VI
He rubbed his fingernails on his sleeve and glanced about him with apleasure he seemed quite unable to conceal. Mademoiselle's cold stareseemed to react upon him like a smile of gratitude. The contempt on myface he seemed to read in terms of adulation.
"Brutus, pick up the pistol. My son, you are more amusing than I hadhoped. Indeed, Mademoiselle, perhaps the old saying is right, that thebest is in our door-yard. I have had, perhaps, an exceptional opportunityto see the world. I have spent a longer time than I like to thinkcollecting material for enlivening reminiscence, but I cannot recallhaving been present before at a scene with so many elements of interest.You harbor no ill feelings, my son?"
"None that are new," I said. "Only my first impressions."
"And they are--?" He paused modestly. He might have been awaitinga tribute.
"Father!" I remonstrated. "There is a lady present!"
"You had almost made me forget," he sighed regretfully. "You wished tohave a word with me, Mademoiselle? I am listening. No, no, my son! Youwill be interested, I am sure. The door, Brutus!"
But it was not Brutus who stopped me. Mademoiselle had laid a hand on myarm. As I looked down at her, the bitterness and chagrin I had felt beganslowly to ebb away. Her eyes met mine for a moment in thoughtfulappraisal.
"You have been kind," she said softly, "Kind, and you know you have noreason--."
She might have continued, but my father interrupted.
"No reason," he said, "No reason? It is only Mademoiselle's completedisregard of self that prevents her from seeing the reason. A reason," headded, bowing, "which seems to me as natural as it is obvious."
I turned toward him quickly. From the corner of my eye I could see Brutusmove nearer, and then Mademoiselle stepped between us.
"We have had quite enough of this," said Mademoiselle, and she lookedfrom one to the other of us with a condescension that was not whollydispleasing. Then, fixing her eyes on my father, she continued:
"Not that I am in the least afraid of you, Captain Shelton. We have hadto employ too many men like you not to know your type. Your son, I think,must take after his mother. I fear he thinks I am a damsel in distress. Itrust, captain, that you know better, though for the moment, you seem tohave forgotten."
"Forgotten?" my father echoed, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes," she said, speaking more quickly, "forgotten that you are in thepay of my family. You had contracted to get certain papers from France,which were in danger of being seized by the authorities."
Seemingly undecided how to go on, she hesitated, glanced at me covertly,and then continued.
"I accompanied you because--"
"Because you did not care to share the fate reserved for the papers?" myfather suggested politely.
For a moment she was silent, staring at my father almost incredulously,while he inclined his head solicitously, as though ready to obey hersmallest wish. Again I started to turn away.
"The door, Brutus," said my father.
"I am beginning to see I made a mistake in not remaining," Mademoisellesaid finally. "Yet you--"
"Contrived to rescue both the papers and Mademoiselle, if I rememberrightly," said my father, bowing, "an interesting and originalundertaking, but pray do not thank me."
"Be still!" she commanded sharply. "You were not paid to be impertinent,captain. I have only one more request to make of you before I leave thishouse tomorrow morning."
He shrugged his shoulders, and glanced at me, as though definitely toassure himself that I was listening.
"I do not think that Mademoiselle will leave the house at that date," hesaid, with a second bow.
"And what does the captain mean by that?" she asked quickly.
"Simply that the house is already watched," said my father, "watched,Mademoiselle, by persons in the pay of the French government. Do notstart, Mademoiselle, they will not trouble us tonight, I think."
For the first time her surprising self-confidence left her. She turnedpale, even to her red lips, stretched out a hand blindly, and graspedthe table.
"And the paper?" she whispered. "You have destroyed it?"
My father shook his head.
"Then," gasped Mademoiselle, "give it to me now! At once, captain, ifyou please!"
"Mademoiselle no longer trusts me?" asked my father, in tones of painedsurprise. "Surely not that!"
"Exactly that!" she flung back at him angrily.
He bowed smilingly in acknowledgment.
"And Mademoiselle is right," he agreed. "I have read the paper. I havebeen tempted."
"You rogue!" she cried. "You mean--"
"I mean," he interrupted calmly, "that I have been tempted and havefallen. The document I carry has too much value, Mademoiselle. The actualsignatures of the gentlemen who had been so deluded as to believe theycould restore a king to France! Figure for yourself, my lady, those namesproperly used are a veritable gold mine, more profitable than my Chinesetrade can hope to be! Surely you realize that?"
"So you have turned from cards to diplomacy," I observed. "How versatileyou grow, father!"
"They are much the same thing," my father said.
"And you mean," Mademoiselle cried, "you are dog enough to use thosenames? You mean you are going back on your word either to destroy thatlist or to place it in proper hands? You mean you are willing to see yourfriends go under the guillotine? Surely not, monsieur! Surely you are toobrave a gentleman. Surely a man who has behaved as gallantly as you--No,captain, I cannot believe it!"
"Mademoiselle," he said blandly, "still has much to learn of the world.Take myself, for instance. I am a gentleman only by birth and breeding.Otherwise, pray believe I am quite unspeakable, quite. Do you not seethat even my son finds me so?"
He nodded towards me in graceful courtesy.
"For me," he continued smoothly, "only one thing has ever remainedevident, and well-defined for long, and that, my lady, is money. Nearlyeverything else seems to tarnish, but still money keeps its lustre. Ah!Now we begin to understand each other. Strange you should not realize itsooner. I cannot understand what actuated so many persons, supposedlyrational, to sign such a ridiculous document. That they have done so istheir fault, not mine. I believe, Mademoiselle, in profiting by themistakes of others. I believe in profiting by this one. Someone should beglad to pay a pretty price for it."
He stopped and shrugged his shoulders, and she stood before himhelpless, her hand raised toward him in entreaty. For a moment my fatherglanced away.
"You couldn't! Oh, you couldn't!" she began. "For God's sake, Monsieur,think what you are doing. I--we all trusted you, depended on your help.We thought you were with us. We---"
Her voice choked in a sob, and she sank into a chair, her face buried inher hands. My father looked at her, and took a pinch of snuff.
"Indeed," he said, "I am almost sorry, but it is the game, Mademoiselle.We each have our little square on the chess board. I regret that mine isa black one. A while ago I was a pawn, paid by your family. Then itseemed to me expedient to do as you dictated--to take you out of Franceto safety, to deliver both you and a certain paper to your brother'scare. But that was a while ago. I am approaching the king row now.Forgive me, if things seem different--and rest assured, Mademoiselle,that you, at least, are in safe hands as long as you obey my directions."
He made this last statement with a benign complacency, and once morebusied himself with his nails. I took a step toward him, and he lookedup, as though to receive my congratulations.
"So you leave us, my son," he said briskly. "I fear you will meet withtrouble before you pass the lane. But you seem surprisingly able to lookout for yourself. Brutus will help you to saddle."
"You are mistaken," I said. "I am not leaving."
And I bowed to Mademoiselle, who had started at the sound of my voice,and was staring at me with a tear-stained face.
"I have decided to stay," I cried, "If Mademoiselle will permit me."
But she did not answer, and my fat
her regarded us carefully, as thoughbalancing possibilities.
"Not leaving!" Whether my statement was surprising or otherwise wasimpossible to discern. He raised his eyebrows in interrogation, and Ismiled at him in a manner I hoped resembled his.
"I fear you may tire of my company," I went on, "because I am going tostay until you have disposed of this paper as Mademoiselle desires. Or ifyou are unwilling to do so, I shall take pleasure in doing it myself."
My father rubbed his hands, and then tapped me playfully on the shoulder.
"Somehow I thought this little scene would fetch you," he cried."Excellent, my son! I hoped you might stay on."
"And now, sir," I said, "the paper, if you please."
"What!" exclaimed my father, with a gesture of astonishment. "You toowant the paper! How popular it is becoming, to be sure!"
"At least I am going to try to get it," I began gravely, when a suddenchange in his expression stopped me.
"Wait," he said coldly. "Look before you leap, my son. Allow me to makethe situation perfectly clear before you attempt anything so foolish. Inthe first place, let us take myself. I am older than you, it is true, butyears and excitement have not entirely weakened me. I have been presentin many little unpleasantnesses. I have fought with Barbary pirates andChinese junks, and with assorted Christians. The fact that I am heretonight proves I am usually successful. Even if I were alone, I doubt ifyou could take the paper from me. But you forget another matter--"
He turned and pointed to Brutus in the doorway. Brutus grinned back andnodded violently, his eyes rolling in pleased anticipation.
"Eight years ago," my father continued, "I saved Brutus from the gallowsat Jamaica. He has a strangely persistent sense of gratitude. I have seenBrutus only last month kill three stronger men than you, my son. I fancythe document is safe in my pocket, quite safe."
He half smiled, and took another pinch of snuff.
"But let us indulge in the impossible," he continued. "Suppose you didget the paper. Let us examine the paper itself."
And slowly he drew it from his pocket, and flicked it flat in thecandle light.
"Come, Henry, draw up a chair, and let us be sensible. Another bottle ofMadeira, Brutus. And now, tell me, what do you know of French politics?"
"Sir," I objected, "it seems to me you are forgetting the point. Whathave politics to do with you and me?"
It seemed to me I saw another opportunity. With a sense of elation I didmy best to conceal, I watched him quickly drain his glass, and I thoughthis eyes were brighter, and his gestures less careful and alert.
"Politics," he said, "and politics alone, Henry, are responsible for thisevening's entertainment. Surely you have perceived that much. Theglasses, Brutus, watch the glasses! These are parlous times, my son." Heraised his glass again--
"Mademoiselle will tell you as much. We made an interesting journeythrough the provinces, did we not, my lady? It is a pity your father, theMarquis, could not have enjoyed it with us. He had a penchant forinteresting situations, and in France today anything may happen. In a fewscant months dukes have turned into pastry cooks, and barbers' boys intogenerals. Tomorrow it may be a republic, or a monarchy that governs, orsome bizarre contrivance that is neither one nor the other. Just now itis Napoleon Bonaparte, a very determined little man. Ah, you have heardof him, my son? I sometimes wonder if he will not go further than many ofus think."
Yes, we had already begun to hear his name in America. We had alreadybegun to wonder how soon his influence would be overthrown, for it was inthe days before he had consolidated his power. He was still existing in amaze of plots, still facing royalists and revolutionists, all conspiringto seize the reins.
"I sometimes wonder, Mademoiselle," he continued thoughtfully, "if yourfriends realized the task before them when they attempted to killNapoleon. Ah, now you grow interested, my son? Yes, that is what thispaper signifies. Written on this paper are the signatures of fiftymen--signatures to an oath to kill Napoleon Bonaparte and to restore aking to France. You will agree with me it is a most original andintriguing document."
"So they didn't kill him," I said.
"Indeed not," he replied; "quite the contrary. They gave him a newlease of life."
"Then why," I demanded, "didn't they burn the paper. Why--"
"Ah!" said my father, with an indulgent smile. "There you have it, to besure. You have hit the root of the whole matter."
"It was the old Marquis's idea. He told me of it at the time. If everyonein the plot signed the oath, it would be a dangerous thing indeed foranyone to inform on the rest, because they would immediately produce thepaper which showed him as guilty as they. There are commendable points inthe Marquis's idea, my son. Now that the plot has failed, the existenceof this paper is all that keeps many a man from telling a valuable anddangerous little story. In these signatures I read names of men abovesuspicion, men high in the present government. Somehow Napoleon's policehave learned of the existence of this paper. It has become almost vitalfor Napoleon to obtain it. He has tried to get it already. Since itreposed in the strong box at the Chateau of Blanzy, it has cost him fivemen. It has cost me new halliards and rigging for the Eclipse, and Brutusa disfigured countenance--not that I am complaining. Someone shall pay mefor it. And the game is just beginning, my son. Mr. Lawton--have youwondered who he is? He is a very reckless man in the pay of France. Hewill get that paper if he can, if not by force, by money. Even now hismen are watching the house. Suppose you held the paper in your hands, myson, you still have Mr. Lawton."
He folded the paper, and replaced it in his pocket.
"It is safer here at present," said my father. "There will be others whowill want it presently, and then, perhaps, we will dispose of it."
"In other words, you intend to sell the people who entrusted you with thepaper to the highest bidder?" I inquired.
He glanced towards Mademoiselle, and back to me again, and smiledbrightly.
"That," he admitted pleasantly, "is one way of looking at it, though itmight be viewed from more congenial angles."
I started to speak, but he raised his voice, and for the second time thatevening became entirely serious.
"The paper," he said, "has nothing to do with your being in this housetonight. You are becoming more of a hindrance than I expected, but youare here, and here you will stay for another reason. I have heard muchof the good examples parents set their children. For me to set one is apatent impossibility. I have never been a good example. But perhaps I canoffer you something which is even better, and that, my son, is why Iasked you to this house. Can you guess what it is?"
"There is no need to guess," I said, "you have been perfectly clear."
Gossip had it that my father always loved the theatre, though perhaps theGreen Room better than the footlights. The marked passages in his librarystill attest his propensity. He now looked about him with a keenappreciation, as though my words were all that he required to round outhis evening. Like a man whose work is finished, and who is pleasantlyfatigued by his exertions, he leaned back in his chair.
"My son," he said, "you have a keenness of wit, and a certain decision,which I confess I overlooked in you at first--"
The moment must have pleased him, for he paused, as though on purpose toprolong it.
"You are right," he continued finally. "I am here to set you a badexample, Henry, and, believe me, it will be no fault of mine if it isnot more effective than a good one. Listen, my son, and you too,Mademoiselle, I have been many things, tried many things in this life,most of them discreditable. I have wasted my days and my prospects ina thousand futilities. I have lost my friends. I have lost myposition. Sneer at me, my son, laugh at me, curse me if you wish. Ishall be the first to commend you for it. I am broad-minded enough torecognize your position.
"But above all things watch me. Watch me, and remember the things I do.Recall my ethics and my logic. They are to be your legacy, my son. Whatmoney I may leave you is doubtless tainted. But the things I do--of
course you perceive their value?"
"Only in a negative sense," I replied pushing the bottle toward him.
"You are right again," he said, refilling his glass. "Their value, as yousay, is purely negative. Yet, believe me, it does not impair them. Youhave only to place them before you and do exactly opposite. It is thebest way I can think of for you to become a decent and self-respectingman. And now you have the only reason why I permit you in my society. Thelesson has already started--an original lesson, is it not?"
As though to close the interview, he sprang up lightly, and bowed toMademoiselle. It seemed to me he was combating a slight embarrassment,for he paused, seemingly uncertain how to begin, but only for a moment.Mademoiselle had regained her self-possession, and was regarding him withattention, and a little of the contempt which became her so well.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "even the pain of distressing you is lessened bythe unexpected pleasure of your company tonight. I hope you have foundthe hour not entirely unprofitable. It has sometimes seemed to me, mylady--pardon the rudeness of suggesting it--that you may have seensomething romantic, something heroic in me from time to time. I trust youhave been disillusioned tonight. The fight on the stairs, the openboat--you see them all as they should be, do you not, the necessary partsof a piece of villainy? Pray forget them--and good night, Mademoiselle."
Suddenly both he and I started, and involuntarily his hand went up tocover his torn lapel. Mademoiselle was laughing.
"Captain," she cried, "you are absurd!"
"Absurd!" exclaimed my father uncertainly.
"You of all people! You cannot sell the paper!"
He sighed with apparent relief.
"And why not?" he asked.
"Because," said Mademoiselle, "you are one of those who signed it."
"Mademoiselle forgets," said my father, bowing, "that her name and minewere written at the bottom of the list. It is a precaution I always takewith such little matters. The first thing I did, Mademoiselle, was to cutboth off with my razor. Brutus, light the stairs for the lady."
Without another glance at either of us, she walked slowly away, her chintilted, her slender fingers clenched. I knew that anger, fear, anddisappointment were walking there beside her, and yet she left the roomas proudly as she had entered it.
I stood listening to her step on the stairs.
"Ah," said my father, "there is a woman for you."
The last few minutes seemed to have wearied him, for he sank back heavilyin his chair. For a minute we were silent, and suddenly a speech of hisran through my memory.
"May I ask you a question?" I inquired.
"It is my regret if I have not been clear," he said.
"It is not that," I assured him, "but you have appeared to allow yourselfa single virtue."
He raised his eyebrows.
"You have admitted," I persisted, "that circumstances force you to keepyour word."
"That," my father said, "is merely a necessity--not a virtue."
"Possibly," I agreed. "Yet, in your conversation with Mr. Lawton youstated that you had given your word not to surrender this paper. Myquestion is--how can you reconcile this with your present intentions?"
For almost the only time I can remember, my father seemed puzzled for ananswer. He started to speak, and shook his head--drew out hishandkerchief and passed it over his lips.
"Circumstances alter even principles," he answered finally, "and this,my son, is one of the circumstances. Brutus, the boy has been trying toget me drunk long enough. Show him to his bedroom, and bring me my cloakand pistols."
Brutus lifted one of the candlesticks, grinned at me, and nodded.
"A very good night to you, Henry," said my father tranquilly.
I bowed to him with courtesy which perhaps was intuitive.
"Be sure," I told him, "to keep your door locked, father."
"Pray do not worry," he replied. "I have thought out each phase ofmy visit here too long for anything untoward to happen. Untilmorning, Henry."
"I am not worrying," I rejoined. "Merely warning you--pardon myincivility, father--but I might grow tired watching you be a bad example.Did you consider that in your plans?"
My father yawned, and placed his feet nearer the coals.
"That is better," he said, "much better, my son. Now you are speakinglike a gentleman. I had begun to fear for you. It has seemed to me youwere almost narrow-minded. Never be that. Nothing is more annoying."
I drew myself up to my full height.
"Sir--" I began.
He slapped his hand on the table with an exclamation of disgust.
"And now you spoil it! Now you begin to rant and become heroic. I knowwhat you're going to say. You cannot see a woman bullied--what? Well, byheaven, you can, and you will see it. You cannot stand an act oftreachery? Come, come, my son, you have better blood in you than to poseas a low actor. All around us, every day, these things are happening.Meet them like a man, and do not tell me what is obvious."
I felt my nails bite into my palms.
"Your pardon, father," I said. "I shall behave better in the future."
He glanced at me narrowly for a moment.
"I believe," he said, "we begin to understand. A very good night to you,Henry. And Henry--"
A change in his tone made me spin about on my heel.
"I am going to pay you a compliment. Pray do not be overcome. I havedecided to consider you in my plans, my son, as a possible disturbingfactor. Brutus, you will take his pistols from his saddle bags."
In silence Brutus conducted me into the cold hall and up the windingstaircase, where his candle made the shadows of the newel posts danceagainst the wainscot. I paused a moment at the landing to look back, butI could see nothing in the dark pit of the hall below us. Was it possibleI could remember it alight with candles, whose flames made soft halos onthe polished floor? Brutus touched my shoulder, and the brusque grasp ofhis hand turned me a trifle cold.
"Move on," I ordered sharply, "and light me to my room."
My speech appeared to amuse him.
"No, no--you first," said Brutus. "I go--perhaps you be angry. See?"
And he became so involved in throes of merriment that I hoped he mightextinguish the candle.
I thought better of an angry command, which I knew he would not obey, andturned through the arched moulding that marked the entrance to the upperhall, and at his direction opened a door. As I paused involuntarily onthe threshold, Brutus deftly slipped past, set the candle on a stand, andbent over my saddle bags. Still chuckling to himself, he dropped mypistols into his shirt bosom. Then his grin died away. His low foreheadbecame creased and puckered. He shifted his weight from one foot to theother irresolutely, and drew a deep breath.
"Mister Henry--" he began.
"Well," I said.
"Something happen. Very bad here. You go home."
His sudden change of manner, and the shadowy, musty silence around methreatened to shake the coolness I had attempted to assume. Unconsciouslymy hand dropped to the hilt of my travelling sword. I looked across athim through the shadows.
"You go home," said Brutus.
"Something _will_ happen, or something _has_ happened?" I asked.
But Brutus only shook his head stupidly.
"Very bad. You go home," he persisted.
"You go to the devil," I said, "and leave that candle. I won't burn downthe house."
He moved reluctantly towards the door.
"Monsieur very angry," said Brutus.
"Shut the door," I said, "the draft is blowing the candle."
He pulled it to without another word, and I could hear him fumblingwith the lock.
For the last ten years I doubt if anything had been changed in that room,except for the addition of three blankets which Brutus had evidently laidsome hours before on the mildewed mattress of the carved four post bed.My mother must have ordered up the curtains that hung over it in yellowedfaded tatters. The charred wood of a fire that had been lighted w
hen theroom was new, still lay over the green clotted andirons. The dampness ofa seaside town had cracked and warped the furniture, and had turned themirrors into sad mockeries. The strange musty odor of unused houses hungheavy in the air.
I sat quiet for a while, on the edge of my bed, alert for some soundoutside, but in the hall it was very still. Then my hand fell again onthe hilt of my travelling sword. That my father had overlooked itincreased the resentment I bore him.
Slowly I drew the blade and tested its perfect balance, and limbered mywrist in a few idle passes at the fringe of the bed curtain. Then Iknotted it over my hand, tossed a blanket over me, and blew out thelight. From where I lay I could see the running lights of the Sheltonships swaying in a freshening breeze, three together in port for thefirst time in ten years. The sky had become so overcast that everyshape outside had merged into an inky monotone. I could hear the lowmurmur of the wind twisting through the branches of our elms, and thewhistle of it as it passed our gables. Once below I heard my father'sstep, quick and decisive, his voice raised to give an order, and theclosing of a door.
Gradually the thoughts which were racing through my mind, as thoughtssometimes do, when the candle is out, and the room you lie in growsintangible and vast, assumed a well-balanced relativity. I smiled tomyself in the darkness. There was one thing that evening which my fatherhad overlooked. We both were proud.
He still seemed to be near me, still seemed to be watching me with hiscool half smile. If his voice, pleasant, level and passionless, hadbroken the silence about me, I should not have been surprised. Strangehow little he had changed, and how much I had expected to see himaltered. I could still remember the last time. The years between seemedonly a little while. We had been very gay. The card tables had been out,and he had been playing, politely detached, seemingly half-absorbed inhis own thoughts and yet alertly courteous. I could see him now, pushinga handful of gold towards his right hand neighbor, and the clink of themetal and its color seemed to please him, for he ran his fingers lightlythrough the coins. And then, yes, Brutus had lighted me to my room. Couldit have been ten years ago?
As I lay staring at the blackness ahead of me, my thoughts returned tothe room I had quitted. Had she been about to thank me? I heard hisslow, cynical voice interrupting me, and felt her hand drop from my arm.Then, in a strange, even cadence a sentence of his began running throughmy memory.
"It might be interesting, hilarious, in fact, if it were not for the ladyin the case...."