By Wit of Woman Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  MADAME D'ARTELLE

  For a moment the situation oppressed me, but the next I had mastered itand regained my self-possession. I was not recognized. Karl threw aformal glance at me as Madame d'Artelle mentioned my name, and his eyescame toward me again when she explained that I was an American. I wascareful to keep my face from the light and to let him see as little ofmy features as possible. But I need not have taken even that trouble.He did not give me another thought; and I sat for some minutes turningover the pages of my book, observing him, trying to analyze my ownfeelings, and speculating how this unexpected development was likely toaffect my course.

  My first sensation was one which filled me with mortification. I wasangry that he had not recognized me. I told myself over and over againthat this was all for the best; that it made everything easier for me;that I had no right to care five cents whether he knew me or not; andthat it was altogether unworthy of me. Yet my pride was touched: Isuppose it was my pride; anyway, it embittered my resentment againsthim.

  It was an insult which aggravated and magnified his former injury; andI sat, outwardly calm, but fuming inwardly, as I piled epithet uponepithet in indignant condemnation of him until my old contemptquickened into hot and fierce hatred. I felt that, come what might, Iwould not stir a finger to save him from any fate to which others wereluring him.

  But I began to cool after a while. I was engaged in too serious aconflict to allow myself to be swayed by any emotions. I could obeyonly one guide--my judgment. Here was the man who of all others wouldbe able by and by to help me most effectively: and if I was not to failin my purpose I must have his help, let the cost be what it might.

  It was surely the quaintest of the turns of Fate's wheel that hadbrought me to Pesth to save him of all men from ruin; but I never breakmy head against Fate's decrees, and I would not now. So I accepted theposition and began to watch the two closely.

  Karl was changed indeed. He looked not five, but fifteen, years olderthan when we had parted that morning in the Central Park. His face waslined; his features heavy, his eyes dull and spiritless, and his airlistless and almost preoccupied. He smiled very rarely indeed, andseemed scarcely even to listen to Madame d'Artelle as she chattered andlaughed and gestured gaily.

  The reason for some of the change was soon made plain. Wine wasbrought; and when her back was toward him I saw him look round swiftlyand stealthily and pour into his glass something from a small bottlewhich he took from his pocket.

  I perceived something else, too. Madame d'Artelle had turned her backintentionally so as to give him the opportunity to do this; for I sawthat she watched him in a mirror, and was scrupulous not to turn to himagain until the little phial was safely back in his pocket.

  So this was one of the secrets--opium. His dulness and semi-stuporwere due to the fact that the previous dose was wearing off; and sheknew it, and gave him an opportunity for the fresh dose.

  I waited long enough to notice the first effects. His eyes began tobrighten, his manner changed, he commenced to talk briskly, and hisspirits rose fast. I feared that under the spur of the drug his memorymight recall me, and I deemed it prudent to leave the room.

  I had purposely held my tongue lest he should recognize my voice--themost tell-tale of all things in a woman--but now I rose and made sometrivial excuse to Madame d'Artelle.

  As I spoke I noticed him start, glance quickly at me, and pass his handacross his forehead; but before he could say anything, I was out of theroom. I had accomplished two things. I had let him familiarizehimself with the sight of me without associating me with our formerrelations; and I had found out one of the secrets of Madame's influenceover him--her encouragement of his drug-taking.

  But why should she encourage it? It seemed both reasonless andunaccountable. Did she care for him? I had my reasons for believingshe did. Yet if so, why seek to weaken his mind as well as destroy hisreputation? I thought this over carefully and could see but oneanswer--she must be acting in obedience to some powerful compellinginfluence from outside. Who had that influence, and what was itsnature?

  When I knew that Karl had gone I went down stairs and had anothersurprise. I found Madame d'Artelle plunged apparently in the deepestgrief. She was a creature of almost hysterical changes of mood.

  "What is the matter?" I asked, with sparse sympathy. "Don't cry.Tears spell ruin to the complexion."

  "I am the most miserable woman in the world," she wailed.

  "Then you are at the bottom of a very large class. Tears don't suityou, either. They make your eyes red and puffy. A luxury even youcannot afford, beautiful as you are."

  "You are hateful," she cried, angrily; and immediately dried her eyesand sat up to glare at me.

  I smiled. "I have stopped your crying at any rate."

  "I wish to be alone."

  "I think you ought to be very grateful to me. Look at yourself;" and Iheld a hand mirror in front of her face.

  She snatched it from me and flung it down on the sofa pillow with alittle French oath.

  "Be careful. To break a mirror means a year's ill luck. A seriousmisfortune for even a pretty woman."

  "I don't believe you have a grain of sympathy in your whole heart. Itmust be as hard as a stone."

  "My dear Henriette, the heart has nothing to do with sympathy or anyother emotion. It is just the blood pump. I have not read muchphysiology but...."

  "_Nom de Dieu_, spare me your science," she cried, excitedly.

  I laughed again without restraint. "We'll drop physiology, then. ButI know other things, and now that I have brought you out of the tearstage, we'll talk about them if you like. I agree with you that it ismost exasperating and bitterly disappointing."

  Her face was a mask of bewilderment as she turned to me swiftly. "Whatdo you mean?" The question came after a pause.

  "It is so ridiculously easy. I mean what you were thinking about whenthe passion of tears came along. What are you going to do about it?"

  I had seated myself and taken up a book, and was turning over theleaves as I put the question. She jumped up excitedly and came andstood over me, her features almost fiercely set as she stared down.

  "What do you mean? You shall say what you mean. You shall."

  "Not while you stand there threatening me with a sort of wild glare inyour eyes. I don't think it's fair to be angry with me just becauseyou can't do what you wish."

  She stretched out her hands as if she would shake me in herexasperation. Then she laughed, a little wildly, and went back to herseat on the couch.

  "What was in my thoughts then?"

  "At the foundation--the inconvenience of your religious convictions asa member of the Roman Catholic Church."

  "You are mad," she cried, with a toss of her shapely head and a ringinglaugh. But as the laugh died away her eyes filled with soberingperplexity. "At the foundation," she said slowly, repeating my words."You are a poor thought-reader. What else was I thinking of?"

  I paused to give due significance to my next words, and looked at herfixedly as I spoke. "Of your marriage with M. Constans; and that inyour church, marriage is a sacrament."

  "You are a devil," she exclaimed, with fresh excitement, almost withfury indeed. "Say what you mean and don't torment me."

  "The Count has been urging you to marry him of course, and----"

  "You have been listening. You spy." The last vestige of herself-control was lost as she flung the words at me.

  I paused. I never act impetuously with hysterical people. Withstudied deliberation I closed my book, having carefully laid a markerbetween the pages, and looked round as if for anything that mightbelong to me. Then I rose. Her eyes watched me with growing doubt andanxiety.

  "I shall be ready to leave the house in about an hour, Madame," I saidicily, and walked toward the door.

  She let me get close to it. "What are you going to do?"

  My answer was a cold smile, in which I co
ntrived to convey a threat. Iknew how to frighten her.

  She jumped up and rushed to the door and stood with her back againstit--as an angry, over-teased child will do. "You shall not go. Youmean to try and ruin me." I had known before that she was afraid ofme; but she had never shown it so openly.

  "Yes, I shall do my best." I spoke so calmly and looked her so firmlyin the face that she was convinced of my earnestness.

  "I didn't mean what I said," she declared.

  "It is too late for that," I replied, with a sneer of obvious distrustand disbelief. She had very little courage and was a poor fighter.Her only weapon was her beauty; and it was useless of course against me.

  Her eyes began to show a scared, hunted expression. "Don't go.Forgive me, Christabel. I didn't mean it. I swear I didn't. Youangered me, and you know how impetuous I am."

  "I am surprised you should plead thus to--a spy, Madame."

  "But I tell you I didn't mean it. Christabel, dear Christabel, I knowyou are not a spy. Don't make so much of an angry word. Come, let ustalk it over. Do, do"; and she put her arm in mine to lead me back tomy chair.

  I let her prevail with me, but with obvious reluctance. "Why are youso afraid of me?" I asked.

  "I am not afraid of you; but I want you to stay and help me."

  I sat down then as a concession and a sign that I was willing to talkthings over; and she sat near me, taking care to place her chairbetween me and the door.

  "If that is so, it is time that we understood one another. Perhaps Ihad better begin. You cannot marry Count Karl."

  "I love him, Christabel."

  "And Monsieur Constans--your husband?"

  "Don't, don't. He deserted me. He is a villain, a false scoundrel.Don't speak of him in the same breath with--with the man I love."

  "He is your husband, Madame." She moaned and waved her armsdespairingly.

  "I am the most wretched woman on earth. I love him so."

  "And therefore encourage him to take opium. I do not understand thatkind of love. Had you not better tell me the truth?"

  "I shall save him. You don't understand. My God, you don't understandat all. The only way I can save him is to do what he asks."

  "Who is it that is forcing your hand?"

  She winced at the question, as if it were a lancet thrust. "Youfrighten me, Christabel, and mystify me."

  "No, no. It is only that you are trying to mystify me, and arefrightened lest I should guess your secret. Let us be fair to oneanother. I have an object here which you cannot guess and I shall nottell you. You have an object which I can see plainly. You have beenbrought here to involve Count Karl in a way which threatens him withruin, and you have fallen in love with him--or think you have. You arenow anxious to please your employer and also secure the man you lovefrom the ruin which threatens him. He has asked you to marry him; anda crisis has arisen which you have neither the nerve to face nor thewit to solve."

  "_Nom de Dieu_, how you read things!" she exclaimed under her breath,her eyes dilated with wonder and fear.

  "But for my presence you would marry him; and trust to Fate to avoidthe discovery being made that M. Constans is still alive. To yourselfyou would justify this by the pretence that if you were once theCount's wife you could check instead of encourage his opium habit andso save him. Who then is it with the power to drive you into thisreckless crime?"

  She was too astounded to reply at once, but sat staring at me openmouthed. Suddenly she changed, and her look grew fierce and tense."Who are you, and what is your motive in forcing yourself upon me here?"

  "I depend on my wits to make a way for me in the world, Madame; and Itake care to keep them in good condition. But I am not forcing myselfupon you. I am ready to go at this moment--if you prefer that--and ifyou think it safer to have me against you."

  "_Mon Dieu_, I believe I am really afraid of you."

  "Of me, no. Of the knowledge I have, yes. And you will do well togive that fear due weight. You have been already induced to make onevery foolish move. To receive stolen jewels is a crime, even when thethief is----"

  "How dare you say that!"

  "You forget. The day I came first to you you had occasion to go to thesecret drawer in the old bureau in your boudoir, and I saw them there.You are a very poor player, Madame, in such a game as this."

  The colour left her cheeks, and hate as well as fear was in her eyes asshe stared helplessly at me.

  "It is all your imagination," she said, weakly.

  I smiled.

  "It can remain that--if you wish. It is for you to decide."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You had better trust me. You can begin by telling me what and whoseis this evil influence behind you?"

  A servant interrupted us at that moment.

  "His Excellency Count Gustav is asking for you, Madame."

  She gave a quick start, and flashed a look at me.

  "I will go to him," she answered.

  I had another intuition then. I smiled and rose.

  "So that is the answer to my question. You may wish to consult him,Madame. I will see you afterwards; and will use the interval to havemy trunks packed in readiness to leave the house should he deem itbest."

  "I am right. You are a devil," she cried, with another burst ofimpetuous, uncontrollable temper.

  I turned as I reached the door.

  "Should he decide that I stay, Madame, and wish to see me, I shall bequite prepared."

  I went out then without waiting for any reply.