"There's some one going to take my place, you know."
"Some one that's going to make that dreadful plunge?" Mrs. Tate cried in
horror.
"No, not that. She jumps into a tank of water--from a platform--only
about forty feet. My jump is more than seventy-five feet," Blanche added
with a touch of pride.
Mrs. Tate rested her hands in her lap and burst out laughing. "What a
ridiculous thing! I beg your pardon, dear, but I can't help being
amused. Of course it doesn't seem funny to you. You're used to it; but
it does to me."
Then she questioned Blanche about the new performer, and Blanche
repeated what Jules had told her and what she had since heard of the
woman at the Hippodrome. Mrs. Tate was greatly interested, and laughed
immoderately; afterward, however, when she had returned home and thought
over the conversation, she regarded it more seriously.
"What do you think, Percy?" she said at the dinner table that night.
"Those Hippodrome people have engaged a creature to dive into a tank of
water from a platform. Of course, that's to take the place of Madame Le
Baron's plunge. Could anything be more absurd? The worst of it is that
the poor little woman is frightfully jealous already. I could see that
from the way she talked. What a dreadful world it is, isn't it? They're
all like that, aren't they, even the best of them? Do you remember that
poor Madame Gardini who sang here one night? She told me if she had her
life to live over again she'd never dream of going on the stage. She
said opera-singers were the unhappiest people in the world,--just
poisoned with jealousy. And these circus people are exactly like them!"
"What makes you think she's jealous? What was it she said?"
"It wasn't _what_ she said, it was the _way_ she talked about the woman.
Her husband says she's a great beauty."
"Ah, the husband says so, does he?" Tate remarked dryly. A moment later
he added: "I wish you hadn't had anything to do with those people!"
"You've said that a dozen times, Percy, and I wish you'd stop. For my
part, I'm very glad I've met them. If I hadn't, that poor little
creature would be in her grave before the end of a year."
"Perhaps she'll wish that she _were_ in her grave before the end of the
year."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, dear, nothing. Don't catch at everything I say. How is she
now--any better? I suppose she's easier in mind now that she's going to
stop that diving?"
"That's the strangest thing about it," Mrs. Tate answered, with a change
of tone. "I thought she would be, too, but she isn't. I really believe
she's sorry she's giving it up. But perhaps that's because she's been
doing it all her life. She'll miss it at first--even if it did worry her
nearly to death!"
"Has Dr. Broughton been to see her lately?"
"No; he said it wouldn't be necessary. He's going to wait to see what
effect the rest from the diving will have on her."
For a few moments Tate looked thoughtfully at his wife. "Upon my word,"
he said, "I half suspect that you _want_ something to happen to that
little woman. It would just be romantic enough to suit you."
"Percy, how can you talk so? You're simply brutal."
"She might at least break a leg to please you," her husband laughed,
"before giving up that plunge."
Blanche made her last dive without the accident that Tate had regarded
as indispensable to dramatic effect. Indeed, since knowing that she was
to give it up, she seemed to have lost much of her terror of the plunge;
she thought of it now chiefly with regret. That night, as she rode home
with Jules and Madeleine, she seemed depressed; Jules, too, was even
more sullen than he had been for the past two weeks. When they had
entered the lodgings and were eating their midnight meal, she said:--
"If to-morrow is pleasant we might take Jeanne for a drive in the
country. The air would do her good."
"I can't go," he replied indifferently. "I have something else to do.
Besides, it would cost too much. We shall have to be economical now that
you're going to be on half-salary."
The next morning Jules left the hotel at eleven o'clock, saying that he
shouldn't be back for luncheon. He did not explain where he was going,
and Blanche did not question him. She busied herself with Jeanne, and
this distracted her till Jeanne fell sound asleep. Then she became a
prey to her old melancholy, and for an hour she walked up and down the
room, to the bewilderment of Madeleine, who could not understand what
the matter was.
"Is Madame suffering with the pain in her back?" Madeleine asked at
last.
No, Madame was not suffering. She had not been troubled by the pain for
several days; she hoped it would leave her for good now that she had
stopped taking the plunge.
"Ah, God be praised that you do that no longer!" Madeleine cried,
lifting her withered hands to heaven and rolling her eyes. "It was too
terrible. Since that first night in Paris, when I went with you and
Monsieur Jules, I never dared to look. It was _affreux_!"
"But Jules loved it," said Blanche, throwing herself into a chair beside
the old woman.
Ah, yes, Madeleine acknowledged. He used to rave about it in the little
flat in the _rue de Lisbonne_. Once Madeleine heard him talking in his
sleep about the circus and the wonderful dive; he always slept with his
door wide-open, and she often heard him talking away like one
wide-awake. He had told her that it was the most wonderful thing he had
ever seen, and no other woman in the world would have dared to do it.
Madeleine was always delighted to have a chance to talk about Jules, and
she babbled on, never suspecting that her words were making Blanche
suffer.
"Do you think," Blanche said at last, "do you think he would have loved
me if I hadn't done that--if I hadn't done that plunge, I mean--in the
Circus?"
Madeleine glanced at her quickly; she was unable to grasp the
significance of the question. "But he did see you in the Circus," she
replied. "If he hadn't seen you there, _cherie_, he wouldn't have seen
you at all."
"Yes, yes, that's true." Blanche realized that it would be useless to
try to explain what she meant. Then, after a moment, she added, "And now
that I've given up the dive,--perhaps I shall never be able to do it
again; the Doctor said I might not,--now that I've given it up, do you
think he'll love me just the same?"
Madeleine's faded eyes turned to Blanche and examined her closely. "If
he'll love you just the same?" she repeated. "What has put such a
strange idea into your head, child? Of course he'll love you just the
same."
Then Madeleine was launched on a flood of eulogy. Jules was so good, so
faithful, so affectionate. There was not another like him. He had always
been so tender with his mother; and oh, how his poor mother had
worshipped him! Madeleine's praises had the effect of soothing Blanche
for a time; they also made her ashamed of the half-conscious suspicion
which had arisen in her mind, and which she would not have dared to
formulate even to herself. She only permitted herself to acknowledge
that his present manner toward her was different from his old one. She
was also disturbed by his refusal for the past three Sundays to go to
church with her.
The next afternoon Jules came home in a rage. "I've been down to see
Marshall," he said. "What do you suppose the old fool's gone and done?
He had the door of your dressing-room opened this morning and all your
things turned out into Miss Van Pelt's old room,--the little hole next
door, you know. It's hardly big enough to breathe in. He said you
weren't the star any longer, and he must give the room to Miss King. It
seems she's a kicker and he's afraid of a row."
Blanche had nothing to say in reply; this seemed to her only another
indignity added to those she had already suffered. The worst was to come
in the evening, when her rival would share the applause that used to be
hers. A few moments later she asked,--
"Was she there--that woman?"
"No; she hasn't appeared yet, and Marshall was a little nervous. She was
to come up from Manchester in a train that got in during the afternoon."
"But suppose she doesn't come."
"Oh, she'll come fast enough. Marshall had a telegram saying she'd
started. Her big iron tub arrived this morning. They were putting it in
the ground and laying the pipes for the water when I was there. They
keep it covered till her act begins."
"What does she do besides her jump?"
"Oh, Marshall says she goes through a lot of antics, stays under the
water till she nearly dies of suffocation, and cooks a meal, and--"
"Under water?" Blanche gasped.
"No, of course not, you ninny," Jules cried impatiently. His wife's
simplicity had long before ceased to amuse him. "She does it while she's
floating. Then one of the circus boys falls into the tank, and she shows
how she used to rescue people out in California."
"Then she's an American."
"She's lived in America all her life, but her father was an Englishman,
and she was born in England. Her father kept a swimming school out in
San Francisco; that's how she got into the business. They say she's got
a lot of medals for saving lives."
As Jules walked into the next room to change his clothes for the
evening, he said to himself that his wife was growing very stupid and
tiresome.
Blanche sat alone for a few moments, feeling cold and forlorn. She could
not keep from thinking and wondering about that woman; she was anxious
and yet afraid to see her. She could not account for the dislike and
terror with which the mere thought of the woman inspired her. She had
never before regarded the other performers in the circus as her rivals;
so, for the first time in her life, she knew the bitterness of jealousy.
Before preparing for the evening she went into the nursery, and for
several moments sat beside the cradle where Jeanne was peacefully
sleeping, her little face rosy with health. The poor child, she thought,
could never know the sacrifice she had made for her. She was glad she
had made it; she had done her duty; but it was hard, it was so hard!
Then she bent over and kissed Jeanne on the cheek; the child drew her
head away, and buried her face impatiently in the pillow. Blanche turned
her gently in the crib, adjusted the lace covering, and stole out of the
room.
Jules met her as she was closing the door softly behind her. "What have
you been doing in there?" he cried petulantly. "Why can't you let Jeanne
alone when she's asleep? Every time she takes a nap you go in and wake
her up. No wonder--"
"I haven't waked her," Blanche replied apologetically. "I only went in
to see if she needed anything, and I sat beside her a moment."
"Well, you'll spoil her if you keep on. From the way you act one would
imagine that Jeanne was the only creature in the world worth thinking
about!"
They both took their places at the table which Madeleine had prepared,
and proceeded silently with their dinner. Madeleine, who hovered about
them, wondered what the matter was; she had never seen Monsieur Jules
like this before; he usually had a great deal to say. When she had left
the room for a few minutes, Jules looked up from his plate.
"I've been wondering whether we ought to keep Madeleine or not. She's a
great expense. We could get along just as well without her. The _garcon_
could serve our meals. We have to pay for the service whether we get it
or not."
When he had spoken he was startled by the look in his wife's face. Not
keep Madeleine! The mere thought of parting with the old woman, whom she
had come to regard almost as a second mother, shocked her so much that
for a moment she could not formulate a reply.
"But we couldn't get along without her!" she said. "Think of all she
does for me and for Jeanne!"
"Oh, Jeanne! It's always Jeanne, Jeanne. I'm sick of hearing her name.
If Jeanne hadn't been born we shouldn't be in the pretty box we're in
now, and you'd be going on with your work like a sensible woman. I tell
you we must economize. We're under heavy expenses here, and we're going
to lose a lot of money by this imaginary sickness of yours."
"I can't let Madeleine go," Blanche replied. "I should die without her.
I should die of loneliness. And she loves you so, as much as if you were
her son, and she loved your mother. She has often talked to me about
her. I can't, I can't let her go. I'd rather--"
"Very well, then. Don't say anything more about it. We'll have to
economize in some other way. Here she comes now. So keep quiet, or
she'll want to find out what we've been talking about."