Spadoni, after greeting Novoa in the Casino square, told him about the
dreams which were troubling his sleep, and about his disillusionment on
awakening.
"It is your fault, professor. When we were living together at Villa
Sirena, I used to listen to the interesting things you knew and talked
about and then I would go peacefully to sleep. Now I am practically
alone. The Prince and Castro are unbearably ill-humored; they talk
scarcely at all and pay no attention whatever to me. As you yourself
would say, I lead an 'inner life,' always alone with my thoughts; and
when I spend the night there, I sleep badly, and suffer from dreams,
which are very wonderful in the beginning, but turn out very sad in the
end. Oh, what wonderful evenings we used to spend, talking about
scientific things!"
Novoa smiled. In the eyes of the musician, gambling and its mysteries
were scientific matters. All the paradoxes that he had taken delight in
uttering had been stored up in the mind of the pianist as irrefutable
truths. Novoa tried to head him off by asking for news of the Prince.
But Spadoni, absorbed in his mania, continued:
"Last night's dream was terrible, and nevertheless it could not have
begun better. I had the secret of your infinitesimal errors; I had
mastered the hidden laws of chance and was King of the world. I had a
special train, composed of a sleeping car, a drawing-room car, a dining
car, a swimming-pool car, and goodness knows how many special kinds of
cars! It was a regular palace on wheels that was always awaiting me at
the railway station, with the engine constantly keeping up steam, ready
to start at any moment. I got out of the train in all the cities famous
for gambling, just as a person gets out of an automobile. And seeing me
coming, the owners of the Casinos, the employees, and even the green
tables fairly trembled. 'Hurrah for the Avenger!' all those who had lost
their money shouted in the anteroom. But I passed on, serene as a god,
without paying any attention to these ovations from the common herd.
Imagine what it would cost the possessor of the secret of the
infinitesimal errors to win! My twelve secretaries placed on the various
tables a million or two, following my instructions. 'Ready, play!' I
walked about like Napoleon, giving orders to my marshals. In half an
hour, they declared the bank was broken and the Casino bankrupt. 'The
house is closing its doors!' shouted the employees, just as in a church
when the services are over. And on coming out, the same starving
wretches who had greeted me with acclamations rushed on the guards
escorting me, with sudden hate, trying to kill me. The place where their
fortunes were buried was closed to them forever. Now they could not
return the next day and lose more money with the vague hope of squaring
accounts. I had taken away all their hopes."
"Exactly," said Novoa.
"Also I had a yacht, which was larger than Prince Lubimoff's; something
in the nature of a first-class cruiser. And I needed one that size, for
a band of followers as large as mine. I had with me hordes of
secretaries, a crowd of strong-arm men whose duty it was to defend me
and my treasure, and a great number of blase people, who considered me a
very interesting person, and followed me all over the globe, like that
misanthropic fellow who followed a lion tamer from city to city, hoping
that the wild beasts might some day devour him. There was no longer a
single Casino functioning in Europe: the one at San Sebastian had been
turned into a convent; the one at Ostend was being used as a laboratory
for experiments on oyster culture. In all the bathing resorts and all
medicinal springs, people became interested exclusively in taking care
of their health; and when they wanted distraction, they went to the
promenades and played marbles and other children's games. In the
meantime I went traveling through the Americas and the South Seas,
breaking one bank after another, in all the big gambling houses. I was
followed by journalists who made up another army larger than my own. The
newspapers and the cable and telegraph agencies announced my arrival in
advance, making a great stir. 'The invincible Spadoni is coming!' And
the gaming establishments, feeling their end was near, tried to exploit
their death agony by selling seats at fabulous prices to every one who
wanted to witness my triumph. In the United States a steel king, or a
king of something or other, gave a hundred thousand dollars for a seat,
in order to follow my irresistible playing close at hand. Never before
had such a sum been paid to see the long hair of a concert singer or the
diamonds of a soprano."
"And how about Monte Carlo?" asked Novoa, interested by the gambler's
wild dreams.
"We are coming to that. I kept Monte Carlo to the end of my trip,
thinking of the money that I had lost here. The fatter I let the victim
grow, the greater would be my vengeance. And such business as Monte
Carlo was doing! Since there was no gambling left anywhere else in the
world, all the gamblers gathered here from every part of the globe. The
city had grown, until it reached the summits of the Alps; the forty
millions that the Casino used to win in favorable years, had now become
four thousand million. The stockholders were marrying persons of royal
blood: two Balkan kings were declaring war, quarreling over the hand of
the daughter of a fourth Vice-President of the company that was managing
the Casino. The equilibrium of Europe was imperiled: the great powers
were dreaming of annexing Monaco in the name of ancient historical and
ethnological rights, since they had all had and still had many people of
their race living on that tiny piece of land. But suddenly the
Invincible appeared."
Spadoni, as though still dreaming, looked at the Casino, the Square, the
entrance to the terrace, and the curving slope of the avenue which
descended to the harbor. He could see it all, perhaps no differently
than he had seen it in his imagination.
"What a crowd there was! For six months previously the whole world had
talked of nothing else. 'Are you going to see the fun?' 'Aren't you
going?' Cook's Agency had announced in every country of the globe an
inexpensive trip 'personally conducted' to witness this world event. The
Paris-Lyon-Mediterranean was giving round trip tickets at reduced
prices, and all Paris was on hand. The owners of hotels and restaurants,
out of gratitude, were placing my portrait in the most conspicuous part
of the dining rooms, which were always filled. The newspapers published
my biography, and in mentioning my wealth were obliged to break their
columns, placing a line of zeros clear across the page, and even then
there was not sufficient space. I forgot to tell you that I found myself
obliged to establish a bank, just to take care of my treasures. And
whenever the Bank of London or the Bank of France were pressed for
money, they sent me a polite note, asking me to get them out of their
difficulty."
Novoa laughed at the naive way in which the pianist related his
greatness. He still seemed obsessed by his dream.
"My yacht was obliged to anchor outside the harbor among other ships.
There were many trans-Atlantic liners there: four from the United
States, one from Japan, another from South America, and a few from
Australia and New Zealand, all filled with travelers who had come from
the other hemisphere to see Spadoni. After greeting Monaco with a
twenty-one-gun salute, I sprang ashore amid the hurrahs of the foreign
sailors. You easily understand that a man like myself could not arrive
at the Casino seated in a mere automobile. Who hasn't an automobile
now-a-days! On the dock there was waiting for me a single seated
carriage which I was to drive myself, but a carriage with gilded wheels,
drawn by six women, six beautiful women, all of them celebrated, whose
pictures figured not only in the principal illustrated papers, but also
on perfumery bottles and cigar boxes."
The Professor was extremely amused. He noticed the satisfaction with
which the pianist dwelt on this detail of his triumphal entry. The
degradation of these six elegant and famous women seemed to flatter his
woman-hating propensities. He spoke with a coolly revengeful look, as
though witnessing the abject humiliation of his greatest and deadliest
enemy.
"It was merely a matter of paying the price: and I was not going to
bargain over a million more or less. The one thing that annoyed me was
having to choose among several thousand beauties who were clamoring to
be selected. I was obliged to risk offending many big theater managers,
business men, and statesmen, by rejecting the many ladies whom they
recommended to me. A monarch even withdrew the title of Duke which he
had just given me, because I had refused his favorite 'friend.' All six
wore the latest frocks designed in the _Rue de la Paix_. The reporters,
cameras in hand, were taking snap shots of the gowns which were to set
the latest style. Besides, their harness was covered with pearls,
diamonds, and every sort of precious stone, and they were careful not to
injure them, knowing that at the end of their trot they would be able to
keep the gems as souvenirs. I had a large whip to use on occasion: a
whip of flowers, to be sure. One must always be chivalrous with ladies."
He smiled ironically. Once more Novoa noted his look of rancorous
misogyny.
"But inside, the whip was made of sharp steel; and lashing my six
handsome steeds, we started out. What a long time it took to climb the
slope making our way through the crowd! The foreigners greeted me with
acclamations. The sounds of the clicking cameras blended into an endless
buzzing. Every one wanted to carry away the image of the king of the
world. I could pick out the natives of the city by their sad faces. The
men were imploring me with their glances, like miserable captives; the
women held up their children; the old men fell on their knees. I was the
conqueror who, in ruining the Casino, was utterly destroying their home
land, condemning them to poverty and hardship. The square was black with
people. On getting out of my vehicle, I saw that the steps of the Casino
were filled with a great delegation. First of all, was Monsieur Blanc;
next, his general staff of advisors, the principal stockholders, the
inspectors, and the entire body of _croupiers_, all dressed in black,
with long alpaca coats of a funereal cut. In the background were well
known people, whose presence there might move me. In order to recall to
my mind the fact that I had been a mere pianist, they had waiting for me
there, baton in hand, directors of concerts and operas, orchestra
soloists with their instruments; singers--the men with swords at their
belts, the women with long trains, and all of them painted and bewigged;
girls from the ballet, with pale pink legs and masses of tulle standing
out horizontally from their waists. Instructed in advance, they were all
ready to groan.
"'One word with you, Signor Spadoni.'
"It was Monsieur Blanc who took me aside, and handed me a small paper.
"'Take this and don't go in.'
"I looked at the paper: a check for a million. Humph! What can a man do
with a million? And on noticing that I was crumpling it, and throwing it
on the ground, the master of the Casino gave me another paper.
"'Make it five then, and go away.'
"Since this did not move me either, he kept on taking checks from all
his pockets: ten million, fifteen, forty....
"My twelve counselors came forward with huge purses filled with bank
notes; my escort cleared the way among the imploring crowd on the
stairway; my horses were getting impatient, because certain connoisseurs
had availed themselves of the crowding to take liberties with them.
"'One more word, Signor Spadoni: the last. We will cause a revolution,
we will dethrone Albert, and give the crown of Monaco to you. If you
like, you might marry the daughter of an Emperor: with money you can do
anything. We have it and so have you....'
"'I have told you no! What I want is to get into that Casino, bust the
whole business, and take away the keys.'
"This threat tore from him the supreme concession.
"'You shall be my partner; I will give you fifty per cent of the
winnings. Don't you want to? Well then, seventy-five.'
"On seeing that I continued to advance up the stairway without
listening to him, he raised a whistle to his lips. On his face was a
look of a Samson, clutching the columns of the Temple. He would rather
die than see his house bankrupt! A terrible explosion resounded, as
though the world were being rent apart. They had mined with all the
high-power explosives of the war, the Casino, the square, and the whole
city. I was blown off my feet and driven, dazed, up into the clouds, but
I was still able to see how Monte Carlo was disappearing, and even the
dock of Monaco, as the sea in one enormous wave, was sweeping over the
site of the vanished land. And when I came down to earth again...."
"You woke up," said Novoa.
"Yes, I woke up, and on the floor beside my bed; and I could hear
Castro's voice in the corridor calling me names for having spoiled his
sleep by my cries. Don't laugh, Professor. It is very sad to dream of
such grandeur, as though you had had it in hand, and then to find
yourself as poor as yesterday, as poor as ever, and besides with bad
luck still clinging to you."
This mention of poverty and bad luck by Spadoni caused Novoa to protest.
People still recalled his amazing fortune as the banker in the Sporting
Club. That had been an epoch-making night. Besides, he knew through
Valeria that the Duchess had made him a handsome present.
"Wonderful Duchess!" the pianist said enthusiastically, "Always a great
lady. Poor woman, in the midst of her despair she remembered me. 'Take
this, Spadoni, and I hope you have lots of luck.' She gave me twenty
thousand francs. If I were to ask her for a hundred thousand she would
give them to me just the same. And to think she is so unfortunate!"
As the Professor still looked at him questioningly, he continued:
"Well, then; of the twenty thousand francs I haven't even a hundred
left."
The same evening he had hurried to the Sporting Club to repeat his great
deeds. He had never happened to have so much capital before, not even
when he returned from his concert tour in South America. The terrible
Greek was there, and in spite of the admiration Spadoni paid His
Eminence, the Helene treated the musician with implacable hostility.
"Bank!" said the Greek on seeing the pianist in the banker's chair, with
fifteen thousand! With what remained the musician had struggled along
for a few days as a mere bettor, and now the Duchess' generous gift was
merely a memory.
"If she would only return to work! I am sure that I would be once more
the man I was that night, with her behind me. But who would dare talk to
her about gambling."
They both lamented Alicia's misfortune. Since the day the telegram
arrived telling of the death of her protege, she had been a different
woman. Spadoni attributed her overwhelming grief over a young soldier
who did not belong to her family to her excessively kind heart. The
Professor assented, with an enigmatic air. In her sudden burst of grief,
Alicia had doubtless let a portion of her secret escape in the presence
of Valeria, and the latter probably had told Novoa about it.
Then they talked about the isolation in which the Duchess was living.
"It has been a month since any one has seen her," said Spadoni. "People
are beginning to forget about her; a good many people think she has gone
away. That's the way Monte Carlo is: quite tiny for those who go to the
Casino, and rub elbows all day long; enormous, like a great metropolis,
for those who do not come near the gambling rooms. The Prince frequently
asks me about her with a great deal of interest. It seems he has not
been able to see her since the afternoon of the telegram."
Novoa repeated his enigmatic look on hearing Lubimoff's name. He knew
through Valeria that Michael had gone repeatedly to Villa Rosa, without
being admitted. And more than that; the Duchess had shuddered in terror
at the thought of his visit. "I don't want to see him, Valeria; tell him
I am not in." Colonel Toledo had suffered the same fate; obliged to hand
his card, sometimes to the Duchess' friend and at other times to the
gardener. Several letters from the Prince had remained unanswered.
Alicia showed a firm determination not to see her relative, as though
his presence might quicken the grief that was keeping her away from
society.
Spadoni, unaware of all this, continued to praise the Duchess.
"A noble heart! She always has to have some unfortunate person around to
look after. Since the death of her aviator, she seems to be feeling a
deep affection for that Lieutenant of the Foreign Legion, the Spaniard
who is so ill, and who may die almost any moment, like the other man. He
spends whole days at Villa Rosa; he lunches and dines there; and if the
Duchess takes a walk in the mountains, it is always with him. He does
everything but sleep at the Villa! When he doesn't show up for some
time, she immediately sends a messenger to the Officers' Hotel."
The Professor remained silent, but knew that Spadoni was telling the
truth. It agreed with what Valeria had been telling. Martinez was
constantly at Villa Rosa, often against his will. The Duchess needed his
presence, but nevertheless on seeing him, she would burst into sobs and
tears. But the poor boy, with a submission born of awe, accompanied her
in her voluntary seclusion, deeply thankful that such a great lady
should take an interest in him.
"Dona Clorinda must be furious," continued the pianist, with malignant
joy such as rivalry among women always aroused in him. "She no longer
has any influence over Martinez, in spite of the fact that she was the
one who discovered him. The other woman has cut her out. Weeks go by and
the 'General' doesn't get a chance to see her Lieutenant; I believe she
has given him up, as a matter of fact. She criticizes her former friend
for this monopolizing, which she considers 'dangerous.' They even tell
me that she accuses the Duchess of flirting with the poor boy, of
arousing false hopes in him, and of still worse things. Quite absurd!
Women are terrible when they hate. Imagine! A poor officer--practically
a dead man...."
Novoa said nothing, so that the pianist would stop talking. He was
afraid Spadoni might say some awful thing, repeating Dona Clorinda's
gossip, with the rancorous joy of a woman-hater. Novoa, through his
relations with Valeria, considered himself a partisan of the Duchess,
and could not tolerate anything being said against her.
They separated after a few minutes more of inconsequential talk.
That evening Spadoni spoke to the Prince about his conversation with the
Professor, and it gave him a pretext for repeating what Dona Clorinda
thought of her former friend. But immediately the pianist repented of
having done this, seeing the look of wrath which Lubimoff gave him.
"What a cad," thought Michael, "peddling around a lot of female gossip,
just because he has a grouch against women in general."
He understood how Alicia might feel interested in the soldier. His youth
and his uniform reminded her of her son. Besides, Martinez was alone in
the world, a foreigner, a piece of wreckage from the war, a man whom
every one considered irrevocably condemned to death.
Yet Michael could not avoid an immediate feeling of jealousy toward the
poor young fellow who was friendless and ill. Martinez was living
constantly by Alicia's side, while he himself was unable to gain
admittance to the Villa, even as a mere visitor. Why?
He had spent several weeks making conjectures, and watching for a chance
to meet Alicia. Since the afternoon when he had held her in his arms,
drying her tears and restraining her from hurting herself, as she
writhed in grief, and kissing her on the brow, with brotherly
compassion, the gate of Villa Rosa had closed behind him forever. "Come
to-morrow," groaned Alicia on saying good-by to him. And the following
day Valeria had halted him with the embarrassed look of a person telling
a lie. "The Duchess cannot receive you. The Duchess wants to be alone."
And this inexplicable refusal had been repeated each successive day,
with increasing sharpness. At present the gardener, who was the only one
who came to answer the bell, talked with him through the gate.
This rejection caused him to commit a great number of childish and
humiliating actions. He circled about the neighborhood of the Villa like
a jealous husband, facing the curiosity of the passersby, and taking
advantage of the most absurd pretexts to disguise the real object of his
vigil, hurriedly concealing himself whenever the gate opened, and any
one left the house. This vigilance had only served to arouse his anger.
Twice Michael had been obliged to hide himself while Lieutenant
Martinez, erect in the old uniform which the Prince had given him and
which was rather a bad fit, steadied his weak sick body in a desire to
appear proud and healthy, and entered Villa Rosa through the wide-open
gate, as though he were the owner.
One afternoon he had seen them from a distance, the Lieutenant and
Alicia, in a hired carriage, which was going in the other direction, on
the opposite side of the street, toward the Heights of La Turbie. She
was looking after the wounded man, taking him, in maternal solicitude,
to a spot where he could breathe the upland air. And the Prince might
just as well have not existed!
In vain he wrote her letters, and his torment was even greater owing to
the fact that he could not talk openly with his friends. The Colonel,
obedient to his veiled suggestions, had unavailingly paid several calls
on the Duchess.
"What unexplainable grief!" said Don Marcos. "It is impossible to
understand such despair over a young aviator who was merely a protege of
hers. Unless, perhaps, he were her...." But his sense of delicacy would
not allow him to insist on such an ignoble suspicion.
Nor could the Prince talk with Atilio. In the latter's eyes, the
prisoner who had died in Germany was the same young man he had known in
Paris before the war: the Duchess' lover, who followed her everywhere
and danced with her at the Tango teas. Besides, Michael felt afraid of
what Castro might add, reflecting the "General's" way of thinking.
The latter, at first, on learning of Alicia's despair, had felt like
forgetting the quarrels of the past, and had gone of her own accord to
Villa Rosa to console the Duchess. Since the "General" was very
patriotic, the boy who had died in Germany seemed to her a hero. But the
sudden monopolizing of the Spanish Lieutenant, and the passionate
sympathy which obliged Martinez to spend all day with the Duchess,
renewed Dona Clorinda's cool hostility.
The Prince guessed what she and her friend were thinking, and what
Castro might tell if he dared talk to him about Alicia. "She has just
lost a lover, and while she is weeping with theatrical vehemence, she is
getting ready for another, as young as the first. A crime indeed, since
poor Martinez is condemned to death, and only prolongs his days, thanks
to absolute quiet. The slightest emotion means death to him."
Lubimoff could not tell the truth. His secret was Alicia's. Only they
two knew the true identity of the prisoner who had died in Germany, and
as long as she kept silent, he must do the same.
One night, the Colonel gave him some interesting news. At nightfall,
when he was returning from the Casino, he had seen the Duchess de
Delille from the street car. Dressed in mourning she was getting out of
a hired carriage, in the Boulevard des Moulins, opposite the church of
St. Charles. Later she had ascended the steps leading to the place of
worship: she was doubtless going to pray for her protege. And Don Marcos
said this with a certain emotion, as though the visit to the church
cancelled all the gossip he had been hearing in the previous few days.
Michael had a presentiment that this would be the means of rescuing him
from his incertitude. He would meet Alicia at the church. And the
following day, toward evening, he began to walk up and down the
Boulevard des Moulins, without losing sight of the one church in Monte
Carlo, the place of worship of gamblers and wealthy people, which seemed
to maintain a certain rivalry with the Cathedral of silent, ancient
Monaco.
This continual going and coming finally caught the attention of the
shopkeepers on the street and of their clerks, girls with hair dressed
high on their heads in a complicated fashion, who seemed to be dreaming
behind the counters, waiting for some millionaire to lift them from
their position of unjust obscurity. "Prince Lubimoff!" They all knew
him, and his fame was such that immediately a hundred eyes curiously
sought the object of his promenading. Doubtless it was a woman. On the
deserted balconies women's heads began to appear, following his
maneuvers more or less overtly. Window shades went up, revealing behind
the panes questioning eyes and smiling lips. "Might it be for me?" This
unexpressed question seemed to spread from one window to the next.
Annoyed by such curiosity, he ascended the double row of steps from the
tiny deserted square in front of the church, using the same strategy
there as when he had lurked in the neighborhood of Villa Rosa. He peeped
into the interior of the sanctuary, dotted with red by a number of
lighted tapers. There were only two women, within, both of them dressed
in mourning and kneeling. They were women of lowly fortune, wives or
mothers of men killed in the war. On returning to the little square, he
passed the time reading and re-reading the headlines of all the papers
displayed on the newsstand. Then he started off down a street, turned
into another, walked across the square with an air of unconcern, and hid
behind a corner, taking care not to lose sight of the entrance to the
church. It was not bad waiting there: there were no passersby. The
traffic on the nearby boulevard was invisible, as though going on in the
depths of a ditch. Through the low branches of some trees, he could just
see the roofs of carriages and street cars.
Night fell and she did not come.
The following day Michael returned, but discreetly, so as not to arouse
the curiosity of the shopkeepers. He remained for long hours in the
little square in that old part of the city, with none to watch him save
a melancholy old woman who sold newspapers at a stand that had no
customers. Nor did Alicia come this time.
The third day, when he was beginning to doubt whether there was any use
of waiting, Alicia's head and shoulders suddenly appeared above the line
of the top step. Then her whole body emerged, by waves, so to speak, as
her feet advanced from step to step. Night was falling. On the facades
of the buildings on the boulevard, above the green mass of the trees,
the fugitive sun drew a golden brush stroke along the rows of roofs.
It was his heart that recognized her even before his eyes, just as on
the day when he had seen her at a distance in the carriage accompanied
by the officer. He had a feeling of shock at her black bonnet, with a
long mourning veil falling on her shoulders. The emotion he felt on
seeing her and the spying habit he had recently acquired, caused him to
draw back, and she entered the church without seeing him. Ah, now he had
her! This time she could not escape, he would have a great many things
to tell her, very, very many! But at the same time he became rancorously
conscious of the just indictment against her which he had prepared in
advance; and, in spite of himself, he felt afraid, desperately afraid of
the possibility that she might meet him with a curt reply, or perhaps
not speak to him at all.
He allowed a long time to elapse. Then he was torn by the desire of
seeing her again, even from a distance, and he entered the church, but
cautiously, trying to avoid a premature encounter.
He advanced between a double row of deserted benches. There in the
background were the same women who had been there the other day, still
kneeling, as though their grief were unconscious of the lapse of time.
In the darkness the pale gold of the altar pieces became gradually
distinguishable, and two masses of color, two clusters of flags--those
of the Allied countries, which adorned the high altar. On seeing the two
praying figures alone in the church, and in motionless silence, he
thought that Alicia must have fled through an exit of which he was
unaware. But she appeared from a door on the side, followed by an
acolyte who was carrying two tapers. Alicia seemed to be watching how
the tapers were lighted and placed in their sockets in front of the
Virgin. Then she knelt, remaining in a rigid posture on her knees.
Some time went by. And Michael watched her, as she became, like the two
poor women, a mere shape in black, motionless in prayer and
supplication. The only distinguishing features of her person that he
could make out, were the soles of her elegant shoes, two tiny
light-colored tongues, which stood out against the black silk of her
skirt. He could also see her white neck writhing from time to time, as
though trying to throw off the twining veil of sorrow.
He felt that the rancor which had caused him to desire this meeting was
vanishing. Poor woman! He knew, and no one else knew, the identity of
the young man whose death she had come to mourn in this temple. A
picture of the Princess Lubimoff suddenly arose in his memory, vague and
covered with the dust of oblivion. The Princess had been insane; but she
was his mother, and he had loved her so dearly!
Immediately afterward his egotism revolted against this feeling. It was
natural for Alicia to weep for her son, but it was not natural that she
should have broken with him without any explanation whatsoever.
Mechanically he advanced toward the high altar, desiring to see her
closer at hand. A slight movement as she prayed caused him to retrace
his steps. It was better that she should not recognize him. He
considered it preferable to wait for her outside the church, with the
advantage of taking her by surprise, without allowing her time to invent
excuses to justify her conduct.
It was beginning to grow late, when Alicia came out, running straight
into Michael Fedor who was blocking her path.
Not the slightest quiver revealed any feeling of surprise.
"You!" she said simply.
She was very pale, and her eyes were red and moist, as though she had
just been weeping.
Perhaps she had seen him within the church, and was expecting this
meeting on coming out. The natural manner in which she greeted his
presence was for him a just disappointment.
He felt he must speak at once, relieving himself of the burden of
complaint and accusation, which had been gathering within him during the
preceding days. There were so many, that they clouded his thoughts. But
Alicia, as though afraid of what he was going to say, came forward and
began to talk in sad, monotonous tones.
She had been coming to this church several afternoons as she suddenly
felt the need of leaving Villa Rosa with its terrible memories. Oh, the
arrival of that telegram!
"Now I am a believer," she announced simply.
Immediately afterward she corrected the statement, rather through
humility than pride. She wanted to be a believer, but in reality she was
not. She remembered the mother, poor, simple-minded Dona Mercedes! What
would she not give to have the confidence in the Great Beyond which that
good lady had had! That faith, which in former days had provoked her
laughter, seemed to her now like something superior. What a pity she
could not feel the resignation of humble souls! The irreligiousness of
her happy days still remained with her. Those who enjoy the pleasant
things of life do not remember death, nor do they think of what may be
beyond. No one feels religious sentiments in his soul at a dance, at a
banquet, or at a rendezvous with a lover! She had to believe, because
she was unhappy! She clung to religion as an invalid condemned to death
by the doctors in whom he believes, implores in despair the services of
a quack, in whom he has no faith.
"Grief makes mystics of us," she continued. "What I regret is not being
able to be one in the way that others are. I pray, but resignation does
not come to my aid."
She revolted against the thought of annihilation at death. That flesh of
her flesh was rotting in an unknown cemetery in Germany! And was that
the end? Could it be there was nothing more? Would she die in turn and
never meet again in a superior existence the son in whom she had
concentrated all her love of life? Would they both be blotted out of
reality, like two infinitesimal points, like two atoms, whose life means
nothing?
"I must believe," she said with all the energy of her maternal egotism.
"My one consolation lies in the hope that we shall meet again in a
better world: a world that knows no wars, nor death. But suddenly my
confidence fails, and all I see is annihilation--annihilation! I am
greatly to be pitied, Michael."
These words did not move the Prince, in spite of the despair which
Alicia put into them. His amorous yearning let him think only of the
present.
"And I," he said in a reproachful tone. "You deserted me in the greatest
moment of our lives! You are unhappy; all the more reason that you
should not drive me from you. I can put cheer into your life. I can
guess what you are thinking. No, no, I do not insist on talking to you
of love. Perhaps later on, but now!... Now, I want to be your comrade,
your brother, whatever you want me to be, but at your side. Why do you
avoid me? Why do you shut your door to me as you would to a stranger?"
And incoherently he continued his laments, his protests, his rancor, at
her unexplainable estrangement.
"Am I to blame for your misfortune?" he finally asked. "Am I a different
man to-day than I was the last time we saw each other?"
She shook her head sadly. She could not convince Michael no matter how
much she might talk; it was beyond her strength to explain her new
feelings. She seemed dismayed at the obstacle which had arisen between
them.
"Leave me, forget me; it is the best that you can do. No; you haven't
changed, my poor boy. What harm could you have done me, you who are so
kind, so generous? You have helped me to learn the horrible truth; it
was through you that I discovered it; and although it is killing me, I
feel that it is preferable to uncertainty. You are not to blame, you
have done all that I asked you to do. But listen to me, I beg of you: do
not seek me, avoid meeting me, leave me! It is the last favor I ask of
you. It is only away from you that I can find a certain peace of mind."
Michael's voice lost its tones of supplication and began to quiver with
a vibration of anger. How could he be an obstacle to her tranquillity?
Hadn't he just said that he wanted to be a comrade in her misfortune,
without desires, oblivious of love, with a sweet dispassionate
affection, like that of friendship? Now that she was unhappy he felt
more vehemently a desire to be by her side. What absurd caprice made her
avoid him?
Alicia looked at him with tearful eyes, which reflected the hesitations
of her thoughts. Finally she seemed to have made up her mind.
"You haven't changed," she said, in a subdued voice, "but I am
different. Misfortune has made another woman of me. I do not recognize
myself. I am dominated by a fixed idea. An absurd one it may well be; if
I tell it to you, I know that you will protest with holy indignation.
No; you are not to blame; but it is better for me not to see you. Your
presence increases my remorse. Seeing you, I feel extraordinary shame, a
desire to die, to kill myself. I have a feeling of suspicion that it was
I who killed my son. I remember all that took place between us; and I
recognize God's punishment."
Lubimoff's anger vanished at these inexplicable words. Automatically he
took her hands with caressing gentleness, as though they were those of a
poor sick patient at the height of delirious ravings. She should be
calm! What was she saying? What remorse was she talking about? Her
gloved hands, in passive resignation offered no resistance to his touch;
but suddenly they woke to life, violently freeing themselves from those
of Michael, as though they had just received a hard shock. "No! No!" And
the Prince had a sort of feeling that there was a current of repulsion
between them, something that he had never experienced until then: the
fear of his person.
He remained so disconcerted and humiliated by this movement of
withdrawal, that he did not know what to say. She took advantage of his
silence to go on talking, but as though she did not see the man who was
standing before her eyes.
"When I remember all that ... what a shame! My son, my poor boy, living
like a slave, suffering from hunger, being whipped, he, who was so noble
and so handsome ... and his mother here acting like a young girl, going
into ecstasies over ideal love, taking poetic promenades through the
gardens, exchanging kisses. An old woman's romantic fancies. The
gambling follies might even be pardoned. I thought of him as I played;
the money was for him; but love!... it seems impossible that I could
have done all that while my son was a prisoner and I was getting no news
from him. What diabolical spell was upon me? And God has punished me;
and if not God, whoever or whatever it may be; fate, a mysterious power
which makes us expiate our shortcomings, call it anything you like."
Michael attempted to protest, but she went on talking:
"I know what you are going to tell me; but it won't do any good. All
that you might say I have said to myself again and again, to convince
myself that my belief is absurd. And what would that prove? All that we
are not acquainted with is absurd, and we know so little! No; my remorse
can never be overcome. No matter what you may say will not keep me from
spending my sleepless nights puzzling things out, and thinking of
certain dates in my recent life. When I began to be interested in you,
my son was still alive, and I forgot him. When we were walking through
the gardens of San Martino, he was perhaps suffering the agonies of
hunger, and martyrdom, and I like the heroine in a novel, like a crazy
schoolgirl, was kissing you, and making you promises! Besides, the
arrival of the telegram the same afternoon that you were going to come,
seemed like something definitive in my life! Don't you see the
intervention of a superior power, the punishment for my badness?"
The Prince tried to speak again, but in vain.
"That is why I am avoiding you; that is why I have not replied to your
letters. You are not to blame; but you mean remorse to me, and your
presence recalls my crime. Besides, I know myself; I am only a poor,
weak woman, the very personification of thoughtlessness, and neglect. If
I were to accept you as a comrade in grief, since I am not indifferent
to you, perhaps I might give in to what you want. And that would be
horrible, still more horrible even than what has gone before; one of
those offenses which people maddened by passion commit against natural
laws. Don't try to see me; I don't want to see you. If I had been a true
mother, thinking only of him ... who knows!... Perhaps he would still be
alive. But some one was bent on punishing me for my unnatural conduct,
and that some one killed him, so that I might awaken, at the very moment
when in my shameful love, I felt myself happiest."
Michael no longer cared to say anything. He looked at this woman with
pity and dismay in his eyes. He recalled the Princess Lubimoff with her
extravagant beliefs in the mysterious; and of Alicia's own mother, with
her religious manias. Whatever he might try to say would be useless.
That absurd and sorrowing conviction of hers had opened a gap between
them like a gulf that could be bridged over only by time.
The silence of the Prince caused her to lose the nervous exaltation that
had made her express herself with such fervor.
"Leave me now," she murmured gently. "What could I do for you? I am only
a woman now; I am an old woman, centuries old, as old as sorrow itself.
You need a sweetheart, and I am simply a bad mother, a mother tormented
with remorse."
Her renunciation of the past, and the feeling that she was only a
despairing mother caused her voice to break with a groan, and at the
same time her eyes filled with tears. With a timid hand Michael drew
away the handkerchief that she had raised to her face to hide her
weeping. He murmured incoherent phrases, with the intention of consoling
her; but immediately he was mastered once more by anger.
"If you really were alone," he said in bitter tones, "I could wait, and
perhaps time would silence the after scruples that torment you. But your
loneliness is a lie. A man enters your house at all hours as though it
were his own, while I must go away, so that, as you say, you may recover
your tranquillity."
With a feminine instinct, Alicia had hastened to raise the handkerchief
to her face again, on feeling herself free from Michael's hand. She felt
she must be ugly with her watery eyes, her pale lips, and her nose red
with weeping. But the words of the Prince gave her such a shock of
surprise, such a desire to refute the offensive supposition, that she
took the wrinkled batiste from her face.
"You are referring to Martinez? Poor boy!"
He was giving up the gay society of his comrades, their promenades in
company, and even the parties to which the convalescent officers were
invited, to come and be bored at Villa Rosa beside a woman who could do
nothing but weep. When she wanted to come to church she had to oblige
him to go for an hour or two to join his comrades-in-arms in the
ante-room at the Casino. The visits of the invalided soldier meant so
much to her. They were pure charity on his part.
"I dream that he is my son. His age and his uniform aid in this
illusion. You have never had any children; it is impossible for you to
know the necessity we feel, when we have lost them, to transfer our
bereaved affection to other beings, imagining that they look like those
who are gone. I need to go on being a mother, nor can I be anything
else; and this unhappy boy never knew his own mother. He has no one in
the world, and is as much alone as I am. Please, let me enjoy a little
illusion wherever I can find it. The poor fellow is so grateful for my
affection! He feels so happy beside me! Remember: he is condemned to
death, and only maternal care, and pleasant quiet surroundings, can
possibly prolong his days."
She wanted to accomplish this task, perhaps for a selfish reason, to
obliterate from her memory, with a great generous deed, all the evil she
had done before. She wanted him to be her son, a son born of her grief,
to whom she might devote everything that it was now impossible for her
to do for her real son.
Now, Michael, too, was silent, realizing the uselessness of insisting
any further. He knew Alicia's character. Behind her plaintive voice, he
guessed the resolute will to keep by her side that young man who
refreshed her maternal feelings and was at the same time a means of
consolation for the remorse which she had taken upon herself.
The consideration of his powerlessness finally irritated him, made him
feel a cruel desire to hurt that woman.
"You are doing wrong, Alicia. Society is unaware of your secret. You
know what people said before about you and your son. You laughed,
yourself, finding such a mistake amusing. Now the equivocation continues
with more reason. Many people imagine you have substituted another young
man for the young man that died."
Alicia lost her sad serenity.
"How disgusting!" she said. "How can they think that. Poor Martinez! He
is so good! So respectful!"
Then she continued arrogantly:
"Let them say what they like! I want to forget society; let society
forget me. I am dead as far as people are concerned."
But Michael in his spite still dwelt on the subject.
"The other man was your son, and I knew he was. This man is not, and I
know the power of seduction that you exercise, even against your will.
Remember 'the old men on the wall.'"
Wherever she went, men's glances would cling to her rhythmic body; and
that young man, that queer fellow, would finally....
He was unable to continue.
"You, too!" she exclaimed. "Good-by, don't come after me. I shall always
think of you; but it is better for us not to see each other. Don't bear
me a grudge. Perhaps some day!..." And she resolutely turned her back on
him, and descended the steps toward the boulevard.
The Prince remained motionless for a few minutes. Then he advanced
toward the top step, but all he could see was a carriage with the hood
raised, and two horses starting to trot away.
And the meeting with Alicia he had so ardently desired had come to this!
The feeling of spite caused him to judge himself harshly; he hadn't
known how to talk. Later he recalled all his reasoning and his
accusations, and felt amazed at the slight effect they had had on her.
Yes, indeed, she was a different woman. Some one had changed her; some
one was to blame for this absurd situation.
He spent a great part of that night reflecting. It did not occur to him
to blame Alicia. He even repented of his angry words. Unhappy woman! Her
extreme over-sensitiveness was causing her to find reason for shame and
remorse in all that she had ever done.
"Besides, women," he continued to himself, "at the least nervous shock
lose their logical faculty first of all."
He felt a need of concentrating all his anger on some one besides her;
and Michael, never imagining that he himself had lost his logical
faculty, put the responsibility for everything on Martinez. The latter
was the one person to blame. If he had not come between them, Alicia, on
finding herself alone in misfortune, would have sought once more the
support of the Prince. What a gift the "General" had made them,
presenting this adventurer!
His reason vainly argued that it was not the officer who was seeking
Alicia, but the latter who was keeping him in her home, cutting him off
from his old friendships. Lubimoff was not willing to give up his spite.
It was Martinez and no one else who had come between them.
Up to that time he had not paid much attention to the boy whom Toledo
called the "hero." There were so many heroes at that moment! In his
hatred he began to strip him of the prestige given him by his deeds and
his misfortune, Michael saw him without his uniform, without his war
crosses and his wounds, such as he must have been before the war; a poor
employee, a business clerk, whose dreams of love had never gone beyond a
milliner or a stenographer. And this was the interesting personage who
had the temerity to face him! Prince Michael Fedor Lubimoff. What
intolerable times!
The following day he walked about his garden all morning, resolved never
to return to Monte Carlo. He was filled with scorn at the thought of the
tenderness with which Alicia had spoken of her protege. It was better
that he should not encounter him. But in the afternoon the loneliness of
his beautiful Villa weighed on him. It seemed deserted. Atilio, the
pianist, and even the Colonel were all at the Casino. He, too, decided
to go, to mingle with the crowd which was dividing its attention
between the hazards of war and the hazards of chance.
In the anteroom he walked toward the groups who were gathered around the
bulletin board reading the latest telegrams. The crowd considered the
news good, since it was not extremely bad as on the preceding days. The
Allies had stopped the enemy's advance, holding them at a standstill on
the ground they had just conquered. The bombardment of Paris with long
range guns was still continuing. And that was all.
There was a man making comments in a loud voice. It was Toledo, who, as
was his custom every afternoon, was giving a lecture on strategy to a
semi-circle of admirers. With his back to the Prince, he was spouting a
stream of clear optimism, with a simple faith that misfortune and
reverses could not move.
"Now they have nailed them in their tracks: they won't advance any
farther. In a short time will be the counter-attack. I am sure of it; it
is clear as daylight to me."
Don Marcos rubbed his hands, and slyly winked one eye.
"And the Americans are coming and coming. There are days when as many as
ten thousand of them are landed here. A wonderful people! I have always
said so! That fellow Wilson is a great man. I know him well."
They all listened with delight to this voice of hope that refreshed
their hearts before they gave themselves up to the strain and stress of
roulette and _trente et quarante_. He talked with the authority of a man
who has influential connections, and is informed of everything. "He knew
Wilson," he had just said so himself. Besides, he was a
Colonel--although none of them knew in what army--an expert, capable of
expressing an unfounded opinion. And many of them lost no time in
hastening to the gambling rooms to repeat his views, as though they had
just received some inside information.
The Prince withdrew, afraid that his presence might put an end to that
professional triumph of Toledo, which was repeated every day.
As he walked about the anteroom before entering the gaming halls, he saw
beside a column, a group of French officers, all of whom were
convalescents. Denied the permission to go any further, because of their
uniform, they were standing there, looking with a certain envy on the
civilians. A few of them were standing erect, without any visible
infirmity, with the sharp features of an eagle, aquiline nose, bold
eyes, and wild mustache. Others, with youthful faces, were bent over
like ailing men, leaning on canes, and wearing wrinkled uniforms much
too large for their sunken chests. Each time they decided to move their
legs they made a long pause as though to muster every bit of their will
power available. Some of them had come to Monaco as incurables, after a
long captivity in Germany. The rest came from hospitals on the firing
line. On the faces of all of them was an expression of joyous
bewilderment at finding themselves in this corner of the earth, that was
like a Paradise, where people seemed to have forgotten the rest of the
world, and women's eyes followed them with enigmatic glances, half
amorous and half maternal!
One of the soldiers raised his hand to his cap to salute the Prince. The
latter looked at the yellowish color of his _kepis_, then at his uniform
which was of the same color, and at the multi-colored line of
decorations. It was Martinez, the lieutenant in the Foreign Legion, who
was saluting him with a certain timidity, but pleased at the same time
that his comrades were seeing him on friendly terms with the famous
personage, who was so much talked about on the Riviera.
Michael returned his greeting mechanically and went on. That moment
remained fixed in his memory all his life. Age and the discretion that
accompanies it seemed to fall from him like dry bark from a tree in
springtime. He felt as though he were back in his youth. For a few
moments he was the same Captain Lubimoff of the imperial Guards, who had
trampled on obstacles and braved scandal when any one opposed his will.
He turned to look at the group of officers from a distance. That little
insignificant Lieutenant, who looked like a bookkeeper, promoted by
mobilization, was his enemy! It seemed as though he were seeing him for
the first time. Lost among his companions he appeared even more
insignificant than when he visited Villa Sirena.
Michael remained motionless, with his glance fixed on the group. "You
are going to do something foolish," admonished a voice within him. And
there passed through his memory the image of stern Saldana, kindly and
tolerant with the weak, like every one who is sure of his strength. He
recalled one of his sayings which had never before crossed his mind: "A
gentleman must be kind and never take unfair advantage of his strength."
He was sure that his father had said that to him when he was a child.
But immediately the duality of his inner being expressed itself through
another voice which was stronger and more imperious, a woman's voice
like that of the other counselor of his youth: "Spend; don't deny
yourself anything, put yourself above everybody; always remember that
you are a Lubimoff." And he saw the dead Princess, not the Mary Stuart
with her theatrical mourning robes, but the dominating and still
beautiful woman, the one who had overwhelmed her husband "the hero"
with her rage, and turned the Paris residence upside down.
Suddenly he found himself near the group of officers, and again his eyes
met those of Martinez. The latter came toward him with a smile of
interrogation. Michael realized that he had beckoned to the soldier,
without being aware of what he was doing, through an impulse of will
which seemed entirely detached from his reason.
"So much the worse! Let's get through with the business!"
With a certain haste, he took the young man toward the vestibule of the
Casino as though anxious to avoid the presence of the groups who were
filling the anteroom.
"Lieutenant, I have something to say to you.... I must ... ask a favor
of you."
He stammered, not knowing how to express the command which he himself
felt was absurd.
This vacillation, together with the trembling in his voice, finally
irritated him.
They stopped beside the glass door at the entrance. Martinez was no
longer smiling, as he gazed in amazement at the hard look and the pallor
of the Prince.
"In a word," the latter said resolutely; "what I have to ask you is that
you pay fewer visits at the house of the Duchess de Delille. If you
should refrain entirely from going to see her, it would be even better."
And he paused, breathing with a certain freedom, after having expressed
this demand.
An expression of amazement gradually took possession of Martinez' face.
He hesitated for a moment, with his eyes fixed on Lubimoff's. No, it was
not a jest: the hostile look of this man who had always treated him with
amiable indifference, the sharpness of his tone, and a certain trembling
of his right hand, indicated that he had expressed his real thoughts,
and that behind these thoughts lay enormous depths of hatred against
him.
His surprise caused him to talk with timidity. He visited the Duchess
because the lady asked him to come and see her every day. He had often
felt his assiduity might prove to be a nuisance, but every attempt he
had made to break off his visits had been fruitless. He scarcely left
her for a few hours but the good lady had him sent for. She was as kind
to him as a mother. Suddenly his humble tone vanished. His eyes guessed
in those of the man who had stopped him something that he himself had
never imagined. The Lieutenant seemed transfigured, as though rising to
the same level as the Prince. His eyes shone with the same wild splendor
as the other man's; his body stiffened with the tension of a spring
about to be released; his nostrils quivered nervously. The little clerk,
with his timid bearing, recovered the air of gallant bravery of the
fighting man. His voice sounded harsh, as he went on talking.
He would go wherever he was asked, wherever he felt like going, without
recognizing the right of any man to interfere in his actions. The
Duchess was the only one who could close her door to him. Why did the
Prince interfere in that lady's affairs without consulting her first?
"I am related to her," said Michael, inwardly hesitating somewhat at
making use of the relationship which he had often preferred to deny.
They both found themselves on the other side of the entry, on the
platform above the steps of the Casino, in the open air, opposite the
groves of the square and the groups of passersby who were walking about
the "Camembert." They were obliged to stand aside, in order not to
disturb those who were entering and coming out.
"Besides," continued the Prince, "it is my duty to shield her from
gossip. I cannot permit that. Seeing you in there at all hours, they
should suppose...."
He almost regretted these words on noticing the double effect that they
had on the young man. First he became indignant. Had any one dared
gossip about that great lady who had been such a saint in his eyes? But
this protest was accompanied by a certain unconscious satisfaction, by
childish pride, as though he were flattered, in spite of everything that
his name should be connected in absurd conjecture with that of the
Duchess. It seemed that Martinez had just been revealed to himself,
giving substance and a name to the obscure sentiments that until then,
in an embryonic stage, had pulsed unrecognized within him.
The jealous mind of the Prince guessed, with keen penetration,
everything that the other man was thinking, and this added fuel to his
wrath. What impudence in this little clerk to take up Alicia's defense?
What a conceited show he was making of his love for her!
"If any one takes the liberty of talking about the Duchess," said the
Lieutenant, "if anybody dares to gossip because she does me the honor of
receiving me in her home--the greatest honor in my life!--I will take it
on my shoulders to punish whoever invents such a lie, no matter how high
up he may be, no matter how powerful he may think himself to be!"
Lubimoff listened impatiently. Now it was Martinez daring to attack him.
Those last words had carried a threat for him.
Besides, the Prince felt irritated at his own clumsiness. His imprudent
action had served merely to open this young man's eyes, and make him
think of the possibilities of many things which he had never yet
imagined, and which if he had imagined them, he would have cast aside
immediately as foolish. And now no less than the Prince Lubimoff had
elected to show this cheap Lieutenant that, in the opinion of gossips,
such things were possible.
The tone in which the officer defended Alicia aroused his anger even
more. He divined in it great pride, the vanity of a poor fellow who had
known love adventures only in books, and who suddenly found himself in
supposed relations with a Duchess, as the rival of a Prince. How
glorious for an upstart!
"Boy ..." said Lubimoff, in a hard voice.
This simple word, which was the term in which waiters were addressed in
the hotels, was followed by a haughty look of overwhelming superiority,
which seemed to sweep away everything extraordinary which the war had
given Martinez: his uniform, his decorations, and his glorious wounds.
For the Prince the officer no longer existed: there only remained the
poor vagabond of a few years before, wandering from one hemisphere to
another in quest of bread. "Boy," he repeated in a tone that brought
back all the class distinction and social gradations of dead centuries,
so that the man whom he had accosted might realize the enormous
separation between him and the man to whom he deigned to give advice----
"Boy, let's come to the point--. And if I were to order you not to
return to that house? And if I demand that...?"
He was unable to finish the sentence. His threatening voice, harsh as a
cry of command, roused the indignation of the man in uniform. To have
faced death for three long years, among thousands of comrades who were
now lying in the ground; to have learned to set little store on life, as
something proved worthless at every moment on the battlefield; to have
stripped himself forever, by dint of frightful adventures and awful
wounds, of that fear which the instinct of self-preservation puts in
all beings, only to the end that now, in a pleasure resort, at the door
of the most luxurious of gambling houses, a man, rich and powerful, but
who had never done anything useful in his whole life, should dare to
threaten him!...
"You say that to me!" he said, stammering with rage. "You give orders to
me!"
Michael felt a hand seize him by the lapel of his coat. It was like a
bird, tremulous and aggressive, pausing for an instant in its blind
impulse, before flying upward. He was aware of the blow that was coming,
and raised his arm instinctively, both hands met as that of the young
man whirled close to the face of the Prince. The latter, who was
stronger, seized the ascending hand and held it motionless, in a firm
grip, while at the same time he smiled in a gruesome fashion. His eyes
contracted as his eyebrows arched in the smile. They became again the
eyes of an Asiatic. His nostrils dilated as he breathed like a stallion.
The remote ancestors of the Princess Lubimoff must have smiled thus in
their moments of anger.
"Enough: I consider that I have received it," he said slowly, "Name two
friends to confer with mine!"
And freeing that hand of Martinez, he turned his back on him, after
making a deep bow. The movements of both men had been rapid. Only one of
the doorkeepers, with his official cap, standing guard on the platform
above the steps, had guessed that anything had happened; but his
professional experience advised him to remain passive as long as there
were no blows. He imagined that it was merely a dispute over some
gambling affair. It would all be settled by an explanation, and
forgotten after a winning! He had seen so many such things!
Prince Lubimoff reenters the Casino. He crosses the vestibule and the
anteroom holding his head high, but without seeing any one, gazing
straight ahead, with a faraway expression.
It seems to him that time has suddenly been reversed, causing him to
return to the past with one bound. He is back in his youth. He walks
arrogantly. He is surprised that the sound of his firm tread is not
accompanied by the tinkling of spurs and the metallic scraping of a
saber. At the same time he begins to see imaginary faces, faces of those
who disappeared from the earth many years ago: the Cossack who had come
from a distant garrison in Siberia to avenge his sister; a friend in the
same regiment as the Prince, who died from a sword thrust in his breast
after a tumultuous supper, while Lubimoff wept, suddenly awakening from
his homicidal intoxication; the faces of others who had been present as
mere witnesses, but who had died and were now resurrected in his memory,
cold and insensible to remorse and vain regrets.
"The Colonel. Where in the devil is the Colonel!"
He crosses the gambling room, in quest of a gray head, with a straight
part from the forehead to the back of the neck, dividing the glistening
hair into two shining sections. He sees it finally rising above the back
of a divan, between two women's hats, four eyes darkly bordered as
though in mourning, and cheeks with wrinkles filled with white and
rose-colored enamel. A terse sentence of the Prince interrupts the
explanations of the war news with which the Colonel had been thrilling
the two ladies.
"Colonel, an affair of honor. I intend to fight to-morrow. Look for
another second."
Toledo seems disconcerted by this order. His first thought flies to
Villa Sirena. He sees his black frock coat, the solemn vestment of honor
ready to leave its prison. Then a cloud of doubt obscures this joyous
thought. A duel! Would it be fitting now that men are fighting in masses
of millions, giving their lives for something higher and more important
than personal hatred? His training immediately smothers this scruple. "A
gentleman should always be at the orders of another gentleman." Besides,
it is his Prince. And ready to fulfill his mission, he asks the name of
the adversary.
"Lieutenant Martinez."
Don Marcos thinks he had heard wrong; then he seems to totter and stands
there looking at his "Highness" in a sort of stupor. Instinctively,
without taking the pains to disentangle the confused thoughts that
assail him, he sees in his imagination the Duchess de Delille. Why did
the Prince ever give up his wise theories on the woman question! He
recalls, like a happy past, the flourishing days of the "enemies of
women"! Only four months had gone by, and it seems as though they were
centuries. A duel right in war time--and with an officer! And that
officer is Martinez, his hero!
He shrugs his shoulders, bows his head, and makes a gesture denying all
responsibility as he always does when his Prince, with a hard look on
his face which reminds Toledo of the dead Princess in her stormy days,
gives absurd orders.
"Shall I look for Don Atilio? He has had several affairs of honor; he
knows what it means, and may be able to help me."
The Prince is willing. In the bar of the private gambling rooms, he will
wait for them both to talk over the conditions of the encounter.
He remains motionless in a deep armchair, opposite a window gilded by
the light of the setting sun, on which the threads of shadows, projected
by the moving branches of the trees, weave and unweave. Suddenly it
seems to him that he is obliged to wait an unreasonable length of time.
It occurs to him that Castro is not in the Casino and that Don Marcos is
looking for him in vain. He scarcely remembers the past at all. The
officer's figure is sunk into a gray mist which falls across his memory:
it is no longer anything save a vague outline. The one thing that he can
see, in sharp relief and as though looming close to his eyes, is a hand:
a hand which is gripping his breast and rising toward his face, that no
man ever yet had slapped. His indignation causes him to come out of his
deep fit of distraction. To do that to him! Trying to slap Prince
Lubimoff!
When he raises his eyes he sees Toledo approaching, but alone, with a
certain embarrassment, fearing in advance the anger of the Prince. The
latter, who feels kindly and tolerant since the scene of violence on the
stairway, guesses what he is going to say to him. He has not found
Castro and he absolves him with a benevolent smile.
The Colonel speaks:
"Marquis: Don Atilio refuses."
"What!" And at the questioning glance of Lubimoff, who cannot
understand, and who does not want to understand what he hears, Toledo
repeats, growing more and more embarrassed.
"He refuses to be your representative. He told me to find some one else.
He has some ideas of his own that...."
And he hesitates to express these ideas. He stops, in order not to say
anything which the Prince ought not to hear from his lips: and he
accepts as a blessing the silence of amazement which comes between them;
he is afraid to let the Prince recover from the astonishment with which
this news has overwhelmed him.
As he starts to go away, he proposes something which seems to him a way
out.
"Does your Highness want me to call Don Atilio? He will surely come.
Perhaps the two of you talking together...."
And he goes away in search of Castro, while Michael Fedor once more
becomes motionless in his seat, quite unable to comprehend the
situation.
* * * * *
The Prince saw Castro standing by the little table close to his chair,
with a certain appearance of haste in his look and bearing, like a man
who is facing a difficult situation, and anxious to get out of it as
soon as possible.
The Prince invited him to take the nearest seat, but Castro consented
only to sit down lightly on the arm of the chair, to indicate his desire
that the interview be brief. Besides, he spoke first, bluntly expressing
his thoughts, without any preamble.
"The Colonel has doubtless told you my reply. I can't. You know very
well that I am your friend: you even do me the honor of recognizing me
as a relative; I owe you a great deal; but what you ask me now ... no!
It is a piece of foolishness, madness. It all had to end like this!
There was no other way out of it. I had a presentiment of it some time
ago. Perhaps you were right when you talked about women as you did, and
about the necessity of being their enemies--if such a thing is possible.
But it doesn't do any good to bring up the past: You are no longer the
Lubimoff who said those incoherent things. As for me I am mad, I'll
grant you that: but you are even more so than I: and for that reason I
can't be with you."
Michael looked at him fixedly, without abandoning his silent immobility,
waiting for him to go on.
"A duel right in war time! Is there any common sense to that? You are
the gentleman who remains quietly in his home, with all the comforts
that the present time can allow, without running any risk whatsoever,
while half of humanity is weeping, starving, bleeding, or dying. And
just because one fine day you happen to be in an ill-humor--perhaps you
know why--you want to fight a poor boy who has survived almost by a
miracle, and who is sick and weak from having done what you and I are
not capable of doing. You ask me to represent you in such a piece of
business?"
"He insulted me--he tried to strike me. I caught his hand close to my
face," said the Prince in a low but rancorous voice from the depths of
his chair.
This caused Castro to hesitate for a moment, as he had no idea of the
importance of the clash between the two men. But his hesitation was
brief.
"There is something that I don't understand and that you are keeping
silent. The very seriousness of the insult indicates that there was
something extraordinary on your part. For that poor, respectful, and
timid boy to dare to strike, and strike a man like you!... What did you
do to rouse him to such a pitch?"
Lubimoff did not deign to reply. Without abandoning his frowning reserve
he asked briefly:
"Well, are you going to, or are you not?"
Castro, irritated by this attitude, replied without hesitating:
"It's all nonsense, and I refuse."
Lubimoff still remained motionless at this refusal, but Atilio was sure
he guessed the Prince's thoughts in the hostile look fixed on him. He
was accusing him of ingratitude. At the same time he was holding the
"General" responsible: believing that the latter must have influenced
his decision. That Lieutenant was so greatly admired by Dona Clorinda!
As though replying to these unexpressed ideas, Atilio went on: