Toni and Denise had selected for their wedding day the anniversary
of the marriage of Paul and Lucie two years before. The wedding was
as fine as Lucie could make it, and she had great capabilities in
that line. The garrison chapel was decked with flowers, the organ
played, and it was much more like the wedding of a lieutenant than a
corporal--Lucie paying for it all. Madame Marcel came from Bienville to
the wedding and was resplendent in a purple silk gown, a lace collar
and a bonnet with an aigrette in it. She looked so young and handsome
that, together with the sale of her piece of land, she wholly dazzled
the sergeant, who speculated on his chances of leading her to the altar
sometime within a year.
Mademoiselle Duval treated herself to a new black gown and a very
forbidding-looking black bonnet, but really presented an elegant though
austere appearance. Denise's white wedding gown was made with her own
fingers, and, although it was only a simple muslin, never was there a
daintier looking bride in the world than the sergeant's daughter.
In the first row of seats in the church sat Paul and Lucie, the latter
charmingly dressed in honor of the occasion. The chapel was filled with
humbler people, friends of the bride and bridegroom. The bride, with
her father, the sergeant, arrived in great state in Lucie's victoria
and pair and the same equipage--the handsomest in Beaupré--carried
the newly-married pair back to the large room in one of the plain but
comfortable hotels of the place, where a wedding breakfast was served.
Toni was not at all frightened at the imminent circumstances of the
day. On the contrary, he felt a sense of protection in marrying Denise.
She would always be at hand to take care of him, for Toni felt the need
of being taken care of just as much, in spite of his five feet ten,
and his one hundred and fifty pounds weight, and his being the crack
rider in the regiment, as he had done in the old days at Bienville
when he ran away from the little Clery boys. He did not, therefore,
experience the usual panic which often attacks the stoutest-hearted
bridegroom, and went through the wedding breakfast with actual courage.
He absolutely forgot everything painful in his past life. Nicolas and
Pierre melted away--he did not feel as if they had ever existed. The
secret which had haunted him was a mere fantasy, that vanished in the
glow of his wedding morning.
Paul and Lucie came in during the breakfast and Paul proposed the
bridegroom's health with his hand on Toni's shoulder, Toni grinning in
ecstasy meanwhile. Paul spoke of their early intimacy, and Toni made
a very appropriate reply--at least Denise and Madame Marcel thought
so. After the lieutenant and his wife had left, the fun grew fast and
furious. It was as merry a wedding breakfast as Paul's and Lucie's,
even though the guests were such simple people as would come to the
corporal's wedding with the sergeant's daughter. Toni could have said
with truth that it was the happiest day of his life.
When the wedding party dispersed, and they returned to the Duvals'
lodgings that the bride might change her dress, the sergeant, being
left alone in the little sitting-room with Madame Marcel, grew
positively tender, saying to her in the manner which he had found
perfectly killing with the girls twenty-five years before:
"Now, Madame, that we have seen our children happily married we should
think somewhat of our own future. The same joy which those two children
have may be ours."
Madame Marcel, who had heretofore received all the sergeant's gallant
speeches with an air of blushing consciousness, suddenly burst out
laughing in a very self-possessed manner, and said:
"Oh, we are much too old, Monsieur; we should be quite ridiculous if
either one of us thought of marrying."
The sergeant received a shock at this, particularly as he considered
himself still young and handsome.
"My dear Madame Marcel," he replied impressively, "certainly age has
not touched you and I flatter myself"--here he drew himself up and
twirled the ends of his superbly-waxed mustaches--"that so far time has
not laid his hand heavily on me."
"If you wish to marry, Monsieur," replied Madame Marcel, still
laughing, "you ought to marry some young girl. Men of your age always
like girls young enough to be their daughters," and she laughed again
quite impertinently.
The sergeant frowned at Madame Marcel. He had never seen this phase of
her character before.
"I assure you, Madame," he said stiffly, "that if I care to aspire to
the hand of a young woman of my daughter's age, I might not be really
considered too old; but I prefer a maturer person like yourself."
Madame Marcel, seeing that the sergeant was becoming deeply chagrined,
determined not to dash his hopes too suddenly, so she reassumed her old
manner of girlish embarrassment and said:
"Well, Monsieur, one wedding makes many, you know; but a wedding is a
fatiguing business to go through with, particularly at our age. It will
take us both, at our time of life, several weeks to recover from this
delightful event and we may then discuss the project you mention."
This was slightly encouraging, and as the sergeant had nothing better
to comfort himself with he contrived to extract some satisfaction from
it.
When Denise appeared, dressed in her neat gray traveling gown, the
Verneys' handsome victoria was at the door to take her and Toni to
the station. Toni and Denise felt very grand, as well as very happy,
sitting up in the fine victoria with the pair of prancing bays,
and although they were conscious that the footman and coachman were
thrusting their tongues into their cheeks, it mattered very little to
Denise and Toni, whose black eyes were lustrous with delight. At last,
he reflected joyously, he had some one who would be obliged to look
after him the rest of his life.
When they reached the station the train was almost ready to depart.
Toni had wished, on this auspicious day, to travel to Paris
second-class, but the prudent Denise concluded that as they would go
through life third-class they had better begin on that basis. So Toni
selected a third-class carriage which was vacant and, tipping half a
franc to the guard, he and Denise found themselves in it without other
company. It was their first moment alone since they had been made one.
Toni put his arm around Denise and drew her head on his shoulder with
the strangest feeling in his heart of being protected, and Denise,
for her part, had the sense of having adopted this fine, handsome,
laughing fellow, to shield under her wing the rest of her life. Yet
they were lovers deep and sincere. No French gentleman had ever treated
his fiancée with greater respect than Toni, the corporal, had treated
Denise, or ever had a higher rapture in their first long kiss.
He was roused from his dream in Paradise by the consciousness of a
sinister presence near him, and his eyes fell on the red head of
Nicolas peering like the serpent in the Garden of Eden in at the window
of the railway carriage. If the place of eternal torment had yawned
before Toni's eyes he could not have felt a greater horror. And this
was increased when Nicolas coolly opened the door of the carriage and
got in, followed by Pierre, and the two seated themselves directly
opposite the newly-married pair. Almost immediately the train moved
off. Toni had only one thought in his mind--to keep Denise from finding
out that terrible secret of his--why he hated and feared these men. He
hated and feared them now more than ever, but some new courage seemed
to be born in him. The cardinal difference between a brave man and a
coward is that a brave man can think when he is afraid and can even act
sensibly, and a coward can not do either. Always before this when he
had been frightened, Toni had acted like a fool, but now he acted as
sensibly as Paul Verney himself could, and for once behaved bravely,
although he was contending with men instead of horses. The two
rogues opposite him leered at Denise, nudged each other, and Pierre
held out his hand to Toni.
[Illustration: "Seated themselves directly opposite the newly married
pair."]
"How do you do, comrade?" he said.
For answer, Toni folded his arms and looked at the extended paw with
disgust.
"No, I thank you," he replied, in a voice as steady as if he were
managing a vicious brute of a horse. "Denise, don't look at them, my
dear," and he motioned her to sit with him in the furthest corner of
the carriage.
Denise surmised who these two individuals were, but said nothing,
only averting her eyes from them. Nicolas then persisted in trying to
converse.
"We are back from Algiers," he remarked impressively.
"It doesn't require a genius to know that," Toni answered tartly. "It's
a great pity you were not kept there for ever."
He felt astonished at his own boldness in saying this, and the devil
of fear, taking on a new guise, made him afraid of his own boldness.
But, at all events, he felt that there was no danger of his betraying
himself then before Denise. Nicolas and Pierre continued to wink and
make remarks, evidently directed at Denise. Toni stood it quietly, but
the first time the guard passed he spoke to him.
"These two fellows," he said, "are impertinent to my wife. At the first
station I would thank you to put them in another carriage."
The guard had seen the fine style in which Toni had driven to the
station with his bride, and also respected Toni's smart corporal's
uniform, so he bowed politely and said, "Certainly," and the next
station being reached in two minutes, Toni had the satisfaction of
seeing his two friends unceremoniously hauled out and thrust into
another carriage which was before nearly full. As they went out Pierre
laughed--a laugh terrible in Toni's ears.
"You haven't been very polite to us," he said, "but we shall meet
again. Remember I promised you that when we parted two years ago, and
we never go back on what we say."
This troubled Denise and when they were alone Toni told her as much as
he thought well for her to know of Nicolas and Pierre, but it was not
enough to disturb her very much on her wedding journey. Toni, however,
again felt that old fear clutching and tearing him. His courage had
been merely outward, and outward it continued. He was apparently the
most smiling and cheerful bridegroom in the whole city of Paris, but no
man ever carried on his heart a heavier load of anxiety and oppression.
Madame Marcel had given Toni a little sum of money which was quite
beyond his corporal's pay for his wedding tour, and they had taken a
little lodging in the humbler quarters of Paris, and here they were
to spend the precious week of their honeymoon. It was still bright
daylight at seven on a June evening when they reached their lodgings
and removed the stains of travel. Toni, in the gayest manner possible,
proposed that they should take a stroll on the river bank before going
to their supper. It was a heavenly evening and a gorgeous sunset was
mirrored in the dancing river as Toni and Denise leaned over the
parapet of the bridge of the Invalides, holding each other's hands
as they had done when they were little children sitting on the bench
under the acacia tree at Bienville. Toni could have groaned aloud in
his agony. He would be the happiest creature on earth if only those
two wretches had not appeared. He was happy in spite of them, but then
the terrible thought came to him that they had promised to kill him
and Paul Verney, too, and they were of a class of men who usually keep
their word when they promise villainy. He felt an acute pang of sorrow
for Denise and an acute pang for himself and for Paul and Lucie--so
young they all were, so happy, and that happiness threatened by a
couple of wretches who would think no more of taking a man's life than
of killing a rat, if they had the opportunity.
He looked at the crowds of gaily-dressed people which filled the
streets with life. He looked at Denise in the charming freshness of her
youth, her tender eyes repeating with every glance that she loved Toni
better than anybody else in the world. He considered all the splendor
and beauty around him--the dancing river and the great arched, dark
blue sky above them in which the palpitating stars were shining faintly
and a silver moon trembled--and he could scarcely keep from groaning
aloud at the thought of being torn from all he loved. But he gave no
outward sign of it. Denise thought him as happy as she was.
After their supper at a gay café they came across one of those open-air
balls which are a feature of Paris, and they danced together merrily
for an hour. Everybody saw they were sweethearts and some jokes were
made at their expense, which Toni did not mind in the least and would
have enjoyed hugely, but--but-- Afterward they walked home under the
quiet night sky. In place of their gaiety and laughter a deep and
solemn happiness possessed Toni as well as Denise, except for this
terrible fear, black and threatening, which would not be thrust out of
his happiest hours.
Paris in June for a pair of lovers on a honeymoon trip, with enough
money to meet their modest wants, is an earthly Paradise. Denise loved
to exhibit her muslin gowns, made with her own hands, by the side of
her handsome corporal, in the cheap cafés and theaters which they
patronized. They found acquaintances, as everybody does in Paris.
The lodging-house keeper became their friend and invited them to her
daughter's birthday fête. They went out to Versailles on Sunday and saw
the fountains plashing, studied the windows of the magnificent shops in
the grand avenues, and were perfectly happy, except for the black care
that sat upon Toni's heart. Life could be so delightful, thought Toni,
but his would end so soon. Toni almost felt the knife that Nicolas
would stick into him. He pondered over the various ways in which he
might be killed--a blow like that which felled Count Delorme might
do for him. He imagined himself found dead in the streets of Beaupré
some dark night, and the story of how he came by his death would never
be known. And he thought of Paul--that his body might be found in a
thicket of the park of the Château Bernard, just as Count Delorme's had
been. Toni was an imaginative person and the horror of his situation
was enhanced by the Paradise of the present. He wondered sometimes how
he managed to keep it all from Denise, but he did for once.
Too soon the time came when he had to return to Beaupré. It was on
a wet and gloomy day that he and Denise alighted from a third-class
carriage at the little station. They walked straight to their modest
lodgings, and then Toni went to seek Paul. His leave was not up by
several hours, so he need not report at once. He found Paul at the
headquarters building in a little room where he worked alone. When Toni
came in and shut the door carefully behind him, Paul whirled around in
his chair expecting to see a radiant, rapturous Toni. Instead of that,
Toni dropped the mask which he had worn before Denise and looked at
Paul with a pair of eyes so distressed, so haunted, so anxious, that
Paul knew in a moment something had happened.
"Well, Toni," he began, and then asked, "What is the matter?"
Toni, instead of standing at attention, leaned heavily against the
desk--his legs could hardly support him.
"The day I was married," he said, "when Denise and I got in the railway
carriage to go to Paris, Nicolas and Pierre got in, too."
Paul's ruddy, frank and smiling face grew pale as Toni said these
words. They might mean for him, as well as for Toni, a decree of doom,
and, like Toni, he was so happy that the thought he should be torn away
from it all seemed the more cruel.
"And what did they say and do?" he inquired after a painful pause.
"They were very insulting at first to Denise, but I told her not to
notice them, and they wanted to shake hands with me, but I refused."
"Did you?" cried Paul, in amazement. "Is it possible that you didn't
act like a poltroon and shake hands with them and do whatever they
asked you to do?"
This was no sarcasm on Paul's part, but a plain expression of what
he expected Toni would do, and Toni was not at all offended at this
imputation on his courage and good sense.
"Yes," he said, "I acted the man with them. I never did it before, but
I did more than that--I called the guard, who made them go into another
carriage."
Paul gazed at Toni with wide-eyed surprise. Here was the most
astonishing thing that ever happened--Toni actually showing a little
courage with these men.
"I can hardly believe it is you, Toni, standing before me. If you had
shown the same spirit all the time, you would not now live in dread
about that Delorme affair."
"Perhaps not," sighed poor Toni, "but you know how I always was, Paul."
"I think you are going to be something different now," replied Paul
cheerfully. It was not pleasant--the thought that these two rascals,
who had promised to kill him as well as Toni, were alive and in Paris,
but Paul's nerves were perfect and he easily recovered his balance.
"But the thought of it--the thought of it!" cried Toni, opening his
arms and standing up straight. "The knife entering my breast or that
blow on the side of the head such as they gave Count Delorme. I feel
them and see them everywhere I look. If I see a man walking on the
street he seems to take the shape of Nicolas or Pierre. Every time I
turn a corner I expect to see them. And there is Denise--and then I
think of you being found some night or some day, dead--will it be in
the morning or in the evening--will it be in the summer time or in
the autumn?--and Madame and the little one--" Falling into a chair,
Toni broke down and cried and sobbed bitterly. Paul put his arm around
Toni's neck. Their two heads were close together just as they had been
in the old days on the bridge at Bienville. He said no word to Toni,
but the touch of his arm was strength and comfort, and presently Toni
stopped crying and grew calm again.
"Never mind, Toni," said Paul, "I think we can take care of ourselves.
We must go armed. It would not do any good if you were to inform on
those two rascals. Of course they would deny it--you can't punish a man
for crime he hasn't committed. We shall have to take our chances--that
is all. But if one of us is killed, the other one will be safe,
because then your story will be believed."
That was not much comfort to Toni, who replied:
"If you are killed, what will life be to me? and if I am killed think
of Denise, and you."
They sat a little while longer talking, Paul encouraging Toni and at
last raising in him some of the spirit which had made him have Nicolas
and Pierre turned out of the railway carriage. Paul said that they were
comparatively safe at Beaupré where Nicolas and Pierre would not dare
to come, but Toni did not take this view. He thought that men who had
committed one murder and had contemplated another for two years would
not hesitate to come to Beaupré in order to fulfil their purpose. The
effort to keep his agony from being suspected by Denise was, however,
perfectly successful. Denise suspected nothing, nor did the sergeant
nor anybody, except Paul Verney.