CHAPTER IX
Spadoni, after greeting Novoa in the Casino square, told him about thedreams which were troubling his sleep, and about his disillusionment onawakening.
"It is your fault, professor. When we were living together at VillaSirena, I used to listen to the interesting things you knew and talkedabout and then I would go peacefully to sleep. Now I am practicallyalone. The Prince and Castro are unbearably ill-humored; they talkscarcely at all and pay no attention whatever to me. As you yourselfwould say, I lead an 'inner life,' always alone with my thoughts; andwhen I spend the night there, I sleep badly, and suffer from dreams,which are very wonderful in the beginning, but turn out very sad in theend. Oh, what wonderful evenings we used to spend, talking aboutscientific things!"
Novoa smiled. In the eyes of the musician, gambling and its mysterieswere scientific matters. All the paradoxes that he had taken delight inuttering had been stored up in the mind of the pianist as irrefutabletruths. Novoa tried to head him off by asking for news of the Prince.But Spadoni, absorbed in his mania, continued:
"Last night's dream was terrible, and nevertheless it could not havebegun better. I had the secret of your infinitesimal errors; I hadmastered the hidden laws of chance and was King of the world. I had aspecial train, composed of a sleeping car, a drawing-room car, a diningcar, a swimming-pool car, and goodness knows how many special kinds ofcars! It was a regular palace on wheels that was always awaiting me atthe railway station, with the engine constantly keeping up steam, readyto start at any moment. I got out of the train in all the cities famousfor gambling, just as a person gets out of an automobile. And seeing mecoming, the owners of the Casinos, the employees, and even the greentables fairly trembled. 'Hurrah for the Avenger!' all those who had losttheir money shouted in the anteroom. But I passed on, serene as a god,without paying any attention to these ovations from the common herd.Imagine what it would cost the possessor of the secret of theinfinitesimal errors to win! My twelve secretaries placed on the varioustables a million or two, following my instructions. 'Ready, play!' Iwalked about like Napoleon, giving orders to my marshals. In half anhour, they declared the bank was broken and the Casino bankrupt. 'Thehouse is closing its doors!' shouted the employees, just as in a churchwhen the services are over. And on coming out, the same starvingwretches who had greeted me with acclamations rushed on the guardsescorting me, with sudden hate, trying to kill me. The place where theirfortunes were buried was closed to them forever. Now they could notreturn the next day and lose more money with the vague hope of squaringaccounts. I had taken away all their hopes."
"Exactly," said Novoa.
"Also I had a yacht, which was larger than Prince Lubimoff's; somethingin the nature of a first-class cruiser. And I needed one that size, fora band of followers as large as mine. I had with me hordes ofsecretaries, a crowd of strong-arm men whose duty it was to defend meand my treasure, and a great number of blase people, who considered me avery interesting person, and followed me all over the globe, like thatmisanthropic fellow who followed a lion tamer from city to city, hopingthat the wild beasts might some day devour him. There was no longer asingle Casino functioning in Europe: the one at San Sebastian had beenturned into a convent; the one at Ostend was being used as a laboratoryfor experiments on oyster culture. In all the bathing resorts and allmedicinal springs, people became interested exclusively in taking careof their health; and when they wanted distraction, they went to thepromenades and played marbles and other children's games. In themeantime I went traveling through the Americas and the South Seas,breaking one bank after another, in all the big gambling houses. I wasfollowed by journalists who made up another army larger than my own. Thenewspapers and the cable and telegraph agencies announced my arrival inadvance, making a great stir. 'The invincible Spadoni is coming!' Andthe gaming establishments, feeling their end was near, tried to exploittheir death agony by selling seats at fabulous prices to every one whowanted to witness my triumph. In the United States a steel king, or aking of something or other, gave a hundred thousand dollars for a seat,in order to follow my irresistible playing close at hand. Never beforehad such a sum been paid to see the long hair of a concert singer or thediamonds of a soprano."
"And how about Monte Carlo?" asked Novoa, interested by the gambler'swild dreams.
"We are coming to that. I kept Monte Carlo to the end of my trip,thinking of the money that I had lost here. The fatter I let the victimgrow, the greater would be my vengeance. And such business as MonteCarlo was doing! Since there was no gambling left anywhere else in theworld, all the gamblers gathered here from every part of the globe. Thecity had grown, until it reached the summits of the Alps; the fortymillions that the Casino used to win in favorable years, had now becomefour thousand million. The stockholders were marrying persons of royalblood: two Balkan kings were declaring war, quarreling over the hand ofthe daughter of a fourth Vice-President of the company that was managingthe Casino. The equilibrium of Europe was imperiled: the great powerswere dreaming of annexing Monaco in the name of ancient historical andethnological rights, since they had all had and still had many people oftheir race living on that tiny piece of land. But suddenly theInvincible appeared."
Spadoni, as though still dreaming, looked at the Casino, the Square, theentrance to the terrace, and the curving slope of the avenue whichdescended to the harbor. He could see it all, perhaps no differentlythan he had seen it in his imagination.
"What a crowd there was! For six months previously the whole world hadtalked of nothing else. 'Are you going to see the fun?' 'Aren't yougoing?' Cook's Agency had announced in every country of the globe aninexpensive trip 'personally conducted' to witness this world event. TheParis-Lyon-Mediterranean was giving round trip tickets at reducedprices, and all Paris was on hand. The owners of hotels and restaurants,out of gratitude, were placing my portrait in the most conspicuous partof the dining rooms, which were always filled. The newspapers publishedmy biography, and in mentioning my wealth were obliged to break theircolumns, placing a line of zeros clear across the page, and even thenthere was not sufficient space. I forgot to tell you that I found myselfobliged to establish a bank, just to take care of my treasures. Andwhenever the Bank of London or the Bank of France were pressed formoney, they sent me a polite note, asking me to get them out of theirdifficulty."
Novoa laughed at the naive way in which the pianist related hisgreatness. He still seemed obsessed by his dream.
"My yacht was obliged to anchor outside the harbor among other ships.There were many trans-Atlantic liners there: four from the UnitedStates, one from Japan, another from South America, and a few fromAustralia and New Zealand, all filled with travelers who had come fromthe other hemisphere to see Spadoni. After greeting Monaco with atwenty-one-gun salute, I sprang ashore amid the hurrahs of the foreignsailors. You easily understand that a man like myself could not arriveat the Casino seated in a mere automobile. Who hasn't an automobilenow-a-days! On the dock there was waiting for me a single seatedcarriage which I was to drive myself, but a carriage with gilded wheels,drawn by six women, six beautiful women, all of them celebrated, whosepictures figured not only in the principal illustrated papers, but alsoon perfumery bottles and cigar boxes."
The Professor was extremely amused. He noticed the satisfaction withwhich the pianist dwelt on this detail of his triumphal entry. Thedegradation of these six elegant and famous women seemed to flatter hiswoman-hating propensities. He spoke with a coolly revengeful look, asthough witnessing the abject humiliation of his greatest and deadliestenemy.
"It was merely a matter of paying the price: and I was not going tobargain over a million more or less. The one thing that annoyed me washaving to choose among several thousand beauties who were clamoring tobe selected. I was obliged to risk offending many big theater managers,business men, and statesmen, by rejecting the many ladies whom theyrecommended to me. A monarch even withdrew the title of Duke which hehad just given me, because I had refused his favorite 'friend.' All sixwore the
latest frocks designed in the _Rue de la Paix_. The reporters,cameras in hand, were taking snap shots of the gowns which were to setthe latest style. Besides, their harness was covered with pearls,diamonds, and every sort of precious stone, and they were careful not toinjure them, knowing that at the end of their trot they would be able tokeep the gems as souvenirs. I had a large whip to use on occasion: awhip of flowers, to be sure. One must always be chivalrous with ladies."
He smiled ironically. Once more Novoa noted his look of rancorousmisogyny.
"But inside, the whip was made of sharp steel; and lashing my sixhandsome steeds, we started out. What a long time it took to climb theslope making our way through the crowd! The foreigners greeted me withacclamations. The sounds of the clicking cameras blended into an endlessbuzzing. Every one wanted to carry away the image of the king of theworld. I could pick out the natives of the city by their sad faces. Themen were imploring me with their glances, like miserable captives; thewomen held up their children; the old men fell on their knees. I was theconqueror who, in ruining the Casino, was utterly destroying their homeland, condemning them to poverty and hardship. The square was black withpeople. On getting out of my vehicle, I saw that the steps of the Casinowere filled with a great delegation. First of all, was Monsieur Blanc;next, his general staff of advisors, the principal stockholders, theinspectors, and the entire body of _croupiers_, all dressed in black,with long alpaca coats of a funereal cut. In the background were wellknown people, whose presence there might move me. In order to recall tomy mind the fact that I had been a mere pianist, they had waiting for methere, baton in hand, directors of concerts and operas, orchestrasoloists with their instruments; singers--the men with swords at theirbelts, the women with long trains, and all of them painted and bewigged;girls from the ballet, with pale pink legs and masses of tulle standingout horizontally from their waists. Instructed in advance, they were allready to groan.
"'One word with you, Signor Spadoni.'
"It was Monsieur Blanc who took me aside, and handed me a small paper.
"'Take this and don't go in.'
"I looked at the paper: a check for a million. Humph! What can a man dowith a million? And on noticing that I was crumpling it, and throwing iton the ground, the master of the Casino gave me another paper.
"'Make it five then, and go away.'
"Since this did not move me either, he kept on taking checks from allhis pockets: ten million, fifteen, forty....
"My twelve counselors came forward with huge purses filled with banknotes; my escort cleared the way among the imploring crowd on thestairway; my horses were getting impatient, because certain connoisseurshad availed themselves of the crowding to take liberties with them.
"'One more word, Signor Spadoni: the last. We will cause a revolution,we will dethrone Albert, and give the crown of Monaco to you. If youlike, you might marry the daughter of an Emperor: with money you can doanything. We have it and so have you....'
"'I have told you no! What I want is to get into that Casino, bust thewhole business, and take away the keys.'
"This threat tore from him the supreme concession.
"'You shall be my partner; I will give you fifty per cent of thewinnings. Don't you want to? Well then, seventy-five.'
"On seeing that I continued to advance up the stairway withoutlistening to him, he raised a whistle to his lips. On his face was alook of a Samson, clutching the columns of the Temple. He would ratherdie than see his house bankrupt! A terrible explosion resounded, asthough the world were being rent apart. They had mined with all thehigh-power explosives of the war, the Casino, the square, and the wholecity. I was blown off my feet and driven, dazed, up into the clouds, butI was still able to see how Monte Carlo was disappearing, and even thedock of Monaco, as the sea in one enormous wave, was sweeping over thesite of the vanished land. And when I came down to earth again...."
"You woke up," said Novoa.
"Yes, I woke up, and on the floor beside my bed; and I could hearCastro's voice in the corridor calling me names for having spoiled hissleep by my cries. Don't laugh, Professor. It is very sad to dream ofsuch grandeur, as though you had had it in hand, and then to findyourself as poor as yesterday, as poor as ever, and besides with badluck still clinging to you."
This mention of poverty and bad luck by Spadoni caused Novoa to protest.People still recalled his amazing fortune as the banker in the SportingClub. That had been an epoch-making night. Besides, he knew throughValeria that the Duchess had made him a handsome present.
"Wonderful Duchess!" the pianist said enthusiastically, "Always a greatlady. Poor woman, in the midst of her despair she remembered me. 'Takethis, Spadoni, and I hope you have lots of luck.' She gave me twentythousand francs. If I were to ask her for a hundred thousand she wouldgive them to me just the same. And to think she is so unfortunate!"
As the Professor still looked at him questioningly, he continued:
"Well, then; of the twenty thousand francs I haven't even a hundredleft."
The same evening he had hurried to the Sporting Club to repeat his greatdeeds. He had never happened to have so much capital before, not evenwhen he returned from his concert tour in South America. The terribleGreek was there, and in spite of the admiration Spadoni paid HisEminence, the Helene treated the musician with implacable hostility."Bank!" said the Greek on seeing the pianist in the banker's chair, withfifteen thousand! With what remained the musician had struggled alongfor a few days as a mere bettor, and now the Duchess' generous gift wasmerely a memory.
"If she would only return to work! I am sure that I would be once morethe man I was that night, with her behind me. But who would dare talk toher about gambling."
They both lamented Alicia's misfortune. Since the day the telegramarrived telling of the death of her protege, she had been a differentwoman. Spadoni attributed her overwhelming grief over a young soldierwho did not belong to her family to her excessively kind heart. TheProfessor assented, with an enigmatic air. In her sudden burst of grief,Alicia had doubtless let a portion of her secret escape in the presenceof Valeria, and the latter probably had told Novoa about it.
Then they talked about the isolation in which the Duchess was living.
"It has been a month since any one has seen her," said Spadoni. "Peopleare beginning to forget about her; a good many people think she has goneaway. That's the way Monte Carlo is: quite tiny for those who go to theCasino, and rub elbows all day long; enormous, like a great metropolis,for those who do not come near the gambling rooms. The Prince frequentlyasks me about her with a great deal of interest. It seems he has notbeen able to see her since the afternoon of the telegram."
Novoa repeated his enigmatic look on hearing Lubimoff's name. He knewthrough Valeria that Michael had gone repeatedly to Villa Rosa, withoutbeing admitted. And more than that; the Duchess had shuddered in terrorat the thought of his visit. "I don't want to see him, Valeria; tell himI am not in." Colonel Toledo had suffered the same fate; obliged to handhis card, sometimes to the Duchess' friend and at other times to thegardener. Several letters from the Prince had remained unanswered.Alicia showed a firm determination not to see her relative, as thoughhis presence might quicken the grief that was keeping her away fromsociety.
Spadoni, unaware of all this, continued to praise the Duchess.
"A noble heart! She always has to have some unfortunate person around tolook after. Since the death of her aviator, she seems to be feeling adeep affection for that Lieutenant of the Foreign Legion, the Spaniardwho is so ill, and who may die almost any moment, like the other man. Hespends whole days at Villa Rosa; he lunches and dines there; and if theDuchess takes a walk in the mountains, it is always with him. He doeseverything but sleep at the Villa! When he doesn't show up for sometime, she immediately sends a messenger to the Officers' Hotel."
The Professor remained silent, but knew that Spadoni was telling thetruth. It agreed with what Valeria had been telling. Martinez wasconstantly at Villa Rosa, often against his will. The
Duchess needed hispresence, but nevertheless on seeing him, she would burst into sobs andtears. But the poor boy, with a submission born of awe, accompanied herin her voluntary seclusion, deeply thankful that such a great ladyshould take an interest in him.
"Dona Clorinda must be furious," continued the pianist, with malignantjoy such as rivalry among women always aroused in him. "She no longerhas any influence over Martinez, in spite of the fact that she was theone who discovered him. The other woman has cut her out. Weeks go by andthe 'General' doesn't get a chance to see her Lieutenant; I believe shehas given him up, as a matter of fact. She criticizes her former friendfor this monopolizing, which she considers 'dangerous.' They even tellme that she accuses the Duchess of flirting with the poor boy, ofarousing false hopes in him, and of still worse things. Quite absurd!Women are terrible when they hate. Imagine! A poor officer--practicallya dead man...."
Novoa said nothing, so that the pianist would stop talking. He wasafraid Spadoni might say some awful thing, repeating Dona Clorinda'sgossip, with the rancorous joy of a woman-hater. Novoa, through hisrelations with Valeria, considered himself a partisan of the Duchess,and could not tolerate anything being said against her.
They separated after a few minutes more of inconsequential talk.
That evening Spadoni spoke to the Prince about his conversation with theProfessor, and it gave him a pretext for repeating what Dona Clorindathought of her former friend. But immediately the pianist repented ofhaving done this, seeing the look of wrath which Lubimoff gave him.
"What a cad," thought Michael, "peddling around a lot of female gossip,just because he has a grouch against women in general."
He understood how Alicia might feel interested in the soldier. His youthand his uniform reminded her of her son. Besides, Martinez was alone inthe world, a foreigner, a piece of wreckage from the war, a man whomevery one considered irrevocably condemned to death.
Yet Michael could not avoid an immediate feeling of jealousy toward thepoor young fellow who was friendless and ill. Martinez was livingconstantly by Alicia's side, while he himself was unable to gainadmittance to the Villa, even as a mere visitor. Why?
He had spent several weeks making conjectures, and watching for a chanceto meet Alicia. Since the afternoon when he had held her in his arms,drying her tears and restraining her from hurting herself, as shewrithed in grief, and kissing her on the brow, with brotherlycompassion, the gate of Villa Rosa had closed behind him forever. "Cometo-morrow," groaned Alicia on saying good-by to him. And the followingday Valeria had halted him with the embarrassed look of a person tellinga lie. "The Duchess cannot receive you. The Duchess wants to be alone."And this inexplicable refusal had been repeated each successive day,with increasing sharpness. At present the gardener, who was the only onewho came to answer the bell, talked with him through the gate.
This rejection caused him to commit a great number of childish andhumiliating actions. He circled about the neighborhood of the Villa likea jealous husband, facing the curiosity of the passersby, and takingadvantage of the most absurd pretexts to disguise the real object of hisvigil, hurriedly concealing himself whenever the gate opened, and anyone left the house. This vigilance had only served to arouse his anger.Twice Michael had been obliged to hide himself while LieutenantMartinez, erect in the old uniform which the Prince had given him andwhich was rather a bad fit, steadied his weak sick body in a desire toappear proud and healthy, and entered Villa Rosa through the wide-opengate, as though he were the owner.
One afternoon he had seen them from a distance, the Lieutenant andAlicia, in a hired carriage, which was going in the other direction, onthe opposite side of the street, toward the Heights of La Turbie. Shewas looking after the wounded man, taking him, in maternal solicitude,to a spot where he could breathe the upland air. And the Prince mightjust as well have not existed!
In vain he wrote her letters, and his torment was even greater owing tothe fact that he could not talk openly with his friends. The Colonel,obedient to his veiled suggestions, had unavailingly paid several callson the Duchess.
"What unexplainable grief!" said Don Marcos. "It is impossible tounderstand such despair over a young aviator who was merely a protege ofhers. Unless, perhaps, he were her...." But his sense of delicacy wouldnot allow him to insist on such an ignoble suspicion.
Nor could the Prince talk with Atilio. In the latter's eyes, theprisoner who had died in Germany was the same young man he had known inParis before the war: the Duchess' lover, who followed her everywhereand danced with her at the Tango teas. Besides, Michael felt afraid ofwhat Castro might add, reflecting the "General's" way of thinking.
The latter, at first, on learning of Alicia's despair, had felt likeforgetting the quarrels of the past, and had gone of her own accord toVilla Rosa to console the Duchess. Since the "General" was verypatriotic, the boy who had died in Germany seemed to her a hero. But thesudden monopolizing of the Spanish Lieutenant, and the passionatesympathy which obliged Martinez to spend all day with the Duchess,renewed Dona Clorinda's cool hostility.
The Prince guessed what she and her friend were thinking, and whatCastro might tell if he dared talk to him about Alicia. "She has justlost a lover, and while she is weeping with theatrical vehemence, she isgetting ready for another, as young as the first. A crime indeed, sincepoor Martinez is condemned to death, and only prolongs his days, thanksto absolute quiet. The slightest emotion means death to him."
Lubimoff could not tell the truth. His secret was Alicia's. Only theytwo knew the true identity of the prisoner who had died in Germany, andas long as she kept silent, he must do the same.
One night, the Colonel gave him some interesting news. At nightfall,when he was returning from the Casino, he had seen the Duchess deDelille from the street car. Dressed in mourning she was getting out ofa hired carriage, in the Boulevard des Moulins, opposite the church ofSt. Charles. Later she had ascended the steps leading to the place ofworship: she was doubtless going to pray for her protege. And Don Marcossaid this with a certain emotion, as though the visit to the churchcancelled all the gossip he had been hearing in the previous few days.
Michael had a presentiment that this would be the means of rescuing himfrom his incertitude. He would meet Alicia at the church. And thefollowing day, toward evening, he began to walk up and down theBoulevard des Moulins, without losing sight of the one church in MonteCarlo, the place of worship of gamblers and wealthy people, which seemedto maintain a certain rivalry with the Cathedral of silent, ancientMonaco.
This continual going and coming finally caught the attention of theshopkeepers on the street and of their clerks, girls with hair dressedhigh on their heads in a complicated fashion, who seemed to be dreamingbehind the counters, waiting for some millionaire to lift them fromtheir position of unjust obscurity. "Prince Lubimoff!" They all knewhim, and his fame was such that immediately a hundred eyes curiouslysought the object of his promenading. Doubtless it was a woman. On thedeserted balconies women's heads began to appear, following hismaneuvers more or less overtly. Window shades went up, revealing behindthe panes questioning eyes and smiling lips. "Might it be for me?" Thisunexpressed question seemed to spread from one window to the next.
Annoyed by such curiosity, he ascended the double row of steps from thetiny deserted square in front of the church, using the same strategythere as when he had lurked in the neighborhood of Villa Rosa. He peepedinto the interior of the sanctuary, dotted with red by a number oflighted tapers. There were only two women, within, both of them dressedin mourning and kneeling. They were women of lowly fortune, wives ormothers of men killed in the war. On returning to the little square, hepassed the time reading and re-reading the headlines of all the papersdisplayed on the newsstand. Then he started off down a street, turnedinto another, walked across the square with an air of unconcern, and hidbehind a corner, taking care not to lose sight of the entrance to thechurch. It was not bad waiting there: there were no passersby. Thetraffic on the nearby boulevard was invisible, as
though going on in thedepths of a ditch. Through the low branches of some trees, he could justsee the roofs of carriages and street cars.
Night fell and she did not come.
The following day Michael returned, but discreetly, so as not to arousethe curiosity of the shopkeepers. He remained for long hours in thelittle square in that old part of the city, with none to watch him savea melancholy old woman who sold newspapers at a stand that had nocustomers. Nor did Alicia come this time.
The third day, when he was beginning to doubt whether there was any useof waiting, Alicia's head and shoulders suddenly appeared above the lineof the top step. Then her whole body emerged, by waves, so to speak, asher feet advanced from step to step. Night was falling. On the facadesof the buildings on the boulevard, above the green mass of the trees,the fugitive sun drew a golden brush stroke along the rows of roofs.
It was his heart that recognized her even before his eyes, just as onthe day when he had seen her at a distance in the carriage accompaniedby the officer. He had a feeling of shock at her black bonnet, with along mourning veil falling on her shoulders. The emotion he felt onseeing her and the spying habit he had recently acquired, caused him todraw back, and she entered the church without seeing him. Ah, now he hadher! This time she could not escape, he would have a great many thingsto tell her, very, very many! But at the same time he became rancorouslyconscious of the just indictment against her which he had prepared inadvance; and, in spite of himself, he felt afraid, desperately afraid ofthe possibility that she might meet him with a curt reply, or perhapsnot speak to him at all.
He allowed a long time to elapse. Then he was torn by the desire ofseeing her again, even from a distance, and he entered the church, butcautiously, trying to avoid a premature encounter.
He advanced between a double row of deserted benches. There in thebackground were the same women who had been there the other day, stillkneeling, as though their grief were unconscious of the lapse of time.In the darkness the pale gold of the altar pieces became graduallydistinguishable, and two masses of color, two clusters of flags--thoseof the Allied countries, which adorned the high altar. On seeing the twopraying figures alone in the church, and in motionless silence, hethought that Alicia must have fled through an exit of which he wasunaware. But she appeared from a door on the side, followed by anacolyte who was carrying two tapers. Alicia seemed to be watching howthe tapers were lighted and placed in their sockets in front of theVirgin. Then she knelt, remaining in a rigid posture on her knees.
Some time went by. And Michael watched her, as she became, like the twopoor women, a mere shape in black, motionless in prayer andsupplication. The only distinguishing features of her person that hecould make out, were the soles of her elegant shoes, two tinylight-colored tongues, which stood out against the black silk of herskirt. He could also see her white neck writhing from time to time, asthough trying to throw off the twining veil of sorrow.
He felt that the rancor which had caused him to desire this meeting wasvanishing. Poor woman! He knew, and no one else knew, the identity ofthe young man whose death she had come to mourn in this temple. Apicture of the Princess Lubimoff suddenly arose in his memory, vague andcovered with the dust of oblivion. The Princess had been insane; but shewas his mother, and he had loved her so dearly!
Immediately afterward his egotism revolted against this feeling. It wasnatural for Alicia to weep for her son, but it was not natural that sheshould have broken with him without any explanation whatsoever.
Mechanically he advanced toward the high altar, desiring to see hercloser at hand. A slight movement as she prayed caused him to retracehis steps. It was better that she should not recognize him. Heconsidered it preferable to wait for her outside the church, with theadvantage of taking her by surprise, without allowing her time to inventexcuses to justify her conduct.
It was beginning to grow late, when Alicia came out, running straightinto Michael Fedor who was blocking her path.
Not the slightest quiver revealed any feeling of surprise.
"You!" she said simply.
She was very pale, and her eyes were red and moist, as though she hadjust been weeping.
Perhaps she had seen him within the church, and was expecting thismeeting on coming out. The natural manner in which she greeted hispresence was for him a just disappointment.
He felt he must speak at once, relieving himself of the burden ofcomplaint and accusation, which had been gathering within him during thepreceding days. There were so many, that they clouded his thoughts. ButAlicia, as though afraid of what he was going to say, came forward andbegan to talk in sad, monotonous tones.
She had been coming to this church several afternoons as she suddenlyfelt the need of leaving Villa Rosa with its terrible memories. Oh, thearrival of that telegram!
"Now I am a believer," she announced simply.
Immediately afterward she corrected the statement, rather throughhumility than pride. She wanted to be a believer, but in reality she wasnot. She remembered the mother, poor, simple-minded Dona Mercedes! Whatwould she not give to have the confidence in the Great Beyond which thatgood lady had had! That faith, which in former days had provoked herlaughter, seemed to her now like something superior. What a pity shecould not feel the resignation of humble souls! The irreligiousness ofher happy days still remained with her. Those who enjoy the pleasantthings of life do not remember death, nor do they think of what may bebeyond. No one feels religious sentiments in his soul at a dance, at abanquet, or at a rendezvous with a lover! She had to believe, becauseshe was unhappy! She clung to religion as an invalid condemned to deathby the doctors in whom he believes, implores in despair the services ofa quack, in whom he has no faith.
"Grief makes mystics of us," she continued. "What I regret is not beingable to be one in the way that others are. I pray, but resignation doesnot come to my aid."
She revolted against the thought of annihilation at death. That flesh ofher flesh was rotting in an unknown cemetery in Germany! And was thatthe end? Could it be there was nothing more? Would she die in turn andnever meet again in a superior existence the son in whom she hadconcentrated all her love of life? Would they both be blotted out ofreality, like two infinitesimal points, like two atoms, whose life meansnothing?
"I must believe," she said with all the energy of her maternal egotism."My one consolation lies in the hope that we shall meet again in abetter world: a world that knows no wars, nor death. But suddenly myconfidence fails, and all I see is annihilation--annihilation! I amgreatly to be pitied, Michael."
These words did not move the Prince, in spite of the despair whichAlicia put into them. His amorous yearning let him think only of thepresent.
"And I," he said in a reproachful tone. "You deserted me in the greatestmoment of our lives! You are unhappy; all the more reason that youshould not drive me from you. I can put cheer into your life. I canguess what you are thinking. No, no, I do not insist on talking to youof love. Perhaps later on, but now!... Now, I want to be your comrade,your brother, whatever you want me to be, but at your side. Why do youavoid me? Why do you shut your door to me as you would to a stranger?"
And incoherently he continued his laments, his protests, his rancor, ather unexplainable estrangement.
"Am I to blame for your misfortune?" he finally asked. "Am I a differentman to-day than I was the last time we saw each other?"
She shook her head sadly. She could not convince Michael no matter howmuch she might talk; it was beyond her strength to explain her newfeelings. She seemed dismayed at the obstacle which had arisen betweenthem.
"Leave me, forget me; it is the best that you can do. No; you haven'tchanged, my poor boy. What harm could you have done me, you who are sokind, so generous? You have helped me to learn the horrible truth; itwas through you that I discovered it; and although it is killing me, Ifeel that it is preferable to uncertainty. You are not to blame, youhave done all that I asked you to do. But listen to me, I beg of you: donot seek me, avoid meeti
ng me, leave me! It is the last favor I ask ofyou. It is only away from you that I can find a certain peace of mind."
Michael's voice lost its tones of supplication and began to quiver witha vibration of anger. How could he be an obstacle to her tranquillity?Hadn't he just said that he wanted to be a comrade in her misfortune,without desires, oblivious of love, with a sweet dispassionateaffection, like that of friendship? Now that she was unhappy he feltmore vehemently a desire to be by her side. What absurd caprice made heravoid him?
Alicia looked at him with tearful eyes, which reflected the hesitationsof her thoughts. Finally she seemed to have made up her mind.
"You haven't changed," she said, in a subdued voice, "but I amdifferent. Misfortune has made another woman of me. I do not recognizemyself. I am dominated by a fixed idea. An absurd one it may well be; ifI tell it to you, I know that you will protest with holy indignation.No; you are not to blame; but it is better for me not to see you. Yourpresence increases my remorse. Seeing you, I feel extraordinary shame, adesire to die, to kill myself. I have a feeling of suspicion that it wasI who killed my son. I remember all that took place between us; and Irecognize God's punishment."
Lubimoff's anger vanished at these inexplicable words. Automatically hetook her hands with caressing gentleness, as though they were those of apoor sick patient at the height of delirious ravings. She should becalm! What was she saying? What remorse was she talking about? Hergloved hands, in passive resignation offered no resistance to his touch;but suddenly they woke to life, violently freeing themselves from thoseof Michael, as though they had just received a hard shock. "No! No!" Andthe Prince had a sort of feeling that there was a current of repulsionbetween them, something that he had never experienced until then: thefear of his person.
He remained so disconcerted and humiliated by this movement ofwithdrawal, that he did not know what to say. She took advantage of hissilence to go on talking, but as though she did not see the man who wasstanding before her eyes.
"When I remember all that ... what a shame! My son, my poor boy, livinglike a slave, suffering from hunger, being whipped, he, who was so nobleand so handsome ... and his mother here acting like a young girl, goinginto ecstasies over ideal love, taking poetic promenades through thegardens, exchanging kisses. An old woman's romantic fancies. Thegambling follies might even be pardoned. I thought of him as I played;the money was for him; but love!... it seems impossible that I couldhave done all that while my son was a prisoner and I was getting no newsfrom him. What diabolical spell was upon me? And God has punished me;and if not God, whoever or whatever it may be; fate, a mysterious powerwhich makes us expiate our shortcomings, call it anything you like."
Michael attempted to protest, but she went on talking:
"I know what you are going to tell me; but it won't do any good. Allthat you might say I have said to myself again and again, to convincemyself that my belief is absurd. And what would that prove? All that weare not acquainted with is absurd, and we know so little! No; my remorsecan never be overcome. No matter what you may say will not keep me fromspending my sleepless nights puzzling things out, and thinking ofcertain dates in my recent life. When I began to be interested in you,my son was still alive, and I forgot him. When we were walking throughthe gardens of San Martino, he was perhaps suffering the agonies ofhunger, and martyrdom, and I like the heroine in a novel, like a crazyschoolgirl, was kissing you, and making you promises! Besides, thearrival of the telegram the same afternoon that you were going to come,seemed like something definitive in my life! Don't you see theintervention of a superior power, the punishment for my badness?"
The Prince tried to speak again, but in vain.
"That is why I am avoiding you; that is why I have not replied to yourletters. You are not to blame; but you mean remorse to me, and yourpresence recalls my crime. Besides, I know myself; I am only a poor,weak woman, the very personification of thoughtlessness, and neglect. IfI were to accept you as a comrade in grief, since I am not indifferentto you, perhaps I might give in to what you want. And that would behorrible, still more horrible even than what has gone before; one ofthose offenses which people maddened by passion commit against naturallaws. Don't try to see me; I don't want to see you. If I had been a truemother, thinking only of him ... who knows!... Perhaps he would still bealive. But some one was bent on punishing me for my unnatural conduct,and that some one killed him, so that I might awaken, at the very momentwhen in my shameful love, I felt myself happiest."
Michael no longer cared to say anything. He looked at this woman withpity and dismay in his eyes. He recalled the Princess Lubimoff with herextravagant beliefs in the mysterious; and of Alicia's own mother, withher religious manias. Whatever he might try to say would be useless.That absurd and sorrowing conviction of hers had opened a gap betweenthem like a gulf that could be bridged over only by time.
The silence of the Prince caused her to lose the nervous exaltation thathad made her express herself with such fervor.
"Leave me now," she murmured gently. "What could I do for you? I am onlya woman now; I am an old woman, centuries old, as old as sorrow itself.You need a sweetheart, and I am simply a bad mother, a mother tormentedwith remorse."
Her renunciation of the past, and the feeling that she was only adespairing mother caused her voice to break with a groan, and at thesame time her eyes filled with tears. With a timid hand Michael drewaway the handkerchief that she had raised to her face to hide herweeping. He murmured incoherent phrases, with the intention of consolingher; but immediately he was mastered once more by anger.
"If you really were alone," he said in bitter tones, "I could wait, andperhaps time would silence the after scruples that torment you. But yourloneliness is a lie. A man enters your house at all hours as though itwere his own, while I must go away, so that, as you say, you may recoveryour tranquillity."
With a feminine instinct, Alicia had hastened to raise the handkerchiefto her face again, on feeling herself free from Michael's hand. She feltshe must be ugly with her watery eyes, her pale lips, and her nose redwith weeping. But the words of the Prince gave her such a shock ofsurprise, such a desire to refute the offensive supposition, that shetook the wrinkled batiste from her face.
"You are referring to Martinez? Poor boy!"
He was giving up the gay society of his comrades, their promenades incompany, and even the parties to which the convalescent officers wereinvited, to come and be bored at Villa Rosa beside a woman who could donothing but weep. When she wanted to come to church she had to obligehim to go for an hour or two to join his comrades-in-arms in theante-room at the Casino. The visits of the invalided soldier meant somuch to her. They were pure charity on his part.
"I dream that he is my son. His age and his uniform aid in thisillusion. You have never had any children; it is impossible for you toknow the necessity we feel, when we have lost them, to transfer ourbereaved affection to other beings, imagining that they look like thosewho are gone. I need to go on being a mother, nor can I be anythingelse; and this unhappy boy never knew his own mother. He has no one inthe world, and is as much alone as I am. Please, let me enjoy a littleillusion wherever I can find it. The poor fellow is so grateful for myaffection! He feels so happy beside me! Remember: he is condemned todeath, and only maternal care, and pleasant quiet surroundings, canpossibly prolong his days."
She wanted to accomplish this task, perhaps for a selfish reason, toobliterate from her memory, with a great generous deed, all the evil shehad done before. She wanted him to be her son, a son born of her grief,to whom she might devote everything that it was now impossible for herto do for her real son.
Now, Michael, too, was silent, realizing the uselessness of insistingany further. He knew Alicia's character. Behind her plaintive voice, heguessed the resolute will to keep by her side that young man whorefreshed her maternal feelings and was at the same time a means ofconsolation for the remorse which she had taken upon herself.
The consideration of his powerlessn
ess finally irritated him, made himfeel a cruel desire to hurt that woman.
"You are doing wrong, Alicia. Society is unaware of your secret. Youknow what people said before about you and your son. You laughed,yourself, finding such a mistake amusing. Now the equivocation continueswith more reason. Many people imagine you have substituted another youngman for the young man that died."
Alicia lost her sad serenity.
"How disgusting!" she said. "How can they think that. Poor Martinez! Heis so good! So respectful!"
Then she continued arrogantly:
"Let them say what they like! I want to forget society; let societyforget me. I am dead as far as people are concerned."
But Michael in his spite still dwelt on the subject.
"The other man was your son, and I knew he was. This man is not, and Iknow the power of seduction that you exercise, even against your will.Remember 'the old men on the wall.'"
Wherever she went, men's glances would cling to her rhythmic body; andthat young man, that queer fellow, would finally....
He was unable to continue.
"You, too!" she exclaimed. "Good-by, don't come after me. I shall alwaysthink of you; but it is better for us not to see each other. Don't bearme a grudge. Perhaps some day!..." And she resolutely turned her back onhim, and descended the steps toward the boulevard.
The Prince remained motionless for a few minutes. Then he advancedtoward the top step, but all he could see was a carriage with the hoodraised, and two horses starting to trot away.
And the meeting with Alicia he had so ardently desired had come to this!The feeling of spite caused him to judge himself harshly; he hadn'tknown how to talk. Later he recalled all his reasoning and hisaccusations, and felt amazed at the slight effect they had had on her.Yes, indeed, she was a different woman. Some one had changed her; someone was to blame for this absurd situation.
He spent a great part of that night reflecting. It did not occur to himto blame Alicia. He even repented of his angry words. Unhappy woman! Herextreme over-sensitiveness was causing her to find reason for shame andremorse in all that she had ever done.
"Besides, women," he continued to himself, "at the least nervous shocklose their logical faculty first of all."
He felt a need of concentrating all his anger on some one besides her;and Michael, never imagining that he himself had lost his logicalfaculty, put the responsibility for everything on Martinez. The latterwas the one person to blame. If he had not come between them, Alicia, onfinding herself alone in misfortune, would have sought once more thesupport of the Prince. What a gift the "General" had made them,presenting this adventurer!
His reason vainly argued that it was not the officer who was seekingAlicia, but the latter who was keeping him in her home, cutting him offfrom his old friendships. Lubimoff was not willing to give up his spite.It was Martinez and no one else who had come between them.
Up to that time he had not paid much attention to the boy whom Toledocalled the "hero." There were so many heroes at that moment! In hishatred he began to strip him of the prestige given him by his deeds andhis misfortune, Michael saw him without his uniform, without his warcrosses and his wounds, such as he must have been before the war; a pooremployee, a business clerk, whose dreams of love had never gone beyond amilliner or a stenographer. And this was the interesting personage whohad the temerity to face him! Prince Michael Fedor Lubimoff. Whatintolerable times!
The following day he walked about his garden all morning, resolved neverto return to Monte Carlo. He was filled with scorn at the thought of thetenderness with which Alicia had spoken of her protege. It was betterthat he should not encounter him. But in the afternoon the loneliness ofhis beautiful Villa weighed on him. It seemed deserted. Atilio, thepianist, and even the Colonel were all at the Casino. He, too, decidedto go, to mingle with the crowd which was dividing its attentionbetween the hazards of war and the hazards of chance.
In the anteroom he walked toward the groups who were gathered around thebulletin board reading the latest telegrams. The crowd considered thenews good, since it was not extremely bad as on the preceding days. TheAllies had stopped the enemy's advance, holding them at a standstill onthe ground they had just conquered. The bombardment of Paris with longrange guns was still continuing. And that was all.
There was a man making comments in a loud voice. It was Toledo, who, aswas his custom every afternoon, was giving a lecture on strategy to asemi-circle of admirers. With his back to the Prince, he was spouting astream of clear optimism, with a simple faith that misfortune andreverses could not move.
"Now they have nailed them in their tracks: they won't advance anyfarther. In a short time will be the counter-attack. I am sure of it; itis clear as daylight to me."
Don Marcos rubbed his hands, and slyly winked one eye.
"And the Americans are coming and coming. There are days when as many asten thousand of them are landed here. A wonderful people! I have alwayssaid so! That fellow Wilson is a great man. I know him well."
They all listened with delight to this voice of hope that refreshedtheir hearts before they gave themselves up to the strain and stress ofroulette and _trente et quarante_. He talked with the authority of a manwho has influential connections, and is informed of everything. "He knewWilson," he had just said so himself. Besides, he was aColonel--although none of them knew in what army--an expert, capable ofexpressing an unfounded opinion. And many of them lost no time inhastening to the gambling rooms to repeat his views, as though they hadjust received some inside information.
The Prince withdrew, afraid that his presence might put an end to thatprofessional triumph of Toledo, which was repeated every day.
As he walked about the anteroom before entering the gaming halls, he sawbeside a column, a group of French officers, all of whom wereconvalescents. Denied the permission to go any further, because of theiruniform, they were standing there, looking with a certain envy on thecivilians. A few of them were standing erect, without any visibleinfirmity, with the sharp features of an eagle, aquiline nose, boldeyes, and wild mustache. Others, with youthful faces, were bent overlike ailing men, leaning on canes, and wearing wrinkled uniforms muchtoo large for their sunken chests. Each time they decided to move theirlegs they made a long pause as though to muster every bit of their willpower available. Some of them had come to Monaco as incurables, after along captivity in Germany. The rest came from hospitals on the firingline. On the faces of all of them was an expression of joyousbewilderment at finding themselves in this corner of the earth, that waslike a Paradise, where people seemed to have forgotten the rest of theworld, and women's eyes followed them with enigmatic glances, halfamorous and half maternal!
One of the soldiers raised his hand to his cap to salute the Prince. Thelatter looked at the yellowish color of his _kepis_, then at his uniformwhich was of the same color, and at the multi-colored line ofdecorations. It was Martinez, the lieutenant in the Foreign Legion, whowas saluting him with a certain timidity, but pleased at the same timethat his comrades were seeing him on friendly terms with the famouspersonage, who was so much talked about on the Riviera.
Michael returned his greeting mechanically and went on. That momentremained fixed in his memory all his life. Age and the discretion thataccompanies it seemed to fall from him like dry bark from a tree inspringtime. He felt as though he were back in his youth. For a fewmoments he was the same Captain Lubimoff of the imperial Guards, who hadtrampled on obstacles and braved scandal when any one opposed his will.
He turned to look at the group of officers from a distance. That littleinsignificant Lieutenant, who looked like a bookkeeper, promoted bymobilization, was his enemy! It seemed as though he were seeing him forthe first time. Lost among his companions he appeared even moreinsignificant than when he visited Villa Sirena.
Michael remained motionless, with his glance fixed on the group. "Youare going to do something foolish," admonished a voice within him. Andthere passed through his memory the image of stern Sald
ana, kindly andtolerant with the weak, like every one who is sure of his strength. Herecalled one of his sayings which had never before crossed his mind: "Agentleman must be kind and never take unfair advantage of his strength."He was sure that his father had said that to him when he was a child.But immediately the duality of his inner being expressed itself throughanother voice which was stronger and more imperious, a woman's voicelike that of the other counselor of his youth: "Spend; don't denyyourself anything, put yourself above everybody; always remember thatyou are a Lubimoff." And he saw the dead Princess, not the Mary Stuartwith her theatrical mourning robes, but the dominating and stillbeautiful woman, the one who had overwhelmed her husband "the hero"with her rage, and turned the Paris residence upside down.
Suddenly he found himself near the group of officers, and again his eyesmet those of Martinez. The latter came toward him with a smile ofinterrogation. Michael realized that he had beckoned to the soldier,without being aware of what he was doing, through an impulse of willwhich seemed entirely detached from his reason.
"So much the worse! Let's get through with the business!"
With a certain haste, he took the young man toward the vestibule of theCasino as though anxious to avoid the presence of the groups who werefilling the anteroom.
"Lieutenant, I have something to say to you.... I must ... ask a favorof you."
He stammered, not knowing how to express the command which he himselffelt was absurd.
This vacillation, together with the trembling in his voice, finallyirritated him.
They stopped beside the glass door at the entrance. Martinez was nolonger smiling, as he gazed in amazement at the hard look and the pallorof the Prince.
"In a word," the latter said resolutely; "what I have to ask you is thatyou pay fewer visits at the house of the Duchess de Delille. If youshould refrain entirely from going to see her, it would be even better."And he paused, breathing with a certain freedom, after having expressedthis demand.
An expression of amazement gradually took possession of Martinez' face.He hesitated for a moment, with his eyes fixed on Lubimoff's. No, it wasnot a jest: the hostile look of this man who had always treated him withamiable indifference, the sharpness of his tone, and a certain tremblingof his right hand, indicated that he had expressed his real thoughts,and that behind these thoughts lay enormous depths of hatred againsthim.
His surprise caused him to talk with timidity. He visited the Duchessbecause the lady asked him to come and see her every day. He had oftenfelt his assiduity might prove to be a nuisance, but every attempt hehad made to break off his visits had been fruitless. He scarcely lefther for a few hours but the good lady had him sent for. She was as kindto him as a mother. Suddenly his humble tone vanished. His eyes guessedin those of the man who had stopped him something that he himself hadnever imagined. The Lieutenant seemed transfigured, as though rising tothe same level as the Prince. His eyes shone with the same wild splendoras the other man's; his body stiffened with the tension of a springabout to be released; his nostrils quivered nervously. The little clerk,with his timid bearing, recovered the air of gallant bravery of thefighting man. His voice sounded harsh, as he went on talking.
He would go wherever he was asked, wherever he felt like going, withoutrecognizing the right of any man to interfere in his actions. TheDuchess was the only one who could close her door to him. Why did thePrince interfere in that lady's affairs without consulting her first?
"I am related to her," said Michael, inwardly hesitating somewhat atmaking use of the relationship which he had often preferred to deny.
They both found themselves on the other side of the entry, on theplatform above the steps of the Casino, in the open air, opposite thegroves of the square and the groups of passersby who were walking aboutthe "Camembert." They were obliged to stand aside, in order not todisturb those who were entering and coming out.
"Besides," continued the Prince, "it is my duty to shield her fromgossip. I cannot permit that. Seeing you in there at all hours, theyshould suppose...."
He almost regretted these words on noticing the double effect that theyhad on the young man. First he became indignant. Had any one daredgossip about that great lady who had been such a saint in his eyes? Butthis protest was accompanied by a certain unconscious satisfaction, bychildish pride, as though he were flattered, in spite of everything thathis name should be connected in absurd conjecture with that of theDuchess. It seemed that Martinez had just been revealed to himself,giving substance and a name to the obscure sentiments that until then,in an embryonic stage, had pulsed unrecognized within him.
The jealous mind of the Prince guessed, with keen penetration,everything that the other man was thinking, and this added fuel to hiswrath. What impudence in this little clerk to take up Alicia's defense?What a conceited show he was making of his love for her!
"If any one takes the liberty of talking about the Duchess," said theLieutenant, "if anybody dares to gossip because she does me the honor ofreceiving me in her home--the greatest honor in my life!--I will take iton my shoulders to punish whoever invents such a lie, no matter how highup he may be, no matter how powerful he may think himself to be!"
Lubimoff listened impatiently. Now it was Martinez daring to attack him.Those last words had carried a threat for him.
Besides, the Prince felt irritated at his own clumsiness. His imprudentaction had served merely to open this young man's eyes, and make himthink of the possibilities of many things which he had never yetimagined, and which if he had imagined them, he would have cast asideimmediately as foolish. And now no less than the Prince Lubimoff hadelected to show this cheap Lieutenant that, in the opinion of gossips,such things were possible.
The tone in which the officer defended Alicia aroused his anger evenmore. He divined in it great pride, the vanity of a poor fellow who hadknown love adventures only in books, and who suddenly found himself insupposed relations with a Duchess, as the rival of a Prince. Howglorious for an upstart!
"Boy ..." said Lubimoff, in a hard voice.
This simple word, which was the term in which waiters were addressed inthe hotels, was followed by a haughty look of overwhelming superiority,which seemed to sweep away everything extraordinary which the war hadgiven Martinez: his uniform, his decorations, and his glorious wounds.For the Prince the officer no longer existed: there only remained thepoor vagabond of a few years before, wandering from one hemisphere toanother in quest of bread. "Boy," he repeated in a tone that broughtback all the class distinction and social gradations of dead centuries,so that the man whom he had accosted might realize the enormousseparation between him and the man to whom he deigned to give advice----
"Boy, let's come to the point--. And if I were to order you not toreturn to that house? And if I demand that...?"
He was unable to finish the sentence. His threatening voice, harsh as acry of command, roused the indignation of the man in uniform. To havefaced death for three long years, among thousands of comrades who werenow lying in the ground; to have learned to set little store on life, assomething proved worthless at every moment on the battlefield; to havestripped himself forever, by dint of frightful adventures and awfulwounds, of that fear which the instinct of self-preservation puts inall beings, only to the end that now, in a pleasure resort, at the doorof the most luxurious of gambling houses, a man, rich and powerful, butwho had never done anything useful in his whole life, should dare tothreaten him!...
"You say that to me!" he said, stammering with rage. "You give orders tome!"
Michael felt a hand seize him by the lapel of his coat. It was like abird, tremulous and aggressive, pausing for an instant in its blindimpulse, before flying upward. He was aware of the blow that was coming,and raised his arm instinctively, both hands met as that of the youngman whirled close to the face of the Prince. The latter, who wasstronger, seized the ascending hand and held it motionless, in a firmgrip, while at the same time he smiled in a gruesome fashion. His eyescontracted as his eyebrows a
rched in the smile. They became again theeyes of an Asiatic. His nostrils dilated as he breathed like a stallion.The remote ancestors of the Princess Lubimoff must have smiled thus intheir moments of anger.
"Enough: I consider that I have received it," he said slowly, "Name twofriends to confer with mine!"
And freeing that hand of Martinez, he turned his back on him, aftermaking a deep bow. The movements of both men had been rapid. Only one ofthe doorkeepers, with his official cap, standing guard on the platformabove the steps, had guessed that anything had happened; but hisprofessional experience advised him to remain passive as long as therewere no blows. He imagined that it was merely a dispute over somegambling affair. It would all be settled by an explanation, andforgotten after a winning! He had seen so many such things!
Prince Lubimoff reenters the Casino. He crosses the vestibule and theanteroom holding his head high, but without seeing any one, gazingstraight ahead, with a faraway expression.
It seems to him that time has suddenly been reversed, causing him toreturn to the past with one bound. He is back in his youth. He walksarrogantly. He is surprised that the sound of his firm tread is notaccompanied by the tinkling of spurs and the metallic scraping of asaber. At the same time he begins to see imaginary faces, faces of thosewho disappeared from the earth many years ago: the Cossack who had comefrom a distant garrison in Siberia to avenge his sister; a friend in thesame regiment as the Prince, who died from a sword thrust in his breastafter a tumultuous supper, while Lubimoff wept, suddenly awakening fromhis homicidal intoxication; the faces of others who had been present asmere witnesses, but who had died and were now resurrected in his memory,cold and insensible to remorse and vain regrets.
"The Colonel. Where in the devil is the Colonel!"
He crosses the gambling room, in quest of a gray head, with a straightpart from the forehead to the back of the neck, dividing the glisteninghair into two shining sections. He sees it finally rising above the backof a divan, between two women's hats, four eyes darkly bordered asthough in mourning, and cheeks with wrinkles filled with white androse-colored enamel. A terse sentence of the Prince interrupts theexplanations of the war news with which the Colonel had been thrillingthe two ladies.
"Colonel, an affair of honor. I intend to fight to-morrow. Look foranother second."
Toledo seems disconcerted by this order. His first thought flies toVilla Sirena. He sees his black frock coat, the solemn vestment of honorready to leave its prison. Then a cloud of doubt obscures this joyousthought. A duel! Would it be fitting now that men are fighting in massesof millions, giving their lives for something higher and more importantthan personal hatred? His training immediately smothers this scruple. "Agentleman should always be at the orders of another gentleman." Besides,it is his Prince. And ready to fulfill his mission, he asks the name ofthe adversary.
"Lieutenant Martinez."
Don Marcos thinks he had heard wrong; then he seems to totter and standsthere looking at his "Highness" in a sort of stupor. Instinctively,without taking the pains to disentangle the confused thoughts thatassail him, he sees in his imagination the Duchess de Delille. Why didthe Prince ever give up his wise theories on the woman question! Herecalls, like a happy past, the flourishing days of the "enemies ofwomen"! Only four months had gone by, and it seems as though they werecenturies. A duel right in war time--and with an officer! And thatofficer is Martinez, his hero!
He shrugs his shoulders, bows his head, and makes a gesture denying allresponsibility as he always does when his Prince, with a hard look onhis face which reminds Toledo of the dead Princess in her stormy days,gives absurd orders.
"Shall I look for Don Atilio? He has had several affairs of honor; heknows what it means, and may be able to help me."
The Prince is willing. In the bar of the private gambling rooms, he willwait for them both to talk over the conditions of the encounter.
He remains motionless in a deep armchair, opposite a window gilded bythe light of the setting sun, on which the threads of shadows, projectedby the moving branches of the trees, weave and unweave. Suddenly itseems to him that he is obliged to wait an unreasonable length of time.It occurs to him that Castro is not in the Casino and that Don Marcos islooking for him in vain. He scarcely remembers the past at all. Theofficer's figure is sunk into a gray mist which falls across his memory:it is no longer anything save a vague outline. The one thing that he cansee, in sharp relief and as though looming close to his eyes, is a hand:a hand which is gripping his breast and rising toward his face, that noman ever yet had slapped. His indignation causes him to come out of hisdeep fit of distraction. To do that to him! Trying to slap PrinceLubimoff!
When he raises his eyes he sees Toledo approaching, but alone, with acertain embarrassment, fearing in advance the anger of the Prince. Thelatter, who feels kindly and tolerant since the scene of violence on thestairway, guesses what he is going to say to him. He has not foundCastro and he absolves him with a benevolent smile.
The Colonel speaks:
"Marquis: Don Atilio refuses."
"What!" And at the questioning glance of Lubimoff, who cannotunderstand, and who does not want to understand what he hears, Toledorepeats, growing more and more embarrassed.
"He refuses to be your representative. He told me to find some one else.He has some ideas of his own that...."
And he hesitates to express these ideas. He stops, in order not to sayanything which the Prince ought not to hear from his lips: and heaccepts as a blessing the silence of amazement which comes between them;he is afraid to let the Prince recover from the astonishment with whichthis news has overwhelmed him.
As he starts to go away, he proposes something which seems to him a wayout.
"Does your Highness want me to call Don Atilio? He will surely come.Perhaps the two of you talking together...."
And he goes away in search of Castro, while Michael Fedor once morebecomes motionless in his seat, quite unable to comprehend thesituation.
* * * * *
The Prince saw Castro standing by the little table close to his chair,with a certain appearance of haste in his look and bearing, like a manwho is facing a difficult situation, and anxious to get out of it assoon as possible.
The Prince invited him to take the nearest seat, but Castro consentedonly to sit down lightly on the arm of the chair, to indicate his desirethat the interview be brief. Besides, he spoke first, bluntly expressinghis thoughts, without any preamble.
"The Colonel has doubtless told you my reply. I can't. You know verywell that I am your friend: you even do me the honor of recognizing meas a relative; I owe you a great deal; but what you ask me now ... no!It is a piece of foolishness, madness. It all had to end like this!There was no other way out of it. I had a presentiment of it some timeago. Perhaps you were right when you talked about women as you did, andabout the necessity of being their enemies--if such a thing is possible.But it doesn't do any good to bring up the past: You are no longer theLubimoff who said those incoherent things. As for me I am mad, I'llgrant you that: but you are even more so than I: and for that reason Ican't be with you."
Michael looked at him fixedly, without abandoning his silent immobility,waiting for him to go on.
"A duel right in war time! Is there any common sense to that? You arethe gentleman who remains quietly in his home, with all the comfortsthat the present time can allow, without running any risk whatsoever,while half of humanity is weeping, starving, bleeding, or dying. Andjust because one fine day you happen to be in an ill-humor--perhaps youknow why--you want to fight a poor boy who has survived almost by amiracle, and who is sick and weak from having done what you and I arenot capable of doing. You ask me to represent you in such a piece ofbusiness?"
"He insulted me--he tried to strike me. I caught his hand close to myface," said the Prince in a low but rancorous voice from the depths ofhis chair.
This caused Castro to hesitate for a moment, as he had no idea of theimportance of t
he clash between the two men. But his hesitation wasbrief.
"There is something that I don't understand and that you are keepingsilent. The very seriousness of the insult indicates that there wassomething extraordinary on your part. For that poor, respectful, andtimid boy to dare to strike, and strike a man like you!... What did youdo to rouse him to such a pitch?"
Lubimoff did not deign to reply. Without abandoning his frowning reservehe asked briefly:
"Well, are you going to, or are you not?"
Castro, irritated by this attitude, replied without hesitating:
"It's all nonsense, and I refuse."
Lubimoff still remained motionless at this refusal, but Atilio was surehe guessed the Prince's thoughts in the hostile look fixed on him. Hewas accusing him of ingratitude. At the same time he was holding the"General" responsible: believing that the latter must have influencedhis decision. That Lieutenant was so greatly admired by Dona Clorinda!
As though replying to these unexpressed ideas, Atilio went on:
"Do you think I am interested in that boy you are bent on fighting? Heis quite indifferent to me; I even dislike him, because of the greatextremes to which certain women go in their admiration of his heroism.That is always annoying to those who are not heroes. I think howinsignificant he must have been only four years ago. If I had met himthen, I would have found him, I dare say, a book-keeper in some hotel,or a clerk in my haberdasher's in Paris. Imagine what a friend! But thewar has swept over us, turning everything upside down, making someemerge, and burying others in the deepest depths, without any certaintyof rising again. This boy happens to be somebody now. He is of moreconsequence than you or I. He has been of some use; and for me he issacred, in spite of the fact that he inspires envy in me rather thanadmiration."
The Prince finally made a gesture of protest. Then he shrugged hisshoulders disdainfully, and sank once more into motionless silence. Thatlittle adventurer worth more than he, because they had punctured hisskin in a fight or two!
"We would never come to an understanding, even if we talked all theafternoon," continued Castro. "I have changed considerably, and you arethe same man you have always been. I believe that yesterday I came to my'road to Damascus.' I feel to-day that I am a different man."
And, through a certain need of expressing his great inner turmoil, hewent on talking, without paying any attention to whether or not thePrince was listening to him.
He had come to his "road of Damascus" near the Monte Carlo railwaystation, beside the tracks. He was with two ladies, in one of whom hewas greatly interested. (Michael thought once more of Dona Clorinda.) Atrainload of soldiers was returning from Italy; a somber train, withoutflags and without any branches of trees adorning the doors and windows.They were Frenchmen. They had been sent to Italy as reenforcements,after the disaster of Caporetto, and now they were being hurriedlyrecalled, to defend their own soil, which was again in danger.
"No songs and no wild merriment; they were all silent, tired and dirty,with an epic dirtiness. The cars were more like wild beasts' cages, withtheir pungent odors of the animal ring. The soldiers were young men butthey looked old, with their bristling beards, spotted uniforms, andfaces parched by the sun, hardened by the cold, and cracked and chappedby the wind. The heat had caused them to remove their blouses, and theywere in flannel shirts of an undefinable color, drenched with the sweatof so many fatigues and so many emotions.
"One could guess that they were the battalion always predestined toarrive in time to sustain the hardest shocks; the one that punctuallyappeared in the places of greatest danger, with the heroic resignationof the strong, who allow themselves to be exploited, and who not only dotheir own work, but help out all the others who work less. Where hadthese men not fought? On their own soil, and on that of the Allies, andperhaps in the Orient, and now, they were returning again to the land oftheir first combats. Just when they were thinking they had accomplishedeverything, they had discovered they had as yet done nothing. In theweaving and unweaving of the web of war, it was necessary to begin allover again. Four years before, they imagined they had triumpheddecisively on the banks of the Marne, and now they were returning oncemore to the Marne. Every winter, sunk in the mud, buried in thetrenches, under the rain, they said to one another: 'This will be thelast.' And another winter came, and another, and still another on theheels of the last, without any noticeable change. This was the reasonfor their fatalistic and resigned demeanor, the look of men who adaptthemselves to everything and finally come to believe that their miserywill be eternal, that human times of peace will never return."
Castro stopped talking a moment and paid no attention to the face of hisfriend, which seemed to be asking what all that story had to do withhim. "We were standing on the edge of an embankment, leaning on thebarriers, and our heads were on a level with the men huddled in thecarriages. The long train, the head of which had already reached thestation, was slowly advancing. The two ladies were waving theirhandkerchiefs, smiling at the soldiers, and calling words of greeting tothem. Many of the latter remained unmoved, looking at them with eyes ofsleepy wild beasts. They had been greeted with ovations for four years.They knew realities, the terrible realities that lie beyond ovations!Others, young or more ardent, aroused themselves at the sight of thesetwo elegant women. Electrified by their smiles, they stood erect,passing a hand over their wrinkled flannels, and threw kisses, trying torecover their gentleness of the days when they were not soldiers.Suddenly, one of those who were passing, forgot the women and noticedme, also waving my hat to them, and shouting hurrah. He was a sort ofred-haired, bitter devil."
Castro could still see him, as though his head were peering through oneof the bar-room windows; perhaps he would be able to see, as long as helived, the whitish parchment of the man's face, drawn across hisprominent cheek-bones; his red beard hanging from his jaws, as though itwere a piece of make-up, and above all, his insolent, sarcastic eyes, amuddy green color, like that of oysters. He was the soldier whocriticizes, grumbles, and talks against the officers, while carrying outtheir orders. In civil life he must have been the disagreeable rebelwho never approves of anything. As his eyes met those of Castro, thelatter had a feeling of repulsion. He divined the man with whom onealways clashes in the street, in the cars, and in the theater. Andnevertheless, he would never forget his momentary meeting with thatsoldier who was passing and was disappearing in the distance, with onlyjust enough time to say six words.
He gave the two women a scornful, ironic smile--then another at Castro,who was still waving his hat, and pointed to the end of the carriage,shouting to him:
"There's still room for one more!"
And that was all he said.
"He said enough, Michael. Since then I keep hearing his harsh voice: Ishall always hear it, in my happiest moments, if I remain here. And thelook in his eyes? I understood all the mute insults, the rapidcomparisons that he made between his misery and my strong, well-groomedappearance. For him I was a coward gallivanting with women, when men arewith men, giving their lives for something of importance."
"Bah! You are a foreigner," interrupted the Prince, who seemed weariedby his friend's words.
"I live here; and the land where I live cannot be foreign to me. Thiswar is for something more than questions of land; it concerns all men.Look at the Americans, whom we all considered very practical andincapable of idealism; they know that they are not going to gainanything positive; and nevertheless they are entering the struggle withall their might. Besides, there is the spirit of the women. Would youimagine that the two that were with me laughed at the red-headedfellow's insult, considering it very apropos? And don't tell me thatwomen are always attracted by the warrior, on every occasion. Perhaps bythe warrior in peace times, shiny and beplumed. But these fellows nowlook so miserable! No; there is something very lofty in everything thatsurrounds us, something that you and I have not been able to see,because of our selfishness."
His listener once more shrugged his shoulders with a gest
ure ofindifference.
"And when I think of my meeting yesterday, as I constantly am doing, andsee the place that that damned redhead offered me jokingly, as though Iwere a woman, and as though I would never have the courage to take it,you propose that I arrange for a deadly combat with another of these menwho consider themselves, not without reason, superior to us! No; now youknow my answer: I won't accept."
He had left the arm of the chair and was standing, facing the Prince.The latter made a gesture of weariness. He was bored by Atilio's words,by that childlike story about the train, the red-haired soldier and hisinsolent invitation. That might move Dona Clorinda, but nobody else; hehad more important things to think about just then. And since he refusedto do him the favor, he could leave him alone.
"Good-by, Michael!" said Castro, with the conviction that this farewellwas going to be something more than a momentary parting.
"Good-by," replied the Prince, without stirring.
When he had almost reached the door, Atilio turned back.
"I know what my refusal means, and what it is up to me to do. Good-byagain. Remember that if you were to ask me anything else...."
But the Prince interrupted his words with another gesture ofindifference, and Atilio went away, hiding his emotion.
Immediately Don Marcos entered the bar, as though he had been waitingon the other side of the curtain for Castro to come out. His"chamberlain" had never seemed to the Prince so active and intelligent.
"It is all arranged, Marquis."
As he had felt certain that Atilio would not allow himself to bepersuaded, he had gone in search of another second. He thought for amoment of going to Monaco, to speak to Novoa. Then he remembered theprofessor's relations with Valeria. Such a visit would be equivalent toinforming the Duchess of the entire affair. Besides, the scientist didnot know anything about such matters, and was a fellow countryman ofMartinez. It was quite enough that one Spaniard should figure in thisaffair.
"I have my second," he continued. "It will be Lord Lewis."
In the Colonel's eyes, Lewis was more of a Lord than ever. He wasthankful for the promptness with which he had granted his request. TheEnglishman was winning money that afternoon, and was in an excellenthumor. He even got up from his seat, leaving the gambling, to listen tothe Colonel. He wanted to take him over to the bar, affirming that witha whiskey in front of a fellow he can talk better; and Toledo guessedfrom his breath that he had already taken several drinks to celebratehis good luck. Lewis was disposed to serve his friend Lubimoff. As faras fights were concerned, he was acquainted only with boxing; but he hadabsolute confidence in the Colonel's expert opinion and would supportanything he might say. Immediately afterwards he had returned to hisplay.
Michael gave Toledo his instructions. It would be an encounter underrigorous conditions, like those which he had witnessed in Russia. Itcould be nothing else: he had received a blow. And he said this with asullen voice, quite convinced of the absolute reality of the insult.
As night fell, he left the Casino, avoiding his acquaintances who wereinvading the bar, and obliging him to smile and keep up frivolousconversation, while his thoughts were far away.
In all his moments of profound anger, when unable to put his feelingsinto immediate and violent action, his nervous excitation was followedby a certain lassitude which caused his muscles and nerves to relax.
It was with a real pleasure that he entered Villa Sirena, finding anunwonted voluptuousness in all the details of its comforts. He spent thetime he was waiting for the Colonel in reading. At nine o'clock he wasobliged to eat alone. Then he returned to his book, but this time in hisbedroom, finally lying down, book in hand. He smiled with a smile thatwas almost a grimace, as he thought that his nervous fatigue had causedhim to stretch out in the same posture as the dead.
He went on turning the pages without losing a single line, andnevertheless he could not have told what he was reading. Suddenly, heconcentrated his attention in an effort to remember. Something hadhappened; something was awaiting him. What was it? "Oh, yes!" And afterreconstructing in his memory what had taken place that afternoon, andimagining what was to take place the following day, he returned to hismeaningless reading.
The pages melted away like snowflakes; he felt his hand grow lighter;the book finally fell on the bed. Instinctively he sought the electricbutton to darken the room, and before completely losing all perceptionof the outer world, he could hear his own first regular breathing.
A light striking against his eyes made him sit up. He saw the Colonelbeside his bed. The deep silence of the night, which seemed even moreabsolute when emphasized by the sound of the sea, was broken off by thepanting of a motor-car.
The Prince rubbed his eyes. What time was it?
"One o'clock," said Don Marcos.
Everything was arranged. The meeting was to take place on the followingday, at two o'clock in the afternoon. It could not be managed earlier!There were still a great many things left to be done. The place selectedwas Lewis' castle; an encounter in the principality of Monaco would beimpossible. All the houses there were close together, without a singlequiet spot where two men might face each other, pistol in hand.
Lubimoff almost jumped out of bed, so great was his surprise. The choiceof arms was his, as the injured person, and he had mentioned to hisrepresentative the saber, the favorite weapon of his youthful duels.Toledo, for the first time faced the furious look of his Prince withouta tremor.
"Marquis," he said with dignity. "It could not be anything else! Youmust remember that this poor young man is a convalescent, almost aninvalid. I am astonished that he should have persuaded his seconds toallow even pistols. His representatives did not want to accept anything.They are among those who feel that this duel ought not to take place."
The Prince calmed himself. A sense of equity caused him to acceptToledo's decision. That sick fellow was not an enemy worthy of hissaber; it was necessary to establish a certain equality between them,and the pistol would do that, being the only weapon that lends itself tosurprises and whims of chance.
"At any event I shall kill him," thought Michael, remembering his skillas a marksman.
"I must tell your Highness," the Colonel went on, "that all weapons arethe same to him. This young man and his two friends are well acquaintedwith everything that concerns warfare, but they haven't the slightestnotion of duelling and the weapons that are used on such occasions."
Then he enumerated the conditions. The distance was to be fifteenmeters; each one was to fire a single shot, but each might aim and firewhile he, who was to direct the combat, was counting from one to three.With a marksman like the Prince, such conditions would be serious.
Exactly! The Prince found them acceptable.
"Good-night," he said, burying himself in the bed, and pulling thecoverlet up to his eyes.
Once more sleep overwhelmed him, now that his curiosity was satisfied.
Toledo would have liked to do the same, but he was obliged to fulfillthe sacred duties of his exalted position, and he went from room to roomlooking through every drawer and climbing on chairs to rummage around onthe top shelves of the closets. He was looking for a box of duellingpistols, that had been given to him in Russia by one of the Generals whowas a friend of the dead Marquis. When he finally found it, he wasobliged to spend more than an hour in cleaning the luxurious weapons,which had lost their silvery brilliancy in the oblivion of their longconfinement.
He felt tired, yet at the same time his feeling of importance warded offsleep. Was he not the soul of the drama which was being prepared for thefollowing day, he alone? Without him, neither his Highness nor Martinezcould fight. Lord Lewis and the two soldiers who represented theadversary were incapable of a single idea, and had to follow him asthough they were his pupils.
Consciousness of this superiority caused him to recall frommid-afternoon to mid-night all his past negotiations and triumphs.
He had gone in quest of Martinez, with a certain hesitation. In spite o
fhis old beliefs, he felt Atilio's protests were quite reasonable.Perhaps what he said was right, that this duel was a piece offoolishness, madness even, on the part of the Prince. But histraditional ideas revolted against such scruples.
"Honor is honor." And, hearing the Lieutenant accept reparation by arms,with joy, and with a certain haste, as though he were afraid that Toledowould repent and withdraw the proposal, the Colonel felt thesatisfaction of a person who, after long hesitation, becomes convincedthat he is in the right. Heroic youth, ready to maintain all points ofhonor! Don Marcos found it natural that he should act thus. Martinez wasfrom the same land as himself!
For a moment his memory dwelt on the image of the Duchess. Perhaps shewas the involuntary cause of this clash, and the boy was animated by afeeling of vanity. He was going to figure in a duel such as he had readabout in the story books of his youth; he was going to be a chief actorin one of those dreams of high life that seemed to him to belong toanother world. But the Colonel immediately put aside such speculations,which had been suggested by the frank rejoicing with which Martinezaccepted the challenge, as though it were an invitation to a party.
From that moment on Toledo began to be more and more bewildered. Theworld had changed, changed completely, and he advanced from amazement toamazement.
To favor his compatriot, he wanted to know the arms for which the latterhad a preference.
"I am acquainted with so many!" exclaimed Martinez.
In an attack he had wounded with the point of a saber a gigantic Germanwho was threatening him with his bayonet. The thrust had met somethinghard that crunched, and spurted a shower of blood into his face. Then,on growing calm, he saw that he had driven the weapon through hisadversary's mouth, breaking his spinal column. He was also acquaintedwith the revolver, but was not a marksman. He was more expert with otherweapons: the hand grenade, which reminded him of youthful ball games;the machine gun, which he had handled as a mere aid; explosive hurledwith a sling. He was even fairly skilled in artillery, but trenchartillery, in loading short range mortars, used in firing torpedoes andasphyxiating projectiles into the neighboring trench!
He smiled scornfully when Don Marcos insisted on the fencing formalitiesto be employed with the saber. He had his own style of fencing; to gostraight up to the enemy and strike first. But in hand to hand fightinghe preferred the knife. With a revolver he had never bothered aboutaiming. He didn't fire until he found himself close to the enemy, andwas sure of his shot.
"And the duelling pistol?" asked the Colonel.
"I am not acquainted with it at all. I should like to see one: it mustbe something curious."
Toledo's hesitating glance wandered over the officer's breast, as thoughtaking an inventory of his decorations, pausing at the stars that dottedthe striped ribbons of his War Cross. Each one of them symbolized agreat deed.
When the Lieutenant presented his seconds, the bewilderment of DonMarcos was not relieved. They were two extremely young captains. Toledoguessed they were twenty-five or twenty-six years of age. Their uniformsfitting very tight about the waist, their kepis of the latest style,their neatness and elegance pleased the Colonel, who immediately tookthem to be professional soldiers. They must have come from the school ofSaint-Cyr; his professional eye could not be mistaken; they were of adifferent stock from humble Martinez!
One of them had had his face burned on one side by German liquid fire:the other's face was burrowed with a network of scarlet threads, whichwere the remains of scars. They both limped; one of them, with anenormous foot covered with wrappings and shod with a felt shoe, wasquite frankly leaning on a stick; while his companion, who had a stiffleg, wore a trim tiny shoe, displaying a certain vanity also in aslender rattan cane, which he really used for support.
Their first words were rather embarrassing for the Colonel and Lewis.What was the meaning of this, a civilian daring to insult a soldier whowas recovering from his wounds? What was the idea in proposing a duel inthe midst of war? Any one who wanted to die himself or kill someone elsehad only to go to the front, like the rest. But Martinez, who was stillpresent, intervened, entering into a rapid discussion with them. Didthey want to do him this favor he had asked them as comrades, or not?Yes, but they were giving their own opinion of the matter. In theirjudgment the logical thing would have been to put an end to the quarrelright there on the Casino steps: two good punches at that slacker whowasn't going to war and took the liberty of annoying those who weredoing their duty! They talked like men thoroughly aware of the fragilityof life, like men who know how easy it is to take another man's life, orto lose one's. They laughed instinctively at the importance, theceremonies and the so-called "equities" with which in peace times aprivate encounter is surrounded. But in the end, since their comradeinsisted on their representing him in this farce, they would do it toplease him, even though their compliance might get them into the guardhouse.
Scarcely had Martinez withdrawn, when one of the Captains, the one withthe elephantine foot in a felt shoe, confessed his lack of competence insuch matters.
"I never saw a duel in Bordeaux. I have no idea what it's like. Beforethe war I was a traveling salesman in Mexico. Wine was my line. I sailedwith all the Frenchmen who were living there, and by a miracle we werenot captured by a _Boche_ pirate. I started in as a second classprivate; but I did what I could. If it were a business matter I wouldgive my opinion, but in a thing like this!... Perhaps my comrade here."Another Martinez! Don Marcos forgot the Captain with the felt shoe. Hewas the Lewis of the opposite side. He concentrated all his attention onthe Captain with the shiny boots and the toy cane. The latter must be anadversary worthy of him. It was a shame that his clear eyes should havethe ironical expression of a man who makes a joke of everything, andthat under his red mustache, trimmed short, in the English fashion,there should flit a faint look of insolence!
He was born in Paris, as he proudly declared as soon as he started tospeak; and when Don Marcos slyly sounded him to find out whether or nothe was an expert in affairs of honor and had witnessed many duels, hesaid in a simple way:
"More than a hundred."
Toledo had not been mistaken. This was the man with whom he would havethe struggle. Then he thought of the number, and compared it with theCaptain's age. More than a hundred, and surely he was not overtwenty-six! He had a presentiment that he was going to be up againstsome famous swordsman, whose glorious name has been momentarily obscuredby the war.
The Captain and the Colonel were the only ones to do any talking. In thebeginning the Captain had had an air of jesting, with a Parisian senseof humor, at the solemn, high-sounding terms in which Don Marcos treatedquestions of honor. But the Colonel's reserved and persistentgrandiloquence finally got the better of the other's inclination tobanter. The young Captain took the same tone as the Colonel, finallyinterested in the affair and recognizing its importance.
At certain moments, the Colonel felt doubtful on listening to the way inwhich his rival formulated amazing heresies, revealing absoluteignorance of the great authorities who have codified the laws ofencounters between gentlemen. And this man had been present at more thana hundred duels! Later, Don Marcos was amazed at the promptness withwhich the texts he had cited himself were appropriated by the young man;at the ease with which his classics had been assimilated, somewhatinverted in meaning, to be sure, the better to sustain affirmationscontrary to his own.
When the encounter was arranged for in its slightest details, theCaptain summed up his impressions with a simplicity that made the bloodof Don Marcos run cold.
"One or both perhaps will be wounded. There is nothing extraordinaryabout that. Who isn't wounded these days? Surgery has made greatprogress; it is quite different from what it was at the beginning of thewar. If a man doesn't die on the spot, he is nearly always saved.Besides, they will put them to bed and they won't remain abandoned onthe field for days and days, as happens in war."
But the placid expression with which he talked about wounds was cloudedover, giving way
to a grim look.
"I am assuming, of course," he continued, "that no one is killed.Because if, for example, my comrade, Martinez, who is as gentle as alamb and of whom I am very fond, should die in this farce, I'll killyour Prince on the spot, without any rules whatsoever, the way we killa _Boche_ at the front."
The tone in which he said these words was so sincere, that the Colonel,deeply impressed by them, did not observe how strange they sounded inthe mouth of an expert in the laws of honor.
The conversation became more intimate and cordial as always happens whena difficult matter has been settled. Toledo was obliged to tell themabout his life as a soldier--at least the way he imagined it had been,after so many years--and both young men, who had witnessed the combatsof millions of men, showed the same interest as children listening to astrange tale, as he related obscure encounters in the mountains, battlesthat did not even have a name and were remembered only in an exaggeratedfashion by Don Marcos himself.
The Parisian Captain, elegant and charming, also talked about his past.
"As for me, before the war, I worked in the Box Office of the theaterson the Boulevard. I haven't any other position."
Don Marcos had to make an effort to conceal his surprise. Indeed, he hadseen more than a hundred duels; but in plays on the stage, betweenactors, who draw out the preliminaries of the encounters withceremonious deliberation, in order to prolong the suspense of theaudience. He should have guessed it on hearing his nonsense! What a foolthat boy had made of him!
But immediately his eyes fell on the coats of the two young men. Thesame as Martinez: The Legion of Honor, the Military Medal and the WarCross, with stars. That of the former ticket seller was even crossed bya golden palm.
Ah, indeed! The world had changed. Where were the days of Don Marcos?Then he thought of all he had done in his life to increase his own selfesteem; by appearing in full ceremony at various duels where most oftenno blood was shed. He also thought of what these young men had done andseen in less than four years. Their obscure origin brought to his memorythe various warriors of Napoleon, whose names were celebrated and whoseorigin had been even worse. Some of them had succeeded in becomingkings, while these poor Captains once the war was over, would have toreturn, laden with glory, to their former occupations, struggling day byday to earn their bread!
They separated, agreeing to meet after dinner, to sign the paper statingthe conditions of the encounter. They were all four in accord, but onmentioning this number, Toledo noticed that there were only three. Lewishad witnessed the long preliminaries with a certain impatience, seatedon a divan in the ante-room of the Casino.
"There's a friend waiting for me. I'll be back in a moment."
And he had entered the gambling rooms, which were forbidden to theofficers.
The Colonel had no illusions as to the duration of that moment, abouttwo hours having passed. After leaving the Captains, he found Lewis at a_trente et quarante_ table, with a heap of thousand franc chips in frontof him. Of course he did not understand what Toledo whispered in hisear. He had to make an effort to recall.
"Oh, yes, the matter of the duel! I have every confidence in you; dowhatever you please, I shall sign what you give me, but I am not goingto get up, even though they might tell me Lubimoff was dead. What a daythis has been, my friends! If they were all like this!"
And he turned his back, to make the most of his time, before the flightof luck would change.
Don Marcos had dined in the Cafe de Paris, going over in his mind thevarious articles he should put in the dueling agreement. Theconsideration that they were all relying on his superior knowledgecaused him to be very exacting with himself. He wanted something conciseand brilliant which would inspire respect in those boys, who werecovered with glory. And he spent more than an hour, with the dessertdishes in front of him on the table, scribbling over sheet after sheetof paper, tearing each one up and beginning all over again on another.It was futile work: both signed in the reading room of the Casino,hardly giving the eloquent text a glance. As for Lewis he was obliged toget him out of the private gambling rooms by every sort of trick, andentreaty. The Englishman had forgotten to dine, in order not to offendMadame Fortune by his absence, and that stubborn Colonel came anddisturbed him with his damned affair of the duel!
He signed the document without looking at it; he gave his word to theofficers that he would come and get them in an automobile to take themto his castle. Then he ran away immediately, not without first saying toDon Marcos in a gruff tone:
"Until four o'clock, no later! If it isn't all over at four, I'll letthem kill each other alone and come back here. That's the hour that thefine deals commence. To-day's luck is going to continue."
And he fled, smiling with pity on people who were occupied with lessimportant things.
On finding himself alone, the Colonel began to make preparations for theencounter. He needed a doctor. He would go next morning and find an oldphysician in Monte Carlo who visited the Prince from time to time. Heneeded powder and balls; he proposed to go in quest of them to-morrowalso. He needed two cases of pistols, and he had only one!
The matter of the two cases he considered essential. The other man'sseconds did not know where to get theirs. No matter; he would find themone. The indispensable thing was that there should be two, so that fatemight decide which they should use. Without that, the conditions wouldnot be equal. And he spent the time until about one o'clock in themorning, asking hotel employees, rousing people out of bed, going downto the rooms of the Sporting Club, until an American whom he knew gavehim a note for a certain fellow-countryman, a gloomy, half crazy fellow,who lived in an isolated villa on Cap-Ferrat. He thought he wouldconclude this negotiation the following day; and to do so he had rentedan automobile.
Owing to the lack of vehicles and gas, the cost of the car was enormous;but it was necessary owing to the importance of his functions.
But now he was in Villa Sirena, at two o'clock in the morning, slowlycleaning the pistols, as though they were fragile jewels.
In the silence of his bedroom, far from mankind, influenced by thelonely mystery of the small hours of the night, which puts a certainvagueness in things and ideas, he felt an enormous self-aggrandizement.No; his world had not changed as much as he thought. The proof was thathe was there, cleaning weapons for a duel!
* * * * *
On waking up the next morning, the Prince could not find his"chamberlain". The rented auto had carried him off at seven o'clock, tocomplete his preparations.
Lubimoff wandered about the gardens, stopping in front of the cages,which sheltered various exotic birds. Then with an absent-minded look,he followed the evolutions of various peacocks, spreading their tails,colored blue and golden, or a royal black, in the sunlight.
His old valet interrupted his promenade. Some men had come with a truckto get Senor Castro's baggage.
Michael showed no surprise; they might hand over everything to them thatbelonged to Don Atilio. But the servant added that the same men alsowanted to take away the little that belonged to Senor Spadoni, newswhich amazed the Prince. He, too! What reason had Spadoni to desert him?
He glanced at the brief note written to the Colonel and signed by themboth. In his flight, Castro was taking with him the dreamy pianist.
"All right," he thought; "let them all leave; let them leave me alone.If they think that by doing so they are going to make me refrain fromcarrying out my intention!..."
Then he resumed his walk.
Only a few hours remained before he would find himself facing that youngman whom he so hated. He was going coldly to do away with him, so thathe would not continue to be a nuisance. The conditions planned by theColonel were sufficient for a marksman of his skill to bring down hisadversary. He needed only a single shot.
For a moment he thought of going to the end of the gardens, where hesometimes passed the time shooting. It was a good idea that he shouldpractise steadiness of hand--the pistol is full
of surprises. Then hedecided not to, as it seemed unworthy that he should add thesepreparations to his evident superiority. His mediocre adversary couldnot be practising at that time. He had no facilities for doing so inMonte Carlo where he had no other friends than his convalescent comradesand a few ladies. He, on the other hand!... he held out his musculararm, keeping it rigid for a few seconds with his eye glued on his fist.There was not the slightest tremor! He would be able to place a ballwherever he wanted. Poor Martinez might consider himself a dead man. Andnot the slightest sign of remorse disturbed the Prince's infernal pridein his implacable strength.
His consciousness of superiority was so great and his certainty in theresult so absolute, that he finally began to feel some doubt, thatfeeling of uneasiness which is inspired by the mystery of things stillto be accomplished. Suddenly there came crowding into his memory storiesof combats in which the weak unexpectedly triumphed over the strong,through an obscure mandate of inherent justice. He recalled many novelsin which the reader draws a sigh of relief on seeing that the hero,modest and agreeable, placed in danger of death by the "villain," who isstronger and wickeder than he, not only saves his own life, but inaddition kills his adversary, through some happy chance; all of whichgoes to show the existence of some superior and just power which on mostoccasions seems asleep, but at certain moments awakens, giving eachperson what he deserves. Since the time of David, the little barefootshepherd, killing with a stone the huge giant clad in bronze, humanityhas enjoyed such stories.
Pistols are capricious weapons, and lend themselves to the absurddeterminations of fate. Might he not fall, with all his skill, at thepoor Lieutenant's first shot?
He held out his arm again, as before, looking at his clenched first.Then he smiled, with the smile of his ancestors, which gave his featuresa Mongolian ugliness. Mere traditional fiction, inventions of storywriters, to flatter the public in a sentimental love of equality! Thestrong are always the strong. Within a few hours he would sweep thatnuisance out of the way, calmly and without remorse, the way superiormen always act.
A roaring sound coming from the railway line drew him from histhoughts. It was a trainload of soldiers approaching, like all theothers, with an ovation of shouts, acclamations and whistling. It wasrolling along towards Italy, in the direction opposite to that of thenumerous trains coming to the French front. The Prince walked over to agarden terrace, the stone flower-covered wall of which descended to thetrack. The cars seemed to pass of their own will before his eyes,showing him one side as they rounded the curve, and then the other asthey reached another curve, where they were lost to view.
The uniform of these combatants puzzled the Prince for a moment, as anunexpected novelty. They were dressed in dark blue serge, with theirblouses open at the neck, and sleeves rolled up. On their heads theywore white caps with the brims turned up all around, like the littlepaper boats that children make.
He finally recognized them: they were sailors from the United States, abattalion, sailors from the fleet, going to Italy so that the Stars andStripes might represent the huge republic on the icy summits of the Alpsand on the hot marshy plains of Venetia.
With the rapidity of mental visions, which reveal, one superimposed uponthe other but nevertheless distinct, a great number of diverse images,the Prince recalled the harbors of North America which he had visited inhis youth, aquatic beehives, gathering together all the work and richesof the earth; monstrous, interminable cities, with populations as largeas nations, and in which liberty and well-being seemed to have reachedtheir highest limits.... And these men were leaving the comforts of ascientifically organized existence, their productive business, theiramply remunerative work, their immediate hopes of wealth, perhaps to diefor an ideal in the Old World, merely for an ideal, since they were notseeking new strips of land nor indemnities for their country! And untilthen, the average person had considered this country as the mostmaterialistic, the least poetic and idealist of all nations, calling itthe land of the dollar!... It was true that unselfish ideals weresomething more than words, since millions of men were coming across thesea to give their blood for them!
The sailors, after passing through the city of Monte Carlo, where theywere greeted with cheers and waving flags, were entering the opencountry, where their shouts faded away with no answering echoes. Forthis reason their attention was attracted by that flowering terrace andthe man appearing above it. It was like a procession on review: thecarriages, one by one, came to life as they passed the Prince. From allthe car windows arms with sleeves rolled up projected, shaking whitecaps. On the car roofs, a few strapping lads were gesticulating, witharms and legs extended, while the wind rippled in the folds of theirdark trousers, above the white leggings. More than a thousand throatsgreeted the solitary man on the terrace with gay whistling, hurrahs, orunintelligible cries, which gave vent to the exuberant feelings of thoseyouths, hungry for danger and glory, full of joy and curiosity, as theypassed through an Old World which to them was new.
Lubimoff remained motionless, with his elbows on the railing, and hischin in one hand, as though he did not see that pent-up river of men,gliding along below his feet. The gay sailors, as they passed, turnedtheir heads, repeating their shouts and greetings, as though anxious toawaken that human figure, rigid and clinging to the balustrade as thoughforming a part of its decoration.
He had completely forgotten the thoughts and worries of a moment before.All he saw was that torrent of young men rushing to meet danger anddeath for certain ideals as simple and beautiful as their blossomingyouth. They were coming from the other side of the earth with thatnaive faith that accomplishes the great miracles of history; and in themeantime, Prince Lubimoff, who, by dint of seeking after superior ideasand exquisite sensations, had finally come to believe in nothing, wasthere at his garden rail, calculating the surest means of killing a man,a man who was useful, like those who were passing.
Castro's image arose in his mind. He, too, had witnessed two daysbefore, the passing of a train. He recalled the impression so deep andpowerful that had impelled him to leave Villa Sirena, and break with hisrelative. He could see, just as it had been described to him, the bitterlook of that red-headed soldier insulting him with scorn.
"There's room here for one more!"
The American sailors continued their whistling, and their exuberantlyyouthful shouting; but it seemed to him that these voices and waving ofhands said the same as the other man's words, inviting him with ironicalpoliteness: "Come; there's a place here for you!" A little later, andthe voices were dumb, but he could still hear them, deep in his soul,like the far-off booming of a bell. He had considered himself a braveman, who as a matter of distinction, of sophistication, of refinedindifference, preferred to keep aloof from things which rouse enthusiasmin other mortals. But the far-off tolling of the bell protested, ringingin his ear, repeating a single word: "Coward! Coward!"
He walked about the garden in a pensive mood until Toledo arrived in theafternoon. They had lunch in a hurry, and the Colonel made severalrecommendations. His knowledge of dueling matters, which has as manybranches as the tree of science, touched in one of its ramifications oncooking. The Prince should not take any wine; since he must keep hishand steady. And as the Colonel said this he was praying inside thatthe bullets would all go astray, since both contestants inspired anequal interest in him. Some soft boiled eggs, nothing more; and not muchliquid. At the last moment he should remember to empty his bladder. Aterrible thing a wound with internal leakage! Nothing escaped theColonel--he thought of everything.
He went up to his room to put on the frock coat he wore at duels. Themoment for officiating had arrived. He remained hesitating in front ofthe mirror, realizing the lack of harmony between this majestic garmentand the derby that topped off his appearance. Oh, the war! He smiled atthe absurd thought of presenting himself thus four years before--itseemed like four centuries--in those Paris duels, in which the secondsand adversaries felt that it was only decent to go to meet death with anelega
nt, shiny, high hat.
Having omitted this solemn touch, he felt that he might look somewhatridiculous sitting in the automobile beside the Prince, with his longfrock coat and the two pistol cases on his knees.
The carriage stopped in the Boulevard des Moulins, in front of thedoctor's house. Wounded soldiers were passing, some with fixed stares,tapping the pavement in front of them with sticks, others totteringalong out of weakness or owing to an amputation.
A woman's voice, smooth and sweet, greeted the Prince. It was the voiceof an extremely slender nurse, who was walking arm and arm with twoblind officers. Michael and Don Marcos recognized Lewis' niece. Shesmiled at them, showing them the two strapping Englishmen whom she wasserving as a guide; two fair-haired Apollos, tanned by the sun, withRoman profiles, shining teeth, and lithe bodies, strong and symmetrical,but with vacant eyes--like fires that have gone out--and a tragicexpression on their lips, an expression of despair and protest atfinding themselves dead in the midst of life.
"They are my two 'crushes'. How do you like them?" She was jesting inorder to cheer up her companions, with that joyousness and daring of aVirgin Dolorosa, passing through the world scattering pale rays ofNorthern sunlight in the ambulances and hospitals. She seemed to be madeentirely of the same stuff as the sacramental Host, fragile, anaemic,white and transparent, like dim crystal. And she went away, guiding likechildren the two blind men, despairing and handsome, whose heads toweredabove her own. A slight pressure of their fingers would have been enoughto crush that body, like an alabaster lamp, all light, of no moresubstance than was necessary to guard the inner flame and cause it toshine through.
"Good-by, Lady Lewis!" said the Prince.
Don Marcos started on hearing his voice; it was a solemn voice such ashe had never heard, a tremulous voice like a sentimental song in thedepths of which lay teardrops.
The doctor laid his surgical case on the frayed carpet in the auto.There were three such cases now. It was not until then that the Coloneldecided to relieve himself of the two precious boxes, placing them ontop of the doctor's.
The car started off up the mountain, by a road that rose in sharpzigzags. At the end of each angle, Monte Carlo was revealed, smaller andsmaller, and more sunken, like a toy city built of blocks with its redroof and many ants threading its streets to gather together in theSquare. On the other hand, the sea seemed to arch its back, constantlyrising, devouring with its blue rectilinear jaws a portion of the sky ateach turn in the climb.
On the crest of the hill a huge mass of masonry kept growing more andmore gigantic; La Trophee, a name which had finally changed to LaTurbie, the medieval name of the little gray, walled village, whichhuddled about the monument. Two slender columns of white marble flankingthe rubble-work, and a piece of the cornice were all that remained ofthe proudest of Roman trophies--a tower 30 meters in height, with agigantic statue of Augustus, on its summit, which marked on the Alps theboundary between the lands of the Empire and those of the conqueredGauls. The auto, leaving the hamlet of La Turbie behind, was now runningalong the ancient Roman road.
"I can see the Legions," Don Marcos gravely murmured.
It was a mania of his. He had never had sufficient imagination to beable to see the Legions for himself; but after witnessing in a movingpicture film a procession of supers, with bare legs and short swords,following Julius Caesar's horse, Roman military life had had no mysteriesfor him, and every time he went up to La Turbie he murmured the samewords: "I can see the Legions."
A few minutes later he forgot his resurrection of the warlike past topoint out various buildings, of such a bluish gray color that theyblended with the hills behind them. It was Lewis' castle. Standing outfrom it, one could see solitary towers, joined to the square mass of thebuildings by causeways; watch towers flanking the gates; sharp slateroofs, with double rows of tiny dormers; roofs that only had the woodenrafters, through which one could see, as though the interior had beengutted by a fire; walls half built, descending at a right angle like astone carpenter's square riveted to the ground on its long edge.
From a distance the castle might have been taken for an abandoned ruin.Lewis, having lost hope of being able to finish it, declared in goodfaith that it was better thus, since it would save him the trouble ofdecorating it with artificial ruins. It looked like some legendaryfortress, such as those his father, the historian, had described, madefor gray skies, for moist green forests, and which seemed anxious toescape from the sun-baked landscape of scanty vegetation, and to shrinkfrom contact with the olive trees, the cacti, and the woody thicketscovered with coarse flowers.
They got out of the car on a smooth piece of ground, bordered on twosides by two buildings, meeting to form a right angle. It was the courtof honor, the future parade ground of the castle. On the other twosides, some walls that rose only a meter above the soil, suggested whatthe courtyard might some day be, if Fortune would only cease being sointractable for the proprietor. At the open end of the flat ground wasanother hired car, and beside it the three soldiers.
Lewis came forward to greet the Prince. They had arrived a short timebefore, and as he was in a hurry, he went into conference with theColonel at once.
Don Marcos was the oracle that he must consult in order not to lose anytime. Might they end this business right here? Would it not be better todo it behind the castle, in an orchard surrounded by old olive trees?The Colonel, with a pistol case under each arm, was examining theterrain. The one thing that really concerned him at first was his ownperson. He felt, indeed, that he looked ridiculous. There were thesethree officers with their uniforms; the Prince, with his dark bluestreet suit; the doctor, dressed like an old man; Lewis, as usual, withthe wide straw hat, without which he would never dream of taking a tripto the castle; and there he was himself wrapped in his large, solemnfrock coat, which seemed to frighten the very doves, that had takenrefuge in the gables and the ruined walls.
After taking a glance behind the castle, he decided on the court-yard,which was free from trees. He would place the two contestants so thattheir figures would not stand out as targets, against a wall in thebackground.
Lewis, in spite of his haste, felt it necessary to do the honors of thehouse.
"A glass of whiskey?" As they had not given him time to makepreparations, and as he was now living at Monte Carlo, his cellar wasexhausted. But he was sure that by looking around a little he could comeacross a good bottle. What respectable house could not produce a bottleof whiskey for friends?
"When we have finished, my Lord," said Don Marcos, scandalized at thisinvitation which was an infringement upon solemn regulations.
The four seconds and the doctor were in a room on the ground floor,adorned with ancient battle trophies. The two contestants had beenforgotten in the courtyard, like actors waiting for their turn toappear.
Toledo opened the pistol cases, and gave the captains the one he hadfound that morning at Cap-Ferrat. Fate was to decide which of the twowere to be used.
"It isn't necessary," said the Parisian. "Either one, it's all the sameto us. Arrange it all to suit yourself."
Don Marcos protested against this irreverent desire to shorten theceremonials. It was all quite necessary; they were there on very gravebusiness.
A five-franc piece shone in his hand. What efforts it had cost him toobtain that piece of money. Of all the preparations of the morning, thathad taken the most time and been the most difficult to arrange. Coinshad disappeared with the coming of the war. One could find nothing butpaper money, and a five-franc note was of no use in a matter of heads ortails! He had been obliged to ask one of the important officers in theCasino to hand over that precious disc.
"Heads or tails?"
And the Colonel felt a secret thrill of joy as luck favored his ancientpistols. He was beginning to triumph!
The doctor, in the meantime, was looking out of the drawing room door,with a certain air of amazement, not to say of indignation. His eyeswere fixed on the Colonel. Finally, he called Don Marcos
aside. Was thatLieutenant the man who was going to fight the Prince? He knew the boy; afriend of his, an army surgeon had talked to him about the Lieutenant'scase as an astonishing instance of vitality. It was a disgusting pieceof foolishness that was being planned: it amounted to murder. Why, thatboy might fall stark dead before the first shot was fired! They hadperformed an amazingly delicate operation on his skull; it was a miraclethat he had survived at all, and he might fall dead instantly at theslightest emotion.
Don Marcos found an heroic answer, worthy of himself.
"Doctor, for a man like that, fighting is not an emotion."
He then proceeded with slow solemnity to carry out the most delicatepart of the proceedings: the loading of the pistols. The two captainsfollowed with a look of curiosity this operation, which was quitestrange for them, though they imagined they had seen a whole lot ofmilitary life. The Parisian almost laughed as he watched how Toledohandled the diminutive ivory spoon which contained the charge of powder,scrutinizing it carefully before pouring it into the barrel of theweapon, with a certain fear of having put a grain more in one than inthe other. Toledo was sure the heroic jester was making fun of hisscrupulous precautions. But the Captain would not dare deny his interestin the novelty of the ceremony.
Lewis went out to get the automobiles moved away as far as a nearbygrove, much to the disgust of the chauffeurs. They obeyed reluctantly,intending to return, even though they might have to creep along theground, to witness the spectacle.
Toledo left the two pistols on an ancient Venetian table. They wereready! No one was to touch them! They were something sacred. Then hiseyes, falling on the wall in front of him, were lighted with a suddengleam of inspiration; he hurriedly advanced and unhooked two rustyswords from a panoply and went out with them into the courtyard.
Deserted by their seconds, the contestants had begun to pace up anddown, pretending they did not see each other, and each catching theother looking at him from the corner of his eye.
They both suddenly found themselves in the situation of the precedingafternoon. It was as though no time had passed, as though they werestill on the top steps of the Casino.
All that the Prince had been thinking over in the last few hours andthat had followed him until then in his thoughts, with a suggestion ofremorse, immediately vanished. So this young gentleman was the man whohad tried to strike him, Prince Lubimoff! He would soon find out whatsuch daring was to cost him.
But his anger seemed less violent than on the preceding day, somethingmore reasoned, more completely the product of his will; and thisweakening finally made him angry at himself.
The other man was more instinctive in his rancor. As he looked at thePrince, he saw also the sweet image of that great lady, hisbenefactress. It was because the Prince was rich that he had tried totrample on him, treating him like one of his serfs, on his far-offestates in Russia. All the best things in life had been for thisaristocrat, and now he was claiming possession of the few scatteredcrumbs, even of happiness that fall to the unfortunate! He did not knowhow to kill a man in these regulated combats; but he was going to kill,nevertheless, and felt the absolute confidence in himself that hadanimated him out there in the trenches in the cruelest days of dangerand success.
The presence of Don Marcos with a sword in either hand disturbed theirreflections and interrupted their walking back and forth. They both cameto a standstill. The Colonel looked at the sky, then took several pacesin different directions. He wanted to fix it so that neither of thecontestants would have the sun in his eyes.
Finally he proudly thrust one of the swords into the ground. It seemedto him appropriate to the character of the place, to make use of theseancient weapons. They seemed to him more in harmony with Lewis' romanticcastle, than two stakes or two cans. But his satisfaction this time wasof short duration. On raising his eyes, he saw that Prince, and he sawMartinez....
Poor Colonel! Up to that moment he had proceeded like a priestintoxicated by his own ceremonious words and his own incense, withoutthinking of the person in whose interest they are offered up. He hadprepared all these formalities with the blind fervor of a professionalwho resumes his functions after several years of inaction, and thinksonly of his work, forgetting for whom it is being done. He had managedeverything in accordance with the rites, so that two gentlemen mightkill each other in compliance with the strictest conventions; but now,at the supreme moment, he realized for the first time that these two menwere his Prince and his Martinez, his fellow countryman, his hero.
He was amazed to think that he had been able to go as far as he had goneup to that point. He felt the astonishment of a drunken man recoveringhis reason in the midst of objects broken by him in a fierce delirium.He recalled Castro's words and those of the doctor; why had _he_ notseen that this duel was a piece of foolishness? Repentance seemed torush upon him. There was a burning sensation in his eyes, which began tofill with tears. But now it was too late. He must go on, even though hisserenity should fail him.
The one thing that he had forgotten in his minute preparations was thetape measure, and he saw in this omission an act of Providence. Startingfrom the sword planted in the ground he began to pace off the terrain.But they were not paces that he took; they were enormous strides. Hefairly leaped. Now he was absolutely sure of the ridiculousness of hisappearance, as his coattails flapped back and forth like wings, as theywere thrust aside by the vigorous movements of his legs. "Fifteenpaces." And he planted the second sword.
If he could have had his way, he would have gone to the farthest end ofthe open field; perhaps as far as the place where the automobiles wereawaiting. Then he looked uneasily at the ground he had measured. It wassurely over twenty meters; a betrayal! What cowardice! Might God andgentlemen forgive him!
Once more he brought out the five-franc piece. He had to decide again bychance the position of each contestant. The Parisian captain greetedthis proposal with a bored air.
"But I told you before to do whatever you pleased!"
Lewis was muttering impatiently under his mustache.
When the coin had marked the position of each one, Don Marcos placed thePrince beside one sword.
"Marquis: your hat," he said in a low voice.
Lubimoff, understanding this suggestion, took off his hat, throwing itsome distance away. His adversary could not fight with his _kepis_ onhis head. Its yellowish color and the emblem of the Legion embroideredon the brim of the cap made him conspicuous in an unfair manner. Hisuniform also worried Toledo, who tried to do away with all the visibledetails on it.
Assisted by one of the captains, he proceeded to strip Martinez of hisdecorations of honor, after placing him beside the other sword. It waslike a ceremony of degradation. They took off his _kepis_, then hismedals, the red ribbon that hung from his shoulder, and the dark tanstrips across his breast and the belt of the same color around hiswaist. The Lieutenant seemed reduced in stature and dignity in his looseuniform, without his decorations. The Parisian, always in a merry mood,compared him to a plucked bird.
The Colonel felt that it was necessary to repeat aloud the conditions ofthe duel. The Prince knew them and was accustomed to such encounters. Itwas Martinez who needed his suggestions. After he, as the director ofthe combat, should give the word "Fire!" he would slowly count, "one,two, three." They might aim and fire in that space of time. "Be verycareful, Lieutenant!" Don Marcos spoke with tragic solemnity.
"If you fire before the _one_ or after the _three_, you will be declareda felon."
The matter of being declared a felon frightened the young man. He didn'tknow exactly what it was, but the Colonel's look as he said thisterrible word, made a deep impression on him. He no longer thought sovehemently of killing his adversary. This desire retreated into thebackground. Nor did he think of the fact that he himself might bekilled. His one preoccupation was to calculate the time properly andobey instructions without bothering about aiming; to fire before theterrible _three_; so that he should not be given that horriblemysteri
ous name that made his hair stand on end.
Don Marcos entered the castle, and appeared again with the two loadedpistols. He gave one to the Prince. The latter did not need any lessons.He put the other in the Lieutenant's right hand, and told him how heshould stand, with his arm bent, holding the weapon high, presentingonly the narrow side of his body to his adversary. Once more he dwelt onhis warning. He should be careful not to make a mistake! Now he knew!_One ... two ... three...._
He himself stood midway between the adversaries withdrawing only a fewpaces from the line of fire. At that moment he was willing to die, sothey both might remain unharmed!
He took off his hat solemnly, and with a gesture of profound sadness.
"Gentlemen ..."
During the entire morning, as he walked from one place to another,making his preparations, he had not ceased to think of what he would sayat that moment, working up a superb piece of oratory, brief andstirring. He had frequently spoken at duels, meriting the approval ofthe other seconds, retired Generals, and such experts, accustomed toformalities of the kind. But the short harangue of to-day was going tobe his masterpiece.
"Gentlemen ..." he repeated. He hesitated, not knowing what to add, asit had all been blotted from his memory. With a stammering voice, hewent on saying whatever occurred to him, with no attempt at order, andwithout remembering a single word of the phrases which he had socarefully polished some hours before.
"There was still time ... a little good will on their part; they wereboth men of courage who had proved their valor ... an explanation at thelast moment was no dishonor!"
His words were lost in a tense silence. But this silence was notabsolute. There was somebody behind the Colonel, kicking the ground. Itwas Lewis who was consulting his watch, with a scowl. It was after threeo'clock; the good series in the Casino had already begun.
The Colonel decided to end his speech. Besides, he was frightened at themotionless and rigid figure of his Prince, with his pistol raised. Hehad never seen him so ugly. His face was an earthen color, there was asquint in his eyes, and his cheek bones protruded. His features had beenchanged in a moment, as though the savagery of his remote ancestors,awakened within, had risen to his face.
"Since there is no possible agreement ..."
At that moment the Colonel thought he had recalled the last part of hisforgotten speech. But the tread of brilliant words escaped him again,and he was obliged to improvise, so he ended in a solemn fashion:
"Come, gentlemen! Honor ... is honor; and the laws of chivalry ... arethe laws of chivalry."
He heard at his back the murmur of approval. It was the voice of theformer ticket-seller. "Bravo! Wonderful!" But he did not care to hearwhat he said. You could never tell when that fellow was in earnest.
"Ready?"
The silence of the two adversaries gave the Colonel to understand thathe might give the words of command.
"Fire!... One ..."
A shot rang out. Martinez, who was only thinking of the terrible three,had fired.
He saw the Prince standing in front of him. He looked much taller; hecould see the black hole of his weapon, and above that hole an eye, witha look of cold ferocity, which was choosing a point on his antagonist'sbody to send the obedient bullet. And with unconscious arrogance, heturned on his heel, so as to present not his profile, but the wholebreadth of his body.
The four seconds did not see this. Their eyes had focused on Lubimoff,the personification of death.
Time contracts and expands us, according to our emotions. Its measureand rhythm depend on the state of the human mind. Sometimes it gallopsalong at a dizzy rate, over the faces of clocks that seem to have gonemad; at other times, it collapses and refuses to proceed, and athousandth of a second embraces more emotions than months and years ofordinary life. The four witnesses felt as though the hours had beenparalyzed, and the sun were remaining motionless forever. Time did notexist.
"Two!" sighed Don Marcos, and it seemed to him that his lips would nevercease uttering this word, as though it were composed of an infinitenumber of syllables.
Lewis had forgotten the existence of the Casino; he was conscious onlyof the present. The Captain from Bordeaux, bending forward, was leaningon his wounded foot, without feeling any pain; the other officer wasswearing between his teeth, and shaking his rattan cane until it hummed.The doctor, with professional instinct, was stooping over the surgicalcase that lay at his feet.
Lubimoff was going to kill him! All four were sure that he was going tokill him. An implacable expression of security, and of ferociouscoolness, radiated from that man, with arm upraised, so motionless, andpitiless. The expression on his Kalmuck face was of such deep fatality,his one eye tightly shut and the other open, that they could all see animaginary line drawn from the mouth of the pistol to the breast of theman opposite, the road that the tiny sphere of lead was going to followwith inexorable accuracy.
Proud of his superiority, the Prince postponed the moment of dealingdeath, with a sort of savage playfulness. He had his enemy in his claws,and could toy with him during those three months, that were as long ascenturies.
In the dizzy coincidence of image whirling through his brain, he couldsee the Princess, his mother, beautiful and arrogant, as she was whenshe recounted to him as a little boy, the greatness of the Lubimoffs.Then he saw his father, the General, somber and kindly, saying in arough voice: "The strong man must be kind."
As he thought of his father, his pistol swerved slightly, butimmediately he corrected his aim.
In his imagination a train was slowly passing. French soldiers. He sawCastro and the insolent red-haired fellow who was offering him a seat.Another train advanced in the opposite direction, an endless train thatkept coming from the depths of the ocean. Hurrahs, whistling, darkblouses, blue collars, little caps that looked as though made of paper."Good afternoon, Prince!" The luminous smile of a pale Virgin: LadyLewis with her two blind men, handsome and tragic....
His pistol fell. Above it he could see the entire body of his adversary,that obscure soldier, condemned to die before long no doubt, from woundsreceived in a land that was not his own, for a cause which was that ofall men.
"Three!" said the Colonel.
But before he could finish the word, a shot rang out. The grass stirredat intervals along the soil as the invisible bullet ricocheted into thedistance.
The scythe-like stroke passed close to the legs of the Director of thecombat; but Don Marcos was in no mood to notice such a thing. Hischild-like joy made him run hither and thither. His frock coat seemed tolaugh as its tails flapped up and down.
He was so happy, that he almost embraced Martinez. The latter must shakehands with the Prince, a reconciliation was necessary.
The officer refused to take this advice. He had his doubts about the waythe combat had ended. The Prince had fired at the ground, and he was notgoing to let him spare his life like that.
"Young man!" said Don Marcos, with an air of authority, "you are new insuch affairs. Let yourself be guided by those who know more and give thePrince your hand."
Immediately he went in quest of Lubimoff.
He saw him standing on the same spot. He had thrown the pistol away andwas covering his face with his hands.
The only one beside him was Lewis.
"Come, Prince! What's this? Be calm! Perhaps a good glass of whiskey."Toledo heard a sob of anguish, the choking of a stifled breast.
Respectfully he drew away one of the Prince's hands leaving his faceuncovered. At present it was a dull brick red, shiny with sweat andtears.
Lubimoff was weeping.
The Colonel recalled the dead Princess in her days of stormy humor,when, after an explosion of wrath, she would wring her hands, and askforgiveness, weeping hysterically.
As he gently took his hand, he felt that the Prince was following him,meekly without any will of his own. Martinez was waiting a few stepsaway.
"Shake hands. It's all over. Gentlemen are always ... gentlemen."
And then something unexpected happened which produced a long silence ofsurprise and amazement.
Michael bent forward, knelt down, and raised to his lips the hand he washolding in his own, with the same humble gesture that the serfs of theSteppes had used in the presence of his powerful ancestors.
Then he kissed it, moistening it with his tears.
The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer) Page 9