was nothing but that. So Pierre -put his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands, and brought his -face close to hers. - -"Voyons!" he explained, "thou dost not believe me angry! Mais non, mais -non! But listen. It is I who am the next to the last of idiots, since I -have never a sou in pocket, never! And the imbecile restaurateur, whose -wife I have been painting, will not return until to-morrow, and so I am -not paid. Voilà!" - -He placed his five-franc piece upon the table, and shrugged his -shoulders. - -"One full moon!" he said, and piled the three sous upon it. "And three -soldiers. As I sit here, that is all, until to-morrow night. We cannot -go!" - -Brave little Mimi! Already she was winking back her tears, and smiling. - -"But that--that is nothing!" she answered. "I do not care to go. No--but -truly! Look! We shall spend the day in the studio, and breakfast on the -balcony, and pretend the rue Visconti is the Seine." - -"I am an empty siphon!" said Pierre, yielding to desperation. - -"_Non!_" said Mimi firmly. - -"I am a pierced basket, a box of matches!" - -"_Non! Non!_" said Mimi, with tremendous earnestness. "Thou art Pierrot, -and I love thee! Let us say no more. I shall go back and prepare the -dinner, and thou shalt remain and drink a Pernod. It will give thee -heart. But follow quickly. Give me the key." - -She laid her wide-spread hand on his, palm upward, like a little pink -starfish. - -"We go together, and I adore thee!" said Pierre, and kissed her in the -sight of all men, and was not ashamed. - - * * * * * - -Caffiard leaned forward, picked up the fallen wine-card, pretended to -consult it, and ponderously arose. As Pierre was turning the key in the -door of the little apartment, they heard a sound of heavy breathing, and -the _deus ex machina_ came lumbering up the winding stair. - -"Monsieur is seeking some one?" asked the painter politely. - -There was no breath left in Caffiard. He was only able, by way of reply, -to point at the top button of Pierre's coat, and nod helplessly: then, -as Mimi ran ahead to light the gas, he labored along the corridor, -staggered through the curtained doorway, stumbled over a rattan stool, -was rescued by Pierre, and, finally, established upon the divan, very -red and gasping. - -For a time there was silence, Pierre and Mimi busying themselves in -putting the studio to rights, with an instinctive courtesy which took no -notice of their visitor's snorts and wheezes; and Caffiard taking note -of his surroundings with his round, blinking eyes. Opposite him, against -the wall, reposed the portrait of the restaurateur's wife, as dry and -pasty as a stale cream cheese upon the point of crumbling, and on an -easel was another--that of Monsieur Pantin, the rich shirt-maker of the -boulevard St. Germain--on which Pierre was at work. A veritable atrocity -this, with a green background which trespassed upon Monsieur Pantin's -hair, and a featureless face, gaunt and haggard with yellow and purple -undertones. There was nothing in either picture to refute one's natural -suspicion that soap had been the medium employed. Caffiard blinked -harder still as his eyes rested upon the portraits, and he secretly -consulted the crumpled wine-card in his hand. Then he seemed to recover -his breath by means of a profound sigh. - -"Monsieur makes caricatures?" he inquired. - -"Ah, monsieur," said Pierre, "at times, and for amusement only. I am a -portraitist." And he pointed proudly to the picture against the wall. - -For they are all alike, these painters--proudest of what they do least -well! - -"Ah! Then," said Caffiard, with an air of resignation, "I must ask -monsieur's pardon, and descend. I am not interested in portraits. When -it comes to caricatures"-- - -"They are well enough in their way," put in Pierre, "but as a serious -affair--to sell, for instance--well, monsieur comprehends that one does -not debauch one's art!" - -Oh, yes, they are all alike, these painters! - -"What is serious, what is not serious?" answered Caffiard. "It is all a -matter of opinion. One prefers to have his painting glued to the wall of -the Salon, next the ceiling, another to have his drawing on the front -page of La Blague." - -"Oh, naturally La Blague," protested Pierre. - -"I am its editor," said Caffiard superbly. - -"_Eigh!_" exclaimed Pierre. For Mimi had cruelly pinched his arm. Before -the sting had passed, she was seated at Caffiard's side, tugging at the -strings of a great portfolio. - -"Are they imbeciles, these painters, monsieur?" she was saying. "Now you -shall see. This great baby is marvelous, but _marvelous_, with his -caricatures. Not Léandre himself--it is I who assure you, monsieur!--and -to hear him, one would think--but thou _tirest_ me, Pierrot!--With his -portraits! No, it is _too_ much!" - -She spread the portfolio wide, and began to shuffle through the drawings -it contained. - -Caffiard's eyes glistened as he saw them. Even in her enthusiasm, Mimi -had not overshot the mark. They were marvelous indeed, these -caricatures, mere outlines for the most part, with a dot, here and -there, of red, or a little streak of green, which lent them a curious, -unusual charm. The subjects were legion. Here was Loubet, with a great -band of crimson across his shirt bosom, here Waldeck-Rousseau, with eyes -as round and prominent as agate marbles, or Yvette, with a nose on which -one might have hung an overcoat, or Chamberlain, all monocle, or -Wilhelmina, growing out of a tulip's heart, and as pretty as an old -print, with her tight-fitting Dutch cap and broidered bodice. And then a -host of types--cochers, grisettes, flower women, camelots, Heaven knows -what not!--the products of half a hundred idle hours, wherein -great-hearted, foolish Pierre had builded better than he knew! - -Caffiard selected five at random, and then, from a waistcoat pocket that -clung as closely to his round figure as if it had been glued thereto, -produced a hundred-franc note. - -"I must have these for La Blague, monsieur," he said. "Bring me two -caricatures a week at my office in the rue St. Joseph, and you shall be -paid at the same rate. It is not much, to be sure. But you will have -ample time left for your--for your portrait-painting, monsieur!" - -For a moment the words of Caffiard affected Pierre and Mimi as the -stairs had affected Caffiard. They stared at him, opening and shutting -their mouths and gasping, like fish newly landed. Then, suddenly, -animated by a common impulse, they rushed into each other's arms, and -set out, around the studio, in a mad waltz, which presently resolved -itself into an impromptu can-can, with Mimi skipping like a fairy, and -Pierre singing: "Hi! _Hi!!_ HI!!!" and snapping at her flying feet with -a red-bordered handkerchief. After this Mimi kissed Caffiard twice: once -on the top of his bald head, and once on the end of his stubby nose. It -was like being brushed by the floating down of a dandelion. And, -finally, nothing would do but that he must accompany them upon the -morrow; and she explained to him in detail the plan which had so nearly -fallen through, and the _deus ex machina_ did not betray by so much as a -wink that he had heard the entire story only half an hour before. - -But, in the end, he protested. But she was insane, the little one, -completely! Had he then the air of one who gave himself into those boats -there, name of a pipe? But let us be reasonable, voyons! He was not -young like Pierre and Mimi--one comprehended that these holidays did not -recommence when one was sixty. What should he do, he demanded of them, -trailing along, as one might say, he and his odious fatness? Ah, _non_! -For la belle jeunesse was la belle jeunesse, there was no means of -denying it, and it was not for a species of dried sponge to be giving -itself the airs of a fresh flower. "But no! But no!" said Caffiard, -striving to rise from the divan. "In the morning I have my article to do -for the Figaro, and I am going with Caran to Longchamp, en auto, for the -races in the afternoon. But no! But no!" - -It was plain that Caffiard had known Mimi no more than half an hour. One -never said, "But no! But no!" to Mimi, unless it was for the express -purpose of having one's mouth covered by the softest little pink palm to -be found between the Seine and the Observatoire,--which, to do him -justice, Caffiard was quite capable of scheming to bring about, if only -he had known! He had accepted the little dandelion-down kisses in a -spirit of philosophy, knowing well that they were given not for his -sake, but for Pierre's. But now his protests came to an abrupt -termination, for Mimi suddenly seated herself on his lap, and put one -arm around his neck. - -It was nothing short of an achievement, this. Even Caffiard himself had -not imagined that such a thing as his lap was still extant. Yet here was -Mimi, actually installed thereon, with her cheek pressed against his, -and her breath, which was like clover, stirring the ends of his -moustache. But she was smiling at Pierre, the witch! Caffiard could see -it out of the corner of his eye. - -"Mais non!" he repeated, but more feebly. - -"Mais non! Mais non! Mais non!" mocked Mimi. "Great farceur! Will you -listen, at least? Eh b'en, voilà! Here is my opinion. As to insanity, if -for any one to propose a day in the country is insanity, well then, -yes,--I am insane! Soit! And, again, if you wish to appear serious,--in -Paris, that is to say--soit, également! But when you speak of odious -fatness, you are a type of monsieur extremely low of ceiling, do you -know! Moreover, you are going. Voilà! It is finished. As for Caran, let -him go his way and draw his caricatures--though they are not like -Pierre's, all the world knows!--and, without doubt, his auto will refuse -to move beyond the porte Dauphine, yes, and blow up, bon Dieu! when he -is in the act of mending it. One knows these boxes of vapors, what they -do. And as for the Figaro, b'en, flut! Evidently it will not cease to -exist for lack of your article--eh, l'ami? And it is Mimi who asks -you,--Mimi, do you understand, who invites you to her fête. And you -would refuse her--_toi_!" - -"But no! But no!" said Caffiard hurriedly. And meant it. - -At this point Pierre wrapped five two-sou pieces in a bit of paper, and -tossed them, out of a little window across the hallway, to a -street-singer whimpering in the court below. Pierre said that they -weighed down his pockets. They were in the way, the clumsy doublins, -said wonderful, spendthrift Pierre! - -For the wide sky of the Quartier is forever dotted with little clouds, -scudding, scudding, all day long. And when one of these passes across -the sun, there is a sudden chill in the air, and one walks for a time in -shadow, though the comrade over there, across the way, is still in the -warm and golden glow. But when the sun has shouldered the little cloud -aside again, ah, that is when life is good to live, and goes gayly, to -the tinkle of glasses and the ripple of laughter, and the ring of silver -bits. And when the street-singer in the court receives upon his head a -little parcel of coppers that are too heavy for the pocket, and smiles -to himself, who knows but what he understands? - -For what is also true of the Quartier is this--that, in sunshine or -shadow, one finds a soft little hand clasping his, firm, warm, -encouraging and kindly, and hears a gay little voice that, in foul -weather, chatters of the bright hours which it is so sweet to remember, -and, in fair, says never a word of the storms which it is so easy to -forget! - -The veriest bat might have foreseen the end, when once Mimi had put her -arm around the neck of Caffiard. Before the _deus ex machina_ knew what -he was about, he found his army of objections routed, horse, foot, and -dragoons, and had promised to be at the gare St. Lazare at eleven the -following morning. - -And what a morning it was! Surely the bon Dieu must have loved Mimi an -atom better than other mortals, for in the blue-black crucible of the -night he fashioned a day as clear and glowing as a great jewel, and set -it, blazing with warm light and vivid color, foremost in the diadem of -the year. And it was something to see Mimi at the carriage window, with -Pierre at her side and her left hand in his, and in her right a huge -bouquet--Caffiard's contribution--while the _deus ex machina_ himself, -breathing like a happy hippopotamus, beamed upon the pair from the -opposite corner. So the train slipped past the fortifications, swung -through a trim suburb, slid smoothly out into the open country. It was a -Wednesday, and there was no holiday crowd to incommode them. They had -the compartment to themselves; and the half hour flew like six minutes, -said Mimi, when at last they came to a shuddering standstill, and two -guards hastened along the platform in opposite directions, one droning -"Poiss-y-y-y-y!" and the other shouting "Poiss'! Poiss'! Poiss'!" as if -he had been sneezing. It was an undertaking to get Caffiard out of the -carriage, just as it had been to get him in. But finally it was -accomplished, a whistle trilled from somewhere as if it had been a -bird, another wailed like a stepped-on kitten, the locomotive squealed -triumphantly, and the next minute the trio were alone in their glory. - -It was a day that Caffiard never forgot. They breakfasted at once, so as -to have a longer afternoon. Mimi was guide and commander-in-chief, as -having been to the Esturgeon before, so the table was set upon the -terrasse overlooking the Seine, and there were radishes, and little -individual omelettes, and a famous matelote, which Monsieur Jarry -himself served with the air of a Lucullus, and, finally, a great dish of -quatre saisons, and, for each of the party, a squat brown pot of fresh -cream. And, moreover, no ordinaire, but St. Emilion, if you please, with -a tin-foil cap which had to be removed before one could draw the cork, -and a bottle of Source Badoit as well. And Caffiard, who had dined with -the Russian Ambassador on Monday and breakfasted with the Nuncio on -Tuesday, and been egregiously displeased with the fare in both -instances, consumed an unprecedented quantity of matelote, and went back -to radishes after he had eaten his strawberries and cream: while, to cap -the climax, Pierre paid the addition with a louis,--and gave _all_ the -change as a tip! But it was unheard-of! - -Afterwards they engaged a boat, and, with much alarm on the part of -Mimi, and satirical comment from Caffiard, and severe admonitions to -prudence by Pierre, pushed out into the stream and headed for Villennes, -to the enormous edification of three small boys, who hung precariously -over the railing of the terrace above them, and called Caffiard a -captive balloon. - -They made the three kilometres at a snail's pace, allowing the boat to -drift with the current for an hour at a time, and, now and again -creeping in under the willows at the water's edge until they were wholly -hidden from view, and the voice of Mimi singing was as that of some -river nixie invisible to mortal eyes. She sang "Bonsoir, Madame la -Lune," so sweetly and so sadly that Caffiard was moved to tears. It was -her favorite song, because--oh, because it was about Pierrot! And her -own Pierrot responded with a gay soldier ballad, a chanson de route -which he had picked up at the Noctambules; and even Caffiard sang--a -ridiculous ditty it was, which scored the English and went to a -rollicking air. They all shouted the refrain, convulsed with merriment -at the drollery of the sound:-- - - _"Qu'est ce qui quitte ses père et mère - Afin de s'en aller - S'faire taper dans le nez? - C'est le soldat d'Angleterre! - Dou-gle-di-gle-dum! - Avec les ba-a-a-alles dum-dum!"_ - -Caffiard was to leave them at Villennes after they should have taken -their apéritifs. They protested, stormed at him, scolded and cajoled by -turns, and called him a score of fantastic names--for by this time they -knew him intimately--as they sat in Monsieur Bodin's arbor and sipped -amer-menthe, but all in vain. Pierre had Mimi's hand, as always, and he -had kissed her a half-hundred times in the course of the afternoon. Mimi -had a way of shaking her hair out of her eyes with a curious little -backward jerk of her head when Pierre kissed her, and then looking at -him seriously, seriously, but smiling when he caught her at it. Caffiard -liked that. And Pierre had a trick of turning, as if to ask Mimi's -opinion, or divine even her unspoken wishes whenever a question came up -for decision--a choice of food or drink, or direction, or what-not. And -Caffiard liked _that_. - -He looked across the table at them now, dreamily, through his cigarette -smoke. - -"Pierrot," he said, after he had persuaded them to let him depart in -peace when the train should be due,--"Pierrot. Yes, that is it. You, -with your garret, and your painting, and your songs, and your black, -black sadness at one moment, and your laughter the next, and, above all, -your Pierrette, your bon-bon of a Pierrette:--you are Pierrot, the -spirit of Paris in powder and white muslin! Eigho! my children, what a -thing it is, la belle jeunesse! Tiens! you have given me a taste of it -to-day, and I thank you. I thought I had forgotten. But no, one never -forgets. It all comes back,--youth, and strength, and beauty, love, and -music, and laughter,--but only like a breath upon a mirror, my children, -only like a wind-ripple on a pool; for I am an old man." - -He paused, looking up at the vine-leaves on the trellis-roof, and -murmured a few words of Mimi's song:-- - - _"Pierrette en songe va venir me voir: - Bonsoir, madame la lune!"_ - -Then his eyes came back to her face. - -"I must be off," he said. "Why, what hast thou, little one? There are -tears in those two stars!" - -"C'est vrai?" asked Mimi, smiling at him and then at Pierre, and -brushing her hand across her eyes, "c'est vrai? Well then, they are gone -as quickly as they came. Voilà! Without his tears Pierrot is not -Pierrot, and without Pierrot"-- - -She turned to Pierre suddenly, and buried her face on his shoulder. - -"_Je t'aime!_" she whispered. "_Je t'aime!_" - - - - -[Illustration] - -The Next Corner - - -ANTHONY CAZEBY was a man whom the felicitous combination of an -adventurous disposition, sufficient ready money, and a magnificent -constitution had introduced to many and various sensations, but he was -conscious that, so far as intensity went, no one of them all had -approached for a moment that with which he emerged from the doorway of -the Automobile Club, and, winking at the sting of the keen winter air, -looked out across the place de la Concorde, with its globes of light, -swung, like huge pearls on invisible strings, across the haze of the -January midnight. He paused for a moment, as if he would allow his -faculties to obtain a full and final grasp of his situation, and -motioned aside the trim little club chasseur who stood before him, with -one cotton-gloved hand stretched out expectantly for a supposititious -carriage-check. - -"Va, mon petit, je vais à pied!" - -Afoot! Cazeby smiled to himself at the tone of sudden caprice which rang -in his voice, and, turning his fur collar high up about his ears, swung -off rapidly toward the Cours la Reine. After all, the avenue d'Eylau was -only an agreeable stroll's length distant. Why not go home afoot? But -then, on the other hand, why go home at all? As this thought leaped -suddenly at Cazeby's throat out of the void of the great unpremeditated, -he caught his breath, stopped suddenly in the middle of the driveway, -and then went on more slowly, thinking hard. - -It had been that _rarissima avis_ of social life, even in Paris, a -perfect dinner. Cazeby had found himself wondering, at more than one -stage of its smooth and imposing progress, how the Flints could afford -to do it. But on each recurrence of the thought he dismissed it with a -little frown of vexation. If there was one thing more than another upon -which Cazeby prided himself, it was originality of thought, word, and -deed, and he was annoyed to find himself, even momentarily, on a mental -level with the gossips of the American and English colonies, whose time -is equally divided between wondering how the Choses can afford to do -what they do, and why the Machins cannot afford to do what they leave -undone. - -People had said many things of Hartley Flint, and still more of his -wife, but no one had ever had the ignorance or the perversity to accuse -them of inefficiency in the matter of a dinner. Moreover, on this -particular occasion, they were returning the hospitality of the Baroness -Klemftt, who had, at the close of the Exposition, impressed into her -service the chef of the Roumanian restaurant, and whose dinners were, in -consequence, the wonder and despair of four foreign colonies. After her -latest exploit Hartley Flint had remarked to his wife that it was "up to -them to make good," which, being interpreted, was to say that it was at -once his duty and his intention to repay the Baroness in her own -sterling coin. The fact that the men of the party afterwards commended -Hartley's choice of wines, and that the women expressed the opinion that -"Kate Flint looked _really_ pretty!" would seem to be proof positive -that the operation of "making good" had been an unqualified success. - -Now, Cazeby was wondering whether he had actually enjoyed it all. Under -the circumstances it seemed to him incredible, and yet he could not -recall a qualm of uneasiness from the moment when the maître d'hôtel had -thrown open the doors of the private dining room, until the Baroness had -smiled at her hostess out of a cloud of old Valenciennes, and said, "Now -there are _two_ of us who give impeccable dinners, Madame Flint." Even -now, even facing his last ditch, Cazeby was conscious of a little thrill -of self-satisfaction. He had said the score of clever things which each -of his many hostesses expected of him, and had told with great effect -his story of the little German florist, which had grown, that season, -under the persuasive encouragement of society's applause, from a brief -anecdote into a veritable achievement of Teutonic dialect. Also, he had -worn a forty franc orchid, and had left it in his coffee-cup because it -had begun to wilt. In brief, he had been Anthony Cazeby at his -extraordinary best, a mixture of brilliancy and eccentricity, without -which, as Mrs. Flint was wont to say, no dinner was complete. - -But the sublime and the ridiculous are not the only contrasting -conditions that lie no further than a step apart, and Cazeby was -painfully conscious of having, in the past five minutes, crossed the -short interval which divides gay from grave. Reduced to its lowest -terms, his situation lay in his words to the little chasseur. With the -odor of the rarest orchid to be found in Vaillant-Rozeau's whole -establishment yet clinging to his lapel, Anthony Cazeby was going home -on foot because the fare from the Concorde to the avenue d'Eylau was one -franc fifty, and one franc fifty precisely ninety centimes more than he -possessed in the world. For a moment he straightened himself, threw back -his head, and looked up at the dull saffron of the low-hanging sky, in -an attempt to realize this astounding fact, and then went back to his -thinking. - -Well, it was not surprising. The life of a popular young diplomat with -extravagant tastes is not conducive to economy, and the forty thousand -dollars which had come to Cazeby at the beginning of his twenty-eighth -year had proved but a bad second best in the struggle with Parisian -gayety. His bibelots, his servants, Auteuil, Longchamp, his baccarat at -the Prince de Tréville's, a dancer at the Folies-Marigny, Monte Carlo, -Aix, Trouville,--they had all had their share, and now the piper was -waiting to be paid and the exchequer was empty. It was an old story. -Other men of his acquaintance had done the same, but they had had some -final resource. The trouble was, as Cazeby had already noted, that, in -his case, the final resource was not, as in theirs, pecuniary. Quite on -the contrary, it was a tidy little weapon, of Smith and Wesson make, -which lay in the upper right hand drawer of his marqueterie desk. He had -looked long at it that same afternoon, with all his worldly wealth, in -the shape of forty-two francs sixty, spread out beside it. That was -before he had taken a fiacre to Vaillant-Rozeau's. - -At the very moment when Cazeby was contemplating these doubtful assets, -a grim old gentleman was seated at another desk, three thousand miles -away, engaged upon a calculation of the monthly profits derived from a -wholesale leather business. But Cazeby père was one of the hopeless -persons who believe in economy. He was of the perverted opinion that -money hardly come by should be thoughtfully spent, or, preferably, -invested in government bonds, and he had violent prejudices against -"industrials," games of chance, and young men who preferred the gayety -of a foreign capital to the atmosphere of "the Swamp." Also he was very -rich. But Anthony had long since ceased to regard his father as anything -more than a chance relation. He could have told what would be the result -of a frank confession of his extremity as accurately as if the avowal -had been already made. There would have been some brief reference to the -sowing of oats and their reaping, to the making of a metaphorical bed -and the inevitable occupancy thereof, and to other proverbial -illustrations which, in a financial sense, are more ornamental than -useful,--and nothing more. The essential spark of sympathy had been -lacking between these two since the moment when the most eminent -physician in New York had said, "It is a boy, sir,--but--we cannot hope -to save the mother." The fault may have lain on the one side, or the -other, or on both, or on neither; but certain it is that to Anthony's -imagination Cazeby senior had never appealed in the light of a final -resource. - -Somehow, in none of his calculations had the idea of invoking assistance -ever played a part. Naturally, as a reasoning being, he had foreseen the -present crisis for some months, but at the time when the inevitable -catastrophe first became clear to him it was already too late to regain -his balance, since the remainder of his inheritance was so pitifully -small that any idea of retrieving his fortunes through its -instrumentality was simply farcical. The swirl of the rapids, as he had -then told himself, had already caught his boat. All that was left to do -was to go straight on to the sheer of the fall, with his pennant flying -and himself singing at the helm. Then, on the brink, a well-placed -bullet--no bungling for Anthony Cazeby!--and the next day people would -be talking of the shocking accident which had killed him in the act of -cleaning his revolver, and saying the usual things about a young man -with a brilliant future before him and everything in life for which to -live. - -And this plan he had carried out in every detail--save the last, to -which he was now come; and his was the satisfying conviction that not -one of the brilliant, careless men and women, among whom he lived, and -moved, and had his being, suspected for a moment that the actual -circumstances differed in the least from the outward appearances. He -thought it all over carefully now, and there was no play in the entire -game that he felt he would have liked to have changed. - -Sentiment had no part in the makeup of Anthony Cazeby. Lacking from -early childhood the common ties of home affection, and by training and -profession a diplomat, he added to a naturally undemonstrative nature -the non-committal suavity of official poise. But that was not all. He -had never been known to be ill at ease. This was something which gained -him a reputation for studious self-control. As a matter of fact it was -due to nothing of the sort. No one had ever come fairly at the root of -his character except Cazeby père, who once said, in a fit of passion, -"You don't care a brass cent, sir, whether you live and are made -President of the United States, or die and are eternally damned!" And -that was exactly the point. - -Something of all this had passed through Cazeby's mind, when he was -suddenly aroused to an appreciation of his whereabouts by the sound of a -voice, to find that the curious instinct of direction which underlies -advanced inebriety and profound preoccupation alike, had led him up the -avenue du Trocadéro, and across the place, and that he had already -advanced some little way along the avenue d'Eylau in the direction of -his apartment. The street was dimly lighted, but, just behind him, the -windows of a tiny wine-shop gave out a subdued glow, and from within -came the sound of a violin. Then Cazeby's attention came around to the -owner of the voice. This was a youngish man of medium stature, in the -familiar street dress of a French laborer, jacket and waistcoat of dull -blue velveteen, peg-top trousers of heavy corduroy, a crimson knot at -his throat, and a dark tam o'shanter pulled low over one ear. As their -eyes met, he apparently saw that Cazeby had not heard his first remark, -and so repeated it. - -"I have need of a drink!" - -There was nothing of the beggar in his tone or manner. Both were -threatening, rather; and, as soon as he had spoken, he thrust his lower -jaw forward, in the fashion common to the thug of any and every -nationality when the next move is like to be a blow. But, for once, -these manifestations of hostility failed signally of effect. Cazeby was -the last person in the world to select as the object of sudden attack, -with the idea that panic would make him easy prey. In his present state -of mind he went further than preserving his equanimity: he was even -faintly amused. It was not that he did not comprehend the other's -purpose, but, to his way of thinking, there was something distinctly -humorous in the idea of holding up a man with only sixty centimes to his -name, and menacing him with injury, when he himself was on his way to -the upper right hand drawer of the marqueterie desk. - -"I have need of a drink," repeated the other, coming a step nearer. -"Thou art not deaf, at least?" - -"No," said Cazeby, pleasantly, "no, I am not deaf, and I, too, have -need of a drink. Shall we take it together?" And, without waiting for a -reply, he turned and stepped through the doorway of the little wineshop. -The Frenchman hesitated, shrugged his shoulders with an air of complete -bewilderment, and, after an instant also entered the shop and placed -himself at the small table where Cazeby was already seated. - -"A vitriol for me," he said. - -Cazeby had not passed three years in Paris for nothing. He received this -remarkable request with the unconcern of one to whom the slang of the -exterior boulevards is sufficiently familiar, and, as the proprietor -leaned across the nickled slab of his narrow counter with an air of -interrogation, duplicated his companion's order. - -"Deux vitriols!" - -The proprietor, vouchsafing the phrase a grin of appreciation, lumbered -heavily around to the table, filled two small glasses from a bottle of -cheap cognac, and stood awaiting payment, hands on hips. - -"Di-ze sous," he said. - -There was no need to search for the exact amount. Cazeby spun his -fifty-centime piece upon the marble, added his remaining two sous by way -of pourboire, and disposed of the brandy at a gulp. - -"Have you also need of a cigarette?" he inquired, politely, tendering -the other his case. - -For some minutes, as they smoked, the diplomat and the vagabond took -stock of each other in silence. In many ways they were singularly alike. -There was in both the same irony of lip line, the same fair chiseling of -chin and nostril and brow, the same weariness of eye. The difference was -one of dress and bearing alone, and, in those first moments of mutual -analysis, Cazeby realized that there was about this street-lounger a -vague air of the gentleman, a subtle suggestion of good birth and -breeding, which even his slouching manner and coarse speech were not -wholly able to conceal: and his guest was conscious that in Cazeby he -had to deal with no mere society puppet, but with one in whom the -limitations of position had never wholly subdued the devil-may-care -instincts of the vagabond. The one was a finished model of a man of the -world, the other a caricature, but the clay was the same. - -"I am also hungry," said the latter suddenly. - -"In that respect," responded Cazeby, in the same tone of even -politeness, "I am, unfortunately, unable to assist you, unless you will -accept the hospitality of my apartment. It is but a step, and I am -rather an expert on bacon and eggs. Also," he added, falling into the -idiom of the faubourgs, "there is a means there of remedying the dryness -of the sponge in one's throat. My name is Antoine." - -"I am Bibi-la-Raie," said the other shortly. Then he continued, with -instinctive suspicion, "It is a strange fashion thou hast of introducing -a type to these gentlemen." - -"As a matter of fact," said Cazeby, "I do not live over a poste. But -whether or not you will come is something for you to decide. It is less -trouble to cook eggs for one than for two." - -Bibi-la-Raie reflected briefly. Finally he had recourse to his -characteristic shrug. - -"After all, what difference?" he said. "As well now as another time. I -follow thee!" - -The strangely assorted companions entered Cazeby's apartment as the -clock was striking one, and pressure of an electric button, flooding the -salon with light, revealed a little tea-table furnished with cigarettes -and cigars, decanters of Scotch whiskey and liqueurs, and Venetian -goblets of oddly tinted glass. Cazeby shot a swift glance at his guest -as this array sprang into view, and was curiously content to observe -that he manifested no surprise. Bibi-la-Raie had flung himself into a -great leather chair with an air of being entirely at ease. - -"Not bad, thy little box," he observed. "Is it permitted?" - -He indicated the table with a nod. - -"Assuredly," said Cazeby. "Do as if you were at home. I shall be but a -moment with the supper." - -When he returned from the kitchen, bearing a smoking dish of bacon and -eggs, butter, rye bread, and Swiss cheese, Bibi-la-Raie was standing in -rapt contemplation before an etching of the "Last Judgment." - -"What a genius, this animal of a Michel Ange!" he said. - -"Rather deft at times," replied Cazeby, arranging the dishes on the -larger table. - -"Je te crois!" said Bibi, enthusiastically. "Without him--what? -Evidently, it was not Léon Treize who built Saint Pierre!" - -The eggs had been peculiarly obstinate, as it happened, and a growing -irritability had taken possession of Anthony. As they ate in silence, -the full force of his tragic position returned to him. Even the -unwontedness of his chance encounter with Bibi-la-Raie had not wholly -dispelled the cloud that had been gradually settling around him since he -emerged from the Automobile Club, and, as they finished the little -repast, he turned suddenly upon his guest, in a burst of irritation. - -"Who are you?" he said. "And what does all this mean? Was I mistaken, -when you first spoke to me, in thinking you a mere voyou? Surely not! -You meant to rob me. You speak the argot of the fortifications. Yet here -I find you discoursing on Michel Angelo as though you were the -conservateur of the Uffizzi! What am I to think?" - -Bibi-la-Raie lit another cigarette, blew forth the smoke in a thin, gray -wisp, and thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his velveteen -waistcoat. - -"And _you_," he said, slowly, abandoning the familiar address he had -been using, "who are _you_? No, you were not mistaken in thinking I -meant to rob you. Such is my profession. But does a gentleman reply, in -ordinary, to the summons of a thief by paying that thief a drink? Does -he invite him to his apartment and cook a supper for him? What am _I_ to -think?" - -There was a brief pause, and then he faced his host squarely. - -"Are you absolutely resolved to put an end to it all to-night?" he -demanded. - -Cazeby made a small sign of bewilderment. - -"Ah, mon vieux," continued the other. "That, you know, is of no use with -me. You ask me who I am. For one thing, I am one who has lived too long -in touch with desperate men not to know the look in the eyes when the -end has come. You think you are going to blow out your brains to-night." - -"Your wits are wandering; that's all," said Cazeby, compassionately. - -"Oh, far from it!" said Bibi-la-Raie, with a short laugh. "But one does -not fondle one's revolver in the daytime without a good reason, nor -does one leave it _on top_ of letters postmarked this morning unless one -has been fondling it--quoi?" - -Cazeby was at the marqueterie desk in two strides, tugging at the upper -right hand drawer. It was locked. He turned about slowly, and, half -seating himself on the edge of the desk, surveyed his guest coolly. - -"The revolver is in your pocket," he said. - -"No," answered Bibi, with an air of cheerfulness. "I have one of my own. -But the key is." - -"Why?" said Cazeby. - -Bibi helped himself to yellow chartreuse, and appeared to reflect. - -"I am not sure that I know why, myself," he said finally. "Perhaps, -because you have done me a kindness and I would not like to have you -burn your fingers in a moment of absent-mindedness. Perhaps, because we -might disagree, and I should not care to take the chance of your -shooting first!" - -He squinted at the liqueur, swallowed it slowly and with extreme -appreciation, smacked his lips, and then, cocking his feet up on -Cazeby's brass club fender, began to smoke again, staring into the -dwindling fire. His host watched him in silence, until he should be -ready to speak, which he presently began to do, with his cigarette -drooping from the corner of his month and moving in time to his words. -He had suddenly and curiously become a man of the world--of the grand -monde--and his speech had shaken off all trace of slang, and was tinged -instead with the faint club sarcasm which one hears in the glass -card-room of the Volney or over coffee on the roof of the Automobile. -Moreover, it was beautiful French. Not Mounet himself could have done -better. - -"The only man to whom one should confide personal secrets," said -Bibi-la-Raie, "is he whom one has never seen before and will, as is -probable, never see again. I could tell you many things, Monsieur -Cazeby, since that is your name,--I have seen your morning's mail, you -know!--but, for the moment, let it suffice to say that the voyou who -accosted you this evening is of birth as good as yours--pardon, but -probably better! _Wein, weib, und gesang_--you know the saying. Add -cards and the race-course, and you have, complete, the short ladder of -five rungs down which I have been successful in climbing. I shall -presume to the extent of supposing that you have just accomplished the -same descent. One learns much thereby, but more after one has reached -the ground. In many ways I am afraid experience has made me cynical, but -in one it has taught me optimism. I have found, and I think I shall -continue to find, that there is always something worth looking into -around the next corner of even the darkest street. The rue des Sablons, -for instance. It was very dark to-night, very damp, and very cold. -Assuredly, as I turned into the avenue d'Eylau I had no reason to -foresee a supper, Russian cigarettes, and chartreuse jaune. And yet, me -voilà! Now what most of us lack--what you, in particular, seem to lack, -Monsieur Cazeby--is the tenacity needful if one is to get to that next -turning." - -"There are streets darker than the rue des Sablons," put in Anthony, -falling in with the other's whimsical humor, "and that have no turning." - -"You speak from conjecture, not experience," said Bibi-la-Raie. "You -can never have seen one." - -He glanced about the room, with the air of one making a mental -inventory. - -"First," he added, "there come the pawnshop, the exterior boulevards, -the somewhat insufficient shelter of the Pont Royal. No, you have not -come to the last corner." - -"All that," said Cazeby, "is simply a matter of philosophy. Each of us -has his own idea of what makes life worth the while. When that is no -longer procurable, then that is the last corner." - -"For instance--?" - -"For instance, my own case. You have analyzed my situation sufficiently -well--though when you said I was about to blow out my brains"-- - -"It was a mere guess," interrupted Bibi, "founded on circumstantial -evidence. Then I _thought_ so. Now I _know_ it." - -"Let us grant you are right," continued Cazeby, with a smile. "I have my -own conception of what I require to make existence tolerable. It -includes this apartment, or its equivalent, a horse, two servants, two -clubs, and a sufficient income to dress, eat, entertain, and amuse -myself in the manner of my class,--an extravagant and unreasonable -standard, if you will, but such is my conviction. Now, granted that the -moment has come when it is no longer possible for me to have these -things, and when there is no prospect of my situation being bettered, I -cannot conceive what advantage there can be in continuing to live." - -"I perceive you are a philosopher," said the other. "How about the -religious view?" - -Cazeby shrugged his shoulders. - -"As to that," he said, "my religious views are, so far as I know, stored -away in the little church which I was forced to attend three times on -every Sunday of my boyhood. They did not come out with me on the last -occasion, and I have never met them since." - -"Excellent!" said Bibi. "It is the same with me. But I think you are -mistaken in your conviction of what makes life worth living. I had my -own delusions in the time. But I have had a deal of schooling since -then. There are many things as amusing as luxury--even on the exterior -boulevards. Of course, actual experience is essential. One never knows -what one would do under given conditions." - -He turned suddenly, and looked Cazeby in the eye. - -"What, for example, would you do if you were in my place?" he asked. - -"As you say, one never knows," said his host. "I _think_ that, in your -place, I should improve the opportunity you find open, and carry out -your late and laudable intention of robbing Monsieur Antoine Cazeby. I -may be influenced by my knowledge that such a proceeding would not -irritate or incommode him in the least, but that is what I think I -should do. - -"I shall not need these things to-morrow," he added, indicating his -surroundings with a gesture. "You were quite right about the pistol. As -to your prospective booty, I regret to say that I spent my last sixty -centimes on our cognac, but there is a remarkably fine scarf-pin on the -table in my dressing-room." - -"A sapphire, surrounded by black pearls," put in the other. "You were -rather long in cooking those eggs." - -"A sapphire, surrounded by black pearls," agreed Cazeby. "Yes, upon -reflection, I am quite sure that that is what I should do." - -Bibi-la-Raie smiled pleasantly. - -"I am glad to find we are of one mind," he said. "Of course, mine was -made up, but it is more agreeable to know that I am causing you no -inconvenience. I suppose it is unnecessary to add that resistance will -be quite useless. I have the only available revolver, and, moreover, I -propose to tie you into this extremely comfortable chair. It is not," he -added, "that I do not trust you, although our acquaintance is, -unfortunately, too recent to inspire complete confidence. No, I have my -convictions as well as you, Monsieur Cazeby, and one of them, curiously -enough, is that, in spite of appearances, I am doing you a kindness in -putting it out of your power, for tonight, at least, to do yourself an -injury. Who knows? Perhaps, in the morning, you may find that there is -something around the next corner, after all. If not, there is no harm -done. Your servants come in early?" - -"At seven o'clock," said Anthony, briefly. - -"Exactly. And I will leave the key in the drawer." - -Bibi was expeditious. When he had bound Cazeby firmly, and with an art -that showed practice, he disappeared into the dressing-room, returning -in less than a minute with the sapphire scarf-pin and several other -articles of jewelry in his hand. - -"I should like to add to these," he said, going to the book-case, "this -little copy of Omar Khayyám. He is a favorite of mine. There is -something about his philosophy which seems to accord with our own. -But--'the bird of time has but a little way to flutter'"--He paused at -the door. - -"Can I do anything for you before I go?" he inquired politely. - -"Be good enough to turn off the light," said the other. "The button is -on the right of the door." - -"Good-night," said Bibi-la-Raie. - -"Good-night,--brother!" said Cazeby. - -Then he heard the door of the apartment close softly. - -Anthony was awakened from a restless sleep by the sound of its opening. -Through the gap between the window draperies the gray light of the -winter morning was creeping in. His wrists and ankles were aching from -the pressure of the curtain cords with which he had been bound, and he -was gratified when, after a brief interval, the salon door was opened in -its turn and the invaluable Jules came in, in shirt-sleeves and long -white apron, carrying a handful of letters. - -That impassive person was probably never nearer to being visibly -surprised. For a breath he stopped, and the pupils of his round eyes -dilated like those of a cat in a dim light. But his training stood him -in good stead, and when he spoke his voice was as innocent of emotion as -if he had been announcing dinner. - -"Monsieur desires to be untied?" - -Left to himself, Cazeby turned his attention to his letters, and from -the top of the pile picked up a cablegram. He was still reflecting upon -the singular experience of the night, in an attempt to analyze his -present emotions. Was he in any whit changed by his enforced reprieve? -He was glad to think not. Above all minor faults he abhorred vacillation -of purpose. No, his situation and his purpose remained unaltered. But he -was conscious, nevertheless, of an unwonted thrill at the thought that, -but for the merest chance, it would have been for others to open the -envelope he was even now fingering. Jules would already have found -him--he wondered, with the shadow of a smile, whether Jules would still -have been unsurprised!--and would have brought up the concierge and the -police-- - -Suddenly the cable message jumped at him through his revery as if, at -that moment, the words had been instantaneously printed on what was -before blank paper, and he realized that it was from his father's -solicitor. - - Mr. Cazeby died eight o'clock this evening after making will your - favor whole property. Waiting instructions. - - MILLIKEN. - -Anthony straightened himself with a long sigh, and, putting aside the -curtain, looked out across the mansardes, wet and gleaming under a thin -rain. His hand trembled a little on the heavy velvet, and he frowned at -it, and, going across to the table, poured himself out a swallow of -brandy. - -With the glass at his lips he paused, his eyes upon the chair where -Bibi-la-Raie had sat and wherein he himself had passed five hours. Then, -very ceremoniously, he bowed and dipped his glass toward an imaginary -occupant. - -"Merci, monsieur!" he said. - - - - -[Illustration] - -The Only Son of His Mother - - -IN the limited understanding of Pépin dwelt one great Fact, in the -shadow of which all else shrank to insignificance, and that Fact was the -existence of Comte Victor de Villersexel, the extremely tall and -extraordinarily imposing person who was, first of all, Officier de la -Légion d'Honneur, second, Membre de l'Académie Française, and, lastly, -father to Pépin himself. It must be acknowledged that to the more -observing of his limited kinsfolk and extensive acquaintance the clay -feet of Pépin's idol were distinctly in evidence. How he had contrived -to attain to the proud eminence which he occupied was, in the earlier -days of his publicity, a matter of curious conjecture and not -over-plausible explanation. Certainly no inherent merit or ability it -was which formed the first step of the stairway he had climbed. In -diplomacy the Comte de Villersexel had never bettered his first -appointment as second secretary of legation at Belgrade; in literature -his achievements were limited to one ponderous work on feudalism, -remarkable chiefly for its surpassing futility; and in society his sole -claim to consideration lay in his marriage to a Brazilian heiress, who -had died within the year, leaving her husband an income of two hundred -thousand francs--and Pépin. In all this it was difficult to find a -sufficient reason for the crimson button and the green embroidered coat, -unless it was that the family of de Villersexel went back to the -Crusades. That is not always a prudent thing for a family to do, but the -present instance was an exception. - -Born to the heritage of a name which his predecessors had made notable, -Comte Victor was one of those whose greatness is thrust upon them -rather than achieved, one of the bubbles in the ferment of Paris which -their very levity brings to the top, to show rainbow tints in the -sunlight of publicity. It is probable that no one was more surprised -than de Villersexel himself at the honors which fell to his share, but -one thing even the most contemptuous had, perforce, to concede. Once -secure of his laurels, he wore them with a confidence that was akin to -conviction. His reserve was iron-clad, his dignity stupendous. It -required considerable time for new acquaintances to probe the secret of -his insufficiency. Victor de Villersexel was, as the irreverent young -military attaché at the American Embassy once said of him, "a dazzling -imitation of the real thing." - -But to Pépin the idol was an idol without flaw. Through what shrewd -appreciation of occasional words and chance comments he had contrived to -grasp the significance of that speck of scarlet upon the Count's lapel -and that apparently simple phrase, "de l'Académie Française," which, in -formal introductions, was wont to follow his father's name, must be -numbered among childhood's mysteries. But before he was seven, Pépin -had solved these problems for himself, and the results of his reasoning -were awestruck admiration and blind allegiance to the will of this -wonderful creature who never smiled. His own small individuality was so -completely overshadowed by that of his father that in the latter's -presence the child was scarcely noticeable, dressed in his sober -blouses, and creeping about the stately rooms of the great apartment in -the avenue d'Iéna with an absolutely noiseless step. He was all brown, -was Pépin: brown bare legs, and brown hands, very small and slender, -brown hair, cropped short and primly parted, and deep brown eyes, -eloquent of unspoken and unspeakable things. He was earnest, his tutor -said, earnest and willing, but not bright, poor Pépin! He spoke English, -to be sure, with a curious accent caught from his Cornish nurse, but -that was due not so much to ability as to enforced association. In his -French grammar and such simple arithmetic as was required of him he was -slow and often stupid. But he was rarely scolded, and never punished. -Once, indeed, the Comte had been about to strike him for some trifling -fault, but somehow the blow, for which Pépin stood waiting, never fell. - -"He is like his mother," the légionnaire had muttered, as he turned -away, "an imbecile--but"-- - -Pépin, catching the unfinished phrase, grew sick with a great -discouragement, mingled with profound pity for the man before him. It -must be a dreadful thing for one so famous to be the father of an -imbecile! From that day on the child was more inconspicuous than before. - -Deliberately affected in the first instance, what was known in society -as de Villersexel's "academic manner" came in course of time to be -second nature. Practice made perfect the chill reserve which was -originally assumed as a precaution against possible discovery of his -vapidity; and as the image of what the academician had been, before his -election, grew dimmer in society's recollection, his impressive -solemnity, barely disguised by a veneer of superficial courtesy, did not -fail of its effect. He was spoken of as a man in whom much lay below the -surface, and his more recent acquaintances coupled their estimate of his -character with the proverbial profundity of still waters, and the -familiar gloved fist of steel. Others, more observant, smiled at the -similes, but did not go to the pains of proving them ill applied. One of -the most characteristic things about the Comte de Villersexel was that -he inspired neither championship nor antagonism. - -With all this, he was consistent, with that curious obstinacy which is -sometimes made manifest in the shallowest natures. His rôle, once -assumed, was, as we have said, played to perfection and never laid -aside. The domestic threshold, which is, for the majority of men, a kind -of uncloaking room, saw never an alteration, even of voice or -expression, in his pose. The household affairs were regulated with -almost military precision, and once a day, at noon, Pépin and his father -met in the large salon,--the Comte in his tall satin stock and frock -coat, and Pépin fresh from the careful hands of his nurse. They shook -hands gravely, and then waited in silence, until the maître d'hôtel -announced breakfast,-- - -"Ces messieurs sont servis!" - -What meals they were, to be sure, those déjeuners, solemnly served, and -more solemnly eaten, under the rigid observation of three menservants; -de Villersexel, with his thin lips, his cold eyes, and his finely -pointed gray mustache, barely moving save to raise his fork or break a -morsel from his roll, and Pépin, all brown, perched like a mouse on the -edge of a great chair, and nibbling at tiny scraps of food with downcast -eyes! - -At the very end, as the Comte was about to push back his chair, he would -invariably raise his glass of champagne and Pépin his, wherein a few -drops of red wine turned the Evian to a pale heliotrope, and together -they would glance toward the full-length portrait which hung above the -mantel. - -"Ta mère!" said the Comte. - -"Maman!" replied Pépin. - -And so they drank the toast of tribute to the dead. - -After breakfast, the father would read for an hour to the child, and -Pépin, seated on another large chair, would listen, perfectly -motionless, striving desperately to understand the long sentences which -fell in flawlessly pronounced succession from the Academician's lips. De -Villersexel had a fairly clear recollection of what books had been the -companions of his childhood, and these he purchased in the rarest -editions, and clothed in the richest bindings, and read to Pépin: only -his remembrance did not extend to a very distinct differentiation -between seven and fifteen, for it was at the latter age that he read -"Télémaque" to himself, and at the former that he read "Télémaque" to -his son. - -Then would come a second formal handshake, and Pépin, pausing an instant -at the door to make a slow, stiff bow, would creep off down the long -corridor to the nursery, and the Comte turn again to his papers with a -consciousness of paternal duty done. - -How Pépin contrived to spend the long hours which his daily walk and his -short lessons left at his disposal, only Pépin knew. He talked rarely -with the servants,--"a thing," his father told him, "that no gentleman -would wish to do;" and other children never entered at the de -Villersexel door, "for," said the Comte, "children sow unfortunate ideas -and spread disease." - -But there were compensations. One was the full-length portrait over the -chimney-piece in the dining-room. Pépin had no conception of how great -was the signature it bore, or of the fabulous sum which it had cost, but -he knew it was very beautiful, and, besides, it was his mother,--the -sad-eyed, pale dream-mother he had never seen. - -The portrait of the Comtesse de Villersexel had been one of the -sensations at the Salon of seven years before. The young Brazilian was -represented at the moment when the bow left the strings of her violin, -and on her lips and in her eyes yet dwelt the spirit of the music she -had been playing. A clinging gown of ivory-white silk emphasized rather -than hid the lines of her figure, of strangely girlish slenderness, but -straight and proud as that of a young empress. In its frailty lay the -keynote of the portrait's charm. It was like a reflection in clear water -that a touch might disturb, or a young anemone that a breath might -destroy,--not a picture before which people disputed and proffered noisy -opinions, but one which imposed silence, like the barely audible note of -a distant Angelus. It stood before the memory of its original, as it had -been a spirit, finger on lip, at the doorway of a tomb. - -This portrait of his mother dominated the life of Pépin like the -half-remembered substance of a dream. He had known nothing of her in the -life, for the breath of being had passed from her lips to his at the -moment of his birth, but with the intuition of childhood, he seemed to -know that this was one who would have loved him and whom he would have -loved. He spent hours before the picture, silent, spell-bound, gazing -into the deep and tender eyes that shone with the same pathetic pleading -that lay so eloquently in his own, and the only outbreak of rage which -had ever stirred his simple serenity was on one occasion when his nurse -had found him thus absorbed, and, receiving no response to her summons, -half alarmed and half indignant, reproached him with wasting his time -before a stupid picture. Then Pépin had whirled around upon her, his -lips compressed, his small brown hands clenched, and a look in his eyes -that terrified even the stout and prosaic Cornish-woman out of her -accustomed attitude of fat complacency. - -"A stupid picture?" he stormed. "But it is my mother, do you hear, my -mother! You are a wicked woman, Elizabeth!" - -It was when Pépin was nearing his seventh birthday that a wonderful -thing happened. The Comte was giving a great reception to the Russian -Ambassador, and on an impulse which, perhaps, even he himself could -hardly have explained, sent for his son. The child was aroused from -sleep, and, but half awake and totally uncomprehending, was submitted by -the worthy Elizabeth to a veritable cyclone of washing, combing, and -brushing, and finally, clad in spotless duck, was led by the maître -d'hôtel down the long corridor to the door of the grand salon, which, at -his approach, swung open under the touch of one of the under servants. -Pépin, dazed by the radiance of many lights and a great clamor of -voices, paused on the threshold, and, with a swift intuition of what was -demanded of him, made his slow, stiff bow. - -"Le Vicomte de Villersexel," said the maître d'hôtel in a loud voice at -his side, and Pépin, seeing his father beckon to him from the group -where he stood, slipped close to him through the crowd, and was -surprised to find that the Comte took his hand in his, and bent forward -to say in a whisper,-- - -"You are to hear Pazzini play the violin. That is why I sent for you. -He was your mother's teacher." - -Like all that had gone before, what followed was to Pépin like a -dream--a beautiful dream, never to be forgotten. A great hush had -settled upon the brilliant assemblage, for even in Paris there are still -things which society will check its chatter to hear, and the tall, -gray-bearded man, consulting with the pianist over there, was Pazzini, -the great Pazzini, whose services had been more than once commanded by -royalty in vain. De Villersexel had drawn Pépin nearer to the piano in -the brief interval, and as the opening chords of the introduction were -struck, he found himself but a few feet from the famous violinist, his -hand still linked in that of his father, his eyes fixed in wonder upon -this unknown man who had been his mother's teacher. - -The first low note of the violin fell upon the silence like a faint, far -voice, heard across a wide reach of calm water, and, as the marvelous -melody swelled into the fullness of its motif, something new and strange -stirred in Pépin's heart, mounted and tightened in his throat, ran -tingling to his finger-tips. Through his half parted lips the breath -tiptoed in and out, and his deep eyes grew every instant, could he have -known it, more like those of the picture that he loved. So he stood -entranced, seeing, hearing nothing but Pazzini and Pazzini's violin, -till the sonata drew imperceptibly toward its close. Like the child, the -great violinist seemed to be unconscious of all that surrounded him. -Slowly, tenderly, he led his music through the last phrases, until he -paused before the supreme high sweetness of the final note. How it was -he could never have told, but, in that infinitesimal fraction of time, -the training of years played him false. He knew that his finger-tip -slipped an incalculable atom of space, but it was too late. The bow was -on the string, and the imperceptibly flatted note swelled, sank, and -died away, unrecognized, he thought, with a throb of thankfulness, by -any save his master ear. And then-- - -"_Ah-h!_" said Pépin. - -The long ripple of applause drowned the child's whisper, and for an -instant the terror in his heart grew still, believing his exclamation -unheard. Then it leaped to life again, for Pazzini was looking at him, -his bow hovering above the instrument like his mother's in the picture. -In the mysterious solitude of the crowded room the eyes of these two -met, each reading the other's as they had been an open book, and in -Pépin's was the pain of a wounded animal, and in Pazzini's a great -wonder and sorrow, as of one who has hurt without intention, and mutely -pleads for pardon. - -As the applause ceased, the violinist turned to the Comte, and pointed -to Pépin with his bow. - -"Who is that child?" he asked. - -The thaw in the de Villersexel's "academic manner" had been but -momentary. With the renewed hum of conversation he was himself again, -pale, proud, and immovable. - -"It is my son, Pépin," he replied, with stiff courtesy. "How shall I -thank you for your playing? It was the essence of perfection, as it has -ever been, and ever will be." - -But he could not know, as he turned away with Pépin, that in his heart -the violinist said, "Her boy! I understand!" - -The miracle of his summons to the salon that night was not, as it -appeared, the actual climax of existence, for a new marvel awaited -Pépin on the morrow. The doors of the dining-room had barely slid -together behind them when the Comte turned to him. - -"Yesterday was Christmas," he said. - -Pépin made no reply. In fact, the stupor which descended upon him at -this infraction of the usual routine of life effectually deprived him, -for the moment, of the power of speech. - -"It was Christmas," repeated the Comte, "and because of that you are -invited to a--a--soirée to-day. Do you know the English children on the -entresol?" - -"I have seen them," faltered Pépin, "but we have never spoken. You told -me"-- - -"I have changed my mind," broke in his father. "Monsieur -'Ameelton"--stumbling desperately over the English name--"has asked me -to let you visit them this afternoon, and I have said yes to him. -Elizabeth will dress you. Now you may go." - -Barely conscious that Pépin had added a timid "Merci, papa!" to his -customary bow, de Villersexel turned to his writing-table, as the door -closed behind the little Vicomte, and, unlocking a drawer, took -therefrom a letter which had come to him that morning, and, burying -himself in his arm-chair, proceeded to its careful reperusal. It was in -the fine Italian handwriting of Pazzini, and ran as follows:-- - - MY DEAR FRIEND,--This is to be at once a confession and a prayer. - What would you say if I were to tell you that Pazzini--the flawless - Pazzini, as men are pleased to call me!--murdered, yes, murdered - last night's sonata by flatting that wonderful final note? Oh, it - was a very little thing, and passed unnoticed, for they are stupid, - these wise people who listen to me, and they did not hear. Even you, - my poor friend, even you could not detect that tiny flaw that was a - monstrous crime. No, of all who listened, there were but two that - understood what I had done. I was one of these, and the other was - your son--Pépin. - - Do you know what that means, Monsieur le Comte de Villersexel? Do - you understand that it is but one ear in millions that is so finely - keyed that this minutest deviation could wound it like the most - utter discord? And I wounded him, your Pépin. I saw it in his eyes. - Therefore I tell you--I, who know--that he is a genius, a genius - greater than his mother, and that, like her, he must be my pupil. I - have none other now. It shall be the work of my old age to make him - the greatest violinist of his day. Give him to me, my friend, if not - for his own sake, then for hers! - - PAZZINI. - -Prime feature of all the year to the little Hamiltons, on the entresol, -was their Christmas tree. It arrived in some unknowable way in the -corner of the grand salon on the morning after Christmas, and, from the -moment of its advent, the doors were sealed, and only the privileged -world of grown-ups went in and out, and could see the splendors within. -Inch by inch the hands of the tall clock in the antichambre dragged -themselves around successive circles toward the hour of revelation, and, -keyed to the snapping point of frenzy, the slender figure of George and -the round, squat form of John stood motionless before the inexorable -timepiece, awaiting the stroke of four. This suspense was harrowing -enough in itself, and only made bearable by recourse to occasional mad -caperings up and down the hall, and whoops of mingled ecstasy and -exasperation. What was worse was the delay in the arrival of their -guests. Later, the latter would be an indispensable part of the -festivities: just now they were mere impediments in the path of bliss. -Even the grown-ups were more considerate, and came on time. Well they -might, since they were granted immediate admission to the enchanted -room, and came out with maddening accounts of what was to be seen -therein. They sat about the small salon, and talked the stupid things of -which they were so fond of talking,--Hamilton, tall, straight, and with -an amused twinkle in his eyes, while he watched his wife vainly -endeavoring to calm her sons as they foamed and pranced at the sealed -doors; Miss Kedgwick, who wrote books, and invited boys to tea; Monsieur -de Bercy, who was odd because he spoke no English, but who cut heads out -of nuts and apples, and drew droll pictures on scraps of paper; Miss -Lys, who played the piano for "Going to Jerusalem;" and Mr. Sedgely, who -talked very low in her ear, and said the great trouble with "Going to -Jerusalem" was that the players couldn't go there in good -earnest--whatever that might mean. - -But would the doors _never_ open? - -The children arrived by twos and threes, shook hands limply with their -elders, greeted their small hosts with embarrassed ceremony, and then, -as if suddenly inoculated with the latter's madness, commenced to foam -and prance in their turn before the unyielding portals. Last of all came -Pépin, all brown, who bowed at the door, and then in turn to each of -those who spoke to him. - -Suddenly, with a shout, the children burst through the opened doorway, -and gathered in voluble groups about the glistening miracle which shone -like a hundred stars in the gathering twilight. For a half hour all was -chaos, and Pépin, standing a little apart, marveled and was still. -Dancing figures whirled about him, bearing boxes of soldiers, toy -villages, dolls, trumpets, drums. The air was full of the wailing of -whistles, the cries of mechanical animals, and the clamor of childish -comment. - -But to Pépin even the dazzling novelty of his surroundings was as -nothing, compared to one object which drew and fixed his attention from -the first instant, as the needle is held rigid by the magnetic pole. -High up upon the tree, clearly outlined against its background of deep -green, and gleaming gorgeously with fresh varnish in the light of the -surrounding candles, hung a violin--not one like Monsieur Pazzini's, -large and of a dull brown, but small--a violin for Pépin himself to -hold, and new, and bright, and beyond all things beautiful and to be -desired! - -Then his attention was distracted for a moment. From the time of his -entrance the eyes of Miss Lys had followed the dignified and silent -little Frenchman, and where Miss Lys went Mr. Sedgely followed, so that -now the two were so close that they brushed his elbow, and Pépin, -turning with an instinctive "Pardon," saw that they were watching him -curiously. When, with a feeling of restlessness under their scrutiny, he -looked once more towards the tree, the violin was gone! An instant -later, he saw it in the madly sawing hands of George Hamilton, dancing -like a faun down the room, and he was conscious of a great faintness, -such as he had known but once before,--when he had cut his hand, and the -doctor had sewed it, as Elizabeth sewed rips in cloth. - -"He is adorable," said Ethel Lys, "but I have never seen a sadder face. -What eyes!--two brown poems." - -"He makes my heart ache," answered Sedgely, slowly, "and yet I could -hardly say why. Ask him what he wants off the tree." - -The girl was on her knees by Pépin before the phrase was fairly -finished. - -"What didst thou have for Christmas?" she asked, falling unconsciously -into that tender second singular which slips so naturally from the lips -at sight of a French child. - -"I?--but nothing," replied the little Vicomte, pleased out of his -anguish by the sound of his own tongue amid the babel of English -phrases. - -The girl at his side looked at him with so frank an astonishment that he -felt it necessary to explain. - -"I have my gifts on the day of the year. Christmas is an English fête, -and I am French. So I have nothing." - -"Nothing!" replied Miss Lys blankly, and then, of a sudden, slipped her -arm around him, and drew his head close to her own. - -"What dost thou see on the tree that thou wouldst like to have?" she -asked, eagerly. "What is there, dearest?" - -And, at the unwonted tenderness of her question, the floodgates of -Pépin's reserve suddenly gave way. Placing his hands upon the girl's -shoulders, he searched her face with his eyes. - -"If there were another violin"--he began, and, faltering, stopped, and -turned away to hide the tears that would come, strive as he might to -hold them back. - -"Did you _hear_ him--and _see_ him?" queried Miss Lys, a minute after, -furiously backing Sedgely into a corner by the lapels of his frock coat. -"You _did_--you _know_ you did! And you are still here? Lord! _What_ a -man!" - -Sedgely shrugged his shoulders with a pretense of utter bewilderment. - -"What must I do?" he inquired, blankly. - -"_Do?_" stormed Miss Lys. "_Do?_ Why, scour Paris till you find a violin -precisely like that one George is doing his best to saw in half. Here! -Clément is at the door with the trois-quarts. Tell him to drive you like -mad to the Printemps--to the big place opposite the Grand Hotel--to the -Louvre--to the Bon Marché--anywhere--everywhere! But inside of one hour -I must have that violin!" - -When Sedgely returned, thirty minutes later, violin in hand, Ethel met -him at the door. - -"They are all at tea," she said. "We'll call Pépin out." - -She placed the violin in the hands of the Vicomte without a word, and -without a word Pépin took it from her. The instrument slid to his cheek -as if impelled by its own desire. - -"Canst thou play?" she asked him. - -"No," said Pépin, "and, besides, it is but a toy. I do not want to hear -it. But I like to feel it--here." And he moved his cheek caressingly -against the cheap varnish. - -"Don't you think you might"--began Sedgely, and then found himself on -the other side of the door, and Miss Lys facing him with an air of -hopeless resignation. - -"I--act-u-ally--be-lieve," she said, with an effort at calm, "that you -were going to ask him to thank me for it!" - -"Why not?" said Sedgely. - -"_Lord!_ What a man!" said Miss Lys. - - * * * * * - -In the dining-room of the de Villersexel apartment the Comte paced -slowly to and fro, with bent head, and fingers that locked and unlocked -behind his back. In the heavy chair before the fire, Pazzini seemed -shrunk to but half his normal size, a mere rack of clothes, two lean -white hands, that gripped the dragons' heads upon the arms of the -fauteuil, and a pale stern face that looked into the smouldering embers, -and beyond--immeasurably beyond. - -"How did it happen?" he asked, after a time. - -"Shall I ever know?" broke out de Villersexel irritably. "Pépin had been -to a children's party below there on the entresol, at the English -lawyer's. He and his imbecile of a bonne were entering the ascenseur. -She goes from spasm to spasm, so there is no telling. But it seems they -had given Pépin a toy--the English--and she wished to carry it and he -refused. So between them--God knows how!--it slipped from their hands as -the ascenseur cleared the gate--and Pépin stooped to catch it--and fell. -He died at midnight." - -There was a long silence, broken only by the snapping of the logs in the -fireplace and the almost inaudible footfalls of the Comte on the thick -carpet. Then-- - -"He was his mother's son," said Pazzini. - -"And mine," replied the other. "The last of the de Villersexel." - -He paused abruptly by a little table, and took up a handful of -splintered wood and tangled catgut. - -"The toy that killed him," he added in a low voice, and hurled the -fragments over Pazzini's shoulder into the embers. A thin tongue of -flame caught at them as they fell, and broke into a brilliant blaze. -Pazzini leaned forward suddenly and peered at the little conflagration. - -"A violin," he said. - -"A violin," echoed the Comte. "Think of dying for a violin!" - -Pazzini made no reply. His eyes had met those of the portrait over the -chimney--and he was smiling. - - - - -[Illustration] - -The Tuition of Dodo Chapuis - - -THE situation was best summed up in the epigram of little Sacha Vitzoff, -the second secretary at the Russian Embassy, who said that there was -room enough in Paris for two and a half millions of people _and_ -Gabrielle de Poirier, or for two and a half millions of people _and_ -Thaïs de Trémonceau, but that even the place de la Concorde was not -sufficiently wide for Gabrielle and Thaïs to pass without treading on -each others' toes. - -It was a rivalry of long standing, nourished by innumerable petty -jealousies and carefully treasured affronts. Gabrielle was tall and -very slender, with a clear, pale complexion, and hair of a curious dark -bronze that in certain lights showed a hint of olive green. So Thaïs -called her the Asparagus Woman--la Femme Asperge. Thaïs was short and -anything but slim, and brown of hair, eyes, and skin. So Gabrielle -called her the Mud-Ball--la Boule de Boue. And neither appellation was -pleasing to the object thereof. - -These two great luminaries of the Parisian demi-monde, blazing crimson -with mutual jealousy, followed, for six months of the year, a kind of -right-triangular orbit, comprising the restaurant of Armenonville, the -race-course of Auteuil, and the Café de Paris, and embracing divers -other points of common interest,--the Palais de Glace, of a Sunday -afternoon, the tea-room of the Elysée Palace Hotel, the Folies-Marigny, -the Salon, and the Horse-Show; and, individually, Gabrielle's apartment -on the avenue Kléber, and Thaïs's little hôtel on the rue de la -Faisanderie. Between the last two, as regards situation, cost, and -general equipment, there was not a straw's weight of difference, save in -the estimation of their respective occupants. The apartment had been -rented for a term of years, and furnished and decorated, and supplied -with four servants, by a Russian millionaire, and the same was true of -the hotel in every, save one, detail,--the de Trémonceau's millionaire -was a Brazilian. For the rest, Gabrielle was of a literary bent, and -wrote occasional feuilletons for the Journal, and short stories, -staggering with emotion, for the Gil Blas Illustré: something which, in -the opinion of Thaïs, was stupid and all there was of the most ignoble. -Thaïs herself was a sporadic feature at the Folies-Bergère, where she -sang songs of a melody and a propriety equally doubtful, bunching up her -silk skirts at the end of the refrain, with her side toward the -audience, and winking, with brazen effrontery, at a spot midway between -the heads of the bald gentleman in the third row and the wide-eyed -little St. Cyrien across the aisle. The which Gabrielle found to be the -trade of a camel. - -Each had her horses, and her carriage, in which she was whirled three -times up and three times down the allée des Acacias each noon of the -season, and again at five o'clock, and each spent hours daily in the rue -de la Paix, trailing long skirts of tulle and satin before the mirrors -of the men-milliners, and pricing strings of pearls in the private -offices of servile jewelers. Each was deftly veneered, as it were, with -the bearing of the grande dame, except at the moment when she chanced to -pass the other, or refer to her in the course of conversation. Then the -irrepressible past came suddenly to the fore in a word or a gesture, -which babbled of Gabrielle's early experience in the workroom of the -very Paquin she was now patronizing, and of Thaïs's salad days as -assistant to a florist on the grand boulevards. - -Honors were even between the two when Dodo Chapuis first came up to pay -homage to the queen capital, of which he had been dreaming for four -years. He was only nineteen, the son of a great manufacturer of Arles, -who had lived severely and frugally, and, dying a widower, left a cool -half million of francs to be divided between Dodo and his sister Louise. -There seems to have been no trace of doubt in the mind of either as to -the respective uses to which their dazzling inheritances should be -applied. Louise promptly accepted a young playwright with a record of -fourteen rejected revues, to whose suit her father had been most -violently opposed; and Dodo, as promptly, took out a letter of credit -for fifty thousand francs and departed for Paris on the morning -following the funeral. - -The story of Dodo's first six weeks in the capital is the story of full -a million of his kind. A pocket filled with gold and a mind emptied of -responsibility; youth, health, and craving for the fruit of the Tree of -Knowledge,--these foundations given, the aspect of the structure erected -thereupon is inevitable. - -Dodo made his début at the Moulin Rouge at eight o'clock on the evening -of his first day in Paris. Despite appearances, this did not mean that -he was wholly a fool. One must remember that it was the evening of the -first day. He walked leagues, it seemed to him, around the crowded -promenade, half stifled by an atmosphere composed of equal parts of -stale beer, cigarette smoke, and cheap perfumery. He watched a quadrille -made up of shrill shrieks, rouge, and an abundance of white lace. He -tossed balls into numbered holes in a long board, and won a variety of -prizes of pseudo-Japanese make, which he immediately presented to the -exponents of the aforesaid quadrille. He squandered a louis in firing a -rifle at paper rabbits passing in monotonous succession over three feet -of sickly green hillside. He bought a citronade for a girl with blue -eyes, and a menthe glaciale for another with brown; and, at the end, -rebuffing the proffered services of a guide, who, by reason of his new -tan overcoat, and to his intense disgust, addressed him in English, he -returned to the Hôtel du Rhin in a state of profound despondency. - -But that, as we have said, was on his first evening. On the third, he -had engaged a table in advance at Maxim's, and supped in state on -caviar, langouste à l'Américaine, and Ruinart. _And_ with Antoinette -Féria. It was not much of an achievement, but it showed progress. - -On the following day Dodo went to Auteuil, won twelve francs fifty on a -ten-franc bet, and dined at Armenonville. It was here that Suzanne -Derval looked cross-eyed at him, fingered her pearls, and remarked that -he had beaux yeux. Dodo might be said to be fairly launched. - -It would be superfluous to note the further stages of his initiation. -They were strictly conventional, and, under the circumstances, it was -remarkable that, at the end of six weeks, he had drawn but seven -thousand francs on his letter of credit, and still retained his -enthusiasms. It is not every one from the provinces for whom Paris -reserves her supreme surprise for the forty-third day. - -It chanced to be the first evening of the de Trémonceau's annual -engagement at the Folies-Bergère, and for three days the eloquent legend -"La Belle Thaïs" had been glaring at the boulevard throngs in huge block -letters from the posters on the colonnes Morris. Dodo, meanwhile, had -made many friends among men of tastes similar to his own--a feat which -is curiously easy of accomplishment in Paris, when one has forty-odd -thousand francs and a desire for company. Of these was Sacha Vitzoff, -who, on occasion, had five louis, and invariably spent them at once upon -his friends, before he should be tempted to put them to a worse use. - -So Sacha bought the box, and they sat, five of them, through two hours -of biograph, and trained dogs, and Neapolitan ballet, until the liveried -attendants thrust cards bearing the number 19 into rococo frames at the -side of the proscenium, and the orchestra plunged into Sarasate's -"Zapateado," and various stout gentlemen wrestled with mechanical -devices for supplying opera-glasses, and, conquering, sat back in their -seats and grunted. Then the drop rose upon a pale pink and gray libel on -Versailles, and La Belle Thaïs flashed out from the wing, with a red -silk scarf bound about her head and a toreador's hat perched on one -side. - -There was no denying it. Despite her rouge, despite her four decades (an -eternity in Paris), La Thaïs was very beautiful. Dodo forgot his -cigarette, his champagne, and his companions. He followed every swish of -her spangled skirts, every click of her castanets, every tap of her -pointed shoes, every movement of her gleaming shoulders and her lithe, -white arms. This, then, was the reality of his dream, the soul and -substance of his vision, the essence of the great city that had drawn -him like a magnet from his humdrum bourgeois life in the suburbs of -Arles,--the ineffable, eternal Woman, poured like oil upon the -smouldering fire of boyish imagination! His slender hands gripped the -plush of the box-rail feverishly, his eyes widened and brightened, his -lips parted, and his breath came short. Then, suddenly, there was a -final clash of tambourines and castanets which brought La Belle Thaïs to -a standstill, her head flung back, and one arm high in air! - -"She has charm--even now!" said Sacha, emptying his glass. - -Three days later, it was known to all the world that concerns itself -with such things that Dodo Chapuis was latest in the train of victims to -the fascinations of Thaïs de Trémonceau. One cannot pretend to say what -she saw in him to divert her attention from richer and maturer men. He -was handsome--yes--but the Comte d'Ys was handsomer. He was rich, as -such things go, and for the moment. But he had no wit, poor Dodo--and as -for money, which, after all, is the only other thing which counts in the -demi-monde, what were forty thousand francs to one authorized to draw, -_ad libitum_, upon a Brazilian multi-millionaire? No, evidently, it was -one of those strange whims to which the slaves of self-interest are -sometimes subject. The de Trémonceau had nothing to gain, and everything -to lose, for, certainly, her Brazilian miché would have been ill pleased -to know that Dodo Chapuis was riding daily six times up and six times -down the allée des Acacias in the victoria of La Belle Thaïs. As it -chanced, he was in Buenos Ayres. Still, he might return without warning. -He had an ignoble habit of doing that. But when those sufficiently -intimate suggested this to Thaïs she only laughed, and sang a snatch -from La Belle Hélène:-- - - "_Si par mégarde il se hasarde - De rentrer chez lui tout à coup, - Il est le maître, mais c'est, peut-être, - Imprudent et de mauvais goût!_" - -As for Dodo, he was in Elysium. He was singularly innocent, Dodo, with -his smooth russet hair, and his steady gray eyes, and his straight, fine -nose, and his sensitive, patrician mouth; and, believe it or not as you -will, he cherished the project of marrying Thaïs de Trémonceau! He had -fed himself on the poetry of Alfred de Musset, giving doubtful words and -phrases his own interpretation, from lack of experience, and, despite -the lesson of "Don Paez" and "La Nuit d'Octobre," he believed in the -power of trust to hold another true. Alas, he was hopelessly -conventional! There is no one of us poor moths who is content with -seeing his fellow singe his wings. No, each must plunge into the radius -of consuming heat and learn its peril for himself. All of which is, no -doubt, a wise ruling. For if experience could be handed down from father -to son, and accepted on its face value, then the child of the third or -fourth generation would be a demi-god, or even a full one, and there -would be no further attraction in heaven, and no further menace in hell. -The which morsel of morality may be allowed to pass, if only for -contrast's sake. We were speaking of Thaïs de Trémonceau. - -Dodo's Elysium lasted longer than such mirages are wont to do. For a -full month he basked in the sultry sunshine of the de Trémonceau's -smiles, dined almost nightly in the rue de la Faisanderie, occupied a -fauteuil at the Folies while she whisked her spangled skirts and sang -"Holà! Holà!" to Sarasate's music, supped with her afterwards at the -Café de Paris or Paillard's, and paid the addition, and tipped the -garçon, and the maître d'hôtel and the chef d'orchestre, as liberally as -if he had had a million francs instead of a dwindling twenty thousand. -And the delirium might have lasted even longer had it not been for -Louise Chapuis. - -No one ever knew who told. There is a wireless telegraphy in such cases -which defies detection. Suffice it to say that, one morning, the Hôtel -de Choiseuil numbered Mademoiselle Chapuis among its guests, and that, -as this name was inscribed upon the register, the Fates rang up the -curtain on the final act of the brief comedy of the tuition of Dodo -Chapuis. - -Where, when, and how Louise contrived, in three days of Paris, to -strike, full and firm-fingered, the keynote of the situation remained a -mystery which none of those concerned was capable of solving. In all the -capital there was but one person competent to deal conclusively with the -situation. That person was Gabrielle de Poirier, and to Gabrielle de -Poirier Louise Chapuis applied. - -There could have been no stranger meeting than this between the young -Arlésienne, with her blue eyes, and her embarrassed hands, and her gown -that all the plage turned to look at, because it was in the fashion of -more than yester-year, and the cold, stately leader of the demi-monde, -with her air of languid ease, her shimmer of diamonds, and her slow, -tired voice, roused to interest for the moment by this singularly sudden -and imperative demand upon her good-will and ingenuity. - -Louise found Gabrielle half buried among the cushions of a great divan, -with a yellow-backed novel perched, tent-like, upon her knee. For once, -the demi-mondaine was alone, bored to extinction by the blatant ribaldry -of Octave Mirbeau. She had fingered the simply-lettered card of her -unknown visitor for a full minute, before bidding her valet-de-pied -admit her. A whim, a craving for novelty--who knows what? The Open -Sesame had been spoken, and now, in the half-light of late afternoon, -her caller stood before her. - -"Be seated," said Gabrielle courteously. "Be seated, Ma--?" - -"--Demoiselle," replied Louise, complying with the invitation. - -There was a brief pause. Each woman studied the other curiously. Then -Louise began to speak, at first timidly. - -"You think it strange, no doubt, madame, this visit of mine. Let me be -quite candid. I come to ask a favor of you--I, who have no right, save -the right of one woman to crave assistance from another. I have a -brother"-- - -"Faith of God!" said Gabrielle, lightly, "so have I. A poor sample, if -you will!" - -Her flippancy seemed suddenly to lend the other fresh courage. She -leaned forward eagerly, clasping her gray-gloved hands upon her knee. - -"But mine," she said, "is but a boy. He has come to Paris, seeking to -know the world, and, lately, he has become the friend of Mademoiselle -Thaïs de Trémonceau." - -"Zut!" put in Gabrielle. "You say well that it is but a boy!" - -"Is there need to tell you," continued Louise, without heeding the -sneer, "what this means to me? Is there need to tell you what it means -to _him_?" - -"My faith, no!" said Mademoiselle de Poirier. "It is acquainted with me, -that story. The end is not beautiful!" - -"Tout simplement," said her visitor, "I have come to Paris to bring him -back, to show him the folly of his way. But I alone am powerless. -You--you who are more admired, more beautiful, more clever than this -Mademoiselle de Trémonceau"--(Oh, Louise!)--"you alone can aid me to -rescue him." - -Gabrielle raised her eyebrows slightly, and let her lids droop with an -air of unutterable boredom. - -"Truly, mademoiselle," she drawled, "I neither see in what fashion I can -assist you, nor why, in any event, I should concern myself with this -affair. If your brother has such taste"-- - -"Oh, madame, I know I have no right," broke in Louise. "But you, of all -women in Paris, alone have the power to win him from her." - -"And when I have won him," demanded Gabrielle, "what then? Do you think -your precious brother will fare better with me than with the de -Trémonceau?" - -Her calm was broken for a moment by a flash of anger. - -"The world is full of fools," she added. "One more or less is no great -matter. I am not a Rescue Society, mademoiselle. Let your brother go his -way. His best cure will be effected by the woman herself. When his money -is gone, there will be no need to win him from her." - -The sneer sent the blood racing to the other's cheeks. She had been -counting, as she realized with a pang of mortification, upon some -Quixotic quality which her reading had taught lay always dormant, even -in such a woman as Gabrielle de Poirier,--some innate nobility, ready to -spring into activity at the bidding of such an appeal as she had just -made. And, too, beneath all her anxiety, she had believed that Thaïs -loved her brother, that his peril lay not so much in her making use of -him and then flinging him aside, as in the existence of actual affection -between him and a woman whom, even as his wife, society would not -recognize. This brutal intrusion of money into the discussion, this -flippant classification of Dodo with a world full of fools who flung -away honor and reputation for a passing fancy, only to be flung away -themselves in turn, suddenly seemed to lay clear the whole situation, in -all its sordid vulgarity, and with the revelation came a white rage -against this woman who was only another of the same kind. She despised -herself for having stooped to ask her aid, and a fury of wounded pride -blazed in her reply. - -"You know yourself well, madame!" she said. "No, surely my brother -would fare no better with you, though that was not what I meant to ask. -I thought, in my folly, that, perhaps, in the life of such a one as you, -there might come moments when you longed to be other than you are, -moments when you would like to think that among all the men you have -played with, ruined, and spurned, there were one or two who could speak -and think of you as men speak and think of honest women, who could say -that you had been an ennobling influence in their lives, and whose word -would count upon the side of good when you come to answer for the evil -you have done. I thought that, not for money's sake or vanity's, you -might wish to win my brother from this woman, and, when you had won him, -teach him how sordid, how wicked, how futile such a life is, and send -him back to decency--a better man! I see how mistaken I was in judging -you. There is no compassion in you, no nobler instinct than -self-interest. Your motives are the same as hers, love of admiration and -love of gold,--and, perhaps, less worthy. I cannot say. Hers, at least, -I can only suspect: yours I have had from your own lips. Had my brother -been more than the poor weak boy he is, had he been brilliant, powerful, -or a millionaire, it would never have been necessary for me to ask you -to win him from her. No, madame, for you would have done so of your own -accord!" - -Now, there is such a thing as diplomacy, and there is such a thing as -luck, and of the former Louise Chapuis had not an atom. An impulse, made -apparently reasonable by pure imagination, led her to seek out -Gabrielle, and had she found her, as her fancy had painted her, readily -moved by the appeal of honest affection and confidence, she was -competent to have won her end. Louise was one of the people who, in -foreseeing a dispute, invent the replies to their own questions, and -who, if the actual answers accord with those preconceived, will emerge -from the ordeal triumphant, but who lack the diplomat's gift of adapting -the line of argument to that of unexpected retort. Confronted with a -state of affairs wholly different from that which she had supposed -existent, her sole resource was in this outburst of disappointment and -reproach, honest, but inutile as the clamor of a baffled baby. So much -for diplomacy. - -But, as we have said, there is also such a thing as luck. Gabrielle de -Poirier was insufferably bored. Her Russian was in Moscow, her recent -tips at Auteuil had proved disastrous, her latest feuilleton had been -rejected. For six hours she had been buried among the cushions of the -divan, clad materially in light pink but mentally in deepest blue, -skipping from page to page of a novel that was not amusing, and -confronted every ten minutes by the recurrent realization that the next -event on her calendar was a dinner at the Café de Paris, which would not -come for the eternity of twenty-seven hours! Despite her ungracious -reception of Louise, she had been grateful for the diversion, and hardly -had she sneered at Dodo's position before she lit a cigarette, and fell -to studying the situation seriously. Louise, pausing, breathless, after -her tirade, was surprised to find that she made no reply, looking -straight before her with her great eyes half closed, and put down her -silence as equivalent to admission of the charges hurled against her. -The truth of the matter was, however, that Gabrielle had not heard one -word of her visitor's impassioned denunciation! - -There was a long silence, and then the demi-mondaine looked up. - -"Where does your brother live?" she asked, touching an electric button -at her side, "and what is his first name?" - -"At the Hôtel du Rhin," stammered Louise, "and his name is Do--I should -say Charles,--Charles Chapuis. I am at the Hôtel de Choiseuil." - -"Bon!" said the other. "If you will go home, mademoiselle, and keep your -own counsel, I think I can promise you that you will shortly have your -brother back." - -Louise stepped forward impulsively. - -"Oh, madame!"--she began. - -But just then the valet-de-pied appeared at the door, and Gabrielle, -taking up her novel, flounced back among the cushions. - -"Bon jour, mademoiselle," she said, without looking at Louise. "Achille, -la porte! And send Mathilde to me." - -The conference between mistress and maid was brief but eloquent. - -"Who," demanded Gabrielle, "is Dodo Chapuis?" - -"The young monsieur of Boule-de-Boue," responded Mathilde promptly. - -"Parfaitement. I needed to refresh my memory. And how long is it since -we cabled the last tuyau?" - -"Eight weeks, at least, madame--before the coming of Monsieur Chapuis." - -"Bon!" said Gabrielle. "We cable another tip at once." - -(For it may be noted, in passing, that she had one source of income -which La Belle Thaïs little suspected!) - -"What does Boule-de-Boue do to-night?" she demanded again. - -"Dines at home with Monsieur Chapuis," replied the omniscient Mathilde, -"dances at the Fol' Berg' at eleven, sups at Paillard's with Monsieur -Chapuis." - -(For it may also be noted, in passing, that the maid of La Belle Thaïs -had one source of income which her mistress totally ignored!) - -"Très bien!" said Gabrielle. "Now a pen and paper, the inkstand, -envelopes, sealing wax, and a telegraph form, and write as I tell thee." - -For ten minutes Mathilde wrote rapidly, and then spread the results of -her exertions out before her, in the shape of two notes and a cablegram, -and read them aloud triumphantly. The first note was directed to -Monsieur Charles Chapuis, at the Hôtel du Rhin, place Vendôme:-- - -"If Monsieur Chapuis is a man of honor," it ran briefly, "he will break -all engagements, however important, for this evening, and present -himself chez Mademoiselle Gabrielle de Poirier at seven o'clock, on a -matter intimately touching the good fame of his family. The sister of -Monsieur, Mademoiselle Louise Chapuis, is chez Mademoiselle de Poirier." - -The second note was addressed to Mademoiselle Thaïs de Trémonceau, at 27 -bis, rue de la Faisanderie. - -"A friend advises Mademoiselle Thaïs de Trémonceau that Monsieur Charles -Chapuis dines with Mademoiselle Gabrielle de Poirier this evening at -half past seven." - -And the cablegram was to Señor Miguel Cevasco, Reconquista 21, -Buenos-Ayres, République Argentine. - -"19 rides in the carriage of 52. 26." - -The point of which observation lay in the fact that Dodo confessed to -nineteen, and Señor Miguel to fifty-two, and Gabrielle to twenty-six. - -It was a bold play, and one foredoomed to failure unless each link in -the chain held true. But Mademoiselle de Poirier was no novice, and -experience had long since taught her that success is the child of -audacity; so, ten minutes later, Achille was speeding, in one cab, -toward the place Vendôme, pausing only at the bureau de télégraphe on -the corner of the rue Pierre Charron and the avenue Marceau, and -Mathilde was speeding in another toward the rue de la Faisanderie: and -Gabrielle herself was making life not worth living for Louis, her -long-suffering maître-d'hôtel. - -The upshot of this triple commotion was that, as the clock on her mantel -struck seven, Mademoiselle Gabrielle de Poirier was posing on a -chaise-longue in correct imitation of David's "Madame Récamier," except -for a wonderful black gown, when Achille announced Monsieur Charles -Chapuis. - -Dodo entered the room in immaculate evening dress, but with a touch of -embarrassment in his manner which betrayed his years. He was good to -look upon, was Dodo, tall, straight, and slight, with the ruddy olive -skin, the firm, square fling of chest and shoulder, the narrowness of -waist, and the confident swing of long, slender, but sinewy legs with -which one is blessed at nineteen in Bouches-du-Rhône. Gabrielle, taking -note of him from under her covert, languid lids, was compelled, for -once, to mental candor. - -"I comprehend Thaïs," she said to herself, but to Dodo, "Monsieur, I -felicitate you. You have the true spirit of chivalry." - -"My sister"--began Dodo. - -"Is, no doubt, at the Hôtel de Choiseuil," answered Gabrielle, coolly, -fanning herself. "In any event she is not here. Oh, she _was_ here--yes; -but she had gone--gone _before_ I sent you the note. Be seated, -monsieur." - -Dodo selected a chair, dropped into it, and awaited developments in -silence. Six weeks before, he would have demanded in a passion the -meaning of this subterfuge. But whatever might be said of La Belle -Thaïs, one learned diplomacy in her company. - -"You are surprised, monsieur!" - -"I am infinitely surprised, madame," he agreed, with charming candor. - -"Shall we be frank with each other?" asked Gabrielle, pleasantly. - -"I think it is the only way," said Dodo. "Eh bien, I am infinitely -surprised, madame; first, to see my sister's name in connection with -yours at all, and, second, to find that you have been lying to me." - -"She came to ask me to rescue you from the toils of Thaïs de -Trémonceau." - -Despite his elaborate self-control, Dodo flushed crimson. - -"I think we had best drop the discussion here," he said, rising. "There -can be no possible profit in continuing it. If my sister was here at -all"-- - -"Her card is there on the table," put in Gabrielle, pointing with her -fan. - -"Pardon. I should not have permitted myself the insinuation. I accept -your statement, and simply say that it was an unwarrantable intrusion on -her part. For you, madame, I have only admiration. Your compliance"-- - -"It was not that," said Gabrielle, shortly. "I can conceive of nothing -less important to me than your sister's wishes. But I dislike -Mademoiselle de Trémonceau." - -"That," said Dodo, with exaggerated courtesy, "can only be a matter of -opinion. _I_ admire Mademoiselle de Trémonceau enormously." - -"The force of admiration is undoubtedly strong," snapped Gabrielle, "to -reconcile you to riding in another man's carriage, drinking another -man's wine, dawdling with another man's"-- - -"Assez!" said Dodo. - -Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders. - -"Quite right," she said. "You are old enough to see for yourself. I -presume you will not return to her." - -"On the contrary, I shall be with her in fifteen minutes." - -In the distance an electric bell whirred. - -"Sooner than that, I think," smiled Gabrielle, and then La Belle Thaïs -was standing at the salon door. She was gowned in scarlet, with a poppy -flaring in her hair, and, if she had but lent to her dance at the Folies -but half the fury of that entrance, the manager would, no doubt, have -tripled her already ample salary. And, at the instant of her -appearance, as if by signal,--which indeed it was,--Louis flung wide the -opposite door, with a stately "Monsieur et madame sont servis," and -there, gleaming with spotless napery, silver shaded candlesticks, and -shimmering cut glass, was the daintiest of tables, set for two! - -What Thaïs did and what she said, this is not the time or place to -detail. She was not wanting in vocabulary, the de Trémonceau, nor -sparing thereof in an emergency. A decade of careful training fell from -her like a discarded mantle, and she became in an instant the -vulgar-tongued fleuriste of the boulevards. From her chaise-longue -Gabrielle smiled calmly, the picture of a new Circe, rejoicing in the -success of her spells. And, between the two, Dodo, his hands clenched -until the knuckles shone white, turned sick with contempt and loathing. -At the end Thaïs flung him an unspeakable taunt, and there was a pause. -Then,-- - -"Do you play the black or the red, monsieur?" asked Gabrielle, sweetly, -with a glance at her own gown and another at the de Trémonceau's. - -Dodo let his eyes run slowly, contemptuously, from the topmost ripple -of her bronze hair to the point of her satin slipper, with the -felicitous inspiration of seeming to take stock of her charms and to be -not over-pleased therewith. Then,-- - -"I continue my game, madame!" he said. "I play the red." - -It was the last, faint cry of youthful chivalry, disillusioned, blotted -out, and it was wasted on Thaïs de Trémonceau. - -"Tu penses, salaud!" she broke in, with a laugh. "Well, then, thou art -well mistaken. Rien ne va plus!" - -"He will come back to me!" she cried to her rival, as the door closed -behind him. - -"Perhaps," agreed Gabrielle, "but only to leave you again, in a fashion -more mortifying for him and more calamitous for you. I sent a cable to -Buenos Ayres this afternoon." - -She was deliberately flinging away the aforementioned source of income, -for the sake of seeing a certain expression on the face of La Belle -Thaïs. But when she saw it, she was well content. For the honors were no -longer even. - -On the avenue Kléber, Dodo hailed the first cab that passed, and -flinging a curt "Hôtel de Choiseuil--au galop!" to the cocher, blotted -himself into one corner, and covered his face with his hands. - -"It was my first, but it shall be my last confidence in woman," he said. -It was neither strictly original nor strictly true, this, but it showed -progress. - -For there is such a thing as diplomacy and there is such a thing as -luck, and the fact that his sister had not an atom of the former made no -difference whatever in the tuition of Dodo Chapuis. - - - - -[Illustration] - -Le Pochard - - -HIS applicability was evident to the mind of Jean Fraissigne from the -moment when the camelot placed Le Pochard on a table in front of the -Taverne, and he proceeded to go through his ridiculous pretense of -drinking from the cup in his left hand which he filled from the bottle -in his right. Jean, who was dawdling over a demi, and watching the -familiar ebb and flow of life on the Boul' Miche', was at first -passively pleased at the distraction provided by the appearance of the -toy, and then, of a sudden, consumedly absorbed in the progress of his -operations. For what was plain to any but a blind man was the fact that -Le Pochard was the precise counterfeit of Jean's friend and comrade, -Grégoire--Grégoire, with his flat-brimmed hat, and his loose working -blouse, and his loud checked trousers--Grégoire, hélas! with his flushed -face, and his tremulous hands, and his unsteady walk, as Jean had seen -him a hundred times! - -Le Pochard staggered to and fro upon the marble-topped table, nodding -maudlinly, and alternately filling his cup and raising it uncertainly to -his expressionless face. At last, weakened by his exertions, he passed -one arm through the handle of Jean's demi, hesitated, and then leaned -heavily against the glass and stood motionless, with his topheavy head -bent forward, and his eyes fixed on the price-mark upon the saucer -below. This eloquent manoeuvre, so unspeakably appealing, determined the -future ownership of Le Pochard. Jean purchased him upon the spot, and -bore him off in triumph to the rue de Seine, as an object lesson for -Grégoire Caubert. - -The two students shared a little sous-toit within a stone's throw of the -Beaux-Arts, neither luxuriously nor yet insufficiently furnished. It -was Jean's good fortune to have a father who believed in him--not a -usual condition of mind in a provincial merchant whose son displays an -unaccountable partiality for architecture--and, what was more to the -point, who could afford to demonstrate his confidence by remittances, -which were inspiring, if not on the score of magnitude, at least on that -of regularity. And, since freedom from pecuniary solicitude is the -surest guarantee of a cheerful spirit, there was no more diligent pupil -at the Boîte, no blither comrade in idle hours,--above all, no more -loyal friend, in sun or shadow, throughout the length and breadth of the -Quartier, than little Jean le Gai, as he was called by those who loved -him, and whom he loved. - -That was why the comrades were at a loss to understand his friendship -for Grégoire Caubert. Had the latter been one of themselves, a type of -the schools, in that fact alone, whatever his peculiarities, would have -lain a reason for the association. But, to all intents and purposes, he -was of another world. His similarity to Jean and to themselves began and -ended with his costume. For the rest he was silent and reserved, -courting no confidence and giving none, unknowing and unknown to the -haunts they frequented,--the Deux Magots, the Escholiers, the Taverne, -the Bullier, and Madame Roupiquet's in the rue de Beaune, and the Rouge -on Thursday nights. Jean le Gai, when questioned as to the doings of -Grégoire, seemed to reflect something of his friend's reserve. He -admitted that the other wrote: he even went so far as to prophesy that -some day Grégoire would be famous. Further, he made no admissions. - -"Diable!" he said. "What does it matter? He goes his way--I go mine. And -if we choose to live together, whose concern is it then, I ask you? -Fichez-moi la paix, vous autres!" - -So popular curiosity went unsatisfied, so far as Grégoire was concerned, -and the apparently uncongenial ménage came, in time, to be looked upon -as one of the unexplained mysteries of the Quartier,--one, for the rest, -which made no particular difference to any one save the two immediately -concerned. - -But if Jean made no admissions as to Grégoire, it was not for lack of -sufficient knowledge. They had met, as men meet in the Quartier,--as -bubbles meet in a stream, and, for reasons not apparent, are drawn -together by an irresistible attraction, and fuse into one larger, -brighter bubble than either has been before. For little Jean Fraissigne, -whose exquisses were the wonder of the School, and whose projets had -already come to be photographed and sold in the shops of the rue -Bonaparte and the quai Conti, believed in his heart that architecture -was as nothing compared to literature, and Grégoire, whose long, uphill -struggle had been unaccompanied by comradely admiration or even -encouragement, found indescribable comfort, in the hour of his success, -in the faith and approbation of the friend who alone, of all men, knew -his secret,--knew that the Réné de Lys of the "Chansons de Danaé" and -the "Voyage de Tristan" of which all Paris was talking, was none other -than himself--Grégoire Caubert, on whose wrist the siren of absinthe had -laid a hand that was not to be shaken off, and whom she was leading, if -by the paths of subtlest fancy and almost miraculous creative faculty, -yet toward an end inevitable on which he did not dare to dwell. - -To Jean, healthy, rational, and cheerful as a young terrier, much that -Grégoire said and did was totally incomprehensible, but what he did not -understand he set down, with conviction, to the eccentricity of genius. -The long nights which he spent alone, sleeping sanely in their bedroom -in the rue de Seine, while Grégoire's cot stood empty beside him, and -Grégoire himself was tramping the streets of Paris; the return of his -friend in the first faint light of dawn, pale-faced and swaying; the -succeeding hours which, despite his exhaustion, he spent at his desk, -feverishly writing, and tossing the pages from him, one by one, until -the floor was strewn with them on all sides; finally, his heavy slumber -far into the afternoon,--all this, to Jean, was but part and parcel of -that marvelous thing called literature. He returned at seven to find -that Grégoire had prepared a wonderful little meal, and was walking up -and down the floor, unevenly, absinthe in hand, awaiting his arrival. - -In the two hours which followed lay the keynote of their sympathy. It -was then that Grégoire would read his work of the early morning hour, -to Jean, curled up on the divan, with his hands clasped behind his head -and his eyes round and wide with delight and admiration. What things -they were, those fancies that Grégoire had pursued and caught, like -night-moths, in the streets of Paris, while stupid folk were sleeping! -And how he read them, Grégoire, with his flushed face lit with -inspiration, and his eyes flaming with enthusiasm! If only he would not -drink absinthe, thought little Jean, and said so, timidly at first, and -then more earnestly, as, little by little, the marks of excess grew more -plain in his friend. But Grégoire made a joke of this--he who always -joked--and in time, Jean came to acquiesce. For he never wholly -understood--until afterwards. - -So, when nine struck, it was understood that they parted company till -the following evening. Jean brought out his drawing board, his T square, -and all their attendant paraphernalia, and toiled at his calques with -infinite patience and unerring accuracy, until midnight; and Grégoire, -having corrected his manuscript here and there, gnawing savagely at his -pencil the while, inclosed it in one of his long envelopes, scrawled -"Rédaction du Journal" upon it, stamped it, and went out into the night -to mail the old, and seek new moths. And this was all there was to the -comradeship which mystified the Quartier, save that the love of Jean for -Grégoire and of Grégoire for Jean was as deep and unfaltering as the -current of the eternal Seine--and, if anything, more silent! - -Jean wound up Le Pochard stealthily, on the landing outside the -apartment door, and, entering, placed it suddenly upon the table under -the very nose of Grégoire, who stood, sipping his absinthe, in the -centre of the room. Le Pochard rocked and swayed, ticking like a little -clock, and drinking cup after cup of his imaginary beverage, as if his -life depended upon the quantity consumed. Convulsed with merriment at -the performance of the preposterous creature, Jean le Gai lay prone upon -the divan, kneading the cushions with his fists and kicking his heels -against the floor, and Grégoire, a slow smile curling his thin, -sensitive lips, seemed to forget even his absinthe until the toy's -energy slackened and he paused, with the bottle shaking in his hand, and -his eyes, as usual, bent upon the ground. Then--"Eh b'en--quoi?" said -Grégoire, looking up at his friend. - -"Mais c'est toi!" burst out the little architect in an ecstasy. "It is -thou to the life, my Grégoire! Remark the blouse--what?--and the hat, -sale pompier!--and the checked grimpant, name of a pipe! But it is thy -brother, Le Pochard!--thy twin--thou, thyself!" - -And seizing the glass from Grégoire's hand, he carefully filled Le -Pochard's cup with absinthe, and set him reeling and swaggering again, -so that the immoral little animal spilled the liquid on his blouse, and -presently fell headlong, totally overcome, with his nose pressed flat -against the table. - -Thereafter, it was a comradeship of three instead of two. It was quite -in accord with the whimsically fanciful nature of Grégoire that he -should take Le Pochard into his affections, and even call him "brother" -and "cher confrère." He treated him, did Grégoire, with marked deference -and studied non-observance of his besetting weakness, and he expected -and received from Le Pochard a like respect and indulgence in return. -That, at least, was how he described their relations to Jean, and Jean, -curled up upon the divan, was never tired of the droll pretense, but -would laugh night after night till the tears came, at the common tact -and the mutual courtesy of Grégoire and Le Pochard. - -Linked by this new, if unstable, bond of sympathy, neither of the -friends understood, during the months that followed, that their paths, -which had so long lain parallel, were gradually but inevitably -diverging. Jean was now wrapped heart and soul in the competition for -the Prix de Rome, and, as he said himself, en charrette eternally. Even -the work of his comrade, which formerly had held him spell-bound, lost -for him, little by little, much of its compellant charm. His nimble -mind, busy with the stern, symmetrical lines of columns and the -intricate proportioning of capitals, drifted imperceptibly away from its -one-time appreciation of pure imagery. He returned later at night from -the atelier, consumed the meal they ate in common with growing -impatience, and was busy with his calques again before Grégoire had -fairly finished his coffee. The evening readings, grown shorter and -shorter, were finally abandoned altogether, and, oftener than not, Jean -was totally oblivious to the presence of Grégoire, correcting his -manuscript at the little desk, or his noiseless departure with the -stamped envelope under his arm. Had he been told, he would have denied -his defection with the scorn bred by conviction. It was not that he -loved his comrade less, but only that the growing promise of the Prix de -Rome lay, like the marvel of dawn, on the horizon of the immediate -future, blinding his eyes to all beside. For Jean le Gai was finding -himself, and in the crescent light of that new and wonderful discovery -whatever had been bright before grew tawdry. - -Only one evidence remained of what had been. Le Pochard, with his absurd -inanity, was yet a feature of every dinner in the rue de Seine, and -because Grégoire invented daily some new drollery in connection with -their senseless toy, Jean was unaware that things were no longer the -same,--that his friend was thinner and more nervous, that the circles -had deepened under his eyes, that he said no word of his work. They -laughed together at Le Pochard, and laughed again at their own -amusement. So the days went by and still their paths diverged,--Jean's -toward the sungilt hills of promise and prosperity, Grégoire's toward -the valley of shadow that a man must tread alone. - -Despite his proclivities, neither foresaw the end of Le Pochard. So -gradual was his decline toward utter degradation that the varnish was -gone from his narrow boots and his round, weak face, and his simple -attire was frayed and worn, before they had remarked the change. Then, -one night, as Grégoire wound him, the key turned futilely in the spring. -Placed in his accustomed position on the table, Le Pochard made one -feeble gesture of surrender with his bottle, one unavailing effort to -raise his absinthe to his lips, and, reeling dizzily, crashed down upon -the floor, his debauches done with forever. - -It was a curious thing that, in the face of this absurdity, neither of -the comrades smiled. In some unaccountable fashion Le Pochard had come -to be so much a part of their association that in his passing there was -less of farce than tragedy. And Jean, looking across at Grégoire, saw -for the first time the pitiful change that had crept into the face of -his friend, the utter weariness where restless energy had been, the -dullness of the eyes wherein had played imagination, like a -will-o'-the-wisp above the slough of destiny. And Grégoire, looking -across at Jean, knew that the moment had come, and dropped his glance, -ashamed, fingering the tattered clothes of Le Pochard. - -"One might have expected it," said Jean, with a smile that was not a -smile. "I suppose we must forgive him his faults, now that he is gone. -_De mortuis nil nisi bonum!_" - -Then, as Grégoire made no reply, he added, - -"I shall not work to-night. I am tired. Que veux-tu? I have been doing -too much. So we will sit by the fire, n'est ce pas, vieux? And thou -shalt read to me as before. Dieu! It is a long time since the moths have -shown their wings!" - -In the tiny grate the cannel coal snapped and spat fretfully, and Jean, -buried in the largest chair, winked at the sparks, and, furtively, from -the corners of his brown eyes, watched Grégoire reading, half-heartedly, -with the lamp-light cutting sharply across his thin cheek and his -temples, on which the veins stood singularly out. - -He was no critic, little Jean le Gai, yet even he knew that something -had touched and bruised the wings of this latest moth that Grégoire had -pursued and caught while stupid folk were sleeping, so that it was not, -as had been the others, downed with the shifting brilliance of many -unimagined hues, but dull and sombre, like the look he had surprised in -the face of his friend. And so subtly keyed were the strings of their -unspoken sympathy that night, that a sense of the other's feeling stole -in upon Grégoire long before the manuscript was finished, and suddenly -he cast it from him into the grate, where the little flames caught at -it, and wrapped it round, and sucked out its life, exulting, until it -lay blackened and dying, writhing on the coals. - -"Why?" said Jean. But he knew. - -"Because," answered Grégoire slowly, with his eyes upon the shrunken, -faintly whispering ashes of his pages, whereat the sparks gnawed with -insatiable greed, "because, my little one, it is finished. What I have -done I shall never do again. Never didst thou wholly understand--least -of all in these last days when thy work absorbed thee. If one is to -catch night-moths with such a tender touch, and preserve them for other -men to see so carefully, that no one little glint of radiance may be -missing from their wings, one has need of a clear eye and of a steady -hand. Neither is mine. My father, of whom I have never spoken to -thee,--my father, who left me this gift of trapping the thoughts that -others see not as they fly, yet love and prize when they are caught and -pinned upon the page, yet left me a companion curse,--the curse of -absinthe, little Jean, that is not to be gainsaid. For as the gift was -beautiful, so was it also frail, and as the curse was subtle, so was it -also strong. I have seen the end--long, long. Now it is here. My work is -finished. The curse has knocked at the door of my body, and, at the -signal, the gift has flown forth from the window of my soul." - -He paused, and pausing, smiled. - -"Thou didst most nearly understand me, Jean," he continued, "in buying -Le Pochard. For in truth, he was my brother--my twin--my soul, in the -semblance of a toy! How we have laughed at him! Yet all along I have -seen myself in that senseless little man of tin. Is it fanciful? -Peut-être bien! But, now that he is gone, I see that I must go, -too,--and in the same way, my Jean, in the same way,--with my absinthe -in my hand and the key of inspiration turning uselessly in the broken -spring of my heart!" - -He rose suddenly, with a shiver, and looked down at Jean le Gai. For an -instant he touched him on the hair, and then he was gone into the night, -leaving the little architect gazing, wide-eyed and mute, at the -crinkling ashes of the last, unworthiest moth of all. - -During the days that followed, Le Pochard stood upon the mantel-corner. -They no longer touched him, but left him, as it were, a monument to his -own folly. - -There was no further trace in Grégoire's manner of the mood which had -loosed his tongue on the night of his last reading. To Jean, who, in his -simplicity stood ready with comfort and encouragement, he seemed to be -in need of neither. Plainly, what he had said was but a phase of that -strange imagination which had dictated the exquisite pathos of his -"Danaé" and his "Tristan;" and this one thing little Jean had -learned,--that his friend lived the moods he wrote, and that oftentimes, -when what he said was seemingly most personal, he was posing for his own -pen--a painter in speech, drawing from his reflection in a mirror -opposite. So the vague alarm aroused by Grégoire's words died down, and -Jean plunged once more into his work. - -In those last days of the competition his projet, laboriously builded, -detail by detail, leaped into completion with a suddenness startling -even to himself. He knew that it was good,--knew so without the -surprising enthusiasm of his comrades at the atelier, and the still more -surprising commendation of his patron, the great Laloux himself, whose -policy was _nil admirari_, whose frown a habit, and whose "Bon!" a -miracle. But even Jean le Gai, with all his buoyant optimism, was -unprepared in conviction for those words which reverberated, to his ears -like thunder, beneath the dome of the Institut. - -"Prix de Rome--Jean Fraissigne--Atelier Laloux!" - -Would Grégoire _never_ come? He asked himself the question a hundred -times as he paced the floor of their living-room an hour before dinner, -exulting in the cold roast chicken and the champagne, and the huge -Maréchale Niel rose which he had purchased for the occasion. For he was -determined, was Jean le Gai, that Grégoire should be the first to know. -Was it not Grégoire who had encouraged him all along, who had prophesied -success when as yet the projet was no more than an exquisse exquisse, -who had laughed down Jean's forebodings, and magnified Jean's hopes a -hundred-fold? Yes, evidently Grégoire must be the first to know, before -even a bleu should be sent to Avignon to gladden the heart of Fraissigne -père! - -But when Grégoire came, there was no need to tell him after all. For it -was the chicken that shouted Jean's news--the chicken, and the -champagne, and the great yellow rose, and, most of all, the face of Jean -himself. So it was that Grégoire held out his long, thin arms, -wide-spread, and that into them rushed Jean, to be hugged and patted, as -he gabbled some things that there was such a thing as understanding and -many more that there was not. - -"Rome--Rome, think of it! And the paternel--but he will die of joy! Ah, -mon vieux,--Rome! The dreams--the hopes--all I have wished for--and -now--and now--Ah, mon vieux, mon vieux!" - -And so again and again, clamoring incoherently, while Grégoire, holding -him tight, could only pat and pat, and say, over and over,-- - -"It is well, my little brother! My little brother, it is very, very -well!" - -They dined like princes, these two, pledging each other, laughing, -singing, shouting. Never had Jean le Gai so well deserved his name, -never had Grégoire been so whimsically droll. Even Le Pochard was -restored to his old position and coaxed to repeat his former antics. But -it was all in vain. The key refused to catch the spring, and, replaced -upon the table, Le Pochard only nodded once or twice with profound -melancholy, and stared at little Jean out of his round eyes. Once, Jean -thought he caught in the face of his friend a hint of the sadness of -that other night, but when he looked again the sadness, if sadness it -were, was gone. Grégoire filled his glass, and pledged him anew with a -laugh. - -"Rome, mon petit frère--Rome!" - -At nine, they went out together, Jean to dispatch his bleu and join the -comrades at the Taverne--for this was a night to be celebrated with -songs and many drained demis--and Grégoire, who knew where? - -Who knew where? Only the Seine, perhaps, sulking past the rampart on -which he leaned, thinking, thinking, until the gaunt dawn crept up, like -a sick man from his bed, behind the towers of Notre Dame; and the -shutters of the shops on the quai Conti came rattling down, and the -street cries went shrilly through the thin morning air: "Rac'modeur -d'faïence et d'por-or-celaine!" or "'Archand de rôbinets! Tureetutu, -tureetututututu!" Then Grégoire went slowly back to the rue de Seine. - -Jean spent the succeeding days in a whirl of excitement. There were -calls to be made, farewell suppers to be eaten, and all the preparation -for departure to be superintended. Fraissigne père sent a joyful letter, -and in the letter a substantial draft, so that Jean had two new -complets, and shirts, and socks, and shoes, and a brilliantly varnished -trunk with his name and address painted in black letters on the -end,--"J. Fraissigne, Villa Medici, Rome." It was magnificent! In this -and a packing case he stowed his clothes and his household gods, though -when the latter had been collected, the little apartment in the rue de -Seine looked pitifully bare. There were dark squares on the faded red -wall-paper, and clean circles in the dust of the shelves, where his -pictures and casts and little ornaments had been, but Grégoire only -laughed and said that the place had been too crowded before, and that -the long-needed house-cleaning was no longer an impossibility. - -So, before they realized the fact, the moment of parting was upon them, -and the sapin, with Jean's luggage on top, stood waiting at the door. -The concierge, wiping her hands upon her blue-checked apron, came out to -bid her favorite lodger good-by. A little throng of curious idlers -paused on the narrow sidewalk, gaping at the new trunk with the glaring -lettering. The cocher was already untying the nose-bag in which his lean -brown horse had been nuzzling for fifteen minutes. And, on the curb, arm -linked in arm, the two comrades stood watching him, with no courage to -meet each other's eyes. For each had a thousand things to say and never -a word in which to say so much as one. - -At the end, as their hands met, it was only a commonplace that came to -Jean's tongue. - -"Thou wilt write me, vieux? And in four years--ce qui va vite, du -reste!--we shall be together once more!" - -In four years--in four years--in four years! The words beat dully at -Grégoire's temples, as he watched the cab swing round the corner of the -Institut toward the quai Malaquais, with Jean's handkerchief fluttering -at the window of the portière. Four years--four years--four years! How -easy it was to say for one who did not know that the end had come,--that -the moths of fancy that fly by night must be caught by others now, that -the siren of absinthe was standing ready to claim her own! - -Grégoire mounted the stairs slowly, unlocked the door, and stepped into -the familiar room, dim now in the last faint light of day. His absinthe -stood upon the table, and he took it up, and paused, looking about him. -Presently he went forward to the mantel, and, laying one hand upon it, -bent forward, peering at a little photograph of Jean which leaned -against the mirror. The woodwork jarred under his touch, and Le Pochard -in his corner stirred, ticked feebly, and strove to raise his cup to his -lips. Wheeling at the sound, Grégoire met the eyes of the dissipated -little toy for a full minute, motionless and silent. Then with a sob, he -hurled his glass into the grate, where it was shivered into a hundred -fragments, and flung himself on his knees by the divan, with his face -buried in his hands. - -"Mon frèrot!" he murmured, "my little brother--help me--help me to be -strong." - -On the mantle, Le Pochard bent his head and gazed shamefacedly upon the -ground. - -For his reign was at an end. - - - - -[Illustration] - -A Latter-Day Lucifer - - -THE distance between them is far less than is commonly supposed. In -fact, they are separated only by a parti-wall. But there is a vast -difference in their exteriors, Heaven being gay with silver paint and -stucco cherubs, and illuminated by a huge arc-light with a white globe, -and Hell all red, with a monster's grinning mouth for entrance, and a -ruby lamp. - -The two cabarets stand on the boulevard de Clichy, side by side, and, -when one is passing through Paris on a Cook ticket, good for a two -weeks' stay, one is taken by an obliging friend of the Colony to see -them, and so is enabled to return to the States with the pleasing -conviction of having had a glimpse of the true life of Montmartre,--the -which is so artistic, and Bohemian, and all that. - -It is something, as every one knows, to be an angel in Le Ciel; but it -is also something, as every one does _not_ know, to be a demon in -L'Enfer. Aside from the sentiment of the thing, it is all the -same,--harps and halos or horns and hoofs. The clientèle of both places -is, for the most part, étrangère, and what is certain is that an -American never counts the little money one gives him in change, and that -an Englishman disputes it anyway, so that, in the beginning, one might -as well be wrong as right, and that a German is unable to tell a louis -from a new sou. And a pourboire is a pourboire, whether intentional or -otherwise. That is why Maxime Perrot felt himself to be a remarkably -fortunate person when, one evening in June, he was suddenly transformed -into an angel, as a result of his intimacy with Gustave Robine. - -Gustave was two metres twelve in height, which is something so -astonishing in itself that it is not to be wondered at that, for more -than a year, he had filled the eminent position of guardian of the gate -of Le Ciel, and was much in favor with the management, because of the -attention he attracted from the clients. Also, he kept his eyes open, -and, moreover, he owed Maxime fifty francs. So, when one of the angels -abruptly married a rich widow, and departed for Maisons-Laffitte, to -live on her ample rentes, Gustave mentioned the name of his friend and -creditor for the vacancy, and, the next day, Maxime became one of the -personnel of Heaven, with a fresh pair of wings and new pink fleshings. - -Maxime was short and slender, in all except his feet, which were long -and large, so long and large, indeed, that he was called l'L -Majuscule--the Capital L--by his intimates, and fully merited the -nickname when viewed in profile, standing. His experiences in life had -been diverse, for, as he himself was wont to say, he cared less for an -existence without variety than does a fish for an apple. He had driven a -voiture de remise, gorgeous in a green cockade and doeskin breeches: he -had been collector for the Banque de France, dismissed, let charity say -not why: and garçon de restaurant, racing to and fro, with a mammoth -tray balanced on one upright arm, like a human umbrella: and camelot, -hoarsely crying "La Patrie!" in front of the boulevard cafés: and, -finally, valet de chambre to Captain the Honorable Michael Douglas, -military attaché to the British Embassy. It was in the last capacity -that he had learned English, which now he spoke, said Gustave, like a -veritable Goddem. That was not the least of the new angel's -qualifications. To be sure, it was against all reason that the sales -anglais should, under any circumstances, achieve an entrée into Heaven, -but then there were many incongruities in connection with Le Ciel, and -the fact remained that three out of five of the clients spoke Angliche, -and an angel who could reply to them in their own ignoble argot was, -without doubt, an invaluable acquisition. - -It cannot be denied that Maxime made a good beginning in Heaven. He -entered upon his new duties modestly, and spent a full half-hour of the -early evening cleaning the long table in the main hall, dusting the -surrounding stools of gold, upon which the chosen were to sit, and -assisting his fellow angels in polishing the liqueur glasses. And it so -happened that the first to enter that night was Major Amos E. Cogswell, -of the United States Army, who had spent three weeks in Paris at the age -of twenty-two, and distinguished himself by demanding, on his second -arrival, the way to the Jardin Mabille. With the Major were his two -nieces, and their attendant swains, John Selfridge Appleby and P. -Hamilton Beck, the latter in narrow-brimmed straw hats, which resembled -lids of Japanese tea-pots, and dogskin walking gloves, turned back at -the wrists. The party entered with an air of bravado, and were heard to -remark that this was IT,--whatever that might mean. It was Maxime's -opportunity, and he improved it to the utmost, seating the newcomers -around the head of the table, and demanding, "Ces messieurs désirent?" -as if completely oblivious to the fact that they were anything but -bred-in-the-bone boulevardiers. For there was need of precaution. It is -an inexplicable thing about these English that one is charmed to be -addressed in his own tongue, and the next is insulted. It pays to feel -one's way. - -"What does he say?" said Major Cogswell, turning, helplessly, to P. -Hamilton Beck, who had taken French II. at Columbia. - -"Wants us to name the drinks," responded that accomplished young -gentleman. - -"Spik Ingliss?" put in l'L Majuscule, deploying the skirmishers of his -vocabulary. - -"Tchure!" said Mr. Beck. - -"Ah!" replied Maxime, much gratified, "zen v'at eest? V'at veel de -zaintlemans aff?" - -"Cream de mint," said the Major, promptly, and, his companions agreeing -with alacrity, Mr. Beck again undertook the rôle of interpreter. - -"Sank cream de mint," he commanded, holding up his left hand, -wide-spread, "et toute suite." - -And, in a surprisingly brief space of time, five infinitesimal glasses -of the green liqueur stood before them. - -"Mais avec du glace," remonstrated Mr. Beck. - -"What's that; what's that?" inquired the Major anxiously, as the glasses -were as suddenly removed by the abashed Maxime. - -"Oh, ice, that's all," replied the other. "These chaps don't know -what's what. Leave 'em to me. One has to know how to handle 'em." - -Following the entrance of the Americans, the cabaret had gradually -filled. The majority of the places at the long table were occupied now -by a curious assemblage of sensation-seekers,--Germans in little cloth -hats of dark green, with a curled feather cropping up behind, Englishmen -in tweeds and traveling-caps, with visors fore and aft, American -architects from the Quartier, so well disguised by slouch felts, pointed -beards, and baggy trousers, that only a nasal tang in their slangy -French betrayed their nationality, and a sprinkling of Frenchmen, each -clasping the hand of a grisette. Already the high-priest of Le Ciel was -in his gilded pulpit, delivering an oration thickly sown with "mes -soeurs" and "mes frères" and "chers bénis," at which strangers and -Parisians alike laughed uproariously, and all for one good -reason--because the Frenchmen understood! Maxime returned, bringing the -five liqueurs in larger glasses with chopped ice. The head angel made -the round of the table, carrying, on a pole, the gilded image of a pig, -and a pseudo-sexton stood leaning on the rail of a celestial stairway -leading to the second floor, sprinkling the assemblage with so-called -holy water from a colored brush. It was all very French, very -conventional,--or unconventional, according to the point of view of the -spectator,--very sacrilegious from any point of view. - -With that curious instinct of womanhood which seems to recognize the -indelicate, even in unfamiliar surroundings, even in an unknown tongue, -the younger Miss Cogswell leaned forward suddenly and touched the Major -on the hand. - -"Let us go," she said. - -"Yes!" agreed Appleby, buttoning his coat, "let's be moving. What do you -say? Let's go to Hell--I mean," he added, with a blush, "let's try the -other cabaret." - -The Major agreed with a sigh of relief. He had understood nothing of the -mummery going on about him, but he was possessed by the conviction that -in some way his party was the butt of the occasion, and had kept looking -around abruptly, in hope of catching the angels giggling behind his -back. - -"Will you ask the waiter how much I owe?" He appealed to Beck. - -_How much!_ - -Maxime picked these two essential words out of the rapid phrase like a -squirrel snapping a peanut from its shell. He had not been garçon at the -Café Américain for nothing, Maxime. His countenance assumed an -expression of beatific innocence as he looked over the Major's head, at -the high-priest in the gilded pulpit. - -"Tain francs," he observed, mildly. - -This was a tide in the affairs of P. Hamilton Beck which, plainly, must -be taken at the flood. The elder Miss Cogswell was looking at him -expectantly, and Heaven had, of a sudden, grown very still. He leaped -into the breach with all the eloquence accumulated during eight months -of French II. - -"Mon foi, non! cream de mint coute seulement un franc la verre dans les -établissements plus chers. Il ne faut pas nous voler, parceque nous sont -étrangères!" - -"What's that; what's that?" said the Major. - -"He's trying to rob us," explained Beck, much excited. "Says it's ten -francs. It can't possibly be more than five, and it _ought_ to be two -francs fifty." - -The Major immediately became purple with indignation. - -"But, God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, "the rascal understands English -as well as any one of us. What's the use of wasting your French on him?" - -He swung round upon his stool, and fixed an eye, which was celebrated in -the 32d Regular Infantry, upon l'L Majuscule. That worthy surveyed with -unfeigned astonishment this very angry, red-faced foreigner, who looked -as if he was about to devour him, body and bones. He had not the most -remote conception of the effect which his flaxen wig, and his ridiculous -wings, and his short pleated tunic, and his pink tights, and his huge -feet in their gilded sandals, produced upon the Major; and his attempt -at extortion was strictly in line with the traditions of the place. -Certainly, it was all very puzzling. - -"You ape!" said the Major furiously, finding his breath. "You -pinky-panky little scoundrel! _You_ an angel? Why you're not even -shaved! You get two francs fifty, that's what you get, and not a red -cent of porbwure either, you Christmas-tree image!" - -The exact phrasing of these remarks was somewhat lost upon Maxime, but -the general trend of the Major's meaning was quite unmistakable. -Nevertheless, when one had been valet de chambre to Captain the -Honorable Michael Douglas, one was not routed by a few emphatic words. -So Maxime shrugged his shoulders apologetically, and reiterated his -"Tain francs." - -"Damn it, sir, _no_!" thundered the Major. "And don't pretend you can't -understand me. I'm a short-tempered man, sir, and--and"-- - -He pounded with his fist upon the table, seeking a fitting expression of -his rage, until the little liqueur glasses danced like kernels of -popping corn. But young Appleby leaned toward him and laid a hand on his -arm. He was big and square-shouldered, was Appleby, and, only the year -before, he had performed prodigies with the hammer and the shot in the -Intercollegiate Games; but his eyes were very blue and gentle, and he -spoke with extreme mildness. - -"Don't let us have any trouble here, sir," he said. "It isn't as if we -were alone. We have the girls with us, you know. Leave the beggar two -francs fifty, and we'll go on to the next place." - -Now the Major, with all his fiery temper, was an ardent lover of -discipline, and he recognized reason in Appleby's words. So, after an -instant, he deposited the amount upon the table, rose to his full -height, with his eye still riveted on Maxime, and then, followed by the -others, stalked majestically toward the door. - -But for one circumstance, the Americans had never gone unmolested past -Maxime's fellow-angels, and, in particular, the towering form of Gustave -Robine. Maxime himself was astounded that no celestial hand was -stretched out to bar their progress. What he did not understand was -that, while one may enter Le Ciel on the strength of an accomplishment -not possessed by the other immortals, the achievement does not -necessarily imply that one is _persona grata_ in their eyes, or, in the -least degree, sure of their support. The management was responsible for -Maxime, and the edict had gone forth that the Angliches were to be -turned over to him. But obedience to this command did not go hand in -hand with approval thereof. The high-priest and the sexton and all the -angels had looked on sourly, as he appropriated the Major's party, for -it is the Americans who give the largest pourboires; and, although they -did not wholly comprehend the dispute which had arisen, it was evident -that the linguistic angel had met with disaster at the very outset, and -they were proportionately gratified. So, when Maxime glanced about in -search of succor, he found himself abandoned in his discomfiture. The -other angels were smiling broadly, and nudging each other with their -pink elbows; the high-priest, with his fat hands on the pulpit's edge, -was looking down at him with a grin; the sexton above his head waved his -brush to and fro and chanted, "_Ora pro nobis!_" in a high, whining -voice. A French student at the further end of the table said "Roulé!" -and his companion laughed shrilly. Even Gustave, at the door, was -leaning on his halberd and chuckling, for he had not forgotten that -Maxime, once sure of his position, had demanded repayment of the fifty -francs. - -All this was sufficiently intolerable, but a real disaster, more -terrible than mere ridicule, confronted Maxime. The crême de menthe was, -as a matter of fact, one franc a glass, and it was out of his pocket -that the deficit would have to be made good. As this tragic thought -smote him full and fair, he bounded forward past the other angels, -dodged nimbly under Gustave's outstretched arm, charged through the -swinging doors, and emerged with a shout upon the boulevard de Clichy. - -The Major's party had paused before the entrance of L'Enfer, while Beck -parleyed with the courteous demon in scarlet tights who kept the door, -and the others stood by, sublimely unconscious of the none too -complimentary comments of a half score of cochers and boulevard loungers -who surrounded them. Into the midst of this assemblage swooped l'L -Majuscule, his flaxen wig awry, his wings bobbing wildly on his -shoulders, and his white tunic fluttering in the wind. Blind to -consequences, he darted upon the unsuspecting Major, and seized him -furiously by the coat. - -"Eh! vieille saucisse!" he exclaimed. "Tu te fiches de moi--quoi?" - -Now John Appleby had never enjoyed the advantages of French II., which -shed such effulgence upon his classmate, but he knew the answer to this -question, none the less. It had been taught him in the boxing-room of -his athletic club, and it was surprisingly conclusive when applied to -the under jaw of an infuriated angel. The ruby and white arc-lights -before the cabarets suddenly joined in a mad waltz, the cabarets -themselves turned upside down, the cochers and loungers swooped into the -air like pigeons, a passing tram leaped into the trees on the further -side of the driveway and disappeared, and, from somewhere, a factory -whistle came close up to Maxime's side and said, "_Oo-oo-ooo-oooo!_" in -his ear. - -He came to himself slowly. There was an acrid taste in his mouth, and -this, upon investigation, proved to be boulevard mud. There was -something fuzzy gripped tightly in his right hand, and this presently -resolved itself into his wings. Then he saw his feet, which were -elevated above the level of his head, by reason of being on the curb, -while the rest of his person was in the gutter. Then the mammoth red -face of a cocher bulged out of the night, close to his own, and a voice -said,-- - -"Have you harm, angel?" - -Then he remembered, sat up, and looked around. - -On the boulevard de Clichy, spectators grow out of the ground, -spontaneously, when there is an excuse for their presence. A hundred or -more now surrounded Maxime, with open mouths, and staring eyes that slid -to and fro from his prostrate form to the faces of an agent and a -vehement gentleman in a frock coat and a flat-brimmed huit reflets, who -were disputing violently. In the crowd were all the other angels, and -the better part of those who had been seated at the table of Heaven. The -sexton, brush in hand, was gaping over the agent's shoulder, the -high-priest was explaining the affair, with much elaboration, to all who -would listen to him, and above the rest towered the face of Gustave -Robine, still smiling blandly. The only unconcerned figure in sight was -that of a courteous demon in scarlet tights, who was staring up at the -sky from the doorway of L'Enfer. For Beck had slipped a gold piece into -his hand,--as the Major and his party hurried inside, dragging the -protesting Appleby by the arm,--and he knew how to keep his counsel. -After all, the sanctity of hospitality must be respected, even in Hell. - -"But no, I tell you, but no!" exclaimed the gentleman of the huit -reflets, who was none other than the manager of Heaven. - -"It is equal to me! It is equal to me!" stormed the agent. "I saw it, do -you hear? He was struck, and the law does not allow--They went in -there"-- - -He made a motion, as if to thrust the other aside and plunge toward the -entrance of L'Enfer. But the manager of Heaven was not to be thus -outdone. He was determined that the incident should be considered -closed; and for this there were reasons. It was but the beginning of the -tourist season, and the foreign clientèle must not be antagonized. A -paragraph in the "Matin," a sensational article in the "Herald" of -to-morrow, and the Angliches would believe that the Cabaret du Ciel was -no safe place for foreigners to enter. In agonized imagination he saw -the gate receipts of Heaven dwindling, disappearing. It were better, far -better, to sacrifice Maxime. He grasped the agent by the arm, and -pointed to the fallen angel, who was still seated in the gutter, -collecting his scattered wits, with a vacant stare. - -"Look you," he said, persuasively, "this tripe, this species of onion, -this example of an eel, is the cause of all. It is I who know, n'est ce -pas? being his patron. Eh b'en, I assure you that it is a drunkard of -the most abandoned. Thirteen times in the dozen, one finds him in the -fog, rigid as the Obelisk, bon Dieu! not merely lit, voyons, but -flaming,--as full as Robespierre's donkey,--asphyxiated! It is not a -man, sac à papier! It is a sponge--but a sponge, do you understand?--a -pompier! He dries glasses--_poof!_--like that! Il lave sa gueule -là-dedans, nothing less!" - -"Bravo!" said Gustave Robine, and all the angels applauded. The agent -paused, doubtful of what course to pursue, overwhelmed by this burst of -eloquence, and Top-Hat, perceiving the impression he had made, addressed -himself to Maxime. - -"Waffle!" he cried, contemptuously. "Cream of a tart! Thou wast there, -then, the day of the distribution, O stupid as thy feet! And who art -thou, let us hear, to find thyself in a position to apply kicks to the -clients? If thou wert employed at La Villette, where they slaughter -pigs, sacred stove, thy first blow would be suicide!" - -He rose, in a majestic sweep, to the pinnacle of supreme courtesy. - -"Monsieur le marquis has, perhaps, hurt himself, stumbling by accident? -Is it permitted to the obedient servitor of monsieur le marquis to -inquire if monsieur le marquis has sustained any damage by reason of his -deplorable mischance?" - -He descended, in a graceful curve, to the depths of utter scorn. - -"Animal low of ceiling! Camel! Gourd! Ancient senator! Gas-jet! Shut thy -mouth, or I jump within!" - -And he paused,--breathless, but triumphant. - -It was magnificent! In the annals of Heaven there was record of no such -climax of vituperation. The angels surveyed their patron with -undisguised admiration. Even the agent touched the visor of his cap. - -"Monsieur," he said, "I yield the field to you. Your vocabulary is -unrivaled--unless by General Cambronne!" - -"Monsieur, you flatter me," replied the other, with a bow. - -Some one had helped l'L Majuscule to his feet, and he stood there, a -preposterous figure, in soiled pink tights, holding out his wings, with -his huge feet turned in like a pigeon's. - -"Monsieur le directeur"--he began. - -"He speaks!" cried Huit Reflets, whirling around and addressing the -throng. "He _dares_ to speak, this bad sou, this oyster! He does not -comprehend that he is discharged. He counts that I am about to resign in -his favor! Ah, non, it is too much!" - -He flung himself about again, facing Maxime. - -"Well, then," he added with forced calm, "thou art put at the door, is -it clear? Take thy rags from yonder, and begone!" - -"Mais, monsieur"-- - -"Oh!" cried the director, flinging his arms upward; and immediately -vanished within the silver gates of Heaven, followed by his personnel, -with the fallen angel bringing up the rear. - -Half an hour later, having exchanged his celestial raiment for his -former earthly garb, Monsieur Perrot sat in solitary state at a table -in the café Cyrano, and pondered the details of a project of revenge. -The idea had come to him suddenly, like an inspiration, on seeing the -nonchalant demon at the portals of L'Enfer, but it required arranging, -elaboration. A man who made one blunder was but human, but a man who -made two in succession--that was a mere root of celery! So l'L Majuscule -thought hard. And when the will is so earnest, it is strange if the way -be not forthcoming. At midnight he arose with a sigh of satisfaction, -and took his way homeward, smiling. - -It was barely eight o'clock, the following evening, when Maxime entered -L'Enfer. He was tastefully dressed in an excessively checked suit and a -silk hat, and he wore a full black beard and spectacles, and rolled his -r's in speaking, in the fashion of the South. The demon at the door, -unsuspecting, greeted him effusively as "cher damné," and piloted him to -a table at the further end of the cabaret. The table had a ground-glass -top, through which shone electric lights which kept changing -mysteriously from green to red and back again, and the whole interior of -L'Enfer was of imitation rock, diversified by grinning faces. It was -very artistic, and, what was better, very dark. Maxime was -unnecessarily mistrustful of his false beard. - -At this early hour, he was the only visitor. An obliging demon supplied -him with a green chartreuse, and, upon invitation, procured another for -himself, and took the opposite seat. - -The conversation, which began with commonplaces, soon assumed a more -intimate tone. Monsieur, it appeared, was from Toulouse, but this was -not his first visit to L'Enfer. In fact, a place so amusing--what? He -never missed it when he came to Paris. - -Oh, but monsieur was too good! - -No, on the contrary, it was for his own pleasure. It suited him to a -marvel, blague à part! And often, he had had a curious fancy--to be a -demon himself, imagine! To serve in the cabaret for just one evening, by -way of variety--for, as for himself, he gave less for a life without -variety than did a fish for an apple. That was the reason he had -sometimes thought of applying to the management for permission to--but -then, of course, the idea was fantastic, and, without doubt, quite -impossible. - -Oh, quite impossible, monsieur! - -But, after all, why not? Not the management, naturally. That was out of -the question, it went without saying. But an obliging demon, perhaps--a -bon type, who understood these eccentricities, as a man of the -world--one who would consent to a brief illness--for one night only--and -who would provide a substitute, _in the person of monsieur_! -Fantastic--what?--rigolo, mon Dieu!--very rigolo, and, of course, quite -impossible. - -In some mysterious fashion a louis suddenly made its appearance on the -illuminated table. - -Oh, quite impossible, monsieur! Evidently, affairs did not arrange -themselves like that. Monsieur must understand that the pourboires which -one gained in Hell were enormous--but _enormous_! It would be to throw -away a fortune, to give up one's place for an entire evening. For forty -francs, perhaps--but then it was certain that monsieur would not care-- - -There was a tiny click upon the table-top, and the one louis had become -two. A most surprising place, L'Enfer! - -Ah! But in addition, there were details to be arranged, and one could -not talk with frankness in the cabaret. - -The doors at the further end swung open, and the demon of the gate made -his appearance, ushering in a group of tourists. Maxime substituted two -francs for the two louis, and rose. - -"That for the liqueurs, my friend," he said, "and what you say is true. -The café Cyrano is a better place for talking. At midnight." - -Fifty-seven francs. The project had cost him fifty-seven francs, said -the fallen angel to himself, as, twenty-four hours later, he dusted an -illuminated table. What with his beard, and his spectacles, and two -chartreuses in L'Enfer, and six demis at the café Cyrano--for the -conference had been long--and, finally, the bribe to the obliging demon, -revenge had cost him fifty-seven francs and it was not yet complete! But -the prospects therefor were fair. He chuckled silently, with his eyes on -the parti-wall which divided Hell from Heaven. It was eleven o'clock. - -Suddenly there was a stir in the cabaret. A voice was calling, "This -way, chers damnés, to the Hall of the Infernal Visions!" and the clients -were rising from their tables, and crowding out like sheep through a -narrow door to the right. Almost immediately the place was empty, save -for the fallen angel and two other demons, clearing away the liqueur -glasses, and setting the stools in place. It was the dreamt-of moment. -Maxime walked carelessly toward the door. - -In Le Ciel, the long table was full from end to end. The high-priest in -his pulpit was delivering his accustomed discourse with extreme -satisfaction, and the head angel making the round of the room, bearing -the golden pig upon the pole. The angels, each in his place, abode the -moment of the clients' exodus into the Hall of the Celestial Visions, -which was coincident with the semi-hourly harvest of pourboires. In -particular, their eyes were fixed upon a party of American tourists, -under direction of a uniformed guide. These were worthy of comment, and -received it. It appeared that the thin lady with the loose cloth costume -was an empty bed ticking. There were other remarks, but this, from -Gustave Robine, was the most successful. However, there were the -pourboires to be considered, so the angels spoke in whispers. - -Of a sudden, the calm of Heaven was broken by an appalling sound, -something midway between a shriek and a bark, and on the end of the -table nearest the door appeared a terrible form, black-bearded and all -in scarlet, with two long feathers nodding from his cap, and a polished -two-pronged pitchfork brandished in one upraised hand. An instant he -paused, superbly statuesque, his eyes blazing, an incarnation of -demoniac fury. And, as if the sensation produced by his dramatic -entrance were not sufficient, the newcomer received unexpected support -from the thin lady in loose cloth costume, who, upon his appearance, -promptly exclaimed "Good land!" and fell backward off her stool upon the -floor. - -Then Bedlam broke loose. The doorway of Le Ciel is less than a metre in -width, and when a score of affrighted tourists, and seven angels, and -six French students with their grisettes, and a high-priest, and two -corpulent Germans, and a sexton, and Gustave Robine are suddenly and -simultaneously imbued with a desire to sample the air of the boulevard -de Clichy, confusion is apt to result. There were shrieks and groans, -protestations, oaths in three languages, a wild chaos of legs and arms, -wings, white tunics, traveling caps, tweed suits, and golden stools, -and over all pranced the crimson form of the invader, whirling up and -down the table with unearthly cries, and kicking the liqueur glasses and -little saucers in every direction. They were all agreed, both mortals -and celestials, in believing him a madman, and agreed, also, in thinking -the pavement of the boulevard a thing greatly to be desired. The demon -paused presently, and watched them struggling in a frenzied mass about -the door, and then he vanished as abruptly as he had appeared. - -For l'L Majuscule had not wasted the early hours of the evening in -L'Enfer, and he knew now that the rear entrances of Heaven and Hell gave -upon a common court, full of barrels, and empty bottles, and discarded -properties, and even as the panic he had created was at its height, he -had made the circuit, and was bustling into his original disguise. - -The doorkeeper of L'Enfer, on the outlook for clients, had stared in -stupefaction as Maxime, in his demon's garb, darted past him and plunged -into the entrance of Le Ciel, and when, a moment later, his ears were -startled by the pandemonium inside the rival cabaret, he had first, -with commendable presence of mind, shouted "Au feu! A l'assassin! Au -secours!" to his fellows in L'Enfer, and then repeated the cry at the -top of his lungs on the curb of the boulevard. So it was that the -clients and personnel of Heaven and Hell reached the sidewalk almost -simultaneously. Gustave, halberd in hand, came full upon a demon barring -his path, and, mistaking him for the original intruder, fell upon him -furiously. Other demons came to their companion's aid, other angels to -Gustave's, and immediately fourscore individuals were battling -desperately, without knowing or caring why. Agents appeared as if by -magic, screaming for reinforcement, and pulling fainting women out of -the mêlée by their heads and heels. Spectators ran up by hundreds, and -formed a rampart around the fray. And, to add chaos to confusion, a -detachment of sapeurs-pompiers presently drove up in a red wagon, their -horn hee-hawing like an impatient donkey. Last of all, a thin gentleman -with preposterously large feet, black-bearded, spectacled, and wearing -an excessively checked suit, came calmly out of L'Enfer, shouldered his -way to a position of vantage in the throng, and stood, smiling down upon -the havoc. - -Peace was restored. But a half dozen of the combatants were already in -the hands of the police, and were hurried away to the poste, protesting -volubly. Among these were Gustave Robine, in a pitiful state of -demoralization, and the doorkeeper of L'Enfer, and the director of Le -Ciel, with his huits reflets, crushed to an unrecognizable mass, -clutched desperately in his hand. - -Then every second person in the crowd explained to his neighbor how it -all occurred, and, among others, a stalwart workingman proceeded to -enlighten the spectacled gentleman at his side. - -"It appears there was a madman," he said. "Bon sang! What places, these -cabarets--what infected boxes, name of a dog!" - -"Ah, ça!" replied the other, rolling his r's in speaking, in the fashion -of the South, and leering at the back of the struggling director. "But -then such an affair is in the chapter of variety, and as for me, I care -less for a life without variety than does a fish for an apple!" - - - - -[Illustration] - -Poire! - - -LIEUTENANT EUGENE DROUIN slid from his saddle with a little grunt, -slipped his arm through the bridle-rein, and then, with his riding crop, -rapped smartly on the round, tin-topped table nearest to him. At the -summons, a small square door on the left of the archway snapped open, -and a stumpy waiter, shaped like a domino, appeared abruptly on the -sill. - -"Froid!" shouted the officer. - -The domino waiter made a vague gesture in the air with one fat hand, and -then vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, closing the door behind -him with a slam. If he had but seen fit to observe "Cuckoo!" the whole -affair--the sort of châlet from which he emerged, the small square door, -and his own performance--would have borne a remarkable resemblance to a -Swiss clock striking one. - -Lieutenant Drouin detached an end of the rein from the snaffle-bar, -knotted it about the back of one chair and flung himself into another. - -"Poof!" he said, and lit a cigarette. - -It was exactly one o'clock, and the Pré Catalan was deserted, save for a -half dozen cats of various breeds and colors, chasing each other about -under the chairs and tables, and two brilliant macaws sitting on wooden -perches in an apparent state of coma, broken only by an occasional -reflective "Wawk!" Once, a high cart flashed in an opening of the trees -to the left, and then disappeared with a rattle of harness chains, in -the direction of the porte Dauphine. For the rest, there was nothing to -suggest that Paris might not be fifty kilometres distant. All the world -was at breakfast. - -Eugène stretched his legs, squinted at the toes of his narrow riding -boots, and swore tenderly at himself for having refused the invitation -of the Marquise de Baucheron. Experience might have taught him that Rosa -de Mirecourt would not be in the Bois that morning. It was a peculiarity -of Rosa's to be in evidence on every occasion when her presence was not -to be desired, and never to turn up when one was in the mood to chat or -breakfast with her. Eugène had measured the Acacias bridle-path at a -canter eight times since noon, scanning the driveway for a glimpse of -the blue and scarlet victoria with the cream-colored mares, and all in -vain. Rosa was nowhere to be seen. By this time, no doubt, some other -lieutenant of chasseurs was thrashing out the latest gossip of the -demi-monde over her breakfast table in the rue de Bassano, and still -another was, in all probability, filling his place at Madame de -Baucheron's, and eating the Friday breakfast--sole cardinale and oeufs -brouillés aux crevettes--for which her chef was famous. Baste! what a -world! - -The domino waiter reappeared presently in the doorway, came quickly -across to Eugène's table with a curious, tottering shuffle born of his -swaddling apron, and served a small white mug of cold milk as if it had -been Château Latour-Blanche. - -"Beautiful weather, my lieutenant," he ventured cheerfully, for he had -done his service, and knew the meaning of the single epaulette. - -But Eugène was in no mood for light conversation. For sole reply, he -paid his score, and then drank the milk slowly, looking out toward the -lower lake, across the wide stretch of fresh grass mottled with flecks -of sunlight sifted through the foliage above. At his side Vivandière -nuzzled the turf along the border of the graveled terrasse, the lithe -muscles rippling in her polished neck, and her deep eye shifting now and -again in its socket as she looked doubtfully, almost pleadingly, toward -her master. They were well known on the Allée and the bridle-path of the -avenue du Bois, these two,--the young chasseur, tall, clean-cut, and -slender, with a complexion like a girl's, and the gayety of Polichinelle -himself, in full red breeches and tunic of black and light blue; and the -chestnut mare, nervous and alert, with her racing lines, and her long, -leisurely gallop, superb in its suggestion of reserve speed and -unflagging endurance. - -The fates were kind to Lieutenant Eugène Drouin. Paris, spring, youth, -an ample fortune, a commission in the _chasseurs_, good looks, a -thoroughbred Arab, and a half dozen women frankly in love with -him,--surely there was nothing lacking; and yet he knew that something -was lacking, though he could not have said what, as he sat sprawling in -his little iron chair at the Pré Catalan that morning. - -He straightened himself suddenly, as she came up the driveway from the -left, and then rose with a stiff salute, for, a pace or so behind, -walked Vieux César, so-called by an irreverent garrison, leading two -horses, one limping badly. Eugène had seen him but once, at the review -of the Quatorze Juillet, but, though he was not in uniform now, the -fierce gray mustache and keen black eyes of General Tournadour were too -familiar to Parisians to pass unrecognized in a throng, much less under -circumstances such as these. When one has been Military Governor of -Paris, and held the portfolio of war, one does not achieve _incognito_ -merely by donning a black civile. So Eugène saluted the general--but -with his eyes on the girl. - -She was not beautiful, he told himself, in that first moment of -surprise and swift observation, but about her, as she barely glanced at -him in passing, there was an indefinably compellant charm which arrested -his attention and held it, like an unrecognized but strangely sweet -perfume, suddenly met with in a familiar spot where there is no apparent -reason for its presence. Without doubt, it was a very little thing. He -knew enough of such matters to be aware that an unanalyzed attraction of -the kind which, at first glance, makes a woman appear utterly -irresistible, is apt, on closer acquaintance, to resolve itself into the -merest trifle of dissimilarity from other women,--a tilt of a -lip-corner, a dimple in an unlikely spot, a trick with the hands or the -head, a rebellious wisp of hair. For he was very philosophical, and very -wise, was Eugène, and twenty-six years of age, into the bargain. So -there was nothing one could tell him about women. But, in any event, -there was no time to define the particular charm in question. He felt -rather than saw it, as she went by him, with the faintest possible whiff -of orris, and the gleam of a patent-leather boot at the edge of her -habit. No, she was certainly not beautiful, but she was something -dangerously, deliciously akin, said Lieutenant Drouin to himself; and -that, in the unloveliest costume that can be worn by womankind,--a -deep-green habit of extreme severity, and a squat derby, like a boy's, -with an elastic strap brutally grooving her ruddy hair. - -General Tournadour did not follow the girl beyond the spot where Eugène -was standing, but drew up abruptly, and indicated the lamed horse with a -gesture of irritation. - -"A beautiful affair, my word, lieutenant!" he said. "This animal -stumbled, back there, and has received some injury,--I know not what. We -have walked from the Allée, in hope of finding a sapin here, and all -without result." - -The young officer was already feeling the animal's hocks with a -practiced hand. There was a swelling just above the right fore fetlock, -and as he touched it, the horse winced and kicked out sharply. - -"A bad wrench, I fear, my general," said Eugène. "He should have an -hour's rest, at least." Then, looking quickly at the saddle, "It is -evident that madame cannot ride him home. No doubt they will give him a -stall in the farm stable. You can send a groom out for him this -afternoon." - -"Dieu! That is very well, monsieur," answered the former minister of -war, with an air of perplexity amusingly in contrast with his fierce -moustache. "But my daughter"-- - -Now Lieutenant Drouin, in matters where a woman was concerned, was -nothing if not adroit. He sent a flying glance in the direction of the -girl. She had aroused one of the comatose macaws from his lethargy, and -now stood watching him as he munched the biscuit she had taken from a -neighboring table. And again Eugène was conscious of an inexplicable but -very decided little thrill. - -"If Mademoiselle Tournadour--if you, my general, will consider me at -your service, I shall be glad to have you make use of my mare -Vivandière, here. She is as gentle as a lamb--but, perhaps, not unworthy -of being seen in company with your own horse." - -The General's eyes twinkled at the boyishness of the remark. He knew a -horse as well as another, Vieux César, and to describe the superb Arab -before him as being, perhaps, not unworthy of being seen in company with -his own sturdy charger was a bit of satire much to his relish. - -"Merci!" he answered. "It is the proposal of an officer and a gentleman. -But my daughter must decide if it is possible for us to accept it. In -the matter of names, monsieur, you have me at an advantage." - -"Pardon!" said the other. "I should have realized that. I am Eugène -Drouin, lieutenant of the 29th Chasseurs." - -"Natalie!" cried the General, beckoning with his crop. - -As Mademoiselle Tournadour came forward, the young chasseur again made a -confidant of himself, this time for the satisfaction of observing that -he was an imbecile, and that a man who could not tell at the first -glance whether or not a woman was entirely beautiful, deserved not to -have an opportunity of discovering the fact at all. Their eyes met -fairly, his glowing with delighted surprise, hers touched with that -expression of negative inquiry and polite interest which immediately -precedes an introduction. - -"My daughter," said the General, prodding the air with his crop in her -direction. "Lieutenant Drouin, of the 29th Chasseurs," he added, -prodding again, in the direction of Eugène. "Monsieur le lieutenant has -been so kind as to offer thee the use of his own horse, and suggests -that we leave Le Cid here to be cared for until I can send Victor for -him. I tell him thou art the one to decide." - -"Monsieur, you are truly kind," said the girl easily--_too_ easily, -thought Eugène!--"but it would be to presume upon your generosity." - -"But it is nothing," protested the officer. "Voyons! It is but a step to -La Muette, and there I have the Ceinture!" - -"You are stationed at the quartier de cavalerie?" asked Tournadour. - -"Rue Desaix, yes, mon général," answered Eugène. Then, turning again to -the girl, "Surely you must consent, mademoiselle. It is the simplest -way. And this afternoon, if you will permit me"-- - -"Yes," put in the General, "and this afternoon Victor can leave your -horse at the caserne as he is coming to take Le Cid. - -"Eh, dis-donc, Natalie," he added, fretfully, observing that the girl -still hesitated. "Don't make difficulties, my dear. There is -breakfast--yes, breakfast to be considered, and it is one, and past. -Since the lieutenant is so kind"-- - -"Since the lieutenant is so kind," said his daughter with a smile, "eh -bien, I accept." - -It was the work of a moment for Eugène to shift the side-saddle from Le -Cid to Vivandière. The general had already mounted, and was gazing off -toward the porte Dauphine, with his nose in the air, as if he scented -breakfast from afar. - -"She is very beautiful, monsieur, your Vivandière, and you are very -good," said Mademoiselle Tournadour, as the chasseur tightened the -girth, after her boot had touched his hand, and she was in the saddle. - -"She is very fortunate, mademoiselle," answered Eugène, curiously -embarrassed for one so skilled in compliment. "If she wins, I shall feel -that she owes the race to this good omen." - -"The race?" said the girl. - -"The Officers' Steeple Chase at Auteuil, on Sunday." - -"You ride her yourself?" - -There was a strange little note of more than casual interest in the -question, and Eugène looked up suddenly. For the second time their eyes -met. - -"Yes," he answered. "Why?" - -"Why? But nothing, monsieur, except, perhaps, to wish you bonne chance." - -She touched Vivandière with her heel. - -"Adieu, monsieur," she added, "and a thousand thanks!" - -Eugène bowed. - -"For nothing," he said, "and au revoir, mademoiselle!" - -Then he watched them out of sight, with his arm through Le Cid's -bridle-rein, and his trim English saddle sprawling at his feet. - -There was something delightfully ingenuous, to Eugène's way of thinking, -in Vieux César's method of unloading the burden of his embarrassment on -the shoulders of the first young lieutenant who crossed his path, and -then riding off serenely to breakfast, leaving the other, as it were, to -gather up and disentangle the loose ends of the situation. He was half -amused, half annoyed that his offer of Vivandière had not been taken -less as a matter of course; but, in view of the circumstances, he -attended with fairly good grace to the details of stabling Le Cid, and -arranging to send for his saddle, and then struck out at a swinging gait -for the footpath to La Muette. For all of which there was a sufficient -reason in the person of Mademoiselle Tournadour. - -Now, as he revolved the meeting in his mind, he found that it was not in -the least degree a surprise. Somehow, he had always expected that this -girl would step suddenly into his life, with her ruddy hair and her gray -eyes. It seemed to him to be something which the natural evolution of -that life demanded. He had sounded every note in the gamut of emotions -appropriate to a man in his position. He had had his serious, almost -ascetic moods, his despondencies, his flights of folly, his impulses of -stern ambition, his hours of morbid brooding and of reckless gayety. He -could no longer number his love-affairs with any approach to accuracy. -They were hopelessly jumbled in his memory, by very reason of their -number and their triviality. Here and there, a face stood out from its -fellows--the Baronne de Banis, Lady Mary Kaswellyn, Rosa de Mirecourt, -or the Marquise de Baucheron--but none of these impelled him to regret. -There were no entanglements, no uncomfortable circumstances to recall. -Not a stone lay in the way of the gate of the future, as, in his -imagination, it swung open before him. As we have said, the fates were -kind to Lieutenant Eugène Drouin. The current of experience had borne -his individual shallop over deeps and shallows safely and with a song, -and, now that a sudden turn of the stream had shown him Natalie -Tournadour waiting on the bank, it seemed to him to be the most natural -thing imaginable,--something which intuition had taught him was -inevitable, and, what was better, which experience told him was -desirable. The event had found him ready and willing to make room for -her beside him in the boat, and, so, continue the journey in her -company, well content. He bowed to fate politely, with a graceful merci! - -For forty-eight hours he watched, almost as if he had been a -disinterested outsider, this pleasant fancy moulding the details of his -future life. He reckoned his rentes anew, assigning a due proportion to -a little hôtel in the Monceau quarter, to a villa at Houlgate, to -horses, household expenses, his wife's allowance, servants, -entertainment, a month at Aix, another at Nice, a third at Hombourg. He -saw himself retired, and in the Chambre. And over all hovered, like a -luminous presiding angel, the presence of Mademoiselle Tournadour--Madame -Drouin! - -So Sunday came, and, with it, breakfast at Armenonville with two fellow -officers, and the growing exhilaration of the approaching race. Eugène -was in his gayest mood--for was not Vivandière not only the winner of -last year's Steeple Chase, but to-day in better form than she had ever -been? But he allowed his good spirits to be touched, now and again, with -a gentle, pleasurable melancholy, as the violins of the tziganes glided -into the long, languorous swell of the Valse Bleue, and his handsome -eyes clouded thoughtfully, and his fine mouth drooped, so that Gaston -Cavaignac rallied him joyously upon the new affair, which alone could -account for such tristesse. It lent an added zest, this. Eugène smiled, -and was glad that in his denial of the charge rang so little of -conviction. - -The first race had been already run, as the three officers slipped -through the main entrance of Auteuil, and made their way across the -pesage, and past the betting booths, to the grass oval around which the -horses, in charge of stable lads, were slowly circling. It was one of -May's clearest and most brilliant afternoons. The gravel pathways and -stretches of vivid turf were thronged with the best known men and women -of the two great Parisian worlds of sport and fashion, and the air rang -with gay gossip and spirited discussion. But Eugène had ears for none of -this, and eyes but for two things,--Vivandière, blanketed, and swinging -around the oval with her long, sure stride, and Natalie Tournadour, in a -delicious gown of soft blue, standing at the side of Vieux César. Life, -at that moment, was good to live. The chasseur drew a quick breath of -pleased surprise. She was there, then, to see him win. He might have -known! - -A mixture of sudden, unfamiliar embarrassment and boyish vanity caused -him to avoid her eye as he made a turn of the oval, consulting with his -stable lad about the mare's condition; but he held himself very -straight, and was pleasantly conscious that his tunic was new, and his -boots a veritable triumph of Coquillot's. When he went back to his -companions his eyes were glowing. - -"Content?" asked Cavaignac. - -"Je te crois, mon vieux!" he answered. "One never can say, but it is -certain that no one has a better chance. She is perfection!" - -"There is the white," put in Lieutenant Mors, dubiously. - -Eugène vouchsafed the rival racer a brief, contemptuous glance. It was a -lean, powerfully built brute, with an astonishing reach to even the -leisurely stride with which he paced the oval. A trainer would have had -something to say of those lithe shoulders, and that long barrel, -dwindling along the flanks, and that easy swing of haunch and swathed -hock. But Eugène was not a trainer. - -"A fine animal," he observed, carelessly, "but there is no comparison. -One has only to look at Vivandière." - -"Tiens!" cried Gaston, "the saddling-bell! I am off to put five louis on -you gagnant, and five placé. Bonne chance, vieux!" - -In truth, the saddling-bell was jangling from the little pavilion to -the left, and the officers hurrying forward to weigh in. As he passed -into the enclosure, Eugène glanced over his shoulder. General Tournadour -and his daughter were still standing at the oval-side, and he had a -glimpse of Natalie clapping her hands and pointing, as the stable lad -slipped the blanket off Vivandière. But he made no sign, even when, -three minutes later, he mounted, within five metres of where they stood. -Time enough, when the victory was won, to claim his reward in the gray -eyes of which he had been dreaming. His heart leaped, nevertheless, as -he gave Vivandière the rein. It was the voice of Vieux César, almost at -his side:-- - -"Be not afraid, ma petite. There is no doubt that he is going to win." - -No doubt, indeed, with her eyes upon him, and her heart praying for his -success! - -Once upon the course, he swept the vast enclosure with a glance, and his -blood danced with the excitement of the moment, and the brilliancy of -the scene. To the right the great tribunes of the pesage, and the -chair-dotted turf in front, glowed with a shifting rainbow of spring -gowns and vivid parasols, and sparkled with a myriad white waistcoats, -drifting, like large, lazy snowflakes, to and fro; to the left lay the -vast enclosure of the pelouse, flooded with dazzling sunlight, its -thousands circling here and there like ants. Beyond, the race-course -swept away, smooth and green, to the long rows of trees in their new -foliage, banked along the route de Boulogne and the allée des -Fortifications. It was a day of days, whether one stood inside the rail, -straining for a glimpse of the horses, or swept slowly to the left, on -the course itself, toward the starting point, with a thoroughbred's -flanks quivering between one's knees! - -As the horses circled about the start, getting into position, Eugène's -keen, handsome eyes were busy with trivial details, dwindled by distance -to mere specks,--two men, leaning far over the rails, signaling bets to -each other across the track, a gleam of orange from the finish flag, the -starter rocking toward him on a ridiculously fat pony. Then, in an -instant, every faculty came taut like a stretched string, and they were -off, in a thunder of hoofs and a whirl of flying sod. He saw a red flag -fluttering stiffly in the breeze as he swept past, and heard, in the -distance, the whirr of the signal gong from the judge's stand. It was a -fair start. He touched Vivandière lightly with his hand, and, at the -signal, felt her lengthen under him into her long, magnificent gallop. -The tribunes and the crowded pelouse rushed down upon him with a murmur -of many voices. The long double line of faces at the rail slid past like -white dots, and the dark green hedge of the water-jump sprang out of the -track at his feet. Houp, ma belle! A whish of brushed twigs, a gleam of -silver water passing under, a thud of hoofs on the soft turf beyond, and -they were over, and away into the southern loop to the left! - -As he swung to the north again, he saw the ants of the pelouse scurrying -across to the rail along the transverse cut. Let them run, les drôles! -They had need to if they would see the passing of Vivandière! Past the -high hurdle--so much the better that one did not have to take it!--and -down the transverse to the second water-jump. It was easy, that. The -mare crossed it like a bird, and Eugène saw the tribunes again from the -corner of his eye, and laughed at the shrill "Bravo!" of a little -grisette in a red hat, who flew past him, leaning on the rail. - -Vivandière was well into the left reach of the northern loop before -Eugène fairly realized what that smooth, empty width of turf before him -meant. He was leading,--had been leading from the very start! And -somewhere, back there in the gay throng of the pesage, two gray eyes -were watching him, straining to catch each movement of the blue tunic, -each bound of the gallant mare. He threw back his head and laughed at -the clear, wide sky. It was very good to be alive! - -So, with a broad sweep to the right, into the home stretch, the last -curve of the giant "8" he had described. It lay ahead, full and fair, -cut by one low hedge. And then-- - -Thud! Thud! Thud! - -The sound battered its way into the chasseur's understanding, and hurt -as if it had been, in verity, that of blow on blow. He leaned forward, -spurring the mare to her utmost endeavor. And she responded, but still -the beat of following hoofs grew louder. For Vivandière was -thoroughbred, and she had kept her maddest pace from the start. It was -reserved for racers of ignobler spirit to hold their greatest effort -for the end. - -Thud! Thud! Thud! - -Once more pesage and pelouse rushed down upon him, not now with a murmur -of voices, but with a mighty roar, that swelled, deafening, into his -ears. - -"Flambeau! Flambeau! C'est Flambeau qui gagne!" - -There was a gasp of short-coming breath at his elbow, a gleam of white, -tense neck, a flash of red breeches and of polished boots, and the -Steeple Chase Militaire was run, with Vivandière second, and the lean, -white Flambeau winner by a length. - -The officers rode back slowly, past the applauding tribunes. Eugène saw -dimly that it was a colonel of infantry who rode Flambeau, a metre ahead -of him, but his thoughts were more for Natalie than for himself or his -successful competitor. Poor little girl! She had been so anxious for his -victory, and no doubt so confident, after the brave words of Vieux -César. But, after all,--second! It was not so bad in a field of twelve. -But he had been wrong not to speak to her before he mounted. Well, he -would atone for that, never fear! Moreover, when once they were married, -he would give her Vivandière--the cause of their first meeting--the -reason of their present sympathy! It was a good thought. - -Eugène did not find the general and his daughter readily in the vast -throng in the pesage. Three times he made the circuit of the tribunes, -scanning the tiers of seats, and threading his way through the little -wooden chairs upon the turf in front. Once he passed Cavaignac and Mors, -walking arm in arm, who swore at him picturesquely for his defeat. -Vivandière had paid but seventeen francs fifty placé, and so they had -only seventy-five to show for the five louis they had placed upon her -gagnant. The privilege of calling her master tête de laitue was but -trifling recompense, and they strolled on, surprised that one noted for -his eloquence in this variety of obloquy did not deign to reply. - -Finally, at the doors of the little refreshment pavilion, and talking -with a colonel of infantry, he found the objects of his quest, and went -up eagerly, saluting. Vieux César greeted him with heartiness. - -"Ah, lieutenant! Our preserver of Friday--quoi? Natalie, see who is -here--our preserver of Friday!" - -The girl was radiant. Her cheeks were flushed, and the gray eyes shone -with a brightness that set Eugène's heart pounding so hard that he felt -its throbbing must be dimpling the breast of his tunic. - -"What a magnificent race!" she said, giving him her hand. "You have -cause to be proud of Vivandière. It is something to have ridden such a -horse." - -"It is always something to ride a good horse," said Eugène, looking into -her eyes, "and it is something, also, to be second in a good race, but -it is more to be first. And I had my reasons for wishing to be that, -mademoiselle." - -Natalie smiled. - -"Ah, sans doute!" she answered. "But you must not call me mademoiselle, -monsieur. You must know that since yesterday I am a serious married -woman. And what is more, my husband rode Flambeau! Am I not a veritable -mascotte?" - -She laid her hand on the arm of the officer at her side. - -"My husband, Colonel Montrésor," she added. "Paul, this is the officer -of whom I spoke to you--who was so kind--Lieutenant"-- - -She turned to Eugène, blushing divinely, with an embarrassed little -laugh. - -"Oh, pray forgive me!" she said. "I am _so_ stupid--but--but--I have -forgotten your name!" - - - - - -[Illustration] - -Papa Labesse - - -UP on the Butte Montmartre life is a matter of first principles, and -conventionality an undiscovered affliction. A spade is a spade, and the -blacker it happens to be, the more apt it is to receive its proper -appellation, and the less likely to be confused with the hearts and -diamonds. That is why Papa Labesse had no hesitation in referring to -Bombiste Fremier as a good-for-nothing,--a vaurien. - -Just off the boulevard de Rochechouart, in the rue Veron, Papa Labesse -kept a tiny joiner's shop, in which, in his velvet cap with a long -tassel and his ample apron of blue denim, he might be seen daily, -toiling upon various small orders for the quartier. But daily, also, -when the light began to fail, he would discard his apron, and, locking -his shop door, walk slowly up the long curving incline of the rue Lepic, -and through the appropriately rural-looking rue St. Rustique, until he -emerged upon the broad summit of the Butte. Here he would light his -pipe, and, with his legs spread wide, stand motionless by the low -wattled fence at the brink of the bluff, looking off across the city. In -appearance Papa Labesse was not the type of man in whom one would be apt -to look for sentimentality. He was short and very thin, with a hooked -nose and a gray moustache turned up fiercely at the ends, and his skin -was brown and deeply wrinkled, as if he had somehow shrunk or warped; -but then, as Marcelle said of him, it is the rough and crinkled -Brazil-nut that is as full as possible of sweet white meat. - -Between these two there had always existed a firm bond of camaraderie. -Marcelle was the daughter of Madame Clapot, who presided over a little -dairy directly opposite the joiner's shop, and on the day when she first -made the astounding discovery that small girls can stand upright and -walk alone, as if by instinct she had made a bee-line for the doorway of -Papa Labesse, and, staggering in, triumphant, had fallen headlong, with -a gurgle of satisfaction, into a great pile of shavings. Thenceforward -she came often and tarried long, and Papa Labesse built houses for her -out of odds and ends of wood, and fashioned miniature articles of -furniture in his spare moments, and had always a bit of sucre-candi or a -little gingerbread figure tucked away in a certain drawer of his table, -which she soon learned to find for herself. - -It seemed to Papa Labesse but the week following her first plunge among -his shavings when Marcelle came in, all in white, and with a veil like a -little bride's, to parade her splendor under his delighted eyes, before -going to her first communion. But when he put into her hand the small -white prayerbook he had bought for this great occasion, she had -forgotten all else, and thrown her arms about his neck, entirely -regardless of her finery. - -"After maman, thou knowest, Papa Labesse, I love thee best of all the -world!" - -And Papa Labesse was properly shocked at this recklessness and said, bon -Dieu! that was a fine veil, then, made to be crushed against an odious -apron covered with chips and sawdust--what? And, as Marcelle ran off to -join Madame Clapot, who was waiting, consumed with mingled pride and -impatience, across the way, the old man wiped his spectacles vigorously, -shook his head several times, and then, suddenly abandoning his work, -three hours before the accustomed time, betook himself to the Butte, and -smoked three pipefuls of tobacco, looking off across the city. - -It was at this time that two radical changes came into the life of Papa -Labesse. First, on the very summit of the Butte they began to lay the -foundations for the great church of Sacré-Coeur; and, second, Marcelle -took it into her pretty little head to accompany him on his daily climb. -At first he was disturbed by both these innovations. This curious -afternoon communion of his with the wonderful wide city, which lay -spread out before him like a great gray map, was akin to a religion. He -loved Paris with a love so great that perhaps he himself was barely -able to comprehend its proportions. He was never tired of standing there -and watching her breathing at his feet, of picking out, in the gathering -twilight, the faint white speck to the west that was the arc de -l'Etoile, the domes of the Invalides and the Panthéon, Notre Dame, to -the eastward, and the towers and spires of half a hundred minor temples -and public buildings. He passed from one to the other in a kind of -visual pilgrimage, saying the names over slowly to himself, and -occasionally affecting an air of surprise, as if some one of the -familiar piles had suddenly and unaccountably appeared in a new -locality. - -"La Trinité; Notre Dame de Lorette; La Bourse. Tiens! _St. Eustache!_" - -At the outset, the serenity of this contemplative hour was seriously -impaired by the creaking of derrick-pulleys and the loud chatter of -wagon-drivers, and hardly less so by the eager questions of Marcelle, -clinging to his hand, her eyes bright with excitement, as she looked out -with him across Paris, or peered down into the vast pit when the masons -were laying the foundations of the big church. But, bit by bit, Papa -Labesse became accustomed to the new conditions; and every night, an -hour before sunset, his high, dry voice summoned Marcelle from the dairy -across the way, and the two set forth together up the long curving -incline of the rue Lepic, and the old man would smoke his pipe by the -low wattled fence at the brink of the bluff, while the child babbled of -her little affairs. Papa Labesse no longer named the domes and spires -now. His eyes rested alternately on the city and on the girl beside him, -and often, when Marcelle was silent, looking off to where the thin, -silver line of the Seine gleamed briefly between distant buildings, he -shook his head several times, tapping the side of his inverted pipe-bowl -against the palm of his hand, long after the ashes had fallen out. - -When Marcelle was seventeen, Madame Clapot died suddenly, and the girl -moved from the rue Veron to the home of her aunt, near by, in the rue -Seveste. But the change made no difference in her friendship for Papa -Labesse. All through the ensuing spring she called regularly for him -each afternoon, and they climbed the Butte in company, as before. The -old man would have been completely happy had it not been for Bombiste -Fremier. - -Bombiste was an employé of the state,--an humble one, to be sure, but, -nevertheless, part and parcel of the great Administration which includes -every one, from the President of the Republic to the street-sweeper on -the rue Royale. In Fremier's case the employment was brief and not -over-lucrative. He was engaged, for two months only in the twelve, to -mow the grass on the fortifications and in parts of the Bois and the -smaller parks of Paris. For the remainder of the year he lived none knew -how, but he had always a few white pieces in his pocket, and was ready -to treat a comrade at Le Cheval Blanc, the little wine-shop kept by -Bonhomme Pirou at the corner of the boulevard and the rue Seveste. As -regards the source of his income, it is probable that Amélie Chouert, -called La Trompette, by reason of her loud voice, might have divulged -some remarkable particulars. In any event, she was his constant -companion, a sharp-featured, angular woman with snapping black eyes and -a great mop of hair that came down to within an inch of her continuous -line of eyebrow. - -Fremier himself was as handsome as a brutal picture,--a giant in -stature, with square shoulders, a thick neck, in which the muscles stood -out like ropes, and the face of an Italian brigand. It is a type of -masculine beauty which goes far in Montmartre, and to it was added a -deep, melodious voice, that, whether in the heat of political argument -or the more complicated phraseology of love, carried complete -conviction. No one blamed La Trompette for her infatuation. As we have -said, life on the Butte is a matter of first principles, and, in view of -the manifest attraction, her position was entirely conceivable. Except -to Papa Labesse. - -He was a singularly rigid old man, who took no account of the remarkable -beauty and the irresistible tongue of Fremier, but only of the fact that -he was called Bombiste because he talked against the government at Le -Cheval Blanc, advocating the use of dynamite, and only the bon Dieu knew -what else beside. And if, as La Trompette alleged, he swung his scythe -on the fortifications like a veritable demon, what of that? No, -evidently he was a vaurien! - -So it was, that when, one fine May afternoon, Papa Labesse, emerging -from his little shop at the summons of Marcelle, caught a glimpse of -Bombiste slipping around the further corner into the rue Lepic, his -heart gave a sudden great bound and then seemed to stand still. He was -very silent on the way to the Butte, for, moment by moment, the -blackness of untoward premonition was settling upon him. He glanced, -covertly, but again and again, at Marcelle, observing, with a strange, -suddenly acquired power of perception, that she was already a woman. He -had not seemed to notice, day by day, the change in her. Now it dawned -upon him in a flash. No, it was no longer the baby who had fallen -headlong among his shavings, nor yet the child going to her first -communion, all in white and with a veil like a little bride's, nor even -the slender girl who had peered down with him into the vast pit where -the masons were laying the foundations of the big church. It was a woman -who walked beside him, a woman very beautiful, with dark hair, coiled -above a pale, pure face, and great eyes, like crushed violets swimming -in their dew. Papa Labesse caught his breath: Bombiste Fremier! - -But Marcelle saw nothing of her companion's preoccupation. She almost -danced beside him up the long curving incline of the rue Lepic, -chaffing, as she passed, the children playing in the gutters, and -pausing continually to sniff at some flower-vender's fragrant wares, or -peer into the window of a tiny shop. She was glowing with health and -happiness: her cheeks dappled with color, her eyes shining. When, -finally, they emerged upon the Butte, she ran to the little wattled -fence, and with her hands clasped behind her head, looked out across the -city. Even when Papa Labesse had come up to her side, she said no word -for several minutes. - -They had started later than was usual, and already the daylight had -begun to dim, and the west to turn from red to saffron, and from saffron -to fawn. Directly below them lay a maze of steep and narrow streets, -shelving toward the boulevard de Rochechouart; and far further, to the -southwest, the place de l'Opéra was breaking into the alternate deep red -and glaring white of electric advertising signs, the lettering of which -could not be distinguished from where they stood, but which painted the -faint haze of evening with swiftly changing contrasts of color. - -Suddenly Marcelle began to speak, her voice eloquent with a strange, new -music. - -"Papa Labesse, dost thou comprehend what all this says to us, this -wonderful city upon which we look each night, thou and I? From -here--what? A bewilderment of lights, a sea of roofs, a murmur of -faintly heard cries. But what does it mean? Surely, it is the voice of -the mother of us all, of Paris, the great, the beautiful--of a woman, -Papa Labesse: that finally, which thou canst never comprehend, pauvre -Papa Labesse!--a woman who says but one word--love! Papa -Labesse--L'amour, l'amour, l'amour!--again, and again, and again, -l'amour!" - -There was a long silence. Then, almost timidly, Papa Labesse laid his -hand on hers. - -"But thou dost not love, my little one,--thou?" he said. - -Marcelle turned suddenly. - -"Si, I love!" she answered. - -Above the tapering, distant shaft of the Tour Eiffel a tiny cloud caught -the last ray of the departed sun, blazed crimson for an instant, and -then, as suddenly, gloomed to slate-gray. - -"Que Dieu te bénisse!" said Papa Labesse, solemnly. - -"It is all so wonderful," continued Marcelle after a moment, "and yet I -have never seemed to understand it till to-day,--this great, sweet voice -of Paris. It is indeed as if she was the mother of us all, Papa Labesse, -and was spreading out her arms, and calling us all to come to her heart. -And for each of us she has something good--something better than ever we -have imagined for ourselves, or wished to have; and yet, in whatever -form, it is really the same thing always--l'amour, Papa Labesse, -l'amour!" - -Out of the strain of the past half hour a great sob was suddenly wrung -from Papa Labesse. He took the girl's radiant face between his knotted -hands and looked long into her eyes without speaking. - -"Tell me, my pigeon," he said, finally, "is it--is it the young -Fremier?" - -Marcelle flung both arms about his neck, as she had done on the day when -he had given her the little white prayerbook. He felt her lips, warm -and moist, against his wrinkled ear, and when she spoke, her voice was -like the sound of two leaves grazing each other at the touch of a light -breeze. - -"Oui!" she said. - -When Marcelle went away with Bombiste Fremier, all the quartier babbled. -Fat fishwives and dairywomen stopped at each others' doors, and said, -wisely, with their heads together and hands on hips, that they had -always known how it would be. Since the first, whatever Bombiste wanted, -that Bombiste was sure to have--what? Did not Madame Rollin remember -how, when a mere baby, he had cried for the little brass dish which hung -in front of his father's salle de coiffure, until, actually, Fremier -père had taken it down and given it to him to cut his first tooth on? -Assuredly, Madame Rollin recalled this astounding incident, and not only -that, but the fact that she herself had spoken to Madame Fremier, -warning her that the result of such folly would be the unhappiness of -some one. But they were all alike, the Fremier. They made no excuses and -took no advice. - -There were others who recalled the days when La Trompette was the belle -of the quartier, and as respectable as the best of them. But there, what -wouldst thou? Bombiste had wanted her, so there was nothing to be done. -And the debate invariably ended with a bit of flattery for Bombiste. It -was a beau garçon, after all, name of a good name, with such eyes! And a -tongue, bon Dieu, to draw the cork from a bottle! For there are many -mysteries of human society, but the greatest of these is the good word -of the other women for the man. - -Curiously enough, Bombiste's most eloquent partisan was La Trompette -herself. Her first appearance at Le Cheval Blanc, after Fremier's -desertion of her, was the signal for the outburst of ironic condolence. - -"Eh! La Trompette, he has planted thee--yes? So the cord is cut, little -one--hein? Did he give thee a reference, at least?" - -To these, and many similar compliments, La Trompette returned nothing -beyond a tolerant smile, or-- - -"One shall see, my children!" she cried, in her shrill voice. "It is not -the first time, you know. Variety, one has need of that in life. Perhaps -we do not know each other, that story and I! Wait a little. In six -weeks we shall be here in company as before, and the little one it will -be who is planted. But I remain. And she who laughs last--what? But, -above all, not a word against Bombiste, unless you have need of the -wherewithal to make broken heads. It is a brave gars, do you understand, -and one who has often enough paid your drinks, types of -good-for-nothings!" - -And she planted herself at a table amidst a burst of laughter and -applause (for loyalty is greatly esteemed on the boulevard -Rochechouart), and proceeded to collect interest, in the form of -repeated glasses of cognac, on the past generosities of Bombiste -Fremier. - -But the eternal feminine had its part in the make-up of La Trompette, -and so it was that one evening, just at nightfall, she presented herself -at the door of Papa Labesse's little shop. He was always at home now, -poor Papa Labesse, for the growing church of Sacré-Coeur had never once -seen him emerging, breathless but smiling, from the little rue St. -Rustique, since the day when Marcelle disappeared. He stopped his simple -toil at the same hour still, but, instead of stepping out briskly upon -the long, curving incline of the rue Lepic, he would seat himself in -his doorway, and, oftentimes forgetting to light the pipe which he had -filled, stare out wistfully across the street, to where a trim little -laundress stood, busily ironing shirts, in the window of the shop that -had formerly been the dairy of Madame Clapot. - -He looked up as La Trompette drew up before his door, and a slight frown -wrinkled for an instant above his patient blue eyes, from which all the -singular intensity seemed gone. - -"Thou hast a strange air of solitude, Papa Labesse," began La Trompette, -affecting a tone of solicitude. - -Papa Labesse made no reply. - -"And Marcelle," said the woman,--"she is always with Bombiste? Poor -little one! The end is so sure! Is there one who knows him better than -I? Ah, non! It is always the same story,--a pair of bright eyes, a good -figure, and v'là! But, without fail, he comes back to me, ce sacré -coureur!" - -She glanced up and down the street with an air of complete unconcern, -and then her eyes came back to Papa Labesse with a vindictive snap. - -"Happily," she added, "he will have taught her a way of earning white -pieces in abundance. She is not the first, thy Marcelle. They are -sprinkled from here to La Villette, the gonzesses who know the name of -Bombiste Fremier. Wouldst thou prove it? Walk, then, from the place -Pigalle to the place de la Rotonde to-night at twelve!" And La Trompette -laughed. - -Papa Labesse rose suddenly to his full height. - -"God damn you!" he said. And this was no oath, but rather a prayer. - -Toward the end of July Papa Labesse resumed his pilgrimages to the -summit of the Butte. He had aged visibly in six weeks, and he walked no -longer with the brisk and cheerful step which had bespoken his -youthfulness of spirit, but shuffled his feet, and often stumbled over -trifling obstacles. He looked neither to the right nor to the left, and -if he heard the greetings of those along his way, for whom formerly he -had always had a hearty word, he made no reply. It is doubtful whether, -had he been suddenly asked, he could have told his exact whereabouts: it -was rather instinct than absolute intention which sent him shuffling up -to his old coign of vantage. His eyes took no note of his immediate -surroundings, but looked far beyond, with an expression that was half -question, half entreaty. It was only when he had come to the edge of the -bluff that he seemed to awaken into something resembling the man he had -been. Then, his lean, gnarled hands gripped the wattles with a kind of -convulsive eagerness, and, for a little, the old blue spark gleamed -under his lids, and his eyes swept the great city feverishly, as if they -would pluck out her secret from her by mere force of will. He no longer -dwelt upon the churches and the public buildings, but traced with his -glance the line of the great boulevards, des Batignolles, de Clichy, and -de Rochechouart, and their tributary streets; and often he remained at -his post until nearly midnight, motionless, silent, watching, watching, -watching, with his eyes fixed upon the distant red glare from the giant -revolving wings of the brilliantly lighted Moulin Rouge. - -What he saw, what he heard, during those long hours of vigil no one ever -knew: what he thought he barely knew himself. The entire intensity of -his failing strength was concentrated upon one endeavor. Hour after hour -he sent a voice without sound out, over, and down into the labyrinth of -streets beneath him, into the dance-halls, the wine-shops, the -café-concerts, wooing, pleading, beseeching. It was as if, minute by -minute, he wove a great net of tenderest entreaty and persuasion, -fitting it cunningly into each nook and cranny of the city below, and -then, at the end, with one mighty effort of his will, drew the whole -fabric up and into his heart, hoping against hope that, mysteriously, -some one pleading thought of his might have caught her and swept her -back to his arms. It was a struggle, silent but to the death, between -Papa Labesse and the great siren city, for the possession of a soul. - -And, as if, indeed, that eager voice without words of his entreaty had, -somehow, been able to reach and win her, Marcelle came back. It was at -the hour just following sunset, the hour they had loved to pass -together, and superbly still and clear. To the west, over the wide, -green sweep of the Bois de Boulogne, a great multitude of little puffs -of cloud lay piled up against a turquoise sky, and these were constantly -changing from tint to opalescent tint, as shafts of crimson and saffron -sunlight moved among them from below the horizon. Above, where the -turquoise dulled to steel, the stars were already nicking the sky, one -by one; and, one by one, the lights of the boulevard, red, white, and -yellow, flashed into being in reply. - -As it was the dinner hour, the summit of the Butte was deserted save for -the figure of Papa Labesse, silhouetted against the sky, as Marcelle -emerged from the rue St. Rustique, came slowly across the open space -before the church, and stood at his side. She was very pale, with the -transparent, leaden pallor which comes only at the end, and her face -seemed little more than two great, stunned eyes. Her clothes, in the -last stage of what had been tawdry finery, were unspeakably more -slovenly than mere rags. It was but eight weeks since they had stood on -the same spot together, but this so brief period had wrought in each the -havoc of a decade. - -For a time neither spoke. Papa Labesse had looked up briefly as she -reached his side, and then, as she swayed and seemed about to fall, had -put an arm about her and drawn her close to him. So they stood -watching, while Paris winked and sparkled into the starry splendor of -her summer night. Finally,-- - -"I knew thou wouldst come, my pigeon," said Papa Labesse. "For a time I -was desolate, is it not so?--and sat alone in the shop below there, and -thought of nothing. But then I remembered how that thou didst love this -place, and so I have come each night to wait for thee, because I knew -thou wouldst return. And now thou art here. It is well, my little white -pigeon, it is very well." - -A keener ear than his would have caught the unmistakable warning that -underlay her voice when she replied. It lacked not only hope, but life -itself. It was the voice of one long dead. - -"I did not think to find thee here, Papa Labesse--it has been so long -since then. I came to see it all once again--to hear the voice of the -great city that sings of love. And then, when at last comes the night, I -would throw myself down from here, even into the very heart of her, for -I am hers, and she has made me like herself." - -She seemed to feel the unvoiced question which quivered on the lips of -Papa Labesse, and continued, presently,-- - -"He never married me. Not that I cared for that. I loved him, thou -seest, and when one loves one thinks not of little things. No, I was -happy so. But now--last week he left me. He has gone back to La -Trompette. He gave me a hundred sous. I think he was sorry to go." - -A faint smile touched the corners of her lips. - -"Pauvre Bombiste!" she added. "It is one who does not know his own -heart!" - -And this again is unknowable mystery,--the gentle word of _the_ woman -for the man! - -"He is mowing on the fortifs this week," went on Marcelle, wistfully -echoing her lover's slang, "and La Trompette is with him. I saw them but -to-day, from the porte de Clichy. So, since they are together, for me it -is finished. I have come back to the Butte, Papa Labesse--come back to -die. For now there is none to receive me, save Paris. She will take me, -thou knowest, she who has made me like herself." - -That was all. There was no word, now at the end, of Bombiste Fremier, -except that he did not know his own heart,--no word of the days without -food, the long nights of following him from wineshop to wineshop, -perhaps to be refused at last the wretched shelter of his little room; -no word of curses, blows, and insults worse than either. - -When she was silent again Papa Labesse drew her gently away from the -brink of the bluff. - -"My pigeon," he said, "there is one to receive thee. Thou wilt come to -the little shop--pas?--and rest there upon my bed. For I have no need of -sleep, I. And in the morning thou wilt be strong again, and well. Come, -my pigeon!" - -And silently, hand in hand, they retraced the familiar way, down the -long, curving incline of the rue Lepic, and the door of the little -joiner's shop closed behind them. - -Marcelle died at daybreak, going out softly like a lamp that dims and -dims, and then flares once into brilliance before all is dark. Papa -Labesse was on his knees beside the narrow bed, when she woke from the -stupor into which she had fallen, and raised herself upright, her face -shining with a great light. The old man, himself unconscious that the -end had come, lifted his eyes eagerly to hers. - -"My little white pigeon," he said tremulously, "thou findest thyself -better, is it not so?" - -But the knowledge of him had passed utterly from Marcelle. For a moment -she was silent, looking at the wall of the tiny room, as she had looked -in the old days at the great city, spread like a map at the foot of the -Butte Montmartre. Then she sank back upon the pillow and crossed her -hands upon her breast. - -"Paris!" she said. "Paris, toi qui chantes de l'amour!" - -And then, very faintly, "Bombi!" - -It was her pet name for Fremier, but Papa Labesse did not understand. - -Half an hour later, he came out into the growing light of the dawn, and -looked vacantly up and down the short stretch of the rue Veron as if -uncertain what direction he desired to take. It was not yet five -o'clock, but already the quartier was astir. As Papa Labesse hesitated -in the doorway, a band of laborers passed the corner, laughing, on their -way to their work in the Rochechouart section of the Métropolitain. The -little assistant was taking down the shutters of the laundry across the -way, and on every side was the sound of opening doors and windows, and -voices suddenly raised in greeting or comment upon the weather. Madame -Rollin lumbered by, carrying a bundle of clothes on her way to the -public lavoir. - -"Hé! bonjour, Papa Labesse!" she cried in passing. "A fine -morning--what?" - -Papa Labesse turned suddenly, clamped the padlock on his door, and was -presently shuffling along the avenue de Clichy. As he went, the city -awoke around him to full activity, but he noted his surroundings even -less than he had been wont to do of late, on his climbs to the Butte. -The return of Marcelle had quickened him, but for a moment only. Now he -was again, as it were, a mere automaton, going forward without volition, -or purpose, or perception, on, on, on, whither and why he knew not. - -After a time he was conscious of a great weariness. The noisy clamor of -the crowds on the avenue, marketing and bargaining in the new sunlight, -seemed unaccountably to have given place to quiet; and looking about -him, Papa Labesse learned from a little signboard that he was passing -through the porte de Clichy. The octroi officials looked curiously at -the shuffling, stooping figure as he went by, and one of them laughed. - -"As full as an egg, the grandfather!" he said. - -Turning to the left, Papa Labesse toiled up upon the slope of the -fortifications, stumbled on for a little, and, finally, as his -exhaustion gained upon him, flung himself, face down, upon the grass. He -had passed the need of sleep long since, but he lay quite motionless for -a long time, with his chin on his hands. Directly before him, seen more -clearly from the elevation upon which he lay, was the dingy suburb of -Clichy, and, to the left, its still dingier neighbor, Levallois-Perret, -studded, both of them, with gaunt sheds of blackened wood, and ghastly -factories and storehouses of cheap brick, their endless windows, in -close-set rows, giving them the appearance of rusted waffle-irons, and -their tall chimneys slabbering slow coils of smoke. In the immediate -foreground, a man with a scythe was lazily cutting the long grass on the -outward slope of the fortifications. - -Presently Papa Labesse began to talk to himself. His eyes were very -bright, and as he spoke they jumped nimbly from shed to shed, from -factory to factory, of the dispiriting scene before him. - -"But what are those?" he began, scowling at two high chimneys standing -side by side. "Tiens! Sainte Clotilde! But the evening is clear then, -par exemple, that one sees so far and so well. It is all so -wonderful--but I have never understood it till now. Ah! Saint -Etienne-du-Mont! That I know, since the dome of the Panthéon is quite -near. Sapristi! What is that? L'amour, Papa Labesse, l'amour,--that -which, finally, thou canst never understand, poor Papa Labesse! Tiens! -Notre Dame! Ah, ça! A woman like herself, what?--like Paris that sings -of love! My pigeon!" - -So, for an hour, the thin stream of jumbled phrases slipped from his dry -lips. He talked softly,--no one could have heard him at two paces,--but -the babble never ceased. - -At seven o'clock a woman carrying a basket appeared upon the -fortifications from the direction of the gate, and, pausing at the top -of the slope, looked down upon the mower. - -"Hé! Allô--labago! Bom-biste!" she cried. The man turned. There was no -such thing as not being able to hear La Trompette. - -And suddenly Papa Labesse held his peace. - -Bombiste came up the slope with a long leisurely stride, flung his -scythe upon the grass, and placing his arm around La Trompette's neck, -kissed her loudly on both cheeks. - -"Name of God!" he said. "But I have thirst!" - -They seated themselves side by side and close together, with their backs -to Papa Labesse, some fifty metres distant, and La Trompette opened her -basket. Presently Bombiste lowered his left elbow and raised his right -in the act of drawing a cork, and then raised his left again and took a -long draught from the bottle. At the same moment Papa Labesse swung -round a quarter circle to the right, as if upon a pivot, and began to -crawl very slowly forward. - -"Chouette!" said Bombiste to La Trompette, biting a great mouthful from -a slice of rye bread and cheese, "c'est du suisse!" - -"Thou deservest water and a raw turnip!" replied the woman, assuming a -tone of angry reproach. "If it were not I, thou knowest, long since -thou wouldst have been put ashore, heart of an artichoke--va!" - -"I am like that," observed Bombiste, with regret. "But what wouldst -thou, name of God! They come, they go: but at the end it is always -thou." - -The woman made no reply, and Papa Labesse, two metres away, laid his -gnarled brown fingers on the handle of Bombiste's discarded scythe. - -Bombiste capped his philosophy with a second long draught of wine, and -then, taking a stupendous bite of bread and cheese, glanced slyly at his -companion out of the corners of his eyes. She was gazing straight before -her, her teeth nicking the edge of her lower lip. - -"What hast thou?" mumbled the man, with his mouth full. - -"She was very pretty," answered La Trompette, "and she loved thee, that -garce. But thou art going to tell me that it is finished forever!--That -never, never," she went on, clenching her hands, "wilt thou see her -again! Else I plant thee, and thou canst earn thine own white -pieces,--mackerel!" - -Bombiste leaned over and placed his face beside hers. - -"Is it not enough?" he said in his softest voice. "Voyons bien! What is -she to me, this Marcelle? Fichtre! I planted her last week, thou -knowest. B'en, quoi? Thou knowest the blue gown? It is that which sweeps -the Boul' Roch' at present! But that is not for long. Perhaps the -Morgue--more likely St. Lazare. Art thou not content?" And he pressed -his cheek to the woman's and moved his head up and down slowly, -caressing her. - -Papa Labesse rose slowly to his feet, and stretched his lean arms to -their full length. The sun winked for the fraction of a second on the -downward swirling scythe, and then all was still, save for the dull -thud, thudding of two round objects rolling down the uneven slope of -sod. In a moment even this sound ceased. - -Papa Labesse revolved slowly upon his heels, pausing as his blue eyes, -wide and vacant, fell upon the distant walls of Sacré-Coeur, swimming, -cream-white and high in air, between him and the sun. Then he pitched -softly forward upon the grass. - - - - -[Illustration] - -In the Absence of Monsieur - - -MONSIEUR ARMAND MICHEL--seated before his newly installed Titian--was in -the act of saying to himself that if its acquisition could not, with -entire accuracy, be viewed as an unqualified bargain, it had been, at -least, an indisputable stroke of diplomacy, when his complacent -meditation was interrupted by the entrance of Arsène. It was the first -time that Monsieur Michel had seen his new servant in his official -capacity, and he was not ill-pleased. Arsène was in flawless evening -dress, in marked contrast to the objectionably flamboyant costume in -which, on the preceding evening, he had made application for the -position of valet-maître d'hôtel, left vacant by the fall from grace of -Monsieur Michel's former factotum. That costume had come near to being -his undoing. The fastidious Armand had regarded with an offended eye the -brilliant green cravat, the unspeakable checked suit, and the painfully -pointed chrome-yellow shoes in which the applicant for his approval was -arrayed, and more than once, in the course of conversation, was on the -point of putting a peremptory end to the negotiations by a crushing -comment on would-be servants who dressed like café chantant comedians. -But the reference had outweighed the costume. Monsieur Michel did not -remember ever to have read more unqualified commendation. Arsène Sigard -had been for two years in the service of the Comte de Chambour, whose -square pink marble hôtel on the avenue de Malakoff is accounted, in this -degenerate age, one of the sights of Paris; and this of itself, was more -than a little. The Comte did not keep his eyes in his pockets, by any -manner of means, when it came to the affairs of his household, and -apparently there was nothing too good for him to say about Arsène. Here, -on pale blue note-paper, and surmounted by the de Chambour crest, it was -set forth that the bearer was sober, honest, clean, willing, capable, -quiet, intelligent, and respectful. _And_ discreet. When the Comte de -Chambour gave his testimony on this last point it meant that you were -getting the opinion of an expert. Monsieur Michel refolded the -reference, tapped it three times upon the palm of his left hand, and -engaged the bearer without further ado. - -Now, as Arsène went quietly about the salon, drawing the curtains and -clearing away the card table, which remained as mute witness to Monsieur -Michel's ruling passion, he was the beau idéal of a gentleman's -manservant,--unobtrusive in manner and movement, clean-shaven and -clear-eyed, adapting himself without need of instruction to the details -of his new surroundings. A less complacent person than Armand might have -been aware that, while he was taking stock of Arsène, Arsène was taking -stock, with equal particularity, of him. And there was an unpleasant -slyness in his black eyes, a something akin to alertness in his thin -nostrils, which moved like those of a rabbit, and seemed to accomplish -more than their normal share of conveying to their owner's intelligence -an impression of exterior things. Also, had Monsieur Michel but observed -it, his new servant walked just a trifle _too_ softly, and his hands -were just a trifle _too_ white and slender. Moreover, he had a habit of -smiling to himself when his back was turned, which is an undesirable -thing in anybody, and approaches the ominous in a valet-maître d'hôtel. -But Monsieur Michel was far too much of an aristocrat to have any doubt -of his power to overawe and impress his inferiors, or to see in the -newcomer's excessive inconspicuity anything more than a commendable -recognition of monsieur's commanding presence. So, when Arsène completed -his work and had shut the door noiselessly behind him, his master rubbed -his hands and said "Ter-rès bien!" in a low voice, this being his -superlative expression of satisfaction. Had his glance been able to -penetrate his salon door, it would have met, in the antichambre, with -the astounding spectacle of his new servant in the act of tossing -monsieur's silk hat into the air, and catching it, with extreme -dexterity, on the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, the other side of -the door is something which, like the future and the bank-accounts of -our debtors, it is not given us to see. So Monsieur Michel repeated his -"Ter-rès bien!" and fell again to contemplating his Titian. - -Yes, undoubtedly, it had been a great stroke of diplomacy. The young -Marchese degli Abbraccioli was not conspicuous for his command of ready -money, but his father had left him the finest private collection of -paintings in Rome, and this, in consequence of chronic financial stress, -was gradually passing from the walls of his palazzo in the via Cavour -into the possession of an appreciative but none too extravagant -government. It had been an inspiration, this proposal of Monsieur -Michel's to settle his claim upon the Marchese for his overwhelming -losses at baccarat by taking over one of the two Titians which flanked -the chimney-piece in his study. The young Italian had assented eagerly, -and had supplemented his acquiescence with a proposal to dispose of the -pendant for somewhat more material remuneration than canceled -reconnaissances. But Armand Michel had undertaken it before, this -delicate task of getting objets d'art over the Italian frontier--yes, -and been caught in the act, too, and forced to disgorge. For the moment, -it was enough to charge himself with one picture, on the given -conditions, without risking hard cash in the experiment. Later--well, -later, one would see. And so, _a rivederla, mio caro marchese_. - -Monsieur Michel fairly hugged himself as he thought of his success. Mon -Dieu, quelle génie, that false bottom to his trunk! He had come safely -through them all, the imbecile inspectors, and now his treasure hung -fairly and finally upon his wall, smiling at him out of its tapestry -surroundings. It was épatant, truly, and moreover, all there was of the -most calé. Only one small cloud of regret hung upon the broad blue -firmament of his satisfaction--the other picture! It had been so easy. -He might as well have had two as one. And now, without doubt, the -imbecile Marchese would sell the pendant to the imbecile government, and -that would be the end of it so far as private purchase was concerned. -Monsieur Michel rose from his chair with a gesture of impatience, and, -drawing the curtain back from the window, looked out lugubriously upon -the March cheerlessness of the place Vendôme. Little by little, a most -seductive plan formed itself in his mind. After all, why not? A couple -of weeks at Monte Carlo, a week at Sorrento, and a fortnight at Rome, in -which to win the Titian from the Marchese degli Abbraccioli, by baccarat -if possible, or by banknotes should fortune prove unkind. It was the -simplest thing in the world, and he would avoid the remainder of the wet -weather and be back for the opening of Longchamp. And Monsieur Michel -rubbed his hands and said "Ter-rès bien!" again, with much emphasis. - -When, a week later, Arsène was informed of Monsieur's intention to leave -him in sole charge of his apartment for a time, he received the -intelligence with the dignified composure of one who feels himself -worthy of the confidence reposed in him. The cook was to have the -vacation for which she had been clamoring, that she might display to her -relatives in Lille the elaborate wardrobe which was the result of her -savings during three years in Monsieur Michel's employ. Perfectly. And -the apartment was to be aired and dusted daily, as if monsieur himself -were there. And visitors to be told that monsieur was returning in a -month. And letters to be made to follow monsieur, to Monte Carlo at -first, and then to Rome. But perfectly; it was completely understood. -Arsène bowed a number of times in succession, and outwardly was as calm -as a tall, candid-faced clock, being wound up to run for a specified -time independent of supervision. But beneath that smooth and carefully -oiled expanse of jet-black hair a whole colony of the most fantastic -ideas suddenly aroused themselves and began to elbow each other about in -a veritable tumult. - -Monsieur Michel took his departure in a whirl of confusion, losing a -quantity of indispensable articles with exclamations of despair, and -finding them the next moment with cries of satisfaction. Eugénie, the -cook, compactly laced into a traveling dress of blue silk, stood at the -doorway to bid her master good-by, and was run into at each instant by -the cabman or the concierge or Monsieur Michel himself, each of whom -covered, at top speed, several kilometres of stair and hallway, in the -stupendous task of transferring a trunk, a valise, a hat-box, a -shawl-strap, and an umbrella from the apartment to the carriage below. -On the surface of this uproar, the presence of Arsène swam as serenely -as a swan on a maelstrom. He accompanied his master to the gare de Lyon, -and the last object which met the anxious eyes of Monsieur Michel, -peering out from one of the first-class carriages of the departing -express, was his new servant, standing upon the platform, as unmoved by -the events of the morning as if monsieur had been passing from the -dining room to take coffee in the salon instead of from Paris to take -breakfast in Marseille. The sight of him was intensely soothing to the -fevered spirit of Monsieur Michel, on whom the details of such a -departure produced much the same effect as do cakes of soap when tossed -into the mouth of an active geyser. - -"He is calm," he said to himself, rubbing his hands. "He is very calm, -and he will not lose his head while I am gone. Ter-rès bien!" - -But the calm of Arsène was the calm of thin ice over swiftly rushing -waters. As the polished buffers of the last carriage swung out of sight -around the curve with a curiously furtive effect, like the eyes of an -alarmed animal, slipping backward into its burrow, he clenched the -fingers of his right hand, and slipping his thumb nail under the edge of -his upper teeth, drew it forward with a sharp click. At the same time he -said something to his vanished master in the second person singular, -which is far from being the address of affection on the lips of a -valet-maître d'hôtel. - -Wheeling suddenly after this singular manifestation, Monsieur Sigard -found himself the object of close and seemingly amused scrutiny on the -part of an individual standing directly behind him. There was something -so extremely disconcerting in this gentleman's unexpected proximity, and -in his very evident enjoyment of the situation, that Arsène was upon the -point of turning abruptly away, when the other addressed him, speaking -the colloquial French of their class, with the slightest possible hint -of foreign accent. - -"Bah, vieux! Is it that I do not know what they are, the patrons? Oh, -lalà!" - -"Avec ça! There are some who have it, an astounding audacity!" said -Arsène to the air over the stranger's head. - -"Farceur!" replied the stranger, to the air over Arsène's. And then-- - -"There are two parrakeets that have need of plucking across the way," he -added, reflectively. - -"There are two empty sacks here to put the feathers in," answered -Arsène, with alacrity; and ten minutes later, oblivious to the chill -damp of the March morning, Monsieur Sigard and his new-found -acquaintance, seated at a little table in front of a near-by wine-shop, -were preparing in company the smoky-green mixture of absinthe and water -which Paris slang has dubbed a parrakeet. On the part of Arsène the -operation was performed with elaborate solicitude, and as he poured a -tiny stream of water over the lump of sugar on the flat spoon balanced -deftly across the glass, he held his head tipped sidewise and his left -eye closed, in the manner of a contemplative fowl, and was oblivious to -all but the delectable business of the moment. - -But his companion, while apparently deeply engaged in the preparation -of his own beverage, was far from being wholly preoccupied thereby. He -was a man shorter by an inch or two than Monsieur Michel's maître -d'hôtel, dressed in the most inconspicuous fashion, and with an air of -avoiding any emphasis of voice or gesture which would be apt to attract -more than casual attention to the circumstance of his existence. There -was something about him vaguely suggestive of a chameleon, an instant -harmonizing of his appearance and manner with any background whatsoever -against which he chanced to find himself placed, and a curious clouding -of his eyes when unexpectedly they were met by those of another, which -lent him an immediate air of profound stupidity. No doubt his long -practice in this habit of self-obliteration made him doubly appreciative -of Arsène's little outburst of ill-feeling on the platform of the gare -de Lyon. A man who would do that in public--well, he had much to learn! - -Just now, however, this gentleman's eyes were very bright, though they -had dwindled to mere slits; and he followed every movement of the -unconscious Arsène with short, swift glances from beneath his drooping -lids, as, bit by bit, the lumps of sugar melted under the steady drip of -the trickling water, and the opalescent mixture mounted toward the -brims. He knew but two varieties of absinthe drinker, this observant -individual,--the one who progressed, under its influence, from cheerful -candor to shrewdest insight into the motives of others, and most skilful -evasion of their toils; the other whom, by easy stages, it led from -obstinate reserve to the extreme of careless garrulity. At this moment -he was on the alert for symptoms. - -Arsène looked up suddenly as the last morsel of his sugar melted, and, -lifting his glass, dipped it before the eyes of his new friend. - -"To your health,--Monsieur--?" he said, in courteous interrogation. - -"Fresque," said the other. - -"Bon! And I, Monsieur Fresque, am Sigard, Arsène Sigard, maître d'hôtel, -at your service, of the type who has just taken himself off, down -there." - -And he indicated the imposing pile of the gare de Lyon with his thumb, -and then, closing his eyes, took a long sip of his absinthe, and -replacing the glass upon the table, plunged his hands into his pockets -and stared off gloomily toward the Seine. - -"Poof!" he said, "but I am content that he is gone. What a filthiness, a -rich man--what?" - -"Not to be denied," agreed Monsieur Fresque. "There is not a foreign -sou's worth of delicacy in the whole lot!" - -"Mazette! I believe thee," answered the other, much pleased. Fresque's -thin lips relaxed the veriest trifle at the familiarity, and he lit a -cigarette and gazed vacantly into space. - -"But what dost thou expect?" he observed, with calm philosophy. - -It appeared that what Arsène expected was that honest folk should not -work from seven to ten, in an ignoble box of a pantry, on boots, and -silver, and what not, he demanded of him, name of a pipe! and dust, and -sweep, and serve at table, good heaven! and practice a species of -disgusting politeness to a type of old engraving like Monsieur Armand -Michel. And all, oh, mon Dieu! for the crushing sum of twenty dollars a -month, did he comprehend? while the animal in question was sowing his -yellow buttons by fistfuls. Mazette! Evidently, he himself was not an -eagle. He did not demand the Louvre to live in, for example, nor the -existence lalala of Emile Loubet--what? but it was not amusing, he -assured him, to be in the employ of the great revolting one in question. -Ah, non! - -"Eiffelesque!" succinctly commented Monsieur Fresque. - -But, said Arsène, there was another side to the question, and he -himself, it went without saying, was no waffle-iron, speaking of -stupidity. He had not been present the day fools were distributed. Oh, -far from that! In consequence, it was to become hump-backed with mirth, -that part of his life passed behind the back of the example of an old -Sophie whom he had the honor to serve. He had not forgotten how to -juggle since he traveled with a band of mountebanks. And there were the -patron's plates,--at one hundred francs the piece, good blood! Also he -smoked the ancient cantaloupe's cigarettes, and as for the -wines--tchutt! Arsène kissed his finger-tips and took a long sip of -absinthe. - -"He is gone for long?" inquired Fresque. - -Ah, that! Who knew? Six weeks at least. And meanwhile might not a brave -lad amuse himself in the empty apartment--eh? Oh, it would be life in a -gondola, name of a name of a name! - -The conversation was prolonged for an hour, Arsène growing more and more -confidential under the seductive influence of his parrakeet, and his -companion showing himself so heartily in accord with his spirit of -license, that, by degrees, he captured completely the fancy of the -volatile valet, and was permitted to take his departure only on the -condition of presenting himself in the place Vendôme that evening for -the purpose of smoking the cantaloupe's cigarettes and seeing Arsène -juggle with the hundred-franc plates. - -Monsieur Fresque was as good as his word. He put in an appearance -promptly at eight o'clock, hung his hat and coat, at his host's -invitation, on a Louis Quinze applique, and made himself comfortable in -a chaise longue which--on the guarantee of Duveen--had once belonged to -the Pompadour. Arsène outdid himself in juggling, and afterwards they -cracked a bottle of Château Laffitte and drank it with great -satisfaction out of Salviati glasses, topping off the entertainment with -Russian kümmel and two of Monsieur Michel's cigars. Arsène, in his -picturesque idiom, expressed himself as being tapped in the eye with his -new friend to the extent of being able to quit him no longer, and -forthwith Monsieur Hercule Fresque took up his quarters in the bedroom -of the cantaloupe, his host established himself in Monsieur Michel's -Empire guest chamber, and the "life in a gondola" went forward for five -weeks to the supreme contentment of both parties. - -Now it is a peculiarity of life in a gondola, as is known to all who -have sampled its delights, that, while it lasts, consideration of past -and future alike becomes dulled, and one loses all sense of -responsibility in the lethal torpor of the present. So it was not until -Arsène received a letter from Monsieur Michel, announcing his return, -that he began to figure up the possible consequences of his experiment. -They were, as he gloomily announced to Hercule, stupefying to the extent -of dashing out one's brains against the wall. But one bottle of Château -Laffitte remained, and none whatever of Russian kümmel. Moreover, the -brocade of the chaise longue was hopelessly ruined by the boots of the -conspirators, and the enthusiasm of Arsène's juggling had reduced by -fifty per cent the set of Sèvres plates. What was to be done, bon Dieu, -what _was_ to be done? - -Monsieur Fresque, having carefully perused a letter with an Italian -stamp, which had come by the evening mail, revolved the situation in his -mind, slowly smoking the last of the cantaloupe's cigars, and glancing -from time to time at the despondent figure of his host, with his eyes -narrowed to mere slits. Had the fish been sufficiently played? He reeled -in a foot or so of line by way of experiment. - -"What, after all, is a situation?" he said. "Thou wilt be discharged, -yes. But afterwards? Pah! thou wilt find another. And thou hast thy -rigolade." - -"Ah, that!" replied Arsène with a shrug. "I believe thee! But thinkest -thou my old melon will find himself in the way of glueing the ribbon of -the Légion on me for what I have done? I see myself from here, playing -the harp on the bars of La Maz!" - -"La vie à Mazas, c'est pas la vie en gondole," observed Hercule -philosophically. - -"Tu parles!" - -Hercule appeared to take a sudden resolve. He swung his feet to the -floor, and bending forward in the chaise longue, began to speak rapidly -and with extreme earnestness. - -"Voyons, donc, mon gars, thou hast been foolish, but one must not -despair. What is done in France is never known in Italy. And here thou -art surrounded by such treasures as the imbeciles of foreigners pay -fortunes for, below there. Take what thou hast need of,--a trunk of the -patron's, some silver, what thou canst lay hands on of gold and brass -and enamel, whatever will not break--and get away before he returns. In -Milan thou canst sell it all, and get another place. I have friends -there, and thou shalt have letters. Voilà!" - -"But one must have money," replied Arsène, brightening, nevertheless. -"And that is lacking me." - -Hercule seemed to ponder this objection deeply. Finally, with a sigh of -resignation, he spoke again. - -"B'en, voilà! Thou hast been my friend, is it not so? Hercule Fresque -is not the man to be ungrateful. I am poor, and have need of my little -savings--But, there! it is for a friend--pas? Let us say no more!" And -he thrust a roll of banknotes into the hands of the stupefied Arsène. - -The evening was spent in arranging the details of the flight. Arsène -produced a serviceable trunk from the storeroom, and in this the two men -placed a great variety of the treasures which Monsieur Michel had -accumulated during twenty years of patient search and exorbitant -purchase. Squares of priceless tapestry, jeweled watches and snuff -boxes, figurines of old Sèvres, ivories cunningly carved and yellow with -age, madonnas of box-wood, and wax, and ebony,--all were carefully -wrapped in newspapers and stowed away; and to these Arsène added a dozen -of his master's shirts, two suits of clothes, and a box of cigarettes. -But when all the available material had been appropriated there yet -remained an empty space below the tray. It would never do to have the -treasures knocking about on the way. Arsène proposed a blanket--or, -better yet, one of Monsieur Michel's overcoats. But Hercule, after -rearranging the trunk so as to make the empty space of different form, -turned suddenly to his companion, who was picking nervously at his -fingers and watching the so fruitful source of suggestion with a -pathetic air of entreaty, and clapped him gleefully upon the chest. - -"A painting!" he exclaimed. - -Complete demoralization seemed to have taken possession of Arsène. He -was very pale, and his eyes constantly sought the salon door as if he -expected the object of his ingenious epithets to burst in at any moment, -with the prefect and all his legions at his heels. - -"A painting?" he repeated blankly; "but how, a painting?" - -But Monsieur Fresque had already mounted nimbly on a chair and lifted -the cherished Titian of Monsieur Michel from its place against the -tapestry. There was no further need of persuasion. The moment had come -for action; and, seizing a hammer, he began to wrench off the frame, -talking rapidly between short gasps of exertion. - -"But certainly, a painting. This one is small--ugh!--but who can say -how valuable? They sell readily down there, these black daubs. Ah! By -rolling, it will fill the empty space, seest thou, and later it may mean -a thousand francs. One does not do things by--umph!--by halves in such a -case. Sacred nails! One would say they had been driven in for eternity! -Oof! Thou art fortunate to have me to advise thee, great imbecile. -Mayhap this is worth all the rest. Pig of a frame, va! It is of iron. -Ugh! He will be furious, thy patron, but what of that? In Italy thou -wilt hear no more of it. Still one nail. Come away, then, type of a cow! -Enfin!" - -With one final effort he tore off the last fragment of frame, peeled the -canvas from the back-board, and, rolling it carefully, tucked it into -the empty space, replaced the tray, and closed the trunk with a snap. - -"Voilà!" he said, straightening himself and turning a red but triumphant -face to the astounded maître d'hôtel. - -"Now for the letters," he added, seating himself at Monsieur Michel's -desk and beginning to scribble busily. "Do thou go for a cab, and at a -gallop. It has struck half past ten and the Bâle rapide leaves the gare -de l'Est at midnight." - -Hardly had the door of the apartment closed upon the demoralized valet -when Monsieur Fresque hastily shoved to one side the note he had begun, -and, writing a sentence or two upon another slip of paper, wrapped the -latter about a two-sou piece, and went quietly to the salon window. -Opening this cautiously, he found a fine rain falling outside, and the -eastern half of the square deserted save for two figures,--one the -flying form of Arsène, cutting across a corner into the rue Castiglione -in search of a cab, and the other that of a man muffled in a heavy -overcoat and with a slouch hat pulled well over his eyes, who was -lounging against the railing of the Column, and who, as Fresque opened -the window, shook himself into activity and stepped nimbly out across -the wide driveway. Hercule placed the paper containing the two-sou piece -upon the window sill and with a sharp flick of his forefinger sent it -spinning down into the square. The man in the slouch hat stooped for an -instant in passing the spot where it lay, and Monsieur Fresque, softly -closing the window, stretched his arms upward into a semblance of a -gigantic letter Y, and indulged in a prodigious yawn. - -"Ça y est!" said he. - -Papa Briguette had long since climbed into his high bedstead, in the -loge de concierge, when, for the second time in fifteen minutes, he was -aroused by the voice of Arsène calling, "Cordon, s'il vous plaît!" in -the main hallway, and, reaching from under his feather coverlid, pressed -the bulb which unlocked the street-door. - -"Quel coureur, que ce gars!" grumbled the worthy man to his fat spouse, -snoring complacently at his side. "I deceive myself if, when Monsieur -Michel returns, thou dost not hear a different story." - -"Awr-r-r-r!" replied Maman Briguette. - -On the way to the gare de l'Est Arsène recovered the better part of his -lost composure, and listened with something akin to cheerfulness to the -optimistic prognostications of his companion. By the time the precious -trunk was registered and he had secured his seat in a second-class -compartment of the Bâle rapide, he was once more in high feather and -profuse in expressions of gratitude, as he smoked a farewell cigarette -with Fresque while waiting for the train to start. - -"Thou canst believe me, mon vieux," he protested. "It is not a little -thing that thou hast done, name of a name. Ah, non! It was the act of a -brave comrade, that I assure thee. Et voyons! When I have sold the -effects down there, thou shalt have back thy little paper mattress, word -of honor! Yes, and more--thy share of the gain, mon zig!" - -He grasped the other's hand fervently as a passing guard threw them a -curt "En voiture, messieurs!" and seemed on the point of kissing him -farewell. There was some confusion attendant upon his entering the -compartment, owing to the excessive haste of a man muffled in a heavy -overcoat and with a slouch hat pulled well over his eyes, who arrived at -the last moment and persisted in scrambling in, at the very instant -chosen by Monsieur Sigard. The latter immediately reappeared at the -window, and, as the train began to move, shouted a few final -acknowledgments at his benefactor. - -"B'en, au r'voir, vieux! And I will write thee from below there, thou -knowest. A thousand thanks. Fear not for thy blue paper--what? Thou -shalt have it back, sou for sou, name of a name!" - -He was almost out of hearing now, his face a cream-colored splotch -against the deep maroon of the railway carriage, and, drawing out a -gaudy handkerchief, he waved it several times in token of farewell. - -"I shall never forget thee, never!" he cried, as a kind of afterthought -and valedictory in one. - -"Ah, ça!" said Monsieur Fresque to himself, as Arsène's face went out of -sight, "_that_ I well believe!" - -Yet, so inconstant is man, the promised letter from "below there" never -reached him. Another did, however, and it was this which he might have -been observed reading to a friend, with every evidence of the liveliest -satisfaction, one week later, at a rear table before the Taverne Royale. -One would hardly have recognized the plainly, almost shabbily dressed -comrade of Arsène, with his retiring manners and his furtive eyes, in -this extremely prosperous individual, in polished top hat, white -waistcoat and gaiters, and gloves of lemon yellow. His companion was -equally imposing in appearance, and it was apparent that he derived as -much amusement from listening to Monsieur Fresque's epistle as did the -latter from reading it aloud, which he did with the most elaborate -emphasis, calling the other's attention to certain sentences by tapping -him lightly upon the arm and repeating them more slowly. - -The letter was in Italian, and ran as follows:-- - - - MILAN, _April 20, 1901_. - - MY GOOD ERCOLE,--I am leaving here today for Rome, where the case of - the government against the Marchese degli Abbraccioli is to come on - next week, but before I do so I must write you of the last act in - the little comedy of Arsène Sigard. I never lost sight of him from - the moment we left Paris, and when he found I was also on my way to - Italy, he became confidential, and, in exchange for certain - information which I was able to give him about Milan, etc., told me - a long story about himself and his affairs, which I found none the - less amusing for knowing it to be a tissue of lies. The time passed - readily enough, but I was relieved when we started over the St. - Gothard, because I knew then that the game was as good as played. - We arrived at Chiasso on time (two o'clock) and I found Sassevero on - the platform when I jumped out. He had come on from Rome the night - before, and was in a positive panic because Palmi, who had been - watching old Michel there, had lost him somehow and nobody knew - where he'd gone. He might have come through on any train, of course, - and Sassevero didn't even know him by sight. - - Naturally, our little business with Sigard was soon done. Cagliacci - is still chief of customs at Chiasso, and he simply confiscated the - trunk and everything in it, though, of course, the government wasn't - after anything but the picture. There were two hours of argument - over the disposition of Sigard, but it seemed best to let him go and - nothing further said, which he was only too glad to do. The Old Man - is shy of diplomatic complications, it appears, and he had told - Sassevero to frighten the chap thoroughly and then let him slip off. - - Here comes in the most remarkable part of all. Just as Sigard was - marching out of the room, in came the Lucerne express, and our - friend walks almost into the arms of an oldish gentleman who had - jumped out of a carriage and was hurrying into the customs room. - - "Bon Dieu!" said this individual, "what does _this_ mean?" - - "What does what mean?" put in Sassevero like a flash, and the other - was so taken by surprise that, before he had time to think what he - was saying, the secret was out. - - "That's my valet de chambre!" he said. - - "Really?" said Sassevero. "Bravo! Then you're the gentleman with the - Marchese degli Abbraccioli's second Titian in the false bottom of - his trunk!" - - Could anything have been more exquisite? The old chap is out some - hundred thousand lire on the transaction, because, of course, - Cagliacci confiscated it like the other. It was a sight to - remember,--the two pictures side by side in his room, and Michel and - Sigard cursing each other above them! We all went on to Milan by the - next train, except Sigard, who did the prudent thing on the - appearance of his padrone, and disappeared, but Michel's appeal to - the French consulate was of no effect. The consul told him flat that - he was going directly against the law in trying to get old works of - art over the frontier, and that he couldn't plead ignorance after - the detail of the false bottom. - - Sassevero says the Old Man is immensely pleased with the way you - handled your end of the affair. The funny part of it is that Sigard - apparently hadn't the most remote suspicion of your being in any way - involved in his catastrophe. - - - Your most devoted, - - CAVALETTO. - - - - -[Illustration] - -Little Tapin - - -HIS name was Jean-Marie-Michel Jumière, and the first eighteen years of -his life were spent near the little Breton village of Plougastel. They -were years of which each was, in every respect, like that which went -before, and, in every respect, like that which followed after: years, -that is to say, devoid of incident, beyond the annual pardon, when the -peasants came from far and near to the quaint little church, to offer -their prayers at the cemetery Calvary, and display their holiday -costumes, and make love, and exchange gossip on the turf round about. -It is a land of wide and wind-swept hillsides, this, imbued with the -strange melancholy of a wild and merciless sea, and wherein there are no -barriers of convention or artificiality between earth and sky, man and -his Maker; but Jean-Marie loved it for its very bleakness. From the -doorway of his mother's cottage, standing, primly white, in the midst of -great rocks and strawberry fields, with its thatched roof drawn down, -like a hood, about its ears, as if in protection against the western -gales, he could look out across the broad harbor of Brest to the Goulet, -the gateway to that great Atlantic whose mighty voice came to his ears -in stormy weather, muttering against the barrier of the shore. And this -voice of the sea spoke to Jean-Marie of many things, but, most of all, -of the navies of France, of the mighty battleships which went out from -Brest to unimagined lands, far distant, China, America, and the southern -islands, whence comrades, older than himself, brought back curious -treasures, coral, and shells, and coins, and even parrots, to surprise -the good people of Plougastel. He looked at them enviously, as they -gathered about the door of Père Yvetot's wine-shop, when they were home -on leave, and spun sailor yarns for his delighted ears. How wonderful -they were, these men who had seen the world,--Toulon, and Marseille, and -Tonkin,--how wonderful, with their wide, flapping trousers, and their -jaunty caps, with a white strap and a red pompon, and their throats and -breasts, showing ruddy bronze at the necks of their shirts! - -At such times Jean-Marie would join timidly in the talk, and, perhaps, -speak of the time when he, too, should be marin français, and see the -world. And the big Breton sailors would laugh good-naturedly, and slap -him on the shoulder, and say: "Tiens! And how then shall the cruisers -find their way into Brest harbor, when the little phare is gone?" For it -was a famous joke in Plougastel to pretend that Jean-Marie, with his -flaming red hair, was a lighthouse, which could be seen through the -Goulet, far, far out at sea. - -But Jean-Marie only smiled quietly in reply, for he knew that his day -would come. At night, the west wind, sweeping in from the Atlantic, and -rattling his little casement, seemed to be calling him, and it was a -fancy of his to answer its summons in a whisper, turning his face -toward the window. - -"All in good time, my friend. All in good time!" - -Again, when he was working in the strawberry fields, he would strain his -eyes to catch the outline of some big green battleship, anchored off -Brest, or, during one of his rare visits to the town, lean upon the -railing of the pont tournant, to watch the sailors and marines moving -about the barracks and magazines on the quais of the porte militaire. -All in good time, my friends; all in good time! - -Only, there were two to whom one did not speak of these things,--the -Little Mother, and Rosalie Vivieu. Already the sea had taken three from -Madame Jumière--Baptiste, her husband, and Philippe and Yves, the older -boys, who went out together, with the fishing fleet, seven years before, -in the staunch little smack La Belle Fortune. She had been cheerful, -even merry, during the long weeks of waiting for the fleet's return, -and, when it came in one evening, with news of La Belle Fortune cut down -in the fog by a North Cape German Lloyd, and all hands lost, she had -taken the news as only a Breton woman can. Jean-Marie was but twelve at -the time, but there is an intuition, beyond all reckoning in years, in -the heart of a fisher's son, and never should he forget how the Little -Mother had caught him to her heart that night, at the doorway of their -cottage, crying, "Holy Saviour! Holy Saviour!" with her patient blue -eyes upturned to the cold, grey sky of Finistère! As for Rosalie, -Jean-Marie could not remember when they two had not been sweethearts, -since the day when, as a round-eyed boy of six, he had watched Madame -Vivieu crowding morsels of blessed bread into her baby mouth at the -pardon of Plougastel, since all the world knows that in such manner only -can backwardness of speech be cured. Rosalie was sixteen now, as round, -and pink, and sweet as one of her own late peaches, and she had promised -to marry Jean-Marie some day. For the time being, he was allowed to kiss -her only on the great occasion of the pardon, but that was once more -each year than any other gars in Plougastel could do, so Jean-Marie was -content. No, evidently, to these two there must be no mention of his -dreamings of the wide and wonderful sea, of the summons of the -impatient western wind, of those long reveries upon the pont tournant. - -So Jean-Marie hugged his visions to his heart for another year, working -in the strawberry fields, gazing out with longing eyes toward the -warships in the harbor, and whispering, when the fingers of the wind -tapped upon his little casement: "All in good time, my friend. All in -good time!" - -And his day came at last, as he had known it would. But with what a -difference! For there were many for the navy that spring. Plougastel had -nine, and Daoulas fifteen ready, and Hanvec seven, and Crozon -twenty-one, and from Landerneau, and Châteaulin, and Lambezellec, and le -Folgoet came fifty more, and from Brest itself, a hundred; and all of -these, with few exceptions, were great, broad-shouldered lads, strong of -arm and deep of chest, and so the few who were slender and fragile, like -Jean-Marie, were assigned to the infantry, and sent, as is the custom, -far from Finistère, because, says the code, change of scene prevents -homesickness, and what the code says must, of course, be true. - -When Madame Jumière heard this she smiled as she was seldom known to -smile. The Holy Virgin, then, had listened to her prayers. The gars was -to be a piou-piou instead of a col bleu, after all! The great sea should -not rob her again, as it had robbed her in the time. It was very well, -oh, grace au saint Sauveur, it was very well! And, all that night, the -Little Mother prayed, and watched a tiny taper, flickering before her -porcelain image of Notre Dame de la Recouvrance, while Jean-Marie tossed -and turned upon his little garret bed, and made no reply, even in a -whisper, to the west wind, rattling his casement with insistent fingers. - -But it was all far worse than he had pictured it to himself, even in -those first few hours of disappointment and despair. The last Sunday -afternoon which he and Rosalie passed, hand in hand, seated by the -Calvary in Plougastel cemetery, striving dumbly to realize that they -should see each other no more for three long years; the following -morning, chill and bleak for that time of year, when he and the Little -Mother, standing on the platform of the station at Brest, could barely -see each others' faces, for the sea-fog and their own hot tears; the -shouts and laughter and noisy farewells of the classe, crowding out of -the windows of their third-class carriages; and, finally, the -interminable journey to Paris,--all of these were to Jean-Marie like the -successive stages of a feverish, uneasy dream. He knew none of the noisy -Breton peasant lads about him, but sat by himself in the centre of the -compartment, too far from either window to catch more than fleeting -glimpses of the fog-wrapped landscape through which the train crept at -thirty kilometres the hour. At long intervals, they stopped in great -stations, of which little Jean-Marie remembered to have heard,--Morlaix, -St. Brieuc, Rennes, and Laval, where the recruits bought cakes and -bottles of cheap wine, and joked with white-capped peasant women on the -platforms; and twice during the long night he was roused from a fitful, -troubled sleep to a consciousness of raucous voices crying "Le Mans!" -and "Chartres!" and gasped in sudden terror--before he could remember -where he was--at the faces of his slumbering companions, ghastly and -distorted in the wretched light of the compartment lamp. So, as the -dawn was breaking over Paris, they came into the gare Montparnasse, and, -too drowsy to realize what was demanded of them, were herded together by -the drill sergeants in charge, and marched away across the city to the -barracks of La Pépinière. - -The weeks that followed were to Jean-Marie hideous beyond any means of -expression. From the first he had been assigned to the drum-corps, and -spent hours daily, under command of a corporal expert in the art, -laboriously learning double rolls and ruffles in the fosse of the -fortifications. For they are not in the way of enduring martyrdom, the -Parisians, and even while they cry "Vive l'armée!" with their hats off, -and their eyes blazing, the drummers and buglers are sent out of -hearing, to practice the music that later, when the regiments parade, -will stir the patriotism of the throng. - -But this part of his new life was no hardship to Jean-Marie, or Little -Tapin, as his comrades soon learned to call him, because he was the -smallest drummer in the corps. On the contrary, it was something to be -in the open air, even though that air was tainted with sluggish smoke -from the factory chimneys of Levallois-Perret, instead of being swept -and refreshed by the west wind from beyond the Goulet. And he was very -earnest, very anxious to please, was Little Tapin. First of all the new -drummers, he learned the intricacies of the roll, and so diligently did -he improve the hours of practice that he was first, as well, to be -regularly assigned to a place in the regimental band. No, this was no -hardship. What cramped and crushed his kindly little heart, what clouded -his queer, quizzical eyes, was nothing less than Paris, beautiful, -careless Paris, that laughed, and danced, and sang about him, and had -never a thought for Little Tapin, with his funny, freckled face, and his -ill-fitting uniform of red and blue, and his coarse boots, and his -ineradicable Breton stare. - -In Plougastel he had been wont to greet and to be greeted, to hear -cheery words from those who passed him on the wide, white roads. He was -part of it all, one who was called by his honest name, instead of by a -ridiculous sobriquet, and who had his share in all that went forward, -from the strawberry harvest to the procession of the pardon. And if all -this was but neighborly interest, at least there were two to whom -Jean-Marie meant more, and who meant more to him. - -But Paris,--Paris, with her throngs of strange faces hurrying past, her -brilliantly lighted boulevards, her crowded cafés, her swirl of traffic -along avenues that one crossed only at peril of one's life,--he was lost -amid her clamor and confusion as utterly as a bubble in a whirlpool! The -bitterest hours of his new life were those of his leave, in which, with -a band of his fellows, he went out of the great green gates of the -caserne to seek amusement. Amusement! They soon lost Little Tapin, the -others, for he was one who did not drink, and who walked straight on -when they turned to speak to passing grisettes, who clung to each -others' arms, and looked back, laughing at the sallies of the -piou-pious. He was not bon camarade. He seemed to disapprove. So, -presently, while he was staring into a shop window, they would slip down -a side street, or into a tiny café, and Little Tapin would find himself -alone in the great city which he dreaded. - -He came to spending long hours of his leave in the galleries of the -Louvre, hastening past row upon row of nude statues with startled eyes, -or making his way wearily from picture to picture of the old Dutch -masters, striving, striving to understand. Then, footsore and heartsick, -he would creep out upon the pont du Carrousel, and stand for half an -afternoon, with his elbows on the railing. Behind him, the human tide -swung back and forward from bank to bank, the big omnibuses making the -bridge throb and sway under his feet. It was good, that, like the rise -and fall of his little boat on the swells of the bras de Landerneau, -when he rowed up with a comrade to fish at the mouth of the Elorn. And -there was always the Seine, whirling, brown and angry, under the arches -of the pont Royal beyond, on its way to the sea, where were the great, -green battleships. Little Tapin strained his eyes in an attempt to -follow the river's long sweep to the left, toward the distant towers of -the Trocadéro, and then pictured to himself how it would go on and on, -out into the good, green country, past hillsides crowded with vineyards, -and broad, flat meadows, where the poplars stood, aligned like soldiers, -against the sky, until it broadened toward its end, running swifter and -more joyously, for now the wind had met it and was crying, "Come! Come! -The Sea! The Sea!" as it was used to cry, rattling the casement of his -little room at Plougastel. Then two great tears ran slowly down his -freckled cheeks, and dropped, unnoted, into the flying river, wherein so -many fall. Ah, what a baby he was, to be sure, Little Tapin! - -So three months went by, and then one morning the news ran through La -Pépinière that the regiment was going to move. There is no telling how -such tidings get abroad, for the pawns are not supposed to know what -part in the game they are to play. A loose-tongued lieutenant, perhaps, -and a sharp-eared ordonnance, or a word between two commandants -overheard by the sentry in his box at the gates of the caserne. Whatever -the source of information, certain it was that, six hours after the -colonel of the 107th of the line had received his orders, his newest -recruit could have told you as much of them as was known to General de -Galliffet himself, in his office on the boulevard St. Germain. - -A more than usually friendly comrade confided the news to Little Tapin, -exulting. The regiment was to move--in three days, name of God! -Epatant--what? And, what was more, they were to go to the south, to -Grenoble, whence one saw the Alpes Maritimes, with snow upon them--snow -upon them, did Tapin comprehend?--and always! No matter whether it was a -Tuesday, or a Friday,--yes, or even a Sunday! There was _always_ snow! - -No, Little Tapin could hardly comprehend. He pondered dully upon this -new development of his fate all that afternoon, and then, suddenly, -while he was beating the staccato roll of the retraite in the court of -the caserne that night, he understood! Why, it was to go further away, -this,--further away from Plougastel, and the Little Mother, and Rosalie, -to be stationed in God knew what great town, crueller, more crowded than -even Paris herself! - -All that night Little Tapin lay staring at the ceiling of the big -dortoir, while the comrades breathed heavily around him. And, little by -little, the spirit of rebellion roused and stirred in his simple Breton -heart. For he hated it all,--this army, this dreary, rigid routine, this -contemptuous comment of trim, sneering young lieutenants, with waxed -mustaches, and baggy red riding breeches, and immaculately varnished -boots. He hated his own uniform, which another tapin had worn before -him, and which, in consequence, had never even had the charm of -freshness. He hated the bugles, and the drums,--yes, and, more than all, -the tricolor, the flag of the great, cruel Republic which had cooped him -up in these desolate barracks of La Pépinière, instead of sending him -with other Bretons out to the arms of the blue sea! And, when gray -morning crept through the windows of the dortoir, there lay upon the -pallet of Little Tapin a deserter, in spirit, at least, from the 107th -of the line! - -That day, for the third time since joining the regiment, Little Tapin -was detailed as drummer to the guard at the Palais du Louvre. He knew -what _that_ meant,--a long, insufferably tiresome day, with nothing to -do save to idle about a doorway of the palace, opposite the place du -Palais Royal, watching the throng of shoppers scurrying to and fro, and -passing in and out of the big magasins du Louvre. It was only as sunset -approached that the drummer of the guard detail had any duty to perform. -Then he marched, all alone, with his drum slung on his hip, across the -place du Carrousel, and down the wide central promenade of the Tuileries -gardens, to the circular basin at their western end, where, on pleasant -afternoons, the little Parisians--and some, too, of larger -growth--manoeuvred their miniature yachts, to the extreme vexation of -the sluggish gold-fish. There, standing motionless, like a sketch by -Edouard Detaille, he watched the sun creep lower, lower, behind the arc -de l'Etoile, until it went out of sight, and then, turning, he marched -back, drumming sturdily, to warn all who lingered in the gardens that -the gates were about to close. - -But they were not good for Little Tapin, those hours of idleness at the -portals of the palace. It is the second busiest and most densely -thronged spot in Paris, this: first the place de l'Opéra, and then the -place du Palais Royal. And to Little Tapin's eyes, as he glanced up and -down the rue de Rivoli, the great city seemed more careless, more cruel -than ever, and bit by bit the rebellious impulse born in the dortoir -grew stronger, more irresistible. His Breton mind was slow to action, -but, once set in a direction, it was obstinacy itself. He took no heed -of consequences. If he realized at any stage of his meditation what the -outcome of desertion must inevitably be, it was only to put the thought -resolutely from him. Capture, court-martial, imprisonment, they were -only names to him. What was real was that he should see Plougastel -again, sit hand in hand with Rosalie, and refind his comrades, the wide, -sunlit harbor, and the impatient western wind, for which his heart was -aching. What was false and unbearable was longer service in an army that -he loathed. - -He arranged the details of escape in his mind, as he sat apart from his -comrades of the guard, fingering the drum-cords. An hour's leave upon -the morrow--certainly the tambour-major would grant him so much, if he -said it was to bid his sister good-by; then, a change from his detested -uniform to a cheap civile in the shop of some second-hand dealer in the -Gobelins quarter; and, finally, a quick dash to the gare Montparnasse, -when he should have learned the hour of his train, and so, away to -Finistère. It sounded extremely simple, as all such plans do, when the -wish is father to the thought, and in his calculations he went no -further than Plougastel. After that, one would see. So the long -afternoon stole past. - -At seven o'clock the lieutenant of the guard touched Little Tapin upon -the shoulder, and, more by instinct than actual perception, he sprang to -his feet and saluted. - -"Voyons, mon petit," said the officer, not unkindly. "It is time thou -wast off. Thou knowest thy duty--eh? There is no need of instructions?" - -"Oh, ça me connait, mon lieutenant," answered Little Tapin quaintly, -and, presently, he was striding away to his post, under the arc de -Triomphe, past the statues, and the flowerbeds, and the dancing -fountains, across the rue des Tuileries, and so into the wide, central -promenade of the gardens beyond. - -The old woman who sold cakes, and reglisse, and balloons to the -children, was putting up the shutters of her little booth as he passed, -and two others were piling wooden chairs in ungainly pyramids under the -trees, though the gardens were still full of people, hurrying north and -south on the transverse paths leading to the rue de Rivoli or to the -quai and the pont de Solférino. But, curiously enough, the open space -around the western basin was almost deserted as Little Tapin took his -position, facing the great grille. - -The mid-August afternoon had been oppressively warm, and now a thin haze -had risen from the wet wood pavement of the place de la Concorde, and -hovered low, pink in the light of the setting sun. Directly before -Little Tapin the obelisk raised its warning finger, and beyond, the -Champs Elysées, thickly dotted with carriages, and half veiled by great -splotches of ruddy-yellow dust, swept away in a long, upward curve -toward the distant arc de l'Etoile. - -But of all this Little Tapin saw nothing. He stood very still, with his -back to the basin, where the fat goldfish went to and fro like lazy -sentinels, on the watch for a possible belated little boy, with a pocket -full of crumbs. He was still deep in his dream of Plougastel, so deep -that he could almost smell the salt breeze rollicking in from the -Goulet, and hear the chapel bell sending the Angelus out over the -strawberry fields and the rock-dotted hillside. - -After a minute, something--a teamster's shout, or the snap of a -cocher's whip--roused him, and he glanced around with the same -half-sensation of terror with which he had wakened in the night to hear -the guards shouting "Le Mans!" and "Chartres!" Then the reality came -back to him with a rush, and he grumbled to himself. Oh, it was all very -well, the wonderful French army, all very well if one could have been a -marshal or a general, or even a soldier of the line in time of war. -There was a chance for glory, bon sang! But to be a drummer--a drummer -one metre seventy in height, with flaming red hair and a freckled -face--a drummer who was called Little Tapin; and to have, for one's most -important duty, to drum the loungers out of a public garden! No, -evidently he would desert. - -"But why?" said a grave voice beside him. - -Little Tapin was greatly startled. He had not thought he was saying the -words aloud. And his fear increased when, on turning to see who had -spoken, he found himself looking into the eyes of one who was evidently -an officer, though his uniform was unfamiliar. He was plain-shaven and -very short, almost as short, indeed, as Little Tapin himself, but about -him there was a something of dignity and command which could not fail of -its effect. He wore a great black hat like a gendarme's, but without -trimming, and a blue coat with a white plastron, the tails lined with -scarlet, and the sleeves ending in red and white cuffs. White breeches, -and knee-boots carefully polished, completed the uniform, and from over -his right shoulder a broad band of crimson silk was drawn tightly across -his breast. A short sword hung straight at his hip, and on his left -breast were three orders on red ribbons,--a great star, with an eagle in -the centre, backed by a sunburst studded with brilliants; another eagle, -this one of white enamel, pendant from a jeweled crown, and a smaller -star of enameled white and green, similar to the large one. - -Little Tapin had barely mastered these details when the other spoke -again. - -"Why art thou thinking to desert?" he said. - -"Monsieur is an officer?" faltered the drummer,--"a general, perhaps. -Pardon, but I do not know the uniform." - -"A corporal, simply--a soldier of France, like thyself. Be not afraid, -my little one. All thou sayest shall be held in confidence. Tell me thy -difficulties." - -His voice was very kind, the kindest Little Tapin had heard in three -long months, and suddenly the barrier of his Breton reserve gave and -broke. The nervous strain had been too great. He must have sympathy and -advice--yes, even though it meant confiding in a stranger and the -possible discovery and failure of his dearly cherished plans. - -"A soldier of France!" he exclaimed, impulsively. "Ah, monsieur, there -you have all my difficulty. What a thing it is to be a soldier of -France! And not even that, but a drummer, a drummer who is called Little -Tapin because he is the smallest and weakest in the corps. To be taken -from home, from the country he loves, from Brittany, and made to serve -among men who despise him, who laugh at him, who avoid him in the hours -of leave, because he is not bon camarade. To wear a uniform that has -been already worn. To sleep in a dormitory where there are bêtes -funestes. To have no friends. To know that he is not to see Plougastel, -and the sweetheart, and the Little Mother for three years. Never to -fight, but, at best, to drum voyous out of a garden! That, monsieur, is -what it is to be a soldier of France!" - -There were tears in Little Tapin's eyes now, but he was more angry than -sad. The silence of months was broken, and the hoarded resentment and -despair of his long martyrdom, once given rein, were not to be checked a -second time. He threw back his narrow shoulders defiantly, and said a -hideous thing:-- - -"Conspuez l'armée française!" - -There was an instant's pause, and then the other leaned forward, and -with one white-gloved hand touched Little Tapin on the eyes. - - * * * * * - -Before them a great plain, sloping very gradually upward in all -directions, like a vast, shallow amphitheatre, spread away in a long -series of low terraces to where, in the dim distance, the peaks of a -range of purple hills nicked and notched a sky of palest turquoise. From -where they stood, upon a slight elevation, the details of even the -farthest slopes seemed singularly clean-cut and distinct,--the groups of -grey willows; the poplars, standing stiffly in twos and threes; the -short silver reaches of a little river, lying in the hollows where the -land occasionally dipped; at long intervals, a whitewashed cottage, -gleaming like a sail against this sea of green; even, on the most -distant swell of all, a herd of ruddy cattle, moving slowly up toward -the crest,--each and all of these, although in merest miniature, as -clear and vivid in form and color as if they had been the careful -creations of a Claude Lorrain. - -Directly before the knoll upon which they were stationed, a wide road, -dazzling white in the sunlight, swept in a superb full curve from left -to right, and on its further side the ground was covered with -close-cropped turf, and completely empty for a distance of two hundred -metres. But beyond! Beyond, every hectare of the great semicircle was -occupied by dense masses of cavalry, infantry, and artillery, regiment -upon regiment, division upon division, corps upon corps, an innumerable -multitude, motionless, as if carved out of many-colored marbles! - -In some curious, unaccountable fashion, Little Tapin seemed to know all -these by name. There, to the left, were the chasseurs à pied, their huge -bearskins flecked with red and green pompons, and their white -cross-belts slashed like capital X's against the blue of their tunics; -there, beside them, the foot artillery, a long row of metal collar -plates, like dots of gold, and gold trappings against dark blue; to the -right, the Garde Royale Hollandaise, in brilliant crimson and white; in -the centre, the infantry of the Guard, with tall, straight pompons, red -above white, and square black shakos, trimmed with scarlet cord. - -Close at hand, surrounding Little Tapin and his companion, were the most -brilliant figures of the scene, and these, too, he seemed to know by -name. None was missing. Prince Murat, in a cream-white uniform blazing -with gold embroidery, and with a scarlet ribbon across his breast; a -group of marshals, Ney, Oudinot, Duroc, Macdonald, Augereau, and Soult, -with their yellow sashes, and cocked hats laced with gold; a score of -generals, Larouche, Durosnel, Marmont, Letort, Henrion, Chasteller, and -the rest, with white instead of gold upon their hats,--clean-shaven, -severe of brow and lip-line, they stood without movement, their -gauntleted hands upon their sword-hilts, gazing straight before them. - -Little Tapin drew a deep breath. - -Suddenly from somewhere came a short, sharp bugle note, and instantly -the air was full of the sound of hoofs, and the ring of scabbards and -stirrup-irons, and the wide white road before them alive with flying -cavalry. Squadron after squadron, they thundered by: mounted chasseurs, -with pendants of orange-colored cloth fluttering from their shakos, and -plaits of powdered hair bobbing at their cheeks; Polish light horse, -with metal sunbursts gleaming on their square-topped helmets, and -crimson and white pennons snapping in the wind at the points of their -lances; Old Guard cavalry, with curving helmets like Roman legionaries; -Mamelukes, with full red trousers, white and scarlet turbans, strange -standards of horsehair surmounted by the imperial eagle, brazen stirrups -singularly fashioned, and horse trappings of silver with flying crimson -tassels; Horse Chasseurs of the Guard, in hussar tunics and yellow -breeches, their sabretaches swinging as they rode; and Red Lancers, in -gay uniforms of green and scarlet. Like a whirlwind they went -past,--each squadron, in turn, wheeling to the left, and coming to a -halt in the open space beyond the road, until the last lancer swept by. - -A thick cloud of white dust, stirred into being by the flying horses, -now hung between the army and the knoll, and through this one saw dimly -the mounted band of the 20th Chasseurs, on gray stallions, occupying the -centre of the line, and heard, what before had been drowned by the -thunder of hoofs, the strains of "Partant pour la Syrie." - -Slowly, slowly, the dust cloud thinned and lifted, so slowly that it -seemed as if it would never wholly clear. But, on a sudden, a sharp puff -of wind sent it whirling off in arabesques to the left, and the whole -plain lay revealed. - -"Bon Dieu!" said Little Tapin. - -The first rank of cavalry was stationed within a metre of the further -border of the road, the line sweeping off to the left and right until -details became indistinguishable. And beyond, reaching away in a solid -mass, the vast host dwindled and dwindled, back to where the ascending -slopes were broken by the distant willows and the reaches of the silver -stream. With snowy white of breeches and plastrons, with lustre of -scarlet velvet and gold lace, with sparkle of helmet and cuirass, and -dull black of bearskin and smoothly groomed flanks, the army blazed and -glowed in the golden sunlight like a mosaic of a hundred thousand -jewels. Silent, expectant, the legions flashed crimson, emerald, and -sapphire, rolling away in broad swells of light and color, motionless -save for a long, slow heave, as of the ocean, lying, vividly iridescent, -under the last rays of the setting sun. Then, without warning, as if the -touch of a magician's wand had roused the multitude to life, a myriad -sabres swept twinkling from their scabbards, and, by tens of thousands, -the guns of the infantry snapped with a sharp click to a present arms. -The bugles sounded all along the line, the tricolors dipped until their -golden fringes almost swept the ground, the troopers stood upright in -their stirrups, their heads thrown back, their bronzed faces turned -toward the knoll, their eyes blazing. And from the farthest slopes -inward, like thunder that growls afar, and, coming nearer, swells into -unbearable volume, a hoarse cry ran down the massed battalions and broke -in a stupendous roar upon the shuddering air,-- - -"Vive l'empereur!" - - * * * * * - -Little Tapin rubbed his eyes. - -"I am ill," he murmured. "I have been faint. I seemed to see"-- - -"Thou hast seen," said the voice of his companion, very softly, very -solemnly,--"thou hast seen simply what it is to be a soldier of France!" - -His hand rested an instant on the drummer's shoulder, with the ghost of -a caress. - -"My little one," he added, tenderly, "forget not this. It matters -nothing whether one is Emperor of the French or the smallest drummer of -the corps, whom men call 'Little Tapin.' I, too, was called 'little' in -the time--'The Little Corporal' they called me, from Moscow to the -Loire. But it is all the same. Chief of the army, drummer of the corps, -on the field of battle, in the gardens of the Tuileries, routing the -Prussians, or drumming out the voyous,--it is all the same, my little -one, it is all the same. All that is necessary is to understand--to -understand that it is all and always for la belle France. Empire or -republic, in peace or war--what difference? It is still France, still -the tricolor, still l'armée française." - -He lifted his hat, and looked steadily up at the sky, where the first -stars were shouldering their way into view. - -"Vive la France!" he added. And on his lips the phrase was like a -prayer. - -Through the arc de l'Etoile the fading sunset looked back, as upon -something it was loath to leave. Then Little Tapin flung back his head. -There was a strange, new light in his eyes, and his breath came quickly, -between parted lips. Without a word he swung upon his heels, slipped his -drum into place, and marched steadily away, beating the long roll. Once, -when he had gone a hundred metres, he looked back. The figure of the -Little Corporal was still standing beside the basin, but now it was very -thin and faint, like the dust clouds on the Champs Elysées. But, as the -little drummer turned, it raised one hand to its forehead in salute. - -Little Tapin stood motionless for an instant, and then he smiled, and, -through the deepening twilight-- - -"Vive l'armée!" he shouted, shrilly. "Vive la France!" - - - - -The Riverside Press - -_Electrotyped and printed by H. O. 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