Jason: A Romance

by Justus Miles Forman

  III

  STE. MARIE MAKES A VOW, BUT A PAIR OF EYES HAUNT HIM

  Hartley looked over his shoulder and gave a little exclamation ofdistaste.

  "It's Captain Stewart, Miss Benham's uncle," he said, lowering hisvoice. "I'm off. I shall abandon you to him. He's a good old soul, buthe bores me." Hartley nodded to the man who was approaching, and thenmade his way to the end of the table, where their host sat discussingaero-club matters with a group of the other men.

  Captain Stewart dropped into the vacant chair, saying: "May I recallmyself to you, M. Ste. Marie? We met, I believe, once or twice, a coupleof years ago. My name's Stewart."

  Captain Stewart--the title was vaguely believed to have been borne someyears before in the American service, but no one appeared to know muchabout it--was not an old man. He could not have been, at this time, muchmore than fifty, but English-speaking acquaintances often called him"old Stewart," and others "ce vieux Stewart." Indeed, at a first glancehe might have passed for anything up to sixty, for his face was a gooddeal more lined and wrinkled than it should have been at his age. Ste.Marie's adjective had been rather apt. The man had a desiccatedappearance. Upon examination, however, one saw that the blood was stillred in his cheeks and lips, and, although his neck was thin and witheredlike an old man's, his brown eyes still held their fire. The hair wasalmost gone from the top of his large, round head, but it remained atthe sides--stiff, colorless hair, with a hint of red in it. And therewere red streaks in his gray mustache, which was trained outward in twoloose tufts, like shaving-brushes. The mustache and the shallow chinunder it gave him an odd, catlike appearance. Hartley, who ratherdisliked the man, used to insist that he had heard him mew.

  Ste. Marie said something politely non-committal, though he did not atall remember the alleged meeting two years before, and he looked atCaptain Stewart with a real curiosity and interest in his character asMiss Benham's uncle. He thought it very civil of the elder man to makethese friendly advances when it was in no way incumbent upon him to doso.

  "I noticed," said Captain Stewart, "that you were placed next my niece,Helen Benham, at dinner. This must be the first time you two have met,is it not? I remember speaking of you to her some months ago, and I amquite sure she said that she had not met you. Ah, yes, of course, youhave been away from Paris a great deal since she and her mother--hermother is my sister: that is to say, my half-sister--have come here tolive with my father." He gave a little gentle laugh. "I take an elderlyuncle's privilege," he said, "of being rather proud of Helen. She iscalled very pretty, and she certainly has great poise."

  Ste. Marie drew a quick breath, and his eyes began to flash as they haddone a few moments before when he told Hartley that his feet were uponthe ladder to the stars.

  "Miss Benham!" he cried. "Miss Benham is--" He hung poised so for amoment, searching, as it were, for words of sufficient splendor, but inthe end he shook his head and the gleam faded from his eyes. He sankback in his chair, sighing. "Miss Benham," said he, "is extremelybeautiful."

  And again her uncle emitted his little gentle laugh, which may havedeceived Hartley into believing that he had heard the man mew. The soundwas as much like mewing as it was like anything else.

  "I am very glad," Captain Stewart said, "to see her come out once moreinto the world. She needs distraction. We--You may possibly have heardthat the family is in great distress of mind over the disappearance ofmy young nephew. Helen has suffered particularly, because she isconvinced that the boy has met with foul play. I myself think it veryunlikely--very unlikely indeed. The lack of motive, for one thing, andfor another--Ah, well, a score of reasons! But Helen refuses to becomforted. It seems to me much more like a boy's prank--his idea ofrevenge for what he considered unjust treatment at his grandfather'shands. He was always a headstrong youngster, and he has been a bitspoiled. Still, of course, the uncertainty is very trying for usall--very wearing."

  "Of course," said Ste. Marie, gravely. "It is most unfortunate. Ah,by-the-way!" He looked up with a sudden interest. "A rather odd thinghappened," he said, "as Hartley and I were coming here this evening. Wewalked up the Champs-Elysees from the Concorde, and on the way Hartleyhad been telling me of your nephew's disappearance. Near the Rond Pointwe came upon a motor-car which was drawn up at the side of thestreet--there had been an accident of no consequence, a boy tumbled overbut not hurt. Well, one of the two occupants of the motor-car was a manwhom I used to see about Maxim's and the Cafe de Paris and theMontmartre places, too, some time ago--a rather shady character whosename I've forgotten. The odd part of it all was that on the lastoccasion or two on which I saw your nephew he was with this man. I thinkit was in Henry's Bar. Of course, it means nothing at all. Your nephewdoubtless knew scores of people, and this man is no more likely to haveinformation about his present whereabouts than any of the others. Still,I should have liked to ask him. I didn't remember who he was till he hadgone."

  Captain Stewart shook his head sadly, frowning down upon the cigarettefrom which he had knocked the ash.

  "I am afraid poor Arthur did not always choose his friends with the bestof judgment," said he. "I am not squeamish, and I would not have boyskept in a glass case, but--yes, I'm afraid Arthur was not always toocareful." He replaced the cigarette neatly between his lips. "This man,now--this man whom you saw to-night--what sort of looking man will hehave been?"

  "Oh, a tall, lean man," said Ste. Marie. "A tall man with blue eyes anda heavy, old-fashioned mustache. I just can't remember the name."

  The smoke stood still for an instant over Captain Stewart's cigarette,and it seemed to Ste. Marie that a little contortion of anger fledacross the man's face and was gone again. He stirred slightly in hischair. After a moment he said:

  "I fancy, from your description--I fancy I know who the man was. If itis the man I am thinking of, the name is--Powers. He is, as you havesaid, a rather shady character, and I more than once warned my nephewagainst him. Such people are not good companions for a boy. Yes, Iwarned him."

  "Powers," said Ste. Marie, "doesn't sound right to me, you know. I can'tsay the fellow's name myself, but I'm sure--that is, I think--it's notPowers."

  "Oh yes," said Captain Stewart, with an elderly man's half-querulouscertainty. "Yes, the name is Powers. I remember it well. And Iremember--Yes, it was odd, was it not, your meeting him like that, justas you were talking of Arthur? You--oh, you didn't speak to him, yousay? No, no, to be sure! You didn't recognize him at once. Yes, it wasodd. Of course, the man could have had nothing to do with poor Arthur'sdisappearance. His only interest in the boy at any time would have beenfor what money Arthur might have, and he carried none, or almost none,away with him when he vanished. Eh, poor lad! Where can he be to-night,I wonder? It's a sad business, M. Ste. Marie--a sad business."

  Captain Stewart fell into a sort of brooding silence, frowning down atthe table before him, and twisting with his thin ringers the littleliqueur glass and the coffee-cup which were there. Once or twice, Ste.Marie thought, the frown deepened and twisted into a sort of scowl, andthe man's fingers twitched on the cloth of the table; but when at lastthe group at the other end of the board rose and began to move towardsthe door, Captain Stewart rose also and followed them. At the door heseemed to think of something, and touched Ste. Marie upon the arm.

  "This--ah, Powers," he said, in a low tone--"this man whom you sawto-night! You said he was one of two occupants of a motor-car. Yes? Didyou by any chance recognize the other?"

  "Oh, the other was a young woman," said Ste. Marie. "No, I never saw herbefore. She was very handsome."

  Captain Stewart said something under his breath and turned abruptlyaway. But an instant later he faced about once more, smiling. He said,in a man-of-the-world manner, which sat rather oddly upon him:

  "Ah, well, we all have our little love-affairs. I dare say this shadyfellow has his." And for some obscure reason Ste. Marie found the speechpeculiarly offensive.

  In the drawing-room he had opportunity for no more than a word with
MissBenham, for Hartley, enraged over his previous ill success, cut in aheadof him and manoeuvred that young lady into a corner, where he sat beforeher, turning a square and determined back to the world. Ste. Marielistlessly played bridge for a time, but his attention was not upon it,and he was glad when the others at the table settled their accounts anddeparted to look in at a dance somewhere. After that he talked for alittle with Marian de Saulnes, whom he liked and who made no secret ofadoring him. She complained loudly that he was in a vile temper, whichwas not true; he was only restless and distrait and wanted to be alone;and so, at last, he took his leave without waiting for Hartley.

  Outside, in the street, he stood for a moment, hesitating, and anexpectant fiacre drew up before the house, the cocher raising aninterrogative whip. In the end Ste. Marie shook his head and turned awayon foot. It was a still, sweet night of soft airs, and a moonless,starlit sky, and the man was very fond of walking in the dark. From theEtoile he walked down the Champs-Elysees, but presently turned towardthe river. His eyes were upon the mellow stars, his feet upon the ladderthereunto. He found himself crossing the Pont des Invalides, and haltedmidway to rest and look. He laid his arms upon the bridge's parapet andturned his face outward. Against it bore a little gentle breeze thatsmelled of the purifying water below and of the night and of greenthings growing. Beneath him the river ran black as flowing ink, andacross its troubled surface the many-colored lights of the many bridgesglittered very beautifully, swirling arabesques of gold and crimson. Thenoises of the city--beat of hoofs upon wooden pavements, horn of trainor motor-car, jingle of bell upon cab-horse--came here faintly and as iffrom a great distance. Above the dark trees of the Cours la Reine thesky glowed, softly golden, reflecting the million lights of Paris.

  Ste. Marie closed his eyes, and against darkness he saw the beautifulhead of Helen Benham, the clear-cut, exquisite modelling of feature andcontour, the perfection of form and color. Her eyes met his eyes, andthey were very serene and calm and confident. She smiled at him, and thenew contours into which her face fell with the smile were more perfectthan before. He watched the turn of her head, and the grace of themovement was the uttermost effortless grace one dreams that a queenshould have. The heart of Ste. Marie quickened in him, and he would havegone down upon his knees.

  He was well aware that with the coming of this girl somethingunprecedented, wholly new to his experience, had befallen him--anawakening to a new life. He had been in love a very great many times. Hewas usually in love. And each time his heart had gone through the samesweet and bitter anguish, the same sleepless nights had come and goneupon him, the eternal and ever new miracle had wakened spring in hissoul, had passed its summer solstice, had faded through autumnal regretsto winter's death; but through it all something within him had waitedasleep.

  He found himself wondering dully what it was--wherein lay the greatdifference?--and he could not answer the question he asked. He knew onlythat whereas before he had loved, he now went down upon prayerful kneesto worship. In a sudden poignant thrill the knightly fervor of hisforefathers came upon him, and he saw a sweet and golden lady set farabove him upon a throne. Her clear eyes gazed afar, serene anduntroubled. She sat wrapped in a sort of virginal austerity, unaware ofthe base passions of men. The other women whom Ste. Marie had--as he waspleased to term it--loved had certainly come at least half-way to meethim, and some of them had come a good deal farther than that. He couldnot, by the wildest flight of imagination, conceive this girl doinganything of that sort. She was to be won by trial and high endeavor, byprayer and self-purification--not captured by a warm eye-glance, awhispered word, a laughing kiss. In fancy he looked from the crowdingcohorts of these others to that still, sweet figure set on high, wrappedin virginal austerity, calm in her serene perfection, and his soulabased itself before her. He knelt in an awed and worshipful adoration.

  So before quest or tournament or battle must those elder Ste.Maries--Ste. Maries de Mont-les-Roses---have knelt, each knight at thefeet of his lady, each knightly soul aglow with the chaste ardor ofchivalry.

  The man's hands tightened upon the parapet of the bridge, he lifted hisface again to the shining stars where-among, as his fancy had it, shesat enthroned. Exultingly he felt under his feet the rungs of theladder, and in the darkness he swore a great oath to have done foreverwith blindness and grovelling, to climb and climb, forever to climb,until at last he should stand where she was--cleansed and made worthy bylong endeavor--at last meet her eyes and touch her hand.

  It was a fine and chivalric frenzy, and Ste. Marie was passionately inearnest about it, but his guardian angel--indeed, Fate herself--musthave laughed a little in the dark, knowing what manner of man he was inless exalted hours.

  It was an odd freak of memory that at last recalled him to earth. Everyman knows that when a strong and, for the moment, unavailing effort hasbeen made to recall something lost to mind, the memory, in somemysterious fashion, goes on working long after the attention has beenelsewhere diverted, and sometimes hours afterward, or even days,produces quite suddenly and inappropriately the lost article. Ste. Mariehad turned, with a little sigh, to take up, once more, his walk acrossthe Pont des Invalides, when seemingly from nowhere, and certainly by noconscious effort, a name flashed into his mind. He said it aloud:

  "O'Hara! O'Hara! That tall, thin chap's name was O'Hara, by Jove! Itwasn't Powers at all!" He laughed a little as he remembered how verypositive Captain Stewart had been. And then he frowned, thinking thatthe mistake was an odd one, since Stewart had evidently known a gooddeal about this adventurer. Captain Stewart, though, Ste. Mariereflected, was exactly the sort to be very sure he was right aboutthings. He had just the neat and precise and semi-scholarly personalityof the man who always knows. So Ste. Marie dismissed the matter withanother brief laugh, but a cognate matter was less easy to dismiss. Thename brought with it a face--a dark and splendid face with tragic eyesthat called. He walked a long way thinking about them and wondering. Theeyes haunted him. It will have been reasonably evident that Ste. Mariewas a fanciful and imaginative soul. He needed but a chance word, thesight of a face in a crowd, the glance of an eye, to beginstory-building, and he would go on for hours about it and work himselfup to quite a passion with his imaginings. He should have been a writerof fiction.

  He began forthwith to construct romances about this lady of themotor-car. He wondered why she should have been with the shadyIrishman--if Irishman he was--O'Hara, and with some anxiety he wonderedwhat the two were to each other. Captain Stewart's little cynical jestcame to his mind, and he was conscious of a sudden desire to kick MissBenham's middle-aged uncle.

  The eyes haunted him. What was it they suffered? Out of what misery didthey call--and for what? He walked all the long way home to his littleflat overlooking the Luxembourg Gardens, haunted by those eyes. As heclimbed his stair it suddenly occurred to him that they had quite drivenout of his mind the image of his beautiful lady who sat among the stars,and the realization came to him with a shock.

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