As a Man Possessed.
The dim light served no further than to show that a man was there.
"Well, Jean, what news?" asked the duke, drawing the door close behind
him.
"I am not Jean," said I.
"Then who the devil are you, and what are you doing here?" He advanced and
held up the lantern. "Why, what are you hanging about for?" he exclaimed
the next moment, with a start of surprise.
"And I am not George Sampson either," said I composedly. I had no mind to
play any more tricks. As I must meet him, it should be in my own
character.
The duke studied me from top to toe. He twirled his mustache, and a slight
smile appeared on his full lips.
"Yet I know you as George Sampson, I think, sir," said he, but in an
altered tone. He spoke now as though to an equal--to an enemy perhaps, but
to an equal.
I was in some perplexity; but a moment later he relieved me.
"You need trouble yourself with no denials," he said. "Lafleur's story of
the gentleman at Avranches, with the description of him, struck me as
strange; and for the rest--there were two things."
He seated himself on a stool. I leaned against the wall.
"In the first place," he continued, "I know my wife pretty well; in the
second, a secret known to four maidservants-- Really, sir, you were very
confiding!"
"I was doing no wrong," said I; though not, I confess, in a very convinced
tone.
"Then why the masquerade?" he answered quickly, hitting my weak point.
"Because you were known to be unreasonable."
His smile broadened a little.
"It's the old crime of husbands, isn't it?" he asked. "Well, sir, I'm no
lawyer, and it's not my purpose to question you on that matter. I will put
you to no denials."
I bowed. The civility of his demeanor was a surprise to me.
"If that were the only affair, I need not keep you ten minutes," he went
on. "At least, I presume that my friend would find you when he wanted to
deliver a message from me?"
"Certainly. But may I ask why, if that is your intention, you have delayed
so long? You guessed I was at Avranches. Why not have sent to me?"
The duke tugged his mustache.
"I do not know your name, sir," he remarked.
"My name is Aycon."
"I know the name," and he bowed slightly. "Well, I didn't send to you at
Avranches because I was otherwise occupied."
"I am glad, sir, that you take it so lightly," said I.
"And by the way, Mr. Aycon, before you question me, isn't there a question
I might ask you? How came you here to-night?" And, as he spoke, his smile
vanished.
"I have nothing to say, beyond that I hoped to see your servant Jean."
"For what purpose? Come, sir, for what purpose? I have a right to ask for
what purpose." And his tone rose in anger.
I was going to give him a straightforward answer. My hand was actually on
the way to the spot where I felt the red box pressing against my side,
when he rose from his seat and strode toward me; and a sudden passion
surged in his voice.
"Answer me! answer me!" he cried. "No, I'm not asking about my wife; I
don't care a farthing for that empty little parrot. Answer me, sir, as you
value your life! What do you know of Marie Delhasse?"
And he stood before me with uplifted hand, as though he meant to strike
me. I did not move, and we looked keenly into one another's eyes. He
controlled himself by a great effort, but his hands trembled, as he
continued:
"That old hag who came to-night and dared to show her filthy face here
without her daughter--she told me of your talks and walks. The girl was
ready to come. Who stopped her? Who turned her mind? Who was there but
you--you--you?"
And again his passion overcame him, and he was within an ace of dashing
his fist in my face.
My hands hung at my side, and I leaned easily against the wall.
"Thank God," said I, "I believe I stopped her! I believe I turned her
mind. I did my best, and except me, nobody was there."
"You admit it?"
"I admit the crime you charged me with. Nothing more."
"What have you done with her? Where is she now?"
"I don't know."
"Ah!" he cried, in angry incredulity. "You don't know, don't you?"
"And if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."
"I'm sure of that," he sneered. "It is knowledge a man keeps to himself,
isn't it? But, by Heaven, you shall tell me before you leave this place,
or--"
"We have already one good ground of quarrel," I interrupted. "What need is
there of another?"
"A good ground of quarrel?" he repeated, in a questioning tone.
Honestly I believe that he had for the moment forgotten. His passion for
Marie Delhasse and fury at the loss of her filled his whole mind.
"Oh, yes," he went on. "About the duchess? True, Mr. Aycon. That will
serve--as well as the truth."
"If that is not a real ground, I know none," said I.
"Haven't you told me that you kept her from me?"
"For no purposes of my own."
He drew back a step, smiling scornfully.
"A man is bound to protest that the lady is virtuous," said he; "but need
he insist so much on his own virtue?"
"As it so happens," I observed, "it's not a question of virtue."
I suppose there was something in my tone that caught his attention, for
his scornful air was superseded by an intent puzzled gaze, and his next
question was put in lower tones:
"What did you stay in Avranches for?"
"Because your wife asked me," said I. The answer was true enough, but, as
I wished to deal candidly with him, I added: "And, later on, Mlle.
Delhasse expressed a similar desire."
"My wife and Mlle. Delhasse! Truly you are a favorite!"
"Honest men happen to be scarce in this neighborhood," said I. I was
becoming rather angry.
"If you are one, I hope to be able to make them scarcer by one more," said
the duke.
"Well, we needn't wrangle over it any more," said I; and I sat down on the
lid of a chest that stood by the hearth. But the duke sprang forward and
seized me by the arm, crying again in ungovernable rage:
"Where is she?"
"She is safe from you, I hope."
"Aye--and you'll keep her safe!"
"As I say, I know nothing about her, except that she'd be an honest girl
if you'd let her alone."
He was still holding my arm, and I let him hold it: the man was hardly
himself under the slavery of his passion. But again, at my words, the
wonder which I had seen before stole into his eyes.
"You must know where she is," he said, with a straining look at my face,
"but--but--"
He broke off, leaving his sentence unfinished. Then he broke out again:
"Safe from me? I would make life a heaven for her!"
"That's the old plea," said I.
"Is a thing a lie because it's old? There's nothing in the world I would
not give her--nothing I have not offered her." Then he looked at me,
repeating again: "You must know where she is." And then he whispered: "Why
aren't you with her?"
"I have no wish to be with her," said I. Any other reason would not have
appealed to him.
He sank down on the stool again and sat in a heap, breathing heavily and
quickly. He was wonderfully transfigured, and I hardly knew in him the
cold harsh man who had been my temporary master and was the mocking
husband of the duchess. Say all that may be said about his passion, I
could not doubt that it was life and death to him. Justification he had
none; excuse I found in my heart for him, for it struck me--coming over
me in a strange sudden revelation as I sat and looked at him--that he had
given such love to the duchess, the gay little lady would have been
marvelously embarrassed. It was hers to dwell in a radiant mid-ether,
neither to mount to heaver nor descend to hell. And in one of theses two
must dwell such feelings as the dukes's.
He roused himself, and leaning forward spoke to me again:
"You've lived in the same house with her and talked to her. You swear you
don't love her? What? Has Elsa's little figure come between?"
His tone was full of scorn. He seemed angry with me, not for presuming to
love his wife (nay, he would not believe that), but for being so blind as
not to love Marie.
"I didn't love her!" I answered, with a frown on my face and slow words.
"You have never felt attracted to her?"
I did not answer that question. I sat frowning in silence till the duke
spoke again, in a low hoarse whisper:
"And she? What says she to you?"
I looked up with a start, and met his searching wrathful gaze. I shook my
head; his question was new to me--new and disturbing.
"I don't know," said I; and on that we sat in silence for many moments.
Then he rose abruptly and stood beside me.
"Mr. Aycon," he said, in the smoother tones in which he had begun our
curious interview, "I came near a little while ago to doing a ruffianly
thing, of a sort I am not wont to do. We must fight out our quarrel in the
proper way. Have you any friends in the neighborhood?"
"I am quite unknown," I answered.
He thought for an instant, and then continued:
"There is a regiment quartered at Pontorson, and I have acquaintances among
the officers. If agreeable to you, we will drive over there; we shall find
gentlemen ready to assist us."
"You are determined to fight?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, with a snap of his lips. "Have we not matters enough and
to spare to fight about?"
"I can't of course deny that you have a pretext."
"And I, Mr. Aycon, know that I have also a cause. Will this morning suit
you?"
"It is hard on two now."
"Precisely. We have time for a little rest; then I will order the carriage
and we will drive together to Pontorson."
"You mean that I should stay in your house?"
"If you will so far honor me. I wish to settle this affair at once, so as
to be moving."
"I can but accept."
"Indeed you could hardly get back to Avranches, if, as I presume, you came
on foot. Ah! you've never told me why you wished to see Jean;" and he
turned a questioning look on me again, as he walked toward the door of the
cottage.
"It was--" I began.
"Stay; you shall tell me in the house. Shall I lead the way? Ah, but you
know it!" and he smiled grimly.
With a bow, I preceded him along the little path where I had once waited
for the duchess, and where Pierre, the new servant, had found me. No words
passed between us as we went. The duke advanced to the door and unlocked
it. We went in, nobody was about, and we crossed the dimly lighted hall
into the small room where supper had been laid for three (three who should
have been four) on the night of my arrival. Meat, bread, and wine stood on
the table now, and with a polite gesture the duke invited me to a repast.
I was tired and hungry, and I took a hunch of bread and poured out some
wine.
"What keeps Jean, I wonder?" mused the duke, as he sat down. "Perhaps he
has found her!" and a gleam of eager hope flashed from his eyes.
I made no comment--where was the profit in more sparring of words? I
munched my bread and drank my wine, thinking, by a whimsical turn of
thought, of Gustave de Berensac and his horror at the table laid for
three. Soon I laid down my napkin, and the duke held out his cigarette
case toward me:
"And now, Mr. Aycon, if I'm not keeping you up--"
"I do not feel sleepy," said I.
"It is the same for both of us," he reminded me, shrugging his shoulders.
"Well, then, if you are willing--of course you can refuse if you choose--I
should like to hear what brought you to Jean's quarters on foot from
Avranches in the middle of the night."
"You shall hear. I did not desire to meet you, if I could avoid it, and
therefore I sought old Jean, with the intention of making him a messenger
to you."
"For what purpose?"
"To restore to you something which has been left on my hands and to which
you have a better right than I."
"Pray, what is that?" he asked, evidently puzzled. The truth never crossed
his mind.
"This," said I; and I took the red leathern box out of my pocket, and set
it down on the table in front of the duke. And I put my cigarette between
my lips and leaned back in my chair.