DOROTHY'S CIRCUS
The château, situated at no great distance from Domfront, in the
most rugged district of the picturesque department of the Orne, only
received the name of Roborey in the course of the eighteenth century.
Earlier it took its name of the Château de Chagny from the village
which was grouped round it. The village green is in fact only a
prolongation of the court-yard of the château. When the iron gates are
open the two form an esplanade, constructed over the ancient moat, from
which one descends on the right and left by steep slopes. The inner
court-yard, circular and enclosed by two battlemented walls which run
to the buildings of the château, is adorned by a fine old fountain of
dolphins and sirens and a sun-dial set up on a rockery in the worst
taste.
Dorothy's Circus passed through the village, preceded by its band, that
is to say that Castor and Pollux did their best to wreck their lungs
in the effort to extract the largest possible number of false notes
from two trumpets. Saint-Quentin had arrayed himself in a black satin
doublet and carried over his shoulder the trident which so awes wild
beasts, and a placard which announced that the performance would take
place at three o'clock.
Dorothy, standing upright on the roof of the caravan, directed One-eyed
Magpie with four reins, wearing the majestic air of one driving a royal
coach.
Already a dozen vehicles stood on the esplanade; and round them the
showmen were busily setting up their canvas tents and swings and
wooden horses, etc. Dorothy's Circus made no such preparations. Its
directress went to the mayor's office to have her license viséd, while
Saint-Quentin unharnessed One-eyed Magpie, and the two musicians
changed their profession and set about cooking the dinner.
The Captain slept on.
Towards noon the crowd began to flock in from all the neighboring
villages. After the meal Saint-Quentin, Castor, and Pollux took a
siesta beside the caravan. Dorothy again went off. She went down into
the ravine, examined the slab over the excavation, went up out of
it again, moved among the groups of peasants and strolled about the
gardens, round the château, and everywhere else that one was allowed to
go.
"Well, how's your search getting on?" said Saint-Quentin when she
returned to the caravan.
She appeared thoughtful, and slowly she explained:
"The château, which has been empty for a long while, belongs to the
family of Chagny-Roborey, of which the last representative, Count
Octave, a man about forty, married, twelve years ago, a very rich
woman. After the war the Count and Countess restored and modernized
the château. Yesterday evening they had a house-warming to which
they invited a large party of guests who went away at the end of the
evening. To-day they're having a kind of popular house-warming for the
villagers."
"And as regards this name of Roborey, have you learned anything?"
"Nothing. I'm still quite ignorant why my father uttered it."
"So that we can get away directly after the performance," said
Saint-Quentin who was very eager to depart.
"I don't know.... We'll see.... I've found out some rather queer
things."
"Have they anything to do with your father?"
"No," she said with some hesitation. "Nothing to do with him.
Nevertheless I should like to look more closely into the matter. When
there is darkness anywhere, there's no knowing what it may hide.... I
should like...."
She remained silent for a long time. At last she went on in a serious
tone, looking straight into Saint-Quentin's face:
"Listen: you have confidence in me, haven't you? You know that I'm
quite sensible at bottom ... and very prudent. You know that I have a
certain amount of intuition ... and good eyes that see a little more
than most people see.... Well, I've got a strong feeling that I ought
to remain here."
"Because of the name of Roborey?"
"Because of that, and for other reasons, which will compel me
perhaps, according to circumstances, to undertake unexpected
enterprises ... dangerous ones. At that moment, Saint-Quentin, you must
follow me--boldly."
"Go on, Dorothy. Tell me what it is exactly."
"Nothing.... Nothing definite at present.... One word, however. The man
who was aiming at you this morning, the man in the blouse, is here."
"Never! He's here, do you say? You've seen him? With the policemen?"
She smiled.
"Not yet. But that may happen. Where have you put those earrings?"
"At the bottom of the basket, in a little card-board box with a rubber
ring round it."
"Good. As soon as the performance is over, stick them in that clump of
rhododendrons between the gates and the coach-house."
"Have they found out that they've disappeared?"
"Not yet," said Dorothy. "From the things you told me I believe that
the little safe is in the boudoir of the Countess. I heard some of the
maids talking; and nothing was said about any robbery. They'd have been
full of it." She added: "Look! there are some of the people from the
château in front of the shooting-gallery. Is it that pretty fair lady
with the grand air?"
"Yes. I recognize her."
"An extremely kind-hearted woman, according to what the maids said, and
generous, always ready to listen to the unfortunate. The people about
her are very fond of her ... much fonder of her than they are of her
husband, who, it appears, is not at all easy to get on with."
"Which of them is he? There are three men there."
"The biggest ... the man in the gray suit ... with his stomach sticking
out with importance. Look; he has taken a rifle. The two on either
side of the Countess are distant relations. The tall one with the
grizzled beard which runs up to his tortoise-shell spectacles, has
been at the château a month. The other more sallow one, in a velveteen
shooting-coat and gaiters, arrived yesterday."
"But they look as if they knew you, both of them."
"Yes. We've already spoken to one another. The bearded nobleman was
even quite attentive."
Saint-Quentin made an indignant movement. She checked him at once.
"Keep calm, Saint-Quentin. And let's go closer to them. The battle
begins."
The crowd was thronging round the back of the tent to watch the
exploits of the owner of the château, whose skill was well known.
The dozen bullets which he fired made a ring round the center of the
target; and there was a burst of applause.
"No, no!" he protested modestly. "It's bad. Not a single bull's-eye."
"Want of practice," said a voice near him.
Dorothy had slipped into the front ranks of the throng; and she had
said it in the quiet tone of a connoisseur. The spectators laughed. The
bearded gentleman presented her to the Count and Countess.
"Mademoiselle Dorothy, the directress of the circus."
"Is it as circus directress that mademoiselle judges a target or as an
expert?" said the Count jocosely.
"As an expert."
"Ah, mademoiselle also shoots?"
"Now and then."
"Jaguars?"
"No. Pipe-bowls."
"And mademoiselle does not miss her aim?"
"Never."
"Provided, of course, that she has a first-class weapon?"
"Oh, no. A good shot can use any kind of weapon that comes to hand ...
even an old-fashioned contraption like this."
She gripped the butt of an old pistol, provided herself with six
cartridges, and aimed at the card-board target cut out by the Count.
The first shot was a bull's-eye. The second cut the black circle. The
third was a bull's-eye.
The Count was amazed.
"It's marvelous.... She doesn't even take the trouble to aim. What do
you say to that, d'Estreicher?"
The bearded nobleman, as Dorothy called him, cried enthusiastically:
"Unheard of! Marvelous! You could make a fortune, Mademoiselle!"
Without answering, with the three remaining bullets she broke two
pipe-bowls and shattered an empty egg-shell that was dancing on the top
of a jet of water.
And thereupon, pushing aside her admirers, and addressing the
astonished crowd, she made the announcement:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to inform you that the
performance of Dorothy's Circus is about to take place. After
exhibitions of marksmanship, choregraphic displays, then feats of
strength and skill and tumbling, on foot, on horseback, on the earth
and in the air. Fireworks, regattas, motor races, bull-fights, train
hold-ups, all will be on view there. It is about to begin, ladies and
gentlemen."
From that moment Dorothy was all movement, liveliness, and gayety.
Saint-Quentin had marked off a sufficiently large circle, in front of
the door of the caravan, with a rope supported by stakes. Round this
arena, in which chairs were reserved for the people of the château, the
spectators were closely packed together on benches and flights of steps
and on anything they could lay their hands on.
And Dorothy danced. First of all on a rope, stretched between two
posts. She bounced like a shuttlecock which the battledore catches and
drives yet higher; or again she lay down and balanced herself on the
rope as on a hammock, walked backwards and forwards, turned and saluted
right and left; then leapt to the earth and began to dance.
An extraordinary mixture of all the dances, in which nothing seemed
studied or purposed, in which all the movements and attitudes appeared
unconscious and to spring from a series of inspirations of the moment.
By turns she was the London dancing-girl, the Spanish dancer with
her castanets, the Russian who bounds and twirls, or, in the arms of
Saint-Quentin, a barbaric creature dancing a languorous tango.
And every time all that she needed was just a movement, the slightest
movement, which changed the hang of her shawl, or the way her hair
was arranged, to become from head to foot a Spanish, or Russian, or
English, or Argentine girl. And all the while she was an incomparable
vision of grace and charm, of harmonious and healthy youth, of pleasure
and modesty, of extreme but measured joy.
Castor and Pollux, bent over an old drum, beat with their fingers
a muffled, rhythmical accompaniment. Speechless and motionless the
spectators gazed and admired, spellbound by such a wealth of fantasy
and the multitude of images which passed before their eyes. At the
very moment when they were regarding her as a guttersnipe turning
cartwheels, she suddenly appeared to them in the guise of a lady with a
long train, flirting her fan and dancing the minuet. Was she a child or
a woman? Was she under fifteen or over twenty?
She cut short the clamor of applause which burst forth when she came to
a sudden stop, by springing on to the roof of the caravan, and crying,
with an imperious gesture:
"Silence! The Captain is waking up!"
There was, behind the box, a long narrow basket, in the shape of a
closed sentry-box. Raising it by one end, she half opened the cover and
cried:
"Now, Captain Montfaucon, you've had a good sleep, haven't you? Come
now, Captain, we're a bit behind-hand with our exercises. Make up for
it, Captain!"
She opened the top of the basket wide and disclosed in a kind of
cradle, very comfortable, a little boy of seven or eight, with golden
curls and red cheeks, who yawned prodigiously. Only half awake, he
stretched out his hands to Dorothy who clasped him to her bosom and
kissed him very tenderly.
"Baron Saint-Quentin," she called out. "Catch hold of the Captain.
Is his bread and jam ready? Captain Montfaucon will continue the
performance by going through his drill."
Captain Montfaucon was the comedian of the troupe. Dressed in an old
American uniform, his tunic dragged along the ground, and his corkscrew
trousers had their bottoms rolled up as high as his knees. This made a
costume so hampering that he could not walk ten steps without falling
full length. Captain Montfaucon provided the comedy by this unbroken
series of falls and the impressive air with which he picked himself up
again. When, furnished with a whip, his other hand useless by reason of
the slice of bread and jam it held, his cheeks smeared with jam, he put
the unbridled One-eyed Magpie through his performance, there was one
continuous roar of laughter.
"Mark time!" he ordered. "Right-about-turn!... Attention, One-eye'
Magpie!"--he could never be induced to say "One-eyed"--"And now the
goose-step. Good, One-eye' Magpie.... Perfect!"
One-eyed Magpie, promoted to the rank of circus horse, trotted round in
a circle without taking the slightest notice of the captain's orders,
who, for his part, stumbling, falling, picking himself up, recovering
his slice of bread and jam, did not bother for a moment about whether
he was obeyed or not. It was so funny, the phlegm of the little man,
and the undeviating course of the beast, that Dorothy herself was
forced to laugh with a laughter that re-doubled the gayety of the
spectators. They saw that the young girl, in spite of the fact that the
performance was undoubtedly repeated every day, always took the same
delight in it.
"Excellent, Captain," she cried to encourage him. "Splendid! And now,
captain, we'll act 'The Gipsy's Kidnaping,' a drama in a brace of
shakes. Baron Saint-Quentin, you'll be the scoundrelly kidnaper."
Uttering frightful howls, the scoundrelly kidnaper seized her and set
her on One-eyed Magpie, bound her on her, and jumped up behind her.
Under the double burden the mare staggered slowly off, while Baron
Saint-Quentin yelled:
"Gallop! Hell for leather!"
The Captain quietly put a cap on a toy gun and aimed at the scoundrelly
kidnaper.
The cap cracked; Saint-Quentin fell off; and in a transport of
gratitude the rescued gypsy covered her deliverer with kisses.
There were other scenes in which Castor and Pollux took part. All were
carried through with the same brisk liveliness. All were caricatures,
really humorous, of what diverts or charms us, and revealed a lively
imagination, powers of observation of the first order, a keen sense of
the picturesque and the ridiculous.
"Captain Montfaucon, take a bag and make a collection. Castor and
Pollux, a roll of the drum to imitate the sound of falling water. Baron
Saint-Quentin, beware of pickpockets!"
The Captain dragged through the crowd an enormous bag in which were
engulfed pennies and dirty notes; and from the top of the caravan
Dorothy delivered her farewell address:
"Very many thanks, agriculturists and towns-people! It is with regret
that we leave this generous locality. But before we depart we take
this opportunity of informing you that Mademoiselle Dorothy (she
saluted) is not only the directress of a circus and a first-class
performer. Mademoiselle Dorothy (she saluted) will also demonstrate
her extraordinary excellence in the sphere of clairvoyance and psychic
powers. The lines of the hand, the cards, coffee grounds, handwriting,
and astrology have no secrets for her. She dissipates the darkness.
She solves enigmas. With her magic ring she makes invisible springs
burst forth, and above all, she discovers in the most unfathomable
places, under the stones of old castles, and in the depths of forgotten
dungeons, fantastic treasures whose existence no one suspected. A word
to the wise is enough. I have the honor to thank you."
She descended quickly. The three boys were packing up the properties.
Saint-Quentin came to her.
"We hook it, don't we, straight away? Those policemen have kept an eye
on me the whole time."
She replied:
"Then you didn't hear the end of my speech?"
"What about it?"
"What about it? Why, the consultations are going to begin--the
superlucid clairvoyant Dorothy. Look, I here come some clients ...
the bearded nobleman and the gentleman in velveteen ... I like the
gentleman in velveteen. He is very polite; and there's no side about
his fawn-colored gaiters--the complete gentleman-farmer."
The bearded nobleman was beside himself. He loaded the young girl with
extravagant compliments, looking at her the while in an uncommonly
equivocal fashion. He introduced himself as "Maxime d'Estreicher,"
introduced his companion as "Raoul Davernoie," and finally, on behalf
of the Countess Octave, invited her to come to tea in the château.
"Alone?" she asked.
"Certainly not," protested Raoul Davernoie with a courteous bow. "Our
cousin is anxious to congratulate all your comrades. Will you come,
mademoiselle?"
Dorothy accepted. Just a moment to change her frock, and she would come
to the château.
"No, no; no toilet!" cried d'Estreicher. "Come as you are.... You look
perfectly charming in that slightly scanty costume. How pretty you are
like that!"
Dorothy flushed and said dryly:
"No compliments, please."
"It isn't a compliment, mademoiselle," he said a trifle ironically.
"It's the natural homage one pays to beauty."
He went off, taking Raoul Davernoie with him.
"Saint-Quentin," murmured Dorothy, looking after them. "Keep an eye on
that gentleman."
"Why?"
"He's the man in the blouse who nearly brought you down this morning."
Saint-Quentin staggered as if he had received the charge of shot.
"Are you sure?"
"Very nearly. He has the same way of walking, dragging his right leg a
little."
He muttered:
"He has recognized me!"
"I think so. When he saw you jumping about during the performance it
recalled to his mind the black devil performing acrobatic feats against
the face of the cliff. And it was only a step from you to me who
shoved the slab over on to his head. I read it all in his eyes and his
attitude towards me this afternoon--just in his manner of speaking to
me. There was a touch of mockery in it."
Saint-Quentin lost his temper:
"And we aren't hurrying off at once! You dare stay?"
"I dare."
"But that man?"
"He doesn't know that I penetrated his disguise.... And as long as he
doesn't know----"
"You mean that your intention is?"
"Perfectly simple--to tell them their fortunes, amuse them, and puzzle
them."
"But what's your object?"
"I want to make them talk in their turn."
"What about?"
"What I want to know."
"What do you want to know?"
"That's what I don't know. It's for them to teach me."
"And suppose they discover the robbery? Suppose they cross-examine us?"
"Saint-Quentin, take the Captain's wooden gun, mount guard in front of
the caravan, and when the policemen approach, shoot them down."
When she had made herself tidy, she took Saint-Quentin with her to the
château and on the way made him repeat all the details of his nocturnal
expedition. Behind them came Castor and Pollux, then the Captain,
who dragged after him by a string a little toy cart loaded with tiny
packages.
* * * * *
They entertained them in the large drawing-room of the château. The
Countess, who indeed was, as Dorothy had said, an agreeable and amiable
woman, and of a seductive prettiness, stuffed the children with
dainties, and was wholly charming to the young girl. For her part,
Dorothy seemed quite as much at her ease with her hosts as she had
been on the top of the caravan. She had merely hidden her short skirt
and bodice under a large black shawl, drawn in at the waist by a belt.
The ease of her manner, her cultivated intonation, her correct speech,
to which now and then a slang word gave a certain spiciness, her
quickness, and the intelligent expression of her brilliant eyes amazed
the Countess and charmed the three men.
"Mademoiselle," d'Estreicher exclaimed, "if you can foretell the
future, I can assure you that I too can clearly foresee it, and that
certain fortune awaits you. Ah, if you would put yourself in my hands
and let me direct your career in Paris! I am in touch with all the
worlds and I can guarantee your success."
She tossed her head:
"I don't need any one."
"Mademoiselle," said he, "confess that you do not find me congenial."
"Neither congenial nor uncongenial. I don't really know you."
"If you really knew me, you'd have confidence in me."
"I don't think so," she said.
"Why?"
She took his hand, turned it over, bent over the open palm, and as she
examined it said slowly:
"Dissipation.... Greedy for money.... Conscienceless...."
"But I protest, mademoiselle! Conscienceless? I? I who am full of
scruples."
"Your hand says the opposite, monsieur."
"Does it also say that I have no luck?"
"None at all."
"What? Shan't I ever be rich?"
"I fear not."
"Confound it.... And what about my death? Is it a long way off?"
"Not very."
"A painful death?"
"A matter of seconds."
"An accident, then?"
"Yes."
"What kind of accident?"
She pointed with her finger:
"Look here--at the base of the fore-finger."
"What is there?"
"The gallows."
There was an outburst of laughter. D'Estreicher was enchanted. Count
Octave clapped his hands.
"Bravo, mademoiselle, the gallows for this old libertine; it must be
that you have the gift of second sight. So I shall not hesitate...."
He consulted his wife with a look of inquiry and continued:
"So I shall not hesitate to tell you...."
"To tell me," finished Dorothy mischievously, "the reasons for which
you invited me to tea."
The Count protested:
"Not at all, mademoiselle. We invited you to tea solely for the
pleasure of becoming acquainted with you."
"And perhaps a little from the desire to appeal to my skill as a
sorceress."
The Countess Octave interposed:
"Ah, well, yes, mademoiselle. Your final announcement excited our
curiosity. Moreover, I will confess that we haven't much belief in
things of this kind and that it is rather out of curiosity that we
should like to ask you certain questions."
"If you have no faith in my poor skill, madame, we'll let that pass,
and all the same I'll manage to gratify your curiosity."
"By what means?"
"Merely by reflecting on your words."
"What?" said the Countess. "No magnetic passes? No hypnotic sleep?"
"No, madame--at least not for the present. Later on we'll see."
Only keeping Saint-Quentin with her, she told the children to go and
play in the garden. Then she sat down and said:
"I'm listening, madame."
"Just like that? Perfectly simply?"
"Perfectly simply."
"Well, then, mademoiselle----"
The Countess spoke in a tone the carelessness of which was not perhaps
absolutely sincere.
"Well, then, mademoiselle, you spoke of forgotten dungeons and ancient
stones and hidden treasures. Now, the Château de Roborey is several
centuries old. It has undoubtedly been the scene of adventures and
dramas; and it would amuse us to know whether any of its inhabitants
have by any chance left in some out-of-way corner one of these fabulous
treasures of which you spoke."
Dorothy kept silent for some little time. Then she said:
"I always answer with all the greater precision if full confidence is
placed in me. If there are any reservations, if the question is not put
as it ought to be...."
"What reservations? I assure you, mademoiselle----"
The young girl broke in firmly:
"You asked me the question, madame, as if you were giving way to a
sudden curiosity, which did not rest, so to speak, on any real base.
Now you know as well as I do that excavations have been made in the
château."
"That's very possible," said Count Octave. "But if they were, it must
have been dozens of years ago, in the time of my father or grandfather."
"There are recent excavations," Dorothy asserted.
"But we have only been living in the château a month!"
"It isn't a matter of a month, but of some days ... of some hours...."
The Countess declared with animation:
"I assure you, mademoiselle, that we have not made researches of any
kind."
"Then the researches must have been made by some one else."
"By whom? And under what conditions? And in what spot?"
There was another silence. Then Dorothy went on:
"You will excuse me, madame, if I have been going into matters which
do not seem to be any business of mine. It's one of my faults.
Saint-Quentin often says to me: 'Your craze for trespassing and
ferreting about everywhere will lead people to say unpleasant things
about you.' But it happened that, on arriving here, since we had to
wait for the hour of the performance, I took a walk. I wandered right
and left, looking at things, and in the end I made a certain number
of observations which, as it seemed to me, are of some importance.
Thus...."
The Count and Countess drew nearer in their eagerness to hear her. She
went on:
"Thus, while I was admiring the beautiful old fountain in the court of
honor, I was able to make sure that, all round it, holes have been dug
under the marble basin which catches the water. Was the exploration
profitable? I do not know. In any case, the earth has been put back
into its place carefully, but not so well that one cannot see that the
surface of the soil is raised."
The Count and his guests looked at one another in astonishment.
One of them objected:
"Perhaps they've been repairing the basin ... or been putting in a
waste pipe?"
"No," said the Countess in a tone of decision. "No one has touched that
fountain. And, doubtless, mademoiselle, you discovered other traces of
the same kind of work."
"Yes," said Dorothy. "Some one has been doing the same thing a little
distance away--under the rockery, the pedestal on which the sun-dial
stands. They have been boring across that rockery. An iron rod has been
broken. It's there still."
"But why?" cried the excited Countess. "Why these two spots rather than
others? What are they searching for? What do they want? Have you any
indication?"
They had not long to wait for her answer; and Dorothy delivered it
slowly, as if to make it quite clear that here was the essential point
of her inquiry:
"The motive of these investigations is engraved on the marble of the
fountain. You can see it from here? Sirens surround a column surmounted
by a capital. Isn't it so? Well, on one of the faces of the capital are
some letters--almost effaced letters."
"But we've never noticed them!" cried the Countess.
"They are there," declared the young girl. "They are worn and hard
to distinguish from the cracks in the marble. However, there is one
word--a whole word--that one can reconstruct and read easily when once
it has appeared to you."
"What word?"
"The word FORTUNA."
The three syllables came long-drawn-out in a silence of stupefaction.
The Count repeated them in a hushed voice, staring at Dorothy, who went
on:
"Yes; the word FORTUNA. And this word you find again also on
the column of the sun-dial. Even yet more obliterated, to such a degree
that one rather divines that it is there rather than actually reads
it. But it certainly is there. Each letter is in its place. You cannot
doubt it."
The Count had not waited for her to finish speaking. Already he was
out of the house; and through the open windows they saw him hurry to
the fountain. He cast but one glance at it, passed in front of the
sun-dial, and came quickly back.
"Everything that mademoiselle says is the exact truth. They have dug at
both spots ... and the word FORTUNA, which I saw at once, and
which I had never seen before, gives the reason for their digging....
They have searched ... and perhaps they have found."
"No," the young girl asserted calmly.
"Why do you say no? What do you know about it?"
She hesitated. Her eyes met the eyes of d'Estreicher. He knew now,
doubtless, that he was unmasked, and he began to understand what the
young girl was driving at. But would she dare to go to extremities
and join battle? And then what were the reasons for this unforeseen
struggle?
With an air of challenge he repeated the Countess's question:
"Yes; why do you say that they have found nothing?"
Boldly Dorothy accepted the challenge.
"Because the digging has gone on. There is in the ravine, under the
walls of the château, among the stones which have fallen from the
cliff, an ancient slab, which certainly comes from some demolished
structure. The word FORTUNA is to be deciphered on the base of
it also. Let some one move that slab and they will discover a perfectly
fresh excavation, and the tracks of feet muddled up by the hand."