XIV
SOMEONE TELEPHONED
The nuns of the order of Saint Augustin were not expelled in consequenceof the Decrees. This was a special favour, but one fully justified,because of the incalculable benefits this community conferred onsuffering humanity. The vast convent of rue de la Glaciere continues toserve as a shelter for these holy women, and as a sort of hospital forthe sick. For close on a hundred years, generation after generation ofthose living near its walls have heard the convent clock sound the hoursin solemn tones; so, too, the convent chapel's shrill-voiced bells havenever failed to remind the faithful that the daily offices of theirchurch are being said and sung by the holy sisters within the hallowedwalls.
In the vast quarter of Paris, peopled with hospitals and prisons, theconvent shows a stern front in the shape of a high, blackened wall. Agreat courtyard gate, in which a window with iron bars and grating isthe only visible opening to the exterior world.
About half-past six in the morning, slightly out of breath with hisrapid walk from the Metropolitan station, Jerome Fandor rang the conventdoor bell. The sound could be heard echoing and re-echoing in thevaulted corridors, till it died away in the stony distance. There was asilence: then the iron-barred window was half opened, and Fandor heard avoice asking:
"What do you want, monsieur?"
"I wish to speak to Madame the Superior," replied Fandor.
The window was closed again and a lengthy silence followed. Then,slowly, the heavy entrance gate swung half open. Fandor entered theconvent. Under the arched doorway, a nun received him with a slightsalutation, and turned her back.
"Kindly follow me," she murmured.
Fandor followed along a narrow passage, on one side of which were cells,whilst on the other, it opened by means of large bays, on a vastrectangular cloister quite deserted. A door-window in the passage wasajar: the nun stopped here and said:
"Kindly wait in this parlour, and be good enough to let me have yourcard. I will inform our Mother Superior that you wish to see her."
The room in which our journalist found himself was severely furnished:its walls were white, on them hung a great ivory crucifix, and here andthere, a simple religious picture framed in ebony. A few chairs wereranged in a circle about an oval table: on the floor, polished till itshone like a mirror, were a few small mats, which gave a touch ofcommon-place comfort to the icy regularity of this parlour, set apartfor official visits.
What emotions, what dramas, what joys, have had this parlour for asetting! It is there that the life of the cloister touches mundaneexistence; it is there the nuns receive their future companions in thereligious life and their weeping families; it is there the parents ofthose in the convent infirmary come to hear from the doctor's lips thedecrees of life or death; for the convent is not only a retreat, it isan asylum for the sick, the ailing, recommended to their patients by themost eminent doctors, the most prominent surgeons.
Accustomed though he was to every kind of human misery, Fandor shudderedat the thought of all these walls had seen and heard. His reflectionswere broken by the arrival of a little old lady, whose eyes shonestrangely luminous in her pale and wrinkled face--a face showing thehighest distinction.
Fandor made a deep bow: it might have expressed the reverence of theworld to religion.
"Madame la Superieure," murmured he, "I have come to pay my respects toyou and to ask for news of your boarder."
The Mother Superior, in a gay tone, which contrasted with her cold andreserved appearance, replied at once:
"Ah, you preferred to come yourself! You had not the patience to wait atthe telephone? I quite understand. Would you believe it, while thesister, who has charge of this young girl, was being sent for, thecommunication was cut off. That is why we could not give you anyinformation."
Fandor stared.
"But I do not understand, madame?"
The Mother Superior replied:
"Was it not you then who telephoned this morning to ask for news ofMademoiselle Dollon?"
"I certainly did not do so!"
"In that case, I do not understand what it means, either! But it doesnot matter much: you shall see your protegee now."
The Mother Superior rang: a sister appeared.
"Sister, will you take this gentleman to Mademoiselle Dollon! She waswalking in the park a short while ago, and is probably there now....Monsieur, I bid you good day."
Gliding swiftly and noiselessly over the polished floor, the MotherSuperior disappeared. The nun led the way and Fandor followed: he wasvery much upset by what the Mother Superior had just told him.
"How had Elizabeth's place of refuge been so quickly discovered?... Whocould have telephoned to get news of her?"
The nun had led Fandor across the great rectangular courtyard; then bycorridors, and many winding, vaulted passages, they had come out on to aterrace, overlooking an immense park, which extended further than theeye could see. Here were bosky dells, ancient trees, bowers and grooves,meadows where milky mothers chewed the cud in the shade of blossomingapple trees. It might have been in Normandy, a hundred leagues fromParis!
The nun turned to the admiring Fandor.
"The young lady you seek, monsieur, is coming along this path: there sheis!... I will leave you."
Fandor had seen Elizabeth's graceful figure moving towards him, throwninto charming relief by the country landscape flooded with sunshine. Inher modest mourning dress, with her fair shining hair, she appearedprettier than ever: a touching figure of sorrowing beauty!
Elizabeth pressed Fandor's hands warmly.
"Oh, thank you, monsieur, thank you!" she cried, "for having come to seeme this morning. I know how little spare time you have! I feel vexedwith myself for putting you out so ... but you see"--Elizabeth could notrepress a sob--"I am so alone ... so desolate ... I have lost everythingI cared for ... and you are the only person I can trust and confide innow!... I feel like a bit of wreckage at the mercy of wind and wave; Ifeel as though I were surrounded by enemies: I live in a nightmare....What should I do without you to turn to?..."
Our young journalist, moved by such great misfortune so simply, socandidly expressed, returned the pressure of Elizabeth's hands.
"You know, mademoiselle," he said softly, but in a voice vibrating withsympathetic emotion--the only sign of feeling he permitted himself toshow--"you know that you can count absolutely on me. In getting you totake a few days' rest in this retreat, I felt I was doing what was bestfor you. You are not solitary; but your surroundings are peaceful andfriendly, and should you have enemies, though I am loath to think it,you are sheltered here beyond their reach. With reference to that, haveyou given your address to anyone, since yesterday?"
"To no one," replied Elizabeth. "Has anyone by chance?..."
She looked troubled, and gave an anxious questioning glance at Fandor.
He did not want to frighten the much-tried girl, but he wished to solvethe mystery of the unaccountable telephone call.
"Oh, I just wished to know, mademoiselle.... Now, tell me, have youquite recovered from ... your experience of the other day?"
"Ah, monsieur, I owe my life to you!" cried Elizabeth. "For, I amcertain that someone wished to get rid of me ... don't you agree withme?... I must have been dosed with some narcotic, just as they dosed mypoor brother, for I am now absolutely convinced that he also was sent tosleep and poisoned...."
"And that he is dead! Is that not so?" asked Fandor in a low voice.
Without hesitation, in a tearful voice, Elizabeth repeated:
"And that he is dead. You have given me so many proofs that it is so,that I can no longer doubt it, alas! But I will take courage, as Ipromised you I would. I ought to live, that I may strive to rehabilitatehis memory, and restore to him his reputation as a man of probity, ofhonour, to which he is entitled. But directly I begin to think about thehorrible mystery in which I am involved, my very reason seems tototter--you can understand that, can you not? I don't understand, Idon't know, I can't guess ...
oh!..."
"But," interrupted Fandor, "we must seriously consider the situation inall its bearings. It may cause you atrocious suffering, but you mustsummon all your courage, mademoiselle. We must discuss it."
Fandor and Elizabeth had moved away from the terrace, and were now inthe leafy solitudes of the park.
Fandor began:
"There is that paper with its list of names, written in green ink,mademoiselle! It was a mistake on your part not to attach any importanceto it until you fancied, and perhaps rightly, that someone had tried tosteal it from you. Come now, can you tell me whether this list is stillin your possession, or not?"
Elizabeth shook her head sadly.
"I do not know, I cannot tell! My poor head is so bewildered, and I findit all the trouble in the world to collect my thoughts. I told you, theother day, that this list had disappeared from a little red pocket book,that I had put on the chimney piece of my room at Auteuil. But the moreI think it over, the more doubtful I am.... It seems to me now, thatthis list ought to be, must be still--unless it has been stolensince--in the big trunk, into which I threw, pell-mell, the papers andbooks my brother left scattered about his writing table. To be quitesure about this, we must return to Auteuil.... But perhaps it isuseless; because when I wanted to send it to you some forty-eight hoursago, I searched everywhere for the wretched thing, and in vain!... I amnot even sure now that I brought it away with me from rue Norvins!"
Fandor gently comforted the distracted girl whose eyes were full oftears.
"Do not be disheartened. Try rather to put together in your memory whatwas written in this paper! You told me, surely, that there were names inthis list of persons you knew, or had heard of? Search your memory alittle, mademoiselle."
"I don't know! I cannot remember!" cried Elizabeth nervously.
"Come now," said Fandor encouragingly, "I know an excellent way ofassisting the memory. The eyes are like a sensitive photographic plate:what the brain does not always retain, the mirror of the eye registers:do not try to remember, but try, as it were, to read on white paper whatyour eyes saw!..."
"Let us sit down a minute and I will help you to do it!" Fandor pointedout a rustic seat, under the trees, in front of which was a gardentable. They sat down together and Fandor drew from his pocket a sheet ofwhite paper and his fountain pen.
Elizabeth's arm touched his shoulder.
As though electrified by this contact, the two young people trembled,their eyes met in a glance full of troubled emotion--a feeling new toboth--whose immense significance neither understood. Fandor remainedspeechless, and Elizabeth blushed.
They gazed at each other, embarrassed, not knowing what to say forthemselves; and their embarrassment was only relieved by the appearanceof the sister who attended to the turning box at the entrance gate. Shestood at the top of the steps leading down to the park and calledElizabeth.
"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! There is someone on the telephone whowishes to speak to you!"
Fandor rose.
"Will you allow me to accompany you, mademoiselle? I am very curious toknow whether the person now asking for you is identical with the personwho asked for you a little while ago?"
The young couple hurried to the big parlour, and Elizabeth went to thetelephone.
"Hullo?..."
Elizabeth had handed one of the receivers to Fandor. He heard avoice--an unknown voice, but beyond question masculine--who said, overthe wire:
"Hullo!... Is it really Mademoiselle Dollon to whom I have the honour ofspeaking?"
"Yes, monsieur. Who is speaking to me?"
But just as Elizabeth was about to repeat her question, Fandor thoughthe heard whoever had called up Elizabeth, hang up the receivers. Noreply reached them!...
Elizabeth cried impatiently:
"Hullo!... Hullo!... Who is speaking to me?"
But there was no one at the end of the line!
Fandor swore softly to himself, then seizing the two receivers hecalled:
"Hullo! Come, monsieur, reply!... Whom do you want? Who are you?"
He could not obtain any reply.
Fandor rang up the central office. When the telephone girl answered, hecalled:
"Mademoiselle, why have you cut me off?"
"But I have done nothing of the kind, monsieur!"
"But I cannot get any reply!"
"It is because the receivers have been hung up by whoever called you. Iassure you that is so."
"What was my caller's number?"
"I cannot tell you that, monsieur--the rules forbid it."
Fandor knew this quite well, so he did not insist further. But, as heturned away from the telephone, a dull anger smouldered within him.
"Who was this mysterious individual who had called Elizabeth twice overthe telephone, and then, no sooner put into communication with her, hadrefused to talk to her?"
Fandor felt nervous, anxious, exasperated by this incident; but it wouldnever do to trouble his young friend to no good purpose. He led her backto the garden.
"Where were we in our talk, monsieur?" asked Elizabeth.
With a considerable effort, the journalist collected his thoughts.
"We were discussing the mysterious paper found at your brother's,mademoiselle."
In agreement with Elizabeth, Jerome Fandor determined the approximatesize of this list of addresses. He tore from his note-book a sheet ofwhite paper.
Elizabeth looked fixedly at the white sheet for a long time, as though,by concentrated will power, she could force the mysterious names whichshe read some days before on the original paper, to rise up in front ofher eyes. Certainly it seemed to her that on this list figured the nameof her brother, that of the Baroness de Vibray, lawyer Gerin's also:then she remembered a double name, a name not unknown to her, which hadappeared in the list.
"Barbey-Nanteuil!" she suddenly cried. "Yes, I do believe those twonames were on it!"
Fandor smiled. Encouraged by his smile and the results of thissemi-clairvoyant attempt, Elizabeth allowed her thoughts free play.
"I am sure of it: there was even a mistake in spelling: _Nanteuil_ wasspelled _Nauteuil_: the bankers were third or fourth on the list, and Iam certain now that the Baroness de Vibray's name headed the list....There was also a date, composed of two figures--a 1 ... then--wait aminute!... a figure with a tail to it ... that is to say, it could onlyhave been a 5, a 7, or a 9.... I cannot remember which. Then there wereother names I had never heard of."
"Try, mademoiselle, to remember...."
There was a silence. Fandor was puzzling over the figureshe had written down in the order Elizabeth had mentionedthem--fifteen--seventeen--nineteen--but what could he deduce fromthem?... Ah!... The mysterious robbery of rue du Quatre Septembre wascommitted on May 15th! There may be a clue there! The thread of Fandor'sreflections were abruptly broken by a cry from Elizabeth.
"I have recalled a name--something like ... Thomas!... Does that tellyou anything?"
"Thomas?" repeated Jerome Fandor slowly.... "I don't see...."
But suddenly he saw light!
He jumped up:
"Isn't it Thomery?" cried he, intensely excited. "Are you notconfounding Thomas with Thomery?"
Elizabeth, taken aback, confused, tried hard to remember: she threshedher memory with knitted brows.
"It may be so," she declared. "I see quite clearly the first letters ofthe word--Thom ... written in a large hand,... then the rest isindistinct ... but I have the impression that the end of the word islonger than the last syllable of Thomas."
"Perhaps you are right!"
Fandor was no longer listening to her. He had left the rustic bench, andwithout paying any attention to Elizabeth, he began walking up and downthe shady path, talking to himself in a low tone, as was his habit whenhe wished to reduce his thoughts to order.
"Thomas--that is Thomery; Jacques Dollon, the Baroness de Vibray,Barbey-Nanteuil, lawyer Gerin--but they are all the victims of themysterious band that plots and plans in the shade
!... It isincomprehensible--but we shall find a way to get to the bottom of itall!"
Fandor returned to Elizabeth.
"We shall get to the bottom of these mysteries," cried he, with sotriumphant an air, his face shining with joy, that Elizabeth, in spiteof her torturing anxieties, could not help smiling.
They were alone in these green and flowery spaces. A great peace was allabout them. The birds were singing, the breeze lightly stirred the treesand bushes with caressing breaths.... Fandor gazed tenderly atElizabeth, very tenderly.... The young girl smiled tremulously, as shemet this glance of lover-like tenderness.
"We shall get to the bottom of it," repeated Fandor. "You will see, Ipromise you...."
Their glances mingled in a mute communion of thought and feeling....Spontaneously, their hands met and clasped.... They were standing closetogether, and theirs the consciousness of living through anunforgettable moment: they felt most vividly alive together. How youngthey were! How intoxicating, a moment!... The world of outside thingsceased to exist for them.... They were enwrapt in a glowing world oftheir own!... Fandor's hand slid to Elizabeth's shoulder; he leanedtowards the unresisting girl, and with closed eyes, their lips met in along kiss--a kiss all ecstasy....
It was a moment's mutual madness!... The instant past, both knew it.Torn from this momentary dream of bliss, they gazed at each other,embarrassed, greatly moved: for that very reason they wished to part.Ah, this was not the moment to speak of love, to dream of happiness andmutual joy! Dark, dreadful mysteries enclosed them: it was a sinisternet they struggled in: as yet they could see no clear way out!... Theyhad no right to be themselves until the mysteries were cleared away....They could not belong to each other now!
* * * * *
Fandor, when taking leave of Elizabeth, expressed a wish that she shouldnot accompany him to the convent; and she, still shaken with emotion,had not insisted on doing so.
As he was on the point of stepping into the street, a sister came up tohim.
"You are Monsieur Jerome Fandor?"
"Yes, sister."
"Our Mother Superior wishes to speak to you."
Our journalist bowed acquiescence.
Some minutes later, the Mother Superior joined him in the large parlour.
"Monsieur," she began, "I must apologise for having sent for you, but Iwished to have a necessary talk with you."
Fandor interrupted the saintly nun.
"And I must apologise, reverend Mother, for not having come to pay myrespects to you before leaving. Had I not been much troubled, I shouldnever have dreamt of leaving without thanking you for the help you havebeen good enough to give me."
The nun looked at him questioningly. Fandor continued:
"In agreeing to receive Mademoiselle Elizabeth Dollon as a boarder, youhave done a deed of true charity: this poor girl is so unhappy, sotried, so unfortunate, that I really do not know where she could havefound a better refuge than in this convent under your shelteringcare.... I ..."
But the nun would not allow Fandor to continue.
"It is precisely about Mademoiselle Dollon that I wish to speak toyou.... Of course, I should be glad to help and comfort one sufferingfrom a real misfortune; but I must confess, that when MademoiselleDollon presented herself here as a boarder, I was ignorant of the exactnature of the scandal in which she is involved."
Fandor was taken aback at the harsh tone of the nun's speech.
"Good Heavens, madame, what do you mean to insinuate?"
"I have just been informed, monsieur, of the exact nature of therelations which existed between the criminal, Jacques Dollon, and Madamede Vibray."
Fandor stiffened with indignation.
"It is false!" he cried. "Utterly false! You have been misinformed!"
He stopped short. The nun signified by a movement of her hand thatfurther protests were useless.
"In any case, whether false or not, it is quite certain that we cannotkeep this girl here any longer, for her name will, in the end, do harmto the respectability of this house."
Fandor was astounded at this extraordinary statement.
"In other words," said he, "you refuse to keep Mademoiselle here anylonger as a boarder?"
"Yes, monsieur!"
The journalist moved a step or two, then, with bent head, seemed to beturning something over in his mind.
"It comes to this, madame, you are not giving me your true reasonsfor ..."
Again the nun interrupted the young man with a gesture.
"True, monsieur, I should have preferred not to mention my real and verydefinite reasons which make it an imperative duty that I should requestMademoiselle Dollon to seek another refuge. Nevertheless, since youinsist, I will tell you that Mademoiselle Dollon's attitude justnow--her behaviour--is what we cannot possibly allow...."
"Good Heavens! What do you wish to insinuate now, madame?"
"You kissed her, monsieur. I regret that you have forced me to go intodetails. I regret that you have compelled me to put into words this--Iwill not allow you to turn this religious house into a lover's meetingplace! Am I clear?"
Before Fandor had time to protest, the nun gave him a curt bow, andprepared to leave him.
The young journalist recalled her. He was angry; all the more so,because he knew that the Mother Superior had some justification for theattitude she had taken up. Alas! All his protestations were vain!
"Very well, madame," he said at last. "You are utterly mistaken; but Irecognise that your attitude has some colour of justification, and I bowto your decision, based on misinformation and a mistake though it be.Kindly allow me two days' grace, that I may find another refuge forMademoiselle Dollon!"
With a movement of her head the nun signified her assent; then, with afinal bow, she left the parlour.
Crestfallen, but full of angry resolve, Jerome Fandor turned his back onthe convent.