CHAPTER XXVII
BERTHE
"Il y a deux etres en nous: l'acteur et le spectateur." --_Sienkiewicz._
The same evening, though two hours later, a public hack entered anoutlying quarter of the City of Mexico called San Cosme, and drew upbefore a white mansion with beautiful gardens. A young girl with softbrown hair and gentle eyes got out, ran to the door, and brought downthe ponderous knocker so terrifically that it abashed her, for all herpresent agitation. To the flunkey, who noted the public hack and wasreproachful, she said, "I must see His Excellency. Here, I have writtenmy name on Mademoiselle d'Aumerle's card. I am her maid. Say to Monsieurle Marechal that he will regret it, if I do not see him at once. Quicknow, you!"
If possessed of guile, Berthe could not have done better. WithJacqueline's card, used only because it had a blank side, her admittancewas certain and immediate.
She passed the lackey into a luxurious apartment, Marshal Bazaine'sprivate cabinet. At one end there was a Japanese screen with a lampbehind, and at intervals came the sound of someone turning the leaves ofa book. But Berthe thought solely of her errand. The marshal, thicknecked, heavy cheeked and stocky, was standing, waiting for her.
"So," he exclaimed, "milady is arrived, eh, and you bring me hercommands?"
"No, Your Excellency, my mistress does not know that I am here. When shelearns, she will dismiss me. I----"
The marshal of France grew cold. "It was a decoy then, the card youused?" he interrupted. "And was that one also, young woman, when youthreatened that I should regret----"
"You will indeed regret, monsieur, if you do not let me speak. There's amistake to correct if--if it's not too late."
The chief of the Army of Occupation shrugged his shoulders until theback of his neck folded over itself. He had been correcting mistakesever since Maximilian's landing. But he was a child of the peoplehimself, and the distress in her eyes made him patient. "Well, what isit?" he asked.
"It is an American. They will shoot him, monsieur!"
"Ah, one who interests the young person now before me, eh?"
"And I want you to stop them, monsieur! I want----"
"Child, child, whom am I to stop?"
"Colonel Lopez, monsieur. The American escaped once, but mademoisellegave him up again. He'd saved mademoiselle's life, too. And mine."
The veteran soldier rubbed his finger tips on his bald, bullet-likehead. "He saves her, and she gives him to Lopez. He must be an importantspecies of American!"
"Yes, yes, monsieur."
"There, don't worry. His Majesty will pardon your friend to-morrow--if,"he added to himself, "only from habit."
"But Lopez will shoot him before the Emperor knows."
The marshal had shrewd eyes, and now they opened wide. "Getting moreimportant, our American!" he grumbled uneasily. "Berthe, did yourmistress know that Lopez would shoot him before he could be pardoned?"
"Oh yes, monsieur."
"BERTHE""... Brought down the ponderous knocker so terrifically thatit abashed her, for all her present agitation"]
"Name of a name, what does she want him killed for? Why is this droleof a Lopez in such a hurry?--See here, child, you know something more.What did you mean by my regretting----"
"Because, because everybody seemed to think that the poor brave Americanhad come with an offer of aid for Maximilian, and as you need moretroops, I thought----"
"Who, in all mercy, is this American?"
"A Confederate officer, monsieur."
Not one man, but two, paced the floor because of Jacqueline thatevening. The second was the marshal of France, and he went at it now, onhearing of the first man. "A Confederate officer?" There were twincreases over his straight nose, furrows of vexed and intense thinking.The lone Southerner was linked intimately in his reflections with theparliament of a great nation. The people of France had never warmed tothe Mexican dream, and the Chambers already were clamoring for thereturn of the troops. And now, for every Confederate enlisted, apantalon rouge could be sent back home. But why--name of a name--shouldJacqueline try to prevent?
"Did she," he asked, but not very hopefully, "did she have any cause todislike this American?"
"Oh, monsieur!" The cry was pained surprise. That her mistress could orwould pay a grudge! "On the contrary," she protested vehemently, "I havenever seen her so moved, never, and if _you_ had seen her,monsieur, as we left Tuxtla! I thought she must surely lose her mind.One cannot imagine her terror. She cried to the driver, to theoutriders, to lash the mules, harder, faster, till it's a miracle we didnot crash over a cliff. And all the time she would look back, and atevery sound she would clap her hands over her ears and cry out to knowif that was shooting. And then she would pound at the window to them togo faster. She wanted to get out of hearing, monsieur. It was only whenwe were really here in the City that she quieted, but that was worse.She lay and moaned. I cried, I could not help it, hearing her. She wouldmutter things, too. 'France, France!' she said once, and it made meshudder. One almost thought she had a dagger in her hand----"
"Never mind, what else did she say?"
"She said, 'Oh, I hate thee, my country!' but she wasn't in her mind, ohno, monsieur. Then she grew very still, and that frightened me more yet.Once I even thought she was dead, and I put my arm about her. But herheart was beating, and her eyes were open, wide open and dry. I couldsee, for we were passing between the Paseo lights. I laid her head on mybreast, and after a while I heard her lips move. 'God bless him!God--Oh, I hope there _is_ a God, just for this, to bless him, andkeep him!'"
"H'm'm," said the marshal, and went back and forth again, more perplexedthan ever.
Berthe watched him anxiously, jealous of each moment lost. Once shestarted to speak, but his gesture for silence was such that she did notdare a second time. There was no other sound in the room except thetramp, tramp on the soft carpet. Even the occasional turning of a leafbehind the screen had ceased. Bazaine was groping cautiously in themystery. A state reason, and no personal one, had compelled Jacqueline;that much was certain. Direct from the Tuileries, she was weighted undersome grievous responsibility, and this night, back there at Tuxtla, shehad been true to it. And whatever it was, it exacted imperatively thatno Confederate aid should reach Maximilian. Such was Napoleon's wish,however contradictory to official instructions. But the marshal wassufficiently a disciple of the little Napoleonic statecraft to beware ofmeddling. He fretted under methods whereby the whisper of the Sphinxreached him through private and unofficial agents, but it was a greatdeal to catch the Sphinx's whisper at all. Besides, he owed hiselevation to this enigma of Europe, and he meant to be loyal.
"Berthe," he said at last, "there's just one man who can interfere whereMademoiselle d'Aumerle disposes, but he is rather far away. I mean theEmperor of France."
The little Bretonne looked, comprehended, and burst into tears. "My dearmistress!" she sobbed.
There was the sound of a book dropped on a table, and the screen wasbrushed aside.
"Perhaps," came a softly ironical voice, "a woman might so much as vetoour mighty Jacqueline. At any rate, suppose we try it, Don Pancho."
Bazaine had forgotten his wife, his bride, who, to be near him, oftenretired behind the screen when he was busy with others. Hers was theloving ambition of a Lady Macbeth, in that a husband's secret was neverone for her.
"Step into this little room," she said to Berthe, opening a door. "Itwill not take long," she added, an assured light in her dark Spanisheyes.
"You will save him, madame? You----"
"Against all the marshals of France, child. Go, wait in there."
The marshal of France present smiled on his bride indulgently,admiringly, as she closed the door and faced him.
She was less than half his age, the girl wife of a gray-haired veteran,and as his wife she was second lady of the land. A Mexican aristocrat,small and slender, of a subtle, winsome beauty, with the prettiest mouthand the most pyramidal o
f crinolines, she had reminded Bazaine of hisfirst wife, and he had courted her. At the wedding Maximilian had stoodpadrino for the groom, and Charlotte madrina for the bride. The imperialgift to groom and bride was Buena Vista, as the white mansion andgardens in San Cosme were called. Naturally, then, Madame la Marechaleapproved of Napoleon's _official_ instructions, which directed thatMonsieur le Marechal was to establish the Mexican empire solidly and forall time.
Now her manner of calling the marshal Pancho was considerable of anargument, especially when, archly formal, she made it Don Pancho. Whatif this Confederate aid were to go to the Mexican rebels, as it surelywould if the emissary at Tuxtla were shot? And, without either French orConfederates, the Empire would fall, the rebels would win; and then, shewanted to know, what would become of their beautiful home, of their highposition? Moreover, the United States was threatening to drive theFrench from Mexico, and Madame la Marechale believed it a very goodthing for the French to have at their side some of the very men who hadheld those Yankees back for four long years.
Bazaine wavered. Then he smiled. This Mexican bride of his was Mexicanall the time; and French, sometimes not at all. She had not the bigtrust in the pantalons rouges when it came to those Yankees.
"But, Pancho mio," she went on softly, "now for the real reason, the onethat holds you back. It is your Emperor Napoleon, verdad? You think thathe does not want this offer to reach Maximilian. Bien, have you had anyintimation of what he wants? Any orders? Of course you haven't. Thensave this American. Look at me--Don Pancho, I say-if----"
"Sapristi, call the girl in! No, first I must have----"
When madame could free herself from what he must have, she opened thedoor and triumphantly called to Jacqueline's maid.
A half-hour later, in one of the marshal's own carriages, Berthereturned to the castle of Chapultepec. At once she hastened to hermistress's apartments, and confessed what she had done. Still in theblue flowered calico, with the dust of their frantic ride still on her,Jacqueline was seated before a little desk. Her head was buried in herarms, and her loosened hair fell like a shower of copper over hershoulders. She did not move as Berthe entered, nor give any sign. Butwhen in a word the story was told, she got to her feet and staredblankly at the girl. Berthe expected dismissal, but the next instant twoarms were about her, and lips were pressed to hers, and hot tears, nother own, wetted her cheek.
"Berthe, you little addle-pated goose! You--oh you little ninny, you,you----" Her phrases were broken by laughter, then by an uncontrollablepeal that was near a shriek, "Little, little fool, dost thou know, thouhast this night lost to France fifteen thousand leagues of empire?Thou--thou----" Yet kisses were again the portion of the thief offifteen thousand leagues.
"But do you think they will be in time, Berthe? Yes, yes, you'veanswered that once. And Michel leads them, you say?"
"Oui, madame, Monsieur Ney was most eager to go, above all when HisExcellency gave him Frenchmen to command. They are the cuirassiers. Theywill surely save the American monsieur."
"But will they be in time? Yes, yes, I think I've asked that already."
Her hysteric glee, changing to anxiety, now changed as quickly tosomething else. Her face went deathly white, the pretty jaws set hard,and there was the glint of resolution in the gray eyes. She seized acloak and threw it about her.
"Come," she said to the maid.
"Madame is going----"
"Yes, to _undo_ your mischief. Bazaine must send to overtake Ney,must command him _not_ to interfere with the execution. Bazainewill do this, when I see him."
"But you will not find His Excellency to-night. Madame la Marechaleordered the carriage for them both, as I was leaving there."
"Indeed? Then she knew you were coming here to me? Then she did notmention where they were going?"
"No, madame."
"Of course not. Oh, she is cunning, your Madame la Marechale!"
Alas for Jacqueline! She might conquer herself, but add to herself asecond woman against her, and she was beaten. She confessed defeat bythrowing off the cloak.
"Tuxtla is far, you think they will--will----"
"Oh I think they will, madame!"
"Say you _know_ they will! Say it, Berthe, say it!"
"Oh, I hope so, madame. Monsieur the American is lucky."
The American? Somehow the blood swept hotly into Jacqueline's cheeks."Say they will _not_ save him, Berthe. Say no, no, no!" shecommanded, and imperiously stamped her foot, but stamp as she would, herfurious shame was there still, flaunting its glorious color. She wasthinking of her letter, of her avowal to a doomed man. After that,_any_ man was under obligations to get himself shot. Only, this onewas of a contrary fibre.
In such an April mood, Jacqueline was capable of yet another caprice."Berthe," she cried, even as the whim came, "one is tired after playingthe goose, n'est-ce pas? Do you, then, rest--yes, yes, while I comb yourhair."
"Madame!" Berthe protested with what breath astonishment left her.
"Do ye call me chief?" demanded the mistress. "Then, de grace, sitstill! And why shouldn't I, parbleu? If it took our big FrenchRevolution to throw me up an ancestor out of the common kettle, therehas just now been another revolution here"--she pressed a hand againsther breast--"to stir me back among the people again. Do you know, dear,that your hair is beautiful!"
And so they were two girls, girl-like, passing the evening together.
Of a sudden Jacqueline stopped, the braiding arrested by a moststartling thought.
"Grands dieux," she told herself slowly, for it had to be believed,however improbable, "until this very moment I've never once stopped tothink of all the emotions I have been having this day. I've never onceexamined them, and such emotions--Oh, la, la, they're a collection, averitable museum of creeps! And here I've hurried through that museum,till I've even forgotten my umbrella at the check stand!"
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