The Eagles Gather

by Caldwell, Taylor;

  She tried to speak, then merely shook her head. She pushed a lock of hair back under her hat. She seemed full of shame and confusion, and could not look at him. He took her hand again, and kissed it. Now he could feel its tremor.

  “I love you, darling,” he said in a low voice. He rubbed the back of her hand thoughtfully with his finger, then turned it over and kissed her palm. “Don’t you love me, just a little?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. She regarded him imploringly. “But I think so.”

  He was touched. What an innocent thing she was, to be sure! There was such a pleading and hesitating expression on her pretty face, as though she were asking him to reassure her.

  “You don’t know?” he repeated, smiling. “You’re such a baby, Celeste. Well, when are you going to marry me?”

  She tried to be offhand and amused, and failed, delightfully. “I always thought I’d like a change,” she said, in a shaken voice. “A girl likes to change her name. I’d only be Bouchard again.”

  When he kissed her again on the mouth, she leaned towards him with the wild passion of a suddenly awakened virginity. When he released her, after a long time, she was crying and smiling at once.

  He knew then, that if she didn’t love him at all, no one else would ever arouse her as he had done, and that she would never forget it.

  They rode back together, slowly, in a mist of joy and repletion. It was only when they arrived at her home that she turned to him with a quick vehemence. “I’m glad for one thing, Henri,” she said, and this time there was no shyness in her voice and face. “Just glad for one thing more than anything else: you aren’t connected with—Bouchard and Sons.”

  He was surprised, and stared at her. “But why?” he asked. She shook her head slightly, and said nothing else.

  CHAPTER XXV

  No engagement in the Bouchard family had ever created such a profound sensation as did Celeste Bouchard’s engagement to her cousin, Henri Bouchard. It was of sufficient importance to be recorded in every newspaper in the world, no matter how small or obscure. Reporters and newspaper photographers connected with all the great dailies of every city of every nation converged on Windsor, like an army of buzzards, Christopher said. Poor little Celeste was besieged and waylaid, until she dared not leave her home. The house was thronged with friends and relatives and insistent reporters; the grounds surged. The gatekeeper at Henri’s residence was reinforced by a dozen private policemen. Henri, in the meantime, disappeared with his sister, for parts unknown. Edith, who had an ironic appreciation of what she called “human spectacles,” had not particularly desired to go.

  The President was among the illustrious first to wire his wishes for her happiness to Celeste, and his congratulations to Henri. Cables arrived hourly from every corner of the earth.

  Jay Regan sent three telegrams, a paternal one to Celeste, and a peculiar one to Henri. It said: “I and your greatgrandfather congratulate you.”

  But no one but Christopher knew that Jay Regan sent him a telegram, also. It contained only one word: “Congratulations!” Others would have been surprised, but not Christopher. He merely smiled, and carefully tore the telegram to bits and then disposed of it adequately.

  There was utter consternation and rage among Armand’s faction. One of the complaints of Armand’s friends had been that he had not displayed enough rancor and determination in his attitude towards his treacherous brother, Christopher. Now, they felt some satisfaction, even in the midst of their perturbation, for Armand seemed full of a quiet ferocity since the announcement of his sister’s betrothal. Never loquacious, he was more silent than ever. When Christopher was mentioned, he would say nothing, but his eyes would glitter.

  “This marriage,” said little Jean, “definitely puts us in the soup. What soup? I don’t know, exactly, but one thing is certain: it is simmering, and it’s full of poison. Christopher’s own private brand.”

  It was worse, rather than better, that there was nothing definite to suspect, nothing to lay one’s finger on and say: Here it is.

  When little Annette suddenly became ill with a nervous breakdown, and her physicians advised a quick change of climate and prolonged nursing, possibly a sea voyage, Armand’s faction felt completely desperate. They knew Armand’s passion for his daughter, and they believed that he would go away with her, at least for a time, as he had done before during her illnesses. It was very bad this time, too, for Annette was reported to be seriously ill. So Armand, they fully believed, would go away just at the most demoralizing point in the silent and hidden feud between his faction and Christopher’s. He had done this before, at the height of an investigation of the armaments industries by a special Senate Committee.

  But there was something about the whole situation which they did not know, and which only Armand, suffering more intensely than at any other time in his life, knew.

  Annette had become ill, without warning, immediately upon the formal announcement of Celeste’s engagement. She had been in failing health for some time, it was pointed out, though she had never complained. Because of her frail physique, she had not been prominent in social activities, and it was an accepted fact that Annette did not care for sports of any kind. Consequently, she was forgotten for the most part by the many members of her family, and the report of her illness did not interest them much, until they were informed that she was gravely ill. Even then, they felt quite resigned, and some even expressed their opinion that it would be “better for the poor little thing,” if she died.

  They saw how haggard Armand had become lately, and how much weight he had lost, and how suddenly savage his manner became when he was interrupted during his periods of profound and somber meditation. His whole personality seemed to have changed. He lost a certain hesitancy and uneasiness. It was easily seen that he was desperate and determined, and very dangerous. But he did not go away, and’ even when Annette was removed in a stretcher to a private railroad car, en route to some elaborate sanitarium, he went only a short distance with her, and immediately returned to Windsor.

  On the night that Celeste’s engagement had been announced, Annette had been unusually gay. Quite a bright color had burned in her face. No one had ever heard her laugh so much, nor had seen her so active. She was everywhere, running about on her poor little child-legs. There was an air about her like candleflame seen through glass. Her flesh seemed transparent, and her eyes shone and sparkled feverishly. When she talked to Celeste and Henri there was a thin sound of incoherent hysteria in her voice and laughter. Everyone spoke of how well she seemed, and how vivacious. No one really saw her at all but her father, who watched her every moment, and who was suffering more concentrated bitterness and sadness than he had ever experienced before.

  Then, when they reached home together, he had suddenly picked her up in his strong arms and had carried her up to her room himself. The girl had affectionately protested, with laughter, and then, all at once, she had collapsed on his breast, and had laid her head on his shoulder with a dying gesture, very gently and breathlessly. The servants, and Mrs, Armand, and young Antoine, had watched Armand carry her up, and had not spoken. There was something in this picture of the somber, grim-lipped man carrying the child that made even the most dull feel a vague emotion of distress and pity. They saw his strong, broad black back, and the long white chiffon streamers of the girl’s gown floating between his legs and over his shoulders, as he marched up the stairs. They saw her arm on one of his shoulders, a child’s frail white arm; the little hand drooped lifelessly, and the other arm and hand swung against his thigh.

  He had taken her to her room, and had laid her on her bed. Her bright ash-blonde hair streamed over the satin pillows. She lay with closed eyes, hardly breathing, her face as white as her dress. Her maid came in, and her mother, frightened, and he drove them out. He came back to stand beside the bed and to gaze down at his daughter. He folded his arms across his broad chest, and did not move. He waited.

  Annette lay without s
tirring. At last she sighed, very deeply, as though the sound came from the bottom of her heart. She opened her eyes, and smiled faintly. Armand did not smile. She saw his face, and understanding what she saw, she burst into wild tears, covering her eyes with her little hands. While no one knew, she could pretend. But now she knew that her father understood, and all her miserable little pretenses fell away.

  Armand sat down beside the bed. He gathered his daughter in his arms and lifted her to his knee. He rocked back and forth in his chair, and let her weep. He kept smoothing and stroking her hair, but beyond that he did nothing until she had cried herself to quietness. Then he wiped her eyes with his own handkerchief.

  He began to speak, very quietly: “There are some things, my darling, which must be endured. This is one of them. You must endure it, I have tried to make life as happy as I could for you. I have tried to go every bit of the way with you. But I can’t go any farther. You’ve got to walk it alone. ‘

  She was not crying now. Her head was on his chest..He kept kissing the top of her little bright head. When he finished speaking, she kissed his hand, humbly, buf did not speak.

  Armand sighed. He held her to him tightly. “But when you come out—the other end of the tunnel—I’ll be there, waiting for you, dear.” His voice, his manner, made the melodramatic words touching and beautiful.

  “Yes, I know, Daddy,” she answered. Her face was blotched and stained with tears, but she smiled. The smile was so piteous that Armand turned his head aside.

  “When there isn’t any hope, you’ve got to resign yourself—to things,” he said meditatively. “We each of us come to the end of hope, sooner or later.”

  He left her only when she was asleep. As he closed the door behind him, he did not seem despairing. His expression was dangerous.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  Christopher laid his hands, palms-down, on the pile of papers they had all been considering. He looked at Emile, Hugo, Henri and Francis, and smiled unpleasantly.

  “So there we have it,” he said. “Germany, through Kronk and Byssen, is selling aircraft to South America, Versailles Treaty to the contrary. Bedors of Sweden is shipping her all the armaments she wants to buy. ‘Poor prostrate Germany’ is doing pretty damn well for herself. We’re glad to see her re-arming. Like our good friend, Britain, a strong and rearmed Germany is our best assurance against Labor control of government, and we’re willing to help her any time she wants us to. We’ve not objected to our Companies shipping Germany shells; in fact, we like it! Stresseman did a good job there, and we mustn’t forget to send him his bonus. Our subsidiary in Canada is shipping Germany the nickel she needs. Germany, so far, hasn’t interfered with our shipments of munitions and explosives and armor-plate to Central and South America, though I haven’t the slightest doubt she’ll be our best competitor when Britain and France finally destroy the democratic government in Berlin.

  “But that’s in the future. What is bothering us now is the fact that Germany is getting huge contracts for aircraft from Central and South America. What are we going to do about it? Yelp to the League of Nations or somebody that Germany is violating the Versailles Treaty? And get a polite kick in the teeth for an answer?”

  “Well,” said Emile, “you’ve outlined the subject. What are we going to do about it?”

  Christopher’s light gleaming eyes moved contemplatively from one listening face to the other. “You know the answer as well as I do. We’ve got to start competing in Central and South America. We’ve got to get busy with propaganda down there. Argentina and Brazil are pretty prosperous, now, and could afford some excellent aircraft, and a few robust hates. That’s your Job, Emile. Get busy on it. In the meantime, we’re going to sell them all Duval-Bonnet craft.” He added, after a pause: “That is, if we can induce someone to lend us twenty-five million dollars, or more, immediately.”

  Emile said gloomily: “I’m flat. You’ve got all I could spare. Wall Street’s already talking. We’ve aroused quite a little talk about our money-changing. Besides, you said yourself, before, that twenty-five million is only a starter.”

  “Quite true. It is. But it will be that. In six months the South American representatives will be here. We’ve got to show them equipment and men and plans and backing. They’re a shrewd lot, those damned Latins. We’ve done a lot, but it’s only a beginning.”

  “I,” said Francis, “am practically broke, too. You’re a bottomless pit, Chris. Oh, I’m not grumbling! Don’t pull faces at me like that. But there it is.”

  “As for me,” said Hugo, genially, “I’ll be standing on the street corner soon, with a tin cup.”

  “And I,” said Henri, “have lent you three million dollars. You’ve got a fine mess of building and equipment down there now, Christopher. Nearly as good as Parsons’.”

  “‘Nearly as good!”‘ repeated Christopher venomously. “That isn’t half good. It’s got to be twice as good. Twice as good! Or we’re out, so far as South and Central America are concerned. And then, there are Japan and China. They’re buying feverishly. In four years, or perhaps less, they’ll be tearing each other apart. Robsons-Strong and Schultz-Poiret and Skeda and Kronk are already selling them twenty times what we are selling them. That’s because we hoped we could scare them off by advising them not to sell Japan and China for a few years. But they got onto us that our humanitarian concern was only because they ware in a better position to do business than we were. I don’t want to make that mistake again. We want to be ready.” He paused, and then, as no one spoke, he said impatiently: “Well, haven’t any of you any suggestions?”

  “Don’t glare at us,” said Francis, smoothly. “You act as though we’re a pack of kids who won’t play ball with you. We’ve played ball to the tune of millions. I can’t do any more. The directors are going to ask very soon about some manipulations I’ve been doing. If I can’t show them something satisfactory, about Duval-Bonnet, it’s going to be very nasty for me. Kinsolving stock will hit rock bottom in half an hour.”

  Christopher looked at them for a moment before speaking. Then he said without expression: “Every penny I’ve got in the world is in Duval-Bonnet. Including Celeste’s holdings.”

  At this, Henri stirred. He fixed his cousin with his pale eyes, now so inexorable and hard. “What, Celeste’s fortune? You had no right to do that!” He added, with a smile that Christopher found unendurable: “It is perhaps a good thing that I’m only engaged to marry her, and am not married to her, yet.”

  The others moved, intrigued and delighted. They stared at the two men, whose personalities had met, clenched, and were engaged in a transfixed struggle. Like wolves, who run in packs for mutual advantage, they could form a circle about sudden antagonists and await, with glee, the conflict, the victory and defeat, knowing in the end, that they could devour the loser.

  Then Christopher shrugged almost imperceptibly. “You forget,” he said. “I’m her guardian. Without bond. She isn’t twenty-one. I’ll still be her guardian, even after you are married, and I still won’t have to show an accounting until she’s of age. And that’s a year from now.”

  Henri said nothing. All at once he had become interested in the shape and contour of his fingernails. Then Francis, after winking at Christopher, tapped Henri familiarly on the shoulder. “It looks as though you’re in it, not up to the neck, as we are, but right over the head, too. Don’t worry. None of us are worried. We just need about twenty-five million dollars more,” and he laughed his dry and brittle laugh.

  Henri glanced up. His eyes, so like hard agate marbles, moved from one face to another. He began to smile. “I’m not worrying,” he said. “I was just surprised, that is all. After all, I’m marrying Celeste, you know.”

  The others nodded and smiled at him in a friendly manner. But Christopher did not smile. His nostrils flared out as though he were breathing quicker than usual. He smelled danger. He thought to himself: It is only June. October is too far away.

  He said, finally: “You’ll
have an accounting, after your marriage. But it is only a courtesy I’m extending you, and not necessary. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Perfectly,” said Henri, with an amiable gesture of his hand. Then, again, he fixed his eyes on Christopher. “Let me understand this clearly: unless we can suddenly acquire a lot of money, quite a lot more money than we have at hand, our chances of getting the South American contracts are slim. That is it, isn’t it? Well, then, we must acquire it,” and he smiled humorously.

  “Bravo!” exclaimed Francis. “The Master Mind solves the problem! And now, Sherlock Holmes, perhaps you can tell us where the pot of gold is buried?”

  “Well, then,” said Henri, “in the first place, I’ll lend you four million dollars more. And the rest of you can pinch yourselves in spots, and produce enough to make it ten millions. Now we need about fifteen more. I’ll get it for you. I’ll borrow it. Personally.”

  They stared at him in stupefaction. Then, all together, they burst into a shout of laughter. Even Christopher laughed as loudly as the others. But through his derisive mirth his eyes, unmirthful, watched Henri unblinkingly. Henri listened to the laughter. He smiled nonchalantly. He seemed even a little bored, as he waited for it all to stop.

  When it finally did he said without rancor: “I’m glad you boys have had your little fun. But let’s get down to business now.”

  Francis said: “In the first place, my child, we don’t dare lend any more. As Emile pointed out, Wall Street’s already talking about our transactions, and asking itself lots of questions which would be embarrassing to us. One of these days, it isn’t going to be so delicate. We thank you very kindly for your offer of four million. We’ll take it. We like your spirit of generosity. But you must forgive our vulgar and unkind curiosity if we ask you where the hell you think you can raise over fifteen million dollars yourself.”

  Henri spoke as casually as though they were discussing a minor transaction. “I’ll borrow from Edith, part of it, anyway. If I can get that fifteen million, say within a week or so, I will have a proposition for all of you.”