contemptuous in his attitude. Indeed, there was a frown of pity on his
face. He recognized that circumstances had dragged down a noble man;
that chance had tricked him of his honor. How he hated his own evil
plan! He squared his shoulders, determined once more to put it to the
touch to win or lose it all.
He found her at the bow-window, staring up at the moon. As I remarked,
this room was dark, and she did not instantly recognize him.
"I am moon-gazing," she said.
"Let me sigh for it with you. Perhaps together we may bring it down."
There was something very pleasing in the quality of his tone.
"Ah, it is you, Count? I could not see. But let us not sigh for the
moon; it would be useless. Does any one get his own wish-moon? Does it
not always hang so high, so far away?"
"The music has affected you?"
"As it always does. When I hear a voice like madam's, I grow sad, and a
pity for the great world surges over me."
"Pity is the invisible embrace which enfolds all animate things. There
is pity for the wretched, for the fool, for the innocent knave, for
those who are criminals by their own folly; pity for those who love
without reward; pity that embraces ... even me."
Silence.
"Has it ever occurred to you that there are two beings in each of us;
that between these two there is a continual conflict, and that the
victor finally prints the victory on the face? For what lines and
haggards a man's face but the victory of the evil that is in him? For
what makes the aged ruddy and smooth of face and clear of eye but the
victory of the good that is in him? It is so. I still love you; I still
have the courage to ask you to be my wife. Shall there be faces haggard
or ruddy, lined or smooth?"
She stepped inside. She did not comprehend all he said, and his face
was in the shadow--that is to say, unreadable.
"I am sorry, very, very sorry."
"How easily you say that!"
"No, not easily; if only you knew how hard it comes, for I know that it
inflicts a hurt,"--gently. "Ah, Count, why indeed do I not love
you?"--impulsively, for at that time she held him in genuine regard.
"You represent all that a woman could desire in a man."
"You could learn,"--with an eager step toward her.
"You do not believe that; you know that you do not. Love has nothing to
learn; the heart speaks, and that is all. My heart does not speak when
I see you, and I shall never marry a man to whom it does not. You ask
for something which I can not give, and each time you ask you only add
to the pain."
"This is finality?"
"It is."
"Eh, well; then I must continue on to the end."
She interpreted this as a plaint of his coming loneliness.
"Here!" she said. She held in her hands two red roses. She thrust one
toward him. "That is all I may give you."
For a moment he hesitated. There were thorns, invisible and stinging.
"Take it!"
He accepted it, kissed it gravely, and hid it.
"This is the bitterest moment in my life, and doubly bitter because I
love you."
When the portiere fell behind him, she locked her hands, grieving that
all she could give him was an ephemeral flower. How many men had turned
from her in this wise, even as she began to depend upon them for their
friendships! The dark room oppressed her and she stepped out once more
into the silver of moonshine. Have you ever beheld a lovely woman
fondle a lovely rose? She drew it, pendent on its slender stem, slowly
across her lips, her eyes shining mistily with waking dreams. She
breathed in the perfume, then cupped the flower in the palm of her hand
and pressed it again and again to her lips. A long white arm stretched
outward and upward toward the moon, and when it withdrew the hand was
empty.
Warburton, hidden behind the vines, waited until she was gone, and then
hunted in the grass for the precious flower. On his hands and knees he
groped. The dew did not matter. And when at last he found it, not all
the treasures of the fabled Ophir would have tempted him to part with
it. It would be a souvenir for his later days.
As he rose from his knees he was confronted by a broad-shouldered,
elderly man in evening clothes. The end of a cigar burned brightly
between his teeth.
"I'll take that flower, young man, if you please."
Warburton's surprise was too great for sudden recovery.
"It is mine, Colonel," he stammered.
The colonel filliped away his cigar and caught my butler roughly by the
arm.
"Warburton, what the devil does this mean--a lieutenant of mine
peddling soup around a gentleman's table?"
XIX
"OH, MISTER BUTLER!"
Warburton had never lacked that rare and peculiar gift of immediately
adapting himself to circumstances. To lie now would be folly, worse
than useless. He had addressed this man at his side by his military
title. He stood committed. He saw that he must throw himself wholly on
the colonel's mercy and his sense of the humorous. He pointed toward
the stables and drew the colonel after him; but the colonel held back.
"That rose first; I insist upon having that rose till you have given me
a satisfactory account of yourself."
Warburton reluctantly surrendered his treasure. Force of habit is a
peculiar one. The colonel had no real authority to demand the rose; but
Warburton would no more have thought of disobeying than of running away.
"You will give it back to me?"
"That remains to be seen. Go on; I am ready to follow you. And I do not
want any dragging story, either." The colonel spoke impatiently.
Warburton led him into his room and turned on the light. The colonel
seated himself on the edge of the cot and lighted a fresh cigar.
"Well, sir, out with it. I am waiting."
Warburton took several turns about the room. "I don't know how the
deuce to begin, Colonel. It began with a joke that turned out wrong."
"Indeed?"--sarcastically. "Let me hear about this joke."
M'sieu Zhames dallied no longer, but plunged boldly into his narrative.
Sometimes the colonel stared at him as if he beheld a species of
lunatic absolutely new to him, sometimes he laughed silently, sometimes
he frowned.
"That's all," said Zhames; and he stood watching the colonel with dread
in his eyes.
"Well, of all the damn fools!"
"Sir?"
"Of all the jackasses!"
Warburton bit his lip angrily.
The colonel swung the rose to and fro. "Yes, sir, a damn fool!"
"I dare say that I am, sir. But I have gone too far to back out now.
Will you give me back that rose, Colonel?"
"What do you mean by her?"--coldly.
"I love her with all my heart,"--hotly. "I want her for my comrade, my
wife, my companion, my partner in all I have or do. I love her, and I
don't care a hang who knows it."
"Not so loud, my friend; not so loud."
"Oh, I do not care who hears,"--discouragedly.
"This beats the very devil! You've got me all balled up. Is Betty
Annesley a girl of the kind we read about in the papers as eloping with
her groom? What earthly chance had you in this guise, I should like to
know?"
"I only wanted to be near her; I did not look ahead."
"Well, I should say not! How long were you hidden behind that trellis?"
"A year, so it seemed to me."
"Any lunatics among your ancestors?"
Warburton shook his head, smiling wanly.
"I can't make it out," declared the colonel. "A graduate of West Point,
the fop of Troop A, the hero of a hundred ball-rooms, disguised as a
hostler and serving soup!"
"Always keep the motive in mind, Colonel; you were young yourself once."
The colonel thought of the girl's mother. Yes, he had been young once,
but not quite so young as this cub of his.
"What chance do you suppose you have against the handsome Russian?"
"She has rejected him,"--thoughtlessly.
"Ha!"--frowning; "so you were eavesdropping?"
"Wait a moment, Colonel. You know that I am very fond of music. I was
listening to the music. It had ceased, and I was waiting for it to
begin again, when I heard voices."
"Why did you not leave then?"
"And be observed? I dared not."
The colonel chewed the end of his cigar in silence.
"And now may I have that rose, sir?"--quietly.
The colonel observed him warily. He knew that quiet tone. It said that
if he refused to give up the rose he would have to fight for it, and
probably get licked into the bargain.
"I've a notion you might attempt to take it by force in case I refused."
"I surrendered it peacefully enough, sir."
"So you did. Here." The colonel tossed the flower across the room and
Warburton caught it.
"I should like to know, sir, if you are going to expose me. It's no
more than I deserve."
The colonel studied the lithographs on the walls. "Your
selection?"--with a wave of the hand.
"No, sir. I should like to know what you are going to do. It would
relieve my mind. As a matter of fact, I confess that I am growing weary
of the mask." Warburton waited.
"You make a very respectable butler, though,"--musingly.
"Shall you expose me, sir?"--persistently.
"No, lad. I should not want it to get about that a former officer of
mine could possibly make such an ass of himself. You have slept all
night in jail, you have groomed horses, you have worn a livery which no
gentleman with any self-respect would wear, and all to no purpose
whatever. Why, in the name of the infernal regions, didn't you meet her
in a formal way? There would have been plenty of opportunities."
Warburton shrugged; so did the colonel, who stood up and shook the
wrinkles from his trousers.
"Shall you be long in Washington, sir?" asked Warburton, politely.
"In a hurry to get rid of me, eh?"--with a grim smile. "Well, perhaps
in a few days."
"Good night."
The colonel stopped at the threshold, and his face melted suddenly into
a warm, humorous smile. He stretched out a hand which Warburton grasped
most gratefully. His colonel had been playing with him.
"Come back to the Army, lad; the East is no place for a man of your
kidney. Scrape up a commission, and I'll see to it that you get back
into the regiment. Life is real out in the great West. People smile too
much here; they don't laugh often enough. Smiles have a hundred
meanings, laughter but one. Smiles are the hiding places for lies, and
sneers, and mockeries, and scandals. Come back to the West; we all want
you, the service and I. When I saw you this afternoon I knew you
instantly, only I was worried as to what devilment you were up to. Win
this girl, if you can; she's worth any kind of struggle, God bless her!
Win her and bring her out West, too."
Warburton wrung the hand in his till the old fellow signified that his
fingers were beginning to ache.
"Do you suppose she suspects anything?" ventured Warburton.
"No. She may be a trifle puzzled, though. I saw her watching your hands
at the table. She has eyes and can readily see that such hands as yours
were never made to carry soup-plates. For the life of me, I had a time
of it, swallowing my laughter. I longed for a vacant lot to yell in. It
would have been a positive relief. The fop of Troop A peddling soup!
Oh, I shall have to tell the boys. You used more pipe-clay than any
other man in the regiment. Don't scowl. Never mind; you've had your
joke; I must have mine. Don't let that Russian fellow get the inside
track. Keep her on American soil. I like him and I don't like him; and
for all your tomfoolery and mischief, there is good stuff in you--stuff
that any woman might be proud of. If you hadn't adopted this disguise,
I could have helped you out a bit by cracking up some of your exploits.
Well, they will be inquiring for me. Good night and good luck. If you
should need me, a note will find me at the Army and Navy Club." And the
genial old warrior, shaking with silent laughter, went back to the
house.
Warburton remained standing. He was lost in a dream. All at once he
pressed the rose to his lips and kissed it shamelessly, kissed it
uncountable times. Two or three leaves, not withstanding this violent
treatment, fluttered to the floor. He picked them up: any one of those
velvet leaves might have been the recipient of _her_ kisses, the rosary
of love. He was in love, such a love that comes but once to any man,
not passing, uncertain, but lasting. He knew that it was all useless.
He had digged with his own hands the abyss between himself and this
girl. But there was a secret gladness: to love was something. (For my
part, I believe that the glory lies, not in being loved, but in loving.)
I do not know how long he stood there, but it must have been at least
ten minutes. Then the door opened, and Monsieur Pierre lurched or
rolled (I can't quite explain or describe the method of his entrance)
into the room, his face red with anger, and a million thousand thunders
on the tip of his Gallic tongue.
"So! You haf leaf _me_ to clear zee table, eh? Not by a damn! _I_,
clear zee table? _I?_ I t'ink not. I _cook_, nozzing else. To zee
dining-room, or I haf you discharge'!"
"All right, Peter, old boy!" cried Warburton, the gloom lifting from
his face. This Pierre was a very funny fellow.
"Pe_taire!_ You haf zee insolence to call me Pe_taire?_ Why, I haf you
keeked out in zee morning, lackey!"
"Cook!"--mockingly.
Pierre was literally dumfounded. Such disrespect he had never before
witnessed. It was frightful. He opened his mouth to issue a volley of
French oaths, when Zhames's hand stopped him.
"Look here, Peter, you broil your partridges and flavor your soups, but
keep out of the stables, or, in your own words, I _keel_ you or _keek_
you out. You tell the scullery maid to clear off the table. I'm off
duty for the rest of the night. Now, then, _allons! Marche!"_
And M'sieu Zhames gently but firmly and steadily pushed the scandalized
Pierre out of the room and closed the door in his face. I shan't repeat
what Pierre said, much less what he thought.
Let me read a thought from the mind of each of my principals, the final
thought before retiring that night.
_Karloff_ (on leaving Mrs. Chadwick): Dishonor against dishonor; so it
must be. I can not live without that girl.
_Mrs. Chadwick:_ (when Karloff had gone); He has lost, but I have not
won.
_Annesley:_ So one step leads to another, and the labyrinth of dishonor
has no end.
_The Colonel:_ What the deuce will love put next into the young mind?
_Pierre_ (to Celeste): I haf heem discharge'!
_Celeste_ (to Pierre): He ees handsome!
_Warburton_ (sighing in the _doloroso_): How I love her!
_The Girl_ (standing before her mirror and smiling happily): Oh, Mister
Butler! Why?
XX
THE EPISODE OF THE STOVE-PIPE
In the morning Monsieur Pierre faithfully reported to his mistress the
groom's extraordinary insolence and impudence of the night before. The
girl struggled with and conquered her desire to laugh; for monsieur was
somewhat grotesque in his rage.
"Frightful, Mademoiselle, most frightful! He call me Pe_taire_ most
disrrrespectful way, and eject me from zee stables. I can not call heem
out; he ees a groom and knows nozzing uf zee _amende honorable._"
Mademoiselle summoned M'sieu Zhames. She desired to make the comedy
complete in all its phases.
"James, whenever you are called upon to act in the capacity of butler,
you must clear the table after the guests leave it. This is imperative.
I do not wish the scullery girl to handle the porcelain save in the
tubs. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Miss. There were no orders to that effect last night, however."
He was angry.
Monsieur Pierre puffed up like the lady-frog in Aesop's fables,
"And listen, Pierre," she said, collapsing the bubble of the chef's
conceit, "you must give no orders to James. I will do that. I do not
wish any tale-bearing or quarreling among my servants. I insist upon
this. Observe me carefully, Pierre, and you, James."
James _did_ observe her carefully, so carefully, indeed, that her gaze
was forced to wander to the humiliated countenance of Monsieur Pierre.
"James, you must not look at me like that. There is something in your
eyes; I can't explain what it is, but it somehow lacks the respect due
me." This command was spoken coldly and sharply.
"Respect?" He drew back a step. "I disrespectful to you, Miss Annesley?
Oh, you wrong me. There can not be any one more respectful to you than
I am." The sincerity of his tones could not be denied. In fact, he was
almost too sincere.
"Nevertheless, I wish you to regard what I have said. Now, you two
shake hands."
The groom and the chef shook hands. I am ashamed to say that James
squeezed Monsieur Pierre's flabby hand out of active service for
several hours that followed. Beads of agony sparkled on Monsieur
Pierre's expansive brow as he turned to enter the kitchen.
"Shall we ride to-day, Miss?" he asked, inwardly amused.
"No, _I_ shall not ride this morning,"--calmly.
James bowed meekly under the rebuke. What did he care? Did he not
possess a rose which had known the pressure of her lips, her warm, red
lips?
"You may go," she said.
James went. James whistled on the way, too.
Would that it had been my good fortune to have witnessed the episode of
that afternoon! My jehu, when he hears it related these days, smiles a
sickly grin. I do not believe that he ever laughed heartily over it. At
three o'clock, while Warburton was reading the morning paper,
interested especially in the Army news of the day, he heard Pierre's
voice wailing.
"What's the fat fool want now?" James grumbled to William.
"Oh, he's always yelling for help. They've coddled him so long in the
family that he acts like a ten-year-old kid. I stole a kiss from
Celeste one day, and I will be shot if he didn't start to blubber."
"You stole a kiss, eh?" said James, admiringly.
"Only just for the sport of making him crazy, that was all." But
William's red visage belied his indifferent tone. "You'd better go and
see what he wants. My hands are all harness grease."
Warburton concluded to follow William's advice. He flung down his paper
and strode out to the rear porch, where he saw Pierre gesticulating
wildly.
"What's the matter? What do you want?"--churlishly.
"Frightful! Zee stove-pipe ees vat you call _bust!_"
James laughed.
"I can not rrreach eet. I can not cook till eet ees fix'. You are tall,
eh?"--affably.
"All right; I'll help you fix it."
Grumbling, James went into the kitchen, mounted a chair, and began
banging away at the pipe, very much after the fashion of Bunner's
"Culpepper Ferguson." The pipe acted piggishly. James grew determined.
One end slipped in and then the other slipped out, half a dozen times.
James lost patience and became angry; and in his anger he overreached
himself. The chair slid back. He tried to balance himself and, in the
mad effort to maintain a perpendicular position, made a frantic clutch
at the pipe. Ruin and devastation! Down came the pipe, and with it a
peck of greasy soot.
Monsieur Pierre yelled with terror and despair. The pies on the rear
end of the stove were lost for ever. Mademoiselle Celeste screamed with
laughter, whether at the sight of the pies or M'sieu Zhames, is more
than I can say.
James rose to his feet, the cuss-words of a corporal rumbled behind his
lips. He sent an energetic kick toward Pierre, who succeeded in eluding
it.
Pierre's eyes were full of tears. What a kitchen! What a kitchen! Soot,
soot, everywhere, on the floor, on the tables, on the walls, in the air!
"Zee pipe!" he burst forth; "zee pipe! You haf zee house full of gas!"
James, blinking and sneezing, boiling with rage and chagrin, remounted
the chair and finally succeeded in joining the two lengths. Nothing
happened this time. But the door to the forward rooms opened, and Miss
Annesley looked in upon the scene.
"Merciful heavens!" she gasped, "what has happened?"
"Zee stove-pipe bust, Mees," explained Pierre.
The girl gave Warburton one look, balled her handkerchief against her
mouth, and fled. This didn't add to his amiability. He left the kitchen
in a downright savage mood. He had appeared before her positively
ridiculous, laughable. A woman never can love a man, nor entertain
tender regard for him at whom she has laughed: And the girl had
laughed, and doubtless was still laughing. (However, I do not offer his
opinion as infallible.)
He stood in the roadway, looking around for some inanimate thing upon
which he might vent his anger, when the sound of hoofs coming toward
him distracted him. He glanced over his shoulder... and his knees all
but gave way under him. Caught! The rider was none other than his
sister Nancy! It was all over now, for a certainty. He knew it; he had
about one minute to live. She was too near, so he dared not fly. Then a
brilliant inspiration came to him. He quickly passed his hand over his
face. The disguise was complete. Vidocq's wonderful eye could not have
penetrated to the flesh.
"James!" Miss Annesley was standing on the veranda. "Take charge of the
horse. Nancy, dear, I am so glad to see you!"
James was anything but glad.
"Betty, good gracious, whatever is the matter with this fellow? Has he
the black plague? Ugh!" She slid from the saddle unaided.
James stolidly took the reins.
"The kitchen stove-pipe fell down," Betty replied, "and James stood in
the immediate vicinity of it."
The two girls laughed joyously, but James did not even smile. He had
half a notion to kiss Nancy, as he had planned to do that memorable
night of the ball at the British embassy. But even as the notion came
to him, Nancy had climbed up the steps and was out of harm's way.
"James," said Miss Annesley, "go and wash your face at once."
"Yes, Miss."
At the sound of his voice Nancy turned swiftly; but the groom had
presented his back and was leading the horse to the stables.
Nancy would never tell me the substance of her conversation with Miss
Annesley that afternoon, but I am conceited enough to believe that a
certain absent gentleman was the main topic. When she left, it was
William who led out the horse. He explained that James was still
engaged with soap and water and pumice-stone. Miss Annesley's laughter
rang out heartily, and Nancy could not help joining her.
"And have you heard from that younger brother of yours?" Betty asked,
as her friend settled herself in the saddle.
"Not a line, Betty, not a line; and I had set my heart on your meeting
him. I do not know where he is, or when he will be back."
"Perhaps he is in quest of adventures."
"He is in Canada, hunting caribou."
"You don't tell me!"
"What a handsome girl you are, Betty!"--admiringly.
"What a handsome girl you are, Nancy!" mimicked the girl on the
veranda. "If your brother is only half as handsome, I do not know
whatever will become of this heart of mine when we finally meet." She
smiled and drolly placed her hands on her heart. "Don't look so
disappointed, Nan; perhaps we may yet meet. I have an idea that he will
prove interesting and entertaining;"--and she laughed again.
"Whoa, Dandy! What _are_ you laughing at?" demanded Nancy.
"I was thinking of James and his soap and water and pumice-stone. That
was all, dear. Saturday afternoon, then, we shall ride to the club and
have tea. Good-by, and remember me to the baby."
"Good-by!"--and Nancy cantered away.
What a blissful thing the lack of prescience is, sometimes!
When James had scraped the soot from his face and neck and hands, and
had sudsed it from his hair, James observed, with some concern, that
Pirate was coughing at a great rate. His fierce run against the wind
the day before had given him a cold. So James hunted about for the
handy veterinarian.
"Where do you keep your books here?" he asked William. "Pirate's got a
cold."
"In the house library. You just go in and get it. We always do that at
home. You'll find it on the lower shelf, to the right as you enter the
door."
It was half after four when James, having taken a final look at his
hands and nails, proceeded to follow William's instructions. He found
no one about. Outside the kitchen the lower part of the house was
deserted. To reach the library he had to pass through the music-room.
He saw the violin-case on the piano, and at once unconsciously pursed
his lips into a noiseless whistle. He passed on into the library. He
had never been in any of these rooms in the daytime. It was not very
light, even now.