Blake must have reached the last step of the Escalier de Sainte-Marie,
must indeed have turned the corner of the rue André de Sarte before the
creaking of a footstep or the opening of a door disturbed the silence of
the fifth floor; but, due time having expired--due deference having been
paid to taste and the proprieties--the handle of M. Cartel's door was
very softly turned, and Jacqueline slipped forth into the shadowed
landing.
Never were human curiosity and feminine craft more signally displayed
than in the slim little form creeping on tiptoe, the astute, _piquante_
little face thrust forth into the dark. Across the landing she stole,
and with deft fingers opened Max's door without a sound.
Here, in the narrow hallway, she paused and called gently, "Monsieur
Max!" But as no voice answered, she crept to the _salon_ door and, with
a little comedy of smiles all for her own diversion, called again with
pursed lips and in a stage whisper: "Madame! Madame!"
It carried--this portentous word--across the quiet room to the balcony
where Maxine was lingering; it drew from her a little 'oh,' of
consternation; finally, it brought her running across the room to her
visitor.
Jacqueline, lynx-eyed, stood and looked at her--noting how flushed she
was, how youthful-looking, how unguarded and brimming with emotion.
"Madame!" she cried. "I know without a word! It has been a grand
success."
[Illustration: _"C'EST LA VIE! L'ETERNELLE, LA TOUTE-PUISSANTE VIE_!"]
Maxine laughed, a girlish laugh of self-betrayal. "A grand success!
Absolutely a grand success! And, Jacqueline"--she hesitated, laughed
again with charming self-consciousness, rushed afresh into
speech--"Jacqueline, he thought me beautiful! Not a word was said, but I
know he thought me beautiful. Tell me! Am I beautiful?" Swiftly, as
might the boy, she threw off her velvet cloak, letting it fall to the
ground, and showed herself tall and supple and straight in her white
dress.
Jacqueline rushed forward warmly, caught and kissed her hand.
"Madame, you are ravishing!" And, with her pretty native practicality,
she picked up the cloak, carefully folded and carefully laid it aside.
"Ravishing!" Maxine laughed once more. "Jacqueline, I am something more
than that! I am happy!" She threw out her arms, as if to embrace the
universe. "I am happier than the saints in heaven! I am living in the
moment, and the moment is perfection! I care nothing that yesterday I
wept, that to-morrow I may weep again. I am alive and I am happy. I feel
as I used to feel at fifteen years old, galloping a spirited horse. The
whole world is sublime--from the dust in the streets to the stars in the
sky!" She forgot her companion, her speech broke off, she turned and
began to pace the room with head thrown back, hands clasped behind her
with careless, boyish ease.
For a while Jacqueline watched her, diligently sifting out every
emotional sign; then, deeming that some moment of her own choosing had
arrived, she slipped unobserved from the room, to return a minute later
bearing a kettle full of boiling water.
Maxine looked round as she made her entry.
"A kettle, Jacqueline?"
"For madame's tea. And, my God, but it is hot!" She set it down hastily
in the fireplace, and sucked her finger with a pouting smile.
Maxine smiled, too, coming back from her dream with vague graciousness.
"But I do not need tea."
Jacqueline did not refute the statement, but merely began to manipulate
the _samovar_ in the manner learned of Max, while Maxine, yielding to
her own delicious exaltation, fell again to her long, slow pacing of the
floor.
Presently the inviting smell of tea began to pervade the room, and
Jacqueline set out a cup and saucer--Max's first purchase from old
Bluebeard of the curios.
"Madame is served!" She stood behind the chair ordained for Maxine, very
sedate, very assured of her own arrangements.
Maxine paused, as though the suggestion of tea was brought to her for
the first time.
"How delightful!" she said, with swift, serene pleasure. "How kind! How
thoughtful!"
"Seat yourself, madame!"
The chair was drawn forward; the just and proper thrill of preparation
was conveyed by Jacqueline; and Maxine seated herself, still in her
smiling dream.
Half the cup of tea was consumed under Jacqueline's watchful eye, then
she stole round the chair.
"Madame, a cigarette?" Her fingers crept to the cigarette-box, then
found and struck a match, all with a deft, unobtrusive quiet that won
its way undenied.
The cigarette was lighted, Maxine leaned back in her chair, Jacqueline's
confidential moment was secured.
"And so, madame, it was a grand success?"
Maxine looked up. The first fine ecstasy was past; the after-glow of
deep contentment curled round her with the cigarette smoke; she was the
pliant reed to the soft wind of Jacqueline's whispering.
"It was past belief," she answered, "past all belief. We stood together
in the light of the lamp and looked each other in the eyes, and he never
guessed. He never guessed--he, who has--Oh, it was past belief!"
"Ah!" murmured Jacqueline, complacently. "I told madame I had a quite
extraordinary talent in the dressing of hair--though madame was
sceptical! And as for the purchase of clothes. Did he admire madame's
velvet cloak?"
Maxine smiled tolerantly. "Of course he did not!"
Jacqueline cast up her eyes to heaven. "These English--they are
extraordinary! But I tell you this, madame, he knew here"--she touched
her heart--"he knew here, that madame looked what she is--a queen!"
"Absurd child!"
The reproof was gentle; Jacqueline's nimble tongue took advantage of the
chance given it.
"And tell me, madame? He play his part gallantly--Monsieur Édouard?"
Never before had she dared so much; but never before had Maxine's eyes
looked as they looked to-night.
Before replying, Maxine leaned her elbows on the table and took her face
between her hands.
"It was past belief--that also!" she said at last. "He seemed a
different being. I cannot understand it."
"He seemed of a greater interest, madame?"
"Of a strangely greater interest."
"In what manner, madame? Looks? Words?" Cunning as a monkey, little
Jacqueline was all soft innocence in the method of her questioning.
"In every way--manner--speech--expression of thought. And,
Jacqueline"--she turned her face, all radiant and unsuspicious, to her
interlocutor--"I made a discovery! He loves Max!"
Jacqueline, with downcast eyes and discreet bearing, carefully removed
the empty tea-cup.
"Yes, he loves me as Max! He told me so. It has made me marvellously
happy--marvellously happy and, also"--she sighed--"also, Jacqueline,
just a little sad!"
"Sad, madame?"
"Yes, sad because he loves Max as one loves a child, expecting no
return; and--I would be loved as an equal."
"Assuredly, madame."
"I _must_ be loved as an equal!" Fire suddenly kindled her dreaming
voice; a look, clear and alert, suddenly crossed her eyes. "Jacqueline,"
she cried, "I have set myself a new task. I shall make him respect Max
as well as love him; Max shall become his equal. Now, suppose you set
yourself a task like that, how would you begin?"
"Oh, madame!" Jacqueline was all deprecation.
"Do not fear. Tell me!"
"Madame, it is not for me--" Jacqueline's triumph in the moment, and her
concealing of the triumph, were things exquisitely feminine.
"Tell me!"
"I may speak from the heart, madame?"
Maxine bent her head in gracious condescension.
"Then, madame, I would make of Monsieur Édouard a book of figures. The
princess would learn the rules; Monsieur Max would shut the book, and
make up the sum. It would be quite simple."
The hot color scorched Maxine's face; she rose quickly. "Jacqueline! I
had not expected this!"
"Madame desired me to speak from the heart. The heart, at times, is
unruly!"
"True! Forgive me. But you should not suggest a thing that you know to
be impossible."
"Pardon, madame! I was thinking of the many impossibilities performed
in a good cause!"
"Say no more, Jacqueline! To-night was to-night! To-night is over!" She
walked across the room and passed out upon the balcony, leaning over the
railing at the spot where Blake had stood.
Jacqueline, swift and guileful, was instantly beside her.
"Madame, at its most serious, to-night was a little comedy. Is it so
criminal to repeat a little comedy--once, or even twice--in a good
cause? It is not as if madame were not sure of herself! Besides, the
comedy was charming!"
"Yes; the comedy was charming!" Maxine echoed the sentiment, and in her
heart called 'charming' a poor word. "But even if I were weak,
Jacqueline," she added, "how could I banish Max? Max could scarcely
continue to have important business."
"Perhaps not, madame; but Monsieur Max might continue to display temper!
Do not forget that he and Monsieur Édouard did not part upon the
friendliest terms."
Maxine smiled.
"But even granted that, I could not be here again--alone."
Jacqueline, with airiest scorn, tossed the words aside.
"That, madame? Why, that arranges itself! The princess loves her
brother! His quarrel is her grief. Is not woman always compassionate?"
The tone was irresistible. Maxine laughed. "Jacqueline, you were the
Serpent in Adam's Garden! There is not a doubt of it! No wonder poor M.
Cartel has taken so big a bite of the Apple."
She laughed again, and Jacqueline laughed too, in mischievous delight.
"Madame!" she coaxed. "Madame!"
"No!" said Maxine, with eyes fixed determinately upon the lights of the
city; while somewhere above her in the cool, clear starlight, a hidden
voice--her own, and not her own--whispered a subtle 'Yes!'