by Anthony Hope
III
THE NOTE--AND NO REASONS
That feverish month of July--fitting climax to the scorching, aridsummer of 1870--had run full half its course. Madness had stricken therulers of France; to avoid danger they rushed on destruction. Gaymadness spread through the veins of Paris. Perverse always, Lady MegDuddington chose this moment for coming back to her senses--or at leastfor abandoning the particular form of insanity to which she had devotedthe last five years.
One afternoon she called her witch and her wizard. "You're a pair ofquacks, and I've been an old fool," she said, composedly, sittingstraight up in her high-backed chair. She flung a couple ofthousand-franc notes across the table. "You can go," she ended, withcontemptuous brevity. Mantis's evil temper broke out: "She has donethis, the malign one!" Pharos was wiser; he had not done badly out ofLady Meg, and madness such as hers is apt to be recurrent. His farewellwas gentle, his exit not ungraceful; yet he, too, prayed her to bewareof a certain influence. "Stuff! You don't know what you're talkingabout!" Lady Meg jerked out, and pointed with her finger to the door."So we went out, and to avoid any trouble we left Paris the same day.But this man here would not give me any of the money, though I had doneas much to earn it as he had, or more." So injured Madame Mantis toldMonsieur le President at Lille.
Early on the morning of Sunday, the 17th, having received word throughLady Meg's maid that her presence was not commanded in the Rue deGrenelle, Sophy slipped round to the Rue du Bac and broke in on MarieZerkovitch, radiant with her great news and imploring her friend tocelebrate it by a day in the country.
"It means that dear old Lady Meg will be what she used to be to me!" shecried. "We shall go back to England, I expect, and--I wonder what thatwill be like!"
Her face grew suddenly thoughtful. Back to England! How would that suitSophie de Gruche? And what was to happen about Casimir de Savres? Theperiod of her long, sweet indecision was threatened with a forcedconclusion.
Marie Zerkovitch was preoccupied against both her friend's joy and herfriend's perplexity. Great affairs touched her at home. There would bewar, she said, certainly war; to-day the Senate went to St. Cloud to seethe Emperor. Zerkovitch had started thither already, on the track ofnews. The news in the near future would certainly be war, and Zerkovitchwould follow the armies, still on the track of news. "He went before, inthe war of 'sixty-six," she said, her lips trembling. "And he all butdied of fever; that kills the correspondents just as much as thesoldiers. Ah, it's so dangerous, Sophie--and so terrible to be leftbehind alone. I don't know what I shall do! My husband wants me to gohome. He doesn't believe the French will win, and he fears trouble forthose who stay here." She looked at last at Sophy's clouded face. "Ah,and your Casimir--he will be at the front!"
"Yes, Casimir will be at the front," said Sophy, a ring of excitementhardly suppressed in her voice.
"If he should be killed!" murmured Marie, throwing her arms out in agesture of lamentation.
"You bird of ill omen! He'll come back covered with glory."
The two spent a quiet day together, Sophy helping Marie in her homelytasks. Zerkovitch's campaigning kit was overhauled--none knew how soonorders for an advance might come--his buttons put on, his thickstockings darned. The hours slipped away in work and talk. At sixo'clock they went out and dined at a small restaurant hard by. Thingsseemed very quiet there. The fat waiter told them with a shrug: "Wesha'n't have much noise here to-night--the lads will be over there!" Hepointed across the river. "They'll be over there most of the night--onthe _grands boulevards_. Because it's war, madame. Oh, yes, it's war!"The two young women sipped their coffee in silence. "As a lad I saw1830. I was out in the streets in 1851. What shall I see next?" he askedthem as he swept his napkin over the marble table-top. If he stayed athis post, he saw many strange things; unnatural fires lit his skies, andbefore his doors brother shed brother's blood.
The friends parted at half-past seven. Marie hoped her husband would bereturning home soon, and with news; Sophy felt herself due in the Rue deGrenelle. She reached the house there a little before eight. The_concierge_ was not in his room; she went up-stairs unseen, and passedinto the drawing-room. The inner door leading to the room Lady Megoccupied stood open. Sophy called softly, but there was no answer. Shewalked towards the door and was about to look into the room, thinkingthat perhaps Lady Meg was asleep, when she heard herself addressed. TheFrenchwoman who acted as their cook had come in and stood now on thethreshold with a puzzled, distressed look on her face.
"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Sophie, to tell you, but my lady has gone."
"Gone! Where to?"
"To England, I believe. This morning, after you had gone out, sheordered everything to be packed. It was done. She paid us here off,bidding me alone stay till orders reached me from Monsieur le Marquis.Then she went; only the coachman accompanied her. I think she startedfor Calais. At least, she is gone."
"She said--said nothing about me?"
"You'll see there's a letter for you on the small table in the windowthere."
"Oh yes! Thank you."
"Your room is ready for you to-night."
"I've dined. I shall want nothing. Good-night."
Sophy walked over to the little table in the window, and for a fewmoments stood looking at the envelope which lay there, addressed to herin Lady Meg's sprawling hand. The stately room in the Rue de Grenelleseemed filled with a picture which its walls had never seen; old wordsre-echoed in Sophy's ears: "If I want you to go, I'll put ahundred-pound note in an envelope and send it to you; upon which you'llgo, and no reasons given! Is it agreed?" As if from a long way off, sheheard a servant-girl answer: "It sounds all right." She saw the oldelm-trees at Morpingham, and heard the wind murmur in their boughs;Pindar chuckled, and Julia Robins's eyes were wet with tears.
"And no reasons given!" It had sounded all right--before five years ofintimacy and a life transformed. It sounded different now. Yet theagreement had been made between the strange lady and the eager girl. Norwere reasons hard to find. They stood out brutally plain. Having senther prophet to the right about, Lady Meg wanted no more of hermedium--her most disappointing medium. "They" would not speak throughSophy; perhaps Lady Meg did not now want them to speak at all.
Sophy tore the envelope right across its breadth and shook out theflimsy paper within. It was folded in four. She did not trouble to openit. Lady Meg was a woman of her word, and here was the hundred-poundnote of the Bank of England--"upon which you'll go, and no reasonsgiven!" With a bitter smile she noticed that the note was soiled, thefoldings old, the edges black where they were exposed. She had no doubtthat all these years Lady Meg had carried it about, so as to be readyfor the literal fulfilment of her bond.
"Upon which," said Sophy, "I go."
The bitter smile lasted perhaps a minute more; then the girl flungherself into a chair in a fit of tears as bitter. She had served--orfailed to serve--Lady Meg's mad purpose, and she was flung aside. Verylikely she had grown hateful--she, the witness of insane whims now pastand out of favor. The dismissal might not be unnatural; but, for alltheir bargain, the manner was inhuman. They had lived and eaten anddrunk together for so long. Had there been no touch of affection, nosoftening of the heart? It seemed not--it seemed not. Sophy wept andwondered. "Oh, that I had never left you, Julia!" she cries in herletter, and no doubt cried now; for Julia had given her a friend's love.If Lady Meg had given her only what one spares for a dog--a kind wordbefore he is banished, a friendly lament at parting!
Suddenly through the window came a boy's shrill voice: "_Vive laguerre!_"
Sophy sprang to her feet, caught up the dirty note, and thrust it insideher glove. Without delay, seemingly without hesitation, she left thehouse, passed swiftly along the street, and made for the Pont Royal. Shewas bound for the other bank and for the Boulevard des Italiens, whereCasimir de Savres had his lodging. The stream of traffic set with her.She heeded it not. The streets were full of excited groups, but therewas no great tumult yet. Men were eagerly reading
the latest editions ofthe papers. Sophy pushed on till she reached Casimir's house. She wasknown there. Her coming caused surprise to the _concierge_--it was notthe proper thing; but he made no difficulty. He showed her to Casimir'ssitting-room, but of Casimir he could give no information, save that hepresumed he would return to sleep.
"I must wait--I must see him," she said; and, as the man left her, shewent to the window, flung it open wide, and stood there, looking downinto the great street.
The lights blazed now. Every seat at every _cafe_ was full. Thenewspapers did a great trade; a wave of infinite talk, infinite chaff,infinite laughter rose to her ears. A loud-voiced fellow was sellingpictures of the King of Prussia--as he looks now, and as he will look!The second sheet never failed of a great success. Bands of lads came bywith flags and warlike shouts. Some cheered them, more laughed andchaffed. One broad-faced old man she distinguished in the _cafe_opposite; he looked glum and sulky and kept arguing to his neighbor,wagging a fat forefinger at him repeatedly; the neighbor shrugged boredshoulders; after all, he had not made the war--it was the Emperor andthose gentlemen at St. Cloud! As she watched, the stir grew greater, thebands of marching students more frequent and noisy, "_A Berlin!_" theycried now, amid the same mixture of applause and tolerant amusement. Aparty of girls paraded down the middle of the street, singing "_J'aimeles militaires!_" The applause grew to thunder as they went by, and thelaughter broke into one great crackle when the heroines had passed.
She turned away with a start, conscious of a presence in the room.Casimir came quickly across to her, throwing his helmet on the table ashe passed. He took her hands. "I know. Lady Meg wrote to me," he said."And you are here!"
"I have no other home now," she said.
With a light of joy in his eyes he kissed her lips.
"I come to you only when I'm in trouble!" she said, softly.
"It is well," he answered, and drew her with him back to the window.
Together they stood looking down.
"It is war, then?" she asked.
"Without doubt it's war--without doubt," he answered, gravely. "Andbeyond that no man knows anything."
"And you?" she asked.
He took her hands again, both of hers in his. "My lady of the Red Star!"he murmured, softly.
"And you?"
"You wouldn't have it otherwise?"
"Heaven forbid! God go with you as my heart goes! When do you go?"
"I take the road in an hour for Strasburg. We are to be of MacMahon'scorps."
"In an hour?"
"Yes."
"Your preparations--are they made?"
"Yes."
"And you are free?"
"Yes."
"Then you've an hour to make me sure I love you!"
He answered as to a woman of his own stock.
"I have an hour now--and all the campaign," said he.