In their open fur cloaks, the women, bedecked with jewels, roused the admiration of a double line of sightseers.... Suddenly Titin gave a start. He recognized, alighting from a car, between her aunt and cousin, Antoinette, attired in a dress of exquisite taste and rich simplicity. A light cloak trimmed with silver leaves lay in unstudied grace over her shoulders. Titin was fascinated.
As this young queen stepped from the car she touched lightly the outstretched hand of a man of distinguished presence, with a monocle in his eye, and a courtly manner of bowing to the ladies.
To be sure he was not in the first flush of youth; but Titin found the sight of him sufficiently resplendent to be intolerable.
Everything, everyone, was a torture to him. Antoinette was the greatest torture of all! How he suffered to see her pass so remote from him, the admired of all, with the bright smile that he knew so well. But alas, it was no longer for him! That smile was perhaps the one thing that had not changed in her. Her aunt and cousin followed as though they were her servants. What was the meaning of it? Titin fled like a person distraught.
Where did he pass the next three hours? How many streets did he cover? Only Souques and Ordinal could have told. Oh, he led them a pretty dance! They found themselves at midnight once more outside Bella Nissa, still at his heels.
By that time they no longer had a doubt of anything. They merely wondered by what unsuspected means he would enter the dark building and betray Hardigras’s secret to them.
They held their breath. Thus their surprise was great when they saw him calmly knock at a small door, though some time elapsed before it was opened. The two detectives calculated that they had no time to lose and shot forward before the door was closed again. But they came up against not Titin, but a figure which they certainly did not expect to see there. And, straightway the door was slammed in their faces. To have been kept on the run for three hours and in the end to see M. Supia open his door to Titin le Bastardon!
However much, in their profession, they were prepared for surprises the shock was so great that the ever silent M. Souques exclaimed:
“That explains everything.”
In order to seem equal to himself and any occasion, M. Souques had adopted the manner of saying, “That explains everything,” when an incident seemed particularly hard to solve. Utterly stupefied they returned home to bed....
It was two o’clock in the morning. A light was burning in Toinetta’s room. She had just returned from the casino where Prince Hippothadee had entertained her and her aunt and her cousin at supper.
Truth to tell it was an evening that stood for a great deal in her life. And it was not surprising that instead of going to rest at once, she opened her window and lingered awhile, leaning on the balustrade, reflecting on the delight of those recent hours during which she had realized that she was destined to achieve every triumph in society.
Her success had been complete. The fashionable world of Nice, in friendly relations with the Supia family, had not failed to offer their congratulations. Moreover, the Prince introduced his friends to her, and they made no secret of their admiration for her youth and beauty.
But it did not seem as if the memory of her success completely occupied her thoughts, for her gaze wandered to the right and left and above and even beyond the roofs rising one above the other, over the great stores. Now her eyes remained persistently fixed heavenwards. Was she offering up thanks for her coming happiness? Or, was she amusing herself by counting the stars?
On following her gaze we should discover, perhaps, that it was centered less on individual stars than on a certain dark form which appeared on a level with a rain-pipe, and with the greatest caution, now clinging to a window in the roof, and now to a skylight, not omitting the protecting shadow of the chimneys, was creeping towards the roof that sheltered the future Princess.
It was not, indeed, without a certain anxiety that Mlle. Agagnosc followed, with her eyes, the movements of this daring figure, and when it seemed as if he might lose his balance, it was not for herself that she shuddered, but rather for the madman, risking his neck for a purpose which the reader will have divined. Let us not expect her to call for help. On the contrary it was with as little sound as possible that she went back to her room, switched off the light, and returned quickly to the window.
O Romeo, Juliet’s balcony stands before you! But when the two young lovers of Verona met at night in an agony of suspense lest they should be discovered they knew that they loved and they risked their all for a kiss.... But poor Titin. He was staking his life to learn from Antoinette’s own lips whether she had become engaged with a glad heart to a man whom he hated to the death....
Did Toinetta know that he loved her? Did she know his secret before he knew it himself? Had she suspected what was in his heart before the thought of it began to make him suffer? No, of course not. The gulf that lay between Titin le Bastardon and Mlle. Agagnosc was too deep; so deep, indeed, that neither of them had ever thought of bridging it. It was this which made them both so frankly pleased when they met, unconscious of any danger. And now that he knew it, he was terrified. But he came just the same. He knew that he had nothing to say to her. But he wanted to see her....
So that night in Nice, as beautiful as an Italian night, Titin tremblingly crept to the light balustrade on which Antoinette was leaning. She was greatly touched by his wonderful dexterity.
“Big silly,” she said, kissing him as in the old days. “I felt sure you would come. I didn’t know how. But you were in the building, thanks to me. The ‘tyrant’ told you all about it, of course. Yes, it was I who had the idea of sending for you to arrest this practical joker, Hardigras, who infuriates my uncle. Personally I don’t care one way or the other about Hardigras. But I wanted to see you. It’s so long since we met. And I waited up for you. I wondered whether you would come from above or below, or from north, south, or west. I had a laugh beforehand, but I didn’t laugh when I saw the risk you were running through me. I was terrified just now when you stumbled near the chimney.... If you had fallen to the pavement I should have followed you.... You mustn’t do these rash things again.... But to-night let’s make the most of it.... Tell me about La Fourca. How is Mme. Bibi?”
“Toinette... dear Toinetta.... Is it true what you said just now?”
“What did I say?”
“You said you would have followed me to the pavement.”
“I promise you I would, Titin. It would have been my fault if you had been killed. I should never have got over it. Do you think I’m not fond of you?”
A silence fell and then Titin making an effort to speak in a natural tone said:
“You’re going to be married?”
“Oh, you’ve already heard the news. I was going to tell you....”
“No need to. It was in the paper to-night.”
“It looks as if it had upset you.”
“Not a bit of it, Toinetta. You will have to marry one day.”
“Yes, yes. You’ve got something to say to me about it. Well, out with it.... I’m listening.”
But Titin remained silent. She began to lose patience. “Can’t you speak?... You silly old Titin.”
Then he asked her seriously:
“Do you... do you like him?”
“I neither like nor dislike him. I scarcely know him.”
“What about him?”
“Him?”
“Is he in love with you?”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you ask me one question and I ask you another. Are you in love with me?”
“We are not discussing me,” stammered Titin. “You know that I have liked you since you were a baby.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, of course...” muttered Titin.
“It isn’t much,” she said, laughing nervously.
“I couldn’t very well like you before then,” returned Titin fatuously.
“We like each other, as much
as we did when we were kids, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes. You know that as well as I do, and even better.”
She laughed again, but with a laugh that was not without bitterness and, perhaps, not far removed from tears.
Then she became silent and Titin said nothing. In truth he was more perturbed than he cared to show. He forebore to look at her. He felt that were he to turn his eyes to her it would be all over with him. He would take her in his arms and fiercely clasp her to him. He, too, leant on the balustrade, his hands before his face, his heart on fire, striving to recover his calmness, and restrain his emotion.... Nor did she look at him. At last she spoke:
“You asked me if my fiancé loved me. Of course he does. He’s devoted to me. He does everything I tell him. I shall be happy with him. I shall be a Princess. He possesses every charm.”
“He is no longer young.”
“He is still very handsome. Very smart. All the ladies are infatuated with him.”
“I know that,” said Titin. “But speaking of ladies he has, it seems, a very curious reputation.”
“It’s his enemies who say that. There are plenty of jealous, spiteful, envious people about. He has ruined himself for the ladies.”
“It’s their turn to support him. They at least owe him that.”
“Why do you say so? Because of the Comtesse d’Azila? She’s an old family friend and has lent him money. But he will repay her.”
“With your money.”
“What then? I can do what I like with my money. He will make me a Princess. I can make him rich. That sort of thing forms the basis of a good marriage.”
Titin made no answer. Tears stood in his eyes. Suddenly she noticed them. It was her turn to be perturbed. She tried to lift his head.
“What’s the matter, Titin? What are you crying for?... Tell me.”
“Because I should like to see you happy,” he returned, in more cheerful tones, as if he were ashamed, “and because I can’t believe that you’ll be happy with that man.”
“Then with what man do you think I could be happy?”
“How do I know.”
He left her abruptly. With the agility and readiness of a monkey he sprang upon the baluster rail, laid hold of the wooden shutters, and climbed to the roof. Antoinette was furious to see him slip away from her. She begged him to stay a few minutes longer. But he made answer that it was high time for him to think about Hardigras. She laughed once more, the laugh that is the premonitory sign of tears.
“Well, go then. Go to your Hardigras and leave me to my Prince. If I am miserable it will serve you right. After all, as well be miserable with the Prince as with anyone else.”
But Titin was already some distance away. Antoinette angrily closed her window.
Meantime M. Supia, who had not gone to bed, was waiting in his office for the event which Titin had promised him. As we have seen, Titin reached Bella Nissa late, after his wanderings about the town, but he satisfied M. Supia that his time had been taken up with the working out of his plan, which could not fail to bring the best results. M. Supia refused to leave him until he had escorted him from top to bottom of the stores, stopping more particularly at those places which Hardigras had plundered.
On arriving at the furniture department, M. Supia, a dark lantern in his hand, showed Titin the famous Louis XVI bed, in which the impudent Hardigras had calmly spent the night. Since that incident no bedclothes had been placed on it, and the room had been specially committed to the care of the fireman succeeding the nightwatchman, in whom M. Supia had lost confidence.
“My best room,” groaned M. Supia. “A style complete in itself and worthy of a museum. However, I have just made it over to Prince Hippothadee of Transylvania, who is to marry my niece. I recommend you to keep a special eye on it.”
“Leave it to me, M. Supia. You may sleep soundly on it. I have a plan of my own.”
On reaching the fourth floor, M. Supia showed Titin, before returning to his flat, a small repast which he had placed for him under the counter in the hardware department. It consisted of half a chicken, a bottle of wine, and a small flask of brandy.
“You will have something to sustain you if you feel hungry, or to keep you warm if you need it,” he said. “Are you armed?”
“Armed to the teeth now,” returned Titin, with a loud laugh.
“Hush?” said M. Supia, who failed to see the joke. “Be careful, and if you keep your promise...”
“Can you doubt it, M. Supia?”
“Unfortunately I do doubt it. I have had so many promises.”
“Have no fear. You shall have your Hardigras tomorrow morning at latest. Good-bye everybody....”
“What! Are you going off like this without seeing my niece?”
“I’ve seen her. I saw her not long ago as she was going into the Casino with her future husband. How can you expect poor Titin to have anything to do now with a princess?... Look here, I will make her a present of Hardigras. That will be my wedding present to her.”
“I always knew you were a good chap. I have confidence in you. You see this electric button. If you want me during the night, press it. I have taken my precautions, and help will be forthcoming. Good-bye for the present, Titin. I’ll leave you my dark lantern....”
“Whew!” gasped Titin as soon as M. Supia had gone. “I thought he would never leave me. How he bored me with his Hardigras!”
As a matter of fact, Titin had been thinking of something else. When he climbed over the roofs it was not in search of Hardigras. And when he got back to the stores after the scene on Juliet’s balcony he was not the same Titin — the Titin who, as we have seen, was in a state of depression and tired of everything. He had recovered his delight in life, his sprightliness, his wonderful spirits, and his incredible contempt for all those things which lead men to lie awake, hustle, trim their sails, work, fight — in a word, the thought of the morrow. The splendid present alone existed for him as it lay before his eyes. What would he do with his wonderful discovery? He could not say. But at that moment and in that place he cried out: “She loves me!” And unable to restrain himself he proclaimed the fact aloud to the pots and pans.
They were in love with each other! They had discovered it on that charmed balcony between the hard words that came to their lips because they feared to utter the real truth, though it would have relieved their hearts, too long kept in ignorance.
Suddenly he ceased shouting. How careless of him! “Why, if Hardigras heard me,” he thought, “he would be capable of going and telling old Supia. Hang it all, how happy I am!”
And by the light of the “tyrant’s” lantern he soon disposed of the half chicken. The bread and cheese followed to the last crumb. Not a drain remained in the bottle of wine. But he set aside the brandy for the work that was still before him.
Satisfied with his meal, in merry mood, he told himself that he was ready for the fray. Then, carefully, he began his investigations. He moved noiselessly, contrived to visit every floor without using the staircase, and was lost to sight for a good quarter of an hour in the basements. When he returned, scarcely needing the lantern, he passed like a shadow amid the great wooden figures peopling these dark and deserted rooms like ghosts, when a moonbeam fell upon them.
He again mounted to the fourth floor, and, impelled by the desire to make acquaintance with the brandy, he crept to his refuge among the hardware. Then he descended again to the third floor and devoted his attention, in accordance with his promise, to the Louis XVI room. No sheets or blankets lay on the bed, but it bore a comfortable mattress. It occurred to him that Hardigras could not have slept badly on it, and the best way of taking charge of the bed, to which M. Supia attached so much importance, was to lie on it himself. Like Hardigras, he drew the huge cover over him and waited the course of events.
It was a piece of cunning by which he obviously hoped to take the nocturnal visitor by surprise. And, it seemed to delight him. He laughed in anticipation over it.
But his laughter did not last long, for son of Carnival as he might be, and even of three fathers, no one could lie down on a comfortable bed after the strain of such a day, with a flask of brandy inside, and not feel a pleasant lethargy steal over him — a lethargy calculated to sap the moral and physical resistance of the strongest being.
Titin soon fell into a heavy sleep. Like Hardigras, on a certain night, he snored. But, as far as we remember, Hardigras’s snores were those of malice aforethought to keep poor M. Supia on the run. Whereas, Titin’s snores were as real and as steadily rhythmic as ever were heard.
Titin was still snoring at seven o’clock in the morning, the hour at which M. Supia, unable to sleep a wink, resolved to descend to his stores for news of Hardigras. Alas! Titin was unable to give him any news for he was still snoring, and the worst of it was that he lay snoring on the floor on which the bed in the famous Louis XVI room once stood.
Now the bed and the furniture had disappeared. Nothing remained in the room but Titin snoring on the floor. At the sight before him, M. Supia uttered great cries betraying his utter despair. At the same time he shook Titin as though he were mad.
But Titin continued to snore. Five men tried to rouse him, but he did not open his eyes, and seemed in no way inconvenienced in his extraordinary slumber by the rough usage to which he was exposed, so that it was thought better to remove him to a garret adjoining M. Supia’s flat.
They threw him upon the bed. He was no longer snoring, but he did not wake. He merely smiled. Though his beaming face was turned to M. Supia, he was not, in all probability, smiling at M. Supia; he was smiling to himself. He was smiling above all at the miracle which had fallen upon him from above — he was smiling at his Toinetta!
Enraged by this smile, which seemed to set him at defiance, M. Supia flung himself once more upon him. Then Titin began to snore again.... At eleven o’clock he still slept.... At two o’clock in the afternoon he still slept....
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 411
