He rubbed his fingernails on his sleeve and glanced about him with a
pleasure he seemed quite unable to conceal. Mademoiselle's cold stare
seemed to react upon him like a smile of gratitude. The contempt on my
face he seemed to read in terms of adulation.
"Brutus, pick up the pistol. My son, you are more amusing than I had
hoped. Indeed, Mademoiselle, perhaps the old saying is right, that the
best is in our door-yard. I have had, perhaps, an exceptional opportunity
to see the world. I have spent a longer time than I like to think
collecting material for enlivening reminiscence, but I cannot recall
having been present before at a scene with so many elements of interest.
You harbor no ill feelings, my son?"
"None that are new," I said. "Only my first impressions."
"And they are--?" He paused modestly. He might have been awaiting
a tribute.
"Father!" I remonstrated. "There is a lady present!"
"You had almost made me forget," he sighed regretfully. "You wished to
have a word with me, Mademoiselle? I am listening. No, no, my son! You
will be interested, I am sure. The door, Brutus!"
But it was not Brutus who stopped me. Mademoiselle had laid a hand on my
arm. As I looked down at her, the bitterness and chagrin I had felt began
slowly to ebb away. Her eyes met mine for a moment in thoughtful
appraisal.
"You have been kind," she said softly, "Kind, and you know you have no
reason--."
She might have continued, but my father interrupted.
"No reason," he said, "No reason? It is only Mademoiselle's complete
disregard of self that prevents her from seeing the reason. A reason," he
added, bowing, "which seems to me as natural as it is obvious."
I turned toward him quickly. From the corner of my eye I could see Brutus
move nearer, and then Mademoiselle stepped between us.
"We have had quite enough of this," said Mademoiselle, and she looked
from one to the other of us with a condescension that was not wholly
displeasing. Then, fixing her eyes on my father, she continued:
"Not that I am in the least afraid of you, Captain Shelton. We have had
to employ too many men like you not to know your type. Your son, I think,
must take after his mother. I fear he thinks I am a damsel in distress. I
trust, captain, that you know better, though for the moment, you seem to
have forgotten."
"Forgotten?" my father echoed, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes," she said, speaking more quickly, "forgotten that you are in the
pay of my family. You had contracted to get certain papers from France,
which were in danger of being seized by the authorities."
Seemingly undecided how to go on, she hesitated, glanced at me covertly,
and then continued.
"I accompanied you because--"
"Because you did not care to share the fate reserved for the papers?" my
father suggested politely.
For a moment she was silent, staring at my father almost incredulously,
while he inclined his head solicitously, as though ready to obey her
smallest wish. Again I started to turn away.
"The door, Brutus," said my father.
"I am beginning to see I made a mistake in not remaining," Mademoiselle
said finally. "Yet you--"
"Contrived to rescue both the papers and Mademoiselle, if I remember
rightly," said my father, bowing, "an interesting and original
undertaking, but pray do not thank me."
"Be still!" she commanded sharply. "You were not paid to be impertinent,
captain. I have only one more request to make of you before I leave this
house tomorrow morning."
He shrugged his shoulders, and glanced at me, as though definitely to
assure himself that I was listening.
"I do not think that Mademoiselle will leave the house at that date," he
said, with a second bow.
"And what does the captain mean by that?" she asked quickly.
"Simply that the house is already watched," said my father, "watched,
Mademoiselle, by persons in the pay of the French government. Do not
start, Mademoiselle, they will not trouble us tonight, I think."
For the first time her surprising self-confidence left her. She turned
pale, even to her red lips, stretched out a hand blindly, and grasped
the table.
"And the paper?" she whispered. "You have destroyed it?"
My father shook his head.
"Then," gasped Mademoiselle, "give it to me now! At once, captain, if
you please!"
"Mademoiselle no longer trusts me?" asked my father, in tones of pained
surprise. "Surely not that!"
"Exactly that!" she flung back at him angrily.
He bowed smilingly in acknowledgment.
"And Mademoiselle is right," he agreed. "I have read the paper. I have
been tempted."
"You rogue!" she cried. "You mean--"
"I mean," he interrupted calmly, "that I have been tempted and have
fallen. The document I carry has too much value, Mademoiselle. The actual
signatures of the gentlemen who had been so deluded as to believe they
could restore a king to France! Figure for yourself, my lady, those names
properly used are a veritable gold mine, more profitable than my Chinese
trade can hope to be! Surely you realize that?"
"So you have turned from cards to diplomacy," I observed. "How versatile
you grow, father!"
"They are much the same thing," my father said.
"And you mean," Mademoiselle cried, "you are dog enough to use those
names? You mean you are going back on your word either to destroy that
list or to place it in proper hands? You mean you are willing to see your
friends go under the guillotine? Surely not, monsieur! Surely you are too
brave a gentleman. Surely a man who has behaved as gallantly as you--No,
captain, I cannot believe it!"
"Mademoiselle," he said blandly, "still has much to learn of the world.
Take myself, for instance. I am a gentleman only by birth and breeding.
Otherwise, pray believe I am quite unspeakable, quite. Do you not see
that even my son finds me so?"
He nodded towards me in graceful courtesy.
"For me," he continued smoothly, "only one thing has ever remained
evident, and well-defined for long, and that, my lady, is money. Nearly
everything else seems to tarnish, but still money keeps its lustre. Ah!
Now we begin to understand each other. Strange you should not realize it
sooner. I cannot understand what actuated so many persons, supposedly
rational, to sign such a ridiculous document. That they have done so is
their fault, not mine. I believe, Mademoiselle, in profiting by the
mistakes of others. I believe in profiting by this one. Someone should be
glad to pay a pretty price for it."
He stopped and shrugged his shoulders, and she stood before him
helpless, her hand raised toward him in entreaty. For a moment my father
glanced away.
"You couldn't! Oh, you couldn't!" she began. "For God's sake, Monsieur,
think what you are doing. I--we all trusted you, depended on your help.
We thought you were with us. We---"
Her voice choked in a sob, and she sank into a chair, her face buried in
her hands. My father looked at her, and took a pinch of snuff.
"Indeed," he said, "I am almost sorry, but it is the game, Mademoiselle.
We each have our little square on the chess board. I regret that mine is
a black one. A while ago I was a pawn, paid by your family. Then it
seemed to me expedient to do as you dictated--to take you out of France
to safety, to deliver both you and a certain paper to your brother's
care. But that was a while ago. I am approaching the king row now.
Forgive me, if things seem different--and rest assured, Mademoiselle,
that you, at least, are in safe hands as long as you obey my directions."
He made this last statement with a benign complacency, and once more
busied himself with his nails. I took a step toward him, and he looked
up, as though to receive my congratulations.
"So you leave us, my son," he said briskly. "I fear you will meet with
trouble before you pass the lane. But you seem surprisingly able to look
out for yourself. Brutus will help you to saddle."
"You are mistaken," I said. "I am not leaving."
And I bowed to Mademoiselle, who had started at the sound of my voice,
and was staring at me with a tear-stained face.
"I have decided to stay," I cried, "If Mademoiselle will permit me."
But she did not answer, and my father regarded us carefully, as though
balancing possibilities.
"Not leaving!" Whether my statement was surprising or otherwise was
impossible to discern. He raised his eyebrows in interrogation, and I
smiled at him in a manner I hoped resembled his.
"I fear you may tire of my company," I went on, "because I am going to
stay until you have disposed of this paper as Mademoiselle desires. Or if
you are unwilling to do so, I shall take pleasure in doing it myself."
My father rubbed his hands, and then tapped me playfully on the shoulder.
"Somehow I thought this little scene would fetch you," he cried.
"Excellent, my son! I hoped you might stay on."
"And now, sir," I said, "the paper, if you please."
"What!" exclaimed my father, with a gesture of astonishment. "You too
want the paper! How popular it is becoming, to be sure!"
"At least I am going to try to get it," I began gravely, when a sudden
change in his expression stopped me.
"Wait," he said coldly. "Look before you leap, my son. Allow me to make
the situation perfectly clear before you attempt anything so foolish. In
the first place, let us take myself. I am older than you, it is true, but
years and excitement have not entirely weakened me. I have been present
in many little unpleasantnesses. I have fought with Barbary pirates and
Chinese junks, and with assorted Christians. The fact that I am here
tonight proves I am usually successful. Even if I were alone, I doubt if
you could take the paper from me. But you forget another matter--"
He turned and pointed to Brutus in the doorway. Brutus grinned back and
nodded violently, his eyes rolling in pleased anticipation.
"Eight years ago," my father continued, "I saved Brutus from the gallows
at Jamaica. He has a strangely persistent sense of gratitude. I have seen
Brutus only last month kill three stronger men than you, my son. I fancy
the document is safe in my pocket, quite safe."
He half smiled, and took another pinch of snuff.
"But let us indulge in the impossible," he continued. "Suppose you did
get the paper. Let us examine the paper itself."
And slowly he drew it from his pocket, and flicked it flat in the
candle light.
"Come, Henry, draw up a chair, and let us be sensible. Another bottle of
Madeira, Brutus. And now, tell me, what do you know of French politics?"
"Sir," I objected, "it seems to me you are forgetting the point. What
have politics to do with you and me?"
It seemed to me I saw another opportunity. With a sense of elation I did
my best to conceal, I watched him quickly drain his glass, and I thought
his eyes were brighter, and his gestures less careful and alert.
"Politics," he said, "and politics alone, Henry, are responsible for this
evening's entertainment. Surely you have perceived that much. The
glasses, Brutus, watch the glasses! These are parlous times, my son." He
raised his glass again--
"Mademoiselle will tell you as much. We made an interesting journey
through the provinces, did we not, my lady? It is a pity your father, the
Marquis, could not have enjoyed it with us. He had a penchant for
interesting situations, and in France today anything may happen. In a few
scant months dukes have turned into pastry cooks, and barbers' boys into
generals. Tomorrow it may be a republic, or a monarchy that governs, or
some bizarre contrivance that is neither one nor the other. Just now it
is Napoleon Bonaparte, a very determined little man. Ah, you have heard
of him, my son? I sometimes wonder if he will not go further than many of
us think."
Yes, we had already begun to hear his name in America. We had already
begun to wonder how soon his influence would be overthrown, for it was in
the days before he had consolidated his power. He was still existing in a
maze of plots, still facing royalists and revolutionists, all conspiring
to seize the reins.
"I sometimes wonder, Mademoiselle," he continued thoughtfully, "if your
friends realized the task before them when they attempted to kill
Napoleon. Ah, now you grow interested, my son? Yes, that is what this
paper signifies. Written on this paper are the signatures of fifty
men--signatures to an oath to kill Napoleon Bonaparte and to restore a
king to France. You will agree with me it is a most original and
intriguing document."
"So they didn't kill him," I said.
"Indeed not," he replied; "quite the contrary. They gave him a new
lease of life."
"Then why," I demanded, "didn't they burn the paper. Why--"
"Ah!" said my father, with an indulgent smile. "There you have it, to be
sure. You have hit the root of the whole matter."
"It was the old Marquis's idea. He told me of it at the time. If everyone
in the plot signed the oath, it would be a dangerous thing indeed for
anyone to inform on the rest, because they would immediately produce the
paper which showed him as guilty as they. There are commendable points in
the Marquis's idea, my son. Now that the plot has failed, the existence
of this paper is all that keeps many a man from telling a valuable and
dangerous little story. In these signatures I read names of men above
suspicion, men high in the present government. Somehow Napoleon's police
have learned of the existence of this paper. It has become almost vital
for Napoleon to obtain it. He has tried to get it already. Since it
reposed in the strong box at the Chateau of Blanzy, it has cost him five
men. It has cost me new halliards and rigging for the Eclipse, and Brutus
a disfigured countenance--not that I am complaining. Someone shall pay me
for it. And the game is just beginning, my son. Mr. Lawton--have you
wondered who he is? He is a very reckless man in the pay of France. He
will get that paper if he can, if not by force, by money. Even now his
men are watching the house. Suppose you held the paper in your hands, my
son, you still have Mr. Lawton."
He folded the paper, and replaced it in his pocket.
"It is safer here at present," said my father. "There will be others who
will want it presently, and then, perhaps, we will dispose of it."
"In other words, you intend to sell the people who entrusted you with the
paper to the highest bidder?" I inquired.
He glanced towards Mademoiselle, and back to me again, and smiled
brightly.
"That," he admitted pleasantly, "is one way of looking at it, though it
might be viewed from more congenial angles."
I started to speak, but he raised his voice, and for the second time that
evening became entirely serious.
"The paper," he said, "has nothing to do with your being in this house
tonight. You are becoming more of a hindrance than I expected, but you
are here, and here you will stay for another reason. I have heard much
of the good examples parents set their children. For me to set one is a
patent impossibility. I have never been a good example. But perhaps I can
offer you something which is even better, and that, my son, is why I
asked you to this house. Can you guess what it is?"
"There is no need to guess," I said, "you have been perfectly clear."
Gossip had it that my father always loved the theatre, though perhaps the
Green Room better than the footlights. The marked passages in his library
still attest his propensity. He now looked about him with a keen
appreciation, as though my words were all that he required to round out
his evening. Like a man whose work is finished, and who is pleasantly
fatigued by his exertions, he leaned back in his chair.
"My son," he said, "you have a keenness of wit, and a certain decision,
which I confess I overlooked in you at first--"
The moment must have pleased him, for he paused, as though on purpose to
prolong it.
"You are right," he continued finally. "I am here to set you a bad
example, Henry, and, believe me, it will be no fault of mine if it is
not more effective than a good one. Listen, my son, and you too,
Mademoiselle, I have been many things, tried many things in this life,
most of them discreditable. I have wasted my days and my prospects in
a thousand futilities. I have lost my friends. I have lost my
position. Sneer at me, my son, laugh at me, curse me if you wish. I
shall be the first to commend you for it. I am broad-minded enough to
recognize your position.
"But above all things watch me. Watch me, and remember the things I do.
Recall my ethics and my logic. They are to be your legacy, my son. What
money I may leave you is doubtless tainted. But the things I do--of
course you perceive their value?"
"Only in a negative sense," I replied pushing the bottle toward him.
"You are right again," he said, refilling his glass. "Their value, as you
say, is purely negative. Yet, believe me, it does not impair them. You
have only to place them before you and do exactly opposite. It is the
best way I can think of for you to become a decent and self-respecting
man. And now you have the only reason why I permit you in my society. The
lesson has already started--an original lesson, is it not?"
As though to close the interview, he sprang up lightly, and bowed to
Mademoiselle. It seemed to me he was combating a slight embarrassment,
for he paused, seemingly uncertain how to begin, but only for a moment.
Mademoiselle had regained her self-possession, and was regarding him with
attention, and a little of the contempt which became her so well.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "even the pain of distressing you is lessened by
the unexpected pleasure of your company tonight. I hope you have found
the hour not entirely unprofitable. It has sometimes seemed to me, my
lady--pardon the rudeness of suggesting it--that you may have seen
something romantic, something heroic in me from time to time. I trust you
have been disillusioned tonight. The fight on the stairs, the open
boat--you see them all as they should be, do you not, the necessary parts
of a piece of villainy? Pray forget them--and good night, Mademoiselle."
Suddenly both he and I started, and involuntarily his hand went up to
cover his torn lapel. Mademoiselle was laughing.
"Captain," she cried, "you are absurd!"
"Absurd!" exclaimed my father uncertainly.
"You of all people! You cannot sell the paper!"
He sighed with apparent relief.
"And why not?" he asked.
"Because," said Mademoiselle, "you are one of those who signed it."
"Mademoiselle forgets," said my father, bowing, "that her name and mine
were written at the bottom of the list. It is a precaution I always take
with such little matters. The first thing I did, Mademoiselle, was to cut
both off with my razor. Brutus, light the stairs for the lady."
Without another glance at either of us, she walked slowly away, her chin
tilted, her slender fingers clenched. I knew that anger, fear, and
disappointment were walking there beside her, and yet she left the room
as proudly as she had entered it.