MRS. GRANGE AND THE PRESIDENT.
It was the powerful influence of the minds of the Governor and his able
coworkers upon the people which produced quiet.
Even the aggressive Señorita Marriet Motuble leaned back in her chair
with a dreamy faraway look on her face.
The Governor had spoken longer than he intended, and on looking at the
timepiece, which occupied a conspicuous place in the room, he was
greatly surprised to find the hour of midnight.
The President of the United States dismissed the assembly with a few
complimentary and brilliant remarks, but strictly avoided making any
allusion to the affair just ended, or rather, I would better say, which
had just been quieted; for the scene had not ended, it was only the
beginning of a fearful struggle, which would not end in a day, a week, a
month, a year.
The committee having the arrangements for the banquet in hand, passed
into the hall, some leading the way escorting the guests who came in
first with invitations, others with those who came in last.
Everybody felt greatly impressed with some impending trouble, yet each
endeavored to hide his anxiety behind a smile.
The subjects upon whom the scientists had been experimenting and from
whom such great results had been obtained, were special objects of
interest at the banquet. J. Ecarg looked greatly embarrassed; most of
the evening, however, at times he seemed to lapse into a semi-conscious
state. He only appeared to be at ease and contented when talking to
Marriet Motuble.
Several times during the evening he was heard to laugh out merrily at
some jest made by her.
Mr. Niksab was often the center of a large crowd, whom he entertained
with stories of the effect of “Memory Fluid” upon himself and others.
Occasionally he stole a glance from his eager listeners in the direction
of Marriet Motuble and his friend John Ecarg. He felt a deep interest in
him, and in a measure responsible for the result of his present
condition, of his awakening.
There were so many people present that it was impossible for each to
meet the other during the evening. All the most prominent citizens were
presented to the President and other invited guests from abroad. The
Governor tried to have a few pleasant words with all visitors and
newcomers to the city.
Toasts were proposed in which response was made in the most brilliant
and appropriate manner.
The toast, “Our Beautiful Women,” was proposed by a gallant visitor, and
the Governor was called upon to reply.
With his usual gallantry he responded. Crowds of beautiful women, many
of whom belonged to the fast set before mentioned, drew near.
One in particular made herself conspicuous by getting very near the
President and clapping her hands at everything the Governor said—words
complimentary to women.
She was the wife of a Scotchman who, having failed as an opera singer,
was obliged to try his hand in other lines,—railroading and commercial
fields. Having secured, at a small salary, a place in a railroad office,
with the high title of “Assistant Freight Agent,” he was forced to
depend upon his form, his pretty face and his voice, (which by way of
apology, he always explained, he hoped to recover), as well as his
wife’s winning ways, and her ability to “_act_” in amateur dramatic
performances, for their social position.
Mrs. Grange made the most of her winning ways. She flirted, and smiled,
and danced and drank wine with every man of position and wealth, who
paid her the slightest attention, and hinted only at such favors.
In the little game she played she very often came out winner; that is,
winner in a way. She received for herself and husband an invitation for
the next swell function, and often the present of a new gown for the
occasion from her latest conquest, who also assured her that he would
use his personal influence with the president of the railroad where her
husband was employed, to have him retained in his position. Quite
frequently these admirers of hers hinted that through their influence
there was likely to be a raise in his salary. The raise, however, never
came, yet the promise of it did them good; it was something to which
they could look forward.
It was probably the hope of securing such a promise, by the aid of some
of the famous men present, that Mrs. Grange disported herself so
bewitchingly before them.
To herself her charms as reflected from her mirror, seemed irresistible,
and it was a source of constant wonder to her why any man failed to
become her victim.
In her case the formality of an introduction was never necessary. Yet
she realized the prestige a formal introduction gave her, and by
intriguing with those who did not know her arts, she very often was
presented to people of influence by their own friends. She affected a
retiring manner, and made her blushes to order.
Those to whom she was first introduced thought her a combination of
beauty, modesty and purity, and her entertaining powers superior to
anyone whom they had seen. Her great bashfulness enhanced her ability to
entertain, they thought. The President of the United States certainly
seemed to think so, from the way his face shone with pleasure as he
gazed into her half upturned face, full of blushes that came and went as
she talked.
The Governor had just concluded his response to the toast, “Beautiful
Women,” which was eliciting a storm of applause. Guests were collected
in twos and threes, discussing the brilliancy of his remarks.
Some of the gentlemen were discussing which one of the many beautiful
women present would be thought the most beautiful, by the greatest
number of persons at the banquet, if a vote were taken.
The President wished the woman into whose face he gazed with evident
admiration might be chosen as the queen of beauty, and in a voice only
meant for her ears told her so.
But Marriet Motuble stood close by and had been an eye-witness to the
little, quiet game of flirtation, which they did not dream had attracted
the attention of anyone.
She also heard the pretty compliments paid Mrs. Grange by the President,
and at the time most inopportune for them, she stepped closer to them,
and in a tone which carried much satire, said: “A pretty compliment
indeed, Mrs. Grange; but pardon me, please, it was not meant for my
ears.”
The President was evidently annoyed, although he tried hard to hide his
real feeling, and said: “We, too, Miss Motuble, were discussing the
Governor’s able speech. He paid beautiful tributes of appreciation to
the many charming women present.”
“Your Honor, that is quite true; he is a great Chesterfield. He knows
how to be gracious to the ladies, _homely_ ones as well as beautiful,
timid ones,” said Mrs. Grange, as she turned her face full of earnest
pleading up to his.
The President did not reply in words, but the look he gave her, as he
bent his head until it nearly touched hers, was proof enough to Marriet
Motuble that he was afraid to trust his voice. His chest heaved with
tender emotions inspired by Mrs. Grange, and one word would betray his
real feeling.
On neither of those two did the stirring events just passed, seem to
have left any impression.
Marriet Motuble well knew the mental calibre of the woman, and was not
in the least astonished to find Mrs. Grange in the affected state she
always assumed when with men.
“But the President! the President!” exclaimed Marriet Motuble, mentally.
“I cannot understand how the leader of our great nation can carry on a
sentimental conversation with a brainless beauty (?) when the great city
of Chihuahua is in such a state of excitement. There is no telling where
the events just transpired will end. I for one am sorry this terrible
calm is taking place. It seems to me a time of preparation for a greater
shock. He is a great actor if he is mentally disturbed and can so
completely disguise his true feelings. I will test him.”—“Say,
President,” she cried, as she whirled her huge frame in front of the
two, and interrupted the low conversation, “Governor Lehumada is a fine
actor, is he not?”
“In what way, pray, Miss Motuble?”
“In the disguise of his real feelings.”
“He is a heroic actor,” said Mrs. Grange.
“He is, indeed,” curtly replied Miss Motuble, addressing herself to Mrs.
Grange; then in a complete change of voice, said, speaking to the
President, with her back half turned to Mrs. Grange, “I mean, your
Honor, that the noble man yonder is in a high fever of excitement caused
by the disturbance in the auditorium—for he realizes that it was just
the beginning of a long conflict, the end of which cannot be seen by
mortal eyes. Yet the noble man is able to conceal his feeling out of his
great love for his people, and his desire to have the banquet end
successfully.”
“You know your people here better than I, Miss Motuble, this being your
home; and pray, do you anticipate any further trouble?”
“I know the city but little better than yourself, your Honor, except
possibly in the way of remembrance.”
Mrs. Grange, arousing herself from her passive state, said in a voice
loud and cutting: “A _subject_ of that fluid also!”
Ignoring her altogether, Marriet Motuble continued:
“With your Honor’s permission, I do remember many persons present as
having lived in lives gone by. Some here to-night lived in this city one
hundred and fifty years ago.”
“May I ask whom?”
“Most truly.”
“Not I, I hope,” again ventured Mrs. Grange.
“The child,” continued Marriet Motuble, “lived then.”
“What child?” inquired the President.
“Ah, ’tis true, you do not know. What a pity! The beautiful little girl
who sat by the Governor during his lecture. Catalina Martinet. Dear
child!”
“Can it be possible!” exclaimed the President.
“Quite true, your Honor. She _remembers_. She died at the age of
eighteen of a broken heart.”
“How sad,” remarked Mrs. Grange, persisting in trying to join in the
conversation.
“Was her death the result of a disappointed love?” asked the President.
“On the other hand,” replied Miss Motuble, “quite the contrary. Her
heart, poor child, was broken when she learned of the cloud under which
she was born—that she was an outcast—a waif. She died in my arms.”
“Impossible,” exclaimed Mrs. Grange.
“Not at all,” quietly replied the President. “One is as likely as the
other, while neither is _impossible_.”
Marriet Motuble continued as though there had been no interruption: “She
died in my arms. I buried her at my own expense in a tomb befitting a
queen. And truly she was a queen. The deed to the ground I built her
tomb on I have in my safe amongst my legal documents. Every word is
legible. I could not bear to think that her precious body, possibly
before the flesh had decomposed, would be thrown out of the grave to
make way for a new corpse, as was the cruel custom in Mexico then. Her
tomb is in a state of perfect preservation yet. I hope soon to finish
this cycle and have made arrangements to have the destructible part of
me, or that part of me recognized by those not initiated, laid away
there.”
“How interesting. Quite uncanny, though!” ventured Mrs. Grange, as she
peered around her as though expecting to see a ghost. She evidently saw
something; for her face turned very white and she trembled with fright
as she sank into a chair.
The President saw but paid no attention to her. He was interested in
Marriet Motuble. The story she was telling was a revelation to him.
She, too, saw that something unusual had happened to Mrs. Grange, but
paid no attention to her, and continued: “I know the child’s
genealogies, of both her past and present existence. She, like myself,
is here for a purpose. There are many who have congregated here for the
same purpose. While the prime cause for the great meeting here was the
same, many great results will be obtained other than the one hoped for
in the beginning.”
“Can it be that you are here also to aid the scientists in getting proof
to bring the ‘Plunger from Kansas’ to justice?” asked the President,
with much surprise, and showing great interest.
“Indirectly only. I am here for the direct purpose of finding one whom I
loved in that same time—a young, beautiful woman, whose poverty was the
result of the doings of the ‘Plunger from Kansas,’ and who suffered much
loss financially and great abuse from the slanderous tongues of jealous
Americans living in Chihuahua.”
“Are you certain that the lady of whom you speak is living now?” asked
the President.
“It must be true. I feel her presence, yet I have not been able to find
her. She will come. She will come. A young woman, beautiful and
talented. Must I wait much longer? I——”
Her last remark was cut short by some one calling, in a low, sweet tone:
“Señorita Motuble. Ah, here you are. I have been looking for you for two
hours. I am Catalina Martinet. It was my tomb you had built long, long
ago. You _remember_ now, don’t you?”
She caught the beautiful child in her arms, kissed her in her passionate
way, and cried: “Yes, dearie, I know you. You are happy now, are you
not?”
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the child. “Since I know that justice comes to all,
I am happy. And you?”
“Dearie, I too am happy in a way. But do not worry about me. Let us talk
about other things. Catalina, this gentleman, Mr. Mortingo, is President
of the United States.”
“Your Honor, it is with much pleasure I meet you again,” Catalina
smilingly replied. “I remember you quite well. I met you when you were
here before.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the President. “Dear child, I was never in this
city before. This is my first visit.”
“Too bad, he does not remember,” addressing Miss Motuble. Then to the
President she said: “In your _other_ life. I will call the Governor to
give you some ‘Memory Fluid’;” and with a wave of her hand, before they
could realize what she was going to do, she was gone.
The President’s conversation with Miss Motuble had not been carried on
without many interruptions. While he realized that he was the most
prominent person present, and that he owed part of his time to all, yet
so intensely interested was he in the aggressive Miss Motuble, that he
was determined at any cost to hear her story through.
The remark of Catalina Martinet was heard by many near by, some of whom
were intimate friends of the President. They now stepped forward and
began to banter him about taking “Memory Fluid.”
The President took their jests in good part, at the same time avowing
his intention of experimenting with the wonderful fluid.
While those around the President listened with much merriment to him, as
he related the little incident with the child, Marriet Motuble turned
her attention to the beautiful, retiring Mrs. Grange, who, so far as the
President was concerned, had ceased to exist.
“This,” she exclaimed, as she held up Mrs. Grange’s lifeless head, “is
an example of coming memory.”
The President looked at her for a moment in mute astonishment.
“Oh, your Honor, it is true.”
“But the fluid, Miss Motuble. Who gave her ‘Memory Fluid’?” asked the
Spanish Consul, who had been an eager listener only for the present
time.
“I, your most humble servant. I did.”
“But when and how?” asked the President’s daughter, who just came up.
“Possibly I would better not say,” Miss Motuble answered.
“Oh, do; oh, do!” came from all sides.
“Yes, let us hear, Miss Motuble, how you came to be such an expert in
handling our fluid,” quietly asked the Governor, who came up leading
Catalina Martinet.
Marriet Motuble dropped the lifeless head of Mrs. Grange on the back of
the chair where she sat, and in a pleading voice said: “Dear Governor, I
must first have your promise that you will forgive me for making tests
of your fluid without the consent of yourself or the great scientist,
Guillermo Gonzales. Don’t tell me, I pray, that I have taken too much
liberty with your great discovery.”
“On the other hand, Miss Motuble, I am personally delighted that you are
thus experimenting, and I feel confident my able coworkers too, will be
grateful to you for taking so much interest in our ‘Memory Fluid.’”
“Bravo! Say, gentlemen and ladies, that is the kind of stuff to make
governors out of, and scientists, too. Well, so long as the culprit is
not to be punished, I will confess. While ‘Memory Fluid’ has no odor, a
simple inhalation of it will cause a cataleptic state, such as the state
in which we now find the beautiful (?) Mrs. Grange. When she comes out
of this state, in which she has been about five minutes, she will begin
to _remember_. And if I am not mistaken, she will begin to regret the
life of deceit she has been leading.”
Catalina cried: “Señorita Motuble, she will remember and yet will be
punished for her ill treatment of me in that unhappy life of mine, long,
long ago.”
Everyone stood around in breathless surprise.
Marriet Motuble kissed the child Catalina, standing by her side and
holding in tight clasp the Governor’s hand, and said: “Dearie, she will
remember, and I hope that her first regret will be of her ill treatment
of you. See! she moves.”
The crowd stood back in breathless expectation.
Secretly the Governor and the other two scientists rejoiced at what was
now taking place. It was the realization of a long-looked-for
opportunity. A public exhibition of the effect of “Memory Fluid” and the
proof of its harmlessness.
“She moves again,” came in subdued tones from some one standing by. Much
the same effect seemed to be produced upon those witnessing the scene,
as would take place if Mrs. Grange had been dead and they were waiting
to see her return to life.
“She moves again,” said the Spanish consul, stepping closer. “The fluid
has caused no change in her complexion, and her circulation is very
little wrong,” he concluded, as he let her wrist drop, but gazed with
evident admiration into her face.
He tarried a little too long. She opened her eyes, and finding a strange
face so close to hers, exclaimed at the same moment as she threw out her
hands and pushed him away:
“The impudence of you, you ill-bred scamp!”
“But, madam,” said the President, “it was his anxiety for your return to
consciousness that caused the consul to be peering into your face.”
“Your explanation is satisfactory, President. But are you not mistaken
about me having been unconscious?”
“In a certain sense, madam, you were,” replied the Governor.
“But, you _remember_, do you not, Mrs. Grange,—Aunty Inez?” asked the
child.
Mrs. Grange sprang to her feet. “Have I been living a dream all of my
past life, or am I now dreaming?”
“Neither, dear madam,” replied the great scientist, Guillermo Gonzales;
“neither, madam. You are simply confused with the remembrances of two
lives.”
In an abstracted manner she took the hands of Catalina Martinet in her
own, and gazing intently into her face for a moment, said: “It is the
same child. The other life is plain to me now. Am I to be punished? I
did ill-treat her then; I did. But spare me, spare me!” She pleadingly
called out to some invisible person. Turning her face away from the
child, she looked straight into the laughing face of Marriet Motuble,
who said:
“I thought it would come, Sister Grange. In fact, I knew it would come.”
“Such torture,” she cried, turning from first one to the other, “such
torture; save me, save me!”
“We cannot do that, dear madam; we have no such power. You need have no
fear. It is the awakening of your soul, and only good can be the final
result,” said the Governor.
“Your words only harrass me. There are so many here to chide me for my
unjust treatment of the child there, in that other life.” Spying a new
face close by, she fairly screamed: “What, you here?”
Everybody turned to see who it was that caused the half crazy
woman—crazy with guilt—to cry out so, when a queenly young woman stepped
forward and said:
“I certainly am sorry my presence has created such an uproar. Ladies and
gentlemen, I now apologize.”
“Have you ever met the woman?” asked the President.
“Not in this life, your Honor.”
“She remembers me, though,” said Mrs. Grange, “and I her.”
“If that be true,” said the Governor, “present me, dear madam. I have
not the honor of her acquaintance.”
As Mrs. Grange sank into a chair she put her hands over her eyes, as if
to hide from view of every one, and said: “Your Honor, the lady was
Helen Hinckley, in that time long past,” then sank into her former state
of unconsciousness.
Helen Hinckley, with a pleasing smile, advanced with outstretched hands
to the Governor, and in her charming voice, said: “By which name I have
the pleasure to present myself to your Honor now.”
The Governor took her two beautiful hands into his own, and as he looked
into her open countenance, and beautiful eyes, he realized that at last
he had met his fate.