CHAPTER II
RIGHT HAND AND LEFT LEG
"One rogue less in the world, Little Mother Coralie!" cried PatriceBelval, after he had led the girl back to the drawing-room and made arapid investigation with Ya-Bon. "Remember his name--I found it engravedon his watch--Mustapha Rovalaiof, the name of a rogue!"
He spoke gaily, with no emotion in his voice, and continued, as hewalked up and down the room:
"You and I, Little Mother Coralie, who have witnessed so many tragediesand seen so many good fellows die, need not waste tears over the deathof Mustapha Rovalaiof or his murder by his accomplices. Not even afuneral oration, eh? Ya-Bon has taken him under his arm, waited untilthe square was clear and carried him to the Rue Brignoles, with ordersto fling the gentleman over the railings into the garden of the MuseeGalliera. The railings are high. But Ya-Bon's right hand knows noobstacles. And so, Little Mother Coralie, the matter is buried. Youwon't be talked about; and, this time, I claim a word of thanks."
He stopped to laugh:
"A word of thanks, but no compliments. By Jove, I don't make much of awarder! It was clever the way those beggars snatched my prisoner. Whydidn't I foresee that your other assailant, the man in the gray-felthat, would go and tell the third, who was waiting in his motor, and thatthey would both come back together to rescue their companion? And theycame back. And, while you and I were chatting, they must have forced theservants' entrance, passed through the kitchen, come to the little doorbetween the pantry and the hall and pushed it open. There, close bythem, lay their man, still unconscious and firmly bound, on his sofa.What were they to do? It was impossible to get him out of the hallwithout alarming Ya-Bon. And yet, if they didn't release him, he wouldspeak, give away his accomplices and ruin a carefully prepared plan. Soone of the two must have leant forward stealthily, put out his arm,thrown his string round that throat which Ya-Bon had already handledpretty roughly, gathered the buckles at the two ends and pulled, pulled,quietly, until death came. Not a sound. Not a sigh. The whole operationperformed in silence. We come, we kill and we go away. Good-night. Thetrick is done and our friend won't talk."
Captain Belval's merriment increased:
"Our friend won't talk," he repeated, "and the police, when they findhis body to-morrow morning inside a railed garden, won't understand aword of the business. Nor we either, Little Mother Coralie; and we shallnever know why those men tried to kidnap you. It's only too true! I maynot be up to much as a warder, but I'm beneath contempt as a detective!"
He continued to walk up and down the room. The fact that his leg orrather his calf had been amputated seemed hardly to inconvenience him;and, as the joints of the knee and thighbone had retained theirmobility, there was at most a certain want of rhythm in the action ofhis hips and shoulders. Moreover, his tall figure tended to correct thislameness, which was reduced to insignificant proportions by the ease ofhis movements and the indifference with which he appeared to accept it.
He had an open countenance, rather dark in color, burnt by the sun andtanned by the weather, with an expression that was frank, cheerful andoften bantering. He must have been between twenty-eight and thirty. Hismanner suggested that of the officers of the First Empire, to whom theirlife in camp imparted a special air which they subsequently brought intothe ladies' drawing-rooms.
He stopped to look at Coralie, whose shapely profile stood out againstthe gleams from the fireplace. Then he came and sat beside her:
"I know nothing about you," he said softly. "At the hospital the doctorsand nurses call you Madame Coralie. Your patients prefer to say LittleMother. What is your married or your maiden name? Have you a husband orare you a widow? Where do you live? Nobody knows. You arrive every dayat the same time and you go away by the same street. Sometimes an oldserving-man, with long gray hair and a bristly beard, with a comforterround his neck and a pair of yellow spectacles on his nose, brings youor fetches you. Sometimes also he waits for you, always sitting on thesame chair in the covered yard. He has been asked questions, but henever gives an answer. I know only one thing, therefore, about you,which is that you are adorably good and kind and that you are also--Imay say it, may I not?--adorably beautiful. And it is perhaps, LittleMother Coralie, because I know nothing about your life that I imagine itso mysterious, and, in some way, so sad. You give the impression ofliving amid sorrow and anxiety; the feeling that you are all alone.There is no one who devotes himself to making you happy and taking careof you. So I thought--I have long thought and waited for an opportunityof telling you--I thought that you must need a friend, a brother, whowould advise and protect you. Am I not right, Little Mother Coralie?"
As he went on, Coralie seemed to shrink into herself and to place agreater distance between them, as though she did not wish him topenetrate those secret regions of which he spoke.
"No," she murmured, "you are mistaken. My life is quite simple. I do notneed to be defended."
"You do not need to be defended!" he cried, with increasing animation."What about those men who tried to kidnap you? That plot hatched againstyou? That plot which your assailants are so afraid to see discoveredthat they go to the length of killing the one who allowed himself to becaught? Is that nothing? Is it mere delusion on my part when I say thatyou are surrounded by dangers, that you have enemies who stick atnothing, that you have to be defended against their attempts and that,if you decline the offer of my assistance, I . . . Well, I . . . ?"
She persisted in her silence, showed herself more and more distant,almost hostile. The officer struck the marble mantelpiece with his fist,and, bending over her, finished his sentence in a determined tone:
"Well, if you decline the offer of my assistance, I shall force it onyou."
She shook her head.
"I shall force it on you," he repeated, firmly. "It is my duty and myright."
"No," she said, in an undertone.
"My absolute right," said Captain Belval, "for a reason which outweighsall the others and makes it unnecessary for me even to consult you."
"What do you mean?"
"I love you."
He brought out the words plainly, not like a lover venturing on a timiddeclaration, but like a man proud of the sentiment that he feels andhappy to proclaim it.
She lowered her eyes and blushed; and he cried, exultantly:
"You can take it, Little Mother, from me. No impassioned outbursts, nosighs, no waving of the arms, no clapping of the hands. Just threelittle words, which I tell you without going on my knees. And it's theeasier for me because you know it. Yes, Madame Coralie, it's all verywell to look so shy, but you know my love for you and you've known it aslong as I have. We saw it together take birth when your dear littlehands touched my battered head. The others used to torture me. With you,it was nothing but caresses. So was the pity in your eyes and the tearsthat fell because I was in pain. But can any one see you without lovingyou? Your seven patients who were here just now are all in love withyou, Little Mother Coralie. Ya-Bon worships the ground you walk on. Onlythey are privates. They cannot speak. I am an officer; and I speakwithout hesitation or embarrassment, believe me."
Coralie had put her hands to her burning cheeks and sat silent, bendingforward.
"You understand what I mean, don't you," he went on, in a voice thatrang, "when I say that I speak without hesitation or embarrassment? If Ihad been before the war what I am now, a maimed man, I should not havehad the same assurance and I should have declared my love for you humblyand begged your pardon for my boldness. But now! . . . Believe me,Little Mother Coralie, when I sit here face to face with the woman Iadore, I do not think of my infirmity. Not for a moment do I feel theimpression that I can appear ridiculous or presumptuous in your eyes."
He stopped, as though to take breath, and then, rising, went on:
"And it must needs be so. People will have to understand that those whohave been maimed in this war do not look upon themselves as outcasts,lame ducks, or lepers, but as absolutely normal men. Yes, normal! Oneleg short? Wha
t about it? Does that rob a man of his brain or heart?Then, because the war has deprived me of a leg, or an arm, or even bothlegs or both arms, I have no longer the right to love a woman save atthe risk of meeting with a rebuff or imagining that she pities me? Pity!But we don't want the woman to pity us, nor to make an effort to loveus, nor even to think that she is doing a charity because she treats uskindly. What we demand, from women and from the world at large, fromthose whom we meet in the street and from those who belong to the sameset as ourselves, is absolute equality with the rest, who have beensaved from our fate by their lucky stars or their cowardice."
The captain once more struck the mantelpiece:
"Yes, absolute equality! We all of us, whether we have lost a leg or anarm, whether blind in one eye or two, whether crippled or deformed,claim to be just as good, physically and morally, as any one you please;and perhaps better. What! Shall men who have used their legs to rushupon the enemy be outdistanced in life, because they no longer havethose legs, by men who have sat and warmed their toes at an office-fire?What nonsense! We want our place in the sun as well as the others. It isour due; and we shall know how to get it and keep it. There is nohappiness to which we are not entitled and no work for which we are notcapable with a little exercise and training. Ya-Bon's right hand isalready worth any pair of hands in the wide world; and Captain Belval'sleft leg allows him to do his five miles an hour if he pleases."
He began to laugh:
"Right hand and left leg; left hand and right leg: what does it matterwhich we have saved, if we know how to use it? In what respect have wefallen off? Whether it's a question of obtaining a position orperpetuating our race, are we not as good as we were? And perhaps evenbetter. I venture to say that the children which we shall give to thecountry will be just as well-built as ever, with arms and legs and therest . . . not to mention a mighty legacy of pluck and spirit. That'swhat we claim, Little Mother Coralie. We refuse to admit that our woodenlegs keep us back or that we cannot stand as upright on our crutches ason legs of flesh and bone. We do not consider that devotion to us is anysacrifice or that it's necessary to talk of heroism when a girl has thehonor to marry a blind soldier! Once more, we are not creatures outsidethe pale. We have not fallen off in any way whatever; and this is atruth before which everybody will bow for the next two or threegenerations. You can understand that, in a country like France, whenmaimed men are to be met by the hundred thousand, the conception of whatmakes a perfect man will no longer be as hard and fast as it was. In thenew form of humanity which is preparing, there will be men with two armsand men with only one, just as there are fair men and dark, bearded menand clean-shaven. And it will all seem quite natural. And every one willlead the life he pleases, without needing to be complete in every limb.And, as my life is wrapped up in you, Little Mother Coralie, and as myhappiness depends on you, I thought I would wait no longer before makingyou my little speech. . . . Well! That's finished! I have plenty more tosay on the subject, but it can't all be said in a day, can it? . . ."
He broke off, thrown out of his stride after all by Coralie's silence.She had not stirred since the first words of love that he uttered. Herhands had sought her forehead; and her shoulders were shaking slightly.
He stooped and, with infinite gentleness, drawing aside the slenderfingers, uncovered her beautiful face:
"Why are you crying, Little Mother Coralie?"
He was calling her _tu_ now, but she did not mind. Between a man and thewoman who has bent over his wounds relations of a special kind arise;and Captain Belval in particular had those rather familiar, but stillrespectful, ways at which it seems impossible to take offence.
"Have _I_ made you cry?" he asked.
"No," she said, in a low voice, "it's all of you who upset me. It's yourcheerfulness, your pride, your way not of submitting to fate, butmastering it. The humblest of you raises himself above his naturewithout an effort; and I know nothing finer or more touching than thatindifference."
He sat down beside her:
"Then you're not angry with me for saying . . . what I said?"
"Angry with you?" she replied, pretending to mistake his meaning. "Why,every woman thinks as you do. If women, in bestowing their affection,had to choose among the men returning from the war, the choice I am surewould be in favor of those who have suffered most cruelly."
He shook his head:
"You see, I am asking for something more than affection and a moredefinite answer to what I said. Shall I remind you of my words?"
"No."
"Then your answer . . . ?"
"My answer, dear friend, is that you must not speak those words again."
He put on a solemn air:
"You forbid me?"
"I do."
"In that case, I swear to say nothing more until I see you again."
"You will not see me again," she murmured.
Captain Belval was greatly amused at this:
"I say, I say! And why sha'n't I see you again, Little Mother Coralie?"
"Because I don't wish it."
"And your reason, please?"
"My reason?"
She turned her eyes to him and said, slowly:
"I am married."
Belval seemed in no way disconcerted by this news. On the contrary, hesaid, in the calmest of tones:
"Well, you must marry again! No doubt your husband is an old man and youdo not love him. He will therefore understand that, as you have some onein love with you . . ."
"Don't jest, please."
He caught hold of her hand, just as she was rising to go:
"You are right, Little Mother Coralie, and I apologize for not adoptinga more serious manner to speak to you of very serious things. It's aquestion of our two lives. I am profoundly convinced that they aremoving towards each other and that you are powerless to restrain them.That is why your answer is beside the point. I ask nothing of you. Iexpect everything from fate. It is fate that will bring us together."
"No," she said.
"Yes," he declared, "that is how things will happen."
"It is not. They will not and shall not happen like that. You must giveme your word of honor not to try to see me again nor even to learn myname. I might have granted more if you had been content to remainfriends. The confession which you have made sets a barrier between us. Iwant nobody in my life . . . nobody!"
She made this declaration with a certain vehemence and at the same timetried to release her arm from his grasp. Patrice Belval resisted herefforts and said:
"You are wrong. . . . You have no right to expose yourself to dangerlike this. . . . Please reflect . . ."
She pushed him away. As she did so, she knocked off the mantelpiece alittle bag which she had placed there. It fell on the carpet and opened.Two or three things escaped, and she picked them up, while PatriceBelval knelt down on the floor to help her:
"Here," he said, "you've missed this."
It was a little case in plaited straw, which had also come open; thebeads of a rosary protruded from it.
They both stood up in silence. Captain Belval examined the rosary.
"What a curious coincidence!" he muttered. "These amethyst beads! Thisold-fashioned gold filigree setting! . . . It's strange to find the samematerials and the same workmanship. . . ."
He gave a start, and it was so marked that Coralie asked:
"Why, what's the matter?"
He was holding in his fingers a bead larger than most of the others,forming a link between the string of tens and the shorter prayer-chain.And this bead was broken half-way across, almost level with the goldsetting which held it.
"The coincidence," he said, "is so inconceivable that I hardly dare. . . And yet the face can be verified at once. But first, one question:who gave you this rosary?"
"Nobody gave it to me. I've always had it."
"But it must have belonged to somebody before?"
"To my mother, I suppose."
"Your mother?"
"I expect so,
in the same way as the different jewels which she leftme."
"Is your mother dead?"
"Yes, she died when I was four years old. I have only the vaguestrecollection of her. But what has all this to do with a rosary?"
"It's because of this," he said. "Because of this amethyst bead brokenin two."
He undid his jacket and took his watch from his waistcoat-pocket. It hada number of trinkets fastened to it by a little leather and silverstrap. One of these trinkets consisted of the half of an amethyst bead,also broken across, also held in a filigree setting. The original sizeof the two beads seemed to be identical. The two amethysts were of thesame color and contained in the same filigree.
Coralie and Belval looked at each other anxiously. She stammered:
"It's only an accident, nothing else . . ."
"I agree," he said. "But, supposing these two halves fit each otherexactly . . ."
"It's impossible," she said, herself frightened at the thought of thesimple little act needed for the indisputable proof.
The officer, however, decided upon that act. He brought his right hand,which held the rosary-bead, and his left, which held the trinket,together. The hands hesitated, felt about and stopped. The contact wasmade.
The projections and indentations of the broken stones correspondedprecisely. Each protruding part found a space to fit it. The two halfamethysts were the two halves of the same amethyst. When joined, theyformed one and the same bead.
There was a long pause, laden with excitement and mystery. Then,speaking in a low voice:
"I do not know either exactly where this trinket comes from," CaptainBelval said. "Ever since I was a child, I used to see it among otherthings of trifling value which I kept in a cardboard box: watch-keys,old rings, old-fashioned seals. I picked out these trinkets from amongthem two or three years ago. Where does this one come from? I don'tknow. But what I do know . . ."
He had separated the two pieces and, examining them carefully,concluded:
"What I do know, beyond a doubt, is that the largest bead in this rosarycame off one day and broke; and that the other, with its setting, wentto form the trinket which I now have. You and I therefore possess thetwo halves of a thing which somebody else possessed twenty years ago."
He went up to her and, in the same low and rather serious voice, said:
"You protested just now when I declared my faith in destiny and mycertainty that events were leading us towards each other. Do you stilldeny it? For, after all, this is either an accident so extraordinarythat we have no right to admit it or an actual fact which proves thatour two lives have already touched in the past at some mysterious pointand that they will meet again in the future, never to part. And that iswhy, without waiting for the perhaps distant future, I offer you to-day,when danger hangs over you, the support of my friendship. Observe that Iam no longer speaking of love but only of friendship. Do you accept?"
She was nonplussed and so much perturbed by that miracle of the twobroken amethysts, fitting each other exactly, that she appeared not tohear Belval's voice.
"Do you accept?" he repeated.
After a moment she replied:
"No."
"Then the proof which destiny has given you of its wishes does notsatisfy you?" he said, good-humoredly.
"We must not see each other again," she declared.
"Very well. I will leave it to chance. It will not be for long.Meanwhile, I promise to make no effort to see you."
"Nor to find out my name?"
"Yes, I promise you."
"Good-by," she said, giving him her hand.
"_Au revoir_," he answered.
She moved away. When she reached the door, she seemed to hesitate. Hewas standing motionless by the chimney. Once more she said:
"Good-by."
"_Au revoir_, Little Mother Coralie."
Then she went out.
Only when the street-door had closed behind her did Captain Belval go toone of the windows. He saw Coralie passing through the trees, lookingquite small in the surrounding darkness. He felt a pang at his heart.Would he ever see her again?
"Shall I? Rather!" he exclaimed. "Why, to-morrow perhaps. Am I not thefavorite of the gods?"
And, taking his stick, he set off, as he said, with his wooden legforemost.
That evening, after dining at the nearest restaurant, Captain Belvalwent to Neuilly. The home run in connection with the hospital was apleasant villa on the Boulevard Maillot, looking out on the Bois deBoulogne. Discipline was not too strictly enforced. The captain couldcome in at any hour of the night; and the man easily obtained leave fromthe matron.
"Is Ya-Bon there?" he asked this lady.
"Yes, he's playing cards with his sweetheart."
"He has the right to love and be loved," he said. "Any letters for me?"
"No, only a parcel."
"From whom?"
"A commissionaire brought it and just said that it was 'for CaptainBelval.' I put it in your room."
The officer went up to his bedroom on the top floor and saw the parcel,done up in paper and string, on the table. He opened it and discovered abox. The box contained a key, a large, rusty key, of a shape andmanufacture that were obviously old.
What could it all mean? There was no address on the box and no mark. Hepresumed that there was some mistake which would come to light ofitself; and he slipped the key into his pocket.
"Enough riddles for one day," he thought. "Let's go to bed."
But when he went to the window to draw the curtains he saw, across thetrees of the Bois, a cascade of sparks which spread to some distance inthe dense blackness of the night. And he remembered the conversationwhich he had overheard in the restaurant and the rain of sparksmentioned by the men who were plotting to kidnap Little Mother Coralie.. . .