MARCEL MAKES AN UNEXPECTED ACQUAINTANCE
Beaupaire and Payot had no sooner left the house than they encountered
Marcel walking up and down the garden footpath. He was so absorbed in
composing aloud a new poem on Christopher Columbus that he was quite
unconscious that he was being overheard.
"Dis donc, mon cher Marcel, what is that you are saying about a flock
of parrots?"
"It was a remarkable incident in the great navigator's voyage which
profoundly affected mankind--but I had no idea that I was declaiming
aloud."
"Indeed you were, and we were both remarking what charming verses they
were. But tell us what the parrots had to do in the matter?"
"The parrots had everything to do with it. Although it was apparently
a mere accident, it changed the history of the world and sealed the
fate of nations. The story runs as follows:--Columbus, who had been
tossing about for weeks and weeks in the Atlantic searching for the
unknown Continent which he believed existed somewhere to the west, at
length knew from various indications that he was nearing land, and
while he was debating in his mind what would be the best course to
pursue, Captain Pinzon, who was in command of the _Pinta_, happened
to observe a flock of parrots flying in a south-west direction.
Accordingly Columbus altered the course of his vessels, and steered in
the direction of the Brazils instead of heading for North America. The
result was that the southern continent became Spanish and Catholic,
while the northern one afterwards became Anglo-Saxon and Protestant."
"A most remarkable and momentous incident," replied Payot, "and one
which teaches us what astonishing results may follow from the most
trifling causes. By the way, M. Beaupaire, allow me to introduce my
esteemed and highly gifted friend Monsieur George Marcel, of whom we
have all heard so much lately."
Marcel took off his hat and bowed gracefully.
Monsieur Beaupaire returned the salutation and expressed his
unqualified delight in meeting such a distinguished man. He was
particularly struck with Marcel's unique appearance and charming
manners, and felt that it would be a great opportunity to invite him
and Payot to dinner.
"I shall be delighted to accept your kind invitation," said Payot, "and
I am sure my distinguished friend will be equally honoured by partaking
of your hospitality with me, eh, Marcel?"
The latter shook hands with Monsieur Beaupaire, and said that it would
give him immense pleasure.
Payot became so engrossed in listening to his friend Marcel's lively
and amusing conversation, that he soon recovered his gaiety, and
actually indulged in a joke.
"Ah! M. Payot," said Marcel, who had been listening to the account
of Payot's misfortunes, "it does one good to meet a man who can be
cheerful after having lost everything. There is nothing like a little
sympathy for cheering a man up. Sympathy is the sum of all the virtues."
"You are a man after my own heart, sir," said Beaupaire, patting
Marcel on the back, "you have made our friend Payot's face look quite
cheerful."
"That's right," said Marcel to Payot, "God loveth the cheerful loser.
Yes," he added, putting his hand on Payot's shoulder and looking up
into his face,
"Smile
Awhile,
And while you smile
Others smile,
And soon there's miles and miles
Of smiles,
And life's worth while
Because you smile."
Payot's face lit up and he actually beamed with inward hope, as the
world suddenly seemed to him to grow brighter and more beautiful.
"Where did you get that from, Marcel?" said Payot, smiling.
"You don't suppose I am going to give away the source of all my jokes
to you?"
Beaupaire looked at Payot and they both laughed.
As they entered Beaupaire's drawing-room he introduced his guests to
Madame Beaupaire, who rose at once and welcomed them effusively, with
both hands outstretched.
"Allow me, gentlemen, to introduce you to my daughter Violette."
Marcel and Payot bowed and shook hands. Marcel, who was of a very
impressionable nature, became visibly affected by her beauty and
striking personality.
Violette was an uncommon specimen of her race. Born of a French
father and Spanish mother, she was at the same time an enigma to her
acquaintances and a revelation to strangers. Her hair was long and
black with that peculiar bluish lustre of a raven's wing. Her face
was of ivory whiteness, regular in outline, with a finely chiselled
nose, which grew out of her face like that of a Greek goddess, and
just tipped in a most provoking manner to render the nostrils visible,
while her lips were firm and rosy and delicately curved like cupid's
bow. Moreover, her brilliant eyes which, like her features, were
constantly on the move, gave her that charm of expression which is
at once so fascinating and dangerous to the other sex. At one moment
she was sweetness itself and polite to a degree, and then suddenly,
without warning, her mischievous smile would change into a look of
scorn or disapproval, which would completely upset all the calculations
of her companions as to her real feelings. Highly gifted herself, she
delighted in nothing better than a passage-of-arms with a man whom she
felt to be her superior, but was herself loth to admit it.
"Have you lived a long time in Paris, mademoiselle?" enquired Marcel,
when they had sat down to dinner.
"Oh, yes, we have been here for some years now, but Paris is not my
birth-place you know," she answered with a smile.
"And what town, may I ask, has been so fortunate as to claim
mademoiselle as a citizen?"
"Buenos Aires, monsieur," she replied in a soft, musical voice, and
darting a quick glance at Marcel, and then lowering her eyelashes in a
way that sent a thrill of emotion down to his very boots.
"Ah! a most delightful place. I was there some years ago," said Marcel.
"Yes, I can still picture it in my mind, I remember it so well. I
shall never forget the charming Avenida Alvear, and the Plaza 25 de
Mayo overlooking the classical portico of the cathedral. What a lovely
cathedral it is to be sure. It always reminds me of "La Madeleine,"
with its twelve stately Corinthian columns and its exquisitely carved
pediment."
"How delightful to meet a gentleman who is so familiar with my dear old
birth-place," said Violette. "I feel we are quite old friends already."
Marcel chuckled inwardly with satisfaction. "That chess opening of the
pawn to King's four followed by the Knight to Bishop three has begun
the game well," he thought to himself. "I could not very well appear
ignorant of a town which gave birth to so charming a creature."
"What were you doing there, if it is not a rude question?" Violette
enquired, warming up with her subject.
"H'm, you see my father had the good fortune to be a man of means,
and although I was educated at the university, I employed my time in
cultivating the arts of poetry and music."
"Oh! how delightful, we must invite you to play for us. We have an
amateur concert here every Sunday evening. I will ask mama to invite
you. What instrument do you play?"
"Pardon me, mademoiselle, but I am--ahem--afraid you misunderstood me,"
he answered, feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground already.
"I am not a musician, I am--ahem--I sing."
"Oh! that's still better. There are so many good musicians now-a-days,
but so few really good singers. I feel certain you have a good voice.
You will promise me to come and sing, won't you?"
"Ah, mademoiselle, you flatter me. Unfortunately I am under the
doctor's orders just now for a slight inflammation of the throat, and I
am strictly forbidden to sing. It is a terrible trial for one who has
such a passion for harmony."
"A terrible trial I am sure," replied Violette, watching his face
closely. "Has monsieur endured this calamity for long?"
"Yes, ahem--for some considerable time now. But to return to Buenos
Aires."
"Haven't you finished with that place yet? Gracious, I thought you had
left some time ago."
Marcel looked at her to try and fathom her meaning.
"By the way, monsieur, where did you live in Buenos Aires?" she said a
little suspiciously.
"Oh, I used to spend most of my time riding up and down the Parque 3 de
Febrero in Palermo."
"Oh, yes, how well I remember it. I have often driven through that
beautiful park. I think Palermo the most beautiful spot in the world."
"Ah, there I am with you, mademoiselle--especially if I knew that you
were living there."
Violette laughed, and her eyes twinkled with roguish fun as she tapped
him on the knuckles with her fan. "Oh, you men, what flatterers you all
are."
"And where did you live, mademoiselle, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"I? Oh, I lived in the Calle Florida, next to a magnificent building,"
and her eyes twinkled with mischief.
"What a strange coincidence. Why, I lived just on the other side of it."
Monsieur Beaupaire who happened to be listening burst out into a loud
laugh.
"Sapristi! but that's too funny for words," he exclaimed.
Marcel looked round and saw Violette in fits of laughter as well.
"Checkmated, by Jove," thought Marcel. "I wonder how I put my foot in
it," he muttered unconsciously half aloud. But the quick hearing of
Violette caught the muttered exclamation.
"Why, that building is the town jaol," she said laughing.
"Good Lord, deliver us," exclaimed Marcel, trying to conceal his
vexation.
"Monsieur, I don't believe you have ever been to Buenos Aires. Now
confess."
"If Mademoiselle will forgive me, I own up to it."
"We will forgive you this time," she said, tapping him once more with
her fan.
"A penny for your thoughts?" he next enquired.
"To speak plainly, I think you are just a pure romancer," she answered,
looking very cross and frowning. "I gave you credit for more ability
than you seem to possess," and she turned her head away from him.
Marcel felt very angry and nettled at her outspoken criticism, and felt
inclined to show her his annoyance, but he allowed his discretion to
overcome his feelings.
"Ah, mademoiselle, you forget--
"The naked truth and the naked lie
Are banned in good society.
"What do you like best among the arts?" added Marcel, anxious to change
the conversation.
"Oh, I adore music," she replied, turning towards him and becoming more
amiable, "and I love painting, but I think I enjoy reading best."
"What? Novels?"
"Oh, dear no, poetry and the literature of the great writers. By the
way, I think you said you had taken to writing poetry?" she said
sarcastically.
"That is true, mademoiselle."
Violette looked at him incredulously, and bit her lip with a frown.
"I can vouch for the truth of that, mademoiselle," said Payot who had
been talking to her father and was now listening to Violette. "I assure
you I know nothing superior to our friend's poetry. It combines the
sparkle and wit of Alfred de Musset with the intense pathos of Victor
Hugo, and is not inferior to either."
"What!" cried Violette, "you don't mean to say that I am actually
talking to George Marcel who wrote the book on epigrams, '_Les poemes
de ma Jeunesse_,' and '_Le dernier combat dans le Colisée_'?"
"That is the same gentleman, mademoiselle. There is only one George
Marcel in the world as far as I know."
The change which took place in Violette's features was almost
ludicrous. She had been under the impression that he was merely an
ignorant and very conceited fop, who was only pretending that he
had travelled, and was posing as a poet and author of merit, when
she suddenly discovered that she had been snubbing one of the most
promising poets and writers in France.
Marcel watched the struggle going on in her mind, and noted her
confusion and blushes with an amused expression.
"Since I am unable to play and sing to Mademoiselle, may I perhaps have
the great pleasure of hearing her play and sing to me?"
Violette blushed again and looked up at her mother who fortunately took
up the cue.
"Certainly, monsieur," said Madame Beaupaire, "we shall expect you on
Sunday evening next, if you will take pot-luck with us, and we shall
then be better prepared for the concert afterwards."
"Queen protects the Knight," said Marcel still with the game of chess
in his mind, "but renders herself open to attack," thought Marcel to
himself. "By Jove, I may win the game yet. She plays well and hits
hard, but I like Violette all the more for that."
"You will be sure and come, won't you?" the young lady asked in a half
whisper as she lit a cigarette when the coffee had been served, and
looked up in his face with a roguish smile.
Marcel felt he could have worshipped her. He so far lost himself as
to squeeze her hand, thinking that he had made sufficient progress
to warrant it, but Violette gently removed her hand with a look of
displeasure. He felt he had made a false move, but resolved to turn
it to his advantage by saying in a low voice which he knew would only
reach her:--
"Cinco sentidos tenemos
Y los cinco necesitamos
Y los cinco nos perdemos
Quando nos enamoramos."[18]
To his unbounded delight she replied:--
Love is strong, but love is blind,
No faults can we discover;
It is the heart and not the mind,
We look for in a lover.
He stayed just long enough for the host and hostess to rise, and then
with immense self-content and tact nudged Payot to accompany him, and
bidding them all good-night departed for the Villebois's house dreaming
of the delight at crossing swords with her at the forthcoming Sunday's
dinner, and feeling that he was already hopelessly in love with her.
Punctually fourteen days later, Payot and Beaupaire were ushered into
the library where Delapine was sitting in an easy-chair revising an
essay which he was preparing for the Academie des Sciences.
On the entrance of his visitors the professor rose to welcome them.
"Delighted to meet you, gentlemen," he said, extending his hand with a
frank smile. "I suppose you have come in obedience to my request?"
Payot nodded.
"I hope," continued Delapine, "you have sold your property and shares
to the best advantage, and realized enough money to pay off your
liabilities?"
"Every one of them," said Payot.
"I can vouch for that," said Beaupaire, "as my friend Payot gave me a
power of attorney to act for him, since he was too unnerved to rely on
his own judgment."
"Excellent," said Delapine, stroking his chin and glancing from one to
the other with his piercing eyes. "Have you anything left?"
"Alas! monsieur, only forty thousand francs."
"Well, that is better than nothing anyhow. You must be thankful for
small mercies. I suppose you have still kept the house?"
"Well, not exactly. I was obliged to mortgage it, and managed with the
money I raised to sell everything, and have a few thousand francs over."
"Never mind, however great a misfortune may be, you may always be
sure it might have been much worse. Forty thousand francs is at least
something to fall back upon."
"That is true, but I shall not be able to afford any dot for Renée."
"I will see to that."
"What! You, professor? How can you provide a dot out of your slender
income?"
"I never said I was going to find my fiancée's dowry out of my income,
nor do I intend to borrow it."
"Then how will you find the money?"
"You need not have any anxiety on that score, the moment the money is
wanted the money will be here."
"So you have the money ready?"
"Not a sou."
"And you intend to get it almost immediately?"
"Yes, within a week."
"But how? Do tell us," they both exclaimed.
"I make it a rule of my life never to discuss anything I intend to do
until it is accomplished."
"But, my dear professor, you might at least give us some outline of the
method you intend to employ, especially as we are such good friends,
and besides we might be able to help you."
"Can you keep a secret?" he asked them.
"Of course we can," they replied, eager to get the news.
"So can I," he replied with a merry chuckle, and one of his beaming
smiles.
"What an extraordinary man," said Beaupaire.
"Now, listen," said the professor. "I have already had a talk with
Dr. and Madame Villebois and with our friends Marcel and Riche, and
they have all agreed to my plan to take the train on Monday night to
Beaulieu, which is the next station to Monaco, and I trust that both of
you gentlemen will be able to accompany us."
Payot rubbed his hands with excitement and they both eagerly assented.
"Why is he going to Beaulieu of all places in the world?" Payot asked
himself, "I wonder whether it has anything to do with his promise to
restore my fortune? He can't surely be insane enough to imagine that
he can recover the money by gambling at Monte Carlo. The professor is
certainly eccentric, but I credit him with more common-sense than to do
that. However, we shall see."
"You must both of you pack up and get ready," said Delapine. "I shall
be away seven days from this evening, and we shall start for Beaulieu
the day after to-morrow by the nine o'clock Rapide de Nuit from the
Gare de Lyon. We shall meet at the ticket office at a quarter-past
eight. C'est entendue?"
"Bien--but is that all you intend to tell us?" said Payot, somewhat
surprised at his imperious tone.
"Have I not said enough?"
"Yes--but--"
"But you must excuse me, gentlemen, as I have still a great deal
of work to do before I can leave. I shall expect you the day after
to-morrow, good-bye till then," and he waved them off with one of his
choicest smiles.
Wednesday night saw the whole of the party assembled soon after eight
o'clock near the ticket office of the Gare de Lyon. Delapine had
reserved a coupé for each of the Villebois and Beaupaire families
together with Monsieur Payot, so that Marcel and Riche had to shift for
themselves.
"I say, Marcel," said Riche, "who is that charming young lady I saw you
chatting with just now?"
"Whom do you refer to?"
"Why that girl over there between Madame Villebois and the professor."
"Oh! don't you know her? Mademoiselle Violette Beaupaire," he replied
in a half whisper lest the party referred to should overhear him, "she
is the daughter of M. Beaupaire the stock broker, who is running about
after the luggage, she's a ripping girl, I assure you, and no mistake."
"Violette Beaupaire," said Riche half aloud to himself, "I know that
name somehow. Where was it I heard it?" and he tapped his forehead in
thought. "Oh! yes, I remember now, she was the girl with the wonderful
ring I met that day at the café near the Ecolle de Medicine. How small
the world is to be sure."
"Why! You don't mean to say that you know her?" said Marcel, who had
caught the drift of what he had been saying half aloud to himself.
"Where did you meet her?" he added with a tinge of jealousy in his
voice.
The doctor related the curious adventure he had had at the café, and
the marvellous predictions of Violette which she had made while gazing
at the ring.
"Have you never seen her since?" enquired Marcel with a tone of anxiety
in his voice.
"Never my boy, until this very day, I give you my word; but," he added,
"I have been hunting all over Paris to try and find her ever since that
afternoon. I would have given a good deal to have had her address."
"Why! are you in love with her then?" asked Marcel as he scrutinized
his friend's face while waiting for the reply, but could detect nothing
in his face, not even a muscle moved.
"Lord bless you, no," replied the doctor, "but she is the most
interesting girl I have ever met in all my life, and I have been simply
dying to test her extraordinary powers again with her ring."
"Thank God for small mercies," thought Marcel to himself, as he assured
himself that he was no rival of his, "However it is just as well that
he and I will be travelling in another part of the train out of the
reach of temptation."
The departure of the Rapide de Nuit from the Gare de Lyon is one of the
greatest events of the day. The great glass-roofed station is filled
with fog, and vibrates with the shrill whistles of innumerable engines
which perpetually come and go apparently without rhyme or reason.
At all times the din is ear-splitting, but from half past eight p.m.
onwards, the noise increases tenfold. The station gets more and more
packed with people. Here one may notice a company of tired and sunburnt
soldiers marching up the platform in their blue coats and red baggy
trousers covered with black leather below the knee, each carrying a
painfully heavy knapsack and rifle; while hurrying along may be seen
gay-coloured Turcos, Arabs with their red fezzes, or crowds of peasants
patiently waiting for the omnibus train, which leaves an hour later
than the express. The waiting rooms are crowded with tourists, English,
French, Germans, and Americans.
What a babel! But see, there are more outside hurrying about hither and
thither in wild confusion, demanding of every official they meet what
time the train leaves and where they can find it, notwithstanding the
fact that they have been told a score of times already. Interpreters,
Cook's men, Gaze's men, and couriers are bustling about collecting
their flocks together. Porters with trolleys and hand-barrows piled
up with luggage are to be seen hauling and shoving and struggling to
push their way through the impenetrable forest of human beings. To the
casual observer calmly surveying the scene, the entire place seems to
be a hopeless muddle in which reigns a veritable pandemonium. More
and more people enter the train, until it seems incapable of being
moved at all, while the huge filthy-looking black engine, so different
from the brilliantly painted and exquisitely kept British ones, is
belching forth a torrent of black smoke, and blowing off steam with
such violence and din as to render all conversation impossible. Here
one may see a regular procession of boxes, rugs, and bags all waiting
to be weighed, while a file of fifty people or more are standing at the
guichet awaiting the delivery of their luggage checks.
The train was crowded to suffocation, and but for Delapine's foresight
our friends could not have obtained seats. As it was, Marcel and Riche
were pushed into a compartment already nearly full, much to the disgust
and annoyance of the passengers who were arranging their rugs for a
comfortable sleep during the night.
"That is not good enough for me," said Riche, "I'll bet you a
five-franc piece we will get a compartment all to ourselves."
"Done," said Marcel, "but you are bound to lose it, my boy."
"Not a bit of it, you watch me."
"Guard," Riche shouted as the bell rang and the doors were being shut,
"this is a smoking compartment and we greatly object to smoking."
Marcel looked at Riche and gave a low whistle.
"Can't be helped," said the guard, "we're just off."
"Excuse me," said Riche in a commanding voice, "I am Monsieur Faure of
the Engineering Department, and I must call your attention to Section
XIII. Paragraph 79 of the byelaws of the Administration."
"I don't know your name, sir."
"Silence, sir, when I speak. I have only recently been appointed
assistant to M. Demange, the chief engineer."
The guard looked him up and down, and scanned his face critically to
see if he were joking, but Riche never moved a muscle.
"But, monsieur," said the guard, apologizing profusely, "it is
impossible, the train is due to start," and he shrugged his shoulders
and spread out his hands in despair.
"Remember that you are speaking to a high official on the Railway,"
replied Riche, looking severely at him. "Now you know who I am, look
sharp, or I shall be obliged to report you."
The guard grumbled, and discussed the matter with several officials.
Almost immediately afterwards Riche and Marcel saw him walk rapidly
away. Slowly the huge train steamed out of the station, and various
shunting movements took place until at length, after ten minutes delay,
a brand-new first-class carriage was attached to the rear of the train.
"Now get in, gentlemen, quickly," said the guard somewhat testily as he
blew the whistle.
The moment they were seated, Riche pulled out of his pocket a
silver-mounted cigar case and handed Marcel a fine Hanava cigar, at the
same time selecting one for himself. As the train rolled out of the
station the guard saw to his horror two blue clouds of smoke rolling
out of the window of the compartment.
"Sacr--r--re bleu?" hissed the guard as he held up his hands and shook
his fists at the sham officials as they disappeared in the distance,
while Riche and Marcel waved their handkerchiefs at the frantic guard
as a parting shot.
"By Jove, you know how to travel," said Marcel as he handed Riche a
five franc-piece.
"Now for a cosy nap," said Riche, and making a comfortable bed by a
skilful arrangement of the seats, he wrapped himself in his rug, put
his ticket in the flap of his cap, and was soon fast asleep.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 18:
In our heads five senses dwell,
In many ways we use them,
But when we love a maiden well
Alas! we quickly lose them.]