“My presence is no longer required,” said the Commissary.
“One moment, monsieur, we’re going to have this out before you and these gentlemen. I insist on it. Yes, Giaousé, our friendship is broken since you believed I had played you false with Nathalie and arranged this trip.”
“Why is she here?” asked Giaousé roughly, without looking at Titin.
“Well, you know why I, personally, am here.... Read this letter, M. Galavard.”
The Commissary read the letter signed Giaousé, which Titin handed to him.
“Did you write this letter?” he asked Giaousé.
“Never,” he returned, with a look of blank amazement. “Someone has been imitating my handwriting. I didn’t write it.”
The commissary returned the letter to Titin, who put it into his pocket, shrugging his shoulders.
“That remains to be seen,” he said.
“And now, Madame,” went on M. Galavard, “will you tell us why you are here? Forgive me if I question you as my task is over, but as M. Titin has invited me to do so, I may possibly be useful to you in unraveling the mystery.”
“Madame came here through curiosity,” said Titin. “For some time she has been wanting to meet Hardigras. Hardigras must have known that, for he sent her this note.” And he placed before Galavard the note addressed to her. “Imagine her surprise,” he went on, “when instead of seeing Hardigras she saw me come in....”
“Look here, Titin,” said M. Galavard, “Giaousé is right. Anyone in his place would want to know who was making game of him.... Did you write this note signed Hardigras?”
“But I am not Hardigras.”
“Allow me to press the point: do you positively assert that you did not write this note?”
“I swear it. You forget that I received a letter from Giaousé making an appointment with me here. Why should I send a note signed Hardigras, inviting his wife to come here?”
“You’re right, it’s not very likely,” returned Galavard, returning the note to Titin.
“You hear what the Commissary says, Giaousé.... Come, do say something. I am ready to believe you when you say you did not write this letter making an appointment to meet me here, but we must know who did write it. Why did you come here? Who asked you to come?”
“I, too, received a note,” said Giaousé, taking from his pocket a very dirty and crumpled piece of paper, which contained a warning of the meeting at “Le Père la Bique” between Nathalie and Titin. The three of them examined the letter, which, of course, was anonymous.
“Why, this writing is exactly like the writing in the letter from Giaousé. Don’t you think, monsieur, that it looks as if the letters to Giaousé and me were written by the same person?”
“That would explain everything,” returned the Commissary, only too willing to settle matters. “You have both been the victims of some practical joker.”
Titin turned to Giaousé, silent and head bent down like a beast of burden.
“Come, I say, stir yourself. You are not going to stand there like a block of wood.”
“What I can’t get out of my mind is that she came here with some object. It is possible that someone has been having a game with us, but she acted as if she believed the letter was genuine. She put on her best clothes. There’s champagne on the table. If all these preparations are not very suspicious my name’s not Giaousé. No, I tell you I can’t live with that woman again.”
“You’re right. I’m going,” said Nathalie.
“You hear what she says, monsieur. That gives me a reason for divorce.”
Titin stopped Nathalie by a gesture.
“Giaousé, you mustn’t do that. You’ll go back home with Nathalie, or our friendship is over for good. I have always treated you as a brother and neither Nathalie nor I have ever played you false.”
A silence ensued and Titin went on:
“Give and take — do you want to continue friends with me?”
“You know I have always done what you wanted, Titin. It will he the same thing to-day — as usual.”
“Shake hands on it, Giaousé.”
But Giaousé showed no enthusiasm.
“Hang it all, it’s all very well for you,” he said. “Come on, Nathalie.”
“God bless you. Everything is settled,” said the Commissary, taking his leave.
Nathalie began to cry again before she went off with Giaousé, who held her by the wrist.
“Ah, Titin, you should have let me go away alone.... You will see...”
“I shall be in La Fourca to-morrow. In future you and I, Nathalie, are sworn friends through thick and thin,” and turning to the others: “Go back to La Fourca with them. Giaousé is still nursing a grudge against her.
But I know him — it will blow over. Cheer him up, and tell him I am very fond of him, and persuade Nathalie to be nice to him.”
“He is very miserable. You would do well to come with us,” said Sixte.
“I don’t think so. Titin is right. We must wait a bit,” said Tulip.
“As for you, I’ve seen enough of you,” said Titin, turning to Bolacion. “Once for all: take it from me, I’ve no use for blear-eyed people.”
“Titin, you have always disliked me without cause,” said Bolacion, ignoring the insult. “I have often said to Giaousé: If Titin disliked me less we should get on together. He would have no better friend than me.”
“I don’t dislike you. To me you are of no more account than a slug,” retorted Titin. “Beat it — that’s my advice.”
“Damn it, I don’t know who played that trick on you to-day,” growled Bolacion, clenching his fists, “but I look upon him as a friend.... Meanwhile our time here has not been entirely wasted.”
So saying, he sat down without further ado before the good things at the table. The others, who had gradually left the pergola, followed his example and were soon drinking to the reconciliation between Titin and Giaousé....
Titin had already left. He called at “Le Père la Bique.”
“They are drinking my health over there,” he said. “I will pay. You can trust me?”
“Yes, I can trust you with a signature like this.”
The proprietor drew out a letter, and Titin knew who had ordered this strange “love feast.” But he turned pale as his eyes fell once more upon the signature of — Hardigras!
CHAPTER XVIII
IN WHICH HARDIGRAS IS DEAD — SO HE SAYS
WHEN ANTOINETTE RECOVERED consciousness from her swoon, she found herself in her own room at home. M. and Mme. Supia were lavish in their attentions. When she could speak she asked for Prince Hippothadee. Mme. Supia told her that he was in the next room, greatly pained by what had happened....
“Such a delightful drive and so pleasantly begun! Had the Prince suspected...”
“It’s all for the best,” interrupted M. Supia. “As luck would have it Antoinette was definitely enlightened as to the infamous habits of that youth. Let us hope she has been cured of him once for all.”
“I want to see Prince Hippothadee,” said Antoinette.
“But, my dear, you will see him to-morrow. It will be as well for you to have a rest to-night.”
“No, I want to see him at once, in your presence.”
“I’ll go and fetch him,” said M. Supia. “We must not upset her.”
A few minutes later the Prince entered the room. Toinetta looked extremely pale against the pillow, but very pretty. Her eyes shone with a feverish light, and her hand lay listlessly on the coverlet as though she had not the strength to move it. The Prince bent a knee and raised this thing of stone to his lips.
“Will you ever forgive me?”
“No, never,” she said in a harsh, clear voice, as cutting as a knife. “Neither you nor anyone who was with you. I asked you to come here to tell you that there can never be anything but enmity and contempt between you and me. Do you understand?”
“But, mademoiselle.. stammered the Prince.
&
nbsp; “You need not answer. It’s no use. I asked to see you not only to tell you this, but to say that I will be your wife.”
“Ah... Antoinette!”
“I won’t allow you to call me Antoinette. Don’t say anything. I am willing to be your wife as soon as possible. See to that. Don’t lose any time. You may now go”.
Hippothadee stood up somewhat embarrassed. Doubtless he had foreseen this solution, and doubtless he had worked for it. But he had not expected such an expeditious result. Nor had he considered the manner in which she had delivered her conclusion to him. The whole position was summed up in the one sentence: She would marry him, but she despised him.
Assuredly there is no such thing as perfect happiness in this world. He would have liked to say something, but the words would not come. The only possible answer in the circumstances to avenge the insult to the Hippothadees from this little nobody in love with a vagabond would be words of farewell. But he could not bring himself to utter those words — it was impossible for many reasons. Thus he was content to say “good-bye” as he turned on his heel with figure erect — the one thing of which he still had reason to be proud. M. Supia saved the situation by escorting him out, saying aloud:
“You were quite right not to take offense. Antoinette is suffering from nerves this evening. Besides, though she may despise you, I think highly of you.”
Thélise in the bedroom was more pleased than she could say, by the turn of events. The marriage would bring the Prince and herself together. Suddenly she was startled by the manner in which Toinetta stared at her, and she escaped from the room before Toinetta could utter a word.
Left alone at last, Toinetta let her head fall back upon the pillow. Stifling her sobs, she tried to keep back the tears.... Next morning the first thing she did was to return, unopened, a letter from Titin. In the small drawing-room she met Caroline, red-eyed.
“You have been crying because you are not going to marry the Prince. I have been crying because I am going to marry him. But never fear, I will keep him for you. I dislike him as much as you love him. Are you satisfied?”
“Then why are you marrying him?”
“Ask your father. He knows better than I do. I know only one thing — I want to go away and never see you again.”
Caroline reflected for some time over her cousin’s words and drew from them a momentary consolation, which helped to dry her tears. Before the day was over the whole town learnt that Prince Hippothadee was to marry Mlle. Agagnosc. The broken engagement had been renewed at the express wish of Toinetta herself. The general feeling of amazement soon changed to consternation; for, the town had resumed its interest in Titin. The steps taken by the Transylvanian consul to suppress the scandal brought about by Comte Valdar’s financial eccentricities, had convincingly enlightened the parties interested, making clear that Titin was less his partner than his victim. And the rumors about the Son of Carnival’s high descent were thereby in a measure confirmed. And though Titin failed to show himself, they ventured once more to mention his name, joining with it that of Hardigras. He had always been the fascinating presentment in which they saw themselves, embodying the high spirits, the love of feasting, the brazen swagger of the Midi — in a word the lightness of heart and whimsical humor without which life would indeed be dull. The vulnerable point in Titin’s armor was that he was in love in earnest, poor fellow.
They all knew it. It was not for nothing that Hardigras had stopped Antoinette’s wedding. They felt certain that now he would take up, on his own account, the matter where he had left it. And now Antoinette, ignoring Titin, had given her hand to the Prince. There was amazement in the town. They failed to understand her.
What would happen when Hardigras learnt a thing like that? To this question which each one asked himself M. Bezaudin gave an answer that surprised them all. He took the opportunity of expressing his opinion one day when M. Supia and Prince Hippothadee called at his office to submit a plan for a quick and simple marriage at an early hour in the morning and asked him to take the necessary measures of precaution.
“Gentlemen, I shall not take any such steps,” he said. “They would be entirely needless. Nothing further will happen.”
“Have you seen Titin?” asked Supia excitedly.
“Certainly not. He has not set foot in this place since the incident of Mlle. Agagnosc’s temporary disappearance. I don’t know what has become of him.”
“Then how can you say he won’t try the Hardigras trick again?” interrupted the Prince.
“I think I know him well enough to say for certain that he won’t attempt anything of the kind. You have no idea of that young man’s pride. On the first occasion he took it into his head to spirit away Mlle. Agagnosc because he imagined that she would rather appreciate the little incident. And I venture to say he was not mistaken. But to-day it is very different. To-day Mlle. Agagnosc is not being led to the altar like a lamb prepared for the sacrifice, but has herself asked for the marriage to take place. That is how the matter stands now, isn’t it? Well, Titin will not go against her expressed wishes, take it from me. M. Supia, you will be able to marry your ward in peace. Good-day!”
“What he said was not too bad,” observed the Prince, when they were outside.
“Possibly,” returned M. Supia, “but I remember one thing — that infernal Titin’s threat when he brought back Antoinette. Do you remember Hardigras’s message?”
“I haven’t forgotten it. It was all the more annoying as I was utterly ignored, but I confess that for you and your family it was no joke.”
“It was a criminal threat,” said Supia, grinding his teeth.
“Tut! tut!” said Hippothadee. “I don’t see Titin sending you to kingdom come over this marriage business.”
“Nor do I, fortunately. I am convinced that he wanted chiefly to put the wind up. I mean that I treat the message for what it is worth. But there’s enough in it to prevent us from sharing the optimism of that silly ass, Bezaudin. That man is the funniest thing in commissaries of police in this country. He puts his confidence only in sharpers whom he is asked to arrest and allows them to go about scot free.”
“Suppose we invite MM. Souques and Ordinal,” suggested the Prince.
“I think they’ll come even if they’re not invited, so we shall be spared the expense of bringing them down from Paris....”
Bezaudin was right. Nothing disturbed the serenity of Prince Vladimir Hippothadee and Mlle. Antoinette Agagnosc’s marriage. The only peculiar circumstance about it was the dreary fashion in which it was celebrated, and the great gloom of the crowd which, despite the early hour, had put themselves out to be present. They watched the proceedings in a silence more impressive than the most hostile demonstration.
In truth, there was something in this attitude not so much of rage against Hippothadee and the Supias as oppression at the fatality which had brought about this insult to the town. Titin’s friends turned sadly away from the wedding party, which might have been a funeral procession, beginning with Antoinette, who seemed, in spite of her wedding dress, more like a widow than a bride — widowed of all her hopes, poor girl! But they no longer pitied her. They pitied only Titin, who was not present.
The morning after this day of ill-omen, when the Bella Nissa stores opened its doors again, it was discovered that most of the articles which had disappeared — furniture and so forth, as for instance, the famous Louis XVI bedroom, carpets, knick-knacks, and the many things pertaining to carnival, had been returned to their former places as if by magic. In the entrance hall the great standard was flying once more; but bore now the grim inscription: Hardigras is dead.
This was enough to give rise to the rumor that Titin had taken his life in despair. The ominous news sent an icy shudder through the town. Voices were lowered, as if some great affliction, some irreparable blow, had struck the people of Nice. Many of them had no heart to attend to business that day, but shut up their shops and repaired to the cafés, remaining until a lat
e hour, in the one hope of seeing Titin, the only conclusive way of belying the rumor.
Nothing happened during the next few days, and from Nice to La Fourca, and over the plain to the Gorges du Loup, desolation reigned. The people of Torre les Tourettes scarcely ventured out of doors. They were suspected of rejoicing at the discomfiture of their old enemies, and violent threats were uttered against them. The bowlers on the green went on strike, and the Place d’Arson was deserted, save for the four inseparable friends, Pistafun, Aiguardente, Tony Bouta, and Tantifla. Their low spirits were obvious, though they did their utmost to raise them in the inns. It was said that Gamba Secca and Le Budeu, employed as we know in Bastardon’s Kiosks, were making ready to drape their newsbags in black. Finally, the sun withdrew from a land no longer recognizable. During the last week, dark clouds veiled the blue sky and poured forth torrential rains. Not all the signs and portents, which proclaimed and accompanied the death, in a classic age, of Julius Caesar, were here. But indeed it must be confessed that in a country little accustomed to the rigors of the gods they were abnormally plentiful.
CHAPTER XIX
M. SUPIA’S SATISFACTION
THOUGH, AS MAY be imagined, Hippothadee was not free from misgiving as to the success of his marriage, M. Supia on the other hand congratulated himself without reserve on the result of his own finest stroke of business. His ward’s fortune passed legally into his hands; in other words, into the coffers of Bella Nissa.
Moreover, the marriage had killed at one blow Hardigras, his pet aversion. Not that M. Supia believed in Titin’s suicide. But, by the very fact that Titin had announced Hardigras’s death, he had admitted defeat and thrown up the sponge. He had thrown it up so completely that he restored, for nothing, pretty well every advantage derived from his daring pilferings. For nothing! And at a time when M. Supia was ready to give back the little property of which by his astuteness he had formerly relieved Mme. Bibi.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 424
