He prepared his poison reflectively,
"I will tell you all," he said.
One autumn the Editor of _La Voix_ announced to the assistant-editor:
"I have a great idea for booming the paper."
The assistant-editor gazed at him respectfully. "I propose to prove, in
the public interest, the difficulty of tracing a missing person. I
shall instruct a member of the staff to disappear. I shall publish his
description, and his portrait; and I shall offer a prize to the first
stranger who identifies him."
The assistant-editor had tact and he did not reply that the idea had
already been worked in London with a disappearing lady. He replied:
"What an original scheme!"
"It might be even more effective that the disappearing person should be
a lady," added the chief, like one inspired.
"That," cried the assistant-editor, "is the top brick of genius!"
So the Editor reviewed the brief list of his lady contributors, and
sent for mademoiselle Girard.
His choice fell upon mademoiselle Girard for two reasons. First, she
was not facially remarkable--a smudgy portrait of her would look much
like a smudgy portrait of anybody else. Second, she was not widely
known in Paris, being at the beginning of her career; in fact she was
so inexperienced that hitherto she had been entrusted only with
criticism.
However, the young woman had all her buttons on; and after he had
talked to her, she said cheerfully:
"Without a chaperon I should be conspicuous, and without a fat purse I
should be handicapped. So it is understood that I am to provide myself
with a suitable companion, and to draw upon the office for expenses?"
"Mademoiselle," returned the Editor, "the purpose of the paper is to
portray a drama of life, not to emulate an opera bouffe. I shall
explain more fully. Please figure to yourself that you are a young girl
in an unhappy home. Let us suppose that a stepmother is at fault. You
feel that you can submit to her oppression no longer--you resolve to be
free, or to end your troubles in the Seine. Weeping, you pack your
modest handbag; you cast a last, lingering look at the oil painting of
your own dear mother who is with the Angels in the drawing-room; that
is to say, of your own dear mother in the drawing-room, who is with the
Angels. It still hangs there--your father has insisted on it. Unheard,
you steal from the house; the mysterious city of Paris stretches before
your friendless feet. Can you engage a chaperon? Can you draw upon an
office for expenses? The idea is laughable. You have saved, at a
liberal computation, forty francs; it is necessary for you to find
employment without delay. But what happens? Your father is distracted
by your loss, the thought of the perils that beset you frenzies him; he
invokes the aid of the police. Well, the object of our experiment is to
demonstrate that, in spite of an advertised reward, in spite of a
published portrait, in spite of the Public's zeal itself, you will be
passed on the boulevards and in the slums by myriads of unsuspecting
eyes for weeks."
The girl inquired, much less blithely:
"How long is this experiment to continue?"
"It will continue until you are identified, of course. The longer the
period, the more triumphant our demonstration."
"And I am to have no more than forty francs to exist on all the time?
Monsieur, the job does not call to me."
"You are young and you fail to grasp the value of your opportunity,"
said the Editor, with paternal tolerance. "From such an assignment you
will derive experiences that will be of the highest benefit to your
future. Rejoice, my child! Very soon I shall give you final
instructions."
* * * * *
The Frenchman lifted his glass, which was again empty.
"I trust my voice does not begin to grate upon you?" he asked
solicitously. "Much talking affects my uvula."