THE SCENE IN THE AVENUE
There followed a few minutes of somewhat curious silence. At the first
sound of the voice of the man who had made so startling an appearance in
their midst, a cry, only half suppressed, had broken from Madame de
Melbain's lips. She had moved impulsively a little forward; the moon,
visible now from over the tree tops, was shining faintly upon her
absolutely colourless face and dilated eyes. For some reason she seemed
terror-stricken, both she and Louise, who was clinging now to her arm.
Neither of them seemed even to have glanced at the cowering figure of the
man, who had relapsed now into a venomous silence. Both of them were
gazing at his captor, and upon their faces was the strangest expression
which Wrayson had ever seen on any human features. It was as though they
stood upon the edge of the world and peered downwards, into the forbidden
depths; as though they suddenly found themselves in the presence of a
thing so wonderful that thought and speech alike were chained. Wrayson
involuntarily followed the direction of their rapt gaze. The stranger
certainly presented a somewhat formidable appearance. He was standing
upon slightly higher ground, and the massive proportions of his tall,
powerful figure stood out with almost startling distinctness against the
empty background. His face was half in the shadow, yet it seemed to
Wrayson that some touch of the mystery which was quivering in the drawn
face of the two women was also reflected in his dimly seen features.
Something indefinable was in the air, something so mysterious and
wonderful, that voices seemed stricken dumb, and life itself suspended.
An owl flew slowly out from the wood with ponderous flapping of wings,
and sailed over their heads. Every one started: Madame de Melbain gave a
half-stifled shriek. The strain was over. Louise and she were half
sobbing now in one another's arms.
"I will leave this fellow to be dealt with as the owners of the chateâu
may direct," the stranger said stiffly, turning to Wrayson. "You can tell
them all that we know about him."
He turned on his heel, but the Baron laid his hand upon his shoulder and
peered into his face inquisitively.
"_We_ should like to know," he said, "whom we have to thank for the
capture of this intruder!"
"I am a stranger here, and to all of you," was the quiet answer. "You owe
me no thanks. I have seen something of this fellow before," he added,
pointing to his captive, who was now standing sullenly in the centre of
the group. "I felt sure that he was up to no good, and I watched him."
For the first time the fair-haired little tourist, who had been dragged
so submissively into their midst, suffered a gleam of intelligence to
appear in his face. He changed his position so that he could see his
captor better.
"Ah!" he muttered, "you have seen me before, eh? And I you, perhaps! Let
me think! Was it--"
Wrayson's friend leaned a little forwards, and with the careless ease of
one flicking away a fly, he struck the speaker with the back of his hand
across the face. The blow was not a particularly severe one, but its
victim collapsed upon the turf.
"Look here," his assailant said, standing for a moment over him, "you can
go on and finish your sentence if you like. I only want to warn you, that
if you do, I will break every bone in your body, one by one, the next
time we meet. Go on, if you think it worth while."
The man on the ground was dumb, because he was afraid. But the same
thought presented itself to all of them. The Baron, who was least of all
affected, expressed it.
"Perhaps, sir," he said, "you will not object to telling me--the Baron de
Courcelles--whom we have to thank for the discovery of this--intruder!"
Wrayson's friend edged a little away. There was no response in his manner
to the courtesy with which the Baron had sought to introduce himself.
"You have nothing to thank me for," he said shortly. "My name would be
quite unknown to you, and I am leaving this part of the world at once.
Permit me to wish you good evening!"
He had already turned on his heel when Madame de Melbain's voice
arrested him. Clear and peremptory, the first words which had passed her
lips since the surprise had come to them, seemed somehow to introduce a
new note into an atmosphere from which an element of tragedy had never
been lacking.
"Please stop!"
He turned and faced her with obvious unwillingness. She stretched out her
hand as though forbidding him to go, but addressed at the same time the
two men, apparently gamekeepers, who had suddenly emerged from the wood.
"Monsieur Robert," she said, "we have caught this man trespassing in the
woods here, notwithstanding the precautions which I understood you had
taken. Take him away at once, if you please. I trust that you will be
able to hand him over to the gendarmes."
Monsieur Robert, the steward of the estates, an elderly man, whose face
was twitching with anxiety, stepped forward with a low bow.
"Madame," he said, "we had word of this intrusion. We were even now upon
the track of this ruffian. There was another, also, who climbed the
wall--ah! I see him! The Englishman there!"
"He is our friend," Madame de Melbain said. "You must not interfere
with him."
"As Madame wills! Come, you rascal," he added, gripping his prisoner by
the shoulder. "We will show you what it means to climb over walls and
trespass on the estate of Madame la Baronne. Come then!"
The intruder accepted the situation with the most philosophic calm. Only
one remark he ventured to make as he was led off.
"It is not hospitable, this! I only wished to see the chateâu by
moonlight!"
Wrayson's fellow guest at the _Lion d'Or_ turned to follow them.
"The fellow might try to escape," he muttered; but again Madame de
Melbain called to him.
"You must not go away," she said, "yet!"
Then she moved forward with smooth, deliberate footsteps, yet with
something almost supernatural in her white face and set, dilated eyes. It
was as though she were looking once more through the windows of the
world, as though she could see the figures of dead men playing once more
their part in the game of life. And she looked always at the Englishman.
"Listen," she said, "there is something about you, sir, which I do not
understand. Who are you, and where do you come from?"
He made no answer. Only he held out his hand as though to keep her away,
and drew a little further back.
"You shall not escape," she continued, the words leaving her lips with a
sort of staccato incisiveness, crisp and emotional. "No! you are here,
and you shall answer. Who are you who come here to mock us all; because
it is a dead man who speaks with your voice, and looks with your eyes?
You will not dare to say that you are Duncan Fitzmaurice!"
The figure in the shadows seemed to loom larger and larger. He was no
longer shrinking away.
"I know nothing of the man of whom you speak!" he declared. "I am a
wanderer. I have no name and no home."
Madame de Melbain reeled and would have fallen. Then for a moment events
seemed to leap forward. White and fainting, she lay in the arms of the
man who had sprung to her succour, yet through her half-opened eyes there
flashed a strange and wonderful light--a light of passionate and amazing
content. He held her, almost roughly, for several moments, yet his lips
were pressed to hers with a tenderness almost indescribable. No one of
the little group moved. Wrayson felt simply that events, impossible for
him to understand, had marched too quickly for him. He stood like a man
in a dream, whose limbs are rigid, whose brain alone is working. And the
others, too, seemed to have become part of a silent and wonderful
tableau. For years after Wrayson carried with him the memory of those few
minutes,--the perfume from the woods, faint but penetrating; the shadowy
light, the passionate faces of the man and the woman, the woman yielding
to a beautiful dream, and the man to a moment of divine madness.
Movement, when it came, came from the principal actors in that wonderful
scene. Madame de Melbain was alone, supported in Louise's arms, the
Englishman's heavy footsteps were already audible, crashing through the
undergrowth. Louise pointed to the wood and called out to Wrayson:
"Follow him! Don't let him out of your sight! Quick!"
Wrayson turned and sped down the avenue. When he reached the wall, he
stood there and waited. Presently Duncan came crashing through the
wood and vaulted the wall. Wrayson met him in the middle of the hard
white road.
"We will walk back to the _Lion d'Or_ together," he said calmly, "I have
a few things to say to you!"