That, however, was some time ago. Now, alas, not the most kindly
observer of society can but have remarked that the recent life of the
young Duke and his Duchess has been as conspicuous for its private
dolour as for its public splendour. There have been rumours, there has
been chatter. This has been said, and that, and the other. Gossip, in
fact, has been rife. But it is the austere part of the historian to deal
only in facts. The facts are as follows:
South of the lands of the old troubadours, between the heights of the
Southern Alps and the languor of the Mediterranean, lies the pretty town
of Cannes. The year we tell of was in its first youth. The flower and
chivalry of England and America were promenading in the sunlight of the
pretty town or commenting at their ease on the brilliant tourneys of
tennis and polo. Here and there about the links the sun lit up the
brilliant Fair Isle sweaters of Jews, Greeks and Argentines where they
were playing a friendly match for the empiry of the world. The mimosa
was at its full glory of fresh-powdered gold. Brilliant sun-shades lit
the walks. From the gardens of white villas could be heard the laughter
of children and millionaires. The beach was strewn with jewels, and
ladies walked in beauty. Great automobiles loitered between the Casino
and the Carlton Hotel, while youth in swift Bugatti or Bentley
challenged time to a race from Cannes to Monte Carlo. The waters slept
profoundly in the full kiss of the afternoon sun. There, as a dove on a
spacious lawn, rode a fair white yacht. From its stern hung a cluster of
golden cherries, for such was the pretty nautical device of the young
Duke of Mall.
It must be granted by the most fastidious that the scene was set for
enchantment. The sea slept under the sun, the sun upon the mountains,
the chauffeurs at their driving-wheels, the _croupiers_ in the Casino,
the diplomats at a conference, the _demi-mondaines_ near the diplomats.
Yet in the yacht raged a storm: the Duke of Mall was having a row with
his lady.
It will be incredible that it was not their first. It must be incredible
that it looked like being their last. At the moment of our intrusion, my
Lord Duke, in point of fact, was saying:
“By Heaven, Leonora, I am sick and tired of it!”
That small, lovely head, those wide, deep, gentle eyes! Yet stern Juno
herself did sometimes walk the earth in those very eyes. She was not
more than twenty-four, this lady, yet with what proud calm and disdain
she could at one glance enwrap her husband! Not, however, that it always
advantaged her case, for sometimes it might be he was too sleepy to
notice or maybe he would be too busily engaged in disdaining her, which
on occasions he could do very handsomely.
Gently said she: “You say you are sick and tired of ‘it.’ ‘It,’ my dear,
my well-beloved? Am I, by ‘it,’ to understand that you mean me?”
The young Duke pointed his indifference with the application of a match
to a rough surface and the application of the match to a cigar. “You
may,” said he, “understand what you like. I said what I said.”
Tenderness was never yet so fitly clothed as by this lady’s voice.
“Shall I, then,” said she, “tell you _all_ that I understand by what you
said?”
The Duke need not have waved a hand skyward, need not have smiled, have
yawned, and said: “Am I God, to stop you talking! But maybe it is not
necessary for me to add that I wish I were, if only for that purpose.”
The Duchess said: “However, I will not be provoked. It is too hot. I
will content myself merely with remarking that in my considered opinion
the ancient Dukedom of Mall does at present grace one with the manners
of a boor and the habits of a stable-boy.”
“Leonora, you go too far!”
She sighed: “Dear, had I, before marrying you, gone even a little
further, how much more comfortably I had fared!”
For as long as it takes to say a forbidden word of one syllable the
young Duke’s fair features wore the air of a battlefield: thereon anger
fought with apathy: but was, by the grace of God and a public-school
education, repulsed.
“Not, mind you,” said the Duchess, “that I can blame the pretty dolls
whom you encourage to pursue you under my very nose.”
The Duke remarked that she had a very beautiful nose, a very small nose.
The Duchess thanked him.
“But,” said the Duke, “by the number of things which you accuse me of
doing under it, any one would think it cast as long a shadow as Lord
Nelson’s column. For the sake of your own beauty,” he pleaded
earnestly, “may I beg you to leave your nose, much as I admire it, out
of my supposed infidelities?”
The Duchess remarked that she could quite well understand why women
pursued him with their attentions. Yet, as she spoke, no spark of
bitterness pointed her low light voice, no trace of jealousy marred her
urbanity. She remarked that he was very rich. His rank was second only
to his King’s. He was very handsome. He was charming.
The Duke thanked her.
“However,” said the Duchess.
“Ah, that’s not too good,” sighed the Duke. “I knew there was a catch
somewhere.”
“However,” said the Duchess, “the beauty that you most admire in any
woman is the beauty of her not being a woman you already know: the only
charm of which you never are tired is the charm of novelty.”
“One likes a change,” sighed the Duke. “If that’s what you are talking
about.”
“It certainly is,” said the Duchess.
“Well, don’t let me hinder you,” said the Duke. He was rude. “I am all
attention. But should I interrupt you, sweet, you must forgive me, for I
am apt to talk in my sleep.”
“Oh, but haven’t I made quite a collection of names like Dolly and Lucy
and Maudie!”
The Duke said one word. It expressed all the volumes that could be
written by the men who, alas, cannot write. But the Duchess had now been
in England for four years and knew that the facility with which an
Englishman can swear at his wife does not detract in the least from his
deep respect for Womanhood, else would England be what England
undoubtedly is?
She said: “Maximilian, I want to tell you that you are a _most_
extraordinary man. In public, for instance, you are all that is
charming; and many who know of our private disagreements can’t but think
the fault is mine, since in public you are so very _right_ and seem
never for a moment deficient in the manners, graces and consideration
proper to a great gentleman.”
The Duke expressed a hope that she would put that down in writing, so
that he could send it as a reference to any lady, or ladies, to whom he
might be paying his suit, or suits.
“However,” said the Duchess, “when we come to examine you in the home,
what a different picture do we find! Your manners are monstrous, your
graces those of a spoilt schoolboy, while your consideration for your
wife such that, far from concealing from me your preference for the
company of low women, you will actually,” said she, “bring them on board
this yacht and make love to them under my very----”
The Duke, he sighed.
“In,” snapped the Duchess, “my company. And now,” she added calmly, “I
will say good-bye.”
“Child,” said the Duke softly, “must you go? Must you really? Can’t I
tempt you to stay? Very well, then,” said he, “good-bye.”
“Captain Tupper!” the Duchess called.
“Captain Tupper,” the Duchess said, “I am going ashore. You will please
see to it at once. I think my maid has everything packed. Thank you.”
The Duke opened his eyes. It was an effort, for he was sleepy.
“Captain Tupper,” said he, “her Grace will take the fastest cutter to
the town to catch the Blue Train to Calais. Should a sleeper on the Blue
Train be unavailable, you will see to it that she is accommodated with
one of a suitable colour. We, in the cool of the evening, will make for
Naples. Thank you.”
The Duke closed his eyes again, for he was sleepy. The Duchess stared as
though into the heart of the still blue bay, and who shall say what it
was that she saw in that deep place, whether she saw the towers of her
love torn down by the winds of man’s discontent, the ruins of her
marriage washed in the infinite sea of man’s inconstancy? Her eyes
darkened, and presently she said, bemused: “I am going now. _Adieu_,
Maximilian.”
“Leonora,” he said, with closed eyes, “I wish you all happiness and
content.”
“Content!” said she, and laughed.
“Good-bye, Leonora.”
She said: “Max, we were very happy once. We were lovers once. So
happy--once upon a time!”
He whispered:
“‘_Out upon it, I have loved_
_Three whole days together!_
_And am like to love three more,_
_If it prove fine weather._’”
[Illustration:
_A Paramount Picture._ _The Ace of Cads._
“THE ACE OF CADS” TRIES TO FORGET HIS LOST ELEANOR AT THE GAMING
TABLE]
She: “Oh, but I can match you one vulgar Restoration gallant against
another!
“‘_Then talk not of inconstancy,_
_False hearts and broken vows;_
_If I by miracle can be_
_This live-long minute true to thee,_
’_Tis all that Heaven allows._’”
He sighed: “How I loved you, Leonora! As I had never loved anyone
before, as I will never love anyone again!”
“How I loved you, Maximilian! But now!” And she said: “A legal
separation is a silly quibble. Besides, you might want to marry again.
Or I might.”
“Might, Leonora? But you will, must, can’t help but! With your beauty,
youth, wealth.”
“Thank you. I have often noticed that one’s friends like one best as one
is leaving them. Then, Maximilian, shall I divorce you?”
“If you please, dear. My lawyers are Messrs. Onward & Christian. They
will arrange the matter with yours in the usual way.”
“Remember, dear, that your King will not receive a divorced Duke at
court.”
“The King can do no wrong,” yawned the Duke. “It must be rather hard on
him sometimes, but the law is the law.”
His eyes were closed against her beauty, else he had seen the sudden
smile that touched her beauty, touched it and was going, going, lurked a
while in the depths of her eyes like a very small bird in the ferns of
love-in-the-mist, and lo! was gone. She said softly: “You are such a
baby, Max!”
Seamen passed by, bearing a great leather Innovation trunk to the side.
A black cloud rose up from Africa and hid the sun. A shadow walked
across the pretty town of Cannes and drove the youth from painted faces.
“And because,” said the young Duchess wistfully, “you are such a baby, I
don’t put it beyond you to make love to my sister if you should meet
her. She has always been jealous of me, so she would enjoy nothing so
much as your making love to her. Promise not to, Max, please, oh,
please! She has just come over to Paris, so I read this morning in _The
New York Herald_. Max, promise not to make a fool of me to my own
sister!”
“She’s pretty?”
“Pretty? Are words so scarce, sir, that you must use a copper coin? And
she my twin!”
“Ah me! Oh dear!”
Her voice scarce disturbed the silence of the yacht: “Good-bye, Duke
Maximilian. Our lives go different ways. I do wish you success,
happiness, health. Good-bye.”
As he lay, with closed eyes, his fingers found her hand and raised it to
his lips.
“Good-bye,” said he. Such was his farewell.
She looked back from the side. He lay silent. She said:
“Courtesy, Maximilian?”
A sea-bird mocked the silence. The cloud athwart the sun was now as
large as half the world. The Duchess of Mall said:
“Chivalry, Maximilian?”
The sea-bird screamed and flew away, and Leonora of Mall cried: “I will
forgive you all things but your farewell, Maximilian. The very birds are
appalled to see chivalry so low in a man that he will take his lady’s
_adieu_ lying down.”
Her maid, hatted and veiled for travelling, whispered to her ear:
“Your Grace, he is asleep.”