Isobel interrupted the discussion with an imperative little tap upon the
table.
"Please listen, all of you!" she exclaimed. "I have something to say,
and an invitation for you all."
We had been dining at a little Italian restaurant on our way home, and
over our coffee had been considering how to spend the rest of the
evening. Arthur had declared for a music hall; Mabane and I were
indifferent. Isobel up to now had said nothing.
"All my life," she said slowly, "I have been wanting to see Feurgéres.
He is in London for one week with Rejani, and if we can get seats I am
going to take you all. I have twenty pounds in my pocket from that nice
man Mr. Grooten, who bought my other miniature, and I want to spend some
of it."
Arthur, who understood no French, shook his head.
"Not the slightest chance of seats," he declared. "They've all been
booked for weeks."
"They often have some returned at the theatre," Isobel answered. "At
least, if you others do not mind, we will go and see."
"Your proposal, Isobel," Allan said gravely, "indicates a certain amount
of recklessness which reflects little credit upon us, your guardians. I
propose----"
"Please do not be tiresome!" she interrupted. "Arnold, you will come
with me, will you not?"
"I shall be delighted," I answered. "I am sure that we all shall. Only I
am afraid that we shall not get in."
We paid the bill and walked to the theatre. The man at the ticket-office
shook his head at our request for seats. People had been waiting in the
streets since morning for the unreserved places, and the others had been
booked weeks ago. But as we were turning away the telephone in his
office rang, and he called us back.
"I have just had four stalls returned," he said. "You can have them, if
you like."
"We are in morning dress," I remarked doubtfully.
"They are in the back row, so you can have them if you care to," he
answered.
"What luck!" Isobel exclaimed, delighted. "Arnold, how glorious! Here is
my purse. Will you pay for me, please?"
So we went in just as the curtain rose upon the first act of Rostand's
great play. The house was packed with an immense audience. One box
alone, the stage box on the left, was empty. I leaned over to Isobel,
and would have told her the story which all the world knew.
"You see that box?" I whispered. "Wherever he plays it is always empty."
"I know," she answered. "His wife used to sit there--always in the same
place; and after her death, whatever theatre he played at, he always
insisted upon having it kept empty. They say that on great nights, when
the people go almost wild with enthusiasm, he looks into the shadows
there almost as though he really saw her still sitting in her old place.
It is a beautiful story."
"Done for effect!" Arthur muttered, and was promptly snubbed, as he
deserved. They were friends again immediately afterwards, however, and I
saw him attempt to hold her hand for a moment. Decidedly it was time
that we carried out our new resolution.
I think that from the moment I took my seat I was conscious in some
mysterious way of the coming of great things. There was a thrill of
excitement in the air, a sort of stifled electricity which one realizes
often amongst a highly cultured audience awaiting the production of a
great work. But apart from this sensation of which I was fully
conscious, I felt a curious sense of nervousness stealing in upon me for
which I could in no way account. I knew what it meant only when, amidst
a storm of cheers, Feurgéres entered. Then indeed I knew.
I kept silent, for which I was thankful, but the programme in my hand
was crumpled into a little ball, and the figures upon the stage moved as
though in a mist before my eyes. Isobel noticed nothing, for her whole
breathless attention was riveted upon the play. I came to myself with
the rich sweet voice of the man, so tender, so infinitely pathetic,
ringing with a curious familiarity in my ears. From that moment I
followed the movement of the play.
The curtain went down upon the first act amidst a silence so intense
that it seemed as though people might be listening still for the echoes
of that sad, sweet voice which had been playing so effectively upon
their heartstrings. Then came the storm of applause, which lasted for
several minutes. I turned towards Isobel. She was sitting very still,
and she did not join in the enthusiasm which seemed to find its way
straight from the hearts of the men and women who sat about us. But her
eyes were wet with tears, her lips a little parted. She gazed at the man
whom incessant calls had brought at last a little wearily before the
curtain, as one might look at a god. And their eyes met. He did not
start or betray himself in any way--perhaps his training befriended him
there, but as he left the stage he staggered, and I saw his hand go to
clutch the curtain for support. I knew then that, before the night was
over, Isobel's history would no longer be a secret to us.
She turned to me with a little smile of apology. There was a new look in
her face too. She spoke gravely.
"Was I very stupid? I am sorry, but I could not help it. I have never
seen anything like this before. It is wonderful!"
We talked quietly of the play, and I was astonished at the keenness of
her perceptions, the unerring ease with which she had realized and
appreciated the self-abnegation which was the great underlying _motif_
of the whole drama. And in the midst of our conversation, what I had
expected happened. A note was brought to me by an attendant.
"Come to me after the next act, and bring her. An attendant will be
waiting for you at your left-hand door of egress."
Mabane and Arthur had gone out to have a smoke. I had still a moment
before the curtain went up. I leaned over towards Isobel.
"Isobel," I said, "I am going to tell you something which will surprise
you very much. It is necessary that I tell you at once. If you answer me
at all do not speak above a whisper."
She only slightly moved her head. I had not any fear of her betraying
herself.
"You have seen Feurgéres before. It was in the _café_. He was my
companion when I saw you first."
"Mr. Grooten!" she murmured, so softly that her lips seemed scarcely to
move.
I nodded assent.
"You knew?"
"Not until to-night."
She was very pale, but her self-control was complete.
"He wishes us--you and I--to go round to his room after this act. You
will be prepared?"
"Of course," she answered simply.
Mabane and Arthur came back, and the latter whispered several times in
her ear. I doubt, however, whether she heard anything. She sat through
the whole of the next act like one in a dream, only her eyes never left
the stage--never left, indeed, the figure of the man from whom all the
greatness of the play seemed to flow. As the curtain fell I leaned over
to Arthur.
"Isobel and I are going to pay a visit," I said. "We shall be back in
time for the next act."
"A visit!" he repeated doubtfully. "Is there anyone we know here, then?"
"Allan will explain," I answered. "You had better tell him," I whispered
to Mabane.
Allan was looking very serious. I think that he questioned the wisdom of
what I was doing.
"You are going to see him?" he asked, in a low tone.
"He has sent for us," I answered.
We found the attendant waiting, and by a devious route along many
passages and through many doors we reached our destination at last. Our
guide knocked at a door on which was hanging a little board with the
name of "Monsieur Feurgéres" painted across it. Almost immediately we
were bidden to enter. Monsieur Feurgéres was sitting with his back to us
before a long dressing-table. He turned at once to the servant who stood
by his side.
"Come back five minutes before my call," he ordered. "That will be in
about twenty minutes from now."
The man bowed and silently withdrew. Not until he had left the room did
Feurgéres move from his place. Then he arose to his feet and held out
his hands to Isobel.
"I knew your mother, Isobel!" he said simply.