CHAPTER VI
THE NEW LOVER
Very late that night when all the crowds who had assembled to watchRozelle Daubeni had dispersed with awe-struck whisperings, two men camedown the great staircase into the empty vestibule and paused at the foot.
"You are leaving Paris again?" said Saltash.
The other nodded, his face perfectly emotionless, his eyes the eyes of asailor who searches the far horizon. "There is nothing to keep me here,"he said, and absently accepted a cigarette from the case that Saltashproffered. "I have always hated towns. I only came--" He stopped,considered a moment, and said no more.
Saltash's eyes were upon him, alert, speculative, but wholly withoutmalice. "You came--because you were sent for," he said.
Larpent nodded twice thoughtfully, more as if in answer to some mentalsuggestion than as if the words had been actually uttered. He struck amatch and held it for Saltash. Then, as he deliberately lighted his owncigarette, between slow puffs he spoke: "There was only--one reason onearth--that would have brought me."
"Yes?" said Saltash. He dropped into a chair with the air of a man whohas limitless leisure at his disposal, but his tone was casual. He didnot ask for confidence.
Larpent stood still gazing before him through the smoke with keen,unwavering eyes.
"Only one reason," he said again, and still he seemed to speak as one whocommunes with his inner soul. "She was dying--and she wanted me." Hepaused a moment, and an odd tremor went through him. "After twentyyears," he said, as if in wonder at himself.
Saltash's look came swiftly upwards. "I've heard that before," he said."Those she caught she kept--always. No other woman was ever worth whileafter Rozelle."
Larpent's hand clenched instinctively, but he said nothing.
Saltash went on in the same casual tone. "She never caught me, _mon ami_.I met her too late in life--when I was beginning to get fastidious." Hismonkey-like grin showed for a moment. "I appreciated her charm, but--itleft me cold."
"You never saw her in her first youth," said Larpent, and into his fixedeyes there came a curious glow--the look of a man who sees a vision.
"What was she like then?" said Saltash.
Slowly the sailor answered him, word by word as one spelling out astrange language. "She was like a butterfly that plays among theflowers in the early morning. She had the look of a boy--the wide-openeyes, the fearless way, the freedom, the daring. Her innocence--herloveliness--" Something rose unexpectedly in his throat. He stopped andswallowed hard. "My God! How lovely she was!" he said, in a strangledvoice.
Saltash got up in his sudden, elastic fashion. "Look here! You want adrink. Sit down while I get you one!"
He was gone with the words, not waiting for the half-uttered remonstrancethat the other man sent after him.
Larpent stood staring heavily before him for a space, then turned with amechanical movement and dropped into a chair. He was sitting so, bentforward, his hands clasped in front of him when Saltash returned. He hadthe worn, grey look of a man tired out with hard travel.
Saltash poured out a drink and held it down to him. "Here's the stuff!Drink, man! It'll put new life into you."
Larpent drank, still in that slow, mechanical fashion. But as he drainedthe glass his eyes met Saltash's alert look and a faint, grim smilecrossed his haggard features.
"Don't let me spoil your holiday, my lord!" he said.
"Don't be a damn' fool!" said Saltash.
Larpent sat in silence for several seconds. Then in a more normal tone hespoke again. "I had to come to her. God knows what made her want me afterall these years. But I couldn't refuse to come. I had her message twodays ago. She said she was alone--dying. So I came." He paused and wipedhis forehead. "I thought she had tricked me. You saw her as she wasto-night. She was like that--full of life, superb. But--I had come toher, and I found I couldn't leave her. She wanted me--she wanted me--totake her back." He got up, but not with any agitation, and began to paceto and fro as though he paced a deck. "You will think me mad of course.You never came under the spell. But I, I was first with her; andperhaps it was fitting that I should be the last. Had she lived--afterto-night--I would have taken her away. She would never have danced again.I would have taken her out of this damnable world that had dragged herdown. I'd have saved her somehow."
"You wouldn't," said Saltash. "It's like a recurrent fever. You'd neverhave held her."
"I say I would." Larpent spoke deeply, but still without emotion. "Icould have done it--and no one else on earth. I tell you I was first withher, and a woman doesn't forget the first. I had a power that no otherman ever possessed, or ever could possess. I was--her husband."
"What?" said Saltash.
Larpent paced on with bent head. "I was her husband. But I was at sea andshe was on shore. And so I lost her. She was not made to stand againsttemptation. It came to her when I was on the other side of the world.When I got back, she was gone. And I--I never followed her. The thing washopeless. She was that sort, you understand. It was first one and thenanother with her. I dropped her out of my life, and let her go. I didn'trealize then--what I know now--that the power to rescue and to hold herwas mine. If I had, I might have gone after her. I can't say. But I wastoo bitter at the time to feel it was worth while. I went back to the seaand left her to work out her own damnation."
"And yet you loved her?" Saltash said, with a queer twist of the featuresthat was not of mirth.
"I loved her, yes. If I hadn't loved her I would never have come to herwhen she called. That is love--the thing that doesn't die." A suddenthrob sounded in Larpent's voice. He paused for a moment in his walk,then paced on. "You may laugh at it--call it what you will--but there isa power on the earth that is stronger than anything else, and when thatpower speaks we have got to obey. I didn't want to come. You think me adamn fool for coming. But I had to. That's all there is to it."
"I don't think you any sort of a fool," Saltash threw in briefly. "Youdid the only thing possible."
"Yes, the only thing. I came to her. If I hadn't come, she'd havedied--alone. But that alone wasn't why she sent for me--it was theprimary reason, but not the only one. There was another." Larpent ceasedhis pacing and deliberately faced the man who stood listening. "You knowwhat happened to-night," he said. "That child--the scaramouch you pickedout of the gutter at Valrosa--Toby--do you realize--have you grasped--themeaning of that yet?"
Saltash flung up his head with an arrogant gesture. "There is one thingabout her you have not grasped," he said. "But go on! I may as well hearit."
Larpent went on steadily. "When I came to her yesterday she told me of achild that had been born to her--a child she had loved but had beenunable to protect. It was a long story. Spentoli the Italian artist knowsit from beginning to end. You know Spentoli?"
"I know him," said Saltash.
"Spentoli is a blackguard," Larpent said, "the sort that is born, notmade afterwards. He has painted Rozelle over and over again. He ravesabout her. He may be a genius. He is certainly mad. He wanted the childfor a model, and Rozelle could not prevent it. So she told me. I believeshe was dependent upon him at the time. She had been ill. She has beenill for years with heart trouble. And so he had the child, but only for atime. The girl had a will of her own and broke away, joined a circus inCalifornia. He tracked her down, captured her again, tried to make aslave of her. But she was like a wild creature. She stabbed him one nightand fled. That was Rozelle's trouble. She had never been able to hear ofher again. She begged me to find--and save her. I promised to do my best.But--there was no need to search very far. To-night Spentoli pulled thewires again. It was he who switched on that light. It was he who killedRozelle. The girl in the gallery with you--Toby--was her daughter--andmine. You heard Rozelle cry out when she saw her. She never spoke again."
Larpent ceased to speak. He was no longer looking at Saltash. The farvision seemed to have caught his gaze again. He stared beyond.
Saltash watched him with working brows. "Are you wanting to
lay claim tothe girl?" he asked abruptly.
Larpent's face was grim. "I make no claim, my lord," he said. "But I havesworn to do my best for her. I shall keep that oath of mine."
"Meaning?" said Saltash.
The sailor's look met his squarely. "You know what I mean," he said.
Saltash began to grin. "A fight to a finish, what? I'm sorry, _mon ami_.But I've got you beaten at the start. Shall I tell you how you can bestkeep that somewhat rash oath of yours?"
"Well?" The word fell brief and uncompromising. Larpent's face was ascarved granite.
Saltash thrust forth a sudden hand and took him by the shoulder. "Just byeffacing yourself, _mon vieux_," he said lightly. "Go back to _The BlueMoon_, take her to Fairharbour, and await my orders there!"
It was carelessly, even jestingly, spoken, but a certain authority lurkedbehind the words. Charles Rex knew how to assert his kingship uponoccasion, knew also how to temper it with the touch of friendship.
Larpent's look did not waver, but some of the grimness went from it.Neither anger nor indignation had any place here. He continued to lookSaltash straight in the face.
"And that would be keeping my oath?" he said.
"Even so," said Saltash.
"You mean," Larpent spoke with slow emphasis, "that to leave her whereshe now is, is to leave her in safe and honourable keeping?"
The old mocking smile gleamed in Saltash's eyes. "Yes, I mean that," hesaid. "Do you believe me, Larpent?"
"Believe you, my lord?" Larpent seemed to hesitate.
The hand that held him moved with a hint of impatience. "I am asking,"said Saltash royally, "if you consider that my protection is adequatefor--my wife."
"Your--wife!" Larpent started in sharp surprise. "Your wife, did yousay?"
Saltash broke into a chuckle and dropped his hand from his captain'sshoulder. "Yes, just that," he said. "You are behind the times, myfriend. Are you going to congratulate me? We were married four days ago."
Larpent's hand came out to him abruptly. "It's the best thing you've everdone, my lord," he said. "And you will never regret it."
"What makes you say that?" said Saltash curiously.
Their hands gripped and fell apart. Larpent answered him in the brieffashion of the man whose words are few. "Mainly because you loved herenough to marry her when you could have had her without."
Saltash's laugh had the old derisive ring but there was no correspondinggleam of mockery in his eyes as he turned carelessly aside. "What is thisthing called love?" he said.