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Chambers</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: In the Quarter</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Robert W. Chambers</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 8, 2003 [eBook #6893]<br /> +[Most recently updated: December 28, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: William McClain</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE QUARTER ***</div> + +<h1>In the Quarter</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Robert W. Chambers</h2> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p> +One evening in May, 1888, the Café des Écoles was even more crowded and more +noisy than usual. The marble-topped tables were wet with beer and the din was +appalling. Someone shouted to make himself heard. +</p> + +<p> +“Any more news from the Salon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Elliott, “Thaxton’s in with a number three. Rhodes is out and takes +it hard. Clifford’s out too, and takes it—” +</p> + +<p> +A voice began to chant: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Je n’sais comment faire,<br/> + Comment concillier<br/> +Ma maitresse et mon père,<br/> + Le Code et Bullier. +</p> + +<p> +“Drop it! Oh, drop it!” growled Rhodes, and sent a handful of billiard chalk at +the singer. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Clifford returned a volley of the Café spoons, and continued: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Mais c’que je trouve de plus bête,<br/> + C’est qu’ i’ faut financer<br/> +Avec ma belle galette,<br/> + J’aimerai mieux m’amuser. +</p> + +<p> +Several other voices took up the refrain, lamenting the difficulty of +reconciling their filial duties with balls at Bullier’s, and protesting that +they would rather amuse themselves than consider financial questions. Rhodes +sipped his curaçoa sulkily. +</p> + +<p> +“The longer I live in the Latin Quarter,” he said to his neighbor, “the less +certain I feel about a place of future punishment. It would be so tame after +this.” Then, reverting to his grievance, he added, “The slaughter this year at +the Salon is awful.” +</p> + +<p> +Reginald Gethryn stirred nervously but did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Have a game, Rex?” called Clifford, waving a cue. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn shook his head, and reaching for a soiled copy of the <i>Figaro,</i> +glanced listlessly over its contents. He sighed and turned his paper +impatiently. Rhodes echoed the sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s at the theaters?” +</p> + +<p> +“Same as last week, excepting at the Gaieté. They’ve put on ‘La Belle Hélène’ +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Belle Hélène!” cried Clifford. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Tzing! la! la! Tzing! la! la!<br/> + C’est avec ces dames qu’ Oreste<br/> +Fait danser l’argent de Papa! +</p> + +<p> +Rhodes began to growl again. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t think you’d feel like gibbering that rot tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford smiled sweetly and patted him on the head. “Tzing! la! la! My shot, +Elliott?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tzing! la! la!” laughed Thaxton, “That’s Clifford’s biography in three words.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford repeated the refrain and winked impudently at the pretty bookkeeper +behind her railing. She, alas! returned it with a blush. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn rose restlessly and went over to another table where a man, young, but +older than himself, sat, looking comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Braith,” he began, trying to speak indifferently, “any news of my fate?” +</p> + +<p> +The other man finished his beer and then answered carelessly, “No.” But +catching sight of Gethryn’s face he added, with a laugh: +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Rex, you’ve got to stop this moping.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not moping,” said Rex, coloring up. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you call it, then?” Braith spoke with some sharpness, but continued +kindly, “You know I’ve been through it all. Ten years ago, when I sent in my +first picture, I confess to you I suffered the torments of the damned until—” +</p> + +<p> +“Until?” +</p> + +<p> +“Until they sent me my card. The color was green.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought a green card meant ‘not admitted.’” +</p> + +<p> +“It does. I received three in three years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean you were thrown out three years in succession?” +</p> + +<p> +Braith knocked the ashes out of his pipe. “I gave up smoking for those three +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“You?” +</p> + +<p> +Braith filled his pipe tenderly. “I was very poor,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had half your sand!” sighed Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“You have, and something more that the rest of us have not. But you are very +young yet.” +</p> + +<p> +This time Gethryn colored with surprise and pleasure. In all their long and +close friendship Braith had never before given him any other encouragement than +a cool, “Go ahead!” +</p> + +<p> +He continued: “Your curse thus far has been want of steady application, and +moreover you’re too easily scared. No matter what happens this time, no +knocking under!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m not going to knock under. No more is Clifford, it seems,” Rex added +with a laugh, as Clifford threw down his cue and took a step of the devil’s +quadrille. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Elliott!” he crowed, “what’s the matter with you?” +</p> + +<p> +Elliott turned and punched a sleepy waiter in the ribs. +</p> + +<p> +“Emile—two bocks!” +</p> + +<p> +The waiter jumped up and rubbed his eyes. “What is it, monsieur?” he snapped. +</p> + +<p> +Elliott repeated the order and they strolled off toward a table. As Clifford +came lounging by, Carleton said, “I hear you lead with a number one at the +Salon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right, I’m the first to be fired.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s calm now,” said Elliott, “but you should have seen him yesterday when the +green card came.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes. I discoursed a little in several languages.” +</p> + +<p> +“After he had used up his English profanity, he called the Jury names in +French, German and Spanish. The German stuck, but came out at last like a cork +out of a bottle—” +</p> + +<p> +“Or a bung out of a barrel.” +</p> + +<p> +“These comparisons are as offensive as they are unjust,” said Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” said Braith. “Here’s the waiter with your beer.” +</p> + +<p> +“What number did you get, Braith?” asked Rhodes, who couldn’t keep his mind off +the subject and made no pretense of trying. +</p> + +<p> +“Three,” answered Braith. +</p> + +<p> +There was a howl, and all began to talk at once. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s justice for you!” “No justice for Americans!” “Serves us right for our +tariff!” “Are Frenchmen going to give us all the advantages of their schools +and honors besides while we do all we can to keep their pictures out of our +markets?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, we don’t, either! Tariff only keeps out the sweepings of the studios—” +</p> + +<p> +“If there were no duty on pictures the States would be flooded with trash.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take it off!” cried one. +</p> + +<p> +“Make it higher!” shouted another. +</p> + +<p> +“Idiots!” growled Rhodes. “Let ’em flood the country with bad work as well as +good. It will educate the people, and the day will come when all good work will +stand an equal chance—be it French or be it American.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Clifford, “Let’s all have a bock. Where’s Rex?” +</p> + +<p> +But Gethryn had slipped out in the confusion. Quitting the Café des Écoles, he +sauntered across the street, and turning through the Rue de Vaugirard, entered +the rue Monsieur le Prince. He crossed the dim courtyard of his hôtel, and +taking a key and a candle from the lodge of the Concierge, started to mount the +six flights to his bedroom and studio. He felt irritable and fagged, and it did +not make matters better when he found, on reaching his own door, that he had +taken the wrong key. Nor did it ease his mind to fling the key over the +banisters into the silent stone hallway below. He leaned sulkily over the +railing and listened to it ring and clink down into the darkness, and then, +with a brief but vigorous word, he turned and forced in his door with a crash. +Two bull pups which had flown at him with portentous growls and yelps of menace +now gamboled idiotically about him, writhing with anticipation of caresses, and +a gray and scarlet parrot, rudely awakened, launched forth upon a musical +effort resembling the song of a rusty cart-wheel. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you infernal bird!” murmured the master, lighting his candle with one hand +and fondling the pups with the other. “There, there, puppies, run away!” he +added, rolling the ecstatic pups into a sort of dog divan, where they curled +themselves down at last and subsided with squirms and wriggles, gurgling +affection. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn lighted a lamp and then a cigarette. Then, blowing out the candle, he +sat down with a sigh. His eyes fell on the parrot. It annoyed him that the +parrot should immediately turn over and look at him upside down. It also +annoyed him that “Satan,” an evil-looking raven, was evidently preparing to +descend from his perch and worry “Mrs Gummidge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs Gummidge” was the name Clifford had given to a large sad-eyed white tabby +who now lay dozing upon a panther skin. +</p> + +<p> +“Satan!” said Gethryn. The bird checked his sinister preparations and eyed his +master. “Don’t,” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +Satan weighed his chances and came to the conclusion that he could swoop down, +nip Mrs Gummidge, and get back to his bust of Pallas without being caught. He +tried it, but his master was too quick for him, and foiled, he lay sullenly in +Gethryn’s hands, his two long claws projecting helplessly between the brown +fists of his master. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you fiend!” muttered Rex, taking him toward a wicker basket, which he +hated. “Solitary confinement for you, my boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Double, double, toil and trouble,” croaked the parrot. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn started nervously and shut him inside the cage, a regal gilt structure +with “Shakespeare” printed over the door. Then, replacing the agitated Gummidge +on her panther skin, he sat down once more and lighted another cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +His picture. He could think of nothing else. It was a serious matter with +Gethryn. Admitted to the Salon meant three more years’ study in Paris. Failure, +and back he must go to New York. +</p> + +<p> +The personal income of Reginald Gethryn amounted to the magnificent sum of two +hundred and fifty dollars. To this, his aunt, Miss Celestia Gethryn, added nine +hundred and fifty dollars more. This gave him a sum of twelve hundred dollars a +year to live on and study in Paris. It was not a large sum, but it was princely +when compared to the amount on which many a talented fellow subsists, spending +his best years in a foul atmosphere of paint and tobacco, ill fed, ill clothed, +scarcely warmed at all, often sick in mind and body, attaining his first scant +measure of success just as his overtaxed powers give way. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn’s aunt, his only surviving relative, had recently written him one of +her ponderous letters. He took it from his pocket and began to read it again, +for the fourth time. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“You have now been in Paris three years, and as yet I have seen no results. You +should be earning your own living, but instead you are still dependent upon me. +You are welcome to all the assistance I can give you, in reason, but I expect +that you will have something to show for all the money I expend upon you. Why +are you not making a handsome income and a splendid reputation, like Mr +Spinder?” +</p> + +<p> +The artist named was thirty-five and had been in Paris fifteen years. Gethryn +was twenty-two and had been studying three years. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Why are you not doing beautiful things, like Mr Mousely? I’m told he gets a +thousand dollars for a little sketch.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex groaned. Mr Mousely could neither draw nor paint, but he made stories of +babies’ deathbeds on squares of canvas with china angels solidly suspended from +the ceiling of the nursery, pointing upward, and he gave them titles out of the +hymnbook, which caused them to be bought with eagerness by all the members of +the congregation to which his family belonged. +</p> + +<p> +The letter proceeded: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“I am told by many reliable persons that three years abroad is more than enough +for a thorough art education. If no results are attained at the end of that +time, there is only one of two conclusions to be drawn. Either you have no +talent, or you are wasting your time. I shall wait until the next Salon before +I come to a decision. If then you have a picture accepted and if it shows no +trace of the immorality which is rife in Paris, I will continue your allowance +for three years more; this, however, on condition that you have a picture in +the Salon each year. If you fail again this year, I shall insist upon your +coming home at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Why Gethryn should want to read this letter four times, when one perusal of it +had been more than enough, no one, least of all himself, could have told. He +sat now crushing it in is hand, tasting all the bitterness that is stored up +for a sensitive artist tied by fate to an omniscient Philistine who feeds his +body with bread and his soul with instruction about art and behavior. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he mastered the black mood which came near being too much for him, +his face cleared and he leaned back, quietly smoking. From the rug rose a +muffled rumbling where Mrs Gummidge dozed in peace. The clock ticked sharply. A +mouse dropped silently from the window curtain and scuttled away unmarked. +</p> + +<p> +The pups lay in a soft heap. The parrot no longer hung head downward, but +rested in his cage in a normal position, one eye fixed steadily on Gethryn, the +other sheathed in a bluish-white eyelid, every wrinkle of which spoke scorn of +men and things. +</p> + +<p> +For some time Gethryn had been half-conscious of a piano sounding on the floor +below. It suddenly struck him now that the apartment under his, which had been +long vacant, must have found an occupant. +</p> + +<p> +“Idiots!” he grumbled. “Playing at midnight! That will have to stop. Singing +too! We’ll see about that!” +</p> + +<p> +The singing continued, a girl’s voice, only passably trained, but certainly +fresh and sweet. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn began to listen, reluctantly and ungraciously. There was a pause. “Now +she’s going to stop. It’s time,” he muttered. But the piano began again—a short +prelude which he knew, and the voice was soon in the midst of the Dream Song +from “La Belle Hélène.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn rose and walked to his window, threw it open and leaned out. An April +night, soft and delicious. The air was heavy with perfume from the pink and +white chestnut blossoms. The roof dripped with moisture. Far down in the dark +court the gas-jets flickered and flared. From the distance came the softened +rumble of a midnight cab, which, drawing nearer and nearer and passing the +hôtel with a rollicking rattle of wheels and laughing voices, died away on the +smooth pavement by the Luxembourg Gardens. The voice had stopped capriciously +in the middle of the song. Gethryn turned back into the room whistling the air. +His eye fell on Satan sitting behind his bars in crumpled malice. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old chap,” laughed the master, “want to come out and hop around a bit? +Here, Gummidge, we’ll remove temptation out of his way,” and he lifted the +docile tabby, who increased the timbre of her song to an ecstatic squeal at his +touch, and opening his bedroom door, gently deposited her on his softest +blankets. He then reinstated the raven on his bust of Pallas, and Satan watched +him from thence warily as he fussed about the studio, sorting brushes, scraping +a neglected palette, taking down a dressing gown, drawing on a pair of easy +slippers, opening his door and depositing his boots outside. When he returned +the music had begun again. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth does she mean by singing at a quarter to one o’clock?” he +thought, and went once more to the window. “Why—that is really beautiful.” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oui! c’est un rêve, Oui! c’est un rêve doux d’amour.<br/> + La nuit lui prête son mystère,<br/> +Il doit finir—il doit finir avec le jour. +</p> + +<p> +The song of Hélène ceased. Gethryn leaned out and gazed down at the lighted +windows under his. Suddenly the light went out. He heard someone open the +window, and straining his eyes, could just discern the dim outline of a head +and shoulders, unmistakably those of a girl. She had perched herself on the +windowsill. Presently she began to hum the air, then to sing it softly. Gethryn +waited until the words came again: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oui, c’est un rêve— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and then struck in with a very sweet baritone: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oui, c’est un rêve— +</p> + +<p> +She never moved, but her voice swelled out fresh and clear in answer to his, +and a really charming duet came to a delightful finish. Then she looked up. +Gethryn was reckless now. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall it be, then, only a dream?” he laughed. Was it his fate that made him +lean out and whisper, “Is it, then, only a dream, Hélène?” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing but the rustling of the chestnut branches to answer his +folly. Not another sound. He was half inclined to shut his window and go in, +well satisfied with the silence and beginning to feel sleepy. All at once from +below came a faint laugh, and as he leaned out he caught the words: +</p> + +<p> +“Paris, Hélène bids you good night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Belle Hélène!”—he began, but was cut short by the violent opening of a +window opposite. +</p> + +<p> +“Bon dieu de bon dieu!” howled an injured gentleman. “To sleep is impossible, +tas d’imbeciles!—” +</p> + +<p> +And Hélène’s window closed with a snap. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p> +The day broke hot and stifling. The first sunbeams which chased the fog from +bridge and street also drove the mists from the cool thickets of the Luxembourg +Garden, and revealed groups of dragoons picketed in the shrubbery. +</p> + +<p> +“Dragoons in the Luxembourg!” cried the gamins to each other. “What for?” +</p> + +<p> +But even the gamins did not know—yet. +</p> + +<p> +At the great Ateliers of Messieurs Bouguereau and Lefebvre the first day of the +week is the busiest—and so, this being Monday, the studios were crowded. +</p> + +<p> +The heat was suffocating. The walls, smeared with the refuse of a hundred +palettes, fairly sizzled as they gave off a sickly odor of paint and +turpentine. Only two poses had been completed, but the tired models stood or +sat, glistening with perspiration. The men drew and painted, many of them +stripped to the waist. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke and the respiration +of some two hundred students of half as many nationalities. +</p> + +<p> +“Dieu! quel chaleur!” gasped a fat little Frenchman, mopping his clipped head +and breathing hard. +</p> + +<p> +“Clifford,” he inquired in English, “ees eet zat you haf a so great—a—heat chez +vous?” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford glanced up from his easel. “Heat in New York? My dear Deschamps, this +is nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +The other eyed him suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“You know New York is the capital of Galveston?” said Clifford, slapping on a +brush full of color and leaning back to look at it. +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman didn’t know, but he nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s very far south. We suffer—yes, we suffer, but our poor poultry +suffer more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ze—ze pooltree? Wat eez zat?” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford explained. +</p> + +<p> +“In summer the fire engines are detailed to throw water on the hens to keep +their feathers from singeing. Singeing spoils the flavor.” +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman growled. +</p> + +<p> +“One of our national institutions is the ‘Hen’s Mutual Fire Insurance Company,’ +supported by the Government,” added Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +Deschamps snorted. +</p> + +<p> +“That is why,” put in Rhodes, lazily dabbing at his canvas, “why we seldom have +omelets—the eggs are so apt to be laid fried.” +</p> + +<p> +“How, zen, does eet make ze chicken?” spluttered the Frenchman, his wrath +rising. +</p> + +<p> +“Our chickens are also—” a torrent of bad language from Monsieur Deschamps, and +a howl of execration from all the rest, silenced Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too hot for that sort of thing,” pleaded Elliott. +</p> + +<p> +“Idiot!” muttered the Frenchman, shooting ominous glances at the bland youth, +who saw nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“C’est l’heure,” cried a dozen voices, and the tired model stretched his +cramped limbs. Clifford rose, dropped a piece of charcoal down on his +neighbor’s neck, and stepping across Thaxton’s easel, walked over to Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex, have you heard the latest?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Ministry has fallen again, and the Place de la Concorde is filled with +people yelling, A bas la Republique! Vive le General Boulanger!” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn looked serious. Clifford went on, speaking low. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw a troop of cavalry going over this morning, and old Forain told me just +now that the regiments at Versailles were ready to move at a minute’s notice.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose things are lively across the river,” said Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, and we’re all going over to see the fun. You’ll come?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll come. Hello! here’s Rhodes; tell him.” +</p> + +<p> +Rhodes knew. Ministry fallen. Mob at it some more. Been fired on by the +soldiers once. Pont Neuf and the Arc guarded by cannon. Carleton came hurrying +up. +</p> + +<p> +“The French students are loose and raising Cain. We’re going to assist at the +show. Come along.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” growled Braith, and looked hard at Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come along! We’re all going,” said Carleton, “Elliott, Gethryn, the +Colossus, Thaxton, Clifford.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith turned sharply to Rex. “Yes, going to get your heads smashed by a bullet +or carved by a saber. What for? What business is it of yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“Braith thinks he looks like a Prussian and is afraid,” mused Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, won’t you, Braith?” said Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” said the other, uneasily, “and why won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No French mob for me,” answered Braith, quietly. “You fellows had better keep +away. You don’t know what you may get into. I saw the siege, and the man who +was in Paris in ’71 has seen enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, this is nothing serious,” urged Clifford. “If they fire I shall leg it; so +will the lordly Reginald; so will we all.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith dug his hands into the pockets of his velveteens, and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “I’ve got some work to do. So have you, Rex.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, we’re off,” shouted Thaxton from the stairway. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford seized Gethryn’s arm, Elliott and Rhodes crowded on behind. A small +earthquake shock followed as the crowd of students launched itself down the +stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Braith doesn’t approve of my cutting the atelier so often,” said Gethryn, “and +he’s right. I ought to have stayed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reggy going to back out?” cooed Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Rex. “Here’s Rhodes with a cab.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too hot to walk,” gasped Rhodes. “I secured this. It was all I could get. +Pile in.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex sprang up beside the driver. +</p> + +<p> +“Allons!” he cried, “to the Obelisk!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, monsieur—” expostulated the cabby, “it is today the revolution. I dare +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, I tell you,” roared Rhodes. “Clifford, take his reins away if he +refuses.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford made a snatch at them, but was repulsed by the indignant cabby. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, do you hear?” shouted the Colossus. The cabman looked at Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on!” laughed Rex, “there is no danger.” +</p> + +<p> +Jehu lifted his shoulders to the level of his shiny hat, and giving the reins a +jerk, muttered, “Crazy English!—Heu—heu—Cocotte!” +</p> + +<p> +In twenty minutes they had arrived at the bridge opposite the Palais Bourbon. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” said Gethryn, “look at that crowd! The Place de la Concorde is black +with them!” +</p> + +<p> +The cab stopped with a jolt. Half a dozen policemen stepped into the street. +Two seized the horses’ heads. +</p> + +<p> +“The bridge is forbidden to vehicles, gentlemen,” they said, courteously. “To +cross, one must descend.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford began to argue, but Elliott stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only a step,” said he, paying the relieved cabby. “Come ahead!” +</p> + +<p> +In a moment they were across the bridge and pushing into the crowd, single +file. +</p> + +<p> +“What a lot of troops and police!” said Elliott, panting as he elbowed his way +through the dense masses. “I tell you, the mob are bent on mischief.” +</p> + +<p> +The Place de la Concorde was packed and jammed with struggling, surging +humanity. Pushed and crowded up to the second fountain, clinging in bunches to +the Obelisk, overrunning the first fountain, and covering the pedestals of the +“Cities of France,” it heaved, shifted, undulated like clusters of swarming +ants. +</p> + +<p> +In the open space about the second fountain was the Prefect of the Seine, +surrounded by a staff of officers. He looked worn and anxious as he stood +mopping the perspiration from his neck and glancing nervously at his men, who +were slowly and gently rolling back the mob. On the bridge a battalion of +red-legged soldiers lounged, leaning on their rifles. To the right were long +lines of cavalry in shining helmets and cuirasses. The men sat motionless in +their saddles, their armor striking white fire in the fierce glow of the midday +sun. Ever and anon the faint flutter of a distant bugle announced the approach +of more regiments. +</p> + +<p> +Among the shrubbery of the Gardens, a glimmer of orange and blue betrayed the +lurking presence of the Guards. Down the endless vistas of the double and +quadruple rows of trees stretching out to the Arc, and up the Cour la Reine, +long lines of scarlet were moving toward the central point, the Place de la +Concorde. The horses of a squadron of hussars pawed and champed across the +avenue, the men, in their pale blue jackets, presenting a cool relief to the +universal glare. The Champs Elysees was deserted, excepting by troops. Not a +civilian was to be seen on the bridge. In front of the Madeleine three points +of fire blazed and winked in the sun. They were three cannon. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, over by the Obelisk, began a hoarse murmur, confused and dull at +first, but growing louder, until it swelled into a deafening roar. “Long live +Boulanger!” “Down with Ferry!” “Long live the Republic!” As the great wave of +sound rose over the crowd and broke sullenly against the somber masses of the +Palace of the Bourbons, a thin, shrill cry from the extreme right answered, +“Vive la Commune!” Elliott laughed nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll charge those howling Belleville anarchists!” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford began, in pure deviltry, to whistle the Carmagnole. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to get us all into hot water?” whispered Thaxton. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur is of the Commune?” inquired a little man, suavely. +</p> + +<p> +And, the devil still prompting Clifford, he answered: “Because I whistled the +Carmagnole? Bah!” +</p> + +<p> +The man scowled. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, my friend,” said Clifford, “my political principles are yours, and +I will be happy to drink at your expense.” +</p> + +<p> +The other Americans exchanged looks, and Elliott tried to check Clifford’s +folly before it was too late. +</p> + +<p> +“Espion!” muttered the Frenchman, adding, a little louder, “Sale Allemand!” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn looked up startled. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep cool,” whispered Thaxton; “if they think we’re Germans we’re done for.” +</p> + +<p> +Carleton glanced nervously about. “How they stare,” he whispered. “Their eyes +pop out of their heads as if they saw Bismarck.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an ominous movement among the throng. +</p> + +<p> +“Vive l’Anarchie! A bas les Prussiens!” yelled a beetle-browed Italian. “A bas +les etrangers!” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” said Clifford, pleasantly, “you’ve got a very vile accent +yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a Prussian!” screamed the man. +</p> + +<p> +Every one was now looking at them. Gethryn began to fume. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll thrash that cur if he says Prussian again,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll keep quiet, that’s what you’ll do,” growled Thaxton, looking anxiously +at Rhodes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you will!” said the Colossus, very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Pig of a Prussian!” shouted a fearful-looking hag, planting herself in front +of Clifford with arms akimbo and head thrust forward. “Pig of a Prussian spy!” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at her supporters, who promptly applauded. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah—h—h!” she screamed, her little green eyes shining like a tiger’s—“Spy! +German spy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Madam,” said Clifford, politely, “go and wash yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your cursed tongue, Clifford!” whispered Thaxton. “Do you want to be torn +to pieces?” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a man behind Gethryn sprang at his back, and then, amazed and +terrified at his own daring, yelled lustily for help. Gethryn shook him off as +he would a fly, but the last remnant of self-control went at the same time, +and, wheeling, he planted a blow square in the fellow’s neck. The man fell like +an ox. In an instant the mob was upon them. Thaxton received a heavy kick in +the ribs, which sent him reeling against Carleton. Clifford knocked two men +down in as many blows, and, springing back, stood guard over Thaxton until he +could struggle to his feet again. Elliott got a sounding thwack on the nose, +which he neatly returned, adding one on the eye for interest. Gethryn and +Carleton fought back to back. Rhodes began by half strangling a son of the +Commune and then flung him bodily among his howling compatriots. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens,” gasped Rhodes, “we can’t keep this up!” And raising his voice, +he cried with all the force of his lungs, “Help! This way, police!” A shot +answered him, and a man, clapping his hands to his face, tilted heavily +forward, the blood spurting between his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Then a terrible cry arose, a din in which the Americans caught the clanging of +steel and the neighing of horses. A man was hurled violently against Gethryn, +who, losing in turn his balance, staggered and fell. Rising to his knees, he +saw a great foam-covered horse rearing almost over him, and a red-faced rider +in steel helmet and tossing plume slashing furiously among the crowd. Next +moment he was dragged to his feet and back into the flying mob. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out,” panted Thaxton, “the cavalry—they’ve charged—run!” Gethryn glanced +over his shoulder. All along the edge of the frantic, panic-stricken crowd the +gleaming crests of the cavalry surged and dashed like a huge wave of steel. +</p> + +<p> +Cries, groans, and curses rose and were drowned in the thunder of the charging +horses and the clashing of weapons. +</p> + +<p> +“Spy!” screamed a voice in his ear. Gethryn turned, but the fellow was legging +it for safety. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he saw a woman who, pushed and crowded by the mob, stumbled and fell. +In a moment he was by her side, bent over to raise her, was hurled upon his +face, rose blinded by dust and half-stunned, but dragging her to her feet with +him. +</p> + +<p> +Swept onward by the rush, knocked this way and that, he still managed to +support the dazed woman, and by degrees succeeded in controlling his own +course, which he bent toward the Obelisk. As he neared the goal of comparative +safety, exhausted, he suffered himself and the woman to be carried on by the +rush. Then a blinding flash split the air in front, and the crash of musketry +almost in his face hurled him back. +</p> + +<p> +Men threw up their hands and sank in a heap or spun round and pitched headlong. +For a moment he swayed in the drifting smoke. A blast of hot, sickening air +enveloped him. Then a dull red cloud seemed to settle slowly, crushing, +grinding him into the earth. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p> +When Gethryn unclosed his eyes the dazzling sunlight almost blinded him. A +thousand grotesque figures danced before him, a hot red vapor seemed to envelop +him. He felt a dull pain in his ears and a numb sensation about the legs. +Gradually he recalled the scene that had just passed; the flying crowd lashed +by that pitiless iron scourge; the cruel panic; the mad, suffocating rush; and +then that crash of thunder which had crushed him. +</p> + +<p> +He lay quite still, not offering to move. A strange languor seemed to weigh +down his very heart. The air reeked with powder smoke. Not a breath was +stirring. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the numbness in his knees changed to a hot, pricking throb. He tried +to move his legs, but found he could not. Then a sudden thought sent the blood +with a rush to his heart. Perhaps he no longer had any legs! He remembered to +have heard of legless men whose phantom members caused them many uncomfortable +sensations. He certainly had a dull pain where his legs belonged, but the +question was, had he legs also? The doubt was too much, and with a faint cry he +struggled to rise. +</p> + +<p> +“The devil!” exclaimed a voice close to his head, and a pair of startled eyes +met his own. “ <i>The</i> devil!” repeated the owner of the eyes, as if to a +apostrophize some particular one. He was a bird-like little fellow, with thin +canary-colored hair and eyebrows and colorless eyes, and he was seated upon a +campstool about two feet from Gethryn’s head. +</p> + +<p> +He blinked at Gethryn. “These Frenchmen,” said he, “have as many lives as a +cat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks!” said Gethryn, smiling faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“An Englishman! The devil!” shouted the pale-eyed man, hopping in haste from +his campstool and dropping a well-thumbed sketching-block as he did so. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be an ass,” suggested Gethryn; “you’d much better help me to get up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” cried the other, “how was I to know you were not done for?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with me?” said Gethryn. “Are my—my legs gone?” +</p> + +<p> +The little man glanced at Gethryn’s shoes. +</p> + +<p> +No, they’re all there, unless you originally had more than the normal number—in +fact I’m afraid—I think you’re all right. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“And what the devil am I to do with this sketch?” he continued, kicking the +fallen block. “I’ve been at it for an hour. It isn’t half bad, you know. I was +going to call it ‘Love in Death.’ It was for the <i>London Illustrated +Mirror.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn lay quite still. He had decided the little fellow was mad. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead in each other’s arms!” continued the stranger, sentimentally. “She so +fair—he so brave—” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn sprang up impatiently, but only a little way. Something held him down +and he fell back. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to get up?” asked the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“I should rather think so.” +</p> + +<p> +The other bent down and placed his hands under Gethryn’s arms, and—half helped, +half by his own impatient efforts—Rex sat up, leaning against the other man. A +sharp twinge shot through the numbness of his legs, and his eyes, seeking the +cause, fell upon the body of a woman. She lay across his knees, apparently +dead. Rex remembered her now for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“Lift her,” he said weakly. +</p> + +<p> +The little man with some difficulty succeeded in moving the body; then Gethryn, +putting one arm around the other’s neck, struggled up. He was stiff, and +toppled about a little, but before long he was pretty steady on his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“The woman,” he said, “perhaps she is not dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dead she is,” said the Artist of the <i>Mirror</i> cheerfully, gathering up +his pencils, which lay scattered on the steps of the pedestal. He leaned over +the little heap of crumpled clothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Shot, I fancy,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn, feeling his strength returning and the circulation restored to his +limbs, went over to the place where she lay. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you a flask?” he asked. The little Artist eyed him suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a newspaperman?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, an art student.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing to do with newspapers?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t drink,” said the queer little person. +</p> + +<p> +“I never said you did,” said Gethryn. “Have you a flask, or haven’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger slowly produced one, and poured a few drops into his pink palm. +</p> + +<p> +“We may as well try,” he said, and began to chafe her forehead. “Here, take the +whiskey—let it trickle, so, between her teeth. Don’t spill any more than you +can help,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Has she been shot?” asked Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Crushed, maybe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little thing, look at her roll of music!” said Gethryn, wiping a few +drops of blood from her pallid face, and glancing compassionately at the +helpless, dust-covered figure. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid it’s no use—” +</p> + +<p> +“Give her some more whiskey, quick!” interrupted the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn tremblingly poured a few more drops between the parted lips. A faint +color came into her temples. She moved, shivered from head to foot, and then, +with a half-choked sob, opened her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Mon Dieu, comme je souffre!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you suffer?” said Gethryn gently. +</p> + +<p> +“The arm; I think it is broken.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn stood up and looked about for help. The Place was nearly deserted. The +blue-jacketed hussars were still standing over by the Avenue, and an occasional +heavy, red-faced cuirassier walked his sweating horse slowly up and down the +square. A few policemen lounged against the river wall, chatting with the +sentries, and far down the dusty Rue Royale, the cannon winked and blinked +before the Church of the Madeleine. +</p> + +<p> +The rumble of wheels caused him to turn. A clumsy, blue-covered wagon drew up +at the second fountain. It was a military ambulance. A red-capped trooper +sprang down jingling from one of the horses, and was joined by two others who +had followed the ambulance and who also dismounted. Then the three approached a +group of policemen who were lifting something from the pavement. At the same +moment he heard voices beside him, and turning, found that the girl had risen +and was sitting on the campstool, her head leaning against the little +stranger’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +An officer stood looking down at her. His boots were spotless. The band of +purple on his red and gold cap showed that he was a surgeon. +</p> + +<p> +“Can we be of any assistance to madame?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I was looking for a cab,” said Gethryn, “but perhaps she is not strong enough +to be taken to her home.” +</p> + +<p> +A frightened look came into the girl’s face and she glanced anxiously at the +ambulance. The surgeon knelt quietly beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame is not seriously hurt,” he said, after a rapid examination. “The right +arm is a little strained, but it will be nothing, I assure you, Madame; a +matter of a few days, that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose and stood brushing the knees of his trousers with his handkerchief. +“Monsieur is a foreigner?” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn smiled. “The accent?” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary, I assure you, Monsieur,” cried the officer with more +politeness than truth. He eyed the ambulance. “The people of Paris have learned +a lesson today,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +A trooper clattered up, leading an officer’s horse, and dismounted, saluting. +The young surgeon glanced at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Picard,” he said, “stop a closed cab and send it here.” +</p> + +<p> +The trooper wheeled his horse and galloped away across the square, and the +officer turned to the others. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame, I trust, will soon recover,” he said courteously. “Madame, messieurs, +I have the honor to salute you.” And with many a clink and jingle, he sprang +into the saddle and clattered away in the wake of the slowly moving ambulance. +</p> + +<p> +At the corner of the Rue Royale, Gethryn saw the trooper stop a cab and point +to the Obelisk. He went over and asked the canary-colored stranger, “Will you +take her home, or shall I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you, of course; you brought her here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t. I never saw her until I noticed her being pushed about by the +crowd.” He caught the girl’s eye and colored furiously, hoping she did not +suspect the nature of their discussion. Before her helplessness it seemed so +brutal. +</p> + +<p> +The cab drew up before the Obelisk and a gruff voice cried, “V’la! +M’ssieurs!—’dames!” +</p> + +<p> +“Put your arm on my shoulder—so,” said Gethryn, and the two men raised her +gently. Once in the cab, she sank back, looking limp and white. Gethryn turned +sharply to the other man. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather,” replied the little stranger, pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +Opening his coat in haste, he produced a square of pasteboard. “My card,” he +said, offering one to Gethryn, who bowed and fumbled in his pockets. As usual, +his card-case was in another coat. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I have none,” he said at length, “but my name is Reginald Gethryn, +and I shall give myself the pleasure of calling to thank you for—” +</p> + +<p> +“For nothing,” laughed the other, “excepting for the sketch, which you may have +when you come to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, and au revoir,” glancing at the card. “Au revoir, Mr Bulfinch.” +</p> + +<p> +He was giving the signal to the cabby when his new acquaintance stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite sure—you—er—don’t know any newspapermen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right—all right—and—er—just don’t mention about my having a flask, if you +do meet any of them. I—er—keep it for others. I don’t drink.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” began Gethryn, but Mr T. Hoppley Bulfinch had seized his +campstool and trotted away across the square. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn leaned into the cab. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you give me your address?” he asked gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Rue Monsieur le Prince—430—” she whispered. “Do you know where it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Gethryn. It was his own number. +</p> + +<p> +“Rue Monsieur le Prince 430”, he repeated to the driver, and stepping in, +softly shut the door. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +Rain was falling steadily. The sparrows huddled under the eaves, or hopped +disconsolately along the windowsills, uttering short, ill-tempered chirps. The +wind was rising, blowing in quick, sharp gusts and sweeping the forest of rain +spears, rank upon rank, in mad dashes against the glass-roofed studio. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn, curled up in a corner of his sofa, listlessly watched the showers of +pink and white blossoms which whirled and eddied down from the rocking +chestnuts, falling into the windy court in little heaps. One or two +stiff-legged flies crawled rheumatically along the window glass, only to fall +on their backs and lie there buzzing. +</p> + +<p> +The two bull pups had silently watched the antics of these maudlin creatures, +but their interest changed to indignation when one sodden insect attempted a +final ascent and fell noisily upon the floor under their very noses. Then they +rose as one dog and leaped madly upon the intruder, or meant to; but being +pups, and uncertain in their estimation of distances, they brought up with +startled yelps against the wall. Gethryn took them in his arms, where they +found consolation in chewing the buttons off his coat. The parrot had driven +the raven nearly crazy by turning upside down and staring at him for fifteen +minutes of insulting silence. Mrs Gummidge was engaged in a matronly and sedate +toilet, interrupting herself now and then to bestow a critical glance upon the +parrot. She heartily approved of his attitude toward the raven, and although +the old cynic cared nothing for Mrs Gummidge’s opinion, he found a sour +satisfaction in warning her of her enemy’s hostile intentions. This he always +did with a croak, causing Mrs Gummidge to look up just in time, and the raven +to hop back disconcerted. +</p> + +<p> +The rain beat a constant tattoo on the roof, and this, mingling with the drowsy +purr of the cat, who was now marching to and fro with tail erect in front of +Gethryn, exercised a soothing influence, and presently a snore so shocked the +parrot that he felt obliged to relieve his mind by a series of intricate +gymnastics upon his perch. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn was roused by a violent hammering on his door. The room had grown dark, +and night had come on while he slept. +</p> + +<p> +“All right—coming,” he shouted, groping his way across the room. Slipping the +bolt, he opened the door and looked out, but could see nothing in the dark +hallway. Then he felt himself seized and hugged and dragged back into his +studio, where he was treated to a heavy slap on the shoulder. Then someone +struck a match and presently, by the light of a candle, he saw Clifford and +Elliott, and farther back in the shade another form which he thought he knew. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford began, “Here you are! We thought you were dead—killed through my +infernal fooling.” He turned very red, and stammered, “Tell him, Elliott.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you see,” said Elliott, “we’ve been hunting for you high and low since +the fight yesterday afternoon. Clifford was nearly crazy. He said it was his +fault. We went to the Morgue and then to the hospitals, and finally to the +police—” A knock interrupted him, and a policeman appeared at the door. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford looked sheepish. +</p> + +<p> +“The young gentleman who is missing—this is his room?” inquired the policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s found—he’s all right,” said Clifford, hurriedly. The officer stared. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he is,” said Elliott, pointing to Rex. +</p> + +<p> +The man transferred his stare to Gethryn, but did not offer to move. +</p> + +<p> +“I am the supposed deceased,” laughed Rex, with a little bow. +</p> + +<p> +“But how am I to know?” said the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, here I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said the man, suspiciously, “I want to know how I am to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” said Elliott, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Monsieur,” expostulated the officer, politely. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Reginald Gethryn, artist, I tell you!” +</p> + +<p> +The policeman shrugged his shoulders. He was noncommittal and very polite. +</p> + +<p> +“Messieurs,” he said, “my orders are to lock up this room.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s my room, I can’t spare my room,” laughed Gethryn. “From whom did you +take your orders?” +</p> + +<p> +“From Monsieur the Prefect of the Seine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it is all right, then,” said Gethryn. “Take a seat.” +</p> + +<p> +He went to his desk, wrote a hasty note, and then called the man. “Read that, +if you please, Monsieur Sergeant de Ville.” +</p> + +<p> +The man’s eyes grew round. “Certainly, Monsieur, I will take the note to the +Prefect,” he said; “Monsieur will pardon the intrusion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t mention it,” said Rex, smiling, and slipped a franc into his big red +fist. The officer pocketed it with a demure “Merci, Monsieur,” and presently +the clank of his bayonet died away on the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Elliott, “you’re found.” Clifford was beginning again with +self-reproaches and self-abasement, but Rex broke in: “You fellows are awfully +good—I do assure you I appreciate it. But I wasn’t in any more danger than the +rest of you. What about Thaxton and the Colossus and Carleton?” He grew anxious +as he named them. +</p> + +<p> +“We all got off with no trouble at all, only we missed you—and then the troops +fired, and they chased us over the bridge and scattered us in the Quarter, and +we all drifted one by one into the Café des Écoles. And then you didn’t come, +and we waited till after dinner, and finally came here to find your door +locked—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” burst out Clifford, “I tell you, Rex—damn it! I will express my +feelings!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you won’t,” said Rex; “drop ’em, old boy, don’t express ’em. Here we +are—that’s enough, isn’t it, Shakespeare?” +</p> + +<p> +The bird had climbed to Gethryn’s shoulder and was cocking his eye fondly at +Clifford. They were dear friends. Once he had walked up Clifford’s arm and had +grabbed him by the ear, for which Clifford, more in sorrow than in anger, +soaked him in cold water. Since that, their mutual understanding had been +perfect. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going to, you old fiend?” said Clifford, tickling the parrot’s +throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” shrieked the bird. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens! I never taught him that,” said Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford smiled, without committing himself. +</p> + +<p> +“But where were you, Rex?” asked Elliott. +</p> + +<p> +Rex flushed. “Hullo,” cried Clifford, “here’s Reginald blushing. If I didn’t +know him better I’d swear there’s a woman in it.” The dark figure at the end of +the room rose and walked swiftly over, and Rex saw that it was Braith, as he +had supposed. +</p> + +<p> +“I swear I forgot him,” laughed Elliott. “What a queer bird you are, Braith, +squatting over there as silent as a stuffed owl!” +</p> + +<p> +“He has been walking his legs off after you,” began Clifford, but Braith cut +him short with a brusque— +</p> + +<p> +“Where were you, Rex?” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn winced. “I’d rather—I think”—he began, slowly— +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me—it’s not my business,” growled Braith, throwing himself into a seat +and beginning to rub Mrs Gummidge the wrong way. “Confound the cat!” he added, +examining some red parallel lines which suddenly decorated the back of his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +“She won’t stand rubbing the wrong way,” said Rex, smiling uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“Like the rest of us,” said Elliott. +</p> + +<p> +“More fool he who tries it,” said Braith, and looked at Gethryn with an +affectionate smile that made him turn redder than before. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex,” began Clifford again, with that fine tact for which he was celebrated, +“own up! You spent last night warbling under the windows of Lisette.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or Frisette,” said Elliott, “or Cosette.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or Babette, Lisette, Frisette, Cosette, Babette!” chanted the two young men in +a sort of catch. +</p> + +<p> +Braith so seldom swore, that the round oath with which he broke into their +vocal exercises stopped them through sheer astonishment. But Clifford, +determined on self-assertion and loving an argument, especially out of season, +turned on Braith and began: +</p> + +<p> +“Why should not Youth love?” +</p> + +<p> +“Love! Bah!” said Braith. +</p> + +<p> +“Why Bah?” he persisted, stimulated by the disgust of Braith. “Now if a +man—take Elliott, for example—” +</p> + +<p> +“Take yourself,” cried the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—myself, for example. Suppose when my hours of weary toil are +over—returning to my lonely cell, I encounter the blue eyes of Ninette on the +way, or the brown eyes of Cosette, or perhaps the black eyes of—” +</p> + +<p> +Braith stamped impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Lisette,” said Clifford, sweetly. “Why should I not refresh my drooping +spirits by adoring Lisette—Cos—- ” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come, you said that before,” said Gethryn. “You’re getting to be a bore, +Clifford.” +</p> + +<p> +“You at least can no longer reproach me,” said the other, with a quick look +that increased Gethryn’s embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him talk his talk of bewitching grisettes, and gay students,” said Braith, +more angry than Rex had ever seen him. “He’s never content except when he’s +dangling after some fool worse than himself. Damn this ‘Bohemian love’ rot! +I’ve been here longer than you have, Clifford,” he said, suddenly softening and +turning half apologetically to the latter, who nodded to intimate that he +hadn’t taken offense. “I’ve seen all that shabby romance turn into such reality +as you wouldn’t like to face. I’ve seen promising lives go out in ruin and +disgrace—here in this very street—in this very house—lives that started exactly +on the lines that you are finding so mighty pleasant just now.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford was in danger of being silenced. That would never do. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa Braith,” he smiled, “is it that you too have been through the mill? Shall +I present your compliments to the miller? I’m going. Come, Elliott.” +</p> + +<p> +Elliott took up his hat and followed. +</p> + +<p> +“Braith,” he said, “we’ll drink your health as we go through the mill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remember that the mill grinds slowly but surely,” said Braith. +</p> + +<p> +“He speaks in parables,” laughed Clifford, halfway downstairs, and the two took +up the catch they had improvised, singing, “Lisette—Cosette—Ninette—” in thirds +more or less out of tune, until Gethryn shut the door on the last echoes that +came up from the hall below. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn came back and sat down, and Braith took a seat beside him, but neither +spoke. Braith had his pipe and Rex his cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +When the former was ready, he began to speak. He could not conceal the effort +it cost him, but that wore away after he had been talking a while. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex,” he began, “when I say that we are friends, I mean, for my own part, that +you are more to me than any man alive; and now I am going to tell you my story. +Don’t interrupt me. I have only just courage enough; if any of it oozes out, I +may not be able to go on. Well, I have been through the mill. Clifford was +right. They say it is a phase through which all men must pass. I say, must or +not, if you pass through it you don’t come out without a stain. You’re never +the same man after. Don’t imagine I mean that I was brutally dissolute. I don’t +want you to think worse of me than I deserve. I kept a clean tongue in my +head—always. So do you. I never got drunk—neither do you. I kept a distance +between myself and the women whom those fellows were celebrating in song just +now—so do you. How much is due in both of us to principle, and how much to +fastidiousness, Rex? I found out for myself at last, and perhaps your turn will +not be long in coming. After avoiding entanglements for just three years—” He +looked at Rex, who dropped his head—“I gave in to a temptation as coarse, +vulgar and silly as any I had ever despised. Why? Heaven knows. She was as +vulgar a leech as ever fastened on a calf like myself. But I didn’t think so +then. I was wildly in love with her. She said she was madly in love with me.” +Braith made a grimace of such disgust that Rex would have laughed, only he saw +in time that it was self-disgust which made Braith’s mouth look so set and +hard. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to marry her. She wouldn’t marry me. I was not rich, but what she +said was: ‘One hates one’s husband.’ When I say vulgar, I don’t mean she had +vulgar manners. She was as pretty and trim and clever—as the rest of them. An +artist, if he sees all that really exists, sometimes also sees things which +have no existence at all. Of these were the qualities with which I invested +her—the moral and mental correspondencies to her blonde skin and supple figure. +She justified my perspicacity one day by leaving me for a loathsome little Jew. +The last time I heard of her she had been turned out of a gambling hell in his +company. His name is Emanuel Pick. Is not this a shabby romance? Is it not +enough to make a self-respecting man hang his head—to know that he has once +found pleasure in the society of the mistress of Mr Emanuel Pick?” +</p> + +<p> +A long silence followed, during which the two men smoked, looking in opposite +directions. At last Braith reached over and shook the ashes out of his pipe. +Rex lighted a fresh cigarette at the same time, and their eyes met with a look +of mutual confidence and goodwill. Braith spoke again, firmly this time. +</p> + +<p> +“God keep you out of the mire, Rex; you’re all right thus far. But it is my +solemn belief that an affair of that kind would be your ruin as an artist; as a +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Quarter doesn’t regard things in that light,” said Gethryn, trying hard to +laugh off the weight that oppressed him. +</p> + +<p> +“The Quarter is a law unto itself. Be a law unto yourself, Rex—Good night, old +chap.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, Braith,” said Gethryn slowly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p> +Thirion’s at six pm. Madame Thirion, neat and demure, sat behind her desk; her +husband, in white linen apron and cap, scuttled back and forth shouting, “Bon! +Bon!” to the orders that came down the call trumpet. The waiters flew crazily +about, and cries went up for “Pierre” and “Jean” and “green peas and fillet.” +</p> + +<p> +The noise, smoke, laughter, shouting, rattle of dishes, the penetrating odor of +burnt paper and French tobacco, all proclaimed the place a Latin Quarter +restaurant. The English and Americans ate like civilized beings and howled like +barbarians. The Germans, when they had napkins, tucked them under their chins. +The Frenchmen—well! they often agreed with the hated Teuton in at least one +thing; that knives were made to eat with. But which of the four nationalities +exceeded the others in turbulence and bad language would be hard to say. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford was eating his chop and staring at the blonde adjunct of a dapper +little Frenchman. +</p> + +<p> +“Clifford,” said Carleton, “stop that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m mesmerizing her,” said Clifford. “It’s a case of hypnotism.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl, who had been staring back at Clifford, suddenly shrugged her +shoulders, and turning to her companion, said aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“How like a monkey, that foreigner!” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford withdrew his eyes in a hurry, amid a roar of laughter from the others. +He was glad when Braith’s entrance caused a diversion. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Don Juan! I see you, Lothario! Drinking <i>again?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Braith took it all as a matter of course, but this time failed to return as +good as they gave. He took a seat beside Gethryn and said in a low tone: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just come from your house. There’s a letter from the Salon in your box.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn set down his wine untasted and reached for his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter, Reggy? Has Lisette gone back on you?” asked Clifford, +tenderly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the Salon,” said Braith, as Gethryn went out with a hasty “Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Reggy, how hard he takes it!” sighed Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn hurried along the familiar streets with his heart in his boots +sometimes, and sometimes in his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +In his box was a letter and a note addressed in pencil. He snatched them both, +and lighting a candle, mounted the stairs, unlocked his door and sank +breathless upon the lounge. He tore open the first envelope. A bit of paper +fell out. It was from Braith and said: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“I congratulate you either way. If you are successful I shall be as glad as you +are. If not, I still congratulate you on the manly courage which you are going +to show in turning defeat into victory.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s one in a million,” thought Gethryn, and opened the other letter. It +contained a folded paper and a card. The card was white. The paper read: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“You are admitted to the Salon with a No. 1. My compliments.<br/> + J. Lefebvre” +</p> + +<p> +He ought to have been pleased, but instead he felt weak and giddy, and the +pleasure was more like pain. He leaned against the table quite unstrung, his +mind in a whirl. He got up and went to the window. Then he shook himself and +walked over to his cabinet. Taking out a bunch of keys, he selected one and +opened what Clifford called his “cellar.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford knew and deplored the fact that Gethryn’s “cellar” was no longer open +to the public. Since the day when Rex returned from Julien’s, tired and cross, +to find a row of empty bottles on the floor and Clifford on the sofa conversing +incoherently with himself, and had his questions interrupted by a maudlin +squawk from the parrot—also tipsy—since that day Gethryn had carried the key. +He now produced a wine glass and a dusty bottle, filled the one from the other +and emptied it three times in rapid succession. Then he took the glass to the +washbasin and rinsed it with great slowness and precision. Then he sat down and +tried to think. Number One meant a mention, perhaps a medal. He would telegraph +his aunt tomorrow. Suddenly he felt a strong desire to tell someone. He would +go and see Braith. No, Braith was in the evening class at the Beaux Arts; so +were the others, excepting Clifford and Elliott, and they were at a ball across +the river. +</p> + +<p> +Whom could he see? He thought of the garçon. He would ring him up and +give him a glass of wine. Alcide was a good fellow and stole very little. The +clock struck eleven. +</p> + +<p> +“No, he’s gone to bed. Alcide, you’ve missed a glass of wine and a cigar, you +early bird.” +</p> + +<p> +His head was clear enough now. He realized his good fortune. He had never been +so happy in his life. He called the pups and romped with them until an unlucky +misstep sent Mrs Gummidge, with a shriek, to the top of the wardrobe, whence +she glared at Gethryn and spit at the delighted raven. +</p> + +<p> +The young man sat down fairly out of breath, but the pups still kept making +charges at his legs and tumbled over themselves with barking. He gathered them +up and carried them into his bedroom to their sleeping box. As he stooped to +drop them in, there came a knock at his studio door. But when he hastened to +open it, glad of company, there was no one there. Surprised, he turned back and +saw on the floor before him a note. Picking it up, he took it to the lamp and +read it. It was signed, “Yvonne Descartes.” +</p> + +<p> +When he had read it twice, he sat down to think. Presently he took something +out of his waistcoat pocket and held it close to the light. It was a gold +brooch in the shape of a fleur-de-lis. On the back was engraved “Yvonne.” He +held it in his hand a while, and then, getting up, went slowly towards the +door. He opened the door, closed it behind him and moved toward the stairs. +Suddenly he started. +</p> + +<p> +“Braith! Is that you?” +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer. His voice sounded hollow in the tiled hallway. +</p> + +<p> +“Braith,” he said again. “I thought I heard him say ‘Rex.’” But he kept on to +the next floor and stopped before the door of the room which was directly under +his own. He paused, hesitated, looking up at a ray of light which came out from +a crack in the transom. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too late,” he muttered, and turned away irresolutely. +</p> + +<p> +A clear voice called from within, “Entrez donc, Monsieur.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door and went in. +</p> + +<p> +On a piano stood a shaded lamp, which threw a soft yellow light over +everything. The first glance gave him a hasty impression of a white +lace-covered bed and a dainty toilet table on which stood a pair of tall silver +candlesticks; and then, as the soft voice spoke again, “Will Monsieur be +seated?” he turned and confronted the girl whom he had helped in the Place de +la Concorde. She lay in a cloud of fleecy wrappings on a lounge that was +covered with a great white bearskin. Her blue eyes met Gethryn’s, and he smiled +faintly. She spoke again: +</p> + +<p> +“Will Monsieur sit a little nearer? It is difficult to speak loudly—I have so +little strength.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn walked over to the sofa and half unconsciously sank down on the rug +which fell on the floor by the invalid’s side. He spoke as he would to a sick +child. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so very glad you are better. I inquired of the concierge and she told +me.” +</p> + +<p> +A slight color crept into the girl’s face. “You are so good. Ah! what should I +have done—what can I say?” She stopped; there were tears in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Please say nothing—please forget it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forget!” Presently she continued, almost in a whisper, “I had so much to say +to you, and now you are really here, I can think of nothing, only that you +saved me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mademoiselle—I beg!” +</p> + +<p> +She lay silent a moment more; then she raised herself from the sofa and held +out her hand. His hand and eyes met hers. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you,” she said, “I can never forget.” Then she sank back among the +white fluff of lace and fur. “I only learned this morning,” she went on, after +a minute, “ <i>who</i> sat beside me all that night and bathed my arm, and gave +me cooling drinks.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn colored. “There was no one else to take care of you. I sent for my +friend, Doctor Ducrot, but he was out of town. Then Dr Bouvier promised to +come, and didn’t. The concierge was ill herself—I could not leave you alone. +You know, you were a little out of your head with fright and fever. I really +couldn’t leave you to get on by yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” cried the girl, excitedly, “you could not leave me after carrying me out +of that terrible crowd; yourself hurt, exhausted, you sat by my side all night +long.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn laid his hand on her. “Hélène,” he said, half jesting, “I did what +anyone else would have done under the circumstances—and forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him shyly. “Don’t forget,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t forget your face,” he rashly answered, moved by the emotion she +showed. +</p> + +<p> +She brightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know me when you first saw me in the crowd?” She expected him to say +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied, “I only saw you were a woman and in danger of your life.” +</p> + +<p> +The brightness fell from her face. “Then it was all the same to you who I was.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. “Yes—any woman, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Old and dirty and ugly?” +</p> + +<p> +His hand slipped from hers. “And a woman—yes.” +</p> + +<p> +She shrugged her pretty shoulders. “Then I wish it had been someone else.” +</p> + +<p> +“So do I, for your sake,” he answered gravely. +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at him, half frightened; then leaning swiftly toward him: +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me; I would not change places with a queen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I with any man!” he cried gayly. “Am I not Paris?” +</p> + +<p> +“And I?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are Hélène,” he said, laughing. “Let me see—Paris and Hélène would not +have changed—” +</p> + +<p> +She interrupted him impatiently. “Words! you do not mean them. Nor do I, +either,” she added, hastily. After that neither spoke for a while. Gethryn, +half stretched on the big rug, idly twisting bits of it into curls, felt very +comfortable, without troubling to ask himself what would come next. Presently +she glanced up. +</p> + +<p> +“Paris, do you want to smoke?” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think I would smoke in this dainty nest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please do, I like it. We are—we will be such very good friends. There are +matches on that table in the silver box.” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head, laughing. “You are too indulgent.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am never indulgent, excepting to myself. But I have caprices and I generally +die when they are not indulged. This is one. Please smoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, in that case, with Hélène’s permission.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed delightedly as he blew the rings of fragrant smoke far up to the +ceiling. There was another long pause, then she began again: +</p> + +<p> +“Paris, you speak French very well.” +</p> + +<p> +He came from where he had been standing by the table and seated himself once +more among the furs at her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Do I, Hélène?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—but you sing it divinely.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn began to hum the air of the dream song, smiling, “Yes ’tis a dream—a +dream of love,” he repeated, but stopped. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne’s temples and throat were crimson. +</p> + +<p> +“Please open the window,” she cried, “it’s so warm here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hélène, I think you are blushing,” said he, mischievously. +</p> + +<p> +She turned her head away from him. He rose and opened the window, leaning out a +moment; his heart was beating violently. Presently he returned. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s one o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Hélène, it’s one o’clock in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you tired?” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I—don’t go.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s one o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go yet.” +</p> + +<p> +He sank down irresolutely on the rug again. “I ought to go,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Are we to remain friends?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is for Hélène to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Hélène will leave it to Homer!” +</p> + +<p> +“To whom?” said Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur Homer,” said the girl, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“But that was a tragedy.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they were friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“In a way. Yes, in a way.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn tried to return to a light tone. “They fell in love, I believe.” No +answer. “Very well,” said Gethryn, still trying to joke, “I will carry you off +in a boat, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“To Troy—when?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, to Meudon, when you are well. Do you like the country?” +</p> + +<p> +“I love it,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll take my easel and my paints along too.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him seriously. “You are an artist—I heard that from the +concierge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Gethryn, “I think I may claim the title tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +And then he told her about the Salon. She listened and brightened with +sympathy. Then she grew silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you paint landscapes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Figures,” said the young man, shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“From models?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” he answered, still more drily. +</p> + +<p> +“Draped,” she persisted. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate models!” she cried out, almost fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“They are not a pleasing set, as a rule,” he admitted. “But I know some decent +ones.” +</p> + +<p> +She shivered and shook her curly head. “Some are very pretty, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Sarah Brown?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know Sarah.” +</p> + +<p> +“Men go wild about her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never did.” +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne was out of humor. “Oh,” she cried, petulantly, “you are very cold—you +Americans—like ice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because we don’t run after Sarah?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you are a nation of business, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“And brains,” said Gethryn, drily. +</p> + +<p> +There was an uncomfortable pause. Gethryn looked at the girl. She lay with her +face turned from him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hélène!” No answer. “Yvonne—Mademoiselle!” No answer. “It’s two o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +A slight impatient movement of the head. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night.” Gethryn rose. “Good night,” he repeated. He waited for a moment. +“Good night, Yvonne,” he said, for the third time. +</p> + +<p> +She turned slowly toward him, and as he looked down at her he felt a tenderness +as for a sick child. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night,” he said once more, and, bending over her, gently laid the little +gold clasp in her open hand. She looked at it in surprise; then suddenly she +leaned swiftly toward him, rested a brief second against him, and then sank +back again. The golden fleur-de-lis glittered over his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“You will wear it?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then—good night.” +</p> + +<p> +Half unconsciously he stooped and kissed her forehead; then went his way. And +all that night one slept until the morning broke, and one saw morning break, +then fell asleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p> +It was the first day of June. In the Luxembourg Gardens a soft breeze stirred +the tender chestnut leaves, and blew sparkling ripples across the water in the +Fountain of Marie de Medicis. +</p> + +<p> +The modest little hothouse flowers had quite recovered from the shock of recent +transplanting and were ambitiously pushing out long spikes and clusters of +crimson, purple and gold, filling the air with spicy perfume, and drawing an +occasional battered butterfly, gaunt and seedy, from his long winter’s sleep, +but still remembering the flowery days of last season’s brilliant debut. +</p> + +<p> +Through the fresh young leaves the sunshine fell, dappling the glades and +thickets, bathing the gray walls of the Palais du Sénat, and almost warming +into life the queer old statues of long departed royalty, which for so many +years have looked down from the great terrace to the Palace of the King. +</p> + +<p> +Through every gate the people drifted into the gardens, and the winding paths +were dotted and crowded with brightly-colored, slowly-moving groups. +</p> + +<p> +Here a half dozen meager, black-robed priests strolled silently amid the tender +verdure; here a noisy crowd of children, gamboling awkwardly in the wake of a +painted rubber ball, made day hideous with their yells. +</p> + +<p> +Now a slovenly company of dragoons shuffled by, their big shapeless boots +covered with dust, and their whalebone plumes hanging in straight points to the +middle of their backs; now a group of strutting students and cocottes passed +noisily, the girls in spotless spring plumage, the students vying with each +other in the display of blinking eyeglasses, huge bunchy neckties, and sleek +checked trousers. Policemen, trim little grisettes (for whatever is said to the +contrary, the grisette is still extant in Paris), nurse girls with turbaned +heads and ugly red streamers, wheeling ugly red babies; an occasional stray +zouave or turco in curt Turkish jacket and white leggings; grave old gentlemen +with white mustache and military step; gay, baggy gentlemen from St Cyr, +looking like newly-painted wooden soldiers; students from the Ecole +Polytechnique; students from the Lycée St Louis in blue and red; students from +Julien’s and the Beaux Arts with a plentiful sprinkling of berets and corduroy +jackets; and group after group of jingling artillery officers in scarlet and +black, or hussars and chasseurs in pale turquoise, strolled and idled up and +down the terrace, or watched the toy yachts braving the furies of the great +fountain. +</p> + +<p> +Over by the playgrounds, the Polichinel nuisance drummed and squeaked to an +appreciative audience of tender years. The “Jeu de paume” was also in full +swing, a truly exasperating spectacle for a modern tennis player. +</p> + +<p> +The old man who feeds the sparrows in the afternoon, and beats his wife at +night, was intent on the former cheerful occupation, and smiled benevolently +upon the little children who watched him, open mouthed. The numerous +waterfowl—mallard, teal, red-head, and dusky—waddled and dived and fought the +big mouse-colored pigeons for a share of the sparrow’s crumbs. +</p> + +<p> +A depraved and mongrel pointer, who had tugged at his chain in a wild endeavor +to point the whole heterogeneous mass of feathered creatures from sparrow to +swan, lost his head and howled dismally until dragged off by the lean-legged +student who was attached to the other end of the chain. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn, sprawling on a bench in the sunshine, turned up his nose. Braith +grunted scornfully. +</p> + +<p> +A man passed in the crowd, stopped, stared, and then hastily advanced toward +Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“You?” said Rex, smiling and shaking hands. “Mr Clifford, this is Mr Bulfinch; +Mr Braith,”—but Mr Bulfinch was already bowing to Braith and offering his hand, +though with a curious diminution of his first beaming cordiality. Braith’s +constraint was even more marked. He had turned quite white. Bulfinch and +Gethryn, who had risen to receive him, remained standing side by side, stranded +on the shoals of an awkward situation. The little <i>Mirror</i> man made a grab +at a topic which he thought would float them off, and laid hold instead on one +which upset them altogether. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope Mrs Braith is well. She met you all right at Vienna?” +</p> + +<p> +Braith bowed stiffly, without answering. +</p> + +<p> +Rex gave him a quick look, and turning on his heel, said carelessly: +</p> + +<p> +“I see you and Mr Braith are old acquaintances, so I won’t scruple to leave you +with him for a moment. Bring Mr Bulfinch over to the music stand, Braith.” And +smiling, as if he were assisting at a charming reunion, he led Clifford away. +The latter turned, as he departed, an eye of delighted intelligence upon +Braith. +</p> + +<p> +To renew his acquaintance with Mr Bulfinch was the last thing Braith desired, +but since the meeting had been thrust upon him he thanked Gethryn’s tact for +removing such a witness of it as Clifford would have been. He had no intention, +however, of talking with the little <i>Mirror</i> man, and maintained a +profound silence, smoking steadily. This conduct so irritated the other that he +determined to force an explanation of the matter which seemed so distasteful to +his ungracious companion. He certainly thought he had his own reasons for +resenting the sight of Braith upon a high horse, and he resumed the +conversation with all the jaunty ease which the calling of newspaper +correspondent is said to cultivate. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope Mrs Braith found no difficulty in meeting you in Vienna?” +</p> + +<p> +“Madame was not my wife, and we did not meet in Vienna,” said Braith shortly. +</p> + +<p> +Bulfinch began to stare, and to feel a little less at ease. +</p> + +<p> +“She told me—that is, her courier came to me and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Her courier? Mr Bulfinch, will you please explain what you are talking about?” +Braith turned square around and looked at him in a way that caused a still +further diminution of his jauntiness and a proportionate increase of respect. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—I’ll explain, if I know what you want explained. We were at Brindisi, were +we not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“On our way to Cairo?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the same hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I had no acquaintance with madame, and had only exchanged a word or two +with you, when you were suddenly summoned to Paris by a telegram.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith bowed. He remembered well the false dispatch that had drawn him out of +the way. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and when you left you told her you would be obliged to give up going to +Cairo, and asked her to meet you in Vienna, whither you would have to go from +Paris?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, did I?” +</p> + +<p> +“And you recommended a courier to her whom you knew very well, and in whom you +had great confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! And what was that courier’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Emanuel Pick. I wasn’t fond of Emanuel myself,” with a sharp glance at +Braith’s eyes, “but I supposed you knew something in his favor, or you would +not have left—er—the lady in his charge.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“I understood him to be your agent,” said the little man, cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +“He was not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +A long silence followed, during which Mr Bulfinch sought and found an +explanation of several things. After a while he said musingly: +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to meet Mr Pick again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should <i>you</i> want to meet him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to wring his nose two hundred times, one for each franc I lent him.” +</p> + +<p> +“How was that?” said Braith, absently. +</p> + +<p> +“It was this way. He came to me and told me what I have repeated to you, and +that you desired madame to go on at once and wait for you in Vienna, which you +expected to reach in a few days after her arrival. That you had bought +tickets—one first class for madame, two second class for him and for her +maid—before you left, and had told her you had placed plenty of money for the +other expenses in her dressing case. But this morning, on looking for the +money, none could be found. Madame was sure it had not been stolen. She thought +you must have meant to put it there, and forgotten afterwards. If she only had +a few francs, just to last as far as Naples! Madame was well known to the +bankers on the Santa Lucia there! etc. Well, I’m not such an ass that I didn’t +first see madame and get her to confirm his statement. But when she did confirm +it, with such a charming laugh—she was very pretty—I thought she was a lady and +your wife—” +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of his bitterness, Braith could not help smiling at the thought of +Nina with a maid and a courier. He remembered the tiny apartment in the Latin +Quarter which she had been glad to occupy with him until conducted by her +courier into finer ones. He made a gesture of disgust, and his face burned with +the shame of a proud man who has received an affront from an inferior—and who +knows it to be his own fault. +</p> + +<p> +“I can at least have the satisfaction of setting that right,” he said, holding +two notes toward the little <i>Mirror</i> man, “and I can’t thank you enough +for giving me the opportunity.” +</p> + +<p> +Bulfinch drew back and stammered, “You don’t think I spoke for that! You don’t +think I’d have spoken at all if I had known—” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not. And I’m very glad you did not know, for it gives me a chance to +clear myself. You must have thought me strangely forgetful, Mr Bulfinch, when +the money was not repaid in due time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I didn’t relish the manner in which you met me just now, I confess, but I’m +very much ashamed of myself. I am indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shake hands,” said Braith, with one of his rare smiles. +</p> + +<p> +The notes were left in Mr Bulfinch’s fingers, and as he thrust them hastily out +of sight, as if he truly was ashamed, he said, blinking up at Braith, “Do +you—er—would you—may I offer you a glass of whiskey?” adding hastily, “I don’t +drink myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” said Braith, “I don’t mind, but I won’t drink all alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Coffee is my tipple,” said the other, in a faint voice. +</p> + +<p> +“All right; suit yourself. But I should think that rather hot for such a day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll take it iced.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let us walk over to the Café by the bandstand. We shall find the others +somewhere about.” +</p> + +<p> +They strolled through the grove, past the music-stand, and sat down at one of +the little iron tables under the trees. The band of the Garde Republicaine was +playing. Bulfinch ordered sugar and Eau de selz for Braith, and iced coffee for +himself. +</p> + +<p> +Braith looked at the program: No. 1, Faust; No. 2, La Belle Hélène. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex ought to be here, he’s so fond of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr Bulfinch was mixing, in a surprisingly scientific manner for a man who +didn’t drink himself, something which the French call a “coquetelle”; a bit of +ice, a little seltzer, a slice of lemon, and some Canadian Club whiskey. Braith +eyed the well-worn flask. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you don’t trust to the Café’s supplies.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only keep this for medicinal purposes,” said the other, blinking nervously, +“and—and I don’t usually produce it when there are any newspapermen around.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you,” said Braith, sipping the mixture with relish, “do you take none +yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t drink,” said the other, and swallowed his coffee in such a hurry as to +bring on a fit of coughing. Beads of perspiration clustered above his +canary-colored eyebrows as he set down the glass with a gasp. +</p> + +<p> +Braith was watching the crowd. Presently he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“There’s Rex now,” and rising, waved his glass and his cane and called +Gethryn’s name. The people sitting at adjacent tables glanced at one another +resignedly. “More crazy English!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rex! Clifford!” Braith shouted, until at last they heard him. In a few moments +they had made their way through the crowd and sat down, mopping their faces and +protesting plaintively against the heat. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn’s glance questioned Braith, who said, “Mr Bulfinch and I have had the +deuce of a time to make you fellows hear. You’d have been easier to call if you +knew what sort of drink he can brew.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford was already sniffing knowingly at the glass and turning looks of deep +intelligence on Bulfinch, who responded gayly, “Hope you’ll have some too,” and +with a sidelong blink at Gethryn, he produced the bottle, saying, “I don’t +drink myself, as Mr Gethryn knows.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex said, “Certainly not,” not knowing what else to say. But the fondness of +Clifford’s gaze was ineffable. +</p> + +<p> +Braith, who always hated to see Clifford look like that, turned to Gethryn. +“Favorite of yours on the program.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex looked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” he cried, “Belle Hélène.” Next moment he flushed, and feeling as if the +others saw it, crimsoned all the deeper. This escaped Clifford, however, who +was otherwise occupied. But he joined in the conversation, hoping for an +argument. +</p> + +<p> +“Braith and Rex go in for the Meistersinger, Walküre, and all that rot—but I +like some tune to my music.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’re going to get it now,” said Braith; “the band are taking their +places. Now for La Belle Hélène.” He glanced at Gethryn, who had turned aside +and leaned on the table, shading his eyes with his program. +</p> + +<p> +The leader of the band stood wiping his mustache with one hand while he turned +the leaves of his score with the other. The musicians came in laughing and +chattering, munching their bit of biscuit or smacking their lips over lingering +reminiscences of the intermission. +</p> + +<p> +They hung their bayonets against the wall, and at the rat-tat of attention, +came to order, standing in a circle with bugles and trombones poised and eyes +fixed on the little gold-mounted baton. +</p> + +<p> +A slow wave of the white-gloved hand, a few gentle tips of the wand, and then a +sweep which seemed to draw out the long, rich opening chord of the Dream Song +and set it drifting away among the trees till it lost itself in the rattle and +clatter of the Boulevard St Michel. +</p> + +<p> +Braith and Bulfinch set down their glasses and listened. Clifford silently blew +long wreaths of smoke into the branches overhead. Gethryn leaned heavily on the +table, one hand shading his eyes. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oui c’est un rêve;<br/> +Un rêve doux d’amour— +</p> + +<p> +The music died away in one last throb. Bulfinch sighed and blinked +sentimentally, first on one, then on the other of his companions. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the little <i>Mirror</i> man’s eyes bulged out, he stiffened and +grasped Braith’s arm; his fingers were like iron. +</p> + +<p> +“What the deuce!” began Braith, but, following the other’s eyes, he became +silent and stern. +</p> + +<p> +“Talk of the devil—do you see him—Pick?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” growled Braith. +</p> + +<p> +“And—and excuse me, but can that be madame? So like, and yet—” +</p> + +<p> +Braith leaned forward and looked steadily at a couple who were slowly moving +toward them in deep conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said at last; and leaning back in his seat he refused to speak again. +</p> + +<p> +Bulfinch chattered on excitedly, and at last he brought his fist down on the +table at his right, where Clifford sat drawing a caricature on the marble top. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like,” cried Bulfinch, “to take it out of his hide!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” said Clifford, disturbed in his peaceful occupation, “whose hide are +you going to tan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody’s,” said Braith, sternly, still watching the couple who had now almost +reached their group. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford’s start had roused Gethryn, who stirred and slowly looked up; at the +same moment, the girl, now very near, raised her head and Rex gazed full into +the eyes of Yvonne. +</p> + +<p> +Her glance fell and the color flew to her temples. Gethryn’s face lost all its +color. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty girl,” drawled Clifford, “but what a dirty little beggar she lugs about +with her.” +</p> + +<p> +Pick heard and turned, his eyes falling first on Gethryn, who met his look with +one that was worse than a kick. He glanced next at Braith, and then he turned +green under the dirty yellow of the skin. Braith’s eyes seemed to strike fire; +his mouth was close set. The Jew’s eyes shifted, only to fall on the pale, +revengeful glare of T. Hoppley Bulfinch, who was half rising from his chair +with all sorts of possibilities written on every feature. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him go,” whispered Braith, and turned his back. +</p> + +<p> +Bulfinch sat down, his eyes like saucers. “I’d like—but not now!” he sputtered +in a weird whisper. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford had missed the whole thing. He had only eyes for the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn sat staring after the couple, who were at that moment passing the gate +into the Boulevard St Michel. He saw Yvonne stop and hastily thrust something +into the Jew’s hand, then, ignoring his obsequious salute, leave him and hurry +down the Rue de Medicis. +</p> + +<p> +The next Gethryn knew, Braith was standing beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex, will you join us at the Golden Pheasant for dinner?” was what he said, +but his eyes added, “Don’t let people see you look like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—don’t know,” said Gethryn. “Yes, I think so,” with an effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, then!” said Braith to the others, and hurried them away. +</p> + +<p> +Rex sat still till they were out of sight, then he got up and turned into the +Avenue de l’Observatoire. He stopped and drank some cognac at a little café, +and then started on, but he had no idea where he was going. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he found himself crossing a bridge, and looked up. The great pile of +Notre Dame de Paris loomed on his right. He crossed the Seine and wandered on +without any aim—but passing the Tour St Jacques, and wishing to avoid the +Boulevard, he made a sharp detour to the right, and after long wandering +through byways and lanes, he crossed the foul, smoky Canal St Martin, and bore +again to the right—always aimlessly. +</p> + +<p> +Twilight was falling when his steps were arrested by fatigue. Looking up, he +found himself opposite the gloomy mass of La Roquette prison. Sentinels +slouched and dawdled up and down before the little painted sentry boxes under +the great gate. +</p> + +<p> +Over the archway was some lettering, and Gethryn stopped to read it: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +La Roquette<br/> +Prison of the Condemned +</p> + +<p> +He looked up and down the cheerless street. It was deserted save by the +lounging sentinels and one wretched child, who crouched against the gateway. +</p> + +<p> +“Fiche moi le camp! Allons! En route!” growled one of the sentinels, stamping +his foot and shaking his fist at the bundle of rags. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn walked toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with the little one?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The soldier dropped the butt of his rifle with a ring, and said deferentially: +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon, Monsieur, but the gamin has been here every day and all day for two +weeks. It’s disgusting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he hungry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ma foi? I can’t tell you,” laughed the sentry, shifting his weight to his +right foot and leaning on the cross of his bayonet. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you hungry, little one?” called Gethryn, pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +The child raised his head, with a wolfish stare, then sank it again and +murmured: “I have seen him and touched him.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn turned to the soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“What does he mean by that?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +The sentry shrugged his shoulders. “He means he saw a hunchback. They say when +one sees a hunchback and touches him, it brings good luck, if the hunchback is +neither too old nor too young. Dame! I don’t say there’s nothing in it, but it +can’t save Henri Rigaud.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who is Henri Rigaud?” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Monsieur has not heard of the affair Rigaud? Rigaud who did the double +murder!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes! In the Faubourg du Temple.” +</p> + +<p> +The sentry nodded. “He dies this week.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is his.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn looked at the dirty little bundle of tatters. +</p> + +<p> +“No one knows the exact day set for the affair, but,” the sentry sank his voice +to a whisper, “between you and me, I saw the widow going into the yard just +before dinner, and Monsieur de Paris is here. That means tomorrow +morning—click!” +</p> + +<p> +“The—the widow?” repeated Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“The guillotine. It will be over before this time tomorrow and the gamin there, +who thinks the bossu will give him back his father—he’ll find out his mistake, +all in good time—all in good time!” and shouldering his rifle, the sentry +laughed and resumed his slouching walk before the gateway. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn nodded to the soldier’s salute and went up to the child, who stood +leaning sullenly against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know what a franc is?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The gamin eyed him doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“But I saw him,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Saw what?” said Gethryn, gently. +</p> + +<p> +“The bossu,” repeated the wretched infant vacantly. +</p> + +<p> +“See here,” said Gethryn, “listen to me. What would you do with twenty francs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eat, all day long, forever!” +</p> + +<p> +Rex slipped two twenty-franc pieces into the filthy little fist. +</p> + +<p> +“Eat,” he murmured, and turned away. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p> +Next morning, when Clifford arrived at the Atelier of MM. Boulanger and +Lefebvre, he found the students more excited than usual over the advent of a +“Nouveau.” +</p> + +<p> +Hazing at Julien’s has assumed, of late, a comparatively mild form. Of course +there are traditions of serious trouble in former years and a few fights have +taken place, consequent upon the indignant resistance of new men to the +ridiculous demands forced upon them by their ingenious tormentors. Still, the +hazing of today is comparatively inoffensive, and there is not much of it. In +the winter the students are too busy to notice a newcomer, except to make him +feel strange and humble by their lofty scorn. But in the autumn, when the men +have returned from their long out-of-door rest, with brush and palette, a +certain amount of friskiness is developed, which sometimes expends itself upon +the luckless “nouveau.” A harmless search for the time-honored “grand +reflecteur,” an enforced song and dance, a stern command to tread the mazes of +the shameless quadrille with an equally shameless model, is usually the extent +of the infliction. Occasionally the stranger is invited to sit on a high stool +and read aloud to the others while they work, as he would like to do himself. +But sometimes, if a man resists these reasonable demands in a contumacious +manner, he is “crucified.” This occurs so seldom, however, that Clifford, on +entering the barn-like studios that morning, was surprised to see that a +“crucifixion” was in progress. +</p> + +<p> +A stranger was securely strapped to the top rungs of a twenty-foot ladder which +a crowd of Frenchmen were preparing to raise and place in a slanting position +against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it that those fellows are fooling with?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“An Englishman, and it’s about time we put a stop to it,” answered Elliott. +</p> + +<p> +When Americans or Englishmen are hazed by the French students, they make common +cause in keeping watch that the matter does not go too far. +</p> + +<p> +“How many of us are here this morning?” said Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“Fourteen who can fight,” said Elliott; “they only want someone to give the +word.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford buttoned his jacket and shouldered his way into the middle of the +crowd. “That’s enough. He’s been put through enough for today,” he said coolly. +</p> + +<p> +A Frenchman, who had himself only entered the Atelier the week previous, +laughed and replied, “We’ll put <i>you</i> on, if you say anything.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an ominous pause. Every old student there knew Clifford to be one of +the most skillful and dangerous boxers in the school. +</p> + +<p> +They looked with admiration upon their countryman. It didn’t cost anything to +admire him. They urged him on, and he didn’t need much urging, for he +remembered his own recent experience as a new man, and he didn’t know Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead,” cried this misguided student, “he’s a nouveau, and he’s going up!” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford laughed in his face. “Come along,” he called, as some dozen English +and American students pushed into the circle and gathered round the prostrate +Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +“See here, Clifford, what’s the use of interrupting?” urged a big Frenchman. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford began loosening the straps. “You know, Bonin, that we always do +interfere when it goes as far as this against an Englishman or an American.” He +laughed good naturedly. “There’s always been a fight over it before, but I hope +there won’t be any today.” +</p> + +<p> +Bonin grinned and shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +After vainly fussing with the ropes, Clifford and the others finally cut them +and the “nouveau” scrambled to his feet and took an attitude which may be seen +engraved in any volume of instruction in the noble art of self-defense. He was +an Englishman of the sandy variety. Orange-colored whiskers decorated a +carefully scrubbed face, terminating in a red-brown mustache. He had blue eyes, +now lighted to a pale green by the fire of battle, reddish-brown hair, and +white hands spattered with orange-colored freckles. All this, together with a +well made suit of green and yellow checks, and the seesaw accent of the British +Empire, answered, when politely addressed, to the name of Cholmondeley Rowden, +Esq. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” he began, “I’m awfully obliged, you know, and all that; but I’d jolly +well like to give some of these cads a jolly good licking, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go in, my friend, go in!” laughed Clifford; “but next time we’ll leave you to +hang in the air for an hour or two, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn their cheek!” began the Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +“See here,” cried Elliott sharply, “you’re only a nouveau, and you’d better +shut up till you’ve been here long enough to talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“In other words,” said Clifford, “don’t buck against custom.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I <i>cahn’t</i> see it,” said the nouveau, brushing his dusty trousers. “I +don’t see it at all, you know. Damn their cheek!” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the week-weaned Frenchman shoved up to Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you mean by interfering? Eh! You English pig.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford looked at him with contempt. “What do you want, my little Nouveau?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nouveau!” spluttered the Gaul, “Nouveau, eh!” and he made a terrific lunge at +the American, who was sent stumbling backward, and slipping, fell heavily. +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman gazed around in triumph, but his grin was not reflected on the +faces of his compatriots. None of them would have changed places with him. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford picked himself up deliberately. His face was calm and mild as he +walked up to his opponent, who hurriedly put himself into an attitude of +self-defense. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur Nouveau, you are not wise. But some day you will learn better, when +you are no longer a nouveau,” said Clifford, kindly. The man looked puzzled, +but kept his fists up. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I am going to punish you a little,” proceeded Clifford, in even tones, +“not harshly, but with firmness, for your good,” he added, walking straight up +to the Frenchman. +</p> + +<p> +The latter struck heavily at Clifford’s head, but he ducked like a flash, and +catching his antagonist around the waist, carried him, kicking, to the +water-basin, where he turned on the water and shoved the squirming Frenchman +under. The scene was painful, but brief; when one of the actors in it emerged +from under the water-spout, he no longer asked for anybody’s blood. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and dry yourself,” said Clifford, cheerfully; and walking over to his +easel, sat down and began to work. +</p> + +<p> +In ten minutes, all trace of the row had disappeared, excepting that one +gentleman’s collar looked rather limp and his hair was uncommonly sleek. The +men worked steadily. Snatches of song and bits of whistling rose continuously +from easel and taboret, all blending in a drowsy hum. Gethryn and Elliott +caught now and then, from behind them, words of wisdom which Clifford was +administering to the now subdued Rowden. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he was saying, “many a man has been injured for life by these Frenchmen +for a mere nothing. I had two brothers,” he paused, “and my golden-haired boy—” +he ceased again, apparently choking with emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“But—I say—you’re not married, you know,” said the Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” sighed Clifford, “I—I—married the daughter of an African duke. She was +brought to the States by a slave trader in infancy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Black?” gasped Mr Rowden. +</p> + +<p> +“Very black, but beautiful. I could not keep her. She left me, and is singing +with Haverley’s Minstrels now.” +</p> + +<p> +Like the majority of his countrymen, Mr Rowden was ready to believe anything he +heard of social conditions in the States, but one point required explanation. +</p> + +<p> +“You said the child had golden hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, his mother’s hair was red,” sighed Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn, glancing round, saw the Englishman’s jaw drop, as he said, “How +extraordinary!” Then he began to smile as if suspecting a joke. But Clifford’s +eye met his in gentle rebuke. +</p> + +<p> +“C’est l’heure! Rest!” Down jumped the model. The men leaned back noisily. +Clifford rose, bowed gravely to the Englishman, and stepped across the taborets +to join his friends. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn was cleaning his brushes with turpentine and black soap. +</p> + +<p> +“Going home, Rex?” inquired Clifford, picking up a brush and sending a fine +spray of turpentine over Elliott, who promptly returned the attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Quit that,” growled Gethryn, “don’t ruin those brushes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the nouveau like, Clifford?” asked Elliott. “We heard you instructing +him a little. He seems to have the true Englishman’s sense of humor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s not a bad sort,” said Clifford. “Come and be introduced. I’m half +ashamed of myself for guying him, for he’s really a very decent, plucky fellow, +a bit stiff and pig-headed, as many of ’em are at first, and as for humor, I +suppose they know their own kind, but they do get a little confused between +fact and fancy when they converse with us.” +</p> + +<p> +The two strolled off with friendly intent, to seek out and ameliorate the +loneliness of Cholmondeley Rowden, Esq. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn tied up his brushes, closed his color box and, flinging on his hat, +hurried down the stairs and into the court, nodding to several students who +passed with canvas and paint-boxes tucked under their arms. He reached the +street, and, going through the Passage Brady, emerged upon the Boulevard +Sebastopol. +</p> + +<p> +A car was passing and he boarded it, climbing up to the imperiale. The only +vacant seat was between a great, red-faced butcher, and a market woman from the +Halles, and although the odors of raw beef and fish were unpleasantly +perceptible, he settled himself back and soon became lost in his own thoughts. +The butcher had a copy of the <i>Petit Journal</i> and every now and then he +imparted bits of it across Gethryn, to the market woman, lingering with relish +over the criminal items. +</p> + +<p> +“Dites donc,” he cried, “here is the affair Rigaud!” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn roused up and listened. +</p> + +<p> +“This morning, I knew it,” cackled the woman, folding her fat hands across her +apron. “I said to Sophie, ‘Voyons Sophie,’ I said—” +</p> + +<p> +“Shut up,” interrupted the butcher, “I’m going to read.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was sure of it,” said the woman, addressing Gethryn, “‘Voyons, Sophie,’ +said—” but the butcher interrupted her, again reading aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“The condemned struggled fearfully, and it required the united efforts of six +gendarmes—” +</p> + +<p> +“Cochon!” said the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, will you!” cried the man. “Some disturbance was caused by a gamin who +broke from the crowd and attacked a soldier. But the miserable was seized and +carried off, screaming. Two gold pieces of 20 francs each fell from some +hiding-place in his ragged clothes and were taken charge of by the police.” +</p> + +<p> +The man paused and gloated over the column. “Here,” he cried, “Listen—‘Even +under the knife the condemned—’” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn rose roughly and, crowding past the man, descended the steps and, +entering the car below, sat down there. +</p> + +<p> +“Butor!” roared the butcher. “Cochon! He trod on my foot!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is an English pig!” sneered the woman, reaching for the newspaper. “Let me +read it now,” she whined. +</p> + +<p> +“Hands off,” growled the man, “I’ll read you what I think good.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s my paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s mine now—shut up.” +</p> + +<p> +The first thing Gethryn did on reaching home was to write a note to his friend, +the Prefect of the Seine, telling him how the child of Rigaud came by the gold +pieces. Then he had a quiet smoke, and then he went out and lunched at the Café +des Écoles, frugally, on a sandwich and a glass of beer. After that he returned +to his studio and sat down to his desk again. He opened a small memorandum book +and examined some columns of figures. They were rather straggling, not very +well kept, but they served to convince him that his accounts were forty francs +behind, and he would have to economize a little for the next week or two. After +this, he sat and thought steadily. Finally he took a sheet of his best cream +laid note paper, dipped his pen in the ink, and began to write. The note was +short, but it took him a long while to compose it, and when it was sealed and +directed to “Miss Ruth Deane, Lung’ Arno Guicciardini, Florence, Italy,” he sat +holding it in his hand as if he did not know what to do with it. +</p> + +<p> +Two o’clock struck. He started up, and quickly rolling up the shades from the +glass roof and pulling out his easel, began to squeeze tube after tube of color +upon his palette. The parrot came down and tiptoed about the floor, peering +into color boxes, pastel cases, and pots of black soap, with all the curiosity +of a regulation studio bore. Steps echoed on the tiles outside. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn opened the door quickly. “Ah, Elise! Bon jour!” he said, pleasantly. +“Entrez donc!” +</p> + +<p> +“Merci, Monsieur Gethryn,” smiled his visitor, a tall, well-shaped girl with +dark eyes and red cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten minutes late,” Elise, said Gethryn, laughing, “my time’s worth a franc a +minute; so prepare to pay up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” retorted the girl, also laughing and showing her pretty teeth, +“but I have decided to charge twenty francs an hour from today. Now, what do +you owe me, Monsieur?” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn shook his brushes at her. “You are spoiled, Elise—you used to pose very +well and were never late.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I pose well now!” she cried, her professional pride piqued. “Monsieur +Bonnat and Monsieur Constant have praised me all this week. Voila,” she +finished, throwing off her waist and letting her skirts fall in a circle to her +feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you can pose if you will,” answered Gethryn, pleasantly. “Come, we begin?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stepped daintily out of the pile of discarded clothes, and picking her +way across the room with her bare feet, sprang lightly upon the model stand. +</p> + +<p> +“The same as last week?” she asked, smiling frankly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s it,” he replied, shifting his easel and glancing up at the light; +“only drop the left elbow a bit—there, that’s it; now a little to the left—the +knee—that will do.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl settled herself into the pose, glanced at the clock, and then turning +to Gethryn said, “And I am to look at you, am I not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where could you find a more charming object?” murmured he, sorting his +brushes. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” she pouted, stealing a glance at him; “than you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Except Mademoiselle Elise. There, now we begin!” +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the hour was disturbed only by the sharp rattle of brushes and the +scraping of the palette knife. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you tired?” asked Gethryn, looking at the clock; “you have ten minutes +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the girl, “continue.” +</p> + +<p> +Finally Gethryn rose and stepped back. +</p> + +<p> +“Time,” he said, still regarding his work. “Come and give me a criticism, +Elise.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stretched her limbs, and then, stepping down, trotted over to Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say?” he demanded, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +Artists often pay more serious attention to the criticisms of their models than +to those of a brother artist. For, although models may be ignorant of +method—which, however, is not always the case—from seeing so much good work +they acquire a critical acumen which often goes straight to the mark. +</p> + +<p> +It was for one of these keen criticisms that the young man was listening now. +</p> + +<p> +“I like it very much—very much,” answered the girl, slowly; “but, you see—I am +not so cold in the face—am I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hit it, as usual,” muttered the artist, biting his lip; “I’ve got more greens +and blues in there than there are in a peacock’s tail. You’re right,” he added, +aloud, “I must warm that up a bit—there in the shadows, and keep the high +lights pure and cold.” +</p> + +<p> +Elise nodded seriously. “Monsieur Chaplain and I have finished our picture,” +she announced, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +It is a naïve way models have of appropriating work in which, truly enough, +they have no small share. They often speak of “our pictures” and “our success.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you like it?” asked the artist, absently. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,”—she shrugged her shoulders—“but not truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right again,” murmured Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“I prefer Dagnan,” added the pretty critic. +</p> + +<p> +“So do I—rather!” laughed Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Or you,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come,” cried the young man, coloring with pleasure, “you don’t mean it, +Elise!” +</p> + +<p> +“I say what I mean—always,” she replied, marching over to the pups and +gathering them into her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to take a cigarette,” she announced, presently. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Gethryn, squeezing more paint on his palette, “you’ll find +some mild ones on the bookcase.” +</p> + +<p> +Elise gave the pups a little hug and kiss, and stepped lightly over to the +bookcase. Then she lighted a cigarette and turned and surveyed herself in the +mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m thinner than I was last year. What do you think?” she demanded, studying +her pretty figure in the glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps a bit, but it’s all the better. Those corsets simply ruined you as a +model last year.” +</p> + +<p> +Elise looked serious and shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I do feel so much better without them. I won’t wear them again.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you have a pretty, slender figure, and you don’t want them. That’s why I +always get you when I can. I hate to draw or paint from a girl whose hips are +all discolored with ugly red creases from her confounded corset.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl glanced contentedly at her supple, clean-limbed figure, and then, with +a laugh, jumped upon the model stand. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not time,” said Gethryn, “you have five minutes yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, all the same.” And soon the rattle of the brushes alone broke the +silence. +</p> + +<p> +At last Gethryn rose and backed off with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s that, Elise?” he called. +</p> + +<p> +She sprang down and stood looking over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I’m like myself!” she cried, frankly; “it’s delicious! But hurry and block +in the legs, why don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Next pose,” said the young man, squeezing out more color. +</p> + +<p> +And so the afternoon wore away, and at six o’clock Gethryn threw down his +brushes with a long-drawn breath. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all for today. Now, Elise, when can you give me the next pose? I don’t +want a week at a time on this; I only want a day now and then.” +</p> + +<p> +The model went over to her dress and rummaged about in the pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” she said, handing him a notebook and diary. +</p> + +<p> +He selected a date, and wrote his name and the hour. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said the girl, reading it; and replacing the book, picked up her +stockings and slowly began to dress. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn lay back on the lounge, thoroughly tired out. Elise was humming a +Normandy fishing song. When, at last, she stood up and drew on her gloves, he +had fallen into a light sleep. +</p> + +<p> +She stepped softly over to the lounge and listened to the quiet breathing of +the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“How handsome—and how good he is!” she murmured, wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +She opened the door very gently. +</p> + +<p> +“So different, so different from the rest!” she sighed, and noiselessly went +her way. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p> +Although the sound of the closing door was hardly perceptible, it was enough to +wake Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Elise!” he called, starting up, “Elise!” +</p> + +<p> +But the girl was beyond earshot. +</p> + +<p> +“And she went away without her money, too; I’ll drop around tomorrow and leave +it; she may need it,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes and staring at the door. +</p> + +<p> +It was dinner time, and past, but he had little appetite. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll just have something here,” he said to himself, and catching up his hat +ran down stairs. In twenty minutes he was back with eggs, butter, bread, a +paté, a bottle of wine and a can of sardines. The spirit lamp was lighted and +the table deftly spread. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have a cup of tea, too,” he thought, shaking the blue tea canister, and +then, touching a match to the well-filled grate, soon had the kettle fizzling +and spluttering merrily. +</p> + +<p> +The wind had blown up cold from the east and the young man shivered as he +closed and fastened the windows. Then he sat down, his chin on his hands, and +gazed into the glowing grate. Mrs Gummidge, who had smelled the sardines, came +rubbing up against his legs, uttering a soft mew from sheer force of habit. She +was not hungry—in fact, Gethryn knew that the concierge, whose duty it was to +feed all the creatures, overdid it from pure kindness of heart—at Gethryn’s +expense. +</p> + +<p> +“Gummidge, you’re stuffed up to your eyes, aren’t you?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of his voice the cat hoisted her tail, and began to march in +narrowing circles about her master’s chair, making gentle observations in the +cat language. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn placed a bit of sardine on a fork and held it out, but the little +humbug merely sniffed at it daintily, and then rubbed against her master’s +hand. +</p> + +<p> +He laughed and tossed the bit of fish into the fire, where it spluttered and +blazed until the parrot woke up with a croak of annoyance. Gethryn watched the +kettle in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Faces he could never see among the coals, but many a time he had constructed +animals and reptiles from the embers, and just now he fancied he could see a +resemblance to a shark among the bits of blazing coal. +</p> + +<p> +He watched the kettle dreamily. The fire glowed and flashed and sank, and +glowed again. Now he could distinctly see a serpent twisting among the embers. +The clock ticked in measured unison with the slow oscillation of the flame +serpent. The wind blew hard against the panes and sent a sudden chill creeping +to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +Bang! Bang! went the blinds. The hallway was full of strange noises. He thought +he heard a step on the threshold; he imagined that his door creaked, but he did +not turn around from his study of the fire; it was the wind, of course. +</p> + +<p> +The sudden hiss of the kettle, boiling over, made him jump and seize it. As he +turned to set it down, there was a figure standing beside the table. Neither +spoke. The kettle burnt his hand and he set it back on the hearth; then he +remained standing, his eyes fixed on the fire. +</p> + +<p> +After a while Yvonne broke the silence—speaking very low: “Are you angry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said the girl, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +The silence was too strained to last, and finally Gethryn said, “Won’t you sit +down?” +</p> + +<p> +She did so silently. +</p> + +<p> +“You see I’m—I’m about to do a little cooking,” he said, looking at the eggs. +</p> + +<p> +The girl spoke again, still very low. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you tell me why you are angry?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not,” began Gethryn, but he sat down and glanced moodily at the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“For two weeks you have not been to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are mistaken, I have been—” he began, but stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“Saturday.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I was not at home?” +</p> + +<p> +“And you were at home,” he said grimly. “You had a caller—it was easy to hear +his voice, so I did not knock.” +</p> + +<p> +She winced, but said quietly, “Don’t you think that is rude?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Gethryn, “I beg pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently she continued: “You and—and he—are the only two men who have been in +my room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m honored, I’m sure,” he answered, drily. +</p> + +<p> +The girl threw back her mackintosh and raised her veil. +</p> + +<p> +“I ask your pardon again,” he said; “allow me to relieve you of your +waterproof.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose, suffering him to aid her with her cloak, and then sat down and looked +into the fire in her turn. +</p> + +<p> +“It has been so long—I—I—hoped you would come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom were you with in the Luxembourg Gardens?” he suddenly broke out. +</p> + +<p> +She did not misunderstand or evade the question, and Gethryn, watching her +face, thought perhaps she had expected it. But she resented his tone. +</p> + +<p> +“I was with a friend,” she said, simply. +</p> + +<p> +He came and sat down opposite her. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not my business,” he said, sulkily; “excuse me.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him for some moments in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“It was Mr Pick,” she said at length. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn could not repress a gesture of disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“And that—Jew was in your rooms? That Jew!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” She sat nervously rolling and unrolling her gloves. “Why do you care?” +she asked, looking into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex,” she said, very low, “will you listen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ll listen.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a—a friend of my sister’s. He came from her to—to—” +</p> + +<p> +“To what!” +</p> + +<p> +“To—borrow a little money. I distrusted him the first time he came—the time you +heard him in my room—and I refused him. Saturday he stopped me in the street, +and, hoping to avoid a chance of meeting—you, I walked through the park.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you gave him the money—I saw you!” +</p> + +<p> +“I did—all I could spare.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he—is your sister married?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“And why—” began Gethryn, angrily, “Why does that scoundrel come to beg money—” +He stopped, for the girl was in evident distress. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! You know why,” she said in a scarce audible voice. +</p> + +<p> +The young man was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“And you will come again?” she asked timidly. +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +She moved toward the door. +</p> + +<p> +“We were such very good friends.” +</p> + +<p> +Still he was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it au revoir?” she whispered, and waited for a moment on the threshold. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is adieu.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, huskily, “that is better.” +</p> + +<p> +She trembled a little and leaned against the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Adieu, mon ami—” She tried to speak, but her voice broke and ended in a sob. +</p> + +<p> +Then, all at once, and neither knew just how it was, she was lying in his arms, +sobbing passionately. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +“Rex,” said Yvonne, half an hour later, as she stood before the mirror +arranging her disordered curls, “are you not the least little bit ashamed of +yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +The answer appeared to be satisfactory, but the curly head was in a more +hopeless state of disorder than before, and at last the girl gave a little sigh +and exclaimed, “There! I’m all rumpled, but its your fault. Will you oblige me +by regarding my hair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better let it alone; I’ll only rumple it some more!” he cried, ominously. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t! I forbid you!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I want to!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not now, then—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—immediately!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rex—you mustn’t. O, Rex—I—I—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” he laughed, holding her by her slender wrists. +</p> + +<p> +She flushed scarlet and struggled to break away. +</p> + +<p> +“Only one.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“One.” +</p> + +<p> +“None.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I let you go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, but catching sight of his face, stopped short. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped her hands with a laugh and looked at her. Then she came slowly up to +him, and flushing crimson, pulled his head down to hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Yvonne, do you love me? Truthfully?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rex, can you ask?” Her warm little head lay against his throat, her heart beat +against his, her breath fell upon his cheek, and her curls clustered among his +own. +</p> + +<p> +“Yvonne—Yvonne,” he murmured, “I love you—once and forever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Once and forever,” she repeated, in a half whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“Forever,” he said. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +An hour later they were seated tete-à-tete at Gethryn’s little table. She had +not permitted him to poach the eggs, and perhaps they were better on that +account. +</p> + +<p> +“Bachelor habits must cease,” she cried, with a little laugh, and Gethryn +smiled in doubtful acquiescence. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like grilled sardines on toast?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I seem to,” he smiled, finishing his fourth; “they are delicious—yours,” he +added. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that tea!” she cried, “and not one bit of sugar. What a hopelessly +careless man!” +</p> + +<p> +But Gethryn jumped up, crying, “Wait a moment!” and returned triumphantly with +a huge mass of rock-candy—the remains of one of Clifford’s abortive attempts at +“rye-and-rock.” +</p> + +<p> +They each broke off enough for their cups, and Gethryn, tasting his, declared +the tea “delicious.” Yvonne sat, chipping an egg and casting sidelong glances +at Gethryn, which were always met and returned with interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Yvonne, I want to tell you a secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, Rex?” +</p> + +<p> +“I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—not at all!” cried the girl, shaking her pretty head. Presently she gave +him a swift glance from beneath her drooping lashes. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex?” +</p> + +<p> +“What, Yvonne?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to tell you a secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, Yvonne?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you eat so many sardines—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Gethryn, half angrily, but laughing, “you must pay for that!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” she said, innocently, but jumped up and kept the table between him and +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“You know!” he cried, chasing her into a corner. +</p> + +<p> +“We are two babies,” she said, very red, following him back to the table. The +paté was eaten in comparative quiet. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” she said, with great dignity, setting down her glass, “behave and get me +some hot water.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn meekly brought it. +</p> + +<p> +“If you touch me while I am washing these dishes!” +</p> + +<p> +“But let me help?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, go and sit down instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +He fled in affected terror and ensconced himself upon the sofa. Presently he +inquired, in a plaintive voice: “Have you nearly finished?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the girl, carefully drying and arranging the quaint Egyptian +tea-set, “and I won’t for ages.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re not going to wash all those things? The concierge does that.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, only the wine-glasses and the tea-set. The idea of trusting such fragile +cups to a concierge! What a boy!” +</p> + +<p> +But she was soon ready to dry her slender hands, and caught up a towel with a +demure glance at Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Which do you think most of—your dogs, or me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pups.” +</p> + +<p> +“That parrot, or me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Poll.” +</p> + +<p> +“The raven, or me? The cat, or me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bird and puss.” +</p> + +<p> +She stole over to his side and knelt down. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex, if you ever tire of me—if you ever are unkind—if you ever leave me—I +think I shall die.” +</p> + +<p> +He drew her to him. “Yvonne,” he whispered, “we can’t always be together.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it—I’m foolish,” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not always be a student. I shall not always be in Paris, dear Yvonne.” +</p> + +<p> +She leaned closer to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go back to America someday.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—and marry?” she whispered, chokingly. +</p> + +<p> +“No—not to marry,” he said, “but it is my home.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I know it, Rex, but don’t let us think of it. Rex,” she said, some moments +after, “are you like all students?” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever loved—before—a girl, here in Paris—like me?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are none—like you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Answer me, Rex.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I never have,” he said, truthfully. Presently he added, “And you, Yvonne?” +</p> + +<p> +She put her warm little hand across his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“But I do!” he cried, struggling to see her eyes, “won’t you tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +She hid her face tight against his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“You know I have; that is why I am alone here, in Paris.” +</p> + +<p> +“You loved him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—not as I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently she raised her eyes to his. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I tell you all? I am like so many—so many others. When you know their +story, you know mine.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned down and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +But she went on. +</p> + +<p> +“I was only seventeen—I am nineteen now. He was an officer at—at Chartres, +where we lived. He took me to Paris.” +</p> + +<p> +“And left you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He died of the fever in Tonquin.” +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“Three weeks ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you heard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he did leave you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t, Rex—he never loved me, and I—I never really loved him. I found that +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you find it out?” +</p> + +<p> +“One day—you know when—in a—a cab.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Yvonne,” he whispered, “can’t you go back to—to your family?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Rex.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wish to, now. No, don’t ask me why! I can’t tell you. I am like all +the rest—all the rest. The Paris fever is only cured by death. Don’t ask me, +Rex; I am content—indeed I am.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a heavy rapping at the door caused Gethryn to spring hurriedly to his +feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex!” +</p> + +<p> +It was Braith’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried Gethryn, hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you going to let me in?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t, old man; I—I’m not just up for company tonight,” stammered Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Company be damned—are you ill?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” began Gethryn, but was cut short by a gruff: +</p> + +<p> +“All right; good night!” and Braith went away. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne looked inquiringly at him. +</p> + +<p> +“It was nothing,” he murmured, very pale, and then threw himself at her feet, +crying, “Oh, Yvonne—Yvonne!” +</p> + +<p> +Outside the storm raged furiously. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she whispered, “Rex, shall I light the candle? It is midnight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She slipped away, and after searching for some time, cried, “the matches are +all gone, but here is a piece of paper—a letter; do you want it? I can light it +over the lamp.” +</p> + +<p> +She held up an envelope to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I can light it over the lamp,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the address?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very long; I can’t read it all, only ‘Florence, Italy.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Burn it,” he said, in a voice so low she could scarcely hear him. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she came over and knelt down by his side. Neither spoke or moved. +</p> + +<p> +“The candle is lighted,” she whispered, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“And the lamp?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is out.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p> +Cholmondeley Rowden had invited a select circle of friends to join him in a +“petit diner a la stag,” as he expressed it. +</p> + +<p> +Eight months of Paris and the cold, cold world had worked a wonderful change in +Mr Rowden. For one thing, he had shaved his whiskers and now wore only a +mustache. For another, he had learned to like and respect a fair portion of the +French students, and in consequence was respected and liked in return. +</p> + +<p> +He had had two fights, in both of which he had contributed to the glory of the +British Empire and prize ring. +</p> + +<p> +He was a better sparrer than Clifford and was his equal in the use of the +foils. Like Clifford, he was a capital banjoist, but he insisted that cricket +was far superior to baseball, and this was the only bone of contention that +ever fell between the two. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford played his shameless jokes as usual, accompanied by the enthusiastic +applause of Rowden. Clifford also played “The Widow Nolan’s Goat” upon his +banjo, accompanied by the intricate pizzicatos of Rowden. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford drank numerous bottles of double X with Rowden, and Rowden consumed +uncounted egg-flips with Clifford. They were inseparable; in fact, the +triumvirate, Clifford, Elliott and Rowden, even went so far as to dress alike, +and mean-natured people hinted that they had but one common style in painting. +But they did not make the remark to any of the triumvirate. They were very fond +of each other, these precious triumvirs, but they did not address each other by +nicknames, and perhaps it was because they respected each other enough to +refrain from familiarities that this alliance lasted as long as they lived. +</p> + +<p> +It was a beautiful sight, that of the three youths, when they sallied forth in +company, hatted, clothed, and gloved alike, and each followed by a +murderous-looking bulldog. The animals were of the brindled variety, and each +was garnished with a steel spiked collar. Timid people often crossed to the +other side of the street on meeting this procession. +</p> + +<p> +Braith laughed at the whole performance, but secretly thought that a little of +their spare energy and imagination might have been spent to advantage upon +their artistic productions. +</p> + +<p> +Braith was doing splendidly. His last year’s picture had been hung on the line +and, in spite of his number three, he had received a third class medal and had +been praised—even generously—by artists and critics, including Albert Wolff. He +was hard at work on a large canvas for the coming International Exhibition at +Paris; he had sold a number of smaller studies, and besides had pictures well +hung in Munich and in more than one gallery at home. +</p> + +<p> +At last, after ten years of hard work, struggles, and disappointments, he began +to enjoy a measure of success. He and Gethryn saw little of each other this +winter, excepting at Julien’s. That last visit to the Rue Monsieur le Prince +was never mentioned between them. They were as cordial when they met as ever, +but Braith did not visit his young friend any more, and Gethryn never spoke to +him of Yvonne. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, old chap!” Braith would say when they parted, gripping Rex’s hand +and smiling at him. But Rex did not see Braith’s face as he walked away. +</p> + +<p> +Braith felt helpless. The thing he most dreaded for Rex had happened; he +believed he could see the end of it all, and yet he could prevent nothing. If +he should tell Rex that he was being ruined, Rex would not listen, and—who was +he that he should preach to another man for the same fault by which he had +wasted his own life? No, Rex would never listen to him, and he dreaded a +rupture of their friendship. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn had made his debut in the Salon with a certain amount of éclat. True, +he had been disappointed in his expectations of a medal, but a first mention +had soothed him a little, and, what was more important, it proved to be the +needed sop to his discontented aunt. But somehow or other his new picture did +not progress rapidly, or in a thoroughly satisfactory manner. In bits and spots +it showed a certain amount of feverish brilliancy, yes, even mature solidity; +in fact, it was nowhere bad, but still it was not Gethryn and he knew that. +</p> + +<p> +“Confound it!” he would mutter, standing back from his canvas; but even at such +times he could hardly help wondering at his own marvelous technique. +</p> + +<p> +“Technique be damned! Give me stupidity in a pupil every time, rather than +cleverness,” Harrington had said to one of his pupils, and the remark often +rang in Gethryn’s ears even when his eyes were most blinded by his own +wonderful facility. +</p> + +<p> +“Some fools would medal this,” he thought; “but what pleasure could a medal +bring me when I know how little I deserve it?” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps he was his own hardest critic, but it was certain that the old, simple +honesty, the subtle purity, the almost pathetic effort to tell the truth with +paint and brush, had nearly disappeared from Gethryn’s canvases during the last +eight months, and had given place to a fierce and almost startling brilliancy, +never, perhaps, hitting, but always threatening some brutal note of discord. +</p> + +<p> +Even Elise looked vaguely troubled, though she always smiled brightly at +Gethryn’s criticism of his own work. +</p> + +<p> +“It is so very wonderful and dazzling, but—but the color seems to me—unkind.” +</p> + +<p> +And he would groan and answer, “Yes, yes, Elise, you’re right; oh, I can never +paint another like the one of last June!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that!” she would cry, “that was delicious—” but checking herself, she +would add, “Courage, let us try again; I am not tired, indeed I am <i>not.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne never came into the studio when Gethryn had models, but often, after the +light was dim and the models had taken their leave, she would slip in, and, +hanging lightly over his shoulder, her cheek against his, would stand watching +the touches and retouches with which the young artist always eked out the last +rays of daylight. And when his hand drooped and she could hardly distinguish +his face in the gathering gloom, he would sigh and turn to her, smoothing the +soft hair from her forehead, saying: “Are you happy, Yvonne?” And Yvonne always +answered, “Yes, Rex, when you are.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he would laugh, and kiss her and tell her he was always happy with La +Belle Hélène, and they would stand in the gathering twilight until a gurgle +from the now well-grown pups would warn them that the hour of hunger had +arrived. +</p> + +<p> +The triumvirate, with Thaxton, Rhodes, Carleton, and the rest, had been +frequent visitors all winter at the “Ménagerie,” as Clifford’s bad pun had +named Gethryn’s apartment; but, of late, other social engagements and, +possibly, a small amount of work, had kept them away. Clifford was a great +favorite with Yvonne. Thaxton and Elliott she liked. Rowden she tormented, and +Carleton she endured. She captured Clifford by suffering him to play his banjo +to her piano. Rowden liked her because she was pretty and witty, though he +never got used to her quiet little digs at his own respected and dignified +person. Clifford openly avowed his attachment and spent many golden hours away +from work, listening to her singing. She had been taught by a good master and +her voice was pure and pliant, although as yet only half developed. The little +concerts they gave their friends were really charming—with Clifford’s banjo, +Gethryn’s guitar, Thaxton’s violin, Yvonne’s voice and piano. Clifford made the +programs. They were profusely illustrated, and he spent a great deal of time +rehearsing, writing verses, and rehashing familiar airs (he called it +“composing”) which would have been as well devoted to his easel. +</p> + +<p> +In Rowden, Yvonne was delighted to find a cultivated musician. Clifford +listened to their talk of chords and keys, went and bought a “Musical Primer” +on the Quai d’Orsay, spent a wretched hour groping over it, swore softly, and +closed the book forever. +</p> + +<p> +But neither the triumvirate nor the others had been to the “Ménagerie” for over +a fortnight, when Rowden, feeling it incumbent upon him to return some of +Gethryn’s hospitality, issued very proper cards—indeed they were very swell +cards for the Latin Quarter—for a “dinner,” to be followed by a “quiet evening” +at the Bal Masqué at the Opera. +</p> + +<p> +The triumvirate had accordingly tied up their brindled bulldogs, “Spit,” “Snap” +and “Tug”; had donned their white ties and collars of awful altitude, and were +fully prepared to please and to be pleased. Although it was nominally a “stag” +party, the triumvirate would as soon have cut off their tender mustaches as +have failed to invite Yvonne. But she had replied to Rowden’s invitation by a +dainty little note, ending: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +and I am sure that you will understand when I say that this time I will leave +you gentlemen in undisturbed possession of the evening, for I know how dearly +men love to meet and behave like bears all by themselves. But I shall see you +all afterward at the Opera. Au revoir then—at the Bal Masqué.<br/> + Y.D. +</p> + +<p> +The first sensation to the young men was one of disappointment. But the second +was that Mademoiselle Descartes’ tact had not failed her. +</p> + +<p> +The triumvirate were seated upon the sideboard swinging their legs. Rowden cast +a satisfied glance at the table laid for fifteen and flicked an imaginary speck +from his immaculate shirt front. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s all right,” said Elliott, noticing his look, “eh, Clifford?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there enough champagne?” asked that youth, calculating four quart bottles +to each person. +</p> + +<p> +Rowden groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course there is. What are you made of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Human flesh,” acknowledged the other meekly. +</p> + +<p> +At eleven the guests began to arrive, welcomed by the triumvirs with great +state and dignity. Rowden, looking about, missed only one—Gethryn, and he +entered at the same moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Just in time,” said Rowden, and made the move to the table. As Gethryn sat +down, he noticed that the place on Rowden’s right was vacant, and before it +stood a huge bouquet of white violets. +</p> + +<p> +“Too bad she isn’t here,” said Rowden, glancing at Gethryn and then at the +vacant place. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s awfully nice of you, Rowden,” cried Gethryn, with a happy smile; “she +will have a chance to thank you tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned over and touched his face to the flowers. As he raised his head +again, his eyes met Braith’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” cried Braith, cordially. +</p> + +<p> +Rex did not notice how pale he was, and called back, “Hello!” with a feeling of +relief at Braith’s tone. It was always so. When they were apart for days, there +weighed a cloud of constraint on Rex’s mind, which Braith’s first greeting +always dispelled. But it gathered again in the next interval. It rose from a +sullen deposit of self-reproach down deep in Gethryn’s own heart. He kept it +covered over; but he could not prevent the ghost-like exhalations that gathered +there and showed where it was hidden. +</p> + +<p> +Speeches began rather late. Elliott made one—and offered a toast to “la plus +jolie demoiselle de Paris,” which was drunk amid great enthusiasm and responded +to by Gethryn, ending with a toast to Rowden. Rowden’s response was stiff, but +most correct. The same could not be said of Clifford’s answer to the toast, +“The struggling Artist—Heaven help him!” +</p> + +<p> +Towards 1 am Mr Clifford’s conversation had become incoherent. But he continued +to drink toasts. He drank Yvonne’s health five times, he pledged Rowden and +Gethryn and everybody else he could think of, down to Mrs Gummidge and each +separate kitten, and finally pledged himself. By that time he had reached the +lachrymose state. Tears, it seemed, did him good. A heart-rending sob was +usually the sign of reviving intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Gethryn, buttoning his greatcoat, “I’ll see you all in an hour—at +the Opera.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith was not coming with them to the Ball, so Rex shook hands and said “Good +night,” and calling “Au revoir” to Rowden and the rest, ran down stairs three +at a time. He hurried into the court and after spending five minutes shouting +“Cordon!” succeeded in getting out of the door and into the Rue Michelet. From +there he turned into the Avenue de l’Observatoire, and cutting through into the +Boulevard, came to his hôtel. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne was standing before the mirror, tying the hood of a white silk domino +under her chin. Hearing Gethryn’s key in the door, she hurriedly slipped on her +little white mask and confronted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, who is this?” cried Gethryn. “Yvonne, come and tell me who this charming +stranger is!” +</p> + +<p> +“You see before you the Princess Hélène, Monsieur, she said, gravely bending +the little masked head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, in that case, you needn’t come, Yvonne, as I have an engagement with the +Princess Hélène of Troy.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you mustn’t kiss me!” she cried, hastily placing the table between herself +and Gethryn; “you have not yet been presented. Oh, Rex! Don’t be so—so idiotic; +you spoil my dress—there—yes, only one, but don’t you dare to try—<i>Oh +Rex!</i> Now I am all in wrinkles—you—you bear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bears hug—that’s a fact,” he laughed. “Come, are you ready—or I’ll just—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you dare!” she cried, whipping off her mask and attempting an indignant +frown. She saw the big bunch of white violets in his hand and made a diversion +by asking what those were. He told her, and she declared, delightedly, that she +should carry them with Rex’s roses to the Ball. +</p> + +<p> +“They shall have the preference, Monsieur,” she said, teasingly. “Oh, Rex! +don’t—please—” she entreated. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, I won’t,” he said, drawing her wrap around her; and Yvonne, +replacing the mask and gathering up her fluffy skirts, slipped one small gloved +hand through his arm and danced down the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +On the corner of the Vaugirard and the Rue de Medicis one always finds a line +of cabs, and presently they were bumping and bouncing away down the Rue de +Seine to the river. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Je fais ce que sa fantaisie<br/> + Veut m’ordonner,<br/> +Et je puis, s’il lui faut ma vie<br/> + La lui donner +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +sang Yvonne, deftly thrusting tierce and quarte with her fan to make Gethryn +keep his distance. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know it is snowing?” he said presently, peering out of the window as +the cab rattled across the Pont Neuf. +</p> + +<p> +“Tant mieux!” cried the girl; “I shall make a snowball—a—” she opened her blue +eyes impressively, “a very, very large one, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“And?” +</p> + +<p> +“Drop it on the head of Mr Rowden,” she announced, with cheerful decision. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll warn poor Rowden of your intention,” he laughed, as the cab rolled +smoothly up the Avenue de l’Opera, across the Boulevard des Italiens, and +stopped before the glittering pile of the great Opera. +</p> + +<p> +She sprang lightly to the curbstone and stood tapping her little feet against +the pavement while Gethryn fumbled about for his fare. +</p> + +<p> +The steps of the Opera and the Plaza were covered with figures in dominoes, +blue, red or black, many grotesque and bizarre costumes, and not a few sober +claw hammers. The great flare of yellow light which bathed and flooded the +shifting, many-colored throng, also lent a strangely weird effect to the now +heavily falling snowflakes. Carriages and cabs kept arriving in countless +numbers. It was half past two, and nobody who wanted to be considered anybody +thought of arriving before that hour. The people poured in a steady stream +through the portals. Groups of English and American students in their +irreproachable evening attire, groups of French students in someone else’s +doubtful evening attire, crowds of rustling silken dominoes, herds of crackling +muslin dominoes, countless sad-faced Pierrots, fewer sad-faced Capuchins, now +and then a slim Mephistopheles, now and then a fat, stolid Turk, ’Arry, Tom, +and Billy, redolent of plum pudding and Seven Dials, Gontran, Gaston and +Achille, savoring of brasseries and the Sorbonne. And then, from the carriages +and fiacres: Mademoiselle Patchouli and good old Monsieur Bonvin, Mademoiselle +Nitouche and bad young Monsieur de Sacrebleu, Mademoiselle Moineau and Don +Cæsar Imberbe; and the pink silk domino of “La Pataude”—mais n’importe! +</p> + +<p> +Allons, Messieurs, Mesdames, to the cloak room—to the foyer! To the escalier! +or you, Madame la Comtesse, to your box, and smooth out your crumpled domino; +as for “La Pataude,” she is going to dance tonight. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn, with Yvonne clinging tightly to his arm, entered the great vestibule +and passed through the railed lanes to the broad inclined aisle which led to +the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to take a peep before we go to our box?” he asked, leading her to +the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne’s little heart beat faster as she leaned over and glanced at the +dazzling spectacle. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, hurry—let us go to the box!” she whispered, dragging Gethryn after her +up the stairway. +</p> + +<p> +He followed, laughing at her excitement, and in a few minutes they found the +door of their lodge and slipped in. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn lighted a cigarette and began to unstrap his field glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“Take these, Yvonne,” he said, handing them to her while he adjusted her own +tiny gold ones. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne’s cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled under the little mask, as she +leaned over the velvet railing and gazed at the bewildering spectacle below. +Great puffs of hot, perfumed air bore the crash of two orchestras to their +ears, mixed with the distant clatter and whirl of the dancers, and the shouts +and cries of the maskers. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the floor, screened by banks of palms, sat the musicians, and +round about, rising tier upon tier, the glittering boxes were filled with the +elite of the demimonde, who ogled and gossiped and sighed, entirely content +with the material and social barriers which separate those who dance for ten +francs from those who look on for a hundred. +</p> + +<p> +But there were others there who should not by any means be confounded with +their sisters of the “half-world.” +</p> + +<p> +The Faubourg St Germain, the Champs Elysées, and the Parc Monceau were possibly +represented among those muffled and disguised beauties, who began the evening +with their fans so handy in case of need. Ah, well—now they lay their fans down +quite out of reach in case of emergency, and who shall say if disappointment +lurks under these dainty dominoes, that there is so little to bring a blush to +modest cheeks—alas! few emergencies. +</p> + +<p> +And you over there—you of the “American Colony,” who are tossed like +shuttlecocks in the social whirl, you, in your well-appointed masks and silks, +it is all very new and exciting—yes, but why should you come? American women, +brought up to think clean thoughts and see with innocent eyes, to exact a +respectful homage from men and enjoy a personal dignity and independence +unknown to women anywhere else—why do you want to come here? Do you not know +that the foundations of that liberty which makes you envied in the old world +are laid in the respect and confidence of men? Undermine that, become wise and +cynical, learn the meaning of doubtful words and gestures whose significance +you never need have suspected, meet men on the same ground where they may any +day meet fast women of the continent, and fix at that moment on your free limbs +the same chains which corrupt society has forged for the women of Europe. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne leaned back in her box with a little gasp. +</p> + +<p> +“But I can’t make out anyone at all,” she said; “it’s all a great, sparkling +sea of color.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try the field glasses,” replied Gethryn, giving them to her again, at the same +time opening her big plumy fan and waving it to and fro beside the flushed +cheek. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she cried out, “Oh, look! There is Mr Elliott and Mr Rowden, and I +think Mr Clifford—but I hope not.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned forward and swept the floor with the field glass. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Clifford, sure enough,” he muttered; “what on earth induces him to dance +in that set?” +</p> + +<p> +It was Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment he was addressing Elliott in pleading, though hazy, phrases. +</p> + +<p> +“Come ’long, Elliott, don’t be so—so uncomf’t’ble ’n’ p’tic’lar! W’t’s use of +be’ng shnobbish?” he urged, clinging hilariously to his partner, a pigeon-toed +ballet girl. But Elliott only laughed and said: +</p> + +<p> +“No; waltzes are all I care for. No quadrille for me—” +</p> + +<p> +The crash of the orchestra drowned his voice, and Clifford, turning and bowing +gravely to his partner, and then to his vis-à-vis, began to perform such antics +and cut such pigeonwings that his pigeon-toed partner glared at him through the +slits of her mask in envious astonishment. The door was dotted with numerous +circles of maskers, ten or fifteen deep, all watching and applauding the capers +of the hilarious couples in the middle. +</p> + +<p> +But Clifford’s set soon attracted a large and enthusiastic audience, who were +connoisseurs enough to distinguish a voluntary dancer from a hired one; and +when the last thundering chords of Offenbach’s “March into Hell” scattered the +throng into a delirious waltz, Clifford reeled heavily into the side scenes and +sat down, rather unexpectedly, in the lap of Mademoiselle Nitouche, who had +crept in there with the Baron Silberstein for a nice, quiet view of a genuine +cancan. +</p> + +<p> +Mademoiselle did not think it funny, but the Baron did, and when she boxed +Clifford’s ears he thought it funnier still. +</p> + +<p> +Rowden and Elliot, who were laboriously waltzing with a twin pair of +flat-footed Watteau Shepherdesses, immediately ran to his assistance; and +later, with a plentiful application of cold water and still colder air, +restored Mr Clifford to his usual spirits. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not a beauty, you know,” said Rowden, looking at Clifford’s hair, which +was soaked into little points and curls; “you’re certainly no beauty, but I +think you’re all right now—don’t you, Elliott? ” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” laughed the triumvir, producing a little silver pocket-comb and +presenting it to the woebegone Clifford, who immediately brought out a hand +glass and proceeded to construct a “bang” of wonderful seductiveness. +</p> + +<p> +In ten minutes they sallied forth from the dressing room and wended their way +through the throngs of masks to the center of the floor. They passed Thaxton +and Rhodes, who, each with a pretty nun upon his arm, were trying to persuade +Bulfinch into taking the third nun, who might have been the Mother Superior or +possibly a resuscitated 14th century abbess. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he was saying, while he blinked painfully at the ci-devant abbess, “I +can’t go that; upon my word, don’t ask me, fellows—I—I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come,” urged Rhodes, “what’s the odds?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can take her and I’ll take yours,” began the wily little man, but neither +Rhodes nor Thaxton waited to argue longer. +</p> + +<p> +“No catacombs for me,” growled Bulfinch, eyeing the retreating nuns, but +catching sight of the triumvirate, his face regained its bird-like felicity of +expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you—indeed I am! That Colossus is too disinterested in securing +partners for his friends; he is, I assure you. If you’re looking for a Louis +Quatorze partner, warranted genuine, go to Rhodes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rex ought to be here by this time,” said Rowden; “look in the boxes on that +side and Clifford and I will do the same on this.” +</p> + +<p> +“No need,” cried Elliott, “I see him with a white domino there in the second +tier. Look! he’s waving his hand to us and so is the domino.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come along,” said Clifford, pushing his way toward the foyer, “I’ll find them +in a moment. Let me see,”—a few minutes later, pausing outside a row of white +and gilt doors—“let me see, seventh box, second tier—here we are,” he added, +rapping loudly. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne ran and opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Bon soir, Messieurs,” she said, with a demure curtsy. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford gallantly kissed the little glove and then shook hands with Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“How is it on the floor?” asked the latter, as Elliott and Rowden came forward +to the edge of the box. “I want to take Yvonne out for a turn and perhaps a +waltz, if it isn’t too crowded.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s pretty rough just now, but it will be better in half an hour,” +replied Rowden, barricading the champagne from Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“We saw you dancing, Mr Clifford,” observed Yvonne, with a wicked glance at him +from under her mask. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford blushed. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I don’t make an ass of myself but once a year, you know,” he said, with a +deprecatory look at Elliott. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” murmured the latter, doubtfully, “glad to hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford gazed at him in meek reproof and then made a flank movement upon the +champagne, but was again neatly foiled by Rowden. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne looked serious, but presently leaned over and filled one of the +long-stemmed goblets. +</p> + +<p> +“Only one, Mr Clifford; one for you to drink my health, but you must promise me +truthfully not to take any more wine this evening!” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford promised with great promptness, and taking the glass from her hand +with a low bow, sprang recklessly upon the edge of the box and raised the +goblet. +</p> + +<p> +“A la plus belle demoiselle de Paris!” he cried, with all the strength of his +lungs, and drained the goblet. +</p> + +<p> +A shout from the crowd below answered his toast. A thousand faces were turned +upward, and people leaned over their boxes, and looked at the party from all +parts of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Mademoiselle Nitouche turned to Monsieur de Sacrebleu. +</p> + +<p> +“What audacity!” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +Mademoiselle Goujon smiled at the Baron Silberstein. +</p> + +<p> +“Tiens!” she cried, “the gayety has begun, I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +Little Miss Ducely whispered to Lieutenant Faucon: +</p> + +<p> +“Those are American students,” she sighed; “how jolly they seem to be, +especially Mr Clifford! I wonder if she <i>is</i> so pretty!” +</p> + +<p> +Half a dozen riotous Frenchmen in the box opposite jumped to their feet and +waved their goblets at Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“A la plus jolie femme du monde!” they roared. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford seized another glass and filled it. +</p> + +<p> +“She is here!” he shouted, and sprang to the edge again. But Gethryn pulled him +down. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s too dangerous,” he laughed; “you could easily fall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, pshaw!” cried Clifford, draining the glass, and shaking it at the opposite +box. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne put her hand on Gethryn’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let him have any more,” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Give us the goblet!” yelled the Frenchmen. +</p> + +<p> +“Le voila!” shouted Clifford, and stepping back, hurled the glass with all his +strength across the glittering gulf. It fell with a crash in the box it was +aimed at, and a howl of applause went up from the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne laughed nervously, but coming to the edge of the box buried her mask in +her bouquet and looked down. +</p> + +<p> +“A rose! A rose!” cried the maskers below; “a rose from the most charming +demoiselle in Paris!” +</p> + +<p> +She half turned to Gethryn, but suddenly stepping forward, seized a handful of +flowers from the middle of the bouquet and flung them into the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +There was a shout and a scramble, and then she tore the bouquet end from end, +sending a shower of white buds into the throng. +</p> + +<p> +“None for me?” sighed Clifford, watching the fast-dwindling bouquet. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed brightly as she tossed the last handful below, and then turned and +leaned over Gethryn’s chair. +</p> + +<p> +“You destructive little wretch!” he laughed, “this is not the season for the +Battle of Flowers. But white roses mean nothing, so I’m not jealous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, mon ami, I saved the red rose for you,” she whispered; and fastened it +upon his breast. +</p> + +<p> +And at his whispered answer her cheeks flushed crimson under the white mask. +But she sprang up laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I would so like to go onto the floor,” she cried, pulling him to his feet, and +coaxing him with a simply irresistible look; “don’t you think we might—just for +a minute, Mr Rowden?” she pleaded. “I don’t mind a crowd—indeed I don’t, and I +am masked so perfectly.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the harm, Rex?” said Rowden; “she is well masked.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when we return it will be time for supper, won’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I should think so!” murmured Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“Where do we go then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Maison Dorée.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, then, Mademoiselle Destructiveness!” cried Gethryn, tossing his +mask and field glass onto a chair, where they were appropriated by Clifford, +who spent the next half hour in staring across at good old Colonel Toddlum and +his frisky companion—an attention which drove the poor old gentleman almost +frantic with suspicion, for he was a married man, bless his soul!—and a +pew-holder in the American Church. +</p> + +<p> +“My love,” said the frisky one, “who is the gentleman in the black mask who +stares?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” muttered the dear old man, in a cold sweat, “I don’t know, but +I wish I did.” +</p> + +<p> +And the frisky one shrugged her shoulders and smiled at the mask. +</p> + +<p> +“What are they looking at?” whispered Yvonne, as she tripped along, holding +very tightly to Gethryn’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Only a quadrille—‘La Pataude’ is dancing. Do you want to see it?” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded, and they approached the circle in the middle of which ‘La Pataude’ +and ‘Grille d’Egout’ were holding high carnival. At every ostentatious display +of hosiery the crowd roared. +</p> + +<p> +“Brava! Bis!” cried an absinthe-soaked old gentleman; “vive La Pataude!” +</p> + +<p> +For answer the lady dexterously raised his hat from his head with the point of +her satin slipper. +</p> + +<p> +The crowd roared again. “Brava! Brava, La Pataude!” +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like it. I don’t find it amusing,” she said, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn’s hand closed on hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“But you and your friends used to go to the students’ ball at ‘Bullier’s,’” she +began, a little reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Only as Nouveaux, and then, as a rule, the high-jinks are pretty genuine +there—at least, with the students. We used to go to keep cool in spring and +hear the music; to keep warm in winter; and amuse ourselves at Carnival time.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—Mr Clifford knows all the girls at ‘Bullier’s.’ Do—do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some.” +</p> + +<p> +“How many?” she said, pettishly. +</p> + +<p> +“None—now.” +</p> + +<p> +A pause. Yvonne was looking down. +</p> + +<p> +“See here, little goose, I never cared about any of that crowd, and I haven’t +been to the Bullier since—since last May.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her face up to his; tears were stealing down from under her mask. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Yvonne!” he began, but she clung to his shoulder, as the orchestra broke +into a waltz. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t speak to me, Rex—but dance! Dance!” +</p> + +<p> +They danced until the last bar of music ceased with a thundering crash. +</p> + +<p> +“Tired?” he asked, still holding her. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled breathlessly and stepped back, but stopped short, with a little cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I’m caught—there, on your coat!” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned over her to detach the shred of silk. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is it? Oh! Here!” +</p> + +<p> +And they both laughed and looked at each other, for she had been held by the +little golden clasp, the fleur-de-lis. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” he said, “it will always draw me to you.” +</p> + +<p> +But a shadow fell on her fair face, and she sighed as she gently took his arm. +</p> + +<p> +When they entered their box, Clifford was still tormenting the poor Colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“Old dog thinks I know him,” he grinned, as Yvonne and Rex came in. Yvonne +flung off her mask and began to fan herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Time for supper, you know,” suggested Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne lay back in her chair, smiling and slowly waving the great plumes to and +fro. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are those people in the next box?” she asked him. “They do make such a +noise.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are only two, both masked.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they have unmasked now. There are their velvets on the edge of the box. +I’m going to take a peep,” she whispered, rising and leaning across the +railing. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t; I wouldn’t—” began Gethryn, but he was too late. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne leaned across the gilded cornice and instantly fell back in her chair, +deathly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“My God! Are you ill, Yvonne?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Rex, Rex, take me away—home—” +</p> + +<p> +Then came a loud hammering on the box door. A harsh, strident voice called, +“Yvonne! Yvonne!” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford thoughtlessly threw it open, and a woman in evening dress, very +decolletée, swept by him into the box, with a waft of sickly scented air. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne leaned heavily on Gethryn’s shoulder; the woman stopped in front of +them. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! here you are, then!” +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne’s face was ghastly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nina,” she whispered, “why did you come?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I wanted to make you a little surprise,” sneered the woman; “a +pleasant little surprise. We love each other enough, I hope.” She stamped her +foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Go,” said Yvonne, looking half dead. +</p> + +<p> +“Go!” mimicked the other. “But certainly! Only first you must introduce me to +these gentlemen who are so kind to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will leave the box,” said Gethryn, in a low voice, holding open the door. +</p> + +<p> +The woman turned on him. She was evidently in a prostitute’s tantrum of +malicious deviltry. Presently she would begin to lash herself into a wild rage. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! this is the one!” she sneered, and raising her voice, she called, “Mannie, +Mannie, come in here, quick!” +</p> + +<p> +A sidling step approached from the next box, and the face of Mr Emanuel Pick +appeared at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the one,” cried the woman, shrilly. “Isn’t he pretty?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr Pick looked insolently at Gethryn and opened his mouth, but he did not say +anything, for Rex took him by the throat and kicked him headlong into his own +box. Then he locked the door, and taking out the key, returned and presented it +to the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow him!” he said, and quietly, but forcibly, urged her toward the lobby. +</p> + +<p> +“Mannie! Mannie!” she shrieked, in a voice choked by rage and dissipation, +“come and kill him! He’s insulting me!” +</p> + +<p> +Getting no response, she began to pour forth shriek upon shriek, mingled with +oaths and ravings. “I shall speak to my sister! Who dares prevent me from +speaking to my sister! You—” she glared at Yvonne and ground her teeth. “You, +the good one. You! the mother’s pet! Ran away from home! Took up with an +English hog!” +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne sprang to her feet again. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave the box,” she gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! Mais oui! leave the box! and let her dance while her mother lies +dying!” +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne gave a cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Ah!” said her sister, suddenly speaking very slowly, nodding at every +word. “Ah! Ah! go back to your room and see what is there—in the room of your +lover—the little letter from Vernon. She wants you. She wants <i>you.</i> That +is because you are so good. She does not want me. No, it is you who must come +to see her die. I—I dance at the Carnival!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, suddenly turning on Gethryn with a devilish grin, “You! tell your +mistress her mother is dying!” She laughed hatefully, but preserved her +pretense of calm, walked to the door, and as she reached it swung round and +made an insulting gesture to Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“You! I will remember you!” +</p> + +<p> +The door slammed and a key rattled in the next box. +</p> + +<p> +Clinging to Gethryn, Yvonne passed down the long corridor to the vestibule, +while Elliott and Rowden silently gathered up the masks and opera glasses. +Clifford stood holding her crushed and splintered fan. He looked at Elliott, +who looked gloomily back at him, as Braith entered hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter? I saw something was wrong from the floor. Rex ill?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ill at ease,” said Clifford, grimly. “There’s a sister turned up. A devil of a +sister.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith spoke very low. “Yvonne’s sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a she-devil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear her name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Name’s Nina.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith went quietly out again. Passing blindly down the lobby, he ran against +Mr Bulfinch. Mr Bulfinch was in charge of a policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Braith!” he called, hilariously. +</p> + +<p> +Braith was going on with a curt nod when the other man added: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve taken it out of Pick,” and he stopped short. “I got my two hundred francs +worth,” the artist of the <i>London Mirror</i> proceeded, “and now I shall feel +bound to return you yours—the first time I have it,” he ended, vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +Braith made an impatient gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you under arrest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am. He couldn’t help it,” smiling agreeably at the Sergeant de Ville. +“He saw me hit him.” +</p> + +<p> +The policeman looked stolid. +</p> + +<p> +“But what excuse?” began Braith. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! none! Pick just passed me, and I felt as if I couldn’t stand it any +longer, so I pitched in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and now you’re in for fine and imprisonment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” said Bulfinch, beaming. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any money with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, unless I have some in your pocket?” said the little man, with a mixture of +embarrassment and bravado that touched Braith, who saw what the confession cost +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Lots!” said he, cordially. “But first let us try what we can do with Bobby. Do +you ever drink a petit verre, Monsieur le Sergeant de Ville?” with a winning +smile to the wooden policeman. +</p> + +<p> +The latter looked at the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Never?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was only thinking that over on the Corner of the Rue Taitbout one +finds excellent wine at twenty francs.” +</p> + +<p> +The officer now gazed dreamily at the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Mine costs forty,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +And a few minutes later the faithful fellow stood in front of the Opera house +quite alone. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p> +The cab rolled slowly over the Pont au Change, and the wretched horse fell into +a walk as he painfully toiled up the hill of St Michel. Yvonne lay back in the +corner; covered with all her own wraps and Gethryn’s overcoat, she shivered. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little Yvonne!” was all he said as he leaned over now and then to draw +the cloak more closely around her. Not a sound but the rumble of the wheels and +the wheezing of the old horse broke the silence. The streets were white and +deserted. A few ragged flakes fell from the black vault above, or were shaken +down from the crusted branches. +</p> + +<p> +The cab stopped with a jolt. Yvonne was trembling as Rex lifted her to the +ground, and he hurried her into the house, up the black stairway and into their +cold room. +</p> + +<p> +When he had a fire blazing in the grate, he looked around. She was kneeling on +the floor beside a candle she had lighted, and her tears were pouring down upon +the page of an open letter. Rex stepped over and touched her. +</p> + +<p> +“Come to the fire.” He raised her gently, but she could not stand, and he +carried her in his arms to the great soft chair before the grate. Then he knelt +down and warmed her icy hands in his own. After a while he moved her chair +back, and drawing off her dainty white slippers, wrapped her feet in the fur +that lay heaped on the hearth. Then he unfastened the cloak and the domino, and +rolling her gloves from elbow to wrist, slipped them over the helpless little +hands. The firelight glanced and glowed on her throat and bosom, tingeing their +marble with opalescent lights, and searching the deep shadows under her long +lashes. It reached her hair, touching here and there a soft, dark wave, and +falling aslant the knots of ribbon on her bare shoulders, tipped them with +points of white fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it so bad, dearest Yvonne?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“At daylight.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn rose and went toward the door; he hesitated, came back and kissed her +once on the forehead. When the door closed on him she wept as if her heart +would break, hiding her head in her arms. He found her lying so when he +returned, and, throwing down her traveling bag and rugs, he knelt and took her +to his breast, kissing her again and again on the forehead. At last he had to +speak. +</p> + +<p> +“I have packed the things you will need most and will send the rest. It is +getting light, dearest; you have to change your dress, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +She roused herself and sat up, looking desolately about her. +</p> + +<p> +“Forever!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“No! No!” cried Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! oui, mon ami!” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn went and stood by the window. The bedroom door was closed. +</p> + +<p> +Day was breaking. He opened the window and looked into the white street. Lamps +burned down there with a sickly yellow; a faint light showed behind the barred +windows of the old gray barracks. One or two stiff sparrows hopped silently +about the gutters, flying up hurriedly when the frost-covered sentinel stamped +his boots before the barracks gate. Now and then a half-starved workman limped +past, his sabots echoing on the frozen pavement. A hooded and caped policeman, +a red-faced cabman stamping beside his sleepy horse—the street was empty but +for them. +</p> + +<p> +It grew lighter. The top of St Sulpice burned crimson. Far off a bugle +fluttered, and then came the tramp of the morning guard mount. They came +stumbling across the stony court and leaned on their rifles while one of them +presented arms and received the word from the sentry. Little by little people +began to creep up and down the sidewalks, and the noise of wooden shutters +announced another day of toil begun. The point of the Luxembourg Palace struck +fire as the ghastly gas-lamps faded and went out. Suddenly the great bell of St +Sulpice clashed the hour—Eight o’clock! +</p> + +<p> +Again a bugle blew sharply from the barracks, and a troop of cavalry danced and +pawed through the gate, clattering away down the Rue de Seine. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn shut the window and turned into the room. Yvonne stood before the dying +embers. He went to her, almost timidly. Neither spoke. At last she took up her +satchel and wrap. +</p> + +<p> +“It is time,” she whispered. “Let us go.” +</p> + +<p> +He clasped her once in his arms; she laid her cheek against his. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The train left Montparnasse station at nine. There was hardly anyone in the +waiting room. The Guard flung back the grating. +</p> + +<p> +“Vernon, par Chartres?” asked Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Vernon—Moulins—Chartres—direct!” shouted the Guard, and stamped off down the +platform. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn showed his ticket which admitted him to the platform, and they walked +slowly down the line of dismal-looking cars. +</p> + +<p> +“This one?” and he opened a door. +</p> + +<p> +She stood watching the hissing and panting engine, while Gethryn climbed in and +placed her bags and rugs in a window corner. The car smelt damp and musty, and +he stepped out with a choking sensation in his chest. A train man came along, +closing doors with a slam. +</p> + +<p> +“All aboard—ladies—gentlemen—voyageurs?” he growled, as if to himself or some +familiar spirit, and jerked a sullen clang from the station bell. The engine +panted impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +Rex struggled against the constraint that seemed to be dividing them. +</p> + +<p> +“Yvonne, you will write?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know! Yvonne!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing except that I am wicked, and my mother is dying!” She said it +in low, even tones, looking away from him. +</p> + +<p> +The gong struck again, with a startling clash. +</p> + +<p> +The engine shrieked; a cloud of steam rose from under the wheels. Rex hurried +her into the carriage; there was no one else there. Suddenly she threw herself +into his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I love you! I love you! One kiss, no; no; on the lips. Good-bye, my own +Rex!” +</p> + +<p> +“You will come again?” he said, crushing her to him. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes looked into his. +</p> + +<p> +“I will come. I love you! Be true to me, Rex. I will come back.” +</p> + +<p> +Her lover could not speak. Doors slamming, and an impatient voice—“Descendez +donc, M’sieu!”—roused him; he sprang from the carriage, and the train rolled +slowly out of the smoke-filled station. +</p> + +<p> +How heavy the smoke was! Gethryn could hardly breathe—hardly see. He walked +away and out into the street. The city was only half awake even yet. After, as +it seemed, a long time, he found himself looking at a clock which said a +quarter past ten. The winter sunshine slanted now on roof and pane, flooding +the western side of the shabby boulevard, dappling the snow with yellow +patches. He had stopped in the chilly shadow of a gateway and was looking +vacantly about. He saw the sunshine across the street and shivered where he +was, and yet he did not leave the shadow. He stood and watched the sparrows +taking bold little baths in the puddles of melted snow water. They seemed to +enjoy the sunshine, but it was cold in the shade, cold and damp—and the air was +hard to breathe. A policeman sauntered by and eyed him curiously. Rex’s face +was haggard and pinched. Why had he stood there in the cold for half an hour, +without ever changing his weight from one foot to the other? +</p> + +<p> +The policeman spoke at last, civilly: +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur!” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn turned his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it that Monsieur seeks the train?” he asked, saluting. +</p> + +<p> +Rex looked up. He had wandered back to the station. He lifted his hat and +answered with the politeness dear to French officials. +</p> + +<p> +“Merci, Monsieur!” It made him cough to speak, and he moved on slowly. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn would not go home yet. He wanted to be where there was plenty of cool +air, and yet he shivered. He drew a deep breath which ended in a pain. How cold +the air must be—to pain the chest like that! And yet, there were women wheeling +handcarts full of yellow crocus buds about. He stopped and bought some for +Yvonne. +</p> + +<p> +“She will like them,” he thought. “Ah!”—he turned away, leaving flowers and +money. The old flower-woman crossed herself. +</p> + +<p> +No—he would not go home just yet. The sun shone brightly; men passed, carrying +their overcoats on their arms; a steam was rising from the pavements in the +Square. +</p> + +<p> +There was a crowd on the Pont au Change. He did not see any face distinctly, +but there seemed to be a great many people, leaning over the parapets, looking +down the river. He stopped and looked over too. The sun glared on the foul +water eddying in and out among the piles and barges. Some men were rowing in a +boat, furiously. Another boat followed close. A voice close by Gethryn cried, +angrily: +</p> + +<p> +“Dieu! who are you shoving?” +</p> + +<p> +Rex moved aside; as he did so a gamin crowded quickly forward and craned over +the edge, shouting, “Vive le cadavre!” +</p> + +<p> +“Chut!” said another voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Vive la Mort! Vive la Morgue!” screamed the wretched little creature. +</p> + +<p> +A policeman boxed his ears and pulled him back. The crowd laughed. The voice +that had cried, “Chut!” said lower, “What a little devil, that Rigaud!” +</p> + +<p> +Rex moved slowly on. +</p> + +<p> +In the Court of the Louvre were people enough and to spare. Some of them bowed +to him; several called him to turn and join them. He lifted his hat to them +all, as if he knew them, but passed on without recognizing a soul. The broad +pavements were warm and wet, but the air must have been sharp to hurt his chest +so. The great pigeons of the Louvre brushed by him. It seemed as if he felt the +beat of their wings on his brains. A shabby-looking fellow asked him for a +sou—and, taking the coin Rex gave him, shuffled off in a hurry; a dog followed +him, he stooped and patted it; a horse fell, he went into the street and helped +to raise it. He said to a man standing by that the harness was too heavy—and +the man, looking after him as he walked away, told a friend that there was +another crazy foreigner. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after this he found himself on the Quai again, and the sun was sinking +behind the dome of the Invalides. He decided to go home. He wanted to get warm, +and yet it seemed as if the air of a room would stifle him. However, once more +he crossed the Seine, and as he turned in at his own gate he met Clifford, who +said something, but Rex pushed past without trying to understand what it was. +</p> + +<p> +He climbed the dreary old stairs and came to his silent studio. He sat down by +the fireless hearth and gazed at a long, slender glove among the ashes. At his +feet her little white satin slippers lay half hidden in the long white fur of +the rug. +</p> + +<p> +He felt giddy and weak, and that hard pain in his chest left him no peace. He +rose and went into the bedroom. Her ball dress lay where she had thrown it. He +flung himself on the bed and buried his face in the rustling silk. A faint odor +of violets pervaded it. He thought of the bouquet that had been placed for her +at the dinner. Then the flowers reminded him of last summer. He lived over +again their gay life—their excursions to Meudon, Sceaux, Versailles with its +warm meadows, and cool, dark forests; Fontainebleau, where they lunched under +the trees; St Cloud—Oh! he remembered their little quarrel there, and how they +made it up on the boat at Suresnes afterward. +</p> + +<p> +He rose excitedly and went back into the studio; his cheeks were aflame and his +breath came sharp and hard. In a corner, with its face to the wall, stood an +old, unfinished portrait of Yvonne, begun after one of those idyllic summer +days. +</p> + +<p> +When Braith walked in, after three times knocking, he found Gethryn painting +feverishly by the last glimmer of daylight on this portrait. The room was full +of shadows, and while they spoke it grew quite dark. +</p> + +<p> +That night Braith sat by his side and listened to his incoherent talk, and Dr +White came and said “Pleuro-pneumonia” was what ailed him. Braith had his traps +fetched from his own place and settled down to nurse him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p> +C arnival was over. February had passed, like January, for most of the fellows, +in a bad dream of unpaid bills. March was going in much the same way. This is +the best account Clifford, Elliott and Rowden could have given of it. Thaxton +and Rhodes were working. Carleton was engaged to a new pretty girl—the sixth or +seventh. +</p> + +<p> +Satan found the time passing delightfully. There was no one at present to +restrain him when he worried Mrs Gummidge. The tabby daily grew thinner and +sadder-eyed. The parrot grew daily more blasé. He sneered more and more +bitterly, and his eyelid, when closed, struck a chill to the soul of the raven. +</p> + +<p> +At first the pups were unhappy. They missed their master. But they were young, +and flies were getting plentiful in the studio. +</p> + +<p> +For Braith the nights and the days seemed to wind themselves in an endless +chain about Rex’s sickbed. But when March had come and gone Rex was out of +danger, and Braith began to paint again on his belated picture. It was too +late, now, for the Salon; but he wanted to finish it all the same. +</p> + +<p> +One day, early in April, he came back to Gethryn after an unusually long +absence at his own studio. +</p> + +<p> +Rex was up and trying to dress. He turned a peaked face toward his friend. His +eyes were two great hollows, and when he smiled and spoke, in answer to +Braith’s angry exclamation, his jaws worked visibly. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep cool, old chap!” he said, in the ghost of a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you getting up for, all alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Had to—tired of the bed. Try it yourself—six weeks!” +</p> + +<p> +“You want to go back there and never quit it alive—that’s what you want,” said +Braith, nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t, either. Come and button this collar and stop swearing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you’re going back to Julien’s the day after tomorrow,” said Braith, +sarcastically, after Rex was dressed and had been helped to the lounge in the +studio. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said he, “I’m going to Arcachon tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Arca—- twenty thousand thunders!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” smiled Rex—a feeble, willful smile. +</p> + +<p> +Braith sat down and drew his chair beside Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a while, Rex.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t get well here, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can get a bit stronger before you start on such a journey.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought the doctor told you the sooner I went south the better.” +</p> + +<p> +That was true; Braith was silent a while. +</p> + +<p> +At last he said, “I have all the money you will want till your own comes, you +know, and I can get you ready by the end of this week, if you will go.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex was no baby, but his voice shook when he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear old, kind, unselfish friend! I’d almost rather remain poor, and let you +keep on taking care of me, but—see here—” and he handed him a letter. “That +came this morning, after you left.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith read it eagerly, and looked up with a brighter face than he had worn for +many a day. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” he said. “By Jupiter!” +</p> + +<p> +Rex smiled sadly at his enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“This means health, and a future, and—everything to you, Rex!” +</p> + +<p> +“Health and wealth, and happiness,” said Gethryn bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you ungrateful young reprobate—that’s exactly what it means. Go to your +Arcachon, by all means, since you’ve got a fortune to go on—I say—you—you +didn’t know your aunt very well, did you? You’re not cut up much?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw her half a dozen times in my whole life. But she’s been generous +to me, poor old lady!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think so. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a nice sum for a +young fellow to find in his pocket all on a sudden. And now—you want to go away +and get well, and come back presently and begin where you left off—a year ago. +Is that it?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is it. I shall never get well here, and I mean to get well if I can,”—he +paused, and hesitated. “That was the only letter in my box this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Braith did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“It is nearly two months now,” continued Rex, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What are your plans?” interrupted Braith, brusquely. +</p> + +<p> +Rex flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going first”—he answered rather drily, “to Arcachon. You see by the letter +my aunt died in Florence. Of course I’ve got to go and measure out a lot of +Italian red tape before I can get the money. It seems to me the sooner I can +get into the pine air and the sea breezes at Arcachon, the better chance I have +of being fit to push on to Florence, via the Riviera, before the summer heat.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will come back?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I am cured.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long silence. At last Gethryn put a thin hand on Braith’s shoulder +and looked him lovingly in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, and I know, how little I have ever done to deserve your goodness, to +show my gratitude and—and love for you. But if I ever come back I will prove to +you—” +</p> + +<p> +Braith could not answer, and did not try to. He sat and looked at the floor, +the sad lines about his mouth deeply marked, his throat moving once or twice as +he swallowed the lump of grief that kept rising. +</p> + +<p> +After a while he muttered something about its being time for Rex’s supper and +got up and fussed about with a spirit lamp and broths and jellies, more like +Rex’s mother than a rough young bachelor. In the midst of his work there came a +shower of blows on the studio door and Clifford, Rowden and Elliott trooped in +without more ado. +</p> + +<p> +They set up a chorus of delighted yells at seeing Rex dressed and on the studio +lounge. But Braith suppressed them promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know any better than that?” he growled. “What did you come for, +anyway? It’s Rex’s supper time.” +</p> + +<p> +“We came, Papa,” said Clifford, “to tell Rex that I have reformed. We wanted +him to know it as soon as we did ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! he’s a changed man! He’s worked all day at Julien’s for a week past,” +cried Elliott and Rowden together. +</p> + +<p> +“And my evenings?” prompted Clifford sweetly. +</p> + +<p> +“Are devoted to writing letters home!” chanted the chorus. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out!” was all Rex answered, but his face brightened at the three bad boys +standing in a row with their hats all held politely against their stomachs. He +had not meant to tell them, dreading the fatigue of explanations, but by an +impulse he held out his hand to them. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you fellows, shake hands! I’m going off tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Their surprise having been more or less noisily and profusely expressed, Braith +stepped decidedly in between them and his patient, satisfied their curiosity, +and gently signified that it was time to go. +</p> + +<p> +He only permitted one shake apiece, foiling all Clifford’s rebellious attempts +to dodge around him and embrace Gethryn. But Rex was lying back by this time, +tired out, and he was glad when Braith closed the studio door. It flew open the +next minute and an envelope came spinning across to Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“Letter in your box, Reggy—good-bye, old chap!” said Clifford’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +The door did not quite close again and the voices and steps of his departing +friends came echoing back as Braith raised a black-edged letter from the floor. +It bore the postmark: Vernon. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p> +R ound about the narrow valley which is cut by the rapid Trauerbach, Bavarian +mountains tower, their well timbered flanks scattered here and there with rough +slides, or opening out in long green alms, and here at evening one may +sometimes see a spot of yellow moving along the bed of a half dry mountain +torrent. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Ruth Dene stood in front of the Forester’s lodge at Trauerbach one evening +at sunset, and watched such a spot on the almost perpendicular slope that rose +opposite, high above her head. Some Jaegers and the Forester were looking, too. +</p> + +<p> +“My glass, Federl! Ja! ’s ist’n gams!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gems?” inquired Miss Dene, excited by her first view of a chamois. +</p> + +<p> +“Ja! ’n Gams,” said the Forester, sticking to his dialect. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was setting behind the Red Peak, his last rays pouring into the valley. +They fell on rock and alm, on pine and beech, and turned the silver Trauerbach +to molten gold. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Isidor Blumenthal, sitting at a table under one of the windows, drinking +beer, beheld this phenomenon, and putting down his quart measure, he glared at +the waste of precious metal. Then he lighted the stump of a cigar; then he +looked at his watch, and it being almost supper time, he went in to secure the +best place. He liked being early at table; he liked the first cut of the meats, +hot and fat; he loved plenty of gravy. While waiting to be served he could +count the antlers on the walls and estimate “how much they would fetch by an +antiquar,” as he said to himself. There was nothing else marketable in the +large bare room, full of deal tables and furnished with benches built against +the wall. But he could pick his teeth demonstratively—toothpicks were not +charged in the bill—and he could lean back on two legs of his chair, with his +hands in his pockets, and stare through the windows at Miss Dene. +</p> + +<p> +The Herr Förster and the two Jaegers had gone away. Miss Dene stood now with +her slender hands clasped easily behind her, a Tam O’Shanter shading her sweet +face. She was tall, and so far as Mr Blumenthal had ever seen, extremely grave +for her years. But Mr Blumenthal’s opportunities of observing Miss Dene had +been limited. +</p> + +<p> +The “gams” had disappeared. Miss Dene was looking down the road that leads to +Schicksalsee. There was not much visible there except a whirl of dust raised by +the sudden evening wind. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes it was swept away for a moment; then she saw a weather-beaten bridge +and a bend in the road where it disappeared among the noble firs of a Bavarian +forest. +</p> + +<p> +The sun sank and left the Trauerbach a stream of molten lead. The shadows crept +up to the Jaeger’s hut and then to the little chapel above that. Gusts of +whistling martins swept by. +</p> + +<p> +A silk-lined, Paris-made wool dress rustled close beside her, and she put out +one of the slender hands without turning her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother, dear,” said she, as a little silver-haired old lady took it and came +and leaned against her tall girl’s shoulder, “haven’t we had enough of the +‘Först-haus zu Trauerbach?’” +</p> + +<p> +“Not until a certain girl, who danced away her color at Cannes, begins to bloom +again.” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth shrugged, and then laughed. “At least it isn’t so—so indigestible as +Munich.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Absurd! Speaking of digestion, come to your Schmarn und Reh-braten. Supper +is ready.” +</p> + +<p> +Mother and daughter walked into the dingy “Stube” and took their seats at the +Forester’s table. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Blumenthal’s efforts had not secured him a place there after all; Anna, the +capable niece of the Frau Förster, having set down a large foot, clad in a +thick white stocking and a carpet slipper, to the effect that there was only +room for the Herr Förster’s family and the Americans. +</p> + +<p> +“I also am an American!” cried Mr Blumenthal in Hebrew-German. Nevertheless, +when Ruth and her mother came in he bowed affably to them from the nearest end +of the next table. +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma,” said Ruth, very low, “I hope I’m not going to begin being difficult, +but do you know, that is really an odious man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do know,” laughed her easy-tempered mother, “but what is that to us?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr Blumenthal was reveling in hot fat. After he had bowed and smiled greasily, +he tucked his napkin tighter under his chin and fell once more upon the gravy. +He sopped his bread in it and scooped it up with his knife. But after there was +no more gravy he wished to converse. He scrubbed his lips with one end of the +napkin and called across to Ruth, who shrank behind her mother: “Vell, Miss +Dene, you have today a shammy seen, not?” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth kept out of sight, but Mrs Dene nodded, good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ja! soh! and haf you auch dose leetle deer mit der mamma seen? I haf myself +such leetle deer myself many times shoot, me and my neffe. But not here. It is +not permitted.” No one answered. Ruth asked Anna for the salt. +</p> + +<p> +“My neffe, he eats such lots of salt—” began Mr Blumenthal. +</p> + +<p> +“Herr Förster,” interrupted Mrs Dene—“Is the room ready for our friend who is +coming this evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your vriendt, he is from New York?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ja, ja, Gnädige Frau!” said the Forester, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“I haf a broader in New York. Blumenthal and Cohen, you know dem, yes?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs Dene and her daughter rose and went quietly out into the porch, while the +Frau Förster, with cold, round gray eyes and a tight mouth, was whispering to +her frowning spouse that it was none of his business, and why get himself into +trouble? Besides, Mrs Dene’s Herr Gemahl, meaning the absent colonel, would +come back in a day or two; let him attend to Mr Blumenthal. +</p> + +<p> +Outside, under the windows, were long benches set against the house with tables +before them. One was crowded with students who had come from everywhere on the +foot-tours dear to Germans. +</p> + +<p> +Their long sticks, great bundles, tin botanizing boxes, and sketching tools lay +in untidy heaps; their stone krugs were foaming with beer, and their mouths +were full of black bread and cheese. +</p> + +<p> +Underneath the other window was the Jaeger’s table. There they sat, gossiping +as usual with the Forester’s helpers, a herdsman or two, some woodcutters on +their way into or out from the forest, and a pair of smart revenue officers +from the Tyrol border, close by. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth said to the nearest Jaeger in passing: +</p> + +<p> +“Herr Loisl, will you play for us?” +</p> + +<p> +“But certainly, gracious Fraulein! Shall I bring my zither to the table under +the beech tree?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please do!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Dene was a great favorite with the big blond Jaegers. +</p> + +<p> +“Ja freili! will I play for the gracious Fraulein!” said Loisl, and cut slices +with his hunting knife from a large white radish and ate them with black bread, +shining good-humor from the tip of the black-cock feather on his old green felt +hat to his bare, bronzed knees and his hobnailed shoes. +</p> + +<p> +At the table under the beech trees were two more great fellows in gray and +green. They rose promptly and were moving away; Mrs Dene begged them to remain, +and they sat down again, diffidently, but with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“Herr Sepp,” said Ruth, smiling a little mischievously, “how is this? Herr +Federl shot a stag of eight this morning, and I hear that yesterday you missed +a Reh-bock!” +</p> + +<p> +Sepp reddened, and laughed. “Only wait, gracious Fraulein, next week it is my +turn on the Red Peak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ach, ja! Sepp knows the springs where the deer drink,” said Federl. +</p> + +<p> +“And you never took us there!” cried Ruth, reproachfully. “I would give +anything to see the deer come and drink at sundown.” +</p> + +<p> +Sepp felt his good breeding under challenge. “If the gracious Frau permits,” +with a gentlemanly bow to Mrs Dene, “and the ladies care to come—but the way is +hard—” +</p> + +<p> +“You couldn’t go, dearest,” murmured Ruth to her mother, “but when papa comes +back—” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father will be delighted to take you wherever there is a probability of +breaking both your necks, my dear,” said Mrs Dene. +</p> + +<p> +“Griffin!” said Ruth, giving her hand a loving little squeeze under the table. +</p> + +<p> +Loisl came up with his zither and they all made way before him. Anna placed a +small lantern on the table and the light fell on the handsome bearded Jaeger’s +face as he leaned lovingly above his instrument. +</p> + +<p> +The incurable “Sehnsucht” of humanity found not its only expression in that +great Symphony where “all the mightier strings assembling, fell a trembling.” +Ruth heard it as she leaned back in the deep shade and listened to those +silvery melodies and chords of wonderful purity, coaxed from the little zither +by Loisl’s strong, rough hand, with its tender touch. To all the airs he played +her memory supplied the words. Sometimes a Sennerin was watching from the Alm +for her lover’s visit in the evening. Sometimes the hunter said farewell as he +sprang down the mountainside. Once tears came into Ruth’s eyes as the simple +tune recalled how a maiden who died and went to Heaven told her lover at +parting: +</p> + +<p> +“When you come after me I shall know you by my ring which you will wear, and me +you will know by your rose that rests on my heart.” +</p> + +<p> +Loisl had stopped playing and was tuning a little, idly sounding chords of +penetrating sweetness. There came a noise of jolting and jingling from the road +below. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs Dene spoke softly to Ruth. “That is the Mail; it is time he was here.” Ruth +assented absently. She cared at that moment more for hearing a new folk-song +than for the coming of her old playmate. +</p> + +<p> +Rapid wheels approaching from the same direction overtook and passed the “Post” +and stopped below. Mrs Dene rose, drawing Ruth with her. The three tall Jaegers +rose too, touching their hats. Thanking them all, with a special compliment to +Loisl, the ladies went and stood by some stone steps which lead from the road +to the Först-haus, just as a young fellow, proceeding up them two at a time, +arrived at the top, and taking Mrs Dene’s hand began to kiss it affectionately. +</p> + +<p> +“At last!” she cried, “and the very same boy! after four years! Ruth!” Ruth +gave one hand and Reginald Gethryn took two, releasing one the next moment to +put his arm around the little old lady, and so he led them both into the house, +more at home already than they were. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we begin to talk about how we are not one bit changed, only a little +older, first, or about your supper?” said Mrs Dene. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! supper, please!” said Rex, of the sun-browned face and laughing eyes. +Smiling Anna, standing by, understood, aided by a hint from Ruth of “Schmarn +und Reh-braten”—and clattered away to fetch the never-changing venison and +fried batter, with which, and Schicksalsee beer, the Frau Förster sustained her +guests the year round, from “Georgi” to “Michaeli” and from “Michaeli” to +“Georgi,” reasoning that what she liked was good enough for them. The shapeless +cook was ladling out dumplings, which she called “Nudel,” into some soup for a +Munich opera singer, who had just arrived by the stage. Anna confided to her +that this was a “feiner Herr,” and must be served accordingly. The kind Herr +Förster came up to greet his guest. Mrs Dene introduced him as Mr Gethryn, of +New York. At this Mr Blumenthal bounced forward from a corner where he had been +spying and shook hands hilariously. “Vell! and how it goes!” he cried. Rex saw +Ruth’s face as she turned away, and stepping to her side, he whispered, “Friend +of yours?” The teasing tone woke a thousand memories of their boy and girl +days, and Ruth’s young lady reserve had changed to the frank camaraderie of +former times when she shook her head at him, laughing, as he looked back at +them from the stairs, up which he was following Grethi and his portmanteau to +the room prepared for him. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later Mrs Dene and her daughter were looking with approval at Rex +and his hearty enjoyment of the Frau Förster’s fare. The cook, on learning that +this was a “feiner Herr,” had added trout to the regulation dishes; and +although she was convinced that the only proper way to cook them was “blau +gesotten”—meaning boiled to a livid bluish white—she had learned American +tastes from the Denes and sent them in to Gethryn beautifully brown and crisp. +</p> + +<p> +Rex turned one over critically. “Good little fish. Who is the angler?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! angler! They were caught with bait,” said Ruth, wrinkling her nose. +</p> + +<p> +Rex gave her a quick look. “I suppose you have forgotten how to cast a fly.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I think not,” she answered quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs Dene opened her mouth to speak, and then discreetly closed it again in +silence, reflecting that whatever there was to come on that point would get +itself said without any assistance from her. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a look at the water as I came along,” continued Rex. “It seemed good +casting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never see it but I think how nice it would be to whip,” said Ruth. +</p> + +<p> +“No! really? Not outgrown the rod and fly since you grew into ball dresses?” +</p> + +<p> +“Try me and see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my dearest child!—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my dearest mother!—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dearest Mrs Dene!—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! nonsense! listen to me, you children. Ruth danced herself ill at Cannes; +and she lost her color, and she had a little cough, and she has it still, and +she is very easily tired—” +</p> + +<p> +“Only of <i>not</i> fishing and hunting, dearest, most perfect of mothers! You +won’t put up papa to forbid my going with him and Rex!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother is incapable of such an action. How little you know her worth! She +is only waiting to be assured that you are to have my greenheart, with a reel +that spins fifty yards of silk. She shall have it, Mrs Dene.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it as good as the hornbeam?” asked Ruth, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“The old hornbeam! do you remember that? I say, Ruth, you spoke of shooting. +Really, can you still shoot?” +</p> + +<p> +“Could I ever forget after such teaching?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, I call <i>that</i> a girl!” cried Rex, enthusiastically. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us hope some people won’t call it a hoyden!” said Mrs Dene, with the +tender pride that made her faultfinding like a caress. “The idea of a girl +carrying an absurd little breech-loading rifle all over Europe!” +</p> + +<p> +“What! the one I had built for her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” said Mrs Dene, with a shade more of reserve. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Dene, you shall kill the first chamois that I see!” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear, Mr Gethryn, the Duke Alfons Adalbert Maximilian in Baiern will have +something to say about that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—h—h! Preserved?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed, preserved!” +</p> + +<p> +“But they told me I might shoot on the Sonnewendjoch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! But that’s in Tyrol, just across the line. You can see it from here. +Austrian game laws aren’t Bavarian game laws, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“How much of this country does your duke own?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just half a dozen mountains, and half a dozen lakes, and half a hundred trout +streams, with all the splendid forests belonging to them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lucky duke! And is the game preserved in the whole region? Can’t one get a +shot?” +</p> + +<p> +“One cannot even carry a gun without a permit.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex groaned. “And the trout—I suppose they are preserved, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but the Herr Förster has the right to fish and so have his guests. There +are, however, conditions. The fish you take are not yours. You must buy as many +of them as you want to keep, afterward. And they must be brought home alive—or +as nearly alive as is consistent with being shut up in a close, round, green +tin box, full of water which becomes tepid as it is carried along by a peasant +boy in the heat. They usually die of suffocation. But to the German mind that +is all right. It is only not right when one kills them instantly and lays them +in a cool creel, on fresh wet ferns and moss.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless, I think we will dispense with the boy and the green box, in +favor of the ferns and moss, assisted by a five franc piece or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t francs any more; you’re not in France. It’s marks here, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I have the same faith in the corrupting power of marks as of francs, or +lire, or shillings, or dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I think you will find your confidence justified,” said Mrs Dene, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma trying to be cynical!” said Ruth, teasingly. “Isn’t she funny, Rex!” +</p> + +<p> +A thoughtful look stole over her mother’s face. “I can be terrible, too, +sometimes—” she said in her little, clear, high soprano voice; and she gazed +musingly at the edge of a letter, which just appeared above the table, and then +sank out of sight in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +“A letter from papa! It came with the stage! What does he say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He says—several things; for one, he is coming back tomorrow instead of the +next day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Delightful! But there is more?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs Dene’s face became a cheerful blank. “Yes, there is more,” she said. A +pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma,” began Ruth, “do you think Griffins desirable as mothers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very, for bad children!” Mrs Dene relapsed into a pleasant reverie. Ruth +looked at her mother as a kitten does in a game of tag when the old cat has +retired somewhere out of reach and sits up smiling through the barrier. +</p> + +<p> +“You find her sadly changed!” she said to Gethryn, in that silvery, mocking +tone which she had inherited from her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary, I find her the same adorable gossip she always was. Whatever +is in that letter, she is simply dying to tell us all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we try not speaking, and see how long she can stand that?” +</p> + +<p> +Rex laid his repeater on the table. Two pairs of laughing eyes watched the dear +little old lady. At the end of three minutes she raised her own; blue, sweet, +running over with fun and kindness. +</p> + +<p> +“The colonel has a polite invitation from the duke for himself, and his party, +to shoot on the Red Peak.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p> +In July the sun is still an early riser, but long before he was up next day a +succession of raps on the door woke Gethryn, and a voice outside inquired, “Are +you going fishing with me today, you lazy beggar?” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel!” cried Rex, and springing up and throwing open the door, he +threatened to mingle his pajamas with the natty tweeds waiting there in a +loving embrace. The colonel backed away, twisting his white mustache. “How do, +Reggy! Same boy, eh? Yes. I drove from Schicksalsee this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“This morning? Wasn’t it last night?” said Rex, looking at the shadows on the +opposite mountain. +</p> + +<p> +“And I am going to get some trout,” continued the colonel, ignoring the +interruption. “So’s Daisy. See my new waterproof rig?” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful! but—is it quite the thing to wear a flower in one’s fishing coat?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not aware—” began the other stiffly, but broke down, shook his seal ring +at Rex, and walking over to the glass, rearranged the bit of wild hyacinth in +his buttonhole with care. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” he said, “Daisy and I will give you just three quarters of an hour.” +Rex sent a shower from the water basin across the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out for those new waterproof clothes, Colonel.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll take them out of harm’s way,” said the colonel, and disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Before the time had expired Rex stood under the beech tree with his rod case +and his creel. The colonel sat reading a novel. Mrs Dene was pouring out +coffee. Ruth was coming down a path which led from a low shed, the door of +which stood wide open, suffering the early sunshine to fall on something that +lay stretched along the floor. It was a stag, whose noble head and branching +antlers would never toss in the sunshine again. +</p> + +<p> +“Only think!” cried Ruth breathlessly, “Federl shot a stag of ten this morning +at daybreak on the Red Peak, and he’s frightened out of his wits, for only the +duke has a right to do that. Federl mistook it for a stag of eight. And they’re +in the velvet, besides!” she added rather incoherently. “ <i>What</i> luck! +Poor Federl! I asked him if that meant <i>strafen,</i> and he said he guessed +not, only <i>zanken.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s ‘strafen’ and what’s ‘zanken,’ Daisy?” asked the Colonel, pronouncing +the latter like “z” in buzz. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth went up to her father and took his face between her hands, dropping a +light kiss on his eyebrow. +</p> + +<p> +“ <i>Strafen</i> is when one whips bad boys and t—s—<i>zanken</i> is when one +only scolds them. Which shall we do to you, dear? Both?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll take coffee first, and then we’ll see which there’s time for before we +leave you hemming a pocket handkerchief while Rex and I go trout fishing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such parents!” sighed Ruth, nestling down beside her father and looking over +her cup at Rex, who gravely nodded sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +After breakfast, as Ruth stood waiting by the table where the fishing tackle +lay, perfectly composed in manner, but unable to keep the color from her cheek +and the sparkle of impatience from her eye, Gethryn thought he had seldom seen +anything more charming. +</p> + +<p> +A soft gray Tam crowned her pretty hair. A caped coat, fastened to the throat, +hung over the short kilt skirt, and rough gaiters buttoned down over a +wonderful little pair of hobnailed boots. +</p> + +<p> +“I say! Ruth! what a stunner you are!” cried he with enthusiasm. She turned to +the rod case and began lifting and arranging the rods. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex,” she said, looking up brightly, “I feel about sixteen today.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or less, judging from your costume,” said her mother. “Schicksalsee isn’t +Rangely, you know. I only hope the good people in the little ducal court won’t +call you theatrical.” +</p> + +<p> +“A theatrical stunner!” mused Ruth, in her clearest tones. “It is good to know +how one strikes one’s friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“The disciplining of this young person is to be left to me,” said the colonel. +“Daisy, everything else about you is all wrong, but your frock is all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is simple and comprehensive and reassuring,” murmured Ruth absently, as +she bent over the fly-book with Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +After much consultation and many thoughtful glances at the bit of water which +glittered and dashed through the narrow meadow in front of the house, they +arranged the various colored lures and leaders, and standing up, looked at +Colonel Dene, reading his novel. +</p> + +<p> +“What? Oh! Come along, then!” said he, on being made aware that he was waited +for, and standing up also, he dropped the volume into his creel and lighted a +cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to take that trash along, dear?” asked his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +“What trash? The work of fiction? That’s literature, as the gentleman said +about Dante.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rex,” said Mrs Dene, buttoning the colonel’s coat over his snowy collar, “I +put this expedition into your hands. Take care of these two children.” +</p> + +<p> +She stood and watched them until they passed the turn beyond the bridge. Mr +Blumenthal watched them too, from behind the curtains in his room. His leer +went from one to the other, but always returned and rested on Rex. Then, as +there was a mountain chill in the morning air, he crawled back into bed, +hauling his night cap over his generous ears and rolling himself in a cocoon of +featherbeds, until he should emerge about noon, like some sleek, fat moth. +</p> + +<p> +The anglers walked briskly up the wooded road, chatting and laughing, with now +and then a sage and critical glance at the water, of which they caught many +glimpses through the trees. Gethryn and Ruth were soon far ahead. The colonel +sauntered along, switching leaves with his rod and indulging in bursts of +Parisian melody. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa,” called Ruth, looking back, “does your hip trouble you today, or are you +only lazy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trot along, little girl; I’ll be there before you are,” said the colonel +airily, and stopped to replace the wild hyacinth in his coat by a prim little +pink and white daisy. Then he lighted a fresh cigar and started on, but their +voices were already growing faint in the distance. Observing this, he stopped +and looked up and down the road. No one was in sight. He sat down on the bank +with his hand on his hip. His face changed from a frown to an expression of +sharp pain. In five minutes he had grown from a fresh elderly man into an old +man, his face drawn and gray, but he only muttered “the devil!” and sat still. +A big bronze-winged beetle whizzed past him, z—z—ip! “like a bullet,” he +thought, and pressed both hands now on his hip. “Twenty-five years ago—pshaw! +I’m not so old as that!” But it was twenty-five years ago when the blue-capped +troopers, bursting in to the rescue, found the dandy “—-th,” scorched and rent +and blackened, still reeling beneath a rag crowned with a gilt eagle. The +exquisite befeathered and gold laced “—-th.” But the shells have rained for +hours among the “Dandies”—and some are dead, and some are wishing for death, +like that youngster lying there with the shattered hip. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Dene rose up presently and relighted his cigar; then he flicked some +dust from the new tweeds, picked a stem of wild hyacinth, and began to whistle. +“Pshaw! I’m not so old as all that!” he murmured, sauntering along the pleasant +wood-road. Before long he came in sight of Ruth and Gethryn, who were waiting. +But he only waved them on, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa always says that old wound of his does not hurt him, but it does. I know +it does,” said Ruth. +</p> + +<p> +Rex noted what tones of tenderness there were in her cool, clear voice. He did +not answer, for he could only agree with her, and what could be the use of +that? +</p> + +<p> +They strolled on in silence, up the fragrant forest road. Great glittering +dragonflies drifted along the river bank, or hung quivering above pools. Clouds +of lazy sulphur butterflies swarmed and floated, eddying up from the road in +front of them and settling down again in their wake like golden dust. A fox +stole across the path, but Gethryn did not see him. The mesh of his landing net +was caught just then in a little gold clasp that he wore on his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“How quaint!” cried Ruth; “let me help you; there! One would think you were a +French legitimist, with your fleur-de-lis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you”—was all he answered, and turned away, as he felt the blood burn his +face. But Ruth was walking lightly on and had not noticed. The fleur-de-lis, +however, reminded her of something she had to say, and she began again, +presently— +</p> + +<p> +“You left Paris rather suddenly, did you not, Rex?” +</p> + +<p> +This time he colored furiously, and Ruth, turning to him, saw it. She flushed +too, fearing to have made she knew not what blunder, but she went on seriously, +not pausing for his answer: +</p> + +<p> +“The year before, that is three years ago now, we waited in Italy, as we had +promised to do, for you to join us. But you never even wrote to say why you did +not come. And you haven’t explained it yet, Rex.” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn grew pale. This was what he had been expecting. He knew it would have +to come; in fact he had wished for nothing more than an opportunity for making +all the amends that were possible under the circumstances. But the possible +amends were very, very inadequate at best, and now that the opportunity was +here, his courage failed, and he would have shirked it if he could. Besides, +for the last five minutes, Ruth had been innocently stirring memories that made +his heart beat heavily. +</p> + +<p> +And now she was waiting for her answer. He glanced at the clear profile as she +walked beside him. Her eyes were raised a little; they seemed to be idly +following the windings of a path that went up the opposite mountainside; her +lips rested one upon the other in quiet curves. He thought he had never seen +such a pure, proud looking girl. All the chivalry of a generous and imaginative +man brought him to her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot explain. But I ask your forgiveness. Will you grant it? I won’t +forgive myself!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned instantly and gave him her hand, not smiling, but her eyes were very +gentle. They walked on a while in silence, then Rex said: +</p> + +<p> +“Ever since I came, I have been trying to find courage to ask pardon for that +unpardonable conduct, but when I looked in your dear mother’s face, I felt +myself such a brute that I was only fit to hold my tongue. And I believed,” he +added, after a pause, “that she would forgive me too. She was always better to +me than I deserved.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Ruth. +</p> + +<p> +“And you also are too good to me,” he continued, “in giving me this chance to +ask your pardon.” His voice took on the old caressing tone in which he used to +make peace after their boy and girl tiffs. “I knew very well that with you I +should have a stricter account to settle than with your mother,” he said, +smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Ruth again. And then with a little effort and a slight flush she +added: +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think it is good for men when too many excuses are made for them. Do +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I do not,” answered Rex, and thought, if all women were like this one, how +much easier it would be for men to lead a good life! His heart stopped its +heavy beating. The memories which he had been fighting for two years faded away +once more; his spirits rose, and he felt like a boy as he kept step with Ruth +along the path which had now turned and ran close beside the stream. +</p> + +<p> +“Now tell me something of your travels,” said Ruth. “You have been in the +East.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, in Japan. But first I stopped a while in India with some British +officers, nice fellows. There was some pheasant shooting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pheasants! No tigers?” +</p> + +<p> +“One tiger.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shot him! Oh! tell me about it!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I only saw him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“In a jungle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you fire?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, for he was already dead, and the odor which pervaded his resting place +made me hurry away as fast as if he had been alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a provoking boy!” +</p> + +<p> +Rex laughed. “I did shoot a cheetah in China.” +</p> + +<p> +“A dead one?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he was snarling over a dead buck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you do deserve some respect.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you like. But it was very easy. One bullet settled him. I was fined +afterward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fined! for what?” +</p> + +<p> +“For shooting the Emperor’s trained cheetah. After that I always looked to see +if the game wore a silver collar before I fired.” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth would not look as if she heard. +</p> + +<p> +Rex went on teasingly: “I assure you it was embarrassing, when the pheasants +were bursting cover, to be under the necessity of inquiring at the nearest +house if those were really pheasants or only Chinese hens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rex,” exclaimed Ruth, indignantly, “I hope you don’t think I believe a word +you are saying.” +</p> + +<p> +They had stopped to rest beside the stream, and now the colonel sauntered into +view, his hands full of wild flowers, his single eyeglass gleaming beside his +delicate straight nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” he asked, strolling up to Ruth and tucking a cluster of +bluebells under her chin, “do you know what old Hugh Montgomery would say if he +were here?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’d say,” she replied promptly, “that ‘we couldn’t take no traout with the +pesky sun a shinin’ and a brilin’ the hull crick.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Rex. “Rise at four, east wind, cloudy morning, that was Hugh. But +he could cast a fly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t he!” said the colonel. “‘I cal’late ter chuck a bug ez fur ez enny o’ +them city fellers, ’n I kin,’ says Hugh. Going to begin here, Rex?” +</p> + +<p> +“What does Ruth think?” +</p> + +<p> +“She thinks she isn’t in command of this party,” Ruth replied. +</p> + +<p> +“It will take us until late in the afternoon to whip the stream from here to +the lowest bridge.” Rex smiled down at her and pushed back his cap with a +boyish gesture. +</p> + +<p> +She had forgotten it until that moment. Now it brought a perfect flood of +pleasant associations. She had seen him look that way a hundred times when, in +their teens, they two had lingered by the Northern Lakes. Her whole face +changed and softened, but she turned away, nodding assent, and went and stood +by her father, looking down at him with the bantering air which was a family +trait. The lively colonel had found a sunny log on the bank, where he was +sitting, leisurely joining his rod. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he cried, glancing up, “what are you two amateurs about? As usual, I’m +ready to begin before Rex is awake!” and stepping to the edge he landed his +flies with a flourish in a young birch tree. Rex came and disengaged them, and +he received the assistance with perfect self-possession. +</p> + +<p> +“Now see the new waterproof rig wade!” said Ruth, saucily. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and wade yourself and don’t bully your old father!” cried the colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“Old! this child old!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! come along, Ruth!” called Rex, waiting on the shore and falling +unconsciously into the tone of sixteen speaking to twelve. +</p> + +<p> +For answer she slipped the cover from her slender rod and dexterously fitted +the delicate tip to the second joint. +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t forgotten how to put a rod together! Wonderful girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I knew you were waiting to see me place the second joint in the butt +first!” She deftly ran the silk through the guides, and then scientifically +knotting the leader, slipped on a cast of three flies and picked her way +daintily to the river bank. As she waded in the sudden cold made her gasp a +little to herself, but she kept straight on without turning her head, and +presently stepped on a broad, flat rock over which the water was slipping +smoothly. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn waited near the bank and watched her as she sent the silk hissing +thirty feet across the stream. The line swished and whistled, and the whole +cast, hand fly, dropper and stretcher settled down lightly on the water. He +noticed the easy motion of the wrist, the boyish pose of the slender figure, +the serious sweet face, half shaded by the soft woolen Tam. +</p> + +<p> +Swish—h—h! Swish—h—h! She slowly spun out forty feet, glancing back at Gethryn +with a little laugh. Suddenly there was a tremendous splash, just beyond the +dropper, answered by a turn of the white wrist, and then the reel fairly +shrieked as the line melted away like a thread of smoke. Gethryn’s eyes +glittered with excitement, and the colonel took his cigar out of his mouth. But +they didn’t shout, “You have him! Go easy on him! Want any help!” They kept +quiet. +</p> + +<p> +Cautiously, and by degrees, Ruth laced her little gloved fingers over the +flying line, and presently a quiver of the rod showed that the fish was +checked. She reeled in, slowly and steadily for a moment, and then, whiz—z—z! +off he dashed again. At seventy feet the rod trembled and the trout was still. +Again and again she urged him toward the shore, meeting his furious dashes with +perfect coolness and leading him dexterously away from rocks and roots. When he +sulked she gave him the butt, and soon the full pressure sent him flying, only +to end in a furious full length leap out of water, and another sulk. +</p> + +<p> +The colonel’s cigar went out. +</p> + +<p> +At last she spoke, very quietly, without looking back. +</p> + +<p> +“Rex, there is no good place to beach him here; will you net him, please?” Rex +was only waiting for this; he had his landing net already unslung and he waded +to her side. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” she whispered. The fiery side of a fish glittered just beneath the +surface. With a skillful dip, a splash, and a spatter the trout lay quivering +on the bank. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn quickly ended his life and held him up to view. +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful!” cried the colonel. “Good girl, Daisy! but don’t spoil your frock!” +And picking up his own rod he relighted his cigar and essayed some +conscientious casting on his own account. But he soon wearied of the paths of +virtue and presently went in search of a grasshopper, with evil intent. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Ruth was blushing to the tips of her ears at Gethryn’s praises. +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw a prettier sight!” he cried. “You’re—you’re splendid, Ruth! Nerve, +judgment, skill—my dear girl, you have everything!” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth’s eyes shone like stars as she watched him in her turn while he sent his +own flies spinning across a pool. And now there was nothing to be heard but the +sharp whistle of the silk and the rush of the water. It seemed a long time that +they had stood there, when suddenly the colonel created a commotion by hooking +and hauling forth a trout of meagre proportions. Unheeding Rex’s brutal +remarks, he silently inspected his prize dangling at the end of the line. It +fell back into the water and darted away gayly upstream, but the colonel was +not in the least disconcerted and strolled off after another grasshopper. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa! are you a bait fisherman!” cried his daughter severely. +</p> + +<p> +The colonel dropped his hat guiltily over a lively young cricket, and standing +up said “No!” very loud. +</p> + +<p> +It was no use—Ruth had to laugh, and shortly afterward he was seated +comfortably on the log again, his line floating with the stream, in his hands a +volume with yellow paper covers, the worse for wear, bearing on its back the +legend “Calman Levy, Editeur.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex soon struck a good trout and Ruth another, but the first one remained the +largest, and finally Gethryn called to the colonel, “If you don’t mind, we’re +going on.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right! take care of Daisy. We will meet and lunch at the first bridge.” +Then, examining his line and finding the cricket still there, he turned up his +coat collar to keep off sunburn, opened his book, and knocked the ashes from +his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” said Gethryn two hours later, “is the bridge, but no colonel. Are you +tired, Ruth? And hungry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, both, but happier than either!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that was a big trout, the largest we shall take today, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +They reeled in their dripping lines, and sat down under a tree beside the lunch +basket, which a boy from the lodge was guarding. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish papa would come,” said Ruth, with an anxious look up the road. “He +ought to be hungry too, by this time.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex poured her a cup of red Tyroler wine and handed her a sandwich. Then, +calling the boy, he gave him such a generous “Viertel” for himself as caused +him to retire precipitately and consume it with grins, modified by boiled +sausage. Ruth looked after him and smiled in sympathy. “I wonder how papa got +rid of the other one with the green tin water-box.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know; I was present at the interview,” laughed Rex. “Your father handed him +a ten mark piece and said, ‘Go away, you superfluous Bavarian!’” +</p> + +<p> +“In English?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and he must have understood, for he grinned and went.” +</p> + +<p> +It was good to hear the ring of Ruth’s laugh. She was so happy that she found +the smallest joke delightful, and her voice was very sweet. Rex lighted a +cigarette and leaned back against a tree, in great comfort. Ruth, perched on a +log, watched the smoke drift and curl. Gethryn watched her. They each cared as +much for the hours they had spent in the brook, and for their wet clothing, as +vigorous, happy, and imprudent youth ever cares about such things. +</p> + +<p> +“So you are happy, Ruth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly. And you?—But it takes more to make a spoiled young man happy than—” +</p> + +<p> +“Than a spoiled young woman? I don’t know about that. Yes, I—am—happy.” Was the +long puff of smoke ascending slowly responsible for the pauses between his +words? A slight shadow was in his eyes for one moment. It passed, and he turned +on her his most charming smile, as he repeated, “Perfectly happy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Still no colonel!” he went on; “when he comes he will be tired. We don’t want +any more trout, do we? We have eighteen, all good ones. Suppose we rest and go +back all together by the road?” Ruth nodded, smiling to see him fondle the +creel full of shining fish, bedded on fragrant leaves. +</p> + +<p> +Rex’s cap lay beside him, his head leaned back against the tree, his face was +turned up to the bending branches. Presently he closed his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +It might have been one minute, or ten. Ruth sat and watched him. He had grown +very handsome. He had that pleasant air of good breeding which some men retain +under any and all circumstances. It has nothing to do with character, and yet +it is difficult to think ill of a man who possesses it. When she had seen him +last, his nose was too near a snub to inspire much respect, and his mustache +was still in the state of colorless scarcity. Now his hair and mustache were +thick and tawny, and his features were clear and firm. She noticed the pleasant +line of the cheek, the clean curve of the chin, the light on the crisp edges of +his close-cut hair—the two freckles on his nose, and she decided that that +short, straight nose, with its generous and humorous nostrils, was wholly +fascinating. As girls always will, she began to wonder about his life—idly at +first, but these speculations lead one sometimes farther than one was prepared +to go at the start. How much of his delightful manner to them all was due to +affection, and how much to kindliness and good spirits? How much did he care +for those other friends, for that other life in Paris? Who were the friends? +What was the life? She looked at him, it seemed to her, a long time. Had he +ever loved a woman? Was he still in love, perhaps, with someone? Ruth was no +child. But she was a lady, and a proud one. There were things she did not +choose to think about, although she knew of their existence well enough. She +brought herself up at this point with a sharp pull, and just then Gethryn, +opening his eyes, smiled at her. +</p> + +<p> +She turned quickly away; to her perfect consternation her cheeks grew hot. +Bewildered by her own confusion, she rose as she turned, and saying how lovely +the water looked, went and stood on the bridge, leaning over. Rex was on his +feet in an instant, so covered with confusion too, that he never saw hers. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Ruth, I haven’t been such a brute as to fall asleep! Indeed I haven’t! +I was thinking of Braith.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if you had fallen asleep you wouldn’t be a brute, you tired boy! And who +is Braith?” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth turned smiling to meet him, restored to herself and thankful for the +diversion. +</p> + +<p> +“Braith,” said Rex earnestly. “Braith is the best man in this wicked world, and +my dearest friend. To whom,” he added, “I have not written one word since I +left him two ears ago.” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth’s face fell. “Is that the way you treat your dearest friends?”—and she +thought: “No wonder one is neglected when one is only an old playmate!”—but she +was instantly ashamed of the little bitterness, and put it aside. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you don’t know of what we are capable,” said Gethryn; and once more a +shadow fell on his face. +</p> + +<p> +A familiar form came jauntily down the road. Ruth hastened to meet it. “At +last, Father! You want your luncheon, poor dear!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do indeed, Daisy!” +</p> + +<p> +The colonel came as gallantly up as if he had thirty pounds of trout to show +instead of a creel that contained nothing but a novel by the newest and +wickedest master of French fiction. He made a mild attempt to perjure himself +about a large fish that had somehow got away from him, but desisted and merely +added that a caning would be good for Rex. +</p> + +<p> +Tired he certainly was, and when he was seated on the log and Ruth was bringing +him his wine, he looked sharply at her and said, “You too, Daisy; you’ve done +enough for the first day. We’ll go home by the road.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is what I was just proposing to her,” said Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you are both right,” said Ruth. “I am tired.” +</p> + +<p> +“And happy?” laughed Rex. But perhaps Ruth did not hear, for she spoke at the +same time to her father. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, you haven’t told Rex yet how you got the invitation to shoot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes! It was at an officers’ dinner in Munich. The duke was there and I was +introduced to him. He spoke of it as soon as they told him we were stopping +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a brick,” said Rex, rising. “Shall we start for home, Colonel? Ruth must +be tired.” +</p> + +<p> +When they turned in at the Forester’s door, the colonel ordered Daisy to her +room, where Mrs Dene and their maid were waiting to make her luxuriously +comfortable with dry things, and rugs, and couches, and cups of tea that were +certainly not drawn from the Frau Förster’s stores. Tea in Germany being more +awful than tobacco, or tobacco more awful than tea, according as one cares most +for tea or tobacco. +</p> + +<p> +The colonel and Rex sat after supper under the big beech tree. Ruth, from her +window, could see their cigars alight, and, now and then, hear their voices. +</p> + +<p> +Rex was telling the colonel about Braith, of whom he had not ceased thinking +since the afternoon. He went to his room early and wrote a long letter to him. +</p> + +<p> +It began: “You did not expect to hear from me until I was cured. Well, you are +hearing from me now, are you not?” +</p> + +<p> +And it ended: “Only a few more weeks, and then I shall return to you and Paris, +and the dear old life. This is the middle of July. In September I shall come +back.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p> +After the colonel’s return, Mr Blumenthal found many difficulties in the way of +that social ease which was his ideal. The ladies were never to be met with +unaccompanied by the colonel or Gethryn; usually both were in attendance. If he +spoke to Mrs Dene, or Ruth, it was always the colonel who answered, and there +was a gleam in that trim warrior’s single eyeglass which did not harmonize with +the grave politeness of his voice and manner. +</p> + +<p> +Rex had never taken Mr Blumenthal so seriously. He called him “Our Bowery +brother,” and “the Gentleman from West Brighton,” and he passed some delightful +moments in observing his gruesome familiarity with the maids, his patronage of +the grave Jaegers, and his fraternal attitude toward the head of the house. It +was great to see him hook a heavy arm in an arm of the tall, military Herr +Förster, and to see the latter drop it. +</p> + +<p> +But there came an end to Rex’s patience. +</p> + +<p> +One morning, when they were sitting over their coffee out of doors, Mr +Blumenthal walked into their midst. He wore an old flannel shirt, and trousers +too tight for him, inadequately held up by a strap. He displayed a tin bait box +and a red and green float, and said he had come to inquire of Rex “vere to dig +a leetle vorms,” and also to borrow of him “dot feeshpole mitn seelbern +ringes.” +</p> + +<p> +The request, and the grossness of his appearance before the ladies, were too +much for a gentleman and an angler. +</p> + +<p> +Rex felt his gorge rise, and standing up brusquely, he walked away. Ruth +thoughtlessly slipped after him and murmured over his shoulder: +</p> + +<p> +“Friend of yours?” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn’s fists unclenched and came out of his pockets and he and Ruth went +away together, laughing under the trees. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Blumenthal stood where Rex had left him, holding out the bait-box and gazing +after them. Then he turned and looked at the colonel and his wife. Perspiration +glistened on his pasty, pale face and the rolls of fat that crowded over his +flannel collar. His little, dead, white-rimmed, pale gray eyes had the ferocity +of a hog’s which has found something to rend and devour. He looked into their +shocked faces and made a bow. +</p> + +<p> +“Goot ma—a—rnin, Mister and Missess Dene!” he said, and turned his back. +</p> + +<p> +The elderly couple exchanged glances as he disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“We won’t mention this to the children,” said the gentle old lady. +</p> + +<p> +That was the last they saw of him. Nobody knew where he kept himself in the +interval, but about a week later he came running down with a valise in his hand +and jumped into a carriage from the “Green Bear” at Schicksalsee, which had +just brought some people out and was returning empty. He forgot to give the +usual “Trinkgeld” to the servants, and a lively search in his room discovered +nothing but a broken collar button and a crumpled telegram in French. But +Grethi had her compensation that evening, when she led the conversation in the +kitchen and Mr Blumenthal was discussed in several South German dialects. +</p> + +<p> +By this time August was well advanced, but there had been as yet no +“Jagd-partie,” as Sepp called the hunting excursion planned with such +enthusiasm weeks before. After that first day in the trout stream, Ruth not +only suffered more from fatigue than she had expected, but the little cough +came back, causing her parents to draw the lines of discipline very tight +indeed. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth, whose character seemed made of equal parts of good taste and +reasonableness, sweet temper and humor, did not offer the least opposition to +discipline, and when her mother remarked that, after all, there was a +difference between a schoolgirl and a young lady, she did not deny it. The +colonel and Rex went off once or twice with the Jaegers, but in a halfhearted +way, bringing back more experience than game. Then Rex went on a sketching +tour. Then the colonel was suddenly called again to Munich to meet some old +army men just arrived from home, and so it was not until about a week after Mr +Blumenthal’s departure that, one evening when the Sennerins were calling the +cows on the upper Alm, a party of climbers came up the side of the Red Peak and +stopped at “Nani’s Hütterl.” +</p> + +<p> +Sepp threw down the green sack from his shoulders to the bench before the door +and shouted: +</p> + +<p> +“Nani! du! Nani!” No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Mari und Josef!” he muttered; then raising his voice, again he called for Nani +with all his lungs. +</p> + +<p> +A muffled answer came from somewhere around the other side of the house. “Ja! +komm glei!” And then there was nothing to do but sit on the bench and watch the +sunset fade from peak to peak while they waited. +</p> + +<p> +Nani did not come “glei”—but she came pretty soon, bringing with her two +brimming milk-pails as an excuse for the delay. +</p> + +<p> +She and Sepp engaged at once in a conversation, to which the colonel listened +with feelings that finally had to seek expression. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” he said in a low voice, “that German is the language of the +devil.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy he’s master of more than one. And besides, this isn’t German, any more +than our mountain dialects are English. And really,” Ruth went on, “if it comes +to comparing dialects, it seems to me ours can’t stand the test. These are +harsh enough. But where in the world is human speech so ugly, so +poverty-stricken, so barren of meaning and feeling, and shade and color and +suggestiveness, as the awful talk of our rustics? A Bavarian, a Tyroler, often +speaks a whole poem in a single word, like—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think one of those poems is being spoken about our supper now, Daisy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sybarite!” cried Ruth, with that tinkle of fun in her voice which was always +sounding between her and her parents; “I won’t tell you.” The truth was she did +not dare to tell her hungry companions that, so far as she had been able to +understand Sepp and Nani, their conversation had turned entirely on a platform +dance—which they called a “Schuh-plattl”—and which they proposed to attend +together on the following Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +But Sepp, having had his gossip like a true South German hunter-man, finally +did ask the important question: +</p> + +<p> +“Ach! supper! du lieber Himmel!” There was little enough of that for the +Herrschaften. There was black bread and milk, and there were some Semmel, but +those were very old and hard. +</p> + +<p> +“No cheese?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nein!” +</p> + +<p> +“No butter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nein!” +</p> + +<p> +“Coffee?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but no sugar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Herr Je!” +</p> + +<p> +When Sepp delivered this news to his party they all laughed and said black +bread and milk would do. So Nani invited them into her only room—the rest of +the “Hütterl” was kitchen and cow-shed—and brought the feast. +</p> + +<p> +A second Sennerin came with her this time, in a costume which might have +startled them, if they had not already seen others like it. It consisted of a +pair of high blue cotton trousers drawn over her skirts, the latter bulging all +round inside the jeans. She had no teeth and there was a large goiter on her +neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens!” muttered the colonel, setting down his bowl of milk and +twisting around to stare out of the window behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor thing! she can’t help it!” murmured Ruth. +</p> + +<p> +“No more she can, you dear, good girl!” said Rex, and his eyes shone very +kindly. Ruth caught her breath at the sudden beating of her heart. +</p> + +<p> +What was left of daylight came through the little window and fell upon her +face; it was as white as a flower, and very quiet. +</p> + +<p> +Dusk was setting in when Sepp made his appearance. He stood about in some +hesitation, and finally addressed himself to Ruth as the one who could best +understand his dialect. She listened and then turned to her father. +</p> + +<p> +“Sepp doesn’t exactly know where to lodge me. He had thought I could stay here +with Nani—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if I can help it!” cried the colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“While,” Ruth went on—“while you and Rex went up to the Jaeger’s hut above +there on the rocks. He says it’s very rough at the Jagd-hütte.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is anyone else there? What does Sepp mean by telling us now for the first +time? ” demanded the colonel sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“He says he was afraid I wouldn’t come if I knew how rough it was—and that—” +added Ruth, laughing—“he says would have been such a pity! Besides, he thought +Nani was alone—and I could have had her room while she slept on the hay in the +loft. I’m sure this is as neat as a mountain shelter could be,” said +Ruth—looking about her at the high piled feather beds, covered in clean blue +and white check, and the spotless floor and the snow white pine table. “I’d +like to stay here, only the—the other lady has just arrived too!” +</p> + +<p> +“The lady in the blue overalls?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—and—” Ruth stopped, unwilling to say how little relish she felt for the +society of the second Sennerin. But Rex and her father were on their feet and +speaking together. +</p> + +<p> +“We will go and see about the Jagd-hütte. You don’t mind being left for five +minutes?” +</p> + +<p> +“The idea! go along, you silly boys!” +</p> + +<p> +The colonel came back very soon, and in the best of spirits. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right, Daisy! It’s a dream of luxury!” and carried her off, hardly +giving her time to thank Nani and to say a winningly kind word to the hideous +one, who gazed back at her, pitchfork in hand, without reply. No one will ever +know whether or not she felt any more cheered by Ruth’s pleasant ways than the +cows did who were putting their heads out from the stalls where she was +working. +</p> + +<p> +The dream of luxury was a low hut of two rooms. The outer one had a pile of +fresh hay in one corner and a few blankets. Some of the dogs were already +curled up there. The inner room contained two large bunks with hay and rugs and +blankets; a bench ran where the bunks were not, around the sides; a shelf was +above the bunks; there was a cupboard and a chest and a table. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, this <i>is</i> luxury!” cried Ruth. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—I think so, too. I’m immensely relieved. Sepp says artists bring their +wives up here to stay over for the sunrise. You’ll do? Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! then Rex and I and Sepp and the Dachl”—he always would say +“Dockles”—“will keep guard outside against any wild cows that may happen to +break loose from Nani. Good night, little girl! Sure you’re not too tired?” +</p> + +<p> +Rex stood hesitating in the open door. Ruth went and gave him her hand. He +kissed it, and she, meaning to please him with the language she knew he liked +best, said, smiling, “Bonne nuit, mon ami!” At the same moment her father +passed her, and the two men closed the door and went away together. The last +glimmer of dusk was in the room. Ruth had not seen Gethryn’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Bonne nuit, mon ami!” Those tender, half forgotten—no! never, never forgotten +words! Rex threw himself on the hay and lay still, his hands clenched over his +breast. +</p> + +<p> +The kindly colonel was sound asleep when Sepp came in with a tired but wagging +hound, from heaven knows what scramble among the higher cliffs by starlight. +The night air was chilly. Rex called the dog to his side and took him in his +arms. “We will keep each other warm,” he said, thinking of the pups. And +Zimbach, assenting with sentimental whines, was soon asleep. But Gethryn had +not closed his eyes when the Jaeger sprang up as the day broke. A faint gray +light came in at the little window. All the dogs were leaping about the room. +Sepp gave himself a shake, and his toilet was made. +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel,” said Rex, standing over a bundle of rugs and hay in which no head +was visible, “Colonel! Sepp says we must hurry if we want to see a ‘gams.’” +</p> + +<p> +The colonel turned over. What he said was: “Damn the Gomps!” But he thought +better of that and stood up, looking cynical. +</p> + +<p> +“Come and have a dip in the spring,” laughed Rex. +</p> + +<p> +When they took their dripping heads out of the wooden trough into which a +mountain spring was pouring and running out again, leaving it always full, and +gazed at life—between rubs of the hard crash towel—it had assumed a kinder +aspect. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later, when they all were starting for the top, Ruth let the +others pass her, and pausing for a moment with her hand on the lintel, she +looked back into the little smoke-blackened hut. The door of the inner room was +open. She had dreamed the sweetest dream of her life there. +</p> + +<p> +Before the others could miss her she was beside them, and soon was springing +along in advance, swinging her alpenstock. It seemed as if she had the wings as +well as the voice of a bird. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Der Jaeger zieht in grünem Wald<br/> +Mit frölichem Halloh! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +she sang. +</p> + +<p> +Sepp laughed from the tip of his feather to the tip of his beard. +</p> + +<p> +“Wie’s gnädige Fraulein hat G’müth!” he said to Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” asked the colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“He says,” translated Rex freely, “What a lot of every delightful quality Ruth +possesses!” +</p> + +<p> +But Ruth heard, and turned about and was very severe with him. “Such shirking! +Translate me <i>Gemüth</i> at once, sir, if you please!” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Wiseboy at Yarvard confessed he couldn’t, short of a treatise, and who am +I to tackle what beats Wiseboy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you, Daisy?” asked her father. +</p> + +<p> +“Not in the least, but that’s no reason for letting Rex off.” Her voice took on +a little of the pretty bantering tone she used to her parents. She was +beginning to feel such a happy confidence in Rex’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +They were in the forest now, moving lightly over the wet, springy leaves, +probing cautiously for dangerous, loose boulders and treacherous slides. When +they emerged, it was upon a narrow plateau; the rugged limestone rocks rose on +one side, the precipice plunged down on the other. Against the rocks lay +patches of snow, grimy with dirt and pebbles; from a cleft the long greenish +white threads of “Peter’s beard” waved at them; in a hollow bloomed a thicket +of pink Alpen-rosen. +</p> + +<p> +They had just reached a clump of low firs, around the corner of a huge rock, +when a rush of loose stones and a dull sound of galloping made them stop. Sepp +dropped on his face; the others followed his example. The hound whined and +pulled at the leash. +</p> + +<p> +On the opposite slope some twenty Hirsch-cows, with their fawns, were galloping +down into the valley, carrying with them a torrent of earth and gravel. +Presently they slackened and stopped, huddling all together into a thicket. The +Jaeger lifted his head and whispered “Stück”; that being the complimentary name +by which one designates female deer in German. +</p> + +<p> +“All?” said Rex, under his breath. At the same moment Ruth touched his +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +On the crest of the second ridge, only a hundred yards distant, stood a stag, +towering in black outline, the sun just coming up behind him. Then two other +pairs of antlers rose from behind the ridge, two more stags lifted their heads +and shoulders and all three stood silhouetted against the sky. They tossed and +stamped and stared straight at the spot where their enemies lay hidden. +</p> + +<p> +A moment, and the old stag disappeared; the others followed him. +</p> + +<p> +“If they come again, shoot,” said Sepp. +</p> + +<p> +Rex passed his rifle to Ruth. They waited a few minutes; then the colonel +jumped up. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought we were after chamois!” he grumbled. +</p> + +<p> +“So we are,” said Rex, getting on his feet. +</p> + +<p> +A shot rang out, followed by another. They turned, sharply. Ruth, looking half +frightened, was lowering the smoking rifle from her shoulder. Across the ravine +a large stag was swaying on the edge; then he fell and rolled to the bottom. +The hound, loosed, was off like an arrow, scrambling and tumbling down the +side. The four hunters followed, somehow. Sepp got down first and sent back a +wild Jodel. The stag lay there, dead, and his splendid antlers bore eight +prongs. +</p> + +<p> +When Ruth came up she had her hand on her father’s arm. She stood and leaned on +him, looking down at the stag. Pity mingled with a wild intoxicating sense of +achievement confused her. A rich color flushed her cheek, but the curve of her +lips was almost grave. +</p> + +<p> +Sepp solemnly drew forth his flask of Schnapps and, taking off his hat to her, +drank “Waidmann’s Heil!”—a toast only drunk by hunters to hunters. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn shook hands with her twenty times and praised her until she could bear +no more. +</p> + +<p> +She took her hand from her father’s arm and drew herself up, determined to +preserve her composure. The wind blew the little bright rings of hair across +her crimson cheek and wrapped her kilts about her slender figure as she stood, +her rifle poised across her shoulder, one hand on the stock and one clasped +below the muzzle. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you laughing at me, Rex?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know I am not!” +</p> + +<p> +Never had she been so happy in her whole life. +</p> + +<p> +The game drawn and hung, to be fetched later, they resumed their climb and +hastened upward toward the peak. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth led. She hardly felt the ground beneath her, but sprang from rock to moss +and from boulder to boulder, till a gasp from Gethryn made her stop and turn +about. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens, Ruth! what a climber you are!” +</p> + +<p> +And now the colonel sat down on the nearest stone and flatly refused to stir. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! is it the hip, Father?” cried Ruth, hurrying back and kneeling beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“No, of course it isn’t! It’s indignation!” said her father, calmly regarding +her anxious face. “If you can’t go up mountains like a human girl, you’re not +going up any more mountains with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I’ll go like a human snail if you want, dear! I’ve been too selfish! It’s +a shame to tire you so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, it is a perfect shame!” cried the colonel. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth had to laugh. “As I remarked to Rex, early this morning,” her father +continued, adjusting his eyeglass, “hang the Gomps!” Rex discreetly offered no +comment. “Moreover,” the colonel went on, bringing all the severity his +eyeglass permitted to bear on them both, “I decline to go walking any longer +with a pair of lunatics. I shall confide you both to Sepp and will wait for you +at the upper Shelter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s only indignation; it isn’t the hip, Father?” said Ruth, still hanging +about him, but trying to laugh, since he would have her laugh. +</p> + +<p> +He saw her trouble, and changing his tone said seriously, “My little girl, I’m +only tired of this scramble, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +She had to be contented with this, and they separated, her father taking a path +which led to the right, up a steep but well cleared ascent to a plateau, from +which they could see the gable of a roof rising, and beyond that the tip-top +rock with its white cross marking the highest point. The others passed to the +left, around and among huge rocks, where all the hollows were full of grimy +snow. The ground was destitute of trees and all shrubs taller than the hardy +Alpen-rosen. Masses of rock lay piled about the limestone crags that formed the +summit. The sun had not yet tipped their peak with purple and orange, but some +of the others were lighting up. No insects darted about them; there was not a +living thing among the near rocks except the bluish black salamanders, which +lay here and there, cold and motionless. +</p> + +<p> +They walked on in silence; the trail grew muddy, the ground was beaten and +hatched up with small, sharp hoof prints. Sepp kneeled down and examined them. +</p> + +<p> +“Hirsch, Reh, and fawn, and ja! ja! Sehen Sie? Gams!” +</p> + +<p> +After this they went on cautiously. All at once a peculiar shrill hiss, half +whistle, half cry, sounded very near. +</p> + +<p> +A chamois, followed by two kids, flashed across a heap of rocks above their +heads and disappeared. The Jaeger muttered something, deep in his beard. +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t have shot her?” said Ruth, timidly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, but she will clear this place of chamois. It’s useless to stay here now.” +</p> + +<p> +It was an hour’s hard pull to the next peak. When at last they lay sheltered +under a ledge, grimy snow all about them, the Jaeger handed his glass to Ruth. +</p> + +<p> +“Hirsch on the Kaiser Alm, three Reh by Nani’s Hütterl, and one in the ravine,” +he said, looking at Gethryn, who was searching eagerly with his own glass. Ruth +balanced the one she held against her alpenstock. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I see them all—and—why, there’s a chamois!” +</p> + +<p> +Sepp seized the glass which she held toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“The gracious Fraülein has a hunter’s eyesight; a chamois is feeding just above +the Hirsch.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are right for the wind, but is this the best place?” said Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“We must make the best of it,” said Sepp. +</p> + +<p> +The speck of yellow was almost imperceptibly approaching their knoll, but so +slowly that Ruth almost doubted if it moved at all. +</p> + +<p> +Sepp had the glass, and declining the one Rex offered her, she turned for a +moment to the superb panorama at their feet. East, west, north and south the +mountain world extended. By this time the snow mountains of Tyrol were all +lighted to gold and purple, rose and faintest violet. Sunshine lay warm now on +all the near peaks. But great billowy oceans of mist rolled below along the +courses of the Alp-fed streams, and, deep under a pall of heavy, pale gray +cloud, the Trauerbach was rushing through its hidden valley down to +Schicksalsee and Todtstein. There was perfect silence, only now and then made +audible by the tinkle of a distant cowbell and the Jodel of a Sennerin. Ruth +turned again toward the chamois. She could see it now without a glass. But Sepp +placed his in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +The chamois was feeding on the edge of a cliff, moving here and there, leaping +lightly across some gully, tossing its head up for a precautionary sniff. +Suddenly it gave a bound and stood still, alert. Two great clumsy “Hirsch-kühe” +had taken fright at some imaginary danger, and, uttering their peculiar half +grunt, half roar, were galloping across the alm in half real, half assumed +panic with their calves at their heels. +</p> + +<p> +The elderly female Hirsch is like a timorous granny who loves to scare herself +with ghost stories, and adores the sensation of jumping into bed before the +robber under it can catch her by the ankle. +</p> + +<p> +It was such an alarm as this which now sent the two fussy old deer, with their +awkward long legged calves, clattering away with terror-stricken roars which +startled the delicate chamois, and for one moment petrified him. The next, with +a bound, he fairly flew along the crest, seeming to sail across the ravine like +a hawk, and to cover distances in the flash of an eye. Sepp uttered a sudden +exclamation and forgot everything but what he saw. He threw his rifle forward, +there was a sharp click!—the cartridge had not exploded. Next moment he +remembered himself and turned ashamed and deprecating to Gethryn. The latter +laid his hand on the Jaeger’s arm and pointed. The chamois’ sharp ear had +caught the click!—he swerved aside and bounded to a point of rock to look for +this new danger. Rex tried to put his rifle in Ruth’s hands. She pressed it +back, resolutely. “It is your turn,” she motioned with her lips, and drew away +out of his reach. That was no time for argument. The Jaeger nodded, “Quick!” A +shot echoed among the rocks and the chamois disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he hit? Oh, Rex! did you hit him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ei! Zimbach!” Sepp slipped the leash, the hound sprang away, and in a moment +his bell-like voice announced Rex’s good fortune. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth flew like the wind, not heeding their anxious calls to be careful, to wait +for help. It was not far to go, and her light, sure foot brought her to the +spot first. When Rex and Sepp arrived she was kneeling beside the dead chamois, +stroking the “beard” that waved along its bushy spine. She sprang up and held +out her hand to Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at that beard—Nimrod!” she said. Her voice rang with an excitement she +had not shown at her own success. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> a fine beard,” said Rex, bending over it. His voice was not quite +steady. “Herrlich!” cried Sepp, and drank the “Waidmann’s Heil!” toast to him +in deep and serious draughts. Then he took out a thong, tied the four slender +hoofs together and opened his game sack; Rex helped him to hoist the chamois in +and onto his broad shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +Now for the upper Shelter. They started in great spirits, a happy trio. Rex was +touched by Ruth’s deep delight in his success, and by the pride in him which +she showed more than she knew. He looked at her with eyes full of affection. +Sepp was assuring himself, by all the saints in the Bavarian Calendar, that +here was a “Herrschaft” which a man might be proud of guiding, and so he meant +to tell the duke. Ruth’s generous heart beat high. +</p> + +<p> +Their way back to the path where they had separated from Colonel Dene was long +and toilsome. Sepp did his best to beguile it with hunter’s yarns, more or less +true, at any rate just as acceptable as if they had been proved and sworn to. +</p> + +<p> +Like a good South German he hated Prussia and all its works, and his tales were +mostly of Berliners who had wandered thither and been abused; of the gentleman +who had been told, and believed, that the “gams” slept by hooking its horns +into crevices of the rock, swinging thus at ease, over precipices; of another +whom Federl once deterred from going on the mountains by telling how a chamois, +if enraged, charged and butted; of a third who went home glad to have learned +that the chamois produced their peculiar call by bringing up a hind leg and +whistling through the hoof. +</p> + +<p> +It was about half past two in the afternoon and Ruth began to be very, very +tired, when a Jodel from Sepp greeted the “Hütte” and the white cross rising +behind it. As they toiled up the steep path to the little alm, Ruth said, “I +don’t see Papa, but there are people there.” A man in a summer helmet, wound +with a green veil, came to the edge of the wooden platform and looked down at +them; he was presently joined by two ladies, of whom one disappeared almost +immediately, but they could see the other still looking down until a turn in +the path brought them to the bottom of some wooden steps, close under the +platform. On climbing these they were met at the top by the gentleman, hat in +hand, who spoke in French to Gethryn, while the stout, friendly lady held out +both hands to Ruth and cried, in pretty broken English: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! dear Mademoiselle! ees eet possible zat we meet a—h—gain!” +</p> + +<p> +“Madame Bordier!” exclaimed Ruth, and kissed her cordially on both cheeks. Then +she greeted the husband of Madame, and presented Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“But we know heem!” smiled Madame; and her quiet, gentlemanly husband added in +French that Monsieur the colonel had done them the honor to leave messages with +them for Miss Dene and Mr Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa is not here?” said Ruth, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur the colonel, finding himself a little fatigued, had gone on to the +Jaeger-hütte, where were better accommodations. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth’s face fell, and she lost her bright color. +</p> + +<p> +“But no! my dear!” said Madame. “Zere ees nossing ze mattaire. Your fazzer ees +quite vell,” and she hurried her indoors. +</p> + +<p> +Rex and Monsieur Bordier were left together on the platform. The amiable +Frenchman did the honors as if it were a private salon. Monsieur the colonel +was perfectly well. But perfectly! It was really for Mademoiselle that he had +gone on. He had decided that it would be quite too fatiguing for his daughter +to return that day to Trauerbach, as they had planned, and he had gone on to +secure the Jagd-hütte for the night before any other party should arrive. +</p> + +<p> +“He watched for you until you turned into the path that leads up here, and we +all saw that you were quite safe. It is only half an hour since he left. He did +us the honor to say that Mademoiselle Dene could need no better chaperon than +my wife—Monsieur the colonel was a little fatigued, but badly, no.” +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur Bordier led the way to the usual spring and wooden trough behind the +house, and, while Rex was enjoying a refreshing dip, he continued to chat. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, as he had already had the honor to inform Rex, Mademoiselle had been his +wife’s pupil in singing, the last two winters, in Paris. Monsieur Gethryn, +perhaps, was not wholly unacquainted with the name of Madame Bordier? +</p> + +<p> +“Madame’s reputation as an artist, and a professor of singing, is worldwide,” +said Rex in his best Parisian, adding: +</p> + +<p> +“And you, then, Monsieur, are the celebrated manager of ‘La Fauvette’?” +</p> + +<p> +The manager replied with a politely gratified bow. +</p> + +<p> +“The most charming theater in Paris,” added Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! murmured the other, Monsieur is himself an artist, though not of our sort, +and artists know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Dene has told you that I am studying in Paris,” said Rex modestly. +</p> + +<p> +“He has told me that Monsieur exhibited in the salon with a number one.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex scrubbed his brown and rosy cheeks with the big towel. +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur Bordier went on: “But the talent of Mademoiselle! Mon Dieu! what a +talent! What a voice of silver and crystal! And today she will meet another +pupil of Madame—of ours—a genius. My word!” +</p> + +<p> +“Today?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she is with us here. She makes her debut at the Fauvette next autumn.” +</p> + +<p> +Rex concealed a frown in the ample folds of the towel. It crossed his mind that +the colonel might better have stayed and taken care of his own daughter. If he, +Rex, had had a sister, would he have liked her to be on a Bavarian mountaintop +in a company composed of a gamekeeper, the manager of a Paris theater and his +wife, and a young person who was about to make her debut in opera-bouffe, and +to have no better guardian than a roving young art student? Rex felt his +unfitness for the post with a pang of compunction. Meantime he rubbed his head, +and Monsieur Bordier talked tranquilly on. But between vexation and friction +Gethryn lost the thread of Monsieur’s remarks for a while. +</p> + +<p> +The first word which recalled his wandering attention was “Chamois?” and he saw +that Monsieur Bordier was pointing to the game bag and looking amiably at Sepp, +who, divided between sulkiness at Monsieur’s native language and goodwill +toward anyone who seemed to be accepted by his “Herrschaften,” was in two minds +whether to open the bag and show the game to this smiling Frenchman, or “to say +him a Grobheit” and go away. Sepp’s “Grobheit” could be very insulting indeed +when he cared to make it so. Rex hastened to turn the scale. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Herr Director, this is Sepp, one of the duke’s best gamekeepers—Monsieur +speaks German?” he interrupted himself to ask in French. +</p> + +<p> +“Parfaitement! Well,” he went on in Sepp’s native tongue, “Herr Director, in +Sepp you see one of the best woodsmen in Bavaria, one of the best shots in +Germany. Sepp, we must show the Herr Director our Gems.” +</p> + +<p> +And there was nothing for Sepp but to open the bag, sheepish, beaten, laughing +in spite of himself, and before he knew it they all three had their heads +together over the game in perfect amity. +</p> + +<p> +A step sounded along the front platform, and Madame looked round the corner of +the house, saying that lunch was ready. Her husband and Rex joined her +immediately. “Ze young ladees are wizin,” she said, and led the way. +</p> + +<p> +The sun-glare on the limestone rocks outside made the little room seem almost +black at first, and all Rex could distinguish as he followed the others was +Ruth’s bright smile as she stood near the door and a jumble of dark figures +farther back. +</p> + +<p> +“Permit me,” said Monsieur, “to introduce you to our Belle Hélène.” Rex had +already bowed low, seeing nothing. “Mademoiselle Descartes—Monsieur Gethryn—” +Rex raised his head and looked into the white face of Yvonne. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes! as I was saying,” gossiped Monsieur while they were taking their +places at table, “I shoot when I can, but merely the partridge and rabbit of +the turnip. Bah! a man may not boast of that!” +</p> + +<p> +Rex kept his eyes fixed on the speaker and forced himself to understand what +was being said. +</p> + +<p> +“But the sanglier?” His voice sounded in his ears like noises one hears with +the head under water. +</p> + +<p> +“Mon Dieu! the sanglier! yes, that is also noble game. I do not deny it.” +Monsieur talked on evenly and quietly in his self-possessed, reasonable voice, +about the habits and the hunt of the wild boar. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth, sitting opposite, forcing herself to swallow the food, to answer Madame +gaily and look at her ease, felt her heart settle down like lead in her breast. +</p> + +<p> +What was this? Oh! what was it? She looked at Mademoiselle Descartes. This +young, gentle stranger with the dark hair and the face like marble, this girl +whom she had never heard of until an hour ago, was hiding from Rex behind the +broad shoulders of Madame Bordier. The pupils of her blue eyes were so dilated +that the sad, frightened eyes themselves looked black. Ruth turned to Gethryn. +He was listening and answering. About his nostrils and temples the hollows +showed; the flush of sunburn was gone, leaving only a pallid brown over the +ashen grey of his face; his expression varied between a strained smile and a +fixed stare. The cold weight at her heart melted and swelled in a passion of +pity. +</p> + +<p> +“Someone must keep up! Someone must keep up!” she said to herself; and turned +to assure Madame in tones which deserved the name of “crystal and silver,” +that, Yes, for her part she had not been able to see any reason why hearing +Parsifal at Bayreuth should make one forget that Bizet was also a great master. +</p> + +<p> +But the strain became too great, and at the first possible moment she said +brightly to Rex, “I’m going to feed Zimbach. Sepp said I might.” She collected +some scraps on a plate and went out. The hound rose wagging as she approached. +Ruth stood a moment looking down at him. Then she knelt and took his brown head +in her arms. Her eyes were full of tears. Zimbach licked her face, and then +wrenching his head away began to dance about her, barking and running at the +platter. She took a bone and gave it to him; it went with a snap; so bit by bit +she fed him with her own hands, and the tears dried without one falling. +</p> + +<p> +She heard Rex come out and stood up to meet him with clear grey eyes that +seemed to see nothing but a jest. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at this dog, Rex! He hasn’t a word to say about the bones he’s eaten +already; he merely remarks that there don’t seem to be any more at present!” +</p> + +<p> +Rex was taking down his gun. “Monsieur wants to see this,” he said in a dull, +heavy voice. “And Ruth—when you are ready—your father, perhaps—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I really would like to join him as soon as possible—” They went in +together. +</p> + +<p> +An hour later they were taking leave. All the usual explanations had been made; +everyone knew where the others were stopping, and why they were there, and how +long they meant to stay, and where they intended to go afterward. +</p> + +<p> +The Bordiers, with Yvonne, were at a lake on the opposite side of the mountain, +but a visit to the Forester’s house at Trauerbach was one of the excursions +they had already planned. +</p> + +<p> +It only remained now, as Ruth said, to fix upon an early day for coming. +</p> + +<p> +The hour just past had been Ruth’s hour. +</p> + +<p> +Without effort, or apparent intention, she had taken and kept the lead from the +moment when she returned with Rex. She it was who had given the key, who had +set and kept the pitch, and it was due to her that not one discordant note had +been struck. Vaguely yet vividly she felt the emergency. Refusing to ask +herself the cause, she recognized a crisis. Something was dreadfully wrong. She +made no attempt to go beyond that. Of all the deep emotions which she was +learning now so suddenly, for the first time, the dominant one with her at +present was a desire to help and to protect. All her social experience, all her +tact, were needed to shield Rex and this white-faced, silent stranger, who, +without her, must have betrayed themselves, so stunned, so dazed they were. And +the courage of her father’s daughter kept her fair head erect above the dead +weight at her heart. +</p> + +<p> +And now, having said “Au revoir” to Monsieur and Madame, and fixed upon a day +for their visit to the Försthaus, she turned to Yvonne and took her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Mademoiselle, I regret so much to hear that you are not quite strong. But when +you come to Trauerbach, Mama and I will take such good care of you that you +will not mind the fatigue.” +</p> + +<p> +The sad blue eyes looked into the clear grey ones, and once more Ruth responded +with a passion of grief and pity. +</p> + +<p> +How Rex made his adieux Ruth never knew. +</p> + +<p> +When he overtook her, she and Sepp were well started down the path to the +Jagd-hütte. They seemed to be having a duet of silence, which Rex turned into a +trio when he joined them. +</p> + +<p> +For such walkers as they all were the distance they had to go was nothing. Soft +afternoon lights were still lying peacefully beside the long afternoon shadows +as they approached the little hut, and Sepp answered the colonel’s abortive +attempt at a Jodel with one so long and complicated that it seemed as if he +were taking that means to express all he should have liked to say in words. The +spell broken, he turned about and asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Also! what did the French people,”—he wouldn’t call them Herrschaft—“say to +the gracious Fraulein’s splendid shot?” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth stopped and looked absently at him, then flushed and recovered herself +quickly. It was the first time she had remembered her stag. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear,” said she, “that French people would disapprove a young lady’s +shooting. I did not tell them.” +</p> + +<p> +Sepp went on again with long strides. The four little black hoofs of the +chamois stuck pitifully up out of the bag on his broad back. When he was well +out of hearing he growled aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“Hab’ ’s schon g’ wusst! Jesses, Marie and Josef! was is denn dös!” +</p> + +<p> +That evening, when Rex and the Jaeger were fussing over the chamois’ beard and +dainty horns inside the Hütte, Ruth and her father stood without, before the +closed door. The skies were almost black, and full of stars. Through the wide +fragrant stillness came up now and then a Jodel from some Bursch going to visit +his Sennerin. A stamp, and a comfortable sigh, came at times from Nani’s cows +in their stall below. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth put both arms around her father’s neck and laid her head down on his +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Tired, Daisy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<p> +Supper was over, evening had fallen; but there would be no music tonight under +the beech tree; the sky was obscured by clouds and a wet wind was blowing. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs Dene and Ruth were crossing the hall; Gethryn came in at the front door and +they met. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Rex, forcing a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Ruth. “Mademoiselle Descartes is better. Madame will bring her +down stairs by and by. It appears that wretched peasant who drove them has been +carrying them about for hours from one inn to another, stopping to drink at all +of them. No wonder they were tired out with the worry and his insolence!” +</p> + +<p> +“It appears Miss Descartes has had attacks of fainting like this more than once +before. The doctor in Paris thinks there is some weakness of the heart, but +forbids her being told,” said Mrs Dene. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth interposed quickly, not looking at Gethryn: +</p> + +<p> +“Papa and Monsieur Bordier, where are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“I left them visiting Federl and Sepp in their quarters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you will find us in that dreadful little room yonder. It’s the only +alternative to sitting in the Bauernstube with all the woodchoppers and their +bad tobacco, since out of doors fails us. We must go now and make it as +pleasant as we can.” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth made a motion to go, but Mrs Dene lingered. Her kind eyes, her fair little +faded face, were troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame Bordier says the young lady tells her she has met you before, Rex.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, in Paris”; for his life he could not have kept down the crimson flush +that darkened his cheeks and made his temples throb. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs Dene’s manner grew a little colder. +</p> + +<p> +“She seems very nice. You knew her people, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I never met any of her people,” answered Rex, feeling like a kicked +coward. Ruth interposed once more. +</p> + +<p> +“People!” said Ruth, impatiently. “Of course Rex only knows nice people. Come, +mother!” +</p> + +<p> +Putting her arm around the old lady, she moved across the hall with decision. +As they passed into the cheerless little room, Rex held open the door. Ruth, +entering after her mother, looked in his face. It had grown thinner; shadows +were deep in the temples; from the dark circles under the eyes to the chin ran +a line of pain. She held out her hand to him. He bent and kissed it. +</p> + +<p> +He went and stood in the porch, trying to collect his thoughts. The idea of +this meeting between Ruth and Yvonne was insupportable. Why had he not taken +means—any, every means to prevent it? He cursed himself. He called himself a +coward. He wondered how much Ruth divined. The thought shamed him until his +cheeks burned again. And all the while a deep undercurrent of feeling was +setting toward that drooping little figure in black, as he had seen it for a +moment when she alighted from the carriage and was supported to a room +upstairs. Heavens! How it reminded him of that first day in the Place de la +Concorde! Why was she in mourning? What did the doctor mean by “weakness of the +heart”? What was she doing on mountaintops, and on the stage of a theater if +she had heart disease? He started with a feeling that he must go and put a stop +to all this folly. Then he remembered the letter. She had told him another man +had the right to care for her. Then she was at this moment deserted for the +second time, as well as faithless to still another lover!—to how many more? And +it was through him that a woman of such a life was brought into contact with +Ruth! And Ruth’s parents had trusted him; they thought him a gentleman. His +brain reeled. +</p> + +<p> +The surging waves of shame and self-contempt subsided, were forgotten. He heard +the wind sough in the Luxembourg trees, he smelled the pink flowering +chestnuts, a soft voice was in his ear, a soft touch on his arm, her breath on +his cheek, the old, old faces came crowding up. Clifford’s laugh rang faintly, +Braith’s grave voice; odd bits and ends of song floated out from the shadows of +that past and through the troubled dream of face and laugh and music, so long, +so long passed away, he heard the gentle voice of Yvonne: “Rex, Rex, be true to +me; I will come back!” +</p> + +<p> +“I loved her!” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +There was a stir, a door opened and shut, voices and steps sounded in the room +on his left. He leaned forward a little and looked through the uncurtained +window. +</p> + +<p> +It was a bare and dingy room containing only a table, some hard chairs, and an +old “Flügel” piano with a long inlaid case. +</p> + +<p> +They sat together at the table. Ruth’s back was toward him; she was speaking. +Yvonne was in the full light. Her eyes were cast down, and she was nervously +plaiting the edge of her little black-bordered handkerchief. All at once she +raised her eyes and looked straight at the window. How blue her eyes were! +</p> + +<p> +Rex dropped his face in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh God! I love her!” he groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Gute Nacht, gnädige Herrn!” +</p> + +<p> +Sepp and Federl stood in their door with a light. Two figures were coming down +from the Jaeger’s cottage. Gethryn recognized the colonel and Monsieur Bordier. +</p> + +<p> +At the risk of scrutiny from those cool, elderly, masculine eyes, Rex’s manhood +pulled itself together. He went back to meet them, and presently they all +joined the ladies in the apology for a parlor, where coffee was being served. +</p> + +<p> +Coming in after the older men, Rex found no place left in the little, crowded +room, excepting one at the table close beside Yvonne. Ruth was on the other +side. He went and took the place, self-possessed and smiling. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne made a slight motion as if to rise and escape. Only Rex saw it. Yes, one +more: Ruth saw it. +</p> + +<p> +“Mademoiselle has studied seriously since I had the honor—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oui, Monsieur.” +</p> + +<p> +Her faint voice and timid look were more than Ruth could bear. She leaned +forward so as to shield the girl as much as possible, and entered into the +lively talk at the other end of the table. +</p> + +<p> +Rex spoke again: “Mademoiselle is quite strong, I trust—the stage—Sugar? Allow +me!—As I was saying, the stage is a calling which requires a good +constitution.” No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“But pardon. If you are not strong, how can you expect to succeed in your +career?” persisted Rex. His eyes rested on one frail wrist in its black sleeve. +The sight filled him with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“I would make my debut if I knew it would kill me.” She spoke at last, low but +clearly. +</p> + +<p> +“But why? Mon Dieu!” +</p> + +<p> +“Madame has set her heart on it. She thinks I shall do her credit. She has been +good to me, so good!” The sad voice fainted and sank away. +</p> + +<p> +“One is good to one’s pupils when they are going to bring one fame,” said Rex +bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame took me when she did not know I had a voice—when she thought I was +dying—when I was homeless—two years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” said Rex sternly, sinking his voice below the pitch of the +general conversation. “What did you tell me in your letter? <i>Homeless!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“I never wrote you any letter.” Yvonne raised her blue eyes, startled, +despairing, and looked into his for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“You did not write that you had found a—a home which you preferred to—to—any +you had ever had? And that it would be useless to—to offer you any other?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never wrote. I was very ill and could not. Afterward I went to—you. You were +gone.” Her low voice was heartbreaking to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” Rex could hardly utter a word. +</p> + +<p> +“In June, as soon as I left the hospital.” +</p> + +<p> +“The hospital? And your mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“She was dead. I did not see her. Then I was very ill, a long time. As soon as +I could, I went to Paris.” +</p> + +<p> +“To me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” cried Yvonne with a shudder. “It must have been my sister who did that!” +</p> + +<p> +The room was turning round. A hundred lights were swaying about in a crowd of +heads. Rex laid his hand heavily on the table to steady himself. With a strong +effort at self-control he had reduced the number of lights to two and got the +people back in their places when, with a little burst of French exclamations +and laughter, everyone turned to Yvonne, and Ruth, bending over her, took both +her hands. +</p> + +<p> +The next moment Monsieur Bordier was leading her to the piano. +</p> + +<p> +A soft chord, other chords, deep and sweet, and then the dear voice: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oui c’est un rêve,<br/> +Un rêve doux d’amour,<br/> +La nuit lui prête son mystére +</p> + +<p> +The chain is forged again. The mists of passion rise thickly, heavily, and blot +out all else forever. +</p> + +<p> +Hélène’s song ceased. He heard them praise her, and heard “Good nights” and “Au +revoirs” exchanged. He rose and stood near the door. Ruth passed him like a +shadow. They all remained at the foot of the stairs for a moment, repeating +their “Adieus” and “Remerciements.” He was utterly reckless, but cool enough +still to watch for his chance in this confusion of civilities. It came; for one +instant he could whisper to her, “I must see you tonight.” Then the voices were +gone and he stood alone on the porch, the wet wind blowing in his face, his +face turned up to a heavy sky covered with black, driving clouds. He could hear +the river and the moaning of the trees. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if he had stood there for hours, never moving. Then there was a +step in the dark hall, on the threshold, and Yvonne lay trembling in his arms. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The sky was beginning to show a tint of early dawn when they stepped once more +upon the silent porch. The wind had gone down. Clouds were piled up in the +west, but the east was clear. Perfect stillness was over everything. Not a +living creature was in sight, excepting that far up, across the stream, Sepp +and Zimbach were climbing toward the Schinder. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go in now. I must you—child!” said Yvonne in her old voice, smoothing +her hair with both hands. Rex held her back. +</p> + +<p> +“My wife?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” She raised her face and kissed him on the lips, then clung to him +weeping. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! hush! It is I who should do that,” he murmured, pressing her cheek +against his breast. +</p> + +<p> +Once more she turned to leave him, but he detained her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yvonne, come with me and be married today!” +</p> + +<p> +“You know it is impossible. Today! what a boy you are! As if we could!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, in a few days—in a week, as soon as possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my dearest! do not make it so hard for me! How could I desert Madame so? +After all she has done for me? When I know all her hopes are set on me; that if +I fail her she has no one ready to take my place! Because she was so sure of +me, she did not try to bring on any other pupil for next autumn. And last +season was a bad one for her and Monsieur. Their debutante failed; they lost +money. Behold this child!” she exclaimed, with a rapid return to her old gay +manner, “to whom I have explained all this at least a hundred times already, +and he asks me why we cannot be married today!” +</p> + +<p> +Then with another quick change, she laid her cheek tenderly against his and +murmured: +</p> + +<p> +“I might have died but for her. You would not have me desert her so cruelly, +Rex?” +</p> + +<p> +“My love! No!” A new respect mingled with his passion. Yes, she was faithful! +</p> + +<p> +“And now I will go in! Rex, Rex, you are quite as bad as ever! Look at my +hair!” She leaned lightly on his shoulder, her old laughing self. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled back sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“Again! After all! You silly, silly boy! And it is such a little while to +wait!” +</p> + +<p> +“Belle Hélène is very popular in Paris. The piece may run a long time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rex, I must. Don’t make it so hard for me!” Tears filled her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her for answer, without speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“Think! think of all she did for me; saved me; fed me, clothed me, taught me +when she believed I had only voice and talent enough to support myself by +teaching. It was half a year before she and Monsieur began to think I could +ever make them any return for their care of me. And all that time she was like +a mother to me. And now she has told everyone her hopes of me. If I fail she +will be ridiculed. You know Paris. She and Monsieur have enemies who will say +there never was any pupil, nor any debut expected. Perhaps she will lose her +prestige. The fashion may turn to some other teacher. You know what malice can +do with ridicule in Paris. Let me sing for her this once, make her one great +success, win her one triumph, and then never, never sing again for any soul but +you—my husband!” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice sank at the last words, from its eager pleading, to an exquisite +modest sweetness. +</p> + +<p> +“But—if you fail?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not fail. I have never doubted that I should have a success. Perhaps +it is because for myself I do not care, that I have no fear. When I had lost +you—I only thought of that. And now that I have found you again—!” +</p> + +<p> +She clung to him in passionate silence. +</p> + +<p> +“And I may not see your debut?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you come I shall surely fail! I must forget you. I must think only of my +part. What do I care for the house full of strange faces? I will make them all +rise up and shout my name. But if you were there—Ah! I should have no longer +any courage! Promise me to come only on the second night.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if you do fail, I may come and take you immediately before Monsieur the +Maire?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you please!” she whispered demurely. +</p> + +<p> +And they both laughed, the old happy-children laugh of the Atelier. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you are bad enough to hope that I will fail,” added she presently, +with a little <i>moue.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Yvonne,” said Rex earnestly, “I hope that you will succeed. I know you will, +and I can wait for you a few weeks more.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have waited for our happiness two years. We will make the happiness of +others now first, n’est ce pas?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +The sky began to glow and the house was astir. Rex knew how it would soon be +talking, but he cared for nothing that the world could do or say. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! we will be happy! Think of it! A little house near the Parc Monceau, my +studio there, Clifford, Elliott, Rowden—Bra—- all of them coming again! And it +will be my wife who will receive them!” +</p> + +<p> +She placed a little soft palm across his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Taisez-vous, mon ami! It is too soon! See the morning! I must go. There! +yes—one more!—my love, Adieu!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<p> +Fewer tourists and more hunters had been coming to the Lodge of late; the crack +of the rifle sounded all day. There was great talk of a hunt which the duke +would hold in September, and the colonel and Rex were invited. But though +September was now only a few days off, the colonel was growing too restless to +wait. +</p> + +<p> +After Yvonne’s visit, he and Ruth were much together. It seemed to happen so. +They took long walks into the woods, but Ruth seemed to share now her father’s +aversion to climbing, and Gethryn stalked the deer with only the Jaegers for +company. +</p> + +<p> +Ruth and her father used to come home with their arms full of wild flowers—the +fair, lovely wild blossoms of Bavaria which sprang up everywhere in their path. +The colonel was great company on these expeditions, singing airs from obsolete +operas of his youth, and telling stories of La Grange, Brignoli and Amodio, of +the Strakosches and Maretzeks, with much liveliness. Sometimes there would be a +silence, however, and then if Ruth looked up she often met his eyes. Then he +would smile and say: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Daisy!” and she would smile and say: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, dear!” +</p> + +<p> +But this could not last. About a week after Yvonne’s visit, the colonel, after +one of these walks, instead of joining Rex for a smoke, left him sitting with +Ruth under the beech tree and mounted the stairs to Mrs Dene’s room. +</p> + +<p> +It was an hour later when he rose and kissed his wife, who had been sitting at +her window all the time of their quiet talk, with eyes fixed on the young +people below. +</p> + +<p> +“I never dreamed of it!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“I did, I wished it,” was her answer. “I thought he was—but they are all +alike!” she ended sadly and bitterly. “To think of a boy as wellborn as Rex—” +But the colonel, who possibly knew more about wellborn boys than his wife did, +interrupted her: +</p> + +<p> +“Hang the boys! It’s Ruth I’m grieved for!” +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter needs no one’s solicitude, not even ours!” said the old lady +haughtily. +</p> + +<p> +“Right! Thank God!” said the veteran, in a tone of relief. “Good night, my +dear!” +</p> + +<p> +Two days later they left for Paris. +</p> + +<p> +Rex accompanied them as far as Schicksalsee, promising to follow them in a few +days. +</p> + +<p> +The handsome, soldierly-looking Herr Förster stood by their carriage and gave +them a “Glück-liche Reise!” and a warm “Auf Wiedersehen!” as they drove away. +Returning up the steps slowly and seriously, he caught the eye of Sepp and +Federl, who had been looking after the carriage as it turned out of sight +beyond the bridge: +</p> + +<p> +“Schade!” said the Herr Förster, and went into the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Schade!” said Federl. +</p> + +<p> +“Jammer-schade!” growled Sepp. +</p> + +<p> +On the platform at Schicksalsee, Rex and Ruth were walking while they waited +for the train. “Ruth,” said Rex, “I hope you never will need a friend’s life to +save yours from harm; but if you do, take mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rex.” She raised her eyes and looked into the distance. Far on the +horizon loomed the Red Peak. +</p> + +<p> +The clumsy mail drew up beside the platform. It was the year when all the world +was running after a very commonplace Operetta with one lovely stolen song: a +Volks-song. One heard it everywhere, on both continents; and now as the +postillion, in his shiny hat with the cockade, his light blue jacket and white +small clothes, and his curly brass horn, came rattling down the street, he was +playing the same melody: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Es ist im Leben häßlich eingerichtet— +</p> + +<p> +The train drew into the station. When it panted forth again, Gethryn stood +waving his hand, and watched it out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +Turning at last to leave the platform, he found that the crowd had melted away; +only a residue of crimson-capped officials remained. He inquired of one where +he could find an expressman and was referred to a mild man absorbing a bad +cigar. With him Gethryn arranged for having his traps brought from Trauerbach +and consigned to the brothers Schnurr at the “Gasthof zur Post,” Schicksalsee, +that inn being close to the station. +</p> + +<p> +This settled, he lighted a cigarette and strolled across to his hotel, sitting +down on a stone bench before the door, and looking off at the lake. +</p> + +<p> +It was mid-afternoon. The little place was asleep. Nothing was stirring about +the inn excepting a bandy Dachshund, which came wheezing up and thrust a cold +nose into the young man’s hand. High in the air a hawk was wheeling; his faint, +querulous cry struck Gethryn with an unwonted sense of loneliness. He noticed +how yellow some of the trees were on the slopes across the lake. Autumn had +come before summer was ended. He leaned over and patted the hound. A door +opened, a voice cried, “Ei Dachl! du! Dachl!” and the dog made off at the top +of his hobbyhorse gait. +</p> + +<p> +The silence was unbroken except for the harsh cries of the hawk, sailing low +now in great circles over the lake. The sun flashed on his broad, burnished +wings as he stooped; Gethryn fancied he could see his evil little eyes; finally +the bird rose and dwindled away, lost against the mountainside. +</p> + +<p> +He was roused from his reverie by angry voices. +</p> + +<p> +“Cochon! Kerl! Menteur!” cried someone. +</p> + +<p> +The other voice remonstrated with a snarl. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” cried the first, “you lie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Alsatians,” thought Rex; “what horrible French!” +</p> + +<p> +The snarling began again, but gradually lapsed into whining. Rex looked about +him. +</p> + +<p> +The quarreling seemed to come from a small room which opened out of the hotel +restaurant. Windows gave from it over the front, but the blinds were down. +</p> + +<p> +“No! No! I tell you! Not one sou! Starve? I hope you will!” cried the first +voice, and a stamp set some bottles and glasses jingling. +</p> + +<p> +“Alsatians and Jews!” thought Rex. One voice was unpleasantly familiar to him, +and he wondered if Mr Blumenthal spoke French as he did English. Deciding with +a careless smile that of course he did, Rex ceased to think of him, not feeling +any curiosity to go and see with whom his late fellow-lodger might be +quarreling. He sat and watched instead, as he lounged in the sunshine, some +smart carriages whirling past, their horses stepping high, the lackeys muffled +from the mountain air in winter furs, crests on the panels. +</p> + +<p> +An adjutant in green, with a great flutter of white cock’s feathers from his +chapeau, sitting up on the box of an equipage, accompanied by flunkies in the +royal blue and white of Bavaria, was a more agreeable object to contemplate +than Mr Blumenthal, and Gethryn felt as much personal connection with the +Prince Regent hurrying home to Munich, from his little hunting visit to the +emperor of Austria, as with the wrangling Jews behind the close-drawn blinds of +the coffee-room at his back. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was slowly declining. Rex rose and idled into the smoking-room. It was +deserted but for the clerk at his desk, a railed enclosure, one side of which +opened into the smoking-room, the other side into the hall. Across the hall was +a door with “Café—Restaurant,” in gilt letters above it. Rex did not enter the +café; he sat and dreamed in the empty smoking-room over his cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +But it was lively in the café, in spite of the waning season. A good many of +the tables were occupied. At one of them sat the three unchaperoned Miss +Dashleighs, in company with three solemn, high-shouldered young officers, +enjoying something in tall, slender tumblers which looked hot and smelled +spicy. At another table Mr Everett Tweeler and Mrs Tweeler were alternately +scolding and stuffing Master Irving Tweeler, who expressed in impassioned tones +a desire for tarts. +</p> + +<p> +“Ur—r—ving!” remonstrated Mr Tweeler. +</p> + +<p> +“Dahling!” argued Mrs Tweeler. “If oo eats too many ’ittle cakies then oo tant +go home to Salem on the puffy, puffy choo-choo boat.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Sir Griffin Damby overheard and snorted. +</p> + +<p> +When Master Tweeler secured his tarts, Sir Griffin blessed the meal with a +hearty “damn!” +</p> + +<p> +He did not care for Master Tweeler’s nightly stomach aches, but their rooms +adjoined. When “Ur—r—ving” reached unmolested for his fourth, Sir Griffin rose +violently, and muttering, “Change me room, begad!” waddled down to the door, +glaring aggressively at the occupants of the various tables. Near the exit a +half suppressed squeal caused him to swing round. He had stepped squarely on +the toe of a meager individual, who now sat nursing his foot in bitter +dejection. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon—” began Sir Griffin, then stopped and glared at the sallow-faced +person. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Griffin stared hard at the man he had stepped on, and at his female +companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn it!” he cried. “Keep your feet out of the way, do you hear?” puffed his +cheeks, squared his shoulders and snorted himself out of the café. +</p> + +<p> +The yellow-faced man was livid with rage. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a fool, Mannie,” whispered the woman; “don’t make a row—do you know +who that is?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s an English hog,” spluttered the man with an oath; “he’s a cursed hog of +an Englishman!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and he knows us. He was at Monaco a few summers ago. Don’t forget who +turned us out of the Casino.” +</p> + +<p> +Emanuel Pick turned a shade more sallow and sank back in his seat. +</p> + +<p> +Neither spoke again for some moments. Presently the woman began to stir the +bits of lemon and ice in her empty tumbler. Pick watched her sulkily. +</p> + +<p> +“You always take the most expensive drinks. Why can’t you order coffee, as +others do?” he snarled. +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at him. “Jew,” she sneered. +</p> + +<p> +“All right; only wait! I’ve come to the end of my rope. I’ve got just money +enough left to get back to Paris—” +</p> + +<p> +“You lie, Mannie!” +</p> + +<p> +He paid no attention to this compliment, but lighted a cigar and dropped the +match on the floor, grinding it under his heel. +</p> + +<p> +“You have ten thousand francs today! You lie if you say you have not.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr Pick softly dropped his eyelids. +</p> + +<p> +“That is for me, in case of need. I will need it too, very soon!” +</p> + +<p> +His companion glared at him and bit her lip. +</p> + +<p> +“If you and I are to remain dear friends,” continued Mr Pick, “we must manage +to raise money, somehow. You know that as well as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +Still she said nothing, but kept her eyes on his face. He glanced up and looked +away uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen my uncle again. He knows all about your sister and the American. +He says it is only because of him that she refuses the handsome offer.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman’s face grew tigerish, and she nodded rapidly, muttering, “Ah! yes! +Mais oui! the American. I do not forget him!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear uncle thinks it is our fault that your sister refuses to forget him, +which is more to the purpose,” sneered Pick. “He says you did not press that +offer he made Yvonne with any skill, else she would never have refused it +again—that makes four times,” he added. “Four times she has refused an +establishment and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Pst! what are you raising your voice for?” hissed the woman. “And how is it my +fault?” she went on. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t say it is. I know better—who could wish more than we that your sister +should become the mistress of my dear rich uncle? But when I tried to tell him +just now that we had done our best, he raved at me. He has guessed somehow that +they mean to marry. I did not tell him that we too had guessed it. But he said +I knew it and was concealing it from him. I asked him for a little money to go +on with. Curse him, he would not lend me a sou! Said he never would again—curse +him!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence while Pick smoked on. The woman did not smoke too because +she had no cigarette, and Pick did not offer her any. Presently he spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you certainly are an expensive luxury, under the circumstances. And since +you have so mismanaged your fool of a sister’s affair, I don’t see how the +circumstances can improve.” +</p> + +<p> +She watched him. “And the ten thousand francs? You will throw me off and enjoy +them at your ease?” +</p> + +<p> +He cringed at her tone. “Not enjoy—without you—” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said coolly, “for I shall kill you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr Pick smiled uncomfortably. “That would please the American,” he said, trying +to jest, but his hand trembled as he touched the stem of his cigar-holder to +shake off the ashes. +</p> + +<p> +A sudden thought leaped into her face. “Why not please—me—instead?” she +whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Their eyes met. Her face was hard and bold—his, cowardly and ghastly. She +clenched her hands and leaned forward; her voice was scarcely audible. Mr Pick +dropped his oily black head and listened. +</p> + +<p> +“He turned me out of his box at the Opera; he struck you—do you hear? he kicked +you!” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew’s face grew chalky. +</p> + +<p> +“Today he stands between you and your uncle, you and wealth, you and me! Do you +understand? Cowards are stupid. You claim Spanish blood. But Spanish blood does +not forget insults. Is yours only the blood of a Spanish Jew? Bah! Must I talk? +You saw him? He is here. Alive. And he kicked you. And he stands between you +and riches, you and me, you and—life!” +</p> + +<p> +They sat silent, she holding him fascinated with her little black eyes. His jaw +fallen, the expression of his loose mouth was horrible. Suddenly she thrust her +face close to his. Her eyes burned and the blood surged through the distended +veins under the cracking rouge. Her lips formed the word, “Tonight!” +</p> + +<p> +Without a word he crept from his seat and followed her out of the room by a +side door. +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn, lounging in the smoking-room meanwhile, was listening with delight to +the bellowing of Sir Griffin Damby, who stood at the clerk’s desk in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t contradict me!” he roared—the weak-eyed clerk had not dreamed of doing +so—“Don’t you contradict me! I tell you it’s the same man!” +</p> + +<p> +“But Excellence,” entreated the clerk, “we do not know—” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Don’t know! Don’t I tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“We will telegraph to Paris—” +</p> + +<p> +“Telegraph to hell! Where’s my man? Here! Dawson! Do you remember that infernal +Jew at Monaco? He’s here. He’s in there!” jerking an angry thumb at the café +door. “Keep him in sight till the police come for him. If he says anything, +kick him into the lake.” +</p> + +<p> +Dawson bowed. +</p> + +<p> +The clerk tried to say that he would telegraph instantly, but Sir Griffin +barked in his face and snorted his way down the hall, followed by the valet. +</p> + +<p> +Rex, laughing, threw down his cigarette and sauntered over to the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom does the Englishman want kicked out?” +</p> + +<p> +The clerk made a polite gesture, asking Rex to wait until he had finished +telegraphing. At that moment the postillion’s horn heralded the coming of the +mail coach, and that meant the speedy arrival of the last western train. Rex +forgot Sir Griffin and strolled over to the post office to watch the +distribution of the letters and to get his own. +</p> + +<p> +A great deal of flopping and pounding seemed to be required as a preliminary to +postal distribution. First the mail bags seemed to be dragged all over the +floor, then came a long series of thumps while the letters were stamped, +finally the slide was raised and a face the color of underdone pie crust, with +little angry eyes, appeared. The owner had a new and ingenious insult for each +person who presented himself. The Tweelers were utterly routed and went away +not knowing whether there were any letters for them or not. Several valets and +ladies’ maids exchanged lively but ineffectual compliments with the face in the +post office window. Then came Sir Griffin. Rex looked on with interest. What +the ill-natured brute behind the grating said, Rex couldn’t hear, but Sir +Griffin burst out with a roar, “Damnation!” that made everybody jump. Then he +stuck his head as far as he could get it in at the little window and shouted—in +fluent German, awfully pronounced—“Here! You! It’s enough that you’re so stupid +you don’t know what you’re about. Don’t you try to be impudent too! Hand me +those letters!” The official bully handed them over without a word. +</p> + +<p> +Rex took advantage of the lull and stepped to the window. “Any letters for Mr +Gethryn?” +</p> + +<p> +“How you spell him?” Rex spelled him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet once again!” demanded the intelligent person. Rex wrote it in English and +in German script. +</p> + +<p> +“From Trauerbach—yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +The man went away, looked through two ledgers, sent for another, made out +several sets of blanks, and finally came back to the window, but said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Rex, pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kindly look again,” said Rex. “I know there are letters for me.” +</p> + +<p> +In about ten minutes the man appeared again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Gethryn. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something.” And with ostentatious delay he produced three letters and a +newspaper, which Rex took, restraining an impulse to knock him down. After all, +the temptation was not very great, presenting itself more as an act of justice +than as a personal satisfaction. The truth was, all day long a great gentleness +tinged with melancholy had rested on Gethryn’s spirit. Nothing seemed to matter +very much. And whatever engaged his attention for a moment, it was only for a +moment, and then his thoughts returned where they had been all day. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne, Yvonne! She had not been out of his thoughts since he rose that +morning. In a few steps he reached his room and read his letters by the waning +daylight. +</p> + +<p> +The first began: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“My Darling—in three more days I shall stand before a Paris audience. I am not +one bit nervous. I am perfectly happy. Yesterday at rehearsal the orchestra +applauded and Madame Bordier kissed me. Some very droll things happened. +Achilles was intoxicated and chased Ajax the Less with a stick. Ajax fled into +my dressing room, and although I was not there I told Achilles afterward that I +would never forgive him. Then he wept.” +</p> + +<p> +The letter ran on for a page more of lively gossip and then, with a sudden +change, ended: +</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p> +“But why do I write these foolish things to you? Ah! you know it is because I +am too happy! too happy! and I cannot say what is in my heart. I dare not. It +is too soon. I dare not! +</p> + +<p> +“If it is that I am happy, who but you knows the reason? And now listen to my +little secret. I pray for you, yes, every morning and every evening. And for +myself too—now. +</p> + +<p> +“God forgives. It is in my faith. Oh! my husband, we will be good! +</p> +</div> + +<p class="right"> +“Thy Yvonne” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn’s eyes blurred on the page and he sat a long time, very still, not +offering to open his remaining letters. Presently he raised his head and looked +into the street. It was dusk, and the lamps along the lake side were lighted. +He had to light his candles to read by. +</p> + +<p> +The next was from Braith—a short note. +</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p> +“Everything is ready, Rex, your old studio cleaned and dusted until you would +not know it. +</p> + +<p> +“I have kept the key always by me, and no one but myself has ever entered it +since you left. +</p> + +<p> +“I will meet you at the station—and when you are really here I shall begin to +live again. +</p> +</div> + +<p class="right"> +“Au revoir, <br/> +Braith” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if Gethryn would never get on with his correspondence. He sat and +held this letter as he had done the other. A deep melancholy possessed him. He +did not care to move. At last, impatiently, he tore the third envelope. It +contained a long letter from Clifford. +</p> + +<p> +“My blessed boy,” it said. +</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p> +“We learn from Papa Braith that you will be here before long, but the old chump +won’t tell when. He intends to meet you all alone at the station, and wishes to +dispense with a gang and a brass band. We think that’s deuced selfish. You are +our prodigal as well as his, and we are considering several plans for getting +even with Pa. +</p> + +<p> +“One is to tell you all the news before he has a chance. And I will begin at +once. +</p> + +<p> +“Thaxton has gone home, and opened a studio in New York. The Colossus has grown +two more inches and hates to hear me mention the freak museums in the Bowery. +Carleton is a hubby, and wifey is English and captivating. Rowden told me one +day he was going to get married too. When I asked her name he said he didn’t +know. Someone with red hair. +</p> + +<p> +“When I remarked that he was a little in that way himself, he said yes, he knew +it, and he intended to found a race of that kind, to be known as the Red +Rowdens. Elliott’s brindle died, and we sold ours. We now keep two Russian +bloodhounds. When you come to my room, knock first, for “Baby” doesn’t like to +be startled. +</p> + +<p> +“Braith has kept your family together, in your old studio. The parrot and the +raven are two old fiends and will live forever. Mrs Gummidge periodically sheds +litters of kittens, to Braith’s indignation. He gives them to the concierge who +sells them at a high price, I don’t know for what purpose; I have two of the +Gummidge children. The bull pups are pups no longer, but they are beauties and +no mistake. All the same, wait until you see “Baby.” +</p> + +<p> +“I met Yvonne in the Louvre last week. I’m glad you are all over that affair, +for she’s going to be married, she told me. She looked prettier than ever, and +as happy as she was pretty. She was with old Bordier of the Fauvette, and his +wife, and—think of this! she’s coming out in Belle Hélène! Well! I’m glad she’s +all right, for she was too nice to go the usual way. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little Bulfinch shot himself in the Bois last June. He had delirium +tremens. Poor little chap! +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a Miss Dene here, who knows you. Braith has met her. She’s a beauty, +he says, and she’s also a stunning girl, possessing manners, and morals, and +dignity, and character, and religion and all that you and I have not, my son. +Braith says she isn’t too good for you when you are at your best; but we know +better, Reggy; any good girl is too good for the likes of us. +</p> + +<p> +“Hasten to my arms, Reginald! You will find them at No. 640 Rue Notre Dame des +Champs, chez, +</p> +</div> + +<p class="right"> +“Foxhall Clifford, Esq.” +</p> + +<p> +Leaving Clifford’s letter and the newspapers on the table, Rex took his hat, +put out the light, and went down to the street. As he stood in the door, +looking off at the dark lake, he folded Yvonne’s letter and placed it in his +breast. He held Braith’s a moment more and then laid it beside hers. +</p> + +<p> +The air was brisk; he buttoned his coat about him. Here and there a moonbeam +touched the lapping edge of the water, or flashed out in the open stretch +beyond the point of pines. High over the pines hung a cliff, blackening the +water all around with fathomless shadow. +</p> + +<p> +A waiter came lounging by, his hands tucked beneath his coattails. “What point +is that? The one which overhangs the pines there?” asked Rex. +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious sir!” said the waiter, “that is the Schicksalfels.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why ‘Schicksal-fels’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Has the gracious gentleman never heard the legend of the ‘Rock of Fate’?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, and on second thoughts, I don’t care to hear it now. Another time. Good +night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! the gentleman is too good! Thousand thanks! Gute Nacht, gnädiger Herr!” +</p> + +<p> +Gethryn remained looking at the crags. +</p> + +<p> +“They cannot be half a mile from here,” he thought. “I suppose the path is good +enough; if not, I can turn back. The lake will look well from there by +moonlight.” And he found himself moving up a little footpath which branched +below the hotel. +</p> + +<p> +It was pleasant, brisk walking. The air had a touch of early frost in it. +Gethryn swung along at a good pace, pulling his cap down and fastening the last +button of his coat. The trees threw long shadows across the path, hiding it +from view, except where the moonlight fell white on the moist gravel. The moon +herself was past the full and not very bright; a film of mist was drawing over +the sky. Gethryn, looking up, thought of that gentle moon which once sailed +ghostlike at high noon through the blue zenith among silver clouds while a boy +lay beside the stream with rod and creel; and then he remembered the dear old +yellow moon that used to flood the nursery with pools of light and pile strange +moving shades about his bed. And then he saw, still looking up, the great white +globe that hung above the frozen river, striking blue sparks from the ringing +skates. +</p> + +<p> +He felt lonely and a trifle homesick. For the first time in his life—he was +still so young—he thought of his childhood and his boyhood as something gone +beyond recall. +</p> + +<p> +He had nearly reached his destination; just before him the path entered a patch +of pine woods and emerged from it, shortly, upon the flat-topped rock which he +was seeking. Under the first arching branches he stopped and looked back at the +marred moon in the mist-covered sky. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sick of this wandering,” he thought. “Wane quickly! Your successor shall +shine on my home: Yvonne’s and mine.” +</p> + +<p> +And, thinking of Yvonne, he passed into the shadows which the pines cast upon +the Schicksalfels. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<p> +Paris lay sparkling under a cold, clear sky. The brilliant streets lay coiled +along the Seine and stretched glittering from bank to bank, from boulevard to +boulevard; cafés, brasseries, concert halls and theaters in the yellow blaze of +gas and the white and violet of electricity. +</p> + +<p> +It was not late, but people who entered the lobby of the Theater Fauvette +turned away before the placard “Standing room only.” +</p> + +<p> +Somewhere in the city a bell sounded the hour, and with the last stroke the +drop curtain fell on the first act of “La Belle Hélène.” +</p> + +<p> +It fell amidst a whirlwind of applause, in which the orchestra led. +</p> + +<p> +The old leader of the violins shook his head, however. He had been there twenty +years, and he had never before heard of such singing in comic opera. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” he said, “she can’t stay here. Dame! she sings!” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Bordier was pale and happy; her good husband was weak with joy. The +members of the troupe had not yet had time to be jealous and they, too, +applauded. +</p> + +<p> +As for the house, it was not only conquered, it was wild with enthusiasm. The +lobbies were thronged. +</p> + +<p> +Braith ran up against Rowden and Elliott. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” they cried, with one voice, “who’d have thought the little girl had +all that in her? I say, Braith, does Rex know about her? When is he coming?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rex doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Rex is cured,” said Braith. “And he’s +coming next week. Where’s Clifford?” he added, to make a diversion. +</p> + +<p> +“Clifford promised to meet us here. He’ll be along soon.” +</p> + +<p> +The pair went out for refreshments and Braith returned to his seat. +</p> + +<p> +The wait between the acts proved longer than was agreeable, and people +grumbled. The machinery would not work, and two heavy scenes had to be shifted +by hand. Good Monsieur Bordier flew about the stage in a delirium of +excitement. No one would have recognized him for the eminently reasonable being +he appeared in private life. He called the stage hands “Prussian pigs!” and +“Spanish cattle!” and expressed his intention to dismiss the whole force +tomorrow. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne, already dressed, stood at the door of her room, looking along the alley +of dusty scenery to where a warm glow revealed the close proximity of the +footlights. There was considerable unprofessional confusion, and not a little +skylarking going on among the company, who took advantage of the temporary +interruption. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne stood in the door of her dressing room and dreamed, seeing nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Her pretty figure was draped in a Grecian tunic of creamy white, bordered with +gold; her soft, dark hair was gathered in a simple knot. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she turned and entered her dressing room, closing the door. Then she +sat down before the mirror, her chin resting on her hands, her eyes fixed on +her reflected eyes, a faint smile curving her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you happy girl!” she thought. “You happy, happy girl! And just a little +frightened, for tomorrow he will come. And when he says—for he will say +it—‘Yvonne must we wait?’ I shall tell him, No! take me now if you will!” +</p> + +<p> +Without a knock the door burst open. A rush of music from the orchestra came +in. Yvonne thought “So they have begun at last!” The same moment she rose with +a faint, heartsick cry. Her sister closed the door and fastened it, shutting +out all sound but that of her terrible voice. Yvonne blanched as she looked on +that malignant face. With a sudden faintness she leaned back, pressing one hand +to her heart. +</p> + +<p> +“You received my letter?” said the woman. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne did not answer. Her sister stamped and came nearer. “Speak!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne shrank and trembled, but kept her resolute eyes on the cruel eyes +approaching hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I tear an answer from you?” said the woman, always coming nearer. “Do +you think I will wait your pleasure, now?” +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“He is here—Mr Blumenthal; he is waiting for you. You dare not refuse him +again! You will come with us now, after the opera. Do you hear? You will come. +There is no more time. It must be now. I told you there would be time, but +there is none—none!” +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne’s maid knocked at the door and called: +</p> + +<p> +“Mademoiselle, c’est l’heuer!” +</p> + +<p> +“Answer!” hissed the woman. +</p> + +<p> +Yvonne, speechless, holding both hands to her heart, kept her eyes on her +sister’s face. That face grew ashen; the eyes had the blank glare of a tiger’s; +she sprang up to Yvonne and grasped her by the wrists. +</p> + +<p> +“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! c’est l’heure!” called the maid, shaking the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Fool!” hissed her sister, “you think you will marry the American!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mademoiselle Descartes! mais Mademoiselle Descartes!” cried Monsieur’s voice +without. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go!” panted Yvonne, struggling wildly. +</p> + +<p> +“Go!” screamed the woman, “go, and sing! You cannot marry him! He is dead!” and +she struck the girl with her clenched fist. +</p> + +<p> +The door, torn open, crashed behind her and immediately swung back again to +admit Madame. +</p> + +<p> +“My child! my child! What is it? What ails you? Quick, or it will be too late! +Ah! try, try, my child!” +</p> + +<p> +She was in tears of despair. +</p> + +<p> +Taking her beseeching hand, Yvonne moved toward the stage. +</p> + +<p> +“Oui, chère Madame!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The chorus swelled around her. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh! reine en ce jour! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +rose, fell, ebbed away, and left her standing alone. +</p> + +<p> +She heard a voice—“Tell me, Venus—” but she hardly knew it for her own. It was +all dark before her eyes—while the mad chorus of Kings went on, “For us, what +joy!”—thundering away along the wings. +</p> + +<p> +“Fear Calchas!” +</p> + +<p> +“Seize him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let Calchas fear!” +</p> + +<p> +And then she began to sing—to sing as she had never sung before. Sweet, +thrilling, her voice poured forth into the crowded auditorium. The people sat +spellbound. There was a moment of silence; no one offered to applaud. And then +she began again. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oui c’est un réve,<br/> +Un réve doux d’amour— +</p> + +<p> +She faltered— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +La nuit lui préte son mystère,<br/> +Il doit finir avec le jour— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +the voice broke. Men were standing up in the audience. One cried out: +</p> + +<p> +“Il—doit—finir—” +</p> + +<p> +The music clashed in one great discord. +</p> + +<p> +Why did the stage reel under her? What was the shouting? +</p> + +<p> +Her heavy, dark hair fell down about her little white face as she sank on her +knees, and covered her as she lay her slender length along the stage. +</p> + +<p> +The orchestra and the audience sprang to their feet. The great blank curtain +rattled to the ground. A whirlwind swept over the house. Monsieur Bordier +stepped before the curtain. +</p> + +<p> +“My friends!” he began, but his voice failed, and he only added, “C’est fini!” +</p> + +<p> +With hardly a word the audience moved to the exits. But Braith, turning to the +right, made his way through a long, low passage and strode toward a little +stage door. It was flung open and a man hurried past him. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur!” called Braith. “Monsieur!” +</p> + +<p> +But Monsieur Bordier was crying like a child, and kept on his way, without +answering. +</p> + +<p> +The narrow corridor was now filled with hurrying, excited figures in gauze and +tinsel, sham armor, and painted faces. They pressed Braith back, but he +struggled and fought his way to the door. +</p> + +<p> +A Sergeant de Ville shouldered through the crowd. He was dragging a woman along +by the arm. Another policeman came behind, urging her forward. Somehow she +slipped from them and sank, cowering against the wall. Braith’s eyes met hers. +She cowered still lower. +</p> + +<p> +A slender, sallow man had been quietly slipping through the throng. A red-faced +fellow touched him on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon! I think this is Mr Emanuel Pick.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” stammered the man, and started to run. +</p> + +<p> +Braith blocked his way. The red-faced detective was at his side. +</p> + +<p> +“So, you are Mr Emanuel Pick!” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” gasped the other. +</p> + +<p> +“He lies! He lies!” yelled the woman, from the floor. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew reeled back and, with a piercing scream, tore at his handcuffed wrists. +Braith whispered to the detective: +</p> + +<p> +“What has the woman done? What is the charge?” +</p> + +<p> +“Charge? There are a dozen. The last is murder.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman had fainted and they carried her away. The light fell a moment on the +Jew’s livid face, the next Braith stood under the dark porch of the empty +theater. The confusion was all at the stage entrance. Here, in front, the +deserted street was white and black and silent under the electric lamps. All +the lonelier for two wretched gamins, counting their dirty sous and draggled +newspapers. +</p> + +<p> +When they saw Braith they started for him; one was ahead in the race, but the +other gained on him, reached him, dealt him a merciless blow, and panted up to +Braith. +</p> + +<p> +The defeated one, crying bitterly, gathered up his scattered papers from the +gutter. +</p> + +<p> +“Curse you, Rigaud! you hound!” he cried, in a passion of tears. “Curse you, +son of a murderer!” +</p> + +<p> +The first gamin whipped out a paper and thrust it toward Braith. +</p> + +<p> +“Buy it, Monsieur!” he whined, “the last edition, full account of the +Boulangist riot this morning; burning of the Prussian flags; explosion on a +warship; murder in Germany, discovered by an English Milord—” +</p> + +<p> +Braith was walking fast; the gamin ran by his side for a moment, but soon gave +it up. Braith walked faster and faster; he was almost running when he reached +his own door. There was a light in his window. He rushed up the stairs and into +his room. +</p> + +<p> +Clifford was sitting there, his head in his hands. Braith touched him, trying +to speak lightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you asleep, old man?” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford raised a colorless face to his. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it? Can’t you speak?” +</p> + +<p> +But Clifford only pointed to a crumpled telegram lying on the table, and hid +his face again as Braith raised the paper to the light. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +The End +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE QUARTER ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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. 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