The boarding house to which Nacha had fled belonged to an old maid of
French extraction known as Mlle. Dupont. This elderly landlady quite
won Nacha's heart with her amiability and delicate ways, her politeness
and her unquestionable respectability. Poor Nacha had never in her
whole life been so well treated; the years she had last lived through
had prepared her to be particularly surprised and pleased by the
attentions with which she now found herself surrounded. She attributed
to kindliness and goodness of heart the courtesies which were due to
"Mademoiselle's" punctilious ceremoniousness; and she thought that her
landlady did her a great honor in demonstrating so much affection for
her.
As a matter of fact, Mlle. Dupont had as many wrinkles in her soul
as on her face. Her apparent amiability expressed itself chiefly
in certain phrases of endearment or pity such as _ma petite_, _ma
chérie_, _Oh, quel malheur_! and others of the same nature. To hear
her, one might have thought that to this sensitive being everything was
delicious, enchanting, exquisite, worthy of compassion or sympathy. The
daughter of Bayonne Protestants, she had turned Catholic, and was, at
bottom, a narrow, egotistic, rather ridiculous old woman. She treated
all her boarders as she treated Nacha, and was prodigal to them of
similar amenities. She must have been about forty-five; but she looked
more than fifty. She was tall, angular, stiff in her movements, with
masculine features, and hair and eyebrows of a reddish cast. Her nose
was sharply molded, and her hair, combed high in an ancient style,
covering the greater part of her forehead and her ears, and hanging
down the sides in ringlets that were not always in curl, gave her a
somewhat ludicrous appearance. When she wished to appear particularly
sweet-natured, she would lean ceremoniously toward the person
addressing her, all the while smiling and blinking her small eyes.
Mlle. Dupont would quite frequently visit Nacha in her room.
"Always alone!" she would exclaim, clasping her hands, and shaking her
head. "Would you care for a little company?"
"Yes, indeed; I'd be delighted!"
Then she would sit down beside Nacha and tell her what a fancy she had
taken to her, and how she hoped she would never leave her house, and
how much she enjoyed her.
"You are such a good girl, Nacha!"
"Oh, 'good,' Mademoiselle!"
Her landlady continued in eulogistic strain; and then came the moment
for exchanging confidences! She wanted to know "everything" about her
new friend, about her family, about the kind of work she had done, and
what she lived on.... Nacha trembled before this curiosity. What should
she reply? Such questions from anyone else would have annoyed her; but
in "Mademoiselle's" case they seemed prompted by the affection she
professed for her new friend, and a desire to be useful to her, and to
know her better.
"Why do you want to know?" Nacha would ask.
"Oh, Mlle. Nacha! Nothing! Nothing at all! You wouldn't believe me if
I told you--it's just because I'm so fond of you, you are so good,
so--how shall I say--so innocent!"
Nacha reddened. Mlle. Dupont, watching her out of the corner of her
eye, and a little constrained, reddened also. "Oh, I can tell at a
glance! You are not like some of the other girls I have known. As for
me I admire goodness so much that I cannot understand how some women
... I don't know how it is! ... you see I was brought up on very
religious principles; and I can't help having such high standards about
character that I really can't endure the thought of the slightest
slip.... No, I always say; let a woman have all the faults she likes:
but let her morals at least be above reproach!"
Nacha, terrified, was wondering if "Mademoiselle" knew anything about
her life; but she could only conclude that her being allowed to remain
under that roof at all proved that her hostess was in total ignorance
of her history. All these declarations of lofty principles and
integrity of character, confirmed by the obvious austerity of her daily
life, caused poor Nacha to look upon Mlle. Dupont as a superior being.
Here at last was someone worthy of her intense admiration! She went
so far as to try to model her conduct upon that of her landlady, and
avoided going out, believing that temptation and vice hovered outside
the precincts of that house of refuge.
So she remained all day long in her room, going over the incidents
of the day just passed, dreaming, wondering who Monsalvat could be,
and what he wanted of her. Was he really what he appeared? Or had he
practised a miserable deception on her, making use of his eloquent
words to get her away from Arnedo, for his own advantage? This was not
impossible; for to men all means are justified when the end is the
woman their caprice has fastened upon. And she could not doubt that
she was pleasing to Monsalvat. She remembered how he had looked at
her, the first time they had ever seen one another, in the cabaret; he
had followed her to the house--he had gone again to the cabaret to see
her--and then how he had defended her! It couldn't be merely out of
pity that he had risked incurring the insults and the violence of the
_patota_! Does a man take such risks except for love? No, there could
be no doubt: he was in love with her....
But, did she want him to be? What was the strange feeling she had for
the man? Love or hate? Sometimes she thought she loved him with all
the strength of her being; but when she remembered that she was now
without resources, and that she would sooner or later be forced to have
recourse to the means of livelihood so loathsome to her, she hated him.
Why had he come to her house to torment her? Why had he spoken to her
that way, knowing as he must that a woman of her kind is an outcast,
and cannot change the manner of life that makes her so? Was he perhaps
a lunatic, who took pleasure in doing her harm? Her head swam with all
these questions and uncertainties. Then again at times she reproached
herself for having driven Monsalvat away. How happy it made her even to
remember that he had thought they might be friends!
Meanwhile Nacha was living on the money she had raised by pawning a
few jewels. She was sorry now not to have accepted the sum Arnedo had
offered her. Why so many scruples about accepting money? They became
her strangely! Mlle. Dupont required payment in advance; so that she
had had to part with a small brooch on the very day of her arrival
in the boarding house. The jewels she still possessed were of a very
modest sort and would scarcely provide her with means for even a month.
When she left Arnedo's apartment it was not with the intention of
trying to lead a decent life. Convinced that she could not help being
what she was, she had resolved to go on making a living as before. But
now two things held her back; the memory of Monsalvat, and her regard
for Mlle. Dupont. Never, while in that house, could she fall short
of her "Mademoiselle's" ideals! The Frenchwoman's eloquence on the
subject of "character" had impressed her. She felt the charm and the
tranquillity of living respectably; and it was not merely the happy
freedom from remorse which soothed her: the decency within her seemed,
at last, to have found a home.
More helpful than anything else, however, was the thought of Monsalvat.
In spite of her apparent evasion, he had conquered her, leaving on
her spirit an ineffaceable imprint. Simply remembering him made it
impossible for her to take up again her shameful profession; and when,
hard pressed by need of money, or by habit of mind, she thought of
yielding, Monsalvat's image appearing before her, imperious yet kind,
strengthened her impulse to resist.
A month and a half passed while Nacha lived on in a beclouded dream,
completely inactive. She got up at eleven, lunched with the other
boarders, spent the afternoon in an easy chair, dreaming, reading,
letting her somewhat indolent imagination wander; or she would lend
herself to confidential chats with "Mademoiselle." She almost never
went out. In the evening, after dinner, she joined the other boarders
at their card games, and then went to bed late.
She did not care to call on her friends, for fear they would drop in to
see her and compromise her with "Mademoiselle." Sometimes she thought
she would go out to try to discover Monsalvat's whereabouts; but she
knew nothing of his occupations, his associates, or the places he
frequented. She felt certain that his being in the cabaret was quite
accidental, and that, as he could scarcely hope to see her there, he
would never go back.
She had spoken of him with some of the other people in the house, but
they knew nothing she did not already know. One of them mentioned
having read an article of Monsalvat's in the _Patria_, and Nacha
telephoned to the newspaper office to ask for Monsalvat's address.
However, no one there knew it.
On the few occasions when Nacha went out it was with Mlle. Dupont.
One afternoon the latter insisted on Nacha's accompanying her to a
"meeting." Nacha, curious, and eager for diversion, accepted the
invitation, and together, they drove to a house in Independence Street.
On the door Nacha saw a sign bearing a proper name and under it the
legend "Happiness taught here." Beyond this door, in a room of small
size, were several benches and chairs, occupied by a scattering of
people. An individual, who looked like a Gypsy, was standing before
this audience addressing it. Just as Nacha and Mlle. Dupont came in, he
gave the order "Grand Chain!" and Nacha could not help laughing at this
reminiscence of a country dance. "Mademoiselle" looked solemn reproof
at her. The participants in the performance, men and women, as soon as
they heard these words, took hold of hands and stood in a circle until
the Gypsy-like performer, with a sanctimonious air, announced that "the
spirit" had taken possession of him. One of the audience asked the
spirit several questions, which the man answered in a faint, doleful,
ghostly voice that seemed to come from beyond the tomb. When the
questions were disposed of, Nacha, who had been frightened at first,
wanted to speak with Riga. If she could only ask him what she should
do! but she did not dare. Besides it was late and the man announced
that the séance was over.
After their return to the house Nacha and Mlle. Dupont could talk
of nothing but the spiritualist meeting. Mademoiselle was a fervent
believer in all such manifestations, which did not prevent her
being an extremely devout Catholic, and the esteemed friend of some
French priests who frequently called upon her. Nacha inquired of
"Mademoiselle" if spirits knew everything.
"_Ah, mais oui!_ Everything--the past, the future, what one ought to
do--they can tell you everything, _ma, chère_!"
"They are better than cards then? Or fortune tellers?"
"Oh, much better, cards sometimes lie, but spirits, never, _ma petite_,
never! How could a spirit lie! _Mais ce n'est pas possible, mon amour!_"
Nacha liked to have her fortune read from cards at frequent intervals.
Now she thought she would prefer to talk with Riga, the "professor of
happiness" acting as medium. Riga would not lie to her. Nevertheless,
on the two or three other occasions when she went to a spiritualist
séance she had not the courage to ask that Riga's spirit be summoned.
It was not so much shyness nor shame which held her back, as fear--Riga
would be sure to reproach her for her manner of living....
But one day a strange thing happened! Nacha unwittingly came upon
Mlle. Dupont in circumstances so compromising to that lady that Nacha,
confused, and distressed, thought only of relieving her friend's
embarrassment. Nothing, thought Nacha, but her entire confidence could
show Mlle. Dupont that she still held her in high regard. So, swayed by
a generous impulse, she told her hostess the story of her own life. And
when she had done so Mlle. Dupont turned upon her with a request for
the month's rent!
Another crumbled illusion! Nacha wept bitterly over its ruins. It was
faith in this woman's strength which had helped her all this while to
resist despair; now she had lost the only refuge she knew in the whole
world; and tomorrow she would lose what would cost her more than either
of these: she would lose hope in herself. She would have to go back
to the world which had doomed her to a disreputable life, which would
allow her to live no other....
She decided, however, before taking any other measure to meet Mlle.
Dupont's demands for money, to call on Torres for help. But, the next
day, early in the morning, the servant told her that one of the priests
who frequently called on Mlle. Dupont wanted to speak to her. Nacha
went to the parlor. Father Duchaine, round of figure and of face, sat
there waiting for her. His gestures too were round, as were his short
fat fingers; and he spoke with a round little mouth. Nacha did not
conceal her astonishment at this unexpected call.
"Mademoiselle, the fact is...."
He stood, apparently searching for words with which to state the fact,
gazing at the floor, placing his right hand on his mouth, and taking it
away when his meaning required the elucidation of a circle described by
a fat arm in the air.
"You know Mademoiselle! Such a saint! Her parents, although they were
not Catholics, were good people, God-fearing, virtue-loving. Providence
was watching over our dear Mademoiselle! When they died, her aunt, a
good religious woman, took her to live with her; and in this aunt's
house Mademoiselle became a convert."
Nacha, gazing wide-eyed at the priest, wondered what this was all about.
"Well, you know, you understand of course--in short, it seems that your
life has not been exactly--what can I say--exemplary! Perhaps I am not
clear.... You know, you understand, that in this house ... where ...
how shall I put it?..."
His eyes rolled upward, and he wriggled in search of elusive phrases.
His arm beat the air when suddenly the desired words slipped into
place, and beaming, he exclaimed, "where virtue is crystal pure! You
see that you ... with your way of living ... and no ... that is to say
... well, it really will not do for you to remain here!..."
"You mean, she is putting me out of the house!" exclaimed Nacha, with
indignation.
"Ah!... You understand.... Yes, you understand--precisely!..."
"Very well, I shall go today. Now be so kind as to leave me."
The priest made a well rounded bow, and went out. Scarcely had he set
foot in the hall than he returned, for he had heard Nacha calling him.
"You wish...?"
Nacha had for a moment thought of throwing more light on the "crystal
pure" virtue to which the priest had alluded. She would have enjoyed
the relief of striking out once at least at the perversity and
hypocrisy her landlady represented....
"What is it, señorita?"
But Nacha suddenly felt that such vengeance was a small piece of
business. No, it was not in her to be petty in this fashion! Let this
woman put her out on the street; let her tell her priests what Nacha
had told her in confidence in order to console her; let her do what she
would! She, at least, Nacha Regules, could not betray to anyone what
she had promised never to reveal!
"Nothing, Father! Leave me, please!"
She went to her room, dressed as carefully as the day before, and went
out to the street. There she took a passing taxi, giving the chauffeur
the address of a boarding house in Lavalle Street. She would never be
asked if her past life had been "exemplary" before being admitted to
lodge in this house!