Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “‘Perhaps she will tell me about it this afternoon, so don’t worry, Mother Langlois. I’ll hurry to you at once and explain, for I see that one can’t hide anything from you.’

  “‘I believe you’re making fun of me.’

  “‘I? Why — why should I, my good woman? But, tell me, did they stay long in the garden?’

  “‘No. Not even half an hour. She got up first and said to him: “Let us go in. Father will be coming home soon.” Oh, he’s obedient. Sure she does just what she likes with men, that girl does. She leaned toward him and took his arm, and they went in slowly, going around the villa down there on the right — you know M. Jacques’s laboratory door is down there on the right in the little alley by the wall. They went in there. I kept waiting and watching, and then, after about a quarter of an hour, she came out and closed herself up in the studio. Those people sure lead a funny life.’

  “‘But,’ I argued, ‘the young man is ill. He is boarding with them because they are looking after him, and then besides, if he’s one of the family as we suspect—’

  “‘Oh, he’s one of the family all right — sure — I know that.’

  “And in order that I should have no doubt as to her allusion, Mother Langlois added:

  “‘And just imagine, she says she’s engaged. That’s fine, eh, M. Masson? Oh, by the way, will you give me a few sous to buy some stove polish?’

  “Then she went off triumphant.

  “So Gabriel is not dead. Well, for Christine’s sake, it is just as well. So I must conclude that, according to Mme. Langlois’s tale, he had simply been battered, and the care that Christine and Jacques Cotentin had given him, must have saved him.

  “Then the doctor must have reassured the watchmaker and his daughter on the same night that the affair occurred as to the outcome of that outrageous attack, when the old man had rushed, like a madman, upon his mysterious guest.

  “So it had not been a corpse that they had brought down wrapped in a coverlet before my eyes, but just a wounded man, a battered man, to whom they must have given first aid in Christine’s room, and then carried him, as soon as he could be moved, to the Sawbones’s headquarters, where he is at present.

  “And I had imagined all sorts of things. I had even smelled an odor!

  “The mind travels fast on a bad road. It is not the first time that I have noticed it since — Henriette Havard — and those others — all those others who have not returned. I have come to see tragedies in everything, everywhere, while more often there are only comedies.

  CHAPTER XIV

  SORROWS OF THE MARCHIONESS

  “THAT WHICH I have just learned does not in any way clear up the shadows which shroud the singular personality of Gabriel, nor does it give me any inkling of what he was doing in the wardrobe, nor how he got into the Norbert house, nor on the attitude of the whole family toward him.

  “But at least I do not now look upon Christine — who had been so calm on the day following the attack — as an unaccountable monster, or a heartless, pitiless doll, or as a cold statue of beauty. For, although I adored her just the same, unless under the spell of her beautiful eyes I have only been able to think of her with excruciating horror.

  “And all of this is very well — very well, indeed! But Gabriel is alive, and she loves him.

  “Oh, when I saw her this afternoon how my lips did burn! I was on the verge of saying: ‘Well, is Gabriel better?’ But I stopped myself on the edge of the precipice, for I fully realized that I have no right to utter the name of Gabriel. It is her secret — her heart’s secret, as they say in the novels. It is her romance, and I am outside of her romance. I have no place in her heart. I have only a place by her side. If I wish to remain near her, let us forget Gabriel.

  “She is radiant, and this news has explained to me her joyous attitude of the past few days. Gabriel is getting better. Gabriel goes out into the garden on her arm. I try to forget Gabriel, but alas, I can think of nothing else but him. Then, fortunately, the drama of the mansion again clutches me in a brutal fashion.

  “Christine and I were together in the small room, which has been set aside for our use at the end of the library, when we saw the marchioness approaching. She was in a state of agitation which was pitiful to behold. Shing-shing was trotting behind her. She murmured, as though she were at her last gasp:

  “‘Drive this little beast away.’

  “I drove Shing-shing away. He made no protest.

  “‘What has he done to you, madame?’ I asked. ‘You should complain of him to the marquis.’

  “A wan smile passed over her face.

  “‘Shing-shing merely follows me everywhere, but that is nothing to tell the marquis.’

  “She was trembling all over. It was painful to see her. Turning to Christine, she said: T implore you to protect me. You have influence with the marquis. Tell him that he must leave me in peace. Tell him that my poor head is wandering and, in the end, that the doctor will drive me completely mad.’

  “‘What doctor?’ I inquired.

  “At this moment the door of our workshop opened, and the bronze caryatid appeared on the threshold. The Herculean Hindu stood with bowed head and shoulders, as though he were carrying the weight of the house, while he said:

  “‘Monsieur le Marquis begs madame, the marchioness, to return to her apartment, where the physician is waiting.’

  “I looked at the poor lady. Her teeth were chattering. Rodin has not invented a figure for his entrance to hell whose face so well depicts terror for what is about to happen. She looked desperately at each of us, her face ravished by horror and hollowed by cruel lines. Indeed, not knowing what it was all about, I was at a loss to know how to act. But my heart went out in pity to this poor, wounded bird which was seeking a refuge.

  “‘Go, madame!’ said Christine, speaking to her in sadness. ‘You know very well that it is for the good of your own health.’

  “The marchioness half opened her bloodless lips, but no words came. She trembled more and more. She looked at me with her immense, glassy eyes.

  “‘My God! My God!’ I murmured. I could find nothing else to say.

  “Sangor repeated his message. His shoulders bending more and more, as if curving under the weight of the building which he was about to let fall, and the more he curved his body, the more formidable he appeared in his muscular bulkiness. Then, just as this scene seemed to stretch out endlessly, the giant creature, with body still bent, stretched out his huge arm toward the marchioness. She was up in a moment — a statue of horror — facing this colossal statue of strength. Then they both disappeared, and the sound of Shing-shing’s light laughter was heard behind the closed door.

  “The scene that I had witnessed unnerved me. If I had not seen Christine so composed I should have interfered. But I looked at her and exclaimed:

  “‘But you — you know what they are going to do to her? Why this fear? Who is this doctor, the mention of whose very name seems to make the life go out of her?’

  “‘If it were not for the doctor, she would be dead already,’ declared Christine. ‘You will see her in eight days, and you won’t recognize her. To-day she is nothing but a shadow — she has no strength, and she is deadly white — but you will be amazed to see her going about again full of life and the charm of youth.’ “‘But who is this man who can work such a miracle?’

  “‘It is a Hindu doctor who has a great reputation in England. He comes to Paris very often, and he has an office in the Avenue d’ Iena. He is very well known. You must have heard of him — Dr. Saib Kahn?’

  “‘Yes, I believe I have. Wasn’t his picture in the Royal Magazine recently?’

  “‘Yes, that is the man.’

  “‘And what does he prescribe for her?’

  “‘Just the most natural things in the world — serums and meat gravy.’

  “‘And do you have to send for Dr. Saib Kahn, a man who terrifies her, just to get her to take a little meat gravy? You must admi
t that that sounds more and more incomprehensible.’

  “‘Why incomprehensible? You see her in this state because she refuses to take anything. She has that kind of obstinacy that one finds in hunger strikers. Saib Kahn is the only one who can make her eat.’

  “‘How is that?’

  “‘He hypnotizes her. You know his system — it has been talked about enough. It’s mind over matter. It is nothing new; for centuries the practice of healing the mind has been carried on in India. In comparison to them, the science of our modern doctors is like the whimper of a new-born babe. Evidently, when Saib Kahn has to deal with such a difficult patient as the marchioness, a patient who resists him, he has to act with physical brutality. I have no idea what he does, but the thought of it completely prostrates the poor thing beforehand. You can understand that her raving makes me feel very sad, but why should I encourage the poor thing? I simply have to tell her that it is for her own good.’

  “‘And all this because she imagines that she has married — a—’

  “Christine looked at me earnestly.

  “‘Married what? Say plainly just what you are thinking.’

  “‘Well, then, married a phenomenon that is stronger than death — isn’t that it?’

  “She nodded her head in a way that only half satisfied me.

  “‘But all that does not hold,’ I argued. ‘She can imagine that and still not starve herself to death.’

  “‘Well,’ inquired Christine, ‘what do you want me to say?’

  “‘If I understand you correctly,’ I continued after a pause, ‘Saib Kahn only effects a cure for the duration of a few weeks.’

  “‘Alas, yes,’ Christine replied without looking up at me. ‘It is curious to see with what pendulumlike regularity the marchioness glides from life to death and mounts again from death to life, then back again. The marquis’s only hope is now in Saib Kahn.’

  “‘But in all other matters, apart from this idea, is she quite sane?’

  “‘Absolutely, and remarkably intelligent besides.’

  “‘Then does it not seem strange that they do not put their fingers upon the absurdity of the idea? When I say put their fingers — after all, the Coulterays, from Louis-Jean-Marie-Chrysostome up to the present Georges-Marie-Vincent, must have had proper certificates of birth and death — authentic certificates—’

  “‘That is just what makes the marquis unhappy,’ declared Christine. ‘They do not have all of them. There were two Coulterays who died abroad in a most mysterious manner. You know they have always been great travelers, always seeking adventure. Then, certain ones were born in foreign lands, so some of the papers are not absolutely authentic.

  “‘But you know very well that during the last two centuries, even in France, that births, deaths, and marriages were proved — especially among the great families — more by the testimony of contemporaries than by documents, which they either neglected to procure or which were lost during the revolution. Now the marchioness is aware of this.

  “‘They cannot prove satisfactorily to her the deaths or births of the Coulterays. She has confided all this to me, and, on the other hand, the marquis has put into my hands all the documents he owns. And that is where we stand. It is unbelievable.’

  “‘But if she were sane, how could such an idea have come to her in the first place?’

  “‘In the first place? Oh, my dear M. Masson, I am quite unable to tell you that: I don’t know anything about it.’

  “I had detected a slight hesitation in her reply. Evidently, without being aware of it, I had made allusion to this other thing, about which she had no right to speak to me.

  “During the latter part of our conversation Christine’s head had been bent over some very fine chasing. She appeared quite absorbed in the strokes which her stylus cut with such facility in the plaque which she was preparing. I leaned over to look at it.

  “‘I am doing this for you,’ she said in her serene, beautiful voice. ‘You may incrust this plaque in your binding of Socrates’s “Dialogues.”’

  “I recognized a certain Apollonian profile, almond shaped eyes and a mouth, the perfect oval curves of a type which, perhaps, had been that of Alcibiades, or some other disciple who walked in the shadow of the god Acadamos, but which also resembled Gabriel, as one drop of water resembles another.

  CHAPTER XV

  DORGA, THE DANCER

  “JUNE 8TH — Christine was again right. I have just seen the marchioness. She was almost unrecognizable. It has only taken three days to make this transformation. Now she is a living being. At any rate, she seems to be enjoying life again.

  “She goes out, or rather they take her out in an open carriage, drawn by horses. She seems to love horses. She returns from the Bois with glowing cheeks. But, although the blood is again circulating in her veins, her expression is still sad and anxious. Her spirit is still sick. But she certainly is in better health physically.

  “She goes out with her English companion. Sangor drives and Shing-shing sits up behind him. She never receives callers. Christine says that it is she who does not wish to see any one. She refuses to go into society, and society has not insisted. A rumor has spread that the poor young marchioness has rather a weak brain. Her silences, her strange actions, and her detached air have secluded her little by little from the marquis’s friends.

  “During the first months of his return to France the marquis gave several entertainments in his home. But all this gay life, which had been stirred up again on the Bethune quays, suddenly ceased. And people pitied Georges-Marie-Vincent.

  “Nevertheless, his friends congratulated him upon his ability to ‘rise above’ his domestic troubles.

  “All these details were related to me by Christine. She is quite resigned to the whole affair.

  “While she was speaking to me about it the marquis came in with a decanter and silver goblets in his hand. His eyes were shining.

  “‘Look here,’ he exclaimed, T must let you taste this. This is what Saib Kahn has prescribed for the marchioness. She has tasted it and thinks that it is excellent! I must say that it is some cocktail! And do you know what it is made up of? It is a mixture of horses’ blood and hemoglobin and a lot of other things. Here, taste it. No, it is not nauseating, I tell you, quite on the contrary, it has an exquisite savor and warms the stomach like old brandy. It would revive the dead, and it certainly gives you an appetite.’

  “We tasted it, and it was, indeed, all that the marquis had stated.

  “‘With this, my little Christine, we shall get her back on her feet in about fifteen days.’

  “Then he turned to me.

  “T understand that you were there when they came to take her to the doctor? I suppose Christine told you about it? You are a friend. Poor girl, if we can only save her. If the body recovers, the head will certainly get better.’

  “He tapped his forehead and went away with his decanter and his goblets. He was delighted, radiant.

  “‘It is the same thing each time,’ Christine remarked. ‘Each time he imagines that she is saved. And, in the meantime, he will go this evening to see his Dorga.’

  “‘His Dorga?’ I inquired.

  “‘Yes, the Hindu dancer.’

  “Decidedly, he ought to stay in Paris. That man should not live out of India.

  “‘He brought Dorga over the same time as his wife.’

  “‘But you told me that he adored the marchioness?’

  “‘How simple you are! A Coulteray can adore his wife and yet have ten other loves. This one does him honor. All Paris runs after her.’

  “June 9 — I have seen Dorga. Although I do not go out in the evening ten times a year, I was curious enough to go and see this beautiful Hindu in her dance act. I went to a music hall and, as they say in the dramatic columns, there was ‘a brilliant audience!’

  “I had expected to see a little half naked dancer, with jewels on her body, plaques on her breast, a metal belt, and heavy bracelet
s on her ankles. I had also expected a few rhythmical body movements in some pagoda scene, in the usual, boring style, which was brought over to Europe with the last exhibition. But, instead, I saw a superb creature appear, with amber tinted complexion, wearing a gorgeous gown of the latest fashion.

  “My, the marquis certainly likes contrasts — the marchioness and Dorga! Like day and night! Like a pale day, when its last rays are declining in a faint twilight under the northern sky, and like a warm night, glowing, fabulous, with all the fires of the Orient. But I noticed that the gleam from her cruel, voluptuous eyes outshone the dazzling jewels which bedecked her — yes, even outshone the sudden glow which rises from an iron foundry.

  “The Oriental wore a dress from the Rue de la Paix. The limbs of this goddess Kali were inclosed in silk stockings. And she danced a shimmy which everyone watched in an oppressive silence.

  “When the audience recovered its breath, after the last dance, a deafening applause attested the pleasure of the spectators, who wanted more of it. But the beautiful dancer had disappeared, disdainfully enough, and did not return.

  “The lights flashed on the pale or flushed faces, according to their temperament, of the audience. Then I saw the marquis, quite crimson, just leaving a box in company with Saib Kahn. He condescended to recognize me.

  “‘You saw!’ he cried to me. ‘You saw her, eh? What a marvel she is!’

  “Then, to my astonishment, he took me by the arm and said:

  “‘Come and congratulate her.’

  “I permitted myself to be dragged along. We were soon in her loge, which, although it was besieged, was open only to us. The dancer was standing, half nude, in the center of her flowers. The marquis introduced me.

  “‘Benedict Masson, a great poet,’ he said.

  “I did not protest, I could not have said a word. I looked at her slyly, ashamed, and with rather a surly air — a manner that I often take with women, to hide my timidity. But she — she just threw a glance at me through the glass and did not even turn around. Then she spoke a few words of politeness. She must have found me very poorly dressed. Then she asked for some champagne, went behind a screen, and I made my escape — my head hot, my ears ringing.