VIII
A SINGER OF THE HALLS.
"Nichoune!... Nichoune!... Nichoune!"
"Be off with you, Leonce! To the door!"
It was a regular hubbub! An uproar! It increased!
Leonce the comedian had to cut short his monologue!
The little concert-hall at Chalons was at its liveliest. There was nota single seat to be had. It was a mixed audience of soldiers andcivilians, and the uniform did not fraternise too well with the garbof the working-man!
This low-class concert-hall was frequented by soldiers, who, out onleave, would visit the taverns, the beer-houses, and finish theevening on the squalid benches of this Eldorado of the provinces.
On this particular evening these critical gentlemen of the Army wereless satisfied than ever. There had been three "first appearances," ofpoor quality, and they accused the management of having filled thehall with civilians in order to secure a good reception for thesemediocre performers. Hussars and cuirassiers joined forces and made afrightful uproar.
"Take the comic man away!"
"He shall not sing!"
Then the entire audience shouted one name, demanded one performeronly.
"Nichoune!... Nichoune!... Nichoune!"
Nichoune was indeed the star of the company!
She was rather pretty, her face was intelligent, and what was rareenough in that hall, her tone was almost pure and true, and, aboveall, she sang popular ditties so that the audience could join in thechorus. As usual, after every singer, male or female, there were louddemands for Nichoune. Her admirers were merciless: they had noconsideration for her fatigue: they would have kept her on theplatform from eight o'clock till midnight!
The manager rushed to Nichoune's dressing-room.
"Come! Come at once! They will smash up everything if you do not hurryon."
Nichoune got up.
"Ah, ha! If I don't get a rise after this--well, I shall be off! Youwill see! They will have to have me back, too!"
The manager showed by a shrug of the shoulders that this was a matterof profound indifference to him.
"Come on to the platform, my dear! And be quick about it!"
Nichoune raced down the stairs and appeared before the clamouringcrowd panting. At sight of her, calm succeeded storm: the idol wasgoing to sing!
Nichoune swaggered down the stage and, planting herself close to thefootlights, flung the title of her song at the delighted audience instrident tones.
"_Les Inquiets!_... Music by Delmet.... Words also.... It is I whosing it!"
Whilst Nichoune began her song, hands on hips, she scrutinised heraudience, bestowing little smiles on her particular admirers. Shecould not have been in her best form, because when about to start herthird verse she suffered a lapse of memory, hesitated, and started thefourth. This passed unnoticed by her audience, who gave her avociferous ovation at the close.
"The programme! the programme!" they yelled.
As a rule Nichoune would disdainfully refuse to go down among theaudience. This evening, however, she nodded a "Yes," and, taking apile of little programmes from the wings, she descended the few stepswhich led from the stage to the body of the hall. Twenty hands wereoutstretched to help her down. She pushed them aside with mockinglooks. Shouts of admiration, compliments, clamourous declarations oflove were rained on her by the soldiers she had charmed and now swungpast with a provocative swish of her skirt and a smile of disdain.
Nichoune went on her way, bent on getting rid of her burden ofprogrammes with all speed.
Just as another singer appeared on the platform, Nichoune reached thelast row of chairs, and was about to leave, when she heard her nameuttered in a low voice by a man enveloped in a large cloak.
He was standing, and was leaning against the wall at the extreme endof the concert-room: he was an aged man.
Nichoune hesitated, searching with her eyes for the person who hadcalled her in a low, penetrating voice. She was about to continue onher way, when the old fellow half opened his cloak for an instant togive her a glimpse of a bulky kind of a box which was slung across hischest.
Immediately the singer went straight towards him.
"A programme?" she asked him in a loud voice.
He gave an affirmative nod for all the world to see: then whisperedlow.
"Go home directly the concert is over! I must speak to you!"
"Very good," replied the singer in a submissive tone.
Then aloud she queried:
"You are a musician, are you?"
The man in the cloak gave answer audibly:
"Yes, my dear, I am a musician also, but not of your sort! It's notgaiety I deal in!" With that, the unknown displayed an accordion whichwas slung across his chest.
* * * * *
Nichoune hurried to her dressing-room. She must get away before heradmirers demanded her reappearance on the platform. The old manquitted the establishment. Stepping out of the vestibule, dimlylighted by a flickering jet of gas, he strode along the narrow andtortuous streets of Chalons at a great pace. This pedestrian seemedout of humour: he marched along, bent beneath the weight of hisaccordion, tapping the road violently with the point of his longclimbing stick. Taking a circuitous route, he at last reached a sortof little inn. It appeared a poor kind of a place, but clean. The oldfellow entered with a resolute air. The porter, half asleep, offeredhim a candle which he lit with a twist of paper, kindled at thegas-jet. The old man mounted the stairs to his room and closed thedoor carefully. Having satisfied himself that the window shutters werefastened, he took off his cloak, lit his lamp, drew up a chair, andleaned his elbow on the table. The light fell on his face, and it waseasy to recognise the man who had spoken to the mistress of CorporalVinson: he was none other than Vagualame, the beggar-assassin.
Before long there was a knock at the door.
"Who is there?"
"I ... Nichoune!"
Vagualame rose and opened to her.
"Come in, my dear!" Vagualame was now the amiable friend.
He looked with delight at the pretty little face of his visitor.
"As pretty as ever, my dear! Prettier than ever!" he cried.
He stopped flattery: the singer evidently disliked it. She seatedherself on the edge of a sofa and stared at him.
"I don't suppose you have come to Chalons just to tell me that!Nothing serious?"
Vagualame shrugged his shoulders.
"No, no! Why, in Heaven's name, are you always so frightened?"
"That's all very well. It's jolly dangerous, let me tell you."
"Dangerous!" repeated Vagualame contemptuously. "Absurd! You arejoking! It's dangerous for imbeciles--not for anyone else! Not a soulwould ever suspect that pretty Nichoune is the 'letter-box'--theintermediary between me and 'Roubaix.'"
"You are going to give me something for Roubaix again?" Nichoune didnot look as if Vagualame's assertion had relieved her fears.
Vagualame evaded a direct answer.
"You have not seen him for a week?"
"Roubaix? No."...
"And Nancy?"
"Nor Nancy."
"Well," said he, after a moment's reflection, "that does not matter inthe least! I can now tell you that Belfort will certainly pass thisway to-morrow morning."...
"Belfort? But he is not due then!"
"Belfort has no fixed time," replied Vagualame sharply. "I havealready told you that Belfort is his own master: his is a divisional."
"A divisional? What exactly is a divisional?" demanded the singer.
"Now you are asking questions," objected Vagualame. His tone washarsh. "That is not allowed, Nichoune! I have told you so before....What you do not know you must not try to discover.... I myself do notknow all the ins and outs of the organisation!"
He continued in a less severe tone:
"In any case Belfort passes this way to-morrow between eleven o'clockand noon.... He does not know me--is not aware of my existence.... Itis through an in
direct course that I learned he was coming; also thathe would have something to say to you.... Will you, therefore, handhim this envelope?"
Vagualame drew from the inside pocket of his short coat a large packetsealed with red wax.
"Be very careful! This document is important--has been difficult toobtain--extremely difficult!... On no account must it go astray!...Tell Belfort that it must be handed over as quickly as possible....Well?"
Nichoune did not take the packet Vagualame was holding out to her. Sheremained seated, her gaze fixed on the tips of her shoes, her handsburied in her muff.
"Well, what is it? What are you waiting for?" Vagualame repeated.
At this Nichoune blazed out:
"What the matter is? Why, that I have had enough of all this: I don'twant any more of it! Not if I know it! It's too dangerous!"
Vagualame appeared stupefied.
"What, little one?" he asked very gently. "You do not wish to be ourfaithful letter-box any more?"
"No!"
"You do not want to hand this over to Belfort?"
"No, no! A hundred times no!" Nichoune shook her head vigorously.
"But why?"
"Because ... because I don't want to do it any more! There!"
"Come now, Nichoune, what is your reason? You must have one."
This time the singer got up as though she would go off at once.
"Reasons?" she cried. "Look here, Vagualame, it's better to tell youthe truth! Very well, then, spying is not my strong point! It is threemonths since I began it--since you enticed me into it ... and life isnot worth living.... I am in a constant state of terror--I am afraidof being caught at it. They say: 'Do this--Do that!' I am alwaysseeing new agents ... you come--you go--you disappear--it's maddening!I have already broken with my lover ... with Vinson! I don't want tobe on such terms with anyone mixed up in your spying, I can tellyou!... In the first place, there's something wrong with my heart, andto live in such a perpetual state of terror is very bad for me ... soyou have got to understand, Vagualame--I say it straight out--I don'tgo on with it.... I would rather go to the magistrate and put myselfcompletely outside this abominable business--there! That's all aboutit!"
It was impossible to mistake the meaning of these decisive words. Herewas not the spy who sought to increase his pay by threatening toreveal everything; it was the spy who is obsessed with the fear ofbeing taken, who no longer wishes to continue his dreadful work--tofollow his nefarious calling.
Vagualame gave no sign of surprise.
"Listen, my pretty one! You are at perfect liberty to do what seemsgood to you, and if you have just come in for some money!"...
"No one has left me any money," interrupted Nichoune.
"Oh, well," replied Vagualame, "if you despise the nice sum I bringyou every month, that's your business! But I don't suppose you wantto leave your old comrade in a fix, do you?"
Nichoune hesitated.
"What do you want me to do now?" she asked.
"A very little thing, my pretty one! If you will not go in with us anylonger, you are perfectly free to leave us, I repeat it, but don'tleave us in the lurch just at this moment! This paper is of the verygreatest importance ... be nice--take it, and give it to Belfort--Iwill not bother you again after this."...
Nichoune held out her hand, but it was with an ill grace.
"Oh, all right!" said she. "Give me the thing! All the same, you knownow that it is the very last time you are to apply to me!"
Then she added, laughing in her usual hail-fellow-well-met way, andpressing the old fellow's hand as she moved towards the door:
"I don't mean to be the letter-box of Chalons any more: that'sended--the last collection has been made!"
Nichoune departed. Vagualame wished her a cordial "Good night"; then,locking the door, he became absorbed in his reflections.
* * * * *
Towards five o'clock in the afternoon of the day following his privatetalk with Nichoune, Vagualame accosted the proprietor of a little innsituated at the extreme end of the town, and far removed from thetavern where he had passed the night.
"Mademoiselle Nichoune is not in, is she?"
"No, my good man--what do you want with her?"
Vagualame gave a little laugh.
"Has she not told you, then, that she was expecting someone from herpart of the country to call on her?"
The innkeeper was leaning carelessly against the wall. He straightenedhimself a little.
"Yes, Mademoiselle Nichoune has told us that an old musician wouldcall to see her this afternoon, and that we must ask him to wait."...
"Ah, she's a good, kind little thing! How courageous! What a worker!"Vagualame seemed to be speaking to himself.
"You know her very well, then?" asked the puzzled innkeeper.
"I should think I did!" protested the old fellow. "Why, it was I whotaught her to sing!... Do you think she will be long, my littleNichoune?"
"I don't fancy so! If you would like to come in and wait for her inher room, you will find it at the end of the corridor. It's notlocked.... You will find some picture papers on her table."
"Thank you, kind sir," said Vagualame after a moment's hesitation. "Iwill go in and rest for a few minutes," and, hobbling along, he gainedthe singer's room. The moment he was inside, and the door safely shut,his whole attitude changed. He looked eagerly about him.
"If there is anything, where is it likely to be?"... He considered."Why, in the mattress, of course!"
He drew from some hiding-place in his garments a long needle, andbegan to probe the mattress of Nichoune's bed very carefully.
"Ha, ha!" cried he, suddenly. The needle had come in contact withsomething difficult to penetrate. "I wager it's what I am after!"
Vagualame slipped his hand, spare and delicately formed, under thecounterpane.
"Little idiot!" he exclaimed in a satisfied tone. "She has not evenhidden it inside the mattress! She has just slipped it in between thepalliasse, and the hair mattress on top--why, she's a child!"
He drew out two envelopes and eagerly read the addresses.
"Oh," cried he, "this is more serious than I thought!... Action mustbe taken at once!... Nichoune! Nichoune! you are about to play adangerous game, a game which is likely to cost you dear!"
On the first of the envelopes Vagualame had read one word:
"_Belfort._"
This was the document he had handed over to the actress the nightbefore. After all, he was not much astonished to find that Nichounehad not passed the letter on. But the other envelope bore an addresswhich Vagualame gazed at reflectively.
"Monsieur Bonnett, Police Magistrate."
"She is selling us, by Jove!" he murmured. "There's not a doubt of it!The little wretch!... She has scruples, has she!... Her consciencereproaches her! I am going to give her a lesson--one of my own sort!"
Vagualame was turning the letter over and over.
"I must know its contents," he went on.... "Ah, I shall manage to gethold of this little paper, to-morrow morning, when."...
Vagualame's murmured monologue came to an abrupt conclusion.
"That's her voice!" he exclaimed. With the nimbleness of youth he putback the two letters, rapidly drew from his pocket a bundle ofletters; with marvellous ability forced open a table drawer, and mixedthem with others Nichoune had placed there.
"There, my little dear!" said he, aloud. "There's something to dohonour to your memory!"
He closed the drawer in a second. He had barely time to seat himselfin an arm-chair near his accordion, lying on the floor, when Nichouneentered.
"Good day!" cried she.
Vagualame pretended to wake up with a start.
"Ha, ha! Good day, Nichoune! Tell me, you have not seen Belfort? Eh?"
"How do you know that?" demanded Nichoune, on the defensive. Shelooked surprised.
"I have just met him.... He told me that he had not c
ome across you atthe usual meeting-place."
Nichoune lowered her head.
"I thought I was being followed ... so, as you can understand, I didnot go."
Vagualame nodded approval.
"Good! Quite right! After all, it is not otherwise of importance. Youmust give me back my envelope now!"
"You want it?"
"Why, of course!"
Nichoune hesitated a second.
"Just fancy, Vagualame, I took the precaution to hide it between mytwo mattresses! Wait!... Here it is!"
Nichoune held out his letter.
"Thank you, my dear!"
Vagualame looked as if the returning of the document was a matter of themost perfect indifference to him. He gazed hard at Nichoune--stared sofixedly at her that she demanded:
"Whatever possesses you to stare at me like that?"
"I am thinking how pretty you are!"
"Well, I never! You are becoming quite complimentary!"
"It's no flattery. I think you are very pretty, Nichoune, but yourhands! They are not pretty!"
The singer laughed and held out her little hands.
"What is there about them you have to find fault with?"
"They are red.... It astonishes me that a woman like you does not knowhow to make them white!... Don't you know what to do to them?"
"No! What must I do?"
"Why," retorted the old musician, "the very first thing you have to dois as simple as A B C! All you have to do is to tie up your handsevery night with a ribbon, and so keep them raised above yourhead!"...
"How? I don't understand!"
"It's like this! You stick a nail into the wall ... and then youmanage things so that you keep your hands up-raised the whole nightthrough.... You will see then ... your hands will be as white aslilies in the morning.... White as lilies!"
Nichoune was extremely interested.
"Is that true? I shall try it this very night! White, like lilies, yousay?... And you have to sleep with your hands stuck up in the air!...I shall try it--shall begin to-night."
A few minutes later Vagualame left Nichoune, after promising that hewould not give her any more spy work to do, and declaring that sheshould never again be mixed up in any dangerous business. As he wentalong the streets of Chalons, the dreadful old man chuckled andsniggered.
"Hands in the air, my beauty!... Just try that, this very night! Withthat little heart mischief of yours! Ha! ha! We shall not be keptwaiting for the consequences of that performance! It will serve as anexample to all and sundry when they wish to write to the magistrate!"
Vagualame's face took on a wicked look.
"I shall have to be as careful as can be when I hide myself in thatlittle fool's room to-night! At all costs I must get hold of thatcompromising letter before anyone in the hotel hears of the death! Nota soul must catch a glimpse of me--that's certain!"
Those who passed Vagualame simply thought he was an old beggar, an oldaccordion player....