SATISFACTION
During the whole of the time people had been coming and going from the
restaurant, not, perhaps, in a continual stream, but still at fairly
regular intervals. It seemed to me, who had watched them all with
interest, that scarcely a person had entered who was not worthy of
observation. I saw faces, it is true, which I had seen before at the
fashionable haunts of Paris, upon the polo ground, at Longchamps, or
in the Bois, yet somehow it seemed to me that they came to this place
as different beings. There was a tense look in their faces, a look
almost of apprehension, as they entered and passed out,--as of people
who have found their way a little further into life than their
associates. Louis was right. There was something different about the
place, something at which I could only dimly guess, which at that time
I did not understand. Only I realized that I watched always with a
little thrill of interest whenever the hurrying forward of Monsieur
Carvin indicated the arrival of a new visitor.
We had already risen to go, and the _vestiaire_ was on his way
towards us, bearing my hat and coat, when Monsieur Carvin, who had
hurried out a moment before, reappeared, ushering in a new
arrival. The events that followed have always seemed a little confused
to me. My first thought was that this was indeed a nightmare into
which I had wandered. The slight unreality which had hung like a cloud
over the whole of the evening, the strangeness of my being there with
such a companion, the curious atmosphere of the place, which so far
had completely puzzled me,--these things may all have served to
heighten the illusion. Yet it seemed to me then that, dreaming or
waking, this thing with which I was confronted was the last
impossibility. I suppose that I must have stared at him like some
wild creature, for the conversation around us suddenly stopped.
Standing upon the threshold, looking around him with the happy air of
an habitue, I saw this man to whom I owed my presence in Paris, this
man concerning whom I had sworn that if ever I should meet him face to
face my hand should be upon his throat. I remember nothing of my
progress, but I know that I stood before him before he was conscious
even of my presence. I addressed him by name. I believe that even my
voice was not upraised.
"Tapilow!" I said.
He turned sharply towards me. I saw him suddenly stiffen, and I saw
his right hand dart as though by instinct to his trousers pocket. But
I was too quick for him. The blood was surging into my ears. Nothing
in the whole room was visible to me but that pale, handsome face with
the thin lips and dark, full eyes. I saw those eyes contract as though
my hand upon his throat were indeed the touch of Death. I shook him
until his collar broke away and his shirt-front flew open, shook him
until from his limp body there seemed no longer any shadow of
resistance. Then I flung him a little away from me, watching all the
time, though, to see that his hand did not move towards that pocket.
"Tapilow," I cried, "defend yourself, you coward! Do you want me to
strangle you where you stand?"
He came for me then with the frenzy of a man who is in a desperate
strait. He was as strong as I, and he had the advantage in height. For
a moment I was borne back. He struck me heavily upon the face, and I
made no attempt to defend myself. I waited my time. When it came, I
dealt him such a blow that he reeled away, and before he could recover
I took him by the back of his neck and flung him from me across the
table which our struggle had already half upset. He lay there, a
shapeless mass, surrounded by broken glass, streaming wine, a little
heap of flowers from the overturned vase. Then the hubbub of the room
was suddenly stilled. A dozen hands were laid upon me.
"For God's sake, monsieur!" I heard Louis cry.
Monsieur Carvin led me away. I looked back once more at the prostrate
figure and then followed him.
"This is not my fault," I said calmly. "He knew quite well that it was
bound to happen. I told him that wherever we next met, whether it was
in a street or a drawing-room, or any place whatsoever upon the face
of the earth, I would deal out his punishment with my own hands, even
though it should spell death. Perhaps," I continued, "you would like
to send for the police. You can have my card, if you like."
"We do not send for the police here," Monsieur Carvin said
hoarsely. "Louis will take you away at once. Where do you stay?"
"At the Ritz," I answered.
"Keep quiet to-morrow!" he exclaimed. "Louis will come to you. This
way."
I shrugged my shoulders. At that moment it mattered little to me
whether I paid the penalty for what had happened or not. I even looked
back for a last time into the restaurant. I saw the strained, eager
faces of the people bent forward to watch me. Some of the men had left
their seats and come out into the body of the hall to get a better
view. The man Delora was among them. The girl was leaning forward in
her place, with her fingers upon the table, and her dark eyes
riveted with horrible intensity upon the fallen figure. I saw
mademoiselle--the turquoise-covered friend of Bartot. She, too, was
leaning forward, but her eyes ignored the man upon the floor, and were
seeking to meet mine. There was something unreal about the whole
scene, something which I was never able afterwards to focus absolutely
in my mind as a whole, although disjointed parts of it were always
present in my thoughts. But I know that as I looked back she rose a
little to her feet and leaned over the table, and heedless of Bartot,
who was now by her side, she waved her hand almost as though in
approbation. I was within a few feet of her, upon the threshold of the
door, and I heard her words, spoken, perhaps, to her companion,--
"It is so that men should deal with their enemies!"
A moment later, Louis and I were driving through the streets toward my
hotel. It was already light, and we passed a great train of market
wagons coming in from the country. Along the Boulevard, into which we
turned, was sprinkled a curious medley of wastrels of the night, and
men and women on their way to work. It had been raining a little time
before, but as we turned to descend the hill a weak sunshine flickered
out from behind the clouds.
"It is later than I thought," I remarked calmly.
"It is half-past five o'clock," answered Louis.
He accompanied me all the way to the hotel. He asked for no
explanation, nor did I volunteer any. As we drove into the Place
Vendome, however, he leaned towards me.
"Monsieur is aware," he said, "that he has run a great risk to-night?"
"Very likely," I answered, "but, Louis, there are some things which
one is forced to do, whatever the risk may be. This was one of them."
"You have courage," Louis whispered. "Let me tell you this. There were
men there to-night, men on every side of you, to whom courage is as
the breath of life. They have seen a man whom nobody loved treated as
he probably deserved. Let me tell you that there is no place in the
world where you could have struck so safely as to-night. Remain in
the hotel to-morrow until you hear from some of us. I may not promise
too much, but I think--I believe--that we can save you."
At that moment Louis' words meant little to me. I was still under the
spell of those few wonderful moments, still mad with the joy of having
taken the vengeance for which every nerve in my body had craved. It
was not until afterwards that their practical import came home to me.