XIV
After the departure of her guests, Louise seemed to forget the pressingappointment with her dressmaker. She stood before the window of herdrawing-room, looking down into the street. She saw Faraday hail ataxicab and drive off by himself. She watched the prince courteouslymotion John to precede him into his waiting automobile. She saw the twomen seat themselves side by side, and the footman close the door andtake his place beside the chauffeur. She watched until the car took itsplace in the stream of traffic and disappeared. The sense of uneasinesswhich had brought her to the window was unaccountable, but it seemed insome way deepened by their departure together. Then a voice from justbehind suddenly startled her.
"Lest your reverie, dear lady, should end in spoken words not meant formy ears, I, who often give myself up to reveries, hasten to acquaint youwith the fact of my presence."
She turned quickly around. It was Graillot who had returned noiselesslyinto the room.
"You?" she exclaimed. "Why, I thought you were the first to leave."
"I returned," Graillot explained. "An impulse brought me back. A thoughtcame into my mind. I wanted to share it with you as a proof of thesentiment which I feel exists between us. It is my firm belief that thesame thought, in a different guise, was traveling through your mind, asyou watched the departure of your guests."
She motioned him to a place upon the couch, close to where she hadalready seated herself.
"Come," she invited, "prove to me that you are a thought-reader!"
He sank back in his corner. His hands, with their short, stubby fingers,were clasped in front of him. His eyes, wide open and alert, seemedfixed upon her with the ingenuous inquisitiveness of a child.
"To begin, then, I find our friend, the Prince of Seyre, a mostinteresting, I might almost say a most fascinating, study."
Louise did not reply. After a moment's pause he continued:
"Let me tell you something which may or may not be unknown to you. Amatter of eighty years ago, there was first kindled in the countryplaces of France that fire which ultimately blazed over the whole land,devastating, murderous, anarchic, yet purifying. The family seat of thehouse of Seyre was near Orleans. In that region were many oppressors ofthe poor who, when they heard the mutterings of the storm, shivered fortheir safety. Upon not one of them did that furious mob of men and womenpause to waste a single moment of their time. Without even a spoken wordsave one simultaneous, unanimous yell, they grouped together from allquarters--from every hamlet, from every homestead, men and women andeven children--and moved in one solid body upon the Chateau de Seyre.The old prince would have been burned alive but for a servant who threwhim a pistol, with which he blew out his brains, spitting at the mob.One of the sons was caught and torn almost to pieces. Only the fatherof our friend, the present Prince of Seyre, escaped."
"Why do you tell me all this?" Louise asked, shivering. "It is such achapter of horrors!"
"It illustrates a point," Graillot replied. "Among the whole aristocracyof France there was no family so loathed and detested as the _seigneurs_of Seyre. Those at the _chateau_, and others who were arrested in Paris,met their death with singular contempt and calm. Eugene of Seyre, whosecharacter in my small way I have studied, is of the same breed."
Louise took up a fan which lay on the table by her side, and waved itcarelessly in front of her face.
"One does so love," she murmured, "to hear one's friends discussed inthis friendly spirit!"
"It is because Eugene of Seyre is a friend of yours that I am talking toyou in this fashion," Graillot continued. "You have also anotherfriend--this young man from Cumberland."
"Well?"
"In him," Graillot went on, "one perceives all the primitive qualitieswhich go to the making of splendid manhood. Physically he is almostperfect, for which alone we owe him a debt of gratitude. He has, if Ijudge him rightly, all the qualities possessed by men who have beenbrought up free from the taint of cities, from the smear of our spuriousover-civilization. He is chivalrous and unsuspicious. He is also,unfortunately for him, the enemy of the prince."
Louise laid down her fan. She no longer tried to conceal her agitation.
"Why are you so melodramatic?" she demanded. "They have scarcely spoken.This is, I think, their third meeting."
"When two friends," Graillot declared, "desire the same woman, then allof friendship that there may have been between them is buried. When twoothers, who are so far from being friends that they possess oppositequalities, opposite characters, opposite characteristics, also desirethe same woman--"
"Don't!" Louise interrupted, with a sudden little scream. "Don't! Youare talking wildly. You must not say such things!"
Graillot leaned forward. He shook his head very slowly; his heavy handrested upon her shoulder.
"Ah, no, dear lady," he insisted, "I am not talking wildly. I amGraillot, who for thirty years have written dramas on one subject andone subject only--men and women. It has been given to me to study manyvarying types of the human race, to watch the outcome of many strangesituations. I have watched the prince draw you nearer and nearer to him.What there is or may be between you I do not know. It is not for me toknow. But if not now, some day Eugene of Seyre means you to be his, andhe is not a person to be lightly resisted. Now from the skies therelooms up this sudden obstacle."
"You do not realize," Louise protested, almost eagerly, "how slight ismy acquaintance with Mr. Strangewey. I once spent the night and a fewhours of the next morning at his house in Cumberland, and that is all Ihave ever seen of him. How can his presence here be of any seriousimport to Eugene?"
"As to that," Graillot replied, "I say nothing. If what I have suggesteddoes not exist, then for the first time in my life I have made amistake; but I do not think I have. You may not realize it, but there isbefore you one of those struggles that make or mar the life of women ofevery age. As for the men, I will only say this, and it is because of itthat I have spoken at all--I am a lover of fair play, and the struggleis not even. The younger man may hold every card in the pack, but Eugeneof Seyre has learned how to win tricks without aces. I stayed behind tosay this to you, Louise. You know the young man and I do not. It is youwho must warn him."
"Warn him?" Louise repeated, with upraised eyebrows. "Dear master,aren't we just a little--do you--melodramatic? The age of duels is past,also the age of hired bravos and assassins."
"Agreed," Graillot interrupted, "but the weapons of to-day are moredangerous. It is the souls of their enemies that men attack. If I were afriend of that young man's I would say to him: 'Beware, not of theenmity of Eugene of Seyre, but of his friendship!' And now, dear lady, Ihave finished. I lingered behind because the world holds no more sincereadmirer of yourself and your genius than I. Don't ring. May I not letmyself out?"
"Stop!" Louise begged.
Graillot resumed his seat. He watched with an almost painful curiositythe changes in Louise's face, which was convulsed by a storm ofpassionate apprehension. Yet behind it all he could see the truth. Therewas something softer in her face than he had ever perceived before, atenderer light than he had ever seen in her eyes. He sighed and lookeddown at the carpet.
Louise rose presently and walked abruptly to the window. Then she cameback and reseated herself by his side.
"You are the one friend I have in life who understands, dear master,"she said. "Do I weary you if I speak?"
He looked steadfastly into her eyes. His plain, bearded face washeavy-browed, lined, tired a little with the coming of age.
"Louise," he declared, "it is only because I dare not lift my thoughtsand eyes any higher that I count myself the greatest friend you evercould have in life!"
She caught at his hand, her head drooped a little.
"Don't overpower me," she faltered. "I can't--no, I can't!"
He watched in silence the twitching of her lips, the filling of hereyes. A momentary remorse struck him. Why should he afflict her at thismoment with his own secret? He clo
sed his eyes, and deliberately shutout the vision which had lured his tongue into the byways of unwontedsentiment. He spoke firmly and without emotion.
"Louise," he begged, "let me be your confidant! No man knows more of thegame of life as it is played out between men and women. There is no onein whom you can place a greater trust."
Her fingers clutched his, her nails dug into his palm, but he did notflinch.
"I do not know," she murmured, her voice trembling with agitation. "Thatis the truth of it all. I do not know where to go for guidance orinspiration. Life has suddenly become mysterious. Men seem always sostrong and sure. It is only we poor women who lose our bearings."
Graillot patted her hands tenderly. Then he rose to his feet.
"You are not going?" she asked him.
"Dear Louise," he said, "I am going, because the time when I can helpis not yet. Listen! More harm has been done in this world by advice thanin any other way. I have no advice to give you. You have one sure andcertain guide, and that is your own heart, your own instincts, your ownsweet consciousness of what is best. I leave you to that. If troublecomes, I am always ready!"