CHAPTER XXVIII
LE GANT DE VELOURSThey accomplished the rest of the journey without accident. The oldspirit of adventure which had led them to these mountains while they wereyet children seemed to awaken again, and they were as comrades. ButJuanita was absent-minded. She was not climbing skilfully. At one placefar above trees or other vegetation she made a false step and sent agreat rock rolling down the slope.
"You must be careful," said Marcos, almost sharply. "You are not thinkingwhat you are doing."
And Juanita suffered the reproof with an unwonted meekness. She was morecareful while they passed over a dangerous slope where the snow hadsoftened in the morning sun, and came to the topmost valley--an ovalbasin of rocks and snow with no visible outlet. Immediately below them,at the foot of a slope, which looked quite feasible, lay huddled the bodyof a man.
"It is a Carlist," explained Marcos. "We heard some time ago that theyhad been trying to find another way over to Torre Garda. That valley is atrap. That is not the way to Torre Garda at all; and that slope is solidice. See, his knife lies beside him. He tried to cut steps before hedied. This is our way."
And he led Juanita rather hastily away. At nine o'clock they passed thelast shoulder and stood above Torre Garda, and the valley of the Wolflying in the sunlight below them. The road down the valley lay like ayellow ribbon stretched across the broad breast of Nature.
Half an hour later they reached the pine woods, and heard Perro barkingon the terrace. The dog soon came panting to meet them, and not farbehind him Sarrion, whose face betrayed no surprise at perceivingJuanita.
"You would have been safer at Pampeluna," he said with a keen glance intoher face.
"I am quite safe enough here, thank you," she answered, meeting his eyeswith a steady smile.
He asked Marcos whether he had felt his wounded shoulder or suffered fromso much exertion. And Juanita answered more fully than Marcos, givingdetails which she had certainly not learnt from himself. A man havingonce been nursed in sickness by a woman parts with some portion of hispersonal liberty which she never relinquishes.
"It is the result of good nursing," said Sarrion, slipping his handinside Juanita's arm and walking by her side.
"It is the result of his great strength," she answered, with a glancetowards Marcos, which he did not perceive, for he was looking straight infront of him.
"Uncle Ramon," said Juanita, an hour later when they were sitting on theterrace together. She turned towards him suddenly with her shrewd littlesmile. "Uncle Ramon--do you ever play Pelota?"
"Every Basque plays Pelota," he replied.
Juanita nodded and lapsed into reflective silence. She seemed to bearranging something in her mind. Towards Sarrion, as towards Marcos, sheassumed at times an attitude of protection, and almost of patronage, asif she knew much that was hidden from them and had access to some chamberof life of which the door was closed to all men.
"Does it ever strike you," she said at length, "that in a game ofPelota--supposing the ball to be endowed with a ... well a certain lowerform of intelligence, the intelligence of a mere woman, for instance--itwould be rather natural for it to wonder what on earth the game wasabout? It might even think that it had a certain right to know what washappening to it."
"Yes," admitted Sarrion, who having a quick and eager mind, understoodthat Juanita was preparing to speak plainly. And at such times womenalways speak more plainly than men. He lighted a cigarette, threw awaythe match with a little gesture which seemed to indicate that he wasready for her--would meet her on her own ground.
"Why did Evasio Mon want me to go into religion?" she asked bluntly.
"My child--you have three million pesetas."
"And if I had gone into religion--and I nearly did--the Church would havehad them?"
"Pardon me," said Sarrion. "The Jesuits--not the Church. It is not thesame thing--though the world does not yet understand that. The Jesuitswould have had the money and they would have spent it in throwing Spaininto another civil war which would have been a worse war than we haveseen. The Church--our Church--has enemies. It has Bismarck, and theEnglish; but it has no worse enemy than the Jesuits. For they play theirown game."
"At Pelota! and you and Marcos?"
"We were on the other side," said Sarrion, with a shrug of the shoulders.
"And I have been the ball."
Sarrion glanced at her sideways. This was the moment that Marcos hadalways anticipated. Sarrion wondered why he should have to meet it andnot Marcos. Juanita sat motionless with steady eyes fixed on the distantmountains. He looked at her lips and saw there a faint smile not devoidof pity--as if she knew something of which he was ignorant. He pulledhimself together; for he was a bold man who faced his fences with asmile.
"Well," he said, "... since we have won."
"Have you won?"
Sarrion glanced at her again. Why did she not speak plainly, he waswondering. In the subtler matters of life, women have a clearercomprehension and a plainer speech than men. When they aretongue-tied--the reason is a strong one.
"At all events Senor Mon does not know when he is beaten," said Juanita,and the silence that followed was broken by the distant sound of firing.They were fighting at the mouth of the valley.
"That is true," admitted Sarrion.
"They say he is trapped in the valley--as we are."
"So I believe."
"Will he come to Torre Garda?"
"As likely as not," answered Sarrion. "He has never lacked audacity."
"If he comes I should like to speak to him," said Juanita.
Sarrion wondered whether she intended to make Evasio Mon understand thathe was beaten. It was Mon himself who had said that the woman alwaysholds the casting vote.
"At all events," said Juanita, who seemed to have returned in herthoughts to the question of winning or losing. "At all events, you playeda bold game."
"That is why we won," said Sarrion, stoutly.
"And you did not heed the risks."
"What risks?"
Juanita turned and looked at him with a little laugh of scorn.
"Oh, you do not understand. Neither does Marcos. I suppose men don't. Youmight have ruined several lives."
"So might Evasio Mon," returned Sarrion sharply. And Juanita rather drewback as a fencer may flinch who has been touched.
Sarrion leant back in his chair and threw away the cigarette which he hadnot smoked. Juanita had chosen her own ground and he had met her on it.He had answered the question which she was too proud to ask.
And as he had anticipated, Evasio Mon came to Torre Garda. It was almostdusk when he arrived. Whether he knew that Marcos was not in his room,remained an open question. He did not ask after him. He was brought bythe servant to the terrace where he found Cousin Peligros and Juanita.Sarrion was in his study and came out when Mon passed the open window.
"So we are all besieged," said the visitor, with his tolerant smile as hetook a chair offered to him in the grand manner by Cousin Peligros, whobelonged to the school of etiquette that holds it wrong for any lady tobe natural in the presence of men other than of her own family.
Cousin Peligros smiled in rather a pinched way, and with a gesture of heroutspread hands morally wiped the besiegers out. No female Sarrion, sheseemed to imply, need ever fear inconvenience from a person in uniform.
"You and I, Senorita," said Mon, with his bland and easy sympathy ofmanner, "have no business here. We are persons of peace."
Cousin Peligros made a condescending and yet decisive gesture, pattingthe empty air.
"I have my charge. I shall fulfil it," she said--determined, and notwithout a suggestion of coyness withal.
Juanita was lying in wait for a glance from Sarrion and when she receivedit she made a little movement of the eyelids, telling him to take CousinPeligros away.
"You will stay the night," said Sarrion to Evasio Mon.
"No, my friend. Thank you very much. I cherish a hope of getting throughthe lines to-night to Pa
mpeluna. I came indeed to offer my poor servicesas escort to these ladies who will surely be safer at Pampeluna."
"Then you think that they will besiege Torre Garda," asked Sarrion,innocently. "One never knows, my friend--one never knows. It seems to methat the firing is nearer this afternoon."
Sarrion laughed.
"You are always hearing guns."
Mon turned and looked at him and there was a suggestion of melancholy inhis smile.
"Ah! Ramon," he said. "You and I have heard them all our lives."
And there was perhaps a second meaning in his words, known only toSarrion, whose face softened for an instant.
"Let us have some coffee," he said, turning to Cousin Peligros. "Will yousee to it, Peligros--in the library?"
So Peligros walked across the broad terrace with the mincing steps taughtin the thirties, leaving Mon hatless with a bowed head according to theetiquette of those leisurely days. He was all things, to all men.
"By the way ..." said Sarrion, and followed her without completing hissentence.
So Juanita and Evasio Mon were left alone on the terrace. Juanita wassitting rather upright in a garden chair. The only seat near to her wasthe easy chair just vacated by Cousin Peligros. Mon looked at it. Heglanced at Juanita and then drew it forward. She turned, and with a smileand gesture invited him to be seated. A watchful look came into EvasioMon's quick eyes behind the glasses that reflected the last rays of thesetting sun. For the young and the guilty, silence has a special terror.Mon had dealt with the young and the guilty all his life. He sat downwithout speaking. He was waiting for Juanita. Juanita moved her toewithin her neat black slipper, looking at it critically. She was waitingfor Evasio Mon. He paused as a duellist may pause with his best weaponslaid out on the table before him, wondering which one to select. Perhapshe suspected that Juanita held the keenest; that deadly plain-speaking.
His subtle training had taught him to sink self so completely that it waseasy to him to insinuate his mind into the thoughts of another; tounderstand them, almost to sympathise with them. But Juanita puzzled him.There is no face so baffling as that which a woman shows the world whenshe is hiding her heart.
"I spoke as a friend," said Mon, "when I recommended you to allow me toescort you to Pampeluna."
"I know that you always speak as a friend," answered Juanita quietly,"... of mine. Not of Marcos, perhaps."
"Ah, but your friends are Marcos'," said Mon, with a suggestion ofraillery in his voice.
"And his enemies are mine," she retorted, looking straight in front ofher.
"Of course--is it not written in the marriage service?" Mon laughinglyturned in his chair and cast a glance up at the windows as he spoke. Theywere beyond earshot of the house. "But why should I be an enemy of Marcosde Sarrion?"
Then Juanita unmasked her guns.
"Because he outwitted you and married me," she answered.
"For your money--"
"Yes, for my money. He was quite honest about it, I assure you. He toldme that it was a matter of business--of politics. That was the word heused."
"He told you that?" asked Mon in real surprise.
Juanita nodded her head. She was looking at her own slipper again and themoving foot within it. There was a mystic little smile at the corner ofher lips which tilted upwards there, as humorous and tender lips nearlyalways do. It suggested that she knew something which even Evasio Mon,the all-wise, did not know.
"And you believed him?" inquired Mon, dimly groping at the meaning of thesmile.
"He told me that it was the only way of escaping you ... and the rest ofthem ... and Religion," answered Juanita--without answering the question.
"And you believed him?" repeated Mon, which was a mistake; for she turnedon him at once and answered,
"Yes."
Mon shrugged his shoulders with the tolerant air of one who has metdefeat time after time; who expected naught else perhaps.
"Then there is nothing more to be said," he observed carelessly. "Youelect to remain at Torre Garda. I bow to your decision, my child. I havewarned you."
"Against Marcos?"
Mon shrugged his shoulders a second time.
"And in reply to your warning," said Juanita slowly. "I will tell youthat Marcos has never done or said anything unworthy of a Spanishgentleman--and there is no better gentleman in the world."
Which statement all men will assuredly be ready to admit.
Mon turned and looked at her with an odd smile.
"Ah!" he said. "You have fallen in love with Marcos."
Juanita changed colour and her eyes suddenly lighted with anger.
"I am not afraid of anything you may say or do," she said. "I haveMarcos. Marcos has always outwitted you when you have come in contactwith him. Marcos is cleverer than you. He is stronger."
She paused. Mon was slowly drawing his gloves through his hands whichwere white and smooth.
"That is the difference between you," she continued. "You wear gloves.Marcos takes hold of life with his bare hand. You may be more cunning,but Marcos outwits you. The mind seeks but the heart finds. Your mind maybe subtle--but Marcos has a better heart."
Mon had risen. He stood with his face half turned away from her so thatshe could only see his profile. And for a moment she was sorry for him;that one moment which always mars an earthly victory.
He turned away from her and walked slowly towards the library windowwhich stood open and gave passage to the sound of moving cups andsaucers. We all carry with us through life the remembrance of certainwords probably forgotten by the speaker. A few bear the keener, sharpermemory of words unspoken. Juanita never forgot the silence of Evasio Monas he walked away from her.
A moment later she heard him laughing and talking in the library.
He had come on horseback and Sarrion accompanied him to the stables onhis departure. They were both young for their years. The Spaniards of thenorth are thin and lithe and long-lived. Sarrion offered his hand forMon's knee, who with this aid sprang into the saddle.
He turned and looked towards the terrace.
"Juanita," he said, and paused. "She is no longer a child. One hopes thatshe may have a happy life ... seeing that so many do not."
Sarrion made no answer.
"We are not weaklings," continued Mon lightly. "You, and Marcos and I. Wemay sweat and toil as we will--but believe me, there is more power inJuanita's little finger. It is the casting vote--amigo--the castingvote."
He waved a salutation as he rode away.
The Velvet Glove Page 28
