Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  They reached the bridge, one after the other, to discover on the opposite side Titin, who had made a circuit and was waiting for them, crouching behind an olive tree. Titin was then fourteen years of age. As each one came up and set foot upon the plank, he sent him spinning into the current. One youth, however, named Cauvin, the strongest of the lot, managed to lay hold of him. And in the scramble they fell into the stream. Here they had other things to do than to continue the fight. The stream, swollen by the melting snow, was swift and strong. They had to set about saving the others, in danger of drowning.

  Titin showed as much courage and energy in rescuing the enemy as he had shown in precipitating them into the stream. Cauvin and he did wonders. They were helped, moreover, by some of the La Fourca people who had followed them. Both sides had reason to congratulate themselves; for, on that evening, M. Arthur, the mayor of Torre, an honest, sensible man, solemnly proclaimed peace between the two factions — a peace which was celebrated during the following week by sundry banquets.

  But human nature is such that we remember humiliations inflicted upon us much longer than the generosity of those who get the better of us. This generosity, indeed, is often in itself as humiliating as a defeat; hence many of those whom Titin had “flung over the bridge,” cherished a grudge against him; especially as their girl friends continued to jeer at them for allowing themselves to be put to shame by a youth of fourteen.

  These facts are of some consequence because they will enable the reader to understand many things which are about to happen, and particularly the unholy joy with which some of the Torre people heard of Titin’s discomfiture.

  They lost no opportunity now of making game of “Prince” Titin in the inns in La Fourca. Nothing worse occurred than the exchange of a few blows. Manners had grown somewhat milder with the flight of time. But people in La Fourca, however, were greatly nettled because Titin failed to show himself, putting them in a false position when it came to defend him....

  As we have said, Giaousé Babazouk, Tulip, and Toton Robin, all great friends of Titin, were seated at a table in the pergola of the inn not far from “Le Père la Bique.” Presently four young men from Torre, François, and Basil Barraja, Sixte Pastorelle, and an ugly youth known only by the name of Bolacion, came and sat at a table in the court lower down. Bolacion was no favorite on account of his quarrelsome temper and rancorous tongue. As soon as he caught sight of Giaousé and the others he asked after Titin, pretending to be greatly interested in his misfortunes.

  “Leave Titin alone,” said Toton Robin, the smith. “He’s not worrying about your health. You mind your own business.”

  Bolacion grinned, mumbling a few offensive remarks.

  “They’re getting at me,” growled Robin, rising to his feet. But Giaousé and Tulip held him back.

  “Stay where you are. Don’t answer them,” cried Tulip.

  “And whatever you do, don’t go for them,” added Giaousé, sinking his voice.

  “I don’t understand you,” protested Robin, throwing off their hold. “Don’t you see they’re kidding us?”

  “Yes, you and Titin and all La Fourca into the bargain,” shouted Barraja, standing up in his turn.

  Both parties were now on their feet, as if they were ready to exchange blows. Tulip, in a panic, threw himself between them, thrusting them apart with the full length of his enormous arms. At the same time he tried to make them listen to reason.

  “Shut up, Tulip,” said Giaousé in a harsh voice. “Let ’em come. They want to see Titin. I’ll show them Titin.”

  “Hang it, there’s something in that,” said Tulip. “Gentlemen, we invite you to join us. Giaousé will stand drinks.”

  “Lord, what am I doing here?” cried Robin, raging still, “I’m not dotty. I can’t make it out.”

  “You will soon,” said Tulip.

  “Yes, and pretty quickly,” added Giaousé in an undertone. “Just take a look in ‘Le Père la Bique’ garden.”

  They stood on tip-toe and Toton Robin was as amazed as the newcomers.

  “Well, unless I’m mistaken that’s Nathalie,” said Bolacion.

  “Yes,” said Giaousé, whom Tulip watched lest he should lose his temper. “That’s Nathalie, my wife.”

  She had, in fact, just come and, as we have said, she entered the crimson house.

  “Good Lord, I can’t make it out either,” said Toton Robin.

  “Have patience,” muttered Tulip.

  The others sat round them in silence. They exchanged glances and watched Giaousé pour himself out a drink. His hand trembled.

  “I told you you would see Titin. I keep my word as we all do in La Fourca. Besides, I said you would see my wife and I hope you won’t forget it.”

  “There was no need to ask these Torre people to join us and see that,” said Robin with puckered brows, for he was beginning to understand.

  “The more the merrier,” grinned Giaousé. “Here’s to you all, and if ever your dear wife deceives you, I hope you’ll take it as calmly as I do.”

  “Poor fellow, he used not to be like this,” said Pastorelle.

  “It’s the calm that precedes the storm,” said Bolacion. An awkward silence ensued for fully ten minutes while they waited the course of events. Then Tulip, who was keeping an eye on the garden, said in an undertone: “Look out, here he is!”

  They saw Titin cross the garden and enter the crimson house as though it belonged to him. No one spoke. Giaousé’s face was not a pleasant sight to see.

  “I say Tulip,” he cried in a hoarse voice, “we must now fetch the Commissary of police.”

  “I’ll go,” said Tulip, springing up. “I won’t be long. He has already been notified. Don’t any of you leave Giaousé in case he does anything idiotic.”

  “Rely on us,” returned Bolacion. “It will be better for the thing to be arranged properly. Titin won’t be able to get out of it. He’s caught this time, the rat.”

  “I’m disgusted with it all,” said Robin. “So long.” And he rose to go.

  “Stop him,” cried Tulip, already at the door. “It’s as likely as not he’ll warn Titin.”

  “Damn it all,” said Robin clenching his fists, “you clear out and call your Commissary of police as he’s expecting you. You don’t know me. I never interfere in what doesn’t concern me. You are no man, Giaousé.”

  “No, all my courage is gone,” said Giaousé.

  “Because of a woman,” sneered the smith, shrugging his shoulders. “If I were in your place, with your big fists, I’d have punched his head long ago.”

  “No, I don’t care a rap about Nathalie, but as for Titin...”

  “He’s quite right,” broke in Bolacion. “Its Titin, the beast.”

  “No one asked for your opinion,” said Giaousé.

  Tulip took a taxi. Robin went off without looking round. He lighted his pipe and said aloud:

  “I see what is happening, of course. But I don’t understand Titin. No one understands him now. Still there’s no occasion for me to go and drown myself. Besides, the damp brings on rheumatism. All the same it’s a nice disappointment for La Fourca to see him spoil such fine work.”

  Meantime Nathalie, the first to come, had entered the pavilion. She was seeing it for the first time and her heart throbbed loudly. She opened a door and reddened when she saw a bed in the middle of the room, standing between two rugs on a floor gleaming like a mirror. There was no lack of mirrors; they were all around. On a small table lay a china jug containing a large bunch of roses.... She had a vision of luxury, and her only regret was that the broken statue, ornamenting the mantelpiece between two large lamps with ground grass globes, had not been replaced in this room so tastefully furnished. It was the statue of a nude woman with the two arms missing!

  Continuing her inspection, she opened a door and entered a dressing-room leading out of the bed-room.... She returned to the passage and, opening another door, found herself in a dining and drawing-room combined. On the
table bearing a figured white cloth, violets and roses lay in artistic and mathematical simplicity, and there were two dainty covers with silver forks and silver-gilt knives. The table might have suggested a little light refreshment for dolls, had not the flasks of wine, the bucket in which champagne was being iced, and a magnificent basket of fruit showed by their presence that the kind of visitors were expected who are not in the habit of sustaining themselves on idle talk.

  The whole place was so elegant and pointed to so much delicacy of taste that Nathalie was greatly affected and clapped her hands. But there was no mirror in the room, and she returned to the bed-room where she could see herself from head to foot. She had taken off her shawl. Her woolen dress revealed the graceful lines of her figure. But what she most admired was her nigger silk stockings and patent leather shoes. She could not resist silk stockings, and she had spent her housekeeping savings for these and her little high-heeled shoes.... She passed a lip stick over her lips and powdered her face and also her somewhat straight but rather squat nose, which she feared might be shiny. Thus adorned she returned to the dining room, carefully closing the bed-room door....

  She had not been in the room more than twenty minutes and yet it seemed an hour.... She was restless, sat down, stood up, sat down again. She tried to restrain herself, to calm her nerves; she held her head in her hands. She had been hoping for that moment, but he kept her waiting so long that she was losing patience. She was thirsty but would not drink. She would wait as long as she could. She drew a letter from her bodice and read for the hundredth time:

  “If you still wish to see Hardigras be at ‘Le Père la Bique’ to-morrow afternoon a little before five o’clock. You will only have to go into the crimson cottage.”

  It was signed “Hardigras” and written in capital letters. Hardigras seemed never to write in anything but capital letters. She folded the letter and replaced it in her bodice. Suddenly she uttered a stifled cry. It was he. He was crossing the garden.

  She ran to the door, and then, before opening it, stopped to take breath. When Titin stood before her no word came to her lips. She lifted her face to him. He kissed her. He kissed her quietly on the cheek and closed the door.

  “Is Giaousé here?” he asked.

  “No — he is not here,” she stammered.

  She no longer knew what she was saying nor assuredly did he to ask such a question. He went into the dining room.

  “It’s dark here, why haven’t you put on a light?”

  He strode over to a table which bore two candlesticks. He lighted one candle, then turned to her:

  “Is he coming?”

  “Oh my Titin!...”

  She ran into his arms. Amazed, he roughly thrust her aside.

  “Here, none of that, you know.”

  She had fallen upon a sofa and her head had struck the wall; but she uttered no cry. She remained motionless, staring at him wild-eyed, open-mouthed like an idiot. Indeed, she was perhaps in danger of becoming an idiot. Titin did not even look at her. He noticed the preparations of the little supper — flowers, fruit, champagne. He turned quickly to her:

  “It is a regular spread. Will you tell me what it all means?”

  With an effort she drew the letter from her bodice and held it out to him. He took it and read with a look of mingled astonishment and rage.

  “Who gave you this?” he demanded.

  She was still leaning against the wall with stiffened limbs; she had not moved her head.

  “I found it yesterday under my door in La Fourca.”

  He hardly recognized her voice; it was something remote, impersonal. His attention was completely absorbed in the letter he still held in his hand, under the light of the candle.

  “Wasn’t Giaousé at La Fourca?” he asked, in increasingly harsh tones.

  “No, Giaousé hasn’t been in La Fourca for a week.”

  “Where is he?”

  “You know as well as I do. He told me he was going to Nice, with Tulip, on your business.”

  “And you believed I was asking you to meet me here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bad luck to you!”

  She did not stir. He crumpled the letter in a fury, laughing grimly.

  “Did you order all these things?” he asked, pointing to the table.

  “No.”

  “Who ordered them?”

  She did not answer. But he persisted in shouting: “Who? Who?” as if she knew something about it. At last he fumbled in his pocket-book, drew out a letter, and read it aloud:

  “My dear Titin, Your affairs are improving. I have seen many of those tradesmen. The Consul has persuaded them to say what they want. They are willing to hold their hands and wait a few months longer if someone will come forward as security for you. I think I have got a man but he wishes the matter kept secret for reasons which I will explain to you. Be at ‘Le Père la Bique’ at five o’clock to-morrow. Go straight into the crimson cottage. I shall be there with the man in question. I hope matters will be arranged satisfactorily. I am tired of running about like a dog. Yours, G.”

  Titin replaced the letter in his pocket-book, putting the letter from Hardigras with it.

  “Do you understand now why I am here?... Clear out!... Giaousé is on his way here.... Hang it all, clear out at once.”

  She collapsed as Toinetta had done a few minutes before. Titin darted towards her. He wanted to get rid of her; but she lay in his arms like a dead thing. Her ice-cold face fell against his cheek; and now he felt sorry for her. She had had no hand in this infamous snare. Indeed, she was to be pitied. Besides, this swoon frightened him.

  “Nathalie, my dear Nathalie, forgive me. Unless you pull yourself together we are both done for....” He murmured soft words like a brother.... And then he forgot everything — forgot the terrible thing hanging over his head — everything but this lifeless form, everything but this unhappy woman who had always loved him but to whom he had never spoken a word of love.

  “Nathalie... my dear Nathalie.”

  Then she opened her eyes — eyes in which distraction dwelt.... And a hoarse sob broke in her throat, a long dull cry in which she seemed at last to find relief for her grief. And tears came. She was saved. She heaved a deep breath and, weeping, she bewailed her fate like a child.

  He laid her upon the sofa, placed her head upon the pillow, dipped a table napkin into a glass of water, and bathed her temples.

  “Thank you, Titin,” she said, “I’ll get away. I’m sorry.”

  “No, you must not go until you are yourself again,” he said kindly.

  “But he is on his way — they are coming here.”

  “Well, let them come, and all this will have to be cleared up. We must know what it all means.”

  “You don’t know Giaousé. He is meek enough when you are about, but he can be a terror.”

  “You have nothing to be afraid of, that’s all I can say.”

  “But you — you, Titin. There is danger for you.”

  “Not a bit of it,” returned Titin, shrugging his shoulders.

  “It’s a bad lookout for you. You don’t know him. And to think that I should be telling you that. You will have to bear the weight of the scandal,” she said, adding courageously: “Don’t forget you wish to marry Toinetta.” Titin started up, turning very pale. He saw the abyss before him.

  “You see yourself, you must get away,” she went on. “Go now. You can slip out at the back and I’ll get out on to the road. If they see me, it can’t be helped. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Too late.”

  The sound of footsteps, indeed, could be heard in the garden.

  “Go out through the backdoor — the backdoor,” she cried, trying to drag him away.

  “No, with a snare like this every precaution must have been taken. I don’t intend to be seen running away. Whatever happens, I shall never forget what you said just now. If I were not in love with Toinetta, it would be with you, Nathalie.”

  “U
nfortunately, I’m not worth it. But thanks all the same, Titin.”

  A door in the passage opened.

  “Don’t budge,” said Titin, recovering his self-possession. “Stay where you are. Why are you wiping your eyes? You have very good reason for crying.”

  A loud rap came at the door on the other side: “Open in the name of the law!”

  A door was opened and closed again. Titin himself opened the door of the room in which Nathalie and he were. The local Commissary of police, M. Galavard, bowed and pointed to his official sash. After him came Babazouk, Tulip, Sixte Pastorelle, and Bolacion. Titin took stock of them all, unmoved.

  “Gentlemen, come in,” he said. “You will perhaps be good enough to explain what we are doing here!”

  The Commissary cast an eye around him, observed the order which prevailed in the room, and turning to Giaousé dissembling himself somewhat furtively behind him, said under his breath:

  “In my opinion you were in too much of a hurry,” and addressing Nathalie: “Madame, I was asked by your husband, Giaousé, otherwise Babazouk, to verify your presence here.”

  “Well, have you verified it?” said Titin, in a harsh voice.

  “You are M. Titin, I presume?”

  “Le Bastardon,” added Titin.

  “Alias Hardigras,” broke in Bolacion, with a malicious laugh.

  Titin turned violently to him:

  “Who asked you to speak? Why is this man here, monsieur?”

  “The husband brought him with the others.”

  “Come here, Giaousé,” burst out Titin. “Are you bent on everyone knowing that your wife has been unfaithful to you? Well, it will have to be some other time, old man, for you have jolly well deserved it. No woman has ever come between us, you old fool — not even your wife. Now, Giaousé, look me in the face. I came here expecting to meet you, I assure you....”

  “What was she doing here?” mumbled Giaousé, casting a stealthy look at Nathalie.

  “She was crying — crying because she feared the worst from your spitefulness and thought it was you who planned this snare in your own peculiar way. But we’ll have the thing out, never fear, here and now, before these gentlemen.”