The Maids of Paradise
Page 10The train which bore me out of the arc of the Prussian fire at
Strasbourg passed in between the fortifications of Paris the next
morning about eleven o'clock. Ten minutes later I was in a closed cab
on my way to the headquarters of the Imperial Military Police,
temporarily housed in the Luxembourg Palace.
The day was magnificent; sunshine flooded the boulevards, and a few
chestnut-trees in the squares had already begun to blossom for the
second time in the season; there seemed to be no prophecy of autumn in
sky or sunlight.
The city, as I saw it from the open window of my cab, appeared to be
in a perfectly normal condition.
There were, perhaps, a few more
national-guard soldiers on the streets, a few more brightly colored
posters, notices, and placards on the dead walls, but the life of the
city itself had not changed at all; the usual crowds filled the
boulevards, the usual street cries sounded, the same middle-aged
gentlemen sat in front of the cafés reading the same daily papers, the
same waiters served them the same drinks; rows of cabs were drawn up
where cabs are always to be found, and the same policemen dawdled in
gossip with the same flower-girls.
I caught the scent of early winter
violets in the fresh Parisian breeze.
Was this the city that Buckhurst looked upon as already doomed?
On the marble bridge gardeners were closing up the morning
flower-market; blue-bloused men with jointed hose sprinkled the
asphalt in front of the Palais de Justice; students strolled under the
trees from the School of Medicine to the Sorbonne; the Luxembourg
fountain tossed its sparkling sheets of spray among the lotus.
All this I saw, yet a sinister foreboding oppressed me, and I could
not shake it off even in this bright city where September was
promising only a new lease of summer and the white spikes of chestnut
blossoms hummed with eager bees.
Physically I felt well enough; the cramped sleep in the dark
compartment, far from exhausting me, had not only rested me, but had
also brought me an appetite which I meant to satisfy as soon as might
be. As for my back, it was simply uncomfortable, but all effects of
the shock had disappeared--unless this heavy mental depression was due
to it.
My cab was now entering the Palace of the Luxembourg by the great arch
facing the Rue de Tournon; the line sentinels halted us; I left the
cab, crossed the parade in front of the guard-house, turned to the
right, and climbed the stairs straight to my own quarters, which were
in the west wing of the palace, and consisted of a bedroom, a working
cabinet, and a dressing-room.
But I did not enter my door or even glance at it; I continued straight
on, down the corridor to a door, on the ground-glass panes of which
was printed in red lettering:
HEADQUARTERS
IMPERIAL MILITARY POLICE
SAFE DEPOSIT
The sentinel interrogated me for form's sake, although he knew me; I
entered, passed rapidly along the face of the steel cage behind which
some officers sat on high stools, writing, and presented myself at the
guichet marked, "Foreign Division."
There was no military clerk in attendance there, and, to my surprise,
the guichet was closed.
However, a very elegant officer strolled up to the guichet as I laid
my bag of diamonds on the glass shelf, languidly unlocked the steel
window-gate, and picked up the bag of jewels.
The officer was Mornac, the Emperor's alter ego, or âme damnée, who
had taken over the entire department the very day I left Paris for the
frontier. Officially, I could not recognize him until I presented
myself to Colonel Jarras with my report; so I saluted his uniform,
standing at attention in my filthy clothes, awaiting the usual
question and receipt.
"Name and number?" inquired Mornac, indolently.
I gave both.
"You desire to declare?"
I enumerated the diamonds, and designated them as those lately stolen
from the crucifix of Louis XI.
Mornac handed me a printed certificate of deposit, opened a
compartment in the safe, and tossed in the bag without sealing it.
And, as I stood waiting, he lighted a scented cigarette, glanced over
at me, puffed once or twice, and finally dismissed me with a
discourteous nod.
I went, because he was Mornac; I thought that I was entitled to a
bureau receipt, but could scarcely demand one from the chief of the
entire department who had taken over the bureau solely in order to
reform it, root and branch. Doubtless his curt dismissal of me without
the customary receipt and his failure to seal the bag were two of his
reforms.
I limped off past the glittering steel cage, thankful that the jewels
were safe, turned into the corridor, and hastened back to my own
rooms.
To tear off my rags, bathe, shave, and dress in a light suit of
civilian clothes took me longer than usual, for I was a trifle lame.
Bath and clean clothes ought to have cheered me; but the contrary was
the case, and I sat down to a breakfast brought by a palace servant,
and ate it gloomily, thinking of Buckhurst, and the Countess, and of
Morsbronn, and of the muddy dead lying under the rifle smoke below my
turret window.
I thought, too, of that astonishing conspiracy which had formed under
the very shadow of the imperial throne, and through which already the
crucifix and diamonds of Louis XI. had been so nearly lost to France.
Who besides Buckhurst was involved? How far had Colonel Jarras gone in
the investigation during my absence? How close to the imperial throne
had the conspiracy burrowed?
Pondering, I slowly retraced my steps through the bedroom and
dressing-room, and out into the tiled hallway, where, at the end of
the dim corridor, the door of Colonel Jarras's bureau stood partly
open.
Jarras was sitting at his desk as I entered, and he gave me a
leaden-eyed stare as I closed the door behind me and stood at
attention.
For a moment he said nothing, but presently he partly turned his
ponderous body towards me and motioned me to a chair.
As I sat down I glanced around and saw my old comrade, Speed, sitting
in a dark corner, chewing a cigarette and watching me in alert
silence.
"You are present to report?" suggested Colonel Jarras, heavily.
I bowed, glancing across at Speed, who shrugged his shoulders and
looked at the floor with an ominous smile.
Mystified, I began my report, but was immediately stopped by Jarras
with a peevish gesture: "All right, all right; keep all that for the
Chief of Department. Your report doesn't concern me."
"Doesn't concern you!" I repeated; "are you not chief of this
bureau, Colonel Jarras?"
"No," snapped Jarras; "and there's no bureau now--at least no bureau
for the Foreign Division."
Speed leaned forward and said: "Scarlett, my friend, the Foreign
Division of the Imperial Military Police is not in favor just now. It
appears the Foreign Division is suspected."
"Suspected? Of what?"
"Treason, I suppose," said Speed, serenely.
I felt my face begin to burn, but the astonishing news left me
speechless.
"I said," observed Speed, "that the Foreign Division is suspected;
that is not exactly the case; it is not suspected, simply because it
has been abolished."
"Who the devil did that?" I asked, savagely.
"Mornac."
Mornac! The Emperor's shadow! Then truly enough it was all up with the
Foreign Division. But the shame of it!--the disgrace of as faithful a
body of police, mercenaries though they were, as ever worked for any
cause, good or bad.
"So it's the old whine of treason again, is it?" I said, while the
blood beat in my temples. "Oh, very well, doubtless Monsieur Mornac
knows his business. Are we transferred, Speed, or just kicked out into
the street?"
"Kicked out," replied Speed, rubbing his slim, bony hands together.
"And you, sir?" I asked, turning to Jarras, who sat with his fat,
round head buried in his shoulders, staring at the discolored blotter
on his desk.
The old Corsican straightened as though stung: "Since when, monsieur,
have subordinates assumed the right to question their superiors?"
I asked his pardon in a low voice, although I was no longer his
subordinate. He had been a good and loyal chief to us all; the least I
could do now was to show him respect in his bitter humiliation.
I think he felt our attitude and that it comforted him, but all he
said was: "It is a heavy blow. The Emperor knows best."
As we sat there in silence, a soldier came to summon Colonel Jarras,
and he went away, leaning on his ivory-headed cane, head bowed over
the string of medals on his breast.
When he had gone, Speed came over and shut the door, then shook hands
with me.
"He's gone to see Mornac; it will be our turn next. Look out for
Mornac, or he'll catch you tripping in your report. Did you find
Buckhurst?"
"Look here," I said, angrily, "how can Mornac catch me tripping? I'm
not under his orders."
"You are until you're discharged. You see, they've taken it into
their heads, since the crucifix robbery, to suspect everybody and
anybody short of the Emperor. Mornac came smelling around here the day
you left. He's at the bottom of all this--a nice business to cast
suspicion on our division because we're foreigners. Gad, he looks like
a pickpocket himself--he's got the oblique trick of the eyes and the
restless finger movement."
"Perhaps he is," I said.
Speed looked at me sharply.
"If I were in the service now I'd arrest Mornac--if I dared."
"You might as well arrest the Emperor," I said, wearily.
"That's it," observed Speed, throwing away his chewed cigarette.
"Nobody dare touch Mornac; nobody dare even watch him. But if there's
a leak somewhere, it's far more probable that Mornac did the dirty
work than that there's a traitor in our division."
Presently he added: "Did you catch Buckhurst?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I said, disgusted.
"--Because," continued Speed, "if you've got him, it may save us.
Have you?"
How I wished that I had Buckhurst safely handcuffed beside me!
"If you've got him," persisted Speed, "we'll shake him like a rat
until he squeals. And if he names Mornac--"
"Do you think that Mornac would give him or us the chance?" I said.
"Rubbish! He'd do the shaking in camera; and it would only be a
hand-shaking if Buckhurst is really his creature. And he's rid himself
of our division, anyhow. Wait!" I added, sharply; "perhaps that is
the excuse! Perhaps that is the very reason that he's abolished the
foreign division! We may have been getting too close to the root of
this matter; I had already caught Buckhurst--"
"You had?" cried Speed, eagerly.
"But I'm not going to talk about it now," I added, sullenly. "My
troubles are coming; I've a story to tell that won't please Mornac,
and I have an idea that he means mischief to me."
Speed looked curiously at me, and I went on:
"I used my own judgment--supposing that Jarras was my chief. I knew
he'd let me take my own way--but I don't know what Mornac will say."
However, I was soon to know what Mornac had to say, for a soldier
appeared to summon us both, and we followed to the temporary bureau
which looked out to the east over the lovely Luxembourg gardens.
Jarras passed us as we entered; his heavy head was bent, and I do not
suppose that he saw either us or our salutes, for he shuffled off down
the dark passage, tapping his slow way like a blind man; and Speed and
I entered, saluting Mornac.
The personage whom we saluted was a symmetrical, highly colored
gentleman, with black mustache and Oriental eyes. His skin was too
smooth--there was not a line or a wrinkle visible on hand or face,
nothing but plump flesh pressing the golden collar of his light-blue
tunic and the half-dozen gold rings on his carefully kept, restless
fingers. His light, curved sabre hung by its silver chain from a nail
on a wall behind him; beside it, suspended by the neck cord, was his
astrakhan-trimmed dolman of palest turquoise-blue, and over that hung
his scarlet cap.
As he raised his heavy-lidded, insolent eyes to me, I thought I had
never before appreciated the utter falseness of his visage as I did at
that moment. Instantly I decided that he meant evil to me; and I
instinctively glanced at Speed, standing beside me at attention, his
clear blue eyes alert, his lank limbs and lean head fairly tremulous
with comprehension.
At a careless nod from Mornac I muttered the formal "I have to
report, sir--" and began mumbling a perfunctory account of my
movements since leaving Paris. He listened, idly contemplating a
silver penknife which he alternately snapped open and closed, the
click of the spring punctuating my remarks.
I told the truth as far as I went, which brought me to my capture by
Uhlans and the natural escape of my prisoner, Buckhurst. I merely
added that I had secured the diamonds and had managed to reach Paris
via Strasbourg.
"All I have to report, sir."
"Permit me to be the judge of how much you have to report," said
Mornac. "Continue."
I was silent.
"Do you prefer that I draw out information by questions?" asked
Mornac, looking up at me.
I was already in his net; I ought not to have placed myself in the
position of concealing anything, yet I distrusted him and wished to
avoid giving him a chance to misunderstand me. But now it was too
late; if the error could be wiped out at all, the only way to erase it
was by telling him everything and giving him his chance to
misinterpret me if he desired it.
He listened very quietly while I told of my encounter with Buckhurst
in Morsbronn, of our journey to Saverne, to Strasbourg, and finally my
own arrival in Paris.
"Where is Buckhurst?" he asked.
"I do not know," I replied, doggedly.
"That is to say that you had him in your power within the French
lines yet did not secure him?"
"Yes."
"Your orders were to arrest him?"
"Yes."
"And shoot him if he resisted?"
"Yes."
"But you let him go?"
"There was something more important to do than to arrest Buckhurst. I
meant to find out what he had on hand in Paradise."
"So you disobeyed orders?"
"If you care to so interpret my action."
"Why did you not arrest the Countess de Vassart?"
"I did; the Uhlans made me prisoner as I reported to you."
"I mean, why did you not arrest her after you left Morsbronn?"
"That would have prevented Buckhurst from going to Paradise."
"Your orders were to arrest the Countess?"
"Yes."
"Did you obey those orders?"
"No," I said, between my teeth.
"Why?"
"I had every reason to believe that an important conspiracy was being
ripened somewhere near Paradise. I had every reason to believe that
the robbery of the crown jewels might furnish funds for the plotters.
"The arrest of one man could not break up the conspiracy; I desired
to trap the leaders; and to that end I deliberately liberated this man
Buckhurst as a stool-pigeon. If my judgment has been at fault, I
accept the blame."
Mornac's silver penknife closed. Presently he opened the blade again
and tested the edge on his plump forefinger.
"I beg to call your attention to the fact," I continued, "that a
word from Buckhurst to the provost at Morsbronn would have sent me
before the squad of execution. In a way, I bought my freedom. But," I
added, slowly, "I should never have bought it if the bargain by which
I saved my own skin had been a betrayal of France. Nobody wants to
die; but in my profession we discount that. No man in my division is a
physical coward. I purchased my freedom not only without detriment to
France, but, on the contrary, to the advantage of France."
"At the expense of your honor," observed Mornac.
My ears were burning; I advanced a pace and looked Mornac straight
between the eyes; but his eyes did not meet mine--they were fixed on
his silver penknife.
"I did the best I could do in the line of duty," I said. "You ask me
why I did not break my word and arrest Buckhurst after we left the
German lines. And I answer you that I had given my word not to arrest
him, in pursuance of my plan to use him further."
Mornac examined his carefully kept finger-tips in detail.
"You say he bribed you?"
"I said that he attempted to do so," I replied, sharply.
"With the diamonds?"
"Yes."
"You have them?"
"I deposited them as usual."
"Bring them."
Angry as I was, I saluted, wheeled, and hastened off to the safe
deposit. The jewel-bag was delivered when I presented my printed slip;
I picked it up and marched back, savagely biting my mustache and
striving to control my increasing exasperation. Never before had I
endured insolence from a superior officer.
Mornac was questioning Speed as I entered, and that young man, who has
much self-control to learn, was already beginning to answer with
disrespectful impatience, but my advent suspended matters, and Mornac
took the bag of jewels from my hands and examined it. He seemed to be
in no hurry to empty it; he lolled in his chair with an absent-minded
expression like the expression of a cat who pretends to forget the
mouse between her paws. Danger was written all over him; I squared my
shoulders and studied him, braced for a shock.
The shock came almost immediately, for, without a word, he suddenly
emptied the jewel-bag on the desk before him. The bag contained
little pebbles wrapped in tissue-paper.
I heard Speed catch his breath sharply; I stared stupidly at the
pebbles. Mornac made a careless, sweeping gesture, spreading the
pebbles out before us with his restless, ringed fingers.
"Suppose you explain this farce?" he suggested, unmoved.
"Suppose you explain it!" I stammered.
He raised his delicately arched eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that an hour ago that bag contained the diamonds from the
crucifix of Louis XI! I mean that I handed them over to you on my
arrival at this bureau!"
"Doubtless you can prove what you say," he observed, and his silver
penknife snapped shut like the click of a trap, and he lay back in his
padded chair and slipped the knife into his pocket.
I looked at Speed; his sandy hair fairly bristled, but his face was
drawn and tense. I looked at Mornac; his heavy, black eyes met mine
steadily.
"It seems to me," he said, "that it was high time we abolished the
Foreign Division, Imperial Military Police."
"I refuse to be discharged!" I said, hoarsely. "It is your word
against mine; I demand an investigation!"
"Certainly," he replied, almost wearily, and touched a bell. "Bring
that witness," he added to the soldier who appeared in answer to the
silvery summons.
"I mean an official inquiry," I said--"a court-martial. It is my
right where my honor is questioned."
"It is my right, when you question my honor, to throw you into Mont
Valérien, neck and heels," he said, showing his teeth under his silky,
black mustache.
Almost stunned by his change of tone, I stood like a stone. Somebody
entered the room behind me, passed me; there was an odor of violets in
the air, a faint rustle of silk, and I saw Mornac rise and bow to his
guest and conduct her to a chair.
His guest was the young Countess de Vassart.
She looked up at me brightly, gave me a pretty nod of recognition,
then turned expectantly to Mornac, who was still standing at her
elbow, saying, "Then it is no longer a question of my exile,
monsieur?"
"No, madame; there has been a mistake. The government has no reason
to suspect your loyalty." He turned directly on me. "Madame, do you
know this officer?"
"Yes," said the Countess, smiling.
"Did you see him receive a small sack of diamonds in Morsbronn?"
The Countess gave me a quick glance of surprise. "Yes," she said,
wonderingly.
"Thank you, madame; that is sufficient," he replied; and before I
could understand what he was about he had conducted the Countess to
the next room and had closed the door behind him.
"Quick!" muttered Speed at my elbow; "let's back out of this trap.
There's no use; he's one of them, and he means to ruin you."
"I won't go!" I said, in a cold fury; "I'll choke the truth out of
him, I tell you."
"Man! Man! He's the Emperor's shadow! You're done for; come on while
there's time. I tell you there's no hope for you here."
"Hope! What do I care?" I said, harshly. "Why, Speed, that man is a
common thief."
"What of it?" whispered Speed. "Doesn't everybody know that the
conspiracy runs close to the throne? What do you care? Come on, I tell
you; I've had enough of this rotten government. So have you. And
we've both seen enough to ruin us. Come on!"
"But he's got those diamonds! Do you think I can stand that?"
"I think you've got to," muttered Speed, savagely. "Do you want to
rot in Cayenne? If you do, stay here and bawl for a court-martial!"
"But the government--"
"Let the government go to the devil! It's going fast enough, anyhow.
Come, don't let Mornac find us here when he returns. He may be coming
now--quick, Scarlett! We've got to cut for it!"
"Speed," I said, unsteadily, "it's enough to make an honest man
strike hands with Buckhurst in earnest."
Speed took my arm with a cautious glance at the door of the next room,
and urged me toward the corridor.
"The government has kicked us out into the street," he muttered; "be
satisfied that the government didn't kick us into Biribi. And it will
yet if you don't come."
"Come? Where? I haven't any money, and now they've got my honor--"
"Rubbish!" he whispered, fairly dragging me into the hallway. "Here!
No--don't go to your rooms. Leave everything--get clear of this
rat-pit, I tell you."
He half pushed, half dragged me to the parade; then, dropping my arm,
he struck a jaunty pace through the archway, not even glancing at the
sentinels. I kept pace with him, scarcely knowing what I did.
In the Rue de Seine I halted suddenly, crying out that I must go back,
but he seized me with a growl of "Idiot! come on!" and fairly shoved
me through the colonnades of the Institute, along the quay, down the
river-wall, to a dock where presently a swift river-boat swung in for
passengers. And when the bateau mouche shot out again into mid-stream,
Speed and I stood silently on deck, watching the silver-gray façades
of Paris fly past above us under the blue sky.
We sat far forward, quite alone, and separated from the few passengers
by the pilot-house and jointed funnel. And there, carelessly lounging,
with one of his lank legs crossed over the other and a cigar between
his teeth, my comrade coolly recounted to me the infamous history of
the past week:
"Jarras put his honest, old, square-toed foot in it by accident; I
don't know how he managed to do it, but this is certain: he suddenly
found himself on a perfectly plain trail which could only end at
Mornac's threshold.
"Then he did a stupid thing--he called Mornac in and asked him, in
perfect faith, to clear up the affair, never for a moment suspecting
that Mornac was the man.
"That occurred the day you started to catch Buckhurst. And on that
day, too, I had found out something; and like a fool I told Jarras."
Speed chewed his cigar and laughed.
"In twenty-four hours Jarras was relieved of his command; I was
requested not to leave the Luxembourg--in other words, I was under
arrest, and Mornac took over the entire department and abolished the
Foreign Division 'for the good of the service,' as the Official had
it next day.
"Then somebody--Mornac probably--let loose a swarm of those shadowy
lies called rumors--you know how that is done!--and people began to
mutter, and the cafés began to talk of treason among the foreign
police. Of course Rochefort took it up; of course the Official
printed a half-hearted denial which was far worse than an avowal. Then
the division was abolished, and the illustrated papers made filthy
caricatures of us, and drew pictures of Mornac, sabre in hand,
decapitating a nest full of American rattlesnakes and British cobras,
and Rochefort printed a terrible elaboration of the fable of the
farmer and the frozen serpent."
"Oh, that's enough," I said, sick with rage and disgust. "Let them
look out for their own country now. I pity the Empress; I pity the
Emperor. I don't know what Mornac means to do, but I know that the
Internationale boa-constrictor is big enough to swallow government,
dynasty, and Empire, and it is going to try."
"I am certain of one thing," said Speed, staring out over the sun-lit
water with narrowing eyes. "I know that Mornac is using Buckhurst."
"Perhaps it is Buckhurst who is using Mornac," I suggested.
"I think both those gentlemen have the same view in end--to feather
their respective nests under cover of a general smash," said Speed.
"It would not do for Mornac to desert the Empire under any
circumstances. But he can employ Buckhurst to squeeze it dry and then
strike an attitude as its faithful defender in adversity."
"But why does Buckhurst desire to go to Paradise?" I asked.
The boat swung into a dock near the Point du Jour; a few passengers
left, a few came aboard; the boat darted on again under the high
viaduct of masonry, past bastions on which long siege cannon glistened
in the sunshine, past lines of fresh earthworks, past grassy
embankments on which soldiers moved to the rumble of drums.
"I know something about Paradise," said Speed, in a low voice.
I waited; Speed chewed his cigar grimly.
"Look here, Scarlett," he said. "Do you know what has become of the
crown jewels of France?"
"Well, I'll tell you. You know, of course, that the government is
anxious; you know that Paris is preparing to stand siege if the
Prussians double up Bazaine and the army of Châlons in the north. But
you don't know what a pitiable fright the authorities are in. Why,
Scarlett, they are scared almost to the verge of idiocy."
"They've passed that verge," I observed.
"Yes, they have. They have had a terrible panic over the safety of
the crown jewels--they were nervous enough before the robbery. And
this is what they've done in secret:
"The crown jewels, the bars of gold of the reserve, the great
pictures from the Louvre, the antiques of value, including the Venus
of Milo, have been packed in cases and loaded on trains under heavy
guard.
"Twelve of these trains have already left Paris for the war-port of
Lorient. The others are to follow, one every twenty-four hours at
midnight.
"Whether these treasures are to be locked up in Lorient, or whether
they are to be buried in the sand-dunes along the coast, I don't know.
But I know this: a swift cruiser--the Fer-de-Lance--is lying off
Paradise, between the light-house and the Ile de Groix, with steam up
night and day, ready to receive the treasures of the government at the
first alarm and run for the French possessions in Cochin-China.
"And now, perhaps, you may guess why Buckhurst is so anxious to hang
around Paradise."
Of course I was startled. Speed's muttered information gave me the
keys to many doors. And behind each door were millions and millions
and millions of francs' worth of plunder.
Our eyes met in mute interrogation; Speed smiled.
"Of course," said I, with dry lips, "Buckhurst is devil enough to
attempt anything."
"Especially if backed by Mornac," said Speed.
Suddenly the professional aspect of the case burst on me like a shower
of glorious sunshine.
"Oh, for the chance!" I said, brokenly. "Speed! Think of it! Think
how completely we have the thing in hand!"
"Yes," he said, with a shrug, "only we have just been kicked out of
the service in disgrace, and we are now going to be fully occupied in
running away from the police."
That was true enough; I had scarcely had time to realize our position
as escaped suspects of the department. And with the recognition of my
plight came a rush of hopeless rage, of bitter regret, and
soul-sickening disappointment.
So this was the end of my career--a fugitive, disgraced, probably
already hunted. This was my reward for faithful service--penniless,
almost friendless, liable to arrest and imprisonment with no hope of
justice from Emperor or court-martial--a banned, ruined, proscribed
outcast, in blind flight.
"I've thought of the possibility of this," observed Speed, quietly.
"We've got to make a living somehow. In fact, I'm to let--and so are
you."
I looked at him, too miserable to speak.
"I had an inkling of it," he said. A shrewd twinkle came into his
clear, Yankee eyes; he chewed his wrecked cigar and folded his lank
arms.
"So," he continued, tranquilly, blinking at the sparkling river, "I
drew out all my money--and yours, too."
"Mine!" I stammered. "How could you?"
"Forged an order," he admitted. "Can you forgive me, Scarlett?"
"Forgive you! Bless your generous heart!" I muttered, as he handed me
a sealed packet.
"Not at all," he said, laughing; "a crime in time saves nine--eh,
Scarlett? Pocket it; it's all there. Now listen. I have made
arrangements of another kind. Do you remember an application for
license from the manager of a travelling American show--a Yankee
circus?"
"Byram's Imperial American Circus?" I said.
"That's it. They went through Normandy last summer. Well, Byram's
agent is going to meet us at Saint-Cloud. We're engaged; I'm to do
ballooning--you know I worked one of the military balloons before
Petersburg. You are to do sensational riding. You were riding-master
in the Spahis--were you not?"
I looked at him, almost laughing. Suddenly the instinct of my vagabond
days returned like a sweet wind from the wilds, smiting me full in the
face.
"I tamed three lions for my regiment at Constantine," I said.
"Good lad! Then you can play with Byram's lions, too. Oh, what the
devil!" he cried, recklessly; "it's all in a lifetime. Quand même,
and who cares? We've life before us and an honest living in view, and
Byram has packed two of his men back to England and I've tinkered up
their passports to suit us. So we're reasonably secure."
"Will you tell me, Speed, why you were wise enough to do all this
while I was gone?" I asked, in astonishment.
"Because," said Speed, deliberately, "I distrusted Mornac from the
hour he entered the department."
A splendid officer of police was spoiled when Mornac entered the
department.
Presently the deck guard began to shout: "Saint-Cloud! Saint-Cloud!"
and the little boat glided up alongside the floating pier. Speed rose;
I followed him across the gang-plank; and, side by side, we climbed
the embankment.
"Do you mean to say that Byram is going travelling about with his
circus in spite of the war?" I whispered.
"Yes, indeed. We start south from Chartres to-morrow."
Presently I said: "Do you suppose we will go to Lorient
or--Paradise?"
"We will if I have anything to say about it," replied Speed, throwing
away his ragged cigar.
And I walked silently beside him, thinking of the young Countess and
of Buckhurst.
Chapter 0 Part Second Chapter 9 The Road to Paradise
On the 3d of November Byram's American Circus, travelling slowly
overland toward the Spanish frontier, drew up for an hour's rest at
Quimperlé. I, however, as usual, prepared to ride forward to select a
proper place for our night encampment, and to procure the necessary
license.
The dusty procession halted in the town square, which was crowded, and
as I turned in my saddle I saw Byram stand up on the red-and-gold
band-wagon and toss an armful of circulars and bills into the throng.
The white bits of paper fluttered wide and disappeared in the sea of
white Breton head-dresses; there was a rhythmic clatter of wooden
shoes, an undulation of snowy coiffes, then a low murmur as the people
slowly read the circulars aloud, their musical monotone accompanying
the strident nasal voice of Byram, who stood on the tarnished
band-wagon shouting his crowd around him.
"Mossoors et madams! Ecooty see voo play! J'ai l'honnoor de vous
presenter le ploo magnifique cirque--" And the invariable réclame
continued to the stereotyped finis; the clown bobbed up behind Byram
and made his usual grimaces, and the band played "The Cork Leg."
The Bretons looked on in solemn astonishment: my comrade, Speed,
languidly stood up on the elephant and informed the people that our
circus was travelling to Lorient to fill a pressing engagement, and if
we disappointed the good people of Lorient a riot would doubtless
result, therefore it was not possible to give any performance before
we reached Lorient--and the admission was only ten sous.
Our clown then picked up the tatters of his threadbare comic speech.
Speed, munching a stale sandwich, came strolling over to where I stood
sponging out my horse's mouth with cool water.
"We'll ride into Paradise in full regalia, I suppose," he observed,
munching away reflectively; "it's the cheapest réclame."
I dashed a bucket of water over my horse's legs. "You'd better look
out for your elephant; those drunken Bretons are irritating him," I
said. "Mahouts are born, not made."
Speed turned; the elephant was squealing and thrusting out a
prehensile trunk among the people. There would be trouble if any fool
gave him tobacco.
"Hi!" cried Speed, "tobah! Let the mem-log alone! Ai! he's snatched
a coiffe! Drop it, Djebe! C'hast buhan! Don't be afraid, mesdames; the
elephant is not ugly! Chomit oll en ho trankilite!"
The elephant appeared to understand the mixture of Hindu, French, and
Breton--or perhaps it was the sight of the steel ankus that Speed
flourished in his quality of mahout. The crowd pressed forward again,
reassured by the "Chomit oll en ho trankilite!"
Speed swallowed the last crumb of his sandwich, wiped his hands on his
handkerchief, and shoved them into his shabby pockets; the ankus
dangled from his wrist.
We were in seedy circumstances; an endless chain of bad luck had
followed us from Chartres--bad weather, torrents of rain, flooded
roads, damaging delays on railways already overcrowded with troops
and war material, and, above all, we encountered everywhere that
ominous apathy which burdened the whole land, even those provinces
most remote from the seat of war. The blockade of Paris had paralyzed
France.
The fortune that Byram had made in the previous year was already gone;
we no longer travelled by rail; we no longer slept at inns; we could
barely pay for the food for our animals.
As for the employés, the list had been cut down below the margin of
safety, yet for a month no salaries had been paid.
As I stood there in the public square of Quimperlé, passing the
cooling sponge over my horse's nose, old Byram came out of the hotel
on the corner, edged his way through the stolid crowd that surrounded
us gaunt mountebanks, and shuffled up to me.
"I guess we ain't goin' to push through to-night, Scarlett," he
observed, wiping his sweating forehead on the sleeve of his linen
duster.
"No, governor, it's too far," I said.
"We'll be all right, anyway," added Speed; "there's a change in the
moon and this warm weather ought to hold, governor."
"I dunno," said Byram, with an abstracted glance at the crowd around
the elephant.
"Cheer up, governor," I said, "we ought at least to pay expenses to
the Spanish frontier. Once out of France we'll find your luck again
for you."
"Mebbe," he said, almost wearily.
I glanced at Speed. This was the closest approach to a whine that we
had heard from Byram. But the man had changed within a few days; his
thin hair, brushed across his large, alert ears, was dusty and
unkempt; hollows had formed under his shrewd eyes; his black
broadcloth suit was as soiled as his linen, his boots shabby, his
silk hat suitable only for the stage property of our clown.
"Don't ride too far," said Byram, as I set foot to stirrup, "them
band-wagon teams is most done up, an' that there camuel gits meaner
every minute."
I wheeled my horse out into the road to Paradise, cursing the
"camuel," the bane of our wearied caravan.
"Got enough cash for the license?" asked Byram, uneasily.
"Plenty, governor; don't worry. Speed, don't let him mope. We'll be
in Lorient this time to-morrow," I called back, with a swagger of
assumed cheerfulness.
Speed stepped swiftly across the square and laid his hand on my
stirrup.
"What are you going to do if you see Buckhurst?"
"Nothing."
"Or the Countess?"
"I don't know."
"I suppose you will go out of your way to find her if she's in
Paradise?"
"Yes."
"And tell her the truth about Buckhurst?"
"I expect to."
After a moment's silence he said: "Don't do anything until I see you
to-night, will you?"
"All right," I replied, and set my horse at a gallop over the old
stone bridge.
The highway to the sea which winds down through acres of yellow gorse
and waving broom to the cliffs of Paradise is a breezy road, swept by
the sweet winds that blow across Brittany from the Côte d'Or to the
Pyrenees.
It is a land of sea-winds; and when in the still noontide of midsummer
the winds are at play far out at sea, their traces remain in the
furrowed wheat, in the incline of solitary trees, in the breezy trend
of the cliff-clover and the blackthorn and the league-wide sweep of
the moorlands.
And through this land whose inland perfume always savored the unseen
sea I rode down to Paradise.
It was not until I had galloped through the golden forest of Kerselec
that I came in sight of the ocean, although among the sunbeams and the
dropping showers of yellow beech-leaves I fancied I could hear the
sound of the surf.
And now I rode slowly, in full sight of the sea where it lay, an
immense gray band across the world, touching a looming horizon, and in
throat and nostril the salt stung sweetly, and the whole world seemed
younger for the breath of the sea.
From the purple mystery of the horizon to the landward cliffs the
ocean appeared motionless; it was only when I had advanced almost to
the cliffs that I saw the movement of waves--that I perceived the
contrast between inland inertia and the restless repose of the sea,
The same little sparkling river I had crossed in Quimperlé I now saw
again, spreading out a wide, flat current which broke into waves where
it tumbled seaward across the bar; I heard the white-winged gulls
mewing, the thunderous monotone of the surf, and a bell in some unseen
chapel ringing sweetly.
I passed a stone house, another; then the white road curved under the
trees and I rode straight into the heart of Paradise, my horse's hoofs
awaking echoes in the silent, stone-paved square.
Never had I so suddenly entered a place so peaceful, so quiet in the
afternoon sun--yet the silence was not absolute, it was thrilling with
exquisite sound, lost echoes of the river running along its quay of
stone, half-heard harmonies of the ocean where white surf seethed over
the sands beyond the headland.
There was a fountain, too, dripping melodiously under the trees; I
heard the breathless humming of a spinning-wheel from one of the low
houses of gray stone which enclosed the square, and a young girl
singing, and the drone of bees in a bed of resida.
So this was Paradise! Truly the name did not seem amiss here, under
the still vault of blue above; Paradise means peace to so many of
us--surcease of care and sound and the brazen trample of nations--not
the quiet of palace corridors or the tremendous silence of a
cathedral, but the noiselessness of pleasant sounds, moving shadows of
trees, wordless quietude, simplicity.
A young girl with a face like the Madonna stole across the square in
her felt shoes.
"Can you tell me where the mayor lives?" I asked, looking down at her
from my horse.
She raised her white-coiffed head with an innocent smile: "Eman' barz
ar sal o leina."
"Don't you speak French?" I asked, appalled.
"Ho! ia; oui, monsieur, s'il faut bien. The mayor is at breakfast in
his kitchen yonder."
"Thank you, my child."
I turned my horse across the shady square to a stone house banked up
with bed on bed of scarlet geraniums. The windows were open; a fat man
with very small eyes sat inside eating an omelet.
He watched me dismount without apparent curiosity, and when I had tied
my horse and walked in at the open door he looked at me over the rim
of a glass of cider, and slowly finished his draught without blinking.
Then he said, "Bonjour."
I told him that I wanted a license for the circus to camp for one
night; that I also desired permission to pitch camp somewhere in the
vicinity. He made out the license, stamped it, handed it to me, and I
paid him the usual fee.
"I've heard of circuses," he said; "they're like those shows at
country fairs, I suppose."
"Yes--in a way. We have animals."
"What kind?"
"Lions, tigers--"
"I've seen them."
"--a camel, an elephant--"
"Alive?"
"Certainly."
"Ma doué!" he said, with slow emotion, "have you a live elephant?"
I admitted that fact.
Presently I said, "I hope the people of Paradise will come to the
circus when we get to Lorient."
"Eh? Not they," said the mayor, wagging his head. "Do you think we
have any money here in Paradise? And then," he added, cunningly, "we
can all see your elephant when your company arrives. Why should we pay
to see him again? War does not make millionaires out of the poor."
I looked miserably around. It was quite true that people like these
had no money to spend on strolling players. But we had to live
somehow, and our animals could not exist on air, even well-salted
air.
"How much will it cost to have your town-crier announce the coming of
the circus?" I inquired.
"That will cost ten sous if he drums and reads the announcement from
here to the château."
I gave the mayor ten copper pennies.
"What château?" I asked.
"Dame, the château, monsieur."
"Oh," said I, "where the Countess lives?"
"The Countess? Yes, of course. Who else?"
"Is the Countess there?"
"Oui, dame, and others not to my taste."
I asked no more questions, but the mayor did, and when he found it
might take some time to pump me, he invited me to share his omelet and
cider and afterwards to sit in the sun among his geraniums and satisfy
his curiosity concerning the life of a strolling player.
I was glad of something to eat. After I had unsaddled my horse and led
him to the mayor's stable and had paid for hay and grain, I returned
to sit in the mayor's garden and sniff longingly at his tobacco smoke
and answer his impertinent questions as good-naturedly as they were
intended.
But even the mayor of Paradise grew tired of asking questions in time;
the bees droned among the flowers, the low murmur of the sea stole in
on our ears, the river softly lapped the quay. The mayor slept.
He was fat, very fat; his short, velvet jacket hung heavy with six
rows of enormous silver buttons, his little, round hat was tilted over
his nose. A silver buckle decorated it in front; behind, two little
velvet ribbons fluttered in futile conflict with the rising
sea-breeze.
Men in embroidered knee-breeches, with bare feet thrust into
straw-filled sabots, sat sunning on the quay under the purple
fig-trees; one ragged fellow in soiled velvet bolero and embossed
leggings lay in the sun, chin on fists, wooden shoes crossed behind
him, watching the water with the eyes of a poacher.
This mild, balmy November weather, this afterglow of summer which in
my own country we call Indian summer, had started new blossoms among
the climbing tea-roses, lovely orange-tinted blossoms, and some of a
clear lemon color, and their fragrance filled the air. Nowhere do
roses blow as they blow near the sea, nowhere have I breathed such
perfume as I breathed that drowsy afternoon in Paradise, where in
every door-yard thickets of clove-scented pinks carpeted the ground
and tall spikes of snowy phlox glimmered silver-white in the
demi-light.
Where on earth could a more peaceful scene be found than in this
sea-lulled land, here in the subdued light under aged, spreading oaks,
where moss crept over the pavements and covered the little fountain as
though it had been the stony brink of a limpid forest spring?
The mayor woke up toward five o'clock and stared at me with owlish
gravity as though daring me to say that he had been asleep.
"Um--ah--ma fois oui!" he muttered, blowing his nose loudly in a
purple silk bandanna. Then he shrugged his shoulders and added:
"C'est la vie, monsieur. Que voulez-vous?"
And it was one kind of life after all--a blessed release from the
fever of that fierce farandole which we of the outer world call
"life."
The mayor scratched his ear, yawned, stretched one leg, then the
other, and glanced at me.
"Paris still holds out?" he asked, with another yawn.
"Oh yes," I replied.
"And the war--is it still going badly for us?"
"There is always hope," I answered.
"Hope," he grumbled; "oh yes, we know what hope is--we of the coast
live on it when there's no bread; but hope never yet filled my belly
for me."
"Has the war touched you here in Paradise?" I asked.
"Touched us? Ho! Say it has crushed us and I'll strike palms with
you. Why, not a keel has passed out of the port since August. Where is
the fishing-fleet? Where are the sardine sloops that ought to have
sailed from Algiers? Where are the Icelanders?"
"Well, where are they?" I suggested.
"Where? Ask the semaphore yonder. Where are our salt schooners for
the Welsh coast? I don't know. They have not sailed, that's all I
know. You do well to come with your circus and your elephant! You can
peddle diamonds in the poor-house, too, if it suits your taste."
"Have the German cruisers frightened all your craft from the sea?" I
asked, astonished.
"Yes, partly. Then there's an ugly French cruiser lying off Groix,
yonder, and her black stacks are dribbling smoke all day and all
night. We have orders to keep off and use Lorient when we want a
port."
"Do you know why the cruiser warns your fishing-boats from this
coast?" I inquired.
"No," he said, shortly.
"Do you know the name of the cruiser?"
"She's a new one, the Fer-de-Lance. And if I were not a patriot and
a Breton I'd say: 'May Sainte-Anne rot her where she lies; she's
brought a curse on the coast from Lorient to the Saint-Julien
Light!--and the ghosts of the Icelanders will work her evil yet.'"
The mayor's round, hairless face was red; he thumped the arm of his
chair with pudgy fists and wagged his head.
"We have not seen the end of this," he said--"oh no! There's a curse
coming on Paradise--the cruiser brought it, and it's coming. Hé! did a
Bannalec man not hear the were-wolf in Kerselec forest a week since?
Pst! Not a word, monsieur. But old Kloark, of Roscoff, heard it
too--oui dame!--and he knows the howl of the Loup-Garou! Besides, did
I not with my own eyes see a black cormorant fly inland from the sea?
And, by Sainte-Éline of Paradise! the gulls squeal when there's no
storm brewing and the lançons prick the dark with flames along the
coast till you'd swear the witches of Ker-Is were lighting
death-candles from Paradise to Pont-Aven."
"Do you believe in witches, monsieur the mayor?" I asked, gravely.
He gave me a shrewd glance. "Not at all--not even in bed and the
light out," he said, with a fat swagger. "I believe in magic? Ho!
foi non! But many do. Oui dame! Many do."
"Here in Paradise?"
"Parbleu! Men of parts, too, monsieur. Now there's Terrec, who has
the evil eye--not that I believe it, but, damn him, he'd better not
try any tricks on me!
"Others stick twigs of aubépine in their pastures; the apothecary is
a man of science, yet every year he makes a bonfire of dried gorse and
drives his cattle through the smoke. It may keep off witches and
lightning--or it may not. I myself do not do such things."
"Still you believe the cruiser out at sea yonder is going to bring
you evil?"
"She has brought it. But it's all the same to me. I am mayor, and
exempt, and I have cider and tobacco and boudin for a few months
yet."
He caressed his little, selfish chin, which hung between his mottled
jowls, peered cunningly at me, and opened his mouth to say something,
but at that moment we both caught sight of a peasant running and
waving a packet of blue papers in the air. "Monsieur the mayor!
Monsieur the mayor!" he called, while still far away.
"Cré cochon de malheur!" muttered the mayor, turning pale. "He's got
a telegram!"
The man came clattering across the square in his wooden shoes.
"A telegram," repeated the mayor, wiping the sudden sweat from his
forehead. "I never get telegrams. I don't want telegrams!"
He turned to me, almost bursting with suppressed prophecy.
"It has come--the evil that the black cruiser brings us! You laughed!
Tenez, monsieur; there's your bad luck in these blue morsels of
paper!"
And he snatched the telegram from the breathless messenger, reading it
with dilating eyes.
For a long while he sat there studying the telegram, his fat
forefinger following the scrawl, a crease deepening above his
eyebrows, and all the while his lips moved in noiseless repetition of
the words he spelled with difficulty and his labored breathing grew
louder.
When at length the magistrate had mastered the contents of his
telegram, he looked up with a stupid stare.
"I want my drummer. Where's the town-crier?" he demanded, as though
dazed.
"He has gone to Lorient, m'sieu the mayor," ventured the messenger.
"To get drunk. I remember. Imbecile! Why did he go to-day? Are there
not six other days in this cursed week? Who is there to drum? Nobody.
Nobody knows how in Paradise. Seigneur, Dieu! the ignorance of this
town!"
"M'sieu the mayor," ventured the messenger, "there's Jacqueline."
"Ho! Vrai. The Lizard's young one! She can drum, they say. She stole
my drum once. Why did she steal it but to drum upon it?"
"The little witch can drum them awake in Ker-Is," muttered the
messenger.
The mayor rose, looked around the square, frowned. Then he raised his
voice in a bellow: "Jacqueline! Jacqueline! Thou Jacqueline!"
A far voice answered, faintly breaking across the square from the
bridge: "She is on the rocks with her sea-rake!"
The mayor thrust the blue telegram into his pocket and waddled out of
his garden, across the square, and up the path to the cliffs.
Uninvited, I went with him.