“This is the best gold,” he said.
Candy was enjoying the most important moment of her life and in spite of her respect for the Doctor there was to be no trifling about it.
“Doctor, you told me I could pick my own tooth.” She looked up at the jeweler. “You got any real gilt?”
Dr. Pilgrim sighed. He might have had a dozen clients this morning. “Candy, I explained to you that gilt wasn’t anything like gold. I can’t make you a tooth out of gilt because it wouldn’t chew.”
“All I know is where I wuked gilt was thought more high of than gold. I know what I’m talkin about, Dr. Pilgrim, when I sent away for my first wedding ring it melted down on me half an hour before the ceremony and I been washin gilt frames for years and I never took but a little off em.”
After a nervous glance at Tib Josie addressed herself to helping her brother straighten out Candy’s conceptions of the precious metals.
“Candy, you couldn’t make a tooth out of a piece of orange peel, could you?”
“No ma’am, but it seems to me I’ve seen lots of gilt in Dr. Pilgrim’s office, just like what used to fall off the portraits.”
“That was gold leaf,” said Dr. Pilgrim. “There just isn’t any in Washington. We just have to melt up this scrap and make you a tooth. If you want to pick out your own incisor you got to do it quick. Now here you have For a United Ireland and The Friends of the Freedman—” He spoke sharply to the jeweler, “This thing isn’t gold at all; it’s a bottle top or else I never filled a tooth.”
Mr. Viner pocketed it anxiously. “It must have got on there by mistake.”
Dr. Pilgrim gave him a reproving glance and turned to Candy.
“The morning is passing, Candy. It’s going to take me some time to pound out this instrument. Make your choice. Here you’ve got United Veterans of the Mexican War, Thirty-five years service with J.P. Wertheimer.”
“I never did work for no Wertheimers.”
“Well now, here’s the last one of all, Candy, and if you don’t like this one I’m just going to pick out one myself. This says, The Legion of Honor, Private George Aiken, for Valor Extraordinary, killed at Gettysburg, July 2, 1863.”
Tib spoke suddenly to Dr. Pilgrim: “And you would make a nigger’s tooth out of that.”
Captain Pilgrim turned on him stiffly. “Sir, I don’t know who you are or why you are with us but nigger is a word that is not used in our household.”
Josie saw the line of Tib’s revolver paralleling the edge of the show counter. Her glance ran along it to her brother’s breast pocket like a carbine that had been pointed at the same target three years before.
“Hands up, Pilgrim,” said Tib.
The Doctor’s hands weighing two pieces of metal rose higher.
“Who are you anyhow?” Dr. Pilgrim demanded. “What is this confounded nonsense?”
“Open your hand wide. All right, like that.”
The barrel of the gun had lifted to forty-five degrees, following the Doctor’s hands.
“Higher, Doctor. Do you mind turning your palm over so that the coin is in my line of fire? I am going to shoot that out of your hand—higher still.”
“You are a mad man.”
“Once you ordered me strung up by the thumbs. I came to kill you but I reckon I’ll just shoot those medals out of your hands.”
“Get away, sister,” said Dr. Pilgrim, “this man is crazy.”
Tib waited; he didn’t know for what. He tried to think back to the awful nights; he tried to fortify himself in a forceful jerk of memory of the day he had first run a plow over an acre with his mutilated hands.
“Stand away,” he said menacingly.
Josie made a movement to throw herself between them but Captain Silvé pulled her back.
“He’s crazy,” he said.
Mr. Viner had disappeared from the stationary picture and made a quick duck behind the counter. Captain Silvé suddenly realized where he had seen Tib’s face before.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You realize Miss Pilgrim is here?”
“Yes,” Tib said.
“Do you realize that Miss Pilgrim cut you down that night? At first I did not recognize you but I was in the farmhouse that night with Prince Napoleon and I know that next morning she was almost put under arrest.”
Suddenly in Tib’s moment of shock and surprise two people were in front of Dr. Pilgrim. Josie was in front of her brother and Candy in front of Josie.
“It would have been better if she had left you hanging there,” said Dr. Pilgrim. “Get away, sister.”
“I didn’t know about that,” said Tib in a strained voice and he added, feeling the intention with which he had lived for three years being torn from him:
“I guess I can’t do it then.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Candy indignantly, “seeing you’d have to shoot through all us three.”
Tib backed toward the door.
“I didn’t know that, Miss Pilgrim,” Tib said. “You can’t shoot through an angel.”
He was gone and the five people were alone in a sudden silence. Mr. Viner came up cautiously from behind the counter at almost the moment that Dr. Pilgrim’s hands came slowly down.
“Shall I pursue him,” Mr. Viner inquired, “shall I—”
“No,” said Dr. Pilgrim. He laid the medal of the Legion of Honor on the counter and said briskly to Mr. Viner, “This is by far the best piece of metal.”
IV
Even in France Josie sometimes saw the black gloves coming around corners. Her brother went to work helping the great Dr. Evans arrange the china smiles of royalty and before Prince Napoleon’s disgrace they were firmly entrenched as units of the American colony.
When she returned from a trip to the States in sixty-nine a rough crossing put her on her back until the last day. When she made her way on deck in Havre harbor the sudden quiet made her giddy as the motion had, and she scarcely noticed the man who steadied her and held her elbow as the boat slid gently through quiet shallows. When, a moment later, they recognized each other she could not think of any of the cool or distant things that she should have said to him. They talked about the disasters attending French arms on the border and were anxious for the news that they would get after their three weeks isolation at sea.
When they had found a first-class compartment on the train to Paris she asked:
“Are you touring?”
“I’m a war correspondent,” said Tib, “I’m going to the front representing the Richmond Times-Dispatch, the Danville News and the Lynchburg Courier.”
“Well if you are in Paris—” Josie stopped herself. She had been at the point of inviting him to call but she finished, “—you’ll find the consul very helpful.”
Tib had been conscious for some minutes of four men loitering outside the open door of the compartment, but he was unprepared for what happened. Even as the train whistled, signaling its departure, the four men came in and in a second two of them were escorting him into the next car “for a little questioning, Monsieur.” Behind him as they crossed the vestibule he heard Josie’s voice protesting with equal surprise and indignation.
“What is this?” he demanded.
“Are you bound for Alsace?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“This is the one, that’s sure,” said the man who was pinioning him from behind. “They will find it in the woman’s hat.”
In the car behind Josie was having her troubles.
“There’s nothing in my hat. It’s a hat I bought in America.”
“Unfortunately,” said one of her captors, “it has a French label.”
“Naturally, it’s a French hat.”
“And naturally you are not Madame Shirmer,” the man said ironically, “and your friend is not Signor Mario Villizio in the pay of the Prussian government.”
A man in uniform entered the situation.
“You are idiots,” he said. “They have been caugh
t four cars up forward.”
“But these are easily the ones. You could see it on their faces.”
“Let us examine her hat immediately. The train is being separated. These last four cars are to wait for the British mail boat.”
In three minutes they had handed back to her a mass of feathers, rosettes, ribbons in the bowl of what had once been a Paris hat.
“Our pardon, Madame. You would like to join your companion?”
“Yes,” said Josie, “or no; I don’t care. I want to get on the first train.”
“Then you must hurry, Madame.”
There had been the bump of an engine and the sound of uncoupling ahead. It was at the moment when she reached the vestibule that the sections began to pull apart.
“Ah, alas, Madame, your husband has gone ahead.”
“He is not my husband,” said Josie.
“Your friend then,” he said. “After all the other section is coming back.”
But the other section was merely hesitating. Tib meanwhile had shown his credentials and being released hurried back to rejoin Josie. They stood on the two platforms surrounded by shrugging Frenchmen who regretted that they had been the cause of separating what were probably two lovers. But before anything could be done about it the first section had made up its mind and started off in earnest.
“Are you all right?” Tib cried to her.
“I’m fine,” she said, “but they have ruined my hat.”
The first section chugged into the distance. She stood on the rear vestibule with the French captain of police.
“The country is lovely around here,” he said consolingly.
“Yes,” she agreed shortly.
“And when one is in love things are always more lovely,” he pursued gallantly. “Do not worry, you can rejoin your friend in Paris.”
“You might at least leave me alone now,” said Josie.
He bowed. “I can appreciate that too, Mademoiselle.”
The trains had moved so far apart now that she could see nothing but a small blot in the distance and her chance of seeing him again was as small as that. She stood desolately looking at the torn rosettes in the soup dish of felt. All her experiences with Tib had been like that.
V
Dr. Pilgrim, Grand Maitre de l’Ordre de l’Hygiene Publique, assistant to the great Dr. Evans, dental surgeon to the court and to various Bourbons, Cecils, Churchills, Vanderbilts, Hapsburgs, Chambruns and Astors, had just received a gift of flowers. It had been sent him by a gardener at the Tuileries whom he had treated for nothing—but they did not touch him. He did his charity work faithfully but coldly and he was much more interested in the new chair that he and Dr. Evans had just invented. He was glad the war was over even though the French had lost. Practice would be better now. He heard the doorbell ring once and again. The third time he went out into the hall to see why it wasn’t answered—and ran into Josie rushing excitedly up the stairs.
“Why isn’t the door attended to?” he inquired but she interrupted him.
“Oh bother the doorbell. Let me tell you who just came in and is waiting downstairs.”
“I don’t care,” said Dr. Pilgrim. “The doorbell must be answered.”
As a matter of fact it was being answered at just that moment. The young man waiting there was rather surprised by the words of the woman who let him in.
“You are from Dr. Evans?”
“No, ma’am. I represent the Richmond Times-Dispatch, the Danville News and the Lynchburg Courier.”
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
“I don’t understand,” said Tib.
“Oh,” said the lady nervously. “Well, I guess you might as well come in.”
As they came under the gas light of the waiting room she said:
“Are you in pain?”
“No,” he said.
She seemed somewhat agitated and as if she felt she must apologize for it.
“I haven’t waited in a doctor’s office since I was very young. It makes me feel rather strange.”
“Are you in pain?” he asked her in turn.
The woman nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “I am in pain—the pain of insult and degradation.”
Tib looked at her curiously.
“I can understand that feeling,” he said.
“You are an American,” the woman remarked. “My father was an American citizen, though he was born in Scotland.”
“I am not an American,” denied Tib. “I am a Virginian. Those two things will never mean the same again in my lifetime.”
The woman sighed.
“Alas, I am from nowhere. I have been trying very hard for thirty years to be a Frenchwoman but now I know that I am of no race.”
Tib nodded. “That’s like me—I am a citizen of nowhere, part of a lost cause, broken and beaten with it.”
The door opened and Josie Pilgrim came into the room and walked swiftly up to the woman.
“Your Majesty, Doctor Evans’ horses will be here in five minutes.”
“I have not minded waiting,” said the Empress. “I have been talking with this young American.”
Josie cast a surprised glance at Tib, bowed, and said to the Empress, “Do you want to come up to my room?”
“I should not like to move. I am sitting on my jewel case.”
Tib had seen the crowd streaming past the Tuileries half an hour before, and had wondered fleetingly about the Empress and the court, whether the fair Spaniard of tortuous destiny would be made into a new Marie Antoinette. Now he looked at the faded lady in the black hat and knew without question that this was the Empress.
“Can I be of any service?” he asked.
“No thank you,” said Josie hastily. “My brother and Dr. Evans are taking care of everything.”
“But he can be of service. With three Americans I shall be even safer than with two. If he rides with us I shall esteem it a great favor.”
“I am mounted,” said Tib.
“All the better,” said the Empress. “You will be our escort.”
. . . Ten minutes later the little party assembled at the stables. From the streets they could hear many voices, snatches of Beranger songs, imprecations against the Emperor, the Empress, and the court, and a continual scuffle of steps upon cobble-stones, moving toward fire and catastrophe. Dr. Evans, tense and determined, stood between the Empress and the red glare of the torches from the street, as if to shut out all he could of menace and hatred abroad.
“So you’re riding with us,” he said to Tib. “Remember, we have agreed to pretend that this is an insane woman whom we are taking to Trouville.”
“I insane!” exclaimed the Empress, “I begin to think I am. Let this young Virginian ride inside with us and we can talk about being exiles. The good Dr. Pilgrim will be glad to take his horse and play postilion for the evening. Is that not so, Dr. Pilgrim?”
Dr. Pilgrim glared at Tib.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Are we ready?” asked Dr. Evans.
The cortege was starting out through the wild avenues that led to the Porte Maillot. They were shouted at several times but no attempt was made to stop the carriage; out in the suburbs chalk white windows looked down indifferently at them in sleeping roads; toward midnight Josie’s eyes closed drowsily and Tib could at last watch her just as he wanted to watch her, while the last of the French Sovereigns drove out of the Ile-de-France.
In the Inn des Mariniers at Trouville a consultation was held as to the next step. A yacht rode at anchor in the harbor and they ascertained that it flew the Union Jack and belonged to Sir John Burgoyne. The Empress was persuaded to lie down under Dr. Evans’ care and Tib and Dr. Pilgrim started along the water-front making discreet inquiries for the use of a dinghy. They had no reason to think that their departure from Paris had been traced. Only a single episode just now, a curious look that a waiter had thrown at the Empress, worried them. But when they had secured the boat and Josie
appeared panting beside them both men had a moment of apprehension.
“What is it?”
“Dr. Evans wants you back at the inn to talk to that waiter. The man is hanging around the hall outside the Empress’s room and when I spoke to him he just laughed and pretended he couldn’t understand my French.”
“I’ll go back,” said Tib.
“No, it’s better for me to go,” said Dr. Pilgrim. “I’ve only once been in a rowboat and I should not care to attempt it alone.”
He started briskly back and then noticing that Josie was not with him turned and saw her getting into the dinghy with Tib.
“It’s all right,” she called, “I’ve rowed a lot and two of us are better than one.”
Dr. Pilgrim continued on to the inn.
It was a gorgeous morning and the glittering harbor made Josie forget the gloomy events of the night before and the anxious errand on which they were bent. Then they crossed a dark line of water across the harbor and suddenly were in rough water and a wind from the outside sea. The little dinghy progressed more slowly. The handles of the oars were large and suddenly noticing that Tib’s thumbless hands were clumsy in the rougher water she said:
“I’m going to take this pair of oars and help so we can make quicker time.”
“No,” he insisted, “I’d rather you wouldn’t.”
But she had already taken her place on the stern thwart and was slipping the oars into the locks.
“All right,” he said, “You have to set the stroke.”
In a moment she was sitting back in his arms with one of the oars floating away to sea.
“Oh I’m so sorry,” she gasped, “I really can row.”
“It’s all right with me,” he said.
“I want to try again,” Josie insisted. “Your hands the way they are—” She stopped herself.
“My hands are all right,” said Tib. “I think I can take care of us both.”
“I know you can,” said Josie impulsively. She sat humbly in the stern until they came alongside the shining yacht and a dignified, formidable British sailor spoke to them from the polished rail.
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