CHAPTER IX. THE AWAKENING
"Do you know," said Climene, "that I am waiting for the explanationwhich I think you owe me?"
They were alone together, lingering still at the table to whichAndre-Louis had come belatedly, and Andre-Louis was loading himself apipe. Of late--since joining the Binet Troupe--he had acquired the habitof smoking. The others had gone, some to take the air and others, likeBinet and Madame, because they felt that it were discreet to leavethose two to the explanations that must pass. It was a feeling thatAndre-Louis did not share. He kindled a light and leisurely applied itto his pipe. A frown came to settle on his brow.
"Explanation?" he questioned presently, and looked at her. "But on whatscore?"
"On the score of the deception you have practised on us--on me."
"I have practised none," he assured her.
"You mean that you have simply kept your own counsel, and that insilence there is no deception. But it is deceitful to withhold factsconcerning yourself and your true station from your future wife. Youshould not have pretended to be a simple country lawyer, which, ofcourse, any one could see that you are not. It may have been veryromantic, but... Enfin, will you explain?"
"I see," he said, and pulled at his pipe. "But you are wrong, Climene.I have practised no deception. If there are things about me that I havenot told you, it is that I did not account them of much importance.But I have never deceived you by pretending to be other than I am. I amneither more nor less than I have represented myself."
This persistence began to annoy her, and the annoyance showed on herwinsome face, coloured her voice.
"Ha! And that fine lady of the nobility with whom you are so intimate,who carried you off in her cabriolet with so little ceremony towardsmyself? What is she to you?"
"A sort of sister," said he.
"A sort of sister!" She was indignant. "Harlequin foretold that youwould say so; but he was amusing himself. It was not very funny. Itis less funny still from you. She has a name, I suppose, this sort ofsister?"
"Certainly she has a name. She is Mlle. Aline de Kercadiou, the niece ofQuintin de Kercadiou, Lord of Gavrillac."
"Oho! That's a sufficiently fine name for your sort of sister. What sortof sister, my friend?"
For the first time in their relationship he observed and deplored thetaint of vulgarity, of shrewishness, in her manner.
"It would have been more accurate in me to have said a sort of reputedleft-handed cousin."
"A reputed left-handed cousin! And what sort of relationship may thatbe? Faith, you dazzle me with your lucidity."
"It requires to be explained."
"That is what I have been telling you. But you seem very reluctant withyour explanations."
"Oh, no. It is only that they are so unimportant. But be you the judge.Her uncle, M. de Kercadiou, is my godfather, and she and I have beenplaymates from infancy as a consequence. It is popularly believed inGavrillac that M. de Kercadiou is my father. He has certainly cared formy rearing from my tenderest years, and it is entirely owing to himthat I was educated at Louis le Grand. I owe to him everything that Ihave--or, rather, everything that I had; for of my own free will I havecut myself adrift, and to-day I possess nothing save what I can earn formyself in the theatre or elsewhere."
She sat stunned and pale under that cruel blow to her swelling pride.Had he told her this but yesterday, it would have made no impressionupon her, it would have mattered not at all; the event of to-day comingas a sequel would but have enhanced him in her eyes. But coming now,after her imagination had woven for him so magnificent a background,after the rashly assumed discovery of his splendid identity had madeher the envied of all the company, after having been in her own eyes andtheirs enshrined by marriage with him as a great lady, this disclosurecrushed and humiliated her. Her prince in disguise was merely theoutcast bastard of a country gentleman! She would be the laughing-stockof every member of her father's troupe, of all those who had so latelyenvied her this romantic good fortune.
"You should have told me this before," she said, in a dull voice thatshe strove to render steady.
"Perhaps I should. But does it really matter?"
"Matter?" She suppressed her fury to ask another question. "You saythat this M. de Kercadiou is popularly believed to be your father. Whatprecisely do you mean?"
"Just that. It is a belief that I do not share. It is a matter ofinstinct, perhaps, with me. Moreover, once I asked M. de Kercadioupoint-blank, and I received from him a denial. It is not, perhaps,a denial to which one would attach too much importance in all thecircumstances. Yet I have never known M de Kercadiou for other thana man of strictest honour, and I should hesitate to disbelievehim--particularly when his statement leaps with my own instincts. Heassured me that he did not know who my father was."
"And your mother, was she equally ignorant?" She was sneering, but hedid not remark it. Her back was to the light.
"He would not disclose her name to me. He confessed her to be a dearfriend of his."
She startled him by laughing, and her laugh was not pleasant.
"A very dear friend, you may be sure, you simpleton. What name do youbear?"
He restrained his own rising indignation to answer her question calmly:"Moreau. It was given me, so I am told, from the Brittany village inwhich I was born. But I have no claim to it. In fact I have no name,unless it be Scaramouche, to which I have earned a title. So that yousee, my dear," he ended with a smile, "I have practised no deceptionwhatever."
"No, no. I see that now." She laughed without mirth, then drew a deepbreath and rose. "I am very tired," she said.
He was on his feet in an instant, all solicitude. But she waved himwearily back.
"I think I will rest until it is time to go to the theatre." She movedtowards the door, dragging her feet a little. He sprang to open it, andshe passed out without looking at him.
Her so brief romantic dream was ended. The glorious world of fancy whichin the last hour she had built with such elaborate detail, over which itshould be her exalted destiny to rule, lay shattered about her feet, itsdebris so many stumbling-blocks that prevented her from winning back toher erstwhile content in Scaramouche as he really was.
Andre-Louis sat in the window embrasure, smoking and looking idly outacross the river. He was intrigued and meditative. He had shocked her.The fact was clear; not so the reason. That he should confess himselfnameless should not particularly injure him in the eyes of a girlreared amid the surroundings that had been Climene's. And yet that hisconfession had so injured him was fully apparent.
There, still at his brooding, the returning Columbine discovered him ahalf-hour later.
"All alone, my prince!" was her laughing greeting, which suddenly threwlight upon his mental darkness. Climene had been disappointed of hopesthat the wild imagination of these players had suddenly erected upon theincident of his meeting with Aline. Poor child! He smiled whimsically atColumbine.
"I am likely to be so for some little time," said he, "until it becomesa commonplace that I am not, after all, a prince.
"Not a prince? Oh, but a duke, then--at least a marquis."
"Not even a chevalier, unless it be of the order of fortune. I am justScaramouche. My castles are all in Spain."
Disappointment clouded the lively, good-natured face.
"And I had imagined you..."
"I know," he interrupted. "That is the mischief." He might have gaugedthe extent of that mischief by Climene's conduct that evening towardsthe gentlemen of fashion who clustered now in the green-room between theacts to pay their homage to the incomparable amoureuse. Hitherto she hadreceived them with a circumspection compelling respect. To-night she wasrecklessly gay, impudent, almost wanton.
He spoke of it gently to her as they walked home together, counsellingmore prudence in the future.
"We are not married yet," she told him, tartly. "Wait until then beforeyou criticize my conduct."
"I trust that there will be no occasion then," said h
e.
"You trust? Ah, yes. You are very trusting."
"Climene, I have offended you. I am sorry."
"It is nothing," said she. "You are what you are." Still was he notconcerned. He perceived the source of her ill-humour; understood, whilstdeploring it; and, because he understood, forgave. He perceived alsothat her ill-humour was shared by her father, and by this he was franklyamused. Towards M. Binet a tolerant contempt was the only feeling thatcomplete acquaintance could beget. As for the rest of the company, theywere disposed to be very kindly towards Scaramouche. It was almost asif in reality he had fallen from the high estate to which their ownimaginations had raised him; or possibly it was because they saw theeffect which that fall from his temporary and fictitious elevation hadproduced upon Climene.
Leandre alone made himself an exception. His habitual melancholyseemed to be dispelled at last, and his eyes gleamed now with malicioussatisfaction when they rested upon Scaramouche, whom occasionally hecontinued to address with sly mockery as "mon prince."
On the morrow Andre-Louis saw but little of Climene. This was notin itself extraordinary, for he was very hard at work again, withpreparations now for "Figaro-Scaramouche" which was to be played onSaturday. Also, in addition to his manifold theatrical occupations, henow devoted an hour every morning to the study of fencing in an academyof arms. This was done not only to repair an omission in his education,but also, and chiefly, to give him added grace and poise upon the stage.He found his mind that morning distracted by thoughts of both Climeneand Aline. And oddly enough it was Aline who provided the deeperperturbation. Climene's attitude he regarded as a passing phase whichneed not seriously engage him. But the thought of Aline's conducttowards him kept rankling, and still more deeply rankled the thought ofher possible betrothal to M. de La Tour d'Azyr.
This it was that brought forcibly to his mind the self-imposed but bynow half-forgotten mission that he had made his own. He had boasted thathe would make the voice which M. de La Tour d'Azyr had sought to silencering through the length and breadth of the land. And what had he done ofall this that he had boasted? He had incited the mob of Rennes and themob of Nantes in such terms as poor Philippe might have employed, andthen because of a hue and cry he had fled like a cur and taken shelterin the first kennel that offered, there to lie quiet and devote himselfto other things--self-seeking things. What a fine contrast between thepromise and the fulfilment!
Thus Andre-Louis to himself in his self-contempt. And whilst he trifledaway his time and played Scaramouche, and centred all his hopes inpresently becoming the rival of such men as Chenier and Mercier, M. deLa Tour d'Azyr went his proud ways unchallenged and wrought his will.It was idle to tell himself that the seed he had sown was bearing fruit.That the demands he had voiced in Nantes for the Third Estate hadbeen granted by M. Necker, thanks largely to the commotion which hisanonymous speech had made. That was not his concern or his mission. Itwas no part of his concern to set about the regeneration of mankind, oreven the regeneration of the social structure of France. His concernwas to see that M. de La Tour d'Azyr paid to the uttermost liard for thebrutal wrong he had done Philippe de Vilmorin. And it did not increasehis self-respect to find that the danger in which Aline stood ofbeing married to the Marquis was the real spur to his rancour and toremembrance of his vow. He was--too unjustly, perhaps--disposed to dismissas mere sophistries his own arguments that there was nothing he coulddo; that, in fact, he had but to show his head to find himself going toRennes under arrest and making his final exit from the world's stage byway of the gallows.
It is impossible to read that part of his "Confessions" without feelinga certain pity for him. You realize what must have been his state ofmind. You realize what a prey he was to emotions so conflicting, andif you have the imagination that will enable you to put yourself in hisplace, you will also realize how impossible was any decision save theone to which he says he came, that he would move, at the first momentthat he perceived in what direction it would serve his real aims tomove.
It happened that the first person he saw when he took the stage onthat Thursday evening was Aline; the second was the Marquis de La Tourd'Azyr. They occupied a box on the right of, and immediately above, thestage. There were others with them--notably a thin, elderly, resplendentlady whom Andre-Louis supposed to be Madame la Comtesse de Sautron. Butat the time he had no eyes for any but those two, who of late hadso haunted his thoughts. The sight of either of them would have beensufficiently disconcerting. The sight of both together very nearly madehim forget the purpose for which he had come upon the stage. Then hepulled himself together, and played. He played, he says, with an unusualnerve, and never in all that brief but eventful career of his was hemore applauded.
That was the evening's first shock. The next came after the second act.Entering the green-room he found it more thronged than usual, and at thefar end with Climene, over whom he was bending from his fine height, hiseyes intent upon her face, what time his smiling lips moved in talk, M.de La Tour d'Azyr. He had her entirely to himself, a privilege none ofthe men of fashion who were in the habit of visiting the coulissehad yet enjoyed. Those lesser gentlemen had all withdrawn before theMarquis, as jackals withdraw before the lion.
Andre-Louis stared a moment, stricken. Then recovering from his surprisehe became critical in his study of the Marquis. He considered thebeauty and grace and splendour of him, his courtly air, his completeand unshakable self-possession. But more than all he considered theexpression of the dark eyes that were devouring Climene's lovely face,and his own lips tightened.
M. de La Tour d'Azyr never heeded him or his stare; nor, had he doneso, would he have known who it was that looked at him from behind themake-up of Scaramouche; nor, again, had he known, would he have been inthe least troubled or concerned.
Andre-Louis sat down apart, his mind in turmoil. Presently he found amincing young gentleman addressing him, and made shift to answer aswas expected. Climene having been thus sequestered, and Columbine beingalready thickly besieged by gallants, the lesser visitors had to contentthemselves with Madame and the male members of the troupe. M. Binet,indeed, was the centre of a gay cluster that shook with laughter at hissallies. He seemed of a sudden to have emerged from the gloom of thelast two days into high good-humour, and Scaramouche observed howpersistently his eyes kept flickering upon his daughter and her splendidcourtier.
That night there, were high words between Andre-Louis and Climene, thehigh words proceeding from Climene. When Andre-Louis again, and moreinsistently, enjoined prudence upon his betrothed, and begged her tobeware how far she encouraged the advances of such a man as M. de LaTour d'Azyr, she became roundly abusive. She shocked and stunned himby her virulently shrewish tone, and her still more unexpected force ofinvective.
He sought to reason with her, and finally she came to certain terms withhim.
"If you have become betrothed to me simply to stand as an obstacle in mypath, the sooner we make an end the better."
"You do not love me then, Climene?"
"Love has nothing to do with it. I'll not tolerate your insensatejealousy. A girl in the theatre must make it her business to accepthomage from all."
"Agreed; and there is no harm, provided she gives nothing in exchange."
White-faced, with flaming eyes she turned on him at that.
"Now, what exactly do you mean?"
"My meaning is clear. A girl in your position may receive all the homagethat is offered, provided she receives it with a dignified aloofnessimplying clearly that she has no favours to bestow in return beyond thefavour of her smile. If she is wise she will see to it that the homageis always offered collectively by her admirers, and that no single oneamongst them shall ever have the privilege of approaching her alone. Ifshe is wise she will give no encouragement, nourish no hopes that it mayafterwards be beyond her power to deny realization."
"How? You dare?"
"I know my world. And I know M. de La Tour d'Azyr," he answered her. "Heis a man without charity, wit
hout humanity almost; a man who takes whathe wants wherever he finds it and whether it is given willingly ornot; a man who reckons nothing of the misery he scatters on hisself-indulgent way; a man whose only law is force. Ponder it, Climene,and ask yourself if I do you less than honour in warning you."
He went out on that, feeling a degradation in continuing the subject.
The days that followed were unhappy days for him, and for at leastone other. That other was Leandre, who was cast into the profoundestdejection by M. de La Tour d'Azyr's assiduous attendance upon Climene.The Marquis was to be seen at every performance; a box was perpetuallyreserved for him, and invariably he came either alone or else with hiscousin M. de Chabrillane.
On Tuesday of the following week, Andre-Louis went out alone early inthe morning. He was out of temper, fretted by an overwhelming sense ofhumiliation, and he hoped to clear his mind by walking. In turningthe corner of the Place du Bouffay he ran into a slightly built,sallow-complexioned gentleman very neatly dressed in black, wearing atie-wig under a round hat. The man fell back at sight of him, levellinga spy-glass, then hailed him in a voice that rang with amazement.
"Moreau! Where the devil have you been hiding your-self these months?"
It was Le Chapelier, the lawyer, the leader of the Literary Chamber ofRennes.
"Behind the skirts of Thespis," said Scaramouche.
"I don't understand."
"I didn't intend that you should. What of yourself, Isaac? And what ofthe world which seems to have been standing still of late?"
"Standing still!" Le Chapelier laughed. "But where have you been, then?Standing still!" He pointed across the square to a cafe under the shadowof the gloomy prison. "Let us go and drink a bavaroise. You are ofall men the man we want, the man we have been seeking everywhere,and--behold!--you drop from the skies into my path."
They crossed the square and entered the cafe.
"So you think the world has been standing still! Dieu de Dieu! I supposeyou haven't heard of the royal order for the convocation of the StatesGeneral, or the terms of them--that we are to have what we demanded, whatyou demanded for us here in Nantes! You haven't heard that the order hasgone forth for the primary elections--the elections of the electors. Youhaven't heard of the fresh uproar in Rennes, last month. The order wasthat the three estates should sit together at the States General ofthe bailliages, but in the bailliage of Rennes the nobles must ever berecalcitrant. They took up arms actually--six hundred of them with theirvaletaille, headed by your old friend M. de La Tour d'Azyr, and theywere for slashing us--the members of the Third Estate--into ribbons so asto put an end to our insolence." He laughed delicately. "But, by God, weshowed them that we, too, could take up arms. It was what you yourselfadvocated here in Nantes, last November. We fought them a pitchedbattle in the streets, under the leadership of your namesake Moreau, theprovost, and we so peppered them that they were glad to take shelter inthe Cordelier Convent. That is the end of their resistance to the royalauthority and the people's will."
He ran on at great speed detailing the events that had taken place, andfinally came to the matter which had, he announced, been causing him tohunt for Andre-Louis until he had all but despaired of finding him.
Nantes was sending fifty delegates to the assembly of Rennes which wasto select the deputies to the Third Estate and edit their cahier ofgrievances. Rennes itself was being as fully represented, whilst suchvillages as Gavrillac were sending two delegates for every two hundredhearths or less. Each of these three had clamoured that Andre-LouisMoreau should be one of its delegates. Gavrillac wanted him because hebelonged to the village, and it was known there what sacrifices he hadmade in the popular cause; Rennes wanted him because it had heardhis spirited address on the day of the shooting of the students; andNantes--to whom his identity was unknown--asked for him as the speaker whohad addressed them under the name of Omnes Omnibus and who had framedfor them the memorial that was believed so largely to have influenced M.Necker in formulating the terms of the convocation.
Since he could not be found, the delegations had been made up withouthim. But now it happened that one or two vacancies had occurred inthe Nantes representation and it was the business of filling thesevacancies that had brought Le Chapelier to Nantes.
Andre-Louis firmly shook his head in answer to Le Chapelier's proposal.
"You refuse?" the other cried. "Are you mad? Refuse, when you aredemanded from so many sides? Do you realize that it is more thanprobable you will be elected one of the deputies, that you will be sentto the States General at Versailles to represent us in this work ofsaving France?"
But Andre-Louis, we know, was not concerned to save France. At themoment he was concerned to save two women, both of whom he loved, thoughin vastly different ways, from a man he had vowed to ruin. He stood firmin his refusal until Le Chapelier dejectedly abandoned the attempt topersuade him.
"It is odd," said Andre-Louis, "that I should have been so deeplyimmersed in trifles as never to have perceived that Nantes is beingpolitically active."
"Active! My friend, it is a seething cauldron of political emotions. Itis kept quiet on the surface only by the persuasion that all goes well.At a hint to the contrary it would boil over."
"Would it so?" said Scaramouche, thoughtfully. "The knowledge may beuseful." And then he changed the subject. "You know that La Tour d'Azyris here?"
"In Nantes? He has courage if he shows himself. They are not a docilepeople, these Nantais, and they know his record and the part he playedin the rising at Rennes. I marvel they haven't stoned him. But theywill, sooner or later. It only needs that some one should suggest it."
"That is very likely," said Andre-Louis, and smiled. "He doesn't showhimself much; not in the streets, at least. So that he has not thecourage you suppose; nor any kind of courage, as I told him once. He hasonly insolence."
At parting Le Chapelier again exhorted him to give thought to what heproposed. "Send me word if you change your mind. I am lodged at theCerf, and I shall be here until the day after to-morrow. If you haveambition, this is your moment."
"I have no ambition, I suppose," said Andre-Louis, and went his way.
That night at the theatre he had a mischievous impulse to test what LeChapelier had told him of the state of public feeling in the city. Theywere playing "The Terrible Captain," in the last act of which the emptycowardice of the bullying braggart Rhodomont is revealed by Scaramouche.
After the laughter which the exposure of the roaring captain invariablyproduced, it remained for Scaramouche contemptuously to dismiss him in aphrase that varied nightly, according to the inspiration of the moment.This time he chose to give his phrase a political complexion:
"Thus, O thrasonical coward, is your emptiness exposed. Because of yourlong length and the great sword you carry and the angle at which youcock your hat, people have gone in fear of you, have believed in you,have imagined you to be as terrible and as formidable as you insolentlymake yourself appear. But at the first touch of true spirit you crumpleup, you tremble, you whine pitifully, and the great sword remains inyour scabbard. You remind me of the Privileged Orders when confronted bythe Third Estate."
It was audacious of him, and he was prepared for anything--a laugh,applause, indignation, or all together. But he was not prepared for whatcame. And it came so suddenly and spontaneously from the groundlings andthe body of those in the amphitheatre that he was almost scared by it--asa boy may be scared who has held a match to a sun-scorched hayrick. Itwas a hurricane of furious applause. Men leapt to their feet, sprang upon to the benches, waving their hats in the air, deafening him withthe terrific uproar of their acclamations. And it rolled on and on, norceased until the curtain fell.
Scaramouche stood meditatively smiling with tight lips. At the lastmoment he had caught a glimpse of M. de La Tour d'Azyr's face thrustfarther forward than usual from the shadows of his box, and it was aface set in anger, with eyes on fire.
"Mon Dieu!" laughed Rhodomont, recovering from the real sc
are that hadsucceeded his histrionic terror, "but you have a great trick of ticklingthem in the right place, Scaramouche."
Scaramouche looked up at him and smiled. "It can be useful uponoccasion," said he, and went off to his dressing-room to change.
But a reprimand awaited him. He was delayed at the theatre by mattersconcerned with the scenery of the new piece they were to mount upon themorrow. By the time he was rid of the business the rest of the companyhad long since left. He called a chair and had himself carried backto the inn in solitary state. It was one of many minor luxuries hiscomparatively affluent present circumstances permitted.
Coming into that upstairs room that was common to all the troupe, hefound M. Binet talking loudly and vehemently. He had caught sounds ofhis voice whilst yet upon the stairs. As he entered Binet broke offshort, and wheeled to face him.
"You are here at last!" It was so odd a greeting that Andre-Louis didno more than look his mild surprise. "I await your explanations of thedisgraceful scene you provoked to-night."
"Disgraceful? Is it disgraceful that the public should applaud me?"
"The public? The rabble, you mean. Do you want to deprive us of thepatronage of all gentlefolk by vulgar appeals to the low passions of themob?"
Andre-Louis stepped past M. Binet and forward to the table. He shruggedcontemptuously. The man offended him, after all.
"You exaggerate grossly--as usual."
"I do not exaggerate. And I am the master in my own theatre. This is theBinet Troupe, and it shall be conducted in the Binet way."
"Who are the gentlefolk the loss of whose patronage to the Feydau willbe so poignantly felt?" asked Andre-Louis.
"You imply that there are none? See how wrong you are. After the playto-night M. le Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr came to me, and spoke to mein the severest terms about your scandalous outburst. I was forced toapologize, and..."
"The more fool you," said Andre-Louis. "A man who respected himselfwould have shown that gentleman the door." M. Binet's face began toempurple. "You call yourself the head of the Binet Troupe, you boastthat you will be master in your own theatre, and you stand like alackey to take the orders of the first insolent fellow who comes to yourgreen-room to tell you that he does not like a line spoken by one ofyour company! I say again that had you really respected yourself youwould have turned him out."
There was a murmur of approval from several members of the company, who,having heard the arrogant tone assumed by the Marquis, were filled withresentment against the slur cast upon them all.
"And I say further," Andre-Louis went on, "that a man who respectshimself, on quite other grounds, would have been only too glad to haveseized this pretext to show M. de La Tour d'Azyr the door."
"What do you mean by that?" There was a rumble of thunder in thequestion.
Andre-Louis' eyes swept round the company assembled at the supper-table."Where is Climene?" he asked, sharply.
Leandre leapt up to answer him, white in the face, tense and quiveringwith excitement.
"She left the theatre in the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr's carriageimmediately after the performance. We heard him offer to drive her tothis inn."
Andre-Louis glanced at the timepiece on the overmantel. He seemedunnaturally calm.
"That would be an hour ago--rather more. And she has not yet arrived?"
His eyes sought M. Binet's. M. Binet's eyes eluded his glance. Again itwas Leandre who answered him.
"Not yet."
"Ah!" Andre-Louis sat down, and poured himself wine. There was anoppressive silence in the room. Leandre watched him expectantly,Columbine commiseratingly. Even M. Binet appeared to be waiting for acue from Scaramouche. But Scaramouche disappointed him. "Have you leftme anything to eat?" he asked.
Platters were pushed towards him. He helped himself calmly to food,and ate in silence, apparently with a good appetite. M. Binet satdown, poured himself wine, and drank. Presently he attempted tomake conversation with one and another. He was answered curtly, inmonosyllables. M. Binet did not appear to be in favour with his troupethat night.
At long length came a rumble of wheels below and a rattle of haltinghooves. Then voices, the high, trilling laugh of Climene floatingupwards. Andre-Louis went on eating unconcernedly.
"What an actor!" said Harlequin under his breath to Polichinelle, andPolichinelle nodded gloomily.
She came in, a leading lady taking the stage, head high, chin thrustforward, eyes dancing with laughter; she expressed triumph andarrogance. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was some disorder inthe mass of nut-brown hair that crowned her head. In her left hand shecarried an enormous bouquet of white camellias. On its middle finger adiamond of great price drew almost at once by its effulgence the eyes ofall.
Her father sprang to meet her with an unusual display of paternaltenderness. "At last, my child!"
He conducted her to the table. She sank into a chair, a little wearily,a little nervelessly, but the smile did not leave her face, not evenwhen she glanced across at Scaramouche. It was only Leandre, observingher closely, with hungry, scowling stare, who detected something as offear in the hazel eyes momentarily seen between the fluttering of herlids.
Andre-Louis, however, still went on eating stolidly, without so much asa look in her direction. Gradually the company came to realize thatjust as surely as a scene was brooding, just so surely would there be noscene as long as they remained. It was Polichinelle, at last, whogave the signal by rising and withdrawing, and within two minutes noneremained in the room but M. Binet, his daughter, and Andre-Louis. Andthen, at last, Andre-Louis set down knife and fork, washed his throatwith a draught of Burgundy, and sat back in his chair to considerClimene.
"I trust," said he, "that you had a pleasant ride, mademoiselle."
"Most pleasant, monsieur." Impudently she strove to emulate hiscoolness, but did not completely succeed.
"And not unprofitable, if I may judge that jewel at this distance.It should be worth at least a couple of hundred louis, and that is aformidable sum even to so wealthy a nobleman as M. de La Tour d'Azyr.Would it be impertinent in one who has had some notion of becoming yourhusband, to ask you, mademoiselle, what you have given him in return?"
M. Binet uttered a gross laugh, a queer mixture of cynicism andcontempt.
"I have given nothing," said Climene, indignantly.
"Ah! Then the jewel is in the nature of a payment in advance."
"My God, man, you're not decent!" M. Binet protested.
"Decent?" Andre-Louis' smouldering eyes turned to discharge upon M.Binet such a fulmination of contempt that the old scoundrel shifteduncomfortably in his chair. "Did you mention decency, Binet? Almostyou make me lose my temper, which is a thing that I detest above allothers!" Slowly his glance returned to Climene, who sat with elbows onthe table, her chin cupped in her palms, regarding him with somethingbetween scorn and defiance. "Mademoiselle," he said, slowly, "I desireyou purely in your own interests to consider whither you are going."
"I am well able to consider it for myself, and to decide without advicefrom you, monsieur."
"And now you've got your answer," chuckled Binet. "I hope you like it."
Andre-Louis had paled a little; there was incredulity in his greatsombre eyes as they continued steadily to regard her. Of M. Binet hetook no notice.
"Surely, mademoiselle, you cannot mean that willingly, with openeyes and a full understanding of what you do, you would exchange anhonourable wifehood for... for the thing that such men as M. de La Tourd'Azyr may have in store for you?"
M. Binet made a wide gesture, and swung to his daughter. "You hear him,the mealy-mouthed prude! Perhaps you'll believe at last that marriagewith him would be the ruin of you. He would always be there theinconvenient husband--to mar your every chance, my girl."
She tossed her lovely head in agreement with her father. "I begin tofind him tiresome with his silly jealousies," she confessed. "As ahusband I am afraid he would be impossible."
Andre-Louis felt a const
riction of the heart. But--always the actor--heshowed nothing of it. He laughed a little, not very pleasantly, androse.
"I bow to your choice, mademoiselle. I pray that you may not regret it."
"Regret it?" cried M. Binet. He was laughing, relieved to see hisdaughter at last rid of this suitor of whom he had never approved, if weexcept those few hours when he really believed him to be an eccentricof distinction. "And what shall she regret? That she accepted theprotection of a nobleman so powerful and wealthy that as a mere trinkethe gives her a jewel worth as much as an actress earns in a year at theComedie Francaise?" He got up, and advanced towards Andre-Louis. Hismood became conciliatory. "Come, come, my friend, no rancour now. Whatthe devil! You wouldn't stand in the girl's way? You can't really blameher for making this choice? Have you thought what it means to her? Haveyou thought that under the protection of such a gentleman there are noheights which she may not reach? Don't you see the wonderful luck ofit? Surely, if you're fond of her, particularly being of a jealoustemperament, you wouldn't wish it otherwise?"
Andre-Louis looked at him in silence for a long moment. Then he laughedagain. "Oh, you are fantastic," he said. "You are not real." He turnedon his heel and strode to the door.
The action, and more the contempt of his look, laugh, and words stung M.Binet to passion, drove out the conciliatoriness of his mood.
"Fantastic, are we?" he cried, turning to follow the departingScaramouche with his little eyes that now were inexpressibly evil."Fantastic that we should prefer the powerful protection of this greatnobleman to marriage with a beggarly, nameless bastard. Oh, we arefantastic!"
Andre-Louis turned, his hand upon the door-handle. "No," he said, "I wasmistaken. You are not fantastic. You are just vile--both of you." And hewent out.
Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution Page 18
