DÉJEÛNER À LA FOURCHETTE
Woman is a creature between man and the angels.
--_Honoré de Balzac_.
A government agent, it seems, may also in part be little more than a
man, after all. In these singular surroundings I found myself not wholly
tranquil.... At last toward morning, I must have slept. It was some time
after daybreak when I felt a hand upon my shoulder as I lay still partly
clad. Awakened suddenly, I arose and almost overthrew old Threlka, who
stood regarding me with no expression whatever upon her brown and
wrinkled countenance. She did no more than point the way to a door,
where presently I found a bath-room, and so refreshed myself and made
the best toilet possible under the circumstances.
My hostess I found awaiting me in the central room of the apartments.
She was clad now in a girdled peignoir of rich rose-color, the sleeves,
wide and full, falling hack from her round arms. Her dark hair was
coiled and piled high on her head this morning, regardless of current
mode, and confined in a heavy twist by a tall golden comb; so that her
white neck was left uncovered. She wore no jewelry, and as she stood,
simple and free from any trickery of the coquette, I thought that few
women ever were more fair. That infinite witchery not given to many
women was hers, yet dignity as well. She was, I swear, _grande dame_,
though young and beautiful as a goddess. Her brow was thoughtful now,
her air more demure. Faint blue shadows lay beneath her eyes. A certain
hauteur, it seemed to me, was visible in her mien, yet she was the soul
of graciousness, and, I must admit, as charming a hostess as ever
invited one to usual or unusual repast.
The little table in the center of the room was already spread. Madam
filled my cup from the steaming urn with not the slightest awkwardness,
as she nodded for me to be seated. We looked at each other, and, as I
may swear, we both broke into saving laughter.
So we sat, easier now, as I admit, and, with small concern for the
affairs of the world outside at the time, discussed the very excellent
omelet, which certainly did not allow the reputation of Threlka to
suffer; the delicately grilled bones, the crisp toasted rye bread, the
firm yellow butter, the pungent early cress, which made up a meal
sufficiently dainty even for her who presided over it.
Even that pitiless light of early morning, the merciless cross-light of
opposing windows, was gentle with her. Yes, she was young! Moreover, she
ate as a person of breeding, and seemed thoroughbred in all ways, if one
might use a term so hackneyed. Rank and breeding had been hers; she
needed not to claim them, for they told their own story. I wondered what
extraordinary history of hers remained untold--what history of hers and
mine and of others she might yet assist in making!
"I was saying," she remarked presently, "that I would not have you think
that I do not appreciate the suffering in which you were plunged by the
haste you found necessary in the wedding of your _jeune fille_."
But I was on my guard. "At least, I may thank you for your sympathy,
Madam!" I replied.
"Yet in time," she went on, gone reflective the next instant, "you will
see how very unimportant is all this turmoil of love and marriage."
"Indeed, there is, as you say, something of a turmoil regarding them in
our institutions as they are at present formed."
"Because the average of humanity thinks so little. Most of us judge life
from its emotions. We do not search the depths."
"If I could oblige Madam by abolishing society and home and humanity, I
should be very glad--because, of course, that is what Madam means!"
"At any cost," she mused, "that torture of life must be passed on to
coming generations for their unhappiness, their grief, their misery. I
presume it was necessary that there should be this plan of the general
blindness and intensity of passion."
"Yes, if, indeed, it be not the most important thing in the world for us
to marry, at least it is important that we should think so. Madam is
philosopher this morning," I said, smiling.
She hardly heard me. "To continue the crucifixion of the soul, to
continue the misapprehensions, the debasings of contact with human
life--yes, I suppose one must pay all that for the sake of the gaining
of a purpose. Yet there are those who would endure much for the sake of
principle, Monsieur. Some such souls are born, do you not think?"
"Yes, Sphinx souls, extraordinary, impossible for the average of us to
understand."
"That torch of _life_!" she mused. "See! It was only _that_ which you
were so eager to pass on to another generation! That was why you were so
mad to hasten to the side of that woman. Whereas," she mused still, "it
were so much grander and so much nobler to pass on the torch of a
_principle_ as well!"
"I do not understand."
"The general business of offspring goes on unceasingly in all the
nations," she resumed frankly. "There will be children, whether or not
you and I ever find some one wherewith to mate in the compromise which
folk call wedlock. But _principles_--ah! my friend, who is to give those
to others who follow us? What rare and splendid wedlock brings forth
_that_ manner of offspring?"
"Madam, in the circumstances," said I, "I should be happy to serve you
more omelet."
She shook her head as though endeavoring to dismiss something from her
mind.
"Do not philosophize with me," I said. "I am already distracted by the
puzzle you offer to me. You are so young and beautiful, so fair in your
judgment, so kind--"
"In turn, I ask you not to follow that," she remarked coldly. "Let us
talk of what you call, I think, business."
"Nothing could please me more. I have slept little, pondering on this
that I do call business. To begin with, then, you were there at the
Château Ramezay last night. I would have given all I had to have been
there for an hour."
"There are certain advantages a woman may have."
"But you were there? You know what went forward?"
"Certainly."
"Did they know you were present?"
"Monsieur is somewhat importunate!"
She looked me now directly in the eye, studying me mercilessly, with a
scrutiny whose like I should not care often to undergo.
"I should be glad if it were possible to answer you," she said at last
enigmatically; "but I have faith to keep with--others--with
you--with--myself."
Now my own eagerness ran away with me; I became almost rude. "Madam," I
exclaimed, "why beat about the bush? I do not care to deceive you, and
you must not deceive me. Why should we not be friends in every way, and
fair ones?"
"You do not know what you are saying," she said simply.
"Are you then an enemy of my country?" I demanded. "If I thought you
were here to prove traitress to my country, you should never leave this
room except with me. You shall not leave it now until you have told me
what you are, why you are here, what you plan to do!"
She showed no fear. She only made a pretty little gesture at the dishes
between us. "At my own table!" she pouted.
Again our eyes met directly and again hers did not lower. She looked at
me calmly. I was no match for her.
"My dear lady," I began again, "my relation to the affairs of the
American Republic is a very humble one. I am no minister of state, and I
know you deal with ministers direct. How, then, shall I gain your
friendship for my country? You are dangerous to have for an enemy. Are
you too high-priced to have for a friend--for a friend to our Union--a
friend of the principle of democracy? Come now, you enjoy large
questions. Tell me, what does this council mean regarding Oregon? Is it
true that England plans now to concentrate all her traders, all her
troops, and force them west up the Saskatchewan and into Oregon this
coming season? Come, now, Madam, is it to be war?"
Her curved lips broke into a smile that showed again her small white
teeth.
"Were you, then, married?" she said.
I only went on, impatient. "Any moment may mean everything to us. I
should not ask these questions if I did not know that you were close to
Mr. Calhoun."
She looked me square in the eye and nodded her head slowly. "I may say
this much, Monsieur, that it has pleased me to gain a little further
information."
"You will give my government that information?"
"Why should I?"
"Yet you spoke of others who might come here. What others? Who are they?
The representatives of Mexico? Some attaché of the British Embassy at
Washington? Some minister from England itself, sent here direct?"
She smiled at me again. "I told you not to go back to your hotel, did I
not?"
I got no further with her, it seemed.
"You interest me sometimes," she went on slowly, at last, "yet you seem
to have so little brain! Now, in your employment, I should think that
brain would be somewhat useful at times."
"I do not deny that suggestion, Madam."
"But you are unable to analyze. Thus, in the matter of yourself. I
suppose if you were told of it, you would only say that you forgot to
look in the toe of the slipper you had."
"Thus far, Baroness," I said soberly, "I have asked no special
privilege, at least. Now, if it affords you any pleasure, I _beg_ you, I
_implore_ you, to tell me what you mean!"
"Did you credit the attaché of Mexico with being nothing more than a
drunken rowdy, to follow me across town with a little shoe in his
carriage?"
"But you said he was in wine."
"True. But would that be a reason? Continually you show your lack of
brain in accepting as conclusive results which could not possibly have
occurred. _Granted_ he was in wine, _granted_ he followed me, _granted_
he had my shoe in his possession--what then? Does it follow that at the
ball at the White House he could have removed that shoe? Does Monsieur
think that I, too, was in wine?"
"I agree that I have no brain! I can not guess what you mean. I can only
beg once more that you explain."
"Now listen. In your most youthful and charming innocence I presume you
do not know much of the capabilities for concealment offered by a lady's
apparel! Now, suppose I had a message--where do you think I could hide
it; granted, of course, the conditions obtaining at a ball in the White
House?"
"Then you did have a message? It came to you there, at that time?"
She nodded. "Certainly. Mr. Van Zandt had almost no other opportunity to
meet me or get word to me."
"_Van Zandt!_ Madam, are you indeed in the camp of _all_ these different
interests? So, what Pakenham said was true! Van Zandt is the attaché of
Texas. Van Zandt is pleading with Mr. Calhoun that he shall take up the
secretaryship. Van Zandt promises us the friendship of Texas if we will
stand out for the annexation of Texas. Van Zandt promises us every
effort in his power against England. Van Zandt promises us the sternest
of fronts against treacherous Mexico. Van Zandt is known to be
interested in this fair Doña Lucrezia, just as Polk is. Now, then, comes
Van Zandt with his secret message slipped into the hand of Madam at the
Ambassador's ball--Madam, _the friend of England!_ The attaché of Mexico
is curious--furious--to know what Texas is saying to England! And that
message must be concealed! And Madam conceals it in--"
She smiled at me brilliantly. "You come on," she said. "Should your head
be opened and analyzed, yes, I think a trace of brain might be
discovered by good chemistry."
I resumed impatiently. "You put his message in your slipper?"
She nodded. "Yes," she said, "in the toe of it. There was barely chance
to do that. You see, our skirts are full and wide; there are curtains in
the East Room; there was wine by this time; there was music; so I
effected that much. But when you took the slipper, you took Van Zandt's
note! You had it. It was true, what I told Pakenham before the
president--I did _not_ then have that note! _You_ had it. At least, I
_thought_ you had it, till I found it crumpled on the table the next
day! It must have fallen there from the shoe when we made our little
exchange that night. Ah, you hurried me. I scarce knew whether I was
clad or shod, until the next afternoon--after I left you at the White
House grounds. So you hastily departed--to your wedding?"
"So small a shoe could not have held an extended epistle, Madam," I
said, ignoring her question.
"No, but the little roll of paper caused me anguish. After I had danced
I was on the point of fainting. I hastened to the cover of the nearest
curtain, where I might not be noticed. Señor Yturrio of Mexico was
somewhat vigilant. He wished to know what Texas planned with England. He
has long made love to me--by threats, and jewels. As I stood behind the
curtain I saw his face, I fled; but one shoe--the empty one--was not
well fastened, and it fell. I could not walk. I reached down, removed
the other shoe with its note, hid it in my handkerchief--thank
Providence for the fashion of so much lace--and so, not in wine,
Monsieur, as you may believe, and somewhat anxious, as you may also
believe, expecting to hear at once of an encounter between Van Zandt and
the Mexican minister, Señor Almonte, or his attaché Yturrio, or between
one of them and some one else, I made my adieux--I will warrant the only
woman in her stocking feet who bowed for Mr. Tyler at the ball that
night!"
"Yes, so far as I know, Madam, you are the only lady who ever left the
East Room precisely so clad. And so you got into your own
carriage--alone--after a while? And so, when you were there you put on
the shoe which was left? And so Yturrio of Mexico got the other one--and
found nothing in it! And so, he wanted this one!"
"You come on," she said. "You have something more than a trace of
brain."
"And that other shoe, which _I_ got that night?"
Without a word she smoothed out a bit of paper which she removed from a
near-by desk, and handed it to me. "_This_ was in yours! As I said, in
my confusion I supposed you had it. You said I should go in a sack. I
suppose I did! I suppose I lost my head, somewhere! But certainly I
thought you had found the note and given it to Mr. Calhoun; else I
should have driven harder terms with him! I would drive harder terms
with you, now, were I not in such haste to learn the answer to my
question! Tell me, _were_ you married?"
"Is that answer worth more than Van Zandt?" I smiled.
"Yes," she answered, also smiling.
I spread the page upon the cloth before me; my eyes raced down the
lines. I did not make further reply to her.
"Madam," went on the communication, "say to your august friend Sir
Richard that we have reached the end of our endurance of these late
delays. The promises of the United States mean nothing. We can trust
neither Whig nor Democrat any longer. There is no one party in power,
nor will there be. There are two sections in America and there is no
nation, and Texas knows not where to go. We have offered to Mr. Tyler to
join the Union if the Union will allow us to join. We intend to reserve
our own lands and reserve the right to organize later into four or more
states, if our people shall so desire. But as a great state we will join
the Union if the Union will accept us. That must be seen.
"England now beseeches us not to enter the Union, but to stand apart,
either for independence or for alliance with Mexico and England. The
proposition has been made to us to divide into two governments, one free
and one slave. England has proposed to us to advance us moneys to pay
all our debts if we will agree to this. Settled by bold men from our
mother country, the republic, Texas has been averse to this. But now our
own mother repudiates us, not once but many times. We get no decision.
This then, dear Madam, is from Texas to England by your hand, and we
know you will carry it safe and secret. We shall accept this proposal of
England, and avail ourselves of the richness of her generosity.
"If within thirty days action is not taken in Washington for the
annexation of Texas, Texas will never in the history of the world be one
of the United States. Moreover, if the United States shall lose Texas,
also they lose Oregon, and all of Oregon. Carry this news--I am
persuaded that it will be welcome--to that gentleman whose ear I know
you have; and believe me always, my dear Madam, with respect and
admiration, yours, for the State of Texas, Van Zandt."
I drew a deep breath as I saw this proof of double play on the part of
this representative of the republic of the Southwest. "They are
traitors!" I exclaimed. "But there must be action--something must be
done at once. I must not wait; I must go! I must take this, at least, to
Mr. Calhoun."
She laughed now, joyously clapping her white hands together. "Good!" she
said. "You are a man, after all. You may yet grow brain."
"Have I been fair with you thus far?" she asked at length.
"More than fair. I could not have asked this of you. In an hour I have
learned the news of years. But will you not also tell me what is the
news from Château Ramezay? Then, indeed, I could go home feeling I had
done very much for my chief."
"Monsieur, I can not do so. You will not tell me that other news."
"Of what?"
"Of your nuptials!"
"Madam, I can not do so. But for you, much as I owe you, I would like to
wring your neck. I would like to take your arms in my hands and crush
them, until--"
"Until what?" Her face was strange. I saw a hand raised to her throat.
"Until you told me about Oregon!" said I.
I saw her arms move--just one instant--her body incline. She gazed at me
steadily, somberly. Then her hands fell.
"Ah, God! how I hate you both!" she said; "you and her. You _were_
married, after all! Yes, it can be, it can be! A woman may love one
man--even though he could give her only a bed of husks! And a man may
love a woman, too--one woman! I had not known."
I could only gaze at her, now more in perplexity than ever. Alike her
character and her moods were beyond me. What she was or had been I could
not guess; only, whatever she was, she was not ordinary, that was sure,
and was to be classified under no ordinary rule. Woman or secret agent
she was, and in one or other identity she could be my friend or my
powerful enemy, could aid my country powerfully if she had the whim; or
damage it irreparably if she had the desire. But--yes--as I studied her
that keen, tense, vital moment, she was woman!
A deep fire burned in her eyes, that was true; but on her face
was--what? It was not rage, it was not passion, it was not chagrin. No,
in truth and justice I swear that what I then saw on her face was that
same look I had noted once before, an expression of almost childish
pathos, of longing, of appeal for something missed or gone, though much
desired. No vanity could contemplate with pleasure a look like that on
the face of a woman such as Helena von Ritz.
I fancied her unstrung by excitement, by the strain of her trying labor,
by the loneliness of her life, uncertain, misunderstood, perhaps, as it
was. I wondered if she could be more unhappy than I myself, if life
could offer her less than it did to me. But I dared not prolong our
masking, lest all should be unmasked.
"It is nothing!" she said at last, and laughed gaily as ever.
"Yes, Madam, it is nothing. I admit my defeat. I shall ask no more
favors, expect no further information from you, for I have not earned
it, and I can not pay. I will make no promise that I could not keep."
"Then we part even!"
"As enemies or friends?"
"I do not yet know. I can not think--for a long time. But I, too, am
defeated."
"I do not understand how Madam can be defeated in anything."
"Ah, I am defeated only because I have won. I have your secret; you do
not have mine. But I laid also another wager, with myself. I have lost
it. Ceremony or not--and what does the ceremony value?--you _are_
married. I had not known marriage to be possible. I had not known
you--you savages. No--so much--I had not known."
"Monsieur, adieu!" she added swiftly.
I bent and kissed her hand. "Madam, _au revoir!_"
"No, _adieu!_ Go!"