Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “Don’t joke about it,” entreated Rouletabille in a voice which had suddenly become serious.

  He took my arm again and pressed it with a brotherly affection.

  “I asked you to come here because I wanted you to know what was to be known, and then because I needed to have a friend near me. No, don’t joke about it, because you see at heart I don’t like it. I don’t like it but I can’t tell you why; for after all I do not doubt Ivana. I entered into the conspiracy with Ivana and Madame Boulenger, and I ought to laugh at the whole business. Well, I can’t laugh at it. Ivana does laugh. And it is, perhaps, because she does laugh that I don’t like it. She laughs when she is with Boulenger. She even smiles at Boulenger which is even worse still. I never imagined that a man could, I won’t say suffer — in any case I don’t admit that yet — but be so distraught, by a woman’s smile when that smile is addressed to another man. Then I no longer know where I am. I am off my balance. I can’t apply my reason to the situation. I mentioned just now the terrible incidents which preceded our engagement, and which I managed to get out of by a process of logical reasoning. Well, I believe that that was only possible because I found myself face to face with brutal facts which I could turn over in my mind from every point of view. But if I had seen Ivana smile at Gaulow as I have seen her smile at Boulenger I am not sure, no, I am not sure, whether I should have been able to put two ideas together.”

  “Things are as bad as that and you’re going to let them continue so!” I exclaimed.

  “Oh yes, because I can’t endure the thought of losing Ivana. I crush my silly jealousy which is unworthy of her and unworthy of me. If you only knew how she loves me! When after the farce of the day is over she holds me in her arms, all the feelings which stir me and which I am telling you about seem to me hateful and ridiculous.”

  “That’s all right then,” I said, and I shook him warmly by the hand.

  After all he had asked me to join him only for the reason that he wanted his friend near him. There was nothing more to be said.

  When we got back to The Thatches Madame Boulenger was looking out for us. The poor woman was in a state of distraction. “Théodora Luigi is here,” she said.

  CHAPTER V

  THÉODORA LUIGI

  MADAME BOULENGER TOOK us to the Rouletabilles’ room where we found Ivana who likewise betrayed a certain anxiety. I kept watch on her without appearing to do so. Assuredly she was not in the state of excitement which caused Thérèse to tremble, but I could easily detect under an outward semblance of calm, an agitation which I had not observed in her on preceding days.

  Notwithstanding what Rouletabille told me, I could not help thinking it somewhat odd that the same restless anxiety should possess both Boulenger’s wife and Rouletabille’s wife over the Professor’s amorous freaks. Rouletabille informed them that I knew everything, and took upon himself to add that I had become a party to the plot. He smiled and spoke in a casual manner which caused me some uneasiness for I was fully aware of the misgivings which filled his mind.

  “Don’t make fun of us,” Ivana said in a serious voice. “Look at our poor Thérèse.” The fact was that “our poor Thérèse” had sunk into an arm-chair and presented a sorry spectacle.

  “She is here and he knows it,” she moaned. “And now that he knows it, it is impossible for him to do any work. He learnt that Théodora Luigi was in Deauville from the local paper. After lunch he locked himself in his study and refused us admittance; refused Ivana and me who have been collaborating with him daily. When he went out at five o’clock I made certain from an examination of the room that he hadn’t written a line. On the other hand he had smoked an entire box of Egyptian cigarettes, and I found burnt ends on the carpet, under the furniture — everywhere. At five o’clock he ordered his horse to be saddled, and rode off alone I don’t know where, without troubling about us any more than if we didn’t exist. Is that not so, Ivana?”

  Ivana, from whom I did not remove my eyes, made no reply but gloomily shrugged her shoulders as if she sympathized with a trouble in which she could be of no further assistance; and yet I thought she was looking rather pale.

  Thérèse went on:

  “When he came home just now he told us to dress for the Casino this evening. There’s to be a gorgeous fête, which has been the talk of the town for the last week, but it was understood that we should keep away from it owing to the crush. He has now changed his mind because Théodora Luigi will be there.

  I thoroughly expected her to come after him here, though I was not without hope when I heard of Prince Henry’s enforced stay in Paris and his jealousy, which is such that he won’t allow her to leave him for a moment.”

  “Well, you have a safeguard in that,” I said.

  “You don’t know women,” Thérèse burst out.

  “Worse luck I do, Madame,” I returned.

  “I am sorry. You, too, have been unfortunate.... You will understand me. Certainly there are some awful women who pretend to be in love. They call it love! They bring ruin in their train. It lingers in the very folds of their skirts. They are the women whose charms are fatal and you men cannot resist them while you turn away from an honest love. My dear Ivana, you were my last hope. What is to become of us?”

  “Of course I can understand your grief, Madame,” I said, “but there may be no reason to give way to such utter despair. Prince Henry is a jealous man. Prince Henry is soon leaving France. The trouble may be only temporary. Even if the two persons whom you are worrying about succeed in meeting they won’t be together for long. Observe that I should not talk to you in this way if I did not know you well enough to feel that your love can rise superior to common jealousy.”

  I came to a stop. Thérèse was in tears.

  Ivana went over to kiss her, and Rouletabille and I endeavoured to comfort her. Still quietly weeping she drew a letter from her pocket.

  “Read this and you will understand,” she said tearfully. “It’s a letter which was delivered here just now for Roland by a messenger from the Hotel Royal. I took my precautions with our lodge-keeper. That shows you how low I’ve sunk.”

  We read the letter:

  “MY DEAR ROLAND, — I have managed to bring him here. I had the greatest possible difficulty in doing so. Some one told him of our delightful adventure. He is terribly jealous. He bores me. I think only of you and your love. Your mind, your senses, your imagination helped me to climb heights which I shall never again attain without you. All else is but darkness. The sweet ‘poison’ itself is insipid without you. Just think a moment. Just think. Ah, if you only would.

  .. I am not asking you very much. I know that your life belongs to others, to the world, but let your genius have a respite for two months — only two months. I ask you to give me two months only of your life. We will surrender everything and belong to each other away from the world — for two months. Let us get away. Are you willing? I shall be at the Casino to-night.

  “Your DORA,”

  Madame Boulenger put the letter back in her pocket and sobbed aloud.

  “You see we know what those two months would mean with her and her ‘poison.’ Oh, if she takes him away from me again it will be the end of him! It will kill him. If it were not for that do you suppose that it would make any difference to me — she or anyone else it’s all the same to me so long as he lives... so long as he lives.”

  We were all greatly embarrassed. Suddenly Ivana drew herself up, and with a look of decision declared that the game was not lost, and that after all this Théodora Luigi might, perhaps, be worsted in the fight.

  She helped Thérèse to her feet, and said as she kissed her:

  “Come, pull yourself together, and make me look my best — my very best.”

  Her eyes gleamed. The blood now mounted to her cheeks which were before so pale. A strange confidence in herself uplifted her whole being and she looked radiant. We were impressed by the sudden change which rendered her beautiful. I turned my eyes towards Roul
etabille, who stood apart pale and silent.

  They told us to leave them, and Rouletabille and I went to our own rooms to dress without speaking a word.

  The whole thing was becoming serious and made me shudder. I was the first to go down to the drawing-room. Roland Boulenger soon appeared. He seemed in high spirits, and his eyes shone with a new light. He was really handsome, with a masculine and intellectual beauty, and possessed great powers of attraction. I envied him. He would make innumerable women exquisitely unhappy. He would avenge us. Doubtless there would be innocent victims, but are we not ourselves in most instances innocent victims?... Assuredly I speak for myself.

  Ivana came in accompanied by Madame Boulenger. In truth she looked adorable. I am bound to say that her dress was in no respect suggestive of the one which I have previously commended for its propriety and simplicity and distinction. Still in these days of unrestricted bare necks and shoulders she did not give offence, though her firm, delicate, charming bust left little to the imagination. Shoulder bands of artificial roses held in place a sheath of silver tissue and ran down to the hem of the robe which followed the lines of her youthful form with perfect symmetry.

  “Heavens, how beautiful you are!” exclaimed Boulenger as he advanced a few steps to meet her, and pressed her hand to his lips.

  “Isn’t she?” acquiesced Thérèse, who seemed to be delighted and was showing off Ivana with as much feeling as an artist displays in exhibiting the work which has just left its creator’s hands.

  “My congratulations,” said Rouletabille from behind. “I’ve never seen that dress before,”

  “Thérèse and I decided to give you a surprise,” explained Ivana with a quiet smile. “We chose it together. I’m glad you like it.”

  We sat down to dinner. Then we noticed that Madame Boulenger was not dressed for the occasion. The Professor expressed surprise. She alleged that she was tired out. He did not persist, for his thoughts were centred on anything but his wife. He displayed a surprising, fascinating, sprightliness, and talked brilliantly upon nothing in particular with a facile and dazzling readiness.

  Ivana coquettishly took her cue from him and made a show of her admiration of him. Her whole being seemed to say: “You are wonderful!” Her looks, her gestures as she bent towards him implied as much and a great deal more; and if this woman were not in love with him she was guilty of a holy deception, while if she were in love with him she was behaving under cover of this extraordinary piece of play-acting, like a fiend.

  Madame Boulenger sniffed a tea rose which seemed to exhale gloom. Rouletabille remained silent, his features drawn with anguish. He was suffering. Ah, what he must have been going through, poor fellow! Suddenly Ivana noticed it and became silent. She grew pale while Boulenger continued to talk. I had never had such convincing proof of Ivana’s love for her husband. She, too, was now filled with sadness.

  “Heavens above, if she goes on pulling a face like that everything is lost,” Thérèse whispered.

  Did Rouletabille hear those words? He at once changed his demeanour, demonstrated that he likewise was in the best of spirits, and gazed at his wife as though to ask her forgiveness. He was either very courageous or very cowardly. In the presence of his beloved wife his words meant nothing more than this: “Do as you please, for I love you and have confidence in you.”

  She thanked him with a look of love and began anew her detestable game.

  When we rose from the table Madame Boulenger said to Ivana in an undertone as she straightened a fold of her dress: “I’m very grateful to you, darling!”

  We did not linger behind, for Roland knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to get to the Casino as soon as might be. Doubtless he assumed that Theodora was to dine there. But this in no way prevented him from tenderly pressing Ivana’s hand in the car while Rouletabille was alighting from it and I was picking up a wrap.

  “Here’s a little game which will end in some shooting,” I thought. Alas, I had no idea that I should prove so good a prophet.

  We walked through the gaming-rooms, but saw no sign of Theodora Luigi or of Prince Henry of Albania. As was his wont Rouletabille disappeared without saying a word.

  Roland wore a disappointed look, and Ivana began to laugh.

  “She’s not here,” she explained, looking him full in the face. “Would you like to go back home?”

  He remained a few minutes without answering her, and then said in a serious voice:

  “You are making game of me and you ought not to do so. One should never laugh what one speaks of Théodora Luigi.”

  He took her by the arm, and I did not catch the remainder of the conversation. Nevertheless it was not difficult to guess its import. What he said showed his cleverness, and in any case it was a good opportunity of persuading his new conquest to make up her mind. He confessed to her that he was still under the fatal sway of the courtesan and the inference suggested itself: I should have given up thinking of her long ago if someone who is quite near me had wished me to do so.

  The conversation must have lasted for some time for I lost sight of them. In endeavouring to find them I came upon Rouletabille, who was seated at one of the gaming-tables. It was his first experience. The poor fellow won in spite of himself. He caught sight of me, and his face broke into a singular smile as he pointed to the bank notes which lay heaped up before him. He challenged the bank and again won. His nerves appeared to be on edge. His gestures seemed to say: “Is there no way of losing here?”

  Young Ramel of Dramatica, who was not now playing, for he had lost every sou of the twenty-five thousand francs which he had won from big Berwick at Leontine’s bar, said aloud:

  “If that’s the only thing worrying you, you’ll soon be rid of it I can tell you.”

  But it was Rouletabille’s turn to take the bank, and the result belied the prediction.

  Rouletabille staked the entire sum that lay before him on the table. The croupier counted the money, and the cards were dealt. Rouletabille won. That was the end of the deal. After “passing” three times he rose from the table raging within himself in ludicrous fashion. In the grimmest tragedy there is always a touch of farce. It seemed to me that Rouletabille felt that he was behaving absurdly. He clutched the bank-notes and said, “Let’s go,” and when he reached the door of the gaming-room he presented them all to a young negro messenger whom everybody called Chocolate, and who not knowing what to make of it stood dumbfounded with uplifted arms as though transformed into a chandelier.

  “I’ve never given you a tip before,” said Rouletabille as he passed out.

  I went with him to the terrace.

  “I’m tired of it,” he snorted. “This confounded business must stop. Let the worst come to the worst. Roland may die for aught I care. Tuberculosis in fowls may remain a mystery. After all, it’s nothing to do with me. Ivana will treat my lack of confidence as an insult. Knowing her as I do, a frightful tragedy will be the consequence, and she won’t forgive me for a twelve-month, while anyone else would forget all about it in a fortnight, but it can’t be helped. It’s amazing when all is said and done. Only women would devise a complication like this in which we shall all look silly until we get our faces smashed. The most sensible among them have a kink in them. I can see that now.... Ivana?... Well, Ivana is like the rest of them when it’s a question of acting the coquette in order to play a trick upon a man in love. That’s what has lured her on. To capture a man who is mad after another woman with a smile — what a triumph! And what a joke! With that they talk to us about saving a man with a brain and the higher interests of science. What bunkum! I shall tell Ivana so. I shall tell her so, this very evening. Her game — the little essentially feminine game of wheedling a man with the certainty of giving him nothing in return — is a disgraceful game, with whatever name it may be embellished. And as for giving him nothing in return — that remains to be seen. She calls it nothing, this business of being together every day and surrendering her hand as she did just now i
n the car, for I saw it. I see everything. And her smile when she looks at him. Oh, that smile! And that man and his smile. No, it’s the limit. I’ve had enough of it.”

  “And none too soon,” I interposed, “What? ‘None too soon?’ What do you mean? Then you think that because she allowed him to take her hand she can refuse him nothing. You ought to be stuffed — you are a Job’s comforter!”

  “That’ll do, Rouletabille. I am tired of it also. I’m going back.”

  He took me by the arm.

  “I’m sorry. I’m overstrung, but don’t for a moment assume that I fear the least weakness on Ivana’s part. That’s not the question. There is one thing I can’t bear any longer — that a man should assume that sooner or later he will take my wife away from me. There you are! That’s plain. And now let’s go and look for them.”

  We found them in the supper-room dancing the tango. I was conscious that Rouletabille standing beside me was quivering with excitement.

  “I hope you’ll succeed in restraining yourself until we get home,” I said. “As you are firmly determined to have it out with Ivana let it be in your cooler moments and without Roland even suspecting it. After all, she is merely making use of the freedom which you yourself gave her. Bear in mind that you are partly to blame in the whole matter.”

  “Thanks, old man,” he said, as he shook me by the hand.

  As we passed them Roland with a motion of his head indicated the table at which we were to have supper and we took our seats. I found the tango somewhat long drawn out. A cold sweat broke over Rouletabille’s forehead. However correctly the tango may be danced — Ivana danced it like a young girl — there are slow movements of contact during which the dancers are clasped together, more voluptuous than the most seductive waltz. Roland and Ivana were the centre of attraction. Those who could dance the tango were few, or else perceiving Roland and Ivana’s success stood aside. Boulenger’s name was on every lip, and from table to table the question was asked: “With whom is he dancing?”