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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6199.txt b/6199.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..49a3ebb --- /dev/null +++ b/6199.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1316 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook Cumner & South Sea Folk, by G. Parker, v5 +#27 in our series by Gilbert Parker + Contents: + A Pagan Of The South + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + +Title: Cumner & South Sea Folk, v5 + +Author: Gilbert Parker + + +Release Date: July, 2004 [Etext #6199] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 19, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUMNER & SOUTH SEA FOLK, v5 *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger [widger@cecomet.net] + + + + + + +CUMNER'S SON AND OTHER SOUTH SEA FOLK + +by Gilbert Parker + +Volume 5. + + + +A PAGAN OF THE SOUTH + + +When Blake Shorland stepped from the steamer Belle Sauvage upon the quay +at Noumea, he proceeded, with the alertness of the trained newspaper +correspondent, to take his bearings. So this was New Caledonia, the home +of outcast, criminal France, the recent refuge of Communist exiles, of +Rochefort, Louise Michel, Felix Rastoul, and the rest! Over there to the +left was Ile Nou, the convict prison; on the hill was the Governor's +residence; below, the Government establishments with their red-tiled +roofs; and hidden away in a luxuriance of tropical vegetation lay the +houses of the citizens. He stroked his black moustache thoughtfully for +a moment, and put his hand to his pocket to see that his letters of +introduction from the French Consul at Sydney to Governor Rapont and his +journalistic credentials were there. Then he remembered the advice of +the captain of the Belle Sauvage as to the best hotel, and started +towards it. He had not been shown the way, but his instincts directed +him. He knew where it ought to be, according to the outlines of the +place. + +It proved to be where he thought, and, having engaged rooms, sent for his +luggage, and refreshed himself, he set out to explore the town. His +prudent mind told him that he ought to proceed at once to Governor Rapont +and present his letters of commendation, for he was in a country where +feeling was running high against English interference with the +deportation of French convicts to New Caledonia, and the intention of +France to annex the New Hebrides. But he knew also that so soon as these +letters were presented, his freedom of action would be restricted, either +by a courtesy which would be so constant as to become surveillance, or by +an injunction having no such gloss. He had come to study French +government in New Caledonia, to gauge the extent of the menace that +the convict question bore towards Australia, and to tell his tale to +Australia, and to such other countries as would listen. The task was not +pleasant, and it had its dangers, too, of a certain kind. But Shorland +had had difficulty and peril often in his life, and he borrowed no +trouble. Proceeding along the Rue de l'Alma, and listening to the babble +of French voices round him, he suddenly paused abstractedly, and said to +himself "Somehow it brings back Paris to me, and that last night there, +when I bade Freeman good-bye. Poor old boy, I'm glad better days are +coming for him. Sure to be better, if he marries Clare. Why didn't he +do it seven years ago, and save all that other horrible business?" + +Then he moved on, noticing that he was the object of remark, but as it +was daytime, and in the street he felt himself safe. Glancing up at a +doorway he saw a familiar Paris name--Cafe Voisin. This was interesting. +It was in the Cafe Voisin that he had touched a farewell glass with Luke +Freeman, the one bosom friend of his life. He entered this Cafe Voisin +with the thought of how vague would be the society which he would meet in +such a reproduction of a famous Parisian haunt. He thought of a Cafe +chantant at Port Said, and said to himself, "It can't be worse than +that." He was right then. The world had no shambles of ghastly +frivolity and debauchery like those of Port Said. + +The Cafe Voisin had many visitors, and Shorland saw at a glance who they +were--liberes, or ticket-of-leave men, a drunken soldier or two, and a +few of that class who with an army are called camp-followers, in an +English town roughs, in a French convict settlement recidivistes. He +felt at once that he had entered upon a trying experience; but he also +felt that the luck would be with him, as it had been with him so many +times these late years. He sat down at a small table, and called to a +haggard waitress near to bring him a cup of coffee. He then saw that +there was another woman in the room. Leaning with her elbows on the bar +and her chin in her hands, she fixed her eyes on him as he opened and +made a pretence of reading La Nouvelle Caledonie. Looking up, he met her +eyes again; there was hatred in them if ever he saw it, or what might be +called constitutional diablerie. He felt that this woman, whoever she +was, had power of a curious kind; too much power for her to be altogether +vile, too physically healthy to be of that class to which the girl who +handed him his coffee belonged. There was not a sign of gaudiness about +her; not a ring, a necklace, or a bracelet. Her dress was of cotton, +faintly pink and perfectly clean; her hair was brown, and waving away +loosely from her forehead. But her eyes--was there a touch of insanity +there? Perhaps because they were rather deeply set, though large, and +because they seemed to glow in the shadows made by the brows, the strange +intensity was deepened. But Shorland could not get rid of the feeling of +active malevolence in them. The mouth was neither small nor sensuous, +the chin was strong without being coarse, the figure was not suggestive. +The hands--confound the woman's eyes! Why could he not get rid of the +feeling they gave him? She suddenly turned her head, not moving her chin +from her hands, however, or altering her position, and said something to +a man at her elbow--rather the wreck of a man, one who bore tokens of +having been some time a gallant of the town, now only a disreputable +citizen of a far from reputable French colony. + +Immediately a murmur was heard: "A spy, an English spy!" From the mouths +of absinthe-drinking liberes it passed to the mouths of rum-drinking +recidivistes. It did not escape Blake Shorland's ears, but he betrayed +no sign. He sipped his coffee and appeared absorbed in his paper, +thinking carefully of the difficulties of his position. He knew that +to rise now and make for the door would be of no advantage, for a number +of the excited crowd were between him and it. To show fear might +precipitate a catastrophe with this drunken mob. He had nerve and +coolness. + +Presently a dirty outcast passed him and rudely jostled his arm as he +drank his coffee. He begged the other's pardon conventionally in French, +and went on reading. A moment later the paper was snatched from his +hand, and a red-faced unkempt scoundrel yelled in his face: "Spy of the +devil! English thief!" + +Then he rose quickly and stepped back to the wall, feeling for the spring +in the sword-stick which he held closely pressed to his side. This same +sword-stick had been of use to him on the Fly River in New Guinea. + +"Down with the English spy!" rang through the room, joined to vile +French oaths. Meanwhile the woman had not changed her position, but +closely watched the tumult which she herself had roused. She did not +stir when she saw a glass hurled at the unoffending Englishman's head. A +hand reached over and seized a bottle behind her. The bottle was raised +and still she did not move, though her fingers pressed her cheeks with a +spasmodic quickness. Three times Shorland had said, in well-controlled +tones: "Frenchmen, I am no spy," but they gave him the lie with +increasing uproar. Had not Gabrielle Rouget said that he was an English +spy? As the bottle was poised in the air with a fiendish cry of "A +baptism! a baptism!" and Shorland was debating on his chances of avoiding +it, and on the wisdom of now drawing his weapon and cutting his way +through the mob, there came from the door a call of "Hold! hold!" and a +young officer dashed in, his arm raised against the brutal missile in the +hands of the ticket-of-leave man, whose Chauvinism was a matter of +absinthe, natural evil, and Gabrielle Rouget. "Wretches! scum of +France!" he cried: "what is this here? And you, Gabrielle, do you +sleep? Do you permit murder?" + +The woman met the fire in his eyes without flinching, and some one +answered for her. "He is an English spy." + +"Take care, Gabrielle," the young officer went on, "take care--you go too +far!" Waving back the sullen crowd, now joined by the woman who had not +yet spoken, he said: "Who are you, monsieur? What is the trouble?" + +Shorland drew from his pocket his letters and credentials. Gabrielle now +stood at the young officer's elbow. As the papers were handed over, a +photograph dropped from among them and fell to the floor face upward. +Shorland stooped to pick it up, but, as he did so, he heard a low +exclamation from Gabrielle. He looked up. She pointed to the portrait, +and said gaspingly: "My God--look! look!" She leaned forward and touched +the portrait in his hand. "Look! look!" she said again. And then she +paused, and a moment after laughed. But there was no mirth in her +laughter--it was hollow and nervous. Meanwhile the young officer had +glanced at the papers, and now handed them back, with the words: "All is +right, monsieur--eh, Gabrielle, well, what is the matter?" But she drew +back, keeping her eyes fixed on the Englishman, and did not answer. + +The young officer stretched out his hand. "I am Alencon Barre, +lieutenant, at your service. Let us go, monsieur." + +But there was some unusual devilry working in that drunken crowd. The +sight of an officer was not sufficient to awe them into obedience. Bad +blood had been fired, and it was fed by some cause unknown to Alencon +Barre, but to be understood fully hereafter. The mass surged forward, +with cries of "Down with the Englishman!" + +Alencon Barre drew his sword. "Villains!" he cried, and pressed the +point against the breast of the leader, who drew back. Then Gabrielle's +voice was heard: "No, no, my children," she said, "no more of that +to-day--not to-day. Let the man go." Her face was white and drawn. + +Shorland had been turning over in his mind all the events of the last few +moments, and he thought as he looked at her that just such women had made +a hell of the Paris Commune. But one thought dominated all others. What +was the meaning of her excitement when she saw the portrait--the portrait +of Luke Freeman? + +He felt that he was standing on the verge of some tragic history. + +Barre's sword again made a clear circle round him, and he said: "Shame, +Frenchmen! This gentleman is no spy. He is the friend of the Governor-- +he is my friend. He is English? Well, where is the English flag, there +are the French--good French-protected. Where is the French flag, there +shall the English--good English--be safe." + +As they moved towards the door Gabrielle came forward, and, touching +Shorland's arm, said in English: "You will come again, monsieur? You +shall be safe altogether. You will come?" Looking at her searchingly, +he answered slowly: "Yes, I will come." + +As they left the turbulent crowd behind them and stepped into the street, +Barr$ said: "You should have gone at once to the Hotel du Gouverneur and +presented your letters, monsieur, or, at least, have avoided the Cafe +Voisin. Noumea is the Whitechapel and the Pentonville of France, +remember." + +Shorland acknowledged his error, thanked his rescuer, enjoyed the +situation, and was taken to Governor Rapont, by whom he was cordially +received, and then turned over to the hospitality of the officers of the +post. It was conveyed to him later by letters of commendation from the +Governor that he should be free to go anywhere in the islands and to see +whatever was to be seen, from convict prison to Hotel Dieu. + + + + +II + +Sitting that night in the rooms of Alencon Barre, this question was put +to Blake Shorland by his host: "What did Gabrielle say to you as we left, +monsieur? And why did she act so, when she saw the portrait? I do not +understand English well, and it was not quite clear." + +Shorland had a clear conviction that he ought to take Alencon Barre into +his confidence. If Gabrielle Rouget should have any special connection +with Luke Freeman, there might be need of the active counsel of a friend +like this young officer, whose face bespoke chivalry and gentle birth. +Better that Alencon Barre should know all, than that he should know in +part and some day unwittingly make trouble. So he raised frank eyes to +those of the other, and told the story of the man whose portrait had so +affected Gabrielle Rouget. + +"Monsieur," said he, "I will tell you of this man first, and then it will +be easier to answer your questions." + +He took the portrait from his pocket, passed it over, and continued. +"I received this portrait in a letter from England the day that I left +Sydney, as I was getting aboard the boat. I placed it among those papers +which you read. It fell out on the floor of the cafe, and you saw the +rest. The man whose face is before you there, and who sent that to me, +was my best friend in the days when I was at school and college. +Afterwards, when a law-student, and, still later, when I began to +practise my profession, we lived together in a rare old house at Fulham, +with high garden walls and--but I forget, you do not know London perhaps. +Yes? Well, the house is neither here nor there; but I like to think of +those days and of that home. Luke Freeman--that was my friend's name-- +was an artist and a clever one. He had made a reputation by his +paintings of Egyptian and Algerian life. He was brilliant and original, +an indefatigable worker. Suddenly, one winter, he became less +industrious, fitful in his work, gloomy one day and elated the next, +generally uncomfortable. What was the matter? Strange to say, although +we were such friends, we chose different sets of society, and therefore +seldom appeared at the same houses or knew the same people. He liked +most things continental; he found his social pleasures in that polite +Bohemia which indulges in midnight suppers and permits ladies to smoke +cigarettes after dinner, which dines at rich men's tables and is hob-a- +nob with Russian Counts, Persian Ministers, and German Barons. That was +not to my taste, save as a kind of dramatic entertainment to be indulged +in at intervals like a Drury Lane pantomime. But though I had no proof +that such was the case, I knew Luke Freeman's malady to be a woman. I +taxed him with it. He did not deny it. He was painting at the time, I +remember, and he testily and unprofitably drew his brush across the face +of a Copt woman he was working at, and bit off the end of a cigar. I +asked him if it was another man's wife; he promptly said no. I asked him +if there were any awkward complications any inconsiderate pressure from +the girl's parents of brothers; and he promptly told me to be damned. +I told him I thought he ought to know that an ambitious man might as well +drown himself at once as get a fast woman in his path. Then he showed a +faculty for temper and profanity that stunned me. But the up shot was +that I found the case straight enough to all appearances. The woman was +a foreigner and not easy to win; was beautiful, had a fine voice, loved +admiration, and possessed a scamp of a brother who, wanted her to marry +a foreigner, so that, according to her father's will, a large portion of +her fortune would come to him.... Were you going to speak? No? Very +well. Things got worse and worse. Freeman neglected business and +everything else, became a nuisance. He never offered to take me to see +the lady, and I did not suggest it, did not even know where she lived. +What galled me most in the matter was that Freeman had been for years +attentive to a cousin of mine, Clare Hazard, almost my sister, indeed, +since she had been brought up in my father's house; and I knew that from +a child she had adored him. However, these things seldom work out +according to the law of Nature, and so I chewed the cud of +dissatisfaction and kept the thing from my cousin as long as I could. +About the time matters seemed at a crisis I was taken ill, and was +ordered south. My mother and Freeman accompanied me as far as Paris. +Here Freeman left me to return to England, and in the Cafe Voisin, at +Paris--yes, mark that--we had our farewell. I have never seen him since. +While in Italy I was brought to death's door by my illness; and when I +got up, Clare told me that Freeman was married and had gone to Egypt. +She, poor girl, bore it well. I was savage, but it was too late. I was +ordered to go to the South Seas, at least to take a long sea-voyage; and +though I could not well afford it I started for Australia. On my way out +I stopped off at Port Said to try and find Freeman in Egypt, but failed. +I heard of him at Cairo, and learned also that his wife's brother had +joined them. Two years passed, and then I got a letter from an old +friend, saying that Freeman's wife had eloped with a Frenchman. Another +year, and then came a letter from Freeman himself, saying that his wife +was dead; that he had identified her body in the Morgue at Paris--found +drowned, and all that. He believed that remorse had driven her to +suicide. But he had no trace of the brother, no trace of the villain +whom he had scoured Europe and America over to find. Again, another +three years, and now he writes me that he is going to be married to Clare +Hazard on the twenty sixth of this month. With that information came +this portrait. I tell you all, M. Barre, because I feel that this woman +Gabrielle has some connection with the past life of my friend Luke +Freeman. She recognised the face, and you saw the effect. Now will you +tell me what you know about her?" + +Shorland had been much more communicative than was his custom. But +he knew men. This man had done him a service, and that made towards +friendship on both sides. He was an officer and a gentleman, and so he +showed his hand. Then he wanted information and perhaps much more, +though what that would be he could not yet tell. + +M. Barre had smoked cigarettes freely during Shorland's narrative. At +the end he said with peculiar emphasis: "Your friend's wife was surely a +Frenchwoman?" + +"Yes." + +"Was her name Laroche?" + +"Yes, that was it. Do you think that Lucile Laroche and Gabrielle--!" + +"That Lucile Laroche and Gabrielle Rouget are one? Yes. But that Lucile +Laroche was the wife of your friend? Well, that is another matter. But +we shall see soon. Listen. A scoundrel, Henri Durien, was sent out here +for killing an American at cards. The jury called it murder, but +recommended him to mercy, and he escaped the guillotine. He had the +sympathy of the women, the Press did not deal hardly with him, and the +Public Prosecutor did not seem to push the case as he might have done. +But that was no matter to us. The woman, Gabrielle Rouget, followed +him here, where he is a prisoner for life. He is engaged in road-making +with other prisoners. She keeps the Cafe Voisin. Now here is the point +which concerns your story. Once, when Gabrielle was permitted to +see Henri, they quarrelled. I was acting as governor of the prison at +the time, saw the meeting and heard the quarrel. No one else was near. +Henri accused her of being intimate with a young officer of the post. I +am sure there was no truth in it, for Gabrielle does not have followers +of that kind. But Henri had got the idea from some source; perhaps by +the convicts' 'Underground Railway,' which has connection even with the +Hotel du Gouverneur. Through it the prisoners know all that is going on, +and more. In response to Henri's accusation Gabrielle replied: 'As I +live, Henri, it is a lie.' He sardonically rejoined: 'But you do not +live. You are dead, dead I tell you. You were found drowned and carried +to the Morgue and properly identified--not by me, curse you, Lucile +Laroche. And then you were properly buried, and not by me either, nor at +my cost, curse you again. You are dead, I tell you!' She looked at him +as she looked at you the other day, dazed and spectre-like, and said: +'Henri, I gave up my life once to a husband to please my brother. + +"He was a villain, my brother. I gave it up a second time to please you, +and because I loved you. I left behind me name, fortune, Paris, France, +everything, to follow you here. I was willing to live here, while you +lived, or till you should be free. And you curse me--you dare to curse +me! Now I will give you some cause to curse. You are a devil--I am a +sinner. Henceforth I shall be devil and sinner too.' With that she left +him. Since then she has been both devil and sinner, but not in the way +he meant; simply a danger to the safety of this dangerous community; +a Louise Michel--we had her here too!--without Louise Michel's high +motives. Gabrielle Rouget may cause a revolt of the convicts some day, +to secure the escape of Henri Durien, or to give them all a chance. The +Governor does not believe it, but I do. You noticed what I said about +the Morgue, and that?" + +Shorland paced up and down the room for a time, and then said: "Great +heaven, suppose that by some hideous chance this woman, Gabrielle Rouget, +or Lucile Laroche, should prove to be Freeman's wife! The evidence is so +overwhelming. There evidently was some trick, some strange mistake, +about the Morgue and the burial. This is the fourteenth of January; +Freeman is to be married on the twenty-sixth! Monsieur, if this woman +should be his wife, there never was brewed an uglier scrape. There is +Freeman--that's pitiful; there is Clare Hazard--that's pitiful and +horrible. For nothing can be done; no cables from here, the Belle +Sauvage gone, no vessels or sails for two weeks. Ah well, there's only +one thing to do--find out the truth from Gabrielle if I can, and trust in +Providence." + +"Well spoken," said M. Barre. "Have some more champagne. I make the +most of the pleasure of your company, and so I break another bottle. +Besides, it may be the last I shall get for a time. There is trouble +brewing at Bompari--a native insurrection--and we may have to move at any +moment. However this Gabrielle affair turns out, you have your business +to do. You want to see the country, to study our life-well, come with +us. We will house you, feed you as we feed, and you shall have your +tobacco at army prices." + +Much as Blake Shorland was moved by the events of the last few hours he +was enough the soldier and the man of the world to face possible troubles +without the loss of appetite, sleep, or nerve. He had cultivated a habit +of deliberation which saved his digestion and preserved his mental poise; +and he had a faculty for doing the right thing at the right time. From +his stand-point, his late adventure in the Cafe Voisin was the right +thing, serious as the results might have been or might yet be. He now +promptly met the French officer's exuberance of spirits with a hearty +gaiety, and drank his wine with genial compliment and happy anecdote. +It was late when they parted; the Frenchman excited, beaming, joyous, +the Englishman responsive, but cool in mind still. + + + + +III + +After breakfast next morning Shorland expressed to M. Barre his intention +of going to see Gabrielle Rouget. He was told that he must not go alone; +a guard would be too conspicuous and might invite trouble; he himself +would bear him company. + +The hot January day was reflected from the red streets, white houses, +and waxen leaves of the tropical foliage with enervating force. An +occasional ex-convict sullenly lounged by, touching his cap as he was +required by law; a native here and there leaned idly against a house-wall +or a magnolia tree; ill-looking men and women loitered in the shade. A +Government officer went languidly by in full uniform--even the Governor +wore uniform at all times to encourage respect--and the cafes were +filling. Every hour was "absinthe-hour" in Noumea, which had improved on +Paris in this particular. A knot of men stood at the door of the Cafe +Voisin gesticulating nervously. One was pointing to a notice posted on +the bulletin-board of the cafe announcing that all citizens must hold +themselves in readiness to bear arms in case the rumoured insurrection +among the natives proved serious. It was an evil-looking company who +thus discussed Governor Rapont's commands. As the two passed in, +Shorland noticed that one of the group made a menacing action towards +Alencon Barre. + +Gabrielle was talking to an ex-convict as they entered. Her face looked +worn; there was a hectic spot on each cheek and dark circles round the +eyes. There was something animal-like about the poise of the head and +neck, something intense and daring about the woman altogether. Her +companion muttered between his teeth: "The cursed English spy!" + +But she turned on him sharply: "Go away, Gaspard, I have business. So +have you--go." The ex-convict slowly left the cafe still muttering. + +"Well, Gabrielle, how are your children this morning? They look gloomy +enough for the guillotine, eh?" said M. Barre. + +"They are much trouble, sometimes--my children." + +"Last night, for instance." + +"Last night. But monsieur was unwise. We do not love the English here. +They do not find it comfortable on English soil, in Australia--my +children! Not so comfortable as Louis Philippe and Louis Napoleon. +Criminal kings with gold are welcome; criminal subjects without gold-- +ah, that is another matter, monsieur. It is just the same. They may be +gentlemen--many are; if they escape to Australia or go as liberes, they +are hunted down. That is English, and they hate the English-- +my children." + +Gabrielle's voice was directed to M. Barre, but her eyes were on +Shorland. + +"Well, Gabrielle, all English are not inhospitable. My friend here, +we must be hospitable to him. The coals of fire, you know, Gabrielle. +We owe him some thing for yesterday. He wishes to speak to you. Be +careful, Gabrielle. No communist justice, Citizen Gabrielle." M. Barre +smiled gaily. + +Gabrielle smiled in reply, but it was not a pleasant smile, and she said: +"Treachery, M. Barre--treachery in Noumea? There is no such thing. It +is all fair in love and war. No quarter, no mercy, no hope. All is fair +where all is foul, M. Barre." + +M. Barre shrugged his shoulders pleasantly and replied: "If I had my way +your freedom should be promptly curtailed, Gabrielle. You are an active +citizen, but you are dangerous, truly." + +"I like you better when you do not have your way. Yet my children do +not hate you, M. Barre. You speak your thought, and they know what to +expect. Your family have little more freedom in France than my children +have here." + +M. Barre looked at her keenly for an instant, then, lighting a cigarette, +he said: "So, Gabrielle, so! That is enough. You wish to speak to +M. Shorland--well!" He waved his hand to her and walked away from them. +Gabrielle paused a moment, looking sharply at Blake Shorland, then she +said: "Monsieur will come with me?" + +She led the way into another room, the boudoir, sitting-room, breakfast- +room, library, all in one. She parted the curtains at the window, +letting the light fall upon the face of her companion, while hers +remained in the shadow. He knew the trick, and moved out of the belt of +light. He felt that he was dealing with a woman of singular astuteness, +with one whose wickedness was unconventional and intrepid. To his mind +there came on the instant the memory of a Rocky Mountain lioness that he +had seen caged years before; lithe, watchful, nervously powerful, +superior to its surroundings, yet mastered by those surroundings--the +trick of a lock, not a trick of strength. He thought he saw in Gabrielle +a woman who for a personal motive was trying to learn the trick of the +lock in Noumea, France's farthest prison. For a moment they looked at +each other steadily, then she said: "That portrait--let me see it." + +The hand that she held out was unsteady, and it looked strangely white +and cold. He drew the photograph from his pocket and handed it to her. +A flush passed across her face as she looked at it, and was followed by +a marked paleness. She gazed at the portrait for a moment, then her lips +parted and a great sigh broke from her. She was about to hand it back to +him, but an inspiration seemed to seize her, and she threw it on the +floor and put her heel upon it. "That is the way I treated him," she +said, and she ground her heel into the face of the portrait. Then she +took her foot away. "See, see," she cried, "how his face is scarred and +torn! I did that. Do you know what it is to torture one who loves you? +No, you do not. You begin with shame and regret. But the sight of your +lover's agonies, his indignation, his anger, madden you and you get the +lust of cruelty. You become insane. You make new wounds. You tear open +old ones. You cut, you thrust, you bruise, you put acid in the sores-- +the sharpest nitric acid; and then you heal with a kiss of remorse, and +that is acid too--carbolic acid, and it smells of death. They put it in +the room where dead people are. Have you ever been to the Morgue in +Paris? They use it there." + +She took up the portrait. "Look," she said, "how his face is torn! +Tell me of him." + +"First, who are you?" + +She steadied herself. "Who are you?" she asked. + +"I am his friend, Blake Shorland." + +"Yes, I remember your name." She threw her hands up with a laugh, a +bitter hopeless laugh. Her eyes half closed, so that only light came +from them, no colour. The head was thrown back with a defiant +recklessness, and then she said: "I was Lucile Laroche, his wife--Luke +Freeman's wife." + +"But his wife died. He identified her in the Morgue." + +"I do not know why I speak to you so, but I feel that the time has come +to tell all to you. That was not his wife in the Morgue. It was his +wife's sister, my sister whom my brother drowned for her money--he made +her life such a misery! And he did not try to save her when he knew she +meant to drown herself. She was not bad; she was a thousand times better +than I am, a million times better than he was. He was a devil. But he +is dead now too. . . . She was taken to the Morgue. She looked like +me altogether; she wore a ring of mine, and she had a mark on her +shoulder the same as one on mine; her initials were the same. Luke had +never seen her. He believed that I lay dead there, and he buried her for +me. I thought at the time that it would be best I should be dead to him +and to the world. And so I did not speak. It was all the same to my +brother. He got what was left of my fortune, and I got what was left of +hers. For I was dead, you see--dead, dead, dead!" + +She paused again. Neither spoke for a moment. Shorland was thinking +what all this meant to Clare Hazard and Luke Freeman. + +"Where is he? What is he doing?" she said at length. "Tell me. I was +--I am--his wife." + +"Yes, you were--you are--his wife. But better if you had been that woman +in the Morgue," he said without pity. What were this creature's feelings +to him? There was his friend and the true-souled Clare. + +"I know, I know," she replied. "Go on!" + +"He is well. The man that was born when his wife lay before him in the +Morgue has found another woman, a good woman who loves him and--" + +"And is married to her?" interrupted Gabrielle, her face taking on again +a shining whiteness. But, as though suddenly remembering something, +she laughed that strange laugh which might have come from a soul +irretrievably lost. "And is married to her?" + +Blake Shorland thought of the lust of cruelty, of the wounds, and the +acids of torture. "Not yet," he said; "but the marriage is set for the +twenty-six of this month." + +"How I could spoil all that!" + +"Yes, you could spoil all that. But you have spoiled enough already. +Don't you think that if Luke Freeman does marry, you had better be dead +as you have been this last five years? To have spoiled one life ought to +be enough to satisfy even a woman like you." + +Her eyes looked through Blake Shorland's eyes and beyond them to +something else; and then they closed. When they opened again, she said: +"It is strange that I never thought of his marrying again. And now I +want to kill her--just for the moment. That is the selfish devil in me. +Well, what is to be done, monsieur? There is the Morgue left. But then +there is no Morgue here. Ah, well, we can make one, perhaps--we can make +a Morgue, monsieur." + +"Can't you see that he ought to be left the rest of his life in peace?" + +"Yes, I can see that." + +"Well, then!" + +"Well--and then, monsieur? Ah, you did not wish him to marry me. He +told me so. 'A fickle foreigner,' you said. And you were right, but it +was not pleasant to me. I hated you then, though I had never spoken to +you nor seen you; not because I wanted him, but because you interfered. +He said once to me that you had told the truth in that. But--and then, +monsieur?" + +"Then continue to efface yourself. Continue to be the woman in the +Morgue." + +"But others know." + +"Yes, Henri Durien knows and M. Barre suspects." + +"So, you see." + +"But Henri Durien is a prisoner for life; he cannot hear of the marriage +unless you tell him. M. Barre is a gentleman: he is my friend; his +memory will be dead like you." + +"For M. Barre, well! But the other--Henri. How do you know that he is +here for life? Men get pardoned, men get free, men--get free, I tell +you." + +Shorland noticed the interrupted word. He remembered it afterwards all +too distinctly enough. + +"The twenty-sixth, the twenty-sixth," she said. + +Then a pause, and afterwards with a sudden sharpness: "Come to me on the +twenty-fifth, and I will give you my reply, M. Shorland." + +He still held the portrait in his hand. She stepped forward. "Let me +see it again," she said. + +He handed it to her: "You have spoiled a good face, Gabrielle." + +"But the eyes are not hurt," she replied; "see how they look at one." +She handed it back. + +"Yes, kindly." + +"And sadly. As though he still remembered Lucile. Lucile! I have not +been called that name for a long time. It is on my grave-stone, you +know. Ah, perhaps you do not know. You never saw my grave. I have. +And on the tombstone is written this: By Luke to Lucile. And then +beneath, where the grass almost hides it, the line: I have followed my +Star to the last. You do not know what that line means; I will tell you. +Once, when we were first married, he wrote me some verses, and he called +them, 'My Star, Lucile.' Here is a verse--ah, why do you not smile, when +I say I will tell you what he wrote? Chut! Women such as I have +memories sometimes. One can admire the Heaven even if one lives in--ah, +you know! Listen." And with a voice that seemed far away and not part +of herself she repeated these lines: + + "In my sky of delight there's a beautiful Star; + 'Tis the sun and the moon of my days; + And the doors of its glory are ever ajar, + And I live in the glow of its rays. + 'Tis my winter of joy and my summer of rest, + 'Tis my future, my present, my past; + And though storms fill the East and the clouds haunt the West, + I shall follow my Star to the last." + +"There, that was to Lucile. What would he write to Gabrielle--to Henri's +Gabrielle? How droll--how droll!" Again she laughed that laugh of +eternal recklessness. + +It filled Shorland this time with a sense of fear. He lost sight of +everything--this strange and interesting woman, and the peculiar nature +of the events in which he was sharing, and saw only Clare Hazard's ruined +life, Luke Freeman's despair, and the fatal 26th of January, so near at +hand. He could see no way out of the labyrinth of disgrace. It unnerved +him more than anything that had ever happened to him, and he turned +bewildered towards the door. He saw that while Gabrielle lived, a dead +misfortune would be ever crouching at the threshold of Freeman's home, +that whether the woman agreed to be silent or not, the hurt to Clare +would remain the same. With an angry bitterness in his voice that he +did not try to hide he said: "There is nothing more to be done now, +Gabrielle, that I can see. But it is a crime--it is a pity!" + +"A pity that he did not tell the truth on the gravestone--that he did not +follow his star to the last, monsieur? How droll! And you should see +how green the grass was on my grave! Yes, it is a pity." + +But Shorland, heavy at heart, looked at her and said nothing more. He +wondered why it was that he did not loathe her. Somehow, even in her +shame, she compelled a kind of admiration and awe. She was the wreck of +splendid possibilities. A poisonous vitality possessed her, but through +it glowed a daring and a candour that belonged to her before she became +wicked, and that now half redeemed her in the eyes of this man, who knew +the worst of her. Even in her sin she was loyal to the scoundrel for +whom she had sacrificed two lives, her own and another's. Her brow might +flush with shame of the mad deed that turned her life awry, and of the +degradation of her present surroundings; but her eyes looked straight +into those of Shorland without wavering, with the pride of strength if +not of goodness. + +"Yes, there is one thing more," she said. "Give me that portrait to +keep--until the 25th. Then you may take it--from the woman in the +Morgue." + +Shorland thought for a moment. She had spoken just now without sneering, +without bravado, without hardness. He felt that behind this woman's +outward cruelty and varying moods there was something working that +perhaps might be trusted, something in Luke's interest. He was certain +that this portrait had moved her deeply. Had she come to that period of +reaction in evil when there is an agonised desire to turn back towards +the good? He gave the portrait to her. + + + + +IV + +Sitting in Alencon Barre's room an hour later, Shorland told him in +substance the result of his conference with Gabrielle, and begged his +consideration for Luke if the worst should happen. Alencon Barre gave +his word as a man of honour that the matter should be sacred to him. +As they sat there, a messenger came from the commandant to say that the +detachment was to start that afternoon for Bompari. Then a note was +handed to Shorland from Governor Rapont offering him a horse and a native +servant if he chose to go with the troops. This was what Shorland had +come for--news and adventure. He did not hesitate, though the shadow of +the twenty-fifth was hanging over him. He felt his helplessness in the +matter, but determined to try to be back in Noumea on that date. Not +that he expected anything definite, but because he had a feeling that +where Gabrielle was on that day he ought to be. + +For two days they travelled, the friendship between them growing hourly +closer. It was the swift amalgamation of two kindred natures in the +flame of a perfect sincerity, for even with the dramatic element so +strongly developed in him, the Englishman was downright and true. +His friendship was as tenacious as his head was cool. + +On the evening of the third day Shorland noticed that the strap of his +spur was frayed. He told his native servant to attend to it. Next +morning as they were starting he saw that the strap had not been mended +or replaced. His language on the occasion was pointed and confident. +The fact is, he was angry with himself for trusting anything to a +servant. He was not used to such a luxury, and he made up his mind to +live for the rest of the campaign without a servant, as he had done all +his life long. + +The two friends rode side by side for miles through the jungle of fern +and palm, and then began to enter a more open but scrubby country. The +scouts could be seen half a mile ahead. Not a sign of natives had been +discovered on the march. More than once Barre had expressed his anxiety +at this. He knew it pointed to concentrated trouble ahead, and, just as +they neared the edge of the free country, he rose in his saddle and +looked around carefully. Shorland imitated his action, and, as he +resumed his seat, he felt his spur-strap break. He leaned back, and drew +up the foot to take off the spur. As he did so, he felt a sudden twitch +at his side, and Barre swayed in his saddle with a spear in the groin. +Shorland caught him and prevented him falling to the ground. A wild cry +rose from the jungle behind and from the clearing ahead, and in a moment +the infuriated French soldiers were in the thick of a hand-to-hand fray +under a rain of spears and clubs. The spear that had struck Barre would +have struck Shorland had he not bent backward when he did. As it was the +weapon had torn a piece of cloth from his coat. + +A moment, and the wounded man was lifted to the ground. The surgeon +shook his head in sad negation. Death already blanched the young +officer's face. Shorland looked into the misty eyes with a sadness only +known to those who can gauge the regard of men who suffer for each other. +Four days ago this gallant young officer had taken risk for him, had +saved him from injury, perhaps death; to-day the spear meant for him +had stricken down this same young officer, never to rise again. The +vicarious sacrifice seemed none the less noble to the Englishman because +it was involuntary and an accident. The only point clear in his mind was +that had he not leant back, Barre would be the whole man and he the +wounded one. + +"How goes it, my friend?" said Shorland, bending over him. + +Alencon Barre looked up, agony twitching his nostrils and a dry white +line on his lips. "Ah, mon camarade," he answered huskily, "it is in +action--that is much; it is for France, that is more to me--everything. +They would not let me serve France in Paris, but I die for her in New +Caledonia. I have lived six-and-twenty years. I have loved the world. +Many men have been kind, and once there was a woman--and I shall see her +soon, quite soon. It is strange. The eyes will become blind, and then +they will open, and--ah!" His fingers closed convulsively on those of +Blake Shorland. When the ghastly tremor, the deadly corrosions of the +poisoned spear passed he said: "So--so! It is the end. C'est bien, +c'est bien!" + +All round them the fight raged, and French soldiers were repeating +English bravery in the Soudan. + +"It is not against a great enemy, but it is good," said the wounded man +as he heard the conquering cries of a handful of soldiers punishing ten +times their numbers. "You remember Prince Eugene and the assegais?" + +"I remember." + +"Our Houses were enemies, but we were friends, he and I. And so, and so, +you see, it is the same for both." + +Again the teeth of the devouring poison fastened on him, and, when it +left him, a grey pallor had settled upon the face. + +Blake Shorland said to him gently: "How do you feel about it all?" + +As if in gentle protest the head moved slightly. "All's well, all's +well," the low voice said. + +A pause, in which the cries of the wounded came through the smoke, and +then the dying man, feeling the approach of another convulsion, said: +"A cigarette, mon ami." + +Blake Shorland put a cigarette between his lips and lighted it. + +"And now a little wine," the fallen soldier added. The surgeon, who had +come again for a moment, nodded and said: "It may help." + +Barre's native servant brought a bottle of champagne intended to be drunk +after the expected victory, but not in this fashion! + +Shorland understood. This brave young soldier of a dispossessed family +wished to show no fear of pain, no lack of outward and physical courage +in the approaching and final shock. He must do something that was +conventional, natural, habitual, that would take his mind from the thing +itself. At heart he was right. The rest was a question of living like a +strong-nerved soldier to the last. The tobacco-smoke curled feebly from +his lips, and was swallowed up in the clouds of powder-smoke that circled +round them. With his head on his native servant's knee he watched +Shorland uncork the bottle and pour the wine into the surgeon's medicine- +glass. It was put in his fingers; he sipped it once and then drank it +all. "Again," he said. + +Again it was filled. The cigarette was smoked nearly to the end. +Shorland must unburden his mind of one thought, and he said: "You took +what was meant for me, my friend." + +"Ah, no, no! It was the fortune, we will say the good fortune. C'est +bien!" Then, "The wine, the wine," he said, and his fingers again +clasped those of Shorland tremblingly. He took the glass in his right +hand and lifted it. "God guard all at home, God keep France!" he said. +He was about to place the glass to his lips, when a tremor seized him, +and the glass fell from his hand. He fell back, his breath quick and +vanishing, his eyes closing, and a faint smile upon his lips. "It is +always the same with France," he said; "always the same." And he was +gone. + + + + +V + +The French had bought their victory dear with the death of Alencon Barre, +their favourite officer. When they turned their backs upon a quelled +insurrection, there was a gap that not even French buoyancy could fill. +On the morning of the twenty-fifth they neared Noumea. Shorland thought +of all that day meant to Luke and Clare. He was helpless to alter the +course of events, to stay a terrible possibility. + +"You can never trust a woman of Gabrielle's stamp," he said to himself, +as they rode along through valleys of ferns, grenadillas, and limes. +"They have no baseline of duty; they either rend themselves or rend +others, but rend they must, hearts and not garments. Henri Durien knows, +and she knows, and Alencon Barre knew, poor boy! But what Barre knew is +buried with him back there under the palms. Luke and Clare are to be +married to-morrow-God help them! And I can see them in their home, he +standing by the fireplace in his old way--it's winter there--and looking +down at Clare; and on the other side of the fireplace sits the sister of +the Woman in the Morgue, waiting for the happiest moment in the lives of +these two before her. And when it comes, as she did with the portrait, +as she did with him before, she will set her foot upon his face and then +on Clare's; only neither Luke nor Clare will live again after that +crucifixion." Then aloud: "Hello! what's that?--a messenger riding hard +to meet us! Smoke in the direction of Noumea and sound of firing! +What's that, doctor? Convicts revolted, made a break at the prison +and on the way to the quarries at the same moment! Of course--seized +the time when the post was weakest, helped by ticket-of-leave-men and +led by Henri Durien, Gaspard, and Gabrielle Rouget. Gabrielle Rouget, +eh! And this is the twenty-fifth! Yes, I will take Barre's horse, +captain, thank you; it is fresher than mine. Away we go! Egad, they're +at it, doctor! Hear the rifles!" Answering to the leader's cry of +"Forward, forward!" the detachment dashed into the streets of this +little Paris, which, after the fashion of its far-away mother, was +dipping its hands in Revolution. Outcast and criminal France were +arrayed against military France once more. A handful of guards in the +prison at Ile Nou were bravely holding in check a ruthless mob of +convicts; and a crowd of convicts in the street keeping back a determined +military force. Part of the newly-arrived reinforcements proceeded to +Ile Nou, part moved towards the barricade. Shorland went to the +barricade. + +The convicts had the Cafe Voisin in their rear. As the reinforcements +joined the besieging party a cheer arose, and a sally was made upon the +barricade. It was a hail of fire meeting a slighter rain of fire--a cry +of coming victory cutting through a sullen roar of despair. The square +in which the convicts were massed was a trench of blood and bodies; but +they fought on. There was but one hope--to break out, to meet the +soldiers hand to hand and fight for passage to the friendly jungle and +to the sea, where they might trust to that Providence who appears to help +even the wicked sometimes. As Shorland looked upon the scene he thought +of Alencon Barre's words: "It is always the same with France, always the +same." + +The fight grew fiercer, the soldiers pressed nearer. And now one clear +voice was heard above the din, "Forward, forward, my children!" and some +one sprang upon the outer barricade. It was the plotter of the revolt, +the leader, the manager of the "Underground Railway," the beloved of the +convicts--Gabrielle Rouget. + +The sunlight glorified her flying hair and vivid dress-vivid with the +blood of the fallen. Her arms, her shoulders, her feet were bare; all +that she could spare from her body had gone to bind the wounds of her +desperate comrades. In her hands she held a carbine. As she stood for +an instant unmoving, the firing, as if by magic, ceased. She raised a +hand. "We will have the guillotine in Paris," she said; "but not the +hell of exile here." + +Then Henri Durien, the convict, sprang up beside her; the man for whom +she had made a life's sacrifice--for whom she had come to this! His head +was bandaged and clotted with blood; his eyes shone with the fierceness +of an animal at bay. Close after him crowded the handful of his frenzied +compatriots in crime. + +Then a rifle-crack was heard, and Henri Durieu fell at the feet of +Gabrielle. The wave on the barricade quivered, and then Gabrielle's +voice was heard crying, "Avenge him! Free yourselves, my children! +Death is better than prison!" + +The wave fell in red turmoil on the breakers. And still Gabrielle stood +alone above the body of Henri Durien; but the carbine was fallen from her +hands. She stood as one awaiting death, her eyes upon the unmoving form +at her feet. The soldiers watched her, but no one fired. Her face was +white; but in the eyes there was a wild triumph. She wanted death now; +but these French soldiers had not the heart to kill her. + +When she saw that, she leaned and thrust a hand into the bleeding bosom +of Henri Durien, and holding it aloft cried: "For this blood men must +die." Stooping again she seized the carbine and levelled it at the +officer in command. Before she could pull the trigger some one fired, +and she fell across the body of her lover. A moment afterwards Shorland +stood beside her. She was shot through the lungs. + +He stooped over her. "Gabrielle, Gabrielle!" he said. "Yes, yes, +I know--I saw you. This is the twenty-fifth. He will be married +to-morrow-Luke. I owed it to him to die; I owed it to Henri to die this +way." She drew the scarred portrait of Luke Freeman from her bosom and +gave it over. + +"His eyes made me," she said. "They haunted me. + +"Well, it is all done. I am sorry, ah! Never tell him of this. I go +away--away--with Henri." + +She closed her eyes and was still for a moment; so still that he thought +her dead. But she looked up at him again and said with her last breath: +"I am--the Woman in the Morgue--always--now!" + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +All is fair where all is foul +He borrowed no trouble + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUMNER & SOUTH SEA FOLK, v5 *** + +******** This file should be named 6199.txt or 6199.zip ******** + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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