"Would not the lady like to handle a marionette?" replied the manager.
"It is the beginning of knowledge about our drama. Anselmo, show the
lady how to manage the figures."
As Anselmo led Deborah away, a change in the room, of which I had been
dimly aware, insisted upon my full attention. A high wooden partition
divided the helpers' bench into two parts.
"What is that for, Pietro?" I exclaimed.
The old man drew a heavy sigh.
"It is Beatrice," he explained. "She has bewitched my two helpers. They
cannot meet without blows. So I have arranged that each remains upon
his own side of the room. Anselmo handles the Christians; Giuseppe the
Moslems. I have made high the boards, so that they cannot meet upon the
bench."
"So-o-o," I whistled. I ran over in my mind Pietro's anxious face,
Beatrice's cool reply to my question about the helpers, and the pleading
gaze of the faun.
[Illustration: "My two helpers, with the shields and the swords
of Orlando and Rinaldo, fought!"]
"Who is the boy at the piano?" I asked.
"Gaiterno? He is her cousin. He worships her. It would be a good match,
but she will not listen to him. He is not strong enough, she says."
"The little coquette!" I commented.
"Ah, Signore, it is not that!" sighed Pietro. "It is the play. The
play is in her head. Life to her is the play. She holds herself to be a
princess. Strong men love her, she thinks. She says she will smile upon
no one who is not as strong as Rinaldo. Listen, Signore. This is what I
saw when I made entrance here three days ago. My two helpers, with the
shields and the swords of Orlando and Rinaldo, fought, while Beatrice,
with the crown of Angelica upon her head, sat upon the throne of Carlo
Magno, and urged them on."
The old man's arms were flourishing, and his eyes were bright.
"I made Anselmo to go away upon the instant," he went on; "but Beatrice,
she made a threat that she would elope with him. What could I do? I am
an old man. She is my only child. You see—he is still here."
The fire in his eyes went out, his head sank upon his breast, and his
hands fell to his sides. I grasped one of them in mine.
The old man returned my grasp bravely, and tried to smile.
"It is sad, is it not, my friend," he said, "that my art should have
brought this misfortune upon me!"
Deborah's laughter gurgled down from the bench. Evidently she was in
difficulties with her marionettes. An idea came to me.
"Wait for me one minute," I said. "Perhaps Miss Speedwell can help us."
"It is time to raise the curtain," answered Pietro. "You are a good
friend. I go to my work with an uplifted heart."
I hastened to the steps at the end of the bench. As I turned to mount
them, I felt a hand upon mine, and found Beatrice beside me.
"You lofe-a her!" declared the child, solemnly.
The thought that I carried my heart upon my sleeve annoyed me.
"Beatrice," I exclaimed, "you must learn not to be silly. You are too
young to think of such things."
"You not-a say dat once," returned Beatrice, reproachfully; and the
recollection of my indiscreet chaffing added to my annoyance. I hurried
away, doubtful of my plan. But my kind-hearted companion received it
eagerly.
"Ask her to visit us in the country? Of course I will!" she exclaimed,
when I had told the story.
[Illustration: Her arms were folded across her breast.]
During the next act we sat upon one of the heaps of properties, still
piled in the corners, and arranged Beatrice's future. We constituted
ourselves god and goddess _ex machinâ_ to make a noble woman of the
little girl. She was to spend a whole summer face to face with nature,
at Deborah's father's pet stock-farm. There she would forget plays
and learn to milk cows and to cook. Perhaps, at the end of the season,
Gaiterno might be asked to visit her. The wooing of the faun and the
maiden amid Colonel Speedwell's groves appealed to Deborah's sense of
the picturesque. What appealed to me was the provision in the plan that
I should run down every Sunday to watch the progress of education.
[Illustration: It struck Anselmo fairly in the chest and laid him low.]
Plotting was a very pleasant occupation, and we both started at the
thunder of applause and the trampling of feet outside. The play was
over—the audience was going home. I rose to my feet reluctantly, and I
hoped that I detected in Deborah's deliberation a willingness to linger.
While she was watching the helpers, as they hung Orlando and his comrades
upon the rack, Pietro came to bid us good-night. Beatrice followed him as
far as the doorway. I did not think it best that her good fortune should
be revealed to her as yet, and while Deborah was laying it before her
father, I asked the child to see if my cab was ready. She drew herself
up resentfully, but sulked away. After a long time she returned with
word that no cab was in sight.
"No cab?" I asked, in astonishment.
I stumbled through the door, and down half a dozen steps and ran along
the passage that led to the street. Beatrice had told the truth. No cab
was in sight. Indeed the street was vacant. A March rain had begun to
fall, driving everyone indoors and making a mirror of the pavement. It
flashed to me the lights of an electric car crossing the street half a
dozen blocks away.
"She'd get fearfully wet," I mused, "and her mother would put a stopper
on trips."
While I was searching my brains for an expedient, Pietro came running
down the hallway.
"Have no care, my good friend," he panted. "Beatrice has told me of cabs
at the ferry. It is but a dozen squares. I go to order a cab. Go you to
your kind lady."
Greatly relieved, I returned behind the scenes. In the hall I passed
Anselmo, and wondered why Beatrice had not sent him instead of her father
forth into the wet; but I reflected that perhaps relations between the
girl and her lovers might be strained. Thanks for her thoughtfulness
were on my lips as I opened the door. They were never spoken, however.
Beatrice stood by the partition, alone. Her hair, loosed from its knot,
hung wild about her shoulders. Her arms were folded across her breast.
One foot was planted forward, and I saw under it Deborah's fur cape.
"Beatrice!" I exclaimed. "What on earth is the matter with you? Where
is Miss Speedwell?"
The girl stretched forth both arms toward me.
"You list-a me," she said. "You tink she lof-a you. It is not. It is I!
I lof-a you. I 'ave lof-a you one year. You come one year ago—I lof-a
you."
Anxiety for Deborah overcame my bewilderment. I stamped my foot upon
the stage.
"Stop this nonsense, Beatrice," I commanded. "What are you talking about?
Where is Miss Speedwell? Tell me at once!"
The girl thrust a hand into the bosom of her dress.
"You cast-a me off?" she declaimed. "Den I tell you. Nevair s'all you
see 'er again. I desire dat you s'all-a not. It is me dat 'ave ordered
da cabba away. It is me dat 'ave pris-oned 'er w'ere you s'all nevair
coome. I hate 'er. Dis is for dem who betr-r-rays an' not care!"
She plucked the hand from her dress and lifted it high. It held a
villanous little stiletto.
Of that moment I can never think, nowadays, without laughing. But at
the time I had no appreciation of absurdities. I sent a hasty searching
glance about the enclosure. Beyond Beatrice was a door, and I thought
I heard the sound of muffled sobs behind it. I sprang forward. On the
way I brushed Beatrice aside, heard a scream, and felt a hot streak upon
my arm; but I was beyond caring for that. A stroke of my foot burst the
lock of the door, and in another instant I was holding my sweetheart in
my arms.
A hurry of footsteps upon the stairs opposite startled us. The two
helpers, the little faun and another Italian boy rushed through the
door. Beatrice sprang to meet them. The dagger was still in her hand,
and her eyes were two yellow suns.
"Seize him!" she shrieked. "He has stolen away my father—who knows
where? Me, he has betrayed! Revenge my wrong!"
But Beatrice was not vouchsafed the spectacle of a combat in her honor.
When I am thoroughly roused I act promptly, and I am not a feeble man.
I snatched my arm from Deborah's waist, seized from the rack the nearest
marionette and sent it flying among Beatrice's lovers. It struck Anselmo
fairly in the chest and laid him low. Fortunately it was a lady figure
and could hardly have hurt him seriously, but it smothered him with
skirts and hampered him with strings. The other Italians watched his
struggles for an instant, and as I made a stride forward, turned and
ran as if the _Pagani_ themselves had been after them.
I snatched Deborah's cape from the floor, lifted my sweetheart herself,
and sped with her to the street. Once out of doors, I let her find her own
feet, and we skurried on through the driving rain. It was a bedraggled
maiden that boarded the electric car with me, but her eyes were bright
and her spirits were firm; she had even the courage to laugh over the
adventure.
"The dreadful little creature!" said Deborah. "She told me I should find
you outside that door, and that she would bring my cape. But when I had
opened the door, she pushed me through and locked it after me. I knew
you would come; but it was dark in there, and I—I think there were rats."
She bent to examine the edge of her waist, which did not in the least
need attention.
"You—you are very strong and brave, Harry," she murmured.