CHAPTER XVII
RUSSIAN MIKE AND MAITRE RAOUL GALVEZ
Russian Mike lived in a settlement perhaps a mile back from the riverroad. He usually passed the Adriances' house each morning, a few momentsearlier than the lighter-footed Anthony set forth, whose swinging stridecarried him two steps to the big man's one. Elsie had long since madeacquaintance with her husband's assistant. During the bitter weather shefrequently had called him from the snow-piled road to warm his slowblood with a cup of her vivifying Creole coffee. The Monday morningfollowing the purchase of the guitar, she knew just when to run down thepath and find the bulky, lounging figure passing her gate.
At the sight of the girl in her lilac-hued frock, a drift of white-woolscarf wound about her shoulders, her dark little head shining almostbronze in the bright morning light, Mike came to a halt and awkwardlyjerked at his coarse cap. It had flaps that fastened down under hischin, so that he was embarrassed equally by the difficulty of removinghis headgear and the _inconvenance_ of remaining covered. But Elsie'ssmile was a sunshine of the heart that melted such chills of doubt, asshe came up to him.
"Good-morning, Michael. Thank you for bringing back my kitty-puss,Saturday night. She _will_ run away, somehow."
"It ain't nothing, ma'am," he deprecated, confused, yet gratified.
"It was very kind. Michael," she considerately lowered her eyes to herbreeze-blown scarf, "yesterday Mr. Adriance bought a guitar for me, fromthe antique shop. We heard where it came from--how you brought it. Willyou tell the lady who owned it that I should be sorry to keep a thingshe might miss? Tell her, please, that I hope she will soon grow well,and when she is ready I shall be happy to return the guitar to her. Wewill just play that she lent it to me for a while."
His rough face and massive neck slowly reddened to match his fiery hair.
"You, you----" he stammered, inarticulate. His mittened fist wrung thenearest fence paling. "I ain't----! Thank you, lady."
Mischief curled Elsie's lips like poppy petals, as she contemplated thediscomfited giant.
"Is she very pretty, Michael?"
"No, ma'am," was the unexpected avowal. "Not 'less she's dolled up foractin'. She's nice, just. I guess many ain't like the swell one Andyused to work for: dolled up any time."
"Andy? Mr. Adriance? He never worked----"
"For an actress; yes, ma'am," finished Mike, calmly assertive. "Hetreated her to tea, the day after Christmas, when we was sent over toNew York. Ain't you seen her? Swell blonde, with awful big sort of lighteyes an' nice clothes on?" He leaned against the frail old fence,shutting his eyes reminiscently. "She had on some kind of perfumery----!Since I seen her, nobody else ain't very good-lookin'."
"He treated her to tea?" Elsie faintly repeated. She did not intend anespial upon Anthony; the question was born of pain and bewilderment.
"She ast him to. They went to a eatin' place an' I watched the truck.Tony, _she_ called him." Mike ponderously straightened himself andprepared to depart. "I guess I'll get to work, ma'am."
Elsie nodded, and turning, crept back.
Adriance had appeared on the threshold of the cottage, his dog leapingabout him in the daily disappointed, daily renewed hope of accompanyingthe worshipful master. He was whistling and fumbling in his pockets fora match, as he stood. But he was struck dumb and motionless by thechange in the pale girl who turned from the gate. She seemed almostgroping her way up the path.
"Elsie!" he called, springing down the steps. "Why, Elsie?"
To his utter dismay, she crumpled into his extended arms, her eyes shut.
He gathered her to him and swept her into the house, himself sick withabsolute panic. Illness was so new to them; he did even know of a doctornearer than the stately and important family physician in New York. Hefelt the world rock beneath his feet; his world, which held only hiswife. Trembling, he laid her on their bed and knelt beside it, her headstill on his arm.
"Elsie!" he choked, his eyes searching her face. "Girl!"
Perhaps it was the misery in his voice, perhaps the anguish of love withwhich he clasped her, but she moved in his arms.
"Yes," she whispered. "I--I shall be well, in a moment."
"You're not dying? Not in pain? What can I do?"
"No, no. Wait a little. Put me down; I must think."
He obeyed, settling her among the pillows with infinite tenderness. Hedared not kiss her lest he disturb recovery, but he carefully drew thepins from her hair and smoothed out the thick, soft ripples. He had avague recollection of reading somewhere that a woman's locks should beunbound when she swooned. It was in a novel, of course; still, it mightbe true. And there was one panacea that he knew!
Elsie did not open her eyes, but she heard him rise and hurry into theother room. The giddiness had left her now, and she could think.
Of course she had recognized Mike's portrait of Lucille Masterson. Shehad seen the other woman, lovely, imperious in assured beauty; almosthad breathed the rich odor of her _Essence Enivrante_--which was notFrench at all, but distilled in an upper room on Forty-second streetwhere individual perfumes were composed for those who could pay well.Anthony had gone to her, the day after Christmas. The day after thatChristmas! Lying there, Elsie recalled how she and Anthony had gonetogether to church in Yuletide mood and knelt hand in hand in the barelittle pew as simply as children: "because they had found each other."And then their first Christmas dinner in their holly-decked house, whenthe puppy had sat in rolypoly unsteadiness on Anthony's knee, regaledwith food that should have slain him, while she laughed and remonstratedand abetted the crime. The day after all that, the day after he hadgiven her the garnet love-ring, Anthony had gone to Mrs. Masterson? Herreason cried out against the absurdity. Yet, he had gone.
The clink of china hurriedly moved in the next room had ceased.Adriance came to the bedside, leaning over to slip his arm carefullyunder the pillow and raise the girl's head. In his other hand he held acup of hot tea, the only medicine he knew.
All his wife's heart melted toward him in his helpless helpfulness.Suddenly she remembered that he had come back to her from that meeting.He had seen the invincible Lucille, yet had returned to glorious contentwith his wife. The ordeal she long had foreseen and dreaded was over.She opened her eyes and looked up at him quietly.
He looked like a man who had been ill, and his gaze devoured her,enfolded her.
"What was it?" he asked unsteadily. "What is it?"
"Anthony, why did you not tell me that you met Mrs. Masterson?" she puther quiet question. "Why did you leave me to hear it from Michael?"
Startled, he still continued to look down into her eyes with noconfusion in his own.
"I suppose I should have told you," he frankly admitted. "But it wasn'tof any importance, and I--well, I cut such a poor figure that I dodgedexhibiting it to you. The woman caught me on the Avenue and fairlybullied me into a tea-room, with my collar wilted and oily hands. Ithink she did it out of pure malice, too, for she had nothing to say,after all. But--surely _that_ did not make you ill, Elsie?"
"You never thought that I might mind your going?"
"Why?" he asked simply. "What is it to us? You don't, do you?"
She put up her hands and clasped them behind his head.
"Set down the tea," she laughed, tears in her mockery, "or we will spillit between us. Did you think me an inhuman angel, dear darling? No, Idon't mind; but I did."
"Like that?" amazed. "So much?"
"You keep remembering who Mait' Raoul Galvez raised," she warned, herlips against his. "I'm mighty jealous, man!"
"But I love you," he stammered clumsily. "That woman--she looked like avixen! Poor Fred!"
Their first misunderstanding was passed, and left no shadow. By and bythey drank the cold tea together, and Elsie persuaded her nurse to go tothe factory as usual.
"I was not sick, just full of badness," she conscientiously explained."Although it might not have happened if I had been altogether just thesame as usual, Anthony."
They talked over the affair at more leisure, that evening. But theycould find no reason for Lucille Masterson's insistence upon that briefinterview with Anthony. Why had she forced him to attend her? He couldhonestly assure Elsie that Mrs. Masterson had made no attempt to win himback to his former allegiance; rather, she had taunted and antagonizedhim. As a caprice, they finally classified and dismissed the episode.
What they did not dismiss from their thoughts was the conversation theyhad held in the new white house, the day they had bought the guitar.They did not speak of Anthony's ambitions, but Elsie came to speak oftenand with freer enthusiasm of her native Louisiana. Her husband sawthrough the innocent ruse with keener penetration than she recognized,and so far it failed. He understood that she was cunningly preparing tomake easy for him their way of retreat, in case he lost his fight;preparing to convince him that was the way she most desired to go. Heloved her the better; and was the more obstinately determined to forcehis own way.
A Man's Hearth Page 17