COUNT DE GORBIO
Count Stanislas de Gorbio was a handsome man, and quite young, for he
was still in the thirties.
There are certain women who cannot endure his particular style of
beauty: velvet black eyes, black moustache, black beard, black hair, a
pale, delicate almost feminine complexion, and dazzling white teeth
displayed in an everlasting smile. Such men are too good looking; they
are insipid, these women declare. They prefer, if we may believe them, a
man who is frankly ugly.
In so saying some of them scarcely speak the truth, for they change
their tune if one of those insipid persons pays court to them. It was
thus, for instance, that Mlle. de la Boulays, who had repeatedly
declared, without attaching any importance to it, that the airs and
graces of Count Stanislas de Gorbio only "made her smile," in other
words, that she ridiculed them, began that evening to lend the most
assiduous and smiling attention to the Count's amiable chatter.
She had discarded the Red Cross uniform which, admirably suiting her
clear-cut beauty, seemed to emphasize the real and somewhat serious side
of an expression belonging less to a young girl than to a young woman
already conversant with the sorrows of life. Françoise's childhood had
not been happy. When she was ten years of age she suffered the great
loss of her mother to whom she was tenderly attached. Her father married
again, but the marriage was unhappy for both of them. A divorce,
however, which had been obtained not long before, set both father and
daughter free. And now Françoise and her father lived for each other,
never separating, traveling together and finding consolation for the
cares and sorrows of the past in their perfect affection.
M. de la Boulays had plunged into considerable business affairs, anxious
to increase the fortune of his daughter, who was destined to make a
brilliant marriage. She had already refused several suitors. She argued
that there was no hurry, though she had passed her twenty-fifth
birthday.
Mlle. de la Boulays was fair-haired--so fair-haired that everyone who
came near her was bathed in sunshine. Count Stanislas de Gorbio seemed
as though he were illuminated. Never, indeed, had that handsome head
with its crown of gold bent towards him with so much sweetness to listen
to words which he could not regard as more eloquent that day than on the
day before. Never had those eyes, those great grey-green eyes, with
their variable shadows, like waves affected by the least caprice of the
wind, never had those eyes looked at him with such persistence. In truth
they fixed themselves only on him. That evening the Count had some
grounds for feeling sure that the victory was won.
Didier followed their movements, and his feelings may be imagined.
During dinner he seemed greatly dejected, answering in an abstracted
manner the few questions which were put to him by M. de la Boulays, who
did not fail to notice his guest's gloomy demeanor.
When they retired to the drawing-room Françoise's father asked Didier
if he were not somewhat indisposed, to which he made answer that on the
contrary he was quite well, and if he had shown some depression during
this last meal, it was because he was compelled, as the result of
certain news which he had received from Paris, to leave them that very
night by the late express.
M. de la Boulays bowed and uttered a few polite expressions of regret,
but made no attempt to keep Didier. He felt sure that Didier was very
jealous of Count de Gorbio, for he could not imagine anyone coming near
Françoise without falling in love with her on the spot. Count de Gorbio
was in love with his daughter. She should choose for herself, do as she
pleased. It suited her to smile that evening on the Count; and M. de la
Boulays would be delighted if his daughter decided to marry him, for he
was a considerable personage, reckless, perhaps, in business, but one of
those men with whom, generally speaking, everything succeeds.
When Françoise came up to Didier with a cup of coffee he was on the
point of telling her of his departure, but as she moved quickly away
after serving him, as she served the others, smiling faintly and making
a few trivial remarks, he kept silent.
She returned to de Gorbio in the embrasure of a window, and the chatter
was renewed between them. Then a serious expression flashed over her
countenance, and she became quiet. It was de Gorbio who went on talking,
eyeing her in a peculiar manner. Didier turned away feeling greatly
distressed. What was the Count saying to her which could be of such
interest that she listened to him like that?
De Gorbio's words were ordinary enough but quite explicit.
"I've loved you from the time I first saw you. Will you give me
permission to ask M. de la Boulays for your hand? I think I may assure
you that your father would be pleased to see our union."
Françoise did not appear in any sense surprised.
"If you have spoken to my father of your intentions, how is it that he
hasn't said anything to me?" she returned.
"M. de la Boulays answered me: 'I shall do what my daughter desires. It
is for her to decide and you to persuade her.' Have I succeeded in
persuading you?"
Mlle. de la Boulays listened with great attention to the Count's words,
but apparently she was not greatly perturbed by them. She raised her
eyes not to the speaker but to look round for Didier. She could not see
him. He had left the drawing room.
"Give me time to think it over," she said, and she took leave of him.
Didier, in fact, went to the balustrade. Here he came across an officer
who had sat next to him at dinner, and asked him about Count de Gorbio.
Who was the man who was so far advanced in Mile, de la Boulays'
friendship?
"He is a Count created by the Pope, and during the last three or four
years has launched into every sphere of society. He invested
considerable monies in munition factories; and I hear that he and M. de
la Boulays possess joint interests in various undertakings."
Didier made his way down to the park, walking about in the dimly-lit
solitude like a soul distraught. He pressed his burning forehead to the
iron rails of the garden gate, and stared vaguely at the white line of
the road without seeing anything. He did not observe near him, on the
other side of the gate, a man who was spying on him. He did not see, or
rather he paid no heed, to a peddler's cart which went past. Nor did he
perceive the nod which the peddler exchanged with the man behind the
wall. Didier was conscious only of what was passing within himself; he
thought only of his own condition which seemed to him as miserable as
could be, and yet there was a time, not so very long ago, when he
regarded himself as the most wretched of men.
But that was because he had learned to know hell and had not attained
the paradise lost of Françoise's love. The story of creation portrays
the awful spectacle of Adam and Eve driven from Eden by the angel with
the flaming sword. Didier looked upon their woes as less than his own.
They had been driven from the garden of Eden. Didier had driven himself
out. He had drawn the sword upon himself.
At one time--and the time was not very far distant--the man called the
Nut was the friend of a tremendous person from whom at times the cry
_Fatalitas_ burst forth like the fatal words which appeared in letters
of fire on the wall at Belshazzer's feast.
Didier quivered with emotion at his remembrance of the Nut and with
faltering steps turned to go back to the house, through the darkness of
the park pierced by the uncertain light of the moon.
Before him stood a figure which barred his way. It was the figure of
love. It was Françoise.
"What is this my father tells me?" she asked at once. "You are off to
Paris to-night? Do you wish to leave us, Monsieur d'Haumont?"
Didier repeated what he had already said to M. de la Boulays, whereupon
she reminded him of the unwisdom of going away in his precarious state
of health.
"I am quite well now, thanks to you, and I shall never forget it."
He tried to utter this last sentence in an expressionless fashion, not
wishing to betray the emotion which almost made him cry out.
Nevertheless his voice shook.
A silence fell which she did not at once break. A seat was at hand and
she sat down. At last it seemed as if she had made up her mind.
"Your leaving us so hurriedly makes it difficult for me I assure you,"
she declared in a blank voice in which she too concealed her feelings
which were not devoid of a certain annoyance with the Captain. "You must
know that I need the advice of a good friend, and I thought of speaking
to you, but here you are about to leave us. It's a pity."
"I'm not going for a couple of hours yet," returned Didier frigidly,
"and if I can be of any use to you. Mlle. . . ."
"Well then, I will tell you," said Françoise with a casual air. "Will
you believe that an incident has happened this evening which I was far
from expecting. You must know that Count de Gorbio has amused himself by
making love to me. Everyone took it in fun, and I myself was I don't
know how far from treating him seriously. I called him 'my admirer,'
laughing a little at him and at his manner, which is slightly too
affected for my liking. But what can one do? Tastes differ. Personally
I like men to be men. The Count with his butterfly manners never
attracted me. . . . But perhaps I'm boring you with my silly
tales. . . ."
"I'm not losing a single word, Mlle."
"Well, now, to come to the main point. Count de Gorbio told me this
evening that he was in love with me. He has spoken to my father who, he
says, would be happy to accept him as a son-in-law. In short he asks me
to marry him. I told him that I wanted time for reflection, and in view
of my friendship with you and my reliance on your judgment, I've come
straight away to you for reflection! Tell me frankly, Monsieur
d'Haumont; what do you advise me to do?"
As she spoke she took his hand, for she saw him standing before her as
motionless as a statue and she was dismayed by his silence. She did not
doubt that he loved her, and his attitude pained her as much on his
account as it pained her on her own. She motioned him to a seat beside
her on the settle where during the last two months they had had so many
pleasant discussions. While he remained like one petrified she no longer
concealed her agitation. And was not the gesture, the rather peremptory
gesture of her hand, by which she asked him to sit down beside her, was
it not the most significant of avowals?
Then Didier's voice was heard. Neither of them recognized it. Who and
what was this third person who came between them and was now speaking?
"You know the Count better than I do, Mademoiselle, and in such a
matter, what I think or what I do not think is of no consequence."
Françoise's heart turned to ice, for this was not the voice of a third
person. It was Didier himself, seated beside her, who had spoken those
cruel words.
She was on her feet.
"No consequence indeed!" she exclaimed. "Only my happiness is at stake!
That matters little to you."
"Oh, Mademoiselle," protested the unhappy man, unable to say another
word.
"Well, do you advise me to marry him--yes or no?"
"If he is an honest man--yes."
It was all over between them. In a tone in which there was a suggestion
almost of enmity she said:
"Thank you, Monsieur d'Haumont. You are a real friend! Pray give me your
arm and let's go back to the house."
* * * * *
The man near the garden gate whom Captain d'Haumont had failed to notice
resumed his journey, keeping near the wall. He was pushing his bicycle
before him. Without haste he overtook the peddler's cart which was
continuing its way at the walking pace of the old horse harnessed to it.
A hundred yards farther on they came to a small door in the wall. The
man signalled the peddler to stop, exchanged a few words with him in
German, mounted his bicycle, and went off quickly into the country.
The peddler backed his cart against the park wall, and started to
unharness the horse as if he had made up his mind to camp at that spot
for the night.
Just then the door leading into the park was opened and a man servant
appeared, hatless, his hands in his pockets. He seemed to have come out
for a stroll and to "take the air." Nevertheless, between the two men,
the one who was unharnessing the horse and the other who was "taking the
air," a few quick words passed.
"All well?"
"Yes, all goes well. The Count has arrived."
The man servant pointed to the key which was in the lock. The peddler
looked at his watch, nodded his head, and the man servant went back into
the park.
Five minutes later the peddler was hiding in a summer-house adjoining
the wall, the roof of which jutted over the road near the little door.
At the slightest alarm, whether from inside or outside the garden, the
peddler could take refuge either in the road or in the park. The place
was well chosen for a private conversation, for it was impossible to be
overheard, not to mention that it was quite natural for M. de la
Boulay's guests to come there for the cool of the evening or to dream.
The peddler was not kept waiting long for his "dreamer." Almost at once
Count Stanislas de Gorbio appeared.
"Well?" he questioned.
"I have an urgent message from Nina Noha," the man returned, holding out
a letter.
The Count seized it, seemingly very eager to learn the contents, for
diving into the summer-house, and screened by the man, he did not
hesitate to bring into play a small, dark, pocket lantern. The letter
was soon read. The Count appeared to be satisfied and put several
questions to the peddler concerning the visits which had been made and
the guests who had been received at the house during the last few days.
As they were about to part company the Count asked:
"Have you any special information regarding this Captain d'Haumont who
is so much talked about? Did anyone know him before the war?"
"I have been asking about him and I'm waiting for the reply. Be on your
guard. He's been trotting round with the governor's daughter ever since
he's been here, and your 'traveling agent' just told me that he's with
her now."
The Count clenched his fists, sent the man away, and flung himself out
of the summer house. He was nearing the Château when he caught sight,
in profile before him, of the figures of Captain d'Haumont and Mlle. de
la Boulays. The girl was leaning on the officer's arm. He quickened his
steps without making the least sound, anxious to overhear a conversation
which he inferred might be confidential and of particular interest to
himself, but he could not catch a word, for, truth to tell, the two
friends were saying nothing.
The silence in no way pacified the Count. He was sufficiently man of the
world and experienced in love affairs to be aware that there are
silences sometimes between a man and woman, which are more eloquent than
the tenderest speech. It is when they understand each other best that
they have least to say, and the sweetest moments are those which pass in
the mute exchange of the one idea which they hold in common, and the
delightful feeling of perfect harmony.
The Count was furious. He had not thought that the danger was so
real. . . . Up to that day he had not given a thought to it at all. He
attached but slight importance to certain secret tales which had come
to him from the Château servants.
Count de Gorbio had an opinion of his own personal merits which rendered
it difficult for him to comprehend that he might receive a rebuff where
women were concerned. And he was convinced that in spite of Mlle. de la
Boulays' laughing and chaffing air, she had been greatly affected by the
delicate tact of his attentions to her. And now he discovered that he
had a serious rival. De Gorbio knew, moreover, that his friends greatly
relied on his marriage with Mlle. de la Boulays. The obstacle which
stood in his way inclined him, therefore, to take some unpleasant action
against the Captain when he met him face to face in the hall.
Moreover the two men took stock of each other with a look of hostility
which the excessively cheerful air of the one and the excessively frigid
air of the other failed to conceal; but a voice behind them said:
"Count, I've been speaking of our plans to the Captain, who is my
sincere friend. He has given me advice which tells me that he will soon
be your friend. To-night you may ask my father for my hand."
As he heard those words which overwhelmed him and for which he was so
little prepared, his delight and gratitude straightway manifested
themselves in sundry praises of the gallant Captain d'Haumont and he
went up to him with outstretched hand; but doubtless by an unlucky
chance, at that very moment d'Haumont stooped to pick up some object, so
that when he stood erect again he had forgotten de Gorbio, who was still
holding out his hand, though no one thought of taking it, not even Mlle.
de la Boulays, who had disappeared through another door.