diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/60125-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/60125-0.txt | 9413 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9413 deletions
diff --git a/old/60125-0.txt b/old/60125-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0d9db27..0000000 --- a/old/60125-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9413 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Winding Stair, by A. E. W. Mason - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Winding Stair - -Author: A. E. W. Mason - -Release Date: August 26, 2019 [EBook #60125] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WINDING STAIR *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration: _A William Fox Production._ _The Winding Stair._ “NO -MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, I’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.”] - - - - - =THE= - =WINDING STAIR= - - - =BY= - =A. E. W. MASON= - - =AUTHOR OF= - =THE FOUR FEATHERS, Etc.= - - - - =“_All rising to great place is by_= - =_a winding stair._”—Bacon.= - - - - =N E W Y O R K= - =G R O S S E T & D U N L A P= - =P U B L I S H E R S= - - Made in the United States of America - - - - - =COPYRIGHT, 1923,= - =BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY= - - - =THE WINDING STAIR.= - =———= - =PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA= - - - - - CONTENTS - - CHAPTER PAGE - I Flags and Pedigree. . . . . 9 - II The Man with the Medals. . . 23 - III At King’s Corner. . . . . 31 - IV Betwixt and Between. . . . 44 - V The Villa Iris. . . . . . 49 - VI The Order. . . . . . . 62 - VII The Pilgrimage. . . . . . 74 - VIII Henriette Explains. . . . . 85 - IX Marguerite Lambert. . . . . 98 - X Colonel Vanderfelt’s Letter. . 114 - XI A Dilemma. . . . . . . 119 - XII The Little Door in the Angle. . 136 - XIII The Companions of the Night. . 143 - XIV The Tunic. . . . . . . 160 - XV On the Roof Top. . . . . 173 - XVI Marguerite’s Way Out. . . . 185 - XVII The Outcasts. . . . . . 196 - XVIII Captain Laguessière’s Report. . 212 - XIX In the Sacred City. . . . . 227 - XX The Coup de Grâce. . . . . 239 - XXI Two Outcasts. . . . . . 248 - XXII The Splendid Throw. . . . . 261 - XXIII The Necessary Man. . . . . 272 - - - - - THE WINDING STAIR - - - - - CHAPTER I - - - Flags and Pedigree - -“I have finished work for the week. I’ll see no one else were he as -terse as Tacitus,” cried Mr. Ferguson, the lawyer. - -It was six o’clock on a Friday afternoon and a pleasant rustle of the -plane trees in the square came through the open window of the office. -Mr. Ferguson thought of his cool garden at Goring, with the river -running past, and of the fine long day he would have upon the links -to-morrow. Gregory, the head clerk, however, held his ground. - -“Perhaps if you would look at this card, Mr. Ferguson.” - -Mr. Ferguson looked at the size of it. - -“By the Lord, no! It’s a woman. She’ll be as prolix as the devil.” - -“It’s not a woman,” the stubborn Gregory insisted. - -“Then it’s a foreigner, and that’s worse.” - -“It’s not even a real foreigner,” said Gregory. He had been a servant of -the firm for thirty years, and knew the ins and outs of its affairs as -thoroughly as the principals. - -“You are very annoying, Gregory,” said Mr. Ferguson, with a sigh. He -took the card regretfully, but when he had read the name printed upon -it, he dropped it upon his table as if it had stung his hand. - -“Paul Ravenel!” he said in a low voice, with a glance towards the door. -“The son.” - -“Yes.” - -“Is he like the father?” - -“Not in the least.” - -Mr. Ferguson was distressed. It was nine years since he had finished -with that affair, settled it up, locked it away and turned his back on -it for good—as he thought. And here was the son knocking on his door. - -“I must see him, I suppose. I can do no less,” he said, but as Gregory -turned towards the door he stopped him. “Why should Paul Ravenel come to -see me?” he asked himself. “And how much does he know? Wait a moment, -Gregory. I have got to go warily here.” - -He sat down at his desk. Mr. Ferguson was a man, of middle age, with a -round, genial face and a thick covering of silver-white hair. He looked -like a prosperous country gentleman, which he was, and he had the -reputation of the astutest criminal lawyer of his day. He was that, too. -His kindly manner concealed him, yet he was not false. For he was at -once the best of friends, with his vast experience of the law as a sort -of zareeba for their refuge, and the most patient and relentless of -antagonists; and he had a special kindliness which showed itself -conspicuously in his accounts, for all connected with the arts. It was -an old friendship which was troubling him now as he sat at his desk. -Paul Ravenel, according to his knowledge, would take this or that line -in the interview, Mr. Ferguson must be clear as to how in each case he -should answer. Problems were his daily food—at least until six o’clock -on Friday evening. Yet this problem he met with discomfort. - -“You can show him in now,” he said to Gregory, and a few seconds later -the visitor stood within the room, a tall slim youth, brown of face and -with hair so golden that the sun seemed to have taken from it the colour -which it had tanned upon his cheeks. - -“You wish to see me, Mr. Ravenel?” he asked, and a smile suddenly broke -upon the boy’s face and made him winning. Mr. Ferguson made a note in -his mind of the smile, for he had not as yet its explanation. - -“Yes,” answered Paul. “I should have been more correct in approaching so -prominent a firm, had I written asking for an appointment. But I only -landed in England this morning, and I couldn’t really wait.” - -His formal little prepared apology broke down in a laugh and an eager -rush of words. - -“That’s all right,” said Mr. Ferguson pleasantly. “Take a chair and tell -me what I can do for you.” - -“You knew my father,” said Paul, when he had laid down his hat and stick -and taken his seat. Mr. Ferguson allowed himself a sharp glance at the -lad. For his tone was without any embarrassment at all, any shame or -embarrassment. He was at his ease. - -“I knew Mr. Ravenel—yes,” Mr. Ferguson answered cautiously. - -“He died a fortnight ago.” - -“I was sorry to notice that you were wearing black.” - -“He died in a house which he had built upon an island off the coast of -Spain at Aguilas. I lived with him there, during the last eight months, -after I left my school at Tours,” Paul continued. - -“Yes?” said Mr. Ferguson. - -“My father and I were always—how shall I put it?—in a relationship -which precluded any confidences and even any cordiality. It wasn’t that -we ever quarrelled. We hardly were well enough acquainted for that. But -we were uncomfortable in each other’s company and the end of a meal at -which we had sat together was to both of us an invariable relief. He had -what I think is a special quality of soldiers—he was in the Army, of -course, wasn’t he?” - -Paul broke off to ask his question in the most casual manner. But Mr. -Ferguson did not answer it. It was a neat little trap prepared with more -skill than the lawyer had expected. For up till the question was -unconcernedly dropped in, Paul had been framing his sentences with a -sort of pedantry natural to a man who from the nature of his life must -get his English words from books rather than from conversation. - -“You say Monsieur Ravenel had some special quality of soldiers,” Mr. -Ferguson observed. - -“Yes,” Paul explained. “I approached a subject, or I used a phrase, and -suddenly it seemed as if an iron door was banged in my face, and he was -now behind the door, and not the loudest knocking in the world would -ever get it open. So I have come to you.” - -“For information your father did not see fit to give you?” said Mr. -Ferguson. - -“Yes.” - -“But Monsieur Ravenel had no doubt a lawyer in Paris and an agent in -Casablanca, where he lived for many years, both of whom will be familiar -with his affairs. Why come to me?” - -“Because it is not about his affairs that I am seeking information,” -said Paul, and he took a letter from his pocket-case and handed it to -Mr. Ferguson. “This was written by your firm, Mr. Ferguson. It is one of -the two clues to my father’s history which he left behind him. It -slipped out of a book upon his shelf.” - -“Certainly the letter was written by our firm to your father, Mr. -Ravenel. But it was the last letter we wrote to him. It closed our -connection with him. We never heard from him again; and the letter is as -you have seen, nine years old.” - -“Exactly,” said Paul. “Just about that time my father and I were in -London together for a couple of months, and when I found that letter it -seemed to me to explain why. My father was in London to arrange for the -transfer of his property to France, for the final annihilation of all -his interests and associations with this country.” - -It was an assertion rather than a question, but Mr. Ferguson answered -it. - -“Yes. I suppose that you may put it that way.” - -“Before that time, then, you were his advisers.” - -“Yes.” - -“That’s why I came to you, Mr. Ferguson,” cried the youth eagerly. “I -want to know what happened to my father in the days when you were his -advisers. I want to know why he renounced his own country, why he buried -himself first in a little distant town on the sea coast of Morocco like -Casablanca, why he took refuge afterwards in a still closer seclusion at -Aguilas in Spain. You know! You must know!” - -Mr. Ferguson rose from his desk and walked to the fireplace which was -between his desk and the chair on which Paul was seated. He was puzzled -by the manner of the appeal. There was more eagerness than anxiety in -it. There was certainly no fear. There was even confidence. Mr. Ferguson -wondered whether young Ravenel had some explanation of his own, an -explanation which quite satisfied him and which he only needed to have -confirmed. Paul’s voice broke in upon his wondering. - -“Of course I can always find out. It’s only a question of knowing the -ropes. I have no doubt a good enquiry agent could get me the truth in a -very few days if I went to one.” - -Mr. Ferguson lifted himself on his toes and looked up to the ceiling. - -“I don’t think I should do that,” he answered. - -“Whether I do or not depends upon you, Mr. Ferguson,” said Paul, very -quietly. “It’s not curiosity that’s driving me, but I have my life in -front of me, and a plan for it.” - -He rose and stood at the open window for a moment or two, and then -turned abruptly back and stood before Mr. Ferguson. - -“You see, I was nine years old when I was with my father in London, old -enough to notice, and old enough to remember. And one or two very -curious things happened. We were in lodgings in a little quiet street, -and except on occasions when, I suppose, he had appointments with you, -my father never went out by daylight.” - -“Here it comes,” thought Mr. Ferguson, but his face was quite without -expression, and the youth resumed: - -“But as soon as darkness fell we took long tramps through the city, -where the streets were empty of everything but the lamp-posts, and the -only sounds were the hollow sounds of our own footsteps upon the -pavement.” - -“Yes,” Mr. Ferguson interrupted. “One couldn’t choose a better place for -exercise than the city of London after dark.” - -Paul laughed pleasantly and Mr. Ferguson reflected, “I have never been -called a liar in a prettier fashion.” - -“On one of these nightly rambles,” Paul resumed, “we turned into a -street closed at one end by a stately building of pinnacles and a -sloping roof, and windows of richly stained glass. This building was a -blaze of light, and in the courtyard in front of it motor-cars and -carriages were taking up ladies in bright evening frocks and coats and -men with orders upon their breasts.” - -Mr. Ferguson nodded his head. - -“A dinner at the Guildhall, yes.” - -“It was curious to come suddenly out of darkness and silence and -emptiness,” Paul Ravenel resumed, “into this gay scene of colour and -enjoyment and light. You can imagine how it impressed a child. This was -what I wanted. I hated long, empty, echoing streets with chains of lamps -stretching ahead. Here I heard to me a sound unknown and divine—I heard -women laughing. ‘Oh, father, do let us stay for a moment and look!’ I -cried, but my father gripped me by the arm, and strode across the road -so swiftly that I had to run to keep up with him. There was the mouth of -another street nearly opposite, and it was that street which my father -wanted to reach.” - -“Yes?” said Mr. Ferguson. - -“But a man was walking with a limp from the building along the pavement -on the far side of our road. It was a hot night, and he carried his -overcoat upon his arm, and I saw that a conspicuous row of miniature -medals with their coloured ribbons stretched across his left breast. We -reached the kerb when he was only a few yards from us. I felt my -father’s hand tremble suddenly upon my arm. I thought that he was on the -point of turning away in flight. But since that would have been more -noticeable, he just dropped his head so that the brim of his hat -shadowed his face and strode swiftly past the man with the medals. That -man only gave us a careless glance, and I heard my father draw a sigh of -relief. But a few paces on the man with the medals stopped and looked -back. Then he called out: ‘Ned! Ned!’ in a startled voice, and began to -retrace, as fast as his limp would allow him, his steps towards us. - -“My father whispered to me: ‘Take no notice, boy! Walk straight on,’ and -in a moment dived into the silence of the street opposite. I turned my -head after we had travelled a few yards in our new direction and I saw -the man with the medals at the angle of the street peering after us as -if he were undecided whether to follow us or not. There the incident -ended, but it was—well—significant, wasn’t it?” - -Mr. Ferguson was distinctly uncomfortable. A pair of very steady and -watchful grey eyes were fixed upon his. He was being cross-examined and -not clumsily, and by a boy; and all of this he fretfully resented. To do -the cross-examining was his function in life, not the other fellow’s. -Besides, how was he to answer that word significant? Such a good word! -For it opened no glimpses of the questioner’s point of view and was a -trap for the questioned. - -“Was it significant?” he asked. - -Paul suddenly smiled, and Mr. Ferguson was more perplexed than ever. The -boy was not obtuse—that was clear. It was no less clear, then, that he -attached some quite special significance of his own invention to the -incident he had related. Monsieur Ravenel was in hiding—that’s what the -incident signified. How had Paul missed it? What strange amulet was he -wearing that saved him from the desolating truth? - -“Did you ever read ‘Balaustion’s Adventure’?” Paul inquired, and Mr. -Ferguson jumped. - -“I wish you wouldn’t spring from one subject to another like that,” he -answered, testily. - -“I am on the same subject,” said Paul. - -“Well, then, I did. I used it as a crib for the Alcestis when I was at -school.” - -“A pretty good crib, too.” - -“Very.” - -“But the translation of the Alcestis isn’t the whole of the poem, is it? -The Alcestis makes things pretty black for Admetus, doesn’t it? You’d -call him a bit of a rotter, wouldn’t you? That is, if you take the first -surface meaning of the play. But Balaustion found another meaning -underneath which transfigures Admetus, turns the black to white. Well, -humbly, but just as confidently, I look underneath the first obvious -meaning of what I told you. That’s disgrace, isn’t it? Let’s be frank -about it! A man in disgrace shunning his friends! There’s the surface -reading. And there’s no other—except mine.” - -“Let me hear it,” said Mr. Ferguson quickly. He returned to the chair at -his table. Here might be, after all, a pleasant way out of this -disconcerting interview. “Will you smoke?” he asked, and he held out a -tin of cigarettes to his visitor. - -“Now fire away!” he said. Mr. Ferguson was in a much more cheerful mood. - -Discomfort, however, had not vanished from the room. It had passed from -Mr. Ferguson. But it had entered into Paul. He stammered and was shy. -Finally he blurted out: - -“I find the explanation of everything in my father’s passionate love for -my mother.” - -Mr. Ferguson’s eyes turned slowly from the plane trees to Paul’s face. - -“Will you go on, please?” - -“My mother was French.” - -“Yes. Virginia Ravenel. She sang for one season at Covent Garden. She -was the most beautiful girl I ever saw in my life.” He laughed, tenderly -caressing his recollections. “There was a time when I fancied myself -your father’s rival. You have a look of her, Mr. Ravenel. She was fair -like you,” and he was still musing with pleasure and just a touch of -regret upon the pangs and ardours of that long-vanished season of summer -and magic, when Paul Ravenel thoroughly startled him. - -“I think that my mother died in giving me birth,” he said. “That’s how I -explain to myself my father’s distance and uneasiness with me. I was the -enemy, and worse than that, the enemy who had won. No wonder he couldn’t -endure me, if with her death his whole world went dark. And everything -else follows, doesn’t it? His friends came to mean—not nothing at all, -but an actual annoyance, an encroachment on his grief. He shut himself -up far away in a little town where no one knew him, and brooded over his -loss. And men who do that become extravagant, don’t they, and lose their -perspective, and do far-fetched, unreasonable things. Thus, my mother -was French. So in a sort of distorted tribute to her memory, he changed -his own nationality and took hers, and with it her name, and cut himself -completely off from all his old world—a sort of monk of Love!” - -Mr. Ferguson listened to the boy’s speech, which was delivered with a -good deal of hesitation, without changing a muscle of his face. So this -was why Paul could elate with a laugh the flight from the man with the -medals and the lighted courtyard of the Guildhall. This was what he -believed! Well, it was the explanation which a boy ignorant of life, -nursed by dreams and poetry and loneliness and eager to believe the -world a place of sunlight and high thoughts, might easily have -conceived. - -“Isn’t that the explanation, Mr. Ferguson?” Paul asked; and Mr. Ferguson -replied without the twitch of a muscle: - -“Absolutely! I did not think that you could have understood your -father’s reticence so thoroughly.” - -If one must do a thing, to do it with an air is the best way to carry -conviction, thought Mr. Ferguson, and he rose from his chair with a deep -relief. The interview was over, his visitor obviously satisfied, he -could shake him by the hand and after all catch his train to Goring. - -Mr. Ferguson’s relief, however, was premature. For the younger man -cried: - -“Good! For now the way is clear for me, and I can ask you for your -professional help.” - -“Oh!” said the lawyer doubtfully. “I didn’t understand that you came as -a client. I am not very sure that we can undertake much more than we -have upon our hands.” - -“It’s not so much more, Mr. Ferguson.” - -“I must be the judge of that. Let me hear what it is that you wish.” - -“I wish to resume my own real nationality,” said Paul. “I am of my race. -I want the name of it, too.” - -Paul was of his race. It was not merely the long-legged build of him, -nor the cut of his clothes, nor the make of his shoes, but a whole -combination of small, indefinable qualities and movements and -repressions which proved it. - -“I should never have mistaken him for anything else,” thought Mr. -Ferguson. There was that little speech, for instance, about his father’s -love for his mother, halting, shy, stammered, as if he were more than -half ashamed of admitting the emotions to another man, and tongue-tied -in consequence. The words would have run glibly enough had a French lad -spoken them. - -“And with my race, I mean of course also to resume my father’s name,” -Paul continued. - -There had suddenly grown up an antagonism between these two people; and -both were aware of it. Paul’s questions became a little implacable; Mr. -Ferguson’s silence a little obstinate. “You know it, of course, Mr. -Ferguson,” Paul insisted. - -“Of course,” replied Mr. Ferguson. - -“Will you tell it to me, please?” - -“I will not.” - -“Why not?” - -“Your father never told you it. Your father was my client for years, my -friend for many more. I respect his wishes.” - -Paul Ravenel bowed and accepted the refusal. - -“I have only one more question to ask of you, Mr. Ferguson.” - -“I will answer it if I can.” - -“Thank you! Who is John Edward Revel?” - -“I really don’t know.” - -Paul bowed again. He took up his hat and his stick. He was not smiling -any more, and in his eyes there was a look of apprehension. He did not -hold out his hand to Mr. Ferguson. - -“It will have to be the enquiry agent after all, then,” he said. “Good -evening.” - -The lawyer allowed him to reach the door, and then spoke in an altered -voice. There was a warm kindliness in it now, and to the youth’s anxious -and attentive ears a very audible note of commiseration. - -“Mr. Ravenel, I want you to give me four days before you set on foot any -inquiry. There are others concerned in the matter. I assure you that you -will be wise.” - -Paul shook his head. “Four days. What shall I do with myself during -those four days?” - -“You have been very lonely for years,” said the lawyer gently. “Four -days more, what do they mean?” - -“During those years,” answered Paul, “I have had the future for my -companion. Have I got that companion now?” and Mr. Ferguson was silent. - -“I came to your office full of expectation. I have not even now revealed -to you the plan I had formed,” Paul resumed. “I leave it a prey to a -very deep anxiety. That name I mentioned to you, I found written on the -flyleaf of an old manual on infantry drill in my father’s bedroom. It -was the only old book on his shelf from which the flyleaf had not been -torn out. I am only now beginning to grasp what that may mean.” But -since Mr. Ferguson had ceased to dispute or pretend, and showed openly a -face where distress was joined with good will, the young man cried: - -“Still, I’ll give you the four days, Mr. Ferguson.” - -He wrote down the name of his hotel upon a slip of paper and left it on -the desk, and shook the lawyer by the hand. - -Left alone, Mr. Ferguson sat for a little while in a muse, living again -the sweet and bitter scenes of vanished years. To what unhappy ends of -death and disgrace had those anxieties and endeavours led? To what -futilities the buoyant aspiration? He rang the bell upon his desk, and -when his head clerk appeared he said: - -“I want a message telephoned to Goring that I shall not get home until -eight. Then every one can go. I have a letter to write which will take a -little time.” - -“Very well, sir,” said Gregory, and Mr. Ferguson suddenly slapped his -hand down on the table in exasperation. - -“Isn’t it a curious thing, Gregory?” he exclaimed. “Here’s a man takes a -world of pains to destroy all traces and records and then keeps by him -one book with a name written upon the flyleaf which brings in a second -all his trouble to nothing! But it’s always the way. Something’s -forgotten which you’d think no man in his senses would overlook! Half -the miseries in the world I do believe come from such omissions.” - -“And more than half our business,” Gregory replied drily. - -Mr. Ferguson broke into a laugh. - -“Why, that’s true, Gregory,” he cried. “And now leave me to my letter!” - -He worded his letter with infinite care, for it was as delicate a piece -of work as he had ever been called upon to do, and it took him a full -hour. He posted it himself in a pillar-box on his way to Paddington. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - - The Man with the Medals - -Though Paul left Mr. Ferguson’s office with a calm enough face, his mind -was bewildered and fear clutched at his heart. Things were happening to -him which he had never imagined at all. He had been confident with all -the perfect confidence of eighteen years and his confidence in a second -was gone. He was in real distress, which made him ache like some -physical hurt and tortured him at night so that he could not sleep till -long after daybreak. He could not adjust himself to the new conditions -of his life. He looked with surprise upon other people, in the streets -or in the public rooms of his hotel, who were unaware of the troubles -which had hold of him. - -He had planned his visit to London full with many a pilgrimage. The -London of Dickens and De Quincey—its inns, its gardens and churches! -That old mansion at the northwest corner of Greek Street, where Mr. -Brunell had given a lodging and a bundle of law papers for a pillow, to -his youthful client—all were to be visited with a thrill of excitement -and a hope that they would not fall short of the images he had made of -them in his thoughts. But the glamour had faded from all these designs. -He paced the streets, and indeed all day, but it was to get through the -long dismal hours and he walked like one in a maze. - -He knew no one and throughout the four days no one spoke to him at all. -He moved through the crowded thoroughfares unnoticed as a wraith; he sat -apart in restaurants; and as his father had done, he tramped by night -the hollow-sounding streets of the city where the lamp-posts kept their -sentry guard. On the fifth day, however, the expected letter did come by -the first post from Mr. Ferguson. - -“If you will travel to Pulburo’ in Sussex by the 3.55 P. M. train from -Victoria on the day you receive this, Colonel Vanderfelt will send a car -to meet you at the station and will put you up for the night. Will you -please send a telegram to him”; and the Colonel’s address followed. - -Paul sent off his telegram at once and followed it in the afternoon. -Outside Pulboro’ station a small grey car was waiting and a girl of his -own age, with brown eyes and a fresh pretty face and a small bright blue -hat sitting tightly on her curls, was at the wheel. - -“I am Phyllis Vanderfelt,” she explained. “My father asked me to drive -in and fetch you. He has had to be away to-day and won’t get home much -before dinner time, I’m afraid.” - -She turned the car and drove westwards under the railway arch talking -rather quickly as people who are uneasy and dread an awkward silence -will do. They passed through a little town of narrow winding streets and -high walls clustered under a great church with a leaping spire, like a -piece of old France, and swung out onto a high wide road which dipped -and rose, with the great ridge of the South Downs sweeping from -Chanctonbury Ring to Hampshire on their left, forests and bush-strewn -slopes of emerald and cliffs of chalk silver-white in the sun, and from -end to end of the high rolling barrier the swift shadows of the clouds -flitting like great birds. - -They had ceased to talk now and there was no awkwardness in the silence. -Paul was leaning forward gazing about him with a queer look of eagerness -upon his face. - -“To come home to country like this!” he said in a low voice. “You can’t -think what it means after months of brown earth and hot skies.” - -Upon their right a low wall bordered the road, and on the other side of -the wall fallow-deer grazed in a Park. Beyond, a line of tall oaks -freshly green was the home of innumerable rooks who strewed the air -about the topmost branches, wheeling and cawing. The square tower of a -church stood upon a little hill. - -“It’s friendly, isn’t it?” he cried, and a look of commiseration made -the eyes of the girl at his side tender. Would he think this countryside -so friendly when the evening was over and he had got to his room? - -“Do you know our Downs?” - -Phyllis spoke at random and hastily as he turned towards her. - -“I wonder,” he answered. “Could I have forgotten them if I had once -known them? I seem to have been within a finger’s breadth of recognising -something.” - -“When you have seen my mother we will walk through the village. We shall -have time before dinner,” said Phyllis, and she turned the car into the -carriage-way of a square old house with big windows level with the wall, -which stood close to the road. - -Mrs. Vanderfelt, a middle-aged woman with shrewd and kindly eyes -received him with a touch of nervousness in her manner and, as her -daughter had done, talked volubly and a little at random whilst she was -giving him some tea. - -“I don’t know what you would like to do until dinner time,” she said, -and Phyllis said: - -“I am going to show Mr. Ravenel the village.” - -A glance of comprehension was swiftly exchanged between the mother and -the daughter, but not so swiftly but that Paul intercepted it. - -“You can get the key at Rapley’s,” said Mrs. Vanderfelt. - -The two young people came to four cross-roads, and Paul exclaimed: - -“Up the hill to the right, isn’t it?” - -“Yes.” - -They mounted the hill and Paul stopped. He pointed with his stick -towards the signboard of an inn built on the high bank above the road. - -“Now I know. I lived here once as a child. I always wondered why the -Horse Guards had an inn here, and what sort of people they were. I used -to imagine that they were half-horse, like the Centaurs, and I always -hoped to see them.” - -Phyllis Vanderfelt laughed. - -“Isn’t that like a man? I show you a place as beautiful as any in -England and the only thing which you have remembered of it from the time -when you were four is the place where you could get a drink.” - -“Yes, the Horseguards’ Inn,” repeated Paul cheerfully. “Let us go on!” - -But it was now Phyllis who stopped with a face from which the merriment -had gone. - -“I don’t know,” she said indecisively. “It shall be as you wish. But I -wonder. We talked it all over at home. We couldn’t tell whether it would -be helpful to you, whether you would care to remember everything -to-morrow—whether you already remembered. My father was quite clear -that you should see everything. But I am not sure—” - -Paul felt the clutch of fear catching his breath once more as he looked -into the girl’s compassionate eyes. - -“I am with your father,” he said. “My recollections are too faint. I can -only remember what I see. Let us go on!” - -“Very well!” - -Phyllis Vanderfelt went into one of the cottages and came out again with -a big key in her hand. Beyond the cottages a thick high hedge led on to -an old rose-red house with an oriel window looking down the road from -beneath a gable and a tiled roof golden with lichen. Wisteria draped the -walls in front with purple. - -“It is empty,” said Phyllis, as she put the key into the lock and opened -the door. The rooms were all dismantled, the floors uncarpeted. Paul -Ravenel shook his head. - -“I remember nothing here.” - -Phyllis led him through a window into a garden. A group of beech trees -sheltered the house from the southwest wind and beyond the beech trees -from a raised lawn their eyes swept over meadows and a low ridge of -black firs and once more commanded the shining Downs. Paul stood for a -little while in silence, whilst Phyllis watched his face. There came -upon it a look of perplexity and doubt. He turned back towards the -house. On its south side, a window had been thrown out; on its tiled -roof a wide band of white clematis streamed down like a great scarf. On -the wall beside the window a great magnolia climbed. - -“Wait a moment,” cried Paul; and as he gazed his vision cleared. He saw, -as the gifted see in a crystal, a scene small and distant and very -bright. - -There was a table raised up on some sort of stand upon the gravel paths -outside this window. A man was sitting at the table and a small crowd of -people, laughing and jeering a little—an unkindly crowd—was gathered -about him. And furniture and ornaments were brought out. He turned to -Phyllis. “There was a sale here, ever so long ago—and I was present -outside the crowd, looking on. I lived here, then?” - -“Yes,” said Phyllis. - -“And it was our furniture which was being sold?” - -“Yes.” - -So far there was no surprise for Paul Ravenel, nothing which conflicted -with his conception and estimate of his father. Monsieur Ravenel had -sold off his furniture, just as he had changed his name and abode. It -was part of the process of destroying all his associations with the -country and people of his birth. Only—his recollections had revealed -something new to him—and disquietingly significant. - -“Why were those who came to buy unfriendly and contemptuous?” he asked -slowly. - -“Are you sure that they were?” Phyllis returned. But she did not look at -Paul’s face and her voice was a little unsteady. - -“I am very sure about that,” said Paul. “A woman was with me, holding my -hand. She led me away—yes—I was frightened by those noisy, jeering -people, and she led me away. It was my nurse, I suppose. For my mother -was dead.” - -“Yes,” replied Phyllis, and then, not knowing how hard she struck, she -added, “Your mother had died a couple of months before the sale.” - -Paul Ravenel, during the last days, had been schooling himself to a -reserve of manner, but this statement, as of a thing well known which he -too must be supposed to know, loosened all his armour. A startled cry -burst from his lips. - -“What’s that?” he exclaimed, and with a frightened glance at his white -face Phyllis repeated her words. - -“I thought you knew,” she added. - -“No.” - -Paul walked a little apart. One of the garden paths was bordered by some -arches of roses. He stood by them, plucking at one or two of the flowers -and seeing none of them at all. The keystone of the explanation which he -had built in order to account for and uphold his father was down now and -with it the whole edifice. It had all depended upon the idea of a -passionate, enduring love in his father’s heart for the wife who had -died in giving birth to her son, the enemy. And in that idea there was -no truth at all! - -Paul reflected now in bitterness that there never had been any reason -why he should have held his belief—any wild outburst from Monsieur -Ravenel, any word of tender remembrance. He had got his illusion—yes, -he reached the truth now in this old garden—from an instinct to -preserve himself from hating that stranger with whom he lived and on -whom he depended for his food and the necessities of his life. He turned -suddenly back to Phyllis Vanderfelt. - -“What I don’t understand, Miss Phyllis, is how it is that remembering so -much of other things here, I can remember nothing of my mother.” - -“She only came home here to die,” Phyllis replied gently. - -Paul pressed his hands over his eyes for a moment or two in a gesture of -pain which made the young girl’s heart ache for him. But he looked at -her calmly afterwards and said: “I am afraid that Colonel Vanderfelt has -very bad news to tell me to-night.” - -Phyllis Vanderfelt laid her hand gently upon his arm. - -“You will remember that you have made very real friends here in a very -short time, won’t you?” she pleaded. “My mother and myself.” - -“Thank you,” said Paul. - -Yet another shock was waiting for him in Colonel Vanderfelt’s house. For -as he entered the drawing room three-quarters of an hour later, a tall -man lifted himself with an effort from an easy chair and with the help -of a stick limped across the room towards him. - -“This is my husband,” said Mrs. Vanderfelt, and before Paul could check -his tongue, the cry had sprung from his lips: - -“The man with the medals!” - -The older man’s eyes flashed with a sudden anger. Mrs. Vanderfelt gasped -and flushed red. Phyllis took a step forward. All had a look as if they -had suffered some bitter and intolerable insult. - -Paul quickly explained. “My father and I crossed you one night a long -time ago when you were coming from a banquet at the Guildhall. You -called to my father. I was a child, and I always remembered you as the -man with the medals. The phrase jumped out when I saw you again.” - -The fire died out of Colonel Vanderfelt’s eyes. A look of pity sheathed -them. - -“We will talk of all these things after dinner,” he said gently, and his -hand clasped the youth’s arm. “Let us go in now.” - - - - - CHAPTER III - - - At King’s Corner - -“Ferguson wrote to me that you mean to return to your own race,” said -Colonel Vanderfelt, when the ladies had withdrawn from the dining room. -He was a small, wiry man, dark of complexion, with a sleek black head of -hair in which there was not one visible thread of grey. His face too was -hardly lined, so that it was not until one looked at his eyes that one -got any impression of age. The eyes, however, betrayed him. Deeply -sunken and with a queer set appearance, they were the eyes of an old, -old man; and they provoked a guess that they had at one time gazed so -desperately upon horrors that they could never again quite get free of -what they had seen. - -“Yes,” replied Paul. “Mr. Ferguson was not very sympathetic.” - -“Then I think he was wrong,” said Colonel Vanderfelt heartily. -“Philosophers and Labour leaders talk very placidly about throwing down -the walls between nation and nation, as if it was an easy morning’s -work. But the walls aren’t of our building. They are mother earth and -climate and were there from the beginning of time. Some people can pass -over them, of course—American women, especially. But very few men -aren’t weaklings, I believe. To the men worth anything, their soil cries -out louder and louder with each year that passes. A glass of port? Help -yourself! A cigar? No? The cigarettes are in that Battersea box in front -of you. It’s a fiction that tobacco spoils the flavour of port. Claret, -yes! Port, not a bit.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt took a cigar from a box upon a side table, lit it and -resumed his seat. Paul brought him back to the subject of their talk. - -“I am glad to hear you agree with me, Colonel Vanderfelt. I have been -more and more convinced since I have sat in this room.” - -Paul Ravenel looked about the dining room with its fastidious and sober -elegance. Cream walls, upon which a few good prints were hung; a bright -red screen drawn in front of the door; shapely old furniture with red -upholstery, and heavy curtains of red brocaded silk at the one big bow -window; a long, slender Sheraton sideboard against the wall; a fine -Chippendale cabinet in a recess; and this round gleaming table of -mahogany, with its candlesticks and salt-cellars of Battersea enamel, -its silver equipment and its short tubby decanters with the blue tinge -of old Waterford in the glass; in every aspect of the room grace was so -wedded to homeliness, comfort to distinction that Paul could not but -envy its possessors. - -“I resume my race and with it of course my name,” he said, keenly -watching Colonel Vanderfelt. - -But Colonel Vanderfelt took his cigar from his lips only to ask a -question. - -“And then?” he enquired. - -“Then I propose to try for a commission in the army,” Paul replied. - -“Oh, yes,” said Colonel Vanderfelt, “but the Bar offers more -opportunities to a young fellow nowadays, doesn’t it? Why the Army? -There are other professions.” - -“Not for me, sir.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt shrugged his shoulders and stared at the shining -table in front of him. It was a devil of a world—everything cross-wise -and upside down and unaccommodating. Why must this youth with money and -the world to choose from, choose just the one bunch of grapes quite out -of his reach? And set his very heart on it too. There had been a ring in -that “Not for me, sir!” which could not be stilled by argument. It was -youth’s challenge to the elders, its “I know better” which there was no -use in debating. - -“Let me hear,” said Colonel Vanderfelt; and the lad’s ambitions were -shyly revealed to him. Histories of campaigns, the lives of great -soldiers, books of strategy too technical for him to follow—these had -been his favourite reading. It was the actual work of the soldier which -had fascinated Paul, not the glitter of the great days of parades and -manœuvres, but his daily responsibilities and the command of men and the -glory of service. Colonel Vanderfelt listened and nodded and remembered -a phrase in Mr. Ferguson’s letter: “The boy’s of the right temper.” -Surely he was, and the whole business was perverse and pitiful! He heard -Paul closing his little apologia. - -“So you see, sir, from the time when I began to think at all of what I -should do in the world, this has always been my wish.” The lad was -seeking to challenge and defy, but the anxiety which had tortured him -during the last four days turned the challenge into a prayer. He -searched Colonel Vanderfelt’s face for a sign of agreement. “I know of -nothing,” he asserted, “of nothing at all which should hinder me from -trying to fulfil my wish.” - -“But I do,” replied the other. “I think, Paul, that it would be very -difficult for you to take your father’s name and seek a commission in -the Army here.” - -Paul’s cigarette had gone out whilst he was speaking. He lit it now at -one of the candles with trembling fingers. The gentleness of Colonel -Vanderfelt’s voice made him think of some compassionate judge passing -sentence. - -“You will, I trust, make that clear to me,” he said. - -“Of course,” returned the Colonel. “I admit to you that up to the last -few minutes I had hoped to escape, and leave most of the story untold. -And had you chosen another profession, why, very likely I should have -spared you and myself, too.” - -But though he had promised to be frank, he was reluctant to begin and he -had ended on so evident a note of discomfort and pain that Paul Ravenel -dared not interpose a word. The windows stood open upon the garden and -let into the room the perfume of flowers and the freshness of the dew. -Outside was the glamorous twilight of a summer night. It was very still. -Occasionally a bird rustled the leaves of a branch; and across a field a -cuckoo whose voice was breaking called incessantly. Paul was never to -forget that background to these moments of suspense. All the bitterness -was not with him on this night. Colonel Vanderfelt was back in the dark -places of his life amongst old shames and miseries. - -“Your father’s name was John Edward Revel,” he began, and the boy drew a -long breath. “Yes, the infantry manual was his, some relic of the old -days that he must keep, I suppose—some one small valueless thing—yes, -I think that’s natural. He and I were friends. We passed out of -Sandhurst together and met again in India. Years afterwards—Service -brought us together.” - -He named an outlying post in the hills to the northwest of Quetta where -John Edward Revel and he lay beleaguered during one of the frontier -wars. They were ordered to hold on to their position at all costs and -help would come to them. - -“We were neither of us youngsters, you must understand, pitchforked into -commands we weren’t fit for. We had seen a lot of service and done -well—both of us. That makes the matter worse perhaps. All the less -excuse! That’s what they did say! We were losing men all the time, and -we hadn’t many to begin with. Ammunition was running low, water still -lower, we were attacked day and night, we two had no sleep, and the -promised relief didn’t come. The Baluchis got into our outer court one -evening and we had the greatest trouble to get them out. The same night -one of our spies came in with the news that a fresh big force was -hurrying to reinforce the Baluchis. We were pretty well at the end of -our tether—Ravel and I—. Something snapped in both of us . . . we -slipped out under cover of darkness, the whole force, and fell back in -spite of our instructions, leaving this key-post unguarded. And the new -enemy we fell back from was our own relief expedition which had marched -night and day and turned the Baluchis’ flank. They found the fort empty, -which we had been ordered at all costs to hold. You can guess what -happened. We were arrested, court-martialled—cashiered! So you can -understand perhaps now our queer reception of you in the drawing room -this evening. When you startled us by calling me, ‘The man with the -medals,’ it sounded like some bitter jibe from those bad days.” - -“But I don’t understand,” Paul Ravenel stammered. “You were cashiered -both of you, you and my father?” - -“Both of us.” - -“Yet I saw you coming from a dinner at the Guildhall, with your medals -upon your breast. You are here in your own home, wearing your rank! How -can that be, sir?” - -Colonel Vanderfelt replied with a curious accent of apology to his young -guest. - -“I was lucky. I had served in India longer than your father. I had been -more interested; and dialects came to me easily. More than once I had -spent my leave living in the Bazaars, and as far north as Leh. Therefore -it wasn’t so difficult for me. I disappeared. I’m a dark man naturally. -I grew a beard. I joined a battalion of irregular levies. I served for -three years in it on the frontier.” - -“Did no one guess who you were?” - -“I think one or two suspected and—winked. They were busy years you see. -A good deal was going on all this time and men who knew anything about -soldiering were valuable. Of course they were pretty rough, hard years -for any one with delicate tastes, but there was so much to be perhaps -regained,” and Colonel Vanderfelt pulled himself up quickly. “Well, -after three years I was wounded rather badly. As you see I limp to this -day. It looked then as if the game was up altogether and I was going -out. So I sent a message in my own name to an officer on the border whom -I had known. The Governor of Quetta came up himself to see me in -hospital and the end of it was that my sentence was annulled. There, my -boy, that’s the whole story.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt rose from his chair and limping over to the window -looked out upon that quiet garden, which he had lost, and after such -unlovely years won back again. They were years of which he could never -think even now without a shiver of disgust and a cold fear lest by some -impossibility they should come again. None indeed had ever known the -full measure of their abasement and squalor and degradation. Even with -the great prize continually held in view, they had been hardly -endurable. The chance of winning it had been the chance of a raft to a -man drowning in the Pacific. The voice of Paul Ravenel who was still -seated at the table broke in upon him. - -“And that’s the whole story, sir?” - -“Yes, Paul.” - -Paul shook his head. - -“The whole story, sir, except that what you did—my father didn’t. -Therefore he lived and died an outcast,” and the young man’s voice died -away in a whisper. - -Colonel Vanderfelt turned back to him and laid his hand upon Paul’s -shoulder and shook it in a gentle sympathy. - -“There’s another question I would like to have answered,” said Paul. He -was very pale, but his voice was firm again. - -“Yes?” - -“The disgrace, I suppose, killed my mother?” - -“I have no right to say that.” - -“The truth, sir, please!” and the appeal came so clearly from a man in -the extremity of torture, that Colonel Vanderfelt could not but answer -it. - -“It did. She was in India when this shameful business happened. She came -home and died.” - -In a few moments Paul began to laugh. The laughter was pitched in a low -key and horrible to hear; and there was such a flame of agony burning in -the boy’s eyes and so dreadful a grin upon his white face that Colonel -Vanderfelt feared for his reason. - -“Steady, Paul, steady!” he said gently. - -“I was thinking of the fine myth by which I explained everything to the -honour of the family,” Paul cried in a bitter voice. “Our seclusion, the -antagonism between my father and me, the change of name—it was all due -to a morbid grief at the loss of a wife too deeply loved. That’s what I -believed, sir,” he said wildly, but Colonel Vanderfelt had already -learned of these delusions from Mr. Ferguson. “And shame’s the -explanation. Disgrace is the explanation. He killed my mother with it -and now the son too must hide!” - -“No,” said Colonel Vanderfelt with decision. “There’s a good way out of -this tangle for you, a way by which you may still reach all you have set -your heart on—your career, your name and an honoured place amongst your -own people.” - -Paul lifted incredulous eyes to the other man’s face. - -“Yes,” insisted the older man. “You don’t believe me. You young fellows -see only the worst and the best, and if the best doesn’t tumble into -your hands, you are sure at once that there’s nothing for you but the -worst. Just listen to me!” - -Paul took hold upon himself. He was ashamed already of his outburst. - -“You are very kind, sir,” he said, and some appreciation of the goodwill -which the older man had shown to him, in baring his own wounds, and -drawing out into the light again old humiliations and guilt long since -atoned, pierced even through the youth’s sharp consciousness of his own -miseries. He rose up from his chair. He was in command of his emotions -now, his voice was steady. - -“I have been thinking too much of myself and the distress into which -this revelation has plunged me,” he said, “and too little of your great -consideration and kindness. What you have told me, you cannot have said -without pain and a good deal of reluctance. I am very grateful. Indeed I -wonder why you ever received me here at all.” - -“You would have found out the truth without my help.” - -“That’s what I mean,” said Paul. “I should have found it out through an -enquiry agent, and the news would have been ten times more hideous -coming in that way rather than broken gently here. Whilst on the other -hand you would have spared yourself.” - -“That’s all right,” Colonel Vanderfelt answered uncomfortably, and to -himself he added: “Yes, old Ferguson wrote the truth. That boy’s clean -and a gentleman.” He pressed Paul down into his chair again. - -“Come! Take a glass of this old brandy first—it’s not so bad—and then -we’ll talk your prospects over like the men of the world we both -are—eh? Neither making light of serious things nor exaggerating them -until we make endeavour useless.” - -He fetched to the table a couple of big goblets mounted on thin stems -within which delicate spirals had been blown, and poured a liqueur of -his best brandy into each. - -“I have an idea, Paul. It has been growing all the time we have been -talking together. Let’s see if it means anything to you.” - -He held his goblet to his nose and smelt the brandy. “Pretty good, this! -Try it, Paul. There’s not a cough nor a splutter in it. Well, now,” he -went on when Paul had taken his advice, “in the first place, you are -eighteen.” - -“Yes,” said Paul. - -“And a man of means?” - -“Pretty well.” - -“You have property in Casablanca, in Morocco?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Paul, wondering whither all these questions were to -lead. - -“And you lived there for some years?” - -“Yes. Before I went to school in France and my father built his house in -Aguilas.” - -“You know Arabic, then?” - -“The Moorish dialect, yes.” - -“And by nationality you are French?” - -“Yes,” answered Paul reluctantly. - -“Good,” said the Colonel, warming to his theme. “Now listen to me. The -French must move in Morocco, as we moved in India, as we moved in Egypt. -It isn’t a question of policies or persons. It’s the question of the -destiny of a great nation. The instinct of life and self-preservation in -a great nation which sooner or later breaks all policies and persons -that stand in the way. There’ll be the timid ones who’ll say no! And -there’ll be the intriguers who’ll treat the question as a pawn to be -moved in their own interest. But in the end they won’t matter.” Colonel -Vanderfelt had a complete and not very knowledgeable contempt for -politics and politicians like most of his calling until they have joined -the ranks of the politicians themselves. - -“Morocco can’t remain as it is—a vast country with a miserable -population, misgoverned if governed at all, with a virgin soil the -richest in the world, and within a few miles of Europe. Somebody’s got -to go in and sort it up. And that some one’s got to be France, for she -can’t afford a possible enemy on her Algerian frontier. Yes, but -there’ll be trouble before she succeeds in her destiny, trouble -and—opportunity.” The Colonel paused to let that word sink into Paul’s -mind. “Why not be one of those who’ll seize it? They are great soldiers, -the French. Join them, since that’s your way of life. Go through the -schools, get your commission in France and then strive heart and soul to -get service in the country whose language you know, the country of -opportunity. Then, in God’s good time, if you still so wish it, come -back here, resume your own name, rejoin your own race!” - -Paul Ravenel, from his solitary dreaming life and his age, was inclined -to be impressed by thoughts of sacrifice and expiation and atonement. He -was therefore already half persuaded by Colonel Vanderfelt’s advice. It -would be exile, as he had come to think, but it would also be a -cleansing of his name, an expiation of his father’s crime. And after -all, when he looked at the man who gave him this advice, and remembered -what he had endured with a hope so much more infinitesimal, the course -proposed to him seemed fortunate and light. - -“Thank you,” he said. “I should like to think over your idea.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt was pleased that there had been no flighty hysterical -acceptance, no assumption that the goal was as good as reached. - -“Yes, take your time!” - -Colonel Vanderfelt rose and, removing the shades, blew out the candles -upon the dining-table. - -“I don’t know what you would like to do?” he said, turning to the lad. -“You will follow your own wish, of course. And if you would rather go -straight now to your room, why, we shall all understand.” - -“Thank you, but I should prefer to join the ladies with you.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt smiled very pleasantly. The anticipation of Paul’s -visit had caused him a sleepless night or two and not a little pain. How -much should he tell? The question had been troubling him, so that he had -more than once sat down to write to Mr. Ferguson that he would not -receive the boy at all. He was very glad now that he had, and that he -had kept nothing back. - -“Come, then,” he said. - -In the drawing room Phyllis Vanderfelt sang to that little company some -songs of old Herrick in a small, very sweet, clear voice. Paul sat near -the long, open window. The music, the homely friendliness within the -room, and the quiet garden over which slept so restful a peace were all -new to him and wrought upon him till he felt the tears rising to his -eyes. Phyllis’ hands were taken from the keys and lay idle in her lap. -In the high trees of the Park upon the far side of the road the owls -were calling and the cuckoo still repeated his two notes from the tree -beyond the field. Paul rose suddenly to his feet. - -“That throaty old cuckoo means to make a night of it,” he said with a -laugh which was meant to hide the break in his voice and did not -succeed. He stepped over the threshold and was out of sight. - -“Let him be!” said Colonel Vanderfelt. And a little later, when Phyllis -had taken herself off to bed: “I liked him very much. The right -temper—that’s the phrase old Ferguson used. He’ll do well, -Milly—you’ll see. We shall see him home here one day carrying his -sheaves,” and as his wife remained silent he looked at her anxiously. -“Don’t you agree with me?” - -“I don’t know,” Mrs. Vanderfelt answered slowly. “I hope so with all my -heart. But—didn’t you notice his looks and a sort of grace he has?” - -“Well?” asked the Colonel. - -“Well, we have left out one consideration altogether. What part are -women going to play in his life? A large one. Tom, I have been watching -Phyllis to-night. A day or so more, and we should have an aching heart -in this house.” - -“Yes, I see,” returned Colonel Vanderfelt. “Women do upset things, don’t -they?” - -“Or get upset,” said Mrs. Vanderfelt. “And sometimes both.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - - Betwixt and Between - -Paul Ravenel left Colonel Vanderfelt’s house of King’s Corner on the -next morning in time to catch an early train to London. His friends -gathered in the drive to wave him a good-bye as he drove away. - -“You’ll write to us, won’t you?” said Mrs. Vanderfelt. - -“And there’s a room here whenever you have an evening to spare,” added -the Colonel. - -Paul had quite captured the hearts of the small household and they were -hardly less concerned for his future and his success than they would -have been had he been their own son. - -Paul had given no hint at the breakfast table of his plans, if indeed he -had yet formed any, nor did his friends press him with any question. But -they waited anxiously for letters and in time one came with the postmark -of St. Germain. Paul had passed into St. Cyr. Others followed with -lively enough accounts of his surroundings and companions. Here and -there the name of a friend was mentioned, Gerard de Montignac, Paul’s -senior by a year, for instance, who cropped up more often than any one -else. - -They heard later that he had passed out with honours and was now a -sub-lieutenant in the 174th Regiment, stationed at Marseilles; then a -couple of years later, just at the time when Phyllis was married, that -he had been seconded to the 2nd Tirailleurs and was on active service -amongst the Beni-Snassen in Algeria. He escaped from that campaign -without any hurt and wrote a little account of it to his friends at -King’s Corner, with some shrewd pictures of his commanders and brother -officers. But the same reticence overspread the pages. Mrs. Vanderfelt -was at a loss to recapture out of them a picture of the lad who had -stayed one night with them and borne so gallantly the destruction of his -boyish illusions. The letters, to her thinking, might have been written -by an automaton with a brain. - -A few months afterwards Colonel Vanderfelt slammed down his newspaper on -the breakfast table. - -“That’s where Paul ought to be. I told him! You can’t blame me! I told -him!” - -The long-expected trouble in Morocco was coming to a head. The -extravagance and incapacity of the Sultan Abd-el-Aziz; the concession of -the Customs to the French; the jealousies of powerful kaids; and the -queer admixture of contempt and fear with which the tribes watched the -encroachments of Europeans; all these elements were setting the country -on fire. Already there were rumours of disorder in the wealthy coast -town of Casablanca. - -“That’s where Paul ought to be,” cried Colonel Vanderfelt angrily. But -his anger was appeased in a couple of days. For he received a letter -from Paul with the postmark of Oran, written on shipboard. He and his -battalion were on their way to Casablanca. - -They arrived after the bombardment and massacres, and served under -General D’Amade throughout the campaigns of the Chaiouïa. Paul was -wounded in the thigh during the attack upon Settat but was able to -rejoin his battalion in a month. He was now a senior Lieutenant and his -captain being killed in the fight at McKoun, he commanded his company -until the district was finally pacified by the victory over the great -kaid and Marabout, Bou Nuallah. Paul had done well; he was given the -medaille and at the age of twenty-six was sure that his temporary rank -would be confirmed. He wrote warmly of those days to his friends. There -was a note of confidence and elation which Mrs. Vanderfelt had not -remarked before, and the letter ended with a short but earnest -expression of gratitude to his friends for the help they had given him -eight years before. - -For the next two years, then, the household at King’s Corner read only -of the routine of a great camp, described with a lively spirit and an -interest in the little trifles of his profession, which was a clear -proof to them all that Paul had seen straight and clearly when he had -declared: “There’s no other profession for me.” Thereafter came news -which thrilled his audience. - -“I am transferred to the General Staff,” Paul wrote, “and am leaving -here on special service. You must not expect to hear from me for a long -while.” - -Neither Colonel Vanderfelt nor his wife had quite realised how they had -counted on Paul’s letters, or what a fresh, lively interest they brought -into their quiet lives, until this warning reached them. - -“Of course we can’t expect to hear,” said Colonel Vanderfelt irritably, -“Paul’s probably on very important service. Very often a postmark’s -enough to give a clue. But you women don’t understand these things.” - -Phyllis, the married daughter, and Mrs. Vanderfelt were the women to -whom this rebuke was addressed, and neither of them had said a word to -provoke it. - -“No doubt, dear,” Mrs. Vanderfelt replied meekly, with a private smile -for the daughter. “We shall hear in due time.” - -But the weeks ran into months, the months into a year, and still no -letter came. At one moment they wondered whether new associations had -not obliterated from Paul’s mind his former aspirations: at another, -whether he still lived. Colonel Vanderfelt ran across Mr. Ferguson -towards the end of the year outside his club in Piccadilly and made -enquiries. - -“Did you ever hear of that boy, Paul Ravenel, again?” he asked. - -“Oh, yes, he’s a rich man now and I have acted for him,” returned Mr. -Ferguson. “Since the French occupation, land in and around Casablanca -has gone up to fifty times its former value. Ravenel has realised some -of it. I have bought the freehold of his father’s house close to you and -let it for seven years and invested a comfortable sum for him in British -securities. So I gather that he means to come back in a little while.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt was relieved upon one score, but it was only to have -his anxiety increased upon the other. - -“When did you hear from Paul last?” he asked, and Mr. Ferguson answered: - -“Some while ago. Let me think. Yes, it must be a year at the least.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt repeated the conversation to his wife on his return -to King’s Corner, and both of them shirked the question which was heavy -at their hearts. - -“It will be pleasant to have him as a neighbour,” said Mrs. Vanderfelt. - -“Yes,” replied the Colonel. “And it might be quite soon! Seven years he -has let the house for. And we are getting no younger, are we! The sooner -the better, I say!” - -Some look upon his wife’s face, a droop of her shoulders, made him stop; -and it was in a quiet and strangely altered voice that he began again: - -“We are both pretending, Milly, and that’s the truth. We are afraid. It -would be hard lines if he died before he did what he aimed to do. Yet we -have got to face that possibility.” - -Mrs. Vanderfelt was turning over a plan in her mind. - -“I think that it’s time we had news of him,” she said. “There’s a friend -he has mentioned several times in his letters. He was with him at St. -Cyr and met him again at Casablanca—Gerard de Montignac.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt went in search of Paul Ravenel’s letters. They were -kept in a drawer of the writing-table in his bedroom and made a big -bundle by now. - -“De Montignac. That was the fellow’s name. Let’s look at the last ones -for his rank. He’s a captain of the Chasseurs d’Afrique. I’ll write to -Casablanca to-night, my dear, on the chance of his still being there.” - -Colonel Vanderfelt was easier in his mind after he had posted the -letter. - -“That was a good idea of mine, Millie,” he said to his wife. “We shall -get some news now.” - -Gerard de Montignac was still in Casablanca, but at the time when -Colonel Vanderfelt was writing to him, he was himself just as anxious as -the Colonel about the safety of Paul Ravenel. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - - The Villa Iris - -“There’s not the slightest reason for alarm,” Gerard de Montignac -declared testily in much the same tone which Colonel Vanderfelt was -using to his wife nearly two thousand miles away. De Montignac was -dining at the “popote” of his battalion in the permanent camp of -Ain-Bourdja outside the walls of Casablanca, and more than once of late -Ravenel’s long absence had cropped up in the conversation with a good -deal of shaking of heads. “Paul is a serious one,” continued Gerard. -“Too serious. That is his fault. He will not pack up and return until -the last possible observation is taken, the last notes of value written -down in his little book. But then he will. I am not afraid for him, no, -not the least bit in the world. And who should be, I ask you, if I am -not?” - -He glanced round the mess but not one of his companions accepted his -challenge. It was not, however, because they shared his confidence. -Indeed every one was well aware that more than half of it was assumed. -They respected a great friendship sealed nearly three years before on -the bloody slopes of R’Fakha. De Montignac, with his squadron of -Chasseurs, had ridden in that desperate charge by means of which alone -the crest of the plateau had been held until the infantry arrived. The -charge had been made down a hillside seamed with tiny gullies invisible -until they gaped beneath the horses’ feet; and the difficulties of the -ground had so split the small force of cavalry that the attack became a -series of scattered tourneys in which each overmatched trooper drove at -a group of Moors armed with rifles and many of them mounted. There had -been but ten minutes of the unequal fight, but those minutes were long -enough for each man who fell wounded to pray with all his soul that the -wound might be swift and mortal and do its work before the mutilating -knife flashed across his face. Gerard de Montignac lay half way down the -slope with a bullet in his shoulder and his thigh pinned to the ground -beneath the weight of his grey charger. The Moors were already -approaching him when Paul’s company of Tirailleurs doubled up to the -crest and Paul recognised the horse. His rescue of his friend was one of -twenty such acts done upon that day, but the memory of them all lived -and stopped many an argument as it did to-night. If Gerard de Montignac -chose to cry obstinately: “Some day Paul Ravenel will walk in upon us. -He is my friend. I know,” it was the part of friendliness to acquiesce. -There were other topics for dispute, enough in all conscience; such as -the new dancing girl who had come that week to Madame Delagrange’s Bar, -the Villa Iris, and about whom young Ollivier Praslin was raving at the -other end of the table. - -Paul Ravenel had slipped quietly away now more than a year ago in the -black gabardine and skull cap of a Jew pedlar with a few surveying -instruments packed in cheap, dirty boxes of white wood hidden amongst -his wares on the back of a mule, and a few penny account books in which -to jot his notes. He set out to explore the countries of the Beni-M’Tir -and the Gerouan tribes, to blacken the white spaces of the map by means -of long and perilous journeys. There were no tribes more implacable and -fanatical than these; none whose territories at that time were so little -known; and since they held the mountain passes and the great forests -which border the trade routes from the south and the west to Fez, none -whose strongholds and numbers and resources it was more important that -the Administration should know. - -“A Jew travelling alone, carrying on a mule such valuable things as -needles and reels of thread, matches and safety pins, and some bales of -cloth will be able to go where even a Moor of another tribe would lose -his life,” he had declared, and for a long time in vain. - -“And what about your notes? How will you make them?” asked the officer -of the Affaires Indigènes, to whom after much persistence he was -referred. - -“I have a shorthand. They will take little space. I have a small tent, -too. I shall make them at night.” - -“And if you are caught making them at night?” - -“I shall be making up my accounts—that is all.” - -The Native Department, however, still shook its head. “A Jew will be -robbed, no doubt, and probably kicked and cuffed from tent village to -tent village,” pleaded Ravenel. “But he will not be killed. He carries -useful things.” - -In the end his persistence had won the day. He had been given a list of -a few sure friends, a kaid here and there, on whose good will he could -rely; and once or twice some news of him from one or other of these -friends had come in a roundabout fashion to the headquarters of the -Administration at Rabat. But the last of these messages were more than -six months old, and Paul Ravenel himself was two months’ overdue. - -Gerard de Montignac was gloomily weighing up his friend’s chances when a -louder burst of laughter came from young Lieutenant Praslin’s corner. - -“I tell you she is young and she is pretty, and she can dance,” Praslin -was protesting, quite red in the face with the fervour of his defence. - -“And she is at old Delagrange’s Bar in Casablanca!” cried an officer, -laughing. - -Here at all events was a statement which could be received with -incredulity. - -“But I am not the only one to say so,” exclaimed Praslin. - -“Then we must admit that the case is serious,” said Commandant Marnier -very gravely. “Come, let us consider the case of the young lady. Who is -this other who agrees with you, my friend?” - -Praslin began to stammer. Commandant Marnier of the Zouaves was the -heavy gun of the mess, a disillusioned man of forty-five with a -satirical and at times a bitter tongue. - -“Who is this other?” he asked, leaning forward. - -“Little Boutreau of the Legion,” Praslin answered miserably. - -“Name of a name, here is an authority!” cried the Commandant. “And how -old is the little Boutreau?” - -“Twenty-four.” - -“Yes? And where has the little Boutreau been stationed?” - -Young Praslin’s voice got smaller and smaller as he replied: “For the -last two years on an advanced post upon the Algerian frontier.” - -“Where no doubt he has had full opportunity to compute the beauty of -women,” said the Commandant sagely. “I think we can now construct a -picture of this houri. She will be fifty if she is a day. In the colour -and texture of her skin she will be very like a fig. Not all the kohl in -the East will lend a sparkle to her eyes, nor all the red salve -freshness to her faded lips. She will wear a red dress with a swaying -whale-boned skirt glittering with spangles and she will tell you that -she dined at the Ritz in Paris a fortnight ago.” - -The description was not inept, but his voice changed now into a snarl. -Commandant Marnier had the ill humour of men who sit all their lives in -the company of their juniors and see themselves overpassed by each in -turn. - -“The ladies of the Villa Iris! Have we not all sought our good fortune -at their hands? The poor pilgrims! Here they have reached the last stage -but one in their doleful Pilgrimage. Paris, Madrid, Barcelona, Oran, -Tangiers, Casablanca and then up on the supply wagons to the advanced -Posts of the Legion from which there is no return! Francine, Florette, -Hortense—oh, the pretty names! Yes, that’s about all they have left -when they reach this fine metropolis of Casablanca—their pretty names!” - -He rose with a contemptuous movement from his chair, and Gerard de -Montignac asked carelessly, with a mind far away from the subject. - -“And what is the name of this girl?” - -“Marguerite Lambert, an American,” replied Praslin, and close by Gerard, -a young lieutenant of spahis who had disembarked that morning from Oran -raised himself half out of his chair and sank back again. - -“Do you know her, too?” Gerard asked. - -“No,” replied the lieutenant. “Yet I have danced with her”; and he sat -wondering not so much that Marguerite Lambert had come to Casablanca as -that he should not have guessed after that short stay of hers at Oran -that it was to Casablanca she must and would come. - -Gerard de Montignac moved round the table to Henri Ratenay, an officer -of his own regiment who had made the campaign of Chaiouïa with him and -Ravenel. - -“Shall we go to the Villa Iris?” he said. - -Ratenay laughed and lifted his cap down from a peg. - -“What! Has Praslin fired you? Let us go.” - -But outside the long wooden building with its verandah of boards, Gerard -de Montignac stopped. Marguerite Lambert roused no curiosity in him at -this moment. - -“A man from the Native Department called Baumann came from Rabat to-day -to see the General. I hear that he has some news of Paul. He returns to -Rabat to-morrow, but I was told that I might find him to-night at the -Villa Iris. Let us go, then! For though I laugh, I am very anxious.” - -Gerard de Montignac was an officer of a type not rare in the French -Army. An aristocrat to his finger tips, a youth with one foot in the -drawing rooms of the Faubourg and the other in the cafés of Montmartre, -and contemptuous of politics, he had turned his back on Paris like so -many of his kind and sought a career in the colonial army of France. He -kept up a plentiful correspondence with the beautiful ladies of his -acquaintance, which did him no good with his masters at the War Office. -For the ladies would quote his letters at their dinner parties. “What do -you think? I had a letter from Gerard to-day. He says that such a -mistake was made, etc., etc.” But he was not a gossip. He was a student, -a soldier with a note book and more than one little brochure giving a -limpid account of a campaign, bore witness to his ambition and his zeal. -He was twenty-nine at this date, a year and a half older than Paul; gay -and unexacting in his pleasures. “One soon gets used to the second -best,” was a phrase of his, capable of much endurance and under a gay -demeanour rather hard; a good comrade but a stern enemy; with no liking -for games and not a sportsman at all in the English sense, but a -brilliant horseman, a skilled fencer and hard, throughout his long lean -body, as flesh can be. Women had not touched him deeply but he loved to -be spoken of amongst them; he was flattered that one woman should envy -another because that other received letters from him; if he had a -passion at all it was for this country in which he served and to which -he gave gladly his years of youth and his years of manhood. It was a new -thing to him, half problem, half toy, at once a new rib to the frame of -France and a jewel to be worthily set. On the one hand a country which -wide motor roads and schools of intensive farming and the conversion of -migratory tribes into permanent householders would develop, on the other -a place of beautiful shrines and exquisite archways and grim old kasbahs -with crenelated walls which must be preserved against the encroaching -waves of commerce. In appearance he was thin and long and without -pretension to good looks. His hair was receding a little from his -forehead; and his nose was sharp and gave to his face the suggestion of -a sabre; and he was as careful of his hands and his finger nails as if -he were still living amongst the Duchesses. Moreover, he had a great -love of Paul Ravenel, and as he looked about him on that hot night of -early April, his anxiety increased. For the town was thronged with new -troops, new companies of sappers, new artillery men. The information -from the interior of the country was alarming. The fires of hatred were -blazing up against Mulai Hafid, the new Sultan, as they had three years -before against Abd-el-Aziz. And for the same reason. He had sold himself -and his country to the Christians. Throughout the town there was -excitement and unrest. A movement must be made forward and this time to -Fez. Rumour had it that the Sultan was actually beleaguered there. And -somewhere out in the wild, fierce country Paul Ravenel was wandering. - -“Let us hurry!” said Gerard de Montignac. - -The Villa Iris stood in one of the meanest of the alleys to the left of -the great landward gate—a dingy, long, green house with all its windows -on the street carefully shuttered and something sinister in its aspect, -as though it was the house of dark stories. When De Montignac and -Ratenay stopped in front of it not a light was showing, but from -somewhere far within there came the tinkle of a piano. - -De Montignac pushed open the door and took a step down into a long, dark -passage. They advanced for a few feet and then the door at the other end -was thrown open, letting in a glare of lights and a great noise. Some -one with the light behind him came towards them. Beyond that he was an -officer in uniform they knew nothing of him until they heard his voice. - -“So you have come to see for yourself, eh?” he cried gaily. “But you -will do more than see to-night. Such a crowd in there!” and Praslin went -past them. - -“What in the world was he talking about?” asked Gerard. - -“Marguerite Lambert, I suppose,” replied Ratenay with a laugh. Gerard, -for his part, had forgotten all about her. Nor did she dwell at all in -his thoughts now. He went vaguely forward and found himself in a -grotesque imitation of a Moorish room, cheap tiles of the bathroom kind, -pillars carved and painted to mimic the delicate handicraft of Moorish -workmen, a blaze of light from unshaded globes, and a long, glittering -bar behind which Madame Delagrange presided, a red-faced woman cast in -so opulent a mould that he who looked at her perspired almost as freely -as she did herself. The bar stood against a wall opposite to the door, -and between there were rows of little three-legged iron tables, at which -Levantines, clerks, shopkeepers of every nationality and a few French -officers were seated. In front of the tables a few couples gyrated in a -melancholy fashion to a fox-trot thumped out upon an old and tortured -piano by a complacent Greek. If there could be anything worse on this -hot night than the glare of light and tawdry decorations, it was the -heart-rending racket of the piano. But dancers, decorations, piano and -glare were all lost upon Gerard de Montignac. - -At the side of the Bar, wide double doors stood open upon a platform -roofed over with a vine; and in that doorway stood the officer of the -Native Department, of which he was in search. - -“Baumann!” he cried, and crossed the room. - -Baumann, a middle-aged, stockish Alsatian, long since settled in -Algeria, to whom this Bar seemed the very epitome of devil-may-care -luxury and pleasure, surveyed the Captain of Chasseurs with deference. - -“It is gay here,” he said with a smile. “Life, my Captain, the life of -Paris and the Boulevards. You want to speak to me? Yes? We shall be -quieter here.” - -He turned back with almost a sigh of regret to the boarded verandah -under the vines. To Gerard the verandah was a relief. Here at all events -it was cool and dark, and the piano did not thump upon the brain with so -exasperating a poignancy. There was a table empty at the end where a -couple of steps led down into a dark garden. - -“Let us sit here!” said Gerard, and when the three were seated and the -drinks ordered from a person of indefinable nationality dressed up as a -Turk, he leaned forward. - -“You have news of Paul Ravenel?” - -“News? I couldn’t say as much as that,” replied Baumann. “I was at -Meknes when the thing occurred, before Meknes had declared for its new -patent Pretender. It’s five months ago.” - -Baumann checked his speech and looked over Gerard’s shoulder intently -into the dark garden. Gerard was sitting by the edge of the verandah, -with his face turned eagerly towards Baumann. - -“What’s the matter?” Gerard asked impatiently. - -“Nothing, I think. Nothing really.” - -But nevertheless Baumann appeared a little uneasy and his eyes still -held their gaze in the same direction. Ratenay turned. At the first he -could see nothing to account for the alertness which had come so swiftly -into Baumann’s face. Then he made out a black figure sitting or -crouching upon the low edge of the verandah some way behind Gerard de -Montignac, just in the edge of the lights, and more in shadow than in -light. Gerard had not moved by so much as the twitch of a limb. He -rapped, however, now upon the iron table with his knuckles. - -“Come, Baumann!” he said sharply. “You were at Meknes five months ago. -Well!” - -“I had finished my business,” Baumann replied hurriedly, but speaking in -a lower voice than he had used before. “I was on my way back to Rabat by -the plain of the Sebou. You know how the track runs from Meknes, due -north over rolling country, then along the flank of the Zarhoun mountain -to a pass.” - -“Yes.” - -“Half way to the pass stand the Roman ruins of Volubilis.” - -“Yes.” - -“But they lie off the track to the right and close under the mountain, -and worse than that, close under the sacred City of Mulai Idris, which -is forbidden ground.” - -Both Ratenay and Gerard de Montignac knew well enough the evil -reputation of that inviolate city where the Founder of the Moorish -Empire had his tomb. A hive of bandits and fanatics who lived upon the -fame of the tomb, and when the offerings were insufficient made good the -balance by murder and highway robbery. No European could pass within the -walls of that town, and even to approach them was venturesome. - -“I turned off with my small escort,” continued Baumann, “to visit those -ruins, but even before we reached them we heard a clamour from the walls -of the City, far away as it was. And the leader of the escort was very -anxious that I should not delay amongst those tall, broken pillars and -huge, fallen blocks of stone. So I hurried over my visit, but even then, -half way between us and the track a line of men armed and some of them -mounted sprang up from the bushes of asphodel and barred our return.” - -“We shall have to unlock and scour that City one of these months,” said -Gerard de Montignac, little thinking that it was he upon whom, in after -years, the duty would fall, or what strange and tragic revelations would -be made to him upon that day. - -“When they saw that we were soldiers they let us pass with a few curses, -that is, all of them except one, a young fellow in a ragged djellaba, -armed with a great pole. ‘What are you doing in our country, you dog of -a Christian?’ he screamed at me in a fury, and he twirled his staff -suddenly about his head. He was so near to me that he could have broken -my back with it before I could have raised a hand to defend myself. I -had just time to understand my danger and then he grounded his staff and -laughed at me. His friends grinned, too. I expect that I did look rather -a fool. I was thoroughly frightened, I can tell you. The whole thing had -happened so suddenly. I almost felt my spine snapping,” and Baumann -wiped his face with his handkerchief at the recollection of that great -staff whirling in the air and him helpless upon his horse with his -holsters strapped. “So that until we had passed them and were back upon -the track again, I didn’t understand.” - -“Understand what?” asked Gerard de Montignac. - -“Understand who had played this joke upon me,” returned Baumann. “It was -Captain Ravenel.” - -Gerard de Montignac was startled. - -“You are sure?” he cried. “He was there in Mulai Idris, one of them!” -and Baumann suddenly exclaimed: - -“Hush! Don’t turn round. There’s a man behind you. He has been creeping -along the edge of the verandah. This town is full of spies.” - -Gerard did not turn, but Ratenay, from where he sat, could see. The -black figure crouching well away behind them on the edge of the raised -floor had slipped quietly towards them, whilst Baumann had been telling -his story. He was now close behind Gerard, squatting low upon the plank, -with his feet in the garden, a ragged and dusty Jew with a mass of -greasy ringlets struggling from beneath his skull cap. - -Gerard de Montignac turned swiftly round upon him. - -“What do you want here?” he cried angrily. - -“A whiskey and soda!” replied Paul Ravenel. For that once insular drink -had become lately known with favour to the officers of France. - -[Illustration: _A William Fox Production._ _The Winding Stair._ A -CHANCE MEETING IN THE ARABIAN MARKET PLACE.] - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - - The Order - -Paul Ravenel reported to the General and then betook himself to the -house by the sea-wall in which he had spent so much of his boyhood. He -had a month’s furlough and an account of his wanderings to write. At the -end of a week he had got the stain from his skin and the dye out of his -hair, but he had not got far with his report, not liking the look of the -words as he wrote them down, and composing the page again to find it no -better done than it had been before. He was sitting despondently at his -writing-table at ten o’clock on one of these evenings, his hair all -rumpled and a chaos of notes spread about him, when Gerard de Montignac -burst into the room. - -“Paul, I am worn to a shadow with sheer idleness,” he cried. “Always -something is going to happen, never anything does happen; except ships -and ships and ships and batteries landing and soldiers marching to God -knows where. I can bear no more of it. We will break out to-night, Paul. -We will drink Casablanca in one draught. We will do something wild and -utterly original.” - -Paul looked up and laughed. - -“For instance?” - -“Yes, it is rather difficult. To begin with, we might go to the Villa -Iris.” - -“That _bouge_?” - -“And we might dance with Marguerite Lambert, the American?” - -Paul stared. - -“And who the devil is Marguerite Lambert?” he asked. Could any good -thing come out of the Villa Iris? - -“It is high time you knew her,” said Gerard de Montignac decidedly. - -“What is she like?” - -“I haven’t seen her, either. But the little Praslin says she’s a dream, -and the little Boutreau, the little Boutreau of the Legion cannot sleep -at night for thinking of her. It is high time, Paul, that we both made -her acquaintance.” - -Paul laughed and shook his head. - -“I daren’t risk catching the little Boutreau’s malady until I have -finished this report.” - -“You have a month.” - -“I know. But I want to go back to my battalion and command my company. -Some day we are going to march to Fez. Don’t forget it!” - -Gerard de Montignac sat down, took off his cap, lit a cigarette and drew -up his chair to the table. - -“You are a serious one,” he said very sagely, “a fastidious, serious -one. When you look at me I feel that you are very sorry for me—that -poor Gerard—and that you know I can’t help it. And when there are -Generals about, I point to you and say loudly: ‘Ah, there is a serious -one who will go far!’ But here privately I am afraid for you, Paul. I -say to myself, ‘He is not of stone. Some day things will happen with -that serious one, and where we common people scrape our shins, he will -break his neck. When we amuse ourselves for a month, he will marry the -Sergeant-Major’s daughter.’” - -Paul had heard this homily a good many times before. He just went on -writing as if his friend were not in the room. - -“But I am not sure that something has not already happened to you—oh, a -long time ago.” - -Paul’s pen stopped abruptly, but he did not look up from the page. - -“Why are you not sure?” he asked. - -“Because you have compassions and sympathies and little delicacies of -thought which the rest of us have not. The garrisons of the Colonial -army and the coast towns of North Africa are not the natural soil for -such harvests. Some long time ago, a thing has happened, eh?” - -“No,” said Paul. He gathered his papers together and got up. Gerard was -beginning to guess a little too shrewdly. “But I will tell you what is -going to happen. I am going with you to the Villa Iris.” - -The nine years which had passed since Paul had listened through an -evening to Colonel Vanderfelt had written less upon his face than on his -character. He hardly looked older, nor had he lost the elusive grace -which made others warm to him from the outset of acquaintanceship. But -he had now the ease, the restful quality of a man who has found himself. -Youth which is solitary is given to luxuriate in woe, but the years of -companionship, of friendly rivalry, of strenuous effort, and a little -trifle of achievement had enabled Paul Ravenel to contemplate the blot -upon his name with a much less tragic eye than when it had first been -revealed to him. He had hurried from Colonel Vanderfelt’s house to -France and for a week had roamed the woods of Fontainebleau sunk in such -an exaggeration of shame that he shunned all speech and company and felt -himself a leper. Paul remembered that week now with amazement and scorn. -He had served throughout the Chaiouïa Campaign, from the capture of -Settat, right on to the wonderful three weeks in March when with the -speed and the mobility of Stonewall Jackson’s “foot-cavalry” they had -marched and fought and straightway marched again until the swift pounce -upon the great camp of Bou Nuallah had put the seal upon their -victories. Settat, M’Kown, Sidi el Mekhi, the R’Fakha, the -M’Karto—those had been royal days of friendship and battle, and -endurance, and the memory of the week at Fontainebleau could only live -in shame beside them. - -Gerard de Montignac’s careless words had suddenly set Paul upon this -train of thought, so that he forgot for a moment his friend’s presence -in the room. He had not changed his plans—he found himself putting that -question silently. No, he still meant to go back to his own home and -race and name. He was not of those to whom Eastern lands and Eastern -climes make so searching an appeal that they can never afterwards be -happy anywhere else. He was a true child of the grey skies, and he meant -in due time to live under them. But the actual date for that migration -had been pushed off to a misty day. He put his cap on his head. - -“Come, let us sample your Villa Iris,” he said; and the two friends -walked across Casablanca to the green, dark-shuttered house. - -The Bar was full and the piano doing its worst. Above the babel of -voices, every harsh note of it hurt like a tap upon a live brain. Paul -and Gerard de Montignac were the only two in uniform there that night. A -few small officials of the French business companies, Greeks, Italians, -nondescripts from the Levant, and Jews, who three years before, paddling -barefoot in the filth of their Mellah, were the only people to shout -“Vive la France,” as the troops marched through Casablanca—these made -up the company of the Villa Iris. - -Gerard de Montignac looked about the room. At a big table at the end, a -little crowd of these revellers, dandies in broadcloth and yellow, -buttoned boots, were raising a din as they drank, some standing and -gesticulating, others perched on high stools, and all talking at the top -of their high, shrill voices. Half-a-dozen women in bedraggled costumes -covered with spangles which had once done duty in the outlying Music -Halls of Paris were dancing with their partners in front of the tables. -But Gerard could not believe that any one of them could have cost even -little Boutreau of the Legion five minutes of his ordinary ration of -sleep. - -“She may be outside,” said Gerard. “Let us see!” - -He made his way between the tables, crossed the open space of floor and -went out through the wide doorway on the big verandah. Paul followed -him. The verandah was almost empty. They sat down at one of the small -iron tables near to the garden, and Gerard de Montignac broke into a -laugh as he noticed his friend’s troubled face. - -“You cannot bear it, eh? It is all too vulgar and noisy and crude. You -are sorry for us who are amused by it.” - -Paul laughed and his face cleared. - -“Don’t be an idiot, Gerard. It isn’t that.” - -“What’s the matter, then?” - -The look of perplexity returned to Ravenel’s eyes. - -“I have seen her,” he said. - -“Seen whom?” asked Gerard. - -“Your Marguerite Lambert. At least, I think so. It must have been she.” - -There was a real note of distress in Paul’s voice which Gerard de -Montignac was quite at a loss to understand. He turned in his chair and -looked into the saloon. Between the doorway and the tables a few couples -were revolving, but the women were of the type native to such places, -their countenances plastered with paint, a fixed smile upon their lips, -and a deliberate archness in their expression, and in their features the -haggard remains of what even at its bloom so many years ago could have -been no more than a vulgar comeliness. - -“She is sitting at the big table with those half-drunken Levantines,” -said Paul. “What is she doing amongst them?” He asked the question in a -voice of bewilderment and pity. “Why is she here at all—a child!” - -Suddenly the hard uproar of the piano ceased, the dancers stopped their -gyrations, with the abruptness of mechanical figures whose works have -run down, and sauntered to their chairs. Gerard could now see the big -table but there was such a cluster of men about it, gesticulating and -shouting, that Gerard de Montignac was moved to disgust. - -“It is for those men we fight and get killed,” he cried, turning towards -Paul. “Look at them! Three years ago they were cringing in their Mellahs -or shivering in their little shops and offices for fear of an attack -upon the city. Now they are the bloods of the town, picking up the money -all day, and living the Life at night. Another three years and half of -them will have their automobiles and take supper at the Café de Paris, -whilst you and I, Paul, if we are lucky, will be shaking with fever in -some garrison in the desert. I should like to bang their noisy heads -together.” - -Paul laughed at his friend’s indignation. - -“All wars fatten the carrion birds, but it isn’t for the carrion birds -that they are fought,” he said, and in the saloon all the voices ceased. - -Gerard de Montignac swung round again in his chair. The men who had been -standing about the big table had taken their seats and on the far side -of it, almost facing the doorway and the two officers beyond in the dark -of the verandah, a girl was standing. Gerard uttered a little cry, so -startled was he by her aspect, by the sharp contrast between her -delicacy and the squalor of her company. He heard Paul Ravenel move -behind him, but he did not turn. His eyes were drawn to that slight -figure and held by it. - -“Marguerite Lambert,” he whispered to himself. There she stood, looking -straight out through the doorway towards them. Could she see them, he -wondered. Why was she standing there in view before that crowd, in this -dustbin of Casablanca? It was wrong. - -The piano sounded a note and Marguerite Lambert began to sing. But she -could not sing—that was evident from the first bar. A tiny voice, which -even in that silence hardly reached to the two men on the verandah, -clear and gentle but with no range of music in it. It was like a child -singing and an untrained child without any gift for singing. As singing -it was ridiculous. Yet Gerard de Montignac neither laughed, nor could -withdraw his eyes. He even held his breath, and of her singing he was -altogether unaware. - -She was pretty—yes, but too thin, and with eyes unnaturally large for -her face. She was fresh: yes, strangely fresh for that place of squalor -and withered flowers. And she was young, so that she stood apart from -the other women like a jewel amongst pebbles. But it was not her beauty -which arrested him, nor some indefinable air of good breeding which she -had, but—and when she was halfway through her little song Gerard -reached the explanation in his analysis—a queer look of fatality. Yes, -a fatal look as though she was predestined to something out of the -common, greater joys perhaps or greater sufferings, a bigger destiny -than falls to the ordinary lot. - -Gerard de Montignac had all the Frenchman’s passion for classing people -in their proper categories, and his knack, as soon as that was done, of -losing all interest in them. He was unable to place the girl in hers. - -What was she singing about in that absurd little tinkling voice? -Moonlight, and lovers, and lilies on the water? To a lot of degenerate -money-grubbing Levantines? Through Gerard’s memory, to the tune which -she sang was running a chain of names—names of places—names which -Commandant Marnier had savagely strung together one night in the Mess; -the names of the stages in that melancholy pilgrimage from which women -do not return. Paris, Madrid, Barcelona, Toulon, Marseilles, Oran, -Tangiers, Casablanca, and the Advanced Posts of the Legion. Yes, but the -pilgrimage occupied a lifetime. What was this girl’s age? Was she -nineteen or twenty? Not more, assuredly! How then had she come to the -penultimate stage so soon? By what desperate circumstance of crime or -ill-fortune? . . . - -The song ceased and at once the clatter of voices broke out again. -Madame Delagrange behind her bar poured out the drinks for three or four -dark-skinned waiters dressed like Turks and a painted woman with worn -eyes and wrinkles which no paint could hide minced out in her shabby, -high-heeled dancing slippers to the officers on the verandah. - -“Give me something to drink, dearie—I am dying of thirst,” she said, -and she drew a chair to their table. Gerard de Montignac laughed -brutally and would have driven her away, but Paul was quick to -anticipate him. He had seen the woman flush under her paint when Gerard -laughed. - -“Of course,” he said at once. “What shall we all drink, Mademoiselle?” - -She turned to him gratefully. - -“If you will take my advice, the whiskey. The champagne—oh, never.” - -“I can imagine it,” said Paul. “Chiefly sugar and sulphuric acid and -mixed in the back yard,” and he laughed pleasantly to put the woman at -her ease. - -The one sure gain which had come to Paul from the destruction of his -illusions was a hesitation in passing judgment upon people and -estimating their values and characters. He had been so utterly mistaken -once. He meant to go gently thereafter. And partly for that reason, -partly because of an imagination which made him always want to stand -behind the eyes of others and see what different things they looked out -upon, from the things which he saw himself, there had grown up within -that compassion and sympathy which Gerard de Montignac had noticed as -dangerous qualities. - -So although in truth he was more impatient than Gerard that this woman -should be gone, he betrayed no sign of it. She had surely humiliations -enough each day without his adding yet another. Accordingly they sat -about the table, and the woman began with the usual gambit of her class -in the only game which she knew how to play. - -“I have not seen you here before. You have just arrived in Casablanca, -too—a few days ago? My name is Henriette. Only to think that a -fortnight ago I was dining in the Café de Paris! But I wanted a -change—so fatiguing, Paris!—and to pay my expenses meanwhile. So I -dance here for a few weeks and return.” - -Paul accepted the outrageous lie with a fine courtesy which was lost -upon his friend, who for his part grinned openly, remembering the -Commandant Marnier’s descriptions. - -“And what is that little one, Marguerite Lambert, at her age and with -her looks, doing here at the Villa Iris?” he asked bluntly. - -Henriette flushed and her eyes grew as hard as buttons. “And why -shouldn’t she be here?” she asked with a resentful challenge. “Just like -the rest of us! Or do you think her so different as those idiots do over -at the table there? But I will tell you one thing,” and she nodded her -head emphatically. “She will not be here long—no, nor anywhere else, -the little fool! But, there!—” Henriette’s anger died away as quickly -as it had flared up. “She is not a bad sort and quite friendly with us -girls.” - -“And why will she not stay here long?” asked Gerard. - -“Oh, ask her yourself, if you are so curious,” she cried impatiently. -“But you are dull, you two! No, you are not amusing me at all,” and, -emptying her glass, Henriette flung off into the saloon as the -accompanist began once more to belabour the keys of the piano. - -Gerard watched her go with a shrug of the shoulders and a laugh. He -turned then towards Paul and Paul’s chair was empty. Paul had risen the -moment Henriette had flung away and was walking at the back of the -tables towards the doorway into the Bar. Gerard watched him curiously -and with a certain malicious amusement. Was he, too—that serious -one—to go at last the way of all flesh? To seek the conventional -compensation for a long period of strenuous service in the facile amours -of the coast towns? - -The beginning of the affair, at all events, was not conventional. Gerard -noticed, with a curious envy which he had not thought to feel, that Paul -Ravenel went quietly to the back of that noisy table in the Bar, and -stood just behind Marguerite Lambert. No one at the table noticed him -nor did Marguerite turn. But she rose slowly to her feet, like a person -in a dream. Only then did the men drinking at the table look toward Paul -Ravenel. A strange silence fell upon them, as Marguerite turned about -and went towards Paul. For a moment they stood facing one another. Then -Marguerite fell in at his side, as though an order had been given and -they moved away from the group at the table, slowly, like people alone, -quite alone in an empty world. And no word had been spoken by either of -them to the other, nor did either of them smile; and their hands did not -touch. But as they reached the open floor where a few were dancing, -Marguerite glanced quickly, and to Gerard’s fancy, with fear, at the fat -woman behind the Bar; and then she spoke. There was no doubt what she -was saying. - -“We had better dance for a few moments.” - -Paul took her in his arms, and they danced. Gerard de Montignac rose and -went out of the Villa Iris. The picture of the meeting between those two -was still vivid before his eyes. It was as though an order had been -given and both without haste or question had perfectly obeyed it. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - - The Pilgrimage - -When they reached the wide doorway they slipped out onto the balcony. It -was cool here and quiet and there was no light except that which came -from the Bar. They sat down at a table apart from the others and close -to the garden. A waiter followed them out quickly and looked at -Marguerite for an order. - -“May I have a citronade?” she asked of Paul, and he replied: - -“Let me order for you, will you? A little supper and some red wine. You -are hungry.” - -Marguerite looked at him swiftly and dropped her eyes. - -“Yes, I am hungry,” she said, and a smile slowly trembled about her lips -and then lit up her whole face. “I have never admitted it before.” - -The hollows of her shoulders, the unnaturally bright, large eyes burning -in her thin face, and an air of lassitude she had, told a story of -starvation clearly enough. But the visitors at the Villa Iris had not -the compassion nor the interest to read it, and Marguerite, for her own -reasons, had always been at pains that it should not be read at all. -Now, however, she smiled, glad of Paul’s care, glad that he had seen at -once with such keen, sure eyes one of the things which were amiss with -her. Paul ordered some chicken and a salad. - -“But the waiter will be quick, won’t he?” she urged. “Madame is not very -content if we are idle.” - -Paul laughed. - -“I’ll speak to her,” he said lightly. “I’ll tell her that she is not to -worry you to-night.” - -He rose half out of his chair, meaning to buy an evening of rest for -Marguerite Lambert from the old harridan behind the Bar. A bottle of -champagne would no doubt be the price and there was no compulsion upon -them to drink it. But he was not yet upon his feet when the girl reached -out her hand and caught his sleeve. - -“No! Please!” she cried with a vehemence which quite startled him. “If -she sends for me, I have got to go and you mustn’t say a word! Promise -me!” - -She was in terror. Even now her eyes glanced affrightedly towards the -open doorway, already expecting the appearance of her mistress. To the -enigma which the girl’s presence at all in the Villa Iris proposed to -Paul Ravenel, here was another added. Why should she be so terrified of -that red-faced, bustling woman behind the Bar? After all, Marguerite -Lambert—the only delicate and fresh and young girl who had danced there -for a living—must mean custom to Madame Delagrange; must be therefore a -personage to be considered, not a mere slave to be terrified and driven! -Why, then—? How, then—? And his blood was hot at the mere thought of -Marguerite’s terror and subjection. - -But he showed nothing of his anger, nothing of his perplexity in his -face. He was at pains to reassure her. Let him not add to her fears and -troubles. - -“I promise, Marguerite,” he said. “But let’s hope she doesn’t notice -your absence.” - -Once more she smiled, her face a flame of tenderness. - -“You called me by my name.” - -He repeated it, dwelling upon its syllables. - -“It’s a beautiful name,” he said. - -“Perhaps, as you speak it,” she answered with a laugh. “But wait till -you hear how harsh a word Madame can make of it.” - -The waiter brought the supper and laid it on the table between them. - -“Eat and drink first,” said Paul Ravenel, as he poured the red wine into -her glass. “Then we will talk.” - -“You shall tell me your name before I begin.” - -“Paul—Paul Ravenel,” said he, and she repeated the name once with her -big, serious eyes fixed upon him and a second time with a little grimace -which wrinkled up her nose and gave to her whole face a flash of gaiety. -She drew her chair to the table with an anticipation and relish which -filled Paul with pity and tugged sharply at the strings of his heart. -She ate her supper with enjoyment and daintiness. - -“A cigarette?” said Paul, offering her his case as soon as she had -finished. - -“Thank you! Oh, but I was hungry!” - -She lit it and leaning back in her chair smoked whilst the waiter -cleared the supper away and set the bottle and the glasses between them -on the table. Then Marguerite leaned forward, her face between her -hands, her elbows on the table. - -“Paul!” she said with a smile, as if the name was a fruit and delightful -to taste. - -“I saw you,” she continued in a low voice, “when you first came into the -room, you and your friend. I thought at once that you would come for me -as you did. I called to you—yes, even then—oh, with all my -strength—quietly—to myself. But I called so earnestly that I was -afraid that I had cried my little prayer out loud. And then when I lost -sight of you out here in the dark I was afraid. I didn’t see you come in -again. I only knew suddenly that you were standing behind me.” - -Paul Ravenel watched her as she spoke, her great eyes shining, her face -delicately white in that dim light. He had no doubt that she spoke in -all frankness and simplicity the truth. Were they not once more alone, -shut off by a wall of dreams from all the world? Paul leaned forward and -took her hand. - -“I did not need to hear you call, Marguerite. I saw you, too, at once. -My friend had heard of you, was looking for you. I saw you. I told him -where you were”; and for a moment the girl’s face clouded over and the -spell was broken. - -So far Paul Ravenel had spoken in French. Now he asked in English: - -“Why do they call you the American?” - -Marguerite Lambert stared at him with her eyes opened wide. - -“You, too?” - -“Yes. We are of the same race.” - -She looked at his uniform. - -“My mother was French, my father English. He took my mother’s -nationality,” he said. - -Marguerite suddenly stretched both her hands across the table to him in -a swift abandonment. - -“I am glad,” she said. “I come from Devonshire.” - -“I from Sussex.” - -“I from the county of broad moors and little valleys. You from—”; and -some look upon his face checked her suddenly. “I have said something -that hurts?” she asked remorsefully. - -“No,” answered Paul, and for a few moments they were silent. To both of -them this revelation that they were of the same race was no longer so -much of a surprise as a portent. They were like travellers not quite -sure that their feet were on their due appointed road, who come upon a -sign post and know that they have made no mistake. These two had no -doubt that they were upon their road of destiny, that this swift, -unexpected friendship would lead them together into new countries where -their lives would be fulfilled. - -“Just to imagine if I had never come to the Villa Iris!” Paul exclaimed -with a gasp of fear; so near he had been to not coming. But Marguerite’s -eyelids drooped over her eyes and a look of doubt and sadness shadowed -her face. Exaltations and hopes—here were bright things she dared -hardly look upon, for if she once looked and took them to her heart, and -found them false, what was merely grievous would no longer be endurable. - -“It is a long way from Devonshire to Casablanca,” cried Paul, and -Marguerite smiled. - -“There’s a question very prettily put,” said she. - -Her story was ordinary enough in its essentials. “Some families go up,” -she said simply. “Others seem doomed to go right down and bring every -member of them down too. Most English villages have an example, I think. -Once and not so long ago they were well off and lived in their farm -house. Now every descendant is a labourer in a cottage, except one or -two perhaps who have emigrated and fared no better abroad. The Lamberts -were like that.” - -Marguerite had been born when the family were more than half way down -the hill, although outwardly it still showed prosperous. Her father, a -widower, spent more of his time upon race-courses than upon his farm and -made it a point of pride to educate his children in the fashionable and -expensive schools. - -“He was the most happy-go-lucky man that ever lived,” said Marguerite. -“We knew nothing of the debts or the mortgages. He was all for being a -gentleman and to be a gentleman in his definition was to spend money. He -came down to breakfast one morning—there were the four of us at home, -my brother, my two sisters and myself, and said cheerily, ‘Well, girls, -all the money’s gone and the farm, too.’ Then he ate his breakfast -cheerily, went upstairs and blew out his brains with his shot-gun, I -suppose quite cheerily, too.” - -The catastrophe had happened a little more than two years before, when -Marguerite was between seventeen and eighteen. Misfortune scatters a -family as a wind autumn leaves. The brother, a small replica of his -father, departed for the Argentine, cheerily confident of rebuilding by -an opportune speculation the Lambert fortune; the eldest of the sisters -married an unsuccessful farmer in the neighbourhood with whom she was in -love; the second became a private secretary, lost her job within the -week, and discovered her proper sphere of work, as a pretty waitress in -a tea-shop. Marguerite herself secured an engagement in the chorus of a -Musical Comedy company which was touring the provinces. - -“We were just ordinary girls,” Marguerite continued, “rather fecklessly -brought up, fairly good-looking, decent manners, but nothing -outstanding. There wasn’t any Edna May amongst us. We just did what we -could, not very well.” Marguerite suddenly broke into a delicious laugh. -“You heard me sing, didn’t you? Pathetic, wasn’t it? At least it would -have been if I hadn’t felt the humour of it all the while. Well, we got -stranded in Wigan—I am speaking of my Musical Comedy company. I pawned -a few things and travelled to London. Three of the chorus girls and I -clubbed together and got lodgings in Bloomsbury. But it was October when -the most of the touring companies had already gone out and fresh -engagements were only probable for the Christmas pantomime. One after -another of my companions dropped away. Finally I was offered an opening -in a concert party which was to tour the music halls in France. I was to -dance between the songs.” - -“A concert party!” said Paul. “That sounds doubtful.” - -Marguerite nodded. - -“I was warned against it. The White Slave traffic! But I had to take my -risk. And as it happened there wasn’t any roguery of that kind. Our -concert party was genuine. Only it didn’t attract and at Avignon it came -to an end. There seems to me to be a curse on families going down hill. -Misfortunes centre upon them. It is as though a decent world wanted to -hurry them right down and comfortably out of sight as soon as possible, -so that it might no longer feel the shame of them.” Marguerite laughed, -not so much in bitterness as in submission to a law. “Perhaps it is -simply that we who belong to those families don’t will hard enough that -things should go right.” - -Paul Ravenel looked sharply at his companion. He had instances within -his own knowledge to bear out the shrewdness of her remark. His father -and Colonel Vanderfelt! What difference was there between them, except -that one willed hard enough to atone for a crime and the other did not? - -“Yes. I expect that’s the truth, if you are started down hill,” he said -slowly. “And then what did you do?” - -There was a great fear in his heart as to what her answer might be. He -was already making excuses—already arguing why should there be one law -for the man and another for the woman—and rebelling against the -argument. Marguerite did not resolve his fears in her account of her -miserable little Odyssey; nor, on the other hand, did she increase them. - -“I had enough money to take me to Marseilles. . . . I danced at a café -there for a little while. I was told that if I crossed the Mediterranean -to Oran . . . I managed to do that and I danced at Oran for a little -while. Then I came on to Casablanca,” and she caught her breath and -clasped her hands convulsively under the sting of some ever-present -terror. “And I am afraid,” she whispered. - -“Of what?” asked Paul. - -“That I shall not stay here long, either,” she cried in a dreadful note -of despair, with her great eyes suddenly full of tears. “Then what shall -I do?” - -Even as she spoke that question her face changed. Some one was coming -out from the Bar through the doorway. A smile of convention upon her -lips masked her misery. - -“I shall have to go now, Paul,” she said in a low voice, caressing his -name. “I am sorry. And you will let me go, as you promised?” - -“Yes,” said Paul regretfully. - -“And you will come here again, some evening, soon, Paul!” she whispered -with a wistful little smile upon her lips. - -“I shall wait now.” - -The smile disappeared at once. - -“No. I must dance now. I told you Madame did not like to see me idle. I -shall not be able to sit with you again this evening, and we do not -close until two or three in the morning, if there is any one to stay. So -to-morrow, perhaps, Paul?” - -“To-morrow, Marguerite.” - -She stood up as a man approached the table. He was a thick-set, stoutish -man with a heavy black moustache and a yellowish, shiny face. He was one -of those who had been seated at the table in the saloon with Marguerite -when Ravenel and Gerard de Montignac had entered the room. He came up -with a frown upon his face and spoke surlily in French, with a harsh, -metallic accent. - -“We wait a long time for you.” - -Marguerite Lambert made no rejoinder. “You wish me to dance with you,” -she said. “I am very happy,” and with a smile of convention upon her -lips she said good-night carelessly to Paul Ravenel. But the appeal and -softness of her eyes took the convention out of her smile and the -carelessness from her farewell. - -Paul, left alone at the table, watched her through the doorway as she -danced. Her little plain pink frock was as neat as attention could make -it, her shoes and stockings were spotless, her hair, brown with a -flicker of copper, parted at the side and with a curiously attractive -little peak in the centre of her forehead, was waved smoothly about her -small head. His hands had been tingling to stroke it, to feel its silk -and warmth rippling beneath his fingers, whilst they had been sitting -together on the balcony. There was a slovenliness in the aspect of the -other women. Marguerite was orderly as though even amidst the squalor of -her environment she kept on respecting herself. She wore no ornaments at -all. She was fairly tall, with slim legs and beautiful hands and feet. -As he watched her Paul fell into a cold and bitter rage against the -oily-mustachioed creature with whom she danced. - -“Gerard was right,” he said to himself. “We go out and fight, we get -ourselves killed and mutilated, so that such fellows may make money and -keep it up all night in the Bars. The Profiteers! We who are about to -die salute you!” - -Thus he apostrophised the man who had taken Marguerite Lambert away from -him, raging furiously. The old prudent Paul Ravenel counting his steps -and avoiding emotions, had for the moment quite disappeared. He was a -boy of nineteen, ardent and unreasonable, and a little ridiculous in the -magniloquence of his thoughts. The only comfort he drew was from an -aloofness in Marguerite of which she had shown nothing whilst she sat -with him, but which was now very evident. She did not speak whilst she -danced, her eyelids were lowered, her face had lost all its expression. -Paul had a fancy that she had just left her body to revolve and glide -delicately in the dance, whilst her spirit had withdrawn itself into -some untarnished home of its own. The piano suddenly was dumb; the -dancers stopped: Marguerite and her partner were standing face to face -in front of the doorway. Paul had promised not to interfere. Very well -then, he would go. He rose abruptly to his feet, his eyes fixed upon the -couple; and at once, though Marguerite never looked his way, she moved -sharply. It was a quick little start, hardly perceptible. Paul felt a -wave of joy sweep over him. She was conscious of him, as he was -conscious of her, so that if he moved abruptly she at a distance was -startled. He turned with a smile upon his lips, but after all he did not -go, as he had intended to do. For Henriette came out of the Bar towards -him. - -“Won’t you stay for a minute,” she said, “and give me something to -drink! I am dying of thirst!” - -“Of course,” he said, and he called to the waiter. He had a great -goodwill towards all women that night, but above all to the women of the -Villa Iris. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - - Henriette Explains - -Paul was rewarded out of all measure for his courtesy. For as Henriette -sat and drank her whiskey and soda, she talked. - -“You were civil to me when your friend would have sent me contemptuously -away,” she said. “And when I told you that I had dined at the Café de -Paris only three weeks ago, and your friend laughed, you did not. You -pretended that you believed it. That was polite of you. For we both knew -that never once in all my life have I dined at the Café de Paris or any -such swell restaurant in Paris. And it was kind of you. It made me ready -to fancy that I had dined there and that does one a little good, eh? One -feels better in one’s self. So I will be kind in my turn. You are -interested in that little one,” and she jerked her head towards the -table in the Bar, where Marguerite had rejoined the noisy group. “Yes, -she has chic, and she is pretty on her feet, and she has a personality, -but—” Paul Ravenel leaned forward, his face hardening. - -“Mademoiselle, I do not want to hear.” - -“Oh, I am not going to crab her,” replied Henriette, and her petulant -temper flamed up. “You think, I suppose, that women cannot admire a girl -who is younger and prettier than themselves and cannot like her. That is -foolish. I tell you we all like Marguerite Lambert. And I speak to you -for your good and hers. But, of course, if you do not care to hear me—” - -“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle,” said Paul. “I will listen to you very -willingly.” - -Henriette’s passions were no more than bubbles upon the surface of her -good-humour. They burst very quickly and left no traces. The flush faded -from her throat and forehead and no doubt from the painted cheeks as -well, though that could not be discovered by mortal eye. - -“Listen,” she said. “Your friend asked me what Marguerite Lambert was -doing at the Villa Iris, and I would not answer him. Why should I? It -was clear what he meant, wasn’t it? Why was she, who might really have -dined at the Café de Paris three weeks ago, already here at Casablanca, -so near to the end of things?” Henriette’s face grew for a moment -haggard with terror, as she formulated the problem. The last stage but -one of the dreadful pilgrimage of her class! She herself was making that -journey, and what lay beyond and so hideously close, loomed up when she -thought of it, and appalled her. - -Paul interrupted her with a word of solace. - -“You are making too much of his question.” - -But Henriette would have none of his consolation. - -“No, that is what he meant and what you meant, too?” - -“I said nothing.” - -“But the question was in your face. The question and a great deal of -trouble. Why was Marguerite Lambert already at Casablanca?” - -Paul did not contradict her again. She would not believe him if he did -and he might lose the answer to the question. - -“You made it still more difficult to understand,” he said frankly. There -was no good to be gained by beating about the bush with this woman who -was disposed to help him. “For though you didn’t answer our question you -added to it another perplexity. You said that she wouldn’t remain here -long.” - -Henriette nodded. - -“That is right. The answer to both questions is the same. She drifted -here so soon, and she will stay for so short a time, because she waits -for the grand passion. Yes, the little fool!” but it was not in scorn -that she styled Marguerite a little fool, but with a half-contemptuous -tenderness, and perhaps a tiny spite of envy. - -“The grand passion!” Paul repeated, wondering what in the world his -companion meant. - -“Yes. Oh, she is quite frank with the rest of us. We talk, you know, -when we are dressing, and after the café is closed, when we are changing -back to our street clothes. Until the grand passion comes, nothing, -nothing, nothing to any man. Look, they are dancing again, she and -Petras Tetarnis, the Greek.” - -So he was a Greek, the man with the yellow-buttoned boots and the heavy -black moustache! Henriette watched them with the eye of a professional. - -“Yes, she dances prettily, that little one. But would you like a girl to -dance with you just in that way—so unconcerned, so half-asleep, so -utterly indifferent to you? And if you wanted her as Petras Tetarnis -does, furiously, wouldn’t you be mad when she swam in your arms so -lightly, with so correct a grace and not one look or smile or thought -for you? So that if you spoke to her, she had to recall her thoughts -from the end of the world before she could answer you? You would be wild -with rage, eh? You would want to take that slim little white throat -between your two big hands and squeeze and squeeze until some attention -was paid to you, if it was only the attention of agony and fear. Am I -not right?” - -Paul’s face turned white. He leaned across the table and cried in a low, -fierce voice: - -“Was that what you meant, Henriette, when you said that she would not be -here long? That the Greek would murder her?” - -Henriette burst into a laugh. - -“Oh, no, no, no, my friend. Petras Tetarnis is not the man to run such -perils. He has made much money, since the French have come to -Casablanca. He is a prudent one. It would have to be a very dark night -and a very empty street before Tetarnis risked his beautiful money and -all the enjoyment he gets from it; and even then some one else would -have to do the work. But he will use other ways.” - -“What kind of ways?” asked Paul. - -Henriette shrugged her shoulders. - -“He is always here. He is rich. Madame Delagrange makes much of him. -Very likely he has lent her money, and if so, he will want his -interest.” - -“I see.” - -Paul leaned back in his chair and Henriette looked at him curiously. - -“You were much moved, my friend, when I spoke of the big, coarse hands -gripping that little throat.” - -“Well, any man would be, and whoever the woman,” he protested, and -Henriette smiled her disbelief. - -“Would you have been so moved if it had been my throat which you thought -to be in danger?” she asked shrewdly. “No! Let us be frank. You would -have said, ‘It is Henriette’s business to look after herself. She is old -enough, anyway’; and you would have forgotten me the next moment.” She -turned her eyes again upon Marguerite Lambert. - -“The grand passion. Oh, la, la, la! Until it comes nothing, oh, but -nothing at all for any one—not half a heart beat! But when it does -come, everything, at once, with both hands. The folly!” - -“The glorious imprudence!” replied Paul. - -Henriette broke into a harsh laugh as she heard the softly spoken words -and saw the light in Paul Ravenel’s eyes. It was the light of a great -relief rather than of hope. The fear which had plagued him all through -this evening had gone now. There was no need for the excuses. He had not -to argue a defence for Marguerite Lambert. - -“The glorious imprudence,” Henriette repeated with a sneer. “Yes, so you -say—you, the man who has everything to gain from the glorious -imprudence and when he is tired of it, can drop it in the road behind -him. But I tell you those are not good ideas for a girl who dances for -her living, in the cafés. There is the patron behind the patron like -Petras Tetarnis, who will make trouble if he doesn’t get what he wants, -for there are rich patrons whom the patron does not wish to drive away. -Or there are jealousies which may mean fighting and the police. No, my -fine gentleman! Girls who are difficult, the Villa Irises are no place -for them. That is why Marguerite Lambert at twenty is dancing in -Casablanca and will not dance there long.” - -“But if the great passion comes?” cried Paul. - -“Then it must come quick! Believe me, very quick. Petras Tetarnis is -growing troublesome. And if it comes! Shall I tell you what will happen? -She will blow her brains out! Oh, you may start in your chair. But look -at her where she sits! There is the mark of fate already upon her face. -It is written, as they say in this country.” - -So to Henriette as to Gerard de Montignac and to Paul Ravenel, that -indefinable look of destiny in Marguerite was evident. Paul asked -himself whether it was not simply the outward and visible sign of that -passionate self-respect which had kept her untarnished against the rush -and play of the great passion when it came. Or was the future really -written there—a history of great joys perhaps and great sorrows -certainly to be? - -“So Marguerite lives on seven francs a day and—” - -She got no further. Paul interrupted her with an exclamation of horror. - -“Seven francs!” - -“Yes. That is what our generous Madame Delagrange pays us each night and -we provide our own dancing kit out of it. Oh, the little fool starves. -That is certain—all the more certain because she will not let any of -the clients here give her food.” - -“But she let me,” cried Paul with a smile of pride. - -“Yes, she let you to-night. But the others, never, never, lest—you -understand? Lest they should make a claim.” - -“Out of so small a service?” asked Paul incredulously. - -Henriette smiled. - -“You have been lucky in your world,” she said. “The clients of the Villa -Iris are not so generous. They will make a claim out of anything, as, by -the way, most men will, if the claim may get them what they want. So -that little one, since she will give herself to none of them, is wise to -starve. You are the only one from whom she has taken food. It is -curious, eh? It is because of that and because you treat me like a human -being that I, Henriette, who like the little fool, ramble on so -seriously to you to-night.” - -The plastered face softened into tenderness and the bird-like eyes shone -and filled suddenly with tears. - -“It is kind of you,” said Paul. If any one had said to him a couple of -hours before that he would have felt himself intensely privileged -because a little dancing girl of the Villa Iris had taken supper from -him and from him alone, he would have laughed his informant to scorn. -But it was so. Paul was radiant with pride. He saw himself as a very -fine fellow, a much finer fellow than he had ever believed himself to -be. The loneliness of his boyhood, a sudden blow crushing his pride and -his dreams in the dust, and years thereafter informed with a strong -purpose to regain his name and his place in his own country, had -combined to defer but had not slain his youth. It was back with him now, -all the more ardent and dangerous from the restraint which had held it -in check. Paul Ravenel was a boy of nineteen on this evening in the fire -of his passion, but with the will and the experience of his own years; -and he was old enough to hide any plans which he might be forming and to -seek all the knowledge he could get from Henriette. - -“Why should she blow out her brains, as you say?” he asked, offering to -Henriette a cigarette. - -“Because that is what she will do,” replied Henriette as she lighted her -cigarette. “I know my world. Listen! My father kept a little -eating-house at Rouen, where I saw many types of men. He went bankrupt. -I went to dance in Paris. Oh, I was nothing out of the way. I danced in -a quadrille at the Casino de Paris for a little time, then at the Bal -Tabarin. I went to Madrid and Barcelona where I danced at the Lion d’Or, -the restaurant which has no doors, for it is open night and day. And in -the end I came here. Well, I tell you this. Fine dreams are for rich -people. For us, if we are wise, we bury them out of sight the moment -they are born. We will not think of them. We will not allow them. The -rich have much which makes disappointment bearable. For us—we blow our -brains out.” - -Whilst she spoke she kept darting little swift glances at her companion, -as though she was practising on him some trivial diplomacy. She -believed, in truth, every word she said. But since her philosophy was -not Marguerite’s, if this man could give the girl a year or two of -happiness, it would be something, at all events. But Paul sat and -listened carelessly and answered not at all. - -“See!” she cried. “When you spin the racquet for the choice of courts at -the tennis, it is ‘rough’ or ‘smooth,’ eh? Well, it is always rough with -us and we lose the choice.” - -She laughed at her trifle of a joke, and again her eyes glanced at Paul. -But the clearer his purpose became to himself, the more impassive grew -his face. Long ago he had learnt that lesson of defence. Henriette rose. -She, at all events, was openly disappointed. - -“So! I have talked to you long enough,” she said. The piano began once -more its dreadful cacophany. “Ah, Marguerite is dancing with another of -that band. He does not matter. You yourself will dance with her again -to-night, isn’t it so?” - -Paul shook his head. - -“No,” and as he saw Henriette’s face cloud over, he added, “she herself -bade me keep away.” - -The cloud passed at once. That was good news. There was an understanding -between them, then, already. Henriette beamed. - -“I understand that,” she said in a whisper, “and I hope you understand -it, too. Madame Delagrange is not very content that we dance much with -the officers. She says they have no money.” - -Paul laughed. He would have loved to have seen Gerard de Montignac’s -face if that remark had been made before him and to have heard his -reply. - -“Not so much, certainly, as those gentlemen over there whom we have made -rich. But enough, Mademoiselle Henriette, to thank a good friend.” - -For a moment Henriette was puzzled. Then she looked down. Beside her -empty glass lay a folded slip of paper. The broad band of purple told -her the amount of the bank note. She leaned forward and spoke in a -whisper. - -“A thousand francs! It is a fortune to me! You understand that? I will -take it, yes, with a thousand thanks, but it was not to get your money -that I spoke to you.” - -“I never thought it. If I had thought it, your surprise would have -proved me wrong.” - -Henriette gathered the note in the palm of her hand and making a -movement as if to take her handkerchief, slipped it secretly into her -bosom. Another thought came to her. - -“You are really rich then! You could make a little home, a little safe -home, where there would be no clients or patrons or starving. Oh, that -would be different!” she said in a wondering voice. “I take back what I -said about the end her grand passion would lead her to.” Henriette -glanced again towards Marguerite. “She is chic, eh? She has style, the -little one? An air of good breeding. Whence does it come? How is it that -she has kept it?” Paul could have answered that question had he wished -to. She had kept it because of her immense pride and self-respect, she -had probably got it to keep, from the same source. Henriette looked from -the girl dancing to the officer at the table. - -“A little home, eh. If it could be!” she pleaded. Paul gazed at her with -a smile upon his lips and in his eyes, but he did not answer her, and -she flung away. - -“Oh, you are a box with the lid shut! Good-night, Monsieur!” - -“Good-night, Mademoiselle Henriette.” - -A few moments later Paul Ravenel followed Henriette into the Bar. He -stopped before the counter where Madame Delagrange was vigorously wiping -the wet rings made by the bottoms of the glasses from the light polished -wood. She had always the duster in her hand, except when she was -measuring out her drinks into the glasses, and very often then, and -generally was at work with it. - -“This is quite Maxim’s, Madam,” he said. - -The flattery had little effect. Madame barely paused in her polishing -and smiled sourly. - -“In that case I must see about raising my prices, Monsieur,” said she. -No, clearly she did not like the officers. Paul went on to the door. -Marguerite, seated with the Levantines, never looked at him, but just as -he was going out she raised her glass to her lips with a little nod of -her head, as though she drank a health to some absent friend, and her -slow smile dawned and trembled on her lips. - -But the night was not yet over for Paul Ravenel. As he reached his house -he heard his name called aloud and turning about saw his friend Gerard -de Montignac hurrying towards him. - -“There is news at last,” he said. - -The town had been full of rumours for many days. Certain things were -known. It was certain, for instance that the tribes of the Beni-M’Tir, -the Ait-Youssi and the Gerouan had actually pitched their tents on the -plain of Fez and in full revolt against Mulai Hafid the Sultan, were -pressing the city close. It was known too that a flying column purposely -small in order to set at rest the distrust of the German Press and the -opposition of politicians in Paris, had been assembled at Kenitra for a -swift march to relieve the capital. This had been delayed by bad weather -which had turned the flat country beyond Kenitra into a marsh. - -But there had been for days a continual disembarkation of fresh troops -at Casablanca which pointed to operations on a wider scale. On this -night the truth was out. - -“Come into the house and let me hear, Gerard,” said Paul, and opening -his door he switched on the electric lights and led Gerard into a room. - -“Meknes has risen too. A new Sultan, Mulai Zine, the brother of Mulai -Hafid has been proclaimed Sultan there. It is no longer to be a flying -column which will camp for a few days under the walls of Fez and return. -It is to be a great expedition. The whole camp at Ain-Bourdja is ringing -with it to-night. I ran down to tell you.” - -“That was good of you, Gerard,” said Paul. - -There was a great contrast visible now between the two officers, the one -excited and eager, the other playing with the switch of the standard -lamp upon his table, and lost in thought. - -“I hear that my squadron is to go up in the first column under Colonel -Brulard. You, of course, with your battalion will be wanted too.” - -“I suppose so,” replied Paul slowly. “I should have liked to have -finished this report before I go.” - -“The report can wait,” cried Gerard, “France can’t.” - -The two friends talked late into the night. Paul gradually threw off the -reticence with which he had at first answered De Montignac. They fell to -debating the strength of the different columns, the line of march, -whether through the forest of Zemmour or over the plain of the Sebou and -by the Col of Segota, and who would command. - -“Brulard for the Advance Force,” said Gerard, “the General himself will -follow.” - -“And Gouraud?” asked Paul. - -“Yes, yes, Gouraud. He couldn’t be left behind. It is said that he will -have the supply column and follow a day or two behind Brulard.” - -“We shall know more about it to-morrow,” said Paul, and Gerard looked at -his watch. - -“Do you know the time?” he said springing to his feet. “If we were in -France now, we should see daylight.” He was in an emotional mood. He -clapped his friend upon the shoulder. “We shall see one another again, -my old one, before I start, no doubt. But if we don’t, and anything -happens to either of us, well, it is good luck to the survivor.” - -He shook hands with Paul and Paul let him out of the house. - -Paul went back to the room. The eagerness with which he had discussed -the technical details of the expedition fell from him as soon as he was -alone. He sat down at his table and remained there until dawn at last -did break over the town. But he was not at work upon his report. He had -pushed it from him and sat with his face between the palms of his hands. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - - Marguerite Lambert - -The rumours of the camp were proved true the next morning and the -preparations for provisioning and concentrating so large a force were -swiftly pushed forward. Gerard de Montignac was to march with his -squadron in a week’s time by Rabat and Saller to Kenitra. Paul was to -rejoin his battalion a few days later. Half of that battalion, Paul’s -company included, was to form part of the escort of Colonel Gouraud’s -huge supply column, which with its hundreds of camels was beginning to -assemble at Meheydia at the mouth of the Sebou. - -Paul was now a full Captain in command of that company of the -Tirailleurs which he had led during the last engagements of the Chaiouïa -campaign, and marked out by his superiors as an officer likely to reach -the high ranks and responsibilities. He had still a few days of his -leave and he spent the greater part of them in the careful revision of -his report. Gerard de Montignac, on his side was engaged in the -supervision of the equipment of his squadron and was busy from morning -until night. Two or three times during the course of the week, he went -down between nine and ten at night to the Villa Iris, and sat or danced -for half an hour with Marguerite Lambert. But he never saw Paul Ravenel -there and through the week the two friends did not meet except for a -moment or two in the thronged streets. - -“Le grand serieux!” said Gerard, speaking of Paul to Marguerite Lambert -with an affectionate mockery. “He will be a General when I am an old -Major dyeing my moustache to make myself look young. But meanwhile, -whilst we are both Captains, I should like to see more of him than I do. -For, after all, we go out with our men—and one never knows who will -come back.” - -Marguerite’s face lost its colour at his words and she drew in her -breath sharply. “Oh, it is our business of course,” he continued, taking -her sympathy to himself. “Do you know, Marguerite, that for a second, I -though you had stirred that thick soup in Paul’s veins which he calls -his blood? But no, he never comes here.” - -Marguerite laughed hurriedly, and asked at random, “You have seen him -to-day?” - -“Yes. He was coming out of a house close to the port with the agent who -looks after his property, a little Italian. Paul was talking very -earnestly and did not notice me. He has a good deal of property in -Casablanca and was making his arrangements no doubt for a long absence.” - -Marguerite looked down at the table, tracing a pattern upon its surface -with her finger. When she spoke again her voice broke upon her words and -her lips quivered. - -“I shall lose all my friends this week,” she said. - -“Only us two,” said Gerard, consoling her. - -“That’s what I mean,” she returned with a little smile, and Gerard de -Montignac leaned forward. - -“Marguerite, I don’t go for a couple of days,” he said, lowering his -voice to an eager whisper. “Let us make the best of them! Let me have -the memory of two good days and nights to carry away with me, will you? -Why not? My work is done. I could start off with my troops at six -o’clock to-morrow instead of at six o’clock on the third morning. Give -me the next two days.” - -Marguerite shook her head. - -“No, my friend.” - -Gerard de Montignac knew nothing of that conversation which Henriette -had held with Paul Ravenel on this spot a few nights before. He could -but believe that Marguerite Lambert somehow found that dreadful gang of -nondescripts with whom she foregathered more to her taste than he or his -friend. She shone like a flower in this squalid haunt, a tired and -drooping flower. It was extraordinary that she could endure this company -for a moment, to say nothing of their embraces. But women, even the most -delicate amongst them, would blindfold their eyes and stop their ears, -and cease to appreciate both the look of their friends and the esteem in -which they are held, if their interest prompted them. Gerard de -Montignac rose angrily from his chair. - -“Of course poor devils of officers like myself can’t hope to compete -with these rich Dagoes,” he said brutally. “We must console ourselves -with reflecting that our efforts and dangers have made them rich.” - -Marguerite Lambert flushed scarlet at the insult, and then lowered her -head. - -“I do not wish to speak to you again,” she said in a distinct low voice, -and Gerard de Montignac stalked out of the Villa Iris. - -He was troubled by his recollection of the little scene during the next -two days; sometimes falling into a remorse, and sometimes repeating his -own words with bravado, and arguing that this was the proper way to -speak; and always ending with a flood of heart-felt curses. - -“Damn all Dagoes and Levantines! There ought to be a special code for -them. They ought to be made to take off their shoes when they meet us in -the street. Those old Moors knew something! I’ll never see that girl -again as long as I live. Luckily she’ll be gone by the time I come back -to Casablanca. Henriette said she wouldn’t dance at the Villa Iris for -long. No, I won’t see her again.” - -He kept carefully away from the neighbourhood of the Villa for -thirty-six hours. Then a post came in and was delivered throughout the -camp at eight o’clock in the evening. Amongst the letters which Gerard -de Montignac received was one written in English by a Colonel Vanderfelt -in Sussex praying for news of Paul Ravenel. Gerard had enough English to -perceive how much anxiety and affection had gone to the composition of -that letter. - -“It ought to be answered at once,” he said. “Paul must answer it.” - -Gerard looked at his watch. It was close upon nine now, and he was to -parade at six in the morning. He must hand over that letter to Paul -to-night. He could have sent it by the post very well, or he could have -written an answer to Colonel Vanderfelt himself. But he took up his cap -instead and walked down from Ain-Bourdja towards the town. Very likely -he had some unacknowledged purpose at the back of his mind. For he found -himself presently standing before the Villa Iris, though that house lay -well out of the road between the camp and Paul Ravenel’s house by the -seaward wall. - -“Well, since I am here,” he said, as though he had come to this spot -quite by accident, “I may as well go in and make my peace with -Marguerite Lambert. For all I know I may be quitting the world -altogether very shortly, and why should I leave unnecessary enemies to -hate my memory.” - -Thus he explained quite satisfactorily to himself his reason for -entering and looking about him for Marguerite. But she was nowhere to be -seen—no, not even amongst the Dagoes and the Levantines. She must be -outside in the cool of the balcony beneath the roof of vines. But a -glance there showed him that he was wrong. There was nothing for it but -to approach the virago behind the Bar, who hotter and redder than ever -on this night in early May, was polishing away at her counter and -serving out the drinks. - -Gerard ordered one and taking it from her hand, said carelessly: - -“Mademoiselle Marguerite is not here to-night?” - -Madame Delagrange made a vicious dab with her duster and cried in an -exasperation: - -“Look, Monsieur! When she is here I have nothing but complaints. That -little Marguerite! She holds her nose in the air as if we smelled. She -looks at us as if we were animals at a circus—and she has nothing to be -conceited about with her thin shoulders and tired face. Now she is gone, -it is all the time—‘What have you done with our little Marguerite?’ -Well, I have done nothing.” She turned to another customer. “For you, -Monsieur? A bottle of champagne? Abdullah shall bring it to you.” - -Abdullah in his Turkish breeches was handed the dreadful decoction and -Gerard de Montignac tried again: - -“She has left the Villa Iris altogether?” - -“Yes, yes, yes. She has gone, that Miss Ni’Touche!” - -“And where has she gone?” - -The harridan behind the Bar flung up her hands. - -“Saperlipoppette, how should I know, I ask you? I beg you, Monsieur, to -allow me to serve my clients who do not think that because they have -bought a whiskey-soda, they have become proprietors for the night of the -Villa Iris.” - -With an indignant nod she turned to some other customers. Gerard -wandered out into the verandah, where he sat down rather heavily. He was -more troubled than he would have thought possible. After all the -disappearance of a little dancing girl from a Bar in a coast town of -Morocco!—what was there to make a fuss about in that? That is the way -of little dancing girls. They dance and they disappear, a question or -two from you and me and the next man are as it were the ripples upon the -pond, and then the surface is still once more. - -But Gerard de Montignac could not dismiss Marguerite Lambert with this -easy philosophy. He remembered her too clearly, her slim grace, the -promise of real beauty if only she had food enough, her anger with him -two evenings ago, and above all the queer look of fatality set upon her -like a seal. Marguerite Lambert gone! How and whither? One or two -dreadful sentences spoken a fortnight ago in the mess by the Commandant -Marnier were written in letters of flame upon his memory. Casablanca was -the last halting place but one in the ghastly pilgrimage of these poor -creatures. The last of all—he shuddered to think of it. To picture -Marguerite Lambert amongst its squalors was a sacrilege. Yet she had -gone—she had moved on! There was the appalling fact. - -He saw Henriette strolling a little way off between the tables. He -beckoned eagerly to her. She looked at him doubtfully, then with a -mutinous air and a toss of the head she strolled towards him. - -“You want to speak to me? You were not very polite the last time.” - -“I will atone for my discourtesy to-night, Mademoiselle Henriette.” - -Henriette was induced to take a chair and order a drink. - -Gerard believed that he must practise some diplomacy with this fiery -creature if he was to get the truth from her, but as a fact he had not -to put one question. For Henriette had hardly begun to sip her whiskey -and soda before she said: - -“The little Marguerite! She has been sent away. I am sorry. I told -you—didn’t I?—that she wouldn’t stay here long.” - -“Sent away?” - -Henriette nodded. - -“By Madame?” - -“Last night?” - -“Yes. After all the guests had gone. But what a scene! Oh, la, la, la! I -was frightened I can tell you. So were we all. We hid in the little room -there off the Bar, where we dress, and listened through the crack of the -door. But a scene! It was terrible.” - -“Tell me!” said Gerard. - -Henriette twitched her chair into the table with an actual excitement. -She was really and deeply distressed for Marguerite. But for the moment -her distress was forgotten. The joy of the story teller had descended -upon her. - -“It was the Greek over there, Petras Tetarnis,” she began. “He was mad -for Marguerite and she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. So he got -her turned away. See how drunk he is to-night. How proud of his fine -revenge on a little girl who asked for nothing more than permission to -earn her seven francs a night in peace.” - -“She wouldn’t have anything to say to him!” Gerard protested. “Why, she -was always at that table where he sits.” - -“Yes. Because he is the real owner of the Villa Iris. Madame is no more -than his servant. So Marguerite, since she wished to stay here, must be -friendly to him. But Petras was not content with friendliness and last -night when your friend came in—” - -“My friend,” interrupted Gerard de Montignac. - -“Yes, the one with the yellow hair and the long legs and the face that -tells you nothing at all.” - -“Paul! He was here last night!” - -“Yes. Oh, he has come here more than once during the last week, but very -late and for a few minutes. He goes straight to that table and takes -Marguerite away, as if he were the master; and somehow they all sit dumb -as if they were the lackeys. Imagine it, Monsieur! All of them very -noisy and boisterous and then—a sudden silence and the yellow-headed -Captain walking away with Marguerite Lambert as if they did not exist. -It used to make the rest of us laugh, but they—they were furious with -humiliation and when, a little time afterwards, the Captain had -gone—oh, how bold they were! They would pull his nose for him the next -time, they would teach him how gentlemen behave—oh, yes, yes! But it -was always the next time that these fine lessons would be given.” - -Gerard de Montignac nodded his head. - -“I know the breed.” - -Henriette described how Paul Ravenel had entered the Bar a little after -midnight. He had taken Marguerite Lambert away, danced a round or two, -and given her some supper; and whilst she ate, Petras Tetarnis -emboldened by drink and the encouragement of his friends had left his -table and begun to prowl backwards and forwards behind Paul Ravenel’s -back, nodding and winking at his associates and muttering to himself. -Paul had taken no notice, but Marguerite had stopped eating and sat in -terror watching him over Paul’s shoulder like a bird fascinated by a -snake. Tetarnis drew nearer and nearer with each turn, Marguerite sat -twisting her hands and imploring Paul to go away and leave her. She was -speaking in English and in a whisper so that Henriette could not repeat -the words. But it was easy enough to translate them. “It is for my -sake,” she was saying. “It is for my sake.” - -But Paul would not listen; and with a little helpless flutter of her -frail hands Marguerite sank back in her chair. There would be a -disturbance, very possibly a fight. Once more she was to be the Helen of -a squalid Iliad and the result would be what it always had been. She -would move on—and this time there was no whither she could move. She -had come to the end. - -“I could read the despair in her eyes, in the utter abandonment of her -body,” said Henriette, but there had been much at that moment in -Marguerite Lambert’s thoughts which Henriette could not read at all. The -passionate dream of her life was dying, as she sat there. She had come -to the end. It would have no chance of fulfilment now. Where to-morrow, -could she find the great love waiting for her? It had made her life -possible, it had given her strength to endure the squalor of her lodging -and her companions, and the loss of all that daintiness and order which -mean so much to women. It had given her wit to defend herself against -the approaches of her courtiers, and the self-respect which kept her -with the manners of one of gentlest birth. Nearer and nearer drew Petras -Tetarnis until he bumped against Paul’s chair, and then very quickly and -quietly Paul rose to his feet. - -A stifled prayer burst from Marguerite’s trembling lips. Then she -covered her face with her hands and closed her ears with her thumbs. But -there was no disturbance at all. - -“The Captain Paul took Petras by the elbow and looking down upon him -talked to him as one talks to a child. I could hear what he said. ‘You -are terrifying this lady. You must not behave like this in public -places. You must go back to your place and sit very quietly or you must -go home.’ And Petras went. Yes, without a word, as if he had been -whipped he went back to his chair amongst his friends. But, I tell you, -Monsieur, his eyes had all hell in them! And after a little, very -cautiously, as if he was afraid lest the Captain Paul should notice him -he crept to the counter and talked very earnestly with Madame.” - -“What was he saying?” asked Gerard de Montignac. - -“I could not hear at all. I dared not even try to listen. I went to the -table where Marguerite and her friend were sitting. Marguerite was -imploring him to go away. I agreed with her. The storm was over. It was -better for Marguerite’s sake that he should go away quietly now without -any fuss.” - -“And he went?” asked Gerard. - -“Not at first,” returned Henrietta. “No, he was stubborn. He was -thinking of his pride, as men do, not of the poor women who suffer by -it. But at last—it seemed that some idea came into his head, some -thought which made him smile—he consented. He paid his bill and walked, -neither quickly nor slowly through the Bar and out by the passage into -the street. And so the people settled down, and the trouble seemed at an -end.” - -And so until the closing of the Bar it was. As a rule the visitors had -all gone by two o’clock in the morning; and this particular night was no -exception. It was the practice as soon as the room was empty for Madame -Delagrange to pay the girls their seven francs apiece at the counter. -Then they crossed into the little dressing room, changed their clothes -and went out into the lane by the street door, which was locked behind -them. On this night, however, Madame Delagrange kept Marguerite Lambert -to the last. - -“You others can run away and get off your clothes. I want to have a -little talk by myself with this delicate Miss Touch-me-not,” she said, -lolling over the counter with a wicked leer on her coarse red face and -licking her lips over her victim. The others were very glad to hurry -away and leave the old harridan and Marguerite alone in the gaudily -tiled, brightly lit room. They kept the door of the dressing room ajar, -so that they could both see and hear what took place. But for a minute -or two Madame Delagrange contented herself with chuckling and rubbing -her fat hands together and looking Marguerite up and down from head to -foot and almost frightening the girl out of her wits. Marguerite stood -in front of the counter looking in her short dancing skirt like a -schoolgirl awaiting punishment. - -“So this is how we repay kindnesses!” Madame Delagrange began, slowly -wetting her lips with her tongue. According to Henriette she was exactly -like an ogress in a picture book savouring in anticipation the pretty -morsel she meant to devour for supper. “We make troubles and -inconveniences for the kind old fool of a woman who lets us sing our -little songs in her Bar and dance with her clients and who pays us -generously into the bargain. We won’t help her at all to keep the roof -over her head. We treat her rich clients like mud. Only the beautiful -officers are good enough for us! Bah! And we are virtuous too! Oh, he, -he, he! Yes, but virtue isn’t bread and butter, my little one. So here’s -an address.” She took a slip of paper from the shelf behind her and -pushed it towards Marguerite. Marguerite took a step forward to the -counter and picked up the paper. - -“What am I to do with this, Madame?” she asked in perplexity. - -“You are to go to that address, Mademoiselle.” - -“To-morrow?” - -“Now, little fool!” - -“Why?” - -“He is waiting for you.” - -Marguerite shrank back, her face white as paper, her great eyes wide -with horror. - -“Who?” she asked in a whisper. - -“Petras Tetarnis.” - -Madame Delagrange nodded her head at Marguerite with an indignant -satisfaction. - -“Off you go! We shall be a little more modest, to-morrow evening, eh? We -shan’t look at everybody as if they would dirty our little slippers if -we stepped on them. Come, take your seven francs and hurry off. Or,” and -she thrust out her lips savagely, “never come back to the Villa Iris.” - -Marguerite stood and stared at the paper in her hands. - -“You can’t mean it, Madame.” - -Madame snorted contemptuously. - -“Make your choice, little one. I want to go to bed.” - -Marguerite folded the paper and with the tears running down her cheeks -slowly tore it across and across and let the fragments flutter down to -the floor. Madame Delagrange uttered an oath and then let loose upon the -girl such a flood of vile abuse, that even those hiding behind the door -of the dressing room had never heard the like of it. - -“Out with you,” she said, spitting upon the ground and sweeping the -seven francs off the counter towards Marguerite, so that they rolled and -spun and rattled upon the floor. “Pick up your money and get your rags -together and march! Quick now!” - -She lolled over the counter screaming with laughter as Marguerite ran -hither and thither seeking through her blinding tears for the coins, -stooping and picking them up. “There’s another somewhere,” the old -harridan cried, holding her fat sides. “Seek! Seek! Good dog! It takes -ten years off my life to see the haughty Miss Touch-me-not running about -after her pennies.” - -Marguerite had got to retrieve them all. In the dreadful penury in which -she lived, a single franc had the importance of gold. So she ran about -the room, searched under tables and chairs and in the corners. The seven -francs were all her capital. They stood between her and death by hunger. -She must go on her knees and peer through the veil of her tears for the -last of them. Even the women behind the door, hardened though they were, -felt the humiliation of that scene in the marrow of their bones, felt it -as something horrible and poignant and disturbing. As soon as Marguerite -had picked up her money, Madame Delagrange shuffled out from behind her -counter. - -“Now come along with me. I mean to see that you don’t take away what -doesn’t belong to you.” - -She took the weeping girl by the elbow and pushed her along in front of -her to the dressing room. Then she stood over her whilst she changed -into her street dress and put up her dancing kit in a bundle. - -“Do you miss anything, girls?” Madame Delagrange asked with her -heavy-handed irony and indeed with an evident hope that one of them -would miss something and the police could be sent for. But all of them -were quick to say no, though not one of them had the courage to take -Marguerite by the hand and wish her good luck in the face of the old -blowsy termagant. - -“Very well then!” and Madame Delagrange took a step towards Marguerite -who shrank back as if she expected a blow. Madame Delagrange laughed -heartily at the girl’s face, rejoicing to see her so cowed and broken. - -“Come here,” she said with a grim sort of pleasantry and she grinned and -beckoned with her finger. - -Marguerite faltered across the room, and the big woman took her prisoner -again and marched her out through the Bar onto the verandah. - -“There! You can go out by the garden and a good riddance to you!” Madame -Delagrange banged to the big doors behind Marguerite Lambert and bolted -them, leaving her with her bundle in her hand standing on the boards -beneath the roof of vines. - -“That’s the last we saw of her. Poor kid!” said Henriette. “If she -hadn’t been such a little fool! Do you know that for a moment or two I -hoped that your friend—” - -“Paul,” Gerard de Montignac interrupted with a nod of his head. “I -also—for a moment or two. But women don’t mean much to Paul.” - -Henriette laughed bitterly, wondering to what man women did mean -anything at all. In her experience she had never run across them. - -“I am afraid for that little one,” she said, her thoughts coming back to -Marguerite. “You know what happened? Her little bundle was found on the -balcony this morning. The knot had broken, and her dancing dress, her -slippers, her silk stockings were lying scattered on the boards. She -just left them where they fell. You see, they were her stock-in-trade. -She had brought them over with her from France and she has no money to -replace them with. I am afraid.” - -Gerard de Montignac was conscious of a chill of fear too. He recognised -the significance of the abandonment of that bundle. The knot had burst, -as Marguerite stood on the verandah, the doors shut behind her, the dark -garden in front of her. She had not thought it worth while to gather her -poor trifles of finery together again. Their use was over. Whither had -she gone? Was she alive now? Had those roaring breakers on the coast -drawn her into their embrace and beaten her to death upon the rocks and -the sands? - -“Where does she lodge?” he asked sharply. - -“I don’t know,” answered Henriette. “None of us know. She would never -tell. I think that she had some poor little room of which she was -ashamed. With her seven francs a day, she could have nothing else.” - -“I must find out,” cried Gerard, and then he struck his fist upon the -table. “But I can’t find out. I march at six o’clock to-morrow morning -for Fez.” - -“Your friend then,” Henriette suggested eagerly. - -“Paul!” replied Gerard. “Yes. He has a few days still in Casablanca. He -has compassion, he will help. I know him.” - -Henriette’s face lightened a little. - -“But he must be quick, very quick,” she urged. “You will see him -to-night?” - -“I will go to him now,” and Gerard remembered the letter in his pocket -from Colonel Vanderfelt. “I was indeed on my way to him when I came -here.” - -Gerard looked at his watch. It was half past ten. He had stayed longer -than he had intended at the Villa Iris. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - - Colonel Vanderfelt’s Letter - -Gerard de Montignac found Paul still up and putting the last words to -the report of long and solitary wanderings amongst the inland tribes. -The report was to be despatched the next morning to the Bureau des -Affaires Indigènes at Rabat, and Gerard waited in patience until the -packet was sealed up. Then he burst out with his story of what had taken -place on the night before at the Villa Iris. Paul listened without an -interruption, but his face grew white with anger and his eyes burned, as -he heard of Madame Delagrange’s coarse abuse and Marguerite’s tears and -humiliations. - -“So you see, Paul, it was your fault in a way,” Gerard urged. “Of course -sooner or later Petras Tetarnis—damn his soul!—would have presented -his ultimatum, as he did last night, but you were the occasion of it -being done.” - -“Yes,” Paul agreed. - -“Then you must find her. You must do what you can, send her home, give -her a chance. I’ll start searching myself this very night. But you have -more time and better means of discovering her.” - -“Yes.” - -Paul had knocked about Casablanca as a boy. He had many friends amongst -the natives, and was accustomed to sit with them by the hour, drinking -mint tea and exchanging jokes. He was a man of property besides in that -town and could put out a great many feelers in different quarters. - -“I have no doubt that I can discover where she is,” he said, “if she is -still in Casablanca.” - -“Where else can she be unless it’s in the sea!” cried Gerard. “But -remember you have got to be quick. She had only the seven francs. God -knows what has become of her!” - -He stood gazing at the lamp as if he could read her whereabouts in that -white flame as the gifted might do in a crystal; with his cap tilted on -the back of his head and a look of grave trouble upon his face. - -“I’ll find her, never fear,” said Paul Ravenel, touching his friend upon -the arm. “And what I can do to keep her from harm that I will do.” - -Gerard responded to the friendliness and the assurance in Paul’s voice. -He shook off his dejection. - -“Thank you, mon vieux,” he said and held out his hand. “Well, we shall -meet in Fez.” - -He had reached the door before he remembered the primary reason for his -visit. - -“By the way, I have a letter about you from some one in England, a -Colonel Vanderfelt. Yes, he is anxious for news of you. He wrote to me -because in your letters to him you had more than once spoken of me as -your friend.” - -A shadow darkened Paul’s face as he listened, and a look of pain came -into his eyes. He took the letter from Gerard. - -“Have you answered it, Gerard?” - -“No. It only reached me to-night. I must leave that to you.” - -“Right.” - -The door-keeper let Gerard out and he tramped through the now silent and -empty streets the length of the town to the Market Gate; and so to his -quarters in the camp at Ain-Bourdja. Some years were to pass before the -two friends met again. - -Paul stood for a long time just as Gerard had left him with Colonel -Vanderfelt’s letter in his hand. The fragrance of an English garden -seemed to him to sweeten this Moorish room. Though the lattices were -wide open, he heard no longer the thunder of the great breakers upon the -shore. The letter was magical and carried him back on this hot night of -May to a country of cool stars. The garden, he remembered, would be -white with lilac, the tulips would be in flower, the rhododendrons -masses of red and mauve, against the house the wisteria would be hanging -in purple clusters. And in the drawing room some very kindly people -might at this moment be counting the date on which they could expect an -answer to this letter. - -Well, the answer would never come. - -“All those pleasant dreams are over,” thought Paul. “They have not heard -from me for more than a year. Let the break be complete!” and with a -rather wistful smile he tore the letter into shreds. Then he went out -and turning into a street by the sea-wall came to that house from which -Gerard de Montignac had seen him and his agent depart three days before. -A lattice was open on the first floor and from a wide window a golden -flood of light poured out upon the night. Paul whistled gently and then -waited at the door. It was thrown open in a few seconds, just time -enough for some one to run down the stairs and open it. Paul stepped -into a dark passage and a pair of slender arms closed about his neck and -drew his face down. - -“Marguerite, why didn’t you tell me how that venomous old harridan -treated you?” he whispered. - -Marguerite Lambert laughed with a note of utter happiness which no one -had heard from her for a long while. - -“My dear, what did it matter any longer;” and clinging to him -passionately, she pressed her lips to his. - - * * * * * - -Paul could have added a postscript to Henriette’s story, as Gerard de -Montignac had told it to him, if he had so willed. For when Marguerite -Lambert stood alone on that verandah, her bundle in her hand, a figure -had risen up out of the darkness of the garden and stepped onto the -boards. She recoiled at the first moment in terror, and her bundle -slipped from her hand and scattered its contents. - -“Marguerite,” the man whispered, and with a wild throb of her heart she -knew it was Paul Ravenel who was speaking to her. - -“You! You!” she said in so low a voice that, though he stood at her -side, the words only reached his ears like a sigh. “Oh!” and her arms -were about his shoulders, her hands tightly clasped behind his head, and -her tear-stained cheeks pressed close against the breast of his tunic. -He tried to lift her face, but she would not let him. - -“No! No!” she whispered. He could feel her bosom rising and falling, and -hear the sobs bursting from her throat. Then she flung up her face. - -“My dear! My dear! I was hoping that some sudden thing would kill me, -because I couldn’t do it myself. And then—you are here!” - -She drew herself from his arms, and not knowing what she did she kneeled -and began to gather together her scattered belongings. Paul Ravenel -laughed and stooping, lifted her up. - -“You won’t want those things any more, my dear,” and with his arm about -her he led her from the garden through the quiet streets to this house -by the sea-wall which had been got ready against her coming. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - - A Dilemma - -It was the sixteenth day of April in the following year. The dawn broke -over Fez sullen and unfriendly as the mood of the city. And all through -the morning the clouds grew heavier. Many watched them with anxiety -through that forenoon: the French Mission which was to set out on the -morrow, on its return to Rabat with the treaty of the Protectorate of -Morocco signed and sealed in its pocket; Mulai Hafid himself, now for -these many months Sultan, who was to travel with the Mission, on his way -to Paris; various high dignitaries of state, who though outwardly -wreathed in smiles and goodwill had prepared a little surprise for the -Mission in one of the passes on its line of march to the coast; and -various young officers of the escort who after ten months of garrison -duty outside Fez welcomed a chance of kicking up their heels for a week -or two in the cafés of the coast towns. Like conversation before dinner, -all these arrangements depended on the weather. - -At twelve o’clock Mulai Hafid gave a farewell luncheon to the Mission in -his great Palace in Fez Djedid; and after luncheon he conducted his -guests to a Pavilion looking upon a wide open space called Mechouar. -They had hardly reached the Pavilion before a storm burst with all the -violence of the tropics. The Pavilion was like everything else in -Morocco. It had never been finished when it was new, and never repaired -when it was old; and very soon, the rain breaking through the flimsy -roof had driven the guests from the first floor to the chamber of -audience below, and was splashing down the stairs in a cascade. A -general discomfort prevailed. Mulai Hafid himself was in a difficult -mood. To one French Commissioner of importance who apologized to him -because a certain General, lately promoted from Colonel, had not yet had -time to procure the insignia of his new rank, Mulai Hafid replied dryly: - -“The sooner he gets them the better. He’ll want them all to protect him -before he has done.” - -And a little later when the Head of the Mission, with whom he was -playing chess, indiscreetly objected to the Sultan moving -surreptitiously one of his knights with a latitude not authorised by the -rules, he turned in vexation to a Kaid of his friends and said: “See -what I have come to! I can no longer even move my own cavalry as I -please, without the consent of his Excellency and the French.” - -Altogether it was an uneasy luncheon party. Alone Paul Ravenel was -content. He was on duty with the Mission and all the morning his face -had been as cloudy as the sky because the storm did not break. Now he -stood at a window of the upper room, sheltering himself as best he might -from the leaks of the roof and smiled contentedly. Lieutenant Praslin, -who a year before had trumpeted the praises of Marguerite Lambert in the -mess at Ain-Bourdja, stood at his elbow. Praslin commanded now a platoon -in Paul’s company and held his chief in awe. But annoyance spurred him -to familiarity. - -“You are amused, my old one, are you?” he enquired. “We are of the -escort to-morrow. We shall swim through mud. The banks of the rivers -will be as slippery as a skating rink. We shall have horses and camels -tumbling about and breaking our necks. We shall have ladies in the party -too. And you are amused! Name of a name, you have a sense of humour, my -Captain.” - -“I laugh,” replied Paul, “because if the rain continues, we shan’t go at -all.” - -“And you don’t want to go! To arrive safely at Rabat with the Mission, -it might easily mean your step.” - -That Paul should despise the indifferent gaieties of Rabat and -Casablanca—that was understood. He was the serious one, destined for -the high commands. But here was opportunity and Paul Ravenel had been -quick to seize upon opportunity. There had been a pretty little fight -between Kenitra and Segota when Paul was in command of the Advance Guard -of Colonel Gouraud’s convoy; and Paul had fought his little battle with -a resourceful skill which had brought his name into the orders of the -day. He had been for ten months now in command of his Company at the -great camp of Dar-Debibagh, four kilometres out of Fez. These were days -of rapid promotion in an army where as a rule promotion was slow. A -successful march to Rabat might well make him Commandant and give him -his battalion. Yet the look upon his face, as he watched the sheets of -rain turning the plain of the Mechouar into a marsh, was the look of a -man—no, not relieved, but reprieved—yes, actually reprieved, thought -the Lieutenant Praslin. - -Below them in the chamber of audience the Chiefs of the Mission were at -this moment debating the postponement of the journey and they came -quickly to the only possible decision. The departure was put off for -three days. - -“We shall go then, however,” said Praslin, when this decision was -announced. “The escort is made up. There will be no change.” - -“I wonder,” Paul Ravenel replied. “In three days a man may learn wisdom. -The Mission may after all wait until a sufficient force is assembled to -protect it properly and then the whole personnel of the escort may be -changed.” - -“Oh, those stories!” cried Praslin contemptuously. He had the official -mind which looks upon distrust of official utterances as something next -to sacrilege. And official utterances had been busy of late. There was -no truth, they declared stoutly, in those stories that the Maghzen, the -Government itself, was stirring up disaffection and revolt behind the -back of the Mission. Very likely the people of Fez were saying that the -Sultan was the prisoner of the French, that he was being taken to Rabat -and Paris to be exhibited triumphantly as a captive; but the people of -Fez were born gossips and there was no danger in their talk. Had not the -Grand Vizier himself pledged his word that the country was quiet? Thus -the official mind. Thus too, consequently, Lieutenant Praslin, who was -very anxious to see life as it is lived in the coast towns. And if the -Intelligence Division and some soldiers who had spent years in the -country took a different view, why, soldiers were always alarmists and -foolish people and it was waste of time to listen to them. - -Paul rode back through the rain with Lieutenant Praslin to the camp at -Dar-Debibagh when the reception was over. They went by the Bab Segma and -the bridge over the Fez River. The track was already a batter of mud -above the fetlocks of their horses. At seven o’clock, however, the rain -ceased and Paul, changing into a dry uniform, went into Praslin’s tent. - -“I am dining with a friend of mine in Fez,” he said, “and I shall not be -back until late.” - -“The battalion parade’s at six in the morning,” Praslin reminded him. -“The order has not been countermanded.” - -“I know,” answered Paul. “I shall be on duty of course”; and mounting -his horse he rode again into the city. - -He rode back by the way he had come and just within the Bab Segma he met -four Moors mounted upon mules richly caparisoned, and themselves wearing -robes of a spotless white. They were clearly men of high rank and one -rode a little in advance of the others. As Paul drew closer to them he -recognised this man as the Minister of War and one of the most important -dignitaries of the Maghzen. Paul saluted him and to his amazement the -Minister did not return the salute but turned to one of his companions -with a dishonouring word. - -“Djiffa!” he said contemptuously, and spat on the ground. Paul took no -notice of the insult. But if he had needed proof of the stories which -the official mind refused to entertain, here it was openly avowed. Very -likely the postponement of the Mission’s departure had upset the -precious plans of the Maghzen and the Minister of War was showing his -displeasure. The point of importance to Paul was that he should dare to -show it so openly. That could but imply very complete plans for an -ambuscade in force on the road of the Mission to the coast, and a very -complete confidence as to the outcome. - -Paul began to think of his own affairs. - -“Suppose that the Mission and its escort is destroyed,” he reflected. “I -have left nothing to chance. No! The blow must fall as lightly as I can -make possible.” - -He enumerated one by one the arrangements which he had made and recalled -the wording of his instructions to his solicitors and agents. - -“No, I can think of nothing else,” he concluded. He had this final -request for help to make to-night, and he was very sure that he would -not make it in vain. “No,—whatever money can do to lighten the -blow—that has been done. And money can do much assuredly. -Only—only”—and he admitted to himself at last with a little shiver, a -dark thought which he had hitherto driven off—“she is just the kind of -girl who might commit suttee.” - -He rode along the main street into the quarter of Tala. It was a street -always narrow, but sometimes so narrow that if two mules met they could -hardly pass. High walls of houses without any windows made it a chasm -rather than a street. At rare intervals it widened into a “place” or -square, where a drinking fountain stood or a bridge crossed a stream. It -was paved with broken cobble stones with a great rut in the middle where -the feet of the mules and horses had broken down to the brown earth -beneath; and here and there a slippery mill-stone on which the horse -skidded, had been let in to the cobbles by way of repair. It climbed -steeply and steeply fell, and in places the line of houses was broken by -a high garden wall above which showed orange trees laden with their -fruit and bougainvillæa climbing. - -At times he passed under an archway where the street was built over -above his head and huge solid doors stood back against the walls on -either hand, that one quarter might be shut off from another during the -night, or in times of trouble. On his right hand a number of alleys led -into the Souk-ben-Safi and the maze of Fez-el-Bali. Into one of these -alleys Paul turned and stopped in front of a big house with an imposing -door studded with nails, and a stone by which to mount a horse. - -He dismounted and knocked upon the door. To his surprise, it was not at -once thrown open. He looked about him. There was no servant waiting to -take his horse in charge. If there had been a mistake! Paul’s heart sank -at the thought. Suppose that his friend Si El Hadj Arrifa, on whom so -much now might depend, had been called away from his home? But that -couldn’t be—surely! However peremptory the summons had been, so -punctilious a personage as Si El Hadj Arrifa would have found a moment -wherein to put off his expected guest. Yet if nevertheless it were so -. . . ! - -Paul Ravenel felt the weighty letter under his tunic and gazed at the -blank wall of the great house with troubled eyes. Oh, he must talk with -his friend to-night! In three days the Mission and its escort were to -start. He might not get another chance. He redoubled his blows upon the -door and at last he heard a key turn in the lock and a clatter as the -wooden cross-bars were removed. - -That sound completed his uneasiness. He had ridden through the city -thinking of his own affairs, his eyes in blinkers. Now tracing his steps -in memory, he recalled that the streets had been strangely quiet, -strangely empty. And here at the end of his journey was this hospitable -house barricaded against an invited guest. - -“Oh, no,” he said, seeking to reassure himself, “the danger’s out there -in the ‘bled,’ on the way to the coast, not here in the town.” - -But a picture rose before his mind of four notable Moors in milk-white -robes mounted on mules with trappings of scarlet and silver who sneered -openly at the uniform and spat. Paul Ravenel was frightened now. If it -was not only in the “bled” that danger threatened, then all his careful -letters and arrangements were worth just as much as the cobble stones -underneath his feet. - -The door was open at last and as a servant took Paul’s horse by the -bridle and led it away to a stable, Paul hurried impatiently into the -house. But he was no more impatient than the servant who closed and -bolted the door behind him; and in the passage he saw a small troop of -attendants, every one of them armed and at the entrance from the passage -into the central court Si El Hadj Arrifa himself with a face of fear and -in the attitude of a man poised for flight. - -But when he caught sight of the gold lace upon Paul’s uniform, the -Moor’s expression changed to surprise and surprise in its turn to a -smile of welcome. Si El Hadj Arrifa was a stout man, fair like so many -of the Fasi, with a fringe of beard round his fat face. He was dressed -in a silken shirt with an overgarment of pink tissue under his white -djellaba and his hands were as well-kept as a woman’s. He wore a fine -white haik over his turban and fez. - -“I am afraid that you didn’t expect me,” said Paul. - -“Your Excellency is always welcome,” replied Si El Hadj Arrifa. “Our -poor little meal is ready.” - -But it was not ready and Paul’s uneasiness increased. He knew, however, -that he would hear nothing until hospitality was satisfied of its -ceremonies and then only by a roundabout road. He was led into a room -opening by means of a wide archway onto the court. In one corner of the -room stood a big modern brass bedstead. It was an ornament and a -decoration, nothing more. For sleep, cushions upon the tiled floor were -used. Round the wall there were a great number of clocks, Grandfather -clocks, heavy Victorian clocks of ormolu, clocks of marble, most of them -ticking away but registering quite different hours, and on the tiled -floor stood two branched candlesticks of shining silver with the candles -burning. Thick cushions were stretched upon the tiles about the candles -and upon them Paul and his host took their seats. - -Si El Hadj Arrifa was a personage in Fez, a man of influence in politics -and of great wealth. He had visited Manchester more than once, to buy -cotton goods and he talked of that town whilst they waited for dinner. - -“They have good dentists,” he said. - -Paul looked at this soigné and dainty gentleman in the fine setting of -his beautiful house, and smiled to think of the figure he must cut in -Manchester. He probably wore a black gown like a gabardine and elastic -sided boots over white woollen socks and lived in a small room in a -dingy street. But Si El Hadj Arrifa fell soon into an uneasy silence and -sat listening with his head cocked as if he expected some sound from the -city without to ring out over the open square in the roof above the -court. A fountain was playing in the centre of the court in honour of -the visitor, but the Moor called to a servant to turn it off, since the -splash and tingle of the water so filled the ears that they could -apprehend nothing else. - -Dinner was brought in at last by a couple of negresses and Paul must eat -of each course beginning with sweetmeats, and ranging through a -couscouss, a roasted leg of mutton and a stuffed chicken. Paul put his -right hand into the dish and tore at the meat in the due fashion and -accepted tit-bits from the fingers of his host. Some orange water was -brought for him to drink, and when the long meal was over one of the -negresses brought them a ewer and soap and poured water over their hands -whilst they washed them. - -“Yes, they have good dentists in Manchester,” said Si El Hadj Arrifa -and, taking a complete set of shining teeth from his mouth, he washed -them and polished them and replaced them. - -“They seem to have very good dentists there,” said Paul with befitting -gravity. - -A silver tea kettle was brought and a silver spirit lamp, and Si El Hadj -Arrifa brewed two little cups of heavily sweetened green tea and -flavoured it with mint. But even while engaged upon this important work, -he still kept his head cocked a little on one side, as though he still -listened for some dreaded yet expected sound. And when he handed the cup -to Paul, it rattled in the saucer. - -Nothing on this evening had so startled Paul Ravenel. His heart jumped -within his breast. Si El Hadj Arrifa was not merely disturbed. His hand -was shaking. He was desperately afraid. He drew a breath and leaned -forward to speak and Ravenel said to himself with relief. “At last! It -is coming.” - -But he was wrong. His host only enquired whether Paul had ever visited -America. - -“No,” he answered. - -“A man in Manchester told me that they had a way there of stuffing -turkeys which was very good. But they used oysters for it and of course -so far from the sea we can get none at Fez.” - -“Some day there will be a railway,” said Paul consolingly. Si El Hadj -Arrifa made another brew of tea, this time suspending in the brew a -little lump of ambergris to flavour it. - -“I must begin,” thought Paul, as he took his cup. He felt for the big -letter in his tunic but before he could take it from his breast his host -spoke in a low, quiet tone, words which at first seemed of little more -importance than any which had been spoken before, and afterwards were -able to set Paul’s heart fluttering. - -“I sent a messenger this evening to you at the camp at Dar-Debibagh. - -“He missed me,” replied Paul. - -“It is a pity.” - -“Why?” - -“I sent him to warn you not to come into Fez to-night.” - -“Why?” - -“You are my friend. There is danger.” - -“But outside the city,” cried Paul, “from the tribes—after we have -marched.” - -“Here in Fez too,” Si El Hadj Arrifa insisted in a voice which now -frankly shook with terror. “For you and all of your creed that dwell in -this city.” - -Paul was already on his feet, his face and his eyes set in a stare of -horror. Si El Hadj Arrifa quite misunderstood the French officer’s -manner. He said soothingly: - -“You shall stay in my house till it is all over.” - -“All over?” Paul repeated. He took his hand from the bulky letter in his -tunic. If the dreadful news were true, his plans must change. His heart -sank as he caught a glimpse of how they must change. - -“I must know more, my friend,” he said, and he sat quietly down again -upon the cushions. - -“There are the Askris,” said the man of Fez, “the tribesmen. You have -taken them too quickly into your armies. You have armed them too -quickly. You have placed them with their instructors in the Kashab des -Cherarda by the Segma gate as a garrison for this town. Oh, madness!” - -“Yes,” Paul agreed. “We should have waited a year—two years.” - -“They are told that they must carry knapsacks,” continued Si El Hadj -Arrifa. “With us that is work for women, an insult to men.” - -“But it isn’t true,” said Paul Ravenel. - -“What does that matter if it is believed? The knapsacks were carried on -mules publicly through the city, so that all men might see them. Six -thousand of them.” - -“Not by our orders,” said Paul, and the swift look and the shrug of the -shoulders with which the protest was received told him much. It was by -the order of the Maghzen that those knapsacks had been paraded. The -Government itself was behind this movement in the city as it was behind -the insurrection on the plains. Once more he saw very clearly the four -contemptuous notables upon their mules. - -“Of course we have known of this trouble,” said Paul slowly. “But we -thought that each instructor could make it clear to his men that the -story was a lie.” - -Si El Hadj Arrifa flung up his hands. - -“Oh, the great lessons and nothing is learnt! Was there not trouble once -for the English in India? Was there not talk of cartridges greased with -the fat of pigs? It was not true. No! But it served. As the knapsacks -will serve in Fez.” - -“A little time,” cried Paul Ravenel, clutching at the straw of that -faint hope. - -“There is no time,” answered Si El Hadj Arrifa. “Listen!” He looked -swiftly behind him into the shadows of the court to make sure that there -were none to overhear. “The revolt in Fez was planned for to-morrow, -after the Mission had departed. There was to be a scouring.” - -“Yes.” - -“The Askris are ready: more than ready. It was difficult to hold them -in, even with the promise of to-morrow. Now that the departure is -postponed, they will not wait. It needs a word perhaps, but the speaking -of that word cannot be delayed.” - -Paul nodded gloomily. - -“And they won’t believe it,” he said in a dull quiet voice, as he stared -upon the ground. Believe it? Paul Ravenel knew very well that were he to -batter down the door of the Embassy, they would not even allow him to -blurt his story out. Why should he come prattling his soldier’s -silliness at that unearthly hour? Let him go back to his camp and await -his well-deserved reprimand in the morning! There are proper channels by -which presumptuous young officers must address their importunities. It -is the history of many disasters. Politics and ambition and the play of -parties must decide what is going to happen, not prescience or -knowledge. Is a country notoriously _studiis asperrima belli_? Let us -never admit it, lest we range against us this or that faction which is -strong enough to bring us down. It’s all a gamble. So let us plank our -money and everybody else’s and their lives into the bargain on to our -colour and chance it turning up. “All rising to Great Place is by a -winding stair.” So we must twist and turn and see nothing beyond the -next step by which we mount. Authority in Fez had just been given the -cravat of Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour, because the -negotiations for the Protectorate had been conducted so smoothly and had -ended in so resounding a success. It would never do for authority to -listen to any intrusive soldier who insisted that murder and torture -were knocking on the door. Had not the Maghzen declared that the -tribesmen in the “bled” were only thinking of their husbandry? Did not -the Grand Vizier himself guarantee the goodwill and peacefulness of Fez? - -“They have stopped their ears and bandaged their eyes,” said Paul. - -“But you will stay here to-night,” his friend urged. “No one, I think, -saw you come into my house, and my servants are faithful. Yes, you will -stay here and be safe until this danger is overpast!” - -Paul shook his head. - -“That I cannot do,” he said, and Si El Hadj Arrifa hearing the tone he -used, knew that there would be no persuading him. - -“Then go while you can, and ride quickly with your pistol loose in its -holster.” - -But even so Paul did not move. - -“Wait,” he said. - -He raised his head to listen. The night was still as a tomb. A cry even -from the most distant corner of the city, it seemed to him, must carry -to this open square of darkness above them. He had time. “Yes, wait,” he -repeated, and he went apart into the shadowy patio. Never had he been -set to face so tragic a dilemma. He knew Si El Hadj Arrifa too well to -doubt him. Nor indeed had he any real doubt as to the choice which he -himself would make. The choice was in truth made, had been made from the -moment he was sure that torture and massacre threatened those who -remained in Fez as much as those who marched to Rabat. But he stood in -that shadowy court of marble and tiles, gazing with a great sorrow upon -many lovely cherished things which he was now forever to forego, his own -hopes and ambitions, a little circle of good friends, honour and good -report, a career of active service and study well-applied, and at the -end of it all a name cleansed of its stain, and—even now the picture -rose before his mind—a dreamlike high garden fragrant with roses, from -which one looked out over moonlit country to the misty barrier of the -Downs. It was such a farewell as he had never thought to make and when -he turned back into the room his face was twisted as with a physical -pain and anguish lay deep in his brooding eyes. - -He took the envelope from his breast. - -“I shall trust you with more than my life,” he said. - -“Your Excellency has honoured me with his friendship. I am his servant -in all things.” - -“I have been for three nights writing this letter. I had it in my mind -to open it here and read it to you. But the bad news you have given me -points to another way. It may be that there will be no need to use it. I -give it into your hands and I beg you to keep it sealed as it is, until -you are certain of my death. If I am alive I shall find a means to let -you know. If I am dead, I pray you to do all that I have written here.” - -Si El Hadj Arrifa took the letter and bowed his forehead upon it, as -though it carried the very Sultan’s seal. - -“With God’s will, I will do as you direct.” - -Paul took his friend by the hand, and looked him in the eyes. - -“I could not rest quiet in my grave if my wishes written there were not -fulfilled—if misfortune struck where there is no need that it should -strike. A voice would call to me, in sorrow and distress, and I should -hear it and stir in my grave though I was buried metres deep in clay. It -is a promise?” - -“Yes.” - -Si El Hadj Arrifa struck a bell and a man came out to him from the -servants’ quarters. - -“All is quiet, Mohammed?” - -“Up till this hour.” - -“His Excellency’s horse then! You will go in front of him with a lantern -as far as the Bab Segma. His Excellency returns to the camp at -Dar-Debibagh.” - -The servant’s eyes opened wide in fear. He looked from his master to his -master’s guest, as though both of them had been smitten with madness. -Then he went out upon his business, and the two men in the court heard -the fall of the bars and the grinding of the lock of the door. - -“I will put this away,” said Si El Hadj Arrifa, balancing the letter in -his hands; and he went upstairs to his own room. When he came down Paul -was standing in the patio, with his cap upon his head. - -“I will bid you good-bye here my friend,” said Paul, but his host, -terrified though he was, would not so far fall short of his duties. He -went out with Paul Ravenel to the street. The city all about them was -very quiet. There was no light anywhere but the light in the big lantern -which Mohammed was carrying in one hand whilst he held the bridle of -Paul’s horse with the other. Paul mounted quickly and without a word. Si -El Hadj Arrifa stood in the doorway of his house. He watched the lantern -dwindle to a spark, he heard the sharp loud crack of the horse’s shoes -upon the cobbles soften and grow dull. He waited until the spark had -vanished, and, a little time afterwards, the beat of the hoofs had -ceased. And still there was no sign of any trouble, no distant clamour -as of men gathering, no shrill cries from the women on the roofs. He -went back into his house. - -[Illustration: _A William Fox Production._ _The Winding Stair._ PAUL -FIRST MEETS MARGUERITE, DANCER IN THE CAFE IRIS.] - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - - The Little Door in the Angle - -Si El Hadj Arrifa squatted upon his cushions and stared at the flames of -the candles in his branched silver candlestick. Captain Paul Ravenel -would be half way through the Tala now. It was always in that quarter of -the town that turbulence began. He would be half way through the Tala, -therefore half way between this house and the Bab Segma too. And as yet -there was not a cry. Si El Hadj Arrifa had never known a night so still. -But then he had never listened before with such an intensity of fear, -fear for himself, fear for that friend of his riding through the silent -town, with the lantern swinging close to the ground in front of him. The -sky had cleared after the rain and the stars were bright above the open -square of the roof. But it was dark and once past the Bab Segma and -clear of the town, Paul Ravenel would slip like a swift shadow over the -soft ground to Dar-Debibagh. He must be near the gates by now. Si El -Hadj Arrifa pictured him now skirting the gardens of Bou Djeloud and -very close to the gate; a few yards more, that was all. Si El Hadj -Arrifa imagined him knocking upon the gate for the watchman to open it. -A sense of relief stole over the Moor. Mohammed would be back very soon -now. Upon the relief followed drowsiness. Si El Hadj Arrifa’s head fell -forward upon his breast and his body slipped into an easier -attitude. . . . - -Yes, Paul Ravenel was undoubtedly rapping upon the Segma gate, but -rapping rather urgently, rather insistently. How those dogs of watchmen -slept, to be sure! And Si El Hadj Arrifa woke with a start and very -cold. It was upon his own outer door that some one knocked urgently and -insistently. - -The Moor rose to his feet and stopped. His eyes had fallen upon his fine -silver candlesticks and he stood upright and stiff in a paralysis of -terror. The candles had burnt low. He had slept there for a long time. -Mohammed should have been back an hour ago. The sound of his knocking, -too, urgent, yet with all its urgency, discreet, spoke, like a voice of -fear. Something untoward then had happened. Yet the city still slept. Si -El Hadj Arrifa was no braver than most of his fellow townsmen. He -shivered suddenly and violently and little whimpers of panic broke from -his lips. Massacres were not conducted quietly. Uproar and clamour -waited upon them; and the strange and eerie silence brooding over the -town daunted the soft luxurious Moor till his bones seemed to melt -within his body. It was stealthy and sinister like an enemy hidden in -the dark. He crept into the passage and listened. There was nothing to -hear but the urgent scratching and rapping upon the door. - -“Is that you, Mohammed?” he asked. - -“Yes, Master.” - -Si El Hadj Arrifa unfastened the door and held it ajar, looking out. -Mohammed was alone, and there was no longer a lantern in his hand. - -“Come in! And make no noise!” said Si El Hadj Arrifa. - -Mohammed slipped into the passage, closed the strong door so cautiously -that not a hinge whined, then locked and bolted and barred it. - -“Now follow me!” - -The Moor led the way back to the room with the brass bedstead and sank -like a man tired out on to the cushions. His servant stood in front of -him with a passive mask-like face and eyes which shone bright with fear -in the light of the candles. “Speak low!” said Si El Hadj Arrifa; and -this is the story which Mohammed told in a voice hardly above a whisper. - -The French officer did not ride to the Segma Gate. He called in a quiet -voice to Mohammed and turned off towards the Bab-el-Hadid on the south -of the town. - -“The Bab-el-Hadid,” Si El Hadj Arrifa repeated in wonderment. - -“But his Excellency did not go as far as the gate. He stopped at the -hospital and dismounted,” said Mohammed. - -Si El Hadj Arrifa’s face lightened. The hospital was the headquarters of -the military command. Paul Ravenel had taken his story there. - -Paul had remained for a long time in the hospital. Two officers came out -with him at length, one of whom was dressed in slippers and pyjamas with -a dressing gown thrown on as if he had been wakened from his bed. - -“Was his Excellency smiling?” asked Si El Hadj Arrifa. - -“No. The other two were smiling. His Excellency shrugged his shoulders -and mounted his horse heavily like a man in trouble.” - -Si El Hadj Arrifa nodded his head and muttered to himself. - -“They will not believe,” he said. “No, they will not believe.” He looked -towards Mohammed. “Then he went out by the Bab-el-Hadid?” - -But Paul had not. He had turned his back to the Bab-el-Hadid and bade -Mohammed lead to the Karouein quarter. - -They went for a while through silent empty streets, Mohammed ten paces -or so ahead, holding the lantern so that the light shone upon the ground -and Paul Ravenel following upon his horse. Mohammed did not turn round -at all to see that the Captain was following him, but the shoes of the -horse clacked on the cobbles just behind him and echoed from wall to -wall. They came to the first gate and it was open. The great doors stood -back against the wall and the watchman was not at his post. Mohammed was -frightened. An omission to shut off the quarters of the city one from -the other at night could not be due to negligence. This was an order -given by authority. However, no one stopped them; they saw no one; they -heard no one. - -They came to a second gate. This too stood wide. Beyond the gate the -street was built over for a long way making a black tunnel, and half way -down the tunnel it turned sharply at a right angle. When this corner had -been turned, a glimmer of twilight far ahead would show where the tunnel -ceased. - -Mohammed passed in under the roof over the street and after he had -walked some twenty paces forward, he judged that Captain Ravenel had -fallen a little behind, the shoes of the horse no longer rang so clearly -on the stones. He turned then, and saw horse and rider outlined against -the dark sky, as they reached the tunnel’s mouth. He noticed Paul -Ravenel bent forward over the neck of his horse to prevent his head from -knocking against the low roof. Then he entered the tunnel and was at -once swallowed up in the blackness of it. - -Mohammed walked forward again rather quickly. For he was afraid of this -uncanny place, and turned the angle of the street without looking round -again. He did not think at all. If he had, he would have understood that -once the feeble flicker of his lantern were lost beyond the corner, Paul -Ravenel would be left in the darkness of the blind, the mouth of the -tunnel behind him, a blank wall before his face. Mohammed was in a fever -to reach the open street again and now that he saw it in front of him at -the end of the passage opaquely glimmering as an uncurtained window on a -dark night will glimmer to one in a room, he pushed eagerly forward. He -was close to the outlet when he realised that no horse’s hoofs rang on -the cobbles behind him. - -He turned and peered back into the tunnel. There was nothing to be seen -and there was no sound. Mohammed did not dare to call out. He stood -wavering between his duty and his fear; and suddenly a tremendous -clatter broke the silence and frightened Mohammed out of his wits. -Mohammed had just time to draw back close against the wall when a horse -dashed past him at a full gallop. A stirrup iron struck and tore his -djellaba and the horse was gone—out of the tunnel up the street. But -Mohammed’s eyes were now accustomed to the darkness. He was able to see -against the sky that the horse was riderless. - -Something had startled the horse and the French Captain was thrown. He -was lying on the ground back there, in the darkness. That was all! Thus -Mohammed reasoned, listening. Yes, certainly that was all—except that -it might well be that the French Captain was hurt. - -Mohammed must return and find out. Quaking with alarm he retraced his -steps, throwing the light of his lantern on one side of the passage -after the other. But so far the passage was empty. No doubt the Captain -would be lying on the ground beyond the angle where the tunnel turned. -But here too he searched in vain. The Captain had disappeared: somewhere -between the two outlets in this black place. He had gone! - -Mohammed lifted the lantern above his head, swinging it this way and -that so that the light flickered and danced upon the walls. Then his arm -grew steady. Opposite it to him in the darkest corner there was a little -door studded with great nails—a door you never perceived though you -passed through the tunnel ten times a day. Mohammed crossed to it, -touched it, shook it. It was locked and bolted. He was debating whether -he should knock upon it or no. But he dared not. This was the beginning -of that Holy War which was to free El Magreb from the clutch of the -Christians,—the stealthy beginning. To-morrow there would not be one of -them alive in Fez, and outside Fez the land would be one flame of -vengeance. If the French Captain were behind that little door he must be -praying for a swift death! - -Mohammed drew back and suddenly the mouth of the tunnel was obscured and -he saw the figures of two men. Panic had been hovering about Mohammed -these many minutes since. It took him by the throat and the heart now. -With a cry he dashed his lantern on the ground and fled leaping, past -the two men. He was not followed. - -This is the story which Mohammed told to Si El Hadj Arrifa in the room -with the clocks and the brass bedstead and the silver candelabra. - -“That is the gate by Karouein Mosque?” said the master, when his servant -had done. - -“Yes.” - -Si El Hadj Arrifa nodded his head thoughtfully. He did not believe that -the Captain had been captured or slain in this noiseless fashion. He -himself had been bidden not to open that big envelope locked away -upstairs until he was very certain that Paul Ravenel was dead. The -Captain had his plans into which it was no business of his friend to -pry. - -“As to that little door, Mohammed,” he said. “It will be well to forget -it.” - -“It is forgotten, Master,” answered Mohammed, and far away but very -clear and musical in the silence of the night the voice of a mueddin on -a lofty minaret called the Faithful to their prayers. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - - The Companions of the Night - -Si El Hadj Arrifa was right. When Mohammed saw Paul Ravenel ride forward -out of the loom of the night into the darkness of the tunnel, bending -his head so that it might not strike the roof, he missed a slight action -which was much more significant. Paul slipped his right hand into his -pocket and took out a heavy key. He had been seeing to it that Mohammed -should draw gradually ahead and by the time when he came opposite to the -little door in the angle, Mohammed was far beyond the turn and there was -not the faintest glimmer of light from the lantern. Paul slipped from -his saddle, gave his horse a sharp cut across the buttocks with his -riding whip, and as the startled animal galloped off, turned quickly to -the little door. - -He was in a darkness so complete that he could not see the key in his -hand nor the hand that held it. Yet he found the keyhole at once and in -another second he was within the house. The passage in which he found -himself was as black as the tunnel outside. Yet he locked the door, -picked up and fitted the stout transverse bars into their sockets as -neatly as though he worked in the broad noon. He had made no sound at -all. Yet he had shut a door between the world and himself, and the -effort of his life now must be to keep it for ever closed. He had a -queer fancy that a door thus momentously closing upon his fortunes ought -to clang so loudly that the noise of it would reach across the city. - -“There was once a Paul Ravenel,” he said to himself. - -The lantern in Mohammed’s hands flickering upon the walls of the tunnel -and every second dwindling a little more, receding a little more, danced -before his eyes. There went the soul and spirit of that Paul Ravenel. - -He was aroused from his misery by the sound of Mohammed’s hands sliding -curiously over the panels of the door. The cry of panic followed quickly -and the clatter of the lantern upon the cobble stones. Paul waited with -his pistol in his hand, wondering what had startled his attendant. But -silence only ensued and he turned away from the door into the house. At -the end of a short passage he opened a second door and stood on the -threshold of a small court brightly lit and beautiful. A round pool from -which a jet of water sprang and cooled the sultry air was in the centre -of the white-tiled floor. Wooden pillars gaily painted and gilded and -ornamented in the Moorish fashion, not by carving but by little squares -and cubes and slips of wood delicately glued on in an intricate pattern, -supported arches giving entrance to rooms. There was a cool sound of -river water running along an open conduit waist-high against a wall; and -poised in an archway across the court with her eyes eagerly fixed upon -the passage stood Marguerite Lambert, a tender and happy smile upon her -lips. - -When Paul Ravenel saw her, the remorse which had been stinging him -during the ride and had reached a climax of pain as he stood behind the -door, was stilled. Marguerite had changed during this year. The hollows -of her shoulders and throat had filled. The haggard look of apprehension -had vanished from her face. Colour had come into her cheeks and gaiety -into her eyes and a bright gloss upon her hair. She wore a fragile -little white frock embroidered with silver which a girl might have worn -at a dance in a ball room of London or Paris; and in the exotic setting -of that court she seemed to him a flame of wonder and beauty. And she -was his. He held her in his arms, the softness of her cheek against his. - -“Marguerite!” he said. “Each time I see you it is for the first time. -How is that?” But Marguerite did not answer to his laugh. She held him -off and scanned him with anxious eyes. - -“Something has happened, Paul.” - -“No.” - -“When you came in, you were troubled.” - -“When I saw you the trouble passed. I was afraid that you might be -angry. I am very late.” - -Marguerite did not believe one word of that explanation, but the way to -discover the true one did not lie through argument. She drew Paul across -the court, holding him by the hand and saying lightly: - -“Foolish one, should I quarrel with you on the evening before you march -away? You might never come back to me.” - -She led him into a side room and drew him down beside her on the thick, -low cushions. Upstairs there were chairs and tables and the -paraphernalia of a western home. Here on the level of the patio and the -street they had for prudence’ sake kept it all of the country. There was -no brass bedstead, it is true, to ornament the room, but there were -three tall grandfather clocks, though only one of them was going and -that marked the true time. Marguerite laid her head in the hollow of his -shoulder and her arm went round his waist. - -“Paul, you won’t get killed!” she whispered. “Oh, take care! take care! -I am afraid. This year has been so perfect.” - -“You must have been lonely many days.” - -“And many nights,” whispered Marguerite, with a little grimace. Then she -laughed with the trill of a bird. “But you had just gone or you were -soon returning and my thoughts were full of you. I am not difficult and -thorny, am I, Paul? Say so! Say so at once!” - -He laid her down so that her shoulders rested on his knee and her face -smiled up at him, and bending he kissed her on the mouth for an answer. - -“You are the most golden thing that ever happened in this world,” he -said. “I think of all those years that I lived through, before I met -you, quite contented with myself and knowing nothing—no, absolutely -nothing of the great miracle.” - -“What miracle, Paul?” - -“The miracle of man and woman,—of you and me—who want to be -together—who are hungry when we are not together,—who walk amongst -rainbows when we are.” - -Paul was the “grand serieux,” as Gerard de Montignac had called him, -warning him too of that very fate which had befallen him. Love of this -girl had swept him off his feet, calf-love and man’s love had come to -him at once. Marguerite was new and entrancingly strange to him as Eve -to Adam. He made much of her judgment, as lovers will, marvelling when -she swept to some swift, sane decision whilst he was debating the this -and the that. She entertained him one moment as though he were an -audience and she a company of players; she was the tenderest of -companions the next: in her moments of passion she made him equal with -the gods; and the pride and glory to both of them was that each had been -the first to enter the heart and know the embraces of the other. - -“Paul, what are you thinking about?” she asked. - -“That’s the prettiest frock I have seen you in,” said he, and with a -smile of pleasure she raised herself and sat at his side. - -“It’s the prettiest I have got,” she returned. - -Paul lifted a strip of the fragile skirt between his fingers. - -“It’s a funny thing, Marguerite,” he said. “But until I knew you, I -never noticed at all whether a girl was wearing a topping frock or -whether she was dowdy. So long as they had something over their -shoulders, they were all pretty much the same to me.” - -“And now?” asked Marguerite. - -“Well, it’s different,” said Paul, disappointing her of her expected -flattery. “That’s all.” - -Marguerite laughed, as she could afford to. As she knew very well, he -loved to see her straight and slim in her fine clothes and it gave him -an entrancing little sensuous thrill to feel the delicate fabrics -draping exquisitely her firm young body. - -Paul, before he had set out with Colonel Gouraud’s supply column on the -expedition to Fez, had sent Marguerite across the Straits and up to -Madrid, where a credit was opened for her at one of the banks. Paul had -been afraid lest she should stint herself, not only of luxuries but of -things needed. But she had answered, “Of course I’ll take from you, my -dear. I am proud to take from you.” - -She looked back upon that journey now and said: - -“I had six glorious weeks in Madrid. Fittings and fittings and choosing -colours, and buying shoes and stockings and hats and all sorts of -things. I began at half past nine every morning and was never finished -till the shops closed. I had never had any money to spend before. Oh, it -was an orgy!” - -“And you regret those weeks?” asked Paul, misled by the enjoyment with -which she remembered them. - -“Nonsense. I had more fun still when I came back with what I had bought. -I was going to make myself beautiful in the eyes of my lord!” and -mockingly she pushed her elbow into his side, as she sat beside him. - -Marguerite, upon her return, had waited for some weeks in Tangier. Paul -had to make sure that he was to be stationed at Fez. Afterwards he had -to find and buy this house, furnish it and provide a staff of servants -on whose fidelity he could rely. He had secured two negresses and an -Algerian, an old soldier who had served with him in the Beni-Snassen -campaign before he had ever come on service to Morocco. Even when all -was ready at Fez there was a further delay, since the road from Tangier -to Fez was for a time unsafe. - -“I was tired of waiting, long before Selim and the negress and the -little escort you sent for me appeared,” she said. “But the journey up -country I adored.” - -It was early in the year. The ten villages with their hedges of cactus; -the rolling plains of turf over-scattered with clumps of asphodel in -flower; the aspect of little white-walled towns tucked away high up in -the folds of hills; the bright strong sun by day, the freshness of the -nights, and the camp fires in that open and spacious country were a -miracle of freedom and delight to this girl who had choked for so long -in the hot and tawdry bars of the coast towns. And every step brought -her nearer to her lover. It was the season of flowers. Great fields of -marigold smiled at her. Yellow-striped purple iris nodded a welcome. -Rosy thrift, and pale-blue chicory, and little congregations of crimson -poppies, and acres of wild mustard drew her on through a land of colour. -And here and there on a small knoll a solitary palm overshadowed a -solitary white-domed tomb. - -She rode a mule and wore the dress of a Moorish woman. All had been done -secretly, even to the purchase of the house in Fez, which was held in -the name of a Moorish friend of Paul’s. It was Marguerite’s wish from -first to last. Paul would have proclaimed her from the roof tops, had -she but lifted an eyebrow. But she knew very well that it would not help -Paul in his career were he to bring a pretty mistress up from the coast -and parade her openly in Fez. He would get a name for levity and -indiscretion. Moreover, the secrecy was for itself delightful to her. It -was to her like a new toy to a child. - -“I love a secret,” she had said once to Paul, when he urged that her -life was dull. “It sets us a little further apart from others and a -little nearer together. It will be fun keeping it up, and we shall laugh -of an evening, locked safely away in the midst of Fez in our little -hidden palace.” It was fun, too, for Marguerite to dress herself in a -fine silk caftan of pink or pale blue reaching to her feet, to pass over -the mansouriya, to slip her bare feet into little purple embroidered -heelless slippers, to wind a bright scarf about her hair, to burden her -ankles and arms with heavy clashing rings of silver, to blacken her long -eyelashes and veil the lower part of her face and go shopping with one -of the negresses in the Souk-Ben-Safi. It was fun also to return home -and transform herself into a fashionable girl of the day and wait in -this southern patio for the coming of her lover. - -“I love routine like a dog,” she said on this evening. She was sitting -on the low cushion by Paul’s side. Her slim legs showing pink through -the fine white silk of her stockings were stretched out in front of her. -She contemplated the tips of her small white satin slippers. “I don’t -want any more surprises,” and Paul’s face grew for a moment grave and -twitched with a stab of pain. “I don’t want any more people. I have had -enough of both. I love going up on the roof and watching that great -upper city of women, and wondering what’s going on in the narrow streets -at the bottom of the deep chasms between the houses. I have books, too, -and work when I’m not too lazy to do it, and I am learning the little -two-stringed guitar, and I want one person, one foolish dear person, and -since I’ve got him, I’m very happy.” - -Paul reached forward and, closing a hand round one of her ankles, shook -it tenderly. - -“Listen to me, Marguerite!” he began, but she was upon her feet in an -instant. She snatched up Paul’s kêpi and cocked it jauntily on her -curls. - -“Canada?” she cried in a sharp, manly voice, and saluted, bringing her -high heels together with a click and standing very stiff and upright. -She hummed the tune of “The Maple Leaf,” interpolating noises meant to -parody the instruments of an orchestra, and she marched in front of Paul -and round the patio quickly and briskly like a girl in a pantomime -procession, until she came back to her starting point. - -“Australia!” - -Again she saluted and marched round to the tune of “Australia will be -there.” - -“The U-nited States of America!” she announced, and this time she -skimmed round the patio in a sort of two-step dance, swift as a bird, -her white and silver frock glinting and rippling as she moved. - - “Yankee Doodle went to town - Upon a little pony,” - -she sang, and she returned to her starting point. - -“Great Britain!” she cried. - -Here she saluted for a long time while marking time and calling out in a -gruff voice: “One, two, one, two! Can’t you girls keep time! Miss -Montmorenci, you’ve a ladder in your stocking, and if you think any one -is going to take the trouble to climb up it, you flatter yourself. Miss -de Bourbon, you haven’t marked your face and it can do with a lot!” and -off she went to the tune of the “British Grenadiers.” When she came -opposite to Paul again she held out her short skirt on each side, -dropped a low curtsey and declared: - -“And that, ladies and gentlemen, will conclude our entertainment for -this evening.” - -It was to conclude their entertainment for many and many an evening, for -whilst Paul laughed and applauded, from right above their heads, it -seemed, a voice vibrant and loud and clear dropped its call to prayer -through the open roof of the court. - -“Allah Akbar! God is above all. There is no God but God and Mohammed is -his prophet. Rise and pray! Rise and do the thing that is good. There is -no God but God!” - -It was the same voice to which Si El Hadj Arrifa was listening in -another quarter of the city. Paul’s house was built in the very shadow -of the Karouein Mosque, and the voice pealing from its high minaret in -the silence of the night, familiar though both Marguerite and he were -with it, never failed to startle them. It was a voice deep, resonant, a -voice of music and majesty. - -“The Companions of the Sick!” said Paul, as they listened to it without -moving, caught in the spell of its beauty. - -“There are ten of them,” said Marguerite. “Like all the rank and fashion -of Fez, I set my clocks by their voices.” - -“Yes, ten,” Paul explained. “Ben Hayoun, a rich man lay very ill in this -city, and night after night he could get no sleep. The silence became -terrible to him. He felt an appalling sense of loneliness as the hours -dragged by and not a sound varied them. So, when he recovered, he -founded this order of ten mueddins, each of whom must chant the summons -to prayer for a half of one of the five hours which precede the dawn, so -that those in pain shall be no more alone. They call them the companions -of the sick.” - -Marguerite looked up to the open roof and the stars above it. - -“I often wonder what they think when they look down upon this bright -square of light beneath them: whether they speculate who live here and -why they stay up so late of nights. I fancy sometimes that the mueddin -is looking down and watching us as we move about the court.” - -She stood for a moment gazing upwards, and then her mood changed. - -“One o’clock,” she cried, and running to the clock against the wall, she -opened the glass which protected its face and adjusted the hands. “Paul, -I’ll give you a whiskey and soda, and you must go.” - -She turned to him, trying to laugh gaily, but her voice broke. - -“You have to be on parade at six and you have miles to go before you -reach your camp.” Her gaiety deserted her altogether. She flung herself -into his arms and clung to him, pressing her face against his coat. “Oh, -my dear, when shall I see you again? I wish that you weren’t going. Yes, -I do! Though I pretend to laugh and to think nothing of it when I am -with you, I have been praying for a week with all my heart that -something might happen to keep you here.” - -“Something has happened,” said Paul. - -Marguerite lifted her face. - -“You are not going?” - -“No.” - -“Paul, Paul!” she cried joyfully. But there was a look on his face which -dashed her joy. Marguerite was quick in those days to fall from a high -buoyancy of spirit to forebodings and alarm. This miracle of her -happiness was balanced on so fine a needle point that sometime it must -drop and break into a thousand useless shining splinters. “Why aren’t -you going?” she asked suspiciously. - -“Because of the rain.” Paul Ravenel explained. “The departure of the -Mission is postponed for three days.” - -“Only for three days?” Marguerite repeated with a wistful droop of the -corners of her mouth. - -“It won’t leave after three days,” said Paul. “It won’t leave Fez for a -long while.” - -He spoke very gravely and after a moment of silence Marguerite -disengaged herself gently from his embrace. A trace of the haggard look -which had once been so familiar upon her face was visible there again: -so visible that Paul wondered whether some hint of the threatened -massacre had not been given to her by Selim or the negresses. - -“Yes, you were in great trouble when you came into the court to-night, -and when I asked you why, you put me off with an excuse. The truth now, -Paul, please!” she pleaded though she caught her breath at the thought -of what the truth might mean to her. - -“You have courage, Marguerite.” - -The girl’s eyelids closed and fluttered over her eyes. - -“I shall need it?” - -“Yes.” - -She sank down upon the cushions, for her knees had given under her. Paul -did not understand the real cause of her distress until she took his -hand between both of hers and spoke. - -“You needn’t hesitate, my dear. Of course I have always lived in fear -that our life together couldn’t go on. In my happiest moments, deep -down, I have felt that dread. Perfection’s not allowed, is it? There’s a -jealousy that will shatter it. I was sure of that. But I always -hoped—not yet. I always prayed for a little longer time to make up for -the wretched years before.” - -If trouble was mentioned to Marguerite Lambert in those days she had -just the one interpretation of the word. It meant separation from Paul -and therefore the ending of all things. Her passion occupied her, heart -and brain and blood. She had waited for it, curiously certain that she -would not be denied it. Now that the great gift was hers, she was in a -desperate alarm lest she should wake one morning to discover that it had -been filched from her in the night. Paul dropped down upon the cushions -at her side and with a tender laugh drew away her hands from her face. - -“Marguerite, you are foolish. It isn’t separation, of course. You -haven’t to fear that—no, nor ever will have to. Believe me, Marguerite! -Look at me and say you believe me!” - -He turned her face towards him and held it between his hands and her -eyes lost their trouble and smiled at him. - -“That’s right. Now listen, Marguerite!” - -He gave her a little shake. For since she knew that the one evil which -she dreaded was not to befall her she had ceased to attend. - -“I am listening, Paul.” - -“I dined with a friend of mine to-night. I went there to leave him a -letter of instructions about you if anything happened to me on our march -down to the coast.” - -“Happened to you?” she exclaimed with a sharp intake of her breath. - -“I expected an attack. Si El Hadj Arrifa would have seen that you were -sent safely down to the coast. My agents there would have taken care of -you. You would of course never want for anything again.” - -“I should want for everything,” said Marguerite slowly. “I don’t think, -Paul, that I could go on living. . . . I was told of a girl . . . when -her husband died, she dressed herself in her wedding gown—I couldn’t do -that, my dear,” she interpolated with a little whimsical smile. “Then -she lay down on her bed and took poison. . . . I often think of that -girl.” - -“Marguerite, you shouldn’t. It’s morbid. You are young. Even if I -went—” but there came a stubborn look upon Marguerite Lambert’s face -against which he was well aware his finest arguments would beat in vain. -“I’ll discuss that with you when it’s necessary,” he said. “To-night my -friend Si El Hadj Arrifa warned me that not only was the Mission to be -attacked on its way to the coast, but that there would also be a rising -here.” - -He had Marguerite’s attention now. She looked at him with startled eyes. - -“In Fez?” - -“Yes.” - -“That will mean—?” - -“Yes, let us face it. A massacre.” - -Marguerite shivered and caught Paul’s hand. She looked about the court -outside the lighted room in which they sat. There were shadowy corners -which daunted her. She looked upwards, straining her ears. But the -ceaseless chant of the mueddin on the minaret of the Karouein mosque -alone broke the silence of the night. - -“When is it to be?” she whispered, as though the fanatics were already -gathered about her door. - -“To-night, probably. To-morrow, certainly.” - -“And you can trust your friend’s word?” - -“As I would trust yours,” said Paul. - -Marguerite drew closer to her lover and huddled against him. He put his -arm about her. She was trembling. The fun of the masquerade was over. -She wondered now how without fear she could have wandered with her black -servant through the narrow, crowded markets and in those deep, maze-like -streets; she pictured to herself the men; furtive, sleek Fasi; wild -creatures from the hills with long muskets gleaming with -mother-of-pearl; brawny men of the people, and she painted their faces -with the colours and the fire of fury and fanaticism. This little house -shut in and crowded about with a thousand houses! She had thought of it -as a secret palace hidden away in the uncharted centre of a maze. Now it -seemed to her a trap set in a jungle of tigers—a trap in which she and -Paul were caught. And her thoughts suddenly took a turn. No, only she -was in that trap. - -She listened, turning her face upwards to the open roof. The city was -still quiet. - -“Paul, there are other Christians scattered in houses in the town.” - -“Yes.” - -“Couldn’t you give a warning? So that troops from the camp might be -hurried into the town? Leave your uniform here! Dress in your djellaba -and your Moorish clothes. You can reach headquarters—” - -“I have already been there. They will not believe,” said Paul. - -Marguerite thought for a little while, summoning her strength to assist -her, and the memory of the great debt she owed her lover. - -“Very well,” she said. “You have done all that you can. You must go back -to the camp now, Paul, while you still can.” - -“No.” - -“I shall be all right, Paul. No one suspects this house. You have always -been careful when you came here that the tunnel was empty. At the worst -I have the little Belgian automatic pistol you gave me.” - -“No,” Paul repeated. - -“But your place is in the camp with your men.” - -“I have leave,” said Paul. “I applied for leave the moment I knew that -we had three days more in Fez.” - -Marguerite did not for a moment doubt the truth of what he said. He -spoke so simply. It was so natural a thing that he should ask for leave. -She gave up the little scheme to which she had steeled her heart. Her -arms crept about his neck. - -“There!” she whispered with a sigh of relief. “I have tried to send you -away, haven’t I? I have done my best and you won’t go! I am glad, Paul, -I am glad! Alone I should have shivered in terror.” - -“We shall be together, Marguerite.” - -Her lips trembled to a smile. Danger thus encountered seemed in the -anticipation hardly to be considered a danger at all. - -“Listen,” she said, lifting her hand. - -The voice of another mueddin now rang out across the city. Marguerite -rose. - -“This lighted square just above our heads, Paul, is just beneath his -feet. Let us give him no cause to wonder.” - -She put out the candles and returned to Paul Ravenel’s side. They sat -together in the darkness, huddled against one another, whilst the -companions of the sick followed one another upon the high minaret of the -Karouein mosque. - -Once, twice when some stray cries broke the silence Paul whispered -eagerly. - -“It is beginning,” and as silence followed upon the cries. “No! No!” he -added in a dull voice, a voice of disappointment. - -“Paul, you wish it to begin!” said Marguerite in wonder, and she tried -to distinguish the expression of his face, even though the darkness -showed her nothing but the silhouette of his head. - -“It will be the sooner over,” said Paul quickly. “The revolt can’t last -long in any case. There’s a strong column in the field just south of -Meknes. A call from the wireless and four days will bring them here.” - -But there was another reason why with all his soul he prayed to hear the -still night break up in a clatter of firing and fierce cries. If the -revolt began to-night, why then he himself had been caught in it, had -been forced to seek a refuge, had been unable to regain his post. Who -could gainsay him? All was saved—Marguerite and honour too. Whereas if -the morning came and Fez was still at peace and his appointed place -empty—then some other man must fill it. But the voices on the minaret -rang out in music above their heads, until Marguerite said: “This is the -last. It is he who raises the flag over the mosque. In half an hour we -shall have the dawn.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - - The Tunic - -“Marguerite, you must go to bed,” said Paul. “I’ll rouse you if there’s -any danger.” - -It was very near to the dawn now. There was a freshness and an -expectation in the air; a faint colourless light was invading the -darkness; in the patch of sky above their heads the bright stars were -swooning. For most of this last half hour Marguerite’s head had lain -heavy upon his shoulder, and if she opened her eyes it was only to close -them again with a sigh of content. Paul lifted her on to her feet and -led her up the stairs. - -“And you, Paul?” she asked, drowsily. - -“I shall be within call. I shall sleep for a little on the cushions -below. Good-night.” - -Marguerite noticed that the voice of the last mueddin ceased whilst she -was still preparing herself for her bed; and after she had got into it, -she heard a kettle singing cheerfully in the court below as if Paul were -brewing for himself some tea. Then, with the doors of her bedroom open -upon the little gallery above the court she went fast asleep. - -Hours afterwards a shattering noise awakened her. She lay for a few -moments deliciously poised between sleep and consciousness, and vaguely -thinking her long and troubled vigil to have been a nightmare which the -light of day had happily dispelled. The sunlight was falling in a sheet -of gold through the open roof. “It must be very late,” she reflected, -lazily, and thereupon sharply and crisply two shots from a rifle split -the air. Marguerite sprang up in her bed with a hand to her heart, as -though one of those shots had wounded her. It was just the same noise -which had broken through her slumbers. The nightmare was true, then! She -listened, resting upon one arm, with her face turned towards the open -doors. A clamour of voices was borne from a distance to her ears. The -new Terror had begun. - -“Paul!” she cried loudly. “Paul”; and a tall man dressed in the robes of -a Moor stood beside her bed. She shrank away with a little scream. It -was not until he smiled that she recognized her lover. - -“You had better get up, Marguerite,” he said, and bending down he kissed -her. “You have slept well, thank the Lord.” - -One of the negresses brought her a cup of tea and Marguerite, slipping -on her dressing gown, sat upon the edge of the bed and thrust her feet -into her slippers. - -“What is the time, Paul?” - -“A little past one.” - -“So late?” - -“I let you sleep. There was no disturbance. The first shot waked you.” - -“I will be quick,” she said, or rather began to say. For the words, -half-uttered, were frozen upon her lips. Such a din, so shrill, so -menacing and strange, burst out above their heads that Marguerite -cowered down under it as under the threat of a blow. She had never heard -the like of it, she hoped never to hear the like of it again; yet she -was to hear it now for days—the swift repetition of one strident note, -swelling and falling in a pæan of wild inhuman triumph. Marguerite -imagined all the birds of prey in the world wheeling and screaming above -the city; or a thousand thin voices shrieking in a madhouse; -you—you—you—you—you—the piercing clamour ran swift as the clacking -of a mitrailleuse, and with a horrid ferocity which made the girl’s -blood run cold. - -“Paul,” she said, “what is it?” - -“The women on the roofs.” - -“Oh!” - -Marguerite shuddered as she listened, clutching tight her lover’s arm. -Such a promise of cruelty was in those shrill cries as made Marguerite -think of the little automatic pistol in the drawer of her table as a -talisman which she must henceforth carry close to her hand. She felt -that even if she escaped from the peril of these days, she could never -walk again in the narrow streets between the blind houses without the -chill of a great fear. Her clasp tightened upon her lover’s arm and he -winced sharply. Marguerite looked up into his face, and saw that his -lips were pressed close together to prevent a cry of pain. - -“Paul!” she said wonderingly. She loosened her clasp and turned back the -sleeve of his djellaba. Beneath it, his forearm was roughly but tightly -bandaged. “Oh, my dear,” she cried, in a voice of compunction, “what -happened to you whilst I slept? You are wounded—and for me! Must I -always do you harm?” and she beat her hands together in her distress. - -“It was an accident,” said Paul. - -“An accident?” - -She ran to her medicine-chest, and making him sit beside her, unfastened -the bandage. “An accident?” she repeated. It looked to her as if he had -been stabbed. A knife had been driven right through the flesh of his -forearm. Paul did not reply to her exclamations and she did not press -her questions. She washed and dressed the wound and bound it up again. - -“It must hurt terribly,” she said, her forehead knitted in distress. - -“It is easier now,” he answered. “The knife was clean.” - -“You are sure of that, Paul?” - -“Quite.” - -She made a sling of his arm and sent him away. She dressed quickly, -wondering how that wound had been inflicted and why he wished not to -explain it. Surely he had not gone out whilst she slept? Surely there -had been no attack upon the house? No! But she was plunged now into a -world of mystery and fear, and she wrung her hands in an impotent -despair. - -They took their breakfast in a room upon the first floor, Paul asking -questions as to how far the house was provisioned, and Marguerite -answering almost at random, whilst the cries of the women rang shrill -overhead. - -“Oh, yes, there is food,” she answered. - -“We can always send Selim out,” he added. - -Marguerite’s eyes lightened. - -“We will send him out, Paul,” she exclaimed. “Do you know what has been -troubling me? We haven’t a window upon any street. We are here at the -bottom of a well with nothing but our ears to warn us of danger. We can -see nothing.” - -Paul looked at her anxiously. She was nervous, the flutter of her hands -feverish, and her voice running up and down the scale as though she had -no control over it. Paul reached across the table and laid his hand upon -her arm. - -“You poor little girl!” he said gently. “These are trying days. But -there won’t be many. The wireless here will have got into touch already -with Moinier’s column near Meknes. The troops, too, at Dar-Debibagh may -do something,” and ever so slightly his voice faltered when he spoke of -the troops, yet not so slightly but that Marguerite noticed it. “They -have some guns,” he went on hurriedly, and again Marguerite noticed the -hurry, the desire to cover up and hide that little spasm of pain which -had stabbed him when he thought of his men. “Yes, the guns!” he said. -“There will be an end to that infernal twittering on the roof tops when -the guns begin to talk.” - -“Paul, you should have been with your men,” said Marguerite, and he -answered her with a kind of violent obstinacy which drew her eyes in one -swift glance to his face. “I am on leave.” - -He changed his tone, however, immediately. - -“We will send Selim into the town for news,” he said cheerfully, “and we -will go up on to the roof.” - -Selim was bidden to knock twice, and, after a tiny interval, once more -upon his return. Paul stood behind the door listening to make sure that -the tunnel was empty before he opened it. Then he let him go, and locked -and barred the door again. - -“Come,” he said to Marguerite and, picking up some cushions, they went -upstairs to the roof. Marguerite had followed Paul’s example, and was -dressed in Moorish clothes; the house was higher by a storey than any -which adjoined it, and the roof itself was enclosed in a parapet -waist-high. They crouched upon the cushions behind the wall and -cautiously looked over it. - -A pack of clouds was threatening in the west, but just now the city -glittered in the sunlight like a jewel, with its hanging gardens and -high terraces, its white houses huddling down the hillside like a flock -of sheep, and the bright green tiles of its mosques. Paul and Marguerite -never tired of this aspect of the lovely city, shut within its old -crumbling walls and musical with the rushing noise of its many rivers. -But to-day they saw it as they had never seen it before. For the roofs -were crowded with women in their coloured robes of gauze and bright -scarves, who danced and screamed, and climbed from one house to another -on little ladders in such a frenzy of excitement that the eyes were -dazzled and the ears deafened. Paul turned towards the north. Upon the -roof of one house men were breaking through with axes and picks, whilst -others flung down rags and sticks which had been soaked in paraffin and -lighted, through the holes into the rooms below. - -“I think that’s the house of the French veterinary surgeon,” said Paul; -and from all about that house rose a continuous rattle of firing. - -“Look!” said Paul, and he nodded to the south. Here there was a gap -between the houses, and Marguerite could see far below a tumble-down -stone bridge built in a steep arch across a stream. As she looked, a -wild horde of men swarmed upon the bridge, capering and yelling. - -“There are soldiers amongst them,” said Marguerite. “I can see their -rifles and their bandoliers.” - -“Yes, the Askris who have revolted,” answered Paul, and suddenly he -covered Marguerite’s eyes with the palm of his hand. “Don’t look!” But -Marguerite had already seen, and she sank down behind the parapet with a -moan. In the midst of that wild procession some rifles with bayonets -fixed were held aloft, and on one of the bayonets the trunk and the -limbs of a man were impaled. The head was carried last of all, and upon -a pole taller than the bayonets, a head black with blood, like a -negro’s, on which a gold-laced kêpi was derisively cocked. - -Paul swore underneath his breath. - -“One of my brothers,” he whispered. “Oh, my God,” and dropping his head -into his hands, he rocked his body to and fro in an agony of remorse. - -Marguerite touched him on the shoulder. - -“Paul, there’s a carbine in your room.” - -“It would be fatal to use it.” - -“I don’t care,” Marguerite cried fiercely. Her face was alive with -passion. “Use it, Paul. I don’t care!” and from far below there rose the -sound of a loud knocking upon a door. - -Marguerite’s heart fluttered up into her throat. She stared at Paul with -her eyes opened wide in horror. The same thought was in both their -minds. Both listened, holding their breath that they might hear the -better. - -“It was upon our door they knocked,” Marguerite whispered, and she crept -a little closer to her lover. - -“Listen!” replied Paul, and as the knocking began again, but this time -louder, he added with a grim look upon his face, “Yes.” - -“And it was not Selim who knocked,” said Marguerite. - -They could hear cries now, angry orders to open, followed by a muffled -clamour and such a clatter of heavy blows as shook the very house. - -“I must go down,” said Paul, in a low voice. “Otherwise they’ll break in -the door.” - -Marguerite nodded. Her face was white to the lips, but she was quite -still now and her eyes steady. They crept down to the uppermost floor of -the house. The noise was louder. - -“You will stay here, Marguerite?” - -“Yes.” - -“You have your pistol?” - -Marguerite drew it from her broad waistbelt of gold brocade, snapped -back the barrel, and set the safety catch. Her hand never shook. Now -that the peril was at her elbow she could even smile. Paul took her -passionately in his arms. - -“You are gold all through, Marguerite,” he cried. “If this is the end, I -thank you a thousand times. I would hate to have died without knowing -the wonder of such rare love as yours.” - -“‘We two embracing under death’s spread hand.’” She quoted from a book -upon her shelf in which she was pleased to find a whole library of -wisdom and inspiration. - -“You will wait until the last moment?” said Paul, touching the little -automatic in her hand. - -“Until they are on this last flight of stairs,” she replied, in an even -voice. “Paul!” She clung to him for a second, not in terror, but as to -some inestimable treasure which she could hardly let go. Then she stood -away, her eyes shining like the dew, her face hallowed with tenderness. -“Now, my dear, go!” - -Paul Ravenel ran down the stairs. The clamour echoing from the tunnel -had taken on a fiercer note; the door, stout as it was, bent inwards -under the blows. Marguerite, standing upon the landing, heard him unbolt -the door. She drew back out of sight as a crowd of men, some in -djellabas spotted with blood, some in ragged caftans, some armed with -rifles, others with curved knives, others, again, with sharpened poles, -swept screaming like madmen over the court. - -“The Frenchman,” cried a great fellow, brandishing a butcher’s cleaver. -“Give him to us! God has willed that they shall all die this day.” - -What had become of Paul? she wondered. Had he been swept off his feet -and trampled down in the rush? She heard his voice above the clamour. -She imagined him standing with uplifted hand claiming silence. At all -events, silence followed, and then his voice rang out. - -“God willed that he should die yesterday,” said Paul. - -Marguerite peered out between the curtains which overhung the entrance -to the room. She saw him move, calm and smiling, across the court to an -alcove and point to a corner. - -“The Frenchman came to my house once too often. Look! He sought refuge -here last night. He was not wise to seek refuge in the house of Ben -Sedira the Meknasi. For to-day his body rolls in the river—” Paul threw -open a small door in the back wall and showed them the Karouein River -tumbling, swollen with the rain, past the walls of his house. Then he -pointed to the alcove: “And his livery lies there.” - -There was a rush into the alcove, and the shouts of exultation broke out -again. A blue tunic, on the breast of which medals glinted and rattled, -was tossed out high amidst the throng. The tunic was gashed and all -cluttered and stained with blood which had dried. Paul’s gold-lace cap -spun through the air, was caught, and clapped upon the head of a boy, -his breeches and boots and accoutrements were flung from hand to hand -and shared out amidst laughter and cheering. And once more there was a -surge of men, and the court was empty and silent. No, not quite empty. -Paul was talking in a gentle voice to one wild man who was now wearing -over a ragged caftan Paul’s uniform tunic. Paul held him firmly by the -elbow, and was speaking in a curiously soft, smooth voice, than which -Marguerite had never heard anything more menacing. - -“You will leave that tunic, good friend. You will take it off at once -and leave it here. It is my trophy. Have I not earned it?” - -The man protested, and sought to disengage himself, but Paul still held -him firmly. - -“It shall hang in my house,” he continued, “that my children may -remember how once there were Frenchmen befouling the holy ground of -Morocco.” - -Once more Marguerite heard the rattle of the medals as the coat was -restored, and the Moor cried out: “There will be none alive in Fez this -night. Salam aleikum, O man of Meknes!” And a little afterwards the door -was slammed and barred. - -Paul returned to the court, holding the tunic in his hands. The peril of -the last few moments was swept altogether out of his mind. For a moment -Marguerite herself was forgotten. He was holding the badge of many years -of honourable service, and the shining medals which proved that the -service had been of real value to the country he served. All was now -wasted and foregone. - -“I should make the sacrifice again,” he said obstinately to himself, “if -it were to make again. I should! I should!” - -But he had not borne to see the tunic and its medals paraded in triumph -on the back of one of these assassins through the streets of Fez. When -he stopped the Moor and held him back from his companions, his hand had -gripped close the revolver hidden in his waistband. Had the man clung to -the tunic, Paul would have killed, whatever the risk. The traditions and -the whole training of his life had forced his hand. He knew that, as he -stood in the silent sunlit patio fondling the stuff of the coat between -his fingers, and his heart aching as though some little snake had -slipped into his bosom and was feeding there. - -“I have done what my father did,” he thought. “I, who set out to atone -for him.” And he laughed aloud with so much mockery at his own -pretensions that the laughter startled him. “I can plead a different -reason. But what of that? I have done what my father did!” - -He folded the tunic reverently, and laid it down again in the alcove. As -he stood up he was startled by the clatter of something falling overhead -and the sharp explosion of a pistol. He looked upwards. The sound had -come from behind those curtains where Marguerite was hidden. Had she -been watching? Had she seen him fondling the tunic? Had she heard his -bitter laughter? Perhaps he had spoken aloud. For a moment his heart -stood still. Some words that Henriette had said to him—oh, ever so long -ago, in the Villa Iris, flashed back into his mind. “Even if the grand -passion comes—oh la, la la!—she will blow her brains out, the little -fool!” - -He sprang up the stairs, crying “Marguerite! Marguerite!” and stumbling -in his haste. No answer was returned to him. He tore the curtains aside, -and saw her lying on the floor by the side of a divan. The pistol had -slipped from her hand and fallen a little way from her. Paul flung -himself upon his knees beside her, lifted her, and pressed her close to -his heart. “Marguerite! Marguerite!” he whispered. There was no wound, -and she was breathing, and in a moment or two her eyes opened. Paul -understood in that supreme moment of relief how greatly his love of -Marguerite overpowered his grief at honour lost. - -“Oh, my dear, you frightened me!” he said. - -She smiled as he lifted her onto the divan. - -“I was foolish,” she answered. - -She had waited upon the outcome of that wild scene in the court below, -her nerves steady, her mind unconscious of any effort to steel herself -against catastrophe. She could catch but a glimpse of what was going -forward; she did not understand the trick by which Paul Ravenel had -appeased the invaders; she heard the wild babble of their frenzied -voices and Paul’s voice over-topping them. She had waited serenely with -her little pistol in her hand, safety to be reached so easily by the -mere pressure of a finger. Then suddenly all was over; the court was -empty, the house which had rung with fury a moment since was silent; and -as she heard the bolts of the door shot once more into their sockets her -strength had melted away. She had stood for a little while in a daze -and, catching at the divan as she fell, had slipped in a swoon to the -floor. The pistol fell from her hand and exploded as it fell. - -“I was foolish,” she repeated; “I didn’t understand what had happened. I -don’t even now.” - -“I was afraid that some time or another some one had seen me enter this -house and remembered it,” Paul Ravenel explained. “Last night something -happened outside the door—what, I don’t know, but enough to trouble me -a little. So after you had gone to bed I boiled a kettle—” - -“Yes, I heard it.” - -“And sterilized my big knife. I drove the knife through my arm and let -the blood soak through my tunic, and then I stabbed the tunic again in -the back. It was lucky that I did.” - -“What should I have done without you?” she said, as she rested upon the -cushions of the divan. She laid a hand gently in his. - -“Does the wound hurt, Paul?” - -“It throbs a little if I move it. That’s all. It’s nothing.” - -“I’ll dress it again to-night,” she said, sleepily, and almost -immediately she fell asleep. She slept so deeply, that a muffled roar, -which shook the house, did not even trouble her dreams. Paul smiled as -he heard that sound. “That’s one of the seventy-five,” he reflected. The -guns from the camp at Dar-Debibagh were coming into action. - -He left Marguerite sleeping, and climbed again to the roof. The guns -were firing to the south of the town, and were still far away. But no -man who had fought through the Chaiouïa Campaign could ever forget the -tribesmen’s terror of the guns. - -“Another day or two!” - -Paul counted up the stages of the march of Moinier’s column from Meknes. -If only he was quick, so that the tribesmen could not mass between him -and Fez! There were houses alight now in Fez-el-Bali. The work of -massacre was going on. But let General Moinier hurry, and the guns over -there at Dar-Debibagh talk insistently to Fez! Moreover, at five o’clock -the rain began again. It fell like javelins, with the thunder of surf -upon a beach. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - - On the Roof Top - -Marguerite drove her two trembling negresses out of the corners into -which they had flown when the house was invaded, stood over them while -they cooked the dinner, and strictly ordered that it should be served -with the proper ceremonies. She dressed herself in her European clothes -and with even more, to-night, of the scrupulous daintiness which was -habitual to her. Paul watched her with a great pride and wonderment. - -“How in the world do you know at once what we have to learn?” he asked. -“When people are rattled, routine’s the great remedy. Just doing the -ordinary things at the ordinary hours lifts you along with a sort of -assurance that life is going to be as sane to-morrow as it was -yesterday. But we have men to watch, and they teach us these things. -Where do you get them from?” - -“From myself,” answered Marguerite, with a blush upon her cheeks, which -her lover’s praise never failed to provoke. “I had to keep my own little -flag of courage flying if I could.” - -At half past nine they heard Selim’s three knocks upon the outer door, -and Paul let him in and brought him to Marguerite in the room opening on -to the patio. He brought with him a budget of black news. A couple of -officers had been dragged from their horses and butchered in the -streets. An engineer and his wife in Fez Djedid had been shot down as -they sat at their luncheon. There had been an attack upon the Hôtel de -France, where the managress and a priest had been slain. - -“There is a house in the Tala quarter,” said Paul, “where two veterinary -surgeons and two other officers lodged. I saw men breaking through the -roof to get at them this afternoon.” - -“They escaped, Sidi. They let themselves down from a window into an -alley. It is believed that they are hiding in a covered drain.” - -“And the four French telegraph operators. They, too, occupied a house in -the Tala.” - -Selim had no good tidings to tell of them. The door of their house had -been forced at midday. Throughout the afternoon they had resisted in an -upper room, which they had barricaded, firing with what weapons they had -until their ammunition was exhausted. At seven in the evening a rescue -party had arrived, but only one of them was alive, and he grievously -wounded. - -“A rescue party!” asked Paul, wondering whence that party had come. -There was not enough men at the headquarters in the hospital to do more -than protect the quarter of the Consulates, even if they could do that. - -“A battalion from Dar-Debibagh forced its way into the city at five -o’clock this afternoon,” said Selim. - -Paul’s face took life, his eyes kindled. No one knew better than he the -difficulties which must have hampered that exploit. - -“That was well done,” he cried. “Whose battalion?” - -The old Algerian soldier replied: - -“The Commandant Philipot’s.” - -The gladness died out of Paul Ravenel’s face, and he sat in silence -staring at the tiles of the floor. To Marguerite it was as though the -light of a lamp waned and flickered out. She laid her hand upon his. - -“That’s your battalion, Paul?” - -Paul nodded, and whispered “Yes,” not trusting his voice over much. - -“You should have been with it, my dear. But for me you would have led -your company,” she said, remorsefully; and he cried out aloud suddenly -in a voice which she had never heard him use before, a voice rough and -violent and full of pain. - -“I am on leave.” - -Hearing him, she felt the compunction of one who has carelessly knocked -against a throbbing wound. Her eyes went swiftly to his face. During -these moments Paul Ravenel was off his guard, and she was looking upon a -man in torture. - -“The little Praslin will be leading my company,” he said, “and leading -it just as well as I could have done.” He turned again to Selim. “Did -the battalion have trouble to get through?” - -“Great trouble, Sidi. The commandant tried to come in by the little gate -in the Aguedal wall and the new gardens of the Sultan. But he was -attacked by a swarm of men issuing from the Segma Gate on his left flank -and by sharp-shooters on the wall itself in front of him.” - -“And we taught them to shoot!” cried Paul in exasperation. “The -commandant was held up?” - -“Yes, Sidi.” - -“What then? He was losing men, and quickly. What did he do?” Paul asked -impatiently. His own men were under fire. He had got to know, and at -once. “Out with it, Selim. What did the Commandant Philipot do?” - -“He led his battalion down into the bed of the river Zitoun,” said -Selim, and a long “Oh!” of admiration and relief from Paul welcomed the -manœuvre. He spread before his eyes, in mind, an imaginary map of the -difficult ground at that southwest corner of the city, outside the -walls. Pressed hardly upon his left flank, at the mercy of the riflemen -on the crest of the high, unscalable wall of the Aguedal, Commandant -Philipot, leaving a rear-guard—trust the Commandant Philipot for -that!—had disappeared with his battalion into the earth. Paul chuckled -as he thought of it—the ingenuity and the audacity, too! - -“He made for the Bab-el-Hadid?” he said. - -“Yes,” answered Selim. - -There had been risk, of course, risk of the gravest kind. Out of shot, -the battalion certainly was—out of shot and out of sight. But, on the -other hand, in the deep chasm of the Oued Zitoun it could not see any -more than could its antagonists. If its rear-guard was overwhelmed by -the insurgents from the Segma Gate, if a strong band of tribesmen rode -up to the southern lip of the chasm and caught the battalion floundering -below amongst the boulders and the swollen river! Why, there was an end -of that battalion and, for the moment, of the relief of Fez. But he had -got through—there was the fact. And by no other way and with no smaller -risk could he have got through. Paul Ravenel, watching that unprinted -map upon the floor, over which he bent, had no doubt upon that point. A -great risk nobly taken for a great end, and adroitly imagined! And with -what speed they must have covered that difficult ground! - -“Well, the little Praslin would lead very well,” he said aloud, but with -just a hint of effort in his cordiality. “He knows his work.” - -“And you are on leave, Paul?” - -Marguerite was watching her lover with startled eyes. But Paul noticed -neither her look nor the urgent appeal of her voice. He was away with -his company in the bed of the Oued Zitoun, now stumbling over the great -stones, now flung down headlong by the rush of the rain-swollen torrent -and pressing on again in the hurried march. He sat tracing with his -finger on the tiles the convolutions of the river, the point where the -battalion must leave its shelter and march through the gardens to the -gates—lost to all else. And Marguerite, watching him, caught at any -reason which could reassure her. - -Of course, Paul was unconsciously expressing the regret of a true -soldier that his company had gone upon difficult and hazardous service -without him, and a soldier’s interest in a brilliant manœuvre -successfully accomplished. His absorption meant no more than that. -But—but—his cry, “I am on leave,” startled out of him a challenge, an -obstinate defiance, harsh with pain, rang in her ears still, argue as -she might. In spite of herself, an appalling suspicion flickered like -lightning through her mind and went out—and flickered again. - -She heard Paul asking questions of Selim and Selim answering. But she -was asking of herself a question which made all other questions of -little significance. If her suspicion were true, could his love for her -remain? Could it live strongly and steadily after so enormous a -sacrifice? Wouldn’t it die in contempt of himself and hatred of her? If -Paul Ravenel had looked at Marguerite Lambert at this moment he would -have seen the haggard dancing girl of the Villa Iris, as he had seen her -under the grape-vine of the balcony with her seven francs clenched in -her hand. - -Paul, however, was giving his attention to Selim. The quarter of the -hospitals and the Consulates was now thought to be safe, though the -Moors, uplifted by their success, had planned to attack it that night. -An attempt had been made by a company of Philipot’s battalion to force -the Souk-Ben-Safi and its intricate, narrow streets, but the company had -been driven back. A second company had been sent out to capture and hold -the Bab-el-Mahroud, but it was now beleaguered and fighting for its -life. Another section was at the Bab Fetouh, in the south of the town, -under fire from the small mosque of Tamdert. A good many isolated -Europeans had been rescued from the houses, and brought into the -protected quarter, but Fez, as a whole, was still in the hands of the -insurgents. - -At this point Paul Ravenel broke in with a sharp question. - -“You spoke to no one of this house?” - -Selim shook his head. - -“To no one, Sidi.” - -“To none of the French soldiers? To no friend of the French? You are -sure, Selim? You are very sure? There were no Europeans to be rescued -from this house? Answer me truthfully!” - -Never was question more insistently expressed. Why?—why?—why? . . . -Marguerite found herself asking whilst her heart sank. That their secret -might still be kept, its sweetness preserved for them? No, that reason -was inadequate. Why, then? Because the danger was over? But it was not -over. So much Selim had made very clear. The few troops had been -withdrawn to the protected quarter of the Consulates. The detachments -outside were hard put to it. The city of Fez was still in the hands of -the insurgents. Why then? Why the eagerness that the French should know -nothing of this secret house? Oh, there was an answer, dared she but -listen to it! An answer with consequences as yet only dimly suspected. -If it was the true answer!—Marguerite sat stunned. How was she to get -away quite by herself that she might think her problem out, without -betraying the trouble of her mind to Paul? - -It was Paul himself who made escape easy for her. He dismissed Selim and -said to Marguerite: - -“I’ll go up on the roof, my dear, for a little while. The rain has -stopped, but, dressed as you are, it wouldn’t be wise for you to come.” - -The excuse was feeble, and he spoke looking away from Marguerite—a rare -thing with him. But Marguerite welcomed the excuse and had no eyes for -the shifty look of him as he made it. - -“Very well,” she said, in a dull voice, and Paul went quickly up the -stairs. - -Selim’s story had moved him to the depths of his soul. He was conscious -of an actual nausea. “I should make the sacrifice again.” He repeated a -phrase which had been growing familiar to him during this day, repeated -it with a stubborn emphasis. But he was beginning to understand dimly -what the sacrifice was to cost him. Soldiering was his business in life. -He was sealed to it. He had known it when he stood in his father’s death -room on the islet off the coast of Spain; and when he sat over Colonel -Vanderfelt’s wine in the dining room looking out upon the moonlit -garden; but never so completely as now when his thoughts were with the -men of his company stumbling in the river bed, and his feet were -dragging up the stairs to the roof. - -“I must be alone for a little while, otherwise Marguerite will guess the -truth.” - -It was an instinct rather than a formulated thought which drove him -upwards. He dreaded Marguerite’s swift intuitions, that queer way she -had of reaching certainty, cleaving her way to it like a bird through -the air. He drew a long breath as he crept out upon the roof. He was -alone now, and, sinking down upon the cushions underneath the parapet, -he wrestled with his grief, letting it have its way up here in the -darkness so that he might confine it the more surely afterwards. For an -hour on this first night of the revolt he remained alone upon the -roof-top whilst Marguerite, separated from him by the height of the -beleaguered house, sat amongst the lighted candles in the room by the -court, steeling herself to a sacrifice which should equal his. - -When she was sure of herself she wrapped a dark cloak about her shining -frock and climbed in her turn to the roof. But she moved very silently, -and when she raised her head above the trap she saw her lover stretched -upon the terrace, his turban thrown aside, his face buried in his arms, -his whole attitude one of almost Oriental grief. He was unaware of her -until she crouched by his side and, with something maternal in the -loving pity of her hands, gently stroked his head. - -“Paul!” she whispered, and he sprang swiftly up. She got a glimpse of a -tortured face, and then he dropped by her side and, putting his arms -about her, caught her to his heart. - -“My dear! My dear!” he said. - -“Paul,” she began, in a breaking voice, but Paul would not listen. He -pointed his arm westwards over the parapet. - -“Look!” - -In their neighbourhood all was quiet, though here and there a building -was burning near enough to light up from time to time their faces. But -away in the southwest a broad red glare canopied the quarter and flames -leapt and sank. - -“What is that?” asked Marguerite, distracted from her purpose. - -“The Mellah,” replied Paul. “They have looted and burnt it. It’s the -rule and custom. Whatever the cause of an uprising, the Mellah is the -first to suffer.” - -Marguerite had never set foot in that quarter. Paul described it to -her—its dirty and crowded alleys, its blue-washed houses jammed -together and packed with rich treasures and gaudy worthlessness, -gramophones blaring out some comic song of London or Paris, slatternly -women and men, ten thousand of them, and then the bursting in of the -gates. - -“And the Jews themselves! What has become of them?” she asked, with a -shudder. - -“God knows!” - -Unarmed, pounded like sheep within their high walls, they were likely to -have been butchered like sheep, too. - -“There’s a small new gate, however, leading to their cemetery. They may -have found that way free,” said Paul, without any confidence. But, as a -fact, they had escaped whilst their houses were being plundered. The -gardens of the Sultan’s Palace, which adjoined, had been swiftly thrown -open to them, and at this very moment they were camping there without -food or money or shelter—except the lucky ones who had made little -family groups in the empty cages of Mulai Hafid’s menagerie between the -lions and the jaguars. - -“Paul”—Marguerite began a second time, but now a rattle of firing and a -distant clamour of fierce cries broke out upon their left hand. Paul -Ravenel turned in the direction of the noise eagerly, and as Marguerite -turned with him, once more her attention was arrested. From a -semi-circle of streets a blaze of light across which thick volumes of -smoke drifted, rose above the house-tops, so that the faces of the two -watchers were lit up as by a sunset. - -“It is the attack upon the Consulates,” said Paul. “It will fail. There -are troops enough now to hold it.” - -On the other side of the city, however, to the north, it was a different -matter. By the Bab-el-Mahroud the French outpost was hard-pressed. Paul -was listening with all his intentness. - -“It sounds as if our ammunition was running short,” he said, in a low, -grave voice; and this time Marguerite was not to be denied. Kneeling up, -she caught Paul by the arms as he sat, and turned him toward her. The -light, strong and bright, was sweeping across his face in waves. - -“Paul, is it true?” she asked, searching his eyes. - -Paul Ravenel had no need to ask what was true; he had no heart to deny -its truth. The thing which most he dreaded had come to pass. Marguerite -knew what he had done. He had been certain that she knew from the moment -when she had laid her hand upon his head. - -“Yes,” he answered, meeting her gaze. “It is true.” - -“You are not on leave!” - -“No.” - -“You have deserted!” - -Paul’s face twitched with a spasm of pain, but he did not take his eyes -from Marguerite. - -“Yes,” he said. - -Marguerite shook him gently as one might shake a wayward child. - -“But you can’t do that, Paul.” - -“I have done it, Marguerite.” - -“Oh, Paul—you can’t have understood what you were doing! You can’t have -thought!” - -“I have thought of everything.” - -“You have sacrificed your honour.” - -“I have you.” - -“Your career.” - -“I have you.” - -“You have lost every friend.” - -“What do I care about friend’s, Marguerite, when I have you?” - -She let go of his arms with such an expression of grief and despair upon -her face as cut him to the heart to see. She bowed her forehead upon the -palms of her hands and burst into tears. Paul drew her close to him, -seeking to comfort her. - -“We shall be together, Marguerite, always. Yesterday night, when I -foretold you of these massacres—you took it lightly because we were -together. You seemed to say nothing in the world mattered so long as we -were together.” - -“But don’t you see, Paul”—she drew herself away and raised her face, -down which tears were running—“we have been both of us alone -to-night—already. You here on the roof—I in the court below—and we -wanted to be alone, yes, my dear—why deny it, since I know? We wanted -to be alone, each of us with our miserable thoughts. . . . In a little -while you’ll hate me.” - -“No,” he said, violently. “That could never be.” - -She bent her head over his hands and pressed them to her eyes, wetting -them with her tears. - -“Paul,” she whispered between her sobs, “I can’t take such a sacrifice. -Oh, my dear, you should have left me with my seven francs and my broken -bundle on that balcony in Casablanca.” - -Paul stooped and kissed her hair. - -“Marguerite, I wouldn’t have left you there for anything in the world. -From the moment I saw you there was no world for me, except the world in -which you and I moved step by step and hand-in-hand.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - - Marguerite’s Way Out - -Gradually the attack upon the Consulates died away. The waving light -from the blaze of torches in the ring of streets about that quarter -diminished, and darkness came again to the watchers upon the roof top. -They sat huddled together in silence. Marguerite’s broken sobbing had -ceased. Above them the bright stars wheeled in a sky of velvet. Only -away to the north, where the beleaguered post still held out at the -Bab-el-Mahroud, was there now any sound of firing, or any faint clamour -of voices. The troubled city rested, waiting for daylight. - -Paul became conscious that Marguerite was stirring out of the -abandonment of grief in which she had lain. He felt her supple body -stiffen in his arms. Some idea, some plan perhaps, had occurred to her -of which he must beware; all the more because she did not speak of it. -He was pondering what that plan might be, when above their heads, in -their very ears it seemed, the first mueddin on the balcony of his -minaret launched over the city his vibrant call to prayer. - -The sound startled them both so that they clung together. - -“Don’t move,” whispered Paul. - -“The Companions of the Sick!” said Marguerite, in a low voice. “My dear, -we shall need them to-night as much as any two in Fez.” - -They waited for a few moments. Then they crept swiftly and silently to -the hatchway and closed it above their heads. In Marguerite’s room Paul -lighted the candles. Marguerite was wearing the little frock of white -and silver in which she had dressed the night before, and she let the -dark cloak slip from her shoulders and fall about her feet. - -“Paul,” she said, joining her hands together upon her breast in appeal. -“I want you to do something—for me. You can walk safely through the -streets. Dressed as you are, no one will know you. No one will suspect -you. If you are spoken to, you can answer. You are Ben Sedira the -Meknasi. I want you to go at once to the Protected quarter.” - -“Why, Marguerite?” - -“You can rejoin your battalion.” - -“No.” - -“Oh, you can, Paul! You can make yourself known. They will let you -through their barricades.” - -“It is too late,” said Paul. - -Marguerite would not accept the quiet statement. - -“No,” she pleaded, her eyes eager, her mouth trembling. “I have been -thinking it out, my dear, up there on the roof. You can make an excuse. -You were seized yesterday night after you had visited the Headquarters. -You were pulled from your horse. You were kept imprisoned and escaped -to-night.” - -Paul shook his head. - -“No one would believe that story, Marguerite. The people of Fez are -making no prisoners.” - -“Then you took refuge in the house of a friend! You have many friends in -Fez, Paul. A word from you and any one of them will back you up and say -he gave you shelter. It’ll be so easy, Paul, if you’ll only listen.” - -“And meanwhile, Marguerite, what of you?” - -She was waiting for that question with her answer ready upon her lips. - -“Yes. I have thought of that too, Paul. I shall be quite safe here now -by myself. They have searched this house already. They went away -satisfied with your story. They will not come here again.” - -Paul smiled at her tenderly. She stood before him with so eager a flush -upon her face, a light so appealing in her eyes. Only this morning—was -it so short a time ago as this morning?—yes, only this morning she had -been terrified, even with him at her side, because they were shut in -within this house without windows, because they could see nothing, know -nothing, and must wait and wait with their hearts fluttering at a cry, -at the crack of a rifle, at the sound of a step. Now her one thought was -to send him forth, to endure alone the dreadful hours of ignorance and -expectation, to meet, if needs must, the loneliest of deaths, so that -his honour might be saved and his high career retained. - -“You are thinking too much of me, Marguerite,” he said, gently. - -Marguerite shook her head. - -“I am thinking of myself, my dear, just as much as I am thinking of you. -I am thinking of your love for me. What am I without it?” - -“Nothing will change that,” protested Paul. - -Marguerite smiled wistfully. - -“My dear, how many lovers have used and listened to those words? Is -there one pair that hasn’t? I am looking forward, Paul, to when this -trouble is over—to the best that is possible for us two if we are alive -when it is over. Your way! Flight, concealment for the rest of our lives -and a bond of disgrace to hold us together instead of a bond of love -which has done no harm to any one and has given a world of happiness to -both of us. Paul, my way is the better way! Oh, believe it and leave me! -Paul, I am pleading for myself—I am!—and”—the light went out of her -eyes, her head and her body drooped a little; he had never seen anything -so forlorn as Marguerite suddenly looked—“and, oh, ever so much more -than you imagine!” she added, wistfully. - -Paul took her by the arm which hung listlessly at her side. - -“My dear, I can invent no story which would save me. The first shot was -fired at noon to-day, not yesterday. Nothing can alter that. And even if -it could be altered, I won’t leave you to face these horrors alone. I -brought you to Fez—don’t let us forget that! I hid you in this house. -My place is here with you.” - -But whilst he was speaking Ravenel had a feeling that he had not reached -to the heart of the plan which she had formed upon the roof. The sudden -change in her aspect, the quick drop from eager pleading to a forlorn -hopelessness, the wistful cry, “I am pleading for myself ever so much -more than you imagine!”—No, he had not the whole of her intention. -There was more in her mind than the effort to persuade him to leave her. -There was a provision, a remedy, if persuasion failed. - -Paul let her arm go and drew back a step or two until he leaned against -a table of walnut wood set against the wall. Marguerite turned to the -dressing-table and stood playing absently with her little ornaments, her -brushes, and her combs. Then she surprised him by another change of -mood. The eager, tender appeal, the sudden hopelessness were followed -now by a tripping flippancy. - -“Fancy your caring so much for me, Paul!” she cried, and she tittered -like a schoolgirl. “A little dancing thing from the Villa Iris! I am not -worth it. Am I, Paul?” - -She turned to him, soliciting “Yes” for an answer, smiling with her lips -though she could not with her eyes, and keeping these latter lowered so -that he should not see them. “Well, since your silence tells me so -politely that I am, I’ll give up trying to persuade you to leave me.” -She yawned. “I am tired to death, Paul. I shall sleep to-night. And -you?” - -She cocked her head on one side with a coquettish gaiety, false to her -at any time, and never so false to her as now. To Paul, whose memory had -warned him for the second time that day, it was quite dreadful to see. - -“I shall watch in the court below,” he said, and he moved a step or two -away from the little table against the wall. - -“Then go, or I shall fall asleep where I stand,” said Marguerite, and -she led him to the wide doors opening on to the landing. “I shall leave -the doors open, so that you will be within call.” - -She gave him a little push which was more of a caress than a push, and -suddenly caught him back to her. Her eyes were raised now, her arms were -about his neck. - -“Paul,” she whispered, and both eyes and lips were smiling gravely, -“whatever happens to me, my dear, I shall owe you some wonderful months -of happiness. Months which I had dreamed of, and which proved more -wonderful than any dreams. Thank you, dear one! Thank you a thousand -times!” - -She kissed him upon the lips and laid her hand upon his cheek and stood -apart from him. - -“Good-night, Paul.” - -Paul Ravenel answered her with a curious smile. - -“You might be saying good-bye to me, Marguerite.” - -Marguerite shook her head with determination. - -“I shall never say good-bye to you, Paul, not even if this very second -we were to hear the assassins surging up the stairs,” she said, her eyes -glowing softly into his, and a sure faith making her face very -beautiful. “We have broken codes and laws, my dear, both of us. But we -have both touched, I think, in spite of that, something bigger and finer -than we had either of us believed was here to touch. And I don’t believe -that—you and I”—she made a little gesture with her hand between -herself and him—“the miracle as you called it, of you and me can end -just snapped off and incomplete. Why, my dear, even if we go right back -to earth, at the very worst, I believe,” she said, with a smile of -humour, “some spark of you will kindle some dry tinder of me and make a -flame to warm a luckier pair of lovers.” - -Paul looked at her in silence. - -“You talk to me like that!” he said, at length. “And then you try to -persuade me you weren’t worth while.” He turned the moment of emotion -with a laugh. “Good-night, Marguerite,” and he went downstairs. - -Marguerite waited without moving whilst he descended the stairs and -crossed the court. She heard him pass into the room with the archway and -the clocks. He was quite invisible to her now. Therefore, so was she to -him; and she was standing very close to the doors; just within her -bedroom—no more. She stepped back silently. There were rugs upon the -floor, and between the rugs she stepped most carefully lest one of the -heels of her satin shoes should clack upon the boards. She went straight -to the little table of walnut wood set against the wall and laid her -hand upon the drawer. The handle was of brass; she lifted it so that it -should not rattle, and so stood with an ear towards the stairway, -listening. But no sound came from the court, there was not a creak of -any tread on the stairs. Reassured, Marguerite pulled open the drawer a -little way. The table had been fashioned in a century when tables really -were made. The drawer slid out smoothly and noiselessly just far enough -for Marguerite’s hand to slip through the opening. - -Her fingers, however, touched nothing. She opened the drawer wider. It -was empty. Yet it had not been empty that evening when she had changed -her clothes. - -“Paul was standing here,” she said to herself. “Yes, facing me with his -back to the table, whilst I was talking to him.” - -She remembered now that when she had thrown her arms about his neck, as -he stood in the doorway, he had kept his left hand behind his back. She -sat down upon the edge of the bed, and a smile flitted across her face. - -“I might have known that he would have understood,” she whispered. He -always had understood from the first moment when, without a word, he had -called her to him at the Villa Iris. But Marguerite must make sure. She -stole out on to the landing. From the point where she stood she could -look down and across the court into the room with the clocks. Paul was -lying upon the cushions in a muse, looking at something which lay darkly -gleaming on the out-stretched palm of his hand—her little automatic -pistol. He had cleaned it and reloaded it and replaced it in the drawer -that afternoon, after Marguerite had fainted and it had exploded on the -floor. He had taken it out of the drawer when Marguerite was bidding him -good-bye a few minutes back. For, mingled with her words, another and a -coarser voice had been whispering in his ears. “And if it comes—the -grand passion! She will blow her brains out—the little fool!” - -Not from disillusionment, as Henriette with her bitter experience of -life expected, but to save him, Paul Ravenel, to set him free, whilst -there was still perhaps a chance that by some deft lie he might hold on -to his career and his good name. “That, no!” said Paul, and he pushed -the pistol into his waistbelt and composed himself for his long vigil. - -The candles burned down, and one by one flickered out; mueddin succeeded -mueddin in the minaret; but for their voices the town was quiet; Paul -Ravenel tired with the anxiety, the sleeplessness, and the inward -conflicts which through thirty hours had been his share, nodded, dozed, -and in the end slept. He woke to find the grey of the morning thinning -the shadows in the house, making it chill and eerie and an abode of -ghosts. Surely a ghost was stirring in the house with a little flutter -and hiss of unsubstantial raiment, a ripple of silver and fire—there by -the balustrade above the patio, now on the stairs. . . . And now Paul -Ravenel, though he did not move, was wide awake, watching from his dark -corner with startled eyes. Marguerite was on the stairs, now stopping to -peer over towards her lover, lest he should have moved, now most -stealthily descending. - -The last mueddin had ceased his chant, a hum of voices rose through the -still air without the house; the city was waking to another day of -massacre. And Marguerite was creeping down the stairs. She had not gone -to bed that night, after all. She was still wearing her white frock with -the embroidery of silver. She had thrown over her shoulders a glistening -cloak. She had put on the jewels he had given her. They sparkled in the -dim light on her bosom—a square sapphire hung on a chain of platinum -and diamonds which went about her neck—on her wrists, on her shoes, at -her waist. - -“Why? Why?” he asked of himself; and as Marguerite reached the foot of -the stairs and stepped into the court, he had the answer to his -question. For something gleamed in her hand—the great key of the street -door. - -Paul Ravenel was just in time. For with the swiftness and the silence of -the ghost he had almost taken her to be, Marguerite flashed across the -patio, and was gone. - -“Marguerite!” he cried aloud, as he sprang to his feet, so that the -house rang with his cry. A sob, a wail of despair answered him, a clink -as the heavy key dropped from her startled hands. He found her blindly -fumbling at the bolts, distraught with her need of haste. - -“Paul, let me go! Let me go!” she cried. - -He lifted her in his arms as one lifts a child and carried her back into -the court. - -“Marguerite!” he whispered. “A step outside that tunnel dressed as you -are, now that Fez is awake, and—” - -“I know, I know,” she interrupted him. “I should be out of your way -altogether. Oh, Paul, let me go! I have been thinking of it all night. I -can’t take, all the time, and everything you have that’s dear to you! -Let me give too—something in return—my life, my dear, that’s worth so -little. Oh, Paul, let me give it now, when I am ready to give it—before -my courage goes,” and she struggled and beat upon his breast with her -small fists in a frenzy. - -But he held her close to him. “Poor child, what a night of horror she -must have lived through,” he reflected. Lying on her bed in the dark, -waiting for the first gleam of dawn, for the first sounds of the city’s -awakening, and shutting her eyes and her ears against the terror of -these savage and wild-eyed fanatics, forbidding her heart to sink before -the ordeal of her great sacrifice. She had decked herself out in her -jewels, like that bride of whom she had told him, but for a different -reason; that she might the sooner attract notice and invite murder. - -“It was mad, Marguerite!” he cried, and then, holding her to his heart. -“But it was splendid!” - -Already her strength was waning. She no longer struggled. She hung in -his arms. Her hands stroked his face. - -“Let me go, Paul,” she pleaded, “won’t you? It will be quick. The first -of them who sees me! Oh, while I can do it. My dear, my dear, I’ll -gladly die for you, I love you so.” - -“Quick?” exclaimed Paul Ravenel, savagely. “You don’t know them! I have -seen our men on the battlefields. Quick? My dear, they would bind you -hand and foot and give you to their women to mutilate alive.” - -Marguerite uttered a cry and struggled against him no more. He carried -her up the stairs, undressed her, and put her to bed. She laid her hand -in his. He would have his way. She gave herself into his keeping and, -holding fast on to his hand, she fell asleep. - -That morning the roar of the guns was louder, and the shells were flying -over the city. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - - The Outcasts - -That day, the eighteenth of April, broke in gloom. A heavy canopy of -sullen clouds hung over Fez. Nowhere within eye’s reach was there a -slant of sunshine. There were no shadows, no flashes of colour. White -houses and dark gardens and green-tiled mosques all lay very clear and -near and distinct, but without any of the radiance which on a day of -sunlight gives to the city so magical a beauty, that a stranger looking -down upon it can believe that he has wandered into fairyland. - -The shells were screaming over Fez from the south. They dispersed the -Moors holding the North Fort outside the walls, and they destroyed the -Castle of Sidi Bou Nafa in Fez Djedid, close to the Sultan’s Palace, -which was held in force by the insurgents. But there were too many -refugees still hiding and too many Fazi secretly friendly to the French -to make possible such a bombardment as would reduce the city to terms. - -The insurgents were still in possession of every quarter of the town -except the Sultan’s Palace and the district of the Embassy and -Consulates. The little post at the Bab-el-Mahroud had been exterminated -during the night. The company of which that post had been a section, -under Captain Henry, subsequently to be famous as a general upon a wider -field, was fighting its way desperately back in the Souk Senadjine. -Another company sent to join hands with him and occupy the quarter of -Tala was held up in the Souk-Ben-Safi; and the post at the southern gate -of Bab Fetouh was in desperate straits. The only gleam that morning was -the rescue of the guests besieged in the Hôtel de France under the -covering fire of a platoon stationed on the roof of the British -Consulate. The screams of the women indeed shrilled from the terraces -with a fiercer exultation than even on the outbreak of the rising. - -Marguerite woke later to the sound of them. She held her hands over her -ears and called loudly to Paul: - -“I want to look at your arm,” she said, when he ran to her. - -“It’s going on finely. It can wait until you are dressed.” - -“No.” - -She slipped her legs out of bed and sat on the edge of it, thrusting her -feet into her slippers. She wanted to do something at once which would -take her thoughts from that piercing and inhuman din. Paul brought to -her the medicine-chest and she dressed and bandaged the half-healed -wound. - -“Thank you, Marguerite. I’ll tell them to get your bath ready,” he said, -as he turned to go. But the screaming overhead made her blood run cold. -She could endure the roar of the seventy-fives, the rattle of musketry, -even the wild yelling of the men; but this cruel frenzy of the -gaily-dressed women upon the house-tops, never tiring whilst daylight -lasted, shocked her as something obscene, the screaming of offal-birds, -not women, a thing not so much unnatural as an accusation against nature -and the God that made nature. She quickly called her lover back. - -“Paul, you took my little pistol from the drawer of my table there last -night.” - -“Well?” said Paul, looking at her in doubt. - -“I want you to give it back to me.” - -Paul Ravenel hesitated. - -“You need not fear,” she continued. “Yesterday I meant to use it—for -your dear sake as I thought—or rather for both our sakes. But since you -will keep me with you—why, all that’s over and I shall not use it -unless there is real need. Listen!” - -She lifted her hand and, as she listened, shuddered. “You spoke of those -women this morning. What they would do to me. I should feel—safe if you -would give my pistol back to me.” - -Paul took it from his belt and laid it on the flat of her hand. - -“Thank you,” she said, with a sigh of relief. She sat on the edge of the -bed, her hair tumbled about her shoulders, smiling at this little weapon -which could make death swift and easy, like a child delighted with a new -toy. - -Things which make the flesh crawl and the spirit shudder have sometimes -a curious and dreadful fascination. All through their luncheon these -strident cries called to Marguerite, drew her like some morbid vice. She -wanted to creep up on to the roof, to crouch behind the parapet, though -she knew that her heart would miss its beats and her senses reel on the -edge of terror. And when Paul Ravenel said: - -“Marguerite, I shall lie down on my bed and sleep when we have -finished,” she realized that it was her own wish which he was uttering. -She was almost disappointed when he lit a cigar. A cigarette, yes; but a -cigar! That needs a deal of smoking. “You’ll wake me if there’s need,” -said Paul. “I think that I shall sleep soundly.” - -Marguerite noticed the heaviness of his eyelids, and was filled with -compunction. - -“If I must,” she answered, determining that whatever happened he who had -hardly slept at all for fifty hours should sleep his sleep out now. - -Yet within an hour she had waked him. - -Hardly, indeed, had Paul’s eyes closed before she climbed to the roof. -The terraces of the houses were a very kaleidoscope of shifting colours. -Orange, scarlet, deep waistbelts of cloth of gold over dresses of purple -and blue and pink were grouped in clusters here like flower beds. There -the women moved in and out with frantic gestures like revellers in -Bedlam. And over all the shrill vibrant pæan like a canopy! - -Marguerite watched and listened, shivering—until one house caught and -riveted her eyes. Beneath her flowed the Karouein river. The farther -bank was lined with the walls of houses, and about one, a little to -Marguerite’s right, there was suddenly a great commotion. Marguerite -lifted her head cautiously above the parapet and looked down. A narrow -path ran between the houses and the stream, and this path was suddenly -crowded with men as though they had sprung from the earth. They beat -upon the door, they fired senselessly at the blind mud walls with -rifles, they shouted for admittance. And the roof of that one house was -empty. Marguerite was suddenly aware of it. It was the only empty roof -in all that row of houses. - -The shouts from the path were redoubled. Orders to open became screams -of exultation, threats of vengeance. Marguerite, looking down from her -high vantage point, saw the men upon the pathway busy like ants. A group -of them clustered suddenly. They seemed to stoop, to lengthen themselves -into line—and now she saw what they were lifting. A huge square long -beam of wood—a battering ram? Yes, a battering ram. Three times the -beam was swung against the door to the tune of some monotonous rhythm of -the East, which breathed of deserts and strange temples and abiding -wistfulness, curiously out of keeping with the grim violence which was -used. At the fourth blow the door burst and broke. It was as though a -river dam had broken and a river torrent leapt in a solid shaft through -the breach. - -For a few moments thereafter nothing was seen by Marguerite. The walls -of the house were a curtain between her and the tragic stage. She could -only imagine the overturning of furniture, the pillage of rooms a moment -since clean and orderly, now a dirty wreckage, a pandemonium of a -search—and then the empty roof was no longer empty. A man sprang out -upon it, a man wearing the uniform of a French officer. He had been -bolted like a rat by dogs. - -Clearly his enemies were upon his heels. Marguerite saw him spring over -the parapet on to the adjoining roof and a cloud of women assail him. -Somehow he threw them off, somehow he dived and dodged between them, -somehow he reached the further parapet, found a ladder propped against -the outside wall, and slid down it on to a third housetop. And as he -reached the flat terrace, yet another swarm of screaming termagants -enveloped him. He was borne down to the floor of the room. - -For a little while there was a wild tossing of arms, a confusion of -bodies. It seemed to Marguerite as though all these women had suddenly -melted into one fabulous monster. Then, with shrieks of joy and -flutterings of scarves and handkerchiefs, they stood apart, dancing -flatly on their feet. The officer for his part lay inert and for the -best of reasons; he was bound hand and foot. . . . And shortly -afterwards the women lighted a fire. . . . - -“A fire?” said Marguerite, in a perplexity. “Why a fire?” - -She watched—and then she heard the dreadful loud moan of a man in the -extremity of pain. In a moment she was shaking Paul Ravenel by the -shoulder, her face white and quivering, her eyes still looking out in -horror upon a world incredible. - -“Paul! Paul! Wake up!” - -Ravenel came slowly out of a deep sleep, with a thought that once more -the insurgents were about his door. But a few stammering words from -Marguerite brought him quickly to his feet. He unlocked a cupboard and -took from it a carbine in a canvas case. He slipped off the case and -fitted a charged magazine beneath the breech. - -“You will wait here, Marguerite.” - -Whilst he was speaking he was already on the stair. Marguerite could not -wait below as he had bidden her. This horror must end. She must know, of -her own knowledge, that it had ended. She followed Paul as far as the -mouth of the trap, and came to a stop there, her feet upon the stairs, -her head just above the level of the roof. The groans of the tortured -man floated across the open space mingled with the triumphant screams of -the women. - -“Oh, hurry, Paul, hurry,” she cried, and she heard him swear horribly. - -The oath meant less than nothing to her. Would he never fire? He was -kneeling behind the parapet, crouching a little so that not a flutter of -his haik should be visible, with the barrel of his carbine resting upon -the bricks. Why didn’t he fire? She stamped upon the stairs in a frenzy -of impatience. She could not see that the women were perpetually -shifting and crossing about their victim and obscuring him from Paul -Ravenel. - -At last a moment came when the line of sight was clear; and immediately -the carbine spoke—once and no more; and all about her in this upper -city of the air all noises ceased, groans, exultations, everything. It -was to Marguerite as though the crack of that carbine had suspended all -creation. In a few seconds the shrill screams broke out again, but there -could be no doubt about their character. They were screams of terror. -These, in their turn, dwindled and ceased. Had Marguerite raised her -head above the parapet now she would have seen that those terraces so -lately thronged were empty except one on which a fire was burning, and -where one man in a uniform lay quite still and at peace with a bullet -through his heart. - -But Marguerite was watching Paul, who had sunk down below the edge of -the parapet and was gazing upwards with startled eyes. Marguerite crept -to his side. - -“What is it?” she whispered. - -Paul pointed. Just above their heads a tiny wisp of smoke coiled and -writhed in the air like an adder. - -“If that were seen—” said Paul, in a low voice. - -“Yes.” - -If that tiny wisp from the smokeless powder of his cartridge were seen -floating in the air, there would be no doubt from what roof the shot had -been fired. Paul drew Marguerite down beside him; together they watched. -There was no wind at all; the air was sluggish and heavy; it seemed to -them that the smoke was going slowly to curl and weave above their heads -for ever. It grew diaphanous, parted into fine shreds, tumbled, and at -last was gone. - -The two lovers looked at one another with a faint smile upon their lips. -But they did not move; they crouched down, seeing nothing but the empty -sky above their heads. - -The danger was not past. At any moment the sound of blows upon their -door might resound again through the house. Or they might hear a ladder -grate softly on the outside of this parapet, as it was raised from one -of the roofs below. They waited there for half an hour. Then a shell -screamed above their heads and exploded. It was followed by another and -another. - -“They are shelling the Souk-Ben-Safi,” said Paul. “Look! You can see the -twinkle of the guns.” He pointed out to her the flashes on the hills to -the east of the town. “That’s the way! Let the guns talk to these -torturers!” He shook his fist over the town, standing upright now upon -the roof, his face aflame with anger. - -“Paul! Paul!” Marguerite cried in warning. - -“There’s no one to see,” he returned, with a savage laugh. “One shell in -the Souk-Ben-Safi and they’re shivering in their cellars. Come, let us -go down!” - -For an hour the shells screeched above the roof, and Paul, as he cleaned -his carbine, whistled joyously. He raised his head from his task to see -Marguerite, very white in the face, clinging to her chair with clenched -hands, and trying in vain to whistle too. - -“I am a brute,” he cried, in compunction. “They won’t touch this house, -Marguerite! It’s too near the Karouein Mosque. The French are going to -stay in Morocco. They’ll not touch the Karouein Mosque. There’s no spot -in Fez safer from our guns.” - -Marguerite professed herself reassured, but it did occur to her that -gunners and even guns might make occasionally a mistake, and she drew a -very long breath of relief when the bombardment ceased. - -Paul Ravenel, however, fell into a restless mood, pacing the court, and -now and again coming to a stop in front of Marguerite with some word -upon his lips, which, after all, he did not speak. Marguerite guessed -it, and after a little struggle made herself his interpreter. - -“The bombardment’s over. It will keep Fez quiet for awhile. Even if that -wisp of smoke was seen, no crowd will come here for an explanation—yet, -at all events. Why don’t you go outside into the town and get the news?” - -The eager light in his eyes told her clearly that she had interpreted -him aright. But Paul, not knowing the reason which had prompted her, -sought for another. He looked at Marguerite warily. - -“I gave you back your pistol,” he said. - -“And I promised not to use it,” she replied. - -Paul shifted from one foot to the other, anxious for news, eager, after -his two days’ confinement in this shell, for action, yet remorseful for -his eagerness. - -“It wouldn’t be fair,” he said, half-heartedly. - -“But I want you to go,” she answered, with a glimmer of a smile at this -man turned shamefaced school-boy who stood in front of her. “You’re wild -to go really, Paul, and I am in no danger.” She drew a swift breath as -she said that and hoped that he would not notice it. - -Paul Ravenel did not. - -“Yes, I am restless, Marguerite,” he said in a burst. “I’ll tell you -why? Do you know what I did on the roof? What I had to do?” - -“You frightened the women away—shot one of them—put an end to their -fiendishness.” - -Paul shook his head. - -“That would have been no use, my dear. The man, a brother-officer of -mine, would still have lain upon that roof in torture and helpless. They -would have left him there till dark and finished their work then, if he -were still alive. Can you guess what they were doing? They were burning -his head slowly.” - -“Oh!” - -Marguerite had a vision of herself rushing out into the street as only -that morning she had proposed to do, and meeting the same fate. She -covered her eyes with her hands. - -“I am sorry, dear. I had to tell you, because I have to tell you this -too. I killed him.” - -Marguerite took her hands from her face and stared at her lover. - -“I had to,” said Paul, in a dull voice. “There was no other way to save -him. But, of course, it”—and he sat down suddenly with his hands -clenched together and his head bowed—“it troubles me dreadfully. Who he -was I don’t know; his face was blackened with the fire. But he may have -served with me in the Chaiouïa—he may have marched up with me to -Fez—we may have sat together on many nights over a camp fire, telling -each other how clever we were—and I had to kill him, just as one puts a -horse out of its misery.” - -“Oh, my dear,” said Marguerite. She was at his side with her arm about -his shoulders—comforting him. “I didn’t understand. You could do -nothing else. And you were quick. He would be the first to thank you.” - -Paul took the hand that was laid upon his shoulders gratefully. “No, I -could do nothing else,” he said. “But I want to move, so that I mayn’t -think of it.” - -“I know,” she said. - -She made light of her own isolation in that house. Paul, it was plain to -her, was in a dangerous mood. Horror at the thing which he had been -forced to do, anger at the stroke of fate which had set him to the -tragic choice between his passion and his duty, bitterness against the -men in power who had refused to listen, were seething within him. He was -in a mood to run riot in a berserk rage at a chance word, a chance -touch, to kill and kill and kill, until he in turn was borne down and -stamped to death. But Marguerite stood aside. One appeal—it would be -enough if only her eyes looked it—and without a doubt he would stay. -Yes, stay and remember that he had been stayed! She did not even bid him -take care or hurry back to her. She called Selim and bade him stand by -the outer door. - -Paul took a great staff in his hand and came back to Marguerite, and -kissed her on the lips. - -“Thank you,” he said. “How you know!” - -“I pay my little price, Paul, for a very big love,” and as was her way, -she turned off the moment of emotion with a light word and a laugh. -“There! Run along, and mind you don’t get your feet wet!” - -For three hours thereafter she sat alone in the court, with her pistol -in her hand, paying her little price; outside the noise of a town in -tumult, inside the ticking of a clock. And darkness came. - - * * * * * - -Marguerite had her reward. Paul Ravenel returned at eight o’clock, his -robes covered with dust and mud, his body tired, but his black mood -gone. He dressed himself after his bath in the grey suit of a European, -and as they sat at dinner he gave Marguerite his good news. The back of -the rebellion was broken. The tribes which were gathering in the South -and East of the town had been dispersed by the artillery. - -“Moinier and his column will be here before they can gather again. They -were the great danger, Marguerite. For if they had once got into Fez -they would have looted it from end to end. Friend’s house or enemy’s -house, Fasi or Christian, would have been all the same to those -gentlemen.” - -The rising was premature. That had been the cause of its failure. The -quarter of the Consulates and the Embassy had not been carried by storm -on the first day. A number of the Askris who had joined the insurgents -under fear, were now returning to their duties. The great dignitaries of -the Maghzen were in a hurry to protest their loyalty by returning the -few wounded prisoners and such dead bodies of the French soldiers as -they could collect, to the headquarters at the Hospital. - -“There’s still a post very hard-pressed at the Bab Fetouh. An effort was -made to relieve it this afternoon—” Paul Ravenel broke off abruptly -with a sudden smile upon his face and a light of enjoyment in his eyes. -“I expect that they will try now from Dar-Debibagh outside the walls. It -should be easier that way,” he said hurriedly. - -Something had happened that afternoon of which he had not told -Marguerite, and to which he owed his high spirits. Marguerite was well -aware of it. She had not a doubt that he was hiding from her some rash -act of which he was at once rather ashamed and very glad; and it amused -her to note how clever he thought himself in concealing it from her. -What had happened in that attempt to relieve the post at the Bab Fetouh? -Marguerite did not ask, having a fine gift of silence. She had Paul back -safe and sound, and the worst of their dangers was over. They were gay -once more that night, looking upon it as a sort of sanctuary between the -dangers of the past two days and the troubles which awaited them in the -future. - -“Shall we go up on the roof?” Marguerite asked, looking at the clock. - -“We will go halfway up to the roof,” replied Paul, and Marguerite -laughed as he put out the candles. - -The next day the rebellion was over. A battalion from Meknes with a -section of mitrailleuses marched in at three o’clock in the afternoon, -having covered the sixty-five kilometres in a single stage. An order was -given that every house which wished to avoid bombardment must fly the -tricolour flag on the following morning, and Fez was garnished as for a -festival. Never was there so swift a change. On every housetop daybreak -saw the flag of France, and though the women thronged the terraces as -yesterday, they were as silent as the bricks of their parapets. By a -curious chance the pall of sullen rain-charged clouds, which for four -days had hung low, was on this morning rolled away, and the city -shimmered to the sun. - -Paul and Marguerite watched the strange spectacle, hidden behind their -roof wall; and their thoughts were busy with the same question: - -“What of us now—the outcasts?” - -Paul looked across the city to Fez Djedid and the East. From that -quarter General Moinier’s column was advancing. One day—two days -perhaps—three days at the most, and it would be here at the Bab Segma. -There was little time! - -He turned to find Marguerite’s eyes swimming in tears. - -“Paul, can nothing be done to give you back your own place?” - -“Nothing, Marguerite. Let us face it frankly! I went to Headquarters and -warned them. Therefore I knew the danger. All the more, therefore, my -place that night was with my company. Nothing can get over that.” - -Marguerite with a sob buried her face in her hands. - -“What I have cost you, Paul!” - -“What you have given me, Marguerite!” he replied, and fell into a -silence. When he spoke to her again he spoke with his eyes averted from -her face, lest she should read more than he meant her to in his. - -“Of course, Marguerite, you have done no wrong. . . . We have got to -consider that, my dear. There isn’t really any reason why you should pay -too. You wanted to take the risk. . . .” - -“The certainty, Paul, as it turned out. I should not be in the sunshine -on this roof now if you had listened to me,” she interrupted; but Paul -was not to be led aside. - -“What I mean is that you are not responsible. I am, I alone. Therefore, -there’s no reason why you should cut yourself off from all the things -which make life lovely,” he continued. “For it means that, my dear. All -the things which make life lovely will go.” - -“Except one,” said Marguerite, quietly, “and that one outweighs all the -rest.” - -Still Paul would not turn to her. - -“Think well, Marguerite!” and he spoke without stirring, in a level, -toneless voice, so that no spark of his desire might kindle her to a -sacrifice which, after days, monotonous and lonely, would lead her -bitterly to regret. “Think carefully! You can travel in a little while -to the coast. You can go home. No one can gainsay you. You will not be -poor any more. In a few years you will be able to look back upon all -this as a dream. . . .” - -“Don’t, Paul!” she said, in a low voice. “You hurt me. You make me -ashamed. How could I go home and live, leaving you here?” - -But what hurt and shamed her most, she could not tell him. It was the -knowledge that this hero of hers, this—her man who could do no wrong, -had done such wrong for her that he was now an outcast who must dodge -and duck his head, and slink unrecognized in the shadows. Her pain, -however, was evident enough in the quiver of her voice and the tight -clasp of her hand upon his arm. - -“Look at me, Paul!” - -She waited until he had turned, and her great eyes, dewy and tender, -rested upon his. - -“Where you go, I go. That was settled for us at the Villa Iris on the -night we met, perhaps even before that.” - -Paul argued no more. He was kneeling in front of her upon a cushion. He -took her two hands, and, lifting them, he bowed his head and pressed the -palms against his face. - -“Then let us go down and make our plans,” he said. “For what we do, we -must do very quickly.” - -His urgency startled her. - -“But this house is not known. We are safe here!” - -Paul glanced again towards the east. He had the look of the hunted. - -“There’s a man drawing nearer to us every minute who will rake through -Fez with a fine-tooth comb to find out what has become of me,” he said. - -“An enemy?” Marguerite asked, in dismay. - -“No; my friend, Gerard de Montignac. He is on Moinier’s staff.” - -“But he will remain your friend,” cried Marguerite, “even if he—” - -Paul Ravenel completed the sentence for her. - -“Discovers that I deserted. Not he! Perhaps, just because he was my -friend, he would be harder than any other.” - -Underneath the good-fellowship, the fun, the delight in the gaieties and -ornaments of life, Gerard de Montignac had all the hard practical logic -of the French character. Certain things are not permissible. For those -who do them there is a law, and that is the end of the matter. And at -the very head of the things that are not permissible is the tampering -with the military oath. - -“Friendship will lead Gerard to search for me in every corner,” said -Paul. That was the danger. For if Gerard stumbled upon the truth in his -search, the friend would turn straightway into the hunter. - -Paul followed Marguerite down the stairs, and they talked earnestly for -a long while. Then Paul arranged his haik about his turban, slipped his -djellaba of wool over his linen caftan, and, going out, was very busy in -Fez all that day. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - - Captain Laguessière’s Report - -On the twenty-first of April, three days later, Gerard de Montignac rode -into Fez at ten o’clock of the morning behind General Moinier. He was -lodged at the Auvert Hospital and as he came out of his room he passed -in the corridor a face which he remembered. He turned on the instant. - -“Baumann!” - -Baumann was that short stockish Alsatian belonging to the Department of -Native Affairs, whom Gerard many months before had sought at the Villa -Iris. He shook Gerard’s hand with deferential warmth. - -“Captain de Montignac! How can I serve you?” - -The sight of Gerard always made Baumann think of the Bois de Bologne and -brought to his nostrils a smell of Paris. “Stylish” was Baumann’s -epithet for this slim razor-like being. - -“You can tell me for a second time how it goes with my _grand serieux_, -and where he is to be found.” - -Baumann was enchanted by the familiar allusion. It made him out as an -intimate of Captain de Montignac. But he was baffled too. - -“The name would help,” he said, hesitating. - -“Oh, Paul Ravenel, of course,” replied Gerard impatiently, and Baumann’s -face lengthened. He fidgeted uncomfortably on his feet. Yes, Paul -Ravenel, to be sure! Captain de Montignac had been uneasy about Paul -Ravenel in Casablanca, when there was really no occasion for uneasiness. -This time, however, the case was very different. - -“Alas, my Captain, I can give you no news of your friend at all. Many -officers were caught at a disadvantage. We are afraid—yes, we are all -very much afraid.” - -Gerard, with his legs apart and his hands thrust into the pockets of his -riding-breeches, looked at his twittering companion for a moment. Then -he said abruptly: - -“Let me hear!” - -Baumann had an uncomfortable little story to tell. Late on the night of -the sixteenth, the night before the massacres openly began, Captain -Ravenel had ridden up to the door of the hospital with a native servant -carrying a lantern in front of him. He was labouring under a great -anxiety and distress. Baumann himself received Captain Ravenel and heard -his story. Captain Ravenel had assured him that the Askris would revolt -immediately, and that there would be a massacre of the white people -throughout the city. - -“And you didn’t believe Paul Ravenel?” thundered Gerard de Montignac. -Baumann was in a haste to exculpate himself. - -“I waked up the two Intelligence Officers, Colonel Renaud and Captain -Brouarre,” he said. “They came down in their pyjamas. We went into the -room on the right of the entrance here, and the Captain told us all -again many bad things which have since been fulfilled.” - -“And you wouldn’t believe Paul Ravenel!” Gerard looked at Baumann with a -bitter amazement. “He gave you the warning, he, the wise one, and you -thought he was exaggerating like some panic-stricken rich Fasi.” - -“We hoped he was exaggerating,” said the unhappy Baumann. “You see, our -hands were tied. Reports that disturbances were likely had gone to the -Embassy before and had been not very civilly received. It was an order -that no similar reports should be presented. It was late at night. We -could do nothing.” - -Gerard could read into the halting sentences all that Baumann was not -the man to say. - -“Well?” he asked, curtly. “What of Paul?” - -Paul, very disappointed, had mounted his horse again and ridden off to -the Bab Segma on his way to the camp at Dar-Debibagh. - -“But he never reached the camp. He has not been seen since. We are all -very much afraid.” - -It was quite clear that Baumann had no hope at all that Paul Ravenel -would ever be seen again. - -“Most of our people scattered through Fez have been accounted for,” he -added. “Many were rescued and brought here to safety. The bodies of -others, too, but not of all. There has been no means of making -enquiries.” - -“That of course I understand,” said Gerard de Montignac, as he turned -sorrowfully away. - -Gerard was a monarchist. Some day the French would have a king again, -when there was a claimant worth his salt. Meanwhile he was heart and -soul for France, whatever its régime. So his first grief now was for the -loss to France of the great soldier that was surely to be—nay, that was -already beginning to be. He had lost a good comrade and friend too. -These losses must be paid for—as soon as there was leisure to exact -payment—and paid for in full. - -Meanwhile he went about his work. On the twenty-second the troops -occupied the city. The two following days were taken up in the -disarmament of the population. Yet other two days were given to -pleadings and arguments and exhortations to Paris and the Civil -Authorities for permission to declare a state of siege. Only when this -permission was reluctantly granted and the order made, could any of the -General’s staff unbutton their tunics and give a little time to their -own affairs. - -Gerard’s first move was to ride out to the camp at Dar-Debibagh, whither -Paul’s battalion of tirailleurs had now returned. There he found the -little Praslin now in command of Paul’s company, and the little Praslin -had information of importance to give to him. - -“Captain Ravenel rode back with me to the camp from the Sultan’s Palace -on the evening of the sixteenth, after the great storm,” said Praslin. -“He was very glad that the storm had delayed for three days the -departure of the Mission.” - -“He knew already, then, that afternoon, that the massacres were coming!” -said Gerard. - -“No! I should say not. He was quite frank about the whole position of -affairs here, as he saw it. If he had imagined that Fez itself was going -to rise he would have said so, I am sure. What he did believe was that a -serious attack would be made upon the Mission out in the bled, on its -way to the coast.” - -“He was afraid that the escort was not strong enough?” - -“He certainly thought that,” replied Praslin, slowly, and in a voice -which suggested that he did not consider this explanation at all -adequate to explain Paul’s satisfaction at the postponement of the -march. “But fear doesn’t enter into the matter at all. There was -something more. I got the impression that he just hated the idea of -going down to the coast if only for a few weeks. He wanted to stay on -here in Fez. An attack on the line of march! That he would have -considered as in the day’s work. No. He didn’t want to leave Fez. -Curious! Wasn’t it?” - -Gerard glanced sharply at Lieutenant Praslin. - -“Oho!” he exclaimed, softly. “Curious? Yes! But then Paul Ravenel was -never like the rest of us.” - -He remained silent for a little while, turning some quite new thought -over and over uneasily in his mind. - -“Well?” he said, waking up again. - -“After we had returned here, he changed into a dry uniform, for we were -both wet through, and told me that he was going to dine with a friend in -Fez,” Praslin resumed. “I reminded him that there was a battalion parade -at six the next morning.” - -“Yes?” - -“He answered that he had not forgotten and rode off.” - -“And that was the last you heard of him?” asked Gerard de Montignac. - -“No!” - -“Oh?” - -“It was the last I saw of him,” Praslin corrected. - -“What do you mean?” asked Gerard de Montignac. - -“Five minutes after Captain Ravenel had gone, a native came to the camp -and asked for him. He carried a letter.” - -Gerard’s face lit up. - -“A letter? What became of it?” - -“It was taken by Captain Ravenel’s orderly and placed on the table in -his tent.” - -“Yes?” - -“The next morning I saw it there and took charge of it. It was addressed -in Arabic.” - -“You have got it still?” - -“Yes!” - -“Let me see it!” - -Gerard reminded the little Praslin of some lean sharp-nosed pointer -which somewhere in the stubble has picked up a scent. Praslin led him to -his tent, unlocked a leather satchel and tipped out a number of letters -on to his bed. - -“Here it is!” - -He handed a paper, not an envelope, folded and sealed and superscribed -in Arabic characters, to Gerard. Gerard almost snatched at it. But once -he had it in his hands, he was no longer so sure. He twiddled it between -his fingers and gingerly. He sat down in Praslin’s camp chair and looked -at Praslin and looked at the letter. He seemed to be afraid of what he -might read in it. Finally, in a burst, he cried: - -“I shall open it.” - -“But of course,” said the little Praslin. - -Gerard broke the seal and read. Praslin wondered what he had dreaded to -find written upon that paper, so evident was his relief now. It was the -letter from Si El Hadj Arrifa which had just missed Paul Ravenel on the -night of the sixteenth. It began with the usual flowery protestations -and ended with an apologetic request that Paul should not come into Fez -that night. - -“This makes everything easier,” said Gerard, springing up from his -chair. “I shall keep this letter, Praslin.” - -He returned with it in his pocket and at once made inquiries as to what -was known of Si El Hadj Arrifa. The warning on the face of it was a sign -of goodwill to France. Yes, but some of these Fasi were very foxy -people. This letter arriving at the camp just too late to save Paul -Ravenel’s life, but in heaps of time to establish Si El Hadj Arrifa’s -good name for loyalty, might easily have been despatched with those two -objects. It was all quite in keeping with the sly furtive character of -the men of Fez. However, Gerard was soon satisfied on that point. Si El -Hadj Arrifa was of the real friends. Gerard accordingly knocked upon his -door that very night. - -He was received with much ceremony and a great warmth of welcome; not to -be wondered at, since the Moor had been sitting cowering behind his -stoutly-barred door ever since the night of the sixteenth. Gerard made -haste to put the timid man at his ease. - -“All the weapons have been collected. All the gates are held by armed -posts. A state of siege is proclaimed so that violence can be dealt with -sternly and at once,” he said. But even then he must not put the -questions burning on his tongue. France was to remain in Morocco. Very -well! Then even in small things must the ways of the country be -respected. Gerard had the patience which is the kernel and centre of -good manners. He sat through the five brewings of green tea, -ceremoniously conversing. Only then did he come to the reason of his -visit. - -“It has been my good fortune, O, Si El Hadj Arrifa, to bring you -excellent news to-night. Would that I could hear news as excellent from -you! My friend and your friend, Captain Ravenel, dined with you one -night and rode away from your door, and that night he disappeared.” - -Si El Hadj Arrifa struck a bell which stood by his side and spoke a word -to the negress who answered it. He turned again to Gerard. - -“I have sent for my servant Mohammed, who carried the lantern in front -of His Excellency’s horse. He shall tell you the story with his own -lips.” - -Mohammed duly appeared and told the truth—with omissions; how the -Captain had fallen behind in the tunnel, how the startled horse had -dashed past him, how he had returned and found no sign of the Captain at -all, how two men had appeared and he had fled in a panic. But there was -no mention of any small door in the angle of the wall. - -“We will look at that tunnel by daylight,” said Gerard, when the man had -finished, “if, O, Si El Hadj Arrifa, you will lend me your servant.” - -He spoke dispiritedly. There seemed very little chance that he would -find any trace of his _grand serieux_. He had been and he was not. No -doubt these two men at the mouth of the tunnel had seen their -opportunity and seized it. Paul Ravenel had been the first victim of the -massacre, no doubt. Yet Paul—to be taken unawares—with Si El Hadj -Arrifa’s earnest invitation to remain sheltered in his house only within -this hour uttered—Paul, in a word, warned! That was not like the Paul -Ravenel he knew, at all! And on the next morning, following Paul’s route -with Mohammed for a guide, and a patrol of soldiers, he discovered the -little door. - -With a thrill of excitement he ran his hands over the heavy nails. - -“Open! Open!” he cried, beating upon the panel with his fists; and -pressing his ear against it afterwards, he heard the racket echo emptily -through the house. - -“Open! Open!” he cried again, and, turning to the sergeant of the -patrol, bade him find a heavy beam. Even with that used as a battering -ram it took the patrol a good half hour to smash in the little door, so -stout it was, so strong the bolts and bars. But the work was done at -last. Gerard darted in and found himself in a house, small but exquisite -in its decorations, its thick cushions of linen worked with the old silk -embroideries of Fez, its white-tiled floors spread with carpets of the -old Rabat patterns. But from roof to court the house was empty. - -Gerard went through every room with the keen eye of a possible tenant -with an order to view; and found precisely nothing. Had he come a week -ago, he would have discovered on the upper floors furniture of a -completely European make. All that, however, was safely lodged now in a -storehouse belonging to Si El Hadj Arrifa, and the upper floors were -almost bare. Gerard had left the patio to the last, and whilst he -stepped here and there he heard a tinkling sound very familiar to his -ears. - -“What’s that?” he cried, swinging round. - -In a corner of an alcove the sergeant was bending down. - -“What’s that, Beauprè?” Gerard cried again, and the sergeant stood up -and faced him. He was holding in his hands the blue tunic of an officer; -and on the breast of it a row of the big French medals tinkled and -glinted. - -Gerard took the tunic reverently from the sergeant’s hands. It was all -cluttered with blood, and stabbed through and through. It had the badges -of Paul’s rank, and still discernible on a linen label inside the collar -was Paul’s name. It was here, then, in this house, that Paul Ravenel had -been done to death. The tunic which Gerard held in his hand was the -conclusive proof. He stood in the centre of the patio, so pleasant, so -quiet now, with the shafts of bright sunlight breaking upon the tiles. -Who had lived here? What dreadful scene had been staged in this empty -house? Gerard shivered a little as he thought upon it. The knives at -their slow work—the man, his friend, slowly losing, whilst the heart -still beat and the nerves stabbed, all the semblance of a man! - -“But they shall pay,” he said aloud, in a bellowing voice; and while he -shouted, a perplexity began to trouble him. He opened the door leading -from the court into the outer passage. This passage was cumbered with -the splintered panels, the bolts, the heavy transverse bars which the -patrol’s battering ram had demolished. How was it that in this empty -house the door was still barricaded from within? He returned into the -court and saw that the sergeant had pushed aside a screen at the back, -and in a recess had discovered a second door. This door was merely -locked, and there was no key in the lock. It was quickly opened. The -Karouein river raced and foamed amidst its boulders, and between the -river and the house wall there ran a tiny path. - -Gerard crossed to the door. - -“Yes, that way they went. When, I wonder? Perhaps when we were actually -beating on the door.” - -He unpinned the medals from his friend’s blood-stained tunic and wrapped -them up in a handkerchief. There might be somewhere a woman who would -love to keep them bright. Paul Ravenel talked little about his own -affairs. Who could tell? If there were no one, he could treasure them -himself in memory of a good comrade. - -Meanwhile there was an immediate step to take. A crowd had gathered in -the gateway and about the door in the dark tunnel. - -“Whose is this house?” Gerard asked, and there were many voices raised -at once with the answer: - -“Si Ahmed Driss of Ouezzan.” - -Gerard de Montignac was taken aback by the answer. Si Ahmed Driss was -one of the great Shereefian family of Ouezzan, which exercised an -authority and a power quite independent of the Sultan. From the first, -moreover, it had been unswervingly loyal to the French. Si Ahmed Driss -himself during the days of massacre had given shelter in the sanctuary -of his own residence to all the Europeans whom he could reach. Gerard de -Montignac went straight now to where he lived in the Tala and begged an -audience. - -“I have broken into a house which I now learn belongs to you, Si Ahmed -Driss, whom may God preserve,” he said. - -Si Ahmed Driss was a tall, dignified old gentleman with a white beard -flowing over his chest. - -“It is forgiven,” he said, gently. “In these days many strange things -are done.” - -“Yet this was not done without reason,” Gerard protested, and he told Si -Ahmed Driss of the finding of the tunic and the story of Mohammed the -servant. - -Si Ahmed Driss bowed his head. - -“That this should have happened in my house puts me to shame,” he said. -“I let it many months ago to Ben Sedira—a man of Meknes whom . . .” and -a flow of wondrous curses was invoked upon Ben Sedira himself and his -ancestors and descendants to the remotest degrees of consanguinity, by -the patriarch. A bargee, could he but have understood, would have -listened to them in awe and withdrawn from competition. The old -gentleman, however, in uttering them lost none of his dignity. - -“Ben Sedira of Meknes,” Gerard repeated. “We will see if we can find -that man.” - -But he had very little hope of succeeding. There had been two clear days -between the end of the revolt and the arrival of Moinier’s column, -during which surveillance could not be exercised. There were not -sufficient French soldiers to hold the town gates and question all who -went in and out. The moment the French tricolours floated so gaily upon -all the house-tops of Fez, Ben Sedira would have known the game was up. -He would have gone and gone quickly; nor would Meknes in the future -house any one of his name. - -Thus, Gerard de Montignac reasoned, the affair would remain a mystery. -Official enquiries would be made. But the great wheels of Administration -could not halt for ever at the little door in the roofed alley. Paul -Ravenel would become a case, one of the infinite enigmas of Mohammedan -Africa. So he thought during the next fortnight. - -But Gerard was on General Moinier’s staff, and many reports came under -his eyes. Amongst them, one written by a Captain Laguessière, giving an -account of an unsuccessful attempt to relieve a little post at the Bab -Fetouh on the afternoon of the seventeenth, the second day of the -revolt. Gerard was reading the report in his office not overcarefully -when a passage leaped out on the written page and startled him. He sat -for a moment very still. Then he shook or tried to shake some -troublesome thought from his shoulders. - -“It couldn’t be, of course!” he said, but he read the passage again. - -And here is what he read: - -“I met with no trouble until I had passed the lime-kilns and crossed a -bridge over the Oued el Kebir. Here further progress was stopped by -three strong groups of Moors armed with rifles. It was clear to me that -I could not force a way through with my twenty men and retain any hope -of relieving the post. I determined, therefore, to make a detour and try -to advance by way of the Bab Jedid. As I recrossed the bridge I was -violently attacked from the rear, from in front of me and from a street -upon my left; whilst from a house upon my right I saw a number of the -Askris pour out. I ordered a charge, and, leading ‘_au pas -gymnastique_,’ I brought my men into a narrow turning, whence we were -able to clear the street by repeated volleys. I had two men killed and -six wounded. I received great assistance from a tall Moor who, jumping -from the crowd, charged with my men. He was armed only with a big heavy -pole, but he swung it about him with so much vigour and skill that he -cleared a space for us. I tried to find this Moor when I had re-formed -my men, but he had disappeared as suddenly as he had come.” - -Gerard de Montignac sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through -his sleek hair. - -“Of course, it’s quite out of the question,” he assured himself. But -none the less he rose abruptly and, leaving the report on his desk, went -into another office inconveniently crowded. At the far end of the room -was seated at a desk the man for whom he was looking. - -“Baumann!” he called. “Can you spare me a minute?” - -Baumann rose and followed Gerard back to his room. - -“Take a chair there.” He pointed to one at the side of his desk. - -“Do you remember telling me some time ago at Casablanca that you once -met Captain Ravenel close to Volubilis?” - -“Yes,” said Baumann. “I didn’t recognise him. He twirled a great staff -round his head and frightened me out of my life.” - -“Yes, that’s it,” said Gerard. “A little thing in one of these reports -reminded me of your story. I wanted to be sure of it. Thank you.” - -Baumann rose to go and stopped with his hand upon the door-knob. - -“A great loss, Captain Ravenel. There is no news of him, I suppose?” - -Gerard shook his head. - -“None.” - -“Is it known whom he dined with that last night he was seen?” - -“Yes. Si El Hadj Arrifa.” - -Baumann nodded. - -“Si El Hadj Arrifa was one of Captain Ravenel’s closest friends in Fez. -But there’s another closer still of whom you might enquire.” - -“I will. Give me his name,” said Gerard eagerly, and he drew a slip of -paper towards him. - -But he did not write upon it. For Baumann answered: “Si Ahmed Driss.” - -Gerard dropped his pencil and looked swiftly up. - -“Of the Sheereefs of Ouezzan?” - -“Yes.” - -“You are sure?” - -“Quite.” - -Gerard set his elbows on the arms of his chair and joined his hands -under his chin. - -“So Paul was a great friend of Si Ahmed Driss, was he?” he said ever so -softly. - -“Yes. It was as a servant in the train of Si Ahmed Driss of Ouezzan that -Captain Ravenel travelled through the Zarhoun country, and visited the -Holy Cities.” - -“I see. Thank you, Baumann.” - -Gerard de Montignac was swimming in deep waters. He was not imaginative -but he had imagination. He comprehended, though he did not feel, the -call and glamour of the East; and nowhere in the world is there a land -more vividly Eastern in its spirit, its walled cities, its nomad tribes, -and its wide spaces, than this northwestern corner of Africa. Gerard had -lived long enough in it to see men yield to it, as to a drug, forsake -for it all that is lovely and of good repute. Was this what had happened -to his friend? He wondered sorrowfully. Paul was friendly, cheerful, -gay, but none the less really and truly a man of terrific loneliness. -Walled about always. Gerard tried to think of an intimate confidence -which Paul had ever made him. He could not remember one. He was the very -man to whom the strange roads might call with the voices of the Sirens. -It might be . . . it might be. Gerard de Montignac never sought again -for traces of his lost friend. He left the search to the Administration -and the Administration had other work to do. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - - In the Sacred City - -The sharp lesson, then the goodwill; and always even during the -infliction of the lesson, fair dealing between man and man, and nothing -taken without payment on the spot. This, the traditional policy of the -great French Governors, was carried out in Fez. Only the lesson was not -so sharp as many thought it should have been. But the policy achieved -its end, and it was not long before many a Fasi, like his kinsmen of the -Chaiouïa, would proudly assure you that he was a Frenchman. The work of -settlement and order could be transferred to other regions, and Gerard -de Montignac went with it. He served in the mountains about Taza during -the autumn of that year, and then went upon long leave. He was in Paris -for Christmas, and there, amidst its almost forgotten lights and -brilliancies, took his pleasures like a boy. He hunted in the Landes, -returned to Morocco, and a year later, after a campaign in the country -south of Marrakesch, got his step and the command of his battalion. - -For three months afterwards he was stationed at Meknes and drew his -breath. He had the routine of his work to occupy his mornings, and in -this city of wide spaces and orchards to engross his afternoons. Meknes -with the ruined magnificence of its palaces of dead kings, its huge -crumbling stables, the great gate of mosaic built through so many years -by so many captives of the Sallee pirates, and so many English prisoners -from Tangier; that other gate hardly less beautiful to the north of the -town; its groves of olives; its long crumbling crenellated walls -reaching out for miles into the country with no reason, and with no -reason abruptly ending—Meknes satisfied the æsthetic side of him as no -other city in that enchanted country. He delighted in it as a woman in -her jewels. - -But in the autumn the Zarhoun threatened trouble for the hundredth -time—the Zarhoun, that savage mountain mass with its sacred cities -which frowns above the track from Meknes to Rabat and through which the -narrow path from Tangier to Fez is cleft. It was decided that the sacred -cities must at last throw open their gates and the Zarhoun be brought -into line. The work was entrusted to Gerard de Montignac. - -“You will have a mixed battalion of infantry, a squadron of Chasseurs, a -section of mitrailleuses, and a couple of mountain guns,” said the -Commander-in-Chief. “But I think you will not need to use them. It will -be a demonstration, a reconnaissance in force, rather than an attack.” - -Thus one morning of June, Gerard led his force northwards over the -rolling plain, onto the higher ground, and marching along the flank of -Djebel Zarhoun, camped that night close to the tall columns and broken -arches of Volubilis. In front of the camp, a mile away, dark woods of -olive trees mounted the lower slopes, and above them the sacred city of -Mulai Idris clung to the mountain sides, dazzlingly white against the -sombre hill and narrowing as it rose to an apex of one solitary house. -In the failing light it had the appearance of a gigantic torrent, which, -forcing itself through a tiny cleft, spread fanwise as it fell, in a -cascade of foam. - -There was no fighting, as the Commander-in-Chief had predicted. At nine -o’clock the next morning the Basha, followed by three of his notable -men, rode down on their mules through the olive groves, and, being led -to the little tent over which floated the little red flag of the -commander, made his obeisance. - -“I will go back with your Excellency into the city,” said Gerard, and he -gave orders that a company of tirailleurs should escort him. - -Thus, then, an hour later they set out: Gerard riding ahead with the -Basha upon his right, the notables behind, and behind them again the -company of tirailleurs advancing in column of platoons with one Captain -Laguessière at their head. When they reached the first of the rising -ground, Gerard reined in his horse and stared about him. - -The Basha, a portly man with a black beard, smiled with a flash of white -teeth and the air of one expecting compliments. He did not get them, -however. Gerard’s face wore, indeed, a quite unfriendly look. He turned -round in his saddle. - -“Captain Laguessière.” - -Laguessière, who had halted his company, rode up to Gerard’s side. - -“Do you see?” - -“Yes, my Commandant. I have been wondering for the last few minutes -whether it was possible. If these fellows had put up a fight we might -have lost a lot of men.” - -“Yes,” said Gerard, shortly. - -To the right and left of the track which led up to the gate of the town, -very well placed, just on the first rise of the ground, were fire -trenches. Not roughly scooped shallow depressions, but real trenches -scientifically constructed. Deep and recessed and with traverses at -short intervals. The inside walls were revetted; arm rests had been cut -for the riflemen, the earth dug from the trenches had been used for -parapets and these had been turfed over for concealment; there were -loopholes, artfully hidden by bunches of grass or little bundles of -branches and leaves. Communication trenches ran back and—nothing so -struck Gerard de Montignac with surprise as this—the extra earth had -been built into parapets for dummy trenches, so that the fire of the -attacking force might be diverted from those which were manned. - -The surprise of the two officers caused the Moors the greatest -satisfaction. The three notables were wreathed in smiles. The Basha -laughed outright. - -“They are good,” he said, nodding his head. - -“Too good,” replied Gerard, gravely. “But it is as well that you did not -use them against us.” - -To the Moors this rejoinder seemed the very cream of wit. The Basha -rocked in his saddle at the mere idea that his trenches could have been -designed against the French. - -“No, indeed! We are true friends of your Excellency and your people. We -know that you are just and very powerful too. These trenches were -intended to defend our sacred city from the Zemmour.” - -“Oh, the Zemmour! Of course,” exclaimed Gerard, openly scoffing. - -The Zemmour were turbulent and aggressive and marauders to a man. They -lived in the Forest of Mamora and sallied out of it far afield. But they -were also the bogey men of the countryside. You threatened your -squalling baby with the Zemmour, and whatever bad thing you had done, -you had done it in terror of the Zemmour. - -The Basha was undisturbed by Gerard de Montignac’s incredulity. - -“Yes, the Zemmour are very wicked people,” he said, smiling virtuously -and apparently quite unconscious that he himself presided over a city of -malefactors and cutthroats. “But now that you have taken us poor people -under your protection we feel safe.” - -Gerard smiled grimly and Captain Laguessière stroked his fair moustache -and remarked: “He has a fine nerve, this old bandit.” - -“And when did you expect the Zemmour?” asked Gerard. - -“Two weeks, three weeks ago. They sent word that they would attack us on -a certain night, so that we might be ready.” - -“And then they didn’t come?” said Gerard. - -“No.” - -Captain Laguessière laughed, incredulous of the whole story. But Gerard -recognised a simple form of humour thoroughly Moroccan. To warn your -enemy that you meant to attack him, to keep him on the watch and -thoroughly alarmed all night and then never to attack him at all—that -might well seem to the Zemmour a most diverting stroke of wit. The -Zemmour, after all, were not so very far from Zarhoun. - -“I wonder,” said Gerard. - -“I don’t, my Commandant,” replied Captain Laguessière. “I think that if -they hadn’t seen our mountain guns passing up the track below, we should -have found these trenches manned this morning.” - -Gerard turned about on his horse and looked down onto the plain. - -“Yes. They could see very clearly. That’s the explanation—so far.” - -He gave his attention once more to the construction of the trenches. - -“And who taught you to make those trenches, my friend?” Gerard asked, -looking keenly at the Basha. The Basha answered composedly: - -“It was Allah who put it into our heads. Allah protecting the holy city -where Mulai Idris lies buried.” - -“That’s all very fine,” Captain Laguessière observed. “But then who lent -Allah his copy of the Manual of Field Engineering?” - -“Exactly,” Gerard agreed with a laugh. “I think we had better find that -out. No Moor that ever I met with would take the time and trouble, even -if he had the skill, to work out——” and the laugh died off his lips. -He turned suddenly startled eyes upon his companion. “Laguessière!” he -exclaimed, and again, in a lower key, “Yes, Laguessière! I was sure that -I had never met you before.” - -“Not until this expedition, my Commandant.” - -“Yet your name was familiar to me. I did not think why. I was too busy -to think why. But I remember now. You were in Fez two years ago. Yes, I -remember now.” - -His face darkened and hardened and grew very menacing as he sat with -moody eyes fixed upon the ground and seeing visions of old and pleasant -days leap into life and fade. “Volubilis, too!” he said in a low voice. -“Yes, just below those olives.” - -Strange that he should have seen the columns and broken arches yesterday -and again this morning, and only thought of them with wonder as the -far-flung monuments of the old untiring Rome! And never until this -moment as things of great and immediate concern to him—signs perhaps -for him to read and not neglect. For of all the pictures which he saw -changing and flickering upon the ground, two came again and again. He -saw Baumann and his friends riding in the springtime between clumps of -asphodel towards those high pillars, and a horde of wild ragged men -pouring out of the gates of this white-walled city, and Baumann -shrinking back as a tall youth whirled with a grin a great staff about -his head. Then he saw the same man, whirling the same staff, charge with -Laguessière’s section in a street of Fez. A grim and sinister fancy -flashed into his mind. He wondered whether he had been appointed by -destiny to demand here and to-day an account for the betrayal of a great -and sacred trust. He looked up the hill to where the big wooden gates -stood open. - -“Is that the only entrance into Mulai Idris?” he asked of the Basha. - -“The only one.” - -Gerard de Montignac turned to his subordinate. - -“You will set a guard upon that gate, Captain Laguessière. No one is to -go out until I give a further order.” - -“Very well, my Commandant.” - -“You will have the town patrolled and the walls watched. I will bring up -another company to act with you.” - -He wrote an order with a pencil in his note book, detached the leaf, and -sent it back by an orderly to the camp. “Now we will move on,” he said. -All his good humour had vanished. He had no longer any jests to exchange -with the Basha as the little cavalcade rode upwards among the olive -trees and through the steep, narrow streets of the town. - -In an open space just below that last big house which made the apex of -the triangle, a seat was placed, and to this Gerard de Montignac was -conducted. The little city lay spread out in a fan beneath him. The -great Mosque in which the tomb of the Founder of the Moorish Empire was -sheltered stood at the southern angle. Gerard looked down into a corner -of its open precincts and saw men walking to and fro. He called the -Basha to his side, and pointed down to it. - -“Yes, that is the great Mosque, your Excellency.” - -“No one will violate it. For us it is sacred as for you,” said Gerard. -“But no food must go into it. That is a strict order.” - -“It shall be obeyed.” - -“I shall place men of my own in the streets about the entrances. They -will molest no one, but they will see to it that the order is obeyed.” - -The Mosque was sanctuary, of course. Any man who took refuge there was -safe. Neither the law nor any vengeance could touch him. But no man must -die in it, for that would be a defilement. A little time, therefore, and -any refugee would be thrust out by the guardians of the sanctuary, lest -his death should taint the holy place. - -Gerard sent a messenger down with a new order to Laguessière at the gate -and waited on the seat until it had been carried out, and Laguessière -had ridden to his side. The two officers lunched with the Basha and his -notables in the big house and drank the five cups of tea with them -afterwards. - -“I will now ride with you through the town,” said Gerard to the Basha. -“You shall tell me of the houses and of those who live in them. And you -shall take me into those I wish, so that I may speak to them and assure -them of our friendship.” - -“That will be an excellent thing,” replied the Basha. - -Gerard kept a sergeant and a small guard of soldiers with him, and with -the Basha on his mule beside him he rode down on the left side of the -town. For on this side only, he had seen, were there any houses of -importance. The rest of the town was made up of hovels and little -cottages. The three chief men who rode with the Basha pointed out their -own residences with pride; the owners of others were described, and at -each of them Gerard smiled and said he was content. They made thus a -complete circuit of the city. - -“Your Excellency has not thought fit to enter any one of the houses,” -said the Basha with a smile of reproach. Gerard led him a little apart. - -“I will make good that omission now,” he replied. “There was one which -we passed. You did not speak of it at all. Yet it was a good house, a -fine house, finer almost than any except your Excellency’s own.” - -The Basha was apparently mystified. He could not remember. - -“I think that I can find the house again,” said Gerard. “I hope that I -shall be able to. For it attracted me.” He looked the Basha in the eyes. -“That is the house which I wish to enter and whose owner I wish to see.” - -Finality was in Gerard’s voice as clearly as in his words. The Basha -bowed to it. - -“It is for your Excellency to give orders here. We are in God’s hands,” -he said, and he drew a step nearer to Gerard de Montignac. “It is -permitted to dismiss my friends now to their homes? Si Tayeb Reha, whom -we shall visit, will not be prepared for so many.” - -“Si Tayeb Reha?” Gerard repeated. “That is his name? I had a thought it -might be Ben Sedira.” - -The Basha shook his head. - -“That is not a name known in Mulai Idris.” - -He turned to his notables and took leave of them with ceremonious -speeches. Then he mounted his mule again and rode down the hill beside -Gerard with the sergeant and the escort at their heels. Gerard said not -a word now. He was thinking of those carefully constructed trenches -outside the city, and his face grew hard as granite. They came to a -house of two storeys with one latticed window in the uppermost floor, -and for the rest a blank wall upon the street. It was for Fez a small -house, for Mulai Idris one of importance. The door opened upon a side -street, and the sergeant knocked upon it whilst Gerard and the Basha -dismounted. There followed a long silence whilst a little crowd gathered -about the soldiers. Gerard wondered what message that sharp loud -knocking brought to the inmate. Had he seen the cavalcade ride past from -a corner of that latticed window and with a smile upon his lips believed -himself to be safe? What a shattering blow, then, must have been this -sudden knocking upon his door? Or was he himself altogether in error? -Gerard drew a breath of relief at the mere hope that it might be so. -Well, he would know now, for the door was opened. And in a moment all -Gerard’s hopes fell. For the native who opened it was surprised into a -swift movement as his eyes fell upon Gerard in his uniform. It was a -movement which he checked before he had completed it, but he was too -late. He had betrayed himself. It was the involuntary movement of an old -soldier standing to attention at the sudden appearance of an officer. - -The Basha spoke a few words to the servant who stood inside. There was -no court in this house. A staircase faced them steeply, and on the right -hand of it was the kitchen. Gerard turned to the servant as he passed -in. - -“And what is your name?” - -“Selim,” answered the servant. He led the way up the dark staircase. -There was no window upon the staircase; the only light came from the -doorway upon the street. At the top there was a landing furnished with -comfort, and in the middle of the landing was a fine door. Selim knocked -upon it, and would have opened it. But Gerard laid his hand upon his arm -and with a gesture in place of words bade him stand aside. He opened the -door himself and entered. He was standing in a room of low roof but -wide. It was furnished altogether in the Moorish style, and with a -certain elegance. But the elegance was rather in the disposition of the -room than in the quality of its equipment. One great window, with a -balcony protected by a rail, gave light to the room; and it looked not -upon the street but across a great chasm to the mountain, for the house -was built upon the town wall. The light thus flooded the room. Close to -the window a tall Moor was standing. He bowed and took a step forward. - -“Had I hoped that your Excellency would do me the honour to visit my -poor house,” he said with a smile, “I should have made a better -preparation.” - -He had a small beard trimmed neatly to a point and a thin line of -moustache. Gerard did not answer him for a little while. He took out his -note book and wrote in it and detached the leaf. Then he sent Selim down -the stairs to fetch up the sergeant of his escort; and it was noticeable -that, scrupulous as he usually was in this land of observances, he made -use of the servant as his messenger without troubling himself to ask the -master’s permission. - -When the sergeant came up into the room, Gerard handed him the sheet of -paper. - -“You will send this by one of your men immediately to Captain -Laguessière at the gate.” - -“Very well, my Commandant,” and the sergeant went out of the room. - -Gerard turned to the Basha. - -“I have sent an order to remove the posts from the neighbourhood of the -Mosque, and to throw open the gates so that men may go out and in as -they will.” - -The Basha expressed his thanks. There would be no trouble. The people of -Mulai Idris were very good people, not like those scoundrels from the -Forest of Mamora, and quite devoted to the French. - -“Since this morning,” Gerard answered with a smile. “We shall have much -to say to one another to-morrow morning, in a spirit of help and -goodwill. But I beg you to leave me now, so that I may talk for a little -while privately with Si Tayeb Reha. For I have come now to the end of -this day’s work.” - -Si Tayeb Reha bowed gravely. It was the only movement he had made since -he had spoken his words of welcome upon Gerard’s first entrance into the -room. - -The Basha took his leave, went downstairs and mounted his mule. - -“We are all in God’s hands,” he said, and he rode slowly away towards -his house. Within the room the two men stood looking at each other in -silence. - -[Illustration: _A William Fox Production._ _The Winding Stair._ -“SO—YOU HAVE BETRAYED EVERY TRUST—WHERE IS YOUR HONOR?”] - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - - The Coup de Grâce - -The longer the silence grew, the more difficult Gerard de Montignac felt -it was to break. He had entered the room, clothed upon with authority, -sensible of it and prepared to demand explanations and exact -retribution. But he had now a curious uneasiness. His authority seemed -to be slipping from him. Opposite to him without a movement of his body -and his face still as a mask, stood _le grand serieux_, as half in jest, -half in earnest, he used to label Paul Ravenel. He had not a doubt of -his identity. But _le grand serieux_ was altogether in earnest _le grand -serieux_ at this moment. - -A quiet, tragic figure, drawn to his full height, wearing his dignity -with the ease of an accustomed garment, when he should be—what? Crushed -under shame, faltering excuses, cringing! Gerard de Montignac said to -himself: “Why, I might be the culprit! It might be for me to offer an -explanation, or to try to.” He almost wondered if he was the culprit, so -complete was his discomfort, and so utterly he felt himself at a -disadvantage. He whipped himself to a sneer. - -“I am afraid that I am not very welcome, Si Tayeb Reha,” he said, -speaking in French. - -“Si Tayeb Reha! Yes! That is my name,” returned the Moor, in the -Mohgrebbin dialect of Arabic. - -“Alias Ben Sedira of Meknes. Alias Paul Ravenel.” - -The Moor frowned in perplexity. - -“Alias,” he repeated, doubtfully, “and Pôl Rav——” He gave the name up. -“What are these words? If your Excellency would speak my language——” - -“Your language!” Gerard interrupted, roughly. “Since when have the -outcasts a language of their own?” - -He flung himself into a chair. He was not going to take a part in any -comedy. He continued to speak in French. “You thought you were safe -enough here, no doubt. Oh, it was a clever plan, I grant you. Who would -look for Paul Ravenel in the sacred city of Mulai Idris? Yet not so -safe, after all, if any one knew that you had once travelled through the -Zahoun in the train of Si Ahmed Driss of Ouezzan.” - -He leaned forward suddenly as some prosecuting counsél in a criminal -court might do, seeking to terrify a defendant into an expression or a -movement of guilt. But Si Tayeb Reha was simply worried because he could -not understand a word of all the scorn which was tumbling from Gerard’s -mouth. The officer was angry—that was only too evident—and with him, -Si Tayeb Reha! If only he could make it all out! Gerard grew more -exasperated than ever. - -“No, not safe at all if any one had seen you come out of these gates in -the rabble to drive away a visitor to Volubilis. Baumann, eh? Do you -remember Baumann of the Affaires Indigènes, Paul Ravenel?” - -Si Tayeb Reha raised his hands: - -“Your Excellency speaks in a tongue I do not understand.” - -“You understand very well. Sanctuary, eh? If one guessed you had run to -earth here—sanctuary! No one dare violate the sacred city of Mulai -Idris. Once sheltered within its walls, safe to lead the dreadful -squalid life you’ve chosen right to its last mean day! Your mistake, -Paul Ravenel! The arm of France is stretched over all this country.” - -Gerard stopped abruptly and flung himself back in his chair in disgust. -He was becoming magniloquent now. In a minute he would be ridiculous, -and over against him all the while stood this renegade, dwarfing him by -his very silence, and the stillness of his body, putting him in the -wrong—for that was it! Putting him in the wrong who was in the right. - -Gerard had imagination. He was hampered now by that accursed gift of the -artist. Even whilst he spoke he was standing outside himself and -watching himself speak, and act, and watching with eyes hostilely -critical. Thus were things well interpreted, but not thus were they well -done. Thus they were made brilliantly to live again; but not thus were -they so contrived as to be worthy to live again. Since by that road come -hesitations and phrases that miss their mark. - -He tried to sting Si Tayeb Reha into a rejoinder. - -“Trenches, too! Fire-trenches on the latest plan—so that if by chance -we should come and be fools enough to come without guns”—he broke off -and beat upon the table with his closed fist—“you would fight France, -would you, to keep your burrow secret! The insolence of it! The Zemmour -indeed! Fire-trenches and traverses and the rest of it against the -Zemmour.” - -Si Tayeb Reha leapt upon a word familiar to his tongue. - -“The Zemmour! Yes,” he cried, smiling his relief. Here was something -which he could understand. “The Zemmour threatened us two, three, four -weeks ago. We made ready to welcome them. But they did not come. They -were very wise, the Zemmour!” and he chuckled and nodded. - -Gerard found this man of smiles and cunning easier to talk with than the -aloof masked figure of a minute ago. - -“It was you who constructed those trenches and against us, who were once -your comrades,” he said sternly. - -Si Tayeb Reha was once more at a loss. - -“If your Excellency will not speak my tongue, how shall I answer you?” -he asked, plaintively, and Gerard did not trouble to answer. - -“I ought to send you down to Meknes, for a court-martial to deal with -you,” he said, reflectively. “But all strange crimes have their lures. -They breed. God knows what decent-living youngster might get his -imagination unwholesomely stirred and do as you have done and bring his -name to disgrace! Besides—do you know who guards the gate of Mulai -Idris whilst I talk to you? Who but Laguessière? Captain Laguessière.” -He searched the still face for a tremor, a twitch of recognition. Si -Tayeb Reha had apparently given up the attempt to understand. He stood -leaning against the wall at the side of the window and looking out -across the ravine to the mountainside. - -“Laguessière, at whose side you charged twisting your staff—do you -remember?—back over the bridge by the lime-kilns in Fez two years ago.” - -The light fell full upon the face of the man at the window. It seemed to -Gerard de Montignac impossible that any man, even the _grand serieux_, -who had so often carried his life in his hands through the solitary -places, could have learnt so to school his features and keep all meaning -from his eyes. - -“Yes, that charge counts for you, and something else which shouldn’t -count at all. You and I were at St. Cyr together.” - -Indeed, that counted most of all. The sense of an old comradeship -broken, the traditions of a great college violated, these had been the -true cause of Gerard de Montignac’s discomfort. The years were beginning -to build the high barriers about Gerard, shutting off great tracts of -which he had once had glimpses to make the heart leap, taking the bright -colour from his visions. A treasure-house of good memories was something -nowadays to value, and here was one of the good memories, almost the -most vivid of them all, destroyed. He rose from his chair, and as he -rose, a curtain moved which covered an archway, moved and ever so -slightly parted. It was just behind Si Tayeb Reha’s shoulder, and a -little to his right at the side of the room; so that he did not notice -the movement. Gerard de Montignac could look through the narrow opening. -He had a glimpse of a woman with her face veiled, an orange scarf about -her head, a broad belt of gold brocade about her white robe. Somehow the -sight of her helped him, though he saw her but for a second, before the -curtains closed again. It spurred him to that statement which from the -outset he had been working to. - -“So that’s it!” he cried. “A woman, eh? Two years since she took your -fancy! She must be getting on now, mustn’t she? What’s her age? -Seventeen? And for that, honour, career, a decent life, all, into the -dustbin!” - -He drew his heavy revolver from the pouch at his belt and laid it on the -table. - -“It is loaded,” he said. “You have just the time until my sergeant -notices that I have left my revolver behind in this house. If I come -back, and—no shot has been fired—then it is Meknes with all its shame -and the same end.” - -Nothing surprised Gerard de Montignac more than the coolness with which -Si Tayeb Reha, as his old comrade called himself, received his sentence -of death. He advanced to the table where the revolver lay and took the -weapon up with a smile of curiosity and admiration. - -“We make no such weapons as these,” he said in Arabic, examining the -pistol with all a Moor’s fascination for mechanical instruments. “That, -your Excellency, is why we are never a match for you and we must open -our gates at your summons.” - -He had never said one word except in Arabic during the whole of that -interview, just as Gerard had stubbornly refused to speak anything but -French. Gerard watched him toying with the weapon for a second and then -turned rapidly away. He could not but admire his old friend’s courage; -he could not but think: “What a waste of a good man!” He went out of the -room without another word or another look. He was sick at heart. He no -longer cared whether he had been peevish or argumentative or what kind -of figure he had cut. One of the glamorous things in his life, his -belief in the _grand serieux_, had been taken from him. - -He mounted his horse and rode away, wishing for that shot to explode as -quickly as possible, so that he might bury the dreadful episode out of -sight and forget it altogether. - -But though he listened with both his ears and though he walked his horse -as slowly as he could, he heard nothing. He saw his sergeant suddenly -look at his belt. It was coming, then, without a doubt. The next moment -the sergeant was at his side and looking up into his face. - -“My commandant, you have left your revolver behind in that house.” - -Gerard de Montignac took all the time that he could. He stared at the -sergeant and made him repeat his statement as though he had been lost in -thought and had never heard it at all. Then he looked down at the -holster and fingered it as if he were trying to recollect where in the -world he had taken the revolver out. - -“Why, that’s true,” he said, at last. He wheeled his horse around and -rode back very dispiritedly with his chin sunk upon his breast. “It is -to be Meknes after all, then, and all the public shame,” the sergeant -heard him mutter; and then a pistol cracked sharp and clear, and Gerard -raised his face. It was lit with a great relief. - -They were only ten paces from the house. Gerard dismounted and gave the -reins to the sergeant. - -“Wait for me here! Keep the door clear!” he ordered. He had left the -door of the house open when he rode away. It was open still. Gerard ran -up the stairs and burst into the room. There was a smell of gunpowder in -the air, and the Moorish woman with the orange scarf and the white robe -and the deep gold waistband was standing with her hands pressed over her -face. - -But there was no sign of Si Tayeb Reha anywhere. They had tried to trick -him, then! They imagined that he would accept the evidence of the -pistol-shot and continue on his way! They took him for no better than a -child, it seemed. No, that would not do! - -“Where is he?” he asked, angrily, of the girl, and now he, too, spoke in -Arabic. - -She pointed a trembling hand towards the window; and Gerard saw that the -rail of the balustrade of the balcony was broken and that the revolver -lay upon the boards. Gerard stepped out from the window and looked down. - -The balcony had been built out from the sheer wall; it was a rough thing -of boards, supported upon iron stanchions, and jutting out above the -deep chasm at the edge of the town. Gerard could see between the boards -deep down a precipice of rocks to a tiny white thread of stream and -clumps of bushes. He drew close to the broken rail and leaned cautiously -over. Caught upon some outcropping rocks, a little way below the wall, -hung the body of Si Tayeb Reha. He was lying face downwards, his arms -outspread. The story of what had happened was written there for him to -read. - -Paul Ravenel had shot himself on the balcony, the revolver had fallen -from his hand, his body had crashed through the flimsy rail and toppled -down until it had been caught on the rocks below. Yes, no doubt! The -mere fall from that height, even if Ravenel had been unhurt, would have -been enough. Yet—yet—there had been a long delay before the shot was -fired. Gerard looked keenly and swiftly about the room. No, there was no -sign of a rope. - -He looked at the girl. She was now crouched down upon her knees, her -face hidden between her hands, her body rocking, whilst a wail like a -chant, shrill of key but faint, made a measure for her rocking. She was -like an animal in pain—that was all, and for her Paul had thrown a -great name to the winds! What a piece of irony that she, with hardly -more brain and soul than a favourite dog, should have cost France so -much! - -Gerard stooped and picked up his revolver. He broke the breech, ejected -the one exploded cartridge, and closed the breech again with a snap. He -leaned forward again to take a last look at that poor rag of flesh and -bone, hung there for the vultures to feed upon, which once had been his -friend—and he was aware of a subtle change in the woman behind him -within the room. Oh, very slight, and for so small a space of time! But -just for an imperceptible moment her wail had faltered, the rocking of -her body had been stayed. She had been watching him between those -fingers with the henna-dyed nails which were so tightly pressed over her -face. - -He looked at her closely without moving from his position. It was all -going correctly on again—the lament, the swaying, the proper -conventional expression of the abandonment of grief. Yet she had been -watching him, and for a moment she had been startled and afraid. Of -what? And the truth flashed upon him. He had been fingering his -revolver. She was afraid of the _coup de grâce_. - -Then they were tricking him between them—she with her wailing, he -spread out on the bulge of rock below. They should see! He stretched out -his arm downwards, the revolver pointed in his hand. And out of the tail -of his eye he saw the woman cease from her exhibition and rise to her -feet. As he took his aim she unwound the veil from before her face. He -could not but look at her; and having looked, he could not take his eyes -from her face. He stumbled into the room. “Marguerite Lambert!” he said, -in a voice of wonder! “Yes, Marguerite Lambert!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - - Two Outcasts - -Gerard de Montignac had never been so thoroughly startled and surprised -in his life. But he was angrily conscious of an emotion far keener than -his surprise. He was jealous. Jealousy overmastered the shock of wonder, -stabbed him through and left him aching. Marguerite Lambert, the girl of -the Villa Iris, so politely difficult! And Paul Ravenel, the man without -passion! Why, his brother officers used to laugh at him openly—nay, -almost sneered at him and made a butt of him—because of his coldness; -and he, indifferent to their laughter, had just laughed back and gone -his way. Well, he could afford to, it seemed, since he was here, and for -two years had been here, hidden quite away from the world with -Marguerite Lambert. - -They had stolen a march upon their friends, the pair of them, they had -tricked them—yes, that was the exact right word—tricked them, even as -they had just tried to trick him, she with her Oriental abandonment to -grief—little “animal,” as he had called her in his thoughts—he -stretched out on a knob of rock above a precipice in a pose of death! -Gerard was in an ugly mood, and he spoke out his thought in a blaze of -scorn. - -“I asked you the last time I saw you to give me two days of your life, -my only two days. I asked no more. Yet you were insulted. You could give -two years to another, but two days to me? Oh, dear, no! You wished never -to speak to me again.” - -“I would give two days to no man,” Marguerite replied, gently, “though I -would give my whole life to one man.” - -“Even though he deserted?” Gerard asked, with a sneer. - -“Paul had not deserted when I gave myself to him,” she answered, -quietly. “When he did, it was to save me!” - -Gerard did not want to hear anything about that. Some conjecture that -the truth of this catastrophe was to be discovered there, had been at -the back of his mind ever since he had recognised Marguerite. But he -intended not to listen to it, not to let it speak at all. Somehow, her -use of Paul’s name angered him extremely. It dropped from her lips with -so usual and homely a sound. - -“No doubt it was to save you. It would be!” he said, sardonically. “Some -decent excuse would be needed even between you two when you sat together -alone through the long dark evenings.” - -Gerard meant to hurt, but Marguerite wore an armour against him and his -arrows were much too blunt to pierce it. She had a purpose of her own to -serve, of which Gerard de Montignac knew nothing; she was clutching at a -desperate chance—if, indeed, so frail a thing could be called a -chance—not of merely saving her lover’s life, but of so much more that -she hardly dared to think upon it. Her only weapon now and for a long -heart-breaking time to come, was patience. - -“You are unjust,” she said, without any anger, and without any appeal -that he should reconsider his words. Gerard suddenly remembered the last -words that the black-bearded Basha had spoken as he climbed onto his -mule. - -“We are all in God’s hand.” - -Marguerite had spoken just in his tone. Argument and prayer were of no -value now. It was all written, all fated. What would be, would be. -Either Gerard de Montignac would drop that revolver from his hand and -her desperate chance become a little less frail than before, or he would -not. - -“What was it that woman in the spangled skirt used to say of you?” -Gerard asked, with a seeming irrelevance. - -“Henriette?” - -“Yes, Henriette. You had a look of fate. Yes! She was right, too. It was -that look which set you apart, more than your beauty. Indeed, you -weren’t beautiful then, Marguerite.” - -He was gazing at her moodily. The sharp anger had become a sullenness. -Marguerite had grown into beauty since those days, but it was not the -roseleaf beauty born of days without anxiety and nights without unrest. -It was the beauty of one who is haunted by the ghosts of dead dreams and -who wakes in the dark hours to weep very silently lest some one -overhear. Destined for greater sorrows or perhaps greater joys than fall -to the common lot! That was what Henriette had meant! And looking at -Marguerite, Gerard, with a little ungenerous throb of pleasure, -perceived that at all events the greater joys, if ever they had fallen -to her, had faded away long since. - -“These have been unhappy years for you, Marguerite,” he said. - -“For both of us,” she answered. “How could they have been anything else? -Paul had lost everything for which he had striven, whilst I knew that it -was I who had caused his loss.” - -“But he didn’t lose you.” - -“He didn’t have to strive for me,” Marguerite returned, with just the -hint of a smile and more than a hint of pride. “I was his from his first -call—no, even before he called.” - -Gerard could not but remember the first meeting of this tragic couple in -the Villa Iris. Paul Ravenel had stood behind Marguerite’s chair, and -without a word, without even turning her head to see who it was that -stood behind her, she had risen from the midst of the Dagoes and -Levantines, as at an order given. She had fallen into step at his side, -and no word had as yet passed between them. Gerard de Montignac -recollected that, even then, a little pang of jealousy had stabbed him -and sharply enough to send him straight out of the cabaret. - -“Yes . . . yes,” he said, slowly. “I had never spoken to you then, had -I? It wasn’t until afterwards . . .” He was thinking and drawing some -queer sort of balm from the thought, that Marguerite had not so much -flatly refused him his two days as set her heart on Paul Ravenel before -she had met him. If it had been he, for instance, who had stood behind -Marguerite’s chair and silently called her! But, then, he hadn’t. He had -gone away and left the field clear for Paul Ravenel. Other memories came -back to him to assuage his wrath. - -“After all, it was I who brought you and Ravenel together,” he said. -“For it was I who persuaded him to come with me on that first night to -the Villa Iris.” - -“Yes!” Marguerite drew in her breath sharply. “He told me that he almost -didn’t come.” - -It would have been better if he had not come, if he had stayed quietly -in his house and gone on with his report. So her judgment told her. But -she could never imagine those moments during which Paul had stood in -doubt, without picturing them so vividly that she had a quiver of fear -lest he should decide not to come. - -“It was I, too, who sent Paul Ravenel to you at the end,” Gerard de -Montignac continued; and as Marguerite drew her brows together in a -wrinkle of perplexity, “Yes,” he assured her. “The night after you -didn’t want to speak to me any more, I went back to the Villa Iris to -find you. Did you know that? Yes, I was leaving the next morning with -the advance guard for Fez. I didn’t know what might happen on the march. -I wanted to make friends with you again, so that if anything did happen -to me, you wouldn’t have any bitter memories of me.” - -“That was a kind thought,” said Marguerite. - -“Kind to myself,” returned Gerard, with, for the first time in this -interview, the ghost of a smile. Yet to Marguerite it was as the glimmer -of dawn upon a black night of sickness and pain. There was a hope, then, -that the revolver would be returned to its holster with its remaining -five cartridges still undischarged. Gerard’s own memories were at work -with him, memories of a kindlier self, with enthusiasms and generous -thoughts; and they must be left to do their work. There was little that -she could say or do—and that little not until his mood had changed. - -“I didn’t find you,” Gerard resumed. “You had gone. Henriette told me -how you had gone and why. Yes, the whole horrible story of that old -harridan and the Greek! And you had dropped your bundle and disappeared. -And Henriette feared for you. I was leaving at six in the morning; I was -helpless. I went on to Paul Ravenel and told him that he must find you -before any harm came to you. And he did, of course. That’s clear. So I -had my share in all this dreadful business. Yes . . . yes, I hadn’t -realised it.” - -He sat down on a chair by the table and stared at its surface with his -forehead puckered. But he still held the butt of his revolver in his -hand. If only he would lay it down just for a moment! Marguerite had a -queer conviction that he would never take it up again to use outside the -window, once he let go of it. But he did not let go. His fingers, -indeed, tightened upon the handle, and he cried: “I don’t know what to -do.” Neither did Marguerite. She could let Gerard de Montignac remain in -his error, or she could dispel it. She was greatly tempted not to -interfere. It was a small matter, anyway. Only, small matters count so -much in great issues. Let the scales tremble, the merest splinter will -make one of them touch ground. Marguerite trusted to some instinct which -she could not afterwards explain. - -“Perhaps I am unwise,” she said. The note of hesitation, for the first -time audible, drew Gerard’s eyes to her troubled face. “But I don’t know -. . . The truth is you had no real share in our”—she paused for a word -which would neither blame nor excuse—“in our disaster. The night I was -turned out, Paul was waiting for me in the garden. I didn’t expect him. -I was in despair. I dropped my bundle; and he rose up out of the -darkness in front of me. I loved him. It was the wonderful thing come -true. He took me away to a house which he had got ready——” - -“A house near to his on the sea-wall?” suddenly exclaimed Gerard. - -“Yes.” - -“That’s true, then. I saw his agent and him coming out of it. I think -that I told Henriette, never dreaming that the house was meant for you, -that you were already in it when I told Henriette.” He looked at -Marguerite suddenly with eyes of pity. “You two poor children!” he -exclaimed, softly, and after a few moments he added with a whimsical -smile, “I told Paul that he would break his leg when we, the less -serious ones, only barked our shins. It is a bad thing not to walk in -the crowd, Marguerite.” - -He watched her for a little while like a man in doubt. Then he reached -his arm out and tapped with the muzzle of his revolver—for he still -held it in his hand—on the part of the table opposite to him. - -“You must sit down and tell me exactly what happened.” - -Marguerite obeyed. She told Gerard of her journey up from the coast to -Fez when Paul was sure that the road was safe, and how she came to the -little palace with the door upon the roofed alley which Paul had got -ready for her. Gerard, who had thought to listen to her story without -question or comment, could not restrain an exclamation. - -“You were in Fez, then, all that year!” he said, wondering. “In the -house of Si Ahmed Driss! I never dreamt of it. Even when I discovered it -and searched it, that never occurred to me. When I saw you both here, I -imagined that Paul had slipped away at a bad moment for France, without -a thought of his duty, to join you at Mulai Idris in accordance with a -plan.” - -Marguerite shook her head. - -“No. I was in the house at Fez. Later, on that night of the sixteenth, -he knew that the massacres were certain. He went to headquarters with -the information. If they had listened to him then, he would never have -deserted at all. But they wouldn’t listen, and he had to choose.” - -She described how on the next day the fanatics had rushed in searching -for a French officer who had been seen once or twice to visit there. - -“It was not before that night, then, the night he came to the -headquarters, that he was sure?” Gerard interrupted, quickly. - -“No.” - -“They would have come to seek him in the house, even if he had ridden -straight back from the Hospital Auvert to Dar-Debibagh.” - -“Yes.” - -“Then he did save your life by deserting,” said Gerard. And, on the -other hand, he asked himself was there any duty not discharged because -Paul did desert? Was there any mistake made because the little Praslin -led Paul Ravenel’s company along the river bed instead of Paul himself? - -“My God, but it’s difficult!” cried Gerard. “Complexities upon -complexities! How shall one judge—unless”—and he caught with relief at -his good rules and standards—“yes, unless one walks in the crowd. It’s -the only way to walk. Thou shalt do this! Thou shalt not do that! All -clear and ordered and written in the book.” - -Gerard had gibed enough in his day at those innumerable soldiers who -answered every problem of regulations and manœuvres immediately with a -complacent “It’s so laid down,” or “It’s not so laid down in the book.” -He was glad to get back in the windings of this case to the broad -highway of “the book.” The book told him how to deal with Paul Ravenel. -Well, then!— Yet—yet——! - -Marguerite watched his face cloud over, and hurriedly continued her -story, or rather began to continue it. For at her first words as to how -Paul had out-witted the invaders of the house in Fez Gerard interrupted -her with a cry. - -“The uniform tunic, eh, Marguerite? The tunic all hacked and battered -with blood?” He uttered a little wholesome laugh of appreciation. “And -all prepared in readiness the night before. Yes, I recognise Paul -there.” - -This was the third time that Gerard de Montignac had spoken of “Paul” -without any “Ravenel” added to it to show that he and Paul were -strangers. Marguerite, you may be sure, had counted each one of them -with a little leap of the heart. “And the blood!” he went on. “I think I -know whence that came. His arm, eh? Wasn’t it so?” - -Marguerite had determined to use no tricks with him, but she could not -resist one now, the oldest and simplest and the never-failing. She -looked at Gerard with awe and admiration—so sharp he was and -penetrating. - -“Yes. Oh, but how did you know? It’s rather wonderful.” - -“When he was standing against the window there, the sleeve of his -djellaba fell back. There was a scar like a white seam on his forearm.” - -“Yes.” - -Marguerite breathed her wonder at this prodigy of insight, and, like a -good artist, having made her point, she did not labour it. She related -with what reluctance Paul had afterwards told her the thing which he had -done. - -“I knew nothing of it before. I thought that he was on leave. I should -have killed myself whilst there was yet time for him to return to the -camp if I had known. Even when I did know, I hoped that he could make -some excuse, and I tried to kill myself. But he had, of course, foreseen -that, and prepared against it.” - -Gerard nodded. - -“How?” - -“He had taken my little pistol secretly from the drawer where I kept it. -He did not give it me back again until I promised that I would not use -it unless the Moors were on the stair.” - -Gerard de Montignac started suddenly and pushed his chair sharply back. -Some quite new consideration had flashed into his mind. He looked at -Marguerite with a sentence upon his lips. But he did not speak it. He -turned away and took a turn across the room towards the window and back -again, whilst Marguerite waited with her heart in her mouth. - -“What am I to do?” he asked; and to Marguerite the fact of his actually -addressing the question to her made the interview more of a nightmare -than ever. He was standing close to her (breaking the breech of his -revolver and snapping it to again, and almost unaware of who she was, -and quite unaware that with each click and snap of the mechanism she -could have screamed aloud). “What am I to do, Marguerite?” - -Marguerite mastered her failing nerves. - -“Those trenches outside Mulai Idris,” she said. “They were dug to resist -the Zemmour. The people here might have used them against you but for -Paul. He warned the Basha that he couldn’t win, that he would find you -just and fair and careful of all his rights. Do you believe that?” - -Gerard reflected. - -“Yes, I do,” he said, slowly. “After all, he charged with Laguessière -when Laguessière was put to it.” - -“Charged with Laguessière?” repeated Marguerite. - -“Yes—in Fez—one afternoon during the revolt. He had a great staff and -used it—used it well. So much of the old creed remained with him, at -all events.” - -Yes, thought Marguerite, there had been an afternoon when Paul had been -on edge and she had sent him out. He had come back, appeased, and a new -man. The riddle of that change was now explained to her. But she had no -leisure to dwell upon the explanation. Gerard had swung away again from -her, and was now standing close to the window looking out across the -chasm to the dark blue of the hill in the shadow opposite. One little -step would carry him on to the balcony, and the butt of his revolver was -still in his hand. - -“Listen to me, Marguerite,” he said, in a low voice; and suddenly he -became, to her thought, more dangerous in his calm than he had been in -his anger. “Here’s a law broken by you and Paul, and see what misery has -come of it! What loss! Shall I repair that law by breaking another? -Hardly! Look at me, Marguerite!” - -But he did not look at her. He even advanced a foot beyond the -window-ledge so that the boards of the balcony creaked and groaned -beneath its pressure. - -“I could have lived in Paris with Deauville for the summer and Monte -Carlo for the winter, and my own lands for the autumn—a pleasant, good -life. I could have lived with women about me—the fine flower of them, -the women who are exquisite and delicate. But I didn’t. I left the -enjoyments to the others. I came out into these hot countries, the -countries of squalor, to serve France. And I have served; yes, by God, I -have served! That has been my creed. Shall I let another spit on it, -even though he was my greatest friend? Not I!” - -Marguerite gave all up for lost. The one chance at the eleventh hour was -not to be tried out by Paul and her. Well—she was very tired. She -closed her eyes that she might not see anything of what happened at the -window—anything more in the world. If ever she had worn the look of one -set apart by fate, as so many had declared, she wore it now, stamped -upon the submission of her face. Her hands went to her girdle and felt -within its folds; and that action saved her lover and herself. For -Gerard de Montignac saw it as he was stepping out onto the boards of the -balcony. - -“Wait!” he cried, in a sharp, loud voice; and in a moment he was -standing in front of her with a look of horror in his eyes. “The little -pistol, which Paul took away from you and gave you back only on your -promise—where is it?” - -Marguerite neither moved nor answered him. - -“It is there,” he cried, pointing to where her hand rested within her -belt. It was that bedrabbled woman in the spangled skirt who had -prophesied it. Henriette, yes, Henriette! It was strange over how many -years that poor waif’s words had reached and with what effect. “No!” he -cried. “You must go your ways. I’ll not have that upon my soul the day I -die,” and he turned from her and rushed from the room, and in a few -moments Marguerite heard the sound of a horse galloping away down the -cobbled street as though its rider had no thought for his neck. - -Gerard de Montignac talked for many hours the next day with the Basha in -the house at the city’s top. But neither he nor the Basha spoke once of -Si Tayeb Reha. They came to a good understanding, and Gerard rode back -to his camp, his work in Mulai Idris done. He sat in his camp chair -outside his tent that night watching the few lights upon the hillside go -out one after the other and Mulai Idris glimmer, unsubstantial, as the -silver city of a dream. - -Gerard had carried off a small sort of triumph which would mean many -good marks in the books of his great commander. But he was only thinking -to-night of the two outcasts in the house on the city wall. Whither -would they seek a refuge now that the gates of Mulai Idris were to stand -open to the world? And was it worth their while? Marguerite’s haunted -face and Paul Ravenel burrowing deeper and deeper into obscurity! Gerard -turned to Laguessière, who was smoking at his side. - -“Walk in the crowd, my friend! It is always less dangerous to walk in -the crowd. Well, let us turn in, for we start early to-morrow.” - -In the morning the tents were gone and Gerard’s column was continuing -its march through the Zarhoun. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - - The Splendid Throw - -What had happened between the moment when Gerard de Montignac rode away -from the door of Si Tayeb Reha’s house the first time and the moment -when the pistol-shot rang out? It had all been Marguerite Lambert’s -idea—a despairing clutch at some faint and far-off possibility, hardly -a hope, yet worth putting to the proof. She had heard every word which -Gerard had spoken. She had seen the revolver laid upon the table. She -had seen even more than that. For when Gerard had gone from the room, -Paul had taken the revolver at once in his hands. It would be a very -little while before the sergeant noticed that Gerard’s revolver was -missing from its pouch. He had not even time to write more than one -“good-bye” to Marguerite. There were good friends who would look after -her—the Basha himself, Selim his own servant. - -The road to the coast passed across the plain below the city, and there -was a letter for her long since written with his instructions, on the -top of his desk. He paused after he had written his one word to make -sure that he had forgotten nothing. The addresses of his agents and his -lawyers were written in the letter and all that he had, his property in -the English funds, his houses in Fez and Casablanca, was bequeathed to -her in a will of which Mr. Ferguson had charge. No, nothing had been -forgotten—except that Marguerite herself was watching him from behind -the curtains. She came into the room. - -Paul handed to her the paper with the one word “good-bye” written upon -it. - -“Marguerite, Gerard de Montignac has been here.” - -“I know. I heard.” - -“Then you understand, my dear. This is the end for me.” - -“For both of us, then, Paul.” - -He began to argue and stopped. The futility of his words was too -evident. She would follow him, whatever he might say. He began to thank -her for the great love she had lavished on him and he stopped again. “I -could never tell you what you have meant to me,” he said, helplessly. -“But if it was all to do again, I should do as I did. For nothing in the -world would I have left you alone through those days in the house of Si -Ahmed Driss. Only, it is a pity that it must all end like this.” - -He took her in his arms and kissed her and put her from him. “Will you -leave me now, my dear? At any moment the knock may come upon the door.” - -It was then that Marguerite’s inspiration came to her. She besought him -to hold his hand. She fetched a rope and an axe. Often she had noticed -from the window that ledge of rock breaking the precipice below. Paul -was inclined to revolt against the trick which she was asking him to -play. It was not likely to succeed with Gerard de Montignac. It would -only add one more touch of indignity to their deaths. But Marguerite was -urgent. - -“I’m not thinking of just saving our lives, Paul, so that we may fly and -hide ourselves again in some still darker corner for a little while,” -she said, eagerly. “I’ll tell you of my hope, my plan, afterwards. Now -we must hurry.” - -Paul doubled the rope over one of the iron stanchions of the balcony -close to the wall, whilst Marguerite locked the door. He climbed over -the rail, and, taking a turn of the doubled rope round the upper part of -his right arm and another turn round his right thigh, he let himself -down until he hung below the balcony. He kept his arms squared and his -hands below the level of his chin, and placing the flat of his feet -against the wall of the house, he was able, by slackening the coils -round arm and thigh, to descend without effort to the ledge of rock, -where he lay huddled in a counterfeit of death. - -“Don’t move until you hear my voice calling to you,” she whispered. Then -she drew up the rope and broke down the rail of the balcony with some -blows of the axe, and, unlocking the door, hid away both axe and rope in -another room. She came back swiftly, and then, taking up the heavy -revolver, fired it out of the window and let it fall upon the boards of -the balcony. She dropped to her knees, and thus Gerard de Montignac -found her. - -All through that scene, whilst life and death were in the balance for -these two, Paul Ravenel lay motionless upon the ledge of rock below the -city wall. He dared not look up; he heard Gerard’s voice raised in anger -and scorn; he expected the shock of the bullet tearing through his -heart. But the voice diminished to a murmur. Gerard had gone back into -the room. Some debate was in progress, and while it was in progress, -from this and that far quarter of the sky the vultures gathered and -wheeled above the precipice. . . . - -After a while he heard Marguerite’s voice, and, looking up, saw that she -was letting down the rope to him. She had tied knots in it at intervals -to help him in his ascent, and he clambered up to her side. - -“Gerard has gone?” he asked. - -“Yes. He will not come here again.” - -“Then he believed you?” - -“No. He left us in pity to live our lives out as best we could,” said -Marguerite. - -Paul nodded his head. - -“Others will be coming and going now,” he said. “This city will become a -show-place, very likely. We can’t remain in Mulai Idris because of those -others.” - -“And we can’t remain anywhere else because of ourselves,” said -Marguerite, quietly. - -Paul was not startled by the words. They were no more than the echo of -words which he had been trying during this last half hour not to speak -to himself. They had built up with elaborate care a great pretence of -contentment, watching themselves so that there might be no betrayal of -the truth, watching each other so that if the truth did at some -unendurable moment flash out, no heed should be taken of it; and hoping -even without any conviction that one day the contentment would grow -real. But all that patient edifice of pretence was a crumble of dust -now. The outer world in the person of Gerard de Montignac in his uniform -had rushed in, with his hard logic, its scorn for duty abandoned, its -emblems of duty fulfilled; and there was no more any peace for Paul -Ravenel and Marguerite Lambert. To live for thirty or forty years more -as they had been living! It was in both their thoughts that it would -have been better for Gerard de Montignac to have done straightway what -he threatened, and for Marguerite to have followed her lover as she had -determined. - -Paul sat down at the table with his eyes upon Marguerite. She had some -hope, some plan. So much she had said. Was it, he wondered, the plan of -which he from time to time had dreamed, but for her sake had never dared -to speak? He waited. - -“You are a man, Paul,” she began, “oh, generous as men should not be, -but a man. And you sit here idle. A great personage in Mulai Idris, no -doubt. The power behind the throne—the Basha’s throne!” The hard words -were spoken with a loving gentleness which drew their sting. “A man must -have endeavour—I don’t say success—but endeavour of a kind, if only in -games. Otherwise what? He becomes a thing in carpet slippers, old before -his youth is spent, and this you would dwindle, too, for me! No, my -dear!” - -Paul made no gesture and uttered no word. She was to speak her thought -out. - -“You laugh and joke with these people here. For five minutes at a time -no doubt you can forget,” she continued. “But you can never exchange -thoughts with your equals, you can never talk over old dreams you have -had in common, old, hard, and tough experiences which you have shared. -And these things, Paul, are all necessary for a man.” - -Again Paul Ravenel neither denied nor agreed. He left to her the right -of way. - -“And in spite of all you still love me!” she cried, in a sudden fervour, -clasping her hands together upon her breast. “Me whom you should hate. I -clutch the wonder of that to my heart. I must keep your love.” - -Paul Ravenel smiled. - -“There’s no danger of your losing it, Marguerite.” - -Marguerite shook her head. - -“But there is—oh, not at once! But I am warned, Paul. There’s the light -showing on the reef. I keep my course at more than my peril.” - -Paul went back upon his words and his looks. What could he have said, he -who so watched himself? - -“And this warning?” he asked, with a smile, making light of it. - -“We dare not quarrel,” she answered, slowly. “That human natural thing -is barred from us. The sharp words flashing out, the shrug of -impatience, the few tears perhaps from me, the silent hour of sulkiness -in you, the making-up, the tenderness and remorse—these things are for -other lovers, Paul, never, my dear, for you and me. We daren’t quarrel. -We must watch ourselves night and day lest we do! For if we did, the -unforgivable word might be spoken. I might fling my debt to you in your -face. I might be reminded of it, anyway. No, we must live in a -constraint. Other lovers can quarrel and love no less. Not you and I—a -man who has given his honour and career, and a woman who has taken -them!” - -The argument silenced Paul Ravenel, for there was no disputing it. How -daintily the pair of them had minced amongst words! With what terror of -a catastrophe if the tongue slipped! - -“So . . . ?” he asked. - -“Yes,” said Marguerite, with a nod. “So! So, Paul, let us stake all on -one splendid throw! Go down if we must, but if we do, in a fine -endeavour, and perhaps, after all, win out to the open street!” - -She spoke with a ring in her voice which Paul had not heard for a long -while. - -“How?” he asked, and the light leaped in his eyes. So much hung upon the -answer. - -“The French are recruiting Moorish soldiers——” and she got no further, -for Paul sprang up from his chair, his face one flame of hope. - -“Marguerite!” he cried, in a thrilling voice, and then sank down again -with his face buried in his arms. “Marguerite!” he whispered, and the -tenderness and gratitude with which the utterance of her name was -winged, she caught into her memories and treasured there against the -solitude which was to come. - -She moved round the table and laid her hand upon his bowed head and let -it slip and rest upon his heaving shoulder. - -“So the thought has been in your mind too, Paul?” she said, with a -smile. - -“Yes.” - -“And for a long time?” - -“Yes.” - -“And you would not speak it. No! I must find that way out for myself,” -she said, gently chiding him, “lest you should seem to wish at all costs -to be rid of me.” She walked away from his side and drew a chair up to -the table opposite to him. - -“Let us be practical,” she said, very wisely, though her eyes danced. -“It would be possible for you to enlist without being recognised?” - -Paul lifted his head and nodded: - -“Over in the south by Marrakesch.” - -“And you could continue to escape recognition.” - -“I think so. Even if I were recognised, very likely those who recognised -me would say nothing. I remember a case once . . .” - -“Here?” cried Marguerite. “There was a case, then—an example to -follow—and even so you would not tell me.” - -“I didn’t mean I know of a case here. I was thinking of another country. -India. If that man could, I could, for I am even better equipped than he -was.” - -Paul Ravenel could say that with confidence. He knew more of the Moors, -had more constantly lived their life and spoken their dialects than -Colonel Vanderfelt had known of the Pathans upon the frontier of India. -The example of Colonel Vanderfelt had been long in Paul Ravenel’s -thoughts. How often had he watched with an envy not to be described, -both when he waked and when he slept, that limping figure, with the -medals shining upon his breast, walk down the dark city street from the -brilliant lights of the Guildhall! - -How often had this room in the remote hill town of Mulai Idris been -suddenly filled with the fragrance of a Sussex garden, whilst he himself -looked out not upon the hillside of Zahoun but upon a dim and dewy lawn -where roses clustered! He had done the bad thing which his father did, -and, like his father, lost his place in the world. Could he now win back -that place by the expiation of his father’s friend? Was it not of -excellent omen that the solution which he had remembered, Marguerite had -herself devised? But she must weigh everything. - -“It may be long before opportunity comes,” he warned her. “Such -opportunity as will restore to me my name. It may never come at all. Or -death may come with it.” - -Marguerite looked round the room and out of the window to the barren -hill. - -“Is not this death, Paul?” she answered, simply, and he was answered. - -“You must make me a promise, too, before I go, Marguerite,” he -continued. “More than once you’ve said you couldn’t go on living if -. . .” - -Marguerite interrupted him. - -“I promise.” - -“Then I’ll go.” - -A great load was lifted from both of them. They set straightway about -their preparations. Marguerite was to set out first with Selim and her -women. The road over the Red Hill to Tangier was no longer safe at all, -since it passed through a portion of the Spanish zone. But five days of -easy travel would take her to Casablanca, through a country now peaceful -as a road in France. She would go to Marseilles, she said, and wait -there for news of Paul. They passed that evening with a lightness of -spirit which neither of them had known since they had laughed and loved -in the house of Si Ahmed Driss before the massacres of Fez. - -“There is one thing which troubles me,” said Paul, catching her in his -arms and speaking with a great tenderness. “Long ago in Fez you once -told me of a girl who, when her husband died, dressed herself in her -wedding gown——” - -“Hush!” said Marguerite, and laid her hand upon his lips. - -“You remember, then?” said Paul. He took her hand gently away, and -Marguerite bent her head down and nodded. “‘I couldn’t do that, my -dear,’ you said. I have never forgotten it, Marguerite. I should have -dearly loved, if before we parted—that had been possible.” - -Marguerite raised her face. There were tears in her eyes, but her lips -were smiling, and there was a smile, too, in her eyes behind the tears. - - “_I know! the World proscribes not love;_ - _Allows my finger to caress_ - _Your lips’ contour and downiness_ - _Provided I supply a glove._ - - “_The World’s good word!—the Institute!_ - _Guizot receives Montalembert!_ - _Eh? Down the court three lampions flare;_ - _Put forward your best foot!_” - -She quoted with a laugh from the poet whose brown books had been the -backbone of their library, and then drew his head down to hers and -whispered: - -“Thank you, Paul. The world shall supply its glove—afterwards, when you -come back to me.” - -“But if I don’t come back . . . ?” - -“Well, then, my dear, since you have been the only man for me, and I -have been the only woman for you, we must hope that the good God will -make the best of it.” She laughed again and her arms tightened about his -neck. “But come back to me, my dear!” she whispered. “I am young, you -know, Paul—twenty-three. I shall have such a long time to wait if you -don’t, now that I have promised.” - -They were ready within the twenty-four hours. The tail of Gerard de -Montignac’s column had hardly disappeared before Marguerite, with her -little escort, her tents and camp outfit, rode out of the gate of Mulai -Idris and turned northwards past the columns of Volubilis. Paul rode -with her to the top of the breach in the hills, whence the track -zigzagged down to the plain of the Sebou. There they took their leave of -one another. At each turn of the road Marguerite looked upwards and saw -her lover upon his horse, his blue cape and white robes fluttering about -him, outlined against the sky. The tears were raining down her face now -which she had withheld so long as they were together, and in her heart -was one deep call to him: “Oh, come back to me!” She looked up again and -the breach in the hills was empty. Her lover had gone. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - - The Necessary Man - -In the summer of that same year, the thundercloud burst over Europe, and -France, at her moment of need, reaped the fine harvest of her colonial -policy. Black men and brown mustered to the call of her bugle as men -having their share of France. Gerard de Montignac scrambled like his -brother officers to get to the zone of battles. He was seconded in the -autumn, was promoted colonel a year later, and was then summoned to -Paris. - -In a little room upon the first floor in a building adjacent to the War -Office Gerard discovered Baumann, of the Affaires Indigènes, but an -uplifted Baumann, a Baumann who had grown a little supercilious towards -colonels. - -“Ah, De Montignac!” he said, with a wave of the hand. “I have been -expecting you. Yes. Will you sit down for a moment?” - -Gerard smiled and obeyed contentedly. There were so many Baumanns about -nowadays, and he never tired of them. Baumann frowned portentously over -some papers on his desk for a few moments, and then, pushing them aside, -smoothed out his forehead with the palm of his hand. - -“Yours is a simpler affair, De Montignac. I am happy to say,” he said, -with a happy air of relief. “The Governor-General is in Paris. You will -see him after this interview. He wants you again in Morocco.” - -“It is necessary?” Gerard asked, unwillingly. - -“Not a doubt of it, my dear fellow. You can take that from me. The -Governor-General is holding the country with the merest handful of -soldiers, and there are—annoyances.” - -“Serious ones?” - -“Very. Bartels, for instance.” - -“Bartels?” Gerard repeated. “I never heard of him.” - -Far away from the main shock of the battles, many curious and romantic -episodes were occurring, many strange epics of prowess and adventure -which will never find a historian. Bartels was the hero of one, and here -in Baumann’s clipped phrases are the bare bones of his exploit. - -“He was a non-commissioned officer in the German army . . . enlisted on -his discharge in our Foreign Legion—was interned in August, 1914, and -got away to Melilla.” - -“In the Spanish zone, on the coast. Yes,” said Gerard. - -“He was safe there and on the edge of the Riff country. He got into -touch with a more than usually turbulent chieftain of those parts, -Abd-el-Malek, and also with a German official in Spain. From the German -officials Bartels received by obscure routes fifteen thousand pounds a -month in solid cash, minus, of course, a certain attrition which the sum -suffers on the way.” - -“Of course,” said Gerard. - -“With the fifteen thousand—call it twelve—with the twelve thousand -pounds a month actually received, and Abd-el-Malek’s help, Bartels has -built himself a walled camp up in the hills close to the edge of the -French zone, where he maintains two thousand riflemen well paid and well -armed.” - -Gerard leaned forward quickly. - -“But surely a protest has been made to Spain?” - -Baumann smiled indulgently. - -“How you rush at things, my dear De Montignac!” - -“It will be ‘Gerard’ in a moment,” De Montignac thought. - -“Of course a protest has been lodged. But Spain renounces -responsibility. The camp is in a part of the country which she has -officially declared to be not yet subdued. On the other hand, it is in -the Spanish zone—and we have enough troubles upon our hands as it is, -eh?” - -Gerard leaned back in his chair. - -“That has always been our trouble, hasn’t it? The unsubdued Spanish -zone,” he said, moodily. “What does Bartels do with his two thousand -riflemen?” - -“He wages war. He comes across into French Morocco, and raids and loots -and burns and generally plays the devil. And, mark you, he gets -information; he chooses his time cleverly. When we are just about to -embark fresh troops to France, that’s his favourite moment. The troops -have to be retained, rushed quickly up country—and he, Bartels, is -snugly back on the Spanish side of the line and we can’t touch him. -Bartels, my dear De Montignac”—and here Baumann, of the Affaires -Indigènes, tapped the table impressively with the butt of his -pencil—“Bartels has got to be dealt with.” - -“Yes,” Gerard replied. “But how, doesn’t seem quite so obvious, does -it?” - -Baumann gently flourished his hand. - -“We leave that with every confidence to you, my dear Colonel.” - -Gerard pushed his chair back. - -“Oh, you do, do you! I don’t know that I’ve the type of brain for that -job,” he said, and thought disconsolately how often he had jeered at the -officers who simply passed everything that wasn’t in “the book.” He -would very much have liked to take the same line now. “How does this -fellow Bartels get his twelve thousand pounds?” - -“Through Tetuan probably. We don’t quite know,” said Baumann. - -“And where exactly is his camp on the map?” Gerard asked next. - -“We are not sure. We can give you, of course, a general idea.” - -“We have nobody amongst his two thousand men, then?” - -“Not a soul. So, you see, you have a clear field.” - -“Yes, I see that, and I need hardly say that I am very grateful,” said -De Montignac. - -Baumann was not quick to appreciate irony even in its crudest form. He -smiled as one accepting compliments. - -“We do our best, my dear Gerard,” and Gerard beamed with satisfaction. -He had heard what he had wanted to hear, and he would not spoil its -flavour. He rose at once and took up his cap. - -“I will go and see the Governor-General.” - -“You will find him next door,” said Baumann. “We keep him next door to -us whilst he is in Paris, so far as we can.” - -“You are very wise,” said Gerard, gravely, and he went next door, which -was the War Office. There he met his chief, who said: - -“You have seen Baumann? Good! Take a little leave, but go as soon as you -can. Ten days, eh? I will see you in a fortnight at Rabat,” and the -Governor-General passed on to the Elysée. - -Gerard de Montignac did not, however, take his ten days. He knew his -chief, a tall, preëminent man, both in war and administration, who, with -the utmost good-fellowship, expected much of his officers. Gerard spent -one day in Paris and then travelled to Marseilles. At Marseilles he had -to wait two days, and visited in consequence a hospital where a number -of Moorish soldiers lay wounded, men of all shades from the fair Fasi to -the coal-black negro from the south. Their faces broke into smiles as -Gerard exchanged a word or a joke with them in their own dialects. - -He stopped a little abruptly at the foot of one bed in which the -occupant lay asleep with—a not uncommon sight in the ward—a brand-new -_medaille militaire_ pinned upon the pillow. - -“He is badly hurt?” Gerard asked. - -“He is recovering very well,” said the nurse who accompanied him. “We -expect to have him out of the hospital in a fortnight.” - -Gerard remained for a moment or two looking at the sleeper, and the -nurse watched him curiously. - -“It will do him no harm if I wake him up,” she suggested. - -Gerard roused himself from an abstraction into which he had fallen. - -“No,” he answered, with a laugh. “If I was a general, I would say, yes. -But sleep is a better medicine than a crack with a mere colonel. What is -his name?” - -“Ahmed Ben Larti,” said the nurse, and with a careless “So?” Gerard de -Montignac moved along to the next bed. But before he passed out of the -ward he jerked his head towards the sleeper and asked: - -“Will he be fit for service again?” - -“Certainly,” she answered. “In a month, I should think.” - -Gerard left the hospital, and the next morning was back in Baumann’s -office in Paris. - -“I have found the man I want,” he said. - -“Who is he?” - -“Ahmed Ben Larti. He is in hospital at Marseilles. He has the _medaille -militaire_.” - -Baumann shrugged his shoulders. “Who has it not?” he seemed to say. - -“I had better see the Governor-General,” said Gerard. - -Baumann became mysterious, as befitted a high officer of Intelligence. - -“Difficult, my young friend,” he began. - -“Excellent, Baumann, excellent,” interrupted Gerard, with a chuckle. - -Baumann pouted. - -“I don’t quite understand,” he said. - -“And there’s no reason that you should,” Gerard answered, politely. - -Baumann was not very pleased. It was his business to do the mystifying. - -“It’s practically impossible that you should see the Governor-General -again. He is so occupied,” he said, firmly. - -Gerard got up from his chair. - -“Where is he?” - -“Ah!” said Baumann, wisely. “That is another matter.” - -“Then you don’t know,” exclaimed Gerard, standing over him. - -“No,” answered Baumann, and it took Gerard the rest of that day before -he ran his chief to earth. Like other busy men, the Governor-General had -the necessary time to give to necessary things, and in a spare corner of -the Colonial Office, he listened with some astonishment, asked a few -questions, and wrote a note to the War Office. - -“This will get you what you want, De Montignac. For the rest, I agree.” - -Forty-eight hours later Gerard had a long interview with Ahmed Ben Larti -in a private ward to which the Moor had been removed: and towards the -end of the interview, Ahmed Ben Larti made a suggestion. - -“That’s it!” said Gerard enthusiastically. Then his spirits dropped. -“But we haven’t got any. No, we haven’t got one.” - -“The Governor-General,” the Moor suggested. - -“I’ll send him a telegram,” said Gerard de Montignac. - -Now this was in the spring of autumn, 1916, when Bartels was in the full -bloom of power. His camp was full, for the danger was small, the pay -high, and the discipline easy. The Moor brought his horse and his rifle, -was paid so many dollars a day, and could go home if the pay failed or -his harvest called him. But in the autumn Bartels in his turn began to -suffer annoyance. Thus, on one occasion a strange humming filled the -air, and a most alarming thing swooped out of the sky with a roar and -dropped a bomb in the middle of the camp. - -Bartels ran out of his hut with an oath. “They’ve located us at last,” -he growled. Not one of his soldiers had ever seen an aeroplane before, -except perhaps the man who was cowering down on the ground close to him -with every expression of terror. Bartels jerked him up to his feet. - -“What’s your name?” - -“Ahmed Ben Larti.” - -“They make a great noise, but they hurt no one,” Bartels declared. “Tell -the others!” - -The others were running for their lives to any sort of shelter. For, -indeed, this sort of thing was worse than cannon. And unfortunately for -Bartel’s encouragements, the aeroplane was coming back. It dropped its -whole load of bombs in and around that camp, breaching the walls and -destroying the huts and causing not a few casualties into the bargain. -There was an exodus of some size from that camp under cover of the -night, and Bartels the next morning thought it prudent to move. - -He moved westwards into the country of the Braue’s, and there his second -misfortune befell him. His month’s instalment of money did not come to -hand. It should have travelled upon mules from Tetuan, and a rumour -spread that the English had got hold of it. Nothing, of course, could be -said; Bartels had just to put up with the loss and see a still further -diminution of his army. Within a month the new camp was raided by -aeroplanes, and Bartels had to move again. From a harrier of others he -had sadly fallen to being harried himself. - -“There is a traitor in the camp,” he said, and he consulted Abd-el-Malek -and stray German visitors from Tetuan and Melilla. They suspected -everybody who went away before the raids and came back afterwards. They -never suspected men like Ahmed Ben Larti, who was always present in the -camp on these occasions of danger, not overconspicuously present, but -just noticeably present, running for shelter, for instance, or -discharging his rifle at the aeroplane in a panic of terror. Bartels, -however, carried on with constantly diminishing forces until the crops -were ripening in the following year. Then the aeroplanes dealt with him -finally. - -Wherever he pitched his camp, there very quickly they found him out and -burnt the crops for a mile around. The villages would no longer supply -him with food; his army melted to a useless handful of men; he became -negligible, a bandit on the move. Ahmed Ben Larti called off the little -train of runners which had passed in his messages to French agents in -Tetuan, and one dark evening slipped away himself. His work was done, -and almost immediately his luck gave out. - -A telegram reached Gerard de Montignac at Rabat a week later from the -French consul in Tetuan, which, being decoded, read: “Larti brought in -here this morning. He was attacked two miles from here and left for -dead. Recovery doubtful.” - -The last of Ahmed’s messengers had been lured into a house in Tetuan, -and upon him Larti’s final message announcing the date of his own -arrival had been discovered. Further telegrams came to Rabat from -Tetuan. Larti had lost his left arm just below the shoulder, and his -condition was precarious. He began to mend, however, in a week, but -three months passed before a French steamer brought to Casablanca a -haggard thin man in mufti with a sleeve pinned to his breast, who had -once been Captain Paul Ravenel of the Tirailleurs. - -Gerard de Montignac met him on the quay and walked up with him to the -cantonment at Ain-Bourdja. - -“We have got quarters for you here,” said Gerard. “There’s nobody you -know any longer here.” - -“Yes!” said Paul. - -“We can rig you out with a uniform. The General will want to see you.” - -“Yes?” said Paul. - -“You know that you have been on secret service the whole time. The -troubles at Fez were the opportunity needed to make your disappearance -natural.” - -Paul sat down on the camp bed. - -“That was arranged in Paris before you went to Bartels,” said Gerard. -“Oh, by the way, I have something of yours.” - -He opened a drawer of the one table in the tiny matchboard room and, -unfolding a cloth, handed to Paul the row of medals which he had taken -from Paul’s tunic when he had searched the house of Si Ahmed Driss in -Fez. - -Paul sat gazing at the medals for a long while with his head bowed. - -“I have got another to add to these, you know—the _medaille -militaire_,” he said, with a laugh, and his voice broke. “I shall turn -woman if I hold them any longer,” he cried, and, rising, he put them -back in the drawer. Gerard de Montignac turned to a window which looked -out across the plain of the Chaiouïa. He pointed towards the northwest -and said: - -“Years ago, Paul, you saved me from mutilation and death over there. I -forgot that in Mulai Idris, and you didn’t remind me.” - -“I, too, had forgotten it,” said Paul. He looked about the cabin, he -drew a long breath as though he could hardly believe the fact that he -was there. Then he said abruptly: - -“I must send a telegram to Marseilles!” - -Gerard de Montignac stared at him. - -“Marseilles?” - -“Yes, Marguerite has been living there all this time.” - -“But you were in hospital there, and no one visited you, I know. The -nurse told me.” - -Paul Ravenel smiled. - -“Marguerite never knew I was there. I was always afraid that she would -come there by chance. Fortunately, she was driving a car. I was just -Ahmed Ben Larti. The time had not come.” He looked at Gerard and nodded -his head. “But I can tell you it was difficult not to send for her. -There she was, just a few streets and just a few house-walls between us. -There were sleepless nights, with the light shining down on all those -beds of wounded men when I could have screamed for Marguerite aloud.” - -He sent off his telegram from the Cantonment Post Office and then -strolled into the town with Gerard de Montignac. The Villa Iris was -closed; Madame Delagrange had vanished. Petras Tetarnis was no doubt -driving his Delaunay-Belleville through the streets of Paris. Paul -looked at his watch and put it back into his pocket with impatience. It -was out in the palm of his hand again. He was counting the minutes until -a telegram could be delivered in Marseilles. He was wondering whether -she was already aware—as she had been aware when he had stood behind -her on the first night that they met. - - * * * * * - -A fortnight later Mr. Ferguson, the lawyer, received a telegram which -put him into a fluster. He was an old gentleman nowadays and liable to -excitement. He sent for his head clerk, not that pertinacious servant, -Mr. Gregory—he had long since gone into retirement—but another, from -whom Mr. Ferguson was not inclined to stand any nonsense. - -“I shall want to-morrow all the necessary forms for securing English -nationality,” he said, “and please get me Colonel Vanderfelt on the -trunk line.” - -The clerk went out of the office. The old man sat in a muse, looking out -of the window upon the plane trees in the Square. So here was Virginia -Ravenel’s son coming home, invalided, with a wife. How the years did -fly, to be sure! Yet though the plane trees were a little dim to his -eyes, he heard a voice, fresh as the morning, through that dusty room, -and saw the Opera House at Covent Garden with people wearing the strange -dress of thirty years ago. - - THE END - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple -spellings occur, majority use has been employed. - -Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors -occur. - -Some illustrations were moved to facilitate page layout. - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Winding Stair, by A. E. W. Mason - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WINDING STAIR *** - -***** This file should be named 60125-0.txt or 60125-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/1/2/60125/ - -Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |