A BITTER PARTING.
With a somewhat less burdened mind, Césarine was still pondering when
she saw Antonino, who had opened the door but perceived her, about to
withdraw without notifying her of his presence. It was the act of a
devotee who feared to pray in the chapel, when the priestess stood by
the saint's image.
"Do not go," she exclaimed with vehemence. "Come here after closing the
door tightly, for I want you to enter into a little plot with me."
She had regained her smiling visage and her sweet voice.
"Would you do it?"
"It depends upon who the object is," he said tremulously.
"It is against my husband," she replied with her smile more bright and
her tone more merry.
"I forewarn you, madame, that I should turn informer," he answered in
the same light key, but forced.
"That would be very bad for him for I am conspiring for his benefit."
"In that case, madame, I am entirely your man."
"Are you able to keep a secret?" she asked with gravity.
"I think so."
They had withdrawn into the window recess, and could see the gardens, as
they conversed. The light fell on her through the Valenciennes curtain
and at her back was a sombre tapestry. Her late trial gave her an
exhausted air which seemed the additional gloss with which melancholy
makes a woman more fascinating in the sentimental eyes of youth.
"I dare say you can keep your own," she pointedly said.
"Not so well, I fear, as another's."
"You must give me your word of honor that if my plot does not please
you, nobody shall be told?"
"I give you my promise," he said freely, just as he would have given her
anything she asked for.
He had debated with his passion, uttered every reason of others and all
he could devise, overwhelmed himself with good advice and created a
Chinese Wall of obstacles, but he heard himself murmuring: "I love her!"
The only way, he feared, to put an end to his wicked craze was to put an
end to his life--an irreputable argument, but to be used moderately. She
allowed him to quiver under her lingering gaze, and finally said:
"The fact is, I do not like the idea of M. Clemenceau selling this
house. It would be a greater grief than he believes now. He has his
dearest memories springing here. Besides, he could not work in peace in
town. Fortunately, my uncle has provided me with the means to help him.
I want to lend him the sum required, but I fear that he would accept
nothing from me."
"He is a very proud man," observed the Italian, courteously, for, while
he worshiped the speaker, he knew that she was not morally without
blemishes.
Not because her affection for him was a proof of that delinquency, for
love overlooked that and gave it another name, but because he believed
Clemenceau, and the woman, while no less alluring, was terrifying as
well.
"It is an excess of very cruel justice!" said she with a strange warmth.
"The greatest punishment on a wrongdoer is to refuse her, when
repentant, the joy of doing a kindness. You need not pretend surprise,
for I have done harm. I did not forsee what would be thought of my hasty
conduct, and even if I were wicked; can you expect a woman to have the
loftiness of genius like him, and the force for resisting temptation
like you?"
"Like me!" ejaculated Antonino, starting.
"Yes; can you deny that you have had to wrestle and are wrestling now
with yourself most strenuously?"
He averted his eyes and made no reply.
"Child that you are," she resumed. "You were right when you just now
said that you could keep the secret of others better than your own. Can
the eyes of an honest youth like you deceive those of a wayward woman
like me? I thank you for the effort you have made--and the silence your
lips have preserved. It matters not. I am glad that after doing the act
of reparation proposed, I shall have the means to go away, literally,
for good this time. It is time I went."
He lifted his hand as if to detain her, but let it fall quickly.
After all, if she departed forever without speaking out the secret of
those two hearts, what harm would be done. Who had the right to prevent
the susceptible Italian feeling the first impressions of the gentler sex
and owing them to Césarine? He could but be thankful that he saw only
the prologue to "the great dreadful tragedy of Woman." He might blame
himself for cherishing the memory of the false wife, but he could not
annul that early sensation. Was it her fault, brought to France at the
sequel of a romantic adventure, if she met him, a castaway, and
disturbed his youth and innocence? There had not seemed any evil
intention in speech or behavior toward him, and he himself might be as
proud as she was of the pure and respectful sentiment which should have
contributed toward her amelioration. In this case, he--ignorant of the
counter-attraction of the Viscount de Terremonde--imagined that she had
struggled also against the pressure of nature and the sin was no more
when she triumphed.
"Well, listen to the secret which we can discuss," said she. "I wish to
be associated with you in a good action, which, I hope, will lead to
many another, if it is the first. One of these days, when you learn the
story of my life, you will see there was a little good in it to shine on
the dark background. Are you not willing to help me increase it? In this
case, that good and honorable man will profit."
Antonino listened spellbound, he could have been ordered up to their own
terrible cannon's mouth by that resistless voice.
"Let me live one day in your youth, illusions and unstained conscience,"
she implored. "Well, here in this little pocketbook are letters of
credit for two hundred thousand francs. It is all I have--take it."
"What am I to do with it?" said Antonino.
"Put it away somewhere out of my reach to retake it. I know myself and
that, if I have a good thought one day, I might entertain the reverse on
the next. If I broke into the money, I could not replace the sum
extracted, and, another thing, I cannot make the use of it I intended.
Leave me to win from my husband the acceptance of the help I wish to
give him. It may take long, but until then, pray keep the money; that
will not entangle you in any degree."
What a strange woman! he thought. She does evil with the easy, graceful
air of an almsgiver distributing charity, and she does good with the
stealth of a criminal!
"I am a fair example of my sex," said she, divining what was in his
mind, "weak, ignorant, unfortunate: and stupid--and the proof is any
harm I have done to others is nothing to that I have wrought to myself."
Antonino, taking the pocketbook--a dainty article in Russian
leather--went to the oaken chest which he opened after what seemed some
cabalistic manipulation, and the muttering of what seemed an "Open
Sesame!"
"Have you no safe yet, is that box strong and secure?" she inquired in a
tone of well assumed anxiety, as she hurriedly took three or four steps
to bring her again beside him.
"You need not be alarmed. That is a box of which we made the peculiar
fastenings. It is too heavy to be carried off, and burglars will not
tamper with it in impunity," said the Italian, smiling maliciously, as
he put his hand on the lid to raise it.
"I understand; it opens with a secret lock?"
"Yes; one I cannot tell you about."
"I have no use for it," she said hastily, "on the contrary, I wish the
money to be where I cannot touch it."
"Nobody will touch it there," returned the young man gravely. "Stop! how
will you get it if anything happens to me--if I should die?"
"A young man like you die in a couple of days!" laughed Césarine.
"It may occur," he replied gloomily. "Death has hovered over this house
at any moment of some of our experiments with the most powerful essences
of nature. And only this morning, when I was out to the post-office,
they were talking of a hideous discovery--a young man's remains, found
in a ditch in the Five Hectare Field."
"A--a young man?"
"A foreigner, some said; but his clothes were in tatters, and the
water-rats had disfigured him."
"Poor fellow!" said she, and quickly she added as if eager to change the
subject: "my name is on the letters of credit. In case of any mishap, I
will plainly say so to my husband and he will return me my own
property."
That was sensible. He had no farther remonstrances to offer, and taking
advantage of her glancing out into the garden, he closed the lid and
fastened it so that she could not see how the trick was done. She was
not vexed, for she saw that man is always weak and on the point of
losing his Paradise. Antonino would betray as the price of love. She
allowed him to go in to luncheon alone, wishing to inspect the
mysterious casket; but, unluckily, she was interrupted by Hedwig, who
rather officiously wanted to dust the room. Not for the first time,
Césarine, remembering the wide occult sway claimed by Colonel Von
Sendlingen, suspected that the girl was not so much her ally as she
wished. She had begun to watch her under the impression that she was in
confederacy with Mademoiselle Daniels. She had perceived no signs of
that, but she believed she intercepted an exchange of glances with the
false Marseillais. They were of the same nationality and this fact
caused Césarine to be on her guard. Unless Hedwig repeated what had
happened between Clemenceau and Antonino, how could the colonel know of
their conversation?
Hesitating to question her directly, disliking her from that moment, and
feeling her heart shrink at her loneliness when such crushing odds were
threatening her, she donned her "company smile" and went to the
sitting-room bravely.