The Marquis Gaspard, still smiling and more blandly if anything, nodded
and waved his hand in emphasis of assent.
“Very well,” said I. “I will go on. Monsieur, is it, or is it not, a
fact, that this lady is a prisoner, at this moment, in this house?”
The hoary head was now slowly raised, while the same wide opened hand
sketched a gesture of perplexity. The smile puckered into something
expressive of incertitude.
“A prisoner?” said he. “That is hardly the word, Monsieur. It is a fact
that the lady in question is, and at this moment as you say, honoring
us with her distinguished presence in this house. But if, as I can now
hardly doubt, you chanced to meet her on your way, you must have been
able to see for yourself, Monsieur, that she was coming alone and of
her own accord, without constraint from anyone, to visit us under this
roof where you wrongfully choose to call her a prisoner--as she is not,
Monsieur, my word of honor!”
Whereupon, he settled back into his chair, and his ghoulish, ironical,
joyous face stood out more clearly against the bright brocade of the
cushions.
He had outmanoeuvred me in the exchange, and for a second or two I was
disconcerted. Then, however, I regained the offensive.
“As you will have it, Sir,” I said. “I was wrong, in my choice of
words: I confess my error. Madame de X.... is a free woman here; and,
accordingly, there is no reason in the world why I should not be
admitted to her presence at once, to offer her my respectful homage.
May I see her? I am one of her friends, the most intimate of her
friends, I might say.”
The smiling, clean-shaven mouth relaxed into a broad laugh accentuated
with little explosions of mirth in that queer falsetto:
“Oh, Monsieur le capitaine, you are telling us nothing we do not know,
believe me, Sir. And rather, pray excuse the generous liberty I am
taking in laughing at an affair such as yours and hers. I date from
very long ago; and in my day, we were not so particular about secrecy
in such matters. Let us pass on, pass on. I see that I have hurt
your feelings by my inopportune mirth. No offense, I assure you. Let
us forget that whole side of the subject. You ask to interview Madame
de X.... Nothing, in fact, would be easier; but unfortunately, Madame
de X.... was feeling very tired, and went to bed, not long ago. She
must now be in her first sleep; and I know you are far too much of a
gentleman to disturb a lady under such conditions--to mention only the
first of many obstacles to your satisfaction.”
He was making fun of me; and my face burned hot with anger.
“I insist,” said I, mastering my indignation. “I promise further not to
disturb Madame de X.... if her first sleep is as deep and peaceful as
you assert. But I insist on seeing her--and I have a right to, I should
say, a right which I am certain you will not dispute.”
At last the smile faded from the Marquis Gaspard’s face. His eyes
settled upon me searchingly, as he replied in an earnest voice:
“Monsieur le capitaine, you are, rest quite assured, in a position to
ask everything in this house, without finding anything denied you. Will
you follow me!”
He arose, walked to the door, opened it, and stepped across the
reception hall. I followed in his footsteps in nervous astonishment.
The other two men also rose and came along behind me.
“Monsieur,” said the marquis softly, “you are now able to understand,
I trust, why you were several times requested to make no noise in your
apartment, which is so close to this one....”
I had guessed rightly, from the first. It was the room behind the
door with the three long thick bolts, from under which the perfume
so familiar to my nostrils had come--the fragrance of _muguet_, of
lilies-of-the-valley. And it was just such a room as I had imagined
later--a naked, sparsely furnished chamber like the one they had given
to me; and the same bed with fine sheets and silken coverlets.
On that bed Madeleine was lying, her eyes closed, her lips white, her
cheeks a leaden gray. They had told me the truth, also. She was asleep,
deeply, too deeply, sunk in slumber, a strange, bloodless, icy slumber,
nearer to death, perhaps, than to life.
“Monsieur will be mindful strictly of his promise,” cautioned the
Marquis Gaspard. “You have satisfied yourself that Madame is sleeping,
soundly sleeping. I may add that she is so greatly fatigued that the
shock of a sudden awakening might be fatal to her....”
The words were uttered in a grave, solemn voice in striking contrast
with the bantering tone he had hitherto adopted.
From the very depths of my being a cold, relentless anger rose, as a
hurricane of winter rises on an unsheltered plain. Drawing my pistol, I
turned sharply upon the man, my enemy, and, my finger upon the unlocked
trigger, I pressed the muzzle against his heart: “Peace!” I commanded,
“Not a word from any one of you, or I shoot this fellow like a dog!
Now, you speak up, you, Sir, you! And the truth, as you value your
life! This woman! What are you doing with her here?”