CHAPTER III
I must say that for the next three months I threw myself into my unlawfultrade with a sort of desperation, dogged and hopeless, like a fairlydecent fellow who takes deliberately to drink. The business was gettingdangerous. The bands in the South were not very well organized, workedwith no very definite plan, and now were beginning to be pretty closelyhunted. The arrangements for the transport of supplies were going topieces; our friends ashore were getting scared; and it was no joke tofind after a day of skilful dodging that there was no one at the landingplace and have to go out again with our compromising cargo, to slink andlurk about the coast for another week or so, unable to trust anybody andlooking at every vessel we met with suspicion. Once we were ambushed bya lot of "rascally Carabineers," as Dominic called them, who hidthemselves among the rocks after disposing a train of mules well in viewon the seashore. Luckily, on evidence which I could never understand,Dominic detected something suspicious. Perhaps it was by virtue of somesixth sense that men born for unlawful occupations may be gifted with."There is a smell of treachery about this," he remarked suddenly, turningat his oar. (He and I were pulling alone in a little boat toreconnoitre.) I couldn't detect any smell and I regard to this day ourescape on that occasion as, properly speaking, miraculous. Surely somesupernatural power must have struck upwards the barrels of theCarabineers' rifles, for they missed us by yards. And as the Carabineershave the reputation of shooting straight, Dominic, after swearing mosthorribly, ascribed our escape to the particular guardian angel that looksafter crazy young gentlemen. Dominic believed in angels in aconventional way, but laid no claim to having one of his own. Soonafterwards, while sailing quietly at night, we found ourselves suddenlynear a small coasting vessel, also without lights, which all at oncetreated us to a volley of rifle fire. Dominic's mighty and inspiredyell: "_A plat ventre_!" and also an unexpected roll to windward savedall our lives. Nobody got a scratch. We were past in a moment and in abreeze then blowing we had the heels of anything likely to give us chase.But an hour afterwards, as we stood side by side peering into thedarkness, Dominic was heard to mutter through his teeth: "_Le metier segate_." I, too, had the feeling that the trade, if not altogetherspoiled, had seen its best days. But I did not care. In fact, for mypurpose it was rather better, a more potent influence; like the strongerintoxication of raw spirit. A volley in the dark after all was not sucha bad thing. Only a moment before we had received it, there, in thatcalm night of the sea full of freshness and soft whispers, I had beenlooking at an enchanting turn of a head in a faint light of its own, thetawny hair with snared red sparks brushed up from the nape of a whiteneck and held up on high by an arrow of gold feathered with brilliantsand with ruby gleams all along its shaft. That jewelled ornament, whichI remember often telling Rita was of a very Philistinish conception (itwas in some way connected with a tortoiseshell comb) occupied an undueplace in my memory, tried to come into some sort of significance even inmy sleep. Often I dreamed of her with white limbs shimmering in thegloom like a nymph haunting a riot of foliage, and raising a perfectround arm to take an arrow of gold out of her hair to throw it at me byhand, like a dart. It came on, a whizzing trail of light, but I alwayswoke up before it struck. Always. Invariably. It never had a chance.A volley of small arms was much more likely to do the business someday--or night.
* * * * *
At last came the day when everything slipped out of my grasp. The littlevessel, broken and gone like the only toy of a lonely child, the seaitself, which had swallowed it, throwing me on shore after a shipwreckthat instead of a fair fight left in me the memory of a suicide. It tookaway all that there was in me of independent life, but just failed totake me out of the world, which looked then indeed like Another World fitfor no one else but unrepentant sinners. Even Dominic failed me, hismoral entity destroyed by what to him was a most tragic ending of ourcommon enterprise. The lurid swiftness of it all was like a stunningthunder-clap--and, one evening, I found myself weary, heartsore, my brainstill dazed and with awe in my heart entering Marseilles by way of therailway station, after many adventures, one more disagreeable thananother, involving privations, great exertions, a lot of difficultieswith all sorts of people who looked upon me evidently more as adiscreditable vagabond deserving the attentions of gendarmes than arespectable (if crazy) young gentleman attended by a guardian angel ofhis own. I must confess that I slunk out of the railway station shunningits many lights as if, invariably, failure made an outcast of a man. Ihadn't any money in my pocket. I hadn't even the bundle and the stick ofa destitute wayfarer. I was unshaven and unwashed, and my heart wasfaint within me. My attire was such that I daren't approach the rank offiacres, where indeed I could perceive only two pairs of lamps, of whichone suddenly drove away while I looked. The other I gave up to thefortunate of this earth. I didn't believe in my power of persuasion. Ihad no powers. I slunk on and on, shivering with cold, through theuproarious streets. Bedlam was loose in them. It was the time ofCarnival.
Small objects of no value have the secret of sticking to a man in anastonishing way. I had nearly lost my liberty and even my life, I hadlost my ship, a money-belt full of gold, I had lost my companions, hadparted from my friend; my occupation, my only link with life, my touchwith the sea, my cap and jacket were gone--but a small penknife and alatchkey had never parted company with me. With the latchkey I openedthe door of refuge. The hall wore its deaf-and-dumb air, itsblack-and-white stillness.
The sickly gas-jet still struggled bravely with adversity at the end ofthe raised silver arm of the statuette which had kept to a hair's breadthits graceful pose on the toes of its left foot; and the staircase lostitself in the shadows above. Therese was parsimonious with the lights.To see all this was surprising. It seemed to me that all the things Ihad known ought to have come down with a crash at the moment of the finalcatastrophe on the Spanish coast. And there was Therese herselfdescending the stairs, frightened but plucky. Perhaps she thought thatshe would be murdered this time for certain. She had a strange,unemotional conviction that the house was particularly convenient for acrime. One could never get to the bottom of her wild notions which sheheld with the stolidity of a peasant allied to the outward serenity of anun. She quaked all over as she came down to her doom, but when sherecognized me she got such a shock that she sat down suddenly on thelowest step. She did not expect me for another week at least, and,besides, she explained, the state I was in made her blood take "oneturn."
Indeed my plight seemed either to have called out or else repressed hertrue nature. But who had ever fathomed her nature! There was none ofher treacly volubility. There were none of her "dear young gentlemans"and "poor little hearts" and references to sin. In breathless silenceshe ran about the house getting my room ready, lighting fires andgas-jets and even hauling at me to help me up the stairs. Yes, she didlay hands on me for that charitable purpose. They trembled. Her paleeyes hardly left my face. "What brought you here like this?" shewhispered once.
"If I were to tell you, Mademoiselle Therese, you would see there thehand of God."
She dropped the extra pillow she was carrying and then nearly fell overit. "Oh, dear heart," she murmured, and ran off to the kitchen.
I sank into bed as into a cloud and Therese reappeared very misty andoffering me something in a cup. I believe it was hot milk, and after Idrank it she took the cup and stood looking at me fixedly. I managed tosay with difficulty: "Go away," whereupon she vanished as if by magicbefore the words were fairly out of my mouth. Immediately afterwards thesunlight forced through the slats of the jalousies its diffused glow, andTherese was there again as if by magic, saying in a distant voice: "It'smidday". . . Youth will have its rights. I had slept like a stone forseventeen hours.
I suppose an honourable bankrupt would know such an awakening: the senseof catastrophe, the shrinking from the necessity of beginning life again,the faint feeling that there are misfortunes which must be
paid for by ahanging. In the course of the morning Therese informed me that theapartment usually occupied by Mr. Blunt was vacant and added mysteriouslythat she intended to keep it vacant for a time, because she had beeninstructed to do so. I couldn't imagine why Blunt should wish to returnto Marseilles. She told me also that the house was empty except formyself and the two dancing girls with their father. Those people hadbeen away for some time as the girls had engagements in some Italiansummer theatres, but apparently they had secured a re-engagement for thewinter and were now back. I let Therese talk because it kept myimagination from going to work on subjects which, I had made up my mind,were no concern of mine. But I went out early to perform an unpleasanttask. It was only proper that I should let the Carlist agent ensconcedin the Prado Villa know of the sudden ending of my activities. It wouldbe grave enough news for him, and I did not like to be its bearer forreasons which were mainly personal. I resembled Dominic in so far thatI, too, disliked failure.
The Marquis of Villarel had of course gone long before. The man who wasthere was another type of Carlist altogether, and his temperament wasthat of a trader. He was the chief purveyor of the Legitimist armies, anhonest broker of stores, and enjoyed a great reputation for cleverness.His important task kept him, of course, in France, but his young wife,whose beauty and devotion to her King were well known, represented himworthily at Headquarters, where his own appearances were extremely rare.The dissimilar but united loyalties of those two people had been rewardedby the title of baron and the ribbon of some order or other. The gossipof the Legitimist circles appreciated those favours with smilingindulgence. He was the man who had been so distressed and frightened byDona Rita's first visit to Tolosa. He had an extreme regard for hiswife. And in that sphere of clashing arms and unceasing intrigue nobodywould have smiled then at his agitation if the man himself hadn't beensomewhat grotesque.
He must have been startled when I sent in my name, for he didn't ofcourse expect to see me yet--nobody expected me. He advanced soft-footeddown the room. With his jutting nose, flat-topped skull and sablegarments he recalled an obese raven, and when he heard of the disaster hemanifested his astonishment and concern in a most plebeian manner by alow and expressive whistle. I, of course, could not share hisconsternation. My feelings in that connection were of a different order;but I was annoyed at his unintelligent stare.
"I suppose," I said, "you will take it on yourself to advise Dona Rita,who is greatly interested in this affair."
"Yes, but I was given to understand that Madame de Lastaola was to leaveParis either yesterday or this morning."
It was my turn to stare dumbly before I could manage to ask: "ForTolosa?" in a very knowing tone.
Whether it was the droop of his head, play of light, or some other subtlecause, his nose seemed to have grown perceptibly longer.
"That, Senor, is the place where the news has got to be conveyed withoutundue delay," he said in an agitated wheeze. "I could, of course,telegraph to our agent in Bayonne who would find a messenger. But Idon't like, I don't like! The Alphonsists have agents, too, who hangabout the telegraph offices. It's no use letting the enemy get thatnews."
He was obviously very confused, unhappy, and trying to think of twodifferent things at once.
"Sit down, Don George, sit down." He absolutely forced a cigar on me."I am extremely distressed. That--I mean Dona Rita is undoubtedly on herway to Tolosa. This is very frightful."
I must say, however, that there was in the man some sense of duty. Hemastered his private fears. After some cogitation he murmured: "There isanother way of getting the news to Headquarters. Suppose you write me aformal letter just stating the facts, the unfortunate facts, which I willbe able to forward. There is an agent of ours, a fellow I have beenemploying for purchasing supplies, a perfectly honest man. He is cominghere from the north by the ten o'clock train with some papers for me of aconfidential nature. I was rather embarrassed about it. It wouldn't dofor him to get into any sort of trouble. He is not very intelligent. Iwonder, Don George, whether you would consent to meet him at the stationand take care of him generally till to-morrow. I don't like the idea ofhim going about alone. Then, to-morrow night, we would send him on toTolosa by the west coast route, with the news; and then he can also callon Dona Rita who will no doubt be already there. . . ." He became againdistracted all in a moment and actually went so far as to wring his fathands. "Oh, yes, she will be there!" he exclaimed in most patheticaccents.
I was not in the humour to smile at anything, and he must have beensatisfied with the gravity with which I beheld his extraordinary antics.My mind was very far away. I thought: Why not? Why shouldn't I alsowrite a letter to Dona Rita, telling her that now nothing stood in theway of my leaving Europe, because, really, the enterprise couldn't bebegun again; that things that come to an end can never be begun again.The idea--never again--had complete possession of my mind. I could thinkof nothing else. Yes, I would write. The worthy Commissary General ofthe Carlist forces was under the impression that I was looking at him;but what I had in my eye was a jumble of butterfly women and wingedyouths and the soft sheen of Argand lamps gleaming on an arrow of gold inthe hair of a head that seemed to evade my outstretched hand.
"Oh, yes," I said, "I have nothing to do and even nothing to think ofjust now, I will meet your man as he gets off the train at ten o'clockto-night. What's he like?"
"Oh, he has a black moustache and whiskers, and his chin is shaved," saidthe newly-fledged baron cordially. "A very honest fellow. I alwaysfound him very useful. His name is Jose Ortega."
He was perfectly self-possessed now, and walking soft-footed accompaniedme to the door of the room. He shook hands with a melancholy smile."This is a very frightful situation. My poor wife will be quitedistracted. She is such a patriot. Many thanks, Don George. Yourelieve me greatly. The fellow is rather stupid and rather bad-tempered.Queer creature, but very honest! Oh, very honest!"
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