_Masquers_
Joseph Maillard might have hopefully considered the note from the
Midnight Masquer to be a hoax perpetrated by some of his friends, but he
took no chances. Two detectives were posted in the grounds outside the
house; inside, two others, masked and costumed, were keeping a quietly
efficient eye on all that transpired.
Each guest upon entering was conducted directly to the presence of
Joseph Maillard himself, or of his wife; was bidden to unmask in this
private audience, and was then presented with a favour and sent forth
masked anew to the festivities. These favours were concealed, in the
case of the ladies, in corsage bouquets; in that of the men, inside
false cigars. There was to be a general opening of the favours at
midnight, the time set for unmasking. All this ceremony was regarded by
the guests as a delightful innovation, and by Joseph Maillard as a
delightful way of assuring himself that only the invited guests entered
his house. Invitations might be forged--faces, never!
Lucie Ledanois entered the presence of her stately relative, and after
unmasking, dutifully exchanged kisses with Mrs. Maillard. Until some
months previously, until she had come into the management of her own
property--or what was left of it--Lucie had been the ward of the
Maillards. Their former attitude of possession still lingered, but they
were relatives for whom she felt little real affection.
"Mercy, child, how marvellous you look to-night!" exclaimed Mrs.
Maillard, holding her off and examining her high colour with obvious
suspicion. Mrs. Maillard was herself rather plump and red, and stern of
eye into the bargain. She was a keen, masterful woman.
"Thank you, ma'am," and Lucie made a mock courtesy. "Do you like little
Columbine?"
"Very much. Here's Aunt Sally; take Miss Lucie's cloak, Sally."
An old coloured servant bobbed her head in greeting to Lucie, who
removed her cloak. As she did so, she saw that Mrs. Maillard's voice
died away, and that the lady's eyes were fastened in utter amazement
upon her throat.
"Isn't it pretty, auntie?" she asked, smilingly. This was straining the
relationship a trifle, but it was a custom which Lucie usually followed
with the family.
"My goodness gracious!" The stern eyes hardened. "Where--where on earth
did _you_ obtain such a thing? Why--why----"
Columbine's features flinched. She was a poor relation, of course, so
the look in the older woman's eyes and the implication of the words
formed little less than an insult.
Quietly she put one hand to her throat and removed the collar, dropping
it into the hand of Mrs. Maillard. It was a thing to make any woman's
eyes widen--a collar of exquisitely wrought gold studded with ten great
blazing star sapphires. Beside it the diamonds that bejewelled Mrs.
Maillard's ample front looked cold and lifeless.
"That?" queried Lucie, innocently, producing a scrap of chamois and
dabbing at her nose. "Oh, that's very interesting! It was made for Queen
Hortense--so was this scarf that keeps my ragged hair from lopping out!"
"You didn't buy them, certainly!" demanded Mrs. Maillard.
"Of course not. They were a present--only this morning."
"Girl!" The lady's voice was harsh. "A present? From whom, if you
please?"
"Oh, I promised not to tell; he's a particular friend of mine. Aren't
the stones pretty?"
Mrs. Maillard was speechless. She compressed her firm lips and watched
Lucie replace the sapphire collar without a word to offer. Silently she
extended a corsage bouquet from the pile beside her; then, in a
trembling voice, forced herself to explain about the favour inside.
"And I hope," she added, "that before receiving any more such valuable
presents you'll consult _me_. Of course, if you don't wish to tell about
this, you needn't; but a word of advice will often save a girl from
making very serious mistakes."
"Thank you, auntie dear," and Lucie nodded as she pinned the bouquet.
"You're just as dear to me as you can be! See you later."
Slipping her mask into place she was gone, not without relief. She knew
very well that within half an hour Bob Maillard would be informed that
she had accepted gifts of jewels from other men, with all the
accompanying implications and additions that imagination could furnish.
For, although Bob Maillard wanted very much indeed to marry her his
mother had no intention of sanctioning such a union.
"Neither has Uncle Joseph," she reflected, smiling to herself, "and
neither have I! So we're all agreed, except Bob."
"Columbine!" A hand fell upon her wrist. "Columbine! Turn and confess
thy sins!"
A cry of instinctive alarm broke from the girl; she turned, only to
break into a laugh of chagrin at her own fright.
She had come to the foot of the wide, old-fashioned stairway that led to
the floors above, and beside her had suddenly appeared a Franciscan
monk, cowled and gowned in sober brown from head to foot.
"You frightened me, holy man!" she cried, gaily. "Confess to you,
indeed! Not I."
"Never a better chance, butterfly of the world!" It was a voice that she
dimly recognized, yet she could not name the owner: a merry, carefree
voice that was slightly disguised.
"Never a better chance," and the Franciscan offered his arm. "Haste not
to the dance, fair sister--tarry a while and invite the soul in speech
of import! Having passed the dragon at the gate, tarry a moment with
this man of vows----"
"Shrive me quickly, then," she said, laughing.
"Now, without confession? Would you have me read your thoughts and give
penance?"
"If you can do that, holy man, I may confess; so prove it quickly!"
For the moment they stood alone. Higher on the stairs, and among the
rooms behind them, were gay groups of masquers--dominoes, imposing
Mephistos, backwoodsmen, gallants of Spain and France, red Indians and
turbaned Hindus.
The Franciscan leaned forward. His voice came low, distinct, clear-cut,
and he spoke in the French which Lucie understood as another
mother-tongue, as do most of the older families of New Orleans.
"See how I read them, mademoiselle! One thought is of uneasy suspicion;
it is typified by a hard-lipped, grasping man. One thought is of
profound regret; it is typified by a darkly welling stream of oil. One
thought----"
Suddenly Lucie had shrunk away from him. "Who--who are you?" she
breathed, with a gasp that was almost of fear. "Who are you, monsieur?"
"A humble brother of minor orders," and he bowed. "Shall I not continue
with my reading? The third thought, mademoiselle, is one of hope; it is
typified by a small man who is dressed all in gray----"
Lucie turned away from him quickly.
"I think that you have made some grave error, monsieur," she said. Her
voice was cold, charged with dismissal and offended dignity. "I pray
you, excuse me."
Not waiting any response, she hastily ran up the stairs. After her, for
a moment, gazed the Franciscan, then shrugged his wide shoulders and
plunged into the crowd.
The ballroom on the top floor was throbbing with music, gay with
costumes and decorations, thronged with dancing couples. Into the whirl
of it pirouetted Columbine. Almost at once she found herself dancing
with a gorgeously attired Musketeer; she separated from him as quickly
as possible, for she recognized him as Bob Maillard. Nor did he find her
again, although he searched, not knowing her identity; for she evaded
him.
While she danced, while she chattered and laughed and entered into the
mad gaiety of the evening, Lucie Ledanois could not banish from her mind
that ominous Franciscan. How could he have known? How could he have
guessed what only she and one other barely suspected? There was no
proof, of course; the very breath of suspicion seemed a calumny against
an upright man!
Joseph Maillard had sold that Terrebonne land six months before any gas
or oil had been discovered there, and eight months before Lucie had come
into the management of her own affairs. He had not known about the
minerals, of course; it was a case only of bad judgment. Yet,
indubitably, he was now a shareholder and officer in the Bayou Oil
Company, the concern which had bought that strip of land.
Two years previously Maillard had sold that swamp land up in St. Landry
parish; the land had been drained and sectioned off by real estate
people at enormous profit.
Lucie strove angrily to banish the dark thoughts from her mind. Why,
Maillard was a rich man, a banker, an honorable gentleman! To doubt his
honour, although he was a harsh and a stern man, was impossible. Lucie
knew him better than most, and could not believe----
"May I crave pardon for my error?" came a voice at her elbow. She
turned, to see the Franciscan again beside her. "With a thousand
apologies for impertinence, mademoiselle; I am very sorry for my faults.
Will not that admission obtain for me one little dance, one hint of
forgiveness from fair Columbine?"
Something in his voice spelt sincerity. Lucie, smiling, held out her
hand.
"You are pardoned, holy man. If you can dance in that friar's robe, then
try it!"
Could he dance, indeed! Who could not dance with Columbine for partner?
So saying, the monk proved his word by the deed and proved it well. Nor
did he again hint that he had recognized her; until, as they parted, he
once more left her astonished and perturbed. As he bowed he murmured:
"Beware, sweet Columbine! Beware of the gay Aramis! Beware of his
proposals!"
He was gone upon the word.
Aramis? Why, that must be the Musketeer, of course--Bob Maillard! The
name, with its implications, was a clever hit. But who was this brown
monk, who seemed to know so much, who danced so divinely, whose French
was like music? A vague suspicion was in the girl's mind, but she had no
proof.
Half an hour after this Bob Maillard came to her, and with impatient
words made a path through the circle which surrounded her. He caught her
hand and bent over it with an affectation of gallantry which became him
well, for in his costume he made a handsome figure.
"I know you now, Lucie!" he murmured. "I must see you at once--in the
conservatory."
She was minded to refuse, but assented briefly. The words of the monk
intrigued her; what had the man guessed? If Bob were indeed about to
propose, she would this time cut off his hopes for good. But--was it
that sort of a proposal?
As she managed to rid herself of her admirers, and descended to the
conservatory, she was highly vexed with herself and the Franciscan, and
so came to her appointment in no equable frame of mind. She found
Maillard waiting in the old-fashioned conservatory; he had unmasked, and
was puffing a cigarette. His heavy features and bold, shrewd eyes were
fastened hungrily upon her as he came to meet her.
"By gad, Lucie, you're beautiful to-night!"
"Thanks, cousin Robert. Was it for that----?"
"No! See here, where did you get that collar of jewels?"
"Indeed!" The girl proudly drew herself up. "What business is that of
yours, sir?"
"Aren't you one of the family? It's our business to protect your
rep----"
"Be careful!" Anger trembled in her voice, cut off his words. "Be
careful!"
"But damn it--Lucie! Don't you know that I want to marry you----"
"My dear Robert, I certainly do not want to marry any man who swears to
my face--you least of all!" she coldly intervened. "I have already
refused you three times; let this be the fourth and last. I owe you no
account of my possessions nor where I get them; I am entirely capable of
managing my own affairs. Now, kindly inform me why you wished me to meet
you here. Also, you know that I don't like cigarette smoke."
Sulkily, Maillard threw away his cigarette; with an effort he calmed
himself. He was anything but a fool, this young man. He was rather
clever, and saw that he had so long considered his pretty cousin a
personal possession that he was now in some danger of losing her.
"I have a chance to make some money for you in a hurry," he said. "Your
father left you a good deal of land up Bayou Terrebonne way----"
"Your father sold some of it," she put in, idly. His eyes flickered to
the thrust.
"Yes; but you've plenty left, near Paradis. It's away from the gas
field, but I'm interested in an oil company. We've plenty of money, and
we're going to go strong after the liquid gold. That land of yours is
good for nothing else, and if you want to make some money out of it I'll
swing the company into leasing at a good figure and drilling there."
"You think there's oil on the land?"
"No." He made a swift, energetic gesture of dissent. "To be frank, I
don't. But I'd like to throw a bit of luck your way, Lucie. We're
getting a lot of money into the company, and some brains. That fellow
Gramont--the prince, you know him--he's an engineer and a geologist, and
he's in the swim."
"So," the girl smiled a little, "you would betray your business friends
in order to make a bit of money for me?"
Maillard stared at her. "Well, if you put it that way, yes! I'd do more
than that for----"
"Thank you," she interrupted, her voice cold. "I don't think I'd trust
your sagacity very far, Robert. Good-night."
She turned from him and was gone, dancing through the great rooms like a
true Columbine. Later he saw her among the dancers above, although he
obtained no further speech with her.
Midnight neared, and brought a concern to many; the Midnight Masquer had
gained his name by invariably appearing a moment or two before the
stroke of twelve. Jachin Fell, who divided his time between enjoying the
smoking room and wandering about among the masquers, perceived that
Joseph Maillard was watching the time with anxiety.
A large man, stern and a bit scornful of look, Maillard was imposing
rather than handsome. He appeared the typical banker, efficient, devoid
of all sentiment. Amused by the man's evident uneasiness, Jachin Fell
kept him in view while the moments dragged. One might have thought that
the little gray man was studying the financier as an entomologist
studies a butterfly on a pin.
Shortly before twelve Columbine pirouetted up to Jachin Fell and
accepted the arm he offered her. They were for the moment alone, in a
corner of the ballroom.
"I must see you to-morrow, please," she breathed.
"Gladly," he assented. "May I call? It's Sunday, you know----"
"If you will; at three. Something has happened, but I cannot speak of it
here. Does any one else know that you--that you are interested in my
affairs?"
The pale gray eyes of the little gray man looked very innocent and
wondering.
"Certainly not, my dear! Why?"
"I'll tell you to-morrow." Then she broke into a laugh. "Well, it is
midnight--and the Masquer has not appeared! I'm almost sorry."
The lights flickered off for a moment, then on again. The signal for
unmasking!
The dancing ceased. From the whole room arose a babel of voices--cries
of surprise, exclamations, merry laughter. Columbine removed her mask.
An instant later Joseph Maillard approached them, chuckling to himself
and looking hugely relieved.
"Ha, Lucie! I guessed you beneath the Columbine daintiness! Well,
Jachin, it was a hoax after all, eh? Some confounded joke. Come down to
the library in five minutes, will you? A meeting of the select circle,
to discuss prohibition."
"Aren't you going to invite me, Uncle Joseph?" broke in Lucie, gaily.
"No, no, little one!" Maillard reproved her, laughingly. "Look not upon
the silver cup at your age, my dear. Have you examined your favour yet?"
Remembering, the girl caught at her corsage. Cries of delight were
arising on all sides as the favours were revealed--most handsome
favours, even for Mardi Gras! From the heart of the rosebuds in her hand
Lucie removed a brooch of old filigree work set with a group of pearls.
She glanced about for Jachin Fell, but he had vanished with Maillard. A
voice rose at her elbow:
"Mademoiselle, you are not less lucky than beautiful! Pearls to the
pearl!"
She turned to see the Franciscan--no longer masked, but now gazing at
her from a frank, laughing countenance, still partially veiled by the
brown cowl that was drawn up close about his head.
"Henry Gramont!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I half suspected that it was
you----"
"But you were not sure?" he chuckled. "You're not offended with me,
Lucie?"
"I should be." She tossed her head. "You were impertinent, M. le
prince!"
He made a distasteful gesture. "None of that, Lucie! You know I don't
like it----"
"Oh, la, la!" she mocked him. "M. le prince is seeing America, _n'est ce
pas_? He has come to America to find a rich wife, is it not?"
Gramont's face lost its smile, and suddenly became almost harsh.
"I shall call upon you at four to-morrow, Lucie," he said, abruptly, and
turned. Nor did he pause to get her reply. An instant afterward Lucie
was surrounded by a merry group of friends, and she saw no more of Henry
Gramont.
About five minutes later those in the ballroom distinctly heard, through
the open windows, the heavy pulsations of an airplane motor.