It reached her in the nick of time. She read the wrong side of the
envelope first, and was evidently puzzled. Then she turned it over. A
look of surprise, a look of thankfulness, rendered her still more
fascinating. I perceived that she was inventing an excuse--that she
pretended to have forgotten something. She rose hastily and went out.
My barsac was finished--shocking bad tipple it was for the money!--and
now I, too, got up and left. When I issued into the street, I found her
waiting for me.
"I think you are the knight to whom my gratitude is due, monsieur?" she
murmured graciously.
"Mademoiselle, you magnify the importance of my service," said I.
"It was a gallant deed," she insisted. "You have saved me from a great
misfortune--perhaps greater than you understand. My finances are at
their lowest ebb, and to have beggared myself for an impossible meal
would have been no joke. Thanks to you, I may still breakfast
satisfactorily somewhere else. Is it treating you like Baedeker's Guide
to the Continent if I ask you to recommend a restaurant?"
"Upon my word, I doubt if you can do better than the Bel Avenir," I
said. "A moment ago I was lacerated with regret that I had not gone
there. But there is a silver lining to every hash-house, and my choice
of the Eclatant has procured me the glory of your greeting."
She averted her gaze with a faint smile. She had certainly charm.
Admiration and hunger prompted me to further recklessness. I said:
"This five-course swindle has left me ravenous, and I am bound for the
Avenir myself. May I beg for the rapture of your company there?"
"Monsieur, you overwhelm me with chivalries," she replied; "I shall be
enchanted." And, five minutes later, the Incognita and I were polishing
off smoked herring and potato salad, like people who had no time to
lose.
"Do you generally come here?" she asked, when we had leisure.
"Infrequently--no oftener than I have a franc in my pocket. But details
of my fasts would form a poor recital, and I make a capital listener."
"You also make a capital luncheon," she remarked.
"Do not prevaricate," I said severely. "I am consumed with impatience
to hear the history of your life. Be merciful and communicative."
"Well, I am young, fair, accomplished, and of an amiable disposition,"
she began, leaning her elbows on the table.
"These things are obvious. Come to confidences! What is your
profession?"
"By profession I am a clairvoyante and palmist," she announced.
I gave her my hand at once, and I was in two minds about giving her my
heart. "Proceed," I told her; "reveal my destiny!"
Her air was profoundly mystical.
"In the days of your youth," she proclaimed, "your line of authorship
is crossed by many rejections."
"Oh, I am an author, hein? That's a fine thing in guesses!"
"It is written!" she affirmed, still scrutinising my palm. "Your
dramatic lines are--er--countless; some of them are good. I see danger;
you should beware of--I cannot distinguish!" she clasped her brow and
shivered. "Ah, I have it! You should beware of hackneyed situations."
"So the Drama is 'written,' too, is it?"
"It is written, and I discern that it is already accepted," she said.
"For at the juncture where the Eclatant is eclipsed by the Café du Bel
Avenir, there is a distinct manifestation of cash."
"Marvellous!" I exclaimed. "And will the sybil explain why she surmised
that I was a dramatic author?"
"Even so!" she boasted. "You wrote your message to me on an envelope
from the Dramatic Authors' Society, What do you think of my palmistry?"
"I cannot say that I think it is your career. You are more likely an
author yourself, or an actress, or a journalist. Perhaps you are
mademoiselle Girard. Mon Dieu! What a piece of luck for me if I found
mademoiselle Girard!"
"And what a piece of luck for her!"
"Why for her?"
"Well, she cannot be having a rollicking time. It would not break her
heart to be found, one may be certain."
"In that case," I said, "she has only to give some one the tip."
"Oh, that would be dishonourable--she has a duty to fulfil to _La
Voix_, she must wait till she is identified. And, remember, there
must be no half measures--the young man must have the intuition to say
firmly, 'Pardon, you are mademoiselle Girard!'"
Her earnest gaze met mine for an instant.
"As a matter of fact," I said, "I do not see how anyone can be expected
to identify her in the street. The portrait shows her without a hat,
and a hat makes a tremendous difference."
She sighed.
"What is your trouble?" I asked.
"Man!"
"Man? Tell me his address, that I may slay him."
"The whole sex. Its impenetrable stupidity. If mademoiselle Girard is
ever recognised it will be by a woman. Man has no instinct."
"May one inquire the cause of these flattering reflections?"
Her laughter pealed.
"Let us talk of something else!" she commanded. "When does your play
come out, monsieur Thibaud Hippolyte Duboc? You see I learnt your name,
too."
"You have all the advantages," I complained. "Will you take a second
cup of coffee, mademoiselle--er--?"
"No, thank you, monsieur," she said.
"Well, will you take a liqueur, mademoiselle--er--?"
"Mademoiselle Er will not take a liqueur either," she pouted.
"Well, will you take a walk?"
In the end we took an omnibus, and then we proceeded to the Buttes-
Chaumont--and very agreeable I found it there. We chose a seat in the
shade, and I began to feel that I had known her all my life. More
precisely, perhaps, I began to feel that I wished to know her all my
life. A little breeze was whispering through the boughs, and she lifted
her face to it gratefully.
"How delicious," she said. "I should like to take off my hat."
"Do, then!"
"Shall I?"
"Why not?"
She pulled the pins out slowly, and laid the hat aside, and raised her
eyes to me, smiling.
"Well?" she murmured.
"You are beautiful."
"Is that all?"
"What more would you have me say?"
The glare of sunshine mellowed while we talked; clocks struck unheeded
by me. It amazed me at last, to discover how long she had held me
captive. Still, I knew nothing of her affairs, excepting that she was
hard up--that, by comparison, I was temporarily prosperous. I did not
even know where she meant to go when we moved, nor did it appear
necessary to inquire yet, for the sentiment in her tones assured me
that she would dismiss me with no heartless haste.
Two men came strolling past the bench, and one of them stared at her so
impudently that I burned with indignation. After looking duels at him,
I turned to her, to deprecate his rudeness. Judge of my dismay when I
perceived that she was shuddering with emotion! Jealousy blackened the
gardens to me.
"Who is that man?" I exclaimed.
"I don't know," she faltered.
"You don't know? But you are trembling?"
"Am I?"
"I ask you who he is? How he dared to look at you like that?"
"Am I responsible for the way a loafer looks?"
"You are responsible for your agitation; I ask you to explain it!"
"And by what right, after all?"
"By what right? Wretched, false-hearted girl! Has our communion for
hours given me no rights? Am I a Frenchman or a flounder? Answer; you
are condemning me to tortures! Why did you tremble under that man's
eyes?"
"I was afraid," she stammered.
"Afraid?"
"Afraid that he had recognised me."
"Mon Dieu! Of what are you guilty?"
"I am not guilty."
"Of what are you accused?"
"I can tell you nothing," she gasped.
"You shall tell me all!" I swore. "In the name of my love I demand it
of you. Speak! Why did you fear his recognition?"
Her head drooped pitifully.
"Because I wanted _you_ to recognise me first!"
For a tense moment I gazed at her bewildered. In the next, I cursed
myself for a fool--I blushed for my suspicions, my obtuseness--I sought
dizzily the words, the prescribed words that I must speak.
"Pardon," I shouted, "you are mademoiselle Girard!"
She sobbed.
"What have I done?"
"You have done a great and generous thing! I am humbled before you. I
bless you. I don't know how I could have been such a dolt as not to
guess!"
"Oh, how I wish you had guessed! You have been so kind to me, I longed
for you to guess! And now I have betrayed a trust. I have been a bad
journalist."
"You have been a good friend. Courage! No one will ever hear what has
happened. And, anyhow, it is all the same to the paper whether the
prize is paid to me, or to somebody else."
"Yes," she admitted. "That is true. Oh, when that man turned round and
looked at me, I thought your chance had gone! I made sure it was all
over! Well"--she forced a smile--"it is no use my being sorry, is it?
Mademoiselle Girard is 'found'!"
"But you must not be sorry," I said. "Come, a disagreeable job is
finished! And you have the additional satisfaction of knowing the money
goes to a fellow you don't altogether dislike. What do I have to do
about it, hein?"
"You must telegraph to _La Voix_ at once that you have identified
me. Then, in the morning you should go to the office. I can depend upon
you, can't I? You will never give me away to a living soul?"
"Word of honour!" I vowed. "What do you take me for? Do tell me you
don't regret! There's a dear. Tell me you don't regret."
She threw back her head dauntlessly.
"No," she said, "I don't regret. Only, in justice to me, remember that
I was treacherous in order to do a turn to you, not to escape my own
discomforts. To be candid, I believe that I wish we had met in two or
three weeks' time, instead of to-day!"
"Why that?"
"In two or three weeks' time the prize was to be raised to five
thousand francs, to keep up the excitement."
"Ciel!" I cried. "Five thousand francs? Do you know that positively?"
"Oh, yes!" She nodded. "It is arranged."
Five thousand francs would have been a fortune to me.
Neither of us spoke for some seconds. Then, continuing my thoughts
aloud, I said:
"After all, why should I telegraph at once? What is to prevent
_my_ waiting the two or three weeks?"
"Oh, to allow you to do that would be scandalous of me," she demurred;
"I should be actually swindling _La Voix_."
"_La Voix_ will obtain a magnificent advertisement for its outlay,
which is all that it desires," I argued; "the boom will be worth five
thousand francs to _La Voix_, there is no question of swindling.
Five thousand francs is a sum with which one might--"
"It can't be done," she persisted.
"To a man in my position," I said, "five thousand francs--"
"It is impossible for another reason! As I told you, I am at the end of
my resources. I rose this morning, praying that I should be identified.
My landlady has turned me out, and I have no more than the price of one
meal to go on with."
"You goose!" I laughed. "And if I were going to net five thousand
francs by your tip three weeks hence, don't you suppose it would be
good enough for me to pay your expenses in the meanwhile?"
She was silent again. I understood that her conscience was a more
formidable drawback than her penury.
Monsieur, I said that you had asked me for a humiliating story--that I
had poignant memories connected with _La Voix_. Here is one of
them: I set myself to override her scruples--to render this girl false
to her employers.
Many men might have done so without remorse. But not a man like me; I
am naturally high-minded, of the most sensitive honour. Even when I
conquered at last, I could not triumph. Far from it. I blamed the force
of circumstances furiously for compelling me to sacrifice my principles
to my purse. I am no adventurer, hein?
Enfin, the problem now was, where was I to hide her? Her portmanteau
she had deposited at a railway station. Should we have it removed to
another bedroom, or to a pension de famille? Both plans were open to
objections--a bedroom would necessitate her still challenging discovery
in restaurants; and at a pension de famille she would run risks on the
premises. A pretty kettle of fish if someone spotted her while I was
holding for the rise!
We debated the point exhaustively. And, having yielded, she displayed
keen intelligence in arranging for the best. Finally she declared:
"Of the two things, a pension de famille is to be preferred. Install me
there as your sister! Remember that people picture me a wanderer and
alone; therefore, a lady who is introduced by her brother is in small
danger of being recognized as mademoiselle Girard."
She was right, I perceived it. We found an excellent house, where I was
unknown. I presented her as "mademoiselle Henriette Delafosse, my
sister." And, to be on the safe side, I engaged a private sitting-room
for her, explaining that she was somewhat neurasthenic.
Good! I waited breathless now for every edition of _La Voix_,
thinking that her price might advance even sooner. But she closed at
three thousand francs daily. Girard stood firm, but there was no upward
tendency. Every afternoon I called on her. She talked about that
conscience of hers again sometimes, and it did not prove quite so
delightful as I had expected, when I paid a visit. Especially when I
paid a bill as well.
Monsieur, my disposition is most liberal. But when I had been mulcted
in the second bill, I confess that I became a trifle downcast. I had
prepared myself to nourish the girl wholesomely, as befitted the
circumstances, but I had said nothing of vin supérieur, and I noted
that she had been asking for it as if it were cider in Normandy. The
list of extras in those bills gave me the jumps, and the charges made
for scented soap were nothing short of an outrage.
Well, there was but one more week to bear now, and during the week I
allowed her to revel. This, though I was approaching embarrassments
_re_ the rent of my own attic!
How strange is life! Who shall foretell the future? I had wrestled with
my self-respect, I had nursed an investment which promised stupendous
profits were I capable of carrying my scheme to a callous conclusion.
But could I do it? Did I claim the prize, which had already cost me so
much? Monsieur, you are a man of the world, a judge of character: I ask
you, did I claim the prize, or did I not?
He threw himself back in the chair, and toyed significantly with his
empty glass.
I regarded him, his irresolute mouth, his receding chin, his
unquenchable thirst for absinthe. I regarded him and I paid him no
compliments. I said:
"You claimed the prize."
"You have made a bloomer," he answered. "I did not claim it. The prize
was claimed by the wife of a piano-tuner, who had discovered
mademoiselle Girard employed in the artificial flower department of the
Printemps. I read the bloodcurdling news at nine o'clock on a Friday
evening; and at 9:15, when I hurled myself, panic-stricken, into the
pension de famille, the impostor who had tricked me out of three weeks'
board and lodging had already done a bolt. I have never had the joy of
meeting her since."