THE HONEYMOON
The moon--Captain and Madame d'Haumont's honeymoon--rose with its soft
refulgence over the silver waves at Villefranche, at the extremity of
Cape Ferrat, between Nice and Monte Carlo. It was here, in the seclusion
of the fragrant gardens of "Thalassa," the splendid villa which M. de la
Boulays possessed on the azure coast of the Mediterranean, that they had
hidden their great and new-found happiness.
Leaning on the beflowered balcony the happy couple listened in silence
to the moaning of the sea breaking itself at the foot of the hills which
watched over this enchanted bay. The dark mass of two vessels lay
heavily asleep on their gleaming bed in the beautiful night.
Only the faint splash of two oars causing a light swirl of glistening
foam could be heard from the roadstead, and a boat passed so near as to
be almost at their feet.
"How pleasant it would be to have a row on the sea at this delightful
hour," murmured Françoise.
She had scarcely given expression to the wish when Didier hailed the
fisherman who was rowing the boat and asked him to wait. They made their
way down the steps which led to the beach, and the man, having consented
by a gesture to take them with him, they were soon gliding over the
surface of the waves, which were flowing out to the headland of Cape
Ferrat.
"Do you often fish at this hour?" questioned Françoise. "I believe I
caught sight of you yesterday pulling round the point."
The man answered only with a grunt.
"Certainly our sailor is no gossip," said Françoise in a whisper to
Didier.
They did not again speak to him. They even completely forgot his
existence. Didier's arm gently stole round Françoise's waist. Her head
lay on his shoulder. A soft and scented breeze was wafted from the
gardens at Saint Jean and the terraces at Beaulieu. Their lips met in
the glad night as though they were alone.
The uncouth fisherman, a few feet away from them, was deemed as of no
importance. Moreover he looked half asleep as he bent over his oars,
drowsing in the huge muffler which covered his face. But the man was not
slumbering, and in the innermost recesses of his mind he thought: "Love
each other. Rejoice like children who are free from care while
Chéri-Bibi keeps watch. Let nothing disturb the happiness which you
have wrested from fate. I, too, have known those divine moments. I, too,
have known what it is to be kissed by a beloved wife. I, too, have felt
a beautiful form yield in my arms. I, too, have heard a lover's sighs.
Alas, there is an end to all things! Make haste! The most delightful
nights are not far distant from the blackest chaos. The abyss lies under
your feet. Forget it! Forget it. Nut, as long as you can! I have come
from a great distance to remove from your path the cowardly forms
clinging to your shadow who are lying in wait for you as for a quarry.
Pray to your God in whom you believe, because your cup of happiness is
full, that I may save you from evil before even you suspect its
presence. Alas, nothing comes more swiftly in the world than misfortune.
You are right to forget it lest your fondest kisses be fraught with
bitter tears."
Thus Chéri-Bibi's thoughts flowed on in the lyrical and affected style
which was usual with him when the occasion did not call upon him to
express himself in the most frightful slang.
Those who have known as he knew, both sides of life as a result of
complications which they have not sought, and which have sent them
astray from their early path, find themselves again with a suddenness
which cannot surprise them, either with a heart full of the joys of
former times, or else wearing a hideous mask under which Fatality
endeavors to suppress their former selves without entirely succeeding.
Chéri-Bibi half saw what was passing in the Nut's elated mind. He was
at that moment entirely transported with gratitude to Providence, the
Giver of life and death, who had imposed on him such sore trials and
made such splendid amends.
This secret pæan to the mighty spirit of goodness rose all the higher,
inasmuch as the Nut could consider himself henceforward safe from a
recurrence of his evil fortune. As far as the world was concerned the
Nut was dead, Chéri-Bibi thought. The newspapers, some months before,
had published the glad news:
"The tragedy of the murder of a well-known banker by Raoul de Saint
Dalmas," it was reported, "is now doubtless forgotten by the public. It
may be stated that the prisoner succeeded in escaping from the convict
settlement, but the Penitentiary Authorities have been able to satisfy
themselves beyond any doubt that the miscreant perished in the primeval
forest like so many other convicts who have attempted the same venture."
No endeavor would be made to search further for him, and since he had
learned from the same source, on his arrival in Europe, that the men who
in Cayenne were called the Burglar, the Parisian, the Caid and the Joker
had been recaptured, together with the notorious Chéri-Bibi, he had
every reason to believe that the past contained no menace for him.
He was confident, moreover, that he owed his perfect security to
Chéri-Bibi, and at those moments when his thoughts reverted to him, he
vowed an even deeper gratitude to him.
"Be happy, Nut! You will learn all too soon, if you are to learn it,
that your old companions in bondage escaped once again after four years
of imprisonment, showing greater cunning this time, for they managed to
return to France, and were present at your wedding. Oh, if you had known
it! How you would have invoked in your prayers the demon of darkness who
alone can save you, and whom, in the natural selfishness of your
happiness, you no longer wished even to remember."
* * * * *
Françoise loved adornment and admiration, and Didier was delighted, for
he thought, with some reason, that a woman without elegance and style
was a woman without charm.
During the early months of the war, Mlle. de la Boulays restricted
herself with a veritable enthusiasm to the greatest simplicity in dress.
But, in truth, could she claim that she was devoted to her Red Cross
costume solely because it served to remind her of her duties to
humanity? Did she entirely ignore the fact that it suited her to
perfection?
Her engagement, and then her marriage, which was a society event,
afforded her more than a sufficient reason for returning to her former
tastes, so that she found herself once more devoting herself to matters
of toilet and dress. The fact, moreover, in no way detracted from her
more solid qualities.
Captain d'Haumont was delighted to accompany his wife when she went
shopping or visited her dressmaker. And when they were in Nice, after
sauntering through the Promenade des Anglais, he never failed to bring
her back to the verdant avenue where behind the great shop-fronts
bloomed the latest fashions.
On that day they went to Violette's to see a certain dress in white
voile embroidered with pearls upon which Françoise had been casting
longing eyes. The elder of the sisters, Violette, had just returned from
their principal branch in Paris, bringing with her every kind of
fashionable wonder. Françoise had not visited Violette's during the
war. But she knew the two sisters well, and she was quite surprised to
see the elder one put out her hand to Didier with a pleasant smile. So
Didier also knew her! So Didier used to visit the millinery shops before
his marriage! With a charming pout, lifting in mock-seriousness a
threatening finger, she remarked upon the fact.
"Don't scold us, Madame," said the elder Mlle. Violette with a smile.
"It's a great secret between Captain d'Haumont and me. But as it's the
secret of a good action, you must not ask me to tell you about it."
"I insist on knowing what it is," said Françoise gaily. "A husband
ought not to have any secrets from his wife."
"After all, you're quite right, Madame, and well . . . the secret
is . . ."
At that juncture a girl appeared from the other end of the shop. She was
wearing an exquisite dress which Françoise at once gazed upon
enraptured. She did not even bestow a glance at the face of the wearer.
A mannequin in the flesh means little more to the customers than a
mannequin in dummy.
Nevertheless she was obliged to take stock of that handsome face with
its refined and aristocratic outline, for the girl, catching sight of
Captain d'Haumont, uttered a cry of joy, and blushing with pleasure went
quickly up to him with outstretched hand. And then, doubtless feeling
that her gesture was indiscreet, she stopped short and murmured, almost
stammering:
"Oh, Captain d'Haumont! . . . How is it you're here?"
"What about you?" returned d'Haumont. "Have you been in Nice long?"
"I brought her with me from Paris yesterday," interposed Mlle. Violette.
"We needed a few mannequins, and I took her away from the cash desk so
as to have her taught a new business here. She does all that we want. We
are very pleased with our favorite, Captain d'Haumont."
"My dear," said Captain d'Haumont, turning to his wife, who did not know
what to say or what to think, and who remained standing somewhat
nonplussed by the mystery, "I want you to be very nice to Mlle. Giselle
who is quite worthy of it. It's a story which I will tell you later."
"A very pathetic story, Madame," interposed Mlle. Violette, "and one
that redounds to your husband's credit."
Giselle bowed gracefully to Madame d'Haumont. "I will try to deserve
your kindness, Madame and Monsieur," she said with great simplicity.
"When my mother and I heard of Captain d'Haumont's marriage we both of
us prayed for your happiness."
"She is delightful, this child," said Françoise, as she shook her
warmly by the hand. "And how pretty she is!" Then, turning to her
husband with an adorable pout:
"I don't know what you did to make them so grateful to you, but you know
how to choose the people to whom to do good turns, my dear Didier."
When they left the shop Françoise, who was agog with the greatest
curiosity, asked him what it all meant.
"Be quick, tell me. You know that I am jealous, you brigand."
D'Haumont was much amused by her impatience. He assumed an air of
detachment.
"My dear, it's a secret which belongs to that young girl," he said. "I
really don't know if I can----"
"Oh, you're making game of me! That's not the old Didier. Think of the
confidence that I have in you. We go into a shop and the first mannequin
that we see throws herself into your arms and I don't scratch her eyes
out."
"That would have been a pity, for they are very nice eyes," said Didier.
"Yes, she has extremely nice blue eyes and an expression of gentle
sadness which haunts one, it's true. Oh, you're an excellent judge. I
congratulate you! All the same, you must admit that I am a good sort. Do
I know what you did before our marriage?"
"Françoise!" rapped out Didier in a muffled voice. The word was uttered
in such a tone of reproach that Françoise stopped teasing him. She saw
that he was very pale and painfully upset.
"Good gracious, I didn't know that I should be hurting your feelings
like that."
He took her hand and pressed it gently.
"My dearest," he said, "I will tell you all about her, but never forget
that since the day that I first saw you, there's never been any other
woman in the world for me but you."
"I believe you, my Didier."
Nothing more was said while they remained among the fashionably dressed
crowd which assembles between eleven o'clock and midday on the Promenade
de la Baie des Anges. But as soon as they were alone on the terrace,
which was usually deserted at that time, and which, skirting the
Château, leads to the harbor, Didier told Françoise what he knew of
Giselle and how he came to know her.
The incident occurred on an occasion when he was home on leave. He was
"pulling himself together" from the fatigues of the front in a small
flat which he had taken on his arrival in Paris. It was in the
Luxembourg quarter, facing the gardens, of which he was very fond, and
which served to remind him of the happiest days of his boyhood.
One day as he left his flat he was arrested by a most mournful
procession which was descending from the attic above. Some poor devil
was being taken to his last resting place. A young girl was walking
behind the coffin. She was in tears, and was so weak that obviously she
had the greatest difficulty to hold herself upright. She was alone or
almost alone. Didier offered her his assistance. She clung to his arm in
her distress with an ingenuous confidence that deeply touched him. He
took her thus to the cemetery, and brought her back home again.
It was not until they were in the house that she seemed to notice the
assistance which a stranger had rendered her.
"Oh, monsieur, it's very good of you," she said, and as they were now
indoors she made her escape and went upstairs to her attic.
Captain d'Haumont questioned the porter's wife. He learned that
Giselle's father had suffered from an illness--consumption--which was
practically incurable. Thus he had not been able to work for two years,
and her mother was crippled, so that the young girl could only maintain
her unhappy family by the most grinding toil. Scarcely being able to
leave them, she was forced to wear herself out with needlework at home,
and earned barely enough to keep the wolf from the door.
D'Haumont knew the elder of the Violette sisters, for one of her
nephews, a second lieutenant, had served under him; and amid the dangers
of the campaign they had struck up a friendship. He called upon this
worthy lady and asked her if she could find a situation for an honest
girl who would be worthy of her trust. Mlle. Violette, as it happened,
had a vacancy for a cashier. And that was how Giselle came to enter one
of the principal dressmaking establishments in Paris, and her mother and
herself to be extricated from poverty. In the course of a year, assisted
by her youth, Giselle won back her health. In a word, she blossomed
forth into the beautiful young girl whom Françoise had just seen. Mlle.
Violette, realizing how graceful she was, sometimes took her away from
the cash desk and dressed her as her most valuable mannequin, for she
set off to advantage their most sensational "confections."
"And now, my dear Françoise, you know as much as I do about Giselle."
"You always will be the best of men," returned Françoise,
affectionately pressing his arm. "Men are only as good as that in
popular novels and plays," she added with an arch smile.
"You are laughing at me," said the Nut in a tone of surprise, slightly
vexed. But she grew entirely serious again.
"I adore you, my Didier."
They retraced their steps, for it was now lunch time. As they turned
round they almost ran into a singular-looking person, with a
copper-colored skin, and eyes devoid of eyebrows but protected from the
glare of the sun by large yellow glasses. This peculiar individual was
dressed entirely in white linen; and he wore white shoes and a gray
bowler hat. Didier could not help giving a start when his eyes fell upon
him.
"How very much like Yoyo he is!" he said to himself.
But the idea no sooner flashed upon him than he realized how ridiculous
and unpardonable it was to let his thoughts wander back to the men and
things of the primeval forest while walking on the Promenade des
Anglais.
"Did you notice that man?" asked Françoise, laughing. "There's an
eccentric for you! Do you know who he is? From what I hear, he is a
genuine redskin, a celebrated surgeon-dentist from Chicago who has just
opened a consulting-room in Nice. How would you like to have a redskin
as your dentist? Personally, I should be afraid of his sending me to
sleep and then scalping me. Madame d'Erlande told me, the other day,
that the women here are crazy about him, and that he has already secured
the smartest people in the foreign colony as his patients."
Captain d'Haumont smiled and turned round to have another look at him.
The man was still walking some twenty paces behind them, smoking a
cigarette.
A few days later a charitable fête was held in Cimiez, in the beautiful
gardens of the Château de Valrose, standing on the hills which tower
above Nice. Madame d'Erlande was one of the chief organizers of the
fête, and she invited Françoise, whom she had known since she was a
little girl, and for whom she had always shown a great affection, to
take charge of a stall. Françoise could not well refuse. Didier went
with her. He allowed her to sell his choicest tobacco with all the
reckless and charming freedom which the holder of a tobacco stall is
expected to show in an affair of the sort.
He wandered among the clumps of trees, strolled through the sham Roman
ruins, and drew near and entered the Château de Valrose almost at the
same time as the redskin, who was surrounded by a regular "court" of
smart women. He knew the man's name now, for it was to be heard on every
hand. He called himself Herbert Ross.
They went into the theater at the same time. The surgeon-dentist from
Chicago took a seat in front of him, next to a woman whose appearance
seemed to be familiar to him. She chattered incessantly to the redskin
and did her utmost to arouse his interest. But with his usual unruffled
calm he replied to her only in monosyllables. That was his method.
Moreover, it was stated that he could only speak a black man's broken
lingo.
At that juncture a celebrated Russian diva sang Gluck's "Alceste." She
secured a great triumph, and was followed by sundry instrumental pieces
on the piano, harp and violin. Finally it was announced that the
celebrated Nina Noha would appear in her character dances.
Didier gave a start when he heard her name. He had often seen mention of
her in the newspapers since his return to France. He was fully aware
that the dancer, was still much courted, or at least that the
fascination which the great public in Paris found in her who used to be
Raoul de Saint Dalmas's mistress had in no sense diminished. The war had
made no difference to her. On the one hand were those who fought, and on
the other those who idled away their time.
Nevertheless it struck him that Nina Noha must have changed in the
course of fifteen years. If he had been bent on it, he could have seen
for himself. It would have been easy for him to have found an
opportunity. But he did not seek her out--far from it. In spite of the
image which was reflected in his mirror, and showed him a Didier who in
no way resembled the old Raoul, he could not help shuddering with a
peculiar dread at the thought of finding himself confronted by a
countenance which used to be so familiar to him. Suppose she recognized
him! Repeat to himself that the thing was impossible as he might, he had
none the less procured some tortoiseshell-rimmed dark glasses in order
to take refuge behind those glasses should any sudden encounter place
him in an embarrassing position.
Nina Noha! She was the origin of all his misery. What follies he had
committed for the woman whom he now held in horror!
She came on to the stage. What a marvel she was! She had not changed in
the least. She still possessed her fatal beauty. Her eyes, her great
dark, blazing eyes still held their disturbing fire. Her movements were
still as lithe, as voluptuous, as before. She was still as young as
ever.
Nina Noha danced in a Parisian robe which revealed her figure more
completely than if she had worn a Corinthian tunic. What were Didier's
real feelings as he gazed at that apparition? Did they betoken the death
of his former passion for her? Was he mourning over himself? Did he see
in her the hated cause of all his woes?
He clapped his hands like everybody else, hardly knowing what he was
doing. Five minutes later, at the sound of a voice which, likewise had
undergone no change, he came to himself from his musings.
"Well, doctor, are you satisfied?"
The woman who had sat in front of him and whose back alone he had seen
while she chattered to the "doctor," was no other than Nina Noha.
Didier instinctively put on his dark glasses. She had come back to her
seat. She had danced solely to please the redskin. At least he gathered
as much from her talk which he could not but overhear. But the Captain
was no longer listening to her voice. He was staring at her.
He was staring at the nape of her neck, the sight of which at one time
distracted him. Even now he could not remove his eyes from it, but it
was not the living flesh that held him, it was not the perfumed neck
which he was wont to cover with kisses that he now gazed upon. His eyes
were fixed on the necklace fastened round her neck.
Lord above, he had known a necklace with pearls like that! It was a long
time ago . . . a very long time ago. It was more than fifteen years ago.
Yes, he had held in his hand gems which were so like them that they
might easily be mistaken for those which were round Nina's neck. He had
held pearls in his hand like them on the day when the banker had passed
to him, so that he might judge their brilliance, the necklace which once
belonged to the Queen of Carynthia.
Oh, how he longed to count the number of pearls in it! That particular
necklace--the fact had been repeated often enough during the trial for
the Nut to remember it--contained sixty pearls. Such was the necklace
which, if the Public Prosecutor was to be believed, Raoul de Saint
Dalmas had stolen, and to obtain which he had not scrupled to murder his
employer!
It was enough to strike any man to the very heart suddenly to see before
his eyes, after fifteen years, a necklace like it . . . exactly like it
. . . for after all, suppose it were one and the same?
"I am wandering in my mind," he thought, Nina Noha! A pearl necklace!
Raynaud's murder! . . . All these things were whirling in Didier's poor
brain.
"It's not surprising that I cannot see a necklace without thinking of
the other one," he thought to himself. "But the other one contained a
certain pearl, a pearl with a flaw in it, a pearl which had lost its
luster. M. Raynaud pointed it out to me. True, I myself remember the
particular pearl. It was not perfectly round either. True, I see it in
my mind's eye still. . . . But here I cannot see it at all!
"Am I going mad? Haven't I yet done staring at that necklace, trying to
count how many pearls there are in it? Why do I not at once cry aloud to
the people in this theater: 'Cannot you recognize me? I am Raoul de
Saint Dalmas. I was condemned to death for the murder of the owner of
that necklace. I insist on this woman telling me where she got it
from.'"
He was afraid of himself. He left the theater. By a curious coincidence
Nina Noha came out after him. She was no longer with the redskin but was
attended by a showily dressed "gentleman" who, however, left her almost
at once, and to whom she said:
"See you this evening, my dear de Saynthine. . . ."
At that moment Didier encountered his wife's friend, Madame d'Erlande,
who likewise was leaving the theatre, and she stopped to speak to him.
She was a vivacious and sprightly, and somewhat mature woman, who wore a
smile from which youth had fled. She was not devoid of wit, nor of love
of mischief, nor, in particular, of malice. She liked to tease the
enamored. She had assisted at Françoise's wedding with immense
enjoyment; and she never failed to say, when she caught her giving her
husband an adoring look:
"Make the most of it, my dear. Make the most of it. One can never tell
how long it will last with those gentlemen."
She was reputed, moreover, to have had not a little experience in love
affairs, and malicious tongues declared that in her time she had rarely
allowed to slip from her the opportunity of putting to test the
constancy of man.
"Well," she said to Didier, "what do you think of our little fête? I
noticed just now that you were by no means boring yourself. You were
taking an enormous pleasure in watching Nina Noha dance."
"Upon my word," returned Didier, forcing himself to reply by a resolute
effort of will so as to appear natural, for, at the mention of her name,
Nina Noha turned her head and was eyeing him with considerable interest,
"upon my word, she certainly dances extremely well."
"She is undoubtedly one of our most beautiful actresses. Ah, you
brigand, she was in front of you. I was watching you. You never took
your eyes from her. But I shall tell Françoise the whole story. I must
put the little innocent on her guard."
Nina Noha passed them with an air of supreme unconcern. Well, Madame
d'Erlande could let her tongue run on as she pleased. Nina Noha had not
recognized him.