In a secluded corner adjoining the ballroom, Paul and Opal stood hand in
hand, conscious only of being together, while their two hearts beat a
tumultuous acknowledgment of that =world-old= power whose name, in
whatever guise it comes to us, is Love!
"I said I wouldn't, Paul!" at last she said.
"Wouldn't what?"
"See you again--like this!"
Paul smiled tenderly.
"My darling," he whispered, "what enchantment have you cast over me that
all my resolutions to give you up fade away at the first glimpse of your
face? I resolve to be brave and remember my duty--until I see you--and
then I forget everything but you--I want nothing but you!"
"What do you want with me, Paul?"
"Opal!" he cried impetuously. "After seeing these gay Lotharios making
eyes at you all the evening, can you ask me that? I want to take you
away and hide you from every other man's sight--that's what I want! It
drives me crazy to see them look at you that way! But you have such a
way of keeping a fellow at arm's length when you want to," he went on,
ruefully, "in spite of the magic call of your whole tempting
personality. You know '_Die Walküre_,' don't you?--but of course you do.
If I believed in the theory of reincarnation, I should feel sure that
you were Brünhilde herself, surrounded by the wall of fire!"
"I wish I were! I wish every woman had some such infallible way of
_proving_ every man who seeks her!"
"You have, Opal! You have your own womanly instincts--every woman's
impassable wall of fire, if she will only hide behind them. _You_ could
never love unworthily!"
"But, Paul, don't you know? Haven't they told you? I shall probably
marry the Count de Roannes!"
Paul was astounded.
"Opal! No! No! Not that, surely not that! I heard it, yes--a moment ago.
But I could not believe it. The idea was too horrible. It could not be
true!"
"But it is true, Paul! It is all too true!"
"It is a crime," he fairly groaned.
She shrank from him. "Don't say that, Paul!"
"But you know it is true! Opal, just think! If you give your sweet self
to him--and that is all you can give him, as you and I know--if you give
yourself to him, I say, I--I shall go mad!"
"Yet women have loved him," she began, bravely, attempting to defend
herself. "Women--some kinds of women--really love him now. He has a
power of--compelling--love--even yet!"
"And such women," Paul cried hoarsely, "are more to be honored than you
if you consent to become his property with no love in your heart! Don't
plead extenuating circumstances. There can be no extenuating
circumstances in all the world for such a thing."
She winced as though he had struck her, for she knew in her heart that
what he said was true, brutally true. The Boy was only voicing her own
sentiments--the theory to which she had always so firmly clung.
As Paul paused, a sudden realization of his own future overwhelmed him
and locked his lips. He smiled sadly. Who was he that he should talk
like that? Was not he, too, pleading extenuating circumstances? True, he
was a man and she was a woman, and the world has two distinct
standards--but--no less than she--he was selling himself for gain.
"Paul, Paul! I'm afraid you don't understand! It isn't _money_. Surely
you don't think that! It isn't money--it is honor--_honor_, do you hear?
My dead mother's honor, and my father's breaking heart!"
The secret was out, at last. This, then, was the shadow that had cast
its gloom over the family ever since he had come in contact with them.
It was even worse than he had thought. That she--the lovely Opal--should
have to sacrifice her own honor to save her mother's!
Honor! honor! how many crimes are committed in thy name!
"Tell me about it," he said sympathetically.
And she told him, sparing herself details, as far as possible, of the
storm of scandal about to burst upon the family--a storm from which only
the sacrifice of herself could save the family name of Ledoux, and her
mother's memory. It might, or might not, be true, but the Count de
Roannes claimed to be able--and ready--to bring proof. And, if it were
true, she was not a Ledoux at all, and her father was not her father at
all, except in name. No breath of ill-fame had ever reached her mother's
name before. They had thought she had happily escaped the curse of her
mother before her. But the Count claimed to know, and--well, he wanted
her--Opal--and, of course, it _was_ possible, and of course he would do
anything to protect the good name of his wife, if Opal became his wife,
and----
"So, you see, Paul--in the end, I shall have to--submit!"
She had not told it at all well, she thought, but Paul little cared how
the story was told.
"I do not see it that way at all, Opal. It seems to me--well,
diabolical, and may God help you, dear girl, when you, with your
high-keyed sensitive nature, first wake to the infamy of it! I have no
right to interfere--no right at all. Not even my love for you, which is
stronger than myself, gives me that right. For I am betrothed! I tell
you this because I see where my folly has led us. There is only one
thing to do. We must part--and at once. I am sorry"--then he thought of
that first meeting on board the liner, "no, I am _not_ sorry we met! I
shall never be that! But I am going to be a man. I am going to do my
duty. Help me, Opal--help me!"
It was the old appeal of the man to the helpmeet God had created for
him, and the woman in her responded.
"Paul, I will!" and her little fingers closed over his.
"Of course he loves you--in his way, but----"
"Don't, Paul, don't! He has never once pretended that--he has been too
wise."
"He will break your spirit, dear--it's his nature. And then he will
break your heart!"
She raised her head, defiantly.
"Break my spirit, Paul? He could not. And as for my heart--that will
never be his to break!"
Their eyes met with the old understanding that needs no words. Then she
pointed to the heavens.
"See the stars, Paul, smiling down so calmly. How can they when hearts
are aching? When I was a child, I loved the stars. I fancied, too, that
they loved me, and I would run out under their watchful eyes, singing
for very joy, sure they were guiding my life and that some day I would
be happy, gloriously happy. Somehow, Paul, I always expected to be
happy--always!--till now! Now the stars seem to mock me. I must have
been born under a baleful conjunction, I guess. Oh, I told you, Paul,
that Opals were unlucky. I warned you--didn't I warn you? I may have
tempted you, too, but--I didn't mean to do it!"
"Bless your dear heart, girl, you weren't to blame!"
"But you said--that night--about the tiger----"
"Forgive me, Opal, I was not myself. I was--excited. I didn't mean
that."
After a moment, she said, musingly, "It is just as I said, Paul. I was
born to go to the devil, so it is well--well for you, I mean--and
perhaps for me--that you and I cannot marry." He shook his head, but she
went on, unheeding. "Paul, if I am destined to be a disgrace to
someone--and they say I am--I'd rather bring reproach upon his name than
on yours!"
"But why marry at all, if you feel like that? Why, it's--it's damnable!"
"Don't you see, Paul, I am foreordained to evil--marked a bad woman from
the cradle! Marriage is the only salvation, you know, for girls with my
inheritance. It's the sanctuary that keeps a woman good and 'happy ever
after.'"
"It would be more apt, in my opinion, to drive one to forbidden wine! A
marriage like that, I mean--for one like you."
"But at least a married woman has a _name_--whatever she may do.
She's--protected. She isn't----"
But Paul would hear no more.
"Opal, _we_ were made for each other from the beginning--surely we were.
Some imp has slipped into the scheme of things somewhere and turned it
upside down."
He paused. She looked up searchingly into his eyes.
"Paul, do you love me?"
"Yes, dearest!"
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I am of my own existence! With all my heart, Opal--with all
my soul!"
"Then we mustn't see each other any more!"
"Not any more. You are right, Opal, not any more!"
"But what shall we do, Paul? We shall be sure to meet often. You expect
to stay the summer through, do you not? And we are not going to New
Orleans for several weeks yet--and then?"
"We are going West, Father Paul and I--out on the prairies to rough it
for a while. We were going before long, anyway, and a few weeks sooner
or later won't make any difference. And then--home, back over the sea
again, to face life, to work, to try to be--strong, I suppose."
Paul paused and looked at her passionately.
"Why are you so alluring to-night, Opal?"
Her whole body quivered, caught fire from the flame in his eyes. What
was there about this man that made her always so conscious she was a
woman? Why could she never be calm in his presence, but was always so
fated to _feel, feel, feel!_
Her voice trembled as she looked up at him and answered, "Am I wicked,
Paul? I wanted to be happy to-night--just for to-night! I wanted to
forget the fate that was staring me so relentlessly in the face. But--I
couldn't, Paul!"
Then she glanced through the curtains into the ballroom and shuddered.
"The Count is looking for me," she said. The Boy winced, and she went on
rapidly, excitedly. "We must part. As well now as any time, I suppose,
since it has to be. But first, Paul, let me say it once--just once--_I
love you!_"
He snatched her to him--God! that any one else should ever have the
right!
"And I--worship you, Opal! Even that seems a weak word, to-night.
But--you understand, don't you? I didn't know at sea whether it was love
or what it was that had seized me as nothing ever had before. But I know
now! And listen, Opal--this isn't a vow, nor anything of that kind--but
I feel that I want to say it. I shall always love you just this
way--always--I feel it, I know it!--as long as I live! Will you
remember, darling?--remember--everything?"
"Yes--yes! And you, Paul?"
"Till death!" And his lips held hers, regardless of ten thousand Counts
and their claims upon her caresses.
And they clung together again in the anguish of parting that comes at
some time, or another into the lives of all who know love.
Then like mourners walking away from the graves of their loved ones,
they returned to the ballroom, with the dull ache of buried happiness in
their hearts.