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  STUDIES IN LOVE AND IN TERROR

  BY

  MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES

  (Marie Adelaide Belloc Lowndes)

  _Short Story Index Reprint Series_

  BOOKS FOR LIBRARIES PRESS FREEPORT, NEW YORK

  First Published 1913

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  PAGE

  PRICE OF ADMIRALTY 1

  THE CHILD 99

  ST. CATHERINE'S EVE 131

  THE WOMAN FROM PURGATORY 187

  WHY THEY MARRIED 227

  PRICE OF ADMIRALTY

  "O mort, vieux capitaine, il est temps! levons l'ancre! Ce pays nous ennuie, O mort! Appareillons!"

  I

  Claire de Wissant, wife of Jacques de Wissant, Mayor of Falaise, stoodin the morning sunlight, graceful with a proud, instinctive grace ofpoise and gesture, on a wind-blown path close to the edge of the cliff.

  At some little distance to her left rose the sloping, mansard roofs ofthe Pavillon de Wissant, the charming country house to which her husbandhad brought her, a seventeen year old bride, ten long years ago.

  She was now gazing eagerly out to sea, shielding her grey, heavy-liddedeyes with her right hand. From her left hand hung a steel chain, towhich was attached a small key.

  A hot haze lay heavily over the great sweep of deep blue waters. Itblotted out the low grey line on the horizon which, on the majority ofeach year's days, reminds the citizens of Falaise how near England is toFrance.

  Jacques de Wissant had rejoiced in the _entente cordiale_, if onlybecause it brought such a stream of tourists to the old seaport town ofwhich he was now Mayor. But his beautiful wife thought of the English asgallant foes rather than as friends. Was she not great-granddaughter tothat admiral who at Trafalgar, when both his legs were shattered bychain-shot, bade his men place him in a barrel of bran that he might goon commanding, in the hour of defeat, to the end?

  And yet as Claire stood there, her eyes sweeping the sea for an as yetinvisible craft, her heart seemed to beat rhythmically to the last verseof a noble English poem which the governess of her twin daughters hadmade them recite to her that very morning. How did it run? Aloud shemurmured:

  "Yet this inconstancy is such, As you too shall adore--"

  and then she stopped, her quivering lips refusing to form the twoconcluding lines.

  To Claire de Wissant, that moving cry from a man's soul was not dulledby familiarity, or hackneyed by common usage, and just now it found anintolerably faithful echo in her sad, rebellious heart, intensifying theanguish born of a secret and very bitter renunciation.

  With an abrupt, restless movement she turned and walked on till her wayalong the path was barred by a curious obstacle. This was a smallred-brick tower, built within a few feet of the edge of the cliff. Itwas an ugly blot on the beautiful stretch of down, all the uglier thatthe bricks and tiles had not yet had time to lose their hardness of lineand colour in the salt wind.

  On the cliff side, the small circular building, open to wind, sky andsea, formed the unnatural apex of a natural stairway which led steeply,almost vertically, down to a deep land-locked cove below. The irregularsteps carved by nature out of the chalk had been strengthened, and arough protection added by means of knotted ropes fixed on either side ofthe dangerous descent.

  In the days when the steps had started sheer from a cleft in the cliffpath, Jacques de Wissant had never used this way of reaching a spotwhich till last year had been his property, and his favouritebathing-place; and he had also, in those same quiet days which nowseemed so long ago, forbidden his daughters to use that giddy way. ButClaire was a fearless woman; and she had always preferred thedangerous, ladder-like stairs which seemed, when gazed at from below, tohang 'twixt sky and sea.

  Now, however, she rarely availed herself of the right retained by herhusband of using one of the two keys which unlocked the door set in thenew brick tower, for the cove--only by courtesy could it be called abay--had been chosen, owing to its peculiar position, naturally remoteand yet close to a great maritime port, to be the quarters of theNorthern Submarine Flotilla.

  Jacques de Wissant--and it was perhaps the only time in their joint lifethat his wife had entirely understood and sympathized with any action ofher husband's--had refused the compensation his Government had offeredhim; more, in his cold, silent way, he had shown himself a patriot in asense comparatively few modern men have the courage to be, namely, inthat which affected both his personal comfort and his purse.

  * * * * *

  After standing for a moment on the perilously small and narrow platformwhich made the floor of the tower, Claire grasped firmly a strand of theknotted rope and began descending the long steps cut in the cliff side.She no longer gazed out to sea, instead she looked straight down intothe pale green, sun-flecked waters of the little bay, where seven out ofthe nine submarines which composed the flotilla were lyinghalf-submerged, as is their wont in harbour.

  A landsman, coming suddenly upon the cliff-locked pool, might havethought that the centuries had rolled back, and that the strange sightbefore him was a school of saurians lazily sunning themselves in theplacid waters of a sea inlet where time had stood still.

  But no such vision came to Claire de Wissant. As she went down thecliff-side her lovely eyes rested on these sinister, man-createdmonsters with a feeling of sisterly, possessive affection. She hadbecome so familiarly acquainted with each and all of them in the lastfew months; she knew with such a curious, intimate knowledge where theydiffered, both from each other and also from other submarine craft, notonly here, in these familiar waters, but in the waters of France's greatrival on the sea....

  It ever gave her a thrill of pride to remember that it was France whichfirst led the way in this, the most dangerous as also the mostadventurous new arm of naval warfare: and she rejoiced as fiercely, asexultantly as any of her sea-fighting forbears would have done in theterrible potentialities of destruction which each of these strange,grotesque-looking craft bore in their narrow flanks.

  It was now the hour of the crews' midday meal; there were fewer menstanding about than usual; and so, after she had stepped down on thesandy strip of shore, and climbed the ladder leading to the oldNapoleonic hulk which served as workshop and dwelling-place of theofficers of the flotilla, Madame de Wissant for a few moments stoodsolitary, and looked musingly down into the waters of the bay.

  Each submarine, its long, fish-like shape lying prone in the almoststill, transparent water, differed not only in size, but in make, fromits fellows, and no two conning towers even were alike.

  Lying apart, as if sulking in a corner, was an example of the old"Gymnote" type of under-sea boat. She went by the name of the _Carp_,and she was very squat, small and ugly, her telescopic conning towerbeing of hard canvas.

  To Claire, the _Carp_ always recalled an old Breton woman she had knownas a girl. That woman had given thirteen sons to France, and of thethirteen five had died while serving with the colours--three at sea andtwo in Tonkin--and a grateful country had given her a pension of tenfrancs a week, two francs for each dead son.

  Like that Breton woman, the ugly, sturdy little _Carp_ had borne heroesin her womb, and like her, too, she had paid terrible toll of her sonsto death.

  Occasionally, but very seldom now, the _Carp_ was taken out to sea, andthe men, strange to say, liked being in her, for they regarded her as alucky boat; she had never had what they c
alled a serious accident.

  Sunk deeper in the water was the broad-backed _Abeille_, significantlynamed "La Petroleuse," the heroine of four explosions, no favourite witheither crews or commanders; and, cradled in a low dock on the fartherstrip of beach, was stretched the _Triton_, looking like a huge fishwhich had panted itself to death. The _Triton_ also was not a luckyboat; she had been the theatre of a terrible mishap when, for someinexplicable cause, the conning tower had failed to close. Claire wasalways glad to see her safe in dock.

  Out in the middle of the bay was _La Glorieuse_, a submarine of thelatest type. Had she not lain so low, little more than her flying bridgebeing above the water, she would have put her elder sisters to shame, soexquisitely shaped was she. Everything about _La Glorieuse_ was madedelicately true to scale, and she could carry a crew of over twenty men.But somehow Claire de Wissant did not care for this miniature leviathanas she did for the older kind of submarine, and, with more reason forhis prejudice, the officer in charge of the flotilla shared her feeling.Commander Dupre thought _La Glorieuse_ difficult to handle under water.But he had had the same opinion of the _Neptune_, one of the twosubmarines which were out this fine August morning....

  An eager "Bonjour, madame," suddenly sounded in Claire de Wissant's ear,and she turned quickly to find one of the younger officers at her elbow.

  "The _Neptune_ is a few minutes late," he said smiling. "I hope yoursister has enjoyed her cruise!" He was looking with admiring andgrateful eyes at the young wife of the Mayor of Falaise, for Claire deWissant and her widowed sister, Madeleine Baudoin, were very kind andhospitable to the officers of the submarine flotilla.

  The life of both officers and men who volunteer for this branch of theservice is grim and arduous. And if this is generally true of them all,it was specially so of those who served under Commander Dupre. By atacit agreement with their chief, they took no part in the summergaieties of the watering-place which has grown up round the old port ofFalaise, and out of duty hours they would have led dull lives indeed hadit not been for the hospitality shown them by the owners of the Pavillonde Wissant, and for the welcome which awaited them in the freer, gayeratmosphere of Madame Baudoin's villa, the Chalet des Dunes.

  Madeleine Baudoin was a lively, cheerful woman, younger in nature if notin years than her beautiful sister, and so she was naturally morepopular with the younger officers. They had felt especially flatteredwhen Madame Baudoin had allowed herself to be persuaded to go out for acouple of hours in the _Neptune_; till this morning neither of thesisters had ever ventured out to sea in a submarine.

  And now 'twas true that the _Neptune_ had been out longer than hercommander had said she would be, but no touch of fear brushed Claire deWissant; she would have trusted what she held most precious in theworld--her children--to Commander Dupre's care, and a few moments afterher companion had spoken she suddenly saw the little tricolor, for whichher keen eyes had for long swept the sea, bravely riding the waves, andmaking straight for the bay.

  The flag moving swiftly over the surface of the blue water was acurious, almost an uncanny sight; one which never failed to fill Clairewith a kind of spiritual exaltation. For the tiny strip of waving colourwas a symbol of the gallantry, of the carelessness of danger, lyingunder the dancing, sun-flecked ripples which alone proved that thetricolor was not some illusion of sorcery.

  And then, as if the submarine had been indeed a sentient, living thing,the _Neptune_ lifted her great shield-like back up out of the sea andglided through the narrow neck of the bay, and so close under the longdeck on which Madame de Wissant and her companion were standing.

  The eager, busy hum of work slackened--discipline is not perhaps quiteso taut in the French as it is in the British Navy--for both men andofficers were one and all eager to see the lady who had ventured out inthe _Neptune_ with their commander. Only those actually on board hadseen Madame Baudoin embark; there was a long, rough jetty close to herhouse, the lonely Chalet des Dunes, and it was from there the submarinehad picked up her honoured passenger.

  But when Commander Dupre's stern, sun-burnt face suddenly appeared abovethe conning tower, the men vanished as if by enchantment, while theeager, busy hum began again, much as if a lever, setting this humanmachinery in motion, had been touched by some titanic finger.

  The officers naturally held their ground.

  There was a look of strain in the Commander's blue eyes, and his mouthwas set in hard lines; a thoughtful onlooker would have suspected thatthe exciting, dangerous life he led was trying his nerves. His men knewbetter; still, though they had no clue to the cause which had changedhim, they all knew he had changed greatly of late; to them individuallyhe had become kinder, more human, and that heightened their regret thathe was now quitting the Northern Flotilla.

  Commander Dupre had asked to be transferred to the Toulon SubmarineStation; some experiments were being made there which he was anxious towatch. He was leaving Falaise on the morrow.

  Claire de Wissant reddened, and a gleam leapt into her eyes as she metthe naval officer's grave, measuring glance. But very soon he lookedaway from her, for now he was bending down, putting out a hand to helphis late passenger to step from the conning tower.

  Smiling, breathless, a little dishevelled, her grey linen skirtcrumpled, Madame Baudoin looked round her, dazed for the moment by thebright sunlight. Then she called out gaily:

  "Well, Claire! Here I am--alive and very, very hot!"

  And as she jumped off the slippery flank of the _Neptune_, she gaveherself and her crumpled gown a little shake, and made a slight, playfulgrimace.

  The bright young faces round her broke into broad grins--those officerswho volunteer for the submarine services of the world are chosen young,and they are merry boys.

  "You may well laugh, messieurs,"--she threw them all a livelychallenging glance--"when I tell you that to-day, for the first time inmy life, I acknowledge masculine supremacy! I think that you will admitthat we women are not afraid of pain, but the discomfort, the--thestuffiness? Ah, no--I could not have borne much longer the horriblediscomfort and stuffiness of that dreadful little _Neptune_ of yours!"

  Protesting voices rose on every side. The _Neptune_ was notuncomfortable! The _Neptune_ was not stuffy!

  "And I understand"--again she made a little grimace--"that it is quitean exceptional thing for the crew to be consoled, as I was to-day, byan ice-pail!"

  "A most exceptional thing," said the youngest lieutenant, with a sigh.His name was Paritot, and he also had been out with the _Neptune_ thatmorning. "In fact, it only happens in that week which sees fourThursdays--or when we have a lady on board, madame!"

  "What a pity it is," said another, "that the old woman who left a legacyto the inventor who devises a submarine life-saving apparatus didn'tleave us instead a cream-ice allowance! It would have been a far morepractical thing to do."

  Madame Baudoin turned quickly to Commander Dupre, who now stood silent,smileless, at her sister's side.

  "Surely you're going to try for this extraordinary prize?" she cried."I'm sure that you could easily devise something which would gain theold lady's legacy."

  "I, madame?" he answered with a start, almost as if he were wrenchinghimself free from some deep abstraction. "I should not think of tryingto do such a thing! It would be a mere waste of time. Besides, there isno real risk--no risk that we are not prepared to run." He lookedproudly round at the eager, laughing faces of the youngsters who were,till to-morrow night, still under his orders.

  "The old lady meant very well," he went on, and for the first time sincehe had stepped out of the conning tower Commander Dupre smiled. "And Ihope with all my heart that some poor devil will get her money! But Ithink I may promise you that it will not be an officer in the submarineservice. We are too busy, we have too many really important things todo, to worry ourselves about life-saving appliances. Why, the firstthing we should do if pressed for room would be to throw ourlife-helmets overboard!"

  "Has one of the life-helmets ever sav
ed a life?"

  It was Claire who asked the question in her low, vibrating voice.

  Commander Dupre turned to her, and he flushed under his sunburn. It wasthe first time she had spoken to him that day.

  "No, never," he answered shortly. And then, after a pause, he added,"the conditions in which these life-helmets could be utilized only occurin one accident in a thousand----"

  "Still, they would have saved our comrades in the _Lutin_," objectedLieutenant Paritot.

  The _Lutin_? There was a moment's silence. The evocation of thattricksy sprite, the Ariel of French mythology, whose name, by anironical chance, had been borne by the most ill-fated of all submarinecraft, seemed to bring the shadow of death athwart them all.

  Madeleine Baudoin felt a sudden tremor of retrospective fear. She wasglad she had not remembered the _Lutin_ when she was sitting, eatingices, and exchanging frivolous, chaffing talk with Lieutenant Paritot inthat chamber of little ease, the drum-like interior of the _Neptune_,where not even she, a small woman, could stand upright.

  "Well, well! We must not keep you from your _dejeuner_!" she cried,shaking off the queer, disturbing sensation. "I have to thank youfor--shall I say a very interesting experience? I am too honest to sayan agreeable one!"

  She shook hands with Commander Dupre and Lieutenant Paritot, theofficers who had accompanied her on what had been, now that she lookedback on it, perhaps a more perilous adventure than she had realized.

  "You're coming with me, Claire?" She looked at her sister--it was atender, anxious, loving look; Madeleine Baudoin had been the eldest, andClaire de Wissant the youngest, of a Breton admiral's family of threedaughters and four sons; they two were devoted to one another.

  Claire shook her head. "I came to tell you that I can't lunch with youto-day," she said slowly. "I promised I would be back by half-pasttwelve."

  "Then we shall not meet till to-morrow?"

  Claire repeated mechanically, "No, not till to-morrow, dear Madeleine."

  "May I row you home, madame?" Lieutenant Paritot asked Madeleineeagerly.

  "Certainly, _mon ami_."

  And so, a very few minutes later, Claire de Wissant and Commander Duprewere left alone together--alone, that is, save for fifty inquisitive, ifkindly, pairs of eyes which saw them from every part of the bay.

  At last she held out her hand. "Good-bye, then, till to-morrow," shesaid, her voice so low as to be almost inaudible.

  "No, not good-bye yet!" he cried imperiously. "You must let me take youup the cliff to-day. It may be--I suppose it is--the last time I shallbe able to do so."

  Hardly waiting for her murmured word of assent, he led the way up thesteep, ladder-like stairway cut in the cliff side; half-way up therewere some very long steps, and it was from above that help could best begiven. He longed with a fierce, aching longing that she would allow himto take her two hands in his and draw her up those high, precipitoussteps. But of late Claire had avoided accepting from him, her friend,this simple, trifling act of courtesy. And now twice he turned and heldout a hand, and twice she pretended not to see it.

  At last, within ten feet of the top of the cliff, they came to thesteepest, rudest step of all--a place some might have thought verydangerous.

  Commander Dupre bent down and looked into Claire's uplifted face. "Letme at least help you up here," he said hoarsely.

  She shook her head obstinately--but suddenly he felt her tremulous lipstouch his lean, sinewy hand, and her hot tears fall upon his fingers.

  He gave a strangled cry of pain and of pride, of agony and of rapture,and for a long moment he battled with an awful temptation. How easy itwould be to gather her into his arms, and, with her face hidden on hisbreast, take a great leap backwards into nothingness....

  But he conquered the persuasive devil who had been raised--women do notknow how easy it is to rouse this devil--by Claire's moment of piteousself-revelation.

  And at last they stood together on the narrow platform where she, lessthan an hour ago, had stood alone.

  Sheltered by the friendly, ugly red walls of the little tower, they wereas remote from their kind as if on a rock in the midst of the sea. More,she was in his power in a sense she had never been before, for she hadherself broken down the fragile barrier with which she had hithertoknown how to keep him at bay. But he felt rather than saw that it washerself she would despise if now, at the eleventh hour, he tookadvantage of that tremulous kiss of renunciation, of those hot tears ofanguished parting--and so--"Then at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning?"he said, and he felt as if it was some other man, not he himself, whowas saying the words. He took her hand in farewell--so much he couldallow himself--and all unknowing crushed her fingers in his strong,convulsive grasp.

  "Yes," she said, "at eleven to-morrow morning Madeleine and I will bewaiting out on the end of the jetty."

  He thought he detected a certain hesitancy in her voice.

  "Are you sure you still wish to come?" he said gravely. "I would notwish you to do anything that would cause you any fear--or anydiscomfort. Your sister evidently found it a very trying experienceto-day----"

  Claire smiled. Her hand no longer hurt her; her fingers had become quitenumb.

  "Afraid?" she said, and there was a little scorn in her voice. And then,"Ah me! I only wish that there were far more risk than there is aboutthat which we are going to do together to-morrow." She was in adangerous mood, poor soul--the mood that raises a devil in men. Butperhaps her good angel came to help her, for suddenly, "Forgive me," shesaid humbly. "You know I did not mean that! Only cowards wish fordeath."

  And then, looking at him, she averted her eyes, for they showed herthat, if that were so, Dupre was indeed a craven.

  "_Au revoir_," she whispered; "_au revoir_ till to-morrow morning."

  When half-way through the door, leading on to the lonely stretch ofdown, she turned round suddenly. "I do not want you to bring any icesfor me to-morrow."

  "I never thought of doing so," he said simply. And the words pleasedClaire as much as anything just then could pleasure her, for they provedthat her friend did not class her in his mind with those women who feardiscomfort more than danger.

  It had been her own wish to go out with Commander Dupre for his lastcruise in northern waters. She had not had the courage to deny herselfthis final glimpse of him--they were never to meet again afterto-morrow--in his daily habit as he lived.

  II

  At nine o'clock the next morning Jacques de Wissant stood in his wife'sboudoir.

  It was a strange and beautiful room, likely to linger in the memory ofthose who knew its strange and beautiful mistress.

  The walls were draped with old Persian shawls, the furniture was of redChinese lacquer, a set acquired in the East by some Norman sailing manunnumbered years ago, and bought by Claire de Wissant out of her ownslender income not long after her marriage.

  Pale blue and faded yellow silk cushions softened the formal angularityof the wide cane-seated couch and low, square chairs. There was a deepcrystal bowl of midsummer flowering roses on the table, laden withbooks, by which Claire often sat long hours reading poetry and volumeswritten by modern poets and authors of whom her husband had onlyvaguely heard and of whom he definitely disapproved.

  The window was wide open, and there floated in from the garden, whichsloped away to the edge and indeed over the crumbling cliff, fragrant,salt-laden odours, dominated by the clean, sharp scent thrown from hugeshrubs of red and white geraniums. The balls of blossom set against thebelt of blue sea, formed a band of waving tricolor.

  But Jacques de Wissant was unconscious, uncaring of the beauty roundhim, either in the room or without, and when at last he walked forwardto the window, his face hardened as his eyes instinctively sought outthe spot where, if hidden from his sight, he knew there lay the deeptransparent waters of the little bay which had been selected asproviding ideal quarters for the submarine flotilla.

  He had eagerly assented to the sacrifice of his land, and, what meantfar more to hi
m, of his privacy; but now he would have given much--andhe was a careful man--to have had the submarine station swept away,transferred to the other side of Falaise.

  Down there, out of sight of the Pavillon, and yet but a few minutes away(if one used the dangerous cliff-stairway), dwelt Jacques de Wissant'ssecret foe, for the man of whom he was acutely, miserably jealous wasCommander Dupre, of whose coming departure he as yet knew nothing.

  The owner of the Pavillon de Wissant seldom entered the room where henow stood impatiently waiting for his wife, and he never did so withoutlooking round him with distaste, and remembering with an odd, wistfulfeeling what it had been like in his mother's time. Then "le boudoir demadame" had reflected the tastes and simple interests of anold-fashioned provincial lady born in the year that Louis Philippe cameto the throne. Greatly did the man now standing there prefer the room asit had been to what it was now!

  The heavy, ugly furniture which had been there in the days of his lonelyyouth, for he had been an only child, was now in the schoolroom wherethe twin daughters of the house, Clairette and Jacqueline, did theirlessons with Miss Doughty, their English governess.

  Clairette and Jacqueline? Jacques de Wissant's lantern-jawed,expressionless face quickened into feeling as he thought of his twolittle girls. They were the pride, as well as the only vivid pleasure,of his life. All that he dispassionately admired in his wife was, so hesometimes told himself with satisfaction, repeated in his daughters.Clairette and Jacqueline had inherited their mother's look of race, herfastidiousness and refinement of bearing, while fortunately lackingClaire's dangerous personal beauty, her touch of eccentricity, and herdiscontent with life--or rather with the life which Jacques de Wissant,in spite of a gnawing ache and longing that nothing could still orassuage, yet found good.

  The Mayor of Falaise looked strangely out of keeping with his presentsurroundings, at least so he would have seemed to the eye of anyforeigner, especially of any Englishman, who had seen him standingthere.

  He was a narrowly built man, forty-three years of age, and hisclean-shaven, rather fleshy face was very pale. On this hot Augustmorning he was dressed in a light grey frock-coat, under which he wore ayellow waistcoat, and on his wife's writing-table lay his tall hat andlemon-coloured gloves.

  As mayor of his native town--a position he owed to an historic name andto his wealth, and not to his very moderate Republican opinions--hisduties included the celebration of civil marriages, and to-day, it beingthe 14th of August, the eve of the Assumption, and still a Frenchnational fete, there were to be a great many weddings celebrated in theHotel de Ville.

  Jacques de Wissant considered that he owed it to himself, as well as tohis fellow-citizens, to appear "correctly" attired on such occasions. Hehad a deep, wordless contempt for those of his acquaintances who dressedon ceremonial occasions "a l'anglaise," that is, in loose lounge suitsand straw hats.

  * * * * *

  Suddenly there broke on his ear the sound of a low, full voice, singing.It came from the next room, his wife's bedroom, and the mournfulpassionate words of an old sea ballad rang out, full of a desolate painand sense of bitter loss.

  The sound irritated him shrewdly, and there came back to him a fragmentof conversation he had not thought of for ten years. During a discussionheld between his father and mother in this very room about their adoredonly son's proposed marriage with Claire de Kergouet, his father hadsaid: "There is one thing I do not much care for; she is, they say, verymusical, and Jacques, even as a baby, howled like a dog whenever heheard singing!" And his mother had laughed, "_Mon ami_, you cannotexpect to get perfection, even for our Jacques!" And Claire, so he nowadmitted unwillingly to himself, had never troubled him overmuch withher love of music....

  He knocked twice, sharply, on his wife's door.

  The song broke short with an almost cruel suddenness, and yet therefollowed a perceptible pause before he heard her say, "Come in."

  And then, as Jacques de Wissant slowly turned the handle of the door, hesaw his wife, Claire, before she saw him. He had a vision, that is, ofher as she appeared when she believed herself to be, if not alone, thenin sight of eyes that were indifferent, unwatchful. But Jacques' eyes,which his wife's widowed sister, the frivolous Parisienne, MadeleineBaudoin, had once unkindly compared to fishes' eyes, were now filledwith a watchful, suspicious light which gave a tragic mask to hispallid, plain-featured face.

  Claire de Wissant was standing before a long, narrow mirror placed atright angles to a window looking straight out to sea. Her short, narrow,dark blue skirt and long blue silk jersey silhouetted her slenderfigure, the figure which remained so supple, so--so girlish, in spite ofher nine-year-old daughters. There was something shy and wild, untamedand yet beckoning, in the oval face now drawn with pain andsleeplessness, in the grey, almond-shaped eyes reddened with secrettears, and in the firm, delicately modelled mouth.

  She was engaged in tucking up her dark, curling hair under a greyyachting cap, and, for a few moments, she neither spoke nor looked roundto see who was standing framed in the door. But when, at last, sheturned away from the mirror and saw her husband, the colour, rushinginto her pale face, caused an unbecoming flush to cover it.

  "I thought it was one of the children," she said, a little breathlessly.And then she waited, assuming, or so Jacques thought, an air at once ofpatience and of surprise which sharply angered him.

  Then her look of strain, nay, of positive illness, gave him an uneasytwinge of discomfort. Could it be anxiety concerning her second sister,Marie-Anne, who, married to an Italian officer, was now ill of scarletfever at Mantua? Two days ago Claire had begged very earnestly to beallowed to go and nurse Marie-Anne. But he, Jacques, had refused, notunkindly, but quite firmly. Claire's duty of course lay at Falaise, withher husband and children; not at Mantua, with her sister.

  Suddenly she again broke silence. "Well?" she said. "Is there anythingyou wish to tell me?" They had never used the familiar "thee" and "thou"the one to the other, for at the time of their marriage an absurd whimof fashion had ordained on the part of French wives and husbands areturn to eighteenth-century formality, and Claire had chosen, in thatone instance, to follow fashion.

  She added, seeing that he still did not speak, "I am lunching with mysister to-day, but I shall be home by three o'clock." She spoke with thechill civility a lady shows a stranger. Claire seldom allowed herself tobe on the defensive when speaking to her husband.

  Jacques de Wissant frowned. He did not like either of his wife'ssisters, neither the one who was now lying ill in Italy, nor his widowedsister-in-law, Madeleine Baudoin. In the villa which she had hired forthe summer, and which stood on a lonely stretch of beach beyond the bay,Madeleine often entertained the officers of the submarine flotilla, andthis, from her brother-in-law's point of view, was very far from"correct" conduct on the part of one who could still pass as a youngwidow.

  In response to his frown there had come a slight, mocking smile onClaire's face.

  "I suppose you are on your way to some important town function?"

  She disliked the town of Falaise, the town-folk bored her, and she hatedthe vast old family house in the Market Place, where she had to spendeach winter.

  "To-day is the fourteenth of August," observed Jacques de Wissant in hisdeliberate voice; "and I have a great many marriages to celebrate thismorning."

  "Yes, I suppose that is so." And again Claire de Wissant spoke with thecourteous indifference, the lack of interest in her husband's concerns,which she had early schooled him to endure.

  But all at once there came a change in her voice, in her manner. "Whyto-day--the fourteenth of August--is our wedding day! How stupid of meto forget! We must tell Jacqueline and Clairette. It will amusethem----"

  She uttered the words a little breathlessly, and as she spoke, Jacquesde Wissant walked quickly forward into the room. As he did so his wifemoved abruptly away from where she had been standing, thus maintainingthe distance between them.

 
But Claire de Wissant need not have been afraid; her husband had his ownstrict code of manners, and to this code he ever remained faithful. Hepossessed a remarkable mastery of his emotions, and he had always showedwith regard to herself so singular a power of self-restraint thatClaire, not unreasonably, doubted if he had any emotions to master, anypassionate feeling to restrain.

  All he now did was to take a shagreen case out of his breast pocket andhold it out towards her.

  "Claire," he said quietly, "I have brought you, in memory of our weddingday, a little gift which I hope you will like. It is a medallion of thechildren." And as she at last advanced towards him, he pressed a spring,and revealed a dull gold medal on which, modelled in high relief, andsuperposed the one on the other, were Clairette's and Jacqueline'schildish, delicately pure profiles.

  A softer, kindlier light came into Claire de Wissant's sad grey eyes.She held out a hesitating hand--and Jacques de Wissant, before placinghis gift in it, took that soft hand in his, and, bending ratherawkwardly, kissed it lightly. In France, even now, a man will often kissa woman's hand by way of conventional, respectful homage. But to Clairethe touch of her husband's lips was hateful--so hateful indeed that shehad to make an instant effort to hide the feeling of physical repulsionwith which that touch had suddenly engulfed her in certain dark recessesof memory and revolt.

  "It is a charming medallion," she said hurriedly, "quite a work of art,Jacques; and I thank you for having thought of it. It gives megreat--very great pleasure."

  And then something happened which was to her so utterly unexpected thatshe gave a stifled cry of pain--almost it seemed of fear.

  As she forced herself to look straight into her husband's face, theanguish in her own sore heart unlocked the key to his, and she perceivedwith the eyes of the soul, which see, when they are not holden, so muchthat is concealed from the eyes of the body, the suffering, the dumblonging she had never allowed herself to know were there.

  For the first time since her marriage--since that wedding day of whichthis was the tenth anniversary--Claire felt pity for Jacques as well asfor herself. For the first time her rebellious heart acknowledged thather husband also was enmeshed in a web of tragic circumstance.

  "Jacques?" she cried. "Oh, Jacques!" And as she so uttered his nametwice, there came a look of acute distress and then of sudden resolutionon her face. "I wish you to know," she exclaimed, "that--that--if Iwere a wicked woman I should perhaps be to you a better wife!" Thanks tothe language in which she spoke, there was a play on the word--that wordwhich in French signifies woman as well as wife.

  He stared at her, and uttered no word of answer, of understanding, inresponse to her strange speech.

  At one time, not lately, but many years ago, Claire had sometimes triedhis patience by the odd, unreasonable things she said, and once, stungbeyond bearing, he had told her so. Remembering those cold, measuredwords of rebuke, she now caught with quick, exultant relief at the ideathat Jacques had not understood the half-confession wrung from her byher sudden vision of his pain; and she swung back to a belief she hadalways held till just now, the belief that he was dull--dull andunperceptive.

  With a nervous smile she turned again to her mirror, and then Jacques deWissant, with his wife's enigmatic words ringing in his ears, abruptlyleft the room.

  * * * * *

  As if pursued by some baneful presence, he hastened through Claire'sbeautiful boudoir, across the dining-room hung with the Gobelinstapestries which his wife had brought him as part of her slender dower,and so into the oval hall which formed the centre of the house.

  And there Jacques de Wissant waited for a while, trying to still and toco-ordinate his troubled thoughts and impressions.

  Ah yes, he had understood--understood only too well Claire's strange,ambiguous utterance! There are subtle, unbreathed temptations which allmen and all women, when tortured by jealousy, not only understand butdivine before they are actually in being.

  Jacques de Wissant now believed that he was justified of the suspicionsof which he had been ashamed. His wife--moved by some obscure desire forself-revelation to which he had had no clue--had flung at him the truth.

  Yes, without doubt Claire could have made him happy--so little wouldhave contented his hunger for her--had she been one of those light womenof whom he sometimes heard, who go from their husbands' kisses to thoseof their lovers.

  But if he sometimes, nay, often heard of them, Jacques de Wissant knewnothing of such women. The men of his race had known how to acquirehonest wives, aye, and keep them so. There had never been in the deWissant family any of those ugly scandals which stain other clans, andwhich are remembered over generations in French provincial towns. Thosescandals which, if they provoke a laugh and cruel sneer when discussedby the indifferent, are recalled with long faces and anxious whisperingswhen a young girl's future is being discussed, and which make thehonourable marriage of daughters difficult of achievement.

  Jacques de Wissant thanked the God of his fathers that Claire hadnothing in common with such women as those: he thought he did not needher assurance to know that his honour, in the usual, narrow sense of thephrase, was safe in her hands, but still her strange, imprudent words ofhalf-avowal racked him with jealous and, yes, suspicious pain.

  Fortunately for him, he was a man burdened with much business, and so atlast he looked at his watch. Why, it was getting late--terribly late,and he prided himself on his punctuality. Still, if he started now, atonce, he would be at the Hotel de Ville a few minutes before teno'clock, the time when the first of the civil marriages he had tocelebrate that morning was timed to take place.

  Without passing through the house, he made his way rapidly round by thegardens to the road, winding ribbon-wise behind the cliffs, where hisphaeton was waiting for him; for Jacques de Wissant had as yet resistedthe wish of his wife and the advice of those of his friends whoconsidered that he ought to purchase an automobile: driving had beenfrom boyhood one of his few pleasures and accomplishments.

  But as he drove, keeping his fine black bays well in hand, the fivemiles into the town, and tried to fix his mind on a commercial problemof great importance with which he would be expected to deal that day,Jacques de Wissant found it impossible to think of any matter but thatwhich for the moment filled his heart to the exclusion of all else. Thatmatter concerned his own relations to his wife, and his wife's relationsto Commander Dupre.

  This gentleman of France was typical in more than one sense of hisnation and of his class--quite unlike, that is, to the fancy picturewhich foreigners draw of the average Frenchman. Reserved and cold inmanner; proud, with an intense but never openly expressed pride in hisname and of what the bearers of it had achieved for their country;obstinate and narrow as are apt to be all human beings whose judgment isnever questioned by those about them, Jacques de Wissant's fetish washis personal honour and the honour of his name--of the name of Wissant.

  In his distress and disturbance of mind--for his wife's half confessionhad outraged his sense of what was decorous and fitting--his memorytravelled over the map of his past life, aye, and even beyond theboundaries of his own life.

  Before him lay spread retrospectively the story of his parents'uneventful, happy marriage. They had been mated in the good old Frenchway, that is, up to their wedding morning they had never met save in thepresence of their respective parents. And yet--and yet how devoted theyhad been to each other! So completely one in thought, in interest, insympathy had they grown that when, after thirty-three years of marriedlife, his father had died, Jacques' mother had not known how to go onliving. She had slipped out of life a few months later, and as she laydying she had used a very curious expression: "My faithful companion iscalling me," she had said to her only child, "and you must not try, dearson, to make me linger on the way."

  Now, to-day, Jacques de Wissant asked himself with perplexed pain andanger, why it was that his parents had led so peaceful, so dignified, sowholly contented a married life, while he hi
mself----?

  And yet his own marriage had been a love match--or so those about himhad all said with nods and smiles--love marriages having suddenly becomethe fashion in the rich provincial world of which he had then been oneof the heirs-apparent.

  His old-fashioned mother would have preferred as daughter-in-law any oneof half a dozen girls who belonged to her own good town of Falaise, andwhom she had known from childhood. But Jacques had been difficult toplease, and he was already thirty-two when he had met, by a mere chance,Claire de Kergouet at her first ball. She was only seventeen, with butthe promise of a beauty which was now in exquisite flower, and he haddecided, there and then, in the course of two hours, that thisdemoiselle de Kergouet was alone worthy of becoming Madame Jacques deWissant.

  And on the whole his prudent parents had blessed his choice, for thegirl was of the best Breton stock, and came of a family famed in thenaval annals of France. Unluckily Claire de Kergouet had had no dowry tospeak of, for her father, the Admiral, had been a spendthrift, and, asis still the reckless Breton fashion, father of a large family--threedaughters and four sons. But Jacques de Wissant had not allowed hisparents to give the matter of Claire's fortune more than a regretfulthought--indeed, he had done further, he had "recognized" a larger dowrythan she brought him to save the pride of her family.

  But Claire--he could not help thinking of it to-day with a sense ofbitter injury--had never seemed grateful, had never seemed to understandall that had been done for her....

  Had he not poured splendid gifts upon her in the beginning of theirmarried life? And, what had been far more difficult, had he not, withinreason, contented all her strange whims and fantasies?

  But nought had availed him to secure even a semblance of that steadfast,warm affection, that sincere interest and pride in his concerns which isall such a Frenchman as was Jacques de Wissant expects, or indeeddesires, of his wedded wife. Had Claire been such a woman, Jacques' ownpassion for her would soon have dulled into a reasonable, comfortableaffection. But his wife's cool aloofness had kept alive the hiddenfires, the more--so ironic are the tricks which sly Dame Natureplays--that for many years past he had troubled her but very little withhis company.

  Outwardly Claire de Wissant did her duty, entertaining his friends andrelations on such occasions as was incumbent on her, and showingherself a devoted and careful mother to the twin daughters who formedthe only vital link between her husband and herself. But inwardly?Inwardly they two were strangers.

  And yet only during the last few months had Jacques de Wissant ever feltjealous of his wife. There had been times when he had been angered bythe way in which her young beauty, her indefinable, mysterious charm,had attracted the very few men with whom she was brought into contact.But Claire, so her husband had always acknowledged to himself, was noflirt; she was ever perfectly "correct."

  Correct was a word dear to Jacques de Wissant. It was one which he usedas a synonym for great things--things such as honour, fineness ofconduct, loyalty.

  But fate had suddenly introduced a stranger into the dull, decorous lifeof the Pavillon de Wissant, and it was he, Jacques himself, who hadbrought him there.

  How bitter it was to look back and remember how much he had liked--likedbecause he had respected--Commander Dupre! He now hated and feared thenaval officer, and he would have given much to have been able to despisehim. But that Jacques de Wissant could not do. Commander Dupre was stillall that he had taken him to be when he first made him free of hishouse--a brilliant officer, devoted to his profession, already noted inthe Service as having made several important improvements in submarinecraft.

  From the first it had seemed peculiar, to Jacques de Wissant's mindunnatural, that such a man as was Dupre should be so keenly interestedin music and in modern literature. But so it was, and it had been owingto these strange, untoward tastes that Commander Dupre and Claire hadbecome friends.

  He now reminded himself, for the hundredth time, that he had begun byactually approving of the acquaintance between his wife and the navalofficer--an acquaintance which he had naturally supposed would be of themost "correct" nature.

  Then, without warning, there came an hour--nay, a moment, when in thattwilight hour which the French call "'Twixt dog and wolf," the mosttorturing and shameful of human passions, jealousy, had taken possessionof Jacques de Wissant, disintegrating, rather than shattering, theelaborate fabric of his House of Life, that house in which he had alwaysdwelt so snugly and unquestioningly ensconced.

  He had come home after a long afternoon spent at the Hotel de Ville tolearn with tepid pleasure that there was a visitor, Commander Dupre, inthe house, and as he had come hurrying towards his wife's boudoir,Jacques had heard Claire's low, deep voice and the other's ardent, eagertones mingling together....

  And then as he, the husband, had opened the door, they had stoppedspeaking, their words clipped as if a sword had fallen between them. Atthe same moment a servant had brought a lamp into the twilit room, andJacques had seen the ravaged face of Commander Dupre, a fair, tannedface full of revolt and of longing leashed. Claire had remained inshadow, but her eyes, or so the interloper thought he perceived, werefull of tears.

  Since that spring evening the Mayor of Falaise had not had an easymoment. While scorning to act the spy upon his wife, he was for everwatching her, and keeping an eager and yet scarcely conscious count ofher movements.

  True, Commander Dupre had soon ceased to trouble the owner of thePavillon de Wissant by his presence. The younger officers came and went,but since that hour, laden with unspoken drama, their commander onlycame when good breeding required him to pay a formal call on his nearestneighbour and sometime host. But Claire saw Dupre constantly at theChalet des Dunes, her sister's house, and she was both too proud and tooindifferent, it appeared, to her husband's view of what a young marriedwoman's conduct should be, to conceal the fact.

  This openness on his wife's part was at once Jacques' consolation andopportunity for endless self-torture.

  For three long miserable months he had wrestled with those ignoblequestionings only the jealous know, now accepting as probable, nowrejecting with angry self-rebuke, the thought that his wife suffered,perhaps even returned, Dupre's love. And to-day, instead of finding hisjealousy allayed by her half-confidence, he felt more wretched than hehad ever been.

  His horses responded to his mood, and going down the steep hill whichleads into the town of Falaise they shied violently at a heap of stonesthey had passed sedately a dozen times or more. Jacques de Wissantstruck them several cruel blows with the whip he scarcely ever used, andthe groom, looking furtively at his master's set face and blazing eyes,felt suddenly afraid.

  III

  It was one o'clock, and the last of the wedding parties had swept gailyout of the great _salle_ of the Falaise town hall and so to theCathedral across the market place.

  Jacques de Wissant, with a feeling of relief, took off his tricolorbadge of office. With the instinctive love of order which wascharacteristic of the man, he gathered up the papers that were spread onthe large table and placed them in neat piles before him. Through thehigh windows, which by his orders had been prised open, for it wasintensely hot, he could hear what seemed an unwonted stir outside. Thepicturesque town was full of strangers; in addition to the usualholiday-makers from the neighbourhood, crowds of Parisians had come downto spend the Feast of the Assumption by the sea.

  The Mayor of Falaise liked to hear this unwonted stir and movement, foreverything that affected the prosperity of the town affected him verynearly; but he was constitutionally averse to noise, and just now hefelt very tired. The varied emotions which had racked him that morninghad drained him of his vitality; and he thought with relief that in afew moments he would be in the old-fashioned restaurant just across themarket place, where a table was always reserved for him when his townhouse happened to be shut up, and where all his tastes and dieteticfads--for M. de Wissant had a delicate digestion--were known.

  He took up his tall hat and his lemo
n-coloured gloves--and then a lookof annoyance came over his weary face, for he heard the swinging of adoor. Evidently his clerk was coming back to ask some stupid question.

  He always found it difficult to leave the town hall at the exact momenthe wished to do so; for although the officials dreaded his coldreprimands, they were far more afraid of his sudden hot anger ifbusiness of any importance were done without his knowledge and sanction.

  But this time it was not his clerk who wished to intercept the mayor onhis way out to _dejeuner_; it was the chief of the employes in thetelephone and telegraph department of the building, a forward, pushingyoung man whom Jacques de Wissant disliked.

  "M'sieur le maire?" and then he stopped short, daunted by the mayor'sstern look of impatient fatigue. "Has m'sieur le maire heard the news?"The speaker gathered up courage; it is exciting to be the bearer ofnews, especially of ill news.

  M. de Wissant shook his head.

  "Alas! there has been an accident, m'sieur le maire! A terribleaccident! One of the submarines--they don't yet know which it is--hasbeen struck by a big private yacht and has sunk in the fairway of theChannel, about two miles out!"

  The Mayor of Falaise uttered an involuntary exclamation of horror. "Whendid it happen?" he asked quickly.

  "About half an hour ago more or less. _I_ said that m'sieur le maireought to be informed at once of such a calamity. But I was told to waittill the marriages were over."

  Looking furtively at the mayor's pale face, the young man regretted thathe had not taken more on himself, for m'sieur le maire looked seriouslydispleased.

  There was an old feud between the municipal and the naval authorities ofFalaise--there often is in a naval port--and the mayor ought certainlyto have been among the very first to hear the news of the disaster.

  The bearer of ill news hoped m'sieur le maire would not blame him forthe delay, or cause the fact to postpone his advancement to a highergrade--that advancement which is the perpetual dream of every FrenchGovernment official.

  "The admiral has only just driven by," he observed insinuatingly, "notfive minutes ago----"

  But still Jacques de Wissant did not move. He was listening to theincreasing stir and tumult going on outside in the market place. Thesounds had acquired a sinister significance; he knew now that thetramping of feet, the loud murmur of voices, meant that the wholepopulation belonging to the seafaring portion of the town was emptyingitself out and hurrying towards the harbour and the shore.

  Shaking off the bearer of ill news with a curt word of thanks, the Mayorof Falaise strode out of the town hall into the street and joined theeager crowd, mostly consisting of fisher folk, which grew denser as itswept down the tortuous narrow streets leading to the sea.

  The people parted with a sort of rough respect to make way for theirmayor; many of them, nay the majority, were known by name to Jacques deWissant, and the older men and women among them could remember him as achild.

  Rising to the tragic occasion, he walked forward with his head heldhigh, and a look of deep concern on his pale, set face. The men whomanned the Northern Submarine Flotilla were almost all men born and bredat Falaise--Falaise famed for the gallant sailors she has ever given toFrance.

  The hurrying crowd--strangely silent in its haste--poured out on to thegreat stone-paved quays in which is set the harbour so finely encircledon two sides by the cliffs which give the town its name.

  Beyond the harbour--crowded with shipping, and now alive with eagerlittle craft and fishing-boats making ready to start for the scene ofthe calamity--lay a vast expanse of glistening sea, and on thatsun-flecked blue pall every eye was fixed.

  The end of the harbour jetty was already roped off, only thoseofficially privileged being allowed through to the platform where nowstood Admiral de Saint Vilquier impatiently waiting for the tug whichwas to take him out to the spot where the disaster had taken place. TheAdmiral was a naval officer of the old school--of the school who calledtheir men "my children"--and who detested the Republican form ofgovernment as being subversive of discipline.

  As Jacques de Wissant hurried up to him, he turned and stiffly salutedthe Mayor of Falaise. Admiral de Saint Vilquier had no liking for M. deWissant--a cold prig of a fellow, and yet married to such a beautiful,such a charming young woman, the daughter, too, of one of the Admiral'soldest friends, of that Admiral de Kergouet with whom he had first goneto sea a matter of fifty years ago! The lovely Claire de Kergouet hadbeen worthy of a better fate than to be wife to this plain, cold-bloodedlandsman.

  "Do they yet know, Admiral, which of the submarines has gone down?"asked Jacques de Wissant in a low tone. He was full of a burningcuriosity edged with a longing and a suspense into whose secret sourceshe had no wish to thrust a probe.

  The Admiral's weather-beaten face was a shade less red than usual; thebright blue eyes he turned on the younger man were veiled with a film ofmoisture. "Yes, the news has just come in, but it isn't to be madepublic for awhile. It's the submarine _Neptune_ which was struck, withCommander Dupre, Lieutenant Paritot, and ten men on board. The craft islying eighteen fathoms deep----"

  Jacques de Wissant uttered an inarticulate cry--was it of horror or onlyof surprise? And yet, gifted for that once and that once only with akind of second sight, he had known that it was the _Neptune_ andCommander Dupre which lay eighteen fathoms deep on the floor of the sea.

  The old seaman, moved by the mayor's emotion, relaxed into aconfidential undertone. "Poor Dupre! I had forgotten that you knew him.He is indeed pursued by a malignant fate. As of course you are aware, heapplied a short time ago to be transferred to Toulon, and hisappointment is in to-day's _Gazette_. In fact he was actually leavingFalaise this very evening in order to spend a week with his familybefore taking up his new command!"

  The Mayor of Falaise stared at the Admiral. "Dupre going away?--leavingFalaise?" he repeated incredulously.

  The other nodded.

  Jacques de Wissant drew a long, deep breath. God! How mistaken he hadbeen! Mistaken as no man, no husband, had ever been mistaken before. Hefelt overwhelmed, shaken with conflicting emotions in which shame andintense relief predominated.

  The fact that Commander Dupre had applied for promotion was to his mindabsolute proof that there had been nothing--nothing and less thannothing--between the naval officer and Claire. The Admiral's words nowmade it clear that he, Jacques de Wissant, had built up a hugesuperstructure of jealousy and base thoughts on the fact that poor Dupreand Claire had innocently enjoyed certain tastes in common. True, suchfriendships--friendships between unmarried men and attractive youngmarried women--are generally speaking to be deprecated. Still, Clairehad always been "correct;" of that there could now be no doubt.

  As he stood there on the pier, staring out, as all those about him andbehind him were doing, at the expanse of dark blue sun-flecked sea,there came over Jacques de Wissant a great lightening of the spirit....

  But all too soon his mind, his memory, swung back to the tragic businessof the moment.

  Suddenly the Admiral burst into speech, addressing himself, rather thanthe silent man by his side.

  "The devil of it is," he exclaimed, "that the nearest salvage appliancesare at Cherbourg! Thank God, the Ministry of Marine are aloneresponsible for that blunder. Dupre and his comrades have, it seems,thirty-six hours' supply of oxygen--if, indeed, they are still living,which I feel tempted to hope they are not. You see, Monsieur de Wissant,I was at Bizerta when the _Lutin_ sank. A man doesn't want to remembertwo such incidents in his career. One is quite bad enough!"

  "I suppose it isn't yet known how far the _Neptune_ is injured?"inquired the Mayor of Falaise.

  But he spoke mechanically; he was not really thinking of what he wassaying. His inner and real self were still steeped in that strangemingled feeling of shame and relief--shame that he should have suspectedhis wife, exultant relief that his jealousy should have been so entirelyunfounded.

  "No, as usual no one knows exactly what did happen. But we shall learnsomething of
that presently. The divers are on their way. But--but evenif the craft did sustain no injury, what can they do? Ants might as wellattempt to pierce a cannon-ball"--he shrugged his shoulders, oppressedby the vision his homely simile had conjured up.

  And then--for no particular reason, save that his wife Claire was verypresent to him--Jacques de Wissant bethought himself that it was mostunlikely that any tidings of the accident could yet have reached theChalet des Dunes, the lonely villa on the shore where Claire was nowlunching with her sister. But at any moment some casual visitor from thetown might come out there with the sad news. He told himself uneasilythat it would be well, if possible, to save his wife from such a shock.After all, Claire and that excellent Commander Dupre had been goodfriends--so much must be admitted, nay, now he was eager to admit it.

  Jacques de Wissant touched the older man on the arm.

  "I should be most grateful, Admiral, for the loan of your motor-car. Ihave just remembered that I ought to go home for an hour. This terribleaffair made me forget it; but I shall not be long--indeed, I must soonbe back, for there will be all sorts of arrangements to be made at thetown hall. Of course we shall be besieged with inquiries, with messagesfrom Paris, with telegrams----"

  "My car, monsieur, is entirely at your disposal."

  The Admiral could not help feeling, even at so sad and solemn a momentas this, a little satirical amusement. Arrangements at the town hall,forsooth! If the end of the world were in sight, the claims of themunicipality of Falaise would not be neglected or forgotten; in as faras Jacques de Wissant could arrange it, everything in such a case wouldbe ready at the town hall, if not on the quarter-deck, for the GreatAssize!

  What had a naval disaster to do with the Mayor of Falaise, after all?But in this matter the old Admiral allowed prejudice to get the betterof him; the men now immured in the submarine were, with twoexceptions--their commander and his junior officer--all citizens of thetown. It was their mothers, wives, children, sweethearts, who were nowpressing with wild, agonized faces against the barriers drawn across theend of the pier....

  As Jacques de Wissant made his way through the crowd, his greyfrock-coat was pulled by many a horny hand, and imploring faces gazedwith piteous questioning into his. But he could give them no comfort.

  Not till he found himself actually in the Admiral's car did he give hisinstructions to the chauffeur.

  "Take me to the Chalet des Dunes as quickly as you can drive withoutdanger," he said briefly. "You probably know where it is?"

  The man nodded and looked round consideringly. He had never driven soelegantly attired a gentleman before. Why, M. de Wissant looked like abridegroom! The Mayor of Falaise should be good for a handsome tip.

  The chauffeur did not need to be told that on such a day time was ofimportance, and once they were out of the narrow, tortuous streets ofthe town, the Admiral's car flew.

  And then, for the first time that day, Jacques de Wissant began to feelpleasantly cool, nay, there even came over him a certain exhilaration.He had been foolish to hold out against motor-cars. There was a greatdeal to be said for them, after all. He owed his wife reparation for hisevil thoughts of her. He resolved that he would get Claire the bestautomobile money could buy. It is always a mistake to economize in suchmatters....

  His mind took a sudden turn--he felt ashamed of his egoism, and thesensation disturbed him, for the Mayor of Falaise very seldom hadoccasion to feel ashamed, either of his thoughts or of his actions. Howcould he have allowed his attention to stray from the subject whichshould just now be absorbing his whole mind?

  Thirty-six hours' supply of oxygen? Well, it might have been worse, fora great deal can be done in thirty-six hours.

  True, all the salvage appliances, so the Admiral had said, were atCherbourg. What a shameful lack of forethought on someone's part! Still,there was little doubt but that the _Neptune_ would be raised in--intime. The British Navy would send her salvage appliances. Jacques deWissant had a traditional distrust of the English, but at such momentsall men are brothers, and just now the French and the English happenedto be allies. He himself felt far more kindly to his little girls'governess, Miss Doughty, than he would have done five years ago.

  Yes, without doubt the gallant English Navy would send salvageappliances....

  There would be some hours of suspense--terrible hours for the wives andmothers of the men, but those poor women would be upheld by theuniversal sympathy shown them. He himself as mayor of the town would doall he could. He would seek these poor women out, say consoling, hopefulthings, and Claire would help him. She had, as he knew, a very tenderheart, especially where seamen were concerned.

  Indeed, it was a terrible thought--that of those brave fellows downthere beneath the surface of the waters. Terrible, that is, if they werealive--alive in the same measure as he, Jacques de Wissant, was nowalive in the keen, rushing air. Alive, and waiting for a deliverancethat might never come. The idea made him feel a queer, interior tremor.

  Then his mind, in spite of himself, swung back to its old moorings. Howstrange that he had not been told that Commander Dupre had applied fora change of command! Doubtless the Mediterranean was better suited,being a tideless sea, for submarine experiments. Keen, clever Dupre,absorbed as he was in his profession, had doubtless thought of that.

  But, again, how odd of Claire not to have mentioned that Dupre wasleaving Falaise! Of course it was possible that she also had beenignorant of the fact. She very seldom spoke of other people's affairs,and lately she had been so dreadfully worried about her sister's,Marie-Anne's, illness.

  If his wife had known nothing of Commander Dupre's plans, it proved ashardly anything else could have done how little real intimacy therecould have been between them. A man never leaves the woman he lovesunless he has grown tired of her--then, as all the world knows, exceptperchance the poor soul herself, no place is too far for him to makefor.

  Such was Jacques de Wissant's simple, cynical philosophy concerning asubject to which he had never given much thought. The tender passion hadalways appeared to him in one of two shapes--the one was a grotesque andslightly improper shape, which makes men do silly, absurd things; theother came in the semblance of a sinister demon which wrecks the honourand devastates, as nothing else can do, the happiness of respectablefamilies. It was this second and more hateful form which had haunted himthese last few weeks.

  He recalled with a sick feeling of distaste the state of mind and bodyhe had been in that very morning. Why, he had then been in the mood tokill Dupre, or, at any rate, to welcome the news of his death withfierce joy! And then, simultaneously with his discovery of howgroundless had been his jealousy, he had learnt the awful fact that theman whom he had wrongly accused lay out there, buried and yet alive,beneath the glistening sea, which was stretched out, like a great bluepall, on his left.

  Still, it was only proper that his wife should be spared the shock ofhearing in some casual way of this awful accident. Claire had alwaysbeen sensitive, curiously so, to everything that concerned the Navy.Admiral de Saint Vilquier had recalled the horrible submarine disasterof Bizerta harbour; Jacques de Wissant now remembered uncomfortably howvery unhappy that sad affair had made Claire. Why, one day he had foundher in a passion of tears, mourning over the tragic fate of those poorsailor men, the crew of the _Lutin_, of whose very names she wasignorant! At the time he had thought her betrayal of feeling veryunreasonable, but now he understood, and even shared to a certainextent, the pain she had shown; but then he knew Dupre, knew and likedhim, and the men immured in the _Neptune_ were men of Falaise.

  These were the thoughts which jostled each other in Jacques de Wissant'sbrain as he sat back in the Admiral's car.

  They were now rushing past the Pavilion de Wissant. What a pity it wasthat Claire had not remained quietly at home to-day! It would have beenso much pleasanter--if one could think of anything being pleasant insuch a connection--to have gone in and told her the sad news at home.Her sister, Madeleine Baudoin, though older than Claire, was f
oolishlyemotional and unrestrained in the expression of her feelings. Madeleinewas sure to make a scene when she heard of Commander Dupre's peril, andJacques de Wissant hated scenes.

  He now asked himself whether there was any real necessity for histelling his wife before her sister. All he need do was to send Claire amessage by the servant who opened the door to him. He would say that shewas wanted at home; she would think something had happened to one of thechildren, and this would be a good thing, for it would prepare her in ameasure for ill tidings.

  From what Jacques knew of his wife he believed she would receive thenews quietly, and he, her husband, would show her every consideration;again he reminded himself that it would be ridiculous to deny the factthat Claire had made a friend, almost an intimate, of Commander Dupre.It would be natural, nay "correct," for her to be greatly distressedwhen she heard of the accident.

  * * * * *

  There came a familiar cutting in the road, and again the sea lay spreadout, an opaque, glistening sheet of steel, before him. He gazed across,with a feeling of melancholy and fearful curiosity, to the swarm ofcraft great and small collected round the place where the _Neptune_ lay,eighteen fathoms deep....

  He hoped Claire would not ask to go back into the town with him in orderto hear the latest news. But if she did so ask, then he would raise noobjection. Every Falaise woman, whatever her rank in life, was now fullof suspense and anxiety, and as the mayor's wife Claire had a right toshare that anxious suspense.

  The car was now slowing on the sharp decline leading to the shore, andJacques de Wissant got up and touched the chauffeur on the shoulder.

  "Stop here," he said. "You needn't drive down to the Chalet. I want youto turn and wait for me at the Pavillon de Wissant. Ask my servants togive you some luncheon. I may be half an hour or more, but I want to getback to Falaise as soon as I can."

  The Chalet des Dunes had been well named. It stood enclosed in roughpalings in a sandy wilderness. An attempt had been made to turn theimmediate surroundings of the villa into the semblance of a garden;there were wind-blown flowers set in sandy flower-beds, and coarse,luxuriant creepers flung their long, green ropes about the woodenverandah. In front, stretching out into the sea, was a stone pier, builtby Jacques' father many a year ago.

  The Chalet looked singularly quiet and deserted, for all the shuttershad been closed in order to shut out the midday heat.

  Jacques de Wissant became vaguely uneasy. He reconsidered his plan ofaction. If the two sisters were alone together--as he supposed them tobe--he would go in and quietly tell them of the accident. It would bemaking altogether too much of the matter to send for Claire to come outto him; she might very properly resent it. For the matter of that, itwas quite possible that Madeleine Baudoin had some little sentiment forDupre. That would explain so much--the officer's constant presence atthe Chalet des Dunes added to his absence from the Pavillon. It was oddhe had never thought of the possibility before.

  But this new idea made Jacques grow more and more uneasy at the thoughtof the task which now lay before him. With slow, hesitating steps hewalked up to the little front door of the Chalet.

  He pulled the rusty bell-handle. How absurd to have ironwork in such aplace!

  There followed what seemed to him a very long pause. He rang again.

  There came the sound of light, swift steps; he could hear them in spiteof the rhythmical surge of the sea; and then the door was opened by hissister-in-law, Madame Baudoin, herself.

  In the midst of his own agitation and unease, Jacques de Wissant sawthat there was a look of embarrassment on the face which Madeleine triedto make amiably welcoming.

  "Jacques?" she exclaimed. "Forgive me for having made you ring twice! Ihave sent the servants into Falaise to purchase a railway time-table.Claire will doubtless have told you that I am starting for Italyto-night. Our poor Marie-Anne is worse; and I feel that it is my dutyto go to her."

  She did not step aside to allow him to come in. In fact, doubtlesswithout meaning to do so, she was actually blocking up the door.

  No, Claire had not told Jacques that Marie-Anne was worse. That ofcourse was why she had looked so unhappy this morning. He felt hurt andangered by his wife's reserve.

  "I am sure you will agree, Madeleine," he said stiffly--he was not sorryto gain a little time--"that it would not be wise for Claire toaccompany you to Italy. After all, she is still quite a young woman, andpoor Marie-Anne's disease is most infectious. I have ascertained, too,that there is a regular epidemic raging in Mantua."

  Madeleine nodded. Then she turned, with an uneasy side-look at herbrother-in-law, and began leading the way down the short passage. Thedoor of the dining-room was open; Jacques could not help seeing thatonly one place was laid at the round table, also that Madeleine had justfinished her luncheon.

  "Isn't Claire here?" he asked, surprised. "She said she was going tolunch with you to-day. Hasn't she been here this morning?"

  "No--I mean yes." Madeleine spoke confusedly. "She did not stay tolunch. She was only here for a very little while."

  "But has she gone home again?"

  "Well--she may be home by now; I really don't know"--Madeleine wasopening the door of the little drawing-room.

  It was an ugly, common-looking room; the walls were hung with Turkeyred, and ornamented with cheap coloured prints. There were cane andbasket chairs which Madame Baudoin had striven to make comfortable withthe help of cushions and rugs.

  Jacques de Wissant told himself that it was odd that Claire should liketo spend so much of her time here, in the Chalet des Dunes, instead ofasking her sister to join her each morning or afternoon in her ownbeautiful house on the cliff.

  "Forgive me," he said stiffly, "but I can't stay a moment. I really camefor Claire. You say I shall find her at home?"

  He held his top hat and his yellow gloves in his hand, and hissister-in-law thought she had never seen Jacques look so plain andunattractive, and--and tiresome as he looked to-day.

  Madame Baudoin had a special reason for wishing him away; but she knewthe slow, sure workings of his mind. If Jacques found that his wife hadnot gone back to the Pavillon de Wissant, and that there was no news ofher there, he would almost certainly come back to the Chalet des Dunesfor further information.

  "No," she said reluctantly, "Claire has not gone back to the Pavillon. Ibelieve that she has gone into the town. She had something importantthat she wished to do there."

  She looked so troubled, so--so uncomfortable that Jacques de Wissantleapt to the sudden conclusion that the tidings he had been at suchpains to bring had already been brought to the Chalet des Dunes.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed, "then I am too late! Ill news travels fast."

  "Ill news?" Madeleine repeated affrightedly. "Is anything the matter?Has anything happened to one of the children? Don't keep me in suspense,Jacques. I am not cold-blooded--like you!"

  "The children are all right," he said shortly. "But there has been, asyou evidently know, an accident. The submarine _Neptune_ has met with aserious mishap. She now lies with her crew in eighteen fathoms of waterabout two miles out."

  He spoke with cold acerbity. How childishly foolish of Madeleine to tryand deceive him! But all women of the type to which she belonged makefoolish mysteries about nothing.

  "The submarine _Neptune_?" As she stammered out the question which hadalready been answered, there came over Madame Baudoin's face a look ofmeasureless terror. Twice her lips opened--and twice she closed themagain.

  At last she uttered a few words--words of anguished protest and revolt."No, no," she cried, "that can't be--it's impossible!"

  "Command yourself!" he said sternly. "Remember what would be thought byanyone who saw you in this state."

  But she went on looking at him with wild, terror-stricken eyes. "My poorClaire!" she moaned. "My little sister Claire----"

  All Jacques de Wissant's jealousy leapt into eager, quivering life. Thenhe had been right after all? His wife loved Dupre. H
er sister'sanguished sympathy had betrayed Claire's secret as nothing Claireherself was ever likely to say or do could have done.

  "You are a good sister," he said ironically, "to take Claire's distressso much to heart. Identifying yourself as entirely as you seem to dowith her, I am surprised that you did not accompany her into Falaise: itwas most wrong of you to let her go alone."

  "Claire is not in Falaise," muttered Madeleine. She was grasping theback of one of the cane chairs with her hand as if glad of even thatslight support, staring at him with a dazed look of abject misery whichincreased his anger, his disgust.

  "Not in Falaise?" he echoed sharply. "Then where, in God's name, isshe?"

  A most disagreeable possibility had flashed into his mind. Was itconceivable that his wife had had herself rowed to the scene of thedisaster? If she had done that, if her sister had allowed her to goalone, or accompanied maybe by one or other of the officers belonging tothe submarine flotilla, then he told himself with jealous rage that hewould find it very difficult ever to forgive Claire. There are things awoman with any self-respect, especially a woman who is the mother ofdaughters, refrains from doing.

  "Well?" he said contemptuously. "Well, Madeleine? I am waiting to hearthe truth. I desire no explanations--no excuses. I cannot, however,withhold myself from telling you that you ought to have accompanied yoursister, even if you found it impossible to control her."

  "I was there yesterday," said Madeleine Baudoin, with a pinched, whiteface, "for over two hours."

  "What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously. "Where were you yesterday forover two hours?"

  "In the _Neptune_."

  She gazed at him, past him, with widely open eyes, as if she werestaring, fascinated, at some scene of unutterable horror--and therecrept into Jacques de Wissant's mind a thought so full of shameful dreadthat he thrust it violently from him.

  "You were in the _Neptune_," he said slowly, "knowing well that it isabsolutely forbidden for any officer to take a friend on board asubmarine without a special permit from the Minister of Marine?"

  "It is sometimes done," she said listlessly.

  Madame Baudoin had now sat down on a low chair, and she was plucking atthe front of her white serge skirt with a curious mechanical movement ofthe fingers.

  "Did the submarine actually put out to sea with you on board?"

  She nodded her head, and then very deliberately added, "Yes, I have toldyou that I was out for two hours. They all knew it--the men and officersof the flotilla. I was horribly frightened, but--but now I am gladindeed that I went. Yes, I am indeed glad!"

  "Why are you glad?" he asked roughly--and again a hateful suspicionthrust itself insistently upon him.

  "I am glad I went, because it will make what Claire has done to-dayseem natural, a--a simple escapade."

  There was a moment of terrible silence between them.

  "Then do all the officers and men belonging to the flotilla know that mywife is out there--in the _Neptune_?" Jacques de Wissant asked in a low,still voice.

  "No," said Madeleine, and there was now a look of shame, as well as ofterror, on her face. "They none of them know--only those who are onboard." She hesitated a moment--"That is why I sent the servants awaythis morning. We--I mean Commander Dupre and I--did not think itnecessary that anyone should know."

  "Then no one--that is, only a hare-brained young officer and ten menbelonging to the town of Falaise--were to be aware of the fact that mywife had accompanied her lover on this life-risking expedition? You andDupre were indeed tender of her honour--and mine."

  "Jacques!" She took her hand off the chair, and faced her brother-in-lawproudly. "What infamous thing is this that you are harbouring in yourmind? My sister is an honest woman, aye, as honest, as high-minded aswas your own mother----"

  He stopped her with a violent gesture. "Do not mention Claire and mymother in the same breath!" he cried.

  "Ah, but I will--I must! You want the truth--you said just now youwanted only the truth. Then you shall hear the truth! Yes, it is as youhave evidently suspected. Louis Dupre loves Claire, and she"--her voicefaltered, then grew firmer--"she may have had for him a littlesentiment. Who can tell? You have not been at much pains to make herhappy. But what is true, what is certain, is that she rejected his love.To-day they were to part--for ever."

  Her voice failed again, then once more it strengthened and hardened.

  "That is why he in a moment of folly--I admit it was in a moment offolly--asked her to come out on his last cruise in the _Neptune_. Whenyou came I was expecting them back any moment. But, Jacques, do not beafraid. I swear to you that no one shall ever know. Admiral de SaintVilquier will do anything for us Kergouets; I myself will go to him,and--and explain."

  But Jacques de Wissant scarcely heard the eager, pitiful words.

  He had thrust his wife from his mind, and her place had been taken byhis honour--his honour and that of his children, of happy,light-hearted Clairette and Jacqueline. For what seemed a long while hesaid nothing; then, with all the anger gone from his voice, he spoke,uttered a fiat.

  "No," he said quietly. "You must leave the Admiral to me, Madeleine. Youwere going to Italy to-night, were you not? That, I take it, _is_ true."

  She nodded impatiently. What did her proposed journey to Italy mattercompared with her beloved Claire's present peril?

  "Well, you must carry out your plan, my poor Madeleine. You must go awayto-night."

  She stared at him, her face at last blotched with tears, and a look ofbewildered anguish in her eyes.

  "You must do this," Jacques de Wissant went on deliberately, "forClaire's sake, and for the sake of Claire's children. You haven'tsufficient self-control to endure suspense calmly, secretly. You neednot go farther than Paris, but those whom it concerns will be told thatClaire has gone with you to Italy. There will always be time to tell thetruth. Meanwhile, the Admiral and I will devise a plan. And perhaps"--hewaited a moment--"the truth will never be known, or only known to a veryfew people--people who, as you say, will understand."

  He had spoken very slowly, as if weighing each of his words, but it wasquickly, with a queer catch in his voice, that he added--"I ask you todo this, my sister"--he had never before called Madeleine Baudoin "mysister"--"because of Claire's children, of Clairette and Jacqueline.Their mother would not wish a slur to rest upon them."

  She looked at him with piteous, hunted eyes. But she knew that she mustdo what he asked.

  IV

  Jacques de Wissant sat at his desk in the fine old room which is setaside for the mayor's sole use in the town hall of Falaise.

  He was waiting for Admiral de Saint Vilquier, whom he had summoned onthe plea of a matter both private and urgent. In his note, of which hehad written more than one draft, he had omitted none of the punctiliousual in French official correspondence, and he had asked pardon, in themost formal language, for asking the Admiral to come to him, instead ofproposing to go to the Admiral.

  The time that had elapsed since he had parted from his sister-in-law hadseemed like years instead of hours, and yet every moment of those hourshad been filled with action.

  From the Chalet des Dunes Jacques had made his way straight to thePavillon de Wissant, and there his had been the bitter task of lying tohis household.

  They had accepted unquestioningly his statement that their mistress,without waiting even to go home, had left the Chalet des Dunes with hersister for Italy owing to the arrival of sudden worse news from Mantua.

  While Claire's luggage was being by his orders hurriedly prepared, hehad changed his clothes; and then, overcome with mortal weariness, withsick, sombre suspense, he had returned to Falaise, taking the railwaystation on his way to the town hall, and from there going through thegrim comedy of despatching his wife's trunks to Paris.

  Since the day war was declared by France on Germany, there had neverbeen at the town hall of Falaise so busy an afternoon. Urgent messagesof inquiry and condolence came pouring in from all over the civilizedworld, and
the mayor had to compose suitable answers to them all.

  To him there also fell the painful duty of officially announcing to thecrowd surging impatiently in the market place--though room in front wasalways made and kept for those of the fisher folk who had relatives inthe submarine service--that it was the _Neptune_ which had gone down.

  He had seen the effect of that announcement painted on rough, worn,upturned faces; he had heard the cries of anger, the groans of despairof the few, and had witnessed the relief, the tears of joy of the many.But his heart felt numb, and his cold, stern manner kept the emotionsand excitement of those about him in check.

  At last there had come a short respite. It was publicly announced thatowing to the currents the divers had had to suspend their work awhile,but that salvage appliances from England and from Cherbourg were ontheir way to Falaise, and that it was hoped by seven that evening activeoperations would begin. With luck the _Neptune_ might be raised beforemidnight.

  Fortunate people blessed with optimistic natures were already planning abanquet at which the crew of the _Neptune_ were to be entertained withinan hour of the rescue.

  * * * * *

  Jacques de Wissant rose from the massive First Empire table which formedpart of the fine suite of furniture presented by the great Napoleonjust a hundred years ago to the municipality of Falaise.

  With bent head, his hands clasped behind him, the mayor began walking upand down the long room.

  Admiral de Saint Vilquier might now come at any moment, but the manawaiting him had not yet made up his mind how to word what he had tosay--how much to tell, how much to conceal from, his wife's old friend.He was only too well aware that if the desperate attempts which wouldsoon be made to raise the _Neptune_ were successful, and if its humanfreight were rescued alive, the fact that there had been a woman onboard could not be concealed. Thousands would know to-night, andmillions to-morrow morning.

  Not only would the amazing story provide newspaper readers all over theworld with a thrilling, unexpected piece of news, but the fact thatthere had been a woman involved in the disaster would be perpetuated, aslong as our civilization endures, in every account of subsequentaccidents to submarine craft.

  More intimately, vividly agonizing was the knowledge that the story, thescandal, would be revived when there arose the all-important question ofa suitable marriage for Clairette or Jacqueline.

  As he paced up and down the room, longing for and yet dreading thecoming of the Admiral, he visualized what would happen. He could almosthear the whispered words: "Yes, dear friend, the girl is admirablybrought up, and has a large fortune, also she and your son have takenquite a fancy for one another, but there is that very ugly story of themother! Don't you remember that she was with her lover in the submarine_Neptune_? The citizens of Falaise still laugh at the story and pointher out in the street. Like mother like daughter, you know!" Thus themiserable man tortured himself, turning the knife in his wound.

  But stay---- Supposing the salvage appliances failed, as they had failedat Bizerta, to raise the _Neptune_? Then with the help of Admiral deSaint Vilquier the awful truth might be kept secret.

  * * * * *

  At last the door opened.

  Jacques de Wissant took a step forward, and as his hand rested looselyfor a moment in the old seaman's firmer grasp, he would have given manyyears of his life to postpone the coming interview.

  "As you asked me so urgently to do so, I have come, M. de Wissant, tolearn what you have to tell me. But I'm afraid the time I can spare youmust be short. As you know, I am to be at the station in half an hour tomeet the Minister of Marine. He will probably wish to go out at once tothe scene of the calamity, and I shall have to accompany him."

  The Admiral was annoyed at having been thus sent for to the town hall.It was surely Jacques de Wissant's place to have come to him.

  And then, while listening to the other's murmured excuses, the old navalofficer happened to look straight into the face of the Mayor of Falaise,and at once a change came over his manner, even his voice softened andaltered.

  "Pardon my saying so, M. de Wissant," he exclaimed abruptly, "but youlook extremely ill! You mustn't allow this sad business to take such ahold on you. It is tragic no doubt that such things must be, butremember"--he uttered the words solemnly--"they are the Price ofAdmiralty."

  "I know, I know," muttered Jacques de Wissant.

  "Shall we sit down?"

  The deadly pallor, the look of strain on the face of the man before himwas making the Admiral feel more and more uneasy. "It would be veryawkward," he thought to himself, "were Jacques de Wissant to be takenill, here, now, with me---- Ah, I have it!"

  Then he said aloud, "You have doubtless had nothing to eat since themorning?" And as de Wissant nodded--"But that's absurd! It's alwaysmadness to go without food. Believe me, you will want all your strengthduring the next few days. As for me, I had fortunately lunched before Ireceived the sad news. I keep to the old hours; I do not care for yourEnglish _dejeuners_ at one o'clock. Midday is late enough for me!"

  "Admiral?" said the wretched man, "Admiral----?"

  "Yes, take your time; I am not really in such a hurry. I am quite atyour disposal."

  "It is a question of honour," muttered Jacques de Wissant, "a questionof honour, Admiral, or I should not trouble you with the matter."

  Admiral de Saint Vilquier leant forward, but Jacques de Wissant avoidedmeeting the shrewd, searching eyes.

  "The honour of a naval family is involved." The Mayor of Falaise was nowspeaking in a low, pleading voice.

  The Admiral stiffened. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "So you have been asked tointercede with me on behalf of some young scapegrace. Well, who is it?I'll look into the matter to-morrow morning. I really cannot think ofanything to-day but of this terrible business----"

  "----Admiral, it concerns this business."

  "The loss of the _Neptune_? In what way can the honour of a naval familybe possibly involved in such a matter?" There was a touch of hauteur aswell as of indignant surprise in the fine old seaman's voice.

  "Admiral," said Jacques de Wissant deliberately, "there was--there is--awoman on board the _Neptune_."

  "A woman in the _Neptune_? That is quite impossible!" The Admiral got upfrom his chair. "It is one of our strictest regulations that no strangerbe taken on board a submarine without a special permit from the Ministerof Marine, countersigned by an admiral. No such permit has been issuedfor many months. In no case would a woman be allowed on board. CommanderDupre is far too conscientious, too loyal, an officer to break such aregulation."

  "Commander Dupre," said Jacques de Wissant in a low, bitter tone, "wasnot too conscientious or too loyal an officer to break that regulation,for there is, I repeat it, a woman in the _Neptune_."

  The Admiral sat down again. "But this is serious--very serious," hemuttered.

  He was thinking of the effect, not only at home but abroad, of such abreach of discipline.

  He shook his head with a pained, angry gesture--"I understand whathappened," he said at last. "The woman was of course poor Dupre's"--andthen something in Jacques de Wissant's pallid face made him substitute,for the plain word he meant to have used, a softer, kindlierphrase--"poor Dupre's _bonne amie_," he said.

  "I am advised not," said Jacques de Wissant shortly. "I am told that theperson in question is a young lady."

  "Do you mean an unmarried girl?" asked the Admiral. There was greatcuriosity and sincere relief in his voice.

  "I beg of you not to ask me, Admiral! The family of the lady haveimplored me to reveal as little of the truth as possible. They havetaken their own measures, and they are good measures, to account forher--her disappearance." The unhappy man spoke with considerableagitation.

  "Quite so! Quite so! They are right. I have no wish to show indiscreetcuriosity."

  "Do you think anything can be done to prevent the fact becoming known?"asked Jacques de Wissant--and, as the other wait
ed a moment beforeanswering, the suspense became almost more than he could endure.

  He got up and instinctively stood with his back to the light. "Thefamily of this young lady are willing to make any pecuniarysacrifice----"

  "It is not a question of pecuniary sacrifice," the Admiral said stiffly."Money will never really purchase either secrecy or silence. But honour,M. de Wissant, will sometimes, nay, often, do both."

  "Then you think the fact can be concealed?"

  "I think it will be impossible to conceal it if the _Neptune_ israised"--he hesitated, and his voice sank as he added the poignant words"_in time_. But if that happens, though I fear that it is not likely tohappen, then I promise you that I will allow it to be thought that I hadgiven this lady permission, and her improper action will be accepted forwhat it no doubt was--a foolish escapade. If Dupre and little Paritotare the men of honour I take them to be, one or other of them will ofcourse marry her!"

  "And if the _Neptune_ is not raised--" the Mayor's voice also droppedto a whisper--"_in time_--what then?"

  "Then," said the Admiral, "everything will be done by me--so you canassure your unlucky friends--to conceal the fact that Commander Duprefailed in his duty. Not for his sake, you understand--he, I fear,deserves what he has suffered, what he is perhaps still suffering,"--alook of horror stole over his old, weather-roughened face--"but for thesake of the foolish girl and for the sake of her family. You say it is anaval family?"

  "Yes," said Jacques de Wissant. "A noted naval family."

  The Admiral got up. "And now I, on my side, must exact of you a pledge,M. de Wissant--" he looked searchingly at the Government officialstanding before him. "I solemnly implore you, monsieur, to keep thisfact you have told me absolutely secret for the time being--secret evenfrom the Minister of Marine."

  The Mayor of Falaise bent his head. "I intend to act," he said slowly,"as if I had never heard it."

  "I ask it for the honour, the repute, of the Service," muttered the oldofficer. "After all, M. de Wissant, the poor fellow did not mean muchharm. We sailors have all, at different times of our lives, had some_bonne amie_ whom we found it devilish hard to leave on shore!"

  The Admiral walked slowly towards the door. To-day had aged him years.Then he turned and looked benignantly at Jacques de Wissant; the manbefore him might be stiff, cold, awkward in manner, but he was agentleman, a man of honour.

  And as he drove to the station to meet the Minister of Marine, Admiralde Saint Vilquier's shrewd, practical mind began to deal with thedifficult problem which was now added to his other cares. It wassimplified in view of the fact--the awful fact--that according to hisprivate information it was most unlikely that the submarine would beraised within the next few hours. He hoped with all his heart that thetwelve men and the woman now lying beneath the sea had met death at themoment of the collision.

  * * * * *

  All that summer night the cafes and eating-houses of Falaise remainedopen, and there was a constant coming and going to the beach, where manypeople, even among those visitors who were not directly interested inthe calamity, camped out on the stones.

  The mayor sent word to the Pavillon de Wissant that he would sleep inhis town house, but though he left the town hall at two in the morninghe was back at his post by eight, and he spent there the whole of thenext long dragging day.

  Fortunately for him there was little time for thought. In addition tothe messages of inquiry and condolence which went on pouring in,important members of the Government arrived from Paris and theprovinces.

  There also came to Falaise the mother of Commander Dupre, and the fatherand brother of Lieutenant Paritot. De Wissant made the latter hisspecial care. They, the two men, were granted the relief of tears, butMadame Dupre's silent agony could not be assuaged.

  Once, when he suddenly came upon her sitting, her chin in her hand, inhis room at the town hall, Jacques de Wissant shrank from her blazingeyes and ravaged face, so vividly did they recall to him the eyes, theface, he had seen that April evening "'twixt dog and wolf," when he hadfirst leapt upon the truth.

  On the third day all hope that there could be anyone still living in the_Neptune_ was being abandoned, and yet at noon there ran a rumourthrough the town that knocking had been heard in the submarine....

  The mayor himself drew up an official proclamation, in which it waspointed out that it was almost certain that all on board had perished atthe time of the collision, and that, even if any of them had survivedfor a few hours, not one could be alive now.

  And then, as one by one the days of waiting began to wear themselvesaway, the world, apart from the town which numbered ten of her sonsamong the doomed men, relaxed its painful interest in the fate of theFrench submarine. Indeed, Falaise took on an almost winter stillness ofaspect, for the summer visitors naturally drifted away from a spot whichwas still the heart of an awful tragedy.

  But Jacques de Wissant did not relax in his duties or in his efforts onbehalf of the families of the men who still lay, eighteen fathoms deep,encased in their steel tomb; and the townspeople were deeply moved bytheir mayor's continued, if restrained, distress. He even put hischildren, his pretty twin daughters, Jacqueline and Clairette, into deepmourning; this touched the seafaring portion of the population verymuch.

  It also became known that M. de Wissant was suffering from domesticdistress of a very sad and intimate kind; his sister-in-law wasseriously ill in Italy from an infectious disease, and his wife, whohad gone away at a moment's notice to help to nurse her, had caught theinfection.

  The Mayor of Falaise and Admiral de Saint Vilquier did not often haveoccasion to meet during those days spent by each of them in entertainingofficial personages and in composing answers to the messages andinquiries which went on dropping in, both by day and by night, at thetown hall and at the Admiral's quarters. But there came an hour whenAdmiral de Saint Vilquier at last sought to have a private word with theMayor of Falaise.

  "I think I have arranged everything satisfactorily," he said briefly,"and you can convey the fact to your friends. I do not suppose, asmatters are now, that there is much fear that the truth will ever comeout."

  The old man did not look into Jacques de Wissant's face while he utteredthe comforting words. He had become aware of many things--includingMadeleine Baudoin's cruise in the _Neptune_ the day before the accident,and of her own and Claire de Wissant's reported departure for Italy.

  Alone, among the people who sometimes had friendly speech of the mayorduring those sombre days of waiting, Admiral de Saint Vilquier did notcondole with the anxious husband on the fact that he could not yet leaveFalaise for Mantua.

  V

  Jacques de Wissant woke with a start and sat up in bed. He had heard aknock--but, awake or sleeping, his ears were never free of the sound ofknocking,--of muffled, regular knocking....

  It was the darkest hour of the summer night, but with a sharp sense ofrelief he became aware that what had wakened him this time was a realsound, not the slow, patient, rhythmical, tapping which haunted himincessantly. But now the knocking had been followed by the opening ofhis bedroom door, and vaguely outlined before him was the short, squatform of an old woman who had entered his mother's service when he was alittle boy, and who always stayed in his town house.

  "M'sieur l'Amiral de Saint Vilquier desires to see M'sieur Jacques onurgent business," she whispered. "I have put him to wait in the greatdrawing-room. It is fortunate that I took all the covers off thefurniture yesterday."

  Then the moment of ordeal, the moment he had begun to think would nevercome--was upon him? He knew this summons to mean that the _Neptune_ hadbeen finally towed into the harbour, and that now, in this still, darkhour before dawn, was about to begin the work of taking out the bodies.

  Every day for a week past it had been publicly announced that thefollowing night would see the final scene of the dread drama, and eachevening--even last evening--it had been as publicly announced thatnothing could be done for the present.


  Jacques de Wissant had put all his trust in the Admiral and in thearrangements the Admiral was making to avoid discovery. But now, as hegot up and dressed himself--strange to say that phantom sound ofknocking had ceased--there came over him a frightful sensation of doubtand fear. Had he been right to trust wholly to the old naval officer?Would it not have been better to have taken the Minister of Marine intohis confidence?

  How would it be possible for Admiral de Saint Vilquier, unless backed byGovernmental authority, to elude the vigilance, not only of theAdmiralty officials and of all those that were directly interested, butalso of the journalists who, however much the public interest hadslackened in the disaster, still stayed on at Falaise in order to bepresent at the last act of the tragedy?

  These thoughts jostled each other in Jacques de Wissant's brain. Butwhether he had been right or wrong it was too late to alter now.

  He went into the room where the Admiral stood waiting for him.

  The two men shook hands, but neither spoke till they had left the house.Then, as they walked with firm, quick steps across the desertedmarket-place, the Admiral said suddenly, "This is the quietest hour inthe twenty-four, and though I anticipate a little trouble with thejournalists, I think everything will go off quite well."

  His companion muttered a word of assent, and the other went on, thistime in a gruff whisper: "By the way, I have had to tell Dr. Tarnier--"and as Jacques de Wissant gave vent to a stifled exclamation ofdismay--"of course I had to tell Dr. Tarnier! He has most nobly offeredto go down into the _Neptune_ alone--though in doing so he will runconsiderable personal risk."

  Admiral de Saint Vilquier paused a moment, for the quick pace at whichhis companion was walking made him rather breathless. "I have simplytold him that there was a young woman on board. He imagines her to havebeen a Parisienne,--a person of no importance, you understand,--who hadcome to spend the holiday with poor Dupre. But he quite realizes thatthe fact must never be revealed." He spoke in a dry, matter-of-facttone. "There will not be room on the pontoon for more than five or six,including ourselves and Dr. Tarnier. Doubtless some of our newspaperfriends will be disappointed--if one can speak of disappointment in sucha connection--but they will have plenty of opportunities of beingpresent to-morrow and the following nights. I have arranged with theMinister of Marine for the work to be done only at night."

  As the two men emerged on the quays, they saw that the news had leakedout, for knots of people stood about, talking in low hushed tones, andstaring at the middle of the harbour.

  Apart from the others, and almost dangerously close to the unguardededge below which was the dark lapping water, stood a line of womenshrouded in black, and from them came no sound.

  As the Admiral and his companion approached the little group ofofficials who were apparently waiting for them, the old naval officerwhispered to Jacques de Wissant, using for the first time the familiarexpression, "_mon ami_," "Do not forget, _mon ami_, to thank theharbour-master and the pilot. They have had a very difficult task, andthey will expect your commendation."

  Jacques de Wissant said the words required of him. And then, at the lastmoment, just as he was on the point of going down the steps leading tothe flat-bottomed boat in which they were to be rowed to the pontoon,there arose an angry discussion. The harbour-master had, it seemed,promised the representatives of two Paris newspapers that they should bepresent when the submarine was first opened.

  But the Admiral stiffly asserted his supreme authority. "In such mattersI can allow no favouritism! It is doubtful if any bodies will be takenout to-night, gentlemen, for the tide is already turning. I will see ifother arrangements can be made to-morrow. If any of you had been in theharbour of Bizerta when the _Lutin_ was raised, you would now thank mefor not allowing you to view the sight which we may be about to see."

  And the weary, disappointed special correspondents, who had spent longdays watching for this one hour, realized that they would have tocontent themselves with describing what could be seen from the quays.

  * * * * *

  It will, however, surprise no one familiar with the remarkableenterprise of the modern press, when it is recorded that by far the mostaccurate account of what occurred during the hour that followed waswritten by a cosmopolitan war correspondent, who had had the goodfortune of making Dr. Tarnier's acquaintance during the dull fortnightof waiting.

  He wrote:

  None of those who were there will ever forget what they saw last night in the harbour of Falaise.

  The scene, illumined by the searchlight of a destroyer, was at once sinister, sombre, and magnificent. Below the high, narrow pontoon, on the floor of the harbour, lay the wrecked submarine; and those who gazed down at the _Neptune_ felt as though they were in the presence of what had once been a sentient being done to death by some huge Goliath of the deep.

  Dr. Tarnier, the chief medical officer of the port--a man who is beloved and respected by the whole population of Falaise--stood ready to begin his dreadful task. I had ascertained that he had obtained permission to go down alone into the hold of death--an exploration attended with the utmost physical risk. He was clad in a suit of india-rubber clothing, and over his arm was folded a large tarpaulin sheet lined with carbolic wool, one of half a dozen such sheets lying at his feet.

  The difficult work of unsealing the conning tower was then proceeded with in the presence of Admiral de Saint Vilquier, whose prowess as a midshipman is still remembered by British Crimean veterans--and of the Mayor of Falaise, M. Jacques de Wissant.

  At last there came a guttural exclamation of "_Ca y est!_" and Dr. Tarnier stepped downwards, to emerge a moment later with the first body, obviously that of the gallant Commander Dupre, who was found, as it was expected he would be, in the conning tower.

  Once more the doctor's burly figure disappeared, once more he emerged, tenderly bearing a slighter, lighter burden, obviously the boyish form of Lieutenant Paritot, who was found close to Commander Dupre.

  The tide was rising rapidly, but two more bodies--this time with the help of a webbed band cleverly designed by Dr. Tarnier with a view to the purpose--were lifted from the inner portion of the submarine.

  The four bodies, rather to the disappointment of the large crowd which had gradually gathered on the quays, were not taken directly to the shore, to the great hall where Falaise is to mourn her dead sons; one by one they were reverently conveyed, by the Admiral's orders, to a barge which was once used as a hospital ward for sick sailors, and which is close to the mouth of the harbour. Thence, when all twelve bodies have been recovered--that is, in three or four days, for the work is only to be proceeded with at night,--they will be taken to the Salle d'Armes, there to await the official obsequies.

  On the morning following the night during which the last body was liftedfrom within the _Neptune_, there ran a curious rumour through thefishing quarter of the town. It was said that thirteen bodies--nottwelve, as declared the official report--had been taken out of the_Neptune_. It was declared on the authority of one of the seamen--aGascon, be it noted--who had been there on that first night, that five,not four, bodies had been conveyed to the hospital barge.

  But the rumour, though it found an echo in the French press, was notregarded as worth an official denial, and it received its final quietuson the day of the official obsequies, when it was at once seen that thenumber of ammunition wagons heading the great procession was twelve.

  * * * * *

  As long as tradition endures in the life of the town, Falaise willremember the _Neptune_ funeral procession. Not only was every navy inthe world represented, but also every strand of that loosely woven humanfabric we civilized peoples call a nation.

  Through the long line of soldiers, each man with his arms reversed,walked the official mourners, while from the fortifications there bo
omedthe minute gun.

  First the President of the French Republic, with, to his right, theMinister of Marine; and close behind them the stiff, still vigorous,figure of old Admiral de Saint Vilquier. By his side walked the Mayor ofFalaise--so mortally pale, so what the French call undone, that theAdmiral felt fearful lest his neighbour should be compelled to fall out.

  But Jacques de Wissant was not minded to fall out.

  The crowd looking on, especially the wives of those substantial citizensof the town who stood at their windows behind half-closed shutters anddrawn blinds, stared down at the mayor with pitying concern.

  "He has a warm heart though a cold manner," murmured these ladies to oneanother, "and just now, you know, he is in great anxiety, for hiswife--that beautiful Claire with whom he doesn't get on very well--is inItaly, seriously ill of scarlet fever." "Yes, and as soon as this sadceremony is over, he will leave for the south--I hear that the Presidenthas offered him a seat in his saloon as far as Paris."

  As the head of the procession at last stopped on the great parade groundwhere the last honours were to be rendered to the lowly yet illustriousdead, Jacques de Wissant straightened himself with an instinctivegesture, and his lips began to move. He was muttering to himself thespeech he would soon have to deliver, and which he had that morning,making a great mental effort, committed to memory.

  And after the President had had his long, emotional, and flowery say;and when the oldest of French admirals had stepped forward and, in aquavering voice, bidden the dead farewell on behalf of the Navy, it cameto the turn of the Mayor of Falaise.

  He was there, he said, simply as the mouth-piece of his fellow-townsmen,and they, bowed as they were by deep personal grief, could say butlittle--they could indeed only murmur their eternal gratitude for thesympathy they had received, and were now receiving, from theircountrymen and from the world.

  Then Jacques de Wissant gave a brief personal account of each of the tenseamen whom this vast concourse had gathered together to honour. It wasnoted by the curious in such things that he made no allusion to the twoofficers, to Commander Dupre and Lieutenant Paritot; doubtless hethought that they, after all, had been amply honoured in the precedingspeeches.

  But though his care for the lowly heroes proved the Mayor of Falaise agood republican, he showed himself in the popular estimation also ascholar, for he wound up with the old tag--the grand old tag whichinspired so many noble souls in the proudest of ancient empires andcivilizations, and which will retain the power of moving and thrillinggenerations yet unborn in both the Western and the Eastern worlds:

  "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori."