“After supper, Zouche!” interrupted Lotys, as the door of the room opened, and a man entered, bearing a tray loaded with various eatables, jugs of beer, and bottles of spirituous liquors,— “Protest as much as you like then, — but not just now!”
And with quick, deft hands she helped to set the board. None of the men offered to assist her, and Leroy watching her, felt a sudden sense of annoyance that this woman should seem, even for a moment, to be in the position of a servant to them all.
“Can I do nothing for you?” he said, in a low tone— “Why should you wait upon us?”
“Why indeed!” she answered— “Except that you are all by nature awkward, and do not know how to wait properly upon yourselves!”
Her eyes had a gleam of mischievous mockery in them; and Leroy was conscious of an irritation which he could scarcely explain to himself. Decidedly, he thought, this Lotys was an unpleasant woman. She was ‘extremely plain,’ so he mentally declared, in a kind of inward huff, — though he was bound to concede that now and then she had a very beautiful, almost inspired expression. After all, why should she not set out jugs and bottles, and loaves of bread, and hunks of ham and cheese before these men? She was probably in their pay! Scarcely had this idea flashed across his mind than he was ashamed of it. This Lotys, whoever she might actually be, was no paid hireling; there was something in her every look and action that set her high above any suspicion that she would accept the part of a salaried comédienne in the Socialist farce. Annoyed with himself, though he knew not why, he turned his gaze from her to the man who had brought in the supper, — a hunchback, who, notwithstanding his deformity, was powerfully built, and of a countenance which, marked as it was with the drawn pathetic look of long-continued physical suffering, was undeniably handsome. His large brown eyes, like those of a faithful dog, followed every movement of Lotys with anxious and wistful affection, and Leroy, noticing this, began to wonder whether she was his wife or daughter? Or was she related in either of these ways to Sergius Thord? His reflections were interrupted by a slight touch from Max Graub who was seated next to him.
“Will you drink with these fellows?” said Graub, in a cautious whisper— “Expect to be ill, if you do!”
“You shall prescribe for me!” answered Leroy in the same low tone— “I faithfully promise to call in your assistance! But drink with them I must, and will!”
Graub gave a short sigh and a shrug, and said no more. The hunchback was going the round of the table, filling tall glasses with light Bavarian beer.
“Where is the little Pequita?” asked Zouche, addressing him— “Have you sent her to bed already, Sholto?”
Sholto looked timorously round till he met the bright reassuring glance of Lotys, and then he replied hesitatingly —
“Yes! — no — I have not sent the little one to bed; — she returned from her work at the theatre, tired out — quite tired out, poor child! She is asleep now.”
“Ha ha! A few years more, and she will not sleep!” said Zouche— “Once in her teens—”
“Once in her teens, she leaves the theatre and comes to me,” said Lotys, “And you will see very little of her, Zouche, and you will know less! That will do, Sholto! Good-night!”
“Good-night!” returned the hunchback— “I thank you, Madame! — I thank you, gentlemen!”
And with a slight salutation, not devoid of grace, he left the room.
Zouche was sulky, and pushing aside his glass of beer, poured out for himself some strong spirit from a bottle instead.
“You do not favour me to-night, Lotys,” he said irritably— “You interrupt and cross me in everything I say!”
“Is it not a woman’s business to interrupt and cross a man?” queried Lotys, with a laugh,— “As I have told you before, Zouche, I will not have Sholto worried!”
“Who worries him?” grumbled Zouche— “Not I!”
“Yes, you! — you worry him on his most sensitive point — his daughter,” said Lotys;— “Why can you not leave the child alone? Sholto is an Englishman,” she explained, turning to Pasquin Leroy and his companions— “His history is a strange one enough. He is the rightful heir to a large estate in England, but he was born deformed. His father hated him, and preferred the second son, who was straight and handsome. So Sholto disappeared.”
“Disappeared!” echoed Leroy— “You mean — —”
“I mean that he left his father’s house one morning, and never returned. The clothes he wore were found floating in the river near by, and it was concluded that he had been drowned while bathing. The second son, therefore, inherited the property; and poor Sholto was scarcely missed; certainly not mourned. Meanwhile he went away, and got on board a Spanish trading boat bound for Cadiz. At Cadiz he found work, and also something that sweetened work — love! He married a pretty Spanish girl who adored him, and — as often happens when lovers rejoice too much in their love — she died after a year’s happiness. Sholto is all alone in the world with the little child his Spanish wife left him, Pequita. She is only eleven years old, but her gift of dancing is marvellous, and she gets employment at one of the cheap theatres here. If an influential manager could see her performance, she might coin money.”
“The influential manager would probably cheat her,” said Zouche,— “Things are best left alone. Sholto is content!”
“Are you content?” asked Johan Zegota, helping himself from the bottle that stood near him.
“I? Why, no! I should not be here if I were!”
“Discontent, then, is your chief bond of union?” said Axel Regor, beginning to take part in the conversation.
“It is the very knot that ties us all together!” said Zouche with enthusiasm.— “Discontent is the mother of progress! Adam was discontented with the garden of Eden, — and found a whole world outside its gates!”
“He took Eve with him to keep up the sickness of dissatisfaction,” said Zegota; “There would certainly have been no progress without her!”
“Pardon, — Cain was the true Progressivist and Reformer,” put in Graub; “Some fine sentiment of the garden of Eden was in his blood, which impelled him to offer up a vegetable sacrifice to the Deity, whereas Abel had already committed murder by slaying lambs. According to the legend, God preferred the ‘savour’ of the lambs, so perhaps, — who knows! — the idea that the savour of Abel might be equally agreeable to Divine senses induced Cain to kill him as a special ‘youngling.’ This was a Progressive act, — a step beyond mere lambs!”
Everyone laughed, except Sergius Thord. He had fallen into a heavy, brooding silence, his head sunk on his breast, his wild hair falling forward like a mane, and his right hand clenched and resting on the table.
“Sergius!” called Lotys.
He did not answer.
“He is in one of his far-away moods,” — said one of the men next to Axel Regor,— “It is best not to disturb him.”
Paul Zouche, however, had no such scruples. “Sergius!” he cried,— “Come out of your cloud of meditation! Drink to the health of our three new comrades!”
All the members of the company filled their glasses, and Thord, hearing the noise and clatter, looked up with a wild stare.
“What are you doing?” he asked slowly;— “I thought some one spoke of Cain killing Abel!”
“It was I,” said Graub— “I spoke of it — irreverently, I fear, — but the story itself is irreverent. The notion that ‘God,’ should like roast meat is the height of blasphemy!”
Zouche burst into a violent fit of laughter. But Thord went on talking in a low tone, as though to himself.
“Cain killing Abel!” he repeated— “Always the same horrible story is repeated through history — brother against brother, — blood crying out for blood — life torn from the weak and helpless body — all for what? For a little gold, — a passing trifle of power! Cain killing Abel! My God, art Thou not yet weary of the old eternal crime!”
He spoke in a semi-whisper which thrilled t
hrough the room. A momentary hush prevailed, and then Lotys called again, her voice softened to a caressing sweetness.
“Sergius!”
He started, and shook himself out of his reverie this time. Raising his hand, he passed it in a vague mechanical way across his brow as though suddenly wakened from a dream.
“Yes, yes! Let us drink to our three new comrades,” he said, and rose to his feet. “To your health, friends! And may you all stand firm in the hour of trial!”
All the company sprang up and drained their glasses, and when the toast was drunk and they were again seated, Pasquin Leroy asked if he might be allowed to return thanks.
“I do not know,” he said with a courteous air, “whether it is permissible for a newly-enrolled associate of this Brotherhood to make a speech on the first night of his membership, — but after the cordial welcome I and my comrades, strangers as we are, have received at your hands, I should like to say a few words — if, without breaking any rules of the Order, I may do so.”
“Hear, hear!” shouted Zouche, who had been steadily drinking for the last few moments,— “Speak on, man! Whoever heard of a dumb Socialist! Rant — rant! Rant and rave! — as I do, when the fit is on me! Do I not, Thord? Do I not move you even to tears?”
“And laughter!” put in Zegota. “Hold your tongue, Zouche! No other man can talk at all, if you once begin!”
Zouche laughed, and drained his glass.
“True! — my genius is of an absorbing quality! Silence, gentlemen! Silence for our new comrade! ‘Pasquin’ stands for the beginning of a jest — so we may hope he will be amusing,— ‘Leroy’ stands for the king, and so we may expect him to be non-political!”
CHAPTER VIII. — THE KING’S DOUBLE
As Leroy rose to speak, there was a little commotion. Max Graub upset his glass, and seemed to be having a struggle under the table with Axel Regor.
“What ails you?” said Leroy, glancing at his friends with an amazed air— “Are you quarrelling?”
“Quarrelling!” echoed Max Graub, “Why, no — but what man will have his beer upset without complaint? Tell me that!”
“You upset it!” said Regor angrily— “I did not.”
“You did!” retorted Graub, “and because I pushed you for it, you showed me a pistol in your pocket! I object to be shown a pistol. So I have taken it away. Here it is!” and he laid the weapon on the table in front of him.
A look of anger darkened Leroy’s brows.
“I was not aware you carried arms,” he said coldly.
Sergius Thord noticed his annoyance.
“There is nothing remarkable in that, my friend!” he interposed— “We all carry arms, — there is not one of us at this table who has not a loaded pistol, — even Lotys is no exception to this rule.”
“Now by my word!” said Graub, “I have no loaded pistol, — and I will swear Leroy is equally unarmed!”
“Entirely so!” said Leroy quietly— “I never suspect any man of evil intentions towards me.”
As he said this, Lotys leaned forward impulsively and stretched out her hand, — a beautiful hand, well-shaped and white as a white rose petal.
“I like you for that!” — she said— “It is the natural attitude of a brave man!”
A slight colour warmed his bronzed skin as he took her hand, pressed it gently, and let it go again. Axel Regor looked up defiantly.
“Well, I do suspect every man of evil intentions!” he said, “So you may all just as well know the worst of me at once! My experience of life has perhaps been exceptionally unpleasant; but it has taught me that as a rule no man is your friend till you have made it worth his while!”
“By favours bestowed, or favours to come?” queried Thord, smiling,— “However, without any argument, Axel Regor, I am inclined to think you are right!”
“Then a weapon is permissible here?” asked Graub.
“Not only permissible, but necessary,” replied Thord. “As members of this Brotherhood we live always prepared for some disaster, — always on our guard against treachery. Comrades!” and raising his voice he addressed the whole party. “Lay down your arms, all at once and together!”
In one instant, as if in obedience to a military order, the table was lined on either side with pistols. Beside these weapons, there was a goodly number of daggers, chiefly of the small kind such as are used in Corsica, encased in leather sheaths. Pasquin Leroy smiled as he saw Lotys lay down one of those tiny but deadly weapons, together with a small silver-mounted pistol.
“Forewarned is forearmed!” he said gaily;— “Madame, if I ever offend, I shall look to you for a happy dispatch! Gentlemen, I have still to make my speech, and if you permit it, I will speak now, — unarmed as I am, — with all these little metal mouths ready to deal death upon me if I happen to make any observation which may displease you!”
“By Heaven! A brave man!” cried Zouche; “Thord, you have picked up a trump card! Speak, Pasquin Leroy! We will forgive you, even if you praise the King!”
Leroy stood silent for a moment, as if thinking. His two companions looked up at him once or twice in unquestionable alarm and wonderment, but he did not appear to be conscious of their observation. On the contrary, some very deeply seated feeling seemed to be absorbing his soul, — and it was perhaps this suppressed emotion which gave such a rich vibrating force to his accents when he at last spoke.
“Friends and Brothers!” he said;— “It is difficult for one who has never experienced the three-fold sense of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity until to-night, to express in the right manner the sense of gratitude which I, a complete stranger to you, feel for the readiness and cordiality of the welcome you have extended to me and my companions, accepting us without hesitation, as members of your Committee, and as associates in the work of the Cause you have determined to maintain. It is an Ideal Cause, — I need not tell you that! To rescue and protect the poor from the tyranny of the rich and strong, was the mission of Christ when He visited this earth; and it would perhaps be unwise on my part, and discouraging to yourselves, to remind you that even He has failed! The strong, the selfish, and the cruel, still delight in oppressing their more helpless fellows, despite the theories of Christianity. And it is perfectly natural that it should be so, seeing that the Christian Church itself has become a mere system of money-making and self-advancement.”
A burst of applause interrupted him. Eyes lightened with eager enthusiasm, and every face was turned towards him. He went on: —
“To think of the great Founder of a great Creed, and then to consider what his pretended followers have made of Him and His teaching, is sufficient to fill the soul with the sickness of despair and humiliation! To remember that Christ came to teach all men the Gospel of love, — and to find them after eighteen hundred years still preferring the Gospel of hate, — is enough to make one doubt the truth of religion altogether! The Divine Socialist preached a creed too good and pure for this world; and when we try to follow it, we are beaten back on all sides by the false conventionalities and customs of a sacerdotal system grown old in self-seeking, not in self-sacrifice. Were Christ to come again, the first thing He would probably do would be to destroy all the churches, saying: ‘I never knew you: depart from me ye that work iniquity!’ But till He does come again, it rests with the thinkers of the time to protest against wrongs and abuses, even if they cannot destroy them, — to expose falsehood, even if they cannot utterly undo its vicious work. Seeing, however, that the greater majority of men are banded on the side of wealth and material self-interest, it is unfortunately only a few who remain to work for the cause of the poor, and for such equal rights of justice as you — as we — in our present Association claim to be most worthy of man’s best efforts. It may be asked by those outside such a Fraternity as ours,— ‘What do they want? What would they have that they cannot obtain?’ I would answer that we want to see the end of a political system full of bribery and corruption, — that we desire the disgrace and exposur
e of such men as those, who, under the pretence of serving the country, merely line their own coffers out of the taxes they inflict upon the people; — and that if we see a king inclined to favour the overbearing dominance of a political party governed by financial considerations alone, — a party which has no consideration for the wider needs of the whole nation, we from our very hearts and souls desire the downfall of that king!”
A low, deep murmur responded to his words, — a sound like the snarl of wolves, deep, fierce, and passionate. A close observer might perhaps have detected a sudden pallor on Leroy’s face as he heard this ominous growl, and an involuntary clenching of the hand on the part of Axel Regor. Max Graub looked up.
“Ah so, my friends! You hate the King?”
No answer was vouchsafed to this query. The interruption was evidently unwelcome, all eyes being still fixed on Leroy. He went on tranquilly:
“I repeat — that wherever and whenever a king — any king — voluntarily and knowingly, supports iniquity and false dealing in his ministers, he lays himself open to suspicion, attack, and dethronement! I speak with particular feeling on this point, because, apart from whatever may be the thoughts and opinions of these who are assembled here to-night, I have a special reason of my own for hating the King! That reason is marked on my countenance! I bear an extraordinary resemblance to him, — so great indeed, that I might be taken for his twin brother if he had one! And I beg of you, my friends, to look at me long and well, that you make no error concerning me, for, being now your comrade, I do not wish to be mistaken for your enemy!”
He drew himself up, lifting his head with an air of indomitable pride and grace which well became him. An exclamation of surprise broke from all present, and Sergius Thord bent forward to examine his features with close attention. Every man at the table did the same, but none regarded him more earnestly or more searchingly than Lotys. Her wonderful eyes seemed to glow and burn with strange interior fires, as she kept them steadily fixed upon his face.
“Yes — you are strangely like the King!” she said— “That is, — so far as I am able to judge by his portraits and coins. I have never seen him.”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 533
