“The answer, Paul, the answer: it has come!”
The words were inaudible to all but myself; but the look, the gesture were eloquent with terror, grief, and love; and taking it for a fine piece of acting, the audience applauded loud and long. The accustomed sound roused Clotilde, and during that noisy moment a hurried dialogue passed between us.
“What is it? Are you ill?” I whispered.
“He is here, Paul, alive; I saw him. Heaven help us both!”
“Who is here?”
“Hush! not now; there is no time to tell you.”
“You are right; compose yourself; you must speak in a moment.”
“What do I say? Help me, Paul; I have forgotten every thing but that man.”
She looked as if bewildered; and I saw that some sudden shock had entirely unnerved her. But actors must have neither hearts nor nerves while on the stage. The applause was subsiding, and she must speak. Fortunately I remembered enough ol her part to prompt her as she struggled through the little that remained; tor, seeing her condition, Denon and I cut the scene remorselessly, and brought it to a close as soon as possible. The instant the curtain fell we were assailed with questions, but Clotilde answered none; and though hidden from her sight, still seemed to see the object that had wrought such an alarming change in her. I told them she was ill, took her to her dressing-room, and gave her into the hands ol her maid, for I must appear again, and delay was impossible.
How I got through my part I cannot tell, tor my thoughts were with Clotilde; but an actor learns to live a double lile, so while Paul Lamar suffered torments of anxiety Don Felix fought a duel, killed his adversary, and was dragged to judgment. Involuntarily my eyes often wandered toward the spot where Clotilde’s had seemed fixed. It was one of the stage-boxes, and at first I thought it empty, but presently I caught the glitter of a glass turned apparently on mvself. As soon as possible I crossed the stage, and as I leaned haughtily upon my sword while the seconds adjusted the preliminaries, I searched the box with a keen glance. Nothing was visible, however, but a hand lying easily on the red cushion; a man’s hand, white and shapely; on one finger shone a ring, evidently a woman’s ornament, for it was a slender circlet of diamonds that flashed with every gesture.
“Some fop, doubtless; a man like that could never daunt Clotilde,” I thought. And eager to discover if there was not another occupant in the box, I took a step nearer, and stared boldly into the soft gloom that filled it. A low derisive laugh came from behind the curtain as the hand gathered back as if to permit me to satisfy myself. The act showed me that a single person occupied the box, but also effectually concealed that person from my sight; and as I was recalled to my duty by a w arning whisper from one of my comrades, the hand appeared to wave me a mocking adieu. Baffled and angry, I devoted myself to the affairs of Don Felix, wandering the while if Clotilde would be able to reappear, how' she would bear herself, if that hidden man was the cause of her terror, and why? Even w'hen immured in a dungeon, after my arrest, I beguiled the tedium of a long soliloquy w7ith these questions, and executed a better stage-start than any I had ever practised, when at last she came to me, bringing liberty and love as my reward.
I had left her haggard, speechless, overwhelmed with some mysterious woe, she reappeared beautiful and brilliant, wdth a joy that seemed too lovelv to be feigned. Never had she played so w'ell; for some spirit, stronger than her own, seemed to possess and rule her royally. If I had ever doubted her love for me, I should have been assured of it that night, for she breathed into the fond words of her part a tenderness and grace that filled my heart to overflowing, and inspired me to play the grateful lover to the life. The last w'ords came all too soon for me, and as she threw herself into my arms she turned her head as if to glance triumphantly at the defeated Duke, but I saw that again she looked beyond him, and with an indescribable expression of mingled pride, contempt, and defiance. A soft sound of applause from the mysterious occupant of that box answered the look, and the white hand sent a superb bouquet flying to her feet. I was about to lift and present it to her, but she checked me and crushed it under foot with an air of the haughtiest disdain. A laugh from behind the curtain greeted this demonstration, but it was scarcely observed by others; for that first bouquet seemed a signal for a rain of flowers, and these latter offerings she permitted me to gather up, receiving them with her most gracious smiles, her most graceful obeisances, as if to mark, for one observer at least, the difference of her regard for the givers. As 1 laid the last floral tribute in her arms I took a parting glance at the box, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unknown face. 1 he curtains w ere throw n back and the door stood open, admitting a strong light from the vestibule, but the box was empty.
Then the green curtain fell, and Clotilde whispered, as she glanced from her full hands to the rejected bouquet —
“Bring that to my room; I must have it.”
I obeyed, eager to be enlightened; but when we were alone she flung dow n her fragrant burden, snatched the stranger’s gilt, tore it apart, drewr out a slip of paper, read it, dropped it, and w alked to and fro, w ringing her hands, like one in a paroxysm of despair. I seized the note and looked at it, but found no key to her distress in the enigmatical words —
“I shall be there. Come and bring your lover with you, else — ” There it abruptly ended; but the unfinished threat seemed the more menacing for its obscurity, and I indignantly demanded, “Clotilde, who dares address vou so? Where w ill this man be? You surely will not obey such a command? Tell me; I have a right to know.”
“I cannot tell you, now; I dare not refuse him; he will be at Keen’s; we must go. How w ill it end! How will it end!’
I remembered then that we were all to sup ett costume, with a brother actor, who did not play that night. I was about to speak yet more urgently, w hen the entrance of her maid checked me. Clotilde composed herself by a strong effort —
“Go and prepare,” she whispered; “have faith in me a little longer, and soon you shall know all.”
There was something almost solemn in her tone; her eye met mine, imploringly, and her lips trembled as if her heart were full. That assured me at once; and with a reassuring word I hurried away to give a few touches to my costume, which just then was fitter for a dungeon than a feast. When I rejoined her there was no trace of past emotion; a soft color bloomed upon her cheek, her eyes were tearless and brilliant, her lips were dressed in smiles. Jewels shone on her white forehead, neck, and arms, flowers glowed in her bosom; and no charm that art or skill could lend to the rich dress or its lovely wearer, had been forgotten.
“What an actress!” I involuntarily exclaimed, as she came to meet me, looking almost as beautiful and gay as ever.
“It is well that I am one, else I should yield to my hard fate without a struggle. Paul, hitherto I have played for money, now I play for love; help me by being a calm spectator to-night, and whatever happens promise me that there shall be no violence.”
I promised, for I was wax in her hands; and, more bewildered than ever, followed to the carriage, where a companion was impatiently awaiting us.
CHAPTER II
We WERE LATE; and on arriving found all the other guests assembled. Three strangers appeared; and my attention was instantly fixed upon them, for the mysterious “he” was to be there. All three seemed gay, gallant, handsome men; all three turned admiring eyes upon Clotilde, all three were gloved. Therefore, as I had seen no face, my one clue, the ring, was lost. From Clotilde’s face and manner I could learn nothing, for a smile seemed carved upon her lips, her drooping lashes half concealed her eyes, and her voice was too well trained to betray her by a traitorous tone. She received the greetings, compliments, and admiration of all alike, and I vainly looked and listened till supper was announced.
As I took my place beside her, I saw her shrink and shiver slightly, as if a chilly wind had blown over her, but before I could ask if she were cold a bland voice said,
“Will Mademoiselle Varia
n permit me to drink her health?”
It was one of the strangers; mechanically I offered her glass; but the next instant my hold tightened till the slender stem snapped, and the rosy bowl fell broken to the table, for on the handsome hand extended to fill it shone the ring.
“A bad omen, Mr. Lamar. I hope my attempt will succeed better,” said St. John, as he filled another glass and handed it to Clo-tilde, who merely lifted it to her lips, and turned to enter into an animated conversation with the gentleman who sat on the other side. Some one addressed St. John, and I was glad of it; for now all my interest and attention was centered in him. Keenly, but covertly, I examined him, and soon felt that in spite of that foppish ornament he was a man to daunt a woman like Clotilde. Pride and passion, courage and indomitable will met and mingled in his face, though the obedient features wore whatever expression he imposed upon them. He was the handsomest, most elegant, but least attractive of the three, yet it was hard to say why. The others gave themselves freely to the enjoyment of a scene which evidently possessed the charm of novelty to them; but St. John unconsciously wore the half sad, half weary look that comes to those who have led lives of pleasure and found their emptiness. Although the wittiest, and most brilliant talker at the table, his gaiety seemed fitful, his manner absent at times. More than once I saw him knit his black brows as he met my eye, and more than once I caught a long look fixed on Clotilde, — a look full of the lordly admiration and pride which a master bestows upon a handsome slave. It made my blood boil, but I controlled myself, and was apparently absorbed in Miss Damareau, my neighbor.
We seemed as gay and care-free a company as ever made midnight merry; songs were sung, stories told, theatrical phrases added sparkle to the conversation, and the varied costumes gave an air of romance to the revel. The Grand Inquisitor still in his ghostly garb, and the stern old Duke were now the jolliest of the group; the page flirted violently with the princess; the rivals of the play were bosom-friends again, and the fair Donna Olivia had apparently forgotten her knightly lover, to listen to a modern gentleman.
Clotilde sat leaning back in a deep chair, eating nothing, but using her fan with the indescribable grace of a Spanish woman. She was very lovely, for the dress became her, and the black lace mantilla falling from her head to her shoulders, heightened her charms by half concealing them; and nothing could have been more genial and gracious than the air with which she listened and replied to the compliments of the youngest stranger, who sat beside her and was all devotion.
I forgot myself in observing her till something said by our opposite neighbors arrested both of us. Some one seemed to have been joking St. John about his ring, which was too brilliant an ornament to pass unobserved.
“Bad taste, I grant you,” he said, laughing, “but it is a gage d'amour, and I wear it for a purpose.”
“I fancied it was the latest Paris fashion,” returned Keen. “And apropos to Paris, what is the latest gossip from the gay city?”
A slow smile rose to St. Johns lips as he answered, after a moment’s thought and a quick glance across the room.
“A little romance; shall I tell it to you? It is a love story, ladies, and not long.”
A unanimous assent was given; and he began with a curious glitter in his eyes, a stealthy smile coming and going on his face as the words dropped slowly from his lips.
“It begins in the old way. A foolish voung man fell in love with a Spanish girl much his inferior in rank, but beautiful enough to excuse his folly, for he married her. Then came a few months of bliss; but Madame grew jealous. Monsieur wearied of domestic tempests, and, after vain efforts to appease his fiery angel, he proposed a separation. Madame was obdurate, Monsieur rebelled; and in order to try the soothing effects of absence upon both, after settling her in a charming chateau, he slipped away, leaving no trace by which his route might be discovered.”
“Well, how did the experiment succeed?” asked Keen. St. John shrugged his shoulders, emptied his glass, and answered tranquilly.
“Like most experiments that have women for their subjects, for the amiable creatures always devise some wav of turning the tables, and defeating the best laid plans. Madame waited for her truant spouse till rumors of his death reached Paris, for he had met with mishaps, and sickness detained him long in an obscure place, so the rumors seemed confirmed by his silence, and Madame believed him dead. But instead of dutifully mourning him, this inexplicable woman shook the dust of the chateau off her feet and disappeared, leaving everything, even to her wedding ring, behind her.”
“Bless me, how odd! what became of her?” exclaimed Miss Damareau, forgetting the dignity of the Princess in the curiosity of the woman.
“The very question her repentant husband asked when, returning from his long holiday, he found her gone. I Ie searched the continent for her, but in vain; and for two vears she left him to suffer the torments of suspense.”
“As he had left her to suffer them while he went pleasuring. It was a light punishment for his offence.”
Clotilde spoke; and the sarcastic tone for all its softness, made St. John wince, though no eve but mine observed the faint flush of shame or anger that passed across his face.
“Mademoiselle espouses the lady’s cause, of course, and as a gallant man I should do likewise, but unfortunately my sympathies are strongly enlisted on the other side.”
“Then you know the parties?” I said, impulsively, for my inward excitement was increasing rapidly, and I began to feel rather than to see the end of this mystery.
“I have seen them, and cannot blame the man tor claiming his beautiful wife, when he found her,” he answered, briefly.
“Then he did find her at last? Pray tell us how and when,” cried Miss Damareau.
“She betrayed herself. It seems that Madame had returned to her old profession, and fallen in love with an actor; but being as virtuous as she was fair, she would not marry till she was assured beyond a doubt of her husbands death. Her engagements would not allow her to enquire in person, so she sent letters to various places asking for proofs of his demise; and as ill, or good fortune would have it, one of these letters fell into Monsieur’s hands, giving him an excellent clue to her whereabouts, which he followed in- defatigably till he found her.”
“Poor little woman, I pity her! How did she receive Monsieur De Trop?” asked Keen.
“You shall know in good time. He found her in London playing at one of the great theatres, for she had talent, and had become a star. He saw her act for a night or two, made secret inquiries concerning her, and fell more in love with her than ever. Having tried almost every novelty under the sun he had a fancy to attempt something of the dramatic sort, so presented himself to Madame at a party.”
“Heavens! what a scene there must have been,” ejaculated Miss Damareau.
“On the contrary, there was no scene at all, for the man was not a Frenchman, and Madame was a fine actress. Much as he had admired her on the stage he was doubly charmed with her performance in private, for it was superb. They were among strangers, and she received him like one, playing her part with the utmost grace and self-control, for with a woman’s quickness of perception, she divined his purpose, and knowing that her fate was in his hands, endeavored to propitiate him by complying with his caprice. Mademoiselle, allow me to send you some of these grapes, they are delicious.”
As he leaned forward to present them he shot a glance at her that caused me to start up with a violence that nearly betrayed me. Fortunately the room was close, and saying something about the heat, I threw open a window, and let in a balmy gust of spring air that refreshed us all.
“How did they settle it, by duels and despair, or by repentance and reconciliation all round, in the regular French fashion?”
“I regret that I’m unable to tell you, for I left before the affair was arranged. I only know that Monsieur was more captivated than before, and quite ready to forgive and forget, and I suspect that Madame, seeing the folly of resistance, will
submit with a good grace, and leave the stage to play ‘The Honey Moon’ for a second time in private with a husband who adores her. What is the Mademoiselle’s opinion?”
She had listened, without either question or comment, her fan at rest, her hands motionless, her eyes downcast; so still it seemed as if she had hushed the breath upon her lips, so pale despite her rouge, that I wondered no one observed it, so intent and resolute that every feature seemed under control, — every look and gesture guarded. When St. John addressed her, she looked up with a smile as bland as his own, but fixed her eyes on him with an expression of undismayed defiance and supreme contempt that caused him to bite his lips with ill-concealed annoyance.
“My opinion?” she said, in her clear, cold voice, “I think that Madame, being a woman of spirit, would not endeavor to propitiate that man in any way except for her lovers sake, and having been once deserted would not subject herself to a second indignity of that sort while there was a law to protect her.”
“Unfortunately there is no law for her, having once refused a separation. Even if there were, Monsieur is rich and powerful, she is poor and friendless; he loves her, and is a man who never permits himself to be thwarted by any obstacle; therefore, I am convinced it would be best for this adorable woman to submit without defiance or delay — and I do think she will,” he added, sig- nificantlv.
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