CLEARING THE GROUND
What could be the connection between Halsey and the Countess Rémond,
Selden wondered, as he turned away. He tried to remember what he knew
of Halsey, but it was not very much. They had met casually in Paris a
number of times, and had dinner with him once at the Cercle Interallié,
when they happened to be working on the same story, but that was all.
He had never liked Halsey’s style. The _Journal_ was a sensational
sheet; always seeking to play up the scandalous, never so happy as when
it was able to uncover a dark corner in the life of some public man,
ever eager to impute unworthy motives to the backers of any cause--and
Halsey rather gave the impression that he liked that sort of thing.
Certainly he was not held in very high esteem by his associates, and
Selden’s own idea was that he had lived so long in a cynical circle in
Paris that he had caught its tone.
Once he got hold of this affair of the prince and Myra Davis, Selden
very well knew what he would make of it--more especially if he
discovered the existence of Madame Ghita. But of that he was probably
already aware, since the marriage had no doubt been played up by him at
the time it occurred.
He wondered if the countess, for some reason of her own, was keeping
Halsey informed. But she could scarcely do that, since Halsey’s jeers
would imperil the whole plan upon which her heart was so evidently set.
Or was she keeping him in order? Or was he just her lover? But Selden
could not imagine why such a woman as the countess....
And then all thought of Halsey and the countess vanished, for he saw
approaching the woman whom, from the first moment he reached the
terrace, he had hoped to see; the woman about whom his thoughts were
centring more and more; who, in the last half hour, had taken on for
him a new interest and a new meaning.
She saw him at the same instant, and turned and spoke a word to the man
walking beside her, and Selden, looking at him, perceived it was young
Davis, completely immersed in Miss Fayard, who walked on his other
side, and who was certainly not unresponsive. In another moment Davis
was bringing the ladies toward him.
“Selden,” he said, “I want you to meet Madame Ghita. You remember....”
“Very well,” said Selden; “I am happy indeed to meet madame.”
“I also,” she said, and gave him her hand with a charming smile. “But
let us speak French. To myself I said, who can it be, that man so
distinguished whom I have not seen here before, and later I inquired of
M. Davis. What he told me made me more than ever curious, so when I saw
you just now, I commanded him to present you.”
“That was very nice of you,” said Selden, making a mental note of that
word “later.” So the prince and Davis had kept the appointment, as he
had supposed they would do.
Her eyes were resting on his with the same frank and unembarrassed
questioning he had noticed the first time he saw her, as though she
were seeking to discover what was passing in his mind, what he was
pondering about. They were a very dark brown, those eyes, almost black;
and again he noted the ivory softness of her skin, innocent of make-up,
and singularly glowing in spite of her lack of colour.
“This is my niece, Mlle. Fayard,” she added, and Selden bowed to the
young girl. “You two may walk on and continue your French lesson, while
I talk to M. Selden.”
“She is teaching me the first conjugation,” Davis explained, looking
ridiculously happy. “We have started with _aimer_.”
“Allez, allez!” commanded madame, laughing at the blush which
overspread the girl’s cheek. “With a Frenchman I could not do that,”
she added, looking after them. “But with an American, yes. Why is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Selden.
“But you agree with me that it is quite safe?”
“Oh, yes,” said Selden; “for the girl, that is.”
She laughed outright.
“Are you really such a cynic?” she asked. Then she grew suddenly
serious. “Do not be mistaken about her--she is a very good girl,
believe me. I have taken good care of her.”
“I can see that,” said Selden, and they walked on for a moment in
silence.
“Are you married?” she asked suddenly. “Forgive me,” she added, as he
stared a little; “but it is something that a woman always wishes to
know about a man. I do not think you are, but I should like to be sure.”
“Well, I’m not,” said Selden. “A fellow who knocks around the world as
I do has no business to be married.”
“You travel a great deal?”
“I am always looking for trouble. Whenever there is a row anywhere, I
pack my bag and start.”
“Was it for trouble you came to Monte Carlo?”
“Oh, no,” said Selden. “I came here to get warm, after two months in
the Balkans--also to rest a little. And I have had the good fortune to
meet here some very interesting people--one superlatively so,” and he
made her a little bow.
“Thank you. But you have not rested?”
“I usually find some work to do.”
“And then, of course, there are the tables.”
“Yes.”
“And the women.”
“Yes--they are wonderful, aren’t they?” he countered.
“Not all of them. But the one you were with yesterday seemed to me
rather unusual. Who was she?”
“Ah, that,” said Selden, calmly, “was the Countess Rémond.”
He felt that he had scored, although Madame Ghita certainly did not
start. But there was a new expression in her eyes.
“She is an old friend of yours?” she asked.
“No; I met her Monday evening.”
“I have never met her,” said madame; “but I am going to have lunch with
her to-day.”
“Are you?” said Selden. “I am very glad. So am I.”
This time she did start.
“You are sure it is for to-day that you are asked?” she questioned.
“Oh, yes. She told me that she had invited you, but that you had not as
yet accepted.”
“So you are in the plot, too,” she said slowly, and the eyes with which
she scanned his face were quite black. “That is a thing I had not
suspected.”
“No,” answered Selden quickly, “I am not in any plot. But if I were, I
should be on your side, madame; I pray you to believe it.”
She looked at him yet a moment as though striving to read his very
inmost thought. Then she glanced around.
“Let us sit down,” she said, and led the way to a bench. “Now you must
tell me what you know--everything. In the first place, you know, do you
not, that Prince Danilo is my husband?”
“Yes; I know that.”
“As legally my husband as the woman you marry will be your wife.”
“Yes.”
“Except that I have no claim upon his estates or his title, and our
children, if we had any, could not succeed to them.”
“Yes.”
“And there was, of course, the understanding that some day, if he
wished, he would be free to make a marriage of state in order to carry
on the title.”
“Yes.”
“Well, the prince does not wish to marry again. If he consents, it is
only because the king commands it, and he conceives it to be his duty
to his country.”
“I can well believe it, madame,” said Selden.
“Eh bien, I went to Nice last night to stop it; after all, I have some
pride, some rights. I will not be disregarded and cast aside like that!”
“I understand,” said Selden. “You are right. Do you need my help?”
She looked at him suddenly, with curious intentness.
“You are in earnest?”
“Absolutely.”
She smiled at him, almost tenderly.
“I shall not forget that,” she said; “perhaps some day I may even call
upon you. But I did not interfere last night because Danilo gave me his
word that he would leave the matter in my hands to decide one way or
the other, before the settlement is signed.”
“That was fine of him!”
“Oh, Danilo is a gentleman,” said madame; “and he will keep his word.
Besides....”
She stopped and shrugged her shoulders, but to Selden the shrug was
more eloquent than words. She meant, of course, that Danilo loved her.
And she--did she love him? That was the question Selden would have
liked to ask, but he did not dare.
“You have not yet made up your mind?” he asked instead.
“No,” she answered slowly, looking at him with a queer little smile;
“you see there are so many things to consider. Of course, if Danilo
refuses, the king will cast him off--for a time, at least--and there
will be no more money. Danilo could never earn any, and he has borrowed
all that is possible. So his affection for me would grow less and less
day by day--for he is like a cat; he must be comfortable; and at last
the day would come when he could endure it no longer, and would tell me
good-bye.”
“You are saying nothing of yourself,” Selden pointed out.
“Oh, I could endure it no more than he!” laughed his companion. “Less
perhaps! So it may be the part of wisdom, for his sake and for my sake,
to make the best bargain I can, now, while there is a chance. Does that
seem very cynical?”
“No; just sensible.”
“But one is not supposed to be sensible in affairs of the heart--is it
not so? Well, I may not be sensible in this affair--I cannot tell. But
I am willing to listen to what they have to say. The Countess Rémond is
an emissary from the king, is she not?”
“Yes.”
“And she is inviting me to lunch in order to discuss this affair?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so,” and again she looked at him, with her strange little
smile. “What I do not understand is that you also should be there.”
“Ah, madame,” said Selden quickly, “I pointed out to her that you would
not like it. I shall not come.”
“But I did not say I did not like it. On the contrary, I wish you to
come. Only, if you are an ally of the countess, I must be prepared for
you.”
“I am not an ally of the countess,” Selden protested; “not in any
sense. I should like to be your ally, madame, if you will have me.”
She glanced at him quickly, then turned her head away for a moment, as
though looking for her niece and Davis. Then she looked back at him,
and her face was very tender.
“Of course I will have you!” she said, her voice a little thick.
Selden was deeply moved; he looked away, out over the sea, and for a
moment there was silence between them--but it was a silence which said
many things.
“Have you met her,” she asked at last, “this Miss Davis?”
“Yes.”
“Does she resemble her brother?”
“Oh, no,” said Selden; “not in the least. She is much stronger and
finer.”
“You admire her then?”
“Yes--in a way.”
“Is she fond of Danilo?”
“No, I don’t think so--not especially.”
“Then it is just ambition--ambition to be a queen!”
“Her mother is ambitious, and of course urges her on. But I think what
Miss Davis cares for most is the opportunity to do good with her money.”
“No, no,” said Madame Ghita quickly; “a man might believe that, but not
a woman! There is something beside that--there must be--something more
personal, more passionate. I am sure of it. If I could only see her!
Well, it may be possible--why not? I would invite her to open her heart
to me, as I should open mine to her, and together we would decide. Yes,
yes--that would make it easy!”
A donkey-engine which had been unloading coal from a steamer beside the
quay gave a shrill shriek with its whistle and abruptly stopped. There
came a tinkle of bells from the ships in the harbour.
“Twelve o’clock!” cried Madame Ghita. “Can it be? I must be going!
Where are those children? Come, we must look for them.”
The children were discovered not far away, leaning over the balustrade,
watching a low Italian destroyer which was steaming rapidly along the
coast, and working assiduously at their languages--French for Davis,
English for Cicette. They seemed to be progressing very satisfactorily
among the tenses of “aimer”--though Cicette found it difficult to get
exactly the correct sound of the “o” in love, and Davis thought the way
she said it much prettier than the right way--as, indeed, on her lips
it was.
Madame Ghita broke in upon them without compunction.
“Come, Cicette,” she said. “Bid adieu to the gentlemen--we must be
going. It is very late.”
Selden, looking at her more carefully than he had taken the trouble to
do before, found her much less ordinary than she had seemed at first
glance. Her face was yet a girl’s, but it gave promise of character as
well as beauty. Davis might well do worse!
“But look here,” Davis protested, “I won’t see you again till evening,
then! Why can’t I take Cicette to lunch?”
“Impossible!” said madame firmly. “I have her reputation to consider,”
and she led her charge away.
The two men watched them as they went up the steps--the elder woman
so straight, so graceful, so full of ease; the younger fluttering
beside her like a butterfly, her feet scarce touching the ground. It
was difficult to realize that the actual difference in their ages was
probably not more than five or six years, and that the impression of
maturity which Madame Ghita gave was due almost wholly to her finish,
her ease, her perfect poise. As they passed from sight, Davis took off
his hat and wiped his forehead and breathed a deep sigh.
“Is it as bad as that?” inquired Selden, with a smile.
“Oh, I’m in love all right,” Davis answered, “and I’m going to marry
her--I don’t give a damn what anybody says. I’ve never met a girl who
could hold a candle to her.”
“Look here,” said Selden, “if you can get your mind off that young
woman for a minute or two, I’d like to talk to you about something
else. What about this engagement between your sister and Danilo?”
“Well, what about it?” asked Davis, a little truculently.
“Does she know about Madame Ghita?”
“I don’t know--probably not.”
“Don’t you think she ought to know?”
“What for? When the prince marries again, Madame Ghita becomes his
widow, that’s all.”
“Perhaps so,” assented Selden, scenting the baron’s teaching. “Just the
same she ought to know there is a widow. It would be squarer.”
“Oh, well, I can tell mother,” said Davis.
“I think she already knows.”
“Well then, it’s none of my business,” said Davis, impatiently. “And
don’t you worry about sis; she’s perfectly able to take care of
herself, and always has been. If you think she would take any advice
from her loving brother you’re greatly mistaken--she looks down upon me
as a kind of insect to be pitied but not respected. Also, if she has
made up her mind to marry Danilo, she’ll marry him just the same if she
knew he had ten widows! See here, though--I’ll tell her if you want me
to, provided you’ll do something for me.”
“What is it?” asked Selden.
“Help me to get mother’s consent to marry Cicette. I’m of age, and I
can marry anybody I want to--but dad never had much confidence in me,
and my money is all tied up so I can’t touch it. Beastly, I call it. Of
course I’d have enough to live on, but if I married Cicette, I’d want
to show her the time of her life. Will you?”
Selden looked appraisingly into the pleading face. Perhaps Davis wasn’t
such a bad sort, after all. The right kind of wife might make a man of
him. Even a big brother might do something. Selden had never had a kid
brother, and the thought rather appealed to him.
“I won’t promise,” he said. “I want to look you both over a bit more
first--I haven’t spoken two words to Cicette and not many more to you.”
Davis must have seen a certain sympathy in Selden’s eyes, for he caught
his hand and wrung it delightedly.
“All right!” he shouted. “I agree. The more you see of Cicette, the
more you will like her. I’m not afraid of that. But you’ve got to
convince mother that she’s good enough for me.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that!” Selden retorted. “The only question in
my mind is whether you are good enough for her! Now I’ve got to go,”
and he left Davis staring after him in delighted amazement.