So thickly did the deposit of golden plums lie at the bottom of the
pie-dish--so handsomely did the Marshal keep his given word, that
at the suggestion of Henriette, Hector did some more shopping at
the vast comprehensive mart of the Élysée. General de Roux, puffing
a cheroot and sweltering in his cane chair at the Military Club of
Algiers, was to read in the official Gazette of the Army--a special
copy, thoughtfully forwarded by an anonymous friend--that his late
Assistant-Adjutant had received yet further promotion. That the
Cross of the Legion of Honor had been conferred upon him by the
Prince-President, with his appointment as extra aide-de-camp of the
Staff of the Élysée.
Thenceforwards at Reviews, Inspections, and other public functions,
you saw the keen dark face shaded by the plumed cocked hat of a
Lieutenant-Colonel--the slender active figure set off by a brilliant
uniform, as mounted on Djelma, or some animal even more beautiful and
spirited, the lover of Henriette brought up the rear of the showy
cavalcade of Marshals, Generals, foreign envoys, aides-de-camp and
Staff officers, galloping at the flying heels of the spirited English
charger ridden by Monseigneur.
What could the heart of man want more? At State dinners at the Élysée,
shooting-parties at Fontainebleau, hunts at Compiègne, balls at the
Tuileries, Colonel Hector Dunoisse cut a gallant figure. His intrigue
with Madame de Roux became a recognized _liaison_. Monseigneur was so
kind--the world was so charitable. Nobody dreamed of censuring, or even
looking askew.
In the galaxy of beautiful women that glittered about that rising
planet of Monseigneur’s, Henriette shone prominently. Many men’s eyes
were fixed in longing on that throbbing, radiant star. The man on whom
its rays were shed knew himself envied. Secure in possession of what
others keenly desired, he believed himself happy at last.
Happiest when, with that little hand of Henriette’s upon his arm,
in some crush of gold-laced uniforms, diplomatic dress-coats,
silks, satins, flowers, feathers and diamonds, he would encounter a
tall, bulky, officially-attired figure topped with a heavy, ugly,
distinguished face; and meet the cold, repellent, cynical stare of de
Moulny’s hard blue eyes.
The eyes would meet Redskin’s, the head would move slightly, responding
to Dunoisse’s own chilly, perfunctory salutation. Once or twice they
had been near neighbors at the dinner-table.... What of that? In
civilized society one eats with one’s enemy. Only the nomad of the
desert and the savage of the jungle refuse to break bread with those
they hold in suspicion or hate. And it is easy to forget a great
injustice done you, by a friend you have ceased to care for; and to
forgive a wrong wrought by a man off whom you have doubly scored.
For de Moulny had been paid his money, had not Henriette said so?
Besides, she had never exchanged a word with him alone since that night
of the fusillade.
She assured Dunoisse of this; and that their intercourse when they met
was limited to the briefest utterances compatible with common civility.
Then, no matter for de Moulny, now Representative for the Department
of Moulny upon Upper Drame, and Secretary-Chancellor at the Ministry
of the Interior. Success was his, though the woman he had desired had
given her favors to another. Without the bliss that he had vainly
coveted, let de Moulny go upon his way....
Dunoisse believed that Henriette loved him, as he her, with passion
and fidelity. He asked nothing better of Fate than that he should be
permitted to pass through life with those fairy fingers twined about
his own. But sometimes when her beautiful hair was shed upon his breast
and her lustrous eyes looked into his, and her lovely lips gave back
his kisses, the thought of the strange face that might be lurking
behind those beautiful, beloved, familiar features would strike him
cold with dread.
He thrust it from him, that conjectured image, but always it hovered
in the background of his mind. By the blood-red December dawn that
followed on the crime of the _coup d’État_ another glimpse of the
Medusa visage was to be vouchsafed him. The day was not yet when it
should be revealed in all its terror, and strike the man to stone.