CHAPTER X
DINNER FOR TWO
I was prepared for fear, for distress, for pleading as I confrontedMiss Falconer; the one thing I hadn't expected was that she shouldseem pleased at the meeting, but she did. She flushed a little, smiledbrightly, and held out her gloved hand to me.
"Why, Mr. Bayne! I am so glad!" she exclaimed in frankly cordial tones.
The crass coolness of her tactics, with its implied rating of myintelligence, was the very bracer I needed for a most unpleasant task. Iaccepted her hand, bowed over it formally, and released it. Then I spokewith the most impersonal courtesy in the world.
"And I," I declared coolly, "am delighted, I assure you. It is greatluck meeting you like this; and I will not let you slip away. I supposethat when we board the train they will serve us a meal of some sort.Won't you give me the pleasure of having you for my guest?"
The brightness had left her face as she sensed my attitude. She drewback, regarding me in a rebuffed, bewildered way.
"Thank you, no. I am not hungry."
By Jove, but she was an actress! I should have sworn I had hurt her if Ihadn't known the truth.
"Don't say that!" I protested. "Of course it is unconventional to dinewith a stranger; but then so is almost everything that is happening toyou and me. Think of those lord high executioners in there round thetable. See this platform with its guards and bayonets and guns. And thenremember our odd experiences on the _Re d'Italia_. Won't you risk onemore informality and come and dine?"
She hesitated a moment, watching me steadily; then, with proudreluctance, she walked beside me toward the train.
"You helped me once," she said, her eyes averted now, "and I haven'tforgotten. I don't understand at all,--but I shall do as you say."
The passengers were being herded aboard by eager, bustling officials.I saw my baggage and the girl's installed, disposed of the porters, andguided my companion to the _wagon_ restaurant. The horn was sounding aswe entered, and at six-thirty promptly, just as I put Miss Falconer inher chair, we pulled out of the snowy station of Modane.
As I studied the menu, the girl sat with lowered lashes, all thingsabout her, from her darkened eyes and high head to her pallor,proclaiming her feeling of offense, her sense of hurt. She knew hergame, I admitted, and she had first-class weapons. Though she could notweaken my resolution, she made my beginning hard.
"We are going to have a discouraging meal," I gossipedprocrastinatingly. "But, since we are in France, it will be a littleless horrible than the usual dining-car. The wine is probably hopeless;I suggest Evian or Vichy. These radishes look promising. Will you havesome?"
"No. I am not hungry," she repeated briefly. "Won't you please tell mewhat you have to say?"
Though I didn't in the least want them, I ate a few of the radishes justto show that I was not abashed by her haughty, reproachful air. Otherpassengers were strolling in. Here was Mr. John Van Blarcom, who, at thesight of Miss Falconer and myself to all appearances cozily establishedfor a tete-a-tete meal, stopped in his tracks and fastened on me thehard, appraising scrutiny that a policeman might turn on a hithertorespectable acquaintance discovered in converse with some notoriouscrook. For an instant he seemed disposed to buttonhole me andremonstrate. Then he shrugged his stocky shoulders, the gestureindicating that one can't save a fool from his folly, and establishedhimself at a near-by table, from which coign of vantage he kept us understeady watch.
Given such an audience, my outward mien must be impeccable.
"There is something," I admitted cautiously, "that I want to say to you.But I wish you would eat something first. People are watching us," Iadded beneath my breath as the soup appeared.
She took a sip under protest, and then replaced her spoon and sat withfingers twisting her gloves and eyes fixed smolderingly on mine. Ishifted furtively in my seat. This was a charming experience. I wasbeing, from my point of view, almost quixotically generous; yet with oneglance she could make me feel like a bully and a brute.
"I am sure," I stumbled, fumbling desperately with my serviette, "thatyou came over without realizing what war conditions are. Strangersaren't wanted just now. Travel is dangerous for women. You may think meall kinds of a presumptuous idiot,--I shan't blame you,--but I am goingto urge you most strongly to go home."
Whatever she had looked for, obviously it was not that.
"Mr. Bayne," she exclaimed, regarding me wonderingly, "what do youmean?"
"Just this, Miss Falconer," I answered with almost Teutonicruthlessness. Confound it! I couldn't sit here forever bullying her;sheer desperation lent me strength. "The _Espagne_ sails from Bordeauxon Saturday, I see by the Herald, and if I were you, I should mostcertainly be on board. In fact, if you lose the chance, I am sure you'llregret it later. The French police authorities are--er--very inquisitiveabout foreigners; and if you stop in France in these anxious times, Ithink it likely that they may--well--"
She drew a quick, hard breath as I trailed off into silence. Her eyes,darkened, horrified, were gazing full into mine.
"You wouldn't tell them about me! You couldn't be so cruel!" The wordscame almost fiercely, yet with a sound like a stifled sob.
By its sheer preposterousness the speech left me dumb a moment, and thengave me back the self-possession I had been clutching at throughoutthe meal. For the first time since entering I sat erect and squared myshoulders. I even confronted her with a rather glittering smile.
"I am very sorry," I said, with a cool stare, "if I appear so; but I amconsideration itself compared with the people you would meet in Paris,say. That's the very point I'm making--that you can't travel nowin comfort. I'm simply trying to spare you future contretemps, MissFalconer; such as I had on the _Re d'Italia_, you may recall."
She leaned impulsively across the table.
"Oh, Mr. Bayne, I knew it! You are angry about that wretched extra, andyou have a right to be. Of course you thought it cowardly of me--yes,and ungrateful--to stand there without a word and let those officersquestion you. Mr. Bayne, if the worst had come to the worst, I shouldhave spoken, I should, indeed; but I had to wait. I had to give myselfevery chance. It meant so much, so much! You had nothing to hidefrom them. You were certain to win through. And then, you seemed soundisturbed, so unruffled, so able to take care of yourself; I knew youwere not afraid. It was different with me. If they began to suspect, ifthey learned who I was, I could never have entered France. This routethrough Italy was my one hope! I am so sorry. But still--"
Hitherto she had been appealing; but now she defied frankly. That tintof hers, like nothing but a wild rose, drove away her pallor; her grayeyes flamed.
"But still," she flashed at me, "you won't inform on me just for that?I asked you to help me; you were free to refuse--and you agreed! Becauseit inconvenienced you a little, are you going to turn police agent?" Herred lips twisted proudly, scornfully. "I don't believe it, Mr. Bayne!"
I laughed shortly. She was indeed an artist.
"I wasn't thinking of that particular episode--" I began.
"But you did resent it. I saw it when you first joined me. And I wasso glad to see you--to have the chance of thanking you!" she broke in,smoldering still.
"No, I didn't resent it. I didn't even blame you. If I blamed any one,Miss Falconer, it would certainly be myself. I've concluded I oughtnot to go about without a keeper. My gullibility must have amused youtremendously." I laughed.
"I never thought you gullible," she denied, suddenly wistful. "I thoughtyou very generous and very chivalrous, Mr. Bayne."
This was carrying mockery too far.
"I am afraid," I said meaningly, "that the authorities at Gibraltarwould take a less flattering view. For instance, if those Englishmenlearned that I had refrained from telling them of our meeting at the St.Ives, I should hear from them, I fancy."
Again her eyes were widening. What attractive eyes she had!
"The St. Ives?" she repeated wonderingly. "Why should that interestthem? What do you mean?" Then, suddenly,
she bent forward, proppedher elbows on the table, and amazed me with a slow, astonished,comprehending smile. "I see!" she murmured, studying me intently. "Youthought that I screened the man who hid those papers, that I crossed theocean on--similar business, perhaps even that on this side I was to takethe documents from your trunk?"
"Naturally," I rejoined stiffly. "And I congratulate you. It was abrilliant piece of work; though, as its victim, I fail to see it in therosiest light."
"I understand," she went on, still smiling faintly. "You thought Iwas--well--Look over yonder."
Her glance, seeking the opposite wall unostentatiously, directed myattention to a black-lettered, conspicuously posted sign:
BE SILENT!
BE MISTRUSTFUL!
THE EARS OF THE ENEMY ARE LISTENING!
Thus it shouted its warning, like the thousands of its kind that arescattered about the trains, the boats, the railroad stations, and allthe public places of France.
"You thought I was the ears of the enemy, didn't you?" the girl wasasking. "You thought I was a German agent. I might have guessed! Well,in that case it was kind of you not to hand me over to the Modanegendarmes. I ought to thank you. But I wasn't so suspicious when theysearched your trunk and found the papers--I simply felt that they mustbe crazy to think you could be a spy."
I achieved a shrug of my shoulders, a polite air of incredulity; but, totell the truth, I was a little less skeptical than I appeared. There wassomething in her manner that by no means suggested pretense. And shehad said a true word about the occurrences on the _Re d'Italia_. Ifappearances meant facts, I myself had been proved guilty up to the hilt.
"Mr. Bayne," she was saying soberly, "I should like you to believeme--please! I am an American, and I have had cause lately to hate theGermans; all my bonds are with our own country and with France. There issome one very dear to me to whom this war has worked a cruel injustice.I have come to try to help that person; and for certain reasons--I can'texplain them--I had to come in secret or not at all. But I have donenothing wrong, nothing dishonorable. And so"--again her eyes challengedme--"I shall not sail from Bordeaux on the _Espagne_ on Saturday; andyou shall choose for yourself whether you will speak of me to the Frenchpolice."
It was not much of an argument, regarded dispassionately; yet it shookme. With sudden craftiness I resolved to trap her if I could.
"I ought to tell them on the mere chance that they would send you home,"I grumbled irritably. "You have no business here, you know, helpingpeople and being suspected and pursued and outrageously annoyed byfools like me. Yes, and by other fools--and worse," I added with feignedsulphurousness, indicated Van Blarcom. "Miss Falconer, would you mindglancing at the third man on the right--the dark man who is staring atus--and telling me whether or not you ever saw him before you sailed?"
"I am sure I never did," she declared, knitting puzzled brows; "and yeton the _Re d'Italia_ he insisted that we had met. It frightened me alittle. I wondered whether or not he suspected something. And every timeI see him he watches me in that same way."
I was thawing, despite myself.
"There's one other thing," I ventured, "if you won't think me tooimpertinent: Did you ever hear of a man named Franz von Blenheim?"
"No," she said blankly; "I never did. Who is he?"
No birds out of that covert! If this was acting it was marvelous; therehad not been the slightest flicker of confusion in her face.
"Oh, he isn't anybody of importance--just a man," I evaded. "Look here,Miss Falconer, you'll have to forgive me if you can. You shall stay inParis, and I'll be as silent as the grave concerning you; but I'd liketo do more than that. Won't you let me come and call? Really, youknow, I'm not such a duffer as you have cause to think me. After we gotacquainted you might be willing to trust me with this business, whateverit is. And then, if it's not too desperate, I have friends who could beof help to you." Such was the sop I threw to conscience, the bargainI struck between sober reason and the instinct that made me trust heragainst all odds. My theories must have been moonshine. Everything wasall right, probably. But for the sake of prudence I ought to keep trackof her. Besides, I wanted to.
Gratitude and consternation, a most becoming mixture, were in her eyes.She drew back a little.
"Oh, thank you, but that's impossible," she said uncertainly. "I havefriends, too; but they can't help me. Nobody can."
"Well," I admitted sadly, "I know the rudiments of manners. I canrecognize a conge, but consider me a persistent boor. Come, MissFalconer, why mayn't I call? Because we are strangers? If that's it, youcan assure yourself at the embassy that I am perfectly respectable; andyou see I don't eat with my knife or tuck my napkin under my chin orspill my soup."
Again that warm flush.
"Mr. Bayne!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Did I need an introduction tospeak to you on the ship, to ask unreasonable favors of you, to makepeople think you a spy? If you are going to imagine such absurd things,I shall have to--"
"To consent? I hoped you might see it that way."
"Of course," she pondered aloud, "I may find good news waiting. If I do,it will change everything. I could see you once, at least, and let youknow. I really owe you that, I think, when you've been so kind to me."
"Yes," I agreed bitterly, with a pang of conscience, "I've been verykind--particularly to-night!"
"Well, perhaps to-night you were just a little difficult." She wassmiling, but I didn't mind; I rather liked her mockery now. "Still, evenwhen you thought the worst of me, Mr. Bayne, you kept my secret. And--doyou really wish to come to see me?"
"I most emphatically do."
She drew a card from her beaded bag, rummaged vainly for a pencil, endedby accepting mine, and scribbled a brief address.
"Then," she commanded, handing me the bit of pasteboard, "come to thisnumber at noon to-morrow and ask for me. And now, since I'm not to go toprison, Mr. Bayne, I believe I am hungry. This is war bread, I suppose;but it tastes delicious. And isn't the saltless butter nice?"
"And here are the chicken and the salad arriving!" I exclaimedhopefully. "And there never was a French cook yet, however unspeakableotherwise, who failed at those."
What had come to pass I could not have told; but we were eatingcelestial viands, and my black butterflies having fled away, a swarm oftheir gorgeous-tinted kindred were fluttering radiantly over Miss EsmeFalconer's plate and mine.
The Firefly of France Page 10