MADAME D'ARTELLE
For a moment the situation oppressed me, but the next I had mastered it
and regained my self-possession. I was not recognized. Karl threw a
formal glance at me as Madame d'Artelle mentioned my name, and his eyes
came toward me again when she explained that I was an American. I was
careful to keep my face from the light and to let him see as little of
my features as possible. But I need not have taken even that trouble.
He did not give me another thought; and I sat for some minutes turning
over the pages of my book, observing him, trying to analyze my own
feelings, and speculating how this unexpected development was likely to
affect my course.
My first sensation was one which filled me with mortification. I was
angry that he had not recognized me. I told myself over and over again
that this was all for the best; that it made everything easier for me;
that I had no right to care five cents whether he knew me or not; and
that it was altogether unworthy of me. Yet my pride was touched: I
suppose it was my pride; anyway, it embittered my resentment against
him.
It was an insult which aggravated and magnified his former injury; and
I sat, outwardly calm, but fuming inwardly, as I piled epithet upon
epithet in indignant condemnation of him until my old contempt
quickened into hot and fierce hatred. I felt that, come what might, I
would not stir a finger to save him from any fate to which others were
luring him.
But I began to cool after a while. I was engaged in too serious a
conflict to allow myself to be swayed by any emotions. I could obey
only one guide--my judgment. Here was the man who of all others would
be able by and by to help me most effectively: and if I was not to fail
in my purpose I must have his help, let the cost be what it might.
It was surely the quaintest of the turns of Fate's wheel that had
brought me to Pesth to save him of all men from ruin; but I never break
my head against Fate's decrees, and I would not now. So I accepted the
position and began to watch the two closely.
Karl was changed indeed. He looked not five, but fifteen, years older
than when we had parted that morning in the Central Park. His face was
lined; his features heavy, his eyes dull and spiritless, and his air
listless and almost preoccupied. He smiled very rarely indeed, and
seemed scarcely even to listen to Madame d'Artelle as she chattered and
laughed and gestured gaily.
The reason for some of the change was soon made plain. Wine was
brought; and when her back was toward him I saw him look round swiftly
and stealthily and pour into his glass something from a small bottle
which he took from his pocket.
I perceived something else, too. Madame d'Artelle had turned her back
intentionally so as to give him the opportunity to do this; for I saw
that she watched him in a mirror, and was scrupulous not to turn to him
again until the little phial was safely back in his pocket.
So this was one of the secrets--opium. His dulness and semi-stupor
were due to the fact that the previous dose was wearing off; and she
knew it, and gave him an opportunity for the fresh dose.
I waited long enough to notice the first effects. His eyes began to
brighten, his manner changed, he commenced to talk briskly, and his
spirits rose fast. I feared that under the spur of the drug his memory
might recall me, and I deemed it prudent to leave the room.
I had purposely held my tongue lest he should recognize my voice--the
most tell-tale of all things in a woman--but now I rose and made some
trivial excuse to Madame d'Artelle.
As I spoke I noticed him start, glance quickly at me, and pass his hand
across his forehead; but before he could say anything, I was out of the
room. I had accomplished two things. I had let him familiarize
himself with the sight of me without associating me with our former
relations; and I had found out one of the secrets of Madame's influence
over him--her encouragement of his drug-taking.
But why should she encourage it? It seemed both reasonless and
unaccountable. Did she care for him? I had my reasons for believing
she did. Yet if so, why seek to weaken his mind as well as destroy his
reputation? I thought this over carefully and could see but one
answer--she must be acting in obedience to some powerful compelling
influence from outside. Who had that influence, and what was its
nature?
When I knew that Karl had gone I went down stairs and had another
surprise. I found Madame d'Artelle plunged apparently in the deepest
grief. She was a creature of almost hysterical changes of mood.
"What is the matter?" I asked, with sparse sympathy. "Don't cry.
Tears spell ruin to the complexion."
"I am the most miserable woman in the world," she wailed.
"Then you are at the bottom of a very large class. Tears don't suit
you, either. They make your eyes red and puffy. A luxury even you
cannot afford, beautiful as you are."
"You are hateful," she cried, angrily; and immediately dried her eyes
and sat up to glare at me.
I smiled. "I have stopped your crying at any rate."
"I wish to be alone."
"I think you ought to be very grateful to me. Look at yourself;" and I
held a hand mirror in front of her face.
She snatched it from me and flung it down on the sofa pillow with a
little French oath.
"Be careful. To break a mirror means a year's ill luck. A serious
misfortune for even a pretty woman."
"I don't believe you have a grain of sympathy in your whole heart. It
must be as hard as a stone."
"My dear Henriette, the heart has nothing to do with sympathy or any
other emotion. It is just the blood pump. I have not read much
physiology but...."
"_Nom de Dieu_, spare me your science," she cried, excitedly.
I laughed again without restraint. "We'll drop physiology, then. But
I know other things, and now that I have brought you out of the tear
stage, we'll talk about them if you like. I agree with you that it is
most exasperating and bitterly disappointing."
Her face was a mask of bewilderment as she turned to me swiftly. "What
do you mean?" The question came after a pause.
"It is so ridiculously easy. I mean what you were thinking about when
the passion of tears came along. What are you going to do about it?"
I had seated myself and taken up a book, and was turning over the
leaves as I put the question. She jumped up excitedly and came and
stood over me, her features almost fiercely set as she stared down.
"What do you mean? You shall say what you mean. You shall."
"Not while you stand there threatening me with a sort of wild glare in
your eyes. I don't think it's fair to be angry with me just because
you can't do what you wish."
She stretched out her hands as if she would shake me in her
exasperation. Then she laughed, a little wildly, and went back to her
seat on the couch.
"What was in my thoughts then?"
"At the foundation--the inconvenience of your religious convictions as
a member of the Roman Catholic Church."
"You are mad," she cried, with a toss of her shapely head and a ringing
laugh. But as the laugh died away her eyes filled with sobering
perplexity. "At the foundation," she said slowly, repeating my words.
"You are a poor thought-reader. What else was I thinking of?"
I paused to give due significance to my next words, and looked at her
fixedly as I spoke. "Of your marriage with M. Constans; and that in
your church, marriage is a sacrament."
"You are a devil," she exclaimed, with fresh excitement, almost with
fury indeed. "Say what you mean and don't torment me."
"The Count has been urging you to marry him of course, and----"
"You have been listening. You spy." The last vestige of her
self-control was lost as she flung the words at me.
I paused. I never act impetuously with hysterical people. With
studied deliberation I closed my book, having carefully laid a marker
between the pages, and looked round as if for anything that might
belong to me. Then I rose. Her eyes watched me with growing doubt and
anxiety.
"I shall be ready to leave the house in about an hour, Madame," I said
icily, and walked toward the door.
She let me get close to it. "What are you going to do?"
My answer was a cold smile, in which I contrived to convey a threat. I
knew how to frighten her.
She jumped up and rushed to the door and stood with her back against
it--as an angry, over-teased child will do. "You shall not go. You
mean to try and ruin me." I had known before that she was afraid of
me; but she had never shown it so openly.
"Yes, I shall do my best." I spoke so calmly and looked her so firmly
in the face that she was convinced of my earnestness.
"I didn't mean what I said," she declared.
"It is too late for that," I replied, with a sneer of obvious distrust
and disbelief. She had very little courage and was a poor fighter.
Her only weapon was her beauty; and it was useless of course against me.
Her eyes began to show a scared, hunted expression. "Don't go.
Forgive me, Christabel. I didn't mean it. I swear I didn't. You
angered me, and you know how impetuous I am."
"I am surprised you should plead thus to--a spy, Madame."
"But I tell you I didn't mean it. Christabel, dear Christabel, I know
you are not a spy. Don't make so much of an angry word. Come, let us
talk it over. Do, do"; and she put her arm in mine to lead me back to
my chair.
I let her prevail with me, but with obvious reluctance. "Why are you
so afraid of me?" I asked.
"I am not afraid of you; but I want you to stay and help me."
I sat down then as a concession and a sign that I was willing to talk
things over; and she sat near me, taking care to place her chair
between me and the door.
"If that is so, it is time that we understood one another. Perhaps I
had better begin. You cannot marry Count Karl."
"I love him, Christabel."
"And Monsieur Constans--your husband?"
"Don't, don't. He deserted me. He is a villain, a false scoundrel.
Don't speak of him in the same breath with--with the man I love."
"He is your husband, Madame." She moaned and waved her arms
despairingly.
"I am the most wretched woman on earth. I love him so."
"And therefore encourage him to take opium. I do not understand that
kind of love. Had you not better tell me the truth?"
"I shall save him. You don't understand. My God, you don't understand
at all. The only way I can save him is to do what he asks."
"Who is it that is forcing your hand?"
She winced at the question, as if it were a lancet thrust. "You
frighten me, Christabel, and mystify me."
"No, no. It is only that you are trying to mystify me, and are
frightened lest I should guess your secret. Let us be fair to one
another. I have an object here which you cannot guess and I shall not
tell you. You have an object which I can see plainly. You have been
brought here to involve Count Karl in a way which threatens him with
ruin, and you have fallen in love with him--or think you have. You are
now anxious to please your employer and also secure the man you love
from the ruin which threatens him. He has asked you to marry him; and
a crisis has arisen which you have neither the nerve to face nor the
wit to solve."
"_Nom de Dieu_, how you read things!" she exclaimed under her breath,
her eyes dilated with wonder and fear.
"But for my presence you would marry him; and trust to Fate to avoid
the discovery being made that M. Constans is still alive. To yourself
you would justify this by the pretence that if you were once the
Count's wife you could check instead of encourage his opium habit and
so save him. Who then is it with the power to drive you into this
reckless crime?"
She was too astounded to reply at once, but sat staring at me open
mouthed. Suddenly she changed, and her look grew fierce and tense.
"Who are you, and what is your motive in forcing yourself upon me here?"
"I depend on my wits to make a way for me in the world, Madame; and I
take care to keep them in good condition. But I am not forcing myself
upon you. I am ready to go at this moment--if you prefer that--and if
you think it safer to have me against you."
"_Mon Dieu_, I believe I am really afraid of you."
"Of me, no. Of the knowledge I have, yes. And you will do well to
give that fear due weight. You have been already induced to make one
very foolish move. To receive stolen jewels is a crime, even when the
thief is----"
"How dare you say that!"
"You forget. The day I came first to you you had occasion to go to the
secret drawer in the old bureau in your boudoir, and I saw them there.
You are a very poor player, Madame, in such a game as this."
The colour left her cheeks, and hate as well as fear was in her eyes as
she stared helplessly at me.
"It is all your imagination," she said, weakly.
I smiled.
"It can remain that--if you wish. It is for you to decide."
"What do you mean?"
"You had better trust me. You can begin by telling me what and whose
is this evil influence behind you?"
A servant interrupted us at that moment.
"His Excellency Count Gustav is asking for you, Madame."
She gave a quick start, and flashed a look at me.
"I will go to him," she answered.
I had another intuition then. I smiled and rose.
"So that is the answer to my question. You may wish to consult him,
Madame. I will see you afterwards; and will use the interval to have
my trunks packed in readiness to leave the house should he deem it
best."
"I am right. You are a devil," she cried, with another burst of
impetuous, uncontrollable temper.
I turned as I reached the door.
"Should he decide that I stay, Madame, and wish to see me, I shall be
quite prepared."
I went out then without waiting for any reply.