THE GUEST OF QUESNAY

BYBOOTH TARKINGTON

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK1915

TOOVID BUTLER JAMESON

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Several pairs of brighter eyes followed my companion . .. .. . Frontispiece

"I haven't had my life. It's gone!"

"You and Miss Ward are old and dear friends, aren't you?"

"Embrasse moi, Larrabi! Embrasse moi!" she cried

CHAPTER I

There are old Parisians who will tell you pompously that the boulevards, like the political cafes, have ceased to exist, but this means only thatthe boulevards no longer gossip of Louis Napoleon, the Return of theBourbons, or of General Boulanger, for these highways are always toobusily stirring with present movements not to be forgetful of theiryesterdays. In the shade of the buildings and awnings, the loungers, thelookers-on in Paris, the audience of the boulevard, sit at littletables, sipping coffee from long glasses, drinking absinthe or bright-coloured sirops, and gazing over the heads of throngs afoot at othersborne along through the sunshine of the street in carriages, in cabs, inglittering automobiles, or high on the tops of omnibuses. 

From all the continents the multitudes come to join in that procession:Americans, tagged with race-cards and intending hilarious disturbances;puzzled Americans, worn with guide-book plodding; Chinese princes insilk; queer Antillean dandies of swarthy origin and fortune; ruddyEnglish, thinking of nothing; pallid English, with upper teeth bared andeyes hungrily searching for sign-boards of tea-rooms; over-EuropeanisedJapanese, unpleasantly immaculate; burnoosed sheiks from the desert, andred-fezzed Semitic peddlers; Italian nobles in English tweeds; Soudanesenegroes swaggering in frock coats; slim Spaniards, squat Turks, travellers, idlers, exiles, fugitives, sportsmen--all the tribes andkinds of men are tributary here to the Parisian stream which, on a fairday in spring, already overflows the banks with its own much-mingledwaters. Soberly clad burgesses, bearded, amiable, and in no fatal hurry;well-kept men of the world swirling by in miraculous limousines; leglesscripples flopping on hands and leather pads; thin-whiskered students invelveteen; walrus-moustached veterans in broadcloth; keen-faced oldprelates; shabby young priests; cavalrymen in casque and cuirass;workingmen turned horse and harnessed to carts; sidewalk jesters, itinerant vendors of questionable wares; shady loafers dressed toresemble gold-showering America; motor-cyclists in leather; hairymusicians, blue gendarmes, baggy red zouaves; purple-faced, glazed-hatted, scarlet-waistcoated, cigarette-smoking cabmen, calling oneanother "onions, " "camels, " and names even more terrible. Womenprevalent over all the concourse; fair women, dark women, pretty women, gilded women, haughty women, indifferent women, friendly women, merrywomen. Fine women in fine clothes; rich women in fine clothes; poorwomen in fine clothes. Worldly old women, reclining befurred in electriclandaulettes; wordy old women hoydenishly trundling carts full offlowers. Wonderful automobile women quick-glimpsed, in multiple veils ofwhite and brown and sea-green. Women in rags and tags, and women draped, coifed, and befrilled in the delirium of maddened poet-milliners and thehasheesh dreams of ladies' tailors. 

About the procession, as it moves interminably along the boulevard, ablue haze of fine dust and burnt gasoline rises into the sunshine likethe haze over the passages to an amphitheatre toward which a crowd istrampling; and through this the multitudes seem to go as actors passingto their cues. Your place at one of the little tables upon the sidewalkis that of a wayside spectator: and as the performers go by, in somemeasure acting or looking their parts already, as if in preparation, youguess the roles they play, and name them comedians, tragedians, buffoons, saints, beauties, sots, knaves, gladiators, acrobats, dancers;for all of these are there, and you distinguish the principles from theunnumbered supernumeraries pressing forward to the entrances. So, if yousit at the little tables often enough--that is, if you become an amateurboulevardier--you begin to recognise the transient stars of the pageant, those to whom the boulevard allows a dubious and fugitive role ofcelebrity, and whom it greets with a slight flutter: the turning ofheads, a murmur of comment, and the incredulous boulevard smile, whichseems to say: "You see? Madame and monsieur passing there--evidentlythey think we still believe in them!"

This flutter heralded and followed the passing of a white touring-carwith the procession one afternoon, just before the Grand Prix, though itneeded no boulevard celebrity to make the man who lolled in the tonneauconspicuous. Simply for THAT, notoriety was superfluous; so were theremarkable size and power of his car; so was the elaborate touring-costume of flannels and pongee he wore; so was even the enamelledpresence of the dancer who sat beside him. His face would have done itwithout accessories. 

My old friend, George Ward, and I had met for our aperitif at theTerrace Larue, by the Madeleine, when the white automobile came snakingits way craftily through the traffic. Turning in to pass a victoria onthe wrong side, it was forced down to a snail's pace near the curb andnot far from our table, where it paused, checked by a blockade at thenext corner. I heard Ward utter a half-suppressed guttural of what Itook to be amazement, and I did not wonder. 

The face of the man in the tonneau detached him to the spectator's gazeand singled him out of the concourse with an effect almost ludicrous inits incongruity. The hair was dark, lustrous and thick, the foreheadbroad and finely modelled, and certain other ruinous vestiges of youthand good looks remained; but whatever the features might once have shownof honour, worth, or kindly semblance had disappeared beyond all tracingin a blurred distortion. The lids of one eye were discoloured andswollen almost together; other traces of a recent battering were notlacking, nor was cosmetic evidence of a heroic struggle, on the part ofsome valet of infinite pains, to efface them. The nose lost outline inthe discolorations of the puffed cheeks; the chin, tufted with a smallimperial, trembled beneath a sagging, gray lip. And that this bruisedand dissipated mask should suffer the final grotesque touch, it wasdecorated with the moustache of a coquettish marquis, the ends waxed andexquisitely elevated. 

The figure was fat, but loose and sprawling, seemingly without the willto hold itself together; in truth the man appeared to be almost in asemi-stupor, and, contrasted with this powdered Silenus, even the womanbeside him gained something of human dignity. At least, she wasthoroughly alive, bold, predatory, and in spite of the gross embon-pointthat threatened her, still savagely graceful. A purple veil, dotted withgold, floated about her hat, from which green-dyed ostrich plumescascaded down across a cheek enamelled dead white. Her hair wasplastered in blue-black waves, parted low on the forehead; her lips weresplashed a startling carmine, the eyelids painted blue; and, frombetween lashes gummed into little spikes of blacking, she favoured hercompanion with a glance of carelessly simulated tenderness, --a look alltoo vividly suggesting the ghastly calculations of a cook wheedling achicken nearer the kitchen door. But I felt no great pity for thevictim. 

"Who is it?" I asked, staring at the man in the automobile and notturning toward Ward. 

"That is Mariana--'la bella Mariana la Mursiana, '" George answered; "--one of those women who come to Paris from the tropics to form themselveson the legend of the one great famous and infamous Spanish dancer whodied a long while ago. Mariana did very well for a time. I've heard thatthe revolutionary societies intend striking medals in her honour: she'sdone worse things to royalty than all the anarchists in Europe! But hergreat days are over: she's getting old; that type goes to piecesquickly, once it begins to slump, and it won't be long before she'll behorribly fat, though she's still a graceful dancer. She danced at theFolie Rouge last week. "

"Thank you, George, " I said gratefully. "I hope you'll point out theLouvre and the Eiffel Tower to me some day. I didn't mean Mariana. "

"What did you mean?"

What I had meant was so obvious that I turned to my friend in surprise. He was nervously tapping his chin with the handle of his cane andstaring at the white automobile with very grim interest. 

"I meant the man with her, " I said. 

"Oh!" He laughed sourly. "That carrion?"

"You seem to be an acquaintance. "

"Everybody on the boulevard knows who he is, " said Ward curtly, paused, and laughed again with very little mirth. "So do you, " he continued;"and as for my acquaintance with him--yes, I had once the distinction ofbeing his rival in a small way, a way so small, in fact, that it endedin his becoming a connection of mine by marriage. He's Larrabee Harman. "

That was a name somewhat familiar to readers of American newspapers evenbefore its bearer was fairly out of college. The publicity it thenattained (partly due to young Harman's conspicuous wealth) attached tosome youthful exploits not without a certain wild humour. But frolicdegenerated into brawl and debauch: what had been scrapes for the boybecame scandals for the man; and he gathered a more and more unsavouryreputation until its like was not to be found outside a penitentiary. The crux of his career in his own country was reached during a midnightquarrel in Chicago when he shot a negro gambler. After that, the negrohaving recovered and the matter being somehow arranged so that theprosecution was dropped, Harman's wife left him, and the papers recordedher application for a divorce. She was George Ward's second cousin, thedaughter of a Baltimore clergyman; a belle in a season and town ofbelles, and a delightful, headstrong creature, from all accounts. Shehad made a runaway match of it with Harman three years before, theiraffair having been earnestly opposed by all her relatives--especially bypoor George, who came over to Paris just after the wedding in amiserable frame of mind. 

The Chicago exploit was by no means the end of Harman's notoriety. Evading an effort (on the part of an aunt, I believe) to get him lockedup safely in a "sanitarium, " he began a trip round the world with anorgy which continued from San Francisco to Bangkok, where, in thecompany of some congenial fellow travellers, he interfered in a nativeceremonial with the result that one of his companions was drowned. Proceeding, he was reported to be in serious trouble at Constantinople, the result of an inquisitiveness little appreciated by Orientals. TheState Department, bestirring itself, saved him from a very real peril, and he continued his journey. In Rome he was rescued with difficultyfrom a street mob that unreasonably refused to accept intoxication as anexcuse for his riding down a child on his way to the hunt. Later, duringthe winter just past, we had been hearing from Monte Carlo of hisdisastrous plunges at that most imbecile of all games, roulette. 

Every event, no matter how trifling, in this man's pitiful career hadbeen recorded in the American newspapers with an elaboration which, formy part, I found infuriatingly tiresome. I have lived in Paris so longthat I am afraid to go home: I have too little to show for my years ofpottering with paint and canvas, and I have grown timid about all thechanges that have crept in at home. I do not know the "new men, " I donot know how they would use me, and fear they might make no place forme; and so I fit myself more closely into the little grooves I have wornfor myself, and resign myself to stay. But I am no "expatriate. " I knowthere is a feeling at home against us who remain over here to do ourwork, but in most instances it is a prejudice which springs from amisunderstanding. I think the quality of patriotism in those of us who"didn't go home in time" is almost pathetically deep and real, and, likemany another oldish fellow in my position, I try to keep as close tothings at home as I can. All of my old friends gradually ceased to writeto me, but I still take three home newspapers, trying to follow thepeople I knew and the things that happen; and the ubiquity of soworthless a creature as Larrabee Harman in the columns I dredged forreal news had long been a point of irritation to this present exile. Notonly that: he had usurped space in the Continental papers, and of latemy favourite Parisian journal had served him to me with my morningcoffee, only hinting his name, but offering him with that gracioussatire characteristic of the Gallic journalist writing of anythingAmerican. And so this grotesque wreck of a man was well known to theboulevard--one of its sights. That was to be perceived by the flutter hecaused, by the turning of heads in his direction, and the low laughterof the people at the little tables. Three or four in the rear ranks hadrisen to their feet to get a better look at him and his companion. 

Some one behind us chuckled aloud. "They say Mariana beats him. "

"Evidently!"

The dancer was aware of the flutter, and called Harman's attention to itwith a touch upon his arm and a laugh and a nod of her violent plumage. 

At that he seemed to rouse himself somewhat: his head rolled heavilyover upon his shoulder, the lids lifted a little from the red-shot eyes, showing a strange pride when his gaze fell upon the many staring faces. 

Then, as the procession moved again and the white automobile with it, the sottish mouth widened in a smile of dull and cynical contempt: thelook of a half-poisoned Augustan borne down through the crowds from thePalatine after supping with Caligula. 

Ward pulled my sleeve. 

"Come, " he said, "let us go over to the Luxembourg gardens where the airis cleaner. "

CHAPTER II

Ward is a portrait-painter, and in the matter of vogue there seem to beno pinnacles left for him to surmount. I think he has painted most ofthe very rich women of fashion who have come to Paris of late years, andhe has become so prosperous, has such a polite celebrity, and hisopinions upon art are so conclusively quoted, that the friendship ofsome of us who started with him has been dangerously strained. 

He lives a well-ordered life; he has always led that kind of life. Evenin his student days when I first knew him, I do not remember an occasionupon which the principal of a New England high-school would havecriticised his conduct. And yet I never heard anyone call him a prig;and, so far as I know, no one was ever so stupid as to think him one. Hewas a quiet, good-looking, well-dressed boy, and he matured into asomewhat reserved, well-poised man, of impressive distinction inappearance and manner. He has always been well tended and cared for bywomen; in his student days his mother lived with him; his sister, MissElizabeth, looks after him now. She came with him when he returned toParis after his disappointment in the unfortunate Harman affair, and shetook charge of all his business--as well as his social--arrangements(she has been accused of a theory that the two things may be happilycombined), making him lease a house in an expensively modish quarternear the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne. Miss Elizabeth is an instinctivelyfashionable woman, practical withal, and to her mind success should benot only respectable but "smart. " She does not speak of the "right bank"and the "left bank" of the Seine; she calls them the "right bank" andthe "wrong bank. " And yet, though she removed George (her word is"rescued") from many of his old associations with Montparnasse, shewarmly encouraged my friendship with him--yea, in spite of my living sodeep in the wrong bank that the first time he brought her to my studio, she declared she hadn't seen anything so like Bring-the-child-to-the-old-hag's-cellar-at-midnight since her childhood. She is a handsomewoman, large, and of a fine, high colour; her manner is gailydictatorial, and she and I got along very well together. 

Probably she appreciated my going to some pains with the clothes I worewhen I went to their house. My visits there were infrequent, not becauseI had any fear of wearing out a welcome, but on account of MissElizabeth's "day, " when I could see nothing of George for the crowd oflionising women and time-wasters about him. Her "day" was a dread ofmine; I could seldom remember which day it was, and when I did she had away of shifting it so that I was fatally sure to run into it--to mymisery, for, beginning with those primordial indignities suffered inyouth, when I was scrubbed with a handkerchief outside the parlour dooras a preliminary to polite usages, my childhood's, manhood's prayer hasbeen: From all such days, Good Lord, deliver me!

It was George's habit to come much oftener to see me. He always reallyliked the sort of society his sister had brought about him; but now andthen there were intervals when it wore on him a little, I think. Sometimes he came for me in his automobile and we would make a mildexcursion to breakfast in the country; and that is what happened onemorning about three weeks after the day when we had sought pure air inthe Luxembourg gardens. 

We drove out through the Bois and by Suresnes, striking into aroundabout road to Versailles beyond St. Cloud. It was June, a dustlessand balmy noon, the air thinly gilded by a faint haze, and I know fewthings pleasanter than that road on a fair day of the early summer andno sweeter way to course it than in an open car; though I must not begiving myself out for a "motorist"--I have not even the right cap. I amusually nervous in big machines, too; but Ward has never caught thespeed mania and holds a strange power over his chauffeur; so we rolledalong peacefully, not madly, and smoked (like the car) in hastelesscontent. 

"After all, " said George, with a placid wave of the hand, "I sometimeswish that the landscape had called me. You outdoor men have all thehealth and pleasure of living in the open, and as for the work--oh! youfellows think you work, but you don't know what it means. "

"No?" I said, and smiled as I always meanly do when George "talks art. "He was silent for a few moments and then said irritably, "Well, at least you can't deny that the academic crowd can DRAW!"

Never having denied it, though he had challenged me in the same wayperhaps a thousand times, I refused to deny it now; whereupon hereturned to his theme: "Landscape is about as simple as a stage fight;two up, two down, cross and repeat. Take that ahead of us. Couldanything be simpler to paint?"

He indicated the white road running before us between open fields to acurve, where it descended to pass beneath an old stone culvert. Beyond, stood a thick grove with a clear sky flickering among the branches. Anold peasant woman was pushing a heavy cart round the curve, a scarlethandkerchief knotted about her head. 

"You think it's easy?" I asked. 

"Easy! Two hours ought to do it as well as it could be done--at least, the way you fellows do it!" He clenched his fingers as if upon thehandle of a house-painter's brush. "Slap, dash--there's your road. " Hepaddled the air with the imaginary brush as though painting the side ofa barn. "Swish, swash--there go your fields and your stone bridge. Fit!Speck! And there's your old woman, her red handkerchief, and what yourdealer will probably call 'the human interest, ' all complete. Squirt theedges of your foliage in with a blow-pipe. Throw a cup of tea over thewhole, and there's your haze. Call it 'The Golden Road, ' or 'The Bath ofSunlight, ' or 'Quiet Noon. ' Then you'll probably get a criticismbeginning, 'Few indeed have more intangibly detained upon canvas sopoetic a quality of sentiment as this sterling landscapist, who inNumber 136 has most ethereally expressed the profound silence of eveningon an English moor. The solemn hush, the brooding quiet, the homewardploughman--'"

He was interrupted by an outrageous uproar, the grisly scream of a sirenand the cannonade of a powerful exhaust, as a great white touring-carswung round us from behind at a speed that sickened me to see, and, snorting thunder, passed us "as if we had been standing still. "

It hurtled like a comet down the curve and we were instantly choking inits swirling tail of dust. 

"Seventy miles an hour!" gasped George, swabbing at his eyes. "Those arethe fellows that get into the pa--Oh, Lord! THERE they go!"

Swinging out to pass us and then sweeping in upon the reverse curve toclear the narrow arch of the culvert were too much for the white car;and through the dust we saw it rock dangerously. In the middle of theroad, ten feet from the culvert, the old woman struggled frantically toget her cart out of the way. The howl of the siren frightened herperhaps, for she lost her head and went to the wrong side. Then theshriek of the machine drowned the human scream as the automobile struck. 

The shock of contact was muffled. But the mass of machinery hoisteditself in the air as if it had a life of its own and had been stung intosudden madness. It was horrible to see, and so grotesque that a long-forgotten memory of my boyhood leaped instantaneously into my mind, arecollection of the evolutions performed by a Newfoundland dog thatrooted under a board walk and found a hive of wild bees. 

The great machine left the road for the fields on the right, reared, fell, leaped against the stone side of the culvert, apparently trying toclimb it, stood straight on end, whirled backward in a half-somersault, crashed over on its side, flashed with flame and explosion, and layhidden under a cloud of dust and smoke. 

Ward's driver slammed down his accelerator, sent us spinning round thecurve, and the next moment, throwing on his brakes, halted sharply atthe culvert. 

The fabric of the road was so torn and distorted one might have thoughta steam dredge had begun work there, but the fragments of wreckage wereoddly isolated and inconspicuous. The peasant's cart, tossed into aclump of weeds, rested on its side, the spokes of a rimless wheel slowlyrevolving on the hub uppermost. Some tools were strewn in a semi-circular trail in the dust; a pair of smashed goggles crunched beneathmy foot as I sprang out of Ward's car, and a big brass lamp had fallenin the middle of the road, crumpled like waste paper. Beside it lay agold rouge box. 

The old woman had somehow saved herself--or perhaps her saint had helpedher--for she was sitting in the grass by the roadside, wailinghysterically and quite unhurt. The body of a man lay in a heap beneaththe stone archway, and from his clothes I guessed that he had been thedriver of the white car. I say "had been" because there were reasons forneeding no second glance to comprehend that the man was dead. Nevertheless, I knelt beside him and placed my hand upon his breast tosee if his heart still beat. Afterward I concluded that I did thisbecause I had seen it done upon the stage, or had read of it in stories;and even at the time I realised that it was a silly thing for me to bedoing. 

Ward, meanwhile, proved more practical. He was dragging a woman out ofthe suffocating smoke and dust that shrouded the wreck, and after amoment I went to help him carry her into the fresh air, where George puthis coat under her head. Her hat had been forced forward over her faceand held there by the twisting of a system of veils she wore; and we hadsome difficulty in unravelling this; but she was very much alive, as aseries of muffled imprecations testified, leading us to conclude thather sufferings were more profoundly of rage than of pain. Finally shepushed our hands angrily aside and completed the untanglement herself, revealing the scratched and smeared face of Mariana, the dancer. 

"Cornichon! Chameau! Fond du bain!" she gasped, tears of anger startingfrom her eyes. She tried to rise before we could help her, but droppedback with a scream. 

"Oh, the pain!" she cried. "That imbecile! If he has let me break myleg! A pretty dancer I should be! I hope he is killed. "

One of the singularities of motoring on the main-travelled roads nearParis is the prevalence of cars containing physicians and surgeons. Whether it be testimony to the opportunism, to the sportingproclivities, or to the prosperity of gentlemen of those professions, Ido not know, but it is a fact that I have never heard of an accident(and in the season there is an accident every day) on one of these roadswhen a doctor in an automobile was not almost immediately a chancearrival, and fortunately our case offered no exception to this rule. Another automobile had already come up and the occupants were hastilyalighting. Ward shouted to the foremost to go for a doctor. 

"I am a doctor, " the man answered, advancing and kneeling quickly by thedancer. "And you--you may be of help yonder. "

We turned toward the ruined car where Ward's driver was shouting for us. 

"What is it?" called Ward as we ran toward him. 

"Monsieur, " he replied, "there is some one under the tonneau here!"

The smoke had cleared a little, though a rivulet of burning gasoline ranfrom the wreck to a pool of flame it was feeding in the road. The frontcushions and woodwork had caught fire and a couple of labourers, pantingwith the run across the fields, were vainly belabouring the flames withbrushwood. From beneath the overturned tonneau projected the lower partof a man's leg, clad in a brown puttee and a russet shoe. Ward's driverhad brought his tools; had jacked up the car as high as possible; butwas still unable to release the imprisoned body. 

"I have seized that foot and pulled with all my strength, " he said, "andI cannot make him move one centimetre. It is necessary that as manypeople as possible lay hold of the car on the side away from the fireand all lift together. Yes, " he added, "and very soon!"

Some carters had come from the road and one of them lay full length onthe ground peering beneath the wreck. "It is the head of monsieur, "explained this one; "it is the head of monsieur which is fastened underthere. "

"Eh, but you are wiser than Clemenceau!" said the chauffeur. "Get up, myancient, and you there, with the brushwood, let the fire go for a momentand help, when I say the word. And you, monsieur, " he turned to Ward, "if you please, will you pull with me upon the ankle here at the rightmoment?"

The carters, the labourers, the men from the other automobile, and Ilaid hold of the car together. 

"Now, then, messieurs, LIFT!"

Stifled with the gasoline smoke, we obeyed. One or two hands werescorched and our eyes smarted blindingly, but we gave a mighty heave, and felt the car rising. 

"Well done!" cried the chauffeur. "Well done! But a little more! Thesmallest fraction--HA! It is finished, messieurs!"

We staggered back, coughing and wiping our eyes. For a minute or two Icould not see at all, and was busy with a handkerchief. 

Ward laid his hand on my shoulder. 

"Do you know who it is?" he asked. 

"Yes, of course, " I answered. 

When I could see again, I found that I was looking almost straight downinto the upturned face of Larrabee Harman, and I cannot better expresswhat this man had come to be, and what the degradation of his life hadwritten upon him, than by saying that the dreadful thing I looked uponnow was no more horrible a sight than the face I had seen, fresh fromthe valet and smiling in ugly pride at the starers, as he passed theterrace of Larue on the day before the Grand Prix. 

We helped to carry him to the doctor's car, and to lift the dancer intoWard's, and to get both of them out again at the hospital at Versailles, where they were taken. Then, with no need to ask each other if we shouldabandon our plan to breakfast in the country, we turned toward Paris, and rolled along almost to the barriers in silence. 

"Did it seem to you, " said George finally, "that a man so frightfullyinjured could have any chance of getting well?"

"No, " I answered. "I thought he was dying as we carried him into thehospital. "

"So did I. The top of his head seemed all crushed in--Whew!" He brokeoff, shivering, and wiped his brow. After a pause he added thoughtfully, "It will be a great thing for Louise. "

Louise was the name of his second cousin, the girl who had done battlewith all her family and then run away from them to be Larrabee Harman'swife. Remembering the stir that her application for divorce had made, Idid not understand how Harman's death could benefit her, unless Georgehad some reason to believe that he had made a will in her favour. However, the remark had been made more to himself than to me and I didnot respond. 

The morning papers flared once more with the name of Larrabee Harman, and we read that there was "no hope of his surviving. " Ironic phrase!There was not a soul on earth that day who could have hoped for hisrecovery, or who--for his sake--cared two straws whether he lived ordied. And the dancer had been right; one of her legs was badly broken:she would never dance again. 

Evening papers reported that Harman was "lingering. " He was lingeringthe next day. He was lingering the next week, and the end of a month sawhim still "lingering. " Then I went down to Capri, where--for he had beenafter all the merest episode to me--I was pleased to forget all abouthim. 

CHAPTER III

A great many people keep their friends in mind by writing to them, butmore do not; and Ward and I belong to the majority. After my departurefrom Paris I had but one missive from him, a short note, written at therequest of his sister, asking me to be on the lookout for Italianearrings, to add to her collection of old jewels. So, from time to time, I sent her what I could find about Capri or in Naples, and she respondedwith neat little letters of acknowledgment. 

Two years I stayed on Capri, eating the lotus which grows on that happyisland, and painting very little--only enough, indeed, to be rememberedat the Salon and not so much as knowing how kindly or unkindly they hungmy pictures there. But even on Capri, people sometimes hear the call ofParis and wish to be in that unending movement: to hear themultitudinous rumble, to watch the procession from a cafe terrace and todine at Foyot's. So there came at last a fine day when I, knowing thatthe horse-chestnuts were in bloom along the Champs Elysees, threw myrope-soled shoes to a beggar, packed a rusty trunk, and was off for thebanks of the Seine. 

My arrival--just the drive from the Gare de Lyon to my studio--was likethe shock of surf on a bather's breast. 

The stir and life, the cheerful energy of the streets, put stir and lifeand cheerful energy into me. I felt the itch to work again, to be at it, at it in earnest--to lose no hour of daylight, and to paint better thanI had painted!

Paris having given me this impetus, I dared not tempt her further, norallow the edge of my eagerness time to blunt; therefore, at the end of afortnight, I went over into Normandy and deposited that rusty trunk ofmine in a corner of the summer pavilion in the courtyard of MadameBrossard's inn, Les Trois Pigeons, in a woodland neighborhood that isthere. Here I had painted through a prolific summer of my youth, and Iwas glad to find--as I had hoped--nothing changed; for the place wasdear to me. Madame Brossard (dark, thin, demure as of yore, a fine-looking woman with a fine manner and much the flavour of old Normanportraits) gave me a pleasant welcome, remembering me readily butwithout surprise, while Amedee, the antique servitor, cackled over meand was as proud of my advent as if I had been a new egg and he had laidme. The simile is grotesque; but Amedee is the most henlike waiter inFrance. 

He is a white-haired, fat old fellow, always well-shaved; as neat as abilliard-ball. In the daytime, when he is partly porter, he wears ablack tie, a gray waistcoat broadly striped with scarlet, and, fromwaist to feet, a white apron like a skirt, and so competently encirclingthat his trousers are of mere conventionality and no real necessity; butafter six o'clock (becoming altogether a maitre d'hotel) he is clad asany other formal gentleman. At all times he wears a fresh table-clothover his arm, keeping an exaggerated pile of them ready at hand on aledge in one of the little bowers of the courtyard, so that he may neverbe shamed by getting caught without one. 

His conception of life is that all worthy persons were created asreceptacles for food and drink; and five minutes after my arrival he hadme seated (in spite of some meek protests) in a wicker chair with apitcher of the right Three Pigeons cider on the table before me, whilehe subtly dictated what manner of dinner I should eat. For this intervalAmedee's exuberance was sobered and his badinage dismissed as beingmere garniture, the questions now before us concerning grave and inwardmatters. His suggestions were deferential but insistent; his manner wasthat of a prime minister who goes through the form of convincing thesovereign. He greeted each of his own decisions with a very loud "Bien!"as if startled by the brilliancy of my selections, and, the menu beingconcluded, exploded a whole volley of "Biens" and set off violently toinstruct old Gaston, the cook. 

That is Amedee's way; he always starts violently for anywhere he meansto go. He is a little lame and his progress more or less sidelong, butif you call him, or new guests arrive at the inn, or he receives anorder from Madame Brossard, he gives the effect of running by a suddenmovement of the whole body like that of a man ABOUT to run, and movesoff using the gestures of a man who IS running; after which he proceedsto his destination at an exquisite leisure. Remembering this old habitof his, it was with joy that I noted his headlong departure. Some tenfeet of his progress accomplished, he halted (for no purpose but toscratch his head the more luxuriously); next, strayed from the path tocontemplate a rose-bush, and, selecting a leaf with carefuldeliberation, placed it in his mouth and continued meditatively upon hisway to the kitchen. 

I chuckled within me; it was good to be back at Madame Brossard's. 

The courtyard was more a garden; bright with rows of flowers in formallittle beds and blossoming up from big green tubs, from red jars, andalso from two brightly painted wheel-barrows. A long arbour offered ashelter of vines for those who might choose to dine, breakfast, orlounge beneath, and, here and there among the shrubberies, you mightcome upon a latticed bower, thatched with straw. My own pavilion (halfbedroom, half studio) was set in the midst of all and had a small porchof its own with a rich curtain of climbing honeysuckle for a screen fromthe rest of the courtyard. 

The inn itself is gray with age, the roof sagging pleasantly here andthere; and an old wooden gallery runs the length of each wing, theguest-chambers of the upper story opening upon it like the deck-rooms ofa steamer, with boxes of tulips and hyacinths along the gallery railingsand window ledges for the gayest of border-lines. 

Beyond the great open archway, which gives entrance to the courtyard, lies the quiet country road; passing this, my eyes followed the widesweep of poppy-sprinkled fields to a line of low green hills; and therewas the edge of the forest sheltering those woodland interiors which Ihad long ago tried to paint, and where I should be at work to-morrow. 

In the course of time, and well within the bright twilight, Amedeespread the crisp white cloth and served me at a table on my pavilionporch. He feigned anxiety lest I should find certain dishes (those whichhe knew were most delectable) not to my taste, but was obviously sodistended with fatuous pride over the whole meal that it became atemptation to denounce at least some trifling sauce or garnishment;nevertheless, so much mendacity proved beyond me and I spared him and myown conscience. This puffed-uppedness of his was to be observed only inhis expression of manner, for during the consumption of food it was hisworthy custom to practise a ceremonious, nay, a reverential, hush, andhe never offered (or approved) conversation until he had prepared thesalad. That accomplished, however, and the water bubbling in the coffeemachine, he readily favoured me with a discourse on the decline in gloryof Les Trois Pigeons. 

"Monsieur, it is the automobiles; they have done it. Formerly, as whenmonsieur was here, the painters came from Paris. They would come in thespring and would stay until the autumn rains. What busy times and whatdrolleries! Ah, it was gay in those days! Monsieur remembers well. Ha, Ha! But now, I think, the automobiles have frightened away the painters;at least they do not come any more. And the automobiles themselves; theycome sometimes for lunch, a few, but they love better the seashore, andwe are just close enough to be too far away. Those automobiles, theylove the big new hotels and the casinos with roulette. They eat hastily, gulp down a liqueur, and pouf! off they rush for Trouville, forHoulgate--for heaven knows where! And even the automobiles do not comeso frequently as they did. Our road used to be the best from Lisieux toBeuzeval, but now the maps recommend another. They pass us by, and yetyonder--only a few kilometres--is the coast with its thousands. We arenear the world but out of it, monsieur. "

He poured my coffee; dropped a lump of sugar from the tongs with abenevolent gesture--"One lump: always the same. Monsieur sees that Iremember well, ha?"--and the twilight having fallen, he lit two orange-shaded candles and my cigar with the same match. The night was so quietthat the candle-lights burned as steadily as flames in a globe, yet theair was spiced with a cool fragrance, and through the honeysuckle leavesabove me I saw, as I leaned back in my wicker chair, a glimmer of kindlystars. 

"Very comfortably out of the world, Amedee, " I said. "It seems to me Ihave it all to myself. "

"Unhappily, yes!" he exclaimed; then excused himself, chuckling. "Ishould have said that we should be happier if we had many like monsieur. But it is early in the season to despair. Then, too, our best suite isalready engaged. "

"By whom?"

"Two men of science who arrive next week. One is a great man. MadameBrossard is pleased that he is coming to Les Trois Pigeons, but I tellher it is only natural. He comes now for the first time because he likesthe quiet, but he will come again, like monsieur, because he has beenhere before. That is what I always say: 'Any one who has been here mustcome again. ' The problem is only to get them to come the first time. Truly!"

"Who is the great man, Amedee?"

"Ah! A distinguished professor of science. Truly. "

"What science?"

"I do not know. But he is a member of the Institute. Monsieur must haveheard of that great Professor Keredec?"

"The name is known. Who is the other?"

"A friend of his. I do not know. All the upper floor of the east wingthey have taken--the Grande Suite--those two and their valet-de-chambre. That is truly the way in modern times--the philosophers are rich men. "

"Yes, " I sighed. "Only the painters are poor nowadays. "

"Ha, ha, monsieur!" Amedee laughed cunningly. 

"It was always easy to see that monsieur only amuses himself with hispainting. "

"Thank you, Amedee, " I responded. "I have amused other people with ittoo, I fear. "

"Oh, without doubt!" he agreed graciously, as he folded the cloth. Ihave always tried to believe that it was not so much my pictures as thefact that I paid my bills the day they were presented which convincedeverybody about Les Trois Pigeons that I was an amateur. But I neverbecame happily enough settled in this opinion to risk pressing aninvestigation; and it was a relief that Amedee changed the subject. 

"Monsieur remembers the Chateau de Quesnay--at the crest of the hill onthe road north of Dives?"

"I remember. "

"It is occupied this season by some rich Americans. "

"How do you know they are rich?"

"Dieu de Dieu!" The old fellow appealed to heaven. "But they areAmericans!"

"And therefore millionaires. Perfectly, Amedee. "

"Perfectly, monsieur. Perhaps monsieur knows them. "

"Yes, I know them. "

"Truly!" He affected dejection. "And poor Madame Brossard thoughtmonsieur had returned to our old hotel because he liked it, andremembered our wine of Beaune and the good beds and old Gaston'scooking!"

"Do not weep, Amedee, " I said. "I have come to paint; not because I knowthe people who have taken Quesnay. " And I added: "I may not see them atall. "

In truth I thought that very probable. Miss Elizabeth had mentioned inone of her notes that Ward had leased Quesnay, but I had not soughtquarters at Les Trois Pigeons because it stood within walking distanceof the chateau. In my industrious frame of mind that circumstance seemedalmost a drawback. Miss Elizabeth, ever hospitable to those whom shenoticed at all, would be doubly so in the country, as people always are;and I wanted all my time to myself--no very selfish wish since my timewas not conceivably of value to any one else. I thought it wise to leaveany encounter with the lady to chance, and as the by-paths of thecountry-side were many and intricate, I intended, without ungallantry, to render the chance remote. George himself had just sailed on abusiness trip to America, as I knew from her last missive; and until hisreturn, I should put in all my time at painting and nothing else, thoughI liked his sister, as I have said, and thought of her--often. 

Amedee doubted my sincerity, however, for he laughed incredulously. 

"Eh, well, monsieur enjoys saying it!"

"Certainly. It is a pleasure to say what one means. "

"But monsieur could not mean it. Monsieur will call at the chateau inthe morning"--the complacent varlet prophesied--"as early as it will bepolite. I am sure of that. Monsieur is not at all an old man; no, notyet! Even if he were, aha! no one could possess the friendship of thatwonderful Madame d'Armand and remain away from the chateau. "

"Madame d'Armand?" I said. "That is not the name. You mean MademoiselleWard. "

"No, no!" He shook his head and his fat cheeks bulged with a smile whichI believe he intended to express a respectful roguishness. "MademoiselleWard" (he pronounced it "Ware") "is magnificent; every one must fly toobey when she opens her mouth. If she did not like the ocean there belowthe chateau, the ocean would have to move! It needs only a glance toperceive that Mademoiselle Ward is a great lady--but MADAME D'ARMAND!AHA!" He rolled his round eyes to an effect of unspeakable admiration, and with a gesture indicated that he would have kissed his hand to thestars, had that been properly reverential to Madame d'Armand. "Butmonsieur knows very well for himself!"

"Monsieur knows that you are very confusing--even for a maitre d'hotel. We were speaking of the present chatelaine of Quesnay, MademoiselleWard. I have never heard of Madame d'Armand. "

"Monsieur is serious?"

"Truly!" I answered, making bold to quote his shibboleth. 

"Then monsieur has truly much to live for. Truly!" he chuckled openly, convinced that he had obtained a marked advantage in a conflict of wits, shaking his big head from side to side with an exasperating air ofknowingness. "Ah, truly! When that lady drives by, some day, in thecarriage from the chateau--eh? Then monsieur will see how much he has tolive for. Truly, truly, truly!"

He had cleared the table, and now, with a final explosion of the wordwhich gave him such immoderate satisfaction, he lifted the tray and madeone of his precipitate departures. 

"Amedee, " I said, as he slackened down to his sidelong leisure. 

"Monsieur?"

"Who is Madame d'Armand?"

"A guest of Mademoiselle Ward at Quesnay. In fact, she is in charge ofthe chateau, since Mademoiselle Ward is, for the time, away. "

"Is she a Frenchwoman?"

"It seems not. In fact, she is an American, though she dresses with somuch of taste. Ah, Madame Brossard admits it, and Madame Brossard knowsthe art of dressing, for she spends a week of every winter in Rouen--andbesides there is Trouville itself only some kilometres distant. MadameBrossard says that Mademoiselle Ward dresses with richness and splendourand Madame d'Armand with economy, but beauty. Those were the words usedby Madame Brossard. Truly. "

"Madame d'Armand's name is French, " I observed. 

"Yes, that is true, " said Amedee thoughtfully. "No one can deny it; itis a French name. " He rested the tray upon a stump near by and scratchedhis head. "I do not understand how that can be, " he continued slowly. "Jean Ferret, who is chief gardener at the chateau, is an acquaintanceof mine. We sometimes have a cup of cider at Pere Baudry's, a kilometredown the road from here; and Jean Ferret has told me that she is anAmerican. And yet, as you say, monsieur, the name is French. Perhaps sheis French after all. "

"I believe, " said I, "that if I struggled a few days over this puzzle, Imight come to the conclusion that Madame d'Armand is an American ladywho has married a Frenchman. "

The old man uttered an exclamation of triumph. 

"Ha! without doubt! Truly she must be an American lady who has married aFrenchman. Monsieur has already solved the puzzle. Truly, truly!" And hetrulied himself across the darkness, to emerge in the light of the opendoor of the kitchen with the word still rumbling in his throat. 

Now for a time there came the clinking of dishes, sounds as of pans andkettles being scoured, the rolling gutturals of old Gaston, the cook, and the treble pipings of young "Glouglou, " his grandchild and scullion. After a while the oblong of light from the kitchen door disappeared; thevoices departed; the stillness of the dark descended, and with it thatunreasonable sense of pathos which night in the country brings to theheart of a wanderer. Then, out of the lonely silence, there issued astrange, incongruous sound as an execrable voice essayed to produce thesemblance of an air odiously familiar about the streets of Paris somethree years past, and I became aware of a smell of some dreadful thingburning. Beneath the arbour I perceived a glowing spark which seemed tobear a certain relation to an oval whitish patch suggesting the front ofa shirt. It was Amedee, at ease, smoking his cigarette after the day'swork and convinced that he was singing. 

"Pour qu'j'finisse Mon service Au Tonkin je suis parti-- Ah! quel beau pays, mesdames! C'est l'paradis des p'tites femmes!"

I rose from the chair on my little porch, to go to bed; but I wasreminded of something, and called to him. 

"Monsieur?" his voice came briskly. 

"How often do you see your friend, Jean Ferret, the gardener ofQuesnay?"

"Frequently, monsieur. To-morrow morning I could easily carry a messageif--"

"That is precisely what I do not wish. And you may as well not mentionme at all when you meet him. "

"It is understood. Perfectly. "

"If it is well understood, there will be a beautiful present for a goodmaitre d'hotel some day. "

"Thank you, monsieur. "

"Good night, Amedee. "

"Good night, monsieur. "

Falling to sleep has always been an intricate matter with me: I liken itto a nightly adventure in an enchanted palace. Weary-limbed and withburning eyelids, after long waiting in the outer court of wakefulness, Ienter a dim, cool antechamber where the heavy garment of the body isleft behind and where, perhaps, some acquaintance or friend greets mewith a familiar speech or a bit of nonsense--or an unseen orchestra mayplay music that I know. From here I go into a spacious apartment wherethe air and light are of a fine clarity, for it is the hall ofrevelations, and in it the secrets of secrets are told, mysteries areresolved, perplexities cleared up, and sometimes I learn what to doabout a picture that has bothered me. This is where I would linger, forbeyond it I walk among crowding fantasies, delusions, terrors and shame, to a curtain of darkness where they take my memory from me, and I knownothing of my own adventures until I am pushed out of a secret door intothe morning sunlight. Amedee was the acquaintance who met me in theantechamber to-night. He remarked that Madame d'Armand was the mostbeautiful woman in the world, and vanished. And in the hall ofrevelations I thought that I found a statue of her--but it was veiled. Iwished to remove the veil, but a passing stranger stopped and told melaughingly that the veil was all that would ever be revealed of her tome--of her, or any other woman!

CHAPTER IV

I was up with the birds in the morning; had my breakfast with them--avery drowsy-eyed Amedee assisting--and made off for the forest to getthe sunrise through the branches, a pack on my back and three sandwichesfor lunch in my pocket. I returned only with the failing light ofevening, cheerfully tired and ready for a fine dinner and an early bed, both of which the good inn supplied. It was my daily programme; ahealthy life "far from the world, " as Amedee said, and I was sorry whenthe serpent entered and disturbed it, though he was my own. He is a petof mine; has been with me since my childhood. He leaves me when I livealone, for he loves company, but returns whenever my kind are about me. There are many names for snakes of his breed, but, to deal charitablywith myself, I call mine Interest-In-Other-People's-Affairs. 

One evening I returned to find a big van from Dives, the nearest railwaystation, drawn up in the courtyard at the foot of the stairs leading tothe gallery, and all of the people of the inn, from Madame Brossard (whodirected) to Glouglou (who madly attempted the heaviest pieces), busilyinstalling trunks, bags, and packing-cases in the suite engaged for the"great man of science" on the second floor of the east wing of thebuilding. Neither the great man nor his companion was to be seen, however, both having retired to their rooms immediately upon theirarrival--so Amedee informed me, as he wiped his brow after staggering upthe steps under a load of books wrapped in sacking. 

I made my evening ablutions removing a Joseph's coat of dust and paint;and came forth from my pavilion, hoping that Professor Keredec and hisfriend would not mind eating in the same garden with a man in a corduroyjacket and knickerbockers; but the gentlemen continued invisible to thepublic eye, and mine was the only table set for dinner in the garden. Up-stairs the curtains were carefully drawn across all the windows ofthe east wing; little leaks of orange, here and there, betraying thelights within. Glouglou, bearing a tray of covered dishes, was justentering the salon of the "Grande Suite, " and the door closed quicklyafter him. 

"It is to be supposed that Professor Keredec and his friend are fatiguedwith their journey from Paris?" I began, a little later. 

"Monsieur, they did not seem fatigued, " said Amedee. 

"But they dine in their own rooms to-night. "

"Every night, monsieur. It is the order of Professor Keredec. And withtheir own valet-de-chambre to serve them. Eh?" He poured my coffeesolemnly. "That is mysterious, to say the least, isn't it?"

"To say the very least, " I agreed. 

"Monsieur the professor is a man of secrets, it appears, " continuedAmedee. "When he wrote to Madame Brossard engaging his rooms, heinstructed her to be careful that none of us should mention even hisname; and to-day when he came, he spoke of his anxiety on that point. "

"But you did mention it. "

"To whom, monsieur?" asked the old fellow blankly. 

"To me. "

"But I told him I had not, " said Amedee placidly. "It is the samething. "

"I wonder, " I began, struck by a sudden thought, "if it will prove quitethe same thing in my own case. I suppose you have not mentioned thecircumstance of my being here to your friend, Jean Ferret of Quesnay?"

He looked at me reproachfully. "Has monsieur been troubled by the peopleof the chateau?"

"'Troubled' by them?"

"Have they come to seek out monsieur and disturb him? Have they doneanything whatever to show that they have heard monsieur is here?"

"No, certainly they haven't, " I was obliged to retract at once. "I begyour pardon, Amedee. "

"Ah, monsieur!" He made a deprecatory bow (which plunged me still deeperin shame), struck a match, and offered a light for my cigar with aforgiving hand. "All the same, " he pursued, "it seems very mysterious--this Keredec affair!"

"To comprehend a great man, Amedee, " I said, "is the next thing tosharing his greatness. "

He blinked slightly, pondered a moment upon this sententious drivel, then very properly ignored it, reverting to his puzzle. 

"But is it not incomprehensible that people should eat indoors this fineweather?"

I admitted that it was. I knew very well how hot and stuffy the salon ofMadame Brossard's "Grande Suite" must be, while the garden was fragrantin the warm, dry night, and the outdoor air like a gentle tonic. Nevertheless, Professor Keredec and his friend preferred the salon. 

When a man is leading a very quiet and isolated life, it isinconceivable what trifles will occupy and concentrate his attention. The smaller the community the more blowzy with gossip you are sure tofind it; and I have little doubt that when Friday learned enoughEnglish, one of the first things Crusoe did was to tell him some scandalabout the goat. Thus, though I treated the "Keredec affair" with aseeming airiness to Amedee, I cunningly drew the faithful rascal out, and fed my curiosity upon his own (which, as time went on and themystery deepened, seemed likely to burst him), until, virtually, I wasreceiving, every evening at dinner, a detailed report of the day'sdoings of Professor Keredec and his companion. 

The reports were voluminous, the details few. The two gentlemen, asAmedee would relate, spent their forenoons over books and writing intheir rooms. Professor Keredec's voice could often be heard in everypart of the inn; at times holding forth with such protracted vehemencethat only one explanation would suffice: the learned man was deliveringa lecture to his companion. 

"Say then!" exclaimed Amedee--"what king of madness is that? To makeorations for only one auditor!"

He brushed away my suggestion that the auditor might be a stenographerto whom the professor was dictating chapters for a new book. Therelation between the two men, he contended, was more like that betweenteacher and pupil. "But a pupil with gray hair!" he finished, raisinghis fat hands to heaven. "For that other monsieur has hair as gray asmine. "

"That other monsieur" was farther described as a thin man, handsome, butwith a "singular air, " nor could my colleague more satisfactorily definethis air, though he made a racking struggle to do so. 

"In what does the peculiarity of his manner lie?" I asked. 

"But it is not so much that his manner is peculiar, monsieur; it is anair about him that is singular. Truly!"

"But how is it singular?"

"Monsieur, it is very, very singular. "

"You do not understand, " I insisted. "What kind of singularity has theair of 'that other monsieur'?"

"It has, " replied Amedee, with a powerful effort, "a very singularsingularity. "

This was as near as he could come, and, fearful of injuring him, Iabandoned that phase of our subject. 

The valet-de-chambre whom my fellow-lodgers had brought with them fromParis contributed nothing to the inn's knowledge of his masters, Ilearned. This struck me not only as odd, but unique, for French servantstell one another everything, and more--very much more. "But this is asilent man, " said Amedee impressively. "Oh! very silent! He shakes hishead wisely, yet he will not open his mouth. However, that may bebecause"--and now the explanation came--"because he was engaged onlylast week and knows nothing. Also, he is but temporary; he returns toParis soon and Glouglou is to serve them. "

I ascertained that although "that other monsieur" had gray hair, he wasby no means a person of great age; indeed, Glouglou, who had seen himoftener than any other of the staff, maintained that he was quite young. Amedee's own opportunities for observation had been limited. Everyafternoon the two gentlemen went for a walk; but they always came downfrom the gallery so quickly, he declared, and, leaving the inn by a rearentrance, plunged so hastily into the nearest by-path leading to theforest, that he caught little more than glimpses of them. They returnedafter an hour or so, entering the inn with the same appearance of hasteto be out of sight, the professor always talking, "with the manner of anorator, but in English. " Nevertheless, Amedee remarked, it was certainthat Professor Keredec's friend was neither an American nor anEnglishman. "Why is it certain?" I asked. 

"Monsieur, he drinks nothing but water, he does not smoke, and Glouglousays he speaks very pure French. "

"Glouglou is an authority who resolves the difficulty. 'That othermonsieur' is a Frenchman. "

"But, monsieur, he is smooth-shaven. "

"Perhaps he has been a maitre d'hotel. "

"Eh! I wish one that _I_ know could hope to dress as well when heretires! Besides, Glouglou says that other monsieur eats his soupsilently. "

"I can find no flaw in the deduction, " I said, rising to go to bed. "Wemust leave it there for to-night. "

The next evening Amedee allowed me to perceive that he was concealingsomething under his arm as he stoked the coffee-machine, and upon myasking what it was, he glanced round the courtyard with histrionicslyness, placed the object on the table beside my cap, and stepped backto watch the impression, his manner that of one who declaims: "At lastthe missing papers are before you!"

"What is that?" I said. 

"It is a book. "

"I am persuaded by your candour, Amedee, as well as by the generalappearance of this article, " I returned as I picked it up, "that you arespeaking the truth. But why do you bring it to me?"

"Monsieur, " he replied, in the tones of an old conspirator, "thisafternoon the professor and that other monsieur went as usual to walk inthe forest. " He bent over me, pretending to be busy with the coffee-machine, and lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. "When theyreturned, this book fell from the pocket of that other monsieur's coatas he ascended the stair, and he did not notice. Later I shall return itby Glouglou, but I thought it wise that monsieur should see it forhimself. "

The book was Wentworth's Algebra--elementary principles. Painfulrecollections of my boyhood and the binomial theorem rose in my mind asI let the leaves turn under my fingers. "What do you make of it?" Iasked. 

His tone became even more confidential. "Part of it, monsieur, is inEnglish; that is plain. I have found an English word in it that I know--the word 'O. ' But much of the printing is also in Arabic. "

"Arabic!" I exclaimed. 

"Yes, monsieur, look there. " He laid a fat forefinger on "(a + b)2 = a2+ 2ab + b2. " "That is Arabic. Old Gaston has been to Algeria, and hesays that he knows Arabic as well as he does French. He looked at thebook and told me it was Arabic. Truly! Truly!"

"Did he translate any of it for you?"

"No, monsieur; his eyes pained him this afternoon. He says he will readit to-morrow. "

"But you must return the book to-night. "

"That is true. Eh! It leaves the mystery deeper than ever, unlessmonsieur can find some clue in those parts of the book that areEnglish. "

I shed no light upon him. The book had been Greek to me in my tenderyears; it was a pleasure now to leave a fellow-being under theimpression that it was Arabic. 

But the volume took its little revenge upon me, for it increased mycuriosity about Professor Keredec and "that other monsieur. " Why weretwo grown men--one an eminent psychologist and the other a gray-hairedyouth with a singular air--carrying about on their walks a text-book forthe instruction of boys of thirteen or fourteen?

The next day that curiosity of mine was piqued in earnest. It rained andI did not leave the inn, but sat under the great archway and took notesin colour of the shining road, bright drenched fields, and dripping sky. My back was toward the courtyard, that is, "three-quarters" to it, andabout noon I became distracted from my work by a strong self-consciousness which came upon me without any visible or audible cause. Obeying an impulse, I swung round on my camp-stool and looked updirectly at the gallery window of the salon of the "Grande Suite. "

A man with a great white beard was standing at the window, half hiddenby the curtain, watching me intently. 

He perceived that I saw him and dropped the curtain immediately, a speckof colour in his buttonhole catching my eye as it fell. 

The spy was Professor Keredec. 

But why should he study me so slyly and yet so obviously? I had nointention of intruding upon him. Nor was I a psychological "specimen, "though I began to suspect that "that other monsieur" WAS. 

CHAPTER V

I had been painting in various parts of the forest, studying the earlymorning along the eastern fringe and moving deeper in as the dayadvanced. For the stillness and warmth of noon I went to the verywoodland heart, and in the late afternoon moved westward to a glade--achance arena open to the sky, the scene of my most audacious endeavours, for here I was trying to paint foliage luminous under those long shaftsof sunshine which grow thinner but ruddier toward sunset. A path closelybordered by underbrush wound its way to the glade, crossed it, thenwandered away into shady dingles again; and with my easel pitched in themouth of this path, I sat at work, one late afternoon, wonderful for itsstill loveliness. 

The path debouched abruptly on the glade and was so narrow that when Ileaned back my elbows were in the bushes, and it needed care to keep mypalette from being smirched by the leaves; though there was more roomfor my canvas and easel, as I had placed them at arm's length before me, fairly in the open. I had the ambition to paint a picture here--to dothe whole thing in the woods from day to day, instead of taking notesfor the studio--and was at work upon a very foolish experiment: I hadthought to render the light--broken by the branches and foliage--withbroken brush-work, a short stroke of the kind that stung an elderpainter to swear that its practitioners painted in shaking fear of theconcierge appearing for the studio rent. The attempt was alluring, butwhen I rose from my camp-stool and stepped back into the path to getmore distance for my canvas, I saw what a mess I was making of it. Atthe same time, my hand, falling into the capacious pocket of my jacket, encountered a package, my lunch, which I had forgotten to eat, whereupon, becoming suddenly aware that I was very hungry, I began toeat Amedee's good sandwiches without moving from where I stood. 

Absorbed, gazing with abysmal disgust at my canvas, I was eating absent-mindedly--and with all the restraint and dignity of a Georgia darkyattacking a watermelon--when a pleasant voice spoke from just behind me. 

"Pardon, monsieur; permit me to pass, if you please. "

That was all it said, very quietly and in French, but a gunshot mighthave startled me less. 

I turned in confusion to behold a dark-eyed lady, charmingly dressed inlilac and white, waiting for me to make way so that she could pass. 

Nay, let me leave no detail of my mortification unrecorded: I have justsaid that I "turned in confusion"; the truth is that I jumped like akangaroo, but with infinitely less grace. And in my nervous haste toclear her way, meaning only to push the camp-stool out of the path withmy foot, I put too much valour into the push, and with horror saw thecamp-stool rise in the air and drop to the ground again nearly a thirdof the distance across the glade. 

Upon that I squeezed myself back into the bushes, my ears singing and mycheeks burning. 

There are women who will meet or pass a strange man in the woods orfields with as finished an air of being unaware of him (particularly ifhe be a rather shabby painter no longer young) as if the encounter tookplace on a city sidewalk; but this woman was not of that priggish kind. Her straightforward glance recognised my existence as a fellow-being;and she further acknowledged it by a faint smile, which was of courtesyonly, however, and admitted no reference to the fact that at the firstsound of her voice I had leaped into the air, kicked a camp-stool twentyfeet, and now stood blushing, so shamefully stuffed with sandwich that Idared not speak. 

"Thank you, " she said as she went by; and made me a little bow sograceful that it almost consoled me for my caperings. 

I stood looking after her as she crossed the clearing and entered thecool winding of the path on the other side. 

I stared and wished--wished that I could have painted her into mypicture, with the thin, ruddy sunshine flecking her dress; wished that Ihad not cut such an idiotic figure. I stared until her filmy summer hat, which was the last bit of her to disappear, had vanished. Then, discovering that I still held the horrid remains of a sausage-sandwichin my hand, I threw it into the underbrush with unnecessary force, and, recovering my camp-stool, sat down to work again. 

I did not immediately begin. 

The passing of a pretty woman anywhere never comes to be quite of nomoment to a man, and the passing of a pretty woman in the greenwood isan episode--even to a middle-aged landscape painter. 

"An episode?" quoth I. I should be ashamed to withhold the truth out ofmy fear to be taken for a sentimentalist: this woman who had passed wasof great and instant charm; it was as if I had heard a serenade there inthe woods--and at thought of the jig I had danced to it my face burnedagain. 

With a sigh of no meaning, I got my eyes down to my canvas and began topeck at it perfunctorily, when a snapping of twigs underfoot and aswishing of branches in the thicket warned me of a second intruder, notapproaching by the path, but forcing a way toward it through theunderbrush, and very briskly too, judging by the sounds. 

He burst out into the glade a few paces from me, a tall man in whiteflannels, liberally decorated with brambles and clinging shreds ofunderbrush. A streamer of vine had caught about his shoulders; therewere leaves on his bare head, and this, together with the youthfulsprightliness of his light figure and the naive activity of hisapproach, gave me a very faunlike first impression of him. 

At sight of me he stopped short. 

"Have you seen a lady in a white and lilac dress and with roses in herhat?" he demanded, omitting all preface and speaking with a quickeagerness which caused me no wonder--for I had seen the lady. 

What did surprise me, however, was the instantaneous certainty withwhich I recognised the speaker from Amedee's description; certaintyfounded on the very item which had so dangerously strained the oldfellow's powers. 

My sudden gentleman was strikingly good-looking, his complexion so clearand boyishly healthy, that, except for his gray hair, he might havepassed for twenty-two or twenty-three, and even as it was I guessed hisyears short of thirty; but there are plenty of handsome young fellowswith prematurely gray hair, and, as Amedee said, though out of the worldwe were near it. It was the new-comer's "singular air" which establishedhis identity. Amedee's vagueness had irked me, but the thing itself--the"singular air"--was not at all vague. Instantly perceptible, it was aninvestiture; marked, definite--and intangible. My interrogator was "thatother monsieur. "

In response to his question I asked him another:

"Were the roses real or artificial?"

"I don't know, " he answered, with what I took to be a whimsicalassumption of gravity. "It wouldn't matter, would it? Have you seenher?"

He stooped to brush the brambles from his trousers, sending me asidelong glance from his blue eyes, which were brightly confident andinquiring, like a boy's. At the same time it struck me that whatever thenature of the singularity investing him it partook of nothing repellent, but, on the contrary, measurably enhanced his attractiveness; making him"different" and lending him a distinction which, without it, he mighthave lacked. And yet, patent as this singularity must have been to thedullest, it was something quite apart from any eccentricity of manner, though, heaven knows, I was soon to think him odd enough. 

"Isn't your description, " I said gravely, thinking to suit my humour tohis own, "somewhat too general? Over yonder a few miles lies Houlgate. Trouville itself is not so far, and this is the season. A great manywhite hats trimmed with roses might come for a stroll in these woods. Ifyou would complete the items--" and I waved my hand as if inviting himto continue. 

"I have seen her only once before, " he responded promptly, with aseriousness apparently quite genuine. "That was from my window at aninn, three days ago. She drove by in an open carriage without lookingup, but I could see that she was very handsome. No--" he broke offabruptly, but as quickly resumed--"handsome isn't just what I mean. Lovely, I should say. That is more like her and a better thing to be, shouldn't you think so?"

"Probably--yes--I think so, " I stammered, in considerable amazement. 

"She went by quickly, " he said, as if he were talking in the mostnatural and ordinary way in the world, "but I noticed that while she wasin the shade of the inn her hair appeared to be dark, though when thecarriage got into the sunlight again it looked fair. "

I had noticed the same thing when the lady who had passed emerged fromthe shadows of the path into the sunshine of the glade, but I did notspeak of it now; partly because he gave me no opportunity, partlybecause I was almost too astonished to speak at all, for I was no longerunder the delusion that he had any humourous or whimsical intention. 

"A little while ago, " he went on, "I was up in the branches of a treeover yonder, and I caught a glimpse of a lady in a light dress and awhite hat and I thought it might be the same. She wore a dress like thatand a white hat with roses when she drove by the inn. I am very anxiousto see her again. "

"You seem to be!"

"And haven't you seen her? Hasn't she passed this way?"

He urged the question with the same strange eagerness which had markedhis manner from the first, a manner which confounded me by its absurdresemblance to that of a boy who had not mixed with other boys and hadnever been teased. And yet his expression was intelligent and alert; norwas there anything abnormal or "queer" in his good-humoured gaze. 

"I think that I may have seen her, " I began slowly; "but if you do notknow her I should not advise--"

I was interrupted by a shout and the sound of a large body plunging inthe thicket. At this the face of "that other monsieur" flushed slightly;he smiled, but seemed troubled. 

"That is a friend of mine, " he said. "I am afraid he will want me to goback with him. " And he raised an answering shout. 

Professor Keredec floundered out through the last row of saplings andbushes, his beard embellished with a broken twig, his big face red andperspiring. He was a fine, a mighty man, ponderous of shoulder, monumental of height, stupendous of girth; there was cloth enough in thehot-looking black frock-coat he wore for the canopy of a small pavilion. Half a dozen books were under his arm, and in his hand he carried a hatwhich evidently belonged to "that other monsieur, " for his own was onhis head. 

One glance of scrutiny and recognition he shot at me from his silver-rimmed spectacles; and seized the young man by the arm. 

"Ha, my friend!" he exclaimed in a bass voice of astounding power anddepth, "that is one way to study botany: to jump out of the middle of ahigh tree and to run like a crazy man!" He spoke with a strong accentand a thunderous rolling of the "r. " "What was I to think?" he demanded. "What has arrived to you?"

"I saw a lady I wished to follow, " the other answered promptly. 

"A lady! What lady?"

"The lady who passed the inn three days ago. I spoke of her then, youremember. "

"Tonnerre de Dieu!" Keredec slapped his thigh with the sudden violenceof a man who remembers that he has forgotten something, and as a finaladdition to my amazement, his voice rang more of remorse than ofreproach. "Have I never told you that to follow strange ladies is one ofthe things you cannot do?"

"That other monsieur" shook his head. "No, you have never told me that. I do not understand it, " he said, adding irrelevantly, "I believe thisgentleman knows her. He says he thinks he has seen her. "

"If you please, we must not trouble this gentleman about it, " said theprofessor hastily. "Put on your hat, in the name of a thousand saints, and let us go!"

"But I wish to ask him her name, " urged the other, with somethingcuriously like the obstinacy of a child. "I wish--"

"No, no!" Keredec took him by the arm. "We must go. We shall be late forour dinner. "

"But why?" persisted the young man. 

"Not now!" The professor removed his broad felt hat and hurriedly wipedhis vast and steaming brow--a magnificent structure, corniced, at thismoment, with anxiety. "It is better if we do not discuss it now. "

"But I might not meet him again. "

Professor Keredec turned toward me with a half-desperate, half-apologetic laugh which was like the rumbling of heavy wagons over ablock pavement; and in his flustered face I thought I read a signal ofgenuine distress. 

"I do not know the lady, " I said with some sharpness. "I have never seenher until this afternoon. "

Upon this "that other monsieur" astonished me in good earnest. Searchingmy eyes eagerly with his clear, inquisitive gaze, he took a step towardme and said:

"You are sure you are telling the truth?"

The professor uttered an exclamation of horror, sprang forward, andclutched his friend's arm again. "Malheureux!" he cried, and then to me:"Sir, you will give him pardon if you can? He has no meaning to berude. "

"Rude?" The young man's voice showed both astonishment and pain. "Wasthat rude? I didn't know. I didn't mean to be rude, God knows! Ah, " hesaid sadly, "I do nothing but make mistakes. I hope you will forgiveme. "

He lifted his hand as if in appeal, and let it drop to his side; and inthe action, as well as in the tone of his voice and his attitude ofcontrition, there was something that reached me suddenly, with the touchof pathos. 

"Never mind, " I said. "I am only sorry that it was the truth. "

"Thank you, " he said, and turned humbly to Keredec. 

"Ha, that is better!" shouted the great man, apparently relieved of avast weight. "We shall go home now and eat a good dinner. But first--"his silver-rimmed spectacles twinkled upon me, and he bent hisBrobdingnagian back in a bow which against my will reminded me of thecurtseys performed by Orloff's dancing bears--"first let me speak somewords for myself. My dear sir"--he addressed himself to me with graveformality--"do not suppose I have no realization that other excusesshould be made to you. Believe me, they shall be. It is now that I seeit is fortunate for us that you are our fellow-innsman at Les TroisPigeons. "

I was unable to resist the opportunity, and, affecting considerablesurprise, interrupted him with the apparently guileless query:

"Why, how did you know that?"

Professor Keredec's laughter rumbled again, growing deeper and loudertill it reverberated in the woods and a hundred hale old trees laughedback at him. 

"Ho, ho, ho!" he shouted. "But you shall not take me for a window-curtain spy! That is a fine reputation I give myself with you! Ho, ho!"

Then, followed submissively by "that other monsieur, " he strode into thepath and went thundering forth through the forest. 

CHAPTER VI

No doubt the most absurd thing I could have done after the departure ofProfessor Keredec and his singular friend would have been to settlemyself before my canvas again with the intention of painting--and thatis what I did. At least, I resumed my camp-stool and went through someof the motions habitually connected with the act of painting. 

I remember that the first time in my juvenile reading I came upon thephrase, "seated in a brown study, " I pictured my hero in a brown chair, beside a brown table, in a room hung with brown paper. Later, beingenlightened, I was ambitious to display the figure myself, but the usesof ordinary correspondence allowed the occasion for it to remainunoffered. Let me not only seize upon the present opportunity but gildit, for the adventure of the afternoon left me in a study which was, atits mildest, a profound purple. 

The confession has been made of my curiosity concerning my fellow-lodgers at Les Trois Pigeons; however, it had been comparatively atorpid growth; my meeting with them served to enlarge it so suddenly andto such proportions that I wonder it did not strangle me. In fine, I satthere brush-paddling my failure like an automaton, and saying over andover aloud, "What is wrong with him? What is wrong with him?"

This was the sillier inasmuch as the word "wrong" (bearing anysignificance of a darkened mind) had not the slightest application to"that other monsieur. " There had been neither darkness nor dullness; hiseyes, his expression, his manner, betrayed no hint of wildness; ratherthey bespoke a quick and amiable intelligence--the more amazing that hehad shown himself ignorant of things a child of ten would know. Amedeeand his fellows of Les Trois Pigeons had judged wrongly of hisnationality; his face was of the lean, right, American structure; butthey had hit the relation between the two men: Keredec was the masterand "that other monsieur" the scholar--a pupil studying boys' textbooksand receiving instruction in matters and manners that children aretaught. And yet I could not believe him to be a simple case of arresteddevelopment. For the matter of that, I did not like to think of him as a"case" at all. There had been something about his bright youthfulness--perhaps it was his quick contrition for his rudeness, perhaps it was acertain wistful quality he had, perhaps it was his very "singularity"--which appealed as directly to my liking as it did urgently to mysympathy. 

I came out of my vari-coloured study with a start, caused by thediscovery that I had absent-mindedly squeezed upon my palette the entirecontents of an expensive tube of cobalt violet, for which I had nopresent use; and sighing (for, of necessity, I am an economical man), Ipostponed both of my problems till another day, determined to efface theone with a palette knife and a rag soaked in turpentine, and to deferthe other until I should know more of my fellow-lodgers at MadameBrossard's. 

The turpentine rag at least proved effective; I scoured away the lasttokens of my failure with it, wishing that life were like the canvas andthat men had knowledge of the right celestial turpentine. After that Icleaned my brushes, packed and shouldered my kit, and, with a finalimprecation upon all sausage-sandwiches, took up my way once more to LesTrois Pigeons. 

Presently I came upon an intersecting path where, on my previousexcursions, I had always borne to the right; but this evening, thinkingto discover a shorter cut, I went straight ahead. Striding along at agood gait and chanting sonorously, "On Linden when the sun was low, " Ileft the rougher boscages of the forest behind me and emerged, just atsunset, upon an orderly fringe of woodland where the ground was neat andunencumbered, and the trimmed trees stood at polite distances, bowingslightly to one another with small, well-bred rustlings. 

The light was somewhere between gold and pink when I came into thislady's boudoir of a grove. "Isar flowing rapidly" ceased its tumultabruptly, and Linden saw no sterner sight that evening: my voice and myfeet stopped simultaneously--for I stood upon Quesnay ground. 

Before me stretched a short broad avenue of turf, leading to the chateaugates. These stood open, a gravelled driveway climbing thence by easystages between kempt shrubberies to the crest of the hill, where thegray roof and red chimney-pots of the chateau were glimpsed among thetree-tops. The slope was terraced with strips of flower-gardens andintervals of sward; and against the green of a rising lawn I marked thefigure of a woman, pausing to bend over some flowering bush. The figurewas too slender to be mistaken for that of the present chatelaine ofQuesnay: in Miss Elizabeth's regal amplitude there was never any hint offragility. The lady upon the slope, then, I concluded, must be Madamed'Armand, the inspiration of Amedee's "Monsieur has much to live for!"

Once more this day I indorsed that worthy man's opinion, for, though Iwas too far distant to see clearly, I knew that roses trimmed Madamed'Armand's white hat, and that she had passed me, no long time since, inthe forest. 

I took off my cap. 

"I have the honour to salute you, " I said aloud. "I make my apologiesfor misbehaving with sandwiches and camp-stools in your presence, Madamed'Armand. "

Something in my own pronunciation of her name struck me as reminiscent:save for the prefix, it had sounded like "Harman, " as a Frenchman mightpronounce it. 

Foreign names involve the French in terrible difficulties. Hughes, anEnglish friend of mine, has lived in France some five-and-thirty yearswithout reconciling himself to being known as "Monsieur Ig. "

"Armand" might easily be Jean Ferret's translation of "Harman. " Had heand Amedee in their admiration conferred the prefix because theyconsidered it a plausible accompaniment to the lady's gentle bearing? Itwas not impossible; it was, I concluded, very probable. 

I had come far out of my way, so I retraced my steps to the intersectionof the paths, and thence made for the inn by my accustomed route. Thelight failed under the roofing of foliage long before I was free of thewoods, and I emerged upon the road to Les Trois Pigeons when twilighthad turned to dusk. 

Not far along the road from where I came into it, stood an old, brown, deep-thatched cottage--a branch of brushwood over the door prettilybeckoning travellers to the knowledge that cider was here for thethirsty; and as I drew near I perceived that one availed himself of theinvitation. A group stood about the open door, the lamp-light fromwithin disclosing the head of the house filling a cup for the wayfarer;while honest Mere Baudry and two generations of younger Baudrysclustered to miss no word of the interchange of courtesies between PereBaudry and his chance patron. 

It afforded me some surprise to observe that the latter was a mostmundane and elaborate wayfarer, indeed; a small young man very lightlymade, like a jockey, and point-device in khaki, puttees, pongee cap, white-and-green stock, a knapsack on his back, and a bamboo stick underhis arm; altogether equipped to such a high point of pedestrianism thata cynical person might have been reminded of loud calls for wine at somehostelry in the land of opera bouffe. He was speaking fluently, thoughwith a detestable accent, in a rough-and-ready, pick-up dialect ofParisian slang, evidently under the pleasant delusion that he employedthe French language, while Pere Baudry contributed his share of theconversation in a slow patois. As both men spoke at the same time andneither understood two consecutive words the other said, it struck methat the dialogue might prove unproductive of any highly importantresults this side of Michaelmas; therefore, discovering that the verypedestrian gentleman was making some sort of inquiry concerning LesTrois Pigeons, I came to a halt and proffered aid. 

"Are you looking for Madame Brossard's?" I asked in English. 

The traveller uttered an exclamation and faced about with a jump, birdlike for quickness. He did not reply to my question with the samepromptness; however, his deliberation denoted scrutiny, not sloth. Hestood peering at me sharply until I repeated it. Even then he protractedhis examination of me, a favour I was unable to return with anyinterest, owing to the circumstance of his back being toward the light. Nevertheless, I got a clear enough impression of his alert, well-poisedlittle figure, and of a hatchety little face, and a pair of shrewdlittle eyes, which (I thought) held a fine little conceit of his wholelittle person. It was a type of fellow-countryman not altogether unknownabout certain "American Bars" of Paris, and usually connected (more orless directly) with what is known to the people of France as "le Sport. "

"Say, " he responded in a voice of unpleasant nasality, finally decidingupon speech, "you're 'Nummeric'n, ain't you?"

"Yes, " I returned. "I thought I heard you inquiring for--"

"Well, m' friend, you can sting me!" he interrupted with condescendingjocularity. "My style French does f'r them camels up in Paris all right. ME at Nice, Monte Carlo, Chantilly--bow to the p'fess'r; he's RIGHT! Butdown here I don't seem to be GUD enough f'r these sheep-dogs; anywaythey bark different. I'm lukkin' fer a hotel called Les Trois Pigeons. "

"I am going there, " I said; "I will show you the way. "

"Whur is't?" he asked, not moving. 

I pointed to the lights of the inn, flickering across the fields. "Yonder--beyond the second turn of the road, " I said, and, as he showedno signs of accompanying me, I added, "I am rather late. "

"Oh, I ain't goin' there t'night. It's too dark t' see anything now, " heremarked, to my astonishment. "Dives and the choo-choo back t' littleole Trouville f'r mine! I on'y wanted to take a LUK at this pigeon-housejoint. "

"Do you mind my inquiring, " I said, "what you expected to see at LesTrois Pigeons?"

"Why!" he exclaimed, as if astonished at the question, "I'm a tourist. Makin' a pedestrun trip t' all the reg'ler sights. " And, inspired toeloquence, he added, as an afterthought: "As it were. "

"A tourist?" I echoed, with perfect incredulity. 

"That's whut I am, m' friend, " he returned firmly. "You don't have tohave a red dope-book in one hand and a thoid-class choo-choo ticket inthe other to be a tourist, do you?"

"But if you will pardon me, " I said, "where did you get the notion thatLes Trois Pigeons is one of the regular sights?"

"Ain't it in all the books?"

"I don't think that it is mentioned in any of the guide-books. "

"NO! I didn't say it WAS, m' friend, " he retorted with contemptuouspity. "I mean them history-books. It's in all o' THEM!"

"This is strange news, " said I. "I should be very much interested toread them!"

"Lookahere, " he said, taking a step nearer me; "in oinest now, on yourwoid: Didn' more'n half them Jeanne d'Arc tamales live at that hotelwunst?"

"Nobody of historical importance--or any other kind of importance, sofar as I know--ever lived there, " I informed him. "The older portions ofthe inn once belonged to an ancient farm-house, that is all. "

"On the level, " he demanded, "didn't that William the Conker nor NONE o'them ancient gilt-edges live there?"

"No. "

"Stung again!" He broke into a sudden loud cackle of laughter. "Why! thefeller tole me 'at this here Pigeon place was all three rings when itcome t' history. Yessir! Tall, thin feller he was, in a three-buttoncutaway, English make, and kind of red-complected, with a sandy MUS-tache, " pursued the pedestrian, apparently fearing his narrative mightlack colour. "I met him right comin' out o' the Casino at Trouville, yes'day aft'noon; c'udn' a' b'en more'n four o'clock--hol' on though, yes 'twas, 'twas nearer five, about twunty minutes t' five, say--an'this feller tells me--" He cackled with laughter as palpablydisingenuous as the corroborative details he thought necessary tomuster, then he became serious, as if marvelling at his own wondrousverdancy. "M' friend, that feller soitn'y found me easy. But he can'tsay I ain't game; he passes me the limes, but I'm jest man enough todrink his health fer it in this sweet, sound ole-fashioned cider 'atain't got a headache in a barrel of it. He played me GUD, and here's TOhim!"

Despite the heartiness of the sentiment, my honest tourist's enthusiasmseemed largely histrionic, and his quaffing of the beaker tooreminiscent of drain-the-wine-cup-free in the second row of the chorus, for he absently allowed it to dangle from his hand before raising it tohis lips. However, not all of its contents was spilled, and he swalloweda mouthful of the sweet, sound, old-fashioned cider--but by mistake, Iwas led to suppose, from the expression of displeasure which became sodeeply marked upon his countenance as to be noticeable, even in thefeeble lamplight. 

I tarried no longer, but bidding this good youth and the generations ofBaudry good-night, hastened on to my belated dinner. 

"Amedee, " I said, when my cigar was lighted and the usual hour ofconsultation had arrived; "isn't that old lock on the chest where MadameBrossard keeps her silver getting rather rusty?"

"Monsieur, we have no thieves here. We are out of the world. "

"Yes, but Trouville is not so far away. "

"Truly. "

"Many strange people go to Trouville: grand-dukes, millionaires, operasingers, princes, jockeys, gamblers--"

"Truly, truly!"

"And tourists, " I finished. 

"That is well known, " assented Amedee, nodding. 

"It follows, " I continued with the impressiveness of all logicians, "that many strange people may come from Trouville. In their excursionsto the surrounding points of interest--"

"Eh, monsieur, but that is true!" he interrupted, laying his rightforefinger across the bridge of his nose, which was his gesture when heremembered anything suddenly. "There was a strange monsieur fromTrouville here this very day. "

"What kind of person was he?"

"A foreigner, but I could not tell from what country. "

"What time of day was he here?" I asked, with growing interest. 

"Toward the middle of the afternoon. I was alone, except for Glouglou, when he came. He wished to see the whole house and I showed him what Icould, except of course monsieur's pavilion, and the Grande Suite. Monsieur the Professor and that other monsieur had gone to the forest, but I did not feel at liberty to exhibit their rooms without MadameBrossard's permission, and she was spending the day at Dives. Besides, "added the good man, languidly snapping a napkin at a moth near one ofthe candles, "the doors were locked. "

"This person was a tourist?" I asked, after a pause during which Amedeeseemed peacefully unaware of the rather concentrated gaze I had fixedupon him. "Of a kind. In speaking he employed many peculiar expressions, more like a thief of a Parisian cabman than of the polite world. "

"The devil he did!" said I. "Did he tell you why he wished to see thewhole house? Did he contemplate taking rooms here?"

"No, monsieur, it appears that his interest was historical. At first Ishould not have taken him for a man of learning, yet he gave me a greatpiece of information; a thing quite new to me, though I have lived hereso many years. We are distinguished in history, it seems, and at onetime both William the Conqueror and that brave Jeanne d'Arc--"

I interrupted sharply, dropping my cigar and leaning across the table:

"How was this person dressed?"

"Monsieur, he was very much the pedestrian. "

And so, for that evening, we had something to talk about besides "thatother monsieur"; indeed, we found our subject so absorbing that I forgotto ask Amedee whether it was he or Jean Ferret who had prefixed the "de"to "Armand. "

CHAPTER VII

The cat that fell from the top of the Washington monument, and scamperedoff unhurt was killed by a dog at the next corner. Thus a certainpainter-man, winged with canvases and easel, might have been seen todepart hurriedly from a poppy-sprinkled field, an infuriated Normanstallion in close attendance, and to fly safely over a stone wall ofgood height, only to turn his ankle upon an unconsidered pebble, someten paces farther on; the nose of the stallion projected over the wall, snorting joy thereat. The ankle was one which had turned aforetime; itwas an old weakness: moreover, it was mine. I was the painter-man. 

I could count on little less than a week of idleness within the confinesof Les Trois Pigeons; and reclining among cushions in a wicker long-chair looking out from my pavilion upon the drowsy garden on a hotnoontide, I did not much care. It was cooler indoors, comfortableenough; the open door framed the courtyard where pigeons were struttingon the gravel walks between flower-beds. Beyond, and thrown deeper intothe perspective by the outer frame of the great archway, road and fieldsand forest fringes were revealed, lying tremulously in the hot sunshine. The foreground gained a human (though not lively) interest from theample figure of our maitre d'hotel reposing in a rustic chair which hadenjoyed the shade of an arbour about an hour earlier, when firstoccupied, but now stood in the broiling sun. At times Amedee's uppereyelids lifted as much as the sixteenth of an inch, and he made a hazygesture as if to wave the sun away, or, when the table-cloth upon hisleft arm slid slowly earthward, he adjusted it with a petulant jerk, without material interruption to his siesta. Meanwhile Glouglou, rollingand smoking cigarettes in the shade of a clump of lilac, watched withbutton eyes the noddings of his superior, and, at the cost of someconvulsive writhings, constrained himself to silent laughter. 

A heavy step crunched the gravel and I heard my name pronounced in adeep inquiring rumble--the voice of Professor Keredec, no less. Nor wasI greatly surprised, since our meeting in the forest had led me toexpect some advances on his part toward friendliness, or, at least, inthe direction of a better acquaintance. However, I withheld my reply fora moment to make sure I had heard aright. 

The name was repeated. 

"Here I am, " I called, "in the pavilion, if you wish to see me. "

"Aha! I hear you become an invalid, my dear sir. " With that theprofessor's great bulk loomed in the doorway against the glare outside. "I have come to condole with you, if you allow it. "

"To smoke with me, too, I hope, " I said, not a little pleased. 

"That I will do, " he returned, and came in slowly, walking withperceptible lameness. "The sympathy I offer is genuine: it is not onlyfrom the heart, it is from the latissimus dorsi" he continued, seatinghimself with a cavernous groan. "I am your confrere in illness, my dearsir. I have choosed this fine weather for rheumatism of the back. "

"I hope it is not painful. "

"Ha, it is so-so, " he rumbled, removing his spectacles and wiping hiseyes, dazzled by the sun. "There is more of me than of most men--more tosuffer. Nature was generous to the little germs when she made this bigKeredec; she offered them room for their campaigns of war. "

"You'll take a cigarette?"

"I thank you; if you do not mind, I smoke my pipe. "

He took from his pocket a worn leather case, which he opened, disclosinga small, browned clay bowl of the kind workmen use; and, fitting it witha red stem, he filled it with a dark and sinister tobacco from a pouch. "Always my pipe for me, " he said, and applied a match, inhaling thesmoke as other men inhale the light smoke of cigarettes. "Ha, it isgood! It is wicked for the insides, but it is good for the soul. " Andclouds wreathed his great beard like a storm on Mont Blanc as heconcluded, with gusto, "It is my first pipe since yesterday. "

"That is being a good smoker, " I ventured sententiously; "to whetindulgence with abstinence. "

"My dear sir, " he protested, "I am a man without even enough virtue tobe an epicure. When I am alone I am a chimney with no hebdomadaryrepose; I smoke forever. It is on account of my young friend I amtemperate now. "

"He has never smoked, your young friend?" I asked, glancing at myvisitor rather curiously, I fear. 

"Mr. Saffren has no vices. " Professor Keredec replaced his silver-rimmedspectacles and turned them upon me with serene benevolence. "He is ingood condition, all pure, like little children--and so if I smoke nearhim he chokes and has water at the eyes, though he does not complain. Just now I take a vacation: it is his hour for study, but I think helooks more out of the front window than at his book. He looks very muchfrom the window"--there was a muttering of subterranean thundersomewhere, which I was able to locate in the professor's torso, and tookto be his expression of a chuckle--"yes, very much, since the passing ofthat charming lady some days ago. "

"You say your young friend's name is Saffren?"

"Oliver Saffren. " The benevolent gaze continued to rest upon me, but ashadow like a faint anxiety darkened the Homeric brow, and an odd notionentered my mind (without any good reason) that Professor Keredec waswondering what I thought of the name. I uttered some commonplacesyllable of no moment, and there ensued a pause during which the seemingshadow upon my visitor's forehead became a reality, deepening to a lookof perplexity and trouble. Finally he said abruptly: "It is about himthat I have come to talk to you. "

"I shall be very glad, " I murmured, but he brushed the callow formalityaside with a gesture of remonstrance. 

"Ha, my dear sir, " he cried; "but you are a man of feeling! We are bothold enough to deal with more than just these little words of the mouth!It was the way you have received my poor young gentleman's excuses whenhe was so rude, which make me wish to talk with you on such a subject;it is why I would not have you believe Mr. Saffren and me two verysuspected individuals who hide here like two bad criminals!"

"No, no, " I protested hastily. "The name of Professor Keredec--"

"The name of NO man, " he thundered, interrupting, "can protect hisreputation when he is caught peeping from a curtain! Ha, my dear sir! Iknow what you think. You think, 'He is a nice fine man, that oldprofessor, oh, very nice--only he hides behind the curtains sometimes!Very fine man, oh, yes; only he is a spy. ' Eh? Ha, ha! That is what youhave been thinking, my dear sir!"

"Not at all, " I laughed; "I thought you might fear that _I_ was a spy. "

"Eh?" He became sharply serious upon the instant. "What made you thinkthat?"

"I supposed you might be conducting some experiments, or perhaps writinga book which you wished to keep from the public for a time, and thatpossibly you might imagine that I was a reporter. "

"So! And THAT is all, " he returned, with evident relief. "No, my dearsir, I was the spy; it is the truth; and I was spying upon you. Iconfess my shame. I wish very much to know what you were like, what kindof a man you are. And so, " he concluded with an opening of the hands, palms upward, as if to show that nothing remained for concealment, "andso I have watched you. "

"Why?" I asked. 

"The explanation is so simple: it was necessary. "

"Because of--of Mr. Saffren?" I said slowly, and with some trepidation. 

"Precisely. " The professor exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Because I amsensitive for him, and because in a certain way I am--how should it besaid?--perhaps it is near the truth to say, I am his guardian. "

"I see. "

"Forgive me, " he rejoined quickly, "but I am afraid you do not see. I amnot his guardian by the law. "

"I had not supposed that you were, " I said. 

"Why not?"

"Because, though he puzzled me and I do not understand his case--hiscase, so to speak, I have not for a moment thought him insane. "

"Ha, my dear sir, you are right!" exclaimed Keredec, beaming on me, muchpleased. "You are a thousand times right; he is as sane as yourself ormyself or as anybody in the whole wide world! Ha! he is now much MOREsane, for his mind is not yet confused and becobwebbed with the uselessthings you and I put into ours. It is open and clear like the littlechildren's mind. And it is a good mind! It is only a little learning, alittle experience, that he lacks. A few months more--ha, at thegreatest, a year from now--and he will not be different any longer; hewill be like the rest of us. Only"--the professor leaned forward and hisbig fist came down on the arm of his chair--"he shall be better than therest of us! But if strange people were to see him now, " he continued, leaning back and dropping his voice to a more confidential tone, "itwould not do. This poor world is full of fools; there are so many whojudge quickly. If they should see him now, they might think he is notjust right in his brain; and then, as it could happen so easily, thosesame people might meet him again after a while. 'Ha, ' they would say, 'there was a time when that young man was insane. I knew him!' And so hemight go through his life with those clouds over him. Those clouds areblack clouds, they can make more harm than our old sins, and I wish tosave my friend from them. So I have brought him here to this quiet placewhere nobody comes, and we can keep from meeting any foolish people. But, my dear sir"--he leaned forward again, and spoke emphatically--"itwould be barbarous for men of intelligence to live in the same house andgo always hiding from one another! Let us dine together this evening, ifyou will, and not only this evening but every evening you are willing toshare with us and do not wish to be alone. It will be good for us. Weare three men like hermits, far out of the world, but--a thousandsaints!--let us be civilised to one another!"

"With all my heart, " I said. 

"Ha! I wish you to know my young man, " Keredec went on. "You will likehim--no man of feeling could keep himself from liking him--and he isyour fellow-countryman. I hope you will be his friend. He should makefriends, for he needs them. "

"I think he has a host of them, " said I, "in Professor Keredec. "

My visitor looked at me quizzically for a moment, shook his head andsighed. "That is only one small man in a big body, that ProfessorKeredec. And yet, " he went on sadly, "it is all the friends that poorboy has in this world. You will dine with us to-night?"

Acquiescing cheerfully, I added: "You will join me at the table on myveranda, won't you? I can hobble that far but not much farther. "

Before answering he cast a sidelong glance at the arrangement of thingsoutside the door. The screen of honeysuckle ran partly across the frontof the little porch, about half of which it concealed from the gardenand consequently from the road beyond the archway. I saw that he tooknote of this before he pointed to that corner of the veranda mostclosely screened by the vines and said:

"May the table be placed yonder?"

"Certainly; I often have it there, even when I am alone. "

"Ha, that is good, " he exclaimed. "It is not human for a Frenchman toeat in the house in good weather. "

"It is a pity, " I said, "that I should have been such a bugbear. "

This remark was thoroughly disingenuous, for, although I did not doubtthat anything he told me was perfectly true, nor that he had made ascomplete a revelation as he thought consistent with his duty toward theyoung man in his charge, I did not believe that his former precautionswere altogether due to my presence at the inn. 

And I was certain that while he might fear for his friend some chancerepute of insanity, he had greater terrors than that. As to their natureI had no clew; nor was it my affair to be guessing; but whatever theywere, the days of security at Les Trois Pigeons had somewhat easedProfessor Keredec's mind in regard to them. At least, his anxiety wassufficiently assuaged to risk dining out of doors with only my screen ofhoneysuckle between his charge and curious eyes. So much was evident. 

"The reproach is deserved, " he returned, after a pause. "It is to bewished that all our bugbears might offer as pleasant a revelation, if wehad the courage, or the slyness"--he laughed--"to investigate. "

I made a reply of similar gallantry and he got to his feet, rubbing hisback as he rose. 

"Ha, I am old! old! Rheumatism in warm weather: that is ugly. Now I mustgo to my boy and see what he can make of his Gibbon. The poor fellow! Ithink he finds the decay of Rome worse than rheumatism in summer!"

He replaced his pipe in its case, and promising heartily that it shouldnot be the last he would smoke in my company and domain, was makingslowly for the door when he paused at a sound from the road. 

We heard the rapid hoof-beats of a mettled horse. He crossed our visionand the open archway: a high-stepping hackney going well, driven by alady in a light trap which was half full of wild flowers. It was a quickpicture, like a flash of the cinematograph, but the pose of the lady asa driver was seen to be of a commanding grace, and though she was not inwhite but in light blue, and her plain sailor hat was certainly nottrimmed with roses, I had not the least difficulty in recognising her. At the same instant there was a hurried clatter of foot-steps upon thestairway leading from the gallery; the startled pigeons fluttered upfrom the garden-path, betaking themselves to flight, and "that othermonsieur" came leaping across the courtyard, through the archway andinto the road. 

"Glouglou! Look quickly!" he called loudly, in French, as he came; "Whois that lady?"

Glouglou would have replied, but the words were taken out of his mouth. Amedee awoke with a frantic start and launched himself at the archway, carroming from its nearest corner and hurtling onward at a speed whichfor once did not diminish in proportion to his progress. 

"That lady, monsieur?" he gasped, checking himself at the young man'sside and gazing after the trap, "that is Madame d'Armand. "

"Madame d'Armand, " Saffren repeated the name slowly. "Her name is Madamed'Armand. "

"Yes, monsieur, " said Amedee complacently; "it is an American lady whohas married a French nobleman. "

CHAPTER VIII

Like most painters, I have supposed the tools of my craft harder tomanipulate than those of others. The use of words, particularly, seemedreadier, handier for the contrivance of effects than pigments. I thoughtthe language of words less elusive than that of colour, leaving smallermargin for unintended effects; and, believing in complacent good faiththat words conveyed exact meanings exactly, it was my innocentconception that almost anything might be so described in words that allwho read must inevitably perceive that thing precisely. If this weretrue, there would be little work for the lawyers, who produce suchtortured pages in the struggle to be definite, who swing riches from onefamily to another, save men from violent death or send them to it, andearn fortunes for themselves through the dangerous inadequacies ofwords. I have learned how great was my mistake, and now I am wishing Icould shift paper for canvas, that I might paint the young man who cameto interest me so deeply. I wish I might present him here in colourinstead of trusting to this unstable business of words, so wily andundependable, with their shimmering values, that you cannot turn yourback upon them for two minutes but they will be shouting a hundredthings which they were not meant to tell. 

To make the best of necessity: what I have written of him--my firstimpressions--must be taken as the picture, although it be but a gossamersketch in the air, instead of definite work with well-ground pigments toshow forth a portrait, to make you see flesh and blood. It must take theplace of something contrived with my own tools to reveal what thefollowing days revealed him to me, and what it was about him (evasive ofdescription) which made me so soon, as Keredec wished, his friend. 

Life among our kin and kind is made pleasanter by our daily platitudes. Who is more tedious than the man incessantly struggling to avoid thebanal? Nature rules that such a one will produce nothing better thanepigram and paradox, saying old, old things in a new way, or merelyshifting object for subject--and his wife's face, when he shines for acircle, is worth a glance. With no further apology, I declare that I ama person who has felt few positive likes or dislikes for people in thislife, and I did deeply like my fellow-lodgers at Les Trois Pigeons. Liking for both men increased with acquaintance, and for the younger Icame to feel, in addition, a kind of championship, doubtless in somemeasure due to what Keredec had told me of him, but more to that half-humourous sense of protectiveness that we always have for those youngpeople whose untempered and innocent outlook makes us feel, as we say, "a thousand years old. "

The afternoon following our first dinner together, the two, in returningfrom their walk, came into the pavilion with cheerful greetings, insteadof going to their rooms as usual, and Keredec, declaring that the openair had "dispersed" his rheumatism, asked if he might overhaul some ofmy little canvases and boards. I explained that they consisted mainly of"notes" for future use, but consented willingly; whereupon he arranged anumber of them as for exhibition and delivered himself impromptu of themost vehemently instructive lecture on art I had ever heard. Beginningwith the family, the tribe, and the totem-pole, he was able todemonstrate a theory that art was not only useful to society but itsprimary necessity; a curious thought, probably more attributable to thefact that he was a Frenchman than to that of his being a scientist. 

"And here, " he said in the course of his demonstration, pointing to asketch which I had made one morning just after sunrise--"here you cansee real sunshine. One certain day there came those few certain moment'at the sunrise when the light was like this. Those few moment', whereare they? They have disappeared, gone for eternally. They went"--hesnapped his fingers--"like that. Yet here they are--ha!--forever!"

"But it doesn't look like sunshine, " said Oliver Saffren hesitatingly, stating a disconcerting but incontrovertible truth; "it only seems tolook like it because--isn't it because it's so much brighter than therest of the picture? I doubt if paint CAN look like sunshine. " He turnedfrom the sketch, caught Keredec's gathering frown, and his face flushedpainfully. "Ah!" he cried, "I shouldn't have said it?"

I interposed to reassure him, exclaiming that it were a godsend indeed, did all our critics merely speak the plain truth as they see it forthemselves. The professor would not have it so, and cut me off. 

"No, no, no, my dear sir!" he shouted. "You speak with kindness, but youput some wrong ideas in his head!"

Saffren's look of trouble deepened. "I don't understand, " he murmured. "I thought you said always to speak the truth just as I see it. " "I havetelled you, " Keredec declared vehemently, "nothing of the kind!"

"But only yesterday--"

"Never!"

"I understood--"

"Then you understood only one-half! I say, 'Speak the truth as you seeit, when you speak. ' I did not tell you to speak! How much time have yougive' to study sunshine and paint? What do you know about them?"

"Nothing, " answered the other humbly. 

A profound rumbling was heard, and the frown disappeared from ProfessorKeredec's brow like the vanishing of the shadow of a little cloud fromthe dome of some great benevolent and scientific institute. He dropped aweighty hand on his young friend's shoulder, and, in high good-humour, thundered:

"Then you are a critic! Knowing nothing of sunshine except that it warmsyou, and never having touched paint, you are going to tell about them toa man who spends his life studying them! You look up in the night andthe truth you see is that the moon and stars are crossing the ocean. Youwill tell that to the astronomer? Ha! The truth is what the masters see. When you know what they see, you may speak. "

At dinner the night before, it had struck me that Saffren was a rathersilent young man by habit, and now I thought I began to understand thereason. I hinted as much, saying, "That would make a quiet world of it. "

"All the better, my dear sir!" The professor turned beamingly upon meand continued, dropping into a Whistlerian mannerism that he hadsometimes: "You must not blame that great wind of a Keredec forpreaching at other people to listen. It gives the poor man more room forhimself to talk!"

I found his talk worth hearing. 

I would show you, if I could, our pleasant evenings of lingering, aftercoffee, behind the tremulous screen of honeysuckle, with the night verydark and quiet beyond the warm nimbus of our candle-light, the faces ofmy two companions clear-obscure in a mellow shadow like the middle tonesof a Rembrandt, and the professor, good man, talking wonderfully ofeverything under the stars and over them, --while Oliver Saffren and Isat under the spell of the big, kind voice, the young man listening withthe same eagerness which marked him when he spoke. It was an eagernessto understand, not to interrupt. 

These were our evenings. In the afternoons the two went for their walkas usual, though now they did not plunge out of sight of the main roadwith the noticeable haste which Amedee had described. As time pressed, Iperceived the caution of Keredec visibly slackening. Whatever he hadfeared, the obscurity and continued quiet of LES TROIS PIGEONS reassuredhim; he felt more and more secure in this sheltered retreat, "far out ofthe world, " and obviously thought no danger imminent. So the days wentby, uneventful for my new friends, --days of warm idleness for me. Letthem go unnarrated; we pass to the event. 

My ankle had taken its wonted time to recover. I was on my feet againand into the woods--not traversing, on the way, a certain poppy-sprinkled field whence a fine Norman stallion snorted ridicule over awall. But the fortune of Keredec was to sink as I rose. His summerrheumatism returned, came to grips with him, laid him low. We hobbledtogether for a day or so, then I threw away my stick and he exchangedhis for an improvised crutch. By the time I was fit to run, he was ableto do little better than to creep--might well have taken to his bed. Butas he insisted that his pupil should not forego the daily long walks andthe health of the forest, it came to pass that Saffren often made me theobjective of his rambles. At dinner he usually asked in what portion ofthe forest I should be painting late the next afternoon, and I got inthe habit of expecting him to join me toward sunset. We located eachother through a code of yodeling that we arranged; his part of thesevocal gymnastics being very pleasant to hear, for he had a flexible, rich voice. I shudder to recall how largely my own performances partookof the grotesque. But in the forest where were no musical persons (Isupposed) to take hurt from whatever noise I made, I would let go withall the lungs I had; he followed the horrid sounds to their origin, andwe would return to the inn together. 

On these homeward walks I found him a good companion, and that issomething not to be under-valued by a selfish man who lives for himselfand his own little ways and his own little thoughts, and for very littleelse, --which is the kind of man (as I have already confessed) that Iwas--deserving the pity of all happily or unhappily married persons. 

Responsive in kind to either a talkative mood or a silent one, alwaysgentle in manner, and always unobtrusively melancholy, Saffren nevertook the initiative, though now and then he asked a question about somerather simple matter which might be puzzling him. Whatever the answer, he usually received it in silence, apparently turning the thing over andover and inside out in his mind. He was almost tremulously sensitive, yet not vain, for he was neither afraid nor ashamed to expose hisignorance, his amazing lack of experience. He had a greater trouble, onethat I had not fathomed. Sometimes there came over his face a look ofimportunate wistfulness and distressed perplexity, and he seemed on thepoint of breaking out with something that he wished to tell me--or toask me, for it might have been a question--but he always kept it back. Keredec's training seldom lost its hold upon him. 

I had gone back to my glade again, and to the thin sunshine, which camea little earlier, now that we were deep in July; and one afternoon I satin the mouth of the path, just where I had played the bounding harlequinfor the benefit of the lovely visitor at Quesnay. It was warm in thewoods and quiet, warm with the heat of July, still with a Julystillness. The leaves had no motion; if there were birds or insectswithin hearing they must have been asleep; the quivering flight of abutterfly in that languid air seemed, by contrast, quite a commotion; ahumming-bird would have made a riot. 

I heard the light snapping of a twig and a swish of branches from thedirection in which I faced; evidently some one was approaching theglade, though concealed from me for the moment by the winding of thepath. Taking it for Saffren, as a matter of course (for we had arrangedto meet at that time and place), I raised my voice in what I intendedfor a merry yodel of greeting. 

I yodeled loud, I yodeled long. Knowing my own deficiencies in this art, I had adopted the cunning sinner's policy toward sin and made a joke ofit: thus, since my best performance was not unsuggestive of calamity inthe poultry yard, I made it worse. And then and there, when my mouth wasat its widest in the production of these shocking ulla-hootings, theperson approaching came round a turn in the path, and within full sightof me. To my ultimate, utmost horror, it was Madame d'Armand. 

I grew so furiously red that it burned me. I had not the courage to run, though I could have prayed that she might take me for what I seemed--plainly a lunatic, whooping the lonely peace of the woods intopandemonium--and turn back. But she kept straight on, must inevitablyreach the glade and cross it, and I calculated wretchedly that at therate she was walking, unhurried but not lagging, it would be aboutthirty seconds before she passed me. Then suddenly, while I waited insizzling shame, a clear voice rang out from a distance in an answeringyodel to mine, and I thanked heaven for its mercies; at least she wouldsee that my antics had some reason. 

She stopped short, in a half-step, as if a little startled, one armraised to push away a thin green branch that crossed the path atshoulder-height; and her attitude was so charming as she paused, detained to listen by this other voice with its musical youthfulness, that for a second I thought crossly of all the young men in the world. 

There was a final call, clear and loud as a bugle, and she turned to thedirection whence it came, so that her back was toward me. Then OliverSaffren came running lightly round the turn of the path, near her andfacing her. 

He stopped as short as she had. 

Her hand dropped from the slender branch, and pressed against her side. 

He lifted his hat and spoke to her, and I thought she made some quickreply in a low voice, though I could not be sure. 

She held that startled attitude a moment longer, then turned and crossedthe glade so hurriedly that it was almost as if she ran away from him. Ihad moved aside with my easel and camp-stool, but she passed close to meas she entered the path again on my side of the glade. She did not seemto see me, her dark eyes stared widely straight ahead, her lips wereparted, and she looked white and frightened. 

She disappeared very quickly in the windings of the path. 

CHAPTER IX

He came on more slowly, his eyes following her as she vanished, thenturning to me with a rather pitiful apprehension--a look like that Iremember to have seen (some hundreds of years ago) on the face of afreshman, glancing up from his book to find his doorway ominouslyfilling with sophomores. 

I stepped out to meet him, indignant upon several counts, most of allupon his own. I knew there was no offence in his heart, not the remotestrude intent, but the fact was before me that he had frightened a woman, had given this very lovely guest of my friends good cause to hold him aboor, if she did not, indeed, think him (as she probably thought me) anoutright lunatic! I said:

"You spoke to that lady!" And my voice sounded unexpectedly harsh andsharp to my own ears, for I had meant to speak quietly. 

"I know--I know. It--it was wrong, " he stammered. "I knew I shouldn't--and I couldn't help it. "

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth; I couldn't!"

I laughed sceptically; and he flinched, but repeated that what he hadsaid was only the truth. "I don't understand; it was all beyond me, " headded huskily. 

"What was it you said to her?"

"I spoke her name--'Madame d'Armand. '"

"You said more than that!"

"I asked her if she would let me see her again. "

"What else?"

"Nothing, " he answered humbly. "And then she--then for a moment itseemed--for a moment she didn't seem to be able to speak--"

"I should think not!" I shouted, and burst out at him with satiricallaughter. He stood patiently enduring it, his lowered eyes following theaimless movements of his hands, which were twisting and untwisting hisflexible straw hat; and it might have struck me as nearer akin totragedy rather than to a thing for laughter: this spectacle of a grownman so like a schoolboy before the master, shamefaced over a stammeredconfession. 

"But she did say something to you, didn't she?" I asked finally, withthe gentleness of a cross-examining lawyer. 

"Yes--after that moment. "

"Well, what was it?"

"She said, 'Not now!' That was all. "

"I suppose that was all she had breath for! It was just the inconsequentand meaningless thing a frightened woman WOULD say!"

"Meaningless?" he repeated, and looked up wonderingly. 

"Did you take it for an appointment?" I roared, quite out of patience, and losing my temper completely. 

"No, no, no! She said only that, and then--"

"Then she turned and ran away from you!"

"Yes, " he said, swallowing painfully. 

"That PLEASED you, " I stormed, "to frighten a woman in the woods--tomake her feel that she can't walk here in safety! You ENJOY doing thingslike that?"

He looked at me with disconcerting steadiness for a moment, and, withoutoffering any other response, turned aside, resting his arm against thetrunk of a tree and gazing into the quiet forest. 

I set about packing my traps, grumbling various sarcasms, the lastmutterings of a departed storm, for already I realised that I had takenout my own mortification upon him, and I was stricken with remorse. Andyet, so contrarily are we made, I continued to be unkind while in myheart I was asking pardon of him. I tried to make my reproaches gentler, to lend my voice a hint of friendly humour, but in spite of me the onesounded gruffer and the other sourer with everything I said. This wasthe worse because of the continued silence of the victim: he did notonce answer, nor by the slightest movement alter his attitude until Ihad finished--and more than finished. 

"There--and that's all!" I said desperately, when the things werestrapped and I had slung them to my shoulder. "Let's be off, in heaven'sname!"

At that he turned quickly toward me; it did not lessen my remorse to seethat he had grown very pale. 

"I wouldn't have frightened her for the world, " he said, and his voiceand his whole body shook with a strange violence. "I wouldn't havefrightened her to please the angels in heaven!"

A blunderer whose incantation had brought the spirit up to face me, Istared at him helplessly, nor could I find words to answer or controlthe passion that my imbecile scolding had evoked. Whatever the barriersKeredec's training had built for his protection, they were down now. 

"You think I told a lie!" he cried. "You think I lied when I said Icouldn't help speaking to her!"

"No, no, " I said earnestly. "I didn't mean--"

"Words!" he swept the feeble protest away, drowned in a whirlingvehemence. "And what does it matter? You CAN'T understand. When YOU wantto know what to do, you look back into your life and it tells you; and Ilook back--AH!" He cried out, uttering a half-choked, incoherentsyllable. "I look back and it's all--BLIND! All these things you CAN doand CAN'T do--all these infinite little things! You know, and Keredecknows, and Glouglou knows, and every mortal soul on earth knows--but _I_don't know! Your life has taught you, and you know, but I don't know. Ihaven't HAD my life. It's gone! All I have is words that Keredec hassaid to me, and it's like a man with no eyes, out in the sunshinehunting for the light. Do you think words can teach you to resist suchimpulses as I had when I spoke to Madame d'Armand? Can life itself teachyou to resist them? Perhaps you never had them?"

"I don't know, " I answered honestly. 

"I would burn my hand from my arm and my arm from my body, " he went on, with the same wild intensity, "rather than trouble her or frighten her, but I couldn't help speaking to her any more than I can help wanting tosee her again--the feeling that I MUST--whatever you say or do, whateverKeredec says or does, whatever the whole world may say or do. And Iwill! It isn't a thing to choose to do, or not to do. I can't help itany more than I can help being alive!"

He paused, wiping from his brow a heavy dew not of the heat, but likethat on the forehead of a man in crucial pain. I made nervous haste toseize the opportunity, and said gently, almost timidly:

"But if it should distress the lady?"

"Yes--then I could keep away. But I must know that. "

"I think you might know it by her running away--and by her look, " I saidmildly. "Didn't you?"

"NO!" And his eyes flashed an added emphasis. 

"Well, well, " I said, "let's be on our way, or the professor will bewondering if he is to dine alone. "

Without looking to see if he followed, I struck into the path towardhome. He did follow, obediently enough, not uttering another word solong as we were in the woods, though I could hear him breathing sharplyas he strode behind me, and knew that he was struggling to regaincontrol of himself. I set the pace, making it as fast as I could, andneither of us spoke again until we had come out of the forest and wereupon the main road near the Baudry cottage. Then he said in a steadiervoice:

"Why should it distress her?"

"Well, you see, " I began, not slackening the pace "there areformalities--"

"Ah, I know, " he interrupted, with an impatient laugh. "Keredec oncetook me to a marionette show--all the little people strung on wires;they couldn't move any other way. And so you mustn't talk to a womanuntil somebody whose name has been spoken to you speaks yours to her! Doyou call that a rule of nature?"

"My dear boy, " I laughed in some desperation, "we must conform to it, ordinarily, no matter whose rule it is. "

"Do you think Madame d'Armand cares for little forms like that?" heasked challengingly. 

"She does, " I assured him with perfect confidence. "And, for thehundredth time, you must have seen how you troubled her. "

"No, " he returned, with the same curious obstinacy, "I don't believe it. There was something, but it wasn't trouble. We looked straight at eachother; I saw her eyes plainly, and it was--" he paused and sighed, asudden, brilliant smile upon his lips--"it was very--it was verystrange!"

There was something so glad and different in his look that--like anyother dried-up old blunderer in my place--I felt an instant tendency tolaugh. It was that heathenish possession, the old insanity of therisibles, which makes a man think it a humourous thing that his friendshould be discovered in love. 

But before I spoke, before I quite smiled outright, I was given thegrace to see myself in the likeness of a leering stranger trespassing insome cherished inclosure: a garden where the gentlest guests must alwaysbe intruders, and only the owner should come. The best of us profane itreadily, leaving the coarse prints of our heels upon its paths, maulingand man-handling the fairy blossoms with what pudgy fingers! Comes thepoet, ruthlessly leaping the wall and trumpeting indecently his view-halloo of the chase, and, after him, the joker, snickering and hopefulof a kill among the rose-beds; for this has been their hunting-groundsince the world began. These two have made us miserably ashamed of thedivine infinitive, so that we are afraid to utter the very words "tolove, " lest some urchin overhear and pursue us with a sticky forefingerand stickier taunts. It is little to my credit that I checked the sillyimpulse to giggle at the eternal marvel, and went as gently as I couldwhere I should not have gone at all. 

"But if you were wrong, " I said, "if it did distress her, and if ithappened that she has already had too much that was distressing in herlife--"

"You know something about her!" he exclaimed. "You know--"

"I do not, " I interrupted in turn. "I have only a vague guess; I may bealtogether mistaken. "

"What is it that you guess?" he demanded abruptly. "Who made hersuffer?"

"I think it was her husband, " I said, with a lack of discretion forwhich I was instantly sorry, fearing with reason that I had added afinal blunder to the long list of the afternoon. "That is, " I added, "ifmy guess is right. "

He stopped short in the road, detaining me by the arm, the questioncoming like a whip-crack: sharp, loud, violent. 

"Is he alive?"

"I don't know, " I answered, beginning to move forward; "and this isfoolish talk--especially on my part!"

"But I want to know, " he persisted, again detaining me. 

"And I DON'T know!" I returned emphatically. "Probably I am entirelymistaken in thinking that I know anything of her whatever. I ought notto have spoken, unless I knew what I was talking about, and I'd rathernot say any more until I do know. "

"Very well, " he said quickly. "Will you tell me then?"

"Yes--if you will let it go at that. "

"Thank you, " he said, and with an impulse which was but too plainly oneof gratitude, offered me his hand. I took it, and my soul was disquietedwithin me, for it was no purpose of mine to set inquiries on foot inregard to the affairs of "Madame d'Armand. "

It was early dusk, that hour, a little silvered but still clear, whenthe edges of things are beginning to grow indefinite, and usually oursleepy countryside knew no tranquiller time of day; but to-night, as weapproached the inn, there were strange shapes in the roadway and othertokens that events were stirring there. 

From the courtyard came the sounds of laughter and chattering voices. Before the entrance stood a couple of open touring-cars; the chauffeursengaged in cooling the rear tires with buckets of water brought by apersonage ordinarily known as Glouglou, whose look and manner, as heperformed this office for the leathern dignitaries, so awed me that Iwondered I had ever dared address him with any presumption of intimacy. The cars were great and opulent, of impressive wheel-base, and fore-and-aft they were laden intricately with baggage: concave trunks fittingbehind the tonneaus, thin trunks fastened upon the footboards, green, circular trunks adjusted to the spare tires, all deeply coated withdust. Here were fineries from Paris, doubtless on their way to flutterover the gay sands of Trouville, and now wandering but temporarily fromthe road; for such splendours were never designed to dazzle us of MadameBrossard's. 

We were crossing before the machines when one of the drivers saw fit tocrank his engine (if that is the knowing phrase) and the thing shook outthe usual vibrating uproar. It had a devastating effect upon mycompanion. He uttered a wild exclamation and sprang sideways into me, almost upsetting us both. 

"What on earth is the matter?" I asked. "Did you think the car wasstarting?"

He turned toward me a face upon which was imprinted the sheer, blankterror of a child. It passed in an instant however, and he laughed. 

"I really didn't know. Everything has been so quiet always, out here inthe country--and that horrible racket coming so suddenly--"

Laughing with him, I took his arm and we turned to enter the archway. Aswe did so we almost ran into a tall man who was coming out, evidentlyintending to speak to one of the drivers. 

The stranger stepped back with a word of apology, and I took note of himfor a fellow-countryman, and a worldly buck of fashion indeed, almost ascap-a-pie the automobilist as my mysterious spiller of cider had beenthe pedestrian. But this was no game-chicken; on the contrary (so far asa glance in the dusk of the archway revealed him), much the picture forframing in a club window of a Sunday morning; a seasoned, hard-surfaced, knowing creature for whom many a head waiter must have swept previousclaimants from desired tables. He looked forty years so cannily that Iguessed him to be about fifty. 

We were passing him when he uttered an ejaculation of surprise andstepped forward again, holding out his hand to my companion, andexclaiming:

"Where did YOU come from? I'd hardly have known you. "

Oliver seemed unconscious of the proffered hand; he stiffened visiblyand said:

"I think there must be some mistake. "

"So there is, " said the other promptly. "I have been misled by aresemblance. I beg your pardon. "

He lifted his cap slightly, going on, and we entered the courtyard tofind a cheerful party of nine or ten men and women seated about a coupleof tables. Like the person we had just encountered, they all exhibited apicturesque elaboration of the costume permitted by their mode oftravel; making effective groupings in their ample draperies of buff andgreen and white, with glimpses of a flushed and pretty face or two amongthe loosened veilings. Upon the tables were pots of tea, plates ofsandwiches, Madame Brossard's three best silver dishes heaped withfruit, and some bottles of dry champagne from the cellars of Rheims. Thepartakers were making very merry, having with them (as is inevitable inall such parties, it seems) a fat young man inclined to humour, who wasnow upon his feet for the proposal of some prankish toast. Heinterrupted himself long enough to glance our way as we crossed thegarden; and it struck me that several pairs of brighter eyes followed myyoung companion with interest. He was well worth it, perhaps all themore because he was so genuinely unconscious of it; and he ran up thegallery steps and disappeared into his own rooms without sending even aglance from the corner of his eye in return. 

I went almost as quickly to my pavilion, and, without lighting my lamp, set about my preparations for dinner. 

The party outside, breaking up presently, could be heard moving towardthe archway with increased noise and laughter, inspired by someexquisite antic on the part of the fat young man, when a girl's voice (avery attractive voice) called, "Oh, Cressie, aren't you coming?" and aman's replied, from near my veranda: "Only stopping to light a cigar. "

A flutter of skirts and a patter of feet betokened that the girl camerunning back to join the smoker. "Cressie, " I heard her say in an eager, lowered tone, "who WAS he?"

"Who was who?"

"That DEVASTATING creature in white flannels!"

The man chuckled. "Matinee sort of devastator--what? Monte Cristo hair, noble profile--"

"You'd better tell me, " she interrupted earnestly--"if you don't want meto ask the WAITER. "

"But I don't know him. "

"I saw you speak to him. "

"I thought it was a man I met three years ago out in San Francisco, butI was mistaken. There was a slight resemblance. This fellow might havebeen a rather decent younger brother of the man I knew. HE was the--"

My strong impression was that if the speaker had not been interrupted atthis point he would have said something very unfavourable to thecharacter of the man he had met in San Francisco; but there came aseries of blasts from the automobile horns and loud calls from others ofthe party, who were evidently waiting for these two. 

"Coming!" shouted the man. 

"Wait!" said his companion hurriedly, "Who was the other man, the olderone with the painting things and SUCH a coat?"

"Never saw him before in my life. "

I caught a last word from the girl as the pair moved away. 

"I'll come back here with a BAND to-morrow night, and serenade thebeautiful one. 

"Perhaps he'd drop me his card out of the window!"

The horns sounded again; there was a final chorus of laughter, suddenlyceasing to be heard as the cars swept away, and Les Trois Pigeons wasleft to its accustomed quiet. 

"Monsieur is served, " said Amedee, looking in at my door, five minuteslater. 

"You have passed a great hour just now, Amedee. "

"It was like the old days, truly!"

"They are off for Trouville, I suppose. "

"No, monsieur, they are on their way to visit the chateau, and stoppedhere only because the run from Paris had made the tires too hot. "

"To visit Quesnay, you mean?"

"Truly. But monsieur need give himself no uneasiness; I did not mentionto any one that monsieur is here. His name was not spoken. MademoiselleWard returned to the chateau to-day, " he added. "She has been inEngland. "

"Quesnay will be gay, " I said, coming out to the table. Oliver Saffrenwas helping the professor down the steps, and Keredec, bent withsuffering, but indomitable, gave me a hearty greeting, and began aruthless dissection of Plato with the soup. Oliver, usually, very quiet, as I have said, seemed a little restless under the discourse to-night. However, he did not interrupt, sitting patiently until bedtime, thoughobviously not listening. When he bade me good night he gave me a look soclearly in reference to a secret understanding between us that, meaningto keep only the letter of my promise to him, I felt about ascomfortable as if I had meanly tricked a child. 

CHAPTER X

I had finished dressing, next morning, and was strapping my thingstogether for the day's campaign, when I heard a shuffling step upon theporch, and the door opened gently, without any previous ceremony ofknocking. To my angle of vision what at first appeared to have opened itwas a tray of coffee, rolls, eggs, and a packet of sandwiches, but, after hesitating somewhat, this apparition advanced farther into theroom, disclosing a pair of supporting hands, followed in due time by thewhole person of a nervously smiling and visibly apprehensive Amedee. Heclosed the door behind him by the simple action of backing against it, took the cloth from his arm, and with a single gesture spread it neatlyupon a small table, then, turning to me, laid the forefinger of hisright hand warningly upon his lips and bowed me a deferential invitationto occupy the chair beside the table. 

"Well, " I said, glaring at him, "what ails you?"

"I thought monsieur might prefer his breakfast indoors, this morning, "he returned in a low voice. 

"Why should I?"

The miserable old man said something I did not understand--an incoherentsyllable or two--suddenly covered his mouth with both hands, and turnedaway. I heard a catch in his throat; suffocated sounds issued from hisbosom; however, it was nothing more than a momentary seizure, and, recovering command of himself by a powerful effort, he faced me withhypocritical servility. 

"Why do you laugh?" I asked indignantly. 

"But I did not laugh, " he replied in a husky whisper. "Not at all. "

"You did, " I asserted, raising my voice. "It almost killed you!"

"Monsieur, " he begged hoarsely, "HUSH!"

"What is the matter?" I demanded loudly. "What do you mean by theseabominable croakings? Speak out!"

"Monsieur--" he gesticulated in a panic, toward the courtyard. "Mademoiselle Ward is out there. "

"WHAT!" But I did not shout the word. 

"There is always a little window in the rear wall, " he breathed in myear as I dropped into the chair by the table. "She would not see you if--"

I interrupted with all the French rough-and-ready expressions of dislikeat my command, daring to hope that they might give him some shadowy, far-away idea of what I thought of both himself and his suggestions, and, notwithstanding the difficulty of expressing strong feeling inwhispers, it seemed to me that, in a measure, I succeeded. "I am not inthe habit of crawling out of ventilators, " I added, subduing a tendencyto vehemence. "And probably Mademoiselle Ward has only come to talk withMadame Brossard. "

"I fear some of those people may have told her you were here, " heventured insinuatingly. 

"What people?" I asked, drinking my coffee calmly, yet, it must beconfessed, without quite the deliberation I could have wished. 

"Those who stopped yesterday evening on the way to the chateau. Theymight have recognised--"

"Impossible. I knew none of them. "

"But Mademoiselle Ward knows that you are here. Without doubt. "

"Why do you say so?"

"Because she has inquired for you. "

"So!" I rose at once and went toward the door. "Why didn't you tell meat once?"

"But surely, " he remonstrated, ignoring my question, "monsieur will makesome change of attire?"

"Change of attire?" I echoed. 

"Eh, the poor old coat all hunched at the shoulders and spotted withpaint!"

"Why shouldn't it be?" I hissed, thoroughly irritated. "Do you take mefor a racing marquis?"

"But monsieur has a coat much more as a coat ought to be. And JeanFerret says--"

"Ha, now we're getting at it!" said I. "What does Jean Ferret say?"

"Perhaps it would be better if I did not repeat--"

"Out with it! What does Jean Ferret say?"

"Well, then, Mademoiselle Ward's maid from Paris has told Jean Ferretthat monsieur and Mademoiselle Ward have corresponded for years, andthat--and that--"

"Go on, " I bade him ominously. 

"That monsieur has sent Mademoiselle Ward many expensive jewels, and--"

"Aha!" said I, at which he paused abruptly, and stood staring at me. Theidea of explaining Miss Elizabeth's collection to him, of gettinganything whatever through that complacent head of his, was so hopelessthat I did not even consider it. There was only one thing to do, andperhaps I should have done it--I do not know, for he saw the menacecoiling in my eye, and hurriedly retreated. 

"Monsieur!" he gasped, backing away from me, and as his hand, fumblingbehind him, found the latch of the door, he opened it, and scrambled outby a sort of spiral movement round the casing. When I followed, a momentlater--with my traps on my shoulder and the packet of sandwiches in mypocket--he was out of sight. 

Miss Elizabeth sat beneath the arbour at the other end of the courtyard, and beside her stood the trim and glossy bay saddle-horse that she hadridden from Quesnay, his head outstretched above his mistress to paddleat the vine leaves with a tremulous upper lip. She checked his desirewith a slight movement of her hand upon the bridle-rein; and he archedhis neck prettily, pawing the gravel with a neat forefoot. MissElizabeth is one of the few large women I have known to whom a riding-habit is entirely becoming, and this group of two--a handsome woman andher handsome horse--has had a charm for all men ever since horses weretamed and women began to be beautiful. I thought of my work, of thecanvases I meant to cover, but I felt the charm--and I felt itstirringly. It was a fine, fresh morning, and the sun just risen. 

An expression in the lady's attitude, and air which I instinctivelyconstrued as histrionic, seemed intended to convey that she had beenkept waiting, yet had waited without reproach; and although she musthave heard me coming, she did not look toward me until I was quite nearand spoke her name. At that she sprang up quickly enough, and stretchedout her hand to me. 

"Run to earth!" she cried, advancing a step to meet me. 

"A pretty poor trophy of the chase, " said I, "but proud that you are itskiller. "

To my surprise and mystification, her cheeks and brow flushed rosily;she was obviously conscious of it, and laughed. 

"Don't be embarrassed, " she said. 

"I!"

"Yes, you, poor man! I suppose I couldn't have more thoroughlycompromised you. Madame Brossard will never believe in yourrespectability again. "

"Oh, yes, she will, " said I. 

"What? A lodger who has ladies calling upon him at five o'clock in themorning? But your bundle's on your shoulder, " she rattled on, laughing, "though there's many could be bolder, and perhaps you'll let me walk abit of the way with you, if you're for the road. "

"Perhaps I will, " said I. She caught up her riding-skirt, fastening itby a clasp at her side, and we passed out through the archway and wentslowly along the road bordering the forest, her horse followingobediently at half-rein's length. 

"When did you hear that I was at Madame Brossard's?" I asked. 

"Ten minutes after I returned to Quesnay, late yesterday afternoon. "

"Who told you?"

"Louise. "

I repeated the name questioningly. "You mean Mrs. Larrabee Harman?"

"Louise Harman, " she corrected. "Didn't you know she was staying atQuesnay?"

"I guessed it, though Amedee got the name confused. "

"Yes, she's been kind enough to look after the place for us while wewere away. George won't be back for another ten days, and I've beenoverseeing an exhibition for him in London. Afterward I did a round ofvisits--tiresome enough, but among people it's well to keep in touchwith on George's account. "

"I see, " I said, with a grimness which probably escaped her. "But howdid Mrs. Harman know that I was at Les Trois Pigeons?"

"She met you once in the forest--"

"Twice, " I interrupted. 

"She mentioned only once. Of course she'd often heard both George and mespeak of you. "

"But how did she know it was I and where I was staying?"

"Oh, that?" Her smile changed to a laugh. "Your maitre d'hotel toldFerret, a gardener at Quesnay, that you were at the inn. "

"He did!"

"Oh, but you mustn't be angry with him; he made it quite all right. "

"How did he do that?" I asked, trying to speak calmly, though there wasthat in my mind which might have blanched the parchment cheek of a grandinquisitor. 

"He told Ferret that you were very anxious not to have it known--"

"You call that making it all right?"

"For himself, I mean. He asked Ferret not to mention who it was thattold him. "

"The rascal!" I cried. "The treacherous, brazen--"

"Unfortunate man, " said Miss Elizabeth, "don't you see how clear you'remaking it that you really meant to hide from us?"

There seemed to be something in that, and my tirade broke up inconfusion. "Oh, no, " I said lamely, "I hoped--I hoped--"

"Be careful!"

"No; I hoped to work down here, " I blurted. "And I thought if I saw toomuch of you--I might not. "

She looked at me with widening eyes. "And I can take my choice, " shecried, "of all the different things you may mean by that! It's eitherthe most outrageous speech I ever heard--or the most flattering. "

"But I meant simply--"

"No. " She lifted her hand and stopped me. "I'd rather believe that Ihave at least the choice--and let it go at that. " And as I began tolaugh, she turned to me with a gravity apparently so genuine that forthe moment I was fatuous enough to believe that she had said itseriously. Ensued a pause of some duration, which, for my part, I founddisturbing. She broke it with a change of subject. 

"You think Louise very lovely to look at, don't you?"

"Exquisite, " I answered. 

"Every one does. "

"I suppose she told you--" and now I felt myself growing red--"that Ibehaved like a drunken acrobat when she came upon me in the path. "

"No. Did you?" cried Miss Elizabeth, with a ready credulity which Ithought by no means pretty; indeed, she seemed amused and, to mysurprise (for she is not an unkind woman), rather heartlessly pleased. "Louise only said she knew it must be you, and that she wished she couldhave had a better look at what you were painting. "

"Heaven bless her!" I exclaimed. "Her reticence was angelic. "

"Yes, she has reticence, " said my companion, with enough of the samequality to make me look at her quickly. A thin line had been drawnacross her forehead. 

"You mean she's still reticent with George?" I ventured. 

"Yes, " she answered sadly. "Poor George always hopes, of course, in thesilent way of his kind when they suffer from such unfortunate passions--and he waits. "

"I suppose that former husband of hers recovered?"

"I believe he's still alive somewhere. Locked up, I hope!" she finishedcrisply. 

"She retained his name, " I observed. 

"Harman? Yes, she retained it, " said my companion rather shortly. 

"At all events, she's rid of him, isn't she?"

"Oh, she's RID of him!" Her tone implied an enigmatic reservation ofsome kind. 

"It's hard, " I reflected aloud, "hard to understand her making thatmistake, young as she was. Even in the glimpses of her I've had, it waseasy to see something of what she's like: a fine, rare, high type--"

"But you didn't know HIM, did you?" Miss Elizabeth asked with somedryness. 

"No, " I answered. "I saw him twice; once at the time of his accident--that was only a nightmare, his face covered with--" I shivered. "But Ihad caught a glimpse of him on the boulevard, and of all the dreadful--"

"Oh, but he wasn't always dreadful, " she interposed quickly. "He was afascinating sort of person, quite charming and good-looking, when sheran away with him, though he was horribly dissipated even then. Healways had been THAT. Of course she thought she'd be able to straightenhim out--poor girl! She tried, for three years--three years it hurts oneto think of! You see it must have been something very like a 'grandpassion' to hold her through a pain three years long. "

"Or tremendous pride, " said I. "Women make an odd world of it for therest of us. There was good old George, as true and straight a man asever lived--"

"And she took the other! Yes. " George's sister laughed sorrowfully. 

"But George and she have both survived the mistake, " I went on withconfidence. "Her tragedy must have taught her some importantdifferences. Haven't you a notion she'll be tremendously glad to see himwhen he comes back from America?"

"Ah, I do hope so!" she cried. "You see, I'm fearing that he hopes sotoo--to the degree of counting on it. "

"You don't count on it yourself?"

She shook her head. "With any other woman I should. "

"Why not with Mrs. Harman?"

"Cousin Louise has her ways, " said Miss Elizabeth slowly, and, whethershe could not further explain her doubts, or whether she would not, thatwas all I got out of her on the subject at the time. I asked one or twomore questions, but my companion merely shook her head again, alludingvaguely to her cousin's "ways. " Then she brightened suddenly, andinquired when I would have my things sent up to the chateau from theinn. 

At the risk of a misunderstanding which I felt I could ill afford, Iresisted her kind hospitality, and the outcome of it was that thereshould be a kind of armistice, to begin with my dining at the chateauthat evening. Thereupon she mounted to the saddle, a bit of gymnasticsfor which she declined my assistance, and looked down upon me from agreat height. 

"Did anybody ever tell you, " was her surprising inquiry, "that you arethe queerest man of these times?"

"No, " I answered. "Don't you think you're a queerer woman?"

"FOOTLE!" she cried scornfully. "Be off to your woods and yourwoodscaping!"

The bay horse departed at a smart gait, not, I was glad to see, aparkish trot--Miss Elizabeth wisely set limits to her sacrifices toMode--and she was far down the road before I had passed the outer fringeof trees. 

My work was accomplished after a fashion more or less desultory thatday; I had many absent moments, was restless, and walked more than Ipainted. Oliver Saffron did not join me in the late afternoon; nor didthe echo of distant yodelling bespeak any effort on his part to find me. So I gave him up, and returned to the inn earlier than usual. 

While dressing I sent word to Professor Keredec that I should not beable to join him at dinner that evening; and it is to be recorded thatGlouglou carried the message for me. Amedee did not appear, from whichit may be inferred that our maitre d'hotel was subject to lucidintervals. Certainly his present shyness indicated an intelligence of nolow order. 

CHAPTER XI

The dining-room at Quesnay is a pretty work of the second of those threeLouises who made so much furniture. It was never a proper setting for arusty, out-of-doors painter-man, nor has such a fellow ever foundhimself complacently at ease there since the day its first banquet wasspread for a score or so of fine-feathered epigram jinglers, fiddlingVersailles gossip out of a rouge-and-lace Quesnay marquise newly sentinto half-earnest banishment for too much king-hunting. For my part, however, I should have preferred a chance at making a place for myselfamong the wigs and brocades to the Crusoe's Isle of my chair at MissElizabeth's table. 

I learned at an early age to look my vanities in the face; I outfacedthem and they quailed, but persisted, surviving for my discomfort tothis day. Here is the confession: It was not until my arrival at thechateau that I realised what temerity it involved to dine there inevening clothes purchased, some four or five or six years previously, inthe economical neighbourhood of the Boulevard St. Michel. Yet the thingsfitted me well enough; were clean and not shiny, having been worn nomore than a dozen times, I think; though they might have been betterpressed. 

Looking over the men of the Quesnay party--or perhaps I should signify areversal of that and say a glance of theirs at me--revealed theimportance of a particular length of coat-tail, of a certain rich effectobtained by widely separating the lower points of the waistcoat, of thedisplay of some imagination in the buttons upon the same garment, of adoubled-back arrangement of cuffs, and of a specific design anddimension of tie. Marked uniformity in these matters denoted theirnecessity; and clothes differing from the essential so vitally as didmine must have seemed immodest, little better than no clothes at all. Idoubt if I could have argued in extenuation my lack of advantages forstudy, such an excuse being itself the damning circumstance. Of courseeccentricity is permitted, but (as in the Arts) only to the established. And I recall a painful change of colour which befell the countenance ofa shining young man I met at Ward's house in Paris: he had used hishandkerchief and was absently putting it in his pocket when heprovidentially noticed what he was doing and restored it to his sleeve. 

Miss Elizabeth had the courage to take me under her wing, placing meupon her left at dinner; but sprightlier calls than mine demanded andoccupied her attention. At my other side sat a magnificently upholsteredlady, who offered a fine shoulder and the rear wall of a collar ofpearls for my observation throughout the evening, as she leaned forwardtalking eagerly with a male personage across the table. This was aprince, ending in "ski": he permitted himself the slight vagary ofwearing a gold bracelet, and perhaps this flavour of romance drew thelady. Had my good fortune ever granted a second meeting, I should nothave known her. 

Fragments reaching me in my seclusion indicated that the variousconversations up and down the long table were animated; and at timessome topic proved of such high interest as to engage the comment of thewhole company. This was the case when the age of one of the Englishking's grandchildren came in question, but a subject which called foreven longer (if less spirited) discourse concerned the shameful lack ofstandard on the part of citizens of the United States, or, as it wasput, with no little exasperation, "What is the trouble with America?"Hereupon brightly gleamed the fat young man whom I had marked for a witat Les Trois Pigeons; he pictured with inimitable mimicry a westernsenator lately in France. This outcast, it appeared, had worn a slouchhat at a garden party and had otherwise betrayed his country to theridicule of the intelligent. "But really, " said the fat young man, turning plaintiff in conclusion, "imagine what such things make theEnglish and the French think of US!" And it finally went by consent thatthe trouble with America was the vulgarity of our tourists. 

"A dreadful lot!" Miss Elizabeth cheerfully summed up for them all. "Themiseries I undergo with that class of 'prominent Amurricans' who bringletters to my brother! I remember one awful creature who said, when Icame into the room, 'Well, ma'am, I guess you're the lady of the house, aren't you?'"

Miss Elizabeth sparkled through the chorus of laughter, but I rememberedthe "awful creature, " a genial and wise old man of affairs, whosedaughter's portrait George painted. Miss Elizabeth had missed his point:the canvasser's phrase had been intended with humour, and even had itlacked that, it was not without a pretty quaintness. So I thought, being"left to my own reflections, " which may have partaken of my own specialkind of snobbery; at least I regretted the Elizabeth of the morninggarden and the early walk along the fringe of the woods. For she at myside to-night was another lady. 

The banquet was drawing to a close when she leaned toward me and spokein an undertone. As this was the first sign, in so protracted a period, that I might ever again establish relations with the world of men, itcame upon me like a Friday's footprint, and in the moment of shock I didnot catch what she said. 

"Anne Elliott, yonder, is asking you a question, " she repeated, noddingat a very pretty gal down and across the table from me. Miss AnneElliott's attractive voice had previously enabled me to recognise her asthe young woman who had threatened to serenade Les Trois Pigeons. 

"I beg your pardon, " I said, addressing her, and at the sound myobscurity was illuminated, about half of the company turning to look atme with wide-eyed surprise. (I spoke in an ordinary tone, it may need tobe explained, and there is nothing remarkable about my voice). 

"I hear you're at Les Trois Pigeons, " said Miss Elliott. 

"Yes?"

"WOULD you mind telling us something of the MYSTERIOUS Narcissus?"

"If you'll be more definite, " I returned, in the tone of a question. 

"There couldn't be more than one like THAT, " said Miss Elliott, "atleast, not in one neighbourhood, could there? I mean a RECKLESSLYcharming vision with a WHITE tie and WHITE hair and WHITE flannels. "

"Oh, " said I, "HE'S not mysterious. "

"But he IS, " she returned; "I insist on his being MYSTERIOUS! Rarely, grandly, STRANGELY mysterious! You WILL let me think so?" This younglady had a whimsical manner of emphasising words unexpectedly, with abreathless intensity that approached violence, a habit dangerouslycontagious among nervous persons, so that I answered slowly, out of afear that I might echo it. 

"It would need a great deal of imagination. He's a young American, veryattractive, very simple--"

"But he's MAD!" she interrupted. 

"Oh, no!" I said hastily. 

"But he IS! A person told me so in a garden this VERY afternoon, " shewent on eagerly; "a person with a rake and EVER so many moles on hischin. This person told me all about him. His name is Oliver Saffren, andhe's in the charge of a VERY large doctor and quite, QUITE mad!"

"Jean Ferret, the gardener. " I said deliberately, and with venom, "isfast acquiring notoriety in these parts as an idiot of purest ray, andhe had his information from another whose continuance unhanged is everyhour more miraculous. "

"How RUTHLESS of you, " cried Miss Elliott, with exaggerated reproach, "when I have had such a thrilling happiness all day in believing thatRIOTOUSLY beautiful creature mad! You are wholly positive he isn't?"

Our dialogue was now all that delayed a general departure from thetable. This, combined with the naive surprise I have mentioned, servedto make us temporarily the centre of attention, and, among the facesturned toward me, my glance fell unexpectedly upon one I had not seensince entering the dining-room. Mrs. Harman had been placed at somedistance from me and on the same side of the table, but now she leanedfar back in her chair to look at me, so that I saw her behind theshoulders of the people between us. She was watching me with anexpression unmistakably of repressed anxiety and excitement, and as oureyes met, hers shone with a certain agitation, as of some oddconsciousness shared with me. It was so strangely, suddenly a reminderof the look of secret understanding given me with good night, twenty-four hours earlier, by the man whose sanity was Miss Elliott's topic, that, puzzled and almost disconcerted for the moment, I did not at oncereply to the lively young lady's question. 

"You're hesitating!" she cried, clasping her hands. "I believe there's aDARLING little chance of it, after all! And if it weren't so, why wouldhe need to be watched over, day AND night, by an ENORMOUS doctor?"

"This IS romance!" I retorted. "The doctor is Professor Keredec, illustriously known in this country, but not as a physician, and theyare following some form of scientific research together, I believe. But, assuming to speak as Mr. Saffren's friend, " I added, rising with theothers upon Miss Ward's example, "I'm sure if he could come to know ofyour interest, he would much rather play Hamlet for you than let youfind him disappointing. "

"If he could come to know of my interest!" she echoed, glancing down atherself with mock demureness. "Don't you think he could come to knowsomething more of me than that?"

The windows had been thrown open, allowing passage to a veranda. MissElizabeth led the way outdoors with the prince, the rest of us followingat hazard, and in the mild confusion of this withdrawal I caught a finalglimpse of Mrs. Harman, which revealed that she was still looking at mewith the same tensity; but with the movement of intervening groups Ilost her. Miss Elliott pointedly waited for me until I came round thetable, attached me definitely by taking my arm, accompanying her actionwith a dazzling smile. "Oh, DO you think you can manage it?" shewhispered rapturously, to which I replied--as vaguely as I could--thatthe demands of scientific research upon the time of its followers wereapt to be exorbitant. 

Tables and coffee were waiting on the broad terrace below, with a bigmoon rising in the sky. I descended the steps in charge of this prettycavalier, allowed her to seat me at the most remote of the tables, andaccepted without unwillingness other gallantries of hers in the matterof coffee and cigarettes. "And now, " she said, "now that I've done somuch for your DEAREST hopes and comfort, look up at the milky moon, andtell me ALL!"

"If you can bear it?"

She leaned an elbow on the marble railing that protected the terrace, and, shielding her eyes from the moonlight with her hand, affected togaze at me dramatically. "Have no distrust, " she bade me. "Who and WHATis the glorious stranger?"

Resisting an impulse to chime in with her humour, I gave her so dry andcommonplace an account of my young friend at the inn that I presentlyfound myself abandoned to solitude again. 

"I don't know where to go, " she complained as she rose. "These otherpeople are MOST painful to a girl of my intelligence, but I cannotlinger by your side; untruth long ago lost its interest for me, and Iprefer to believe Mr. Jean Ferret--if that is the gentleman's name. I'djoin Miss Ward and Cressie Ingle yonder, but Cressie WOULD be indignant!I shall soothe my hurt with SWEETEST airs. Adieu. "

With that she made me a solemn courtesy and departed, a pretty littlefigure, not little in attractiveness, the strong moonlight, tinged withblue, shimmering over her blond hair and splashing brightly among theripples of her silks and laces. She swept across the terrace languidly, offering an effect of comedy not unfairylike, and, ascending the stepsof the veranda, disappeared into the orange candle-light of a salon. Amoment later some chords were sounded firmly upon a piano in that room, and a bitter song swam out to me over the laughter and talk of thepeople at the other tables. It was to be observed that Miss Anne Elliottsang very well, though I thought she over-emphasised one line of thestanza:

"This world is a world of lies!"

Perhaps she had poisoned another little arrow for me, too. Impelled bythe fine night, the groups upon the terrace were tending toward a widerdispersal, drifting over the sloping lawns by threes and couples, and Iwas able to identify two figures threading the paths of the garden, together, some distance below. Judging by the pace they kept, I shouldhave concluded that Miss Ward and Mr. Cresson Ingle sought the healthfuleffects of exercise. However, I could see no good reason for wishingtheir conversation less obviously absorbing, though Miss Elliott'sinsinuation that Mr. Ingle might deplore intrusion upon the interviewhad struck me as too definite to be altogether pleasing. Still, suchmatters could not discontent me with my solitude. Eastward, over themoonlit roof of the forest, I could see the quiet ocean, its unendinglines of foam moving slowly to the long beaches, too far away to beheard. The reproachful voice of the singer came no more from the house, but the piano ran on into "La Vie de Boheme, " and out of that intosomething else, I did not know what, but it seemed to be music; at leastit was musical enough to bring before me some memory of the faces ofpretty girls I had danced with long ago in my dancing days, so that, what with the music, and the distant sea, and the soft air, sosparklingly full of moonshine, and the little dancing memories, I wasfloated off into a reverie that was like a prelude for the person whobroke it. She came so quietly that I did not hear her until she wasalmost beside me and spoke to me. It was the second time that hadhappened. 

CHAPTER XII

"Mrs. Harman, " I said, as she took the chair vacated by the elfin younglady, "you see I can manage it! But perhaps I control myself better whenthere's no camp-stool to inspire me. You remember my woodland didoes--Ifear?"

She smiled in a pleasant, comprehending way, but neither directlyreplied nor made any return speech whatever; instead, she let herforearms rest on the broad railing of the marble balustrade, and, leaning forward, gazed out over the shining and mysterious slopes below. Somehow it seemed to me that her not answering, and her quiet action, aswell as the thoughtful attitude in which it culminated, would have beenthought "very like her" by any one who knew her well. "Cousin Louise hasher ways, " Miss Elizabeth had told me; this was probably one of them, and I found it singularly attractive. For that matter, from the day ofmy first sight of her in the woods I had needed no prophet to tell me Ishould like Mrs. Harman's ways. 

"After the quiet you have had here, all this must seem, " I said, lookingdown upon the strollers, "a usurpation. "

"Oh, they!" She disposed of Quesnay's guests with a slight movement ofher left hand. "You're an old friend of my cousins--of both of them; buteven without that, I know you understand. Elizabeth does it all for herbrother, of course. "

"But she likes it, " I said. 

"And Mr. Ward likes it, too, " she added slowly. "You'll see, when hecomes home. "

Night's effect upon me being always to make me venturesome, I took achance, and ventured perhaps too far. "I hope we'll see many happythings when he comes home. "

"It's her doing things of this sort, " she said, giving no sign of havingheard my remark, "that has helped so much to make him the success thathe is. "

"It's what has been death to his art!" I exclaimed, too quickly--andwould have been glad to recall the speech. 

She met it with a murmur of low laughter that sounded pitying. "Wasn'tit always a dubious relation--between him and art?" And without awaitingan answer, she went on, "So it's all the better that he can have hissuccess!"

To this I had nothing whatever to say. So far as I remembered, I hadnever before heard a woman put so much comprehension of a large subjectinto so few words, but in my capacity as George's friend, hopeful forhis happiness, it made me a little uneasy. During the ensuing pause thisfeeling, at first uppermost, gave way to another not at all in sequence, but irresponsible and intuitive, that she had something in particular tosay to me, had joined me for that purpose, and was awaiting theopportunity. As I have made open confession, my curiosity never neededthe spur; and there is no denying that this impression set it off on thegallop; but evidently the moment had not come for her to speak. Sheseemed content to gaze out over the valley in silence. 

"Mr. Cresson Ingle, " I hazarded; "is he an old, new friend of yourcousins? I think he was not above the horizon when I went to Capri, twoyears ago?"

"He wants Elizabeth, " she returned, adding quietly, "as you've seen. "And when I had verified this assumption with a monosyllable, shecontinued, "He's an 'available, ' but I should hate to have it happen. He's hard. "

"He doesn't seem very hard toward her, " I murmured, looking down intothe garden where Mr. Ingle just then happened to be adjusting a scarfabout his hostess's shoulders. 

"He's led a detestable life, " said Mrs. Harman, "among detestablepeople!"

She spoke with sudden, remarkable vigour, and as if she knew. The full-throated emphasis she put upon "detestable" gave the word the sting of aflagellation; it rang with a rightful indignation that brought vividlyto my mind the thought of those three years in Mrs. Harman's life whichElizabeth said "hurt one to think of. " For this was the lady who hadrejected good George Ward to run away with a man much deeper in all thatwas detestable than Mr. Cresson Ingle could ever be!

"He seems to me much of a type with these others, " I said. 

"Oh, they keep their surfaces about the same. "

"It made me wish _I_ had a little more surface to-night, " I laughed. "I'd have fitted better. Miss Ward is different at different times. Whenwe are alone together she always has the air of excusing, or at leastexplaining, these people to me, but this evening I've had thedisquieting thought that perhaps she also explained me to them. "

"Oh, no!" said Mrs. Harman, turning to me quickly. "Didn't you see? Shewas making up to Mr. Ingle for this morning. It came out that she'dridden over at daylight to see you; Anne Elliott discovered it in someway and told him. "

This presented an aspect of things so overwhelmingly novel that out of aconfusion of ideas I was able to fasten on only one with which tocontinue the conversation, and I said irrelevantly that Miss Elliott wasa remarkable young woman. At this my companion, who had renewed herobservation of the valley, gave me a full, clear look of earnestscrutiny, which set me on the alert, for I thought that now what shedesired to say was coming. But I was disappointed, for she spokelightly, with a ripple of amusement. 

"I suppose she finished her investigations? You told her all you could?"

"Almost. "

"I suppose you wouldn't trust ME with the reservation?" she asked, smiling. 

"I would trust you with anything, " I answered seriously. 

"You didn't gratify that child?" she said, half laughing. Then, to mysurprise, her tone changed suddenly, and she began again in a hurriedlow voice: "You didn't tell her--" and stopped there, breathless andtroubled, letting me see that I had been right after all: this was whatshe wanted to talk about. 

"I didn't tell her that young Saffren is mad, no; if that is what youmean. "

"I'm glad you didn't, " she said slowly, sinking back in her chair sothat her face was in the shadow of the awning which sheltered the littletable between us. 

"In the first place, I wouldn't have told her even if it were true, " Ireturned, "and in the second, it isn't true--though YOU have some reasonto think it is, " I added. 

"_I_?" she said. "Why?"

"His speaking to you as he did; a thing on the face of it inexcusable--"

"Why did he call me 'Madame d'Armand'?" she interposed. 

I explained something of the mental processes of Amedee, and shelistened till I had finished; then bade me continue. 

"That's all, " I said blankly, but, with a second thought, caught hermeaning. "Oh, about young Saffren, you mean?"

"Yes. "

"I know him pretty well, " I said, "without really knowing anything abouthim; but what is stranger, I believe he doesn't really know a great dealabout himself. Of course I have a theory about him, though it's vague. My idea is that probably through some great illness he lost--not hisfaculty of memory, but his memories, or, at least, most of them. Inregard to what he does remember, Professor Keredec has anxiouslyimpressed upon him some very poignant necessity for reticence. What thenecessity may be, or the nature of the professor's anxieties, I do notknow, but I think Keredec's reasons must be good ones. That's all, except that there's something about the young man that draws one to him:I couldn't tell you how much I like him, nor how sorry I am that heoffended you. "

"He didn't offend me, " she murmured--almost whispered. 

"He didn't mean to, " I said warmly. "You understood that?"

"Yes, I understood. "

"I am glad. I'd been waiting the chance to try to explain--to ask you topardon him--"

"But there wasn't any need. "

"You mean because you understood--"

"No, " she interrupted gently, "not only that. I mean because he has doneit himself. "

"Asked your pardon?" I said, in complete surprise. 

"Yes. "

"He's written you?" I cried. 

"No. I saw him to-day, " she answered. "This afternoon when I went for mywalk, he was waiting where the paths intersect--"

Some hasty ejaculation, I do not know what, came from me, but she liftedher hand. 

"Wait, " she said quietly. "As soon as he saw me he came straight towardme--"

"Oh, but this won't do at all, " I broke out. "It's too bad--"

"Wait. " She leaned forward slightly, lifting her hand again. "He calledme 'Madame d'Armand, ' and said he must know if he had offended me. "

"You told him--"

"I told him 'No!'" And it seemed to me that her voice, which up to thispoint had been low but very steady, shook upon the monosyllable. "Hewalked with me a little way--perhaps It was longer--"

"Trust me that it sha'n't happen again!" I exclaimed. "I'll see thatKeredec knows of this at once. He will--"

"No, no, " she interrupted quickly, "that is just what I want you not todo. Will you promise me?"

"I'll promise anything you ask me. But didn't he frighten you? Didn't hetalk wildly? Didn't he--"

"He didn't frighten me--not as you mean. He was very quiet and--" Shebroke off unexpectedly, with a little pitying cry, and turned to me, lifting both hands appealingly--"And oh, doesn't he make one SORRY forhim!"

That was just it. She had gone straight to the heart of his mystery: hisstrangeness was the strange PATHOS that invested him; the "singularity"of "that other monsieur" was solved for me at last. 

When she had spoken she rose, advanced a step, and stood looking outover the valley again, her skirts pressing the balustrade. One of themoments in my life when I have wished to be a figure painter came then, as she raised her arms, the sleeves, of some filmy texture, falling backfrom them with the gesture, and clasped her hands lightly behind herneck, the graceful angle of her chin uplifted to the full rain ofmoonshine. Little Miss Elliott, in the glamour of these same blueshowerings, had borrowed gauzy weavings of the fay and the sprite, butMrs. Harman--tall, straight, delicate to fragility, yet not to thinness--was transfigured with a deeper meaning, wearing the sadder, richercolours of the tragedy that her cruel young romance had put upon her. She might have posed as she stood against the marble railing--andespecially in that gesture of lifting her arms--for a bearer of the giftat some foredestined luckless ceremony of votive offerings. So itseemed, at least, to the eyes of a moon-dazed old painter-man. 

She stood in profile to me; there were some jasmine flowers at herbreast; I could see them rise and fall with more than deep breathing;and I wondered what the man who had talked of her so wildly, onlyyesterday, would feel if he could know that already the thought of himhad moved her. 

"I haven't HAD my life. It's gone!" It was almost as if I heard hisvoice, close at hand, with all the passion of regret and protest thatrang in the words when they broke from him in the forest. And by somemiraculous conjecture, within the moment I seemed not only to hear hisvoice but actually to see him, a figure dressed in white, far below usand small with the distance, standing out in the moonlight in the middleof the tree-bordered avenue leading to the chateau gates. 

I rose and leaned over the railing. There was no doubt about the realityof the figure in white, though it was too far away to be identified withcertainty; and as I rubbed my eyes for clearer sight, it turned anddisappeared into the shadows of the orderly grove where I had stood, oneday, to watch Louise Harman ascend the slopes of Quesnay. But I toldmyself, sensibly, that more than one man on the coast of Normandy mightbe wearing white flannels that evening, and, turning to my companion, found that she had moved some steps away from me and was gazing eastwardto the sea. I concluded that she had not seen the figure. 

"I have a request to make of you, " she said, as I turned. "Will you doit for me--setting it down just as a whim, if you like, and letting itgo at that?"

"Yes, I will, " I answered promptly. "I'll do anything you ask. "

She stepped closer, looked at me intently for a second, bit her lip inindecision, then said, all in a breath:

"Don't tell Mr. Saffren my name!"

"But I hadn't meant to, " I protested. 

"Don't speak of me to him at all, " she said, with the same hurriedeagerness. "Will you let me have my way?"

"Could there be any question of that?" I replied, and to my astonishmentfound that we had somehow impulsively taken each other's hands, as upona serious bargain struck between us. 

CHAPTER XIII

The round moon was white and at its smallest, high overhead, when Istepped out of the phaeton in which Miss Elizabeth sent me back toMadame Brossard's; midnight was twanging from a rusty old clock indoorsas I crossed the fragrant courtyard to my pavilion; but a lamp stillburned in the salon of the "Grande Suite, " a light to my mind moresuggestive of the patient watcher than of the scholar at his tome. 

When my own lamp was extinguished, I set my door ajar, moved my bed outfrom the wall to catch whatever breeze might stir, "composed myself forthe night, " as it used to be written, and lay looking out upon the quietgarden where a thin white haze was rising. If, in taking this coign ofvantage, I had any subtler purpose than to seek a draught against thewarmth of the night, it did not fail of its reward, for just as I hadbegun to drowse, the gallery steps creaked as if beneath some immoderateweight, and the noble form of Keredec emerged upon my field of vision. From the absence of the sound of footsteps I supposed him to be eitherbarefooted or in his stockings. His visible costume consisted of asleeping jacket tucked into a pair of trousers, while his tousled hairand beard and generally tossed and rumpled look were those of a man whohad been lying down temporarily. 

I heard him sigh--like one sighing for sleep--as he went noiselesslyacross the garden and out through the archway to the road. At that I satstraight up in bed to stare--and well I might, for here was a miracle!He had lifted his arms above his head to stretch himself comfortably, and he walked upright and at ease, whereas when I had last seen him, thenight before, he had been able to do little more than crawl, bent farover and leaning painfully upon his friend. Never man beheld a moreastonishing recovery from a bad case of rheumatism!

After a long look down the road, he retraced his steps; and themoonlight, striking across his great forehead as he came, revealed thefurrows ploughed there by an anxiety of which I guessed the cause. Thecreaking of the wooden stairs and gallery and the whine of an old doorannounced that he had returned to his vigil. 

I had, perhaps, a quarter of an hour to consider this performance, whenit was repeated; now, however, he only glanced out into the road, retreating hastily, and I saw that he was smiling, while the speed hemaintained in returning to his quarters was remarkable for one so newlyconvalescent. 

The next moment Saffron came through the archway, ascended the steps inturn--but slowly and carefully, as if fearful of waking his guardian--and I heard his door closing, very gently. Long before his arrival, however, I had been certain of his identity with the figure I had seengazing up at the terraces of Quesnay from the borders of the grove. Other questions remained to bother me: Why had Keredec not preventedthis night-roving, and why, since he did permit it, should he concealhis knowledge of it from Oliver? And what, oh, what wondrous specifichad the mighty man found for his disease?

Morning failed to clarify these mysteries; it brought, however, something rare and rich and strange. I allude to the manner of Amedee'sapproach. The aged gossip-demoniac had to recognise the fact that hecould not keep out of my way for ever; there was nothing for it but toput as good a face as possible upon a bad business, and get it over--andthe face he selected was a marvel; not less, and in no hasty sense ofthe word. 

It appeared at my door to announce that breakfast waited outside. 

Primarily it displayed an expression of serenity, masterly in itsassumption that not the least, remotest, dreamiest shadow of dangercould possibly be conceived, by the most immoderately pessimistic andsinister imagination, as even vaguely threatening. And for the rest, youhave seen a happy young mother teaching first steps to the first-born--that was Amedee. Radiantly tender, aggressively solicitous, diffusingineffable sweetness on the air, wreathed in seraphic smiles, beamingcaressingly, and aglow with a sacred joy that I should be looking sowell, he greeted me in a voice of honey and bowed me to my repast withan unconcealed fondness at once maternal and reverential. 

I did not attempt to speak. I came out silently, uncannily fascinated, my eyes fixed upon him, while he moved gently backward, cooing pleasantwords about the coffee, but just perceptibly keeping himself out ofarm's reach until I had taken my seat. When I had done that, he leanedover the table and began to set useless things nearer my plate withfrankly affectionate care. It chanced that in "making a long arm" toreach something I did want, my hand (of which the fingers happened to beclosed) passed rather impatiently beneath his nose. The madonnaexpression changed instantly to one of horror, he uttered a startledcroak, and took a surprisingly long skip backward, landing in the screenof honeysuckle vines, which, he seemed to imagine, were some new form ofhostility attacking him treacherously from the rear. They sagged, butdid not break from their fastenings, and his behaviour, as he lay thusentangled, would have contrasted unfavourably in dignity with theactions of a panic-stricken hen in a hammock. 

"And so conscience DOES make cowards of us all, " I said, with no hope ofbeing understood. 

Recovering some measure of mental equilibrium at the same time that hemanaged to find his feet, he burst into shrill laughter, to which hetried in vain to impart a ring of debonair carelessness. 

"Eh, I stumble!" he cried with hollow merriment. "I fall about and faintwith fatigue! Pah! But it is nothing: truly!"

"Fatigue!" I turned a bitter sneer upon him. "Fatigue! And you just outof bed!"

His fat hands went up palm outward; his heroic laughter was checked aswith a sob; an expression of tragic incredulity shone from his eyes. Patently he doubted the evidence of his own ears; could not believe thatsuch black ingratitude existed in the world. "Absalom, O my sonAbsalom!" was his unuttered cry. His hands fell to his sides; his chinsank wretchedly into its own folds; his shirt-bosom heaved and crinkled;arrows of unspeakable injustice had entered the defenceless breast. 

"Just out of bed!" he repeated, with a pathos that would have broughtthe judge of any court in France down from the bench to kiss him--"And Ihad risen long, long before the dawn, in the cold and darkness of thenight, to prepare the sandwiches of monsieur!"

It was too much for me, or rather, he was. I stalked off to the woods ina state of helpless indignation; mentally swearing that his day ofpunishment at my hands was only deferred, not abandoned, yet secretlyfearing that this very oath might live for no purpose but to convict meof perjury. His talents were lost in the country; he should have soughthis fortune in the metropolis. And his manner, as he summoned me thatevening to dinner, and indeed throughout the courses, partook of thesubtle condescension and careless assurance of one who has but faintlyenjoyed some too easy triumph. 

I found this so irksome that I might have been goaded into an outbreakof impotent fury, had my attention not been distracted by the curiousturn of the professor's malady, which had renewed its painful assaultupon him. He came hobbling to table, leaning upon Saffren's shoulder, and made no reference to his singular improvement of the night before--nor did I. His rheumatism was his own; he might do what he pleased withit! There was no reason why he should confide the cause of its vagariesto me. 

Table-talk ran its normal course; a great Pole's philosophy receivingflagellation at the hands of our incorrigible optimist. ("If he couldunderstand, " exclaimed Keredec, "that the individual must be immortalbefore it is born, ha! then this babbler might have writted someintelligence!") On the surface everything was as usual with our trio, with nothing to show any turbulence of under-currents, unless it was acertain alertness in Oliver's manner, a restrained excitement, and thequestioning restlessness of his eyes as they sought mine from time totime. Whatever he wished to ask me, he was given no opportunity, for theprofessor carried him off to work when our coffee was finished. As theydeparted, the young man glanced back at me over his shoulder, with thatsame earnest look of interrogation, but it went unanswered by any tokenor gesture: for though I guessed that he wished to know if Mrs. Harmanhad spoken of him to me, it seemed part of my bargain with her to givehim no sign that I understood. 

A note lay beside my plate next morning, addressed in a writing strangeto me, one of dashing and vigorous character. 

"In the pursuit of thrillingly scientific research, " it read, "what withthe tumult which possessed me, I forgot to mention the bond that linksus; I, too, am a painter, though as yet unhonoured and unhung. It mustbe only because I lack a gentle hand to guide me. If I might sit besideyou as you paint! The hours pass on leaden wings at Quesnay--I couldshriek! Do not refuse me a few words of instruction, either in thewildwood, whither I could support your shrinking steps, or, from time totime, as you work in your studio, which (I glean from the instructiveMr. Ferret) is at Les Trois Pigeons. At any hour, at any moment, I willspeed to you. I am, sir, "Yours, if you will but breathe a 'yes, '

"ANNE ELLIOTT. "

To this I returned a reply, as much in her own key as I could write it, putting my refusal on the ground that I was not at present painting inthe studio. I added that I hoped her suit might prosper, regretting thatI could not be of greater assistance to that end, and concluded with thesuggestion that Madame Brossard might entertain an offer for lessons incooking. 

The result of my attempt to echo her vivacity was discomfiting, and Iwas allowed to perceive that epistolary jocularity was not thought to bemy line. It was Miss Elizabeth who gave me this instruction three dayslater, on the way to Quesnay for "second breakfast. " Exercising fairlyshame-faced diplomacy, I had avoided dining at the chateau again, but, by arrangement, she had driven over for me this morning in the phaeton. 

"Why are you writing silly notes to that child?" she demanded, as soonas we were away from the inn. 

"Was it silly?"

"You should know. Do you think that style of humour suitable for a younggirl?"

This bewildered me a little. "But there wasn't anything offensive--"

"No?" Miss Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows to a height of bland inquiry. "She mightn't think it rather--well, rough? Your suggesting that sheshould take cooking lessons?"

"But SHE suggested she might take PAINTING lessons, " was my feebleprotest. "I only meant to show her I understood that she wanted to getto the inn. "

"And why should she care to 'get to the inn'?"

"She seemed interested in a young man who is staying there. 'Interested'is the mildest word for it I can think of. "

"Pooh!" Such was Miss Ward's enigmatic retort, and though I begged anexplanation I got none. Instead, she quickened the horse's gait andchanged the subject. 

At the chateau, having a mind to offer some sort of apology, I lookedanxiously about for the subject of our rather disquieting conversation, but she was not to be seen until the party assembled at the table, setunder an awning on the terrace. Then, to my disappointment, I found noopportunity to speak to her, for her seat was so placed as to make itimpossible, and she escaped into the house immediately upon theconclusion of the repast, hurrying away too pointedly for any attempt todetain her--though, as she passed, she sent me one glance of meekreproach which she was at pains to make elaborately distinct. 

Again taking me for her neighbour at the table, Miss Elizabeth talked tome at intervals, apparently having nothing, just then, to make up to Mr. Cresson Ingle, but not long after we rose she accompanied him upon someexcursion of an indefinite nature, which led her from my sight. Thus, the others making off to cards indoors and what not, I was left to theperusal of the eighteenth century facade of the chateau, one of the mostcompetent restorations in that part of France, and of the liveliestinterest to the student or practitioner of architecture. 

Mrs. Harman had not appeared at all, having gone to call upon some oneat Dives, I was told, and a servant informing me (on inquiry) that MissElliott had retired to her room, I was thrust upon my own devicesindeed, a condition already closely associated in my mind with thispicturesque spot. The likeliest of my devices--or, at least, the one Ihit upon--was in the nature of an unostentatious retreat. 

I went home. 

However, as the day was spoiled for work, I chose a roundabout way, infact the longest, and took the high-road to Dives, but neither the roadnor the town itself (when I passed through it) rewarded my vague hopethat I might meet Mrs. Harman, and I strode the long miles inconsiderable disgruntlement, for it was largely in that hope that I hadgone to Quesnay. It put me in no merrier mood to find Miss Elizabeth'sphaeton standing outside the inn in charge of a groom, for my vanityencouraged the supposition that she had come out of a fear that myunceremonious departure from Quesnay might have indicated that I was"hurt, " or considered myself neglected; and I dreaded having to makeexplanations. 

My apprehensions were unfounded; it was not Miss Elizabeth who had comein the phaeton, though a lady from Quesnay did prove to be the occupant--the sole occupant--of the courtyard. At sight of her I halted stock-still under the archway. 

There she sat, a sketch-book on a green table beside her and a board inher lap, brazenly painting--and a more blushless piece of assurance thanMiss Anne Elliott thus engaged these eyes have never beheld. 

She was not so hardened that she did not affect a little timidity atsight of me, looking away even more quickly than she looked up, while Iwalked slowly over to her and took the garden chair beside her. Thatgave me a view of her sketch, which was a violent little "lay-in" ofshrubbery, trees, and the sky-line of the inn. To my prodigious surprise(and, naturally enough, with a degree of pleasure) I perceived that itwas not very bad, not bad at all, indeed. It displayed a sense ofvalues, of placing, and even, in a young and frantic way, of colour. Here was a young woman of more than "accomplishments!"

"You see, " she said, squeezing one of the tiny tubes almost dry, andcontinuing to paint with a fine effect of absorption, "I HAD to show youthat I was in the most ABYSMAL earnest. Will you take me painting with, you?"

"I appreciate your seriousness, " I rejoined. "Has it been rewarded?"

"How can I say? You haven't told me whether or no I may follow you tothe wildwood. "

"I mean, have you caught another glimpse of Mr. Saffren?"

At that she showed a prettier colour in her cheeks than any in hersketch-box, but gave no other sign of shame, nor even of beingflustered, cheerfully replying:

"That is far from the point. Do you grant my burning plea?" "Iunderstood I had offended you. "

"You did, " she said. "VICIOUSLY!"

"I am sorry, " I continued. "I wanted to ask you to forgive me--"

I spoke seriously, and that seemed to strike her as odd or needingexplanation, for she levelled her blue eyes at me, and interrupted, withsomething more like seriousness in her own voice than I had yet heardfrom her:

"What made you think I was offended?"

"Your look of reproach when you left the table--"

"Nothing else?" she asked quickly. 

"Yes; Miss Ward told me you were. "

"Yes; she drove over with you. That's it!" she exclaimed with vigour, and nodded her head as if some suspicion of hers had been confirmed. "Ithought so!"

"You thought she had told me?"

"No, " said Miss Elliott decidedly. "Thought that Elizabeth wanted tohave her cake and eat it too. "

"I don't understand. "

"Then you'll get no help from me, " she returned slowly, a frown markingher pretty forehead. "But I was only playing offended, and she knew it. I thought your note was THAT fetching!"

She continued to look thoughtful for a moment longer, then with aresumption of her former manner--the pretence of an earnestness muchdeeper than the real--"Will you take me painting with you?" she said. "If it will convince you that I mean it, I'll give up my hopes of seeingthat SUMPTUOUS Mr. Saffren and go back to Quesnay now, before he comeshome. He's been out for a walk--a long one, since it's lasted ever sinceearly this morning, so the waiter told me. May I go with you? You CAN'Tknow how enervating it is up there at the chateau--all except Mrs. Harman, and even she--"

"What about Mrs. Harman?" I asked, as she paused. 

"I think she must be in love. "

"What!"

"I do think so, " said the girl. "She's LIKE it, at least. "

"But with whom?"

She laughed gaily. "I'm afraid she's my rival!"

"Not with--" I began. 

"Yes, with your beautiful and mad young friend. "

"But--oh, it's preposterous!" I cried, profoundly disturbed. "Shecouldn't be! If you knew a great deal about her--"

"I may know more than you think. My simplicity of appearance isdeceptive, " she mocked, beginning to set her sketch-box in order. "Youdon't realise that Mrs. Harman and I are quite HURLED upon each other atQuesnay, being two ravishingly intelligent women entirely surrounded bylarge bodies of elementals. She has told me a great deal of herselfsince that first evening, and I know--well, I know why she did not comeback from Dives this afternoon, for instance. "

"WHY?" I fairly shouted. 

She slid her sketch into a groove in the box, which she closed, and roseto her feet before answering. Then she set her hat a little straighterwith a touch, looking so fixedly and with such grave interest over myshoulder that I turned to follow her glance and encountered ourreflections in a window of the inn. Her own shed a light upon THATmystery, at all events. 

"I might tell you some day, " she said indifferently, "if I gained enoughconfidence in you through association in daily pursuits. "

"My dear young lady, " I cried with real exasperation, "I am a workingman, and this is a working summer for me!"

"Do you think I'd spoil it?" she urged gently. 

"But I get up with the first daylight to paint, " I protested, "and Ipaint all day--"

She moved a step nearer me and laid her hand warningly upon my sleeve, checking the outburst. 

I turned to see what she meant. 

Oliver Saffren had come in from the road and was crossing to the gallerysteps. He lifted his hat and gave me a quick word of greeting as hepassed, and at the sight of his flushed and happy face my riddle wassolved for me. Amazing as the thing was, I had no doubt of therevelation. 

"Ah, " I said to Miss Elliott when he had gone, "I won't have to takepupils to get the answer to my question, now!"

CHAPTER XIV

"Ha, these philosophers, " said the professor, expanding in discourse alittle later--"these dreamy people who talk of the spirit, they tell youthat spirit is abstract!" He waved his great hand in a sweepingsemicircle which carried it out of our orange candle-light and freckledit with the cold moonshine which sieved through the loosened screen ofhoneysuckle. "Ha, the folly!"

"What do YOU say it is?" I asked, moving so that the smoke of my cigarshould not drift toward Oliver, who sat looking out into the garden. 

"I, my friend? I do not say that it IS! But all such things, they areonly a question of names, and when I use the word 'spirit' I meanidentity--universal identity, if you like. It is what we all are, yes--and those flowers, too. But the spirit of the flowers is not what yousmell, nor what you see, that look so pretty: it is the flowersthemself! Yet all spirit is only one spirit and one spirit is allspirit--and if you tell me this is Pant'eism I will tell you that you donot understand!"

"I don't tell you that, " said I, "neither do I understand. "

"Nor that big Keredec either!" Whereupon he loosed the rolling thunderof his laughter. "Nor any brain born of the monkey people! But thisworld is full of proof that everything that exist is all one thing, andit is the instinct of that, when it draws us together, which makes whatwe call 'love. ' Even those wicked devils of egoism in our inside is onlylove which grows too long the wrong way, like the finger nails of theChinese empress. Young love is a little sprout of universal unity. Whenthe young people begin to feel it, THEY are not abstract, ha? And theyoung man, when he selects, he chooses one being from all the others tomean--just for him--all that great universe of which he is a part. "

This was wandering whimsically far afield, but as I caught the good-humoured flicker of the professor's glance at our companion I thought Isaw a purpose in his deviation. Saffren turned toward him wonderingly, his unconscious, eager look remarkably emphasised and brightened. 

"All such things are most strange--great mysteries, " continued theprofessor. "For when a man has made the selection, THAT being DOESbecome all the universe, and for him there is nothing else at all--nothing else anywhere!"

Saffren's cheeks and temples were flushed as they had been when I sawhim returning that afternoon; and his eyes were wide, fixed upon Keredecin a stare of utter amazement. 

"Yes, that is true, " he said slowly. "How did you know?"

Keredec returned his look with an attentive scrutiny, and made someexclamation under his breath, which I did not catch, but there was nomistaking his high good humour. 

"Bravo!" he shouted, rising and clapping the other upon the shoulder. "You will soon cure my rheumatism if you ask me questions like that! Ho, ho, ho!" He threw back his head and let the mighty salvos forth. "Ho, ho, ho! How do I know? The young, always they believe they are the onlyones who were ever young! Ho, ho, ho! Come, we shall make those lessonsvery easy to-night. Come, my friend! How could that big, old Keredecknow of such things? He is too old, too foolish! Ho, ho, ho!"

As he went up the steps, the courtyard reverberating again to hislaughter, his arm resting on Saffren's shoulders, but not so heavily asusual. The door of their salon closed upon them, and for a whileKeredec's voice could be heard booming cheerfully; it ended in anotherburst of laughter. 

A moment later Saffren opened the door and called to me. 

"Here, " I answered from my veranda, where I had just lighted my secondcigar. 

"No more work to-night. All finished, " he cried jubilantly, springingdown the steps. "I'm coming to have a talk with you. "

Amedee had removed the candles, the moon had withdrawn in fear of aturbulent mob of clouds, rioting into our sky from seaward; the airsmelled of imminent rain, and it was so dark that I could see my visitoronly as a vague, tall shape; but a happy excitement vibrated in his richvoice, and his step on the gravelled path was light and exultant. 

"I won't sit down, " he said. "I'll walk up and down in front of theveranda--if it doesn't make you nervous. "

For answer I merely laughed; and he laughed too, in genial response, continuing gaily:

"Oh, it's all so different with me! Everything is. That BLIND feeling Itold you of--it's all gone. I must have been very babyish, the otherday; I don't think I could feel like that again. It used to seem to methat I lived penned up in a circle of blank stone walls; I couldn't seeover the top for myself at all, though now and then Keredec would boostme up and let me get a little glimmer of the country round about--butnever long enough to see what it was really like. But it's not so now. Ah!"--he drew a long breath--"I'd like to run. I think I could run allthe way to the top of a pretty fair-sized mountain to-night, and then"--he laughed--"jump off and ride on the clouds. "

"I know how that is, " I responded. "At least I did know--a few yearsago. "

"Everything is a jumble with me, " he went on happily, in a confidentialtone, "yet it's a heavenly kind of jumble. I can't put anything intowords. I don't THINK very well yet, though Keredec is trying to teachme. My thoughts don't run in order, and this that's happened seems tomake them wilder, queerer--" He stopped short. 

"What has happened?"

He paused in his sentry-go, facing me, and answered, in a low voice:

"I've seen her again. "

"Yes, I know. "

"She told me you knew it, " he said, "--that she had told you. "

"Yes. "

"But that's not all, " he said, his voice rising a little. "I saw heragain the day after she told you--"

"You did!" I murmured. 

"Oh, I tell myself that it's a dream, " he cried, "that it CAN'T be true. For it has been EVERY day since then! That's why I haven't joined you inthe woods. I have been with her, walking with her, listening to her, looking at her--always feeling that it must be unreal and that I musttry not to wake up. She has been so kind--so wonderfully, beautifullykind to me!"

"She has met you?" I asked, thinking ruefully of George Ward, now on thehigh seas in the pleasant company of old hopes renewed. 

"She has let me meet her. And to-day we lunched at the inn at Dives andthen walked by the sea all afternoon. She gave me the whole day--thewhole day! You see"--he began to pace again--"you see I was right, andyou were wrong. She wasn't offended--she was glad--that I couldn't helpspeaking to her; she has said so. "

"Do you think, " I interrupted, "that she would wish you to tell methis?"

"Ah, she likes you!" he said so heartily, and appearing meanwhile sosatisfied with the completeness of his reply, that I was fain to takesome satisfaction in it myself. "What I wanted most to say to you, " hewent on, "is this: you remember you promised to tell me whatever youcould learn about her--and about her husband?"

"I remember. "

"It's different now. I don't want you to, " he said. "I want only to knowwhat she tells me herself. She has told me very little, but I know whenthe time comes she WILL tell me everything. But I wouldn't hasten it. Iwouldn't have anything changed from just THIS!"

"You mean--"

"I mean the way it IS. If I could hope to see her every day, to be inthe woods with her, or down by the shore--oh, I don't want to knowanything but that!"

"No doubt you have told her, " I ventured, "a good deal about yourself, "and was instantly ashamed of myself. I suppose I spoke out of a sense ofprotest against Mrs. Harman's strange lack of conventionality, againstso charming a lady's losing her head as completely as she seemed to havelost hers, and it may have been, too, out of a feeling of jealousy forpoor George--possibly even out of a little feeling of the same sort onmy own account. But I couldn't have said it except for the darkness, and, as I say, I was instantly ashamed. 

It does not whiten my guilt that the shaft did not reach him. 

"I've told her all I know, " he said readily, and the unconscious pathosof the answer smote me. "And all that Keredec has let me know. You see Ihaven't--"

"But do you think, " I interrupted quickly, anxious, in my remorse, todivert him from that channel, "do you think Professor Keredec wouldapprove, if he knew?"

"I think he would, " he responded slowly, pausing in his walk again. "Ihave a feeling that perhaps he does know, and yet I have been afraid totell him, afraid he might try to stop me--keep me from going to wait forher. But he has a strange way of knowing things; I think he knowseverything in the world! I have felt to-night that he knows this, and--it's very strange, but I--well, what WAS it that made him so glad?"

"The light is still burning in his room, " I said quietly. 

"You mean that I ought to tell him?" His voice rose a little. 

"He's done a good deal for you, hasn't he?" I suggested. "And even if hedoes know he might like to hear it from you. "

"You're right; I'll tell him to-night. " This came with sudden decision, but with less than marked what followed. "But he can't stop me, now. Noone on earth shall do that, except Madame d'Armand herself. No one!"

"I won't quarrel with that, " I said drily, throwing away my cigar, whichhad gone out long before. 

He hesitated, and then I saw his hand groping toward me in the darkness, and, rising, I gave him mine. 

"Good night, " he said, and shook my hand as the first sputterings of thecoming rain began to patter on the roof of the pavilion. "I'm glad totell him; I'm glad to have told you. Ah, but isn't this, " he cried, "ahappy world!"

Turning, he ran to the gallery steps. "At last I'm glad, " he called backover his shoulder, "I'm glad that I was born--"

A gust of wind blew furiously into the courtyard at that instant, and Iheard his voice indistinctly, but I thought--though I might have beenmistaken--that I caught a final word, and that it was "again. "

CHAPTER XV

The rain of two nights and two days had freshened the woods, deepeningthe green of the tree-trunks and washing the dust from the leaves, andnow, under the splendid sun of the third morning, we sat painting in asylvan aisle that was like a hall of Aladdin's palace, the filigreedarches of foliage above us glittering with pendulous rain-drops. ButArabian Nights' palaces are not to my fancy for painting; the air, rinsed of its colour, was too sparklingly clean; the interstices of skyand the roughly framed distances I prized, were brought too close. Itwas one of those days when Nature throws herself straight in your faceand you are at a loss to know whether she has kissed you or slapped you, though you are conscious of the tingle;--a day, in brief, more forlaughing than for painting, and the truth is that I suited its mood onlytoo well, and laughed more than I painted, though I sat with my easelbefore me and a picture ready upon my palette to be painted. 

No one could have understood better than I that this was setting a badexample to the acolyte who sat, likewise facing an easel, ten paces tomy left; a very sportsmanlike figure of a painter indeed, in her shortskirt and long coat of woodland brown, the fine brown of dead oak-leaves; a "devastating" selection of colour that!--being much the sameshade as her hair--with brown for her hat too, and the veil encirclingthe small crown thereof, and brown again for the stout, high, lacedboots which protected her from the wet tangle underfoot. Who could haveexpected so dashing a young person as this to do any real work atpainting? Yet she did, narrowing her eyes to the finest point ofconcentration, and applying herself to the task in hand with apersistence which I found, on that particular morning, far beyond my ownpowers. 

As she leaned back critically, at the imminent risk of capsizing hercamp-stool, and herself with it, in her absorption, some ill-suppressedtoken of amusement most have caught her ear, for she turned upon me withsuspicion, and was instantly moved to moralize upon the reluctance I hadshown to accept her as a companion for my excursions; taking as hertheme, in contrast, her own present display of ambition; all in all awarm, if over-coloured, sketch of the idle master and the industriousapprentice. It made me laugh again, upon which she changed the subject. 

"An indefinable something tells me, " she announced coldly, "thathenceforth you needn't be so DRASTICALLY fearful of being dragged to thechateau for dinner, nor dejeuner either!"

"Did anything ever tell you that I had cause to fear it?"

"Yes, " she said, but too simply. "Jean Ferret. "

"Anglicise that ruffian's name, " I muttered, mirth immediately witheringupon me, "and you'll know him better. To save time: will you mentionanything you can think of that he HASN'T told you?"

Miss Elliott cocked her head upon one side to examine the work of artshe was producing, while a slight smile, playing about her lips, seemedto indicate that she was appeased. "You and Miss Ward are old and dearfriends, aren't you?" she asked absently. 

"We are!" I answered between my teeth. "For years I have sent her costlyjewels--"

She interrupted me by breaking outright into a peal of laughter, whichrang with such childish delight that I retorted by offering severalmalevolent observations upon the babbling of French servants and theorder of mind attributable to those who listened to them. Her defencewas to affect inattention and paint busily until some time after I hadconcluded. 

"I think she's going to take Cressie Ingle, " she said dreamily, with theair of one whose thoughts have been far, far away. "It lookspreponderously like it. She's been teetertottering these AGES and AGESbetween you--"

"Between whom?"

"You and Mr. Ingle, " she replied, not altering her tone in theslightest. "But she's all for her brother, of course, and though you'rehis friend, Ingle is a personage in the world they court, and among theMULTITUDINOUS things his father left him is an art magazine, or onethat's long on art or something of that sort--I don't know just what--soaltogether it will be a good thing for DEAREST Mr. Ward. She likesCressie, of course, though I think she likes you better--"

I managed to find my voice and interrupt the thistle-brained creature. "What put these fantasias into your head?"

"Not Jean Ferret, " she responded promptly. 

"It's cruel of me to break it to you so coarsely--I know--but if you areever going to make up your mind to her building as glaring a success ofyou as she has of her brother, I think you must do it now. She's on thepoint of accepting Mr. Ingle, and what becomes of YOU will depend onyour conduct in the most immediate future. She won't ask you to Quesnayagain, so you'd better go up there on your own accord. --And on yourbended knees, too!" she added as an afterthought. 

I sought for something to say which might have a chance of impressingher--a desperate task on the face of it--and I mentioned that Miss Wardwas her hostess. 

One might as well have tried to impress Amedee. She "made a littlemouth" and went on dabbling with her brushes. "Hostess? Pooh!" she saidcheerfully. "My INFANTILE father sent me here to be in her charge whilehe ran home to America. Mr. Ward's to paint my portrait, when he comes. Give and take--it's simple enough, you see!"

Here was frankness with a vengeance, and I fell back upon silence, whereupon a pause ensued, to my share of which I imparted the deepestshadow of disapproval within my power. Unfortunately, she did not lookat me; my effort passed with no other effect than to make some of myfacial muscles ache. 

"'Portrait of Miss E. , by George Ward, H. C. , '" this painfully plain-speaking young lady continued presently. "On the line at next spring'sSalon, then packed up for the dear ones at home. I'd as soon own an 'ArtBronze, ' myself--or a nice, clean porcelain Arab. "

"No doubt you've forgotten for the moment, " I said, "that Mr. Ward is myfriend. "

"Not in painting, he isn't, " she returned quickly, "I consider his work altogether creditable; it's carefully done, conscientious, effective--"

"Isn't that true of the ladies in the hairdressers' windows?" she askedwith assumed artlessness. "Can't you say a kind word for them, goodgentleman, and heaven bless you?"

"Why sha'n't I be asked to Quesnay again?"

She laughed. "You haven't seemed FANATICALLY appreciative of youropportunities when you have been there; you might have carried her offfrom Cresson Ingle instead of vice versa. But after all, you AREN'T"--here she paused and looked at me appraisingly for a moment-"you AREN'Tthe most piratical dash-in-and-dash-out and leave-everything-upside-down-behind-you sort of man, are you?"

"No, I believe I'm not. "

"However, that's only a SMALL half of the reason, " Miss Elliott went on. "She's furious on account of this. "

These were vague words, and I said so. 

"Oh, THIS, " she explained, "my being here; your letting me come. Impropriety--all of that!" A sharp whistle issued from her lips. "Oh!the EXCORIATING things she's said of my pursuing you!"

"But doesn't she know that it's only part of your siege of MadameBrossard's; that it's a subterfuge in the hope of catching a glimpse ofOliver Saffren?"

"No!" she cried, her eyes dancing; "I told her that, but she thinks it'sonly a subterfuge in the hope of catching more than a glimpse of you!"

I joined laughter with her then. She was the first to stop, and, lookingat me somewhat doubtfully, she said:

"Whereas, the truth is that it's neither. You know very well that I wantto paint. "

"Certainly, " I agreed at once. "Your devotion to 'your art' and yourhope of spending half an hour at Madame Brossard's now and then areseparable;--which reminds me: Wouldn't you like me to look at yoursketch?"

"No, not yet. " She jumped up and brought her camp-stool over to mine. "Ifeel that I could better bear what you'll say of it after I've had somelunch. Not a SYLLABLE of food has crossed my lips since coffee at dawn!"

I spread before her what Amedee had prepared; not sandwiches for thepocket to-day, but a wicker hamper, one end of which we let rest uponher knees, the other upon mine, and at sight of the foie gras, thedelicate, devilled partridge, the truffled salad, the fine yellowcheese, and the long bottle of good red Beaune, revealed when the coverwas off, I could almost have forgiven the old rascal for his scandal-mongering. As for my vis-a-vis, she pronounced it a "maddening sight. "

"Fall to, my merry man, " she added, "and eat your fill of this fairpasty, under the greenwood tree. " Obeying her instructions with rightgood-will, and the lady likewise evincing no hatred of the viands, wemade a cheerful meal of it, topping it with peaches and bunches ofgrapes. 

"It is unfair to let you do all the catering, " said Miss Elliott, aftercarefully selecting the largest and best peach. 

"Jean Ferret's friend does that, " I returned, watching her ratherintently as she dexterously peeled the peach. She did it very daintily, I had to admit that--though I regretted to observe indications of thegourmet in one so young. But when it was peeled clean, she set it on afresh green leaf, and, to my surprise, gave it to me. 

"You see, " she continued, not observing my remorseful confusion, "Icouldn't destroy Elizabeth's peace of mind and then raid her larder toboot. That poor lady! I make her trouble enough, but it's nothing towhat she's going to have when she finds out some things that she mustfind out. "

"What is that?"

"About Mrs. Harman, " was the serious reply. "Elizabeth hasn't a clue. "

"'Clue'?" I echoed. 

"To Louise's strange affair. " Miss Elliott's expression had grown asserious as her tone. "It is strange; the strangest thing I ever knew. "

"But there's your own case, " I urged. "Why should you think it strangeof her to take an interest in Saffren?"

"I adore him, of course, " she said. "He is the most glorious-lookingperson I've ever seen, but on my WORD--" She paused, and as her gaze metmine I saw real earnestness in her eyes. "I'm afraid--I was half jokingthe other day--but now I'm really afraid Louise is beginning to be inlove with him. "

"Oh, mightn't it be only interest, so far?" I said. 

"No, it's much more. And I've grown so fond of her!" the girl went on, her voice unexpectedly verging upon tremulousness. "She's quitewonderful in her way--such an understanding sort of woman, and generousand kind; there are so many things turning up in a party like ours atQuesnay that show what people are really made of, and she's a rare, finespirit. It seems a pity, with such a miserable first experience as shehad, that this should happen. Oh I know, " she continued rapidly, cuttingoff a half-formed protest of mine. "He isn't mad--and I'm sorry I triedto be amusing about it the night you dined at the chateau. I knowperfectly well he's not insane; but I'm absolutely sure, from one thingand another, that--well--he isn't ALL THERE! He's as beautiful as aseraph and probably as good as one, but something is MISSING about him--and it begins to look like a second tragedy for her. "

"You mean, she really--" I began. 

"Yes, I do, " she returned, with a catch in her throat. "She conies to myroom when the others are asleep. Not that she tells me a great deal, butit's in the air, somehow; she told me with such a strained sort ofgaiety of their meeting and his first joining her; and there wassomething underneath as if she thought _I_ might be really serious in myravings about him, and--yes, as if she meant to warn me off. And theother night, when I saw her after their lunching together at Dives, Iasked her teasingly if she'd had a happy day, and she laughed theprettiest laugh I ever heard and put her arms around me--then suddenlybroke out crying and ran out of the room. "

"But that may have been no more than over-strained nerves, " I feeblysuggested. 

"Of course it was!" she cried, regarding me with justifiableastonishment. "It's the CAUSE of their being overstrained that interestsme! It's all so strange and distressing, " she continued more gently, "that I wish I weren't there to see it. And there's poor George Wardcoming--ah! and when Elizabeth learns of it!"

"Mrs. Harman had her way once, in spite of everything, " I saidthoughtfully. 

"Yes, she was a headstrong girl of nineteen, then. But let's not thinkit could go as far as that! There!" She threw a peach-stone over hershoulder and sprang up gaily. "Let's not talk of it; I THINK of itenough! It's time for you to give me a RACKING criticism on my morning'swork. "

Taking off her coat as she spoke, she unbuttoned the cuffs of her manlyblouse and rolled up her sleeves as far as they would go, preparationswhich I observed with some perplexity. 

"If you intend any violence, " said I, "in case my views of your workshouldn't meet your own, I think I'll be leaving. "

"Wait, " she responded, and kneeling upon one knee beside a bush near by, thrust her arms elbow-deep under the outer mantle of leaves, shaking thestems vigorously, and sending down a shower of sparkling drops. Neverlived sane man, or madman, since time began, who, seeing her then, couldor would have denied that she made the very prettiest picture ever seenby any person or persons whatsoever--but her purpose was difficult tofathom. Pursuing it, I remarked that it was improbable that birds wouldbe nesting so low. 

"It's for a finger bowl, " she said briskly. And rising, this mostpractical of her sex dried her hands upon a fresh serviette from thehamper. "Last night's rain is worth two birds in the bush. "

With that, she readjusted her sleeves, lightly donned her coat, andpreceded me to her easel. "Now, " she commanded, "slaughter! It's what Ilet you come with me for. "

I looked at her sketch with much more attention than I had given thesmall board she had used as a bait in the courtyard of Les TroisPigeons. Today she showed a larger ambition, and a larger canvas aswell--or, perhaps I should say a larger burlap, for she had chosen topaint upon something strongly resembling a square of coffee-sacking. Butthere was no doubt she had "found colour" in a swash-buckling, bullyingstyle of forcing it to be there, whether it was or not, and to"vibrate, " whether it did or not. There was not much to be said, for theviolent kind of thing she had done always hushes me; and even when it iswell done I am never sure whether its right place is the "Salon desIndependants" or the Luxembourg. It SEEMS dreadful, and yet sometimes Ifear in secret that it may be a real transition, or even an awakening, and that the men I began with, and I, are standing still. The older mencalled US lunatics once, and the critics said we were "daring, " but thatwas long ago. 

"Well?" she said. 

I had to speak, so I paraphrased a mot of Degas (I think it was Degas)and said:

"If Rousseau could come to life and see this sketch of yours, I imaginehe would be very much interested, but if he saw mine he might say, 'Thatis my fault!'"

"OH!" she cried, her colour rising quickly; she looked troubled for asecond, then her eyes twinkled. "You're not going to let my work make adifference between us, are you?"

"I'll even try to look at it from your own point of view, " I answered, stepping back several yards to see it better, though I should have hadto retire about a quarter of the length of a city block to see it quitefrom her own point of view. 

She moved with me, both of us walking backward. I began:

"For a day like this, with all the colour in the trees themselves and sovery little in the air--"

There came an interruption, a voice of unpleasant and wiry nasality, speaking from behind us. 

"WELL, WELL!" it said. "So here we are again!"

I faced about and beheld, just emerged from a by-path, a fox-faced youngman whose light, well-poised figure was jauntily clad in gray serge, with scarlet waistcoat and tie, white shoes upon his feet, and a whitehat, gaily beribboned, upon his head. A recollection of the dusky roadand a group of people about Pere Baudry's lamplit door flickered acrossmy mind. 

"The historical tourist!" I exclaimed. "The highly pedestrian tripperfrom Trouville!"

"You got me right, m'dear friend, " he replied with condescension; "Irec'leck meetin' you perfect. "

"And I was interested to learn, " said I, carefully observing the effectof my words upon him, "that you had been to Les Trois Pigeons after all. Perhaps I might put it, you had been through Les Trois Pigeons, for themaitre d'hotel informed me you had investigated every corner--thatwasn't locked. "

"Sure, " he returned, with rather less embarrassment than a brazen Vishnuwould have exhibited under the same circumstances. "He showed me whatpitchers they was in your studio. I'll luk 'em over again fer ye one ofthese days. Some of 'em was right gud. "

"You will be visiting near enough for me to avail myself of theopportunity?"

"Right in the Pigeon House, m'friend. I've just come down t'putt in afew days there, " he responded coolly. "They's a young feller in thisneighbourhood I take a kind o' fam'ly interest in. "

"Who is that?" I asked quickly. 

For answer he produced the effect of a laugh by widening and lifting oneside of his mouth, leaving the other, meantime, rigid. 

"Don' lemme int'rup' the conv'sation with yer lady-friend, " he saidwinningly. "What they call 'talkin' High Arts, ' wasn't it? I'd like tohear some. "

CHAPTER XVI

Miss Elliott's expression, when I turned to observe the effect of theintruder upon her, was found to be one of brilliant delight. Withglowing eyes, her lips parted in a breathless ecstasy, she gazed uponthe newcomer, evidently fearing to lose a syllable that fell from hislips. Moving closer to me she whispered urgently:

"Keep him. Oh, keep him!"

To detain him, for a time at least, was my intention, though my motivewas not merely to afford her pleasure. The advent of the young man hadproduced a singularly disagreeable impression upon me, quite apart fromany antagonism I might have felt toward him as a type. Strangesuspicions leaped into my mind, formless--in the surprise of the moment--but rapidly groping toward definite outline; and following hard uponthem crept a tingling apprehension. The reappearance of this rattishyouth, casual as was the air with which he strove to invest it, began toassume, for me, the character of a theatrical entrance of unpleasantportent--a suggestion just now enhanced by an absurdly obvious notion ofhis own that he was enacting a part. This was written all over him, mostlegibly in his attitude of the knowing amateur, as he surveyed MissElliott's painting patronisingly, his head on one side, his cane in thecrook of his elbows behind his back, and his body teetering genteelly ashe shifted his weight from his toes to his heels and back again, noddingmeanwhile a slight but judicial approbation. 

"Now, about how much, " he said slowly, "would you expec' t' git f'r apitcher that size?"

"It isn't mine, " I informed him. 

"You don't tell me it's the little lady's--what?" He bowed genially andfavoured Miss Elliott with a stare of warm admiration. "Pretty a thingas I ever see, " he added. 

"Oh, " she cried with an ardour that choked her slightly. "THANK you!"

"Oh, I meant the PITCHER!" he said hastily, evidently nonplussed by agratitude so fervent. 

The incorrigible damsel cast down her eyes in modesty. "And I hadhoped, " she breathed, "something so different!"

I could not be certain whether or not he caught the whisper; I thoughthe did. At all events, the surface of his easy assurance appearedsomewhat disarranged; and, perhaps to restore it by performing the ritesof etiquette, he said:

"Well, I expec' the smart thing now is to pass the cards, but mine's inmy grip an' it ain't unpacked yet. The name you'd see on 'em is OilPoicy. "

"Oil Poicy, " echoed Miss Elliott, turning to me in genuine astonishment. 

"Mr. Earl Percy, " I translated. 

"Oh, RAPTUROUS!" she cried, her face radiant. "And WON'T Mr. Percy giveus his opinion of my Art?"

Mr. Percy was in doubt how to take her enthusiasm; he seemed on thepoint of turning surly, and hesitated, while a sharp vertical lineappeared on his small forehead; but he evidently concluded, after a deepglance at her, that if she was making game of him it was in no ill-natured spirit--nay, I think that for a few moments he suspected herliveliness to be some method of her own for the incipient stages of aflirtation. 

Finally he turned again to the easel, and as he examined the paintingthereon at closer range, amazement overspread his features. However, pulling himself together, he found himself able to reply--and with greatgallantry:

"Well, on'y t' think them little hands cud 'a' done all that roughwoik!"

The unintended viciousness of this retort produced an effect so marked, that, except for my growing uneasiness, I might have enjoyed herexpression. 

As it was, I saved her face by entering into the conversation with aquestion, which I put quickly:

"You intend pursuing your historical researches in the neighborhood?"

The facial contortion which served him for a laugh, and at the same timeas a symbol of unfathomable reserve, was repeated, accompanied by ajocose manifestation, in the nature of a sharp and taunting cackle, which seemed to indicate a conviction that he was getting much the bestof it in some conflict of wits. 

"Them fairy tales I handed you about ole Jeanne d'Arc and William theConker, " he said, "say, they must 'a' made you sore after-WOIDS!"

"On the contrary, I was much interested in everything pertaining to yourtoo brief visit, " I returned; "I am even more so now. "

"Well, m'friend"--he shot me a sidelong, distrustful glance--"keep yereyes open. "

"That is just the point!" I laughed, with intentional significance, forI meant to make Mr. Percy talk as much as I could. To this end, remembering that specimens of his kind are most indiscreet whencarefully enraged, I added, simulating his own manner:

"Eyes open--and doors locked! What?"

At this I heard a gasp of astonishment from Miss Elliott, who must havebeen puzzled indeed; but I was intent upon the other. He provedperfectly capable of being insulted. 

"I guess they ain't much need o' lockin' YOUR door, " he retorted darkly;"not from what I saw when I was in your studio!" He should have stoppedthere, for the hit was palpable and justified; but in his resentment heoverdid it. "You needn't be scared of anybody's cartin' off THEMpitchers, young feller! WHOOSH! An' f'm the luks of the CLO'ES I sawhangin' on the wall, " he continued, growing more nettled as I smiledcheerfully upon him, "I don' b'lieve you gut any worries comin' aboutTHEM, neither!"

"I suppose our tastes are different, " I said, letting my smile broaden. "There might be protection in that. "

His stare at me was protracted to an unseemly length before the sting ofthis remark reached him; it penetrated finally, however, and in hissharp change of posture there was a lightning flicker of the experiencedboxer; but he checked the impulse, and took up the task of obliteratingme in another way. 

"As I tell the little dame here, " he said, pitching his voice higher andaffecting the plaintive, "I make no passes at a friend o' her--not infront o' her, anyways. But when it comes to these here ole, ancientcuriosities"--he cackled again, loudly--"well, I guess them clo'es Isee, that day, kin hand it out t' anything they got in the museums!'Look here, ' I says to the waiter, 'THESE must be'n left over f'm oleJeanne d'Arc herself, ' I says. 'Talk about yer relics, ' I says. Whoosh!I'd like t' died!" He laughed violently, and concluded by turning uponme with a contemptuous flourish of his stick. "You think I d'know whatmakes YOU so raw?"

The form of repartee necessary to augment his ill humour was, of course, a matter of simple mechanism for one who had not entirely forgotten hisstudent days in the Quarter; and I delivered it airily, though Ishivered inwardly that Miss Elliott should hear. 

"Everything will be all right if, when you dine at the inn, you'll sitwith your back toward me. "

To my shamed surprise, this roustabout wit drew a nervous, silverygiggle from her; and that completed the work with Mr. Percy, whose facegrew scarlet with anger. 

"You're a hot one, you are!" he sneered, with shocking bitterness. "You're quite the teaser, ain't ye, s'long's yer lady-friend is lukkin'on! I guess they'll be a few surprises comin' YOUR way, before long. P'raps I cudn't give ye one now 'f I had a mind to. "

"Pshaw, " I laughed, and, venturing at hazard, said, "I know all YOUknow!"

"Oh, you do!" he cried scornfully. "I reckon you might set up an' take alittle notice, though, if you knowed 'at I know all YOU know!"

"Not a bit of it!"

"No? Maybe you think I don't know what makes you so raw with ME? Maybeyou think I don't know who ye've got so thick with at this here PigeonHouse; maybe you think I don't know who them people ARE!"

"No, you don't. You have learned, " I said, trying to control myexcitement, "nothing! Whoever hired YOU for a spy lost the money. YOUdon't know ANY-thing!"

"I DON'T!" And with that his voice went to a half-shriek. "Maybe youthink I'm down here f'r my health; maybe you think I come out f'r apleasant walk in the woods right now; maybe you think I ain't seen noother lady-friend o' yours besides this'n to-day, and maybe I didn't seewho was with her--yes, an' maybe you think I d'know no other times he'sbe'n with her. Maybe you think I ain't be'n layin' low over at Dives!Maybe I don't know a few real NAMES in this neighbourhood! Oh, no, MAYBEnot!"

"You know what the maitre d'hotel told you; nothing more. "

"How about the name--OLIVER SAFFREN?" he cried fiercely, and at last, though I had expected it, I uttered an involuntary exclamation. 

"How about it?" he shouted, advancing toward me triumphantly, shakinghis forefinger in my face. "Hey? THAT stings some, does it? Sounds kindo' like a FALSE name, does it? Got ye where the hair is short, thattime, didn't I?"

"Speaking of names, " I retorted, "'Oil Poicy' doesn't seem to ringparticularly true to me!"

"It'll be gud enough fer you, young feller, " he responded angrily. "Itmay belong t' me, an' then again, it maybe don't. It ain' gunna git mein no trouble; I'll luk out f'r that. YOUR side's where the trouble is;that's what's eatin' into you. An' I'll tell you flat-foot, your gittin'rough 'ith me and playin' Charley the Show-Off in front o' yer lady-friends'll all go down in the bill. These people ye've got so chummywith--THEY'LL pay f'r it all right, don't you shed no tears over that!"

"You couldn't by any possibility, " I said deliberately, with as muchsatire as I could command, "you couldn't possibly mean that any sum ofmere money might be a salve for the injuries my unkind words haveinflicted?"

Once more he seemed upon the point of destroying me physically, but, with a slight shudder, controlled himself. Stepping close to me, hethrust his head forward and measured the emphases of his speech by hisright forefinger upon my shoulder, as he said:

"You paint THIS in yer pitchers, m' dear friend; they's jest as much lawin this country as they is on the corner o' Twenty-thoid Street an' Fif'Avenoo! You keep out the way of it, or you'll git runned over!"

Delivering a final tap on my shoulder as a last warning, he wheeleddeftly upon his heel, addressed Miss Elliott briefly, "Glad t' know YOU, lady, " and striking into the by-path by which he had approached us, wassoon lost to sight. 

The girl faced me excitedly. "What IS it?" she cried. "It seemed to meyou insulted him deliberately--"

"I did. "

"You wanted to make him angry?"

"Yes. "

"Oh! I thought so!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "I knew there wassomething serious underneath. It's about Mr. Saffren?"

"It is serious indeed, I fear, " I said, and turning to my own easel, began to get my traps together. "I'll tell you the little I know, because I want you to tell Mrs. Harman what has just happened, andyou'll be able to do it better if you understand what is understandableabout the rest of it. "

"You mean you wouldn't tell me so that I could understand for myself?"There was a note of genuine grieved reproach in her voice. "Ah, thenI've made you think me altogether a hare-brain!"

"I haven't time to tell you what I think of you, " I said brusquely, and, strangely enough, it seemed to please her. But I paid little attentionto that, continuing quickly: "When Professor Keredec and Mr. Saffrencame to Les Trois Pigeons, they were so careful to keep out ofeverybody's sight that one might have suspected that they were inhiding--and, in fact, I'm sure that they were--though, as time passedand nothing alarming happened, they've felt reassured and allowedthemselves more liberty. It struck me that Keredec at first dreaded thatthey might be traced to the inn, and I'm afraid his fear was justified, for one night, before I came to know them, I met Mr. 'Percy' on theroad; he'd visited Madame Brossard's and pumped Amedee dry, but clumsilytried to pretend to me that he had not been there at all. At the time, Idid not connect him even remotely with Professor Keredec's anxieties. Iimagined he might have an eye to the spoons; but it's as ridiculous tothink him a burglar as it would be to take him for a detective. What heis, or what he has to do with Mr. Saffren, I can guess no more than Ican guess the cause of Keredec's fears, but the moment I saw him to-day, saw that he'd come back, I knew it was THAT, and tried to draw him out. You heard what he said; there's no doubt that Saffren stands in dangerof some kind. It may be inconsiderable, or even absurd, but it'sevidently imminent, and no matter what it is, Mrs. Harman must be keptout of it. I want you to see her as soon as you can and ask her from me--no, persuade her yourself--not to leave Quesnay for a day or two. Imean, that she absolutely MUST NOT meet Mr. Saffren again until we knowwhat all this means. Will you do it?"

"That I will!" And she began hastily to get her belongings in marchingorder. "I'll do anything in the world you'll let me--and oh, I hope theycan't do anything to poor, poor Mr. Saffren!"

"Our sporting friend had evidently seen him with Mrs. Harman to-day, " Isaid. "Do you know if they went to the beach again?"

"I only know she meant to meet him--but she told me she'd be back at thechateau by four. If I start now--"

"Wasn't the phaeton to be sent to the inn for you?"

"Not until six, " she returned briskly, folding her easel and strappingit to her camp-stool with precision. "Isn't it shorter by the woods?"

"You've only to follow this path to the second crossing and then turn tothe right, " I responded. "I shall hurry back to Madame Brossard's to seeKeredec--and here"--I extended my hand toward her traps, of which, in aneatly practical fashion, she had made one close pack--"let me have yourthings, and I'll take care of them at the inn for you. They're heavy, and it's a long trudge. "

"You have your own to carry, " she answered, swinging the strap over hershoulder. "It's something of a walk for you, too. "

"No, no, let me have them, " I protested, for the walk before her WASlong and the things would be heavy indeed before it ended. 

"Go your ways, " she laughed, and as my hand still remained extended shegrasped it with her own and gave it a warm and friendly shake. "Hurry!"And with an optimism which took my breath, she said, "I know YOU canmake it come out all right! Besides, I'll help you!"

With that she turned and started manfully upon her journey. I staredafter her for a moment or more, watching the pretty brown dress flashingin and out of shadow among the ragged greeneries, shafts of sunshine nowand then flashing upon her hair. Then I picked up my own pack and setout for the inn. 

Every one knows that the more serious and urgent the errand a man may beupon, the more incongruous are apt to be the thoughts that skip into hismind. As I went through the woods that day, breathless with haste andcurious fears, my brain became suddenly, unaccountably busy with a dreamI had had, two nights before. I had not recalled this dream on waking:the recollection of it came to me now for the first time. It was a usualenough dream, wandering and unlifelike, not worth the telling; and I hadbeen thinking so constantly of Mrs. Harman that there was nothingextraordinary in her worthless ex-husband's being part of it. 

And yet, looking back upon that last, hurried walk of mine through theforest, I see how strange it was that I could not quit remembering howin my dream I had gone motoring up Mount Pilatus with the man I had seenso pitiably demolished on the Versailles road, two years before--Larrabee Harman. 

CHAPTER XVII

Keredec was alone in his salon, extended at ease upon a long chair, anottoman and a stool, when I burst in upon him; a portentous volume wasin his lap, and a prolific pipe, smoking up from his great cloud ofbeard, gave the final reality to the likeness he thus presented of arange of hills ending in a volcano. But he rolled the book cavalierly tothe floor, limbered up by sections to receive me, and offered me ahearty welcome. 

"Ha, my dear sir, " he cried, "you take pity on the lonely Keredec; youmake him a visit. I could not wish better for myself. We shall have agood smoke and a good talk. "

"You are improved to-day?" I asked, it may be a little slyly. 

"Improve?" he repeated inquiringly. 

"Your rheumatism, I mean. "

"Ha, yes; that rheumatism!" he shouted, and throwing back his head, rocked the room with sudden laughter. "Hew! But it is gone--almost! Oh, I am much better, and soon I shall be able to go in the woods again withmy boy. " He pushed a chair toward me. "Come, light your cigar; he willnot return for an hour perhaps, and there is plenty of time for thesmoke to blow away. So! It is better. Now we shall talk. "

"Yes, " I said, "I wanted to talk with you. "

"That is a--what you call?--ha, yes, a coincidence, " he returned, stretching himself again in the long chair, "a happy coincidence; for Ihave wished a talk with you; but you are away so early for all day, andin the evening Oliver, he is always here. "

"I think what I wanted to talk about concerns him particularly. "

"Yes?" The professor leaned forward, looking at me gravely. "That isanother coincidence. But you shall speak first. Commence then. "

"I feel that you know me at least well enough, " I began ratherhesitatingly, "to be sure that I would not, for the world, make anyeffort to intrude in your affairs, or Mr. Saffren's, and that I wouldnot force your confidence in the remotest--"

"No, no, no!" he interrupted. "Please do not fear I shallmisinterpretate whatever you will say. You are our friend. We know it. "

"Very well, " I pursued; "then I speak with no fear of offending. Whenyou first came to the inn I couldn't help seeing that you took a greatmany precautions for secrecy; and when you afterward explained theseprecautions to me on the ground that you feared somebody might think Mr. Saffren not quite sane, and that such an impression might injure himlater--well, I could not help seeing that your explanation did not coverall the ground. "

"It is true--it did not. " He ran his huge hand through the heavy whitewaves of his hair, and shook his head vigorously. "No; I knew it, mydear sir, I knew it well. But, what could I do? I would not have telledmy own mother! This much I can say to you: we came here at a risk, but Ithought that with great care it might be made little. And I thought agreat good thing might be accomplish if we should come here, somethingso fine, so wonderful, that even if the danger had been great I wouldhave risked it. I will tell you a little more: I think that great thingis BEING accomplish!" Here he rose to his feet excitedly and began topace the room as he talked, the ancient floor shaking with his tread. "Ithink it is DONE! And ha! my dear sir, if it SHOULD be, this big Keredecwill not have lived in vain! It was a great task I undertake with myyoung man, and the glory to see it finish is almost here. Even if thedanger should come, the THING is done, for all that is real and has truemeaning is inside the soul!"

"It was in connection with the risk you have mentioned that I came totalk, " I returned with some emphasis, for I was convinced of the realityof Mr. Earl Percy and also very certain that he had no existence insideor outside a soul. "I think it necessary that you should know--"

But the professor was launched. I might as well have swept the risingtide with a broom. He talked with magnificent vehemence for twentyminutes, his theme being some theory of his own that the individualityof a soul is immortal, and that even in perfection, the soul cannotpossibly merge into any Nirvana. Meantime, I wondered how Mr. Percy wasemploying his time, but after one or two ineffectual attempts tointerrupt, I gave myself to silence until the oration should beconcluded. 

"And so it is with my boy, " he proclaimed, coming at last to the case inhand. "The spirit of him, the real Oliver Saffren, THAT has NEVERchange! The outside of him, those thing that BELONG to him, like hismemory, THEY have change, but not himself, for himself is eternal andunchangeable. I have taught him, yes; I have helped him get the smallthings we can add to our possession--a little knowledge, maybe, a littlepower of judgment. But, my dear sir, I tell you that such things areONLY possessions of a man. They are not the MAN! All that a man IS orever shall be, he is when he is a baby. So with Oliver; he had lived alittle while, twenty-six years, perhaps, when pft--like that!--he becamealmost as a baby again. He could remember how to talk, but not muchmore. He had lost his belongings--they were gone from the lobe of thebrain where he had stored them; but HE was not gone, no part of the realHIMSELF was lacking. Then presently they send him to me to make new hisbelongings, to restore his possessions. Ha, what a task! To take himwith nothing in the world of his own and see that he get only GOODpossessions, GOOD knowledge, GOOD experience! I took him to themountains of the Tyrol--two years--and there his body became strong andsplendid while his brain was taking in the stores. It was quick, for hisbrain had retained some habits; it was not a baby's brain, and somesmall part of its old stores had not been lost. But if anything uselessor bad remain, we empty it out--I and those mountain' with their pureair. Now, I say he is all good and the work was good; I am proud! But Iwish to restore ALL that was good in his life; your Keredec is somethingof a poet. --You may put it: much the old fool! And for that greates'restoration of all I have brought my boy back to France; since it wasnecessary. It was a madness, and I thank the good God I was mad enoughto do it. I cannot tell you yet, my dear sir: but you shall see, youshall see what the folly of that old Keredec has done! You shall see, you shall--and I promise it--what a Paradise, when the good God helps, an old fool's dream can make!"

A half-light had broken upon me as he talked, pacing the floor, thundering his paean of triumph, his Titanic gestures bruising theharmless air. Only one explanation, incredible, but possible, sufficed. Anything was possible, I thought--anything was probable--with thisdreamer whom the trump of Fame, executing a whimsical fantasia, proclaimed a man of science!

"By the wildest chance, " I gasped, "you don't mean that you wanted himto fall in love--"

He had reached the other end of the room, but at this he whirled abouton me, his laughter rolling out again, till it might have been heard atPere Baudry's. 

"Ha, my dear sir, you have said it! But you knew it; you told him tocome to me and tell me. "

"But I mean that you--unless I utterly misunderstand--you seem to implythat you had selected some one now in France whom you planned that heshould care for--that you had selected the lady whom you know as Madamed'Armand. "

"Again, " he shouted, "you have said it!"

"Professor Keredec, " I returned, with asperity, "I have no idea how youcame to conceive such a preposterous scheme, but I agree heartily thatthe word for it is madness. In the first place, I must tell you that hername is not even d'Armand--"

"My dear sir, I know. It was the mistake of that absurd Amedee. She isMrs. Harman. "

"You knew it?" I cried, hopelessly confused. "But Oliver still speaks ofher as Madame d'Armand. "

"He does not know. She has not told him. "

"But why haven't you told him?"

"Ha, that is a story, a poem, " he cried, beginning to pace the flooragain--"a ballad as old as the oldest of Provence! There is a reason, mydear sir, which I cannot tell you, but it lies within the romance ofwhat you agree is my madness. Some day, I hope, you shall understand andapplaud! In the meantime--"

"In the meantime, " I said sharply, as he paused for breath, "there is akeen-faced young man who took a room in the inn this morning and who hascome to spy upon you, I believe. "

"What is it you say?"

He came to a sudden stop. 

I had not meant to deliver my information quite so abruptly, but therewas no help for it now, and I repeated the statement, giving him a terseaccount of my two encounters with the rattish youth, and adding:

"He seemed to be certain that 'Oliver Saffren' is an assumed name, andhe made a threatening reference to the laws of France. "

The effect upon Keredec was a very distinct pallor. He faced me silentlyuntil I had finished, then in a voice grown suddenly husky, asked:

"Do you think he came back to the inn? Is he here now?"

"I do not know. "

"We must learn; I must know that, at once. " And he went to the door. 

"Let me go instead, " I suggested. 

"It can't make little difference if he see me, " said the professor, swallowing with difficulty and displaying, as he turned to me, a look ofsuch profound anxiety that I was as sorry for him now as I had beenirritated a few minutes earlier by his galliard air-castles. "I do notknow this man, nor does he know me, but I have fear"--his beard moved asthough his chin were trembling--"I have fear that I know his employers. Still, it may be better if you go. Bring somebody here that we can ask. "

"Shall I find Amedee?"

"No, no, no! That babbler? Find Madame Brossard. "

I stepped out to the gallery, to discover Madame Brossard emerging froma door on the opposite side of the courtyard; Amedee, Glouglou, and acouple of carters deploying before her with some light trunks and bags, which they were carrying into the passage she had just quitted. Isummoned her quietly; she came briskly up the steps and into the room, and I closed the door. 

"Madame Brossard, " said the professor, "you have a new client to-day. "

"That monsieur who arrived this morning, " I suggested. 

"He was an American, " said the hostess, knitting her dark brows--"but Ido not think that he was exactly a monsieur. "

"Bravo!" I murmured. "That sketches a likeness. It is this 'Percy'without a doubt. "

"That is it, " she returned. "Monsieur Poissy is the name he gave. "

"Is he at the inn now?"

"No, monsieur, but two friends for whom he engaged apartments have justarrived. "

"Who are they?" asked Keredec quickly. 

"It is a lady and a monsieur from Paris. But not married: they havetaken separate apartments and she has a domestic with her, a negress, Algerian. "

"What are their names?"

"It is not ten minutes that they are installed. They have not given metheir names. "

"What is the lady's appearance?"

"Monsieur the Professor, " replied the hostess demurely, "she is notbeautiful. "

"But what is she?" demanded Keredec impatiently; and it could be seenthat he was striving to control a rising agitation. "Is she blonde? Isshe brunette? Is she young? Is she old? Is she French, English, Spanish--"

"I think, " said Madame Brossard, "I think one would call her Spanish, but she is very fat, not young, and with a great deal too much rouge--"

She stopped with an audible intake of breath, staring at my friend'swhite face. "Eh! it is bad news?" she cried. "And when one has been soill--"

Keredec checked her with an imperious gesture. "Monsieur Saffren and Ileave at once, " he said. "I shall meet him on the road; he will notreturn to the inn. We go to--to Trouville. See that no one knows that wehave gone until to-morrow, if possible; I shall leave fees for theservants with you. Go now, prepare your bill, and bring it to me atonce. I shall write you where to send our trunks. Quick! And you, myfriend"--he turned to me as Madame Brossard, obviously distressed andfrightened, but none the less intelligent for that, skurried away to dohis bidding--"my friend, will you help us? For we need it!"

"Anything in the world!"

"Go to Pere Baudry's; have him put the least tired of his three horsesto his lightest cart and wait in the road beyond the cottage. Stand inthe road yourself while that is being done. Oliver will come that way;detain him. I will join you there; I have only to see to my papers--atthe most, twenty minutes. Go quickly, my friend!"

I strode to the door and out to the gallery. I was half-way down thesteps before I saw that Oliver Saffren was already in the courtyard, coming toward me from the archway with a light and buoyant step. 

He looked up, waving his hat to me, his face lighted with a happinessmost remarkable, and brighter, even, than the strong, midsummer sunshineflaming over him. Dressed in white as he was, and with the air ofvictory he wore, he might have been, at that moment, a figure from somemarble triumph; youthful, conquering--crowned with the laurel. 

I had time only to glance at him, to "take" him, as it were, between twoshutter-flicks of the instantaneous eyelid, and with him, the courtyardflooded with sunshine, the figure of Madame Brossard emerging from herlittle office, Amedee coming from the kitchen bearing a white-coveredtray, and, entering from the road, upon the trail of Saffren but stillin the shadow of the archway, the discordant fineries and hatchet-faceof the ex-pedestrian and tourist, my antagonist of the forest. 

I had opened my mouth to call a warning. 

"Hurry" was the word I would have said, but it stopped at "hur--. " Thesecond syllable was never uttered. 

There came a violent outcry, raucous and shrill as the wail of acaptured hen, and out of the passage across the courtyard floundered awoman, fantastically dressed in green and gold. 

Her coarse blue-black hair fell dishevelled upon her shoulders, fromwhich her gown hung precariously unfastened, as if she had abandoned hertoilet half-way. She was abundantly fat, double-chinned, coarse, greasy, smeared with blue pencillings, carmine, enamel, and rouge. 

At the scream Saffren turned. She made straight at him, crying wildly:

"Enfin! Mon mari, mon mari--c'est moi! C'est ta femme, mon coeur!"

She threw herself upon him, her arms about his neck, with a tropicalferocity that was a very paroxysm of triumph. 

"Embrasse moi, Larrabi! Embrasse moi!" she cried. 

Horrified, outraged, his eyes blazing, he flung her off with a violencesurpassing her own, and with loathing unspeakable. She screamed that hewas killing her, calling him "husband, " and tried to fasten herself uponhim again. But he leaped backward beyond the reach of her clutchinghands, and, turning, plunged to the steps and staggered up them, thewoman following. 

From above me leaned the stricken face of Keredec; he caught Saffrenunder the arm and half lifted him to the gallery, while she strove tohold him by the knees. 

"O Christ!" gasped Saffren. "Is THIS the woman?"

The giant swung him across the gallery and into the open door with onegreat sweep of the arm, strode in after him, and closed and bolted thedoor. The woman fell in a heap at the foot of the steps, uttered acracked simulation of the cry of a broken heart. 

"Name of a name of God!" she wailed. "After all these years! And myhusband strikes me!"

Then it was that what had been in my mind as a monstrous suspicionbecame a certainty. For I recognised the woman; she was Mariana--labella Mariana la Mursiana. 

If I had ever known Larrabee Harman, if, instead of the two strangeglimpses I had caught of him, I had been familiar with his gesture, walk, intonation--even, perhaps, if I had ever heard his voice--thetruth might have come to me long ago. 

Larrabee Harman!

"Oliver Saffren" was Larrabee Harman. 

CHAPTER XVIII

I do not like to read those poets who write of pain as if they loved it;the study of suffering is for the cold analyst, for the vivisectionist, for those who may transfuse their knowledge of it to the ultimate goodof mankind. And although I am so heavily endowed with curiosityconcerning the people I find about me, my gift (or curse, whichever itbe) knows pause at the gates of the house of calamity. So, if it werepossible, I would not speak of the agony of which I was a witness thatnight in the apartment of my friends at Madame Brossard's. I went withreluctance, but there was no choice. Keredec had sent for me. 

. .. When I was about fifteen, a boy cousin of mine, several yearsyounger, terribly injured himself on the Fourth of July; and I sat allnight in the room with him, helping his mother. Somehow he had learnedthat there was no hope of saving his sight; he was an imaginative childand realised the whole meaning of the catastrophe; the eternaldarkness. .. . And he understood that the thing had been done, that therewas no going back of it. This very certainty increased the intensity ofhis rebellion a thousandfold. "I WILL have my eyes!" he screamed. "IWILL! I WILL!"

Keredec had told his tragic ward too little. The latter had understoodbut vaguely the nature of the catastrophe which overhung his return toFrance, and now that it was indeed concrete and definite, the guardianwas forced into fuller disclosures, every word making the anguish of thelistener more intolerable. It was the horizonless despair of a child;and that profound protest I had so often seen smouldering in his eyesculminated, at its crisis, in a wild flame of revolt. The shame of therevelation passed over him; there was nothing of the disastrousdrunkard, sober, learning what he had done. To him, it seemed that hewas being forced to suffer for the sins of another man. 

"Do you think that you can make me believe _I_ did this?" he cried. "That I made life unbearable for HER, drove HER from me, and took thishideous, painted old woman in HER place? It's a lie. You can't make mebelieve such a monstrous lie as that! You CAN'T! You CAN'T!"

He threw himself violently upon the couch, face downward, shudderingfrom head to foot. 

"My poor boy, it is the truth, " said Keredec, kneeling beside him andputting a great arm across his shoulders. "It is what a thousand men aredoing this night. Nothing is more common, or more unexplainable--or moresimple. Of all the nations it is the same, wherever life has becomeartificial and the poor, foolish young men have too much money andnothing to do. You do not understand it, but our friend here, and I, weunderstand because we remember what we have been seeing all our life. You say it is not you who did such crazy, horrible things, and you areright. When this poor woman who is so painted and greasy first caughtyou, when you began to give your money and your time and your life toher, when she got you into this horrible marriage with her, you wereblind--you went staggering, in a bad dream; your soul hid away, far downinside you, with its hands over its face. If it could have once stoodstraight, if the eyes of your body could have once been clean for it tolook through, if you could have once been as you are to-day, or as youwere when you were a little child, you would have cry out with horrorboth of her and of yourself, as you do now; and you would have run awayfrom her and from everything you had put in your life. But, in yoursuffering you must rejoice: the triumph is that your mind hates that oldlife as greatly as your soul hates it. You are as good as if you hadnever been the wild fellow--yes, the wicked fellow--that you were. For aman who shakes off his sin is clean; he stands as pure as if he hadnever sinned. But though his emancipation can be so perfect, there is alaw that he cannot escape from the result of all the bad and foolishthings he has done, for every act, every breath you draw, is immortal, and each has a consequence that is never ending. And so, now, though youare purified, the suffering from these old actions is here, and you mustabide it. Ah, but that is a little thing, nothing!--that suffering--compared to what you have gained, for you have gained your own soul!"

The desperate young man on the couch answered only with the sobbing of abroken-hearted child. 

I came back to my pavilion after midnight, but I did not sleep, though Ilay upon my bed until dawn. Then I went for a long, hard walk, breakfasted at Dives, and begged a ride back to Madame Brossard's in apeasant's cart which was going that way. 

I found George Ward waiting for me on the little veranda of thepavilion, looking handsomer and more prosperously distinguished anddistinguishedly prosperous and generally well-conditioned than ever--asI told him. 

"I have some news for you, " he said after the hearty greeting--"anannouncement, in fact. "

"Wait!" I glanced at the interested attitude of Mr. Earl Percy, who wasbreakfasting at a table significantly near the gallery steps, and ledthe way into the pavilion. "You may as well not tell it in the hearingof that young man, " I said, when the door was closed. "He is eccentric. "

"So I gathered, " returned Ward, smiling, "from his attire. But it reallywouldn't matter who heard it. Elizabeth's going to marry Cresson Ingle. "

"That is the news--the announcement--you spoke of?"

"Yes, that is it. "

To save my life I could not have told at that moment what else I hadexpected, or feared, that he might say, but certainly I took a deepbreath of relief. "I am very glad, " I said. "It should be a happyalliance. "

"On the whole, I think it will be, " he returned thoughtfully. "Ingle'sdone his share of hard living, and I once had a notion"--he glancedsmiling at me--"well, I dare say you know my notion. But it is a goodmatch for Elizabeth and not without advantages on many counts. You see, it's time I married, myself; she feels that very strongly and I thinkher decision to accept Ingle is partly due to her wish to make all clearfor a new mistress of my household, --though that's putting it in arather grandiloquent way. " He laughed. "And as you probably guess, Ihave an idea that some such arrangement might be somewhere on the wingsof the wind on its way to me, before long. "

He laughed again, but I did not, and noting my silence he turned upon mea more scrutinising look than he had yet given me, and said:

"My dear fellow, is something the matter? You look quite haggard. Youhaven't been ill?"

"No, I've had a bad night. That's all. "

"Oh, I heard something of a riotous scene taking place over here, " hesaid. "One of the gardeners was talking about it to Elizabeth. Your badnight wouldn't be connected with that, would it? You haven't beenplaying Samaritan?"

"What was it you heard?" I asked quickly. 

"I didn't pay much attention. He said that there was great excitement atMadame Brossard's, because a strange woman had turned up and claimed aninsane young man at the inn for her husband, and that they had a fightof some sort--"

"Damnation!" I started from my chair. "Did Mrs. Harman hear this story?"

"Not last night, I'm certain. Elizabeth said the gardener told her asshe came down to the chateau gates to meet me when I arrived--it waslate, and Louise had already gone to her room. In fact, I have not seenher yet. But what difference could it possibly make whether she heard itor not? She doesn't know these people, surely?"

"She knows the man. "

"This insane--"

"He is not insane, " I interrupted. "He has lost the memory of hisearlier life--lost it through an accident. You and I saw the accident. "

"That's impossible, " said George, frowning. "I never saw but oneaccident that you--"

"That was the one: the man is Larrabee Harman. "

George had struck a match to light a cigar; but the operation remainedincomplete: he dropped the match upon the floor and set his foot uponit. "Well, tell me about it, " he said. 

"You haven't heard anything about him since the accident?"

"Only that he did eventually recover and was taken away from thehospital. I heard that his mind was impaired. Does Louise--" he began;stopped, and cleared his throat. "Has Mrs. Harman heard that he ishere?"

"Yes; she has seen him. "

"Do you mean the scoundrel has been bothering her? Elizabeth didn't tellme of this--"

"Your sister doesn't know, " I said, lifting my hand to check him. "Ithink you ought to understand the whole case--if you'll let me tell youwhat I know about it. "

"Go ahead, " he bade me. "I'll try to listen patiently, though the verythought of the fellow has always set my teeth on edge. "

"He's not at all what you think, " I said. "There's an enormousdifference, almost impossible to explain to you, but something you'dunderstand at once if you saw him. It's such a difference, in fact, thatwhen I found that he was Larrabee Harman the revelation wasinexpressibly shocking and distressing to me. He came here under anothername; I had no suspicion that he was any one I'd ever heard of, muchless that I'd actually seen him twice, two years ago, and I've grown to--well, in truth, to be fond of him. "

"What is the change?" asked Ward, and his voice showed that he wasgreatly disquieted. "What is he like?"

"As well as I can tell you, he's like an odd but very engaging boy, withsomething pathetic about him; quite splendidly handsome--"

"Oh, he had good looks to spare when I first knew him, " George saidbitterly. "I dare say he's got them back if he's taken care of himself, or been taken care OF, rather! But go on; I won't interrupt you again. Why did he come here? Hoping to see--"

"No. When he came here he did not know of her existence except in thevaguest way. But to go back to that, I'd better tell you first that thewoman we saw with him, one day on the boulevard, and who was in theaccident with him--"

"La Mursiana, the dancer; I know. "

"She had got him to go through a marriage with her--"

"WHAT?" Ward's eyes flashed as he shouted the word. 

"It seems inexplicable; but as I understand it, he was never quite soberat that time; he had begun to use drugs, and was often in a half-stupefied condition. As a matter of fact, the woman did what she pleasedwith him. There's no doubt about the validity of the marriage. And whatmakes it so desperate a muddle is that since the marriage she's takengood care to give no grounds upon which a divorce could be obtained forHarman. She means to hang on. "

"I'm glad of that!" said George, striking his knee with his open palm. "That will go a great way toward--"

He paused, and asked suddenly: "Did this marriage take place in France?"

"Yes. You'd better hear me through, " I remonstrated. "When he was takenfrom the hospital, he was placed in charge of a Professor Keredec, amadman of whom you've probably heard. "

"Madman? Why, no; he's a member of the Institute; a psychologist ormetaphysician, isn't he?--at any rate of considerable celebrity. "

"Nevertheless, " I insisted grimly, "as misty a vapourer as I ever saw; apoetic, self-contradicting and inconsistent orator, a blower of bubbles, a seer of visions, a mystic, and a dreamer--about as scientific asAlice's White Knight! Harman's aunt, who lived in London, the onlyrelative he had left, I believe--and she has died since--put him inKeredec's charge, and he was taken up into the Tyrol and virtuallyhidden for two years, the idea being literally to give him somethinglike an education--Keredec's phrase is 'restore mind to his soul'! Whatmust have been quite as vital was to get him out of his horrible wife'sclutches. And they did it, for she could not find him. But she picked upthat rat in the garden out yonder--he'd been some sort of stable-managerfor Harman once--and set him on the track. He ran the poor boy down, andyesterday she followed him. Now it amounts to a species of sordidsiege. "

"She wants money, of course. "

"Yes, MORE money; a fair allowance has always been sent to her. Keredechas interviewed her notary and she wants a settlement, naming a sumactually larger than the whole estate amounts to. There were colossalexpenditures and equally large shrinkages; what he has left is investedin English securities and is not a fortune, but of course she won'tbelieve that and refuses to budge until this impossible settlement ismade. You can imagine about how competent such a man as Keredec would beto deal with the situation. In the mean time, his ward is in so dreadfula state of horror and grief I am afraid it is possible that his mind mayreally give way, for it was not in a normal condition, of course, thoughhe's perfectly sane, as I tell you. If it should, " I concluded, withsome bitterness, "I suppose Keredec will be still prating upliftingly onthe saving of his soul!"

"When was it that Louise saw him?"

"Ah, that, " I said, "is where Keredec has been a poet and a dreamerindeed. It was his PLAN that they should meet. "

"You mean he brought this wreck of Harman, these husks and shreds of aman, down here for Louise to see?" Ward cried incredulously. "Oh, monstrous!"

"No, " I answered. "Only insane. Not because there is anything lacking inOliver--in Harman, I mean--for I think that will be righted in time, butbecause the second marriage makes it a useless cruelty that he shouldhave been allowed to fall in love with his first wife again. Yet thatwas Keredec's idea of a 'beautiful restoration, ' as he calls it!"

"There is something behind all this that you don't know, " said Wardslowly. "I'll tell you after I've seen this Keredec. When did the manmake you his confidant?"

"Last night. Most of what I learned was as much a revelation to hisvictim as it was to me. Harman did not know till then that the lady hehad been meeting had been his wife, or that he had ever seen her beforehe came here. He had mistaken her name and she did not enlighten him. "

"Meeting?" said Ward harshly. "You speak as if--"

"They have been meeting every day, George. "

"I won't believe it of her!" he cried. "She couldn't--"

"It's true. He spoke to her in the woods one day; I was there and sawit. I know now that she knew him at once; and she ran away, but--not inanger. I shouldn't be a very good friend of yours, " I went on gently, "if I didn't give you the truth. They've been together every day sincethen, and I'm afraid--miserably afraid, Ward--that her old feeling forhim has been revived. "

I have heard Ward use an oath only two or three times in my life, andthis was one of them. 

"Oh, by God!" he cried, starting to his feet; "I SHOULD like to meetProfessor Keredec!"

"I am at your service, my dear sir, " said a deep voice from the veranda. And opening the door, the professor walked into the room. 

CHAPTER XIX

He looked old and tired and sad; it was plain that he expected attackand equally plain that he would meet it with fanatic serenity. And yet, the magnificent blunderer presented so fine an aspect of the torturedOlympian, he confronted us with so vast a dignity--the driven snow ofhis hair tousled upon his head and shoulders, like a storm in the higheraltitudes--that he regained, in my eyes, something of his mountaingrandeur before he had spoken a word in defence. But sympathy is notwhat one should be entertaining for an antagonist; therefore I saidcavalierly:

"This is Mr. Ward, Professor Keredec. He is Mrs. Harman's cousin andclose friend. "

"I had divined it. " The professor made a French bow, and Georgeresponded with as slight a salutation as it has been my lot to see. 

"We were speaking of your reasons, " I continued, "for bringing Mr. Harman to this place. Frankly, we were questioning your motive. "

"My motives? I have wished to restore to two young people the paradisewhich they had lost". 

Ward uttered an exclamation none the less violent because it was half-suppressed, while, for my part, I laughed outright; and as Keredecturned his eyes questioningly upon me, I said:

"Professor Keredec, you'd better understand at once that I mean to helpundo the harm you've done. I couldn't tell you last night, in Harman'spresence, but I think you're responsible for the whole ghastly tragi-comedy--as hopeless a tangle as ever was made on this earth!"

This was even more roughly spoken than I had intended, but it did notcause him to look less mildly upon me, nor was there the faintest shadowof resentment in his big voice when he replied:

"In this world things may be tangled, they may be sad, yet they may begood. "

"I'm afraid that seems rather a trite generality. I beg you to rememberthat plain-speaking is of some importance just now. "

"I shall remember. "

"Then we should be glad of the explanation, " said Ward, resting his armson my table and leaning across it toward Keredec. 

"We should, indeed, " I echoed. 

"It is simple, " began the professor. "I learned my poor boy's historywell, from those who could tell me, from his papers--yes, and from thebundles of old-time letters which were given me--since it was necessarythat I should know everything. From all these I learned what a strongand beautiful soul was that lady who loved him so much that she ran awayfrom her home for his sake. Helas! he was already the slave of what wasbad and foolish, he had gone too far from himself, was overlaid with thehabit of evil, and she could not save him then. The spirit was dying inhim, although it was there, and IT was good--"

Ward's acrid laughter rang out in the room, and my admiration wentunwillingly to Keredec for the way he took it, which was to bow gravely, as if acknowledging the other's right to his own point of view. 

"If you will study the antique busts, " he said, "you will find thatSocrates is Silenus dignified. I choose to believe in the infinitecapacities of all men--and in the spirit in all. And so I try to restoremy poor boy his capacities and his spirit. But that was not all. Thetime was coming when I could do no more for him, when the littleeducation of books would be finish' and he must go out in the worldagain to learn--all newly--how to make of himself a man of use. That isthe time of danger, and the thought was troubling me when I learned thatMadame Harman was here, near this inn, of which I knew. So I broughthim. "

"The inconceivable selfishness, the devilish brutality of it!" Ward'sface was scarlet. "You didn't care how you sacrificed her--"

"Sacrificed!" The professor suddenly released the huge volume of hisvoice. "Sacrificed!" he thundered. "If I could give him back to her ashe is now, it would be restoring to her all that she had loved in him, the real SELF of him! It would be the greatest gift in her life. "

"You speak for her?" demanded Ward, the question coming like a lawyer's. It failed to disturb Keredec, who replied quietly:

"It is a quibble. I speak for her, yes, my dear sir. Her action indefiance of her family and her friends proved the strength of what shefelt for the man she married; that she have remained with him threeyears--until it was impossible--proved its persistence; her letters, which I read with reverence, proved its beauty--to me. It was a livingpassion, one that could not die. To let them see each other again; thatwas all I intended. To give them their new chance--and then, for myself, to keep out of the way. That was why--" he turned to me--"that was why Ihave been guilty of pretending to have that bad rheumatism, and I hopeyou will not think it an ugly trick of me! It was to give him his chancefreely; and though at first I had much anxiety, it was done. In spite ofall his wicked follies theirs had been a true love, and nothing in thisworld could be more inevitable than that they should come together againif the chance could be given. And they HAVE, my dear sirs! It has sohappened. To him it has been a wooing as if for the first time; so shehas preferred it, keeping him to his mistake of her name. She fearedthat if he knew that it was the same as his own he might ask questionsof me, and, you see, she did not know that I had made this little plan, and was afraid--"

"We are not questioning Mrs. Harman's motives, " George interruptedhotly, "but YOURS!"

"Very well, my dear sir; that is all. I have explained them. "

"You have?" I interjected. "Then, my dear Keredec, either you are reallyinsane or I am! You knew that this poor, unfortunate devil of a Harmanwas tied to that hyenic prowler yonder who means to fatten on him, andwill never release him; you knew that. Then why did you bring him downhere to fall in love with a woman he can never have? In pity's name, ifyou didn't hope to half kill them both, what DID you mean?"

"My dear fellow, " interposed George quickly, "you underrate ProfessorKeredec's shrewdness. His plans are not so simple as you think. He knowsthat my cousin Louise never obtained a divorce from her husband. "

"What?" I said, not immediately comprehending his meaning. 

"I say, Mrs. Harman never obtained a divorce. "

"Are you delirious?" I gasped. 

"It's the truth; she never did. "

"I saw a notice of it at the time. 'A notice?' I saw a hundred!"

"No. What you saw was that she had made an application for divorce. Herfamily got her that far and then she revolted. The suit was dropped. "

"It is true, indeed, " said Keredec. "The poor boy was on the other sideof the world, and he thought it was granted. He had been bad before, butfrom that time he cared nothing what became of him. That was the reasonthis Spanish woman--"

I turned upon him sharply. "YOU knew it?"

"It is a year that I have known it; when his estate was--"

"Then why didn't you tell me last night?"

"My dear sir, I could not in HIS presence, because it is one thing Idare not let him know. This Spanish woman is so hideous, her claim uponhim is so horrible to him I could not hope to control him--he wouldshout it out to her that she cannot call him husband. God knows what hewould do!"

"Well, why shouldn't he shout it out to her?"

"You do not understand, " George interposed again, "that what ProfessorKeredec risked for his 'poor boy, ' in returning to France, was a trialon the charge of bigamy!"

The professor recoiled from the definite brutality. "My dear sir! It isnot possible that such a thing can happen. "

"I conceive it very likely to happen, " said George, "unless you get himout of the country before the lady now installed here as his wifediscovers the truth. "

"But she must not!" Keredec lifted both hands toward Ward appealingly;they trembled, and his voice betrayed profound agitation. "She cannot!She has never suspected such a thing; there is nothing that could MAKEher suspect it!"

"One particular thing would be my telling her, " said Ward quietly. 

"Never!" cried the professor, stepping back from him. "You could not dothat!"

"I not only could, but I will, unless you get him out of the country--and quickly!"

"George!" I exclaimed, coming forward between them. "This won't do atall. You can't--"

"That's enough, " he said, waving me back, and I saw that his hand wasshaking, too, like Keredec's. His face had grown very white; but hecontrolled himself to speak with a coolness that made what he saidpainfully convincing. "I know what you think, " he went on, addressingme, "but you're wrong. It isn't for myself. When I sailed for New Yorkin the spring I thought there was a chance that she would carry out theaction she begun four years ago and go through the form of riddingherself of him definitely; that is, I thought there was some hope forme; I believed there was until this morning. But I know better now. Ifshe's seen him again, and he's been anything except literallyunbearable, it's all over with ME. From the first, I never had a chanceagainst him; he was a hard rival, even when he'd become only a cruelmemory. " His voice rose. "I've lived a sober, decent life, and I'vetreated HER with gentleness and reverence since she was born, and HE'Sdone nothing but make a stew-pan of his life and neglect and betray herwhen he had her. Heaven knows why it is; it isn't because of anythinghe's done or has, it's just because it's HIM, I suppose, but I know mychance is gone for good! THAT leaves me free to act for her; no one canaccuse me of doing it for myself. And I swear she sha'n't go throughthat slough of despond again while I have breath in my body!"

"Steady, George!" I said. 

"Oh, I'm steady enough, " he cried. "Professor Keredec shall be convincedof it! My cousin is not going into the mire again; she shall be freed ofit for ever: I speak as her relative now, the representative of herfamily and of those who care for her happiness and good. Now she SHALLmake the separation definite--and LEGAL! And let Professor Keredec gethis 'poor boy' out of the country. Let him do it quickly! I make it as acondition of my not informing the woman yonder and her lawyer. And by myhope of salvation I warn you--"

"George, for pity's sake!" I shouted, throwing my arm about hisshoulders, for his voice had risen to a pitch of excitement and furythat I feared must bring the whole place upon us. He caught himself upsuddenly, stared at me blankly for a moment, then sank into a chair witha groan. As he did so I became aware of a sound that had been worryingmy subconsciousness for an indefinite length of time, and realised whatit was. Some one was knocking for admission. 

I crossed the room and opened the door. Miss Elizabeth stood there, red-faced and flustered, and behind her stood Mr. Cresson Ingle, who lookeddubiously amused. 

"Ah--come in, " I said awkwardly. "George is here. Let me presentProfessor Keredec--"

"'George is here!'" echoed Miss Elizabeth, interrupting, and paying noattention whatever to an agitated bow on the part of the professor. "Ishould say he WAS! They probably know THAT all the way to Trouville!"

"We were discussing--" I began. 

"Ah, I know what you were discussing, " she said impatiently. "Come in, Cresson. " She turned to Mr. Ingle, who was obviously reluctant. "It is afamily matter, and you'll have to go through with it now. "

"That reminds me, " I said. "May I offer--"

"Not now!" Miss Elizabeth cut short a rather embarrassed handshake whichher betrothed and I were exchanging. "I'm in a very nervous anddistressed state of mind, as I suppose we all are, for that matter. Thismorning I learned the true situation over here; and I'm afraid Louisehas heard; at least she's not at Quesnay. I got into a panic for fearshe had come here, but thank heaven she does not seem to--Good gracious!What's THAT?"

It was the discordant voice of Mariana la Mursiana, crackling instrident protest. My door was still open; I turned to look and saw her, hot-faced, tousle-haired, insufficiently wrapped, striving to ascend thegallery steps, but valiantly opposed by Madame Brossard, who stood inthe way. 

"But NO, madame, " insisted Madame Brossard, excited but darklydetermined. "You cannot ascend. There is nothing on the upper floor ofthis wing except the apartment of Professor Keredec. "

"Name of a dog!" shrilled the other. "It is my husband's apartment, Itell you. Il y a une femme avec lui!"

"It is Madame Harman who is there, " said Keredec hoarsely in my ear. "Icame away and left them together. "

"Come, " I said, and, letting the others think what they would, sprangacross the veranda, the professor beside me, and ran toward the twowomen who were beginning to struggle with more than their tongues. Ileaped by them and up the steps, but Keredec thrust himself between ourhostess and her opponent, planting his great bulk on the lowest step. Glancing hurriedly over my shoulder, I saw the Spanish woman strike himfuriously upon the breast with both hands, but I knew she would neverpass him. 

I entered the salon of the "Grande Suite, " and closed the door quicklybehind me. 

Louise Harman was standing at the other end of the room; she wore thepretty dress of white and lilac and the white hat. She looked cool andbeautiful and good, and there were tears in her eyes. To come into thisquiet chamber and see her so, after the hot sunshine and tawdry scenebelow, was like leaving the shouting market-place for a shadowy chapel. 

Her husband was kneeling beside her; he held one of her hands in bothhis, her other rested upon his head; and something in their attitudesmade me know I had come in upon their leave-taking. But from the face helifted toward her all trace of his tragedy had passed: the wonder andworship written there left no room for anything else. 

"Mrs. Harman--" I began. 

"Yes?" she said. "I am coming. "

"But I don't want you to. I've come for fear you would, and you--youmust not, " I stammered. "You must wait. "

"Why?"

"It's necessary, " I floundered. "There is a scene--"

"I know, " she said quietly. "THAT must be, of course. "

Harman rose, and she took both his hands, holding them against herbreast. 

"My dear, " she said gently, --"my dearest, you must stay. Will youpromise not to pass that door, even, until you have word from me again?"

"Yes, " he answered huskily, "if you'll promise it SHALL come--some day?"

"It shall, indeed. Be sure of it. "

I had turned away, but I heard the ghost of his voice whispering "good-bye. " Then she was beside me and opening the door. 

I tried to stay her. 

"Mrs. Harman, " I urged, "I earnestly beg you--"

"No, " she answered, "this is better. "

She stepped out upon the gallery; I followed, and she closed the door. Upon the veranda of my pavilion were my visitors from Quesnay, staringup at us apprehensively; Madame Brossard and Keredec still held the footof the steps, but la Mursiana had abandoned the siege, and, accompaniedby Mr. Percy and Rameau, the black-bearded notary, who had joined her, was crossing the garden toward her own apartment. 

At the sound of the closing door, she glanced over her shoulder, sentforth a scream, and, whirling about, ran viciously for the steps, whereshe was again blocked by the indomitable Keredec. 

"Ah, you foolish woman, I know who you are, " she cried, stepping backfrom him to shake a menacing hand at the quiet lady by my side. "Youwant to get yourself into trouble! That man in the room up there hasbeen my husband these two years and more. "

"No, madame, " said Louise Harman, "you are mistaken; he is my husband. "

"But you divorced him, " vociferated the other wildly. "You divorced himin America!"

"No. You are mistaken, " the quiet voice replied. "The suit waswithdrawn. He is still my husband. "

I heard the professor's groan of despair, but it was drowned in the wildshriek of Mariana. "WHAT? You tell ME that? Ah, the miserable! If whatyou say is true, he shall pay bitterly! He shall wish that he had diedby fire! What! You think he can marry ME, break my leg so that I cannotdance again, ruin my career, and then go away with a pretty woman likeyou and be happy? Aha, there are prisons in France for people who marrytwo like that; I do not know what they do in YOUR barbaric country, butthey are decent people over here and they punish. He shall pay for it insuffering--" her voice rose to an incredible and unbearable shriek--"andyou, YOU shall pay, too! You can't come stealing honest women's husbandslike that. You shall PAY!"

I saw George Ward come running forward with his hand upraised in agesture of passionate warning, for Mrs. Harman, unnoticed by me--I waswatching the Spanish woman--had descended the steps and had passedKeredec, walking straight to Mariana. I leaped down after her, my heartin my throat, fearing a thousand things. 

"You must not talk like that, " she said, not lifting her voice--yetevery one in the courtyard heard her distinctly. "You can do neither ofus any harm in the world. "

CHAPTER XX

It is impossible to say what Mariana would have done had there been nointerference, for she had worked herself into one of those furies whichwomen of her type can attain when they feel the occasion demands it, aparoxysm none the less dangerous because its foundation is histrionic. But Rameau threw his arms about her; Mr. Percy came hastily to hisassistance, and Ward and I sprang in between her and the too-fearlesslady she strove to reach. Even at that, the finger-nails of Mariana'sright hand touched the pretty white hat--but only touched it and nomore. 

Rameau and the little spy managed to get their vociferating burdenacross the courtyard and into her own door, where she suddenly subsided, disappearing within the passage to her apartment in unexpected silence--indubitably a disappointment to the interested Amedee, to Glouglou, Francois, and the whole personnel of the inn, who hastened to groupthemselves about the door in attentive attitudes. 

"In heaven's name, " gasped Miss Elizabeth, seizing her cousin by thearm, "come into the pavilion. Here's the whole world looking at us!"

"Professor Keredec--" Mrs. Harman began, resisting, and turning to theprofessor appealingly. 

"Oh, let him come too!" said Miss Elizabeth desperately. "Nothing couldbe worse than this!"

She led the way back to the pavilion, and, refusing to consider aproposal on the part of Mr. Ingle and myself to remain outside, enteredthe room last, herself, producing an effect of "shooing" the rest of usin; closed the door with surprising force, relapsed in a chair, andburst into tears. 

"Not a soul at Quesnay, " sobbed the mortified chatelaine--"not one butwill know this before dinner! They'll hear the whole thing within twohours. "

"Isn't there any way of stopping that, at least?" Ward said to me. 

"None on earth, unless you go home at once and turn your visitors andTHEIR servants out of the house, " I answered. 

"There is nothing they shouldn't know, " said Mrs. Harman. 

George turned to her with a smile so bravely managed that I was proud ofhim. "Oh, yes, there is, " he said. "We're going to get you out of allthis. "

"All this?" she repeated. 

"All this MIRE!" he answered. "We're going to get you out of it and keepyou out of it, now, for good. I don't know whether your revelation tothe Spanish woman will make that easier or harder, but I do know that itmakes the mire deeper. "

"For whom?"

"For Harman. But you sha'n't share it!"

Her anxious eyes grew wider. "How have I made it deeper for him? Wasn'tit necessary that the poor woman should be told the truth?"

"Professor Keredec seemed to think it important that she shouldn't. "

She turned to Keredec with a frightened gesture and an unintelligibleword of appeal, as if entreating him to deny what George had said. Theprofessor's beard was trembling; he looked haggard; an almost pitiableapprehension hung upon his eyelids; but he came forward manfully. 

"Madame, " he said, "you could never in your life do anything that wouldmake harm. You were right to speak, and I had short sight to fear, sinceit was the truth. "

"But why did you fear it?"

"It was because--" he began, and hesitated. 

"I must know the reason, " she urged. "I must know just what I've done. "

"It was because, " he repeated, running a nervous hand through his beard, "because the knowledge would put us so utterly in this people's power. Already they demand more than we could give them; now they can--"

"They can do what?" she asked tremulously. 

His eyes rested gently on her blanched and stricken face. "Nothing, mydear lady, " he answered, swallowing painfully. "Nothing that will last. I am an old man. I have seen and I have--I have thought. And I tell youthat only the real survives; evil actions are some phantoms thatdisappear. They must not trouble us. "

"That is a high plane, " George intervened, and he spoke without sarcasm. "To put it roughly, these people have been asking more than the Harmanestate is worth; that was on the strength of the woman's claim as awife; but now they know she is not one, her position is immenselystrengthened, for she has only to go before the nearest Commissaire dePolice--"

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Harman cried passionately. "I haven't done THAT! Youmustn't tell me I have. You MUSTN'T!"

"Never!" he answered. "There could not be a greater lie than to say youhave done it. The responsibility is with the wretched and vicious boywho brought the catastrophe upon himself. But don't you see that you'vegot to keep out of it, that we've got to take you out of it?"

"You can't! I'm part of it; better or worse, it's as much mine as his. "

"No, no!" cried Miss Elizabeth. "YOU mustn't tell us THAT!" Stillweeping, she sprang up and threw her arms about her brother. "It's toohorrible of you--"

"It is what I must tell you, " Mrs. Harman said. "My separation from myhusband is over. I shall be with him now for--"

"I won't listen to you!" Miss Elizabeth lifted her wet face fromGeorge's shoulder, and there was a note of deep anger in her voice. "Youdon't know what you're talking about; you haven't the faintest idea ofwhat a hideous situation that creature has made for himself. Don't youknow that that awful woman was right, and there are laws in France? Whenshe finds she can't get out of him all she wants, do you think she'sgoing to let him off? I suppose she struck you as being quite the sortwho'd prove nobly magnanimous! Are you so blind you don't see exactlywhat's going to happen? She'll ask twice as much now as she did before;and the moment it's clear that she isn't going to get it, she'll call inan agent of police. She'll get her money in a separate suit and send himto prison to do it. The case against him is positive; there isn't ashadow of hope for him. You talk of being with him; don't you see howpreposterous that is? Do you imagine they encourage family housekeepingin French prisons?"

"Oh, come, this won't do!" The speaker was Cresson Ingle, who steppedforward, to my surprise; for he had been hovering in the backgroundwearing an expression of thorough discomfort. 

"You're going much too far, " he said, touching his betrothed upon thearm. "My dear Elizabeth, there is no use exaggerating; the case isunpleasant enough just as it is. "

"In what have I exaggerated?" she demanded. 

"Why, I KNEW Larrabee Harman, " he returned. "I knew him fairly well. Iwent as far as Honolulu with him, when he and some of his heelersstarted round the world; and I remember that papers were served on himin San Francisco. Mrs. Harman had made her application; it was justbefore he sailed. About a year and a half or two years later I met himagain, in Paris. He was in pretty bad shape; seemed hypnotised by thisMariana and afraid as death of her; she could go into a tantrum thatwould frighten him into anything. It was a joke--down along the line ofthe all-night dancers and cafes--that she was going to marry him; andsome one told me afterward that she claimed to have brought it about. Isuppose it's true; but there is no question of his having married her ingood faith. He believed that the divorce had been granted; he'd offeredno opposition to it whatever. He was travelling continually, and I don'tthink he knew much of what was going on, even right around him, most ofthe time. He began with cognac and absinthe in the morning, you know. For myself, I always supposed the suit had been carried through; so didpeople generally, I think. He'll probably have to stand trial, and ofcourse he's technically guilty, but I don't believe he'd be convicted--though I must say it would have been a most devilish good thing for himif he could have been got out of France before la Mursiana heard thetruth. Then he could have made terms with her safely at a distance--she'd have been powerless to injure him and would have precious sooncome to time and been glad to take whatever he'd give her. NOW, Isuppose, that's impossible, and they'll arrest him if he tries to budge. But this talk of prison and all that is nonsense, my dear Elizabeth!"

"You admit there is a chance of it!" she retorted. 

"I've said all I had to say, " returned Mr. Ingle with a dubious laugh. "And if you don't mind, I believe I'll wait for you outside, in themachine. I want to look at the gear-box. "

He paused, as if in deference to possible opposition, and, none beingmanifested, went hastily from the room with a sigh of relief, giving me, as he carefully closed the door, a glance of profound commiseration overhis shoulder. 

Miss Elizabeth had taken her brother's hand, not with the effect ofclinging for sympathy; nor had her throwing her arms about him producedthat effect; one could as easily have imagined Brunhilda hiding her facein a man's coat-lapels. George's sister wept, not weakly: she was on thedefensive, but not for herself. 

"Does the fact that he may possibly escape going to prison"--sheaddressed her cousin--"make his position less scandalous, or can it makethe man himself less detestable?"

Mrs. Harman looked at her steadily. There was a long and sorrowfulpause. 

"Nothing is changed, " she said finally; her eyes still fixed gravely onMiss Elizabeth's. 

At that, the other's face flamed up, and she uttered a half-chokedexclamation. "Oh, " she cried--"you've fallen in love with playing themartyr; it's SELF-love! You SEE yourself in the role! No one on earthcould make me believe you're in LOVE with this degraded imbecile--allthat's left of the wreck of a vicious life! It isn't that! It's becauseyou want to make a shining example of yourself; you want to get down onyour knees and wash off the vileness from this befouled creature; youwant--"

"Madame!" Keredec interrupted tremendously, "you speak out of noknowledge!" He leaned toward her across the table, which shook under theweight of his arms. "There is no vileness; no one who is clean remainsbefouled because of the things that are gone. "

"They do not?" She laughed hysterically, and for my part, I sighed indespair--for there was no stopping him. 

"They do not, indeed! Do you know the relation of TIME to this littlelife of ours? We have only the present moment; your consciousness ofthat is your existence. Your knowledge of each present moment as itpasses--and it passes so swiftly that each word I speak now overlaps it--yet it is all we have. For all the rest, for what has gone by and whatis yet coming--THAT has no real existence; it is all a dream. It is notALIVE. It IS not! It IS--nothing! So the soul that stands clean and pureto-day IS clean and pure--and that is all there is to say about thatsoul!"

"But a soul with evil tendencies, " Ward began impatiently, "if one mustmeet you on your own ground--"

"Ha! my dear sir, those evil tendencies would be in the soilingmemories, and my boy is free from them. "

"He went toward all that was soiling before. Surely you can't pretend hemay not take that direction again?"

"That, " returned the professor quickly, "is his to choose. If this ladycan be with him now, he will choose right. "

"So!" cried Miss Elizabeth, "you offer her the role of a guide, do you?First she is to be his companion through a trial for bigamy in a Frenchcourt, and, if he is acquitted, his nurse, teacher, and moralpreceptor?" She turned swiftly to her cousin. "That's YOUR conception ofa woman's mission?"

"I haven't any mission, " Mrs. Harman answered quietly. "I've neverthought about missions; I only know I belong to him; that's all I EVERthought about it. I don't pretend to explain it, or make it seemreasonable. And when I met him again, here, it was--it was--it wasproved to me. "

"Proved?" echoed Miss Elizabeth incredulously. 

"Yes; proved as certainly as the sun shining proves that it's day. "

"Will you tell us?"

It was I who asked the question: I spoke involuntarily, but she did notseem to think it strange that I should ask. 

"Oh, when I first met him, " she said tremulously, "I was frightened; butit was not he who frightened me--it was the rush of my own feeling. Idid not know what I felt, but I thought I might die, and he was so likehimself as I had first known him--but so changed, too; there wassomething so wonderful about him, something that must make any strangerfeel sorry for him, and yet it is beautiful--" She stopped for a momentand wiped her eyes, then went on bravely: "And the next day he came, andwaited for me--I should have come here for him if he hadn't--and I fellin with the mistake he had made about my name. You see, he'd heard I wascalled 'Madame d'Armand, ' and I wanted him to keep on thinking that, forI thought if he knew I was Mrs. Harman he might find out--" She paused, her lip beginning to tremble. "Oh, don't you see why I didn't want himto know? I didn't want him to suffer as he would--as he does now, poorchild!--but most of all I wanted--I wanted to see if he would fall inlove with me again! I kept him from knowing, because, if he thought Iwas a stranger, and the same thing happened again--his caring for me, Imean--" She had begun to weep now, freely and openly, but not fromgrief. "Oh!" she cried, "don't you SEE how it's all proven to me?"

"I see how it has deluded you!" said Miss Elizabeth vehemently. "I seewhat a rose-light it has thrown about this creature; but it won't last, thank God! any more than it did the other time. The thing is for you tocome to your senses before--"

"Ah, my dear, I have come to them at last and for ever!" The words rangfull and strong, though she was white and shaking, and heavy tearsfilled her eyes. "I know what I am doing now, if I never knew before!"

"You never did know--" Miss Ward began, but George stopped her. 

"Elizabeth!" he said quickly. "We mustn't go on like this; it's morethan any of us can bear. Come, let's get out into the air; let's getback to Quesnay. We'll have Ingle drive us around the longer way, by thesea. " He turned to his cousin. "Louise, you'll come now? If not, we'llhave to stay here with you. "

"I'll come, " she answered, trying bravely to stop the tears that keptrising in spite of her; "if you'll wait till"--and suddenly she flashedthrough them a smile so charming that my heart ached the harder forGeorge--"till I can stop crying!"

CHAPTER XXI

Mr. Earl Percy and I sat opposite each other at dinner that evening. Perhaps, for charity's sake, I should add that though we faced eachother, and, indeed, eyed each other solemnly at intervals, we partooknot of the same repast, having each his own table; his being set in thegarden at his constant station near the gallery steps, and mine, somefifty feet distant, upon my own veranda, but moved out from behind thehoneysuckle screen, for I sat alone and the night was warm. 

To analyse my impression of Mr. Percy's glances, I cannotconscientiously record that I found favour in his eyes. For one thing, Ifear he may not have recalled to his bosom a clarion sentiment (whichdoubtless he had ofttimes cheered from his native gallery in softeryears): the honourable declaration that many an honest heart beatsbeneath a poor man's coat. As for his own attire, he was even as thelilies of Quesnay; that is to say, I beheld upon him the same formationof tie that I had seen there, the same sensuous beauty of the statewaistcoat, though I think that his buttons were, if anything, somewhatspicier than those which had awed me at the chateau. And when wesimultaneously reached the fragrant hour of coffee, the cigarette casethat glittered in his hand was one for which some lady-friend of his (Iknew intuitively) must have given her All--and then been left in debt. 

Amedee had served us both; Glouglou, as aforetime, attending the silent"Grande Suite, " where the curtains were once more tightly drawn. Monsieur Rameau dined with his client in her own salon, evidently; atleast, Victorine, the femme de chambre, passed to and from the kitchenin that direction, bearing laden trays. When Mr. Percy's cigarette hadbeen lighted, hesitation marked the manner of our maitre d'hotel;plainly he wavered, but finally old custom prevailed; abandoning thecigarette, he chose the cigar, and, hastily clearing my fashionableopponent's table, approached the pavilion with his most conversationalface. 

I greeted him indifferently, but with hidden pleasure, for my soul (ifKeredec is right and I have one) lay sorrowing. I needed relief, andwhatever else Amedee was, he was always that. I spoke first:

"Amedee, how long a walk is it from Quesnay to Pere Baudry's?"

"Monsieur, about three-quarters of an hour for a good walker, one mightsay. "

"A long way for Jean Ferret to go for a cup of cider, " I remarkedmusingly. 

"Eh? But why should he?" asked Amedee blankly. 

"Why indeed? Surely even a Norman gardener lives for more than cider!You usually meet him there about noon, I believe?"

Methought he had the grace to blush, though there is an everlastingdoubt in my mind that it may have been the colour of the candle-shadeproducing that illusion. It was a strange thing to see, at all events, and, taking it for a physiological fact at the time, I let my willingeyes linger upon it as long as it (or its appearance) was upon him. 

"You were a little earlier than usual to-day, " I continued finally, fullof the marvel. 

"Monsieur?" He was wholly blank again. 

"Weren't you there about eleven? Didn't you go about two hours after Mr. Ward and his friends left here?"

He scratched his head. "I believe I had an errand in that direction. Eh?Yes, I remember. Truly, I think it so happened. "

"And you found Jean Ferret there?"

"Where, monsieur?"

"At Pere Baudry's. "

"No, monsieur. "

"What?" I exclaimed. 

"No, monsieur. " He was firm, somewhat reproachful. 

"You didn't see Jean Ferret this morning?"

"Monsieur?"

"Amedee!"

"Eh, but I did not find him at Pere Baudry's! It may have happened thatI stopped there, but he did not come until some time after. "

"After you had gone away from Pere Baudry's, you mean?"

"No, monsieur; after I arrived there. Truly. "

"Now we have it! And you gave him the news of all that had happenedhere?"

"Monsieur!"

A world--no, a constellation, a universe!--of reproach was in the word. 

"I retract the accusation, " I said promptly. "I meant something else. "

"Upon everything that takes place at our hotel here, I am silent to allthe world. "

"As the grave!" I said with enthusiasm. "Truly--that is a thing wellknown. But Jean Ferret, then? He is not so discreet; I have suspectedthat you are in his confidence. At times you have even hinted as much. Can you tell me if he saw the automobile of Monsieur Ingle when it cameback to the chateau after leaving here?"

"It had arrived the moment before he departed. "

"Quite SO! I understand, " said I. 

"He related to me that Mademoiselle Ward had the appearance ofagitation, and Madame d'Armand that of pallor, which was also the casewith Monsieur Ward. "

"Therefore, " I said, "Jean Ferret ran all the way to Pere Baudry's tolearn from you the reason for this agitation and this pallor?"

"But, monsieur--"

"I retract again!" I cut him off--to save time. "What other news hadhe?"

There came a gleam into his small, infolded eyes, a tiny glitterreflecting the mellow candle-light, but changing it, in that reflection, to a cold and sinister point of steel. It should have warned me, but, ashe paused, I repeated my question. 

"Monsieur, people say everything, " he answered, frowning as if deploringwhat they said in some secret, particular instance. "The world is fullof idle gossipers, tale-bearers, spreaders of scandal! And, though Ispeak with perfect respect, all the people at the chateau are notperfect in such ways. "

"Do you mean the domestics?"

"The visitors!"

"What do they say?"

"Eh, well, then, they say--but no!" He contrived a masterly pretense ofpained reluctance. "I cannot--"

"Speak out, " I commanded, piqued by his shilly-shallying. "What do theysay?"

"Monsieur, it is about"--he shifted his weight from one leg to theother--"it is about--about that beautiful Mademoiselle Elliott whosometimes comes here. "

This was so far from what I had expected that I was surprised into aslight change of attitude, which all too plainly gratified him, thoughhe made an effort to conceal it. "Well, " I said uneasily, "what do theyfind to say of Mademoiselle Elliott?"

"They say that her painting is only a ruse to see monsieur. "

"To see Monsieur Saffren, yes. "

"But, no!" he cried. "That is not--"

"Yes, it is, " I assured him calmly. "As you know, Monsieur Saffren isvery, very handsome, and Mademoiselle Elliott, being a painter, isnaturally anxious to look at him from time to time. "

"You are sure?" he said wistfully, even plaintively. "That is not themeaning Jean Ferret put upon it. "

"He was mistaken. "

"It may be, it may be, " he returned, greatly crestfallen, picking up histray and preparing to go. "But Jean Ferret was very positive. "

"And I am even more so!"

"Then that malicious maid of Mademoiselle Ward's was mistaken also, " hesighed, "when she said that now a marriage is to take place betweenMademoiselle Ward and Monsieur Ingle--"

"Proceed, " I bade him. 

He moved a few feet nearer the kitchen. "The malicious woman said toJean Ferret--" He paused and coughed. "It was in reference to thoseItalian jewels monsieur used to send--"

"What about them?" I asked ominously. 

"The woman says that Mademoiselle Ward--" he increased the distancebetween us--"that now she should give them to Mademoiselle Elliott! GOODnight, monsieur!"

His entrance into the kitchen was precipitate. I sank down again intothe wicker chair (from which I had hastily risen) and contemplated thestars. But the short reverie into which I then fell was interrupted byMr. Percy, who, sauntering leisurely about the garden, paused to addressme. 

"You folks thinks you was all to the gud, gittin' them trunks off, what?"

"You speak in mysterious numbers, " I returned, having no comprehensionof his meaning. 

"I suppose you don' know nothin' about it, " he laughed satirically. "Youdidn' go over to Lisieux 'saft'noon to ship 'em? Oh, no, not YOU!"

"I went for a long walk this afternoon, Mr. Percy. Naturally, I couldn'thave walked so far as Lisieux and back. "

"Luk here, m'friend, " he said sharply--"I reco'nise 'at you're tryin' t'play your own hand, but I ast you as man to man: DO you think you gotany chanst t' git that feller off t' Paris?"

"DO you think it will rain to-night?" I inquired. 

The light of a reflecting lamp which hung on the wall near the archwayenabled me to perceive a bitter frown upon his forehead. "When agen'leman asts a question AS a gen'leman, " he said, his voice expressinga noble pathos, "I can't see no call for no other gen'leman to go an'play the smart Aleck and not answer him. "

In simple dignity he turned his back upon me and strolled to the otherend of the courtyard, leaving me to the renewal of my reverie. 

It was not a happy one. My friends--old and new--I saw inextricablycaught in a tangle of cross-purposes, miserably and hopelessly involvedin a situation for which I could predict no possible relief. I was ableto understand now the beauty as well as the madness of Keredec's plan;and I had told him so (after the departure of the Quesnay party), askinghis pardon for my brusquerie of the morning. But the towering edificehis hopes had erected was now tumbled about his ears: he had failed toelude the Mursiana. There could be no doubt of her absolute control ofthe situation. THAT was evident in the every step of the youth nowconfidently parading before me. 

Following his active stride with my eye, I observed him in the act ofsaluting, with a gracious nod of his bare head, some one, invisible tome, who was approaching from the road. Immediately after--and altogetherwith the air of a person merely "happening in"--a slight figure, clad ina long coat, a short skirt, and a broad-brimmed, veil-bound brown hat, sauntered casually through the archway and came into full view in thelight of the reflector. 

I sprang to my feet and started toward her, uttering an exclamationwhich I was unable to stifle, though I tried to. 

"Good evening, Mr. Percy, " she said cheerily. "It's the most EXUBERANTnight. YOU'RE quite hearty, I hope?"

"Takin' a walk, I see, little lady, " he observed with genial patronage. 

"Oh, not just for that, " she returned. "It's more to see HIM. " Shenodded to me, and, as I reached her, carelessly gave me her left hand. "You know I'm studying with him, " she continued to Mr. Percy, exhibitinga sketch-book under her arm. "I dropped over to get a criticism. "

"Oh, drawin'-lessons?" said Mr. Percy tolerantly. "Well, don' lemmeinterrup' ye. "

He moved as if to withdraw toward the steps, but she detained him with aquestion. "You're spending the rest of the summer here?"

"That depends, " he answered tersely. 

"I hear you have some PASSIONATELY interesting friends. "

"Where did you hear that?"

"Ah, don't you know?" she responded commiseratingly. "This is the mostscandalously gossipy neighbourhood in France. My DEAR young man, everyone from here to Timbuctu knows all about it by this time!"

"All about what?"

"About the excitement you're such a VALUABLE part of; about yourwonderful Spanish friend and how she claims the strange young man herefor her husband. "

"They'll know more'n that, I expec', " he returned with a side glance atme, "before VERY long. "

"Every one thinks _I_ am so interesting, " she rattled on artlessly, "because I happened to meet YOU in the woods. I've held quite a leveeall day. In a reflected way it makes a heroine of me, you see, becauseyou are one of the very MOST prominent figures in it all. I hope youwon't think I've been too bold, " she pursued anxiously, "in claimingthat I really am one of your acquaintances?"

"That'll be all right, " he politely assured her. 

"I am so glad. " Her laughter rang out gaily. "Because I've been talkingabout you as if we were the OLDEST friends, and I'd hate to have themfind me out. I've told them everything--about your appearance you see, and how your hair was parted, and how you were dressed, and--"

"Luk here, " he interrupted, suddenly discharging his Bowery laugh, "didyou tell 'em how HE was dressed?" He pointed a jocular finger at me. "That WUD 'a' made a hit!"

"No; we weren't talking of him. "

"Why not? He's in it, too. Bullieve me, he THINKS he is!"

"In the excitement, you mean?"

"Right!" said Mr. Percy amiably. "He goes round holdin' Rip Van WinkleKeredec's hand when the ole man's cryin'; helpin' him sneak his trunksoff t' Paris--playin' the hired man gener'ly. Oh, he thinks he's quitethe boy, in this trouble!"

"I'm afraid it's a small part, " she returned, "compared to yours. "

"Oh, I hold my end up, I guess. "

"I should think you'd be so worn out and sleepy you couldn't hold yourhead up!"

"Who? ME? Not t'-night, m'little friend. I tuk MY sleep's aft'noon andlet Rameau do the Sherlock a little while. "

She gazed upon him with unconcealed admiration. "You are wonderful, " shesighed faintly, and "WONDERFUL!" she breathed again. "How prosaic aredrawing-lessons, " she continued, touching my arm and moving with metoward the pavilion, "after listening to a man of action like that!"

Mr. Percy, establishing himself comfortably in a garden chair at thefoot of the gallery steps, was heard to utter a short cough as herenewed the light of his cigarette. 

My visitor paused upon my veranda, humming, "Quand l'Amour Meurt" whileI went within and lit a lamp. "Shall I bring the light out there?" Iasked, but, turning, found that she was already in the room. 

"The sketch-book is my duenna, " she said, sinking into a chair upon oneside of the centre table, upon which I placed the lamp. "Lessons areunquestionable, at any place or time. Behold the beautiful posies!" Shespread the book open on the table between us, as I seated myselfopposite her, revealing some antique coloured smudges of flowers. "Elegancies of Eighteen-Forty! Isn't that a survival of the period whenyoung ladies had 'accomplishments, ' though! I found it at the chateauand--"

"Never mind, " I said. "Don't you know that you can't ramble over thecountry alone at this time of night?"

"If you speak any louder, " she said, with some urgency of manner, "you'll be 'hopelessly compromised socially, ' as Mrs. Alderman McGinnisand the Duchess of Gwythyl-Corners say"--she directed my glance, by oneof her own, through the open door to Mr. Percy--"because HE'LL hear youand know that the sketch-book was only a shallow pretext of mine to seeyou. Do be a little manfully self-contained, or you'll get us talkedabout! And as for 'this time of night, ' I believe it's almost half pastnine. "

"Does Miss Ward know--"

"Do you think it likely? One of the most convenient things about achateau is the number of ways to get out of it without being seen. I hada choice of eight. So I 'suffered fearfully from neuralgia, ' dined in myown room, and sped through the woods to my honest forester. " She noddedbrightly. "That's YOU!"

"You weren't afraid to come through the woods alone?" I asked, uncomfortably conscious that her gaiety met a dull response from me. 

"No. "

"But if Miss Ward finds that you're not at the chateau--"

"She won't; she thinks I'm asleep. She brought me up a sleeping-powderherself. "

"She thinks you took it?"

"She KNOWS I did, " said Miss Elliott. "I'm full of it! And that will bethe reason--if you notice that I'm particularly nervous or excited. "

"You seem all of that, " I said, looking at her eyes, which were verywide and very brilliant. "However, I believe you always do. "

"Ah!" she smiled. "I knew you thought me atrocious from the first. Youfind MYRIADS of objections to me, don't you?"

I had forgotten to look away from her eyes, and I kept on forgetting. (The same thing had happened several times lately; and each time, by asomewhat painful coincidence, I remembered my age at precisely theinstant I remembered to look away. ) "Dazzling" is a good old-fashionedword for eyes like hers; at least it might define their effect on me. 

"If I did manage to object to you, " I said slowly, "it would be a goodthing for me--wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I've WON!" she cried. 

"Won?" I echoed. 

"Yes. I laid a wager with myself that I'd have a pretty speech from youbefore I went out of your life"--she checked a laugh, and concludedthrillingly--"forever! I leave Quesnay to-morrow!"

"Your father has returned from America?"

"Oh dear, no, " she murmured. "I'll be quite at the world's mercy. I mustgo up to Paris and retire from public life until he does come. I shalltake the vows--in some obscure but respectable pension. "

"You can't endure the life at the chateau any longer?"

"It won't endure ME any longer. If I shouldn't go to-morrow I'd be putout, I think--after to-night!"

"But you intimated that no one would know about to-night!"

"The night isn't over yet, " she replied enigmatically. 

"It almost is--for you, " I said; "because in ten minutes I shall takeyou back to the chateau gates. "

She offered no comment on this prophecy, but gazed at me thoughtfullyand seriously for several moments. "I suppose you can imagine, " shesaid, in a tone that threatened to become tremulous, "what sort of anafternoon we've been having up there?"

"Has it been--" I began. 

"Oh, heart-breaking! Louise came to my room as soon as they got backfrom here, this morning, and told me the whole pitiful story. But theydidn't let her stay there long, poor woman!"

"They?" I asked. 

"Oh, Elizabeth and her brother. They've been at her all afternoon--offand on. "

"To do what?"

"To 'save herself, ' so they call it. They're insisting that she must notsee her poor husband again. They're DETERMINED she sha'n't. "

"But George wouldn't worry her, " I objected. 

"Oh, wouldn't he?" The girl laughed sadly. "I don't suppose he couldhelp it, he's in such a state himself, but between him and Elizabethit's hard to see how poor Mrs. Harman lived through the day. "

"Well, " I said slowly, "I don't see that they're not right. She ought tobe kept out of all this as much as possible; and if her husband has togo through a trial--"

"I want you to tell me something, " Miss Elliott interrupted. "How muchdo you like Mr. Ward?"

"He's an old friend. I suppose I like my old friends in about the sameway that other people like theirs. "

"How much do you like Mr. Saffren--I mean Mr. Harman?"

"Oh, THAT!" I groaned. "If I could still call him 'Oliver Saffren, ' if Icould still think of him as 'Oliver Saffren, ' it would be easy toanswer. I never was so 'drawn' to a man in my life before. But when Ithink of him as Larrabee Harman, I am full of misgivings. "

"Louise isn't, " she put in eagerly, and with something oddly like themanner of argument. "His wife isn't!"

"Oh, I know. Perhaps one reason is that she never saw him at quite hisworst. I did. I had only two glimpses of him--of the briefest--but theyinspired me with such a depth of dislike that I can't tell you howpainful it was to discover that 'Oliver Saffren'--this strange, pathetic, attractive FRIEND of mine--is the same man. "

"Oh, but he isn't!" she exclaimed quickly. 

"Keredec says he is, " I laughed helplessly. 

"So does Louise, " returned Miss Elliott, disdaining consistency in hereagerness. "And she's right--and she cares more for him than she everdid!"

"I suppose she does. "

"Are you--" the girl began, then stopped for a moment, looking at mesteadily. "Aren't you a little in love with her?"

"Yes, " I answered honestly. "Aren't you?"

"THAT'S what I wanted to know!" she said; and as she turned a page inthe sketch-book for the benefit of Mr. Percy, I saw that her hand hadbegun to tremble. 

"Why?" I asked, leaning toward her across the table. 

"Because, if she were involved in some undertaking--something that, ifit went wrong, would endanger her happiness and, I think, even her life--for it might actually kill her if she failed, and brought on a worsecatastrophe--"

"Yes?" I said anxiously, as she paused again. 

"You'd help her?" she said. 

"I would indeed, " I assented earnestly. "I told her once I'd do anythingin the world for her. "

"Even if it involved something that George Ward might never forgive youfor?"

"I said, 'anything in the world, '" I returned, perhaps a little huskily. "I meant all of that. If there is anything she wants me to do, I shalldo it. "

She gave a low cry of triumph, but immediately checked it. Then sheleaned far over the table, her face close above the book, and, tracingthe outline of an uncertain lily with her small, brown-glovedforefinger, as though she were consulting me on the drawing, "I wasn'tafraid to come through the woods alone, " she said, in a very low voice, "because I wasn't alone. Louise came with me. "

"What?" I gasped. "Where is she?"

"At the Baudry cottage down the road. They won't miss her at the chateauuntil morning; I locked her door on the outside, and if they go tobother her again--though I don't think they will--they'll believe she'sfastened it on the inside and is asleep. She managed to get a note toKeredec late this afternoon; it explained everything, and he had sometrunks carried out the rear gate of the inn and carted over to Lisieuxto be shipped to Paris from there. It is to be supposed--or hoped, atleast--that this woman and her people will believe THAT means ProfessorKeredec and Mr. Harman will try to get to Paris in the same way. "

"So, " I said, "that's what Percy meant about the trunks. I didn'tunderstand. "

"He's on watch, you see, " she continued, turning a page to anotherdrawing. "He means to sit up all night, or he wouldn't have slept thisafternoon. He's not precisely the kind to be in the habit of afternoonnaps--Mr. Percy!" She laughed nervously. "That's why it's almostabsolutely necessary for us to have you. If we have--the thing is sosimple that it's certain. "

"If you have me for what?" I asked. 

"If you'll help"--and, as she looked up, her eyes, now very close tomine, were dazzling indeed--"I'll adore you for ever and ever! Oh, MUCHlonger than you'd like me to!"

"You mean she's going to--"

"I mean that she's going to run away with him again, " she whispered. 

CHAPTER XXII

At midnight there was no mistaking the palpable uneasiness with whichMr. Percy, faithful sentry, regarded the behaviour of Miss Elliott andmyself as we sat conversing upon the veranda of the pavilion. It was notfear for the security of his prisoner which troubled him, but theunseemliness of the young woman's persistence in remaining to this hourunder an espionage no more matronly than that of a sketch-book abandonedon the table when we had come out to the open. The youth had veiled hissplendours with more splendour: a long overcoat of so glorious a plaidit paled the planets above us; and he wandered restlessly about thegarden in this refulgence, glancing at us now and then with what, inspite of the insufficient revelation of the starlight, we bothrecognised as a chilling disapproval. The lights of the inn were allout; the courtyard was dark. The Spanish woman and Monsieur Rameau hadmade their appearance for a moment, half an hour earlier, to exchange aword with their fellow vigilant, and, soon after, the extinguishing ofthe lamps in their respective apartments denoted their retirement forthe night. In the "Grande Suite" all had been dark and silent for anhour. About the whole place the only sign of life, aside from thosesigns furnished by our three selves, was a rhythmical sound from an openwindow near the kitchen, where incontrovertibly slumbered our maitred'hotel after the cares of the day. 

Upon the occasion of our forest meeting Mr. Percy had signified hisdesire to hear some talk of Art. I think he had his fill to-night--andmore; for that was the subject chosen by my dashing companion, andvivaciously exploited until our awaited hour was at hand. Heaven knowswhat nonsense I prattled, I do not; I do not think I knew at the time. Italked mechanically, trying hard not to betray my increasing excitement. 

Under cover of this traduction of the Muse I served, I kept going overand over the details of Louise Harman's plan, as the girl beside me hadoutlined it, bending above the smudgy sketch-book. "To make them thinkthe flight is for Paris, " she had urged, "to Paris by way of Lisieux. Tomake that man yonder believe that it is toward Lisieux, while they turnat the crossroads, and drive across the country to Trouville for themorning boat to Havre. "

It was simple; that was its great virtue. If they were well started, they were safe; and well started meant only that Larrabee Harman shouldleave the inn without an alarm, for an alarm sounded too soon meant"racing and chasing on Canoby Lea, " before they could get out of theimmediate neighbourhood. But with two hours' start, and the pursuitspending most of its energy in the wrong direction--that is, towardLisieux and Paris--they would be on the deck of the French-Canadianliner to-morrow noon, sailing out of the harbour of Le Havre, withnothing but the Atlantic Ocean between them and the St. Lawrence. 

I thought of the woman who dared this flight for her lover, of the womanwho came full-armed between him and the world, a Valkyr winging down tobear him away to a heaven she would make for him herself. Gentle as shewas, there must have been a Valkyr in her somewhere, or she could notattempt this. She swept in, not only between him and the world, butbetween him and the destroying demons his own sins had raised to besethim. There, I thought, was a whole love; or there she was not only wifebut mother to him. 

And I remembered the dream of her I had before I ever saw her, on thatfirst night after I came down to Normandy, when Amedee's talk of "Madamed'Armand" had brought her into my thoughts. I remembered that I haddreamed of finding her statue, but it was veiled and I could not uncoverit. And to-night it seemed to me that the veil had lifted, and thestatue was a figure of Mercy in the beautiful likeness of Louise Harman. Then Keredec was wrong, optimist as he was, since a will such as herscould save him she loved, even from his own acts. 

"And when you come to Monticelli's first style--" Miss Elliott's voicerose a little, and I caught the sound of a new thrill vibrating in it--"you find a hundred others of his epoch doing it quite as well, not aBIT of a bit less commonplace--"

She broke off suddenly, and looking up, as I had fifty times in the lasttwenty minutes, I saw that a light shone from Keredec's window. 

"I dare say they ARE commonplace, " I remarked, rising. "But now, if youwill permit me, I'll offer you my escort back to Quesnay. "

I went into my room, put on my cap, lit a lantern, and returned with itto the veranda. "If you are ready?" I said. 

"Oh, quite, " she answered, and we crossed the garden as far as thesteps. 

Mr. Percy signified his approval. 

"Gunna see the little lady home, are you?" he said graciously. "I wasTHINKIN' it was about time, m'self!"

The salon door of the "Grand Suite" opened, above me, and at the sound, the youth started, springing back to see what it portended, but I ranquickly up the steps. Keredec stood in the doorway, bare-headed and inhis shirt-sleeves; in one hand he held a travelling-bag, which heimmediately gave me, setting his other for a second upon my shoulder. 

"Thank you, my good, good friend, " he said with an emotion in his bigvoice which made me glad of what I was doing. He went back into theroom, closing the door, and I descended the steps as rapidly as I hadrun up them. Without pausing, I started for the rear of the courtyard, Miss Elliott accompanying me. 

The sentry had watched these proceedings open-mouthed, more mystifiedthan alarmed. "Luk here, " he said, "I want t' know whut this means. "

"Anything you choose to think it means, " I laughed, beginning to walk alittle more rapidly. He glanced up at the windows of the "Grande Suite, "which were again dark, and began to follow us slowly. "What you gut inthat grip?" he asked. 

"You don't think we're carrying off Mr. Harman?"

"I reckon HE'S in his room all right, " said the youth grimly; "unlesshe's FLEW out. But I want t' know what you think y're doin'?"

"Just now, " I replied, "I'm opening this door. "

This was a fact he could not question. We emerged at the foot of a lanebehind the inn; it was long and narrow, bordered by stone walls, and atthe other end debouched upon a road which passed the rear of the Baudrycottage. 

Miss Elliott took my arm, and we entered the lane. 

Mr. Percy paused undecidedly. "I want t' know whut you think y'redoin'?" he repeated angrily, calling after us. 

"It's very simple, " I called in turn. "Can't I do an errand for afriend? Can't I even carry his travelling-bag for him, without goinginto explanations to everybody I happen to meet? And, " I added, permitting some anxiety to be marked in my voice, "I think you may aswell go back. We're not going far enough to need a guard. "

Mr. Percy allowed an oath to escape him, and we heard him muttering tohimself. Then his foot-steps sounded behind us. 

"He's coming!" Miss Elliott whispered, with nervous exultation, lookingover her shoulder. "He's going to follow. "

"He was sure to, " said I. 

We trudged briskly on, followed at some fifty paces by the perturbedwatchman. Presently I heard my companion utter a sigh so profound thatit was a whispered moan. 

"What is it?" I murmured. 

"Oh, it's the thought of Quesnay and to-morrow; facing them with THIS!"she quavered. "Louise has written a letter for me to give them, but I'llhave to tell them--"

"Not alone, " I whispered. "I'll be there when you come down from yourroom in the morning. "

We were embarked upon a singular adventure, not unattended by a certaindanger; we were tingling with a hundred apprehensions, occupied with thevital necessity of drawing the little spy after us--and that was astrange moment for a man (and an elderly painter-man of no mark, atthat!) to hear himself called what I was called then, in a tremulouswhisper close to my ear. Of course she has denied it since;nevertheless, she said it--twice, for I pretended not to hear her thefirst time. I made no answer, for something in the word she called me, and in her seeming to mean it, made me choke up so that I could not evenwhisper; but I made up my mind that, after THAT if this girl saw Mr. Earl Percy on his way back to the inn before she wished him to go, itwould be because he had killed me. 

We were near the end of the lane when the neigh of a horse soundedsonorously from the road beyond. 

Mr. Percy came running up swiftly and darted by us. 

"Who's that?" he called loudly. "Who's that in the cart yonder?"

I set my lantern on the ground close to the wall, and at the same momenta horse and cart drew up on the road at the end of the lane, showingagainst the starlight. It was Pere Baudry's best horse, a stout gray, that would easily enough make Trouville by daylight. A woman's figureand a man's (the latter that of Pere Baudry himself) could be made outdimly on the seat of the cart. 

"Who is it, I say?" shouted our excited friend. "What kind of a gamed'ye think y're puttin' up on me here?"

He set his hand on the side of the cart and sprang upon the hub of thewheel. A glance at the occupants satisfied him. 

"Mrs. Harman!" he yelled. "Mrs. Harman!" He leaped down into the road. "I knowed I was a fool to come away without wakin' up Rameau. But youhaven't beat us yet!"

He drove back into the lane, but just inside its entrance I met him. 

"Where are you going?" I asked. 

"Back to the pigeon-house in a hurry. There's devilment here, and I wantRameau. Git out o' my way!"

"You're not going back, " said I. 

"The hell I ain't!" said Mr. Percy. "I give ye two seconds t' git out o'my--TAKE YER HANDS OFFA ME!"

I made sure of my grip, not upon the refulgent overcoat, for I feared hemight slip out of that, but upon the collars of his coat and waistcoat, which I clenched together in my right hand. I knew that he was quick, and I suspected that he was "scientific, " but I did it before he hadfinished talking, and so made fast, with my mind and heart and soul setupon sticking to him. 

My suspicions as to his "science" were perfervidly justified. "You long-legged devil!" he yelled, and I instantly received a series ofconcussions upon the face and head which put me in supreme doubt of mysurroundings, for I seemed to have plunged, eyes foremost, into theMilky Way. But I had my left arm around his neck, which probably savedme from a coup de grace, as he was forced to pommel me at half-length. Pommel it was; to use so gentle a word for what to me was crash, bang, smash, battle, murder, earthquake and tornado. I was conscious of someone screaming, and it seemed a consoling part of my delirium that thecheek of Miss Anne Elliott should be jammed tight against mine throughone phase of the explosion. My arms were wrenched, my fingers twistedand tortured, and, when it was all too clear to me that I could notpossibly bear one added iota of physical pain, the ingenious fiend beganto kick my shins and knees with feet like crowbars. 

Conflict of any sort was never my vocation. I had not been an accessory-during-the-fact to a fight since I passed the truculent age of fourteen;and it is a marvel that I was able to hang to that dynamic bundle oftrained muscles--which defines Mr. Earl Percy well enough--for more thanten seconds. Yet I did hang to him, as Pere Baudry testifies, for aminute and a half, which seems no inconsiderable lapse of time to aperson undergoing such experiences as were then afflicting me. 

It appeared to me that we were revolving in enormous circles in theether, and I had long since given my last gasp, when there came a greatroaring wind in my ears and a range of mountains toppled upon us both;we went to earth beneath it. 

"Ha! you must create violence, then?" roared the avalanche. 

And the voice was the voice of Keredec. 

Some one pulled me from underneath my struggling antagonist, and, thepower of sight in a hazy, zigzagging fashion coming back to me, Iperceived the figure of Miss Anne Elliott recumbent beside me, her armsabout Mr. Percy's prostrate body. The extraordinary girl had fastenedupon him, too, though I had not known it, and she had gone to groundwith us; but it is to be said for Mr. Earl Percy that no blow of histouched her, and she was not hurt. Even in the final extremities oftemper, he had carefully discriminated in my favour. 

Mrs. Harman was bending over her, and, as the girl sprang up lightly, threw her arms about her. For my part, I rose more slowly, section bysection, wondering why I did not fall apart; lips, nose, and cheeksbleeding, and I had a fear that I should need to be led like a blindman, through my eyelids swelling shut. That was something I earnestlydesired should not happen; but whether it did, or did not--or if theheavens fell!--I meant to walk back to Quesnay with Anne Elliott thatnight, and, mangled, broken, or half-dead, presenting whateverappearance of the prize-ring or the abattoir that I might, I intended totake the same train for Paris on the morrow that she did. 

For our days together were not at an end; nor was it hers nor my desirethat they should be. 

CHAPTER XXII

It was Oliver Saffren--as I like to think of him--who helped me to myfeet and wiped my face with his handkerchief, and when that one wasruined, brought others from his bag and stanched the wounds gladlyreceived, in the service of his wife. 

"I will remember--" he said, and his voice broke. "These are thememories which Keredec says make a man good. I pray they will help toredeem me. " And for the last time I heard the child in him speaking: "Iought to be redeemed; I must be, don't you think, for her sake?"

"Lose no time!" shouted Keredec. "You must be gone if you will reachthat certain town for the five-o'clock train of the morning. " This wasfor the spy's benefit; it indicated Lisieux and the train to Paris. Mr. Percy struggled; the professor knelt over him, pinioning his wrists inone great hand, and holding him easily to earth. 

"Ha! my friend--" he addressed his captive--"you shall not have cause tosay we do you any harm; there shall be no law, for you are not hurt, andyou are not going to be. But here you shall stay quiet for a littlewhile--till I say you can go. " As he spoke he bound the other's wristswith a short rope which he took from his pocket, performing the sameoffice immediately afterward for Mr. Percy's ankles. 

"I take the count!" was the sole remark of that philosopher. "I can't goup against no herd of elephants. "

"And now, " said the professor, rising, "good-bye! The sun shall risegloriously for you tomorrow. Come, it is time. "

The two women were crying in each other's arms. "Good-bye!" sobbed AnneElliott. 

Mrs. Harman turned to Keredec. "Good-bye! for a little while. "

He kissed her hand. "Dear lady, I shall come within the year. "

She came to me, and I took her hand, meaning to kiss it as Keredec haddone, but suddenly she was closer and I felt her lips upon my batteredcheek. I remember it now. 

I wrung her husband's hand, and then he took her in his arms, lifted herto the foot-board of the cart, and sprang up beside her. 

"God bless you, and good-bye!" we called. 

And their voices came back to us. "God bless YOU and good-bye!" Theywere carried into the enveloping night. We stared after them down theroad; watching the lantern on the tail-board of the cart diminish;watching it dim and dwindle to a point of gray;--listening until thehoof-beats of the heavy Norman grew fainter than the rustle of thebranch that rose above the wall beside us. But it is bad luck to straineyes and ears to the very last when friends are parting, because that sosharpens the loneliness; and before the cart went quite beyond our ken, two of us set out upon the longest way to Quesnay. 

THE END