Mrs. Shiffney, who was perpetually changing her mind in the chase after
happiness, changed it about India. After all the preparations had been
made, innumerable gowns and hats had been bought, a nice party had been
arranged, and the yacht had been "sent round" to Naples, she decided
that she did not want to go, had never wanted to go. Whether the
defection of a certain Spanish ex-diplomat, who was to have been among
the guests, had anything to do with her sudden dislike of "that boresome
India," perhaps only she knew, and the ex-diplomat guessed. The whole
thing was abruptly given up, and January found her in Grosvenor Square,
much disgusted with her persecution by Fate, and wondering what on earth
was to become of her.
In such crises she generally sent for Susan Fleet, if the theosophist
were within reach. She now decided to telegraph to Folkestone, where
Susan was staying in lodgings not far from the house of dear old Mrs.
Simpkins. Susan replied that she would come up on the following day, and
she duly arrived just before the hour of lunch.
She found Mrs. Shiffney dressed to go out.
"Oh, Susan, what a mercy to see you! We are going to the Ritz. We shall
be by ourselves. I want you to advise me what to do. Things have got so
mixed up. Is the motor there?"
"Yes."
"Come along, then."
At the Ritz, although she met many acquaintances, Mrs. Shiffney would
not join any one for lunch or let any one join her.
"Susan and I have important matters to discuss," she said, smiling.
Her face and manner had completely changed directly she got out of the
motor. She now looked radiant, like one for whom life held nothing but
good things. And all the time she and Susan were lunching and talking
she preserved a radiant demeanor. Her reward was that everyone said how
handsome Adelaide Shiffney was looking. She even succeeded in continuing
to look handsome when she found that Susan had made private plans for
the immediate future.
"I've promised to go to Algiers," Susan said over the _oeufs en
cocotte_, when Mrs. Shiffney asked what was to be done to make things
lively.
"To Algiers! Why? What is there to do there? You know it inside out."
"Scarcely that. I'm going to stay with Charmian Heath."
Mrs. Shiffney's large mouth suddenly looked a little hard, though her
general expression hardly altered.
"Oh! Whereabouts are they?"
"Up at Mustapha, not far from Mrs. Graham."
"They say he's trying to write an opera. Poor fellow! The very last
thing he could do, I should think. But she pushes him on. Since that
song of his--I forget the name, heart something or other--her head has
been completely turned about his talent. The fact is, Susan, Sennier's
sudden fame has turned all their heads, the young composers, _les
jeunes_, you know. They are all trying to write operas. In Paris it's
too absurd! But an Englishman, with his temperament, too--Oliver
Cromwell in Harris tweed!--she must be mad. Of course even if he ever
finishes it he will never get it produced."
Susan quietly went on eating her eggs.
"A totally unknown man. She thinks that song has made him quite a
celebrity. But nobody has ever heard of him."
"Nobody had ever heard of Sennier till that night at Covent Garden,"
observed Susan, lifting a glass of water to her lips.
"Oh, yes, they had!"
Mrs. Shiffney's musical passion for Sennier often led her to embroider
facts.
"Among the people who matter in Paris he was quite famous."
"Oh, I didn't know that," said Susan, without a trace of doubt or of
sarcasm.
"How could you? Besides, Sennier is a great man, the only man we have,
in fact. So you were going to stay with the Heaths?"
"I am going. I promised Charmian Heath."
"When?"
"In about ten days, I think. My mother is rather unwell, only a bad
cold. But I like to be at Folkestone to help Mrs. Simpkins."
"Susan, what an extraordinary person you are!"
"Why?"
"You are. But you are so extraordinary that I could never make you see
why. Sandringham and Mrs. Simpkins! There is no one like you."
She branched off to various topics, but presently returned to the
Algerian visit.
"What do you think of Charmian Heath, Susan--really think, I mean? Do
you care for her?"
"Yes, I do."
"Oh, I don't mean as a theosophist, I mean as a human being."
Susan smiled. "We are human beings."
"You are certainly. But, of course, I know you embrace Charmian Heath
with your universal love, just as you embrace me and Mrs. Simpkins and
the King and the crossing-sweeper at the corner. That doesn't interest
me. I wish to know whether you like her as you don't like me and the
King and the crossing-sweeper?"
"Charmian Heath and I are good friends. I am interested in her."
"In a woman!"
"Greatly because she is a woman."
"I know you're a suffragette at heart!"
They talked a little about politics. When coffee came, Mrs. Shiffney
suddenly said:
"I'll take you over to Algiers, Susan."
"But you don't want to go there."
"It's absurd your going in one of those awful steamers from Marseilles
when the yacht is only about half an hour away."
"Half an hour! I thought she was at Naples."
"I said _about_ half an hour on purpose to be accurate."
"Really, I would just as soon take the steamer," said Susan.
This definite, though very gentle, resistance to her suddenly conceived
project decided Mrs. Shiffney. If Susan genuinely wished to go to
Algiers by the public steamer, then she would have to go on the yacht.
Mrs. Shiffney had realized from the beginning of their conversation that
Susan wished to go to Algiers alone. There had been something in the
tone of her voice, in her expression, her quiet manner, which had
convinced Mrs. Shiffney of that. Her curiosity was awake, and something
else.
"Susan dear, you must allow me to take care of you as far as Algiers,"
she said. "If you don't want me there I'll just put you ashore on the
beach, near Cap Matifou or somewhere, and leave you there with your
trunks. You are an eccentric, but that's no reason why you shouldn't
have a comfortable voyage."
"Very well. It's very kind of you, Adelaide," Susan returned, without a
trace of vexation.
That very day Mrs. Shiffney telegraphed to the captain of the yacht to
bring her round to Marseilles. In the evening Susan Fleet returned to
Folkestone.
Mrs. Shiffney did not intend to make the journey alone with Susan, and
to be left "in the air" at Algiers. She must get a man or two. After a
few minutes' thought she sent a message to Max Elliot asking him to look
in upon her. When he came she invited him to join the party.
"You must come," she said. "Only ten days or so. Surely you can get
away. And you'll see your protege, Mr. Heath."
"My protege!"
"Well, you were the first to discover him."
"But he's impossible. A charming fellow with undoubted talent, but so
bearish about his music. I gave it up, as you know, though I'm always
the Heaths' very good friend."
"Well, but his song?"
"One song! What's that? And his wife made him compose it. Nobody has
ever heard his really fine work, his Te Deum, and his settings of sacred
words."
"His wife and mother have, I believe."
"His wife--yes. And she will take care no one else ever does hear them
now."
"Why?"
Max Elliot looked at Mrs. Shiffney. Into his big and genial eyes there
came an expression of light sarcasm, almost of contempt. He shrugged his
shoulders.
"Art and the world!" he said enigmatically.
"Well, but, Max, don't you represent the world in connection with the
art of music?"
"I! Do I?" he said, suddenly grave.
She laughed.
"I should think so, _mon cher_. I don't believe either you or I have a
right to talk!"
It was a moment of truth, and was followed, as truth often is, by a
moment of silence. Then Mrs. Shiffney said:
"Claude Heath has gone to Algiers to compose an opera."
"Oh, all this opera madness is owing to the success of Jacques!"
"Of course. I know that. But another Jacques might spring up, I suppose.
Henriette wouldn't like that."
"Like it!" exclaimed Max Elliot, twisting his thick lips. "She wants a
clear field for the next big event. And I must say she deserves it."
"Just what I think. Well, you'll come to Algiers and hear how the new
opera's getting on?"
He glanced at her determined eyes.
"Yes, I'll come. But it must be only for ten days. I've got such a lot
of work on hand!"
"Perhaps I'll ask Ferdinand to come, too. Or--"
Suddenly Mrs. Shiffney leaned forward. Her face had become eager, almost
excited.
"Shall I ask Henriette and Jacques to come with us? They don't go to New
York this year."
Max Elliot seemed to hesitate. He was an enthusiast, and apt to be
carried away by his enthusiasms, sometimes even into absurdity. But he
was a thoroughly good fellow, and had not the slightest aptitude or
taste for intrigue. Mrs. Shiffney saw his hesitation.
"I will ask them," she said, "Charmian Heath will love to know them, I'm
sure. She has such a fine taste in celebrities."
* * * * *
On a brilliant day in the first week of February _The Wanderer_ glided
into the harbor of Algiers, and, like a sentient being with a
discriminating brain, picked her way to her moorings. On board of her
were Mrs. Shiffney, Susan Fleet, Madame Sennier, Jacques Sennier, and
Max Elliot.
The composer had been very ill on the voyage. His lamentations and cries
of "_Ah, mon Dieu!_" and "_O la la la!_" had been distressing. Madame
Sennier had never left him. She had nursed him as if he were a child,
holding his poor stomach and back in the great crises of his malady,
laying him firmly on his enormous pillows when exhaustion brought a
moment of respite, feeding him with a spoon and drenching him with eau
de Cologne. She now gave him her arm to help him on deck, twining a
muffler round his meager throat.
"It's lovely, my cabbage! You must lift the head! You must regard the
jewelled Colonial crown of our beloved France!"
"_Ah, mon Dieu! O la la la!_" replied her celebrated husband.
"My little chicken, you must have courage!"
Susan Fleet had let Charmian know how she was coming, and had mentioned
Mrs. Shiffney. But she had said nothing about the Senniers, for the
simple reason that Adelaide had told her nothing about them until they
stepped into the _wagon-lit_ in Paris. Then she had remarked carelessly:
"Oh, yes, I believe they're crossing with us! Why not?"
As soon as the yacht was moored the whole party prepared to leave her.
Rooms had been engaged in advance at the Hotel St. George. And Susan
Fleet was going at once to Djenan-el-Maqui.
"Tell Charmian Heath I'll look in this afternoon with Max, Susan, about
tea-time. Don't say anything about the Senniers. They won't come, I'm
sure. He says he's going straight to bed directly he reaches the hotel.
Charmian would be disappointed. I'll explain to her."
These were Mrs. Shiffney's last words to Susan, as she pulled down her
thick white veil, opened her parasol, and stepped into the landau to
drive up to the hotel. Madame Sennier was already in the carriage, where
the composer lay back opposite to her with closed eyes. Even the
brilliant sunshine, the soft and delicious air, the gay cries and the
movement at the wharf, where many Arabs were unloading bales of goods
from the ships, or were touting for employment as porters and guides,
failed to rouse him.
"I must go to bed!" was his sole remark.
"My cat, you shall have the best bed in Africa and stay there for a
week. Only have courage for another five minutes!" said his wife,
speaking to him with the intonation of a strong-hearted mother
reassuring a little child.
When Susan arrived at Djenan-el-Maqui she found Charmian there alone.
Charmian greeted her eagerly, but looked at her anxiously, almost
suspiciously, after the first kiss.
"Where's Adelaide? On the yacht?"
"She's gone to the Hotel St. George."
"Oh! Close to us! How long is she going to stay? Oh, Susan, why did you
let her come?"
"I couldn't help it. But why need you mind?"
"Adelaide hates me!"
"Oh, no!"
"She does. And you know it."
"I really don't think she has time to hate you, Charmian. And Adelaide
can be very kind."
"Your theosophy prevents you from allowing that there are any faults in
your friends. Yes, Susan, it does."
"Have you read the manuals carefully?"
"Yes, but I can't think of them now. Adelaide's being here will spoil
everything."
"No it won't! She'll only stay a day or two, not that, perhaps."
"But why did she come at all?"
"She didn't tell me. She's coming to see you to-day with Mr. Elliot."
"Max Elliot, too! Of course it is Claude whom Adelaide wants to see. I
quite understand that. But he's not here."
"What has become of him?"
"Susan, you know of course he wished to welcome you. He is devoted to
you. But--well, the truth is"--she slightly lowered her voice, although
there was no one in the room--"he had to go away for the opera. He has
gone to Constantine with Armand Gillier, the author of the libretto, to
study the native music there, and military life, I believe. There is a
big garrison at Constantine, you know. Monsieur Gillier is a most
valuable friend for Claude, and can help him tremendously in many ways;
with the opera, I mean."
She stopped. Then she added:
"Adelaide Shiffney might have been of great use to Claude, too. But
before we were married he offended her, I think. And now, of course,
she's on the other side."
"I don't know whether I quite understand what you mean."
"She's on Sennier's side."
It seemed to Susan Fleet that Charmian was living rather prematurely in
a future that was somewhat problematic. But she only said:
"Don't let us make too much of it. I hoped you might learn from the
manuals not to worry. But while I'm here we can talk them over, if you
like."
"Yes, yes," said Charmian, changing, melting almost into happiness. "Oh,
I am glad you've come, even though it entails Adelaide for a day or two.
Of course she knows about the opera?"
"Yes, she does."
"I knew." She looked into Susan's face, smiled, and concluded: "Never
mind!"
At five o'clock that day the peace of Djenan-el-Maqui was broken by the
sound of animated voices in the courtyard. A bell jangled and a moment
later Pierre, with his most birdlike demeanor, ushered into the
drawing-room Mrs. Shiffney, Madame Sennier, her husband, and Max
Elliot.
"What a dear little house!" said Mrs. Shiffney, looking quickly round
her with searching eyes, while they waited for their hostess. "Nothing
worth twopence-halfpenny, but nothing wrong. I declare I quite envy
them."
"It's charming!" said Max Elliot.
"Love in a harem! Better than in a cottage."
Madame Sennier pushed up her huge floating veil and showed her powerful
face of a clown covered with white pigment. Her lips made a scarlet bar
across it.
"What is she like? I remember the man. He's clever."
"Oh, she--she is charming; thin and charming."
"That's well!" observed the composer. "That's very well."
He appeared to have quite recovered from his despair, and now looked
almost defiantly cheerful. Small in body, with a narrow chest and
shoulders, and a weakly growing beard, he was nevertheless remarkable,
even striking in appearance. His large nose suggested Semitic blood, but
also power, which was shown, too, in his immense forehead and strong,
energetic head. He had a habit of blinking his eyes. But they were fine
eyes, full of feeling, imagination, and emotion, but also at moments
full of sarcasm and shrewdness. His dark, hairy and small hands were
rather monkeylike, and looked destructive.
"Every woman should be thin and charming," he continued. "The camel
species, the elephant-type, the cowlike ruminating specimen--milky
mother of the lowing herd, as an English poet has expressed it, and very
well, too--should"--he flung out one little hairy hand vehemently--"_go_
with the advance of corset-makers and civilization. She comes!"
The door had opened, and Charmian came in.
Instantly her eyes fastened on Madame Sennier.
She was so surprised that she stood still by the door, and her whole
face was suffused with blood. So much had this woman meant, did she
still mean in Charmian's life, that even the habit of the world did not
help Charmian to complete self-control at this moment.
"I'm afraid our coming has quite startled you," said Mrs. Shiffney.
"Didn't Susan tell you we were going to look in?"
"Yes, of course. I'm delighted!"
Charmian moved. She was secretly furious with herself.
Max Elliot took her hand, and Mrs. Shiffney carelessly introduced the
Senniers.
"What a dear little retreat you've found here, and how deliciously
you've arranged everything," she said. "You've made a perfect nest for
your genius. We are all longing to see him."
They were sitting now. Charmian was on a divan beside Madame Sennier.
"A clever man!" said Madame Sennier, decisively. "I met him once at the
opera. You remember, Jacques, I told you what he said about your
orchestration?"
"Yes, yes, about my use of the flutes in connection with muted strings
and the horns to give the effect of water."
"I want Monsieur Sennier to know him," said Mrs. Shiffney.
"I'm so sorry, but he's not here," said Charmian.
Just then Susan Fleet came in. Mrs. Shiffney turned to her.
"Susan! Such a disappointment! But, of course, you know!"
"About Mr. Heath? Yes."
"Has he gone back to England?" said Max Elliot.
"Oh, no. He's in Algeria."
Charmian obviously hesitated, saw that any want of frankness would seem
extraordinary, and added:
"He has gone to Constantine with a friend."
Her voice was reluctant.
"Do have some tea!" she added quickly, pulling the bell, which Pierre
promptly answered with the tea things.
"Constantine!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "That's no distance, only a night in
the train. Can't you persuade him to come back and see us? Do be a dear
and telegraph."
She spoke in her most airy way.
"I would in a minute. But he's not gone merely to amuse himself."
"The opera!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "By the way, is it indiscreet to ask
who wrote the libretto?"
Again Charmian hesitated, and again overcame her hesitation.
"It is by a Frenchman, or rather an Algerian, French but born here. His
name is Gillier."
"Armand Gillier?" exclaimed Madame Sennier, while her husband threw out
his hands in a gesture of surprise.
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"Know him!" exclaimed the composer. "When have I not known him? Three
libretti by him have I rejected--three, madame. He challenged me to a
duel, pistols, if you please! I to fire, and perhaps be shot, because he
cannot write a good libretto! Which has your poor unfortunate husband
accepted?"
Charmian handed the tea. She felt Madame Sennier's hard and observant
eyes--they were yellow eyes, and small--fixed upon her.
"Claude's libretto has never been offered to anyone else," she answered.
Madame Sennier slightly shrugged her shoulders.
"And so Gillier is with your husband!" she observed. Apparently she was
clairvoyante. "Well, madame, you are a brave woman. That is all I can
say!"
"Brave! But why?"
Mrs. Shiffney's eyes looked full of laughter.
"Why, Henriette?" she asked, leaning forward. "Do tell us."
"Gillier makes other people like he is," said Madame Sennier. "But what
does it matter? Each one for himself! Don't you say that in England?"
She had turned to Max Elliot.
"That applies specially to women," she continued, with her curiously
ruthless and too self-possessed air. "Each woman for herself, and the
Devil will carefully take the hindmost. Why should he not?"
She shot another glance at Charmian, a glance penetrating and cold as a
dagger. Charmian felt that she hated this woman. And yet she admired her
immensely, too. Madame Sennier would never be taken by the Devil because
she was the hindmost. That was certain.
Max Elliot began to talk to Sennier and Mrs. Shiffney. Susan Fleet went
over to sit with them. And Charmian had an opportunity for conversation
with Madame Sennier.
She secretly shrank from her, yet she longed to be more intimate with
her, to learn something from her. She felt that the Frenchwoman was
completely unscrupulous. She saw cruelty in those yellow eyes. The red
mouth was hard as a bar of iron in the artificial white face. Madame
Sennier moved in a sea of perfume. And even this perfume troubled and
disgusted, yet half fascinated Charmian, suggesting to her knowledge
that she did not possess, and that perhaps helped on the way of
ambition. She felt like an ignorant child, and almost preposterously
English, as she talked to Madame Sennier, who became voluble in reply.
There was something meridional in her manner and her fluency. Charmian
felt sure that Madame Sennier had risen out of depths about which she,
Charmian, knew nothing. She wondered if this woman loved her husband, or
only loved the genius in him which helped her to rise, which brought her
wealth, influence, even, it seemed, a curious adoration. She wondered,
too, if this woman had known the first Madame Sennier.
Presently Mrs. Shiffney got up. She was apt to be restless.
"May we go and look about outside?" she said.
"Of course. Shall I--"
"No, no. I see you are interested in each other. Two wives of geniuses!
I don't want to spoil it. Come, Jacques, let us explore."
They went away to the court of the goldfish. Max Elliot followed them.
As they went Madame Sennier fixed her eyes for a moment on her departing
husband. In that moment Charmian found out something. Madame Sennier
certainly cared for the man, as well as for the composer. Charmian
fancied that love, that softness for the one, bred hatred, hardness, for
many others, that it was an exclusive and almost terrible love. Now that
she was alone with Madame Sennier, enclosed as it were in that strong
perfume, she felt almost afraid of her. She was conscious of being with
someone far cleverer than herself. And she realized what an effective
weapon in certain hands is an absolute lack of scruple. It seemed to her
as she sat and talked, about Paris, America, London, art, music, that
this woman must have divined her secret and intense ambition. Those
yellow eyes had surely looked into her soul, and knew that she had
brought Claude to Algeria in order that some day he might come forth as
the rival of Jacques Sennier. Almost she felt guilty. She made a strong
effort, and turned the conversation to the subject of the _Paradis
Terrestre_, expressing her enthusiasm for it.
Madame Sennier received the praises with an air of gracious
indifference, as if her husband's opera were now so famous that it was
scarcely worth while to talk about it. This carelessness accentuated
brutally the difference between her position and Charmian's. And it
stung Charmian into indiscretion. Something fiery and impetuous seemed
to rise up in her, something that wanted to fight. She began to speak of
her husband's talent.
Madame Sennier listened politely, as one who listens on a height to
small voices stealing vaguely up from below. Charmian began to underline
things. It was as if one of the voices from below became strident in the
determination to be adequately heard, to make its due effect. Finally
she was betrayed into saying:
"Of course we wives of composers are apt to be prejudiced."
Madame Sennier stared.
"But," added Charmian, "people who really know think a great deal of my
husband; Mr. Crayford, for instance."
Directly she had said this she repented of it. She realized that Claude
would have hated the remark had he heard it.
Madame Sennier seemed unimpressed, and at that moment the others came in
from the garden. But Charmian, why she did not know, felt increasing
regret for her inadvertence. She even wished that Madame Sennier had
shown some emotion, surprise, even contemptuous incredulity. The
complete blankness of the Frenchwoman at that moment made Charmian
uneasy.
When they were all going Mrs. Shiffney insisted on Charmian and Susan
Fleet dining at the Hotel St. George that evening. Charmian wanted to
refuse and wished to go. Of course she accepted. She and Susan had no
engagement to plead.
Jacques Sennier clasped her hands on parting and gazed fervently into
her eyes.
[Illustration: "'OF COURSE WE WIVES OF COMPOSERS ARE APT TO BE
PREJUDICED'"--_Page 242_]
"Let me come sometimes and sit in your garden, may I, Madame?" he said,
as if begging for some great boon. "Only"--he lowered his voice--"only
till your husband comes back. There is inspiration here!"
Charmian knew he was talking nonsense. Nevertheless she glanced round
half in dread of Madame Sennier. The yellow eyes were smiling. The white
face looked humorously sarcastic.
"Of course! Whenever you like!" she said lightly.
The monkeylike hands pressed hers more closely.
"The freedom of Africa, you give it me!"
He whisked round, with a sharp and absurd movement, and joined the
others.
"She is delicious!" he observed, as they walked away. "But she is very
undeveloped. She has certainly never suffered. And no woman can be of
much use to an artist unless she has suffered."
"Henriette, have you suffered?" said Mrs. Shiffney, laughing.
"Terribly!" said Jacques Sennier, answering for his wife. "But
unfortunately not through me. That is the great flaw in our connection."
He frowned.
"I must make her suffer!" he muttered.
"My cabbage, you are a little fool and you know it!" observed Madame
Sennier imperturbably. "_Mon Dieu!_ What dust!"
They had emerged into the road, and were enveloped in a cloud sent up by
a passing motor.
"If it doesn't rain, or they don't water the roads, I shall run away to
Constantine," observed Mrs. Shiffney. "There'll be no dust in
Constantine at this time of year."