On the way home in the hansom that he had called, Jules scarcely spoke.
Blanche kept glancing at him covertly; she had never before seen that
look in his face, and it alarmed her; he seemed to be trying to keep
back the anger that showed itself in his half-closed eyes and his
firm-set chin. When they reached the lodgings, Blanche found Madeleine
sound asleep by the fireplace, and without waking her, she started to go
into the next room to see if Jeanne were comfortable. When she reached
the door, Jules said in a low voice:--
"Wait here a minute. I have something to say to you."
At the sound of the words, Madeleine's eyes opened slowly, and she
blinked at Jules, who was glancing angrily at her.
"This is a pretty way you take care of Jeanne. She might have had a
dozen convulsions without your knowing anything about them."
In spite of Jules' command, the reference to the convulsions, which had
nearly cost Jeanne her life a few weeks after birth, sent Blanche
agitatedly into the nursery. Madeleine lumbered behind her, and both
were relieved to find the child sleeping contentedly in her cradle, her
cheeks flushed, and her chubby hands clenched at her breast. Blanche
would have liked to pass several moments there in rapt adoration, but
Jules appeared at the door and made a sign to her to come to him.
"Madeleine will look out for her," he said, pointing to the cradle. "Go
to bed, Madeleine."
Blanche tiptoed out of the room, removed her wraps, and, with the
overcoat Jules had thrown on the couch, hung them in the little closet
beside the big mirror. Jules, who had taken a seat in front of the
fire-place, watched her impatiently, and then motioned her to sit in the
chair opposite him.
"Now perhaps you'll be kind enough to tell me what all this means. I
knew that Englishwoman would be up to some mischief. What does it mean?"
he said sternly.
Blanche looked timidly into his face; the expression of anger that she
had noticed on their way home was still there. She did not know what to
say, and tears of misery filled her eyes and rolled slowly down her
cheeks. Then weakened by her previous outburst, she covered her face
with her hands, and began to sob, giving expression to all the torture
that had come from the horror of her performance, from her incessant
terror of being killed and separated from Jeanne. Jules was at first
touched, and then alarmed, by the unexpected display of grief.
He waited, thinking that it would soon expend itself; then when the sobs
continued, he went over to her, and taking her gently in his arms, tried
to soothe her by stroking her hair and calling her by the endearing
names he had used during the first weeks of their marriage, and begging
her to control herself for his sake, it hurt him so. After this last
appeal, Blanche put her arms round his neck, and buried her head on his
breast, and for a few moments they sat together without speaking, her
body shaken now and then from the violence of her grief. Then Jules
began to question her quietly, and the whole story of her sufferings
since Jeanne's birth came out so pathetically that, in spite of his
anger, he was touched, and convinced that, after all, the Englishwoman
had been right.
In his remorse that Blanche had suffered in silence, and he had not
found it out, had done nothing to help her, he declared he would have
the diving stopped at once, no matter what the cost might be. Rather
than see her unhappy, he would make her give up performing altogether,
if that were necessary. At any rate, he would go to Marshall the next
day and see what could be done about taking her name off the bills. They
would leave this disgusting London, perhaps for the south of France,
where Blanche could have a long rest, and gather strength for her visit
to America the next year. For a long time they talked over the plan, and
then Jules made Blanche go to bed.
"You'll not be able to do your work tomorrow," he said, "if you sit up
much longer. Of course, you can't stop it at once. Marshall wouldn't
listen to that. You're his best attraction, and he'll have to advertise
your last appearances."
For more than an hour after Blanche left him, Jules walked up and down
the little drawing-room, smoking cigarettes. The revelation of his
wife's trouble had so upset him that he felt unable to sleep. But it was
of himself, not of her, that he was chiefly thinking. Dr. Broughton had
told him that a long rest might cure Blanche of her nervous terror and
relieve her of the pains in the back, but it was probable that she would
be affected again as soon as she resumed her performance.
If this proved true, his own career would be ruined; there would be no
more travelling, no more triumphs! Blanche would sink into obscurity,
would become a mere nonentity, devoted to her child and house-keeping,
like scores of other wives and mothers that he knew and despised in
Paris. Out of the circus, she was utterly commonplace, Jules said to
himself, and the fact came to him with the force of a revelation! But
for that he would never have married her; the brilliancy of her talent
had dazzled him! And now, if she had to leave the circus, how
beautifully he would have been tricked! He would be tied down to her and
her child! The expense of maintaining them would oblige him to live
meanly, in a way that he had never been used to, that he loathed.
What a fine trap he had got himself into! There was absolutely no
escape, unless Blanche recovered from her ridiculous cowardice. And all
on account of that infant, who had come into the world without being
wanted, and had spoiled his life! For the moment Jules hated Jeanne. He
wished she had never been born, or had died at birth; then all this
trouble wouldn't have occurred. But for Jeanne, Blanche might have
accepted that offer for a summer season at Trouville. Then he wouldn't
have been bored at Boulogne, and Father Dumeny wouldn't have given him
that letter to those beasts of English.
Then Jules' wrath turned from Jeanne to Father Dumeny, and on him he
poured all his old bitterness against priests. They were always
interfering, those black-coated, oily-tongued hypocrites. Oh, if he had
Father Dumeny there! He would have liked to choke him!
The more Jules thought, the more convinced he became that his wife's
nervousness was due to imagination rather than to any physical cause.
Then, too, Blanche had been homesick after her long stay in Boulogne,
where she saw her mother and her sisters every day. What a fool he had
been to allow her to go there! He hated the whole pack of them--Father
Dumeny, Madame Berthier, her tiresome old husband, all! What right did
they have to interfere with Blanche? She was his wife, she belonged to
him alone. When he reached this point Jules had worked himself into a
fine indignation; but he had exhausted his cigarettes, and it was now
nearly twelve o'clock. Instead of going to bed, however, he threw
himself on the couch in the corner of the room, where a few hours later
Blanche found him, sleeping soundly.
Jules woke in an irritable mood, cross with Madeleine, indifferent to
Jeanne, with whom he usually liked to gambol after breakfast, and silent
with his wife. For a time he said nothing to Blanche about their talk of
the night before, and the expression of his face prevented her from
touching upon it. Till eleven o'clock he was busily engaged in writing
letters; when he had finished these, he turned to Blanche, who was
sitting alone by the table, making a dress for Jeanne.
"I've just written to Hicks in New York," he said, "the man who made me
that fine offer for next September. I told him we couldn't sign the
contract yet. That'll probably make him offer us more money, and it'll
give you time to find out whether you can go on with your work again."
"But I shall surely go on with it," said Blanche, hardly daring to look
into his face. "I shall be well again after a rest. I know I shall. The
Doctor said--"
"Never mind what the Doctor said. I don't believe he knows anything
about it. You're just a little nervous, that's all. You worry about
little things too much, about Jeanne especially. Why can't you let
Madeleine take care of Jeanne? She knows a good deal more about children
than you do. That's what we pay her for. The child costs us enough,
Heaven knows, and if your salary's going to be cut off, we'll have to be
pretty economical."
For a moment Blanche said nothing; her lips quivered, but she controlled
herself. Jules looked at her narrowly, and said to himself that she was
not half so pretty as she had been; she was growing thinner, and there
were little lines in her face that ought not to be in the face of one so
young as her mother said she was. How weak, how helpless she seemed!
Once the thought of her weakness and ingenuousness had given him
pleasure; now it only made him realize his own superiority.
"Perhaps," she suggested hesitatingly,--"perhaps Mr. Marshall might be
willing to make a new contract. Perhaps he would let me go on with my
performance on the trapeze and the rope--without the dive."
"I've thought of that," Jules replied, rising and going to the closet
for his overcoat. "But it isn't at all likely. He's been advertising
your dive all over London, and it's been his best feature. He'll be
pretty mad when I tell him you're going to give it up. He'll probably
try to make me pay a forfeit for breach of contract."
"For breach of contract!" she repeated blankly. "I--"
"Oh, don't worry about it," said Jules, with a pang of regret for the
pain he had caused her. "I think I can make that all right. I suppose
that old Doctor would write a certificate if I asked him."
He drew on the fur-lined coat, and as he took his gloves from his pocket
he started for the door, without kissing Blanche. Then, at the door,
glancing back, and seeing her standing in the middle of the room with a
look of helpless pain in her face, he turned and walked towards her, and
bent his face to hers.
"There, there, dear, don't worry," he said. "You'll be all right again
in a little while!" At the door he added: "I shall be back in an hour or
two, and tell you what Marshall says."
The hour or two proved to be three hours, and these Blanche passed
chiefly in walking up and down the apartment. She could not keep still;
she felt convinced that something dreadful was going to happen. She
hardly dared even to talk to Jeanne, as if she fancied the child might
divine her misery. She feared that she would be unable to give up her
performance, and she feared she would have to go on with it. If she did
give it up, she had a presentiment that she would pay dear for the
release; if she did not, she knew it would result in her death.
Ever since coming to London, she had prepared herself for the
catastrophe. No one, not even kind-hearted Mrs. Tate, could imagine the
agony of mind she had endured. And it was all for Jeanne! Her very
sufferings had fed her love for the child. If she and Jules could go
away with Jeanne, far away, where they would never hear or think of
performances again, how happy they would be! But she must go on with her
work; she ought to fight against her weakness. Jules had said she would
grow strong again; she had always believed what he said, and perhaps he
was right now. Perhaps after a rest she would want to go back to the
ring. But she was afraid, she was afraid! Poor little Jeanne! Every few
moments she ran into the room where Jeanne was taking her mid-day sleep.
She wanted to clasp the child to her breast and walk up and down the
room with her. But for several weeks she had not dared to hold her in
her arms for fear of dropping her from nervousness.
Instead of going directly to the Hippodrome, Jules turned into
Piccadilly, where he had seen the sign of a French physician. He had
suddenly decided to seek further medical advice before speaking to
Marshall, and he did not propose to trust Blanche's case to another
Englishman. He was obliged to wait in Dr. Viaud's outer office for more
than an hour. The Doctor received him with what seemed to Jules an
almost suspicious courtesy; but this disappeared as soon as he explained
that he was French.
Jules was gratified by the interest paid to his repetition of Blanche's
confession of the night before. The Doctor did not interrupt till Jules
had mentioned the advice given by the English physician.
"Broughton!" he exclaimed, repeating the name after Jules. "You couldn't
have consulted a better man. He's at the head of his profession here in
London."
When he had questioned Jules about Blanche's symptoms, he said
thoughtfully: "I cannot add anything to the advice Dr. Broughton has
given,--that is, of course, with my present knowledge of the case. But I
have absolute confidence in his judgment. The pains in the back I do not
fear so much as the terrible apprehension that you say haunts your wife.
In itself that is, of course, great suffering; and the consequences may
be fatal. Your wife's dive requires iron nerve, and that is being
constantly weakened by her continual worrying. I agree with Dr.
Broughton that she at least needs a rest as soon as possible. There
can't be two opinions about that. But I should not like to interfere
with Dr. Broughton's--"
Jules understood at once, and rose from his seat.
"I merely wanted to see what you thought. If you had disagreed--"
"Ah, but Dr. Broughton is very reliable!" said the Frenchman, with a
smile and a shrug, as if afraid of even a suggestion of professional
discourtesy.
Jules left him feeling bitterly disappointed. There was no hope then! He
had surmised that the shrewd-eyed Englishman knew his business. There
was nothing to do but to go to Marshall and explain the situation.
When he returned from the Hippodrome to the apartment Blanche met him at
the door. His face was darkened with a scowl.
"What did he say?" she asked nervously, as he entered and threw his
overcoat on a chair. "Was he--was he angry?"
"Angry? No; he was altogether too cool. If he'd been angry I shouldn't
have cared. I'd have liked that a good deal better."
"Then we sha'n't have to pay a forfeit?" said Blanche, glancing up into
his face.
He turned away and threw himself wearily on the couch. "No, you won't
have to pay a forfeit, but you'll have to go on with the engagement."
"With the diving?" she said, her face growing white.
"No, with the other work--on the trapeze and the rope. He said you'd
have to elaborate that, and he'd pay you half what you're getting now
till you were ready to do the diving again. He wants to keep you on
account of your name. He's advertised you all over the city, and even
out in the country places near London."
"But he--he doesn't object to my giving up the plunge?" Blanche
repeated, in a tone which suggested that her professional pride was
hurt.
"He didn't when I told him the Doctor had forbidden your going on with
it for a while. Besides, he had another reason for not objecting."
"What was that?"
"He showed me a letter he'd just had from that woman who made such a
sensation in Bucharest while we were in Vienna. Don't you remember? I
showed you some of her notices. She does a swimming act, and dives from
a platform into a tank. She's been playing in the English provinces, and
now she wants to come to London."
"So he's going to engage her in my place?" Blanche gasped.
"In your place?" Jules repeated irritably. "How can he engage her in
your place when he's going to keep you? We've got to live, and it won't
hurt you to go on with your work on the trapeze and the rope. He knows
your name will be an attraction, and if he engages that Englishwoman,
she'll be another card for him--a big one. He says she's been drawing
crowds in Manchester for six weeks."
"What's her name?"
"King--Lottie King--or something like that."
"Is she pretty? Did he show you her pictures?"
"Yes; her manager sent him a whole box of them. She's _petite_, with
wicked little eyes."
"Dark?"
"No, blonde."
"And what is her dive?"
"What?"
"How high is it?"
"Fifty feet, Marshall said; but one of the circus hands told me it
wasn't much more, than forty."
"Oh!" There was a suggestion of a sneer in her tone, and Jules looked up
in surprise.
"Of course, it's nothing compared with yours," he said, to console her.
"When is she going to begin?" she asked, after a moment.
"Going to begin? Do you mean here in London? Marshall hasn't signed with
her yet. She's engaged in Manchester for three weeks longer."
"Then I shall have to go on with my dive till she comes?"
"I suppose so," Jules replied coldly.
She saw that he did not wish to continue the conversation; so she went
into the nursery, leaving him lying on the couch, where he often took an
afternoon nap; since coming to London he had grown very lazy, and had
gained flesh. Blanche found Jeanne wide awake and crowing in Madeleine's
arms. She sat beside the cradle, and taking the child in her lap, sent
Madeleine out of the room. Jeanne snatched at the brooch she wore at her
throat, and laughed into her face. Blanche tried to smile in reply, but
the tears welled into her eyes again, and fell in big drops on her
cheeks.