MADAME CHRISTOPHOR
She held out an ungloved hand to him as he stepped up to the
automobile. Having gained her ends, she was disposed to be merciful.
"This is very kind of you, Sir Julien," she murmured. "I really was
most anxious to have you visit me. Will you step in, please, and drive
with me a little way? One converses so easily and it would perhaps
amuse you more than to sit in my rooms."
"You are very thoughtful," Julien replied. "I will come, with pleasure,
if I may."
He seated himself by her side.
"You must put your stick and gloves in the rack there," she continued,
"and make yourself quite comfortable. We drive a short distance into
the country, if you do not mind."
"I am entirely at your service," he answered.
He was firmly determined to remain wholly unimpressed by whatever she
said or did, yet, even in those first few moments, the sweetness of her
voice and the delicate correctness of her English sounded like music to
him. There was a suspicion of accent, too, which puzzled him.
"We are not altogether strangers, you know," she went on. "I have seen
you before several times. I think the last time that you were in Paris
you sat in a box at Auteuil with some friends of mine."
Somehow or other, he was conscious of a certain embarrassment. He was
not at his best with this woman, and he found it hard, almost
impossible, to escape from commonplaces.
"It was my misfortune that I did not see you," he remarked. "My visit
was rather a momentous one. I dare say I paid less attention than usual
to my surroundings."
"Tell me," she asked, "it was my little friend Emilie, was it not, who
persuaded you to come and see me?"
"It was a little girl with whose name, even, I was unacquainted,"
Julien replied. "I must admit that I scarcely took her request
seriously. I could not conceive anything which you might have to say
which could justify the intrusion of a perfect stranger."
"But you," she reminded him, "are not a perfect stranger. You have been
a public man. You see, I am not afraid of hurting you because I think
that you will soon get over that little sensitiveness. I know all about
you--everything. You trusted a woman. Ah! monsieur, it is dangerous,
that."
"Madame," he said, looking into her wonderful eyes, "one makes that
mistake once, perhaps, in a lifetime--never again."
"The woman who deceives," she sighed, "makes it so difficult for all
those who come after! I suppose already in your mind I figure as a sort
of adventuress, is it not so?"
"Certainly, madame," he answered calmly. "It never occurred to me to
doubt but that you were something of the sort."
She half closed her eyes and laughed softly to herself, moving her head
like a child, as though from sheer pleasure.
"It is delicious, this frankness!" she exclaimed. "Ah! what a pity that
you did not come before that other woman had destroyed all your faith!
We might, perhaps, have been friends. Who can tell?"
"It is possible," he assented.
"So you believe that I am an adventuress," she continued. "You think
that I sent for you probably to try and steal one by one all those
wonderful secrets which I suppose you have stored up at the back of
your head. One cannot be Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs
without knowing things. Keep them to yourself, Sir Julien. I ask you no
questions."
"Then why," he demanded, "did you insist upon this visit from me, and
why did the little manicurist, who is a perfect stranger to me, insist
also that I should come to you?"
She smiled, and looked down at her hands for a moment.
"Now if I answer all your questions, Sir Julien," she said, "you will
have no more curiosity left, and when your curiosity is gone, perhaps
some measure of your interest may go, too. Can you not bring yourself
to believe that I may have had personal reasons for desiring your
acquaintance?"
"Madame," he answered, "no! I cannot bring myself to believe that."
Again she laughed.
"I think," she declared, "that it is your candor which makes you
Englishmen so attractive. Do you believe that I am a dangerous person,
Sir Julien?"
He looked at her coldly and dispassionately.
"I think," he decided, "that you might be very dangerous indeed to a
susceptible person."
"But not to you?"
"Certainly not to me," he admitted. "As you have already told me, it is
within your knowledge that I am paying the price for having trusted a
woman."
She nodded.
"It is a fine sort of ruin, after all. Not to trust is generally proof
of a mean and doubting disposition."
"You are probably right, madame," he agreed. "Is it permitted to remind
you that we have been together for some time and you have not yet
enlightened me as to your reasons for seeking my acquaintance?"
"Can't you believe that it was a whim?" she asked.
"No!"
"Remember that I saw you when you were here before," she persisted.
"I have no recollection of having met you."
"Yet I can tell you nearly all that you did on that last visit of
yours. You dined one night at the Embassy, one night at the Travelers'
Club with a party of four, one night with the Minister--Courcelles. You
were two hours with him on the afternoon of the day you dined with him.
You managed to snatch an hour at the races and to lunch at the Pré
Catelan on your way. You lunched, I believe, with Monsieur le Duc de
St. Simon and his friends."
"Your knowledge of my movements," he declared, "is very flattering. It
suggests an interest in me, I admit, but I have yet to be convinced
that that interest is in any way personal."
She looked at him from under the lids of her eyes.
"What is it, Sir Julien, that you possess, then, which you fear that I
might steal?"
He returned her gaze boldly. "I am a discarded Minister," he said. "I
might reasonably be supposed to be suffering from a sense of wrong. Why
should it not occur to a clever woman like you that it might be a
favorable moment to obtain a little information concerning one or two
political problems of some importance? Are you interested in such
matters, madame?"
She leaned back in her seat and laughed. He sat and watched her.
Distinctly she was, in certain ways, the most beautiful woman he had
ever seen. It was true that she was pale and that her neck was a trifle
thin, but her face was so aristocratic and yet so piquant, the color of
her eyes so delightful, her mouth so soft and yet so humorous. She laid
her hand upon his arm.
"Oh! my dear, dear Englishman," she exclaimed, "Heaven indeed has sent
you to me that I should not die of ennui! You do not know who I am--I,
Madame Christophor?"
"I have no idea who you are," he assured her. "I have never seen you
before. I know of no other name than the one by which I was told to ask
for you."
She leaned a little closer to him.
"Come," she said, "you see me for what I am. I shall not rob you, I
shall not drug you, I shall not try to tear secrets out of your throat
by any medieval methods. We are neither of us of the order of those who
seek adventures in vulgar fashion and expect always a vulgar
termination. Can't we be friends for a time--companions? Paris is an
empty city for me just now. And for you--you must avoid those whom you
know. It follows that you must be lonely. Let me show you my Paris."
Julien looked steadfastly out at the country, at the flying hedges, the
tall avenues of poplar trees in the distance, the clumsy farm wagon
coming across the hayfield, the blue-petticoated women who marched by
its side--anywhere to escape for a moment or two from her eyes. It was
absurd that he should feel even this faint interest in her proposition!
It was only a month since the blow had fallen, only a month since the
girl to whom he had been engaged had sent him away with a sigh and a
little handshake. It was only a month since life lay in splinters
around him. It was much too soon to feel the slightest interest in the
things which she was proposing!
"Madame Christophor," he said, "you are very kind, but I tell you
frankly that I should accept your proposition with more pleasure if you
had been of my own sex."
"You have become a woman-hater?"
"I cannot trust a woman," he answered coldly. "All the time I have the
feeling of insecurity. I fear that it must sound ungallant if I tell
you what is the sober truth--that your sex for the present has lost all
charm for me."
She closed her eyes. Perhaps from behind the mask of her still face she
was laughing at him!
"Do you think I don't understand that a little?" she murmured. "Never
mind, for to-night, at least, I will be sexless. You can believe that I
am a man. I think you will find that I can talk to you about most of
the things that men know of. Politics we will leave alone. You would
mistrust me at once. Art--I can tell you of our modern French painters;
I can tell you about these two wonderful Russians who are painting in
their studio here; I can tell you what to look for at the new
exhibitions, what studios to visit--I can take you to them, if you
will. Or old Paris--does that interest you? Have you ever seen it
properly? I know my old Paris very well indeed. Or would you rather
talk of books? There have been many years when I have done little else
but read. Tell me that we may be companions for a time. You have
nothing to lose, indeed, and I have so much to gain."
"Madame," Julien replied, "I do not trust you. You are doubtless an
agreeable companion, and as such I am willing to spend a short time
with you. This is an ungracious acceptance of your suggestion, but it
is the best I am capable of."
She clapped her hands.
"It is something, after all," she declared, "and let me tell you this,
my friend," she added, leaning over. "You have been frank with me. You
have told me that you hated my sex, that you distrusted us all. Very
well, I will share your frankness. I will tell you this. Neither am I
any friend of your sex. I, too, have my grievance. I, too, have
something in my heart of which I cannot speak, which, when I think of
it, makes me hate every male creature that walks the earth. Perhaps
with that in my heart and what you have in yours, we may meet and pass
and meet again and pass, and do one another no harm. Is that finished?"
"By all means," he agreed.
Her expression changed.
"Come," she said, "now you shall see that I have begun my plots. I have
brought you away from Paris into the country places. For what, I
wonder? Are you terrified?"
"Not in the least," he assured her.
"Brave fellow! Perhaps when you know the truth, your heart will shake
with fear. You are going to dine in a country restaurant."
"That does not terrify me in the least," he replied, smiling. "I think
that it will be charming."
"It is a tiny place," she told him, "not very well known as yet; soon,
I fear, likely to become fashionable. One sits at little tables on a
lawn of the darkest green. If the sun shines, an umbrella of pink and
white holland shades us. Quite close is the river and a field of
buttercups. There are flowers in the garden, and so many shrubs that
one can be almost alone. And behind, an old inn. They cook simply, but
the trout comes from the river, and it is cool."
"It sounds delightful," Julien admitted; "but, madame, indeed it is I
who must be host."
She shook her head.
"On the contrary, it is by subtlety that I have brought you here and
that I claim to be the giver of the feast. You see, you dine with me
to-night. You must ask me back again. It is the custom of your country,
is it not?"
He smiled. The automobile had turned in now up a short drive, and
stopped before a long, low building. Down in the gardens they could see
fairylights swinging in the faint breeze. A short man, with
close-cropped hair and a fierce black moustache and imperial, came
hastening out to greet them. When he recognized Madame Christophor, he
bowed low.
"Monsieur Léon," she said, "I bring an Englishman to try your river
trout. You must give me a table near that great tree of lilac that
smells so sweetly. I order nothing--you understand? But you must
remember that monsieur is English. He will want his champagne dry and
his brandy very old. Is it not so, my friend? Now I will give you into
charge of _monsieur le propriétaire_ here. He shall show you where you
can drink a little _apéritif_, if you will. He shall show you, too,
where to find me presently."
A trim maid came hurrying up and took possession of Madame Christophor.
Julien followed his guide into a small reception room, all pink and
white.
"If monsieur desires to wash," the proprietor explained, "he passes
beyond there. And for an _apéritif?_"
"I will take anything you send me," Julien declared. "What is the name
of this place, monsieur?"
"They call it the Maison Léon d'Or, monsieur," the man replied. "It is
my own idea--a country house I purchased once for myself, but found it
too far, alas! from Paris. In the fine weather we could, if we chose,
have half Paris here. When the cold days come, there is nobody.
Monsieur permits?"
He departed and Julien strolled to the window. In the portion of the
gardens over which he looked were smaller tables, set out simply for
those who desired to take their coffee and liqueurs or _apéritif_ out
of doors. Julien glanced out idly enough at the little group of people
dotted about here and there. Then his face suddenly darkened. At a
table within a few yards of where he stood were seated Foster and a man
whose back was turned towards him.
Julien's first impulse was to retire out of sight, for the window was
open and he himself imperfectly concealed by the muslin blind. Then, as
he was on the point of retiring, he distinctly heard the sound of his
own name. The two men were speaking in a low tone, but a slight breeze
was blowing into the room. Julien stood still and listened. The man who
was a stranger to him was speaking to Foster.
"The woman is first, it is true," he muttered. "She will pump him dry,
no doubt. But what matter? She may even put him on his guard, but I say
again, what matter? There is a price for everything, a price or--"
The man's voice died away and Julien heard nothing for some time. Then
he saw Foster shake his head.
"Our service," Foster declared, "does not protect us in such a
position. It does not allow us to go to extremes. I am supposed to be
here to watch him, but I am really powerless. He might become your man
or hers or any one else's. I could do nothing but report."
His companion leaned across the table.
"What you call your Secret Service," Julien heard him say, "is a farce.
You have no authority, no scope. You are too proud to ferret about as
the others do. You sit in dignified ease and wait for information to be
brought to you. My good Foster, you must learn to be a man. We must
teach you."
Again their voices became inaudible. Julien drew back into the room.
His heart was beating faster, his brain was full of new thoughts. From
a place where he was absolutely secure he sat and gazed at Foster and
his companion. Presently the waiter entered with the _apéritif_. Julien
gave him five francs.
"Listen," he said, "you see those two gentlemen sitting there?"
"_Parfaitement_, monsieur," the man replied.
"Have you ever seen the elder one before--the dark one with the
glasses?"
The waiter hesitated.
"Monsieur," he said, looking at the five francs in his hand, "_monsieur
le propriétaire_ here has strange notions. He objects that we mention
ever the name of any of his clients."
"Why is that?" Julien asked.
"How should one know, monsieur?" the waiter answered. "Only it seems
that this place is a little distance from Paris, it is retired, one
finds seclusion here. People meet, I think, in these gardens who do not
care to be seen in Paris. There are some come here who whisper at the
door to _monsieur le propriétaire_ that their names must never be
mentioned."
"One can understand that, perhaps," Julien agreed, "but these are
surely affairs of gallantry? It is when the gentlemen bring ladies,
perhaps?"
The man shook his head and gesticulated an emphatic negative.
"Monsieur," he declared, "there are other things. There are other
things, indeed. This place is well-known because there meet here often
men who are interested in discussing serious matters. I can tell
monsieur, alas! the name of no one among the guests here. If I
attempted it, it would mean my dismissal, and there is no place in
Paris, monsieur, where the salaries are so good as here." Julien
hesitated. Then he drew a louis from his pocket.
"Listen," he said, "you may rely upon my word. No mention of it shall
go outside this room. Take this louis for just the name of that
gentleman with his back to you."
The waiter took the louis.
"His name, monsieur, I cannot tell you, but I will tell you what
perhaps will do for monsieur as well. The German Ambassador comes
sometimes here with a party of friends; somewhere in the distance you
will find the gentleman about whom you ask. The German Ambassador rides
through the streets when Paris is troubled; somewhere close at hand you
will find monsieur there. The German Ambassador he attends the races;
feeling, perhaps, is running a little high. Somewhere amongst the crowd
who watch the races, and very close to _Monsieur l'Ambassadeur_, you
will find monsieur there with the shoulders."
Julien drank his _apéritif_ thoughtfully.
"Thank you," he said to the waiter. "You have earned your money. You
need have no fear."
There was a knock at the door. _Monsieur le propriétaire_ presented
himself.
"Monsieur," he announced, "it is my honor to conduct you to the table
reserved for madame and yourself. Madame awaits you."