The Purchase Price; Or, The Cause of Compromise

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE DISTINGUISHED GENTLEMAN FROM NEW YORK

  Meantime, the Countess St. Auban, innocent of these plans which hadgone forward regarding her, completed her attendance at theentertainment which the evening was offering the elite ofWashington, and in due time arrived at the entrance of her hotel.She found the private entrance to-night occupied by the usualthrong, but hurried from the carriage step across the pavement andthrough the open door.

  She made no ordinary picture now as she approached the brighterlights of the interior. Her garb, cut in that fashion which gaveso scant aid to nature's outlines, was widely though not extremelyhooped, the fabric of daintily flowered silk. As she pushed backthe deep, double fronted dolman which served her for a wrap, hershoulders showed white and beautiful, as also the round column ofher neck, shadowed only by one long drooping curl, and banded by agleaming circlet of many colored gems. Her dark hair, though drawnlow upon the temples in acknowledgment of the prevailing mode, wasbound in fashion of her own by a gem-clasped, golden fillet, underwhich it broke into a riot of lesser curls which swept over earsand temples. Here and there a gleaming jewel confined some suchtruant lock, so that she glittered, half-barbaric, as she walked,surmounted by a thousand trembling points of light. Ease,confidence, carelessness seemed spoken alike by the young woman'shalf haughty carriage and her rich costuming. Midway in thetwenties of her years, she was just above slightness, just abovemedium height. The roundness of shoulder and arm, thus revealed,bespoke soundness and wholesomeness beyond callowness, yet with nohint of years or bulk. Her hair certainly was dark and luxuriant,her eyes surely were large and dark, without doubt shaded by longand level brows. The nose was not too highly arched any more thanit was pinched and meager--indeed, a triumph in noses, since nottoo strong, nor yet indicating a physique weak and ill nourished.

  Vital, self-confident, a trifle foreign, certainly distinguished,at first there might have seemed a trace of defiance in thecarriage, even in the glance of Josephine St. Auban. But a secondlook into the wide dark eyes would have found there rather a traceof pathos, bordering upon melancholy; and the lines of the mouth,strongly curved, would in all likelihood have gained that sympathydemanded by the eyes, betokening a nature warm and noble, not pettyor mean, and certainly not insignificant.

  Such was the woman of the hour in Washington, lately frowned on bythe ladies as too beautiful, talked about by the gentlemen as toocold, discussed by some, adored by others, understood by none,dreaded by some high in power, plotted against by others yet morehigh in place.

  She cast a hurried glance now at the clock which, tall and solemn,stood near by in the hall. It was upon the stroke of midnightonly. Turning half questioningly to her maid, she heard afootfall. The manager of the hotel himself came to greet her,carrying a card in his hand, and with a bow, asking her attention.

  "Well, then," began the young woman, in perfect English, glancingat the card. Her dark eyes rose to meet his. "It is impossible,"she said. "You know my wishes very well."

  "But, my dear Countess, have you noted this name?" began themanager.

  "Of course, I know it. All the more reason there should bemistake."

  "But I assure you, my dear Countess--"

  A step sounded near by, and the curtains swung back, disclosing theentrance to one of the adjoining parlors of the hotel. The figureof a well-built and hale gentleman, past middle age, of dignifiedcarriage and pleasant features, was revealed. Half hesitating, headvanced.

  "My dear lady," he began, in a deep and melodious voice, "I come toyou doubly handicapped, both as intruder and eavesdropper. I couldnot avoid hearing what you have said, and as listeners hear no goodof themselves, I venture to interrupt. I am anxious that yourfirst impression of me should be a good one, Madam!"

  She dropped him a curtsy which was grace itself, her dark eyeslooking straight into his face. Surprise brought a slightlyheightened color to her cheek. Seeing her perturbation, theunbidden guest hastened to make what amends were possible.

  She dropped him a curtsy.]

  "You were saying it was a mistake, dear lady. But if so, theintrusion was on my part. I have wished to meet you quietly, ifsuch may be your pleasure. I am alone. Opportunity has lacked forearlier announcement, for I have but reached town this evening."

  She looked from one to the other still questioningly. The managerof the hotel, feeling discretion to be the best card to play,hurriedly bowed, and hastened away.

  The Countess St. Auban hesitated for an instant, but guessed someerrand here worth knowing. Having herself entered the inner room,with grace she signified that the elderly gentleman should first beplaced; then, seating herself upon a divan somewhat nearer to thedoor and hence in shadow, she waited for him to go forward with thebusiness which had brought him hither.

  "Madam," he went on, "my dear Countess, I could but overhear yourefer to my own name. If it has any reputation in your eyes, letthat plead as my excuse for intruding in this manner. Believe me,nothing would induce me to take such a step except business ofimportance."

  "It is, then, of business?" Her voice, as he noted once more, wasclear and full, her enunciation without provincial slur, clean andhighbred.

  "I hope something not wholly outside your liking."

  "Of course I do not understand." She sat still looking at himfull, her hands, clasping her little fan, a trifle raised.

  "Then let me hasten to make all plain. I am aware of a part ofyour history and of a part of your plans, Madam; I am not unawareof certain ambitions of your own--I am forced to be so frank inthese conditions. You are interested in the cause of Hungary."

  "Place it wider, Sir," she said. "In humanity!"

  "Hence you have come to America to carry forward certain of yourplans. Even now you have undertaken the greatest and most daringwork of altruism this country ever knew."

  She made no answer but to smile at him, a wide and half lazy smile,disclosing her white and even teeth. The jewels in her dark hairglistened as she nodded slightly. Emboldened, he went on:

  "And you find all things at a deadlock in Washington to-day.Humanity is placed away in linen on the shelf in America, to-day.Dust must not filter through the protection of this mightycompromise which our two great parties have accomplished! We mustnot talk of principles, must not stir sedition, at this time. Whigand Democrat must tiptoe, both of them, nor wake this sleeping dogof slavery. Only a few, Madam, only a few, have the hardihood toassert their beliefs. Only a few venture to cast defiance even tothe dictum of Webster himself. He says to us that conscienceshould not be above the law. I say to you, Madam, that conscienceshould be the only law."

  "Are you for freedom, Sir?" she asked slowly. "Are you forhumanity?"

  "Madam, as I hope reward, I am! Those of us who dare say so muchare few in numbers to-day. We are so few, my dear lady, that webelong together. All of us who have influence--and that I trustmay be said of both of us, who now meet for the first time--we areso few that I, a stranger to you, though not, I trust, whollyunrecommended, dare come to you to-night."

  "With what purpose, then. Sir?"

  "With the immediate purpose of learning at first hand the truth ofthe revolutionary system in Europe. I have not been abroad oflate, indeed not for some years. But I know that our diplomacy isall a-tangle. The reports are at variance, and we get them coloredby partisan politics. This slavery agitation is simply a politicalgame, at which both parties and all sides are merely playing.Party desirability, party safety--that is the cry in the South asmuch as in the North. Yet all the time I know, as you know, of thehundreds of thousands of men who are leaving Europe to come to thiscountry. A wave of moral change is bound to sweep across theNorth. Madam, we dwell on the eve of revolution here in America aswell as in Europe. Now do you see why I have come to you to-night?Have we not much in common?"

  "I am glad," she said simply; "I am proud. Me you overrate, but mywishes and my hopes you do not overrate. On
ly,--" and shehesitated, "why to-night; why in this particular way?"

  "I arrive at that. My own plans take me soon to Europe. I amdetermined to investigate upon the very ground itself this questionof a national repression of the human conscience."

  She sat a trifle more erect, a trifle more haughty. He seemed toread her thoughts.

  "Let me hope that you also have planned an early return. We havemuch which we might discuss of common interest. There is much ofinterest in that country beyond, which we might see. I do notventure any suggestion for you, but only say that if it were withinyour own desires to travel in the company of a man whose formerstation at least ought to render your reputation safe, you and yourservants will be welcome in my company. My party will have othergentlemen and ladies, not of mean station, I hope."

  She looked at him, hesitating, studying. It was hardly a faircontest, this of youth and scant experience against suavity andshrewdness strengthened by years of public life.

  "I am somewhat helpless, Sir," she said, at length. "To conversewith one so able as yourself,--what woman of my ambitions would notbe pleased with that? But I am a woman, and alone in the world. Iam already denounced as careless. There already has been talk.Moreover, as you see, I am committed now fully to this great workof freeing and sending from America the negro slaves. Take themfrom this country. Replace them with three million men born closerto freedom and citizenship--"

  "Yes. But you are here somewhat mysteriously; you come privatelyand secretly. What harm, then, if you return as privately andsecretly as you have come to Washington? Let your agents carry onyour work here. The mission on which I shall be engaged will haveto do with Louis Kossuth."

  "Ah!"

  "Yes; and you know that noble patriot, I am told. Consider of whataid you might be to me. You speak his tongue, you know hishistory, you could supply me at once with information--Come, 'tisno idle errand. And, perhaps,--you will forgive me, since we bothknow how cruel is such gossip as this that has wronged you--thetongue of gossip wags the least when the eye of gossip has seenleast. Tins is a most natural and proper--indeed, most convincingopportunity."

  "That is precisely what I pondered, Sir." She nodded gravely.

  "And let me add this," he continued: "every day you are here inWashington the tongue of rumor wags the more. Listen to me! Leavethis place. Let gossip quiet down. It has been cruel with you;yet the public soon forgets. To remain and appear in public wouldfreshen gossip anew. Come, it is an adventure! I swear it doesnot lack its appeal to me! Ah, would only that I were younger, andthat it were less seemly and sedate! Dear lady, I offer you myapology for coming as I have, but large plans work rapidly attimes, and there is little time to wait. Now there is but one wordI can say; that you have courage and decision, I know."

  He had risen, and unconsciously the young woman also hadrisen,--balancing, measuring, watching, warding, in this contest,all too unequal. Suddenly, with a swift and most charming smileshe approached him a half step and held out her hand.

  "You are a great man, Sir. Your country has found you great. Ihave always found the greatest men the simplest and most frank.Therefore I know you will tell me--you will satisfy any doubt I mayfeel--If I should ask a question, you would not condemn me aspresuming?"

  "Certainly not. Upon the contrary, my dear Countess, I should feelflattered."

  She looked at him for an instant, then came up to the side of thetable beyond which he had taken his seat. Leaning her chin uponher hand, her elbow upon the table, in a sudden posture ofencounter, she asked him a question whose answer took him swiftlyfar back into his own past, into another and forgotten day.

  "Did you ever hear of Mr. John Parish, Sir?" she demanded.

  The suave countenance before her was at first blank, then curious,then intent. His mind was striving to summon up, from all its manyimages, this one which was required. It was a brain which rarelyforgot, even though years had passed; and had it been able toforget, so much had been the better for the plans of the gentlemanfrom Kentucky, and for the success of his proposed European mission.

  At last, slowly, a faint flush passed over the face she wasregarding so intently. "Yes, I remember him very well," hereplied. "He has not for very many years, been in this country.He died abroad, some years since. I presume you mean Mr. Parish ofNew York--he is the only one I recall of that name at least. Yes;I knew such a man."

  "That was very long ago?"

  "It was when I was much younger, my dear Countess."

  "You knew him very well, then?"

  "I may say that I did, Madam."

  "And you'll tell me; then--tell me, was it true that once, as awild rumor had it, a rumor that I have heard--that once you twoplayed at cards--"

  "Was that a crime?" he smiled.

  "But with him, at cards with him, Mr. John Parish, a certain gameof cards with him--one day,--a certain winter day years ago, whenyou both were younger--when the train was snowbound in the North?And you played then, for what? What were the stakes then, in thatparticular game with Mr. John Parish? Do you chance to recall?"

  "Madam, you credit me with frankness. I will not claim even somuch. But since you have heard a rumor that died out long yearsago--which was denied--which even now I might better deny--since,in fact you know the truth--why should I deny the truth?"

  "Then you two played a game, at cards,--for a woman? And Mr.Parish won? Was it not true?"

  A new and different expression passed over the face of thegentleman before her. Her chin still rested in her hand, her otherarm, long, round, white, lay out upon the table before him. Hecould see straight into her wide eyes, see the heave of her throatnow under its shining circlet, see the color of her cheek, feel thetenseness of all her mind and body as she questioned him about hislong forgotten past.

  "Why do you ask me this?" he demanded at last. "What has that todo with us? That was long ago. It is dead, it is forgotten. Whyrake up the folly of a deed of youth and recklessness, long yearsdead and gone? Why, the other man, and the woman herself, are deadand gone now, both of them. Then, why?"

  "I will tell you why. That happened once in my own experience."

  "Impossible!"

  "Yes, impossible. It should have been impossible among men at thisday of the world. But it happened. I also had the distinguishedhonor to be the stake in some such game, and that because--indirectlybecause--I had won the enmity, the suspicions at least--well, we willsay, of persons high in authority in this land."

  "But, my dear young lady, the conditions can not have been thesame. Assuredly the result was not the same!"

  "By whose credit, then? Who thinks of a woman? Who is there whosehand is not raised against her? Each member of her own sex is herenemy. Each member of the opposite sex is her foe. One breath,one suspicion, and she becomes fair game, even under the strictestcode among men; and then, the man who did not dare would bedespised because he would not dare. Her life is one long waragainst suspicion. It is one long war against selfishness, acontinued defense against desire, gratification. She is, evento-day, valued as chattel--under all the laws and conventions builtabout her runs the chattel idea. She is a convenience. Is thatall?"

  "My dear lady, it is not for me to enter into discussion ofsubjects so abstruse, so far removed at least from my proper trendof thought--our proper trend of thought, if you please. I mustadmit that act of folly, yes. But I must also end the matterthere."

  "Then why should not I end our matter there, Sir? It seems to methat if in any usual way of life, going about her businesshonestly, paying her obligations of all sort--even that to hercrucifix at night--a woman who is clean wishes to remain clean, tobe herself,--why, I say, if that may not be, among men great orsmall, distinguished or unknown, then most fortunate is she whoremains aloof from all chance of that sort of thing. Sir, I shouldnot like to think that, while I was in my room, for the timeremoved from the society of the gentlemen who should be myprotectors, there was going
on, let us say, somewhere in thegentlemen's saloon, a little enterprise at chance in which--"

  "But, my dear lady, you are mad to speak in this way! Lightning,even lightning of folly, does not strike twice in the same place."

  "Ah, does it not? But it has!"

  "What can you mean? Surely you do not mean actually to say thatyou yourself ever have figured in such an incident?"

  She made no answer to him, save to look straight into his eyes,chin in hand still, her long white arm lying out, motionless, herposture free of nervous strain or unrest. Slowly her lips parted,showing her fine white teeth in a half smile. Her eyes smiledalso, with wisdom in their look.

  The venerable statesman opposed to her all at once felt hisresources going. He knew that his quest was over, that this youngwoman was after all able to fend for herself.

  "What would you do?" she demanded of him. "If you were a woman andknew you were merely coveted in general, as a woman, and that youhad been just cheaply played for in a game of cards, in a publicplace--what would you do, if you could, to the man who lost--or theman who won? Would you be delivered over? That woman, wasshe--but she could not help herself; she had no place to turn, poorgirl? And she paid all her life, then, for some act earlier, whichleft her fair game? Was that it?"

  "But you, my dear girl! It is impossible!"

  "I was more fortunate, that is all. Would you blame me if Idreaded the memory of such an incident; if I felt a certainshrinking from one who ever figured in such an incident? If Icould trust--but then, but then--Are you very sure that Mr. Parishloved that woman?"

  "I am sure of it," answered the old man soberly. "Did he use herwell?"

  "All her life. He gave her everything--"

  "Oh, that is nothing! Did he give her--after he had learned,maybe, that she was not what he had thought--did he give herthen--love--belief, trust? Did he--are you very sure that any manin such case, after such an incident, _could_ have loved, reallyloved, the woman whom he held in that way--"

  "I not only believe he might, my dear girl, but I know that in thisone case--the only one of my experience"--he smiled--"such was thetruth. There was some untold reason why they two did not, or couldnot, marry. I do not go into that.

  "Consider, my dear girl," he resumed; "you are young, and I am soold that it is as though I too were young now and had noexperience--so we may talk. Our life is a contest among men formoney and for love; that is all success can bring us. In olderdays men fought for that. To-day we have modified life a little,and have other ways; but I fancy the game in which that certainlady figured was only one form of contest--it was a fight, thespoils to go to the victor."

  "Horrible! But you might have been the victor? In that case,would you have loved her, would you have used her well, all yourlife, and hers?"

  He drew back now with dignity. "Madam, my position in later yearsdefends me from necessity of answering you. You are young,impulsive, but you should not forget the proprieties even now--"His face was now hotly flushed.

  "I ask your pardon! But _would_ you?"

  He smiled in spite of himself, something of the old fire ofgallantry still burning in his withered veins. "My dear girl, ifit were yourself, I would! And by the Lord! I'd play again withParish, or any other man, if my chance otherwise, merely by cruelcircumstances, had been left hopeless. Some one must win."

  "But how could the winner be sure? How could the--how did she--Iwould say--"

  "Dear girl, let us not be too cold in our philosophy, nor too wise.I can not say how or why these things go as they do. All I know isthat the right man won in that case, and that he proved it later,by each act of kindness he gave her, all her life. This, my dear,is an odd world, when it comes to all that."

  "Was he--did he have anybody else in the world who--"

  "Oh, only a wife, I believe, that was all!"

  "Did she die, soon? Was there ever--"

  "How you question! What do you plan for _yourself_? My word! Youare putting me through a strange initiation on our firstacquaintance, my dear Countess! Let us not pursue such mattersfurther, or I shall begin to think your own interest in thesequestions is that of the original Eve!"

  "To the victor does not always belong the spoils," she said slowly."Not till he has won--earned them--in war, in conquest! Perhapsconquest of himself."

  "To the victor does not always belong the spoils."]

  "You speak in enigmas for me, my dear Countess."

  She shook her head slowly, from side to side. "That poor girl!Did she ever feel she had been won in the real game, I wonder? Towhom would belong herself--if she felt that she had something inher own life to forget, some great thing to be done, in penanceperhaps, in eagerness perhaps, some step to take, up--something toput her into a higher plane in the scheme of life? To dosomething, for some one else--not just to be selfish--suppose thatwas in her heart; after that game?"

  "Why, you read her story as though you saw it! That was her life,absolutely. Never lived a woman more respected there, more loved.She disarmed even the women, old and young--yes, even the singleones!"

  "It is an odd world," she said slowly. "But"--drawing back--"I donot think I will go back to Europe. It would delight me to meetagain my friend, the patriot Kossuth. But here I have many ideaswhich I must work out."

  "My dear Countess, you oppress me with a sense of failure! I hadso much hoped that you would lend your aid in this mission of myown abroad. You would be valuable. You are so much prized in theopinions of the administration, I am sure, that--"

  "What do you mean? Does the administration know of me? _Why_should it know? What have I done?"

  But the old statesman before her was no such fool as to waste timein a lost cause. This one was lost, he knew, and it booted littlefor him to become involved where, even at the best issue, there wasrisk enough for him. He reflected that risk must have existed evenhad this young lady been a shade more dull of mind, of lessbrilliant faculty in leaping to conclusions and resolutions. She_was_ a firebrand, that was sure. Let others handle such, but notthat task for him!

  "Now you ask questions whose answers lie entirely beyond my power,"he replied easily. "You must remember that I am not of this party,let alone this administration. My own day in politics has past,and I must seek seclusion, modestly. I own that the mission toEurope, to examine in a wholly non-partisan way, the working outthere of this revolutionary idea--the testing on the soil ofmonarchies of the principle of democratic government--has a greatappeal to me; and I fancied it would offer appeal also to yourself.But if--"

  "All life is chance, is it not? But in your belief, does the rightman always win?"

  He rose, smiling, inscrutable once more, astute and suavepolitician again, and passing about the table he bowed over herhand to kiss it.

  "My dear Countess," he said, "my dear girl, all I can say is thatin the very limited experience I can claim in such matters, thevictor usually is the right man. But I find you here, alone,intent on visionary plans which never can be carried out,undertaking a labor naturally foreign to a woman's methods of life,alien to her usual ideas of happiness. So, my dear, my dear, Ifear you yourself have not played out the game--you have notfulfilled its issue! The stakes are not yet given over! I can notsay as to the right man, but I can say with all my heart that hewho wins such prize is fortunate indeed, and should cherish it forever. See, I am not after all devoid of wit or courage, my dearyoung girl! Because, I know, though you do not tell me, that thereis some game at which you play, yourself, and that you will notstop that game to participate in my smaller enterprise of visitingKossuth and the lands of Europe! I accept defeat myself, oncemore, in a game where a woman is at stake. Again, I lose!"

  There was more truth than she knew in his words, for what was inhis mind and in the minds of others there in Washington, regardingher, were matters not then within her knowledge. But she wasguided once more, as many a woman has been, by her unerringinstinct, her sixth sense of
womanhood, her scent for things ofdanger. Now, though she stood with face grave, pensive, almostmelancholy, to give him curtsy as he passed, there was not weaknessnor faltering in her mien or speech.

  "But he would have to _win_!" she said, as though following outsome train of thought. "He would first need to win in the largergame. Ah! What woman would be taken, except by the man who reallyhad won in the real game of life."

  "You would demand that, my dear?" smiled the pleasant gentleman whonow was bowing himself toward the door.

  "I would demand it!"

  By the time he had opportunity to rally his senses, assailed asthey were by the sight of her, by the splendor of her apparel, bythe music of her voice, the fragrance which clung about her, thecharm of her smiles,--by the time, in short, which he required toturn half about, she was gone. He heard her light step at thestair.

  "My soul!" he exclaimed, wiping his brow with a silken kerchief."So much for attempting to sacrifice principle--for expecting tomix Free Soil and Whig! Damn that Kentuckian!"