THE PURSUIT OF THE TOPAZ.
I was struggling heroically to force my arms through the sleeves of awell-starched shirt, when the man knocked upon the door of my bedroomfor the second time. I had heard him faintly five minutes before, whenmy head was as far in a basin as the limitations of Parisian toilet-warewould allow it to go; but now he knocked imperiously, and when I openedto him he stood hesitatingly with a foolish leer upon his face, and thatwhich he meant for discretion upon his lips.
"Well," said I, "what the devil do you want? Can't you see I'mdressing?"
At this he looked with obvious pity for me towards the basin, butquickly recovered himself.
"Dame," said he, with a fine Gascon accent, "there is a lady waiting formonsieur in the _salon_."
"A lady!" cried I with surprise; "who is she?"
"I am but three days in Paris," replied he, "and she is a stranger tome. If monsieur prefers it, I will ask her some questions."
"You will please do nothing of the sort; did she give her name?"
"I seem to remember that she did, but it has escaped me. I shall saythat you are engaged, and will see her to-morrow; monsieur leaves Parisat nine o'clock _hein_?"
He said this with another vulgar leer, but I turned round upon himfiercely, for I had begun to brush what is left of my hair.
"You impudent poltroon!" exclaimed I; "leave the room instantly, andtell the lady that I will be with her in five minutes."
"Ah," said he, "it is like that then? Very good; I shall safeguard yourinterests; trust in me. May I be permitted to light the candles?"
He said this with a fine eye to the bill; but I sent him away after somedisplay of temper, and finished my dressing quickly, wondering all thetime who the woman was, and what she wanted of me. Although I have livedin Paris nigh as much as in London, I have cultivated few acquaintancesthere other than those arising in the path of business. The domesticside of Parisian life has never appealed to me; I am equally callous tothe vaunted attractions of the dismal halls of light and twaddle withwhich the foreigner usually boasts acquaintance. It was, therefore, notonly with profound surprise, but also with a piquant curiosity, that Ifell to speculating upon the identity of my visitor, and the missionwhich brought her to me.
At the time of this occurrence I had been in the French capital for oneweek, being carried there by the announcement of the sale of theCountess Boccalini's jewels. After my usual custom, I had engaged roomsin the little Hotel de Bard, which is almost the neighbor of the GrandHotel, and had passed the week in the haggling and disputation whichare the salt of life to a jeweler. The result was the purchase of asuperb necklace of brilliants, which subsequently I sold here for ninethousand pounds, and of a quantity of smaller stones, and ofchrysoprase, the gem which is now becoming exceedingly fashionable inLondon. But on the night of which I am writing, my trading was done, anda ridiculous promise to go to the Opera Ball alone kept me in Paris. Howthe promise came to be given to my friend Tussal I cannot remember; buthe had assured me that the ball was the event of April, and that myeducation would remain imperfect until I had gazed upon the spectacle of_calicots_ and _flaneurs_ rioting in the great house which Garnierdesigned and Delaunay painted. And so pressing was he, and so largelydid I trade with him, that I yielded at last to his solicitations, andagreed to accept a seat in his box.
By the terms of his invitation I was to meet him at the Grand Cafe atmidnight, and thence was to proceed to the Opera House at half-pasttwelve. I had determined to dine quietly at my own hotel, and afterwardsto spend the intervening hours at the Theatre de la Porte St. Martin;for which purpose I dressed at a comparatively early hour; and dressing,received the stiff-necked Gascon's message that a lady wished to see me.Yet for what purpose she came, or who she might be, I had not an idea;and I turned over a hundred theories in my mind as I descended to thelittle reception room of the hotel, and there found her sitting by theuncovered table with a railway guide before her, but obviouslyagitated, and as obviously pretty.
When looking back upon the extraordinary mystery of which this childishgirl was for me the center, I have often remembered that she was one ofthe few Frenchwomen I have met who had a thoroughly English face. Herskin was white and pink, untouched by that olive tint which is soprevalent in Paris; her eyes were wondrously blue; she had rich brownhair shot with golden tresses, which gave to the whole a magnificentluster; she was entirely free of that restless gesture which is thedespair of a man of nerves. As I first saw her, she wore a captivatingapology for a bonnet, which seemed to consist of a spray of jet and ahairpin; but her hands were gloved as only a Frenchwoman's hands are,and a long cloak of steel-gray cloth edged with fur, fell about hershoulders, yet permitted one to see an exquisite outline of figurebeneath. Indeed, she made a perfect little picture, and her exceedingprettiness lost nothing for the rush of color to her cheeks when I spoketo her.
"I am Bernard Sutton," said I; "if it is possible that I can be of anyservice to you, the privilege is mine----"
"Thank you, a thousand times," said she, speaking with an accent whichadded to the charm of her English. "I have heard of you often fromMadame Carmalovitch, whose husband owned the famous opal; you were verykind to her----"
"I was exceedingly sorry for her," I replied; "are you a relation ofhers?"
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed; "I am Mademoiselle Edile Bernier, and I livewith my mother at 32, Rue Boissiere. You will laugh to hear why I cometo you. It is about something you alone can advise me upon, and, ofcourse, you will guess it at once."
"I won't waste your time by being ambiguous," said I; "you have come toconsult me about some jewels; pray let me see them."
There was no one else in the _salon_ at that time, the few people in thehotel being at dinner. The girl had, therefore, no hesitation in openinga bracelet case, which she had carried under her cloak, and showing me aplain band of gold which served as a mount for a small circle ofturquoise and an exceedingly large rose-pink topaz, which possessed allthe lustre of a diamond. I saw at once that the gem was from Brazil, andwas large enough and rich enough to be worth a considerable sum, but Ihave never known hunger for the topaz myself, and when I had taken onelook at the bracelet I handed it back to her.
"It's exceedingly pretty," said I, "and your stones are very good. Thereis a little green at the base of the larger turquoises, but you willhardly match the topaz in Paris. Are you seeking to know the value ofit?"
"I would never ask that," she answered quickly; "it was a gift from my_fiance_, Monsieur Georges Barre, whom you may know by name."
I vow it was very bewitching to watch the rosy blush which suffused hercheek when she made this confession. Yet she spoke with the ring ofpride in her voice, and I replied to her encouragingly while she puther treasure beneath her cloak, as though she feared that other eyesthan hers should rest even upon the case of it.
"Monsieur Barre is well known to me by name," said I; "his bust ofVictor Hugo from last year's salon is at this moment the chief ornamentof my library. I must now congratulate him for the second time."
At this she laughed, but the ripples died away quickly upon her face,and the look of haunting fear again troubled her eyes. I observed thatshe was reticent in speaking plainly to me, and did my best to help herout with it.
"You have not yet put to me," said I, "the precise question whichbrought you here. It concerns the bracelet, of course?"
"Ye--yes," said she; "but I am very much afraid you will laugh at me. Iwanted to ask you if, in your judgment--that is, with yourexperience--there is any reason why I should not wear my present at theOpera Ball to-night?"
Her confusion, when thus she had unburdened herself, was overwhelming.She scarce dared to lift her eyes to mine as she spoke, and one of herhands played restlessly with the railway guide, while the other wasclosed firmly about her bracelet. Nor did I, who know the potency ofwoman's superstition in the matter of their jewels, feel the touch of adesire to draw amusement from her dilemma.
"Come," said I, with
all the gentleness of voice I could command; "youhave been reading something silly. The topaz is the emblem of fidelity,it is also a traditional cure for indigestion. In other words, theancients were wise enough to know that love and good cooking are not sofar apart after all. Wear your jewel at the opera by all means, andregard it as an antidote to the _confetti_ you will consume."
She heard me thus far with a restrained smile upon her face, and indeed,she half rose as though to end the interview; but the evidence of fearwas still about her eyes, and there was the note of unsatisfiedquestioning in her voice when she said,--
"I was sure you would tell me that--but I am keeping you from yourdinner, and have already troubled you too much I fear."
My answer to this appeal was to close the door of the _salon_, which hadbeen open during our interview, and to draw a chair close to hers.
"Mademoiselle Bernier," said I, "the most important part of theintelligence you meant to bring to me remains unspoken. Let me encourageyou to tell me everything freely, and be assured that without yourexpress permission nothing you may say will be remembered by me."
"Thank you, very much," she said quietly, evidently regaining completeconfidence; "but I have nothing to conceal. A week ago, Monsieur Barregave me this bracelet with the stipulation that I should wear it at theball to-night. Two days ago, I received this letter, which I hesitatedto show even to you, lest it should be an injustice to the man I love."
She passed, with her words, a dirty scrap of a note to me, the leaf of asheet of the commonest lined scribbling paper; and I read upon it,written in very bad French, the warning--
"Mademoiselle. If you wear the topaz bracelet at the Opera Ball to-nightyou carry death upon your arm."
Thrice I read this; and as I repeated the words, the third time aloud, Isaw, shaping about the simplicity of the girl, a mystery which seemed asdeep, and at first sight as unfathomable, as any as I had known. As forthe momentary victim of it she sat watching me while I, all amazed, heldthe paper still in my hand, and did not hide my surprise, or, indeed,attempt to.
"Mademoiselle," said I, "you speak to me of very deep matters, I fear.But, of course, you have shown this letter to your relatives?"
"I have but one relative in the world," said she, "my mother, who is aparalytic. I dare not mention such a thing to her; she would die offear."
"And you yourself have no suspicion, no faint idea of the cause of sucha letter as that?"
"I cannot even attempt to guess at it."
"There are none of your lady friends who would hazard a joke with you?"
"Oh, no; they could not think of such a joke as that, and my few friendslove me, I believe."
I had now begun to pace up and down the room, being in a very whirl oftheory and conjecture. And, in truth, the problem presented so manypossibilities that it might well have troubled a man whose wholeoccupation was the solution of mysteries. Not that I lacked any clue,for my knowledge, such as it is, of the heartburnings, the jealousies,and the crimes which hover over the possession of precious stones atonce compelled me to the conclusion, either that M. Georges Barre hadbeen the victim of a previous _affaire du coeur_, or that his _fiancee_had been won only over trampled hopes and vain rivalries. In either case(the case of the woman who resented the man's marriage, or the man whoresented the woman's) was there ample warranty for such a letter asMademoiselle Bernier had received. Yet was I too slow to venture thequestion with her, and did so at last in sheer pity for herchildishness.
"Tell me," said I, stopping of a sudden before her, "what led you tome?"
"Madame Carmalovitch," said she. "I went to her first, but she knew youwere in Paris, and would not rest until I had consented to see you. Shewould have come with me, but is latterly almost always unable to facethe night air."
"You have no one else you would care to consult in such a case?"
"No one," said she.
"And if you go to the ball to-night without your bracelet----?"
She looked up at me with tears in her eyes when she answered,--
"Georges would never forgive me."
"Could you make no excuse to remain at home?"
"Oh, don't ask me to do that," she exclaimed pitifully, "I have livedfor the ball since the beginning of the year!"
It was a woman's plea, and not to be resisted. I saw at once that she_would_ go to the dance whatever words fell from me, and I turned fromthe subject to one more important.
"Since you are determined to be there to night," said I, "perhaps youwill give me Monsieur Georges Barre's address?"
"Oh, for the love of God, don't tell him!" she cried; "he would neverforgive me if I distrusted his present."
"My dear lady, I quite understand that. Really, you credit me with beinga very poor diplomatist. When I see him I doubt if I shall even mentionyour name to him."
"You promise me that?"
"I promise you, at least, that he shall never know of your coming to me.But I must exact another promise from you--it is that you will not wearthe topaz until you have my permission."
"But Georges expects me to wear it at the ball."
"He would not expect you to risk your life. And there is no reason, sofar as I can see, why I should not be able to give you permission, or torefuse it, by eleven o'clock. You do not go to the opera until midnight,I presume?"
"Monsieur Barre has promised to call in the Rue Boissiere at a quarterpast twelve. He has an _appartement_ in the Hotel Scribe. I can scarcego with him and leave his gift at home."
"Of course you can't, but I would suggest that, unless you hear from meby midnight, you carry it beneath your cloak as you do now. I shall meetyou in the Opera House, at any rate. Meanwhile, I have one more questionto put to you, forgive it from a man who is nearly old enough to be yourfather. Before you became the _fiancee_ of Monsieur Barre wasthere--well, was there any other in your thoughts?"
She looked at me with frankness shining clearly from her eyes, when shesaid,--
"Never for a moment. I was in a convent until last year, and I have notspoken to six men since I left."
"That is all I want to know. We will both dine now; but first let melook at your bracelet once more."
She handed me the case again; and I, leaving her for a moment to fetchmy glass, put the jewel under the strong light of the chandelier, andexamined every inch of it within and without. I discovered then thatwhich had escaped me upon first acquaintance with it. In one of thecrevices of the clasp there was a blood-stain, unmistakable, even fresh,yet so concealed by the embossment of the jewels that I did not wondershe had remained in ignorance of it. But when I gave it to her again Idoubt not that I was very serious, and this she observed, and madecomment upon.
"You see something now which you did not see ten minutes ago," shecried; "you will surely tell me?"
"I see a very pretty pink topaz," said I, forcing a smile, "and a younglady who is missing her dinner. Come, have some confidence in me, andput all these thoughts out of your mind until I ask you to remember themagain."
"I will," said she, "and can never thank you enough; you do not knowwhat a trouble you have taken from my mind."
Here was the end of our interview, for we had come to the door of thecourtyard as we spoke, and I put her at once into the neat littlebrougham which was waiting for her. There were but two other men, theconcierge, and a short, exceedingly dark man in evening dress, about theplace at that time; and as the brougham drove away it occurred to methat the latter fellow was watching me rather closely, upon which I hada good look at him; but he turned away sharply to the coffee-room, whileI went to my dinner in as fine a state of bewilderment as I have known.Never in my long years' work had I come across such a case, or one towhich a clue, save on the hypothesis of jealousy, was so completelywanting. Yet if jealousy were the motive of the warning, how, I asked,came the bloodstains upon the bracelet? And if the gem had anyconnection with a previous affair of Barre's why did he give it to his_fiancee_? The latter supposition seemed, in itself
, sufficient to upsetthe whole suggestion; nor could I find another; but I determined to callupon the sculptor at once, and to use every device at my command in theinterests of the helpless girl who had called upon me.
It was now near to ten o'clock, and, having dined hastily, I passedthrough the courtyard on my way to the Hotel Scribe. There I saw, to mysurprise, that the ill-visaged Italian--for so I judged he was--stillloitered about the place; but again appeared to avoid scrutiny. Thissecond appearance of his seemed to me--I knew not why--as the shaping ofa story from the air; but I had no courage then to speak to him, and Iwalked on down the boulevard, perceiving as I went that flambeausalready lighted the great Opera House, and that the _canaille_ werepreparing for the riot. When at last I came to the hotel, and sent up mycard, the answer was that Monsieur Barre had just left, and was notexpected to return until the next morning.
How completely this answer undid my purpose I could never set down. Theman was my only possible hope. In the haste of my conclusions I hadnever found time to remember that I might not catch him; that every_flaneur_ was hither and thither like a will-o'-the-wisp on such anight. In vain I asked, nay, implored, for information--they could giveme none; and when further importunity was plainly a farce, I had noalternative but to go to the Rue Boissiere, in the ultimate hope thatBarre's destination was there, and that he had called upon his _fiancee_before the hour of the appointment. But upon this I was determined, thatuntil I had found him Mademoiselle Bernier should not wear the bracelet,though I stood at her side from that hour to midnight.
My first attempt culminating unfruitfully, I quitted the passage of thehotel, being still bent upon the journey to the Rue Boissiere, and wasagain upon the pavement before the cafe, when I saw the Italian for thethird time. He stood upon the very edge of the curbstone, undisguisedlywaiting for me, so that upon a sudden impulse, which had wisdom in it, Iwalked over to him, and this time he did not turn away.
"Forgive the question," said I, in my miserable French, "but you arebetraying an interest in my movements which is unusual; in fact, youhave followed me from my hotel, I think?"
"Exactly," he replied, having even less of the tongue than I had, thoughI make no attempt to reproduce the vagaries of his idiom. "I followedyou here, as you say----"
"For what purpose, may I ask?"
"To warn you!"
"To warn me!"
"Certainly, since you carry in your pocket the topaz bracelet."
"Oh," said I, taken aback at his false conclusion, "it is that, is it? Iam much obliged to you, but I don't happen to possess such a thing."
"_Mon Dieu!_" said he; "then she did not sell it to you?"
"She certainly did not!"
"And she will wear it at the ball to-night?"
"Of course!"
"Mother of God! she is a dead woman then."
It is often possible to tell from the chord of voice a man strikes inconversation whether he be friend or enemy. I knew from the sympatheticnote in this earnest exclamation that I had to do with one who wishedwell to Mademoiselle Bernier; but the very sorrow of the words struck mechill with fear. It was plain that I must shape a bold course if I wouldlearn the whole moment of the mystery, and observing that the strangerwas a man of much shabbiness and undoubted poverty--if that might bejudged by his dress--I played the only possible card at once.
"Look here," said I, "this is no time for words like this. Come into thecafe with me, and I will pay you fifty pounds for what you know. Itshall be worth a hundred if you convince me that you have done asubstantial kindness to Mademoiselle Bernier."
He looked at his watch before he made answer. Then he said,--
"The offer is a fair one, but I do not seek your money. We have twohours in which to save her, but before I go with you, you shall swear tome that anything I may tell you will never be used against me here or inany other country."
"Of course," said I; "you don't think I am a policeman, do you? I haveno other interest but that of the lady."
"Nor I," said he; and he followed me into the cafe, but the place was sointolerably full that I bade him come with me to a little wine-shop inthe Rue Lafayette, and there we found a vacant table, and I ordered hisabsinthe and a glass of coffee for myself. Scarcely, however, had helighted his cigarette before he began to talk of the matter we had comeupon.
"First," said he, "tell me, did Mademoiselle speak of a letter she hadreceived?"
"She not only spoke of it, but she gave it to me to read," I replied.
"Well," said he, "I wrote it."
"I gathered that from your words," said I next; "and of course you wroteit for very good reasons?"
"You shall hear them," said he, sipping freely of his drink. "Thatbracelet was last worn at the _Mi-Careme_ Ball in Marseilles by a girlnamed Berthe Duval. She was carried from the ball-room stabbed horribly,at one o'clock in the morning. She died in my arms, for in one week shewas to have been my wife."
"And the assassin?" I asked.
"Was hunted for by the police in vain," he continued. "I myself offeredevery shilling that I had to find him, but, despite the activity of usall, he was never so much as named. Let us go back another year--it ispainful enough for me because such a retrogression recalls to me the onepassion of my life--a passion beside which the affair at Marseilles isnot to be spoken of. God knows that the memory of the woman I refer tois at this moment eating out my heart. She was an Italian girl, sixteenyears old when she died, and I think--why should I not?--that the worldhas never held a more beautiful creature. Well, she wore the bracelet,now about twenty-six months ago, at the _Mardi Gras_ Ball in Savona, andshe fell dead before my very eyes ten minutes after she had entered theball-room. She had drunk of poisoned coffee, and no man but one knew bywhose hand the death had come to her."
"You say no man but one; that one was----"
"Myself!"
"Then you knew who killed the other victim at Marseilles?"
"I knew, as you say; but to know and to arrest are different things."
"Have you any idea as to the man's whereabouts now?"
"Every idea; he was in Paris three days ago--he was in Paris to-day. Ishould judge it more than likely that he will be at the Opera Ballto-night."
Before he could say more I rose from my chair and summoned the headwaiter of the place to me. Then I wrote an urgent message upon a leaf ofmy note-book, and despatched it by a cab to 32, Rue Boissiere. Themessage implored Mademoiselle Bernier, as she valued her life, to leavethe bracelet at home for this night at any rate.
"Now," said I, "we can talk still at our leisure. You have taken me backto Marseilles fourteen months ago; let us have the chapter in your lifewhich precedes that one."
He finished off his absinthe, and called for another glass before hewould answer me. At last he said,--
"You ask me to speak of things which I would well forget. I havesufficient confidence in you, however, to trust my safety in your hands.The story is not a long one. Three years ago I was a struggling painterin Savona, giving half my life to a study of the pictures in thecathedral--you may know the work of Antonio Semini there--and the otherhalf to the worship of Pauline di Chigi, the daughter of a silversmithwho lives over against the Hotel Royal. Needless to tell you of mypoverty, or of my belief in myself. I lived then in the day-dreams whichcome at the seed-time of art; they were broken only by the waywardnessof the girl, by her womanly fickleness, by the riches of the men whosought her. It would weary you to hear of my long nights of agonyfollowing the momentary success of this man or that who wooed her, of mycurses upon my own poverty, of my bitterness, and sometimes even of myhopelessness. There is something of this sort in the life of every poorman, but the romance will scarce bear the light of other eyes; it has aplace in my story only in so far as it prompted me to steal the topaz,if stealing is the word for the act which gave me its possession.
"But _arrivons_! In the end of the January of last year, I, strugglingto embrace a career in which I have failed because I have geniu
s and notalent, obtained a commission from the Dominican monks to go to theValley of San Bernardo, and to take up my residence there while Iretouched some of the more modern and more faded pictures in thesanctuary of Nostra Signora di Misericordia. The shrine and village liein the mountains five miles above Savona. The former is now regainingits splendor, though grievously pillaged by the French and by latervandals. The work would have been recreation to me had it not been forPauline, whom I left to the persecution of a fat and soulless trader,and to the solicitations of her father that she would marry him. The newlover loaded her with presents and with the follies of speech which amiddle-aged man who is amorous can be guilty of. I could give hernothing but the promise of a future, and that being without market valuedid not convince her. While she would make pretence of affection for mewhen we were alone, she did nothing to repulse the other. Thus I leftSavona with her kisses on my lips, and rage of her wantonness in myheart; and for three weeks I labored patiently in the mountain village;and my art lifted me even beyond the spell of the girl.
"It was at the end of the third week that my thoughts were ardentlyrecalled to her by a circumstance which cannot fail to appear remarkableto you. I was walking in the late afternoon of the Sunday in the pathwhich leads one high amongst the mountains, here rising green andpurple, and afar with snowcaps above this lovely spot; and, chancing toturn aside from the road and to plunge into a shrubbery, I sat at lastupon the log of a tree perched at the side of as wild a glen as I haveseen in Italy. Below me were rocks of marble-black, yellow, red--allcolors; aloe trees flourished abundantly, springing from every cranny ofthe dell; and though the reign of winter was not done, flowers blossomedeverywhere, and multitudinous shrubs were rich in green and buds. Here Isat for an hour buried in my musings, and when at last I left it was byan overgrown path across the dingle. I found then that the oppositeside of the place was vastly steeper than the one by which I haddescended; in fact, I mounted it with difficulty; and when near to thesummit, I clung to the saplings and the branches for sheer foothold.This action brought all my trouble, for of a sudden, just as I had cometo the top, a shrub to which I was holding gave at the roots, andgiving, sent me rolling to the bottom again with a great quantity ofsoft earth all about me and my bones aching indescribably.
"For some minutes I sat, being dizzy and shaken, on the soft grass. WhenI could look around me I saw a strange thing. In a mound of the mouldwhich had fallen there was a crucifix of gold. Thickly covered with theclammy earth as it was, dulled and tarnished with long burial, the valueof the thing was unmistakable. Rubies were set in the hands for blood,there was a crown of diamonds for thorns; the whole was ornamented witha sprinkling of jewels, whose fire was brilliant even through the pastyclay which clung upon the cross. I need scarce tell you that all thecuriosity which is a part of me was whetted at this unexpected sight;and believing that I had come upon a very mine of treasure, I shook themould off me, and went quickly by the easier path to the hill-top andthe place of the landslip.
"When I could look around me, I saw a strange thing."
--_Page 206_]
"Twilight was now rushing through the mountains, and a steely light,soon to turn into darkness, fell upon the ravine; yet I was able stillto see clearly enough for my purpose--and for my disappointment. It istrue that the slip of the earth from the hillside disclosed acavernous hole which had been dug, no doubt, many years ago; but of thekind of treasure whose image had leaped into my mind I saw little. Thefew bright things that lay about in the part of the trough whichremained were entirely such vessels as serve priests in the Mass. Therewas a pyx in silver, a paten in gold, and two smaller ones; a monstrancewith some exceedingly fine diamonds and the topaz in it, and a goldchalice much indented. I judged at once that these things had beenburied either when the French plunderers came to Italy, or after thetrouble of '70. It was equally clear that they were the property of theDominicans whose house was hard by; and either that their presenthiding-place was unknown, or that they had been left in concealment forsome reason of diplomacy. In any case, the value of the stones in themonstrance was unquestionable; but I am an Italian, as you see, and Ibelieved then, as now, in nothing but omens. For a long while no thoughtof touching these things, scarce even of handling them--so strong inhuman flesh is the grain of early superstition--came to me. I sat theregazing at them and watching the light of the topaz sparkling even abovethe radiance of the smaller diamonds--sat, in fact, until it was quitedark and the miasma rose from the valley. Then, in one of those flashesof thought which often mean much to a man, I had it in my mind that boththe diamonds and the topaz above them would sit well upon the arms ofPauline; I even saw her in my fancy coquetting to me for the present. Ibegan to laugh aloud at the other thoughts, to call them echoes ofchildish schooling, to handle the chalice and the ring of jewels, and totell myself that there would be no bigger fool in Europe if I did nottake them. Need I tell you that the reasoning convinced me? and quickly,as the cold of the mist grew more intense, I took the baubles in myhand, still lacking the courage to secure the chalice and the crucifix,and rose to leave the place.
"Now, for the first time, I think, you are beginning to see the point ofmy story. The strangest part of it yet remains. I have told you thatdark had fallen upon the ravine as I rose up to quit it, and that mistsrose thick from the valley with the early night. You will, therefore,easily understand my discomfiture when, reflected upon the white curtainof fog, I saw the dancing light of a lantern. In the next moment a man,young but ragged, with a full-bearded face, and the cape of a priestabout his shoulders, stood swinging his lantern before me, and lookingdown at the tomb of the jewels by our feet. I know not why, but therewas something of such power and command writ upon the monk's face that Ihave never called him by any other name than the Christ. With whatfeelings he inspired me I cannot tell you. Terror, human terror, is noword for my experience; my whole being seemed stricken with anapprehension which tortured me and made my brain burn. God! the memoryshakes me even now, and I have seen him thrice since, and the fear isgreater every time I look upon his face.
"Thus I stood facing the man when he opened his lips to curse me. Ibelieve now, and shall always believe, that he is nothing but a madman,whose brain has failed from long fasting. Be that as it may, his wordsring yet in my ears. If you search the world through, read the curseupon Barbarossa, and all the volumes of anathema, you will never findsuch a blasting accusation as the man spoke when he saw the monstrancein my hand. So dreadful was it that I reeled before him; and, losing allcommand, I struck him down with my stick and fled the place. The nextday I quitted the valley of San Bernardo, and in a week Pauline waswearing the topaz, set by her father as a bracelet, and the diamondssparkled upon her fingers. She covered me with kisses for the gift, andin her embraces I forgot the madman of the hills, and my melancholypassed.
"The rest of my story you know. Pauline wore the topaz at the _MardiGras_ Ball, and died ten minutes after she had entered the room. A yearlater, having fled from Italy, I became engaged _pour passer le temps_to Berthe Duval, at Marseilles. A man has many love affairs, but onlyone passion. I was not in love with her, but she was rich, and troubledherself to get a smattering of art-talk, which amused me. One day shefound the topaz in my studio and begged it of me. She died as you haveheard; and I, poor as always, and now pursued by the damning curse, cameto Paris, selling the topaz on my way here to M. Georges Barre. I havenever ceased to regret that which I did; I have lamented it the mostsince I saw the exquisite creature who is to be his wife. And when,three days ago, I discovered the madman who had cursed me at SanBernardo in the very Rue Boissiere where Mademoiselle Bernier lives, Idetermined to save her though the deed cost me a confession and myliberty."
* * * * *
He had ceased to speak, and had drunk off the remainder of his absinthe,while his amazing story, which I could in no way believe, went whirlingthrough my brain, and yet gave to me no shape of reality. At the first Iwas led to t
hink that he was the madman, and I cracked for sitting thereand hearing the extraordinary narration he had contrived; but there wassomething in his manner which forbade any long continuance of theassumption; and while I had no leisure to bring critical scrutiny uponhis tale, it yet impressed me to immediate action.
"Come," said I, "presuming that your picture is not highly colored, itis quite time we were at the opera; it is striking half-past twelve now.You know what women are. Mademoiselle Bernier may wear the bracelet inthe face of everything I have said; and I am inclined to think with youthat it is not wise for her to do so."
"God forbid that she should," said he; and with that we went outtogether.
The weather at that time was cold and cheerless; a bleak wind sweptround the corners of the streets; and the lights which illumined theperistyle of the great building swayed and flickered with lappingtongues of red and yellow. But once inside, the glow of light and colorpassed description. Here, whirling, shouting, dancing, leaping, themaskers rioted, almost drowning with their clamor the blare of the band;the superb entrance hall was ablaze with the flash of tawdry jewels andshining raiment; kings and queens, knights and courtiers, _calicots_ andclowns, swarmed up the massive staircase, struggling, screaming,pushing, regardless of everything but the madness of the scene within.It was with the greatest difficulty that I reached Tussal's box, andtherefrom looking down upon the wild carnival, seeing at the first but amedley of form and color, a reckless horde of dancers, grisettes,shepherdesses, over whose heads _confetti_ hurtled, or the _spirales_which the youths love. What with the dust and the scream of voices, andthe chatter of the thousand tongues, and the heroic efforts of thefiddlers, it was almost impossible to locate anything or any one; butthe Italian, readier than I, pointed out to me at last the one wesought; and I observed her sitting in a box quite close to us, where sheseemed to talk with all a girl's _esprit_ to the young sculptor at herside. A fairer spectacle never was than that of this childish creature,quaintly dressed in a simple gown of white and black, with a necklace ofpearls about her throat, and a bouquet of roses in her hand; but thevery sight of her turned me sick with fear, for she wore upon her armthe cursed topaz, and you could see the light of it half over the house.
The Italian and I perceived the thing at the one time; indeed, we rosefrom our seats together.
"For the love of Heaven go to her!" said he; "tell the whole story toboth of them; she may not have ten minutes to live."
He had need to say no more, for I was in the _foyer_ as he spoke; butscarce had I opened the door of Barre's box--which was upon the groundfloor, almost at the level of the dancers--when an appalling scream roseup even above the clamor of the throng. For one moment, as I stoodquaking with my fears, and sore tempted to draw back, I saw nothing buta haze of white smoke, a vision of lurid faces and black forms, andsharper than them all, the figure of Barre himself bending over the bodyof the insensible girl. Then, amidst the babbling of voices, and thesobbing of women, and the cry of the man, which was the most bitter cryimaginable, I heard the words, "Stop the student in the black cloak--hehas shot Mademoiselle!"
But the girl lay dead, with a bullet through her heart.
* * * * *
The tragedy at the Opera House was talk for many days in Paris; but theassassin was never taken, nor indeed, heard of. The police inclined tothe theory that some masquerader had discharged a pistol by accident inthe heat of the riot; and to this theory most people inclined. But therewas a large sympathy for M. Georges Barre, who lay near to death formany weeks after the shock, and who quitted the capital subsequently totake up his residence in London. I told him the story the Italian hadnarrated to me so soon as he was well enough to hear it; but, like thepolice of Paris who had it also, I could see that he did not believe aword of it. He sold me the topaz bracelet, however, and I have it tothis day, for I want the courage to sell it.
Of the Italian I never heard again. I saw him last immediately after thedrama of the ball, when he lurched away from me, wringing his handspitifully, begging me to tell his story to the police, and crying that acurse was upon him. But I take it, in conjunction with his confession,as a little curious that a madman, described as an ecclesiastic ofSavona, should have thrown himself before a train in the Gare du Nordtwo days after the death of Mademoiselle Bernier.
THE RIPENING RUBIES.