Meantime, while Picpon made a human cone of himself, to the admirationof the polyglot crowd of the Algerine street, Cecil himself, havingwatered, fed, and littered down his tired horse, made his way to alittle cafe he commonly frequented, and spent the few sous he couldafford on an iced draught of lemon-flavored drink. Eat he couldnot; overfatigue had given him a nausea for food, and the last hour,motionless in the intense glow of the afternoon sun, had brought thatracking pain through his temples which assailed him rarely now, butwhich in his first years in Africa had given him many hours of agony. Hecould not stay in the cafe; it was the hour of dinner for many, and theodors, joined with the noise, were insupportable to him.
A few doors farther in the street, which was chiefly of Jewish andMoslem shops, there was a quaint place kept by an old Moor, who had someof the rarest and most beautiful treasures of Algerian workmanship inhis long, dark, silent chambers. With this old man Cecil had somethingof a friendship; he had protected him one day from the mockery andoutrage of some drunken Indigenes, and the Moor, warmly grateful, wasever ready to give him a cup of coffee in the stillness of his dwelling.Its resort was sometimes welcome to him as the one spot, quiet andnoiseless, to which he could escape out of the continuous turmoil ofstreet and of barrack, and he went thither now. He found the oldman sitting cross-legged behind the counter; a noble-looking, agedMussulman, with a long beard like white silk, with cashmeres andbroidered stuffs of peerless texture hanging above his head, and allaround him things of silver, of gold, of ivory, of amber, of feathers,of bronze, of emeralds, of ruby, of beryl, whose rich colors glowedthrough the darkness.
"No coffee, no sherbet; thanks, good father," said Cecil, in answer tothe Moor's hospitable entreaties. "Give me only license to sit in thequiet here. I am very tired."
"Sit and be welcome, my son," said Ben Arsli. "Whom should this roofshelter in honor, if not thee? Musjid shall bring thee the supremesolace."
The supreme solace was a nargile, and its great bowl of rose-water wassoon set down by the little Moorish lad at Cecil's side. Whether fatiguereally weighted his eyes with slumber, or whether the soothing sedativeof the pipe had its influence, he had not sat long in the perfectstillness of the Moor's shop before the narrow view of the street underthe awning without was lost to him, the luster and confusion of shadowyhues swam a while before his eyes, the throbbing pain in his templesgrew duller, and he slept--the heavy, dreamless sleep of intenseexhaustion.
Ben Arsli glanced at him, and bade Musjid be very quiet. Half an hour ormore passed; none had entered the place. The grave old Moslem was halfslumbering himself, when there came a delicate odor of perfumed laces, adelicate rustle of silk swept the floor; a lady's voice asked theprice of an ostrich-egg, superbly mounted in gold. Ben Arsli opened hiseyes--the Chasseur slept on; the newcomer was one of those great ladieswho now and then winter in Algeria.
Her carriage waited without; she was alone, making purchase of thoseinnumerable splendid trifles with which Algiers is rife, while she drovethrough the town in the cooler hour before the sun sank into the westernsea.
The Moor rose instantly, with profound salaams, before her, and began tospread before her the richest treasures of his stock. Under plea of thelight, he remained near the entrance with her; money was dear tohim, and must not be lost, but he would make it, if he could, withoutawakening the tired soldier. Marvelous caskets of mother-of-pearl;carpets soft as down with every brilliant hue melting one withinanother; coffee equipages, of inimitable metal work; silver statuettes,exquisitely chased and wrought; feather-fans, and screens of everybeauty of device, were spread before her, and many of them were boughtby her with that unerring grace of taste and lavishness of expenditurewhich were her characteristics, but which are far from always found inunison; and throughout her survey Ben Arsli kept her near the entrance,and Cecil had slept on, unaroused by the low tones of their voices.
A roll of notes had passed from her hand to the Moslem's and she wasabout to glide out to her carriage, when a lamp which hung at thefarther end caught her fancy. It was very singular; a mingling ofcolored glass, silver, gold, and ivory being wrought in much beauty inits formation.
"Is that for sale?" she inquired.
As he answered in the affirmative, she moved up the shop, and, her eyesbeing lifted to the lamp, had drawn close to Cecil before she saw him.When she did so, she paused near in astonishment.
"Is that soldier asleep?"
"He is, madame," softly answered the old man, in his slow, studiedFrench. "He comes here to rest sometimes out of the noise; he was verytired to-day, and I think ill, would he have confessed it."
"Indeed!" Her eyes fell on him with compassion; he had fallen into anattitude of much grace and of utter exhaustion; his head was uncoveredand rested on one arm, so that the face was turned upward. With awoman's rapid, comprehensive glance, she saw that dark shadow, like abruise, under his closed, aching eyes; she saw the weary pain upon hisforehead; she saw the whiteness of his hands, the slenderness of hiswrists, the softness of his hair; she saw, as she had seen before, thatwhatever he might be now, in some past time he had been a man of gentleblood, of courtly bearing.
"He is a Chasseur d'Afrique?" she asked the Moslem.
"Yes, madame. I think--he must have been something very different someday."
She did not answer; she stood with her thoughtful eyes gazing on theworn-out soldier.
"He saved me once, madame, at much risk to himself, from the savageryof some Turcos," the old man went on. "Of course, he is always welcomeunder my roof. The companionship he has must be bitter to him, I fancy;they do say he would have had his officer's grade, and the cross, too,long before now, if it were not for his Colonel's hatred."
"Ah! I have seen him before now; he carves in ivory. I suppose he has agood side for those things with you?"
The Moor looked up in amazement.
"In ivory, madame?--he? Allah--il-Allah! I never heard of it. It isstrange-----"
"Very strange. Doubtless you would have given him a good price forthem?"
"Surely I would; any price he should have wished. Do I not owe him mylife?"
At that moment little Musjid let fall a valuable coffee-tray, inlaidwith amber; his master, with muttered apology, hastened to the scene ofthe accident; the noise startled Cecil, and his eyes unclosed to allthe dreamy, fantastic colors of the place, and met those bent on him inmusing pity--saw that lustrous, haughty, delicate head bending slightlydown through the many-colored shadows.
He thought he was dreaming, yet on instinct he rose, staggeringslightly, for sharp pain was still darting through his head and temples.
"Madame! Pardon me! Was I sleeping?"
"You were, and rest again. You look ill," she said gently, and therewas, for a moment, less of that accent in her voice, which the nightbefore had marked so distinctly, so pointedly, the line of demarcationbetween a Princess of Spain and a soldier of Africa.
"I thank you; I ail nothing."
He had no sense that he did, in the presence of that face which hadthe beauty of his old life; under the charm of that voice which had themusic of his buried years.
"I fear that is scarcely true!" she answered him. "You look in pain;though as a soldier, perhaps, you will not own it?"
"A headache from the sun--no more, madame."
He was careful not again to forget the social gulf which yawned betweenthem.
"That is quite bad enough! Your service must be severe?"
"In Africa, Milady, one cannot expect indulgence."
"I suppose not. You have served long?"
"Twelve years, madame."
"And your name?"
"Louis Victor." She fancied there was a slight abruptness in the reply,as though he were about to add some other name, and checked himself.
She entered it in the little book from which she had taken herbanknotes.
"I may be able to serve you," she said, as she wrote. "I will speakof you to the Marshal; and when I return to Paris, I may have
anopportunity to bring your name before the Emperor. He is as rapid as hisuncle to reward military merit; but he has not his uncle's opportunitiesfor personal observation of his soldiers."
The color flushed his forehead.
"You do me much honor," he said rapidly, "but if you would gratify me,madame, do not seek to do anything of the kind."
"And why? Do you not even desire the cross?"
"I desire nothing, except to be forgotten."
"You seek what others dread then?"
"It may be so. At any rate, if you would serve me, madame, never saywhat can bring me into notice."
She regarded him with much surprise, with some slight sense ofannoyance; she had bent far in tendering her influence at the Frenchcourt to a private soldier, and his rejection of it seemed as ungraciousas it was inexplicable.
At that moment the Moor joined them.
"Milady has told me, M. Victor, that you are a first-rate carver ofivories. How is it that you have never let me benefit by your art?"
"My things are not worth a sou," muttered Cecil hurriedly.
"You do them great injustice, and yourself also," said the grande dame,more coldly than she had before spoken. "Your carvings are singularlyperfect, and should bring you considerable returns."
"Why have you never shown them to me at least?" pursued Ben Arsli--"whynot have given me my option?"
The blood flushed Cecil's face again; he turned to the Princess.
"I withheld them, madame, not because he would have underpriced, butoverpriced them. He rates a trifling act of mine, of long ago, sounduly."
She bent her head in silence; yet a more graceful comprehension of hismotive she could not have given than her glance alone gave.
Ben Arsli stroked his great beard; more moved than his Moslem dignitywould show.
"Always so!" he muttered, "always so! My son, in some life before this,was not generosity your ruin?"
"Milady was about to purchase the lamp?" asked Cecil, avoiding thequestion. "Her Highness will not find anything like it in all Algiers."
The lamp was taken down, and the conversation turned from himself.
"May I bear it to your carriage, madame?" he asked, as she moved toleave, having made it her own, while her footman carried out the smallerarticles she had bought to the equipage. She bowed in silence; she wasvery exclusive, she was not wholly satisfied with herself for havingconversed thus with a Chasseur d'Afrique in a Moor's bazaar. Still, shevaguely felt pity for this man; she equally vaguely desired to servehim.
"Wait, M. Victor!" she said, as he closed the door of her carriage. "Iaccepted your chessmen last night, but you are very certain that it isimpossible I can retain them on such terms."
A shadow darkened his face.
"Let your dogs break them then, madame. They shall not come back to me."
"You mistake--I did not mean that I would send them back. I simplydesire to offer you some equivalent for them. There must be somethingthat you wish for?--something which would be acceptable to you in thelife you lead?"
"I have already named the only thing I desire."
He had been solicitous to remember and sustain the enormous differencein their social degrees; but at the offer of her gifts, of herpatronage, of her recompense, the pride of his old life rose up to meether own.
"To be forgotten? A sad wish! Nay, surely life in a regiment of Africacannot be so cloudless that it can create in you no other?"
"It is not. I have another."
"Then tell it to me; it shall be gratified."
"It is to enjoy a luxury long ago lost forever. It is--to be allowed togive the slight courtesy of a gentleman without being tendered the wageof a servant."
She understood him; she was moved, too, by the inflexion of his voice.She was not so cold, not so negligent, as the world called her.
"I had passed my word to grant it; I cannot retract," she answered him,after a pause. "I will press nothing more on you. But--as an obligationto me--can you find no way in which a rouleau of gold would benefit yourmen?"
"No way that I can take it for them. But, if you care indeed to do thema charity, a little wine, a little fruit, a few flowers (for there arethose among them who love flowers), sent to the hospital, will bringmany benedictions on your name, madame. They lie in infinite miserythere!"
"I will remember," she said simply, while a thoughtful sadness passedover her brilliant face. "Adieu, M. le Caporal; and if you should thinkbetter of your choice, and will allow your name to be mentioned by me tohis Majesty, send me word through my people. There is my card."
The carriage whirled away down the crooked street. He stood under thetawny awning of the Moorish house, with the thin, glazed card in hishand. On it was printed:
"Mme. la Princesse Corona d'Amague,
"Hotel Corona, Paris."
In the corner was written, "Villa Aiaussa, Algiers." He thrust it in thefolds of his sash, and turned within.
"Do you know her?" he asked Ben Arsli.
The old man shook his head.
"She is the most beautiful of thy many fair Frankish women. I never sawher till to-day. But listen here. Touching these ivory toys--if thoudoes not bring henceforth to me all the work in them that thou doest,thou shalt never come here more to meet the light of her eyes."
Cecil smiled and pressed the Moslem's hand.
"I kept them away because you would have given me a hundred piasters forwhat had not been worth one. As for her eyes, they are stars that shineon another world than an African trooper's. So best!"
Yet they were stars of which he thought more, as he wended his way backto the barracks, than of the splendid constellations of the Algerianevening that shone with all the luster of the day, but with the soft,enchanted light which transfigured sea, and earth, and sky as never didthe day's full glow, as he returned to the mechanical duties, to thethankless services, to the distasteful meal, to the riotous mirth, tothe coarse comradeship, which seemed to him to-night more bitter thanthey had ever done since his very identity, his very existence, hadbeen killed and buried past recall, past resurrection, under the kepid'ordonnance of a Chasseur d'Afrique.